Take a look at this receipt from Nello’s in New York City:
Forget the wine, who charges $30 for asparagus?
Reportedly, the customer who accrued these charges was Russian oligarch and billionaire Roman Abramovich, although he did receive some assistance from five of his friends.
Where do I begin? Well, when you break down the charges, the cost for the food was a relatively reasonable $1,162, or $194 per person, not out of the realm of possibility during an evening out at Café Boulud in Palm Beach. On the other hand, Abramovich was very generous with his guests regarding the assortment of drinks that he ordered (I’m assuming that he shared), which totaled $35,425, or $5,904 per person. Even more disturbingly, that breaks down to almost two bottles of some combination of champagne, wine, port, and whiskey per person, which is a lot, unless, of course, you’re either Russian or from Palm Beach.
Although I’m sure that Abramovich and his friends had a very nice time, nobody ended up happier than the waiter, who pocketed more than $12,000 for his efforts (i.e., delivering a few plates of pasta, pulling a few corks, and steering clear of Abramovich’s girlfriend). $12,000? But the bill lists a tip of only $7,328.20. Yes, $12,000, because, as reported by TMZ, Abramovich threw in an additional $5,000 on top of the standard 20% tip to ensure that the waiter’s compensation would be sufficient.
Oh, and, by the way, these charges were for lunch.
That’s right, I’m happy to report that I’ve been invited to write a column for the Shiny Sheet. It will appear every Sunday, and my first column can be found here.
I recently had the chance to spend some time in New Orleans, the setting of one of my favorite comedic novels, A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole. For those of you who might somehow be unfamiliar with the book, it introduces the unforgettable character of Ignatius J. Reilly. The writer Walker Percy described Ignatius as a “slob extraordinaire, a mad Oliver Hardy, a fat Don Quixote, a perverse Thomas Aquinas rolled into one,” a description that could also be applied to Oliver Booth, and his adventures are absolutely hilarious.
Here is the first paragraph of the book:
A green hunting cap squeezed the top of the fleshy balloon of a head. The green earflaps, full of large ears and uncut hair and the fine bristles that grew in the ears themselves, stuck out on either side like turn signals indicating two directions at once. Full, pursed lips protruded beneath the bushy black moustache and, at their corners, sank into little folds filled with disapproval and potato chip crumbs. In the shadow under the green visor of the cap Ignatius J. Reilly’s supercilious blue and yellow eyes looked down upon the other people waiting under the clock at the D.H. Holmes department store, studying the crowd of people for signs of bad taste in dress. Several of the outfits, Ignatius noticed, were new enough and expensive enough to be properly considered offenses against taste and decency. Possession of anything new or expensive only reflected a person’s lack of theology and geometry; it could even cast doubts upon one’s soul.
Unlike certain writers whose lives were more interesting than their work, or others whose work was more interesting than their lives, Oscar Wilde was both a gifted writer and a fascinating personality. Take a look at these descriptions of his attire that were written by journalists during his visit to the United States and Canada in 1882 when he was 25 years-old, long before his legal and financial troubles began, as excerpted in a recent issue of Harper’s Magazine from the forthcoming book Oscar Wilde in America: The Interviews:
A black felt hat of unusual proportions
A sealskin cap many sizes too small for him
A broad-brimmed white sombrero
A long bottle-green overcoat trimmed with fur
A sky-blue cravat of the sailor style
A morning suit of light mastic-colored tweed
A monster moonlight-green tie
A cobweb-colored velveteen coat
A ring with a seal of great size
Loose trousers of subdued tint but of very self-assertive cut
A mouse-colored corduroy blouse with gray worsted pantaloons
A velvet jacket, concerning the fit of which he should have a word with his tailor
A ‘Bon Silene’ rosebud in his coat lapel
A boutonniere, somewhat withered, made up of heliotropes, a brightly foliated daisy, and a tuberose
These descriptions are very funny, but slightly baffling. What color is a cobweb? In what sense is the word “monster” being used? Regardless, it’s easy to understand why Wilde’s appearance on our shores would have caused such a sensation in 1882.
David Desmond
Oscar Wilde's tomb at Père Lachaise cemetery in Paris (yes, those are lipstick marks)
I’ve just discovered a new blog that is written by an insider who works in the banquet department at a high-end hotel here in town. It’s very funny, even more so because all of the stories are true. Don’t miss it!
Thinking about enrolling in the British Airways Executive Club? It might not be as simple as you think. Here are the options that you’re offered when you’re asked to enter your title:
Mr
Mrs
Ms
Miss
Dr
Herr
Monsieur
Hr
Frau
A V M
Admiraal
Admiral
Air Cdre
Air Commodore
Air Marshal
Air Vice Marshal
Alderman
Alhaji
Ambassador
Archbishop
Archdeacon
Baron
Barones
Baroness
Bay
Bayan
Bishop
Brig
Brig
Gen
Brig General
Brigadier
Brigadier General
Brother
Canon
Capt
Captain
Cardinal
Cdr
Chief
Cik
Cmdr
Col
Col Dr
Colonel Commandant
Commander
Commissioner
Commodore
Comte
Comtessa
Congressman
Conseiller
Consul
Conte
Contessa
Corporal
Councillor
Count
Countess
Crown Prince
Crown Princess
Dame
Datin
Dato
Datuk
Datuk Seri
Deacon
Deaconess
Dean
Dhr
Dipl Ing
Doctor
Dott
Dott sa
Dr Ing
Dra
Drs
Duchess
Duke
Earl
Embajador
Embajadora
En
Encik
Eng
Eur Ing
Exma Sra
Exmo Sr
F O
Father
First Lieutient
First Officer
Flt Lieut
Flying Officer
Fr
Fraulein
Fru
Gen
Generaal
General
Governor
Graaf
Gravin
Group Captain
Grp Capt
H E
H E Dr
H H
H M
H R H
Hajah
Haji
Hajim
Her Highness
Her Majesty
High Chief
His Excellency
His Holiness
His Majesty
Hon
Hra
Ing
Ir
Jonkheer
Judge
Justice
Khun Ying
Kolonel
Lady
Lcda
Lic
Lieut
Lieut Cdr
Lieut Col
Lieut Gen
Lord
M M L
M R
Madame
Mademoiselle
Maj Gen
Major
Marchioness
Marquess
Marquis
Marquise
Marshall
Master
Mevrouw
Mlle
Mme
Monsignor
Mstr
Nti
Pan
Pani
Pastor
President
Prince
Princess
Princesse
Prinses
Prof
Prof Dr
Prof Sir
Professor
Puan Puan Sri
Rabbi
Rear Admiral
Rev
Rev Canon
Rev Dr
Rev Mother
Reverend
Rva
Senator
Senhor
Senhora
Senhorita
Senor
Senora
Senorita
Sergeant
Sheikh
Sheikha
Sig
Sig na
Sig ra
Sir
Sister
Sqn Ldr
Sr
Sr D
Sra
Srta
Sultan
Tan Sri
Tan Sri Dato
Tengku
Teuku
Than Puying
The Hon Dr
The Hon Justice
The Hon Miss
The Hon Mr
The Hon Mrs
The Hon Ms
The Hon Sir
The RT Hon
The Very Rev
Toh Puan Tun
Vice Admiral
Viscount
Viscountess
Wing Commander
Personally, I’m leaning toward Wing Commander, but I must say that a title of His Holiness is also tempting. My mailman would certainly be impressed.
Do you demand only the finest 1000 thread count Egyptian Cotton sheets or require that your bath be drawn only with bottled spring water? Do you insist that your coffee be stirred only counter-clockwise? If so, then, like many celebrities, you’re a diva. Are you surprised to learn that you don’t need to be famous to be a diva? Don’t be, because divas, they’re just like you and me.
Like many Americans who try to stay tuned in to the popular culture, I rely on a number of sources for all of the latest gossip. Now, some celebrities, despite their fame, can come across as sympathetic characters. On the other hand, take Madonna. Apparently she’s recently been divorced, and that’s probably sad, but a recent item quoted a Swedish pop star named Robyn, who had been invited by Madonna to open a handful of her European shows. Robyn had been excited to receive the invitation until she was informed that she and her crew were forbidden to approach Madonna, speak to Madonna, or take any pictures of Madonna. In response, Robyn said that, “My worst nightmare would be to turn into Madonna.”
Certainly, it’s difficult to know if anecdotes like this are true unless one experiences the wrath and disdain of a celebrity personally, but so many incidents like this have been reported that one begins to wonder whether fame can change one’s personality.
The (mis)behaviors of divas fall into two realms, the personal and the interpersonal. In the realm of the personal lie the luxuries and freedoms to which these special people feel entitled. During the making of the box-office bomb Basic Instinct 2, for example, Sharon Stone’s demands included three nannies, two personal assistants, a private chef, armed bodyguards, and travel by private jet. Why armed bodyguards? Well, perhaps they were needed to fend off the hordes of plastic surgeons whose services she has vowed she would never use. The truly boundary crossing misbehaviors of divas lie in the interpersonal realm, however, because, for some reason, they seem to feel that the appropriate response to unsatisfactory behavior by one of their minions is the throwing of a cell phone. We have seen this from the Australian actor Russell Crowe, the former supermodel Naomi Campbell, and somebody named Foxy Brown.
What are some of the red flags that can help us spot celebs in the throes of divadom? How about speaking of oneself in the third person (“P. Diddy is not pleased with the price of jet fuel”)? Developing an English accent for no apparent reason (Madonna once again)? The use of the fatal phrase, “Don’t you know who I am?” (all of them). Yes, those and so many other behaviors can serve as red flags, but we should primarily be alert to our own feeling that we become lesser or even nonexistent mortals on those rare occasions when we might find ourselves in a celeb’s company.
So are these behaviors a consequence of our era of media saturation? Has the constant scrutiny of the media through the Internet, the tabloids, and the celebrity obsessed TV shows created a generation of monsters, or are they just more visible now than they were in the past? Elizabeth Taylor was certainly recognized as being a diva many decades ago. As Bette Davis once said, “The real problem with Liz is that she bought the little lost princess image invented for her at MGM.” In a similar vein, I recall an anecdote in which Frank Sinatra was standing in a crowded party tent and decided that he would like to leave. Instead of simply remaining patient and proceeding in a leisurely fashion to the exit, he took out a switchblade, cut an opening in the tent, and walked out. Back in the 80s, the rap group Public Enemy released a song called, “Don’t believe the hype.” The problem with many of these divas, both past and present, is that they not only believe the hype, they believe that it’s fact.
Perhaps to the same extent that we admire celebs because of their accomplishments, we also feel a secret thrill when they’re punished for their moral failings. Celebrity is a double-edged sword, and more often than not, an ascendance into the public eye, sometimes for little or no obvious reason (Paris Hilton, of course, sets the standard), is matched by a similarly precipitous decline through rehab and onto the set of Celebrity Fit Club. If these shooting stars knew in advance that their fame would require a Faustian bargain, would they opt out of the deal? Probably not, because the glare of the flashbulb can be quite seductive.
Because we’re all human beings with both higher aspirations and certain baser instincts, we need celebrities. When they’re on the rise, they make us feel better about ourselves because they show the heights to which anybody can ascend given the right opportunities and a modicum of talent (or in some cases no identifiable skills at all). Conversely, when celebrities crash and burn, they help us to feel better about ourselves because we haven’t yet become dysfunctional enough to end up in that predicament.
While some might suggest that I should leave the analysis of celebrities’ psyches to Dr. Phil, I should note that in addition to being a writer (by the way, check out my new satirical novel The Misadventures of Oliver Booth: Life in the Lap of Luxury if you want to have some fun at the expense of the self-obsessed), I’m a licensed clinical psychologist, so perhaps I can offer a few worthwhile insights into their oftentimes ridiculous behavior. In general, I do not believe that fame creates divas. Instead, I believe that certain people have a predisposition to narcissistic, exploitative behavior that becomes unleashed when they’re provided with the power and freedom of celebrity. That same behavior might be demonstrated by any one of us if we were given the same opportunities. Divas, you see, they’re just like you and me.
At the risk of being accused of jumping on a bandwagon, here are the ten things that I, Kenneth Keen, can’t live without. I can assure you that they are better than the things that Messrs. Flagg and Booth find indispensible:
1. My assistant – He is a jack of all trades, but, I must say, master of none. That’s my job. He shall remain nameless, primarily because I have trouble remembering his name. Jeremy something, I think.
2. On War by Carl von Clausewitz – You might be surprised to see that I have chosen this volume rather than The Art of War by Sun Tzu. Simply put, On War is my bible, and the pseudo-spirituality of The Art of War makes it less appealing to me. I prefer sentiments such as, “War is an act of force to compel our enemy to do our will.” How does this relate to interior design, you may ask? Apparently you’ve never met any of my clients. When traveling, I carry two copies of this book, one in English and another in German. I don’t speak German, but that version tends to keep my seatmate at bay when I’m provided with less than spacious accommodations on a long-haul flight.
My well-worn copy of "Vom Kriege"
3. Sunglasses, Prada at present – Like Anna Wintour, I wear them whenever I am outside my apartment because they enable me to see out while others cannot see in. I think of them as armor for my soul.
My currently favored sunglasses, combined with an unfortunate shirt
4. Kimonos – As a practicing Buddhist, the wearing of a kimono allows me to feel at one with my chi. I also appreciate the ventilation on steamy summer afternoons.
A kimono, Prada sunglasses, and a pair of sandals from John Lobb (not shown) complete the look of Kenneth Keen
5. My Vertu Constellation – And they say status can’t be bought! Yes, I admit that this phone cost me well over $5,000, and I further admit that this phone has no camera, no GPS, and no high-speed data capability, but it does what it does, and it does it well. It makes calls and it impresses others.
I have no doubt that you would envy my list of contacts, which are loaded into my phone by my assistant
6. Louis Vuitton luggage – Since I don’t believe in traveling light, and porters are readily available in most modern airports (Prague’s Franz Kafka International Airport aside), I travel with a matched set of Louis Vuitton luggage in Monogram Canvas that consists of four Alzer 80 Anglais cases (they’re wider than the standard Alzer 80s, so I can fit even more of my purchases into them after one of my frequent shopping expeditions) and, as a carry-on, a Messenger GM Bosphore for my business papers and essential accessories (e.g., item numbers 2, 3, 5, 8, and 9).
The Louis Vuitton Alzer 80 (my "Anglais" version is slightly roomier)
7. Durian – Let’s get the objections to this fantastic fruit out of the way first. Some have suggested that its flavor is akin to eating sweet raspberry blancmange in the lavatory and that your breath will thereafter smell as if you’ve been French-kissing your dead grandmother. As suggested by the following video, its odor has been likened to that of pig droppings, turpentine, and onions, garnished with a gym sock. Other comparisons have been made to sewage, stale vomit, skunk spray, used surgical swabs, and a rotting corpse. Despite its great popularity in southeast Asia, this fruit is prohibited in establishments such as hotels, subways, and airports. Satisfied? Alright, on a more positive note, Durian contains vitamin C, potassium, and the serotonergic amino acid tryptophan, and it is a good source of carbohydrates, proteins, and healthy fats. Just plan on eating it when you’re alone. Trust me on this, I’m banned from Singapore Airlines for life due to an inadvertent indiscretion with this fruit.
8. Santa Maria Novella Water – Made by Dominican friars since 1614, Santa Maria Novella Water is the height of what I would describe as “chic spirituality.” Originally called Acqua Anti-Isterica, it contains essential oils from plants known for their relaxing and calming properties. Popular in the days when women wore tightly laced corsets that caused hyperventilation and hysteria, it produces a generally calming effect, which can be quite useful in the cutthroat world of interior design. I simply inhale directly from the bottle or mix two teaspoons with a half cup of water and then sip. On those occasions when its calming properties are insufficient for my needs, I also rely on the following item.
Santa Maria Novella Water, the height of chic spirituality
9. Ambien – One must get one’s rest, oftentimes despite the cacophony associated with in-flight “entertainment” such as the film Bride Wars and the nosy meddling of one’s seatmate.
Before Ambien became available, housewives treated themselves with Milltown, Darvon, and Percodan
10. Champagne – Not just any champagne, the 1995 Krug Clos Ambonnay. Among champagnes, it is one of the rarest and most expensive. Much like myself.
As promised and after much reflection, here are the ten things that I can’t live without:
1. My pince-nez – I would be blind as a bat without it, and, in my opinion, it gives me a bit of a rakish look.
The pince-nez, as worn by our 26th President
2. The Kyocera S1000, my trusty portable phone – Given the demands of the Palm Beach social scene, I never leave home without it, and since it can store up to 200 contacts, I’ll be able to make more than 175 new friends before it will be full.
The Kyocera S1000, a state of the art communications tool
3. My Microsoft Zune – Truly the pinnacle of high-technology, it has provided me with hours of entertainment now that the boy at Green’s Pharmacy has finally loaded it with my Mel Tormé, Johnny Mathis, and Perry Como CDs.
The Microsoft Zune (no, I don't know who Paul Oakenfold is either)
4. My Citroën – On page 48 of the compendium of my so-called misadventures, David Desmond describes my vehicle as making “flatulent brapping noises.” Flatulent brapping noises, indeed! My vehicle is a reliable workhorse, just like all cars that are made in France.
Perhaps our troubled American automakers should take a lesson from their French colleagues
5. Stubbs & Wootton slippers – Those few sidewalks that one might find in Palm Beach are so perfectly maintained that one can perambulate in slippers without a second thought. I swear by them.
Make a statement while walking in comfort
6. Brilliantine pomade – Call me old-fashioned, but this product keeps my hairs in place even in the face of the strongest tropical winds.
I too am confused by the word "Mortality" on the label
7. Air conditioning – I never require heat, even when others consider it to be bitterly cold outside, but I always feel on the brink of collapse when the temperature rises above 70 degrees.
Not the most fashionable of units, but it will do in a pinch
8. Hello! and Majesty magazines – Some will probably say that I’m cheating by listing two magazines, but I consider both to be essential reading, with the former focusing on celebrated English commoners and the latter focusing on their betters.
The wedding of an exotic Indian couple is the cover story in this issue of Hello! magazine
A commoner becomes royalty in 1986, as covered by Majesty magazine
9. The Shiny Sheet – The paper of record in Palm Beach. Best read along with a glass of the next item.
This dapper dandy is no doubt an avid reader of the Shiny Sheet
10. Champagne – A libation that is drunk like water on this very special island. I favor Sueur d’Aisselle, an exclusive label that I first encountered during a festive New Year’s Eve celebration at the Morningwood Club.
Wasteful behavior like this is quite uncommon in Palm Beach
The Rich Life was founded in order to provide an opportunity for persons portrayed in the award-winning satirical novel The Misadventures of Oliver Booth: Life in the Lap of Luxury by David Desmond to offer their own perspectives on life in Palm Beach and Paris. It is updated regularly by a rotating group of insiders. Although visitors can view any posts that they might find interesting, it would be best for first-time visitors to begin by reading the earliest messages, which were posted in December, 2008, in chronological order. Please visit www.oliverbooth.com for additional background and contact information.
Kazimierz Konopczynski
Director of Information Technologies
Town of Palm Beach
The book
(Click on the image to order the book from Amazon.com)
