[1904 - 1905] but mostly he preferred playing billiards to attending classes. 



In response to the sheer volume of email queries and because of the necessity of updates, a second post today seemed in order.  First, no, the staircase of the Grand Palais has nothing to do with 1904 and Picasso or Duchamp per se (the structure was erected in 1900), but first of all, BD took the photograph on our trip to Paris in December, and yes, it was a half-hearted nod to Duchamp's work, Nu descendant un escalier 2, which he completed in 1912, and okay, it was a stretch I was going to make later, vis a vis the business about ups and downs, but never mind.

Further, to Didier: no, my decision has nothing to do with George Clooney ruining Lake Como.  Which, first of all, was something Justin said, and I certainly don't hold it against your friends for having a home there as well as Paris, and yes, I think a hotel particulier on the Isle St. Louis sounds very nice indeed; but I just can't right now, seriously, let's not argue about it any more.

Next -- and this was after I foolishly went to Larchmont to pick up bagels, and walked into Sam's not realizing that besides the Farmer's Market, this was Family Day at Sam's -- at least a dozen infants with parents, au pairs, nannies and an obstacle course of strollers.  I will say, however, that I love the way men hold babies -- they know they're not basketballs they can balance on their hips, but they don't seem to want to use both hands because it'll look too protective or something, so they hold them like sacks of flour, or as if they've forgotten their gym bags and have just rolled up their sweaty work-out clothes in a wet towel shoved under one arm.

Then I get to brunch to find out I'm under a cloud for passing bad information.  Only one suicide was by gun, the other by rope.  Accusations flew that I'd mislead everyone, so I quickly blamed L. for getting it wrong.  P. knew more and was able, mercifully, to set the record, as it were, straight.

Meanwhile BD called from Berlin to say all the hot spots were walking distance of his hotel on the "Fuggenstrasse" and he could not quite get over the name.  I tried to tell him the news here, but he cut me off, pointing out that it was he who'd called me and therefore to keep the focus on him, at which moment someone on the Fuggenstrasse started checking him out, and the call precipitously ended.

I forgot to mention that K, looking at the screen saver snap of Tammy Faye and not up on her current events, announced to the table last night that she thought it perfectly ridiculous how older women insisted on dieting.  "She has CANCER," J. leaned over and shrieked with genuine horror.  Obstinately, today when D. told K. that Tammy Faye had passed, K sniffed and asked, "Of Anorexia?"

Also, it seems M is unhappy because her new neighbors are the Beckham's, one street over, and she's fearful of all the traffic the paparazzis will cause, (not to mention the helicopters) but it was observed that Posh is hardly the same as Paris or Lindsay and perhaps she's simply jumping the gun, no pun intended.

Then the news that Lord Jauncey of Tullichettle died [see his obit in the http://www.Telegraph.co.uk ] and as J. says, one never tires of an opportunity to revisit the divorce of the 11th Duke of Argyll, which case involved photographs of the Duchess, naked save for three strings of pearls, engaged in a sexual act with an unidentified figure who passed into folklore as "the Headless Man."  Fantastic.

So you can easily understand, with all that, and two pool parties in the Valley on top of it, an additional posting today was deemed advisable.  Plus, I'm taking Mondays off.  Wish you were here.