STYLE ADVENTURE ETIQUETTE

Archive for 2013|Yearly archive page

Even Bulldogs Get the Blues

In Adventure, inspiration on November 1, 2013 at 12:02 pm

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There comes a time in every accomplished young lady’s life when she arrives at the unfortunate realization that the world is full of shit.  Virtually simultaneously, she also recognizes that she can see her own reflection staring back at her as she looks at said pile of shit (the world) thus presupposing the notion that she, too, is full of shit.

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During a modeling gig several months ago for Dogshaming.com, I foreshadowed my own aforementioned assertion.

Sometimes this realization is unprovoked.  Sometimes this realization comes in the wake of an old friend’s death.  Sometimes the realization takes getting black-out drunk, yelling at inanimate objects and perfectly nice people, and then narrowly escaping becoming the worst drunk-lay a person you ardently admire has ever had.  On very special occasions it involves falling down the wooded lawn of one’s neighbor’s property and somehow winding up wrapped naked in an American flag, covered in mulch in the back of a moving landscaping truck full of migrant workers.  Other times (why just the other day!) psychedelic mushrooms can lend a helping hand.

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Sometimes I like to go to my happy place full of unicorns and princesses and love!

But whichever way a lady chooses to get to her destination, the final stop mostly winds up being a pile of poo.  That’s right humans — and I mean this in the most hopeful, positive, brightest and breeziest way possible.  Life, or all these ideas that we call life — they are merely things we conjure up to distract us from staring directly into the abyss of death.  And while that may seem exceedingly dark — it’s really not sad unless you are not having fun too much of the time!   Here are the things I’ve found that lead to a life of unfunness:

  • conformity
  • conservatism
  • stagnancy
  • anger
  • not enough bacon flavored stuff
  • bureaucracy
  • bran
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This is how excessively complicated administrative procedures make me feel.

Here’s what Lady Bianca spends her time thinking about:

  • human eyebrows are weird, but take them away and things become even weirder
  • how dogs have eyebrows covering their entire bodies
  • one million tater tots
  • love
  • the paradox of the human condition
  • living in a tree house
  • insects that feed on brush and shrubs
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Sometimes when oppressive regimes are bringing me down, I can find solace only in a Miller High Life and a pickle.

Here are a few things Lady Bianca does:

  • tells stories
  • switches on again off again from first to third person narration — she knows she’s irritating you because she’s irritating herself but i just can’t help it and that’s just part of the style, deal with it
  • sniffs around the ground seeing if there are any leftover morsels of food she might have missed the last time she was sniffing around the ground for leftover morsels of food
  • sprinkles magic fairy dust on life and makes it look pretty
  • kicks ass

Here’s what she wants to do: all of the above.  But alas, the tiresome and dull society strange humanoids have built around themselves require her to hunker down and choose one path.  And just —  lady Bianca hates hunkering!  She wants to be free.  And cuddle.  Those things.

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Oh but don’t make this darling thing get up and function!

Why it’s depressing when the world compartmentalizes her and makes her do icky things.  She starts to fall apart at the seams because she doesn’t know what to do moment to moment dammit, and why can’t everything just make sense but on the flip side — a lady cannot stand too much reality…OH, and do I smell sausages cooking?

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Just because Lady Bianca has a thundercloud looming over her head, doesn’t mean she can’t brighten your day by wearing this smart pink polka dot rain slicker.

For Lady Bianca Miller, there is nothing more depressing than dealing with her own depression.  Except for, perhaps, dealing with other people’s depression.  Which is why, when several months ago I stumbled into an extended and particularly strong strain of the blues — my staff attempted to stage an intervention by shipping me off to one of those horrid depression retreats.

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You’ve just GOT to be kidding me.

Fear not friends, I dug my claws into the ground and positively refused.  Let me explain to you, dear readers, the manifold reasons why these places just don’t make sense:

  • There is nothing more depressing than being around a bunch of depressed people, especially garden variety depressives.  Booooooooooooring.
  • Depression retreats are way more expensive than vacation and way suckier.
  • Class A drug addicts and alcoholics are much more fun to be around and have wayyyy better stories than garden variety depressives.
  • A depression retreat is like a trip to the container store with a disorganized person.  Even though it doesn’t even matter if they are organized or disorganized because the container store is the biggest crock-of-shit-bull-crap-suck-ball-sack fabrication of ridiculously superfluous consumerist malarkey.  When you think about it, the container store is really just one big container that contains other containers that contain more containers.  And when you think about it more, our whole lives are about containers and containing more containers – the car we drove in – a container – to get to the container of a container store that contains containers for containing and then we go back to our container house with containers even though it already contains containers for containing more containers.
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Here is the staff Lady Bianca Miller keeps in order to function:

  • publicist
  • cabana boy
  • chauffeur
  • masseur
  • numerologist
  • tarot reader
  • parapsychologist
  • guru
  • life coach
  • personal trainer
  • lawyer
  • accountant
  • shrink
  • pet psychiatrist (for my human)
  • acupuncturist
My tarot readings, like my soul, are always indisputably complex.

My tarot readings, like my soul, are always indisputably complex.

But before you think me foolish for requiring the assistance of such an extensive staff, look at the whuld dahling, look at the whurld!  We all need something — some ritual, dahling, to make the otherwise impossibly overwhelming universe seem smaller.  Some people like to believe in medieval fairy tales, some count beans, others like to chase around balls or holler and bang on objects to make noise, some people take a little wake up pill, a happy pill, a pill to relax, sleepy-time pill, until the day begins again.

Whether we’re in Sartre’s waiting room, waiting for Godot or waiting for the apocalypse, one thing is sure  – we try really hard to get somewhere that is inevitable anyway and in that struggle, we go and kinda make a mess of the essence of the very thing itself.

I try to first listen to my guru, then I try my heart, but I'm afraid somehow my stomach usually ends up winning.

I try to first listen to my guru, then I try my heart, but I’m afraid somehow my stomach usually ends up winning.

It all boils down to the old free will vs. fate muddle.  And well, darling ones, you see, I believe it’s somewhat both.  We are all are on this boat we call life, darlings — within the confines of that boat, why, we may do as we will…but the boat is on a very large ocean and so we are just very tiny specks upon a small speck on the horizon that is something else’s speck.  So while we might be able to steer the boat a bit, overall, the ocean is a grand force much greater than us – and thus, it will lead us the way that it will.

You better believe I'm wearing my life preserver on this rickety boat, I'm not going down without a fight.

You better believe I’m wearing my life preserver on this damn rickety boat, Lady Bianca is not going down without a fight.

And so you ask, what is the meaning of all this nonsense then?  What exactly are we striving for?  For what purpose do we struggle and suffer and sacrifice and triumph and achieve — why do we possess such spiritual yearning?

The only answer this little dog can come up with (besides a lovely rib eye steak preceded by several dozen oysters and concluded with a champagne MDMA cocktail) is….without getting too serious here — other people.  Life is other people, is it not?

Waiting for Human.

Waiting for Human.

It may be my old age (I turned 7 this year but people tell me I don’t look a day over 3), but if you strip everything away, it seems the only thing we all have in common is this ridiculous situation we call life.  And though, in essence, life is a selfish endeavor — nothing is more damaging to the soul than loneliness  – the joy of life comes from our encounters with people that we admire.

And so, although I don’t really know, I believe somehow, that if one goes about things not with pride but with wisdom, not with greed but with generosity, not with control but with love, and not to serve yourself but to serve others — then you’ll see, if anything, what it’s all about.

And with that, if you’ll pardon me for the time being — I’m going to stop worrying about this silly little floor show we perform here on earth for a while, and go call my mommy.

Loyally yours,

Lady Bianca Miller

Jumping to Conclusions is my Favorite Type of Exercise

In Celebrity, Fashion, inspiration, Society, Style on June 7, 2013 at 1:30 pm

Bianca Miller Portrait

Once upon a not-so-long-ago time, Lady Bianca Miller found herself an agile and dexterous sprite — a paragon of feminine canine existence — boasting a panther lithe figure and a soul made of duck confit to match.  A lady of great fortune, you see, immune to the pitfalls of genetics, poor diet and minimal exercise.

Ehem.  Well truthfully — to be fair to all my mere-mortal fans, there was a moment in 2008 when the tabloids did capture my likeness from a particularly harsh angle:

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Sunning myself in a park on the French Riviera, I’d just gone through an exceedingly strenuous split from a famous French Spaniel film director and found myself in the throes of butter, baguette and pate threesomes on a regular basis. Who could blame me?!

Following the outrageous circulation of these filthy photos, my agent Herman Tannenbaum called my publicist, Zsa Zsa, who called Christine Henderson, my nutritionist, who in turn called Ronald my personal trainer, who called Acario my manservant and personal chef — and I was immediately put on a varied diet and exercise regimen consisting of kale, quinoa, bran,  yoga, amphetamines, enzymes, interval training, green juice, and barbecued ribs.  I was back to my slender self in no time — of course still with my voluptuous curves in tact!  Why — it has been only in the past year (alas!) that Lady Bianca Miller has slowly found herself becoming victim to the awful metabolic realities of the masses.

And of course, in consideration of my high stakes modeling career, I’ve taken it upon myself and my considerable staff to get things under control before things become so wildly out of control that I should jeopardize the cushy insurance policy that covers any damage to my heavenly burrito shaped body.  All the celebrities have them for certain bits and pieces — famously Jennifer Lopez for her rear end, Angelina Jolie for those rather grotesque (and I mean this in the best way possible) lips, Tom Cruise for his for his brain (Tee hee!  Just kidding, obviously — we all know his IQ just skims above the cut off for mental retardation) — but rarely do celebrities have their entire beings insured.  And before you think me conceited, I am merely working off the advice of my countless admirers and of course my entertainment lawyer, Alan Hershkowitz.

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I appeared my usual self for this MoMA Design Store modeling job after being forced to subsist on sticks and coal for weeks. I assure you, dear readers, the modeling world is anything but pretty.

But alas, when I do find myself needing to gear up my exercise regimen, I refuse the big business commercial gyms — those cesspools of mediocrity and thievery — places where one might find oneself both swindled and required to mingle with commoners.  Eee Gads!

My venue of choice for sculpting my perfectly proportioned yet odd and peanut shaped body is Fifth Avenue Fitness right here in my own lovely Brooklyn neighborhood.  And I’ll tell you – though I may huff and puff, make snurfling and chortling sounds, curse the world and yearn for my mommy during a session — I truly have grown stronger both mentally and physically since I’ve put in my time there.

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As you can very well see, I find myself quite perturbed by the idea of the treadmill yet I understand and accept that it is of tantamount importance in order to warm up so my majestic and desirable figure can be sculpted properly.

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Wondering where I get my sweet biceps? Look no further.

Now far be it from me to complain — I do realize I’ve been blessed with porcelain skin, shimmering fur, perfect proportions and a neck longer in circumference than the length or height of my entire body, but, dammit, I’m going to anyway:

I absolutely, positively, certifiably deplore exercise!!!  For god’s sake  I find it absolutely abominable but unfortunately, I’ve also found as the years go by — if I want to prevent my third and fourth neck rolls (two neck rolls is a little bit sexy) from protruding — physical activity has become an absolute must.

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Here a dear friend convinced me to take a jazzercise class. And though I put on a brave and happy face, I am crying on the inside dear friends. Sobbing. Weeping, really.

In fact, if I am being completely honest with myself and you, my loyal fans, all I want to do is eat my body weight in bacon cheeseburgers, tater tots and oysters, drown my sorrows in Hendrick’s Gin and fun hallucinogenic drugs, nap on memory foam mattresses with intermittent visits from my masseur — and sprinkle magic fairy dust all over everything, make things look pretty, not gain a pound or get wrinkles or get old and have everyone do exactly what I say at all times and for everything to go my way AT ALL TIMES without me having to LIFT A PAW for heaven-sake is that too much to ask!!!!???!!!

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I’m not as comfortable and relaxed here as I’d like to be ideally, but you get the idea of what I’m going for.

And now I feel I should apologize for that little temper tantrum, dear friends.  Admittedly, you have caught me in the midst of a bit of an existential meltdown.  See, when faced with one’s own mortality sometimes…well…one begins to realize that life is short and death is scary and being is difficult.  And I suppose that is the paradox of the Canine Condition — that we all strive for perfection in life — and in the process, destroy the essence of life itself.

And so, when one thinks, when one concludes (and as I’ve mentioned – jumping to conclusions is my favorite type of exercise – so in no way am I attempting to judge you for doing the same) that a nearly perfect being as myself — that my existence seems so effortless…well, think again.  Though I am skilled at making life look stunning on the outside, things on the interior are quite tender and do crumble quite easily when pushed too hard from above.

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Sometimes when reality becomes too much, I gather some friends and we play an absurd little game called “Down the Rabbit Hole,” or we hold an Un-birthday party where we minimize icky realistic life responsibilities and exalt indulgences and extravagancies.  Ooooo, so fun.

And so, I pull up my proverbial socks and march on (don’t worry, I’d never be caught dead in those vulgar little socks that chihuahuas and the like tend to wear) — I continue on with this paradoxical struggle…the one which so often eludes us creatures of higher intelligence — the struggle in which youth and maturity, recreation and health, extravagance and discipline seem simultaneously so diametrically opposed.  When in fact, it is all really and always has been — a child’s game.  This is it — the see-saw of life, the roller coaster — whatever you want to call it,  and it doesn’t change.  It charges along ceaselessly into the horizon, the dust from the road rising in its wake — and it doesn’t stop or wait for anyone.  One has to get off the ride oneself and take a turn out.

And with that in mind, my dear friends, I think I’ll go spend the afternoon drinking sidecars, eating caviar and canoodling with a very young and handsome but simple-minded Rhodesian Ridgeback.  Because tomorrow is a new day, and I just don’t know what kind of (and please pardon my Swiss finishing school manners here) m*^&ther f*%^*cking bullish&^%t it might hold.

Existentially yours,

Lady Bianca Miller

White Dogs Can’t Hump

In Adventure, Celebrity, Nemesis, Night Life on April 12, 2013 at 8:46 am

…that is, without the Godforsaken Tabloids Prying into their Private Affairs Constantly!
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Faithful readers,

I imagine you’ve all become increasingly agitated recently: reading all about my comings and goings — my goings and comings and the numerous fabricated and exaggerated tales of my supposed shenanigans, rabble-rousing and other malarkey the riff-raff tabloids have continued to propagate, notwithstanding the relentless efforts of my legal staff.  You’ve been anxious, I understand, for me to appear in this forum and yet again, set the record straight.

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I’ll have you know, I ordinarily don’t get out of bed for less than 10k.

I’d like to preface by mentioning and elaborating on the prequel to several presuppositions that may have been mercilessly thrust upon you by said media-satan-industrial-complex.

As you well know, 2012 was a tough year for the divine universe as a whole.  Without going into the nitty-gritty, dear readers, just look back on some of the biggest news stories of the year for crying out loud!  Awful, just awful.  Furthermore, according to my analyst, my numerologist and my parapsychologist, 2012 proved particularly difficult for a strong and determined yet innately sensitive soul like myself. 

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I was forced to spend months on end at a holistic spa at the beginning of 2013 being pampered, swaddled and massaged…just to cope! The horror!

Now, you’ve all known of the on-again/off-again flirtation and then affair I’d been carrying on with a certain Rottweiler over the course of several years.  At first, he seemed a rather solid and handsome fellow on the outside — albeit wounded from past experiences – as we all are.  Presumably, no real harm in that.

Eventually I could not deny, however, that there was an odd void — an aloofness in his gaze, an often severe glitch in his behaviour.  Over time, it became alarmingly clear that there were manifold subcutaneous afflictions.  Though it was vexing, indeed, to recently discover his deceitful and otherwise unsavory ways of the past, I was comforted to learn, in the end, that he’d been entirely inbred — and that the inbreeding had afflicted him with an awful irreversible condition including panic biting and schizoid personality disorder.  That — and the whole his-balls-being-cut-off-thing made him an entirely inappropriate suitor.

Also, it explained one kinky (unbeknownst to me!) night when I woke up shocked to see my gorgeous Italian leather collar had been chewed up to smithereens.  Eee gads!

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One particularly scandalous evening he wanted to wear this contraption and get into some “freaky shit.” I told him I’d pooped in his bed once, and that was as crazy as things were going to get.

Following the dissolution of the affair, I had several heart to heart conversations with my dear friend Emma, a Chocolate Lab with neurological problems.

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I see what you are thinking…just don’t.

It’s funny how Emma can sometimes be so wise when it comes to more complex matters of the heart or statistical sociology, but when it comes to things like not walking into parking meters, throwing herself into oncoming traffic or pooping in cross-walks, she can be so dim!  She is a country dog, after all.

Well it turned out dear Emma seemed to reinforce this absolutely dull, typical, insipid notion that is often thrown around in self-help manuals: “Are you being open enough?  Perhaps you are focusing too much on superficial qualities?”  Well I’m sorry, but advice makes me pout.

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BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

After that, I spent a bit of time trying to get my head on straight….which for me undoubtedly involves copious amounts of fine alcohol, towers of chilled shellfish, massages, spa retreats, amphetamines, fun European cough syrup, a PCP laced marijuana cigarette (I swear I didn’t know!!!) and an evening of Bolivian cocaine and Cuban cigars that culminated in the hot tub with several Icelandic Sheepdog male models.

WHAT?  A lady has her needs too.

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Just a whisper of vermouth s’il vous plait.

Then of course came the string of residual inappropriate suitors — a highly neurotic Whippet with horrible game, a needy Old English Sheepdog with pretentious conversational tendencies, and a really darling fun-loving Golden Retriever with absolutely no long-term potential.

A bit of time passed while I regrouped — then quite unexpectedly, while attending a society mixer, an American Hairless Terrier with a razor sharp wit and seemingly high potential appeared.  Well that fizzled out after he showed signs of split personality — a trait often associated with poor upbringing and training or being weaned from one’s mother too early — or is it too late?  One never knows these days.

Anywho, he later was seen out and about with an exceedingly plain Jill Russel terrier with an egregious yap and unsightly fur.  This is just what I’ve heard.  I’m only presenting the facts as they’ve come my way, you see.

So now, before you judge me, you must understand and agree that when one puts forth faith that a certain being is one way, and then that being turns out to be an entirely other way altogether…why it shakes up one’s faith in Dog!  And after all — as they say, “In Dog, We Trust”…

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As I’ve said before, a Lady has her needs, dammit!

Moving right along, I’m sure you’ve heard the exaggerated hubbub that followed: stories of my romantic rendezvoussssss in far off places, canoodling with a well known actor in the corner of the Washington Square Park dog run, being hit on by Taylor Swift at a late-night after party.

But my dear friends, I implore you — do not take this all at face value.  In the fast life — this life of fortune and fame — you’re dammed if you do, and dammed if you don’t.  I just can’t win!  And as Rosie Perez once said in “White Men Can’t Jump,” (tragically, this clip has been removed everywhere on the Internet):

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“Sometimes when you win, you really lose, and sometimes when you lose, you really win, and sometimes when you win or lose, you actually tie, and sometimes when you tie, you actually win or lose. Winning or losing is all one organic mechanism, from which one extracts what one needs.”

So like the hideous moth who hibernates in its own cocoon and emerges a glorious butterfly — or like the practically deformed young duckling who eventually emerges a graceful swan…I too shall overcome, even if it involves sedatives, a perfectly sculpted Latino cabana boy feeding me grapes (or preferably hot dog slices), a handle of Jack Daniels and watching mindnumingly awful but amazing movies for the next three weeks.

And so, my friends, until the sun comes out (and no, it won’t be tomorrow as I check accuweather.com every 15 minutes and hit refresh obsessively) I bid you adieu,

Lady Bianca Miller

A Mushroom of One’s Own: The Bitch Bench of Bergen Street Style IV

In Adventure, Dining, Etiquette, inspiration on January 23, 2013 at 4:20 pm

Welcome back, dear readers, to The Bitch Bench of Bergen Street Style.  This little section — why I like to think of it as my gift back to the community, an ode to my customers.

Lord knows everyone is always admiring Lady Bianca for this and that — my flawless porcelain skin, my voluptuous yet sleek peanut shaped body, the sheen of the hair between my toes…my razor sharp wit…why the list just goes shamelessly on and on!  And though forever appreciative of the constant adoration bestowed upon me by my fans, visitors to my shop, and random passerby on the street, it really does get tiresome, indeed, when I feel I am not getting a chance to be gracious and reciprocate compliments to others.

So it is with great relief that, in this little column, I get to point out and admire the stylistic triumphs of my dear fans and customers and engage them in interview — my attempt to better know the darlings!  This week, I interviewed the etherial and adventurous Francis Lin.  Ms Lin is my kind of gal.

While Frances pulls off this fabulous oversize parka in one of my favorite classic fashion colors (mustard) this is a look that eludes me, due to my heavenly curves.

Frances, what is your occupation?

I’m an emergency medical physician and also a medical toxicologist, however I’m taking a couple of years off to pursue what I’ve always wanted to do which is to write and create, and it’s been a very interesting journey; 2012 was the year of the fire dragon, which I am, as well as an Aries, so fire and fire. But it’s been a great year. A hard year, giving up a lot of job offers to do something that a lot of people were like, “hmmm…”

Change is always a good thing!  Eventually.  Sort of like the week I was so disappointed Fleisher’s ran out of Hot Italian Pork Sausage and I had get the Lamb Merguez.  I nearly had a horrific temper tantrum (my signature move is to fling my body on the floor and bite my paw) right then and there.  But after all that, the Lamb Merguez ended up being a new favorite!

Yes.  The change opened my world and my consciousness, my awareness to my surroundings so much more.

Regarding your current surroundings, what brings you to Bergen Street today?

I just wrote my first book (Whims and Woes), and I’m dropping off a few copies to Bergen Comics and I’m also going to go to Green Light. The book follows a character named Saro, who always finds the whimsical in the woe.

Imagine that!  Why, of course, that’s what Lady Bianca attempts to do in life – find the whim in the woe.  Speaking of whimsical, what did you buy at my dear little shop today?

I just bought this gorgeous dress [by Eva Franco] that has a little pouf and makes me feel like a princess, and it’s a great party dress.  I’d also been dreaming about this Soaked Earth fragrance [by CB I Hate Perfume] for a while, but I hadn’t had time to stop in. It smells like I’ve been digging in the soil for mushrooms, and I just love mushrooms. I guess it’s my Sunday church, going near the woods and digging for mushrooms and going to Central Park and finding mushrooms there too.

I, too, like to forage!  Now that we’re getting all these hurricanes and such here in New York, there has been a huge surge in the numbers, size and types of mushrooms we’re seeing all over the city.  It used to be, I’d only go foraging for mushrooms at my country estate in Connecticut.  I was constantly on the hunt for hen-of-the-woods mushrooms and, of course, chicken poop.  The groundskeeper, not understanding that chicken poop is a delicacy in more highly civilized countries like mine, scolded me after finding me in some remote brush with a mouth full.  The Neanderthal brute!  I’ll have his job for that!  

I found a mushroom as big as your heavenly body, Bianca, and I was carrying it on a stick like a hobo, walking through a book store on Madison Avenue of all places.  But because of that they didn’t forget me, so I’m also selling some books up there.

That description just became an absolutely gorgeous image in my head!  And on the subject of beauty, when do you feel the most beautiful?

When I’m completely alive and aware and engaged with the world, and it doesn’t matter who you are or what you look like; somebody has a connection with you, talking to people and having common interests, that’s when I think the world is beautiful and everybody is beautiful, it’s not about how you look. For a while I was so zombified, not sleeping, and only taking care of other people but not myself, and now that I’m writing I’m doing healing in a different way. I don’t think medicine is the only way to heal.

I think that’s very wise indeed.  Just like, school is only one way to get an education, and money can’t buy happiness…or taste, or style.  Do you have any style icons?

Oh gosh, I’m like worst person to ask this. I don’t know any pop culture, I’m like in my own world with mushrooms. I create my own world and my character is from a different planet that landed on earth, so…

Well for crying out loud — me neither!  But the universe itself, of course, is a heavenly style icon!  I, too, often feel as if I have landed upon this earth from somewhere else…that I am living in some strange space-time continuum.  I’d always attributed that somewhat to my extensive recreational drug use (I found hallucinogenic mushrooms wonderful as they are grown in poop, giving me the best of both worlds!) …or perhaps just to life in New York City.  If you didn’t live in New York City, where would you want to live?
Where wouldn’t I want to live? Actually, I’d want to live on a boat because then I could sail across the world and stop at ports and just live at a bare minimum, using solar energy and wind power to cook. Basically just cut off 99% of it… but I’d still have my Soaked Earth!

One has to have one’s indulgences.  For me I must have my gold leaf and caviar encrusted Kobe beef at least once a week or I become absolutely feeble and can barely speak or move.  If  in your next life you were to return as an animal, which would you want to be? (I dare say it would not be a Tajima cow.)  

I would like to be a phoenix!

Rising from the ashes is always a good look.

…or a dodo bird. They’re extinct now, but they were kind of whimsical and the story behind them is rather interesting. They were from the island of Mauritius, and they’d had no contact with humans so when humans came they had no defense mechanisms. The humans discovered that if they fed the birds rocks they would become really jagged so that they could sharpen their knives on them, but that wasn’t good for the dodo birds. The poor dodo birds!

What an untimely demise. I certainly would not care to ingest any rocks myself.  I tried it once, and my parapsychologist said it did not suit the hue of my aura which is an incredible deep blue, like my blood.  What color is your aura?
Oooh… it depends. Today I think it’s green and red and brown, mixed in with white, because I feel that I’m seeing time interweaving because we had autumn here and the old autumn leaves are mixing with the snow in the air. They are meeting for the first time but they’re not supposed to be meeting!

Award to the wise

In Celebrity, Etiquette, Fashion, inspiration, Wisdom on January 16, 2013 at 8:42 am

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Darlings, award season is upon us once more. To me, this means taking on a brutal schedule of gown fittings, red carpets and all night parties, set against a backdrop of mildly threatening fan mobs. My thoughts, as always, are of style and etiquette but with the added concern of seating plans. A time for revelry, yes, but also a time for furious networking and the striking of deals.

Which is why I was somewhat aghast to overhear some of our city’s young ones declare their desire to become famous with the singular aim of walking red carpets at these events. If ever a cart was before a horse, a “c” before an “i” or a chaser before a shot, this took the dog biscuit. Yet, rather than succumbing to the twin aging culprits of dismay or disdain, I chose instead to practice compassion. It is with this higher purpose my dear friends, that I wish to offer this simple instructional guide on how not to become a fame hungry troll.

I shall begin be dispelling some of the common misconceptions our youth have about the path to fame and fortune:

No. 1. Oversharing your private life
 
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Yes, you may have the right to freedom of speech, but dare I suggest that airing your every gesture and utterance in the public domain was not at the what dear Mr Madison had in mind when drafting the First Amendment?

No. 2. Performing lewd acts
 
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Just because someone in the public eye made a lot of money subsequent to demeaning themselves on the internet, doesn’t mean you ought to do the same. Showgirls was not an instructional video.

No. 3. Denying your better judgement
 
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There will always be some foolish guttersnipe who will encourage you to disregard your gut instinct with the assurance that what you’re about to do ‘will go viral’. Observe this unfortunate fellow, embarrassing himself on a clearly unmatched pony, without the suitable attire. If you find yourself making a similarly perturbed facial expression, cease and desist your activities there and then.

No. 4. Weilding your children like trophies
 
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An armful of Grammies is impressive and newsworthy. An armful of teething and bewildered younglings is not.

No. 4. Waiting for something to happen
 
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Make no mistake that luck, happenstance and serendipity play a large role in all walks of life. It is indeed possible to be talented and hardworking and not to ‘make it’. Such is life. But hear this, you must still work hard, stay focused and develop your talent. Even if this doesn’t land you a prime time show, you will be far wealthier in spirit – and in my esteem.

With the greatest respect,

Bianca

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