After a Fashion
Stephen wears what he eats
Well, everyone seems to be wearing their snow-bunny outfits as we slalom through the Social Olympics in the Swish Alps. It's been a ridiculously busy week. The Equality Texas Silver Box benefit last Thursday at the Monarch epitomized, in the nicest way, how a crowded cocktail party can be fun. One of my favorite categories in the Social Olympics is the Cocktail Rescue. I saw many excellent examples of how to gracefully and discreetly hold the cocktail off to the side to keep some overheated cretin from spilling martinis. Frankly, martini glasses at a crowded cocktail party are just plain stupid. Yes, they look stylish, but by the end of the evening, everyone is wearing their cocktails down the front of their evening clothes. My suggestion? Sippy cups for the party revelers. No mess, no fuss. At the Equality Texas benefit, amid all the heavenly food (from 16 fabulous restaurants), I was struck again by the restaurant Taste, and I can tell you that Taste is absolutely divine. Among the delicacies it served was a little turnover affair stuffed with rabbit. Okay, I'd never eaten rabbit before, nor squirrel nor opossum. Now, as much as I adore Taste, I have to say that the idea of eating a rabbit turnover when indeed I was wearing a full-length rabbit coat was a bit unsettling (not that it wasn't delicious), and it did upset my coat. I call her Phoebe. And why not? It was sort of a mother-and-child reunion. The Monarch was decked to death with glorious decorations, fab food, cocktails, and gaggles of handsome men and women. Who could ask for more? But as the dedicated cigarette-smoker that I am, I found myself banished to an area with an ashtray that was not under the terrace covering but placed so that we dedicated smokers have to brave the wind, rain, and elements just because we choose to ruin our own health. But let me tell you, boys and girls, after shivering out in the cold, despite Phoebe's best efforts, I looked longingly at all the cocktail tables with warm candles and glittering Christmas decorations that were under the patio cover, and I thought to myself: "No, ma'am. I am not going to ride at the back of the bus." So like the Rosa Parks of the Equality Texas benefit, I defiantly sat myself at the well-covered and decorated cocktail table in the center of the forbidden zone, saying: "No. I will not sit at the back of the bus. I will not stand in the wind and rain just because I'm a smoker." It was a small gesture, but I felt empowered and wanted to go out and protest something. Anything. There was a handsome guy wearing a full kilt ensemble at the party; he was pretty damn cute, but when he walked up to me in my requisite fur and jewels, he said, "Well, it's nice to meet the second best-dressed person here." "I agree," I said. "I, too, considered wearing a blouse and skirt but didn't feel it was dressy enough." So goes life in the fishbowl.
TA Living with my nephew Tyler, I have become aware of a tragic malady striking our children and young adults: text messaging. First off, why would anyone want to spend hours typing with their thumbs, saying things that could have been handled in a two-minute telephone call? Second of all, I've glanced at my nephew's phone and seen the critically important text messages he sends: "Hey." "What's up?" "Nothing, just chillin. You?" "Just chilling too. What are you doing later?" "Chilling." A profound conversation, yes? But it's out of control. I haven't been able to make eye contact with Tyler for two weeks. Whenever I want to speak to him, I have to threaten to throw his cell phone in the lake to get his attention. That's why I've made my mission in life to help those who are powerless over texting. Texters Anonymous. First you have to admit that texting has made your life