2003-02-28 - 8:47 p.m.
Men in Bhindis
Last night Ben my Frien' and I went to "Bombay Bash," a semi-formal fundraiser for a local art museum. This party took place at the Four Seasons, which is probably Austin's toniest hotel after the Stephen F. Austin. We got in free because of my work (I'm a licensed technocrat).
Ben and I didn't know anyone at this party, so we ended up talking to the bartender, Camille. Camille was a punk-rock gal with blonde pigtails and a great attitude. She told us how Rick Perry, the governor of Texas, has visited the Four Seasons with Russell Crowe (they're buds), and that the entertainment for the Bombay Bash � the highly un-Indian Bob Schneider ��used to call her and bug her all the time. Ben and Camille and I talked a lot about the crowd, which included a nerdy man wearing a safari hat and "smoking" a pipe, dancing the twist to Bob & Co. (whose music is about as bland as a flour smoothie, by the way); many facelift and/or boob-job recipients; and lots of white men wearing tuxedos and bhindis. (To fit in better, I wore a pink, teardrop-shaped bhindi under my right eye.) Only two or three people at this event were black, which doesn't say much for Progressive Liberal Austin. One of the black people was a man who danced very poorly; perhaps he was hoping to shatter an old stereotype. I thought for a moment he was Alan Keyes.
Before the bash was a dinner and art auction. One of the pieces was a box made of buttons. Like all of the other pieces available at this auction, the button box was crappy yet sold for several thousand. After the auction ended and the piece was put on display, Ben and I went to look at it. Two gowned gals asked him if he'd bought it ."Yes, I bought it," he said. "Don't touch it." I should also say that when Ben and I tried to sit down during the auction and get food, some mean woman said "people are sitting there." We stood by the table for 15 minutes to watch the auction, and during that time no one ever sat down at that table. I think she was just exercising class prejudice.
Speaking of class, the rich people at this event were noticeably lacking it. I saw several people wearing saris that they didn't get from India; they weren't Indian people but anchorwoman-type people. The whole men-in-bhindis aspect was really ridiculous; imagine your average middle-aged WASP dude wearing a sticker on his head (and, in some cases, a satin turban on his head), and you've got trouble. Bob Schneider ain't danceable. Finally, in the women's room, someone had thrown one of the cloth handtowels in the trash.
Bitch bitch bitch. Sorry. Due to our mutual coolness, the coolness of Camille, and the free sauce, Ben and I did have a nice time. Despite the chocolate-stuffed figs, apricots filled with butter, and free cocktails, we did not get sick. We did get a free shiny pink pillow, though. Some woman told us we had to buy it, but I guess she saw I was drunk and clutching the pillow very tightly, like I loved it, and possibly that image softened her heart.
Worth mentioning: The Four Seasons puts little gold stickers on new rolls of toilet paper. I wanted to wear one of the TP stickers on my forehead to mock the bhindi boys, but decided against it.�
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Things are going to get a lot worse before they get worse. � Lily Tomlin |
