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Archive for the ‘Celebrity’ Category

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

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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

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

What’s the Meme-ing of This?

In Adventure, Celebrity, Etiquette, Nemesis, Slander, Society on July 12, 2012 at 1:39 pm

Heaven knows I’ve gone to extraordinary lengths to sidestep the pitfalls of high society life. I do so pity those who fall prey to the entourage of charlatans and hangers-on who make their living duping celebrities like myself with their own special brands of witch-doctory, hocus poucs and claptrap. Those of you in the know will be well aware of these tribes of swindlers; psychics, shamans, image consultants and dermatologists.

For the longest time I had steadfastly shunned them all, only to bow last year only to the advice of my trusted numerologist, Madame Menteur, to hire a press agent. This press agent, who shall remain nameless for legal reasons, was described to me as a necessary evil when living life in the public eye in today’s media saturated world. I would benefit from her careful hand, gently guiding my friends in the newsroom as to which stories of my exploits were suitable for public consumption and which were to remain my own for charming banter at cocktail hour. I also paid handsomely for the services of strictly controlling the right to my likeness, with imagery of my visage appearing only with my express permission, for a reasonable and tastefully donated fee.

Well you can imagine my horror when a dear reader took it upon themselves to inform my lovely friend Miss Miller of certain images that have been made available on what the young ones call Facesbook. It’s come to light that there are literally dozens of websites around the world where people place faked photographs that they buy somewhere called Photoshop, which I believe is in Seattle somewhere.

In response to this complete and utter failure by this so called ‘press agent’ I have asked my staff to take these photos from those websites and store them safely here on my own website instead. That way I can be sure they go no further.

So for that reason only they are stored below. I trust you will all have the good manners and courtesy to refrain from viewing them.

Bianca Golden Globes photobomb

Yours in dismay,

Bianca

Heavy is the Head that Wears the Crown

In Adventure, Celebrity, Etiquette, Fashion, Nemesis, Night Life, Romance, Slander, Society, Style on October 29, 2011 at 3:47 pm

Dearest friends and loyal fans,

Admittedly, it has been quite sometime since you have heard from me.  Although I feel in no way obligated to, as a lady of clout and social stature, I find it prudent to recap an abridged version of my activities — my comings and goings since I left you last.  This is not an excuse — but merely an explanation for my extended sabatical from blogging.

As I have lamented before, life can be such a struggle for a lady of my position!  It is not all coming up roses and little pieces of cut up sausage for Lady Bianca Miller.  Behind the veneer of glamourous parties, fabulous events, and sordid love affairs — there is a dark side my friends, a dark side.

And because so much time has passed since I have shared with you in this forum, I shall edit fiercely and attempt to catch you up to date swiftly.  I left you last sometime just before Fashion week.  As you can imagine, I get dozens of invitations from people desiring me to attend their event, show or party even for a few moments!  And while I can’t accept them all, I am higlighting a few of many of the events I lent my fame to that week:

Here, front row at the Zac Posen show, I snapped a photo of my old pal Sessilee Lopez. Of course I was asked to walk the show but due to a strained paw, I was unable to accept the kind offer. I imagine it was somewhat for the best as I tend to overshadow the rest of the girls, and it is a good show of generosity of spirit to give others their time to shine.

Later, backstage, I caught up with my good friend Anna Wintour (you can see her pictured here seated front row, catty-corner from me). Of course we were originally supposed to sit next to each other so I could lend an ear to her sometimes tedious inquisitions into my aesthetic interpretations of the sartorial floor show, but there was a mix up in the seating arrangements and I, not wanting to cause a stir, decided to do the graceful thing and yield to any deliberation on the matter.

After attending countless other fashion shows that week, I found it proper to take my adoring staff to happy hour at Maison Premiere where they offer all varieties of superior bivalve molluscs, all at $1 a peice!  Imagine!  Naturally, we had to give them all a go:

The stunning ladies of Eponymy, Amanda and Claire, ready to indulge in celebration of Eponymy's 3rd birthday. Dry Kir Royales and oysters? Yes please!

Though curvy in the right areas, I am also blessed with a speedy metabolism and so I do fully enjoy the luxuries of partaking in a second course at none other than Fette Sau.

Of course we found it only proper to end the evening with a Miller High Life toast to Eponymy, MHL being our eponymous beverage.

In addition to our private celebration, I decided it would be kind to support the industry and allow others celebrate the 3rd birthday of my little shop, Eponymy, by throwing a small soiree:

Here I am at my little shop, Eponymy, with my dear friend who occasionally helps me get things together. Generally, she can be a bit lazy about things you know. It is just so difficult to find good help these days!

I was able to secure my friend Stephane Wrembel to play the party:

Stephane has composed and performed the soundtracks to Woody Allen's "Midnight in Paris" and "Vicky Christina Barcelona" among other achievements. It was a glorious evening of lovely Gypsy Jazz. I say, I do know how to throw a party!

There is a possibility that while rehashing old glory days with my dear artist friend Thomas Brown, who has sculpted my likeness (I am somewhat of a muse to him), I may have consumed one too many Miller High Life beverages.

The lovely Emma Hoette who is both an accomplished modern dancer and costume designer, was also enjoying drinks from our favorite neighborhood bar, Weatherup! Unfortunately, I may have also represented in an entirely different way by perhaps slightly overindulging on the delicious cocktail selection they offered.

Of course, what really put me over the top was when the rock and roll crowd came tearing through the gathering.  One of my absolute dearest friends in the world and talented singer and muse, Lisa Ronson, daughter of the late, legendary Bowie guitarist, Mick Ronson showed up (late of course).  You know how those rock and roll characters can be!  Well one moment I’m innocently sipping camomile tea in a quiet corner and the next moment I’m drinking straight from a bottle of Jack and breaking musical intruments over senior citizen’s heads!

Here is Miss Ronson looking uncharacteristically demure in the presence of uber design, branding and merchandising stylist extraordinaire Alan Rohwer.

Well, it wasn’t just wild child Ronson’s doing.  Soon enough my friends and neighbors Ian Hultquist and Sofia Degli Alessandri of Passion Pit and Aislyn joined us and I soon began to enter a dark territory I believe I have heard many rock and rollers call “shit-can-drunk.”

Captured here in an inordinately modest and reserved moment, as soon as the cameras were off, Ian and Sophia started ripping the heads off small animals with their (lovely) teeth!

Well I kept up appearances and socialized for as long as I could...

...but I am afraid towards the end of the evening I had to retire somewhat earlier than anticipated...

...and naturally exhausted from several long weeks of festivities, I had to be escorted upstairs to my more comfortable residential abode...

Single?  CALL ME.  718-789-0301.

That my friends, is when the evening took a disastrous turn towards the devastatingly scandalous. Somehow, delirious and still tipsy from the evening, I wound up in the bath with an on again/off again romantic interest of mine. I can only assume that whilst passing through, he saw the necklace around my neck (by Diament Designs) reading "Available" and assumed that I was interested in rekindling our relationship.

...and of course the next morning....

...amongst all the kerfuffle...My Nemesis arrived on the scene to catch me in an amorous embrace with my gentleman suitor, Meatball.

I will tell you one thing.  Meatball was a perfect gentleman, even bringing me a breakfast in bed of chili cheese and bacon hot dogs, crispy pork sandwich and bratwurst with bacon braised sauerkraut from his splendid little restaurant Bark Hot Dogs.

But I am afraid, however, as glamourous as all of this sounds, I awoke the next day in a first class seat to Palm Springs, Florida where I escaped for several intensive days of detoxification, yoga and spa so I could get my head on straight for crying out loud!

I find the sun salutations so grounding in this crazy, crazy world we live in.

Oh, the pressures of fame!  I’ll tell you, friends, New Yorkians and countrymen, it’s certainly not all it’s cracked up to be!

And that, my friends, although an abridged version, should catch you up to date on my activities over the past few.  Pity me?  Gracious no!  I am a strong woman of substance and persistance and I shall laugh wholeheartedly and maybe even cough up an undesirable piece of phlegm (it is cold season now) in the cruel face of adversity.

With much due respect to my faithful fans,

Bianca Miller

Walk of Fame

In Adventure, Celebrity, Night Life, Society on August 21, 2011 at 12:21 am

Greetings darling ones,

As many of you probably know entirely too well…it is just SO difficult to find good help these days!  Egads!

Particularly when one finds oneself inexorably thrust into the public spotlight as often as yours truly, one needs to be able to rely on fine gentlemen of the ample and lofty persuasion.  This little post is dedicated to my squires of the night, the men who protect and serve me.  My, ehem, watchdogs.

Daniel and Dominique, the finest personal security detail this side of the Gowanus Canal, coming to my rescue one Friday evening when I became absolutely overwhelmed by enamored fans and bothersome Paparazzi.

Antoine calls on Sir Michael for back up one exceedingly perturbing evening when I was bombarded by a pack of wild and worshiping fans.

It was rumoured I particpated in an affair of an unsavory nature with squire Dominique but that of course is rubbish! Pure rubbish I say!

And that, my friends, is a tiny window into the life of a true Star.  It’s not always as glamorous as it’s cracked up to be. Goodness gracious me.

Mindfully yours,

Bianca Miller

Bartender is the Night

In Celebrity, Night Life, Philanthropy, Society on August 4, 2011 at 12:20 am

Hello my pretties.

Isn’t it lovely when two of your favorite things arrive in one package?

If, like me, you find this heat to be reaching your upper threshold of comfort, may I suggest it be taken as a cue to catch up on some much needed reflection. Although the white color of my coat is perfect for bouncing back the sun’s harshest rays, I do find myself crossing the line from glowing to perspiring if I attempt any physical activity while wearing fur. Therefore I like to spend my city time in July indoors, ideally with a refreshing cordial of some kind. Nothing quite calms the senses like an expertly served Pimms I always say! Which brings me to the first of my favorite things: Brooklyn bartenders.

Having been in the privileged position of residing in this fine borough since my social debut, I have come to know and frequent some truly fabulous watering holes. Inevitably, my discerning eye has been drawn to those barkeeps whose deportment and repartee never fail to delight. I have found that my very favorites tend to share certain traits which I will, in turn, share with you.

My ideal bartender is a snappy dresser with a monosyllabic name like Paul, John or Floyd. They will be neither aloof nor overbearing but rather will, on occasion, share exotic tales from southern states. They will read interesting books and keep their money not in the bank but in gold. In times of great distress they will even encourage you to order your drink by specifying a liquor and an adjective. Indeed one of the most life affirming beverages I have ever tasted was presented to me in response to the description of ‘bourbon’ and ‘forlorn’. To further salve my soul this was accompanied by a touching description of Degas’ The Absinthe Drinker, which fit my mood perfectly.

The second of my favorite things is of course a man with a heart. Nothing in this world warms my soul in quite the same way. And so it is that when I first heard of The Barman’s Fund I was filled with a delicious cocktail of sensations, capturing everything from lust to pride to altruistic bliss – and back to lust again. In their own words their mission is simple,  ‘a bunch of bartenders take every penny they make on the first shift of the month and pool it, and then give it to various charities (Figuring that most community charities would much rather have 6 hrs of tips than 6 hrs of us washing dishes).’ This, I found myself thinking, is surely one of the most enjoyable ways to multitask, spending social and charitable time at once.

A glorious specimen of manhood, our dear friend John (he graces the bar at both the Vanderbilt and Weatherup) of The Barman's Fund braves the lines of target to buy diapers for nearby CHIPS maternity shelter.

I’m also happy to say the man behind the fund is an old friend, Floyd. I have a great deal of lovely things to say about him but fear I would make him blush. So I will leave it to you to see for yourselves – if you find yourself in Prospect Heights he’ll be the dapper gentleman behind the bar at The Vanderbilt.

Stopped by for a summer afternoon of bar therapy with Sir Floyd and a thumble full of Eponymy's eponymous Miller High Life.

Charitably yours,

Bianca Miller

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