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On the presidential menu
Magnificent Mar-a-Lago is larger than most countries. More security than Putin’s family. Visitors arrive via a one-lane roadway. Two ladies check you in, which begets a chauffeured car, which leads to a trolley, which ends at your accommodation.
I overnighted there. My Australian friend Anthony Pratt threw a small party in the ballroom. Nothing elaborate. Just 600 of his clients and customers. Australian biggie Pratt Industries, the USA’s largest paper box manufacturer, has 70 factories in our country. A tossed Cracker Jack box goes to one of his mills — which costs $250 million to open — then turns into a paper box. So hug your U-Haul or Coca-Cola or Omaha container when your order arrives.
His holiday parties are legendary. Last year’s entertainer was Chris Rock. This year my table — with our friends Francine LeFrak and Rick Friedberg — I sat alongside Pratt. The star entertainer — Keith Urban. Everyone excited. Me, not. I needed some sleep. My energy level had bottomed out. Departure that morning for Anthony’s plane — 7:30 a.m. To pack and do whatever I’d gotten to sleep at maybe 3. Wake-up time, 5:30. I was not what you’d call rested.
Then unpacking. Then dressing up. Then big cocktail party beforehand. Then great steak dinner. Then speeches, videos, photos, ads, charming chitchat. Next up: Keith Urban. My lids were shutting tighter than a redone Hollywood face. Not feeling A-1 to begin with, I needed bedtime. So, escorted back to my Mar-a-Lago apartment and in the middle of all the excitement, I went quickly fast asleep.
Just to tell you what a great keen reporter I am: The most important face on the planet then entered the ballroom, came directly to our table and asked “Cindy . . . where’s Cindy? . . . I’m looking for her.” Pratt next told the sitting president of the United States of America, leader of the free world, Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces, etc., etc.: “She went to sleep.”
So, looks to me like it’s possible I may have blown my future job as Secretary of State.
‘Barred’ politician
Jerry Nadler at the East Wing sports bar on 76th Street. High-top table. Surrounded by chicken wings. Whispering loudly how he’ll personally pick his replacement (after first picking his teeth). May the feathers not catch in his throat . . . Not that anyone asked, but those damn Dems proved successful Election Day. One exception. Nassau County.
Tick tock artist
Piaget trying to get away with charging $78,000 for a Warhol tribute watch called “Collage.” Measures when your 15 minutes are up. Limited 50 pieces. 18-carat yellow gold with “rare gem marquetry dial” whateverthehell that is but it mirrors Warhol’s 1986 “Self-Portrait Collage.” On back is his engraved outline of the original artwork and signature. Soup can not included.
Foresee & sayeth
And from the late Gore Vidal, who was “related” to Al Gore: “Blood cousin. Gore is another word for blood. I don’t see any progressive movement coming from anywhere in the US. The country is locked up by corporate wealth. It’s a totally militarized society. No chance without the backing of corporate America. Whether a politician comes from money, insurance companies, pharmaceuticals, the AMA . . . The future is a question that has never been answered.”
Forget New York City’s miseries. The United States of America’s Congress has proven so unpredictable. In today’s world you can never know what urgent tough crippling problem they are absolutely not going to do anything about. Meanwhile, I wait for my future Croix de Grrrr to be presented by President Donald, which would be only in Washington, DC, kids, only in Washington, DC.