I greatly miss the crazy days of the past few years. I have benefited from the most amazing relationship I could ever have fallen into, though. I am a happy person. Still, I look back and happily recall:
In my book, if you have a lovely, late afternoon cocktail dress that is sitting in the closet and doing nothing, you have to put it on and just go out. Who cares if the makeup isn't right? Valentino is Valentin0, no matter what anyone says.

I've always thought that if you are going to do drag and be crazy, and or homeless, you should do it well. Hence: Bat Drag. I miss his regular visits.

I miss getting up at the ungodly hour of 6 AM and walking along the beach. Good God, this is why we live here; this is on a winter day.

I miss The Sweeper. A homeless, confused person, she sweeps the sidewalks every day (usually just in front of the highly-paid city workers who drink espressos while she does their job). Well-known in town, The Sweeper accepts no money for her mission, although I once found she took a pack of cigarettes.

I miss Nina, the old Chihuahua which makes the rounds every day trying to gather a few dollars to allow her and her owner to eat.

I miss going to the beach--even though I don't go in--and finding a marvelous example of energy, the type that the very beach promotes.

I miss fireworks. Living on the East River in New York City, I saw the best, but I still yearn for them. Every time I see them--even here--I get excited; I don't know what it is, but I love them.

I miss a scavenger group so intent upon meeting a certain goal that they will moon for me. That is noble.

I miss the fanciful, hand-made hats of Pink Lady. I haven't seen her for some time, which worries me. Unlike the other mal-adjusted members of the peripheral part of this town's society, she had a genuine talent and likableness. As she said once to me, "I just want to bring my hats to Fifth Avenue."

I miss when there was only one, true God: Mothra. A force of good for all humanity, she seems to have be a victim of the Vatican government's vicious campaign.

I miss the classics like Carl's religious medallion. On its own, it is a gorgeous piece of workmanship..

...but I soar in spirit when I see it is used to carry his Vicoden. These things bring a happy tear to my eye.

I miss the good old days when having a Latino for dinner was just that. Oh, you didn't have to have the good silver out or the damask linens; it was all about just having a good time--and a good meal. Mr. Astor keeps me very well fed, but I long for the days of laying out a table with a fine dinner for all involved.

We are all so glad that this election is just about over; tasered Alaskan relatives mixed with aunts living here illegally show that we have just about gone as far as possible to humiliate ourselves before the world. There will be a time soon that seven aircraft carrier groups no longer project a sense of power and respect, not the least of which is that we won't be able to afford them anymore.

One way or another, it is all over tomorrow; until we have to put together the pieces.