"the" Mrs. Astor

Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish was one of the members of Court to early on throw her considerable social weight behind the election of the new mayor, The Honorable Mattie Herrera Bower. Without early support like this, we would not have got what we worked for. Tomorrow, Friday, Halo will hold the first of the gay victory parties for the new mayor (who took office the morning following the election) between 6 and 8 PM; fortunately Leopoldo gets out of work early because I wouldn't want to miss this, and I wouldn't miss this without him.

It seemed that the town gathered their strength again tonight with an astounding turnout for Juicy Pussy's bingo; so like Society: take three days off with your hand on your forehead asking for bromide and gin and suddenly find the willpower to forge out into the winter snow in search of fun. Most memorable part of the evening (and I did not bring a camera), the humpy "wrestler/stripper" who put on the candy thong at Juicy's urging. It was embarrassing how little it hid; not his balls, not his penis, not his ass, of course. I made an educated comsumer move today when I bought that at Hustler Hollywood today.

One of the highest members of Court actually stated, "You know, Mrs. Astor, sometimes when it comes to wrinkles, it is good to be plump." All I could think of is the wonderful cartoon book I have entitled, Little Miss Plump.

Indeed.

What can I do to stop the scandal enveloping a community so small as South Beach? Leopoldo and I just dedicated a mountain of decency in helping get Matti Bower elected mayor only to wake up every morning to reporters camping on the front lawn from The New York Post, London's Sun, and every scavenger-hunting publication one can imagine. The cause? Every one's favorite gay Mormon (above) went home to ever one's favorite pit bull lawyer, The Riley.

Finally, today, I had to address The Press by coming out in a champagne, silk tea gown, my face covered by a hat wide enough to land a small plane on on a windless day in La Guardia. "The official position of this great house is and always will be one of complete denial. A supreme amount of alcohol had changed lips, and this alone will be the defense we maintain. I would like to invite every member of the press for gin and pancakes. We will entertain no questions about the 'Event', as we don't admit to knowing about it. Gin, we know about."

A formidable, social pair, Mr. Astor and Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish enjoying our pool-side Thanksgiving dinner. I don't let a day go by without thanking the gods for knowing great friends like this. I have had them all my life: noble and fun friends who have graced my existance.

A great, new day with a great, new mayor. We did it and no one was more proud of the gay support she got. Her stupid, high-and-mighty opponent, Simon Cruz, never reached out to the gay community; he was too well-financed by big money. Hey, Simon, why don't you return calls from the The Herald? You were a well financed fool.

Matti Bower, the underdog with no money or organization compared to her slick, bank president opponent Simon Cruz, dealt a stunning blow with a ten-point win for mayor. Cruz had the Jewish lobby, the Cuban lobby, the developers and bankers all firmly behind him, but I kept saying, "How many votes can they deliver?" Money in a rich city like Miami Beach only goes so far. What did he have to offer? In the end, not much.
Once again, instead of having a party on super-rich Star Island like her out-of-touch opponent, Simon Cruz, our Matti Herrera Bower partied at Cafe Avanti, a simple, popular place on 41st Street. To say the least, the crowd was dumbfounded by the huge 10 point lead Matti took, but--then--what did I say months ago at out first lunch with her advisor, Mike Burke? "Matti", I said. "Get the gay and woman vote and you have it, no matter how much money the other side has." Then we started bringing the engaging grandmother out to every gay bar and function that happened; every man and woman we introduced her to was enticed and our final rally at The Palace Saturday astounded even me when she walked up the steps and I heard a thunderous roar and applause. To me, that was all I needed to know that we had succeeded. Viva Matti!!!!!

By the grace of God, Mr. Astor arrived back to me at 5 AM from San Francisco. I had prepared a sandwich, paired it with his favorite chocolate cookies, and had a dish of ice cream ready, too.

My costume of greeting was that of a pirate, not so much for the style, but for a slight eye injury received.. On Friday night as I entered the gates to La Casa shots rang out and I immediately took the anti-revolutionary steps of diving to the ground, throwing an ostrich feather from my hat to distract attention, and taking a Mauser out of my muff and firing into the air, hitting a palm tree and two street lights. I was also successful in grazing my eyebrow. What a pain; I still had to accompany Matti Bower to The Palace rally the next day. Thankfully, Leopoldo’s collection of sunglasses contained a wonderfully large, Versace pair that did the job. I stayed close to home the rest of the weekend and, if I did go out, was heavily veiled. On Monday, however, I had to purchase a patch.

Mr. Astor’s comment when he saw the injury: “I am going to love you so much ,that eye will heal twice as fast.” It’s good to have him back, and I’m sure The City as a whole will sigh with relief that there’s someone to look after me again.

In the meantime, we are in the final hours of voting for mayor and Matti’s sleaze ball opponent is using his vast reserves to slander her name, pander to the Jews, hug the Cubans, and kiss every ass he can. As president of a bank that funded much of the rampant over-development of this city, he has a lot of high placed friends. Still, you have to wonder how he lost the popular vote when he paid about $75 apiece for them. He has supported the over-benefited unions, too, a move I told Matti meant nothing; most union members don’t live here. It’s a nail-biting afternoon, but I have a good feeling that the residents of this city won’t be fooled by the conniving Simon.

My baby, here with his co-worker Lloyd. Leopoldo called from the airport and I'll be waiting at 5 AM with a special welcome-home meal and perhaps a fantasy outfit. Who knows? How many other husbands are greated my Mata Hari?

Leopoldo left fro his native San Francisco on the 14th; it had been in the plans for over a year. The irony was that this was not only was the annniversary of The Palace, but our four month; and since I had spent hardly a day or night away from him, I knew things were going to be different.

Something has changed within me; something is not the same...it's time to trust my instincts... Never, ever have I been so close to assuredness, so close to love--true love. I'm defying gravity for once, thinking of what we will do together in 2008--a far step from thinking of what I am doing this weekend only. We are thinking of what we will do together in 2008, so when I see a photo of Leopoldo with my best friend, Jeremy, I smile and swell with happiness at knowing and having such people close to me. I am, indeed, blessed.

There is never a chance to rest; perhaps I could be locked up in a convent. Tonight is my self-appointed Tsar of entertainment, Carlos's, birthday. The town is, of course, choosing their best pearls and finest silks to attend the event, which is beginnning graciously at the early hour of 8 PM. A finer, more gentle, and intelligent person you could never meet than Carlos; he has lifted a great load off my back and propelled it into ideas that stun the inhabitants of this island. I remember the day I took this photo; I said, "Carlos, you must look regal if you are taking over the reigns." I then make two suggestions to hold which would cement his authority; I've been around a long time and I know cement.

It has been a weekend of sublime weather and love. But, Leopoldo's imminent departure for his native San Francisco has left me but one choice: volunteer for The Front. Yes, this was like a weekend in Paris as the Huns threatened the horizon, but I must now return to the trenches of politics to get Matti Bower elected. The outcome of this battle is grim; a very small percentage of original voters go back a second time. And, the turnout of gays was a total embarrassment; as I had written earlier, those who have the most to lose go shopping. The Hangman is just around the corner and this is clearly a battle between Good and Evil, with Evil having all the money and organization inherent is such a state. Maurice Ogden would be in heaven.

Leopoldo will be back the day before election; it will be a tense night as I sip my brandy in a mango-colored silk dressing gown, my hair neatly tied back in tension, my teal-colored nails running down his Latin cheeks. That man has stood behind every crazy notion I put before him, has been by my side for four months of tumultuous social and political weather, and has never, once, been anything but a true friend and lover. Lessor people have gone to heaven for that.

Taking a little break here on a Saturday morning after two nights at Mr. Astor's country estate, boys and girls are lounging around the pool, a tenderloin in the crock pot for when Mr. Astor comes home here tonight, and I just made a lovely casserole for KiKi. But before life settled back--at least for a day or two--to gracious normalcy, there had been some very glamorous affairs. One was at the palatial suite of The Countess in the nearby palace, The Carlyle; new marble floors made one's footing questionable and the master bathroom was larger than most studio apartments.
Some glamorous people, indeed, where seen entering The Countess's little gathering; here, Karl Lagerfeld and Anna Wintour were a bit surprised by the photographers. Others followed like Naomi Campbell (we had to hide the phones) and Kirsty Alley (we had to hide the lettuce).

Momma and Papa, Ditmar's parents, are in from Austria and Papa's birthday will be celebrated tonight in Ditmar's Hapsburg pleasure parlor. As tradition dictates, the happy couple will dance to Straus's Blue Danube after the everyone sings "Happy Birthday". Things will get even more surreal when that is followed by a performance of songs from The Sound of Music by Tiffany.

Madness never stops.

It ain't over, but we did it. To my precise prediction, Matti Bower led her opponent, Simon, by 300 votes; but, because there were four candidates no one had a clear majority so a run-off will be held in two weeks.

My prediction: Simon uses he vast war chest to unleash a virulent ad campaign against Matti knowing she has no money of her own to answer his slime ball tactics. I loved his choice for a victory party: Star Island. What else speaks of his connection to big money? Matti was at a Cuban restaurant.

My knowledge: We will work like dogs in the the next two weeks to support her. The gay triumvirant of The Palace, Twist, and Halo will pull behind Matti again and show who really runs this town.

The outcome: Too early to tell, but contrary to the rest of the country, the voters on Miami Beach aren't stupid. It seemed as if I had 300 emails this morning declaring the fight is on and I thank every, single friend who listened to Matti and voted. Money can't win every race. I think the most intelligent email I got was the one that said, "Perhaps you would wear sensible shoes for the next two weeks."

And we all thought it was time to rest...

Tomorrow marks the end of one season--that of elections and Halloween--and the start of a new one--that of superb weather and lots of visitors. We've all worked hard to elect Matti Bower mayor; I'm proud of the support the gay community showed her and she deserved it. A true sign of desperation from her opponent popped up this weekend with a number of dirty ads unleashed; I doubt people actually pay attention to that nonsense here, but it does show how worried the other side is. My prediction: Matti wins in an upset by a few hundred votes.

We are all tired and I fall back on my honey, Leopoldo, for comfort. He informed me this weekend of his decision to move in with me on January 1; I would move to the end of the earth for that man, but that's not necessary now. The word "forever" has been spoken frequently this past week.

As if this town needed it, tonight is Sleepless Night in Miami. First hosted by Paris as "Nuit Blanche" and then taken up by Rome, Madrid, Brussels, and Toronto, a night with no end is unleashed for the first time in the United States here, tonight in Miami Beach.

From 6 PM to 6 AM, non-stop concerts, ballets, exhibits, art shows, and general mayhem will be encouraged by a city long known for its fear of such things. Who would have guessed? All I know is that Leopoldo and I will be dancing on Lincoln Road at our favorite restaurant, da Leo, to the entertainment of Geraldine and Juicy Pussy at midnight. One party on the beach across from The Palace lasts with silent movies until 5 AM; the city then announces a "sleep in" and serves breakfast at dawn.

Ask me why I live here, again.