There is nothing like sitting with a group of friends and watching Serial Mom. Every evil glance by Kathleen Turner elicited screams and every murder, howls of laughter. Every scene in the movie seems to be hilarious; no break for the viewer is allowed. It reminded me that a long time ago I read the screenplay of Female Trouble and every line was hilarious.

Yesterday, we duly ignored the tornado watch and the impending rain to celebrate the birthday of Baroness Seitzinger and watched that movie; we just don't get together like that much these days. Tongues were sharp and the dueling nonstop, but it was so much fun. The Baroness lashed out at me for calling her taste "tacky"; appalled, I denied ever, ever using that word. "But you dance around it with so many other words, that it comes down to that", she claimed. Wounded, I reminded her that I haven't even gone into that Nativity Scene she's is setting up. So, for the record, there is nothing tacky about Seitzinger. She has an odd way with objects, but she is a class act of the highest order. She doesn't have the "airs" of Mamie, who can one moment be squeezed into a broom closet with some low life and emerge to pick up a serving spoon and sneer, "Plate". We love them both.

In contrast to yesterday, today is one of those glorious Sundays and sun worshipers were out all the way down to South Point. I biked down to the point, but stopped at the fence because of my well-known aversion to sand. I'd need a Rubbermaid mat down to the water to be happy, but I don't like the sea water, either. Fussy, I know, but I do appreciate our lovely town.

But, right there at the end of the beach, there was the ever-present reminder that Miami Beach is a bureaucracy of rules. So many don'ts, but it keeps the leeches in City Hall employed.