Gala...a report from the trenches.
The gala thing was...
[drumroll]
OK.
One of the hazards of marrying TFBIM (and, rest assured, in many walks of life I am known as Mr. TFBIM) is lots of people know who I am, have an accurate-enough picture of my general likes/dislikes, and a working sketch of my biography. They come up to me and greet me warmly, engage me in none-too-brief-conversation and excuse themselves reluctantly and with great warmth.
I then turn to TFBIM and say:
"WTF were those?"
"Those were Robert's parents."
"Who's Robert?"
"Remember that birthday party at the zoo? That was Robert."
"Which kid was Robert?? There were, like, 634 kids at the zoo; I thought the cages had sprung open."
"Oh. My. G-d. ROBERT. He's the blond boy, straight hair."
"The one with the Moe haircut? Is he the 2nd grader with a cell phone?"
"No, that's Michael!"
"I don't remember Michael."
"You're impossible."
So we had a lot of that going on last night. So, while I mostly tried to avoid looking stunned, TFBIM looked stunning last night. Rarely does she get to wear this one black strapless number, but she did and paired with a Tiffany Signature white gold set, plagiarized, I freely admit, from Poppy whose husband gave her a yellow gold necklace (with diamonds) from this collection. I omitted the diamonds, changed yellow gold to white, and threw in the earrings and bracelet and voila all of Creation is none the wiser. One interesting sidebar to this: every once in a while the Official Photographers will do their foul work in black and white and this combination (as well as the black tie combination) looks beautiful therein. Yellow gold and colored stones, in my estimation, don't photograph well in B&W.
Part of the weirdness of the gala world is photography. Some events/places have only the official portrait photographer and no more, some others encourage you to bring your camera (weird, but true) and lots are somewhere along this spectrum. Last night, disposable cameras (35mm film...how retro) were at every table AND there was an official portrait photgrapher AND there was an official walking-around photographer. Whatever. I just grinned and bore.
On the ego-boosting side, the valet recognized that my car was Some Serious Thing and let me park it myself up front with only a new Maserati--which costs more than twice what mine did--to share the limelight. Nice. He even comped me the parking. But the battery of this car has been, as my Brit pals would say, dodgy for some time and last night, with TFBIM and self arrayed in our evening finery, it decided to go on strike. Fortunately, I had enough sense to park on an incline and all I had to do was let it roll with the key in the ignition, pop the clutch and VROOM. "Eeet ees aliiiiive!" as Colin Clive said in those Frankenstein films.
But I digress. One of the more dangerous aspects of these events is the Silent Auction. Most of the time you end up buying a load of overpriced stuff because you talk yourself into the ol' "It's for a good cause" thing. We managed to get out the door for under $600, and that is ameliorated by the fact some of the stuff is actually OK. Lots of certificates to restaurants, a custom shirt (!) and some Limoges thingy for TFBIM, plus a couple of Original Jewelry Pieces (every silent auction is scrofulous with these) which we plan to pass on as gifts.
The gala itself was pretty nicely themed. This year (I have no idea of previous years' themes) it was a "Flying Around The World" thing. The organizing committee was arrayed in flight attendant garb (the chair & co-chair were in pilot raiments) and the tickets were printed to look like boarding passes. Each table was decorated to look like a destination (New York, Venice, Paris, etc.) but fortunately we didn't have to stand in an interminable line to be seated.
Dinner was OK. I could tell that, prior to resting under the ruby glow of a heatlamp for 45 minutes, it had probably been pretty good, but by the time the plate hit my place the moisture had been successfully, permanently and thoroughly driven from the edibles. Dessert was a hit though, and given that my dinner was left mostly uneaten (perhaps one day the doctors who rebuilt the Six Million Dollar Man would be able to implant powerful hydraulics in my jaw) I felt no guilt about diving into the chocolate mousse torte. The appetizers at the cocktail hour were also pretty good, especially these miniature Beef Wellingtons they had.
Beef Wellington, to me, is memory-whiplash of the Sophisticated Continental Restaurants of the 1970s and making them in teeny-tiny bite-sized bits is a clever way to get away with serving this, under the cover of being retro. In fairness, Beef Wellington--IF DONE RIGHT--is pretty yummy stuff, but overrich for today's 21st century palate. A bite size variant is just right on all counts.
But I digress. Now I am off to see what may be done, battery-wise, about my silly car.
[drumroll]
OK.
One of the hazards of marrying TFBIM (and, rest assured, in many walks of life I am known as Mr. TFBIM) is lots of people know who I am, have an accurate-enough picture of my general likes/dislikes, and a working sketch of my biography. They come up to me and greet me warmly, engage me in none-too-brief-conversation and excuse themselves reluctantly and with great warmth.
I then turn to TFBIM and say:
"WTF were those?"
"Those were Robert's parents."
"Who's Robert?"
"Remember that birthday party at the zoo? That was Robert."
"Which kid was Robert?? There were, like, 634 kids at the zoo; I thought the cages had sprung open."
"Oh. My. G-d. ROBERT. He's the blond boy, straight hair."
"The one with the Moe haircut? Is he the 2nd grader with a cell phone?"
"No, that's Michael!"
"I don't remember Michael."
"You're impossible."
So we had a lot of that going on last night. So, while I mostly tried to avoid looking stunned, TFBIM looked stunning last night. Rarely does she get to wear this one black strapless number, but she did and paired with a Tiffany Signature white gold set, plagiarized, I freely admit, from Poppy whose husband gave her a yellow gold necklace (with diamonds) from this collection. I omitted the diamonds, changed yellow gold to white, and threw in the earrings and bracelet and voila all of Creation is none the wiser. One interesting sidebar to this: every once in a while the Official Photographers will do their foul work in black and white and this combination (as well as the black tie combination) looks beautiful therein. Yellow gold and colored stones, in my estimation, don't photograph well in B&W.
Part of the weirdness of the gala world is photography. Some events/places have only the official portrait photographer and no more, some others encourage you to bring your camera (weird, but true) and lots are somewhere along this spectrum. Last night, disposable cameras (35mm film...how retro) were at every table AND there was an official portrait photgrapher AND there was an official walking-around photographer. Whatever. I just grinned and bore.
On the ego-boosting side, the valet recognized that my car was Some Serious Thing and let me park it myself up front with only a new Maserati--which costs more than twice what mine did--to share the limelight. Nice. He even comped me the parking. But the battery of this car has been, as my Brit pals would say, dodgy for some time and last night, with TFBIM and self arrayed in our evening finery, it decided to go on strike. Fortunately, I had enough sense to park on an incline and all I had to do was let it roll with the key in the ignition, pop the clutch and VROOM. "Eeet ees aliiiiive!" as Colin Clive said in those Frankenstein films.
But I digress. One of the more dangerous aspects of these events is the Silent Auction. Most of the time you end up buying a load of overpriced stuff because you talk yourself into the ol' "It's for a good cause" thing. We managed to get out the door for under $600, and that is ameliorated by the fact some of the stuff is actually OK. Lots of certificates to restaurants, a custom shirt (!) and some Limoges thingy for TFBIM, plus a couple of Original Jewelry Pieces (every silent auction is scrofulous with these) which we plan to pass on as gifts.
The gala itself was pretty nicely themed. This year (I have no idea of previous years' themes) it was a "Flying Around The World" thing. The organizing committee was arrayed in flight attendant garb (the chair & co-chair were in pilot raiments) and the tickets were printed to look like boarding passes. Each table was decorated to look like a destination (New York, Venice, Paris, etc.) but fortunately we didn't have to stand in an interminable line to be seated.
Dinner was OK. I could tell that, prior to resting under the ruby glow of a heatlamp for 45 minutes, it had probably been pretty good, but by the time the plate hit my place the moisture had been successfully, permanently and thoroughly driven from the edibles. Dessert was a hit though, and given that my dinner was left mostly uneaten (perhaps one day the doctors who rebuilt the Six Million Dollar Man would be able to implant powerful hydraulics in my jaw) I felt no guilt about diving into the chocolate mousse torte. The appetizers at the cocktail hour were also pretty good, especially these miniature Beef Wellingtons they had.
Beef Wellington, to me, is memory-whiplash of the Sophisticated Continental Restaurants of the 1970s and making them in teeny-tiny bite-sized bits is a clever way to get away with serving this, under the cover of being retro. In fairness, Beef Wellington--IF DONE RIGHT--is pretty yummy stuff, but overrich for today's 21st century palate. A bite size variant is just right on all counts.
But I digress. Now I am off to see what may be done, battery-wise, about my silly car.
Comments
I mean, imagine me in a powdered wig, dressed as Mozart's body double.
The mind boggles.
So thanks for the information that such a possibility might have been sprung on me.
--P.
Gala-chairing is not for the faint.
-J.