This year's Costume Institute Gala, known to you and me informally as the Met Ball - or Met Gala, was the highlight of what had to be an incredible day for Vogue editor-in-chief, Anna Wintour. Having chaired the gala since 1995, Wintour could be forgiven if she was on "auto-pilot" for the annual fundraiser (which last year raised over $9 million dollars for the Costume Institute, with a ticket price of $15,000 per person.)
However, she was definitely NOT calling this one in. This year held the promise of something different, something exclusive. . .something special. An honour was to be bestowed upon the fashion maven this year: the opening of the $40 million Anna Wintour Costume Center (the new name for the Costume Institute). First Lady Michelle Obama spoke at the ribbon cutting ceremony held earlier on the day of the ball.
For 2014, a theme was chosen (Charles James: Beyond Fashion), a guest list was prepared, and ticket prices were set- at $25,000
There was speculation as to why Wintour increased the ticket price by $10,000 per ticket. Was it because Gwyneth Paltrow complained about crowds and heat at the 2013 event? Was Wintour tired of the attitude today's celebrities have about exclusive events - having once banned Kim Kardashian from the gala? Was the Vogue editor's generation gap showing?
It's hard to believe that I will meet the blog count of 2011 so early in 2012. It's a giddy feeling - or it could be the Dr Pepper Ten (for men only, my a$$) I've consumed all day. Are you ready for the dregs of the day in Blog Numero Dos? Let's see.
Confession: I absolutely love singing while I drive. Granted, as a wife, I also control the radio when my husband drives. He lost the right to the radio when he admitted he would listen to a) talk radio or b) Tejano music on his 75-mile commute to work because that allowed him "to think." Puh-lease. That would only provoke me to either think hateful thoughts about her:
or him:
and friends and fellow Facebookers know how much I want to support blonde women and William Shatner - especially his musical career. It all makes perfect sense - at least to me - so I choose the music (and I have no control issues at all.) ;)
As a teen in the 80s, I'd put on the gorgeous vinyl and plastic AM/FM radio headphones that resembled techno earmuffs before firing up the riding lawnmower to landscape the back 9. It looked something like this:
(Okay. I was actually in high school and had ear sweat pouring down my red face as I basted myself for skin cancer.)
Anyway, my parents (who never sang anywhere - EVER) were the first to recognize how much I loved to sing along with Duran Duran, Pat Benatar, Cyndi Lauper, Queen, Madonna. Nothing touches a Dad more than the sound of mower blades chucking limestone and branches across the yard (before the blades bent) while his only daughter belts out "Like a virgin. . .touched for the VERY FIRST TIME!" as he sits in the den trying to read the paper. Mindful of your self-esteem issues (not everyone can wear stirrup pants, shoulder pads and jelly shoes and look adorable), those kind, loving parents mention it at dinner and you realize you won't be appearing on MTV anytime soon. Thankfully, you escape to your room, tune them out and pray for the day you get your own car.
Why? In your car, you took center stage. Whether it was the vintage muscle car, grandpa's old pickup or a baby blue Ford Pinto (yes, I was that cool), your solo career dreams could flourish. Your commanding presence and vocal stylings would bring an audience to tears (unlike Dad's watery eyes as he took the blades off the Craftsman. Again). Were we supposed to outgrow that? If so. . .OOPS.
Granted, as a mature, responsible adult behind the wheel, you know proper driving procedure. All bets are off, though, when you name that tune in 3 notes or less. Then, as the vocal Olympics begin, you notice the guy in the car next to you. You know. That guy. For him, the driver of the Audi next to your moderately priced late model used car at the stop light, you are the reason to change lanes as quickly as possible. We won't go into great detail about what your children think when you belt out Steve Perry, Freddie Mercury or Katy Perry as you drive them to school. Add some dance moves and watch them visibly shrink. It's a beautiful thing.
If it's been awhile since you serenaded the general public from the comfort of your coupe, sedan or SUV, I encourage you in the spirit of the new year to give it a try. Channel your inner Reba, Adele, Bruno Mars or Cee Lo (as long as you don't rewrite John Lennon lyrics). Granted, it's a bit more risky with the windows rolled down, but life is too short NOT to do something that makes you feel better - either through music that gets you out of a bad mood, or songs that suit the darkness in your soul (at least for the next 3.5 minutes.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to run a quick errand. . .with Steve.
I thought I'd be so productive today. Blogging for the first time on a new site, having written a grand total of TWO posts on Wordpress in 2011. Last year was a mixed and damn heavy bag of crap, stress, exhaustion, loss and a year-end surprise of hospitalization. Did I write about it, journal, vlog or Tweet? Nope. That would have been therapeutic, helpful, healthy. Please. Sure, I'd post on Facebook, but that was limited to tidbits of snark and glimmers of acid-tongued rants, along with links to whatever entertained, distracted or inspired me to not get in my car and run over small creatures or the people who had pissed me off.
So I started this morning on blogger.com (the practical choice, since I'm a burgeoning Google-phile). I began by being snarky regarding a society (ours, that is) that will keep Kim Kardashian in Spandex well into her 80s, with her parental unit/pimp Kris Kardashian pushing, plotting and padding the financial portfolios for years to come. I was feeling almost pleased with my work. . .and then POOF! The post disappeared. Did I highlight the entire text and delete? No. Did I hit the back arrow by mistake. Nope. Did I remember to save the post as I was typing. Well, of course not. Am I capable of accidental self-sabotage on a regular basis? No comment. I decided God must like some big butts better than others, because a Kardashian kiester was not to be roasted this morning. Let go and let God, right? I do wonder how Kris will get 10% from that personal appearance (wherever Kim ends up).
After cursing - hence the title of this post - I regrouped and thought I might as well post something that will help Kendall understand how her mother's mind works (because her father is clueless about such things) - and when karma knocks me down a flight of stairs and I have amnesia, I can come here to rebuild the inner me via this bionic blog.
That being said, here's a list of some of the sites I visit for inspiration, distraction, delusion and to bring about a feeling of faux emotional stability. My justification? No matter how much crap was delivered to my door (on a fairly consistent basis, might I add), I feel better knowing I'm NOT these people. You seek your psychological well-being where you can, right?
1) Source of all Kraptastic Kardashian: People Magazine. The latest Kim Klaptrap? To bang or not to bang.
2) Looking to malign Miley Cyrus? Look no further than The Superficial. (Just try being a mom of a 9 year old and NOT develop an intense aversion to filling the Cyrus coffers.)
3) Fun, fabulosity and my favorite: Les News. I like Trent's posts as author of Pink Is The New Blog. Much better than Perez - with a lot less pandering.
4) Reading this reminds of Big Bang Theory - without having to Google words you don't know: i09.
5) Quenching the thirst for knowledge (so you can understand WTH people under the age of 25 are posting, texting and Tweeting): Urban Dictionary
6) Having a bad face day? Not any more, you're not: Stars' Plastic Surgery
Now, you've had a peek inside the online mood medicine cabinet I keep fully stocked at all times. I may post music from YouTube, too. (That's the advisory portion of this post. You're welcome.)
*Tim Minchin is NOT Jesus. Thankfully, Woody Allen isn't, either.
Now it's time for me to stalk people on Facebook. I highly recommend it. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, so get all the good stuff while they try to figure out the privacy settings.
