My mother has just finalized our Thanksgiving menu. While it will be a delicious day of family bonding and general thankfulness, it may also be a peak into why some parts of the world are a little, um, rounder than other parts. Here’s what Carol Blasberg is serving later today:
“Never trust a fake. Be it a handbag, or a friend.”
–Very Classy Pg. 20
I’ve spent the past four days curled up in my bed, sick as a dog. I felt wrecked on Sunday and so when I called my doctor she asked if I had been sacrificing sleep for work (check), traveling extensively (check), spending a lot of time on airplanes (check, check), and being surrounded by alcohol and cigarette smoke (you know it!). What? I had a good book tour. Well, it all caught up with me when my body came down with a nasty case of strep throat and some infected tonsils. It ain’t cute. Through these delirious moments I’ve spent locked up in my house with my dog and enough chicken noodle soup to drown a sick toddler, I couldn’t help but think what the world would have been like for sick people before Tivo. I’ve coasted by on an enjoyable visual medley of Chelsea Lately’s, The Daily Show’s and Law & Order: Special Victims Unit’s. (OK, fine, I’m telling the truth: I also took in a few old Glee episodes. I still get misty eyed when the Asian dancer’s father won’t support his dancing dreams.) Remember how awful the world was when sick days meant The Price Is Right and soap operas? And beyond television, what did people do before email and Twitter? At least I got to follow what everyone else was up to while I was on my deathbed, even if it was mostly fighting teenagers for Lady Gaga memorabilia at Barney’s. Thankfully, I could email into the office; in the olden days, people would have to check in with their work associates over those archaic devices called telephones. When you have strep and mangled tonsils, the last thing you want to do is talk. Sort of like swallowing crushed glass. So, I guess the point I’m trying to make here is that I’m happy my body is shutting down when I have a laptop, Twitter and TiVo. (A book can only do so much when you have chills and heat flashes. No really, now I know what menopause must be like.) But at the end of the day, there are a few things that have always made me feel better, like homemade cookies. Here are some my St. Louis sister Karlie Kloss sent me today. Chicken soup may cure a cold, but fresh banana bread is just amazing.
“A lady can be kissed on the hand, but she must act like it’s ridiculous. Because it is.”
–Very Classy Pg. 203
“A lady knows that narcissistic home décor – which is an overabundance of pictures of herself – is not an enjoyable theme for visitors.”
–Very Classy Pg. 128
“A lady accepts an apology, even if she doesn’t want to. There’s nothing ladylike about holding a grudge.”
–Very Classy Pg. 184
Last summer, when she and Terry Richardson made a commercial for Mango, Kate Moss let me interview her for Harper’s Bazaar. It was a big deal because Kate has basically built a career on not saying much and being intensely press shy. (Hey, with a face like that, who needs to open their mouth anyway?) I’ve always said it’s sort of a shame that she doesn’t do more interviews because, as anyone who has ever worked with her or spent time with her will agree, she has a wicked sense of humor. She is quick witted and can be quite devilish. Regardless, here is the outtakes from our chat. Just an FYI: I showed up a little tardy to the Ritz, which is where Queen Kate prefers to stay in the French capital, because I couldn’t find a cab. Ah well.
KATE MOSS: Oh, it’s you. I should have known you’d be the one who’s late.
DEREK BLASBERG: I promise it’s not my fault. Have you ever tried to get a cab in Paris? Well, I guess not.
KM: So, have you got your questions?
DB: Yes, yes, I do. First one: how’s Paris?
KM: It’s great, as usual.
DB: How long have you been here?
KM: Just one day. I arrived yesterday, and we’re going to Corsica tomorrow.
DB: I’ve seen you having quite a lot fun here lately.
KM: That’s because I don’t go out in London. I only go out when I’m here.
DB: And you’re always at the Ritz. I think it’s the nicest hotel in Paris, and I’m not just saying that because I’m sitting next to you, Kate.
Chrissie Miller is probably my friend with the most street cred in all of New York City. (Just don’t let Jen Brill hear me say that.) She smokes Winston’s, she talks like a straight up dude, she doesn’t take crap from anyone and last year for Halloween she dressed up as Robin Byrd. If you’re not familiar with the work of Ms. Byrd, free to Google it now to discover the cultural significance, but be warned that it ain’t pretty. The real trick in this town, however, is being able to convince people you’re too cool for school and at the same time take care of business. That’s why I’m so proud of Chrissie: This weekend she opened 143, her first store on the Lower East Side (143 Ludlow, between Stanton & Rivington). It stocks her clothing company, Sophomore, and a bunch of other novelty stuff that only a hoarder like this one could be into. But more importantly, it has comfy cushions and lots of books and a chilled out vibe, sort of like this apartment she used to have on Second Avenue that was basically the unofficial pre-game and after-hours venue for me and a freak crew from 2004 to 2009. We called it the ‘den of bad decision making.’ That’s Chrissie herself in the top photo, followed by Charlotte Ronson and Jen Brill, and then me getting really involved with the table decor with my friend Jessica Stam. Follow the jump to see a picture of Douglas Friedman getting man-handled (by me, obviously), and a shot of Chrissie with her mother Susan Miller, who many of you may know as the woman behind the cult psychic website, AstrologyZone.com.