On the presidential menu

Mar-a-Lago, a sprawling estate that rivals the size and security of some countries, welcomes its visitors through a unique journey. Guests are first greeted by two attendants who check them in, followed by a chauffeured car ride that leads to a trolley, ultimately arriving at their luxurious accommodations.

I recently spent the night there, courtesy of my Australian friend Anthony Pratt, who hosted an intimate gathering in the grand ballroom. The event was far from modest, with 600 of his clients and customers in attendance. Pratt Industries, the largest paper box manufacturer in the United States, boasts 70 factories nationwide. A simple Cracker Jack box, for instance, might end up in one of his mills, where a new plant costs $250 million to establish, before it transforms into another paper box. So, next time you receive a U-Haul, Coca-Cola, or Omaha container, remember the journey it took.

Pratt’s holiday parties are the stuff of legend. Last year, comedian Chris Rock entertained the guests. This year, I found myself seated at a table with friends Francine LeFrak and Rick Friedberg, right next to Pratt. The much-anticipated performer of the evening was Keith Urban, which thrilled everyone around me. However, my enthusiasm waned as exhaustion set in. With an early 7:30 a.m. departure on Anthony’s plane looming, I had only managed a couple of hours of sleep, falling into bed around 3 a.m. and waking at 5:30 a.m.

After hurriedly unpacking and dressing for the occasion, I attended the pre-party cocktail gathering, followed by a sumptuous steak dinner. The night unfolded with speeches, videos, and photo sessions, but my energy was rapidly depleting. As Keith Urban was preparing to take the stage, my eyelids felt heavier than a Hollywood facelift. Recognizing my need for rest, I retreated to my Mar-a-Lago suite, surrendering to sleep amid the festivities.

In a twist of irony, just as I found solace in slumber, an unexpected visitor made his entrance. The President of the United States himself graced the ballroom, seeking me out at our table. “Cindy… where’s Cindy?” he inquired. Anthony Pratt, with a hint of amusement, informed the leader of the free world, “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.