how it is done

I'm a pretty cerebral dresser. I don't overthink. I don't over-anything. But there are those days when I feel thinky, and those when I feel like everything has just fallen out of the blue and onto me. The latter is clearly (rare and) ideal, and it's clearly how Brit Spears rolls each and ev-er-y zay. I don't straighten my hair and I don't wear ass-revealing, stretchy minidresses (as of 2004) and I don't wear giant crosses or smoke Marlboro Lights (as of 2006), but I fervently support Britney's explorations of all four of these avenues. Because they're not explorations so much as social destinyyyyyyys. And she looks good.

So

This has been quite a morning--the climax: President Obama's address, a stirring, ORATORICAL (finally) cry for D-I-G-N-I-T-Y (word!). The very air was singing. Everyone looked gorgeous! I had some favorites . . . Obviously, the Obama clan cut a figure in bright bright brights. I was all aflutter to see old H.W. (I have a long-harbored soft spot for papa Bush) in that yellow cashmere turtle neck, royal purple scarf, and smart beaver hat. The crowd cheered almost as heartily for 42 and the Missus (Missus Secretary of State, that is) as they did for the man of the hour. Yes, there was a grey flannel bow up on Queen Aretha's head. And Dick Cheney was in a wheelchair, cue unabashed laughter at handicapped old man! They say he pulled a muscle while moving boxes into his new home. I say he pulled a muscle while playing The Most Dangerous Game on a remote isle with Delta Burke's husband. And, not to go on and on about Republicans (though being the dark boozers that we are at A&P, we yearn to go to some GOP parties tonight to drink really fine scotch with well-coifed, crestfallen men), but wasn't Jenna Bush's husband, Henry Hager, just a stone fox in his camel overcoat (I know you're with me, Pillow). Oh happy day!