Nosey Parker goes to San Miguel

This hard-boiled DF muckraker was maliciously gleeful on the way to San Miguel de Allende, determined to blow the lid off "Plaza Peytón" and expose its pristine poshiendas and Palm Springs gentility, its swinging spouses, liquid lunches and savage tans, brassy turquoise-encrusted Texans, and of course, the servants, alternately suffering and snickering at gringo folly. San Miguel denizen and traitress to her kind Patrice Wynne volunteered to play Virgil to my Dante and we hit Harry's Bar forthwith, immediately eyeballing Loi Geddes of Laguna Beach and German sister Marita Furman, two soignée blondes delicately pulling on tequila shots. Lamentably, their smarts about why we expats love Mexico interfered with my hatchet-job angle, and my search for additional provincial dilettantes was newly foiled by edgy, sexy mama Betty Lewis (with cutie-pie primogenitor Michael Turk visiting from San Fran), and Canadian-born bohemian Marcia Dworkin (hastily disavowing any relation to anti-porn party-pooper Andrea). Of course, there was palpable buzz when local celebrity hairdresser André Pascal came in for his Thursday aperitif-his costly coifs are considered a need rather than a luxury (and you can't argue the point looking at Loi and Marita)-but equally well-turned-out Diane Shields bragged her 'do costs a mere $25 pesos! Just before dinner, silver fox Michael Sudheer received me grandly (along with pooch Chula) in his spread, whose oriental exuberance rivals Barbara Hutton's Nipponese pile in Cuernavaca. Then it was on to a cocktail at Patrice's blindingly-hued, more-is-definitely-more casita overlooking downtown. Since guests assembled forwent the wonted chardonnays due to the unannounced arrival of a bottle of gin, I was sure I'd soon be shovelling copious party poop... But, no, the migueleños outflanked me yet again, with smart talk and worldly charm on the part of Kathleen Cummings, Silver Mangini, Suzanne Ludekens, Martin Darling, Maggie Sperling, and offshore secret bank accountholder Lois Dixon. San Miguel über-doyenne Barbara Porter held court on three party levels, and there was some grumbling about how Tony Cohan's On Mexican Time had expanded gringofication recently. But Cohan ex and world-renowned Mexican textile expert Masako Takahashi is clearly on the side of good and delightful to talk to as well. Other surprises? Well, talk of Anado McLauchlin and Richard Schultz's upcoming same-sex Wiccan nuptials in California was the last thing I expected to hear. And local wags can't stop talking about a well-known community fixture's falling out with the garden club à propos some marijuana brownies she served at a recent "native herbs" discussion. Some claim she was expelled; others say she quit. Though hand-wringing friends begged me to ignore the item-there's a reconciliation in the works-I say the San Miguel gardening public has a right to know!

Professional, Ahem, Hostess Exposed

Book parties are rarely as lively as the recent launch of Patricia Monge's new novel, Educán urbana (Ediciones Habitación 69), at Gandhi in Coyoacán the other night. But since the reading was from an entirely unexpurgated, latter-day Fanny Hill picaresque inspired by the author's own experience as an edecán-one of those knockout, glamazon hostesses-for-hire you ogle at Mexican corporate events...well, it brought a lot of issues to the fore. Among the throng were fellow edecán Claudia Ojeda, her cute boyfriend Édgar Morales, and Argentine artiste Carlos Angrigiani. Plus apparently, blue is now fun for the whole family: Patricia's dad didn't even blush, and Alexa Carughi got her seven-year-old daughter an autographed copy. If you read Spanish, it may be too hot to handle. If you don't, what better way to learn how to talk dirty?

Crêpe Suzette IED Defused at US Embassy

In these parlous times, rest assured the security crew at the US Embassy is leaving nothing to chance when it comes to legation safety. Vendors at an embassy craft fair, in line for their own exhaustive security shake-downs, were recently bumped from line by an incoming, code-orange-marmalade crêpe-making machine. Starting at approximately 8:40 am, the suspicious device, compatible with both sweet and savoury materiel, was dismantled and reassembled, poked, prodded, and otherwise warily eyed by a uniformed anti-terrorism detail. While officials concluded the weapon of mass confection harboured no al-Qaeda operatives, it was still blocking the checkpoint at 11.

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