After two weeks of self-imposed magazine/pop culture exile, I just glutted myself on Vanity Fair and W magazine. A few thoughts:
1) Why does Sofia Coppola have her own wine spritzer/champagne/drink that looks like a perfume bottle? And why is she wearing pajamas in the ad and standing in some hallway right out of "Gosford Park?"Argh.
2) Can Marc Jacobs please stop with this Charlotte Rampling obsession/muse business—the ads with him rolling around in bed with her. I understand the whole coolness of reading about her in Vogue when you were 12, and now “Oh Wow! I’m in Vogue too, so why not meld the two worlds?” Youngish man in bed with older woman =waaaay too Mrs. Robinson for my taste.
3) Ads with women stepping on men. Done. Over. Hello, Gucci 1999.
4) Can someone please let Aerin Lauder know that she runs Estee Lauder and gets the cosmetics for free? And, ahem, maybe she should use some of the products? Every time I see her, she looks like she just woke up.
Oh, yes, and one thought on Ronald Reagan—but not after pondering how my cousin (who is gay) had to re-arrange his day of shopping around avoiding (and driving around) DC because of “the Reagan fiasco.” I have no interest in discussing the politics of the man,and, in typical self-centered "How Does the World and Its Events Revolve Around Me?" fashion I would just like it noted that I recently had to appease an annoying acquaintance of a fantastic friend while we were in San Francisco by taking his gift to me of a Ronald Reagan calendar, because I inadverdently mentioned my irrational soft-spot for him because he looks like my grandfather. And, when I was five, my family was visiting a friend in DC and we were watching “Rocky” and when we turned it off we found out R.R. had been shot. The correlation?
1975: SFO is born into a family with a patriarch with a shocking resemblance to R.R.
1980: SFO visits DC as a young child, and within a days time the President is shot.
2004: SFO officially moves to Virginia, and a week later, Reagan dies.
I have no idea if any of it means anything (most likely not), but after all of the hullabaloo, I thought I would add something to the mix.
SO, I just got back from Richmond, VA (my new home!) a couple of hours ago, and the flight was too long and I over-dosed on Vanity Fair, and now I feel totally overly saturated with celebrity/society nonsense.
A few things I have learned about the South:
1) Everyone introduces themselves with their middle name. Example: “Hello, I’m Tom Connor Quinn and this is my girlfriend Ann Taylor Murphy.” I do not joke.
2) Most everyone has a beautiful garden. And, sometimes a carriage house—with their apartments.
3) Ham Biscuits are served at every party, unless it occurs after 9pm, or there are other sandwich options (such as bbq) available. A party without Ham Biscuits, is, well, let’s just not go there.
4) You can smoke wherever you want, and whenever you want. And, cigarettes are cheap, cheap, cheap. Yes, I realize Phillip-Morris is based in Richmond, but it’s an added bonus.
5) Mansions in The South do not mess around. We are talking Mansions. Stone, with guest houses. Imagine a library and then take out all of the books, add furniture and people and put an number on the door. Mansions.
6) Girls between the ages of 20-25 are fairly obsessed with marriage. After attending a garden party 80’s Prom Night event, I watched as a triple-named skinny young thing chased her boyfriend around, planned how many people would be standing up in their wedding, and gushed about how much she loved him whilst he stood by staring blankly into the garden.
7) Coleslaw is in great abundance.
8) Time and people move much slower.
9) People like to talk. Which is good, because so do I.
10) You can take a rickshaw home from the party.
11) I live in an area with plenty of monuments to the confederacy.
12) Bartenders are friendly and comp you on drinks after only one visit to the bar.
13) It is H-O-T hot in the summertime. HOT!
I’m too tired for any other insights, but oh, they will come. Like bees to honey, like soldier home from war, like a thirsty man to a pitcher of iced tea, like a porch swing to a veranda, and . . . .well, you get the idea.
I want my gossip! - 2005-08-17
Goodbye, BGT! - 2005-08-08
hell hath no fury like a awriting workshop - 2005-08-01
My Love Don't Cost a Thing - 2005-07-14
Kiss My Grits! - 2005-07-06
