…so this fashion show deal featured an Indian designer whose name sounds like Kahil Gabran, except that I’ve actually read The Prophet, and this ain’t him. If Patty ever paraded around in these things, I’d take out the Taj myself. I am sure they are very lovely. To someone.

I am solo (avec parents) as Patty obviously prefers the Boston heat wave, and is tending the home fires. The event was to benefit hospice in Florida, and many of the guests looked like they had already either graduated from (or flunked out of) hospice care.

My step mom was the evening’s co-chair, continuing a Ribakoff tradition of women and big (charity) balls.

I am in Florida as it is clearly on a straight line, more or less, (to the extent you consider an EKG to be a straight line) with Israel, where I fly tonight.

More about that later.
C.