You have to wonder what goes on the mind of a person who puts his Blackberry on his glass at a bar and goes to the bathroom.

Although the chorus of pained cries rose as the temperatures dropped into the unheard of upper-thirties, it couldn't drown out, for me, the increasing, bad news. The day began with neither one of us willing to brave the weather for the gym, so the news became the exercise of the day and it started with a Reuters article about scavenging for food in Paris; it just wasn't one of the feel-good articles and you have to wonder if we will see food riots in the capitals of Europe before we see them here.

And, speaking of food, Mamie called me as her carriage approached The Beach from her stay up north. We talked about the hard times many are going through and the stress building up. Both of us sighed at the situation but were grateful that we both can maintain our statuesque lives based on the "3-2-1" formula: Three square meals, two snacks, and one happy hour a day.

The most upbeat part of today will be The Westminster Dog Show tonight; it will be pure escapism. Riley (who had his hair done next to me yesterday) asked if KiKi would be attending, and I had to tell him "no". I've been wondering lately if KiKi actually knows where he is, but we have a taped address that we will send by sattelite of his address to the show. Whatever the dog year of 18 translates to (we know there is a complicated sliding scale), I'm sure I won't know where I am at his age--I hardly do now.