All is vanities Nothing is fair

Vanities

Astrologically speaking: Ronald Reagan's Aquarian sun will progress to his natal Saturn this spring—a planetary conjunction that results sometimes in hardening of the arteries, sometimes in second childhood. Security will be more expensive than he bargained for. He'll have to revise his economic homework.

Back to nursery food: Americans call it pig in a blanket, the Brits call it toad in the hole, the Frogs call it degoutant.

Back to the shtetl: Thoroughly assimilated Jewish parents—people with names like Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice—are calling their kids Max and Sophie and Jake and Rachel. We can't all be born Yentlmen.

"With Deepest Sympathy on Your Haircut—Comforting Wishes in Your Time of Humiliation'': one of the dip-and-mail greeting cards in Special Moments (Ballantine, $5.95).

Overheard at Diane Von Furstenberg's dinner for Barry Diller. Jonathan Lieberson: "Are there really MiGs in Nicaragua?'' Bianca Jagger: "Mick? He's in the other room with Jerry.'' Jonathan Lieberson: "MiGs! MiGs!'' Jerry Zipkin: "Minks? Didn't two thousand minks escape from somewhere recently?"

The surgical procedure for the woman who's had everything: permanent eyeliner—pigment implanted tattoo-style by your plastic surgeon, around $1,000.

His father launched Penthouse and boffed Playboy. Now Bob Guccione, Jr., is launching Spin to blast Rolling Stone. "We'll be about 18,000 times more interesting than they are," he brags. Let's hope that doesn't include Laurie Anderson posing a la Vanessa Williams.

Think chintz. Ralph Lauren and Geoffrey Beene both have spring lines of clothes made from overblown floral chintz, which should blend in nicely with the furniture.

Flora fawner II: It's also time to reconsider the herbaceous charms of the corsage. Restaurateuse Tina Chow wears one made from Brobdingnagian silk lilies embellished with large faux jewels. The effect: Irving Penn still life.

Baldies can be pretty, too. Photographer Bruce Weber covers his shiny pate with knotted floral kerchiefs. Not to be sneezed at.

"They're so humpy," moaned one Manhattan schoolgirl to another about the stars of NBC's Miami Vice, Don Johnson and Philip Michael Thomas. (Johnson has the nicotine rasp, Thomas the burnished cheekbones.) Along with to-die-for humpiness, Miami Vice is educational—a recognized vocabulary builder. "You can't put me in the same cell with that three-hundred-pound freakazoid!"

The newest executive game is telephone tag: returning people's calls at 1:15, when you know they'll have a forkful of fiddlehead ferns at the Four Seasons.

You think Hollywood has problems? The Egyptian film industry has been making: Good and Evil, I Killed the Snake, I Forgot I Was a Woman, Madness, The Mad Woman, and Royal Jelly. It must be murder on the Nile.

Along with the usual spring-loaded umbrellas, polyester scarves, and Duracell packs, Madison Avenue vendors are now hawking S-and-M accoutrements. "Get your red-hot whips here" is the cry at Madison and Fifty-seventh.