The town awoke yesterday from a collective hangover from the yearly Winter Party pool party at the Surfcomber Hotel. The Count La Mot worked daily on planning the event and it couldn't have run as smoothly as it did without his constant help, as he does with all the town's gay charity events. I had a nasty accident that morning where--trying to keep to a schedule that would allow me to arrive at the party by 2 PM-- I slipped on the bathroom floor cutting the eyebrow in a small, insignificant nick. It was enough to keep me home as it plew up into a black eye..

This weekend will be the even more intense Winter Music Conference. DJ's, music moguls, producers, and anyone who loves new music with descend upon Miami Beach like the Visigoths.

Meanwhile, The Baroness Seitzinger sent me this religious duel; she is convinced the one in the big hair is Mamie. I'd just like to get her competitor in finding The City Where We Never Die to South Beach, get him a hair cut and out of that damn suit and into a tank top and tight swim suit.