Thoughtful Thursday

Every once in a while, it dawns on me that part of the aggravation of trying to find personal calm within the realm of the real world is due to the fact that everything is always, always, always so damned complicated.

Yet to begin, once again, to be able to get down to the bare-bones organic-ness is to once again find overwhelming beauty in the utmost simplicity.

This week, I've started looking around for materials to use for our Passover meal.

It's an evening of readings and stories, and every year I try to find pieces that are uncomplicated yet resonant with our gathering: the usual adults, and an ever-evolving group of teenagers.

To keep the fine balance between tradition and modernity is a daunting task. But completely necessary - who among us ever wants to sit and be talked at all evening? This should be a time of honor, of education, and of inspiration, presented in a way as palatable as the feast served afterwards.

Through the sifting, I found this poem - on the surface beautifully simple, easily understood , yet with deep and significant implications - how many of us take all of these things for granted? How many of us ever bother to distill the gentle magnificence of those things which sustain us?

Blessing of the Stew Pot
Blessed be the Creator
and all creative hands
which plant and harvest
pack and haul and hand
over sustenance -
Blessed be the carrot and cow,
potato and mushroom,
tomato and bean,
parsley and peas,
onion and thyme,
garlic and bay leaf,
pepper and water,
marjoram and oil,
and blessed be fire -
and blessed be the enjoyment
of nose and eye,
and blessed be color -
and blessed be the Creator
for the miracle of the red potato,
for the miracle of green bean,
for the miracle of fawn mushrooms
and blessed be God
for the miracle of earth:
ancestors, grass, bird,
deer and all gone,
wild creatures
whose bodies became,
carrots, peas and wild
flowers, who
give sustenance
to human hands, whose
agile dance of music
nourishes the ear
and soul of the dog
resting under the stove
and the woman working over
the stove and the geese
out the open window
strolling in the backyard.
And blessed be God
for all, all, all.

Alla Renee Bozarth

Conversations in the Cab

It would seem that, sometimes, there is a distinct gap between the best intentions and reality.

Because when I was doing my pre-trip planning, all of the kitsch-o-rama I wanted to investigate seemed relatively close to our hotel.

At least it looked that way on Google Maps.

But in a real-life illustration of the word "mirage", it appears (or doesn't appear) that although something looks close enough to reach out and touch - in Las Vegas, it takes approximately 14 hours to walk there. Huh.

As a result, the Baron and I spent a little bit of time in taxis.

Never one to waste time just gawking, we always choose to gawk and sass at the same time.

One of our topics of interest were the billboards all over the damn place for some magician that neither of us had either heard of. Keep in mind, The Baron and I are pretty pop-culture savvy - we are even irksomely aware of those who lurk around the sketchy boundaries of the D-List.

So imagine our amusement when someone completely unheard of promotes himself as "Amazing".

Baron: There’s another billboard for The Amazing Jonathan – you should blog about him.

I hear he’s pretty amazing.

Baroness: That’s funny, because I’ve heard he’s not. He is - in fact- The So-So Jonathan.

Baron: Yet I hear he’s Amazing.

Baroness: Amazing? Hunh.

Baron: Yup. That's what his mother said when I was talking to her.

Baroness: And when I was talking to her, she also said he only got a "C" in math.

Not so amazing.

Great at magic, can't balance a chequebook.

Baron: Really? Only a "C"?

Baroness: Right. "The So-So Jonathan".

Baron: I'll alert the media.

****************
Another conversation was initiated when we rode down a couple of the less-savoury side streets, and actually saw, um, working girls working their, um, girls.

Baroness: That reminds me - did you see all those meeting displays in our hotel’s ballrooms for the "American Association of Orthopedic Surgeons"? I’ll tell ya, if I was a gold digger, I would be over there like a bullet. Hanging out. Schmoozing. Marrying one of those guys would be the catch of a lifetime.

Baron: (stony gaze)

Baroness: You know, kind of like you're the catch of a lifetime, hon. Yup, I already have my catch. So happy. So content. So lucky. Lucky, lucky me. Yeah. Lucky. Great catch.

But I'm just sayin', you know. . . IF I was a single woman, living in Las Vegas, looking for a way upward and out....

Just sayin', is all.

Baron: And pray tell, what clever pick-up line would you use?

Baroness: How about “I understand you’re a doctor. Would you please take a look at this?”

Baron (pretending to be orthopedic surgeon): “Why? Is there a foot in there?”

Baroness (pretending to be the gold digger): “No, but there could be . . .”

Baron:

(stony gaze)

(long pause)

A foot?

Babe, c'mon. That is a completely impossible measurement.

Even for an orthopedic surgeon.

Baroness: Maybe not for the "Amazing Jonathan". . .

Baron: Be thankful you're married, Miss GoldDigger, with lines like that.

Oy.

Baroness: Yet here we are, sucker.

(smug smirk)

Hollandaise of the Rich and Famous

With one small remark, the Baron summed up all the sensory overload I was experiencing.

"Las Vegas is the adult version of Disneyland".

Truer words.

And, as I walked through the Grand Canal Shoppes (note the pretentious extra "p" and "e" - gah), I knew I had wandered into Fantasy Land.

Well, not quite into.

Because I was too intimidated to actually cross the portal to this particular shop to look at the prices as part of my investigative journalising - that what the interwebs is for, y'all.

Instead, I cemented my yokel status by taking pictures through the window.

Pictures of sparkling, beckoning, Judith Lieber evening bags.

OK, so I fully understand the tourist appeal of these:


And the cutesy-pootsie-ness of this:

"Strawberry Cupcake" Evening Bag

but this?

"Provencal" evening bag

My mom always told me, with her Prairie wisdom, "You can't make a silk purse from a sow's ear".

But apparently raiding the vegetable patch is fair game.

And for the $5900 price tag, they'll even throw in some dipping sauce and a wet-nap.

In the Anals* of My History

I knew.

Between the constantly popping Pepcids and being told "We've found a small mass"...

I knew.

Amidst frantically scouring the internet and flipflopping back and forth between moving forward to call my GP and staying put, hoping it would go away...

I knew.

While taking all the initial tests, and downing a course of antibiotics for an alleged gut bug...

I knew.

I knew I had colon cancer.

With every fibre of my being, I knew.

And I so desperately did not want to know.

I wanted to tuck it into the furthest corner of the attic, out of sight, out of mind, with the fervent hope that it would go away, nibbled to some minute pile of pulp by marauding squirrels.

But I knew.

I finally knew, and finally came to the awful conclusion that if I did nothing, it would not go away.

That it would never go away. But I might, if I did not act.

Because here's what else I knew. I knew that somewhere in amongst my dysfunctional viscera were a heart and a soul that were inextricably interconnected with my husband and my sons, and I could not imagine a life without them.

I knew that making that first call would be opening a horrific, debasing, potentially bad-news-all-around can of worms.

But I did it anyway.

Mind you, this was not without a struggle. A long, drawn-out, exhausting internal struggle.

Because I knew that once the call was made - poof! My current life would vanish.

But I knew.

So I did it.

And what about you? What should you know?

You should know, as witnessed by my button on the top right, that March is Colon Cancer Awareness Month. The color for the ribbon is either brown or blue. (Brown? Seriously? Gah - Who the hell is the marketing genius behind this?)

You should know that, not counting skin cancers, colo-rectal cancer is the third most common cancer found in men and women in the US. The American Cancer Society estimates that there will be about 108,070 new cases of colon cancer and 40,740 new cases of rectal cancer in 2008 in the United States. Combined, they will cause about 49,960 deaths.

But it doesn't have to be this way.

Early diagnosis is key to successfully treating the disease; there's a 90% cure rate if caught early enough.

Part of the problem is receiving early diagnosis. Because this is a nasty disease in an equally nasty location. No one wants to tell anyone about problems with their plumbing.

No one wants to have their booty under scrutiny, in the best of circumstances. OK, OK, there are some, but chances are they belong to a different subset demographic. And maybe Jennifer Lopez - because really - if I had an ass like hers, I would be showing it off all the time...

Sadly, a lot of people wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

Until the disease has significantly progressed.

Sometimes, though, people aren't even aware they are waiting; there may be no noticeable early warnings. It can be silent and stealthy.

This is why regular screening after the age of 50 is also essential. This includes making an arrangement for a colonoscopy. And if a family member has had polyps or tumours, it becomes critical that you get checked out.

Does it make you uncomfortable? Giving a stool sample? Thinking about someone - a trained professional, may I add - going in through your back door to assure you that you have a clean bill of health?

Believe me.

No one has ever died from embarrassment.

I know.



(* I also know that I spelled this incorrectly. Language police, begone with you.)

Lessons from La Liberace, Part III

Sadly(happily?), today marks the final day of our tripping the light fantastic through the Liberace Museum.

But happily(sadly?), I have painstakingly saved the best for last. (Although that may be up for debate)(Talk amongst yourselves; leave me out of it, please)

Let me tell you something - it has been sheer torture keeping these pictures tucked away. Patience, for the Baroness, is not a virtue, but a scourge.

So with a flourished wave of my hand, let us:

Begin the Bedazzled!!*

(*I encourage you to click on the photos for maximum retinal damage wow factor)

Oops! Wrong photo.

Let's try this again. Flourish with arm, pas de bouree ballet move, yadda yadda yadda, "Begin the BeDazzled, an-n-n-n-nd here we go:

Ahh. Much better.

Here it is; where it all the magic happened - the drawing board. . .

. . .as in, "back to the".

Because why would the King of Bling settle for this?

(uh, hello? I'm referring to the tuxedo)

When he could have someone design this?

So who were the players in this glitterati brain trust? Most were Hollywood types, trained costumers to the stars and to the movies.

We can first lay the blame honors on Syd Devore. It was he who first ventured to the drawing board to pimp out the tuxedo worn to Liberace's inital Hollywood Bowl appearance.

For the bugle beads, braids, and sequins, we can blame praise Frank Acuna; his experience in costuming bullfighters and swashbucklers for cinema gave the edge when it came to cladding our tuneful toreador and buckling his swishes, er, swashes.

Then came Frank Ortiz, master of rhinestones. Michael Travis, latter-day costumer. And no friend of PETA; Anna Nateece, furrier.

If I could just ask you to lay your skepticism aside for an oh-so-brief moment, I will tell you this - while these outfits are not only over the top, but out the back, down the road, and well on their way to Candyland - there is no question that there is real craftsmanship and artisanry here. These numbers are truly labors of love, and works of art.

The amount of time spent on each piece must have been staggering.

So if you must, scoff at the playah - but lay off the creatah.

Design #1: Pretty in Pink

Some say the clothes make the man. Here I am willing to posit that it's the cape.

Some poor turkey gave its feathers for this baby.

How fowl.

Design #2: The Lasagne

Liberace playfully coined this getup "The Lasagne", as he could slop Italian all over himself (yes, I deliberately left this open-ended), and no one would be able to discern the stains.

This was quickly followed by Part 2 of "The Condiment Series":

The Mustard.

Design #4: Pink Kitten...

...with a whip.

Oh, Pinky. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. Pink. Shiny. Little furry bobbly things that tickle, tethered on what appears to be either a sparkly whip or a curtain rope.

Very "Gone with the Wind."

Design #5: King Neptune Costume

Called this because of the scalloping and Boticelli-esque visual nods. Personally, I think it's because when you press your ear against it, you can hear the ocean (and when you press your nose against it, you can smell tuna fish - see Designs 2 and 3)

Weighs in at 200 pounds. Yikes.

Design #6: God Bless America

Let freedom (and hot pants) reign.

Design #7: A Vision in Violet

Apparently the cape is 5-tiered. Meh.

I was more dazzled by the boots.
They are made for walkin'.

Design #8: The Czar Nicholas

When he made his entrance onto the stage wearing this, he was accompanied by two Russian wolfhounds (affectionately named Sigfried and Roy).

Design #9: The Dr. Zhivago

OK, I didn't write down the name of this one, but it does kind of look like a continuation of the Russian series. All that's missing is Lara.

Oh, wait! There she is - virginal and untouched in her muff.

Design #10: Bond via Borat
While the tuxedo is very 007 (ish), the cape appeared to be creepily constructed of either the hair of young Balinese boys or bags of black-market pubis.

The sign said it was monkey fur, but I'm not buying it.

Last but certainly never least,

Design #11 - El Matador

Olé , indeed. No self-respecting bull is going to have the will to charge this.

Viva La Toreador¡

Viva Las Vegas ¡

Viva La Liberace!!

Thoughtful Thursday

One of the adjectives sadly missing from describing the Baroness would be spontaneity.

I am no good with surprises, and too much of a control freak to just "wing it". If I am ever put in a position where I have to think on my feet, I am plagued with doubt over my decisions for, oh, I don't know - about 20 years.

There goes my career in improv.

You may be asking yourself, "What does any of this have to do with Thoughtful Thursday"? I'm getting there.

I recently had a phone message waiting for me; an invitation to be a guest at an awards luncheon next week. This ceremony is to honor the nominated women for their contributions within our community. I know a couple of the nominees - they are so very worthy of the attention.

Here's the thing. Up until about an hour ago, I waffled about saying yes. I was concerned that I really had no place being there, in a room full of driven, networking women. All empowering each other with their wisdom and magic, trading business cards and synergizing.

What exactly would I have to contribute to the energy in the room? What valuable service could I possibly offer for barter? Would I tell people I'm a "writer"? Or would I use my usual line: "I write a blog"?

And then I thought, screw it. I'm going.

Buoying me along in my decision is today's quote from one of my favorite writers in the blogosphere (please note that I did not say "blog writer" - to me there is a vast distinction), the always brilliant Blog Antagonist at Blogs Are Stupid.

She is the polar opposite of stupid. Her posts are rich with insight, information, and inspiration. I urge you to visit her.

One of my favorite features on her page is her list of quotations. I've seen this one before, but today? It just jumped out at me and screamed at me to say yes to the invitation:

"Well behaved women rarely make history."
~Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

Maybe I do have a place after all...

Toot, Toot, Beep, Beep YEAH!

Here in the vonBloggenschtern abode, there is much intellectualizing over making the "right" choice in vehicle, now that the Baron's lease is set to expire.

It goes round and round until we're dizzy and slightly pukey. Hybrid versus smart car versus smart car's slightly stupider older cousin(the hybrid SUV) versus electric scooter with a sidecar.

The Baron has specific needs, you see. He needs room for junk in his trunk (and by junk I mean hockey gear)(and by trunk I mean trunk).

A little further afield, it would appear that more automobile decisions are being discussed - should the U.S., as part of its economic recovery, start sending the unpopular gas-guzzling Hummer SUV's over to Iraq where there is apparently a niche market among young men?

Such quandries. So many pros and cons. So many permutations and combinations.

Imagine then, if you will, if your only decision was this easy:

Pinky?

or

Sparkley?

Do I feel diva-esque, and do I not want my loyal fans to make direct eye contact with me? Or

Do I want to scream my spectacular-osciousness from the back of a convertible and practice my
Queen Elizabeth wave?

(Please, please, please click on the picture to check out the sign)
(Artifacts? )
(Really?)
(Is that the nicest word you could think of ?)

Such were the mind-blowing decisions made on a regular basis by our man of the people, Liberace.

The first car kind of reminded me of a clown car. I'm sure that it was insanely expensive, and could only be purchased with a vial of genuine unicorn tears, but nevertheless.

It was kind of freaky. And if you take away the dazzle, it looks slightly Gestapo.

Just sayin'.

I did manage to make like an "artiste", and snap this lovely picture of it (thanks to Tracey & Carmi for their constant photographic inspirations):

As for the "Rhinestone Roadster", well.

I am (partially) without speech. It was the most fabulous shiny thing I have ever seen in my life. And let me tell you something - I have seen a lot of shiny.

A LOT, people.

I have to wonder about the people who painstakingly glued all of these on. Who were they? Where was this done? Were there waivers to be signed, in the event of blindness or insanity?

Or maybe, just maybe they just morphed from car designer. . .

to costume designer!

(Bah-lingggggggggg!)

Come back tomorrow to see "Begin the BeDazzling"! Ciao for now, darlings!

Lessons from La Liberace, Part II

Darlings!

Here I am again, your Decent Docent of All Things Shiny and Spectacular.

The image above is taken from a tasteful lady's handbag being sold at The Liberace Museum Gift Shop. I included it to illustrate to all you non-believers out there what a sexy beast Mr. L really was. Check out the boobage - not a hint of nip anywhere. Dude sure knew how to work it.

Now those of you who wish to give your eyeballs a gentle bleaching before we proceed, please do so know in an orderly fashion. We'll wait.

Originally, I was going to blow all of your minds with the Costume Portion of the program.

But my editor has suggested that I leave the best for last.

And I always listen to my editor.

Because otherwise he poops on the floor when I'm out, that's why.

So.

Today.

The Awards.

I must say, the word that comes to mind when I entered the Awards area of the Liberace Museum was intriguing.

Why, you may ask?

Well, for one, I never realized that the King Of Bling had won these:

Uh huh. They read "Best Entertainment Program - The Liberace Show", and "Most Outstanding Male Personality 1953".

Hmm. While I'll agree with the "Personality", which he obviously had in spades, I have been reading that La Lee was not one to be standing out anywhere. He was quite comfy in way back in his , um, armoire with his feathered capes and rhinestone booties (I hear it smelled like lilacs and coconuts in there...).

In his acceptance speech*, "'after thanking his mother, his brother, his managers and the television station producers, he also thanked his sponsor 'The Citizens National Bank, whose product I admire' " .

Oh ho ho, what a saucy chappy, our Liberace. Knew the value of cross-marketing.

Not happy to rest on his bedazzled laurels, Mr. Fancy also was the proud recipient of this:

(complete with a reference letter for the Papal Venetian Cape Maker, Gianfranco diGeeGaw)

and this:

(I'm not even going to mention the irony here...)

and this:

The Canadian equivalent of an Emmy.
No kidding.
Really.

Dare I say it?

Take a gander!

Oh ho ho, I think the Baroness has been breathing in too many costume preservatives...

There were a couple of awards missing from the Museum, for respectively obvious reasons.

First were the 2 stars on Hollywood's Walk of Fame. I mean, c'mon, whadda they gonna do? Tear up the sidewalk? That would just set a nasty precedent.

But if you should ever find yourself trodding along Hollywood Boulevard between McCadden and Las Palmas, you will see them glittering up at you. Who am I kidding? You can probably see them from space.

Just remember - step lightly.

Mince, even.

The second award I did not see in the Grand Hall of Accomplishments (or maybe just didn't take a picture of) was the coveted "Golden Mike" awards, given to Liberace in 1981 by the Pacific Pioneer Broadcasters.

Strangely, it seemed to disappear shortly after being presented.

Coming up on Tour de Force Tuesday: Baby You Can Drive My Car...

Until then, Be Fabulous!!!


*from the book "Liberace: An American Boy" by Darden Asbury Pyron

The Journey Ends and The Journey Begins

I read the news today.

Oh boy.

I learned that on Friday evening one of our ferocious fellow bloggers, Lisa Kelly of Clusterfook, left her physical pain and her suffering behind this past Friday evening and passed on.

I would be remiss if I didn't pay my respects, but I cannot possibly write anything that hasn't already been written as a tribute to this fine woman.

Instead, I will offer up a Thoughtful Thursday piece from a few weeks ago.

Be in peace and comfort, dear Lisa.

My heart goes out to your husband and your daughters - may they soon come to a place where they feel your presence rather than your absence.

************************
Many among us make difficult decisions; sometimes daily, sometimes only once.

But how many of us must make a decision that will potentially forever effect the life we have known for all of our years on the planet? And not only our life, but the lives of those who love us dearly, of those whose lives have only ever known our love?

This past Tuesday, Lisa Kelly did just that.

After a series of critical setbacks, Lisa, who openly and bravely writes the blog Clusterfook, decided that she would finally stop her latest series of chemotherapy treatment. It was killing her faster than the ovarian cancer she has been dealing with.

The ovarian cancer she has faced down two times before.

Lisa has made a decision that I cannot begin to fathom. She has recognized that her time to leave this plane is drawing near, and she has weighed the options of continuing a course of medication that pummels her into submission versus gracefully readying for what is to come. She has said in the past "It is what it is"; she now has acknowledged that it is indeed so. It is her time.

Her time to leave her husband, who she refers to as Dude, and her two beautiful young daughters, Cam and Teenie.

I began reading Lisa's posts when she began her latest go-round. While I could gush at length of her many, many attributes, let me instead give up the highest of praise and gratitude for her willingness to take us on this leg of her journey, and her unwavering openness in exposing the sheer ugliness of this disease.

I urge everyone to walk back through Lisa's steps for an eye-opening experience of what really happens. This is vitality and struggle and pain at its most organic level; this is a woman's life - and a journey she chose to share with us.

It is research into this insidious cancer that we must raise money for. Let that damned pink machine run on it's own steam for awhile. It's time to feel the teal.

And heal the teal.

The comment section of Lisa' "Hospice" post is overflowing with soothing words and wishes for days free of pain and filled with love.

One commenter shared a Robert Frost poem which seems appropriate when honoring a woman whose bravery shines like a glowing aura around her, and spreads her precious warmth far and wide through her vast readership:

Nothing Gold Can Stay
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
so dawn does down to day
Nothing gold can stay.

"It is what it is"
~Lisa Kelly~

Lessons from La Liberace, Part I

From the desk of
Baroness von Bloggenschtern,
Kitschmonger, Bon Vivant, & Magpie



I really do not know where exactly to begin.

Like a curator that has stumbled upon the cache of the century, I am still circling around this trove of (questionable quality) photo documentation.

Looking at it in this light, in that light. Trying to figure out how to best position it to supply you with MSP (Maximum Shine Potential).

Let us first begin with the physical location of the museum itself.

From the information on the webpage, it looks pretty - dare I say? - spectacular:

Here's the 411.

This is a photo of the second, newer part of the museum.

Which is across the parking lot from the original building.

The original building? Not so fabulous. It kind of looks like funeral parlour from the outside. Imagine that.

Should you feel a tad parched after panting after all of the treasures housed in these time capsules, please know that there are a couple of options available within the same strip mall (yes, you read this correctly) to wet your whistle.

There is this:
which could be a slight misnomer. I cannot for the life of me even begin to believe that any good times have ever happened within this establishment.

Ironically, the clientèle we did see entering here looked as though gay-bashing would be high on their "Goodtimes" to-do list.

For those with a taste for the exotic, there is this oasis beckoning you:
I did not go in as, alas, I have no taste for the exotic.

And I would have been sorely disappointed if they did not sell: a) magic carpets or b) genie lamps.

Why chase disappointment?

Let me tell you what was not disappointing.

The Liberace Museum Phase I, that's what.

From the moment you hit the door, there were candlelabras and mirrored geegaws as far as the eye could see:

Candlelabra - what a fun word to say!

Say it with me in a silly British accent - Candle-ahhh-brahhh.
Now just the left side of the room.

Mirrored Geegaw #1
Where would be the perfect place to hang this?
Powder Room? Man Cave?
Or maybe.... over the bed...

But wait a minute - if we are to believe what we read here, this is an accurate replication of La Lib's bedroom:

Which begs two questions.

1. Can one be both gay and provincial?

2. Was the second bed for his mother? They were apparently quite close.

Speaking of instruments (?), let's move on to the King of Bling's vast array of pianos.

Yes, just pianos.

Not an organ in the bunch.

We start with the baby Liberace's Baby Baby Grand:
then move to the classical:

(of course I snuck a smell of the bench -
apparently Liberace's ass smells like old wool, lilac and coconuts...)

to the slightly creepy:

(WTH is behind that curtain? I'm afraid)

and work up to one of my favorites:

I have to tell you that this photo barely scratches the surface on the blinding prismatic rainbow surrounding this piece.

I think it might even have magical powers. Like, you place your fingers gingerly on the keys, and when you press down, BeDazzled unicorns leap out from underneath the lid.

So what have we learned thus far?

1. An indulgent spouse is the ultimate partner.
2. Just because you were beloved in life does not mean you won't end up at a strip mall in death.
3. It is just plain awkward having to explain to museum staff why you're sniffing a piano bench.

Coming up Monday - Lessons from La Liberace, Part II - Designing the Dream or Pimpin' the Pompadoured.

Thoughtful Thursday

May I just say that Tuesday, February 24, 2009 - was one of my personal best days. EVER.

There was sunshine and azure sky, there was warmth, there was leisurely strolling with a dash of economic stimulus thrown in. There was brunch at the Bellagio.

And then, just when I could not imagine it getting any damn better, it did.

The Baron and Baroness pilgrimmage-d to the place which is quintessentially Vegas.

The kitsch.

The costumes.

The shine.

The.

Freakin'.

Liberace.

Museum.

Today's TT presents to you the sign that all see at the outset of their tour around all that is "The King of Bling"; use it liberally at your discretion:

Just as I was honored to be your museum docent and provide you with a new spin on "aht" in my "Lessons from the Louvre", please join me for the next couple of days as I introduce you to the Swarovski-bedazzled world of fabulosity known as Liberace.

Day Camp

Much like the fabulous burger joint that I have yet to get to, The Baroness is In 'N Out.

I've have had a glorious sunshiney Clark County day out and about, and can't wait to share.

But wait I must.

For I have approximately 5 minutes to make-a de magic and get out the door once again to run to some officially-sanctioned schmocktail reception, but let me tease you with tomorrow's post.

Two words:

Liberace.

Museum.

Hon, Hold all My Calls

Greetings from the desert.

Please don't worry about me getting dehydrated in all of this dry air; rest assured that I am keeping my liquids up. Corneal damage is more of a concern - I cannot seem to look away from the shiny.

I will tell you that I had an extremely diffucult time staying on task today while trying to get to our hosted breakfast - we had to walk through the middle of the casino, you see. And all of the noises and glitter were very distracting. Fortunately, I was travelling with a pack, and also some human wranglers who kept the strays from, well, straying.

It is always fascinating to me being the "spouse" at these events. Keep in mind that "spouse" in this context takes on the definition of "extraneous human unit who cannot possibly have anything worthy of listening to".

Oh, if they only knew that I am sitting quietly, observing. Smiling coyly, nodding demurely. Filing their inane conversations away with the utmost efficiency in my spacious mental credenza.

Idiots.

Do not get me wrong - I am always extremely grateful to the powers that be who send us on these jaunts - they always do things up right.

So thoughtful were they of this "spouse's" needs, in fact, that they ensured that I had my own office for producing my fine literary works. Jane Austen should have been this lucky.

Thoughtfulness, Exhibit A: Two-line phone

(with hold button!)

Thoughtfulness, Exhibit B: Personalized Note Paper

(always a classy touch, I think)


Thoughtfulness, Exhibit C: 2 (!) Writing Tables

Table 1 -View of Room

Table 2 - For Personal Assistant to direct my calls

Ciao for now - I'm off to tend to some v. important economic stimulus business.

Gianmarco - hold my calls.

And I'm out of personalized note paper. Take care of that, would you please?