The Divine Madness for The Divine Miss M

All of my life I've had an extreme admiration for Bette Midler. I'm not one that typically subscribes to iconic Divas but I happily make exception for Miss Midler. She has a fire and unique spirit within her that resonates out to her audience. I've been told often by various folks that I resemble Bette Midler, both physically and characteristically. I've certainly identified with her time and time again.

In 1982, she wrote a book entitled, "The Saga of Baby Divine." It's very much an autobiographical tale about a bombastic baby born to two banal, suburban parents. The baby is flamingly special. Rather than walking or crawling, she moves about by doing piourrettes, jetes, and various other dance moves. She fashions a wacky boa accompanied by sassy high heels, and a tropical print diaper fastened by a safety pin with a big "D" encrusted with rhinestones. To top off the look, the lil' darlin' has an adorable sprig of curly red hair stemming from her Cupie Doll head. The only word the baby can utter is, "MORE!" Throughout the course of her "saga," Baby Divine departs her unstimulating abode by hitching a ride on the back of a seasoned stork, she meets up and engages in Guerilla theater with her adoptive gypsy Aunts, and conquers the demon of anxiety. Here is one of the central truths that Baby Divine discovers whilst embarking on her journey:

It's the point of your view that decides what you see-
One man's flop is another man's hit
From manners to movies, the picture keeps changing
Depending upon where you sit.

"The Saga of Baby Divine, " has been my favorite book since I was, well, a divine baby myself! I personally identified with the toddlers plight throughout my endeavors as an artist, performer, and just a person living with day to day stresses. When those stresses would sting me too sharply I'd always refer to the delicious prose within the book to sooth me.

Last year for Halloween I decided to humor everyone that would always note my Midleresque qualities. I dressed as her for my costume. I strove to replicate her look on the album cover of "Skylark."


The look came out swell, and it was quite a fun evening. Anytime any fellow party-goer approached me, I would burst into one of Bette's ballads and serenade them. Needless to say, I had a lot of fun annoying the ever lovin' piss out of people that night.

One year later, I miraculously find myself living in Manhattan and am plotting to invade Bette Midler's massive charity gala "Hulaween" with my partner in crime, Michelle. Hulaween is an annual event put on by NYRP, New York Restoration Project. Michelle and I had been making fervent attempts to get into this upscale soiree legitimately for months. All our honest attempts were obliterated and finally we decided the only way to get things done would be by crashing the shindig. I'm not sure what the karmic retribution will be for lying my way into a charity event but frankly, I don't give a damn. When you have the opportunity to meet your idol (while dressed as her none the less) and see Stevie Nicks perform live (she was the entertainment slated for the evening), all issues of moral propriety are thrown out the window.

Michelle met me at my apartment where we then headed downtown on the subway brimming with jitters in regards to actually hatching our scheme. Let it be known that, Michelle is a professional when it comes to crashing elite events. After all, she had successfully made her way into Hulaween twice before. The Girl Scout came prepared with various props to assist us in our invasion. Some included the floorplans of the Waldorf Astoria (where the event was to take place), cigarettes (for excusing ourselves for a smoking break whilst dinner took place), a VIP badge from a Stevie Nicks concert she had attended years ago, and a Rolodex that included the names and numbers of the big-wigs spearheading the festivities.

When we arrived at the opulent and regal hotel, we immediately began brainstorming various plans. Yes, we actually had Plans A, B, and C raring to go. Plan A was to just immerse ourselves in a crowd and walk through the entrance. However, in order to get into the Grand ballroom you had to possess a badge. As we discreetly tried to shuffle into the entrance, the security guard saw that we were sans badges. He then redirected us to the registration desk. Michelle and I then milled about the lobbies of the hotel trying not to look too suspicious and speaking in sotto voce while attempting to activate Plan B. Plan B entailed us using an alias of someone that was already on the list. I went in first using a bogus name just so I could catch a few real guests' names listed out of my peripheral vision. I went downstairs, fed Michelle the name, and she went ahead and used it. I anxiously awaited her return in the central lobby of the hotel. Minutes later Michelle returned and flashed me not just a badge, but a VIP badge! I practically lept out of my seat glitter infused excitement. Michelle then fed me another name that was on the list, "Say you're Ellen Levine." Now, I had no clue who Ellen Levine was, but I was struck with a rare wave of confidence and decidedly strode up to the registration desk to drop the given name. I was promptly given a badge, but again, not just any badge...that's right, we now both possessed VIP badges. Little did I realize that Ellen Levine is the president of her own highly successful literary agency. How bout' that? Also, we look tremendously similar:



Anyway, Michelle and I didn't want to appear ostentatious, so we separated a bit and decided to meet up in the grand ballroom later. As I made my way up the staircase to the main entrance, my eyes were immediately struck with the vision of Bette Midler. It was truly like a dreamy hallucination for, she was being interviewed on camera and had a bright spotlight shining upon her, illuminating her like an angel. I stood there watching her every move, frozen with awe. She soon concluded her interview, and was escorted into another area. While transitioning from space to space, she looked straight at me (standing there gazing at her with sheer admiration), and verbally approved my costume by looking me up and down, flashing me a thumb's up, and stating, "All right! Looking good!" My knees then nearly buckled within their fishnet confines.

After floating back down to reality, I wandered into The Grand Ballroom to meet up with Michelle. We tittered and traipsed around excitedly while taking note of the many celebrities in attendance (I saw everyone from Martha Stewart to Margaret Cho) and inhaling the divine ambiance.


Soon enough, everyone was asked to take a seat for dinner and the auction, this was our cue to lay low and disappear for a bit. While we did technically have seats, our phony statuses would've been revealed had we actually sat at our assigned tables. So to play it safe, we chilled at a seamy McDonald's around the corner until Stevie Nick's performance loomed. I find it keen that Michelle and I spent less than five dollars on our dinner that night while the guests at Hulaween shucked out up to $5,000.00 a plate. Here we are enjoying our discounted fare:





Upon entering the ballroom again, Bette was just concluding her thanks for those that participated in the auction either by donating or bidding. She then introduced the honoree for the "Wind Beneath My Wings" award. Each year it goes to a celebrity that makes major strives in environmental justice, and this year it was to go to Willie Nelson. He entered the stage receiving an uproarious applause. Accompanying him were two people dressed as joints. Real, THC saturated, doobies. Sadly, I don't have a picture of that moment. However, I do have a picture of Bette and Willie singing a duet of "Wind Beneath My Wings." Classic.

Willie went on to sing a few more of his rugged, Americana jams, and then Bette reappeared to introduce the woman responsible for my existence, Stevie Nicks.*

Stevie was soon ushered onto the stage with Bette's flattering introduction and she rocked the joint. She sang her standards, "Landslide, Rhiannon, Standback, Rock N'Roll, etc," all with fun and theatrical new twists. It's fun to see who the real partiers are at any given point during an event. At this point in the evening, all the stuffy corporate types had departed and the true Stevie fans remained. Her musical beat was pulsating throughout the ballroom and it was as though people were helpless to its demanding powers. We all surrendered by dancing like wild heathens. After Stevie's overwhelming performance, Bette and her embraced. It was then announced that Hulaween 2006 was officially over....



...but not really for an elite few (or in the case of Michelle and me, a pseudo-elite few). We escalated our way to Bette's VIP after party, where the Divine Diva quickly graced the room with her presence. People were vying for Miss Midler's attention like a pack of wild hyenas sought out an antelope carcass. After being diligent and determined in our attempt to nab Bette's attention...we finally got it.

I had many things I wanted to tell my idol, but I wanted to tell her something quick, succinct, and ultimately not trite. My original intent was to say, "May I just say, "The Saga of Baby Divine" is my personal credo." When the time came for us to mingle with her, I grasped her hand (with a quiet desperation) and was only able to get out, "May I just say..." before we were quickly interrupted with flashes from a frenzy of photographers. Whatever. I made contact with her, got a picture with her (dressed as her, I love that), and was able to check off one of my life goals in a quick swoop.



Michelle and I then retired to a table, enjoyed the free champagne that was being served generously, and had a lovely conversation with an extremely sweet lady and her son. We talked about New York and its wonders, Bette and her wonders, and pretty much everything under the sun. This lady mentioned both she and her husband were singers. Initially, I didn't think much of it- until we were saying our goodbyes and she mentioned her last name...Garfunkel. Yes, it was Art Garfunkel's wife and son. I googled her name as soon as I got home, and had that fact verified by an image of the entire folk-singing family.

As Michelle and I left, we wandered into the room juxtaposed to the VIP room, and noticed a piano. With my ever-present devilish grin I just exchanged glances with Michelle and said, "I dare you." That was all the encouragement she needed, for soon she was cranking out her own tunes on the piano.


After playing a robust repertoire, Michelle and I decided to conclude the evening. Wandering home and clutching a big, black balloon (I had happened to snag it on my way out of the party, thievery was apparently a theme that evening), I noticed my endorphins were crackling. I took a moment to reflect on the previous six or seven hours, and realized then that my personal avenues have shifted and detoured dramatically in the past year. Had someone told me at that Halloween party last year, that I would be living in my dream city (let alone mingling with my favorite diva) I would've told them that it's cruel to lie. Now I've learned to expect the unexpected in addition to cherishing the anticipation associated with the unknown. In a cheesy (yet heartfelt) gesture before entering my building, I released my big, black balloon into the Manhattan sky. Who knows what avenue that balloon will find itself aimlessly floating into next? I can't wait to find out.



*It's no exaggeration when I say that Stevie Nicks is responsible for my existence. I say she is because when my mom and dad met they were neighbors at an apartment complex. My dad was quite smitten with my mom, and in order to lure her over to his place he would blast Fleetwood Mac's, "Landslide." Seconds into the guitar intro, my dad would hear my mother's screen door slam and she'd be rushing over to hear the song she loved so much. From there they fell in love, got married, and had me...in a nutshell.