Fascinating Stuff
Antonio Carlos Jobim, on his last album sings, his warm voice tremulous with age, Gershwin‘s old standard “Fascinating Rhythm.” His accent is a charming Brazilian/American mix. If I can find it to save on my Vodpod I will post it in this blog. Meanwhile, I am posting a marvelous video with the lickety-split Berry Brothers and the picture-perfect Eleanor Powell dancing their way through the song (but who are the pianists?)
But now… drum-roll and off-key trumpets… enter The Fascinator.
And what, you may ask, is the Fascinator? Is it a tropical bird that lures mates to its nest by hypnotizing them with its twirling tail? Is it a new board game where the players try to distract each other from winning by batting their eyelids at each other? Is it the name of the latest Cirque du Soleil production? Is it a British female comedy trio? Is it a Verizon i-phone thingy? (well, to the last two questions…nearly).
None of the above. A Fascinator is a… well, let me start. The good old “aunty” BBC, which months ago declared itself the “Royal Wedding Hub” (a bit like an international airport), has declared that bride-t0-be Kate Middleton is a wonderful wearer of fascinators. Unless you are still living under that very large and heavy granite rock, Kate is the 29-year-old “commoner” who will shortly marry the heir to the British throne, Prince William. On April 29, to be precise. Since William, the late Princess Diana‘s oldest son, is Prince of Wales, they will live on the rather dreary island of Anglesey in North Wales, where William is based with the Royal Air Force. Not sure if that grey, rain-swept piece of land is a suitable environment for Fascinators. From the Petchary’s memories of an uninspiring vacation on Anglesey, I doubt the locals will be particularly impressed.
An impossibly blue Anglesey scene, clearly from a 1960s postcard
But tell me more about the Fascinator, I hear you cry. OK. During its exciting, nail-biting countdown to the Big Day, the BBC is regaling us with thrilling little vignettes. I heard one today about Kate and her Fascinators (yes, she has one for every occasion). A Fascinator is something you wear on your head – no, hold on – not straight on your head like a bowler hat for example. It is the opposite of that. It is a little confection of feathers/satin/lace/plastic/velvet/fake velvet/you name it that you wear perched precariously on the side of your head.
Like this.
Fairly tasteful, and yes, brides do love em.
Or this.
Presumably glued to the front of ones head. Looking a touch top-heavy here.
Or perhaps this (what is that?)
Oh! Its a DEER resting on a bed of scrambled eggs...
Or this… But, oh! Could this be…? Yes, it is everybody’s sweetheart, Kate!
Miss Middleton wearing a darling little...abandoned birds nest complete with fledglings trying to hatch.
I will leave you to ponder on all of the above.
A parting thought on the Royals. The Petchary believes, personally, that the Royal Family should be exiled (and not on that nice Caribbean island where Princess Margaret had so much fun… I’m thinking another galaxy). Seriously, what possible use do they have? Oh, of course. The Royals bring in the money. They are the British Tourism Product. So we will have to just endure them and their fascinators, their glass carriages, their followers and flatterers, their wildlife-shooting guns, their kilts, their bad-tempered dogs, their endless horses, their slightly-naughty parties, their garden parties, their disco outings, their sycophantic friends, their over-dressed, cross-looking children… So, the soap opera will roll on and the tabloids will continue their voyeuristic but ultimately slavishly adoring coverage of the Big Wedding and the British subjects and other aspiring subjects around the world will drink many cups of tea/coffee while discussing the latest on the Royals.
So, we are stuck with them. About two million sensible Brits will, however, be leaving on “Royal Wedding Vacations,” leaving the lower classes, the unemployed, the weak, the very old and the lazy with their tea and tabloids.
A word on Kate: I feel a little uncomfortable. Will she go the way of those fellow-commoner wives, the doomed Diana or the scorned “Fergie”? Will the (lip) gloss wear off? And will the fascinators start to wilt? The Petchary found it disturbing that Kate’s engagement ring is actually her departed mother-in-law’s, before she was ditched by Charles for an older woman. Rather ominous.
Meanwhile, I think I will shoot one of the Whitewing Doves in my garden and wear it on my head. What a fashion statement that will be. But the blood might spoil it.
PS: I hereby predict the next fashion trend: Fascinators for Men. I can just see Prince Charles wearing the Tate Modern art gallery; Brad Pitt sporting a Play Station, draped on a diaper; or the Petchary’s favorite sexy actor Mark Wahlberg wearing a pair of black leather briefs…on his head, of course.
Now that would be something.
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Celebrity
The Petchary must now comment on two happy events that have occurred in the past few days. One is, to the Petchary at least, an event of great significance and one to shout about. The other is a manufactured piece of PR that is of no significance at all, but which, because of its “cuteness factor” has won over many hearts. But then, let us not be churlish. We all need some good news from time to time, don’t we?
The first event was the release, on the evening of November 13, of the Burmese icon of democracy Aung San Suu Kyi, whom the Petchary referred to in an earlier blog post on Nobel Peace Prize winners who are unrecognized, even reviled, in their native land.
Yes, here I am! Aung San Suu Kyi appears outside her villa in Rangoon
There is no doubt. Aung San Suu Kyi is a celebrity, but quietly so. Her exuberant and devoted supporters are always the ones making the noise. ”We haven’t seen each other for so long, I have so much to tell you,” she told the thousands of adoring ones on the day of her release. She sounded more like someone who had just returned from an exciting overseas trip, talking to her best friend. It is this direct simplicity that is most beguiling. President Obama’s “personal hero” is calm, firm, with a deliciously sweet smile and a cool, almost stern gaze.
A beautiful face, with the look of a fighter
But then, she comes from strong stock. Her father, General Aung San, commander of the Burmese Independence Army, had met and married his nurse, Ma Khin Kyi, in 1942 in the hospital where he was recovering from wounds received during his march into Burma. Five years later, when Aung San Suu Kyi was only two years old, he was assassinated. Her mother became a prominent public figure and was named Burma’s Ambassador to India, where Suu Kyi went to high school. She then went on to Oxford University (St. Hugh’s College, where she studied Politics, Philosophy & Economics). She met her husband Michael Aris there (he died of prostate cancer in London in 1999 and was not allowed to return to Burma to see his wife before he died). Remaining in Burma was one of the huge sacrifices she made – if she left, she knew she would never be able to return.
We forget that Suu Kyi was an intellectual, who studied, lectured and published books in New York and London. A cosmopolitan woman, who moved in somewhat privileged circles. She did not become an activist until 1988, during the upheavals and vicious suppression of thousands by the Burmese military.
She was first placed under house arrest the following year. How strange, one feels, to be imprisoned in one’s own home, the same old-fashioned villa inherited from her father the General. The house almost became a part of her – its balconies and railings and shrubs, and the street outside where her admirers gathered.
Aung San Suu Kyi's decaying home. The roof blew off during a tropical cyclone in 2008.
Now, life has become much more complicated for Suu Kyi. After being detained for fifteen of the past twenty-one years, she has to try to unravel some of the twisted skeins of Burmese politics. Most importantly, she has to figure out who her allies are; some of them are strong and vocal and appear to be genuinely supportive. And who are her potential enemies; some of these are seemingly sitting on the fence, others are making deals with her political opponents.
In the few interviews she has given, it is clear that she is sizing things up carefully. Her words are well chosen, but one thing she has always made clear, and continues to do so: she believes in non-violence.
Martin Luther King and Mahatma Gandhi would be proud of her.
Now there is another happy event, one that has evoked cries of, “Oh, she’s so pretty!” and “Aren’t they a lovely couple!” and “What a beautiful ring!” Yes, the usual response to a betrothal, lots of oohs and aahs and sighs. Only this betrothal is special – it’s a royal one. Which means a royal wedding (Gasp! Sigh!) Yes, the sweetly handsome Prince William Arthur Philip Louis of Wales is getting married to… Kate Middleton. Sorry, Katherine. But Kate sounds so much more delightfully young upper middle-class (we are talking about England, after all).
William and Kate announce their engagement, dominated by bright red flock wallpaper and gilt picture frames
Anyway, in case you have been living on a remote island for the past week, the charming Prince (with his mother’s face and his father’s receding hairline) is marrying a “commoner.” (Hate to say this, but the royals don’t have a very good record associating with commoners, many of whom are now divorced persons. And William’s ill-fated mother, the adored Princess Diana, was foolish enough to be associated with a foreign commoner, and worse still, an Arab).
Now bookmakers are excitedly running around taking bets on the wedding date; Kate has taken to wearing ridiculous hats perched on one side of her elegant head, just like all the royals; she has been deer-stalking with her fiance and future father-in-law (isn’t that a blood sport? Yes, it is); she has attended various society weddings wearing the same stupid hats.
Kate Middleton trying to make hunting gear look cool as she goes out to kill a deer
The Petchary is thankful that she no longer resides in England, where every detail of the life of the royal family is related, analyzed and regurgitated by the tabloids in a manner that is part sensational, part fawning, part nauseating. It’s worse than a soap opera. Soap operas are strangely, almost reassuringly, old-fashioned. No, the royals are young and trendy and they have names like Kate and Zara and Sophie, and they are seen at the coolest nightclubs and ski resorts… And oh yes, they wear idiotic hats…
"Hot young royal" Zara Phillips, daughter of Princess Anne and a commoner, who are now divorced. But hey, she has HATS!
Meanwhile, the deer-stalking Kate is the latest media darling. And hey, she really is a commoner… Her mother, a former air hostess, was seen chewing gum at the Prince’s passing-out ceremony (and yes, like his fellow royals, the Prince does pretend to be a military man, and looks dashing in uniform).
The latest soon-to-be-royal wearing a couple of fighting birds on her head
The Petchary apologizes for this blog. It has gone from the sublime to the ridiculous.
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- Aung San Suu Kyi on freedom and phones (bbc.co.uk)
