After a Fashion

MY BOLOGNA HAS A FIRST NAME I hate Oscar parties. Always have. To me, the Oscars are sacred moments shared between me and the television. We commune together and become one, getting lost in the glamour and fantasy of the movies. The last Oscar party I went to, was, well, the last Oscar party I ever wanted to go to. It was a thousand years ago, it seems, though probably only eight or nine years. It was the Austin Gay and Lesbian International Film Festival's Oscar Party that took place in the cafetorium of the Dell Jewish Community Center and, well, without dredging up the past, we'll simply say it was everything you'd expect out of an Oscar party in a cafetorium – a poorly managed event that completely bungled the notion of public relations. Though I held no ill will toward aGLIFF (a respectable, worthy nonprofit), I wasn't really interested in attending and covering its events. But leadership changes, and so it has at aGLIFF. Sometime last year, I met Skot Tulk, the then-interim executive director of aGLIFF. Skot made a point of keeping me abreast of aGLIFF events ... and then he invited me to the aGLIFF Oscar party. Omigod, I thought to myself, I'd rather chew broken glass. But the charming and persuasive Mr. Tulk wouldn't let me off the hook, and kept reminding me that the party was coming up soon. I wasn't even gracious enough to RSVP, since I kept thinking, "I'm going to worm my way out of this somehow." It did sound like fun – Rebecca Havemeyer would be up to her old tricks on the runway, and it was a chance to dress up and catch up with old friends. Dealing with perpetual fatigue, I honestly dreaded going out, but at the last minute, I said, "Dammit, I can too do this party." I rummaged through my closet, trying to assemble a new outfit from old parts. I decided upon an 18th century-inspired frock coat in black and brown brocade with velvet trim and wore black velvet underneath. Dressed to kill and accessorized to within an inch of my life, I cut a very Karl Lagerfeld-ish figure. I arrived at the Driskill with Stephen Rice and Mark Erwin and made a lovely entrance, feeling confident and glamorous ... until I got to the registration table and found that my name was not on any list. Why? Because I screwed around so much and never RSVP'd. But the aforementioned Mr. Tulk swept in like a knight in shining armor and fixed everything, treating me like a guest of honor and ushering me to a prime seat at a high-profile table. The real guest of honor was not me, however – it was my vivacious and adorable editor Kate Messer, aglow in bling borrowed for the evening from local designer Gretchen von Eberstein. ("Yessss," I told Kate the day before. "I will come see you be honored if I have to." "Listen, you," she erupted, "you get honored and fêted all the time, missy, so don't give me that 'if I have to' business." I'd been properly chastised.) Rebecca Havemeyer did indeed cause scandal on the red carpet, and even though we've been friendly for some time, I hadn't really spent much time with this paragon of loveliness until then. Rebecca, co-host Mocha Jean Herrup, and Kate kept the patter going during the lengthy breaks in the Oscar presentation, and as we neared the major awards at the end, Rebecca leaned over to me and said, "If Sandra Bullock wins, we have a Sandra Bullock piñata full of condoms that we're going to beat to death on stage." And indeed, as Sandra's name was announced for Best Actress, Rebecca whipped out the piñata and baseball bats and went to town on the effigy. It was a high-powered, high-glam event with just enough fun and humor to make it one of the coolest, most attractive tickets on the social calendar. AGLIFF did everything right, and Skot Tulk and the entire aGLIFF staff and supporters are to be congratulated for making it a night to remember.