Can I get a witness that Sweet Sixteen on MTV is the most fascinating and horrible television event in at least a year or two? Watching these small vessels of lard, ironed hair, and accesories from Claire's sort of makes one wish for a drastic end to civilization, for all the oil on the planet to suddenly dry up, or for a large dinosaur to suddenly emerge from Yellowstone National Park and culminate his national rampage of carnage in a suburb in Palm Beach, his mouth full of party planners, can-can dancers and the new audi homegirl gets for her birthday. Television is so good sometimes.

I went to a party last night that felt very Miami, in a mansion on Hibiscus Island, and a yacht. They had two roast suckling pigs and girls carrying around trays of cigarettes. Not in packages or anything, just piles of cigarettes, on silver platters. It was pretty, with the lights and the palm trees and the views of South Beach, and a little rain that would fall for a minute and then stop.