As if this town doesn't already have enough of them on the streets and in the clubs, a shark bit a man in the behind off of the ritzy W Hotel at 22nd street today. This one is new for South Beach; alligator attacks are not unknown, but sharks in the warm waters of South Beach?  For one, I know that as much as I have chummed the waters off of Mr. Stuyvesant-Fish"s seaside villa, I have never got more than a blow fish to come near her tough hide.  Oh well, it is probably yet another result of global warming; chalk one up for the Republican denialists.

One of the last summer events is always Score's anniversary party and this year it was the fourteenth.  That is an incredible number of years for a club in this town.  If growing boredom, City interference, or the occasional shooting doesn't kill a club, the greedy landlords attempt to double the rent will.  So we joined in the celebration at the invitation of Score's owners with VIP treatment and anything else we wanted.  Of course, it doesn't hurt that we live across the street from them.

This was the most brutal summer in memory, a summer in which it was often difficult to breath.  The rest of the country wasn't a picnic, but it doesn't have to factor in the humidity.  Payback time is coming soon when the temperature will plunge into the seventies while snow drifts pile up in the North.  But, with the start of "season" comes the flow of Yankees who--like me twenty years ago came to Miami Beach to party until dawn and stay as blasted as possible.  When you live here this is a mix of fun and apprehension; you just never know if you will get caught up in it when you usually turn in after Chelsea Lately. 

I don't know what has happened to me.  For many months I have avoided the incessant party scene and don't even have friends over anymore.  For almost a month I was practically bedridden with chronic leg and back pain.  We did have our favorite two friends over for a Labor Day pool luncheon, Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish and The Baroness Seitzinger, now The Countess of Dade.  Naturally, we three white women needed shade for the short spree in the pool (I was the only one sensible enough to wear pool shoes; you can never be too careful).

The other big event of the week was T.S. Isaac, who was more of a nuisance than a danger.  I did encounter just how bad a tropical storm can be when I attempted to walk to the store for a bottle of wine.  A gust of wind pinned me to the fence of a neighbor; it was immediately apparent that wine wasn't worth it; basically it was an incredible rain event.  In a cab back from the market on Sunday, we were shocked at how high the water was in the canal two blocks north of were we live.  The Herald followed up with the following story.  The city is so obsessed with building new symphony halls and tunnels under the government cut that they lack the ability to see danger as long as they can keep themselves employed.  It's enough to make anyone lock themselves up.