Ain't No Time to Hate, Barely Time to Wait
It's 9 p.m., and here is my to-do list for the night:-Write and disseminate press release for upcoming event.
-Review mentoree (mentee?)'s resume (yes, I'm a mentor--how fab is that?)
-Write proposal for possible book tour (not for me, for someone else's book)
-Finish rather large glass of wine that's standing between me and computer (Frog's Leap Zin, 2005.
Fabulous.)
-Get to sleep at reasonable hour because my new (day) job is Kicking. My.
Ass.
So no time to blog. What I want to know-oh, where does the time go?
Okay, quick review of fall ads.
Dior: Thank goodness they're finally featuring actual clothing that I might actually want to wear. Those boots must be mine.
Michael Stars: Kudos. New campaign not only shows their t-shirts, but the lifestyle. Made me actually want to buy.
Donald Pliner: I know the woman who does their ads (or at least did last time I checked). And I totally admire her. But these ads suck.
I know he's pretty much a nightmare to work with, and his shoes are pretty heinous, but still.
Chanel: Don't know how much those jeans cost. Don't care.
Must own.
Banana Republic: Exactly how do they think that a spread featuring mediocre people wearing boring clothes is going to entice me--or anyone--into their stores?
Bonus: P.
R. Ads
Loreal: People. Gotta switch up the scary guy showing how to apply foundation, famous makeup artist or not.
And do you actually think that devotees of P.R. don't know how to apply foundation?
I.N.C.
Ditto. Booooring 90's sundresses on a runway. Umm.
..not sure you realize this, but you paid a lot of cash to be a prime sponsor.
Get it together. Study the audience, and present them with a product they might actually want.
.
..that's all I can think of at the moment, and I'm too busy to run upstairs to fetch.
Love you. Mean it.
Ah, The Smell of Manure and Old Money Let us begin by clarifying that neither of the above are mine.We traveled to Pittsburgh (Go Steelers!) this weekend to celebrate my Grandmother-In-Law's 90th.
I missed her 80th in lieu of my best friend's wedding, and was never quite forgiven. This time around, not only did I show up, but I wore a dress of hers from the 60's that I had shortened into a mini for the fiesta, so I think I'm finally back to even stevens.
My husband's grandmother rocks, by the way.
We stayed at a family friend's 60-acre horse farm about a mile out of the city. It was an incredible weekend, rolling up all of my favorite vacations into one. Their house, filled to the gills with pictures and trinkets from the hunt, reminded me of the best 30th birthday ever, with 13 of my friends in a beautiful, Flagler-designed musty, rambling house in downtown Palm Beach*; riding our friends' golf cart/tractor contraption around their property was reminiscient of riding the windy hills of Mustique (except this time, we had a muffler); and best of all, we had our son with us, who was equal parts enthralled with and petrified of their six horses, and he had an absolute blast.
Pittsburgh is a fabulous city. Old architecture, nice people, decent cultural activities. I grabbed a copy of their version of CapFile/DC/DCStyle/WL in the restaurant; it's called Whirl.
I always say that DC has a population of about 250 people. If that's the case, Pittsburgh has about 125. Total small pond.
I could handle that.
So back to shopping.
About a year ago, we were at the Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh, and I spied a necklace that I've been OBSESSED with ever since-it was silver, and had individual letters that spelled out "15 Minutes of Fame.
" Went back this weekend and it was no longer there, but must find it. Or make it. No, find it.
Because I've got other crafting priorities: I've got to learn to knit so I can make that cashmere A-line Pringle sweater that's in September Elle. Must have that sweater. Must.
Speaking of obsessions, after calling every Henry Beguelin store in the US and finally contacting their hq in Italy in search of my shoes, I got a call from Nancy at Relish saying that she can special order my shoes for me, but there's only a 50% chance that they'll come in. So fingers crossed.
All in all, a great weekend, indeed.
*Best 30th Birthday ever brought to you by the largesse of my sister's former husband, back in the time I like to refer to as the Gravy Train Era. Good times, those. Good times.
We're getting ready to select the winners of the grand fabulous donationathon, but it seems to take a few days before donors show up on the Whitman Walker System.
So if you donated but don't see yourself on the , just shoot me an and let me know!
I'll draw them later this eve.
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