Kidnap Capital World Tour Day Eight
Brunei Burnout or The Return of Little Missy
Just in case any of you thought I had any grandiose delusions of channelling the great Margaret Mead, don't worry. Papua New Guinea is becoming mistier to me with each passing hour. I truly do not get Brunei--beautiful beaches, glittering hotel, anything in the world you could ever want to buy, yet what is really going on around here? The two options for this afternoon were A, look at a mosque or B, look at some monkeys. Little Missy has returned with a vengeance and decided on option C--a not on the schedule stop at the best hair salon in town. The women of Brunei have always looked pretty good to me when I have seen them at the couture shows in Paris, and I thought I could talk to their stylists and hear some gossip. A hotel driver took me to a strip mall where I entered Alan's Inspiration. And what was Alan's inspiration? Marilyn Monroe, all over the walls, with a smaller tribute room to Audrey Hepburn. The Brunei women do not come here, of course. Cecilia, the best stylist in town goes to them. No Brunei gossip from the tight lipped Cecilia. I was massaged and coddled and manicured and coiffed before I couldn't take it any longer. "So who does come here?' I asked (exasperated, I might add. I had come here to gossip). Cecilia's assistant handed me a photo of Cecilia and Hillary Clinton, wearing the same hair style I had just received at Chez Alan. "When was she here?" I asked. A couple of months ago, the assistant answered. "We have the same hair style!" I whined. You have the same kind of hair was the answer. The State Department is so cheap they don't even let Hillary travel with a stylist? I thought. Or maybe Hillary doesn't want a stylist? Oh great, another Margaret Mead or Mother Theresa! That Hillary better be careful if she wants to run for president. Looks do matter, and this hair style is not the greatest, not on her or me. I will not be posting a photo to prove it. You will just have to take my word for it. Tomorrow we go to Burma. I feel like a victim of Stockholm Syndrome, that Stanford and these various countries are conspiring to brainwash me. But why? At the airport in Tahiti, an Air France flight was boarding just ahead of us for Paris, and a guy you all know who shall remain nameless started loudly moaning that he would do anything to get out of boarding the Papua New Guinea flight and onto the Air France flight. What a wimp.
Brunei Burnout or The Return of Little Missy
Just in case any of you thought I had any grandiose delusions of channelling the great Margaret Mead, don't worry. Papua New Guinea is becoming mistier to me with each passing hour. I truly do not get Brunei--beautiful beaches, glittering hotel, anything in the world you could ever want to buy, yet what is really going on around here? The two options for this afternoon were A, look at a mosque or B, look at some monkeys. Little Missy has returned with a vengeance and decided on option C--a not on the schedule stop at the best hair salon in town. The women of Brunei have always looked pretty good to me when I have seen them at the couture shows in Paris, and I thought I could talk to their stylists and hear some gossip. A hotel driver took me to a strip mall where I entered Alan's Inspiration. And what was Alan's inspiration? Marilyn Monroe, all over the walls, with a smaller tribute room to Audrey Hepburn. The Brunei women do not come here, of course. Cecilia, the best stylist in town goes to them. No Brunei gossip from the tight lipped Cecilia. I was massaged and coddled and manicured and coiffed before I couldn't take it any longer. "So who does come here?' I asked (exasperated, I might add. I had come here to gossip). Cecilia's assistant handed me a photo of Cecilia and Hillary Clinton, wearing the same hair style I had just received at Chez Alan. "When was she here?" I asked. A couple of months ago, the assistant answered. "We have the same hair style!" I whined. You have the same kind of hair was the answer. The State Department is so cheap they don't even let Hillary travel with a stylist? I thought. Or maybe Hillary doesn't want a stylist? Oh great, another Margaret Mead or Mother Theresa! That Hillary better be careful if she wants to run for president. Looks do matter, and this hair style is not the greatest, not on her or me. I will not be posting a photo to prove it. You will just have to take my word for it. Tomorrow we go to Burma. I feel like a victim of Stockholm Syndrome, that Stanford and these various countries are conspiring to brainwash me. But why? At the airport in Tahiti, an Air France flight was boarding just ahead of us for Paris, and a guy you all know who shall remain nameless started loudly moaning that he would do anything to get out of boarding the Papua New Guinea flight and onto the Air France flight. What a wimp.
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