Hey, be cool.

Dang, I don't like getting behind on posting, but I am. Rather than writing this weekend, I stared at my bruises (my klutz factor has been upped here, or maybe there are more pointy surfaces to run into), made pesto, watched the first half of From Here to Eternity (wasn't into it), and napped. Compared to the whirlwind of last weekend's red carpets and film fests, it was a welcome, though unproductive, break.

I do want to explain the 21st Century Leadership Award to you because I think it will go down in the annals of Bizarr-o Nights in Lauren's Life. I managed to get an invite through very sweet next door neighbor Line, whose Danish friend cancelled a trip to Doha (and an invite to the event) at the last minute. Since Line's the Chair of Art Foundation, she got a ticket+1. Apparently, these are very sought after seats, and like most things here, rumors of their cost ranged wildly--but I think it was somewhere in the neighborhood of $3000 a plate. What?!?! Is it a plate of solid gold?? I wondered.


My dress was courtesy of the wonderful Halcyon Vintage, easily one of my top five most missed places in Richmond. I'd bought it for a summer wedding, but didn't end up wearing it because the zipper broke and it was a bit too big, but my genius sister was able to fix the zipper and I had it taken in before I left, so it was ready to wear. Whether it was fancy enough, I still don't know, but I love it, and felt good in it. However, walking into the event at the Grand Hyatt was much akin to the Ascot Race scene in My Fair Lady (I am frightened by how much I'm referencing My Fair Lady in this blog, by the way). I've never been looked up and down by so many pinch-faced people in my entire life. To make matters more uncomfortable, cocktail hour was actually juice hour, since the event was sponsored by the royal family. Dry as a bone.

The 21st Century Leaders was a gala to honor the humanitarian work of the following: Ben Kingsley, Josh Hartnett, Venus and Serena Williams, and Danny Boyle, and Monica Yunus, an opera singer for the Met. What they've done for humanitarian aid is a little hazy...as far as Ben Kingsley goes, I think his role in Gandhi was referenced several times. Josh Hartnett is part of some "Be Cool" global warming initiative, which has the sweet tag line: "Hey, be cool...[unplug your computer when you're not using it, etc]". Venus and Serena have schools in Africa, and so on. I'm not a humanitarian, but I do like humanity, preserving it, and I have to say, I was not overwhelmingly impressed.

Kingsley accepts:


There was lots of talk about celebrities drawing on dinner plates with markers to raise money for worthy causes (again, unclear). And there was a lot of celebrity artwork outside the ballroom that was sort of ugly, but we had to look at it because they kept us penned in that space during Juice Hour.

The food was the best part--course upon course and all delicious. A goat cheese, tomato, frisee salad; a truffle oil/mushroom soup; a steak from India (questionable...aren't cows worshipped there? this holy cow was quite tasty), and desserts!! I knew I had arrived when I realized I had MY OWN PERSONAL BUTTER PLATE. I'm not usually one to butter my bread, but it turns out I all I need is a personal plate of butter and I am a butter freak. Oh yeah, I was also provided with a king's ransom of sparkling water. Lucky me.

After we ate and honored the Hartnett, Sir Ben & Co., we had the privilege of witnessing a strange ritual of the very wealthy. An auction. On the block: a book written and autographed by Nelson Mandela, a watercolor done by Prince Charles, a painting with David Beckham's footprint stamped on it, an ISLAND OFF THE COAST OF MOZAMBIQUE, and an Antarctic Adventure + Lunch with a Dashing Hollywood Activist (Hartnett). Topping the bids of the night was the Beckham painting which went for a stunning $500,000. The island went for a measly $40,000--probably because it was required that whoever purchased it would eventually turn it into a nature preserve/eco-hotel. Seriously, what a pain in the ass.

Where was I? How did I get there? I wanted to go home!!!!

Line and I left the Hyatt feeling sort of grossed out by the upper crust of the region, most of whom just seemed like trashy Western Europeans who couldn't hack it at home so they came here to get rich, dress poorly, and act snooty. Lots of plastic surgery. Maybe I'm sounding like a bratty little ingrate, but all I'm telling you really is that I think I was born into the appropriate socio-economic echelon, and I will spend no time angling for gala invites in the future. Mom may well be disappointed, but I'm sure the red carpet isn't my scene.

A saving grace. As always, I enjoy a good dance routine:


And I got a bag of shwag (is this word sick, or what?). It contained a plate designed just for me by Sir Bob Geldof. Also, a tiny letter telling me that because I attended this event, a family in Africa received a mosquito net. Sigh.