January Blues 2020!

Not unlike a dreaded postpartum depression, it happens every year around here after all the hullabaloo of the holidays has passed and the winter blues set in. All that excitement about gift shopping, decorating, cocktail parties, fund raisers, galas and formal sit-down dinners for family and friends gives way to absolute idleness and bickering until the Spring Social Season starts to wind up. Unless of course you're a winter sports aficionado, in which case this is your favorite time of year on the ski slopes of Aspen or Zermatt with all the après ski parties each evening into the wee hours of the morning..

There's still a couple of deep-winter perks to come: Super Bowl Sunday on February 2 can in some circles require caterers, bartenders, valet parkers, perhaps even outdoor tents with big-screen audio-visual techs on hand. Plus the Academy Awards on February 9 can often be a time for high fashion dress up parties, whether in a private home or especially if viewing from a private club or a luxury hotel ballroom. Not forgetting that many of the rich and super rich will be attending the event itself at the Dolby Theater in Hollywood.

Then of course Valentine's Day on February 14 always creates a hubbub among the rich. Like, what to do? What to get for your most beloved, which might even be your wife? A new car? A new plane? A luxurious week in Zermatt? In any case, it's always a hey-day for Tiffany's, Cartier, and Harry Winston. Not to mention Master Chocolatiers in Switzerland and Belgium.

This holiday season has been a little strange around here. I've mentioned in several posts about the long line of girlfriends streaming in and out of my employer's life since the scandalous divorce some years back. Some of them last for a few months, some for two or three years. But in December there was this new one who swooped down on us, I kid you not, like the Wicked Witch of the West!

After only a couple of weekends of dating my employer, she moved herself in here lock stock and barrel. By that I mean a big truck arrived with all her stuff - clothes, shoes, and boxes and boxes of files - like she was going to be here forever. She even brought her own Christmas tree decorations and insisted we add them to our own traditional tree. Then she immediately started giving orders to our house staff about her laundry and food preferences, and she asked the groundskeeper to keep her car washed at all times. She even tried to turn me into her personal assistant - which I totally rejected.

But it doesn't end there. She also dumped her full-grown dog in our laps, which freaked out our own dogs really bad. And she asked my employer's Personal Secretary at the office to get her a new computer, printer, and a new big-screen TV for the Master Bedroom. "I only like to watch Samsung TVs" was her explanation. Seriously?

Needless to say, we were all reeling about this new crazy woman and her take-over of the house. One day I was escorting a technician from Direct TV around the house to upgrade all the TV receivers when she came up and introduced herself as "the lady of the house". Which was news to me! Really? I thought she was only a temporary guest!

Mercifully after about six weeks my employer had seemingly had enough. For reasons I'm not yet privy to, that same truck that brought her in here came back and hauled her and her dog out, again lock stock and barrel in one brief afternoon. And our dogs seem to be so very grateful and relaxed these few days following. We'll see what the next girlfriend might bring, but I tell you this - the last one was a real doozy!

I hope your deep winter blues, if any, are going well. But every passing day is a count down until spring and renewal, right?

As always, thanks for stopping by this evening.

Andrew

THE ART OF THE HOST by Alex Hitz

With Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah and New Years Eve bearing down upon us in rapid order, most of us have been racking our brains to come up with something unique and fresh for our events and festivals. Even with the help of our events planner and caterers, that's certainly the case around here and my nerves are slightly frayed. Even with tried-and-true recipes and decorations, there's always a way to tweak things so that the event will not only be successful but also different and memorable for our family and friends.

One of my dearest friends recently hosted a book-signing party for her long time pal Alex Hitz - "The very best host in the world" - according to the Wall Street Journal. And she was kind enough to send me a signed copy! Filled with exciting ideas for planning a party and complete with his best recipes, Alex even added a chapter called "The Art of the Guest" which I skipped to first thing, being that it touches my own world as a butler and how guests are theoretically supposed to behave.

Published by none other than Rizzoli International, you can see this sumptuous book and actually take a look inside at this Amazon link: The Art of the Host; Recipes and Rules for Flawless Entertaining by Alex Hitz

Also, more than once in this blog I've recommended a book by the famous Washington DC hostess Sally Quinn. Full of gossip and hysterical from start to finish, Quinn's philosophy for parties was to always expect a disaster!

She didn't feel her events were a true success unless some famous Senator, Congressman or Hollywood persona fell over drunk in the floor and had to be escorted home. She describes what happened one time when her caterers got the date wrong and she had to order buckets of Kentucky Fried Chicken for her fancy guests! And she goes on to call out other DC hostesses whose parties were a flop and why, which created no end to gossip and scandal! Also available on Amazon Books, here's a link to The Party; Adventures in Entertaining.

So, armed with Alex Hitz and Sally Quinn, how could I possibly go wrong with planning any event around here? (And then, why am I still so agitated?)

I hope your party plans are going smoothly! Whether it's a dazzling gala, a small cocktail buffet, or a traditional family dinner with beloved handed-down family recipes, I'm sure you'll make every effort to make it fun and memorable for all.

As always, thanks for dropping by this evening. I'm quite exhausted myself, but excited at the same time. We just have to plow on through, right?

Andrew   

What? Dame Covington Is In Jail!

This evening I got a late-night call from our local Constable to see if I could come and bail Dame Covington out of jail! Seriously? It seems the dear old gal had become belligerent and created a ruckus at a fancy cocktail party here in town. Apparently there was an argument about politics and Covington used her gold-handle cane to trip her opponent - an equally elegant lady of roughly her age who didn't take it well and called the cops!

Of course I jumped out of bed and drove over right away. In my world I always have access to bail money, be it for my crazy old employer himself or for his occasionally unruly guests. But Dame Covington is a special case and I'd use my own money to bounce her out of jail, if need be.

This charming wise old woman has been a friend of my employer's since childhood, elementary school in fact, and was a best friend to his first wife who died some years back. She's like a fixture in this house - always around in the background. She can be found in the library quietly reading a book, down at the pond with parasol in hand watching the swans glide by, or unobtrusively making herself a hard boiled egg in the kitchen. In fact, I'd be worried if I didn't see her around here on a daily basis. For those evenings when she's had a few too many cocktails and can't quite make it home, she even has her own designated bedroom on the second floor, next to the elevator.

Among her multiple marriages, no one seems to know or care where she gained the title Dame along her journey in life. But she has a regal air and carriage which gives her all the respect she deserves. It's rumored that she was once quite rich, but now is almost totally dependent on other people's cocktail buffets for her daily nutrition.

Bless her dear heart, she has all kinds of issues in staying out of jail. The dents and scratches on her ancient Rolls Royce testify to her driving skills. While she doesn't drive on highways anymore, apparently she's a terror on streets here in our little community. Our local cop Michael is very lenient with her, but here's some funny exchanges he's shared with me:

Michael: Did you see that red light, Madam?
Covington: Of course I did young man, but there's so many of those in town - do you expect me to stop at all of them?

Michael: There was a stop sign at that intersection, Dame Covington!
Covington: Yes, but it appeared like more of a suggestion and I wasn't really in the mood.

Covington: Why did you stop me young man, can't you see I'm in a hurry?
Michael: Speed signs are there for a reason!
Covington: Alright then, I'll take it under advisement. May I go now?

I met Dame Covington the first week I worked here, it was in autumn. Upon escorting her and my employer's new wife (both with cocktails in hand) out to the balcony to observe the brilliant fall colors of red, yellow, orange and purple, she said to the new wife, "Your grounds are lovely my dear! Who does your trees?" And I've been in love with her ever since.

After posting bail, she fussed all the way home about the embarrassment and discomforts of being thrown into the clink. But coaxing her with a Hot Toddy I finally got her tucked into bed, up on the second floor. And I'm going back to bed myself, right this minute!

As always, thanks for stopping by this evening, even at this late hour.

Andrew


PS: Her bail was only $50!

Christmas Ads in August?

Well crap! I kid you not, today we saw the first blip of Christmas ads on the TV! Miserable weather and sweltering heat in the middle of August, and Christmas ads are already in our face!

It was Marie Callender's turkey and dressing dinners to be specific. But I expect we'll be seeing the Pillsbury Dough Boy popping up any day now, right?

Honestly this gives me the willies! With these two rotating girlfriends floating in and out of here every-other weekend, who knows what kind of confused and conflicted social season this will be. This house has already been ostracized, to a degree, since the divorce. What now?

Do these women expect to have holiday cocktail parties and sit-down dinners for their friends, to show off their new situation in life? Which has been my experience with all the new comers.

Like suddenly the house will fill up with all kinds of trashy extraordinary people who ask for beer and pizza - and plow into the swimming pool in spite of the fact they didn't bring swim suits. Not too scandalous, right?

Or, if you lay out an exquisite table for these nice folks with eight-or-ten eating utensils and four drinking goblets - red wine, white wine, water and a champagne flute - just stand back and get ready for some good laughs. (Did that sound judgmental?)

The thing is, if these two women can get their party dates straight without intersecting one another, will the caterers be able to accommodate? This is the stuff nightmares are made of.

In self defense I've learned to keep plenty of beer in the wine cellar and frozen pizzas, hamburger patties and buns on hand - in case I need to fire up the grill without any help from caterers. The thought has actually crossed my mind to buy some paper plates and plastic forks, but I'm afraid Nelda, our ancient executive housekeeper, would have a stroke. So I guess it will be frozen pizza served on Flora Danica china, with sterling knives and forks and a linen napkin - served down at the pool to people in their birthday suits. 👀

However, the nice thing about this particular ilk is that they tend to eat pizza and burgers with their fingers, so there's really no need to polish the silver afterward. And they also have a unique and appreciated tendency to help clean up - which lets us get out of here quicker.

Please don't blame me for mentally retreating into more tranquil times (before the divorce) when the Missus would throw a small gala for four-or-five hundred people, all dripping in diamonds and haute couture, fully catered of course - and no one running around butt naked!

Happy Hour, here I come! Thanks for stopping by this evening.

Andrew

Trollop Tales!

While watching the morning news with a leisurely cup of coffee in hand, Ester the Upstairs Maid sent this text: "When are you coming? I have some news!" She added a laughing emoji face so I knew it must be something fun.

Still in bathrobe I scurried over to the house where Ester was waiting impatiently. She waved me into the butler's closet where we share all our secrets, and she could barely catch her breath to say, "Before she left this morning I saw Senior take out his money clip and give her a handful of  bills!" And we both began to laugh!

She was talking about the new woman of course, the Trollop as we call her, who's been showing up a couple of times a weeks for the past few months. Somehow we've both instinctively thought she was a professional from the very beginning, and now there's eye-witness evidence involved. Here's some solid giveaways about her behavior:

1) New lady friends who have long-term designs upon the Mister always seem to leave things behind when they depart the next day; a bottle of perfume, a book, perhaps even some lingerie to start claiming their territory. The Trollop doesn't do any of this; she takes everything with her the next morning when she clears out.  

2) In addition, new lady friends always seem to quietly bring in framed photos of her and the Mister, again to claim territory I suppose, placing them discreetly around the house. No such thing is happening with the Trollop.

3) And last of all, new lady friends always try to suck up to me and other staff in some sort of way, to gain acceptance no doubt and get us on their side. Not only does the Trollop not do this, but she usually pretends she doesn't even see me. We did confront each other face to face in the garage one morning as she was leaving, and she stuttered something about "What a beautiful day". Never mind it was cloudy and starting to drizzle.

All of which is fine with me. As Coco Chanel said, "I don't care what you think about me, I don't think about you at all".

So there we have it. The Trollop really is a trollop! Although to her credit, I guess a high paid one at that. The Mister apparently keeps his small bills in his wallet, but the solid-gold money clip (as we've all seen on his bathroom counter) contains only hundreds!

I hope this wasn't too wasteful of your time, but I couldn't resist getting this news out!

As always, thanks for stopping by tonight,
Andrew

Gossip in the World of the Rich!

You know, I'm beginning to love our new Pope Francis, as many of us are whether we're Catholic or not. He's a breath of fresh air and gives real hope to the poor and suffering, not to mention a modernized although carefully-nuanced vision for the church.

But out of the blue last month, just a couple of weeks before Christmas, Pope Francis made a statement that came down hard on gossip! Oops! As you can see this admonishment cuts way to close to home. What am I to do? Shut down the blog?

I'm assuming this is based on number nine of the Big Ten - that business about "not bearing false witness against thy neighbor". But honestly, if Moses could have known how dreadful our neighbors are in this part of town he might have left some loopholes in this one.

Taking it all into consideration I do have a few thoughts on the subject I'd like to share. First and foremost is the simple fact that the biggest gossip mill on the face of this entire planet is within the Vatican itself, and everybody knows it! So give me a break.

Second, because of this castigation there could be a massive loss of work for newspapers, tabloids, magazines, films, TV shows, news programs, gossip columnists, bloggers and paparazzi. (i.e. How many employees and freelancers are employed by People Magazine?) 

Third, gossip is one of many tried-and-true forms of social bonding. It's the '"Us against them'" factor and how we sometimes distinguish ourselves into groups and cliques.

And last, what might be thought of as gossip to some might be considered urgent information to others - especially in the world of the super rich where gossip can be vital. Not just about fashion, jewelry, what's in, what's out, who's on top and who's on bottom - but there's big money at stake in their relationships. (e.g. Would it be wise to invest with someone whose wife at the moment is suing him for half his fortune?) I believe it was Sir Francis Bacon who first said "Knowledge is power". And power is something rich people love for sure.

Having said all that, I'm not really certain if I've made a convincing argument to either you or the Vatican this evening, and I may have to address this again with St. Peter someday when I'm knocking on the gates. If he does let me in, I certainly hope that none of our neighbors will be up there. Although I can't imagine for a minute that they would be.

Thanks for dropping in this evening.

Andrew

Five Thousand Dollar Sheets!

As the butler in this billionaire's home, I just wanted to tell you there's a scandal in this house that I'm not quite sure how to divulge. However, and as hard as this might be for me, I'm just going to blurt it out right now - my employers buy cheap sheets! There, I've said it out loud.

You're probably already aware you can pay three, four even five-thousand dollars for one set of luxury sheets. For example there's an Italian company in Tuscany called Pratesi. Five thousand dollars sheets with them is not unusual - exquisitely made in every detail. Take a look at their website  http://www.pratesi.com/ if you don't believe me.  

A butler buddy told me about a family he works for in Manhattan with a four-floor townhouse - which includes a Master Bedroom and five Guest Rooms. Six beds altogether with two sets of Pratesi linens for each bed, at roughly five grand per set. Do the math and that comes out to $60,000  just for sheets. (You'll want to iron these very carefully, by the way.)

However, in the house where I work I'm mortified to report the bed linens here are only in the $800-$900 range. It's been my observation that rich people can get very cheap in the strangest, most unexpected ways. But I just don't understand it. Everything else in the residence is so out-of-the-ball-park exquisite. Why cheap out here? I can hardly look at guests in the mornings, wondering if they're blaming me as house manager for their misery and discomfort the long night through.

My only saving grace is that my employers don't require turn-down service at night, not for themselves nor their guests. So I'm hoping the guests just pull down the sheets, turn off the lights, and jump right into bed without even noticing the cheap linens. (And considering the amount of alcohol consumed around here, that's a very real possibility.)

Sorry to stress you with this silliness, but this unhappy situation with cheap sheets is totally disturbing, bordering upon scandal.   

Thanks for stopping by,
Andrew