There are a few still left in town to show their devotion to each other, the town, and the institution named Twist. In all of America, Memorial Day Weekend represents all that is community, whatever that may entail. But, on Miami Beach it means running away. The flight out of town began on Thursday; most everyone I know left town and, those who didn't, decided it was an ideal weekend to do home improvement.

Memorial Day Weekend used to be called Hip Hop Weekend; it has now become a euphemism : Urban Festival Weekend. Past years of riots, police snipers on roofs, and ruined business tainted the weekend as a need-to-escape venue. Personally, I have found the last years to be rather tame compared to 2003,when riot police from dozens of neighboring towns manned every corner.

Mr. Astor had to work today and, I took the opportunity to do--what else--home improvement. All is peaceful up here; our neighborhood is very much out of the touch of anything but pool parties and glib conversation. Mr. A. and I have discussed meeting up with Susie at Twist at seven tonight; in my opinion, as long as you can go door-to-door, all is fine.

On weekends some of the most exotic creatures find themselves at Twist; it becomes a sort of tranny heaven.


Any night can be Halloween...or New Year's Eve on South Beach.
I was attracted to the jewelry and he told me his name of Dominique; then he said, "Well my full name is Henry Steven Dominique so-and-so." I told he that he had picked the right name.


This is Miss Filet....
...so, I introduced her to Mr. Mignon.
I get into a cross-dresser Nirvana, my eyes glaze over, I go home from Twist feeling just a little bit more educated about human nature.

Good Lord....is there no end to this party train? Meanwhile--while the children were at church--Twist did what it does best: It doesn't just participate in a party, it throws a Roman spectacle . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MrnCS_xuqo0

"A-Hoy Mrs Astor...We are about to sail by Savannah Georgia this late afternoon. I have also enlisted the 164 Cavalry of some 1500 troops that are marching though Atlanta as we speak General von Lipshits is leading the march.
My ground intelligences said they have spotted Mrs Fish hiking up that torn mud drenched hoop skirt and running for the Louisiana swamp."

THAT was what the carrier parrot returned with.

Dear, dear. I must send my ambassador, Jose, back to the bed where he does his most diplomatic work in, and step in myself. A woman of my social magnitude, I mean a woman of my social size, must intercede when times call. Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish must stop rattling that rusted cum-stained, sword of hers, and The Countess du Barry must stop the decrepit Newport fleet from trying to maintain afloat with more gin than gun powder.

I hereby announce that I will broker a deal between the North and the South. I do this for no gain for myself, but for the sailors and gardeners who will suffer; not that the three of us will miss a happy hour or a glass of port during this "Guns of August" affair.
Meanwhile, I will, without much celebration, accept the Noble Peace Prize. It is the least I can do. I always take the high ground.....or at least to maneuvered the upper gutter.

Things do not look good. Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish continues to saber-rattle and point her cannon to the North, and Countess du Barry is leading the Newport fleet to show her who is boss. It is a typical Yankee versus South confrontation about to take place; at last point, it was reported the fleet was off of Norfolk taking on coal and rum (but, nothing is ever that simple). At first I took the cable to mean they were taking on Cole Porter and fun. Alas, trouble is brewing, either way.
I have appointed a well-quipped ambassador of mine, Jose, to mediate. I mean, if you can't find something to agree about with him, there is a real problem.

We both returned to work today after a tortuous five days off; may the heavens never let the stars fall in line like that again. All eyes are on Memorial Day and just who is staying, who is leaving, and has to barricade themselves inside their chateaus. Mamie has been boiling hog fat in caldrons to protect herself from the assault from Newport, but I fear she may need it before that lumbering fleet arrives to save her lily-white flesh.

Something has to be done to defuse the situation between Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish and The Countess du Barry; Mamie's saber-ratttling has prompted du Barry to ready the fleet at Newport to come down and bombard her seaside residence. Mamie is constantly nagging me about how "...you people (i.e. Yankees)" changed her way of life; I can usually shut her up by uttering one word: Sherman (as in March to the Sea).
We kept our promise to take Henrietta out on the town and ended up at Twist until the scary time of four AM. We had to get up that day at 9 AM to attend Joe's Stone Crab last brunch before that season ends.
Henrietta has bounced back wonderfully and is back in the jewelry district buying new items.
I'm always fascinated by new faces, and alth0ugh this newbie had a face that only a mother could love, she deserved so attention.
The weekend ended at Twist (again) and I'm afraid that I snapped. Billy is a hairdresser whom I've known for many, many years. She does, although have the most annoying and loud voice that is constantly spew out her opinions. When you correct him on everything, he'll let out a blood-cuddling screech. So I had to kill him. Well, almost.

We took Henrietta, The Queen Mother, out last night til something like four in the morning (I haven't transferred those pics yet). Then we got got up to have breakfast at Joe's Stone Crabs as it was the last day before they close for the summer.

We dined with Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish, and she was a bawdy as ever; that woman has no shame. She didn't even remember coming into the bungalow and flashing her tits to us and everyone else in the room. Poor thing. Still, we are stuck with each other, for neither one of us could say we ruled this pitiful town without each other. She doesn't really trust me, though; she has positioned a cannon outside her seaside mansion to worn me off. Poor thing; I am so harmless.

I don't know....where does the time go? It is hard being relatively sober and well-behaved. "Well-behaved" has to have a presidential commission to really describe it to the public. I have been a a good citizen of the republic for some time now.
We couldn't avoid Cinco de Mayo in Miami; even the gringos join in the fun, and we did have a lot.
And, then, just when we thought we were just going to have cocktails on a quiet Monday afternoon, Donald Duck walked by on Lincoln Road. You never know what will happen here.

Not drinking alcohol in excess doesn't mean you can avoid excess in general, hence, Miss Jackie Wilson. I have had some falls, especially, when it came to the new owner of The Palace, but life has been wildly quiet.....for now.