There continued to be exceptionally warm and beautiful weather here this week. We had dinner outside last night and, I guess if you can eat outside in shorts and shirtsleeves at this time of year, we should stop whining about the chilly days that pop up here and there. We enjoyed a dinner of pork chops and macaroni and cheese. I found thick, luscious pork chops which I lovingly cooked for five, well-monitored hours and Terry made the macaroni from Martha Stewart's cookbook; as much as I despise that witch (Martha), I have to admit that--if her recipe is followed with fascist precision--the result if divine.

Leopoldo dragged me again at the crack of dawn to the gym; The Baroness cabled me that I had to work out every day in order to do battle with that social behemoth, Mamie, on a daily basis. We had a problem, though. The gym obviously had not been prepared for the 80 degree temperatures in the early morning and had neglected to turn on the A/C. Under the regimen that Mr. Astor has designed for me--something akin to what hard labor must be like in Siberia--I had a dizzy spell between machines. Knowing my delicate, if determined, nature, Mr. Astor abbreviated my stay at the gulag and whisked me home.

Massive, skeletal frames are being erected two blocks away in back of City Hall for the Boat Show. Art Basel was a big disappointment in sales; sure, the people came, but who wouldn't want to come to Miami Beach in winter. They just didn't buy. We are all waiting to see what happens with this traditionally extravagant exhibit.