Did you know Pancho Villas last words were "Tell them that I said something important." well you do now.As I sit soaking off the oil paint and the acetone from my latest large canvas, happily luxuriating like a Hippo from "Fantasia" in the gigantic bathtub looking out the window, I recall that last night I dreamt of St. Petersburg -*sigh* -such a beautiful place... such an amazing history... fur hats... Stoli Elit... Purrrrrr.....
When Monsieur Moose asked if I fancied a few weeks in St. Petersburg I casually said that I supposed that would be fine and started packing my some recent purchases from "Mu-Mu Magique-n-Thongs" thinking we were going to Florida. Well the joke was on me- after 10 hours in the air, then changing planes in Moscow, I had a personal epiphany and realized we were going to St. Petersburg Russia, you would think all the people speaking Russian would have tipped me off, I usually have such a knack for the obvious...
When Monsieur Moose asked if I fancied a few weeks in St. Petersburg I casually said that I supposed that would be fine and started packing my some recent purchases from "Mu-Mu Magique-n-Thongs" thinking we were going to Florida. Well the joke was on me- after 10 hours in the air, then changing planes in Moscow, I had a personal epiphany and realized we were going to St. Petersburg Russia, you would think all the people speaking Russian would have tipped me off, I usually have such a knack for the obvious...
I quickly concluded that although the mode du jour I was wearing was fetching, very Brenda Dickson, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kDc0iX4uqcA&feature=related
(I wore an over sized tee-shirt with "Paris" written in sequins belted with a 17th century Obi, a pair of thigh high black patent KISS boots, feather earrings, a pince-nez and a gold necklace with a pendant that said "Spoiled") it would not do for a night on the town, so after I swooped into "Day & Night" and procured a few outfits, that now in retrospect, made me look like a twenty first century Pola Negri, (I thought the smart Balenciaga with monkey fur would be slimming) Mr. Moose and I were on our way out for an evening of потеха и дурить- that is, fun and frolicking.
After hanging out at the SevenSkyBar for a few hours eating, dancing and drinking all the while overlooking the Church of the Savior on the Spilled Blood, we decided to go and change into costume so we could drag around to one of the many masked balls. (Where it is certain that you will see at least one schmo dressed as Peter the Great, We at least were a little more original- Like bawdy bookends, both dressing as Ivan Isayevich Bolotnikov the infamous Serf. )
On this particular evening at Yusupov's Moyka Palace- you know the place, um, Palace, it's the cute cute cute bright yellow one that Rasputin spent his last night.
Mr. Moose and arrived and after a few snoot-fulls I got a bit tight and moved through the crowd of maskers squeezing the "onion domes" of more than a few swarthy and tenebrous Russkies, whispering "Serfs Up!" into their quickly blushing ears.
Our comrades just knew that I too would wind up like Rasputin did on his last night at Moyka Palace, poisoned, shot, bludgeoned and tossed in the river, but all and all the people of St. Petersburg are on the whole more tolerant, reserved and softer in manner than say, in Moscow- so seeing me in full form -just shy of becoming a detestable compound of vulgarity and rodomontade -I was sure that it confirmed their belief that we must have something in our water here in the States. BUT, after a few hours of naughtiness we decided to take our leave, where upon our host patted my ass on the way out and - after kissing me full on the lips, he said in his best English-esque "We make love like tigers!" As I was unsure if that was a parting statement about his countrymen or an invitation, I simply smiled, batted my eyes and licked one of the very large Burmese ruby studs in his dress shirt in response. (whatever he meant it was said with such conviction that afterwards I decidedly needed an Evian spritz and a fresh pair of man-panties, but I would be damned if I was going to stick around to play "Whack-a-Mole" with his hemorrhoids. I mean really..... )
Speaking of things to do with water, besides throwing the body of a Russian mystic in it, I picked up the most ambrosial tea service while in St. Petersburg, an authentic replica of His Majesty's own teas service from the cottage palace 1827-1829 in the Alexandria Park at Peterhof from the Imperial (Lomonosov) Porcelain Factory. (All the pieces are decorated with the coat of arms of Alexandria, which was created by the poet Vasilli Andreevich Zhukovsky, the tutor of Alexander II)
The design is a gold sword on a blue shield placed through a wreath of white roses with the slogan "For Faith, Czar, and Fatherland." which I had replaced with, "I Love the Nightlife, I got to Boogie." (much to the dismay of the crafts persons or so I hear. I thought it sounded far more zippy and modern and yet so daintily "le Cornichon" )
I had been looking forever for a new tea service, I totally needed something new as one of the old services (the Limoges) had a motto from the New Orleans oil bust days of the 1980's inscribed inside the teacup- it said "Think: $100.00 a barrel!" -seems a bit recherche now I dare say...- and the other service (the Spode- The Wedding china.) had hand painted inside the teacup a quote from the adorable mural of the "Scarlet Woman" at The Abbey Of Thelema, Aleister Crowley's old haunt in Cefalu Sicily, that said "Stab your demoniac smile into my brain, soak me in cognac, cunt and cocaine!" (I lost a lot of those cups to accidental breakage for some odd reason.)
I do enjoy reading quotations, I hope to be quoted myself one day--outside a court of law that is.
My fav Tsar quote comes from Alexander II of Russia , “It is better to abolish serfdom from above than to wait for it to abolish itself from below”
You know, Alexander II was no great beauty, but Nicholas II of Russia was a real looker.
It's really too bad about the Nicholas II and his family, but I suppose If you want a revolution, you've gotta break a few Faberge eggs. Hmm- Is that quotable? Maybe not. And then there's Vladimir Putin, he is no ordinary politician. He is charmless yet adored by his nation, I think its because he is so damned sexy. All those photos of him bounding about stripped to the waist...HE would make a fantabulous Tsar, Oui?
Where was I? OH, oh yes, quotations. Another favorite I had engraved on a cocktail shaker, from Dorothy Parker, it reads:
"I like to have a martini, Two at the very most. After three I'm under the table, after four I'm under the host. " Never truer words were spoken...
"I like to have a martini, Two at the very most. After three I'm under the table, after four I'm under the host. " Never truer words were spoken...
Ugh. I am getting all pruny with all this soaking, let me get out of this wet bath and into a dry martini, or better yet an
Algonquin! _________________________________________________
1 1/2 oz blended whiskey
1 1/2 oz blended whiskey
1 oz dry vermouth
1 oz pineapple juice (Mme. Gioia, If you are reading this, you can can use apple juice, yes, yes, knowing you it will be not only fresh but absolutely organic, hand tended by blind Alsatian Nuns)
4 drops of bitters. (helps to bring the flavours together.)
4 drops of bitters. (helps to bring the flavours together.)
Combine and shake all ingredients with ice, strain contents into a cocktail glass, and serve.
Sing along with Pola!
2 comments:
Jesus, is that a picture of Putin? I wanna have his commie brat!
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