Monday, 10. 24. 11: Breaking News: Yet Another Zurich Financial Man Causes Young, Well-Dressed New Yorker to Collapse of Boredom
I just left a date with Switzerland’s most agreeable man. He didn’t argue with one thing I said. He ordered bouillon soup and avoided the croutons. Not once in the painfully silent 45 minutes did he express an opinion outside the bounds of risk management. Honestly, I think my Yale interview was more scandalous.[Photo: Cecil Beaton of Bianca Jagger, 1978]It didn’t help that we were at perhaps the stuffiest restaurant in Zurich, The Kronenhalle. The place’s website plays music that couldn’t turn on the queen herself. Hung with original Rodins and Chagalls, lace curtains, and a number more goons in tight buttoned shirts BBMing their tennis instructors, I have never missed the Lower East Side more. Dirty as it is.
Enter me, in white fox, lamé top, and biking helmet. The staff nearly fainted. They didn’t know what to pluck off and hang up first. No company could have understood my outfit less. And it’d taken me 30 minutes and half a bottle of liquid eyeliner to create. What a waste. “Ein Mojito, bitte,” I said (just to piss them off) shimmying out of my YSL mini trench while they scurried off to find mint.
I’m beginning to think I won’t find love with Swiss-German anywhere in earshot. I should start taking blood samples before agreeing to go on any other dates. Yes, I think I will. I miss my hot blooded exes and their rusty showerheads. Everyone of them.
Tomorrow, Cartier exhibit and an Argentinian expat. Maybe there’s still hope!
Garden of Cosmic Speculation, Scotland
