One has to wonder why this didn't happen sooner, but Edison Farrow has booked ten weeks, beginning Tuesday September 2, at the Lucky Strike bowling lanes. It will be a departure from his traveling, Tuesday martini parties, several of which have been held at the lanes. Mr. Astor is an accomplished bowler and was a league player in his early teens; he was--if you can believe it--even lauded for being one of the first Latino members of the San Franciscan league. I never entered a bowling lane until I discovered the mighty fun lanes on University Place in New York; there were gay nights, but I first embarrassed myself at the designer nights where Prescriptives, Matsuda, Estee Lauder, and other companies sent their finest. I was not the finest, and that won't be repeated here (unless, of course, I could get Her Magnificence, Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish out there).

This Thursday will see many of the party monsters gather to wish a happy birthday to someone who has made being happy a science, Mr. Thomas Barker. We have a vague memory of last year's birthday; his seem to go on for several days and nights and tend to end up at his Melrose-like apartment building.

The Beach has slipped into its usual August malaise, fed by intense humidity, rain, hungry Europeans, more rain, the desire to stay in the air conditioning, and the dreaded watch to the East. No one mentions the H word.