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Another Babka? It’s a Same-Name Bing Bash!

Thursday, 26 April 2012 10:51 Jennifer Devore
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Ciao, cats. C'est Moi encore, Hannah Hart, ghostdame. Summer’s a-comin’ fast and my lovely Hotel del Coronado haunt is prepping for San Diego’s best season of sun, surf and soirees. Springtime’s sweet, but summer’s sizzling. You know we ghosties are cold all the time and even though I'm lucky enough to inhabit this swinging, seaside resort, it's still bonkers chilly up in the rafters and down in the basements. Sure, I have my own suite; but I like to poke around late at night. What ghost doesn't? The tiniest rise in surrounding temperature is a beautiful thing for this chickadee and makes my nocturnal adventuring all the more delightful.

Folks in general are up to here with their winter blues and springtime antsy pants. Ergo, it's the best time to throw a swanky hotel riot. The only issue with a summer splurge, besides whether to host it at the pool or on the beach, is what theme? Real party hounds know you need a kicking theme and Dr. Lucy and I are tossing around a few ideas in our noodles. Regardless of theme, the very merry month of May is the perfect time for a Ghost Host Rag!


Swanks a lot for the booze, Micky!

 

Natch, Lucy wants to go steampunk; natch, I said cool it already with the Victorian adventurer gig for a bit. I mean, really. How many aviator helmets and goggles can a girl have? (Although, I do hear around the whiskey cooler there’s a pretty steamy -steamypunky- sex scene in The Darlings of Orange County by my pally Jennifer S. Devore. Who knew there were so many useful toys in Johnny Depp’s official Ichabod Crane Detective Kit from Sleepy Hollow. My, oh, my!)

Now, as far as planning this affair, I've been throwing shindigs since I was a wee thing. Dr. Harvey & Hildy love a good time, even if it does include way too much foxtrotting, so I can thank Mum & Dad for weaning me on teas and socials and letting big bro Hugh and me throw as many parties as the old Beantown bungalow could handle. So, it goes without saying that after nearly a hundred years of throwing fetes, my beachside blow-out is sure to be a blast. First off, it’s to be all ghosts, mostly. Plenty of folks to invite. You’d be shocked at how many ghosts there are floating about San Diego and beyond. Boy-zo! If you could actually see us all. You know that feeling you get on the back of your neck, when it feels like someone’s watching you? Someone is. Always.

Nobody parties like us ghosties: no hangovers or obnoxious twits (we can't get drunk), loads of amazing, authentic costumes (when it's a fancy dress gala) and usually just mild property damage consisting of a broken window or two, a crack’d mirror hither and thither or some ecto-gooed silver and china. Even all that, we simply blame the guests or staff here at the hotel. If you think the Haunted Mansion looks wild, you ain’t seen nothing until you’ve been to one of my parties: dead or alive. This one will be Dr. Lucy’s first since the turn of the 20thC. Good thing she can’t get drunk on absinthe anymore, because I'm willing to bet she ends up loosening that Victorian cravat of hers.

My first gala: Beantown Hallowe'en 1912. Bet you can't guess who I am!

 

Theme-wise, Lucy and I have discussed a few: steampunk, Old Hollywood, literary figures, medieval, Renaissance Faire, goth, pirates, superheroes (kind of saving that for Comic-Con), Disney, Star Wars, pin-up, Grimm's Fairy Tales, Lady Gaga/Madonna. You name it, we thought of it. Problem is, I’ve done ‘em all and I am loathe to redux a party or a costume. Then, whilst searching Netflix for ideas (Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and Party Monster might be leading us in a dangerous direction.), we had a bonkers idea: a Bing Party!

Bing, Google, whatever you want to call it, it's a search engine social. I have issues with Google and some of its privacy practices and cahoots in cooperation with the Chinese government, so I do the Bing thing ... until I learn they're toads, too.  A Bing party, in case you are unaware, is also known as a Same Name party. Ever Binged yourself? Sure you have. It’s great fun when the booze runs out and you couldn’t possibly watch anymore of My Drunk Kitchen. Once you Bing yourself, you find there are dozens of folks with your name and it’s bonkers to see what they’re up to. It’s also frightening when you learn there’s some greaseball or half-portion daring to call themselves by the same sweet name your Parental Units bequeathed upon you, and you hope against hope that folks you knew way back when, won’t Bing you, see that mook and think it’s you. Still, if you weed out the wet smacks and felons, you might have yourself quite a wing ding at hand. You might want to have it at a club or a Spongebob Fancypants hotel though, just in case one of those felons shows up looking for free hooch. You don’t want 'em knowing where you live.

Hannah Hart. Clearly, it’s a fab name and whilst I was pretty sure I was the only one on the planet, there are indeed a number of us: none as fab as I, of course. Most notably there’s a bonkers chick who, apparently, loves to get toasted while she toddles about her cucina. Yea for her! My Drunk Kitchen is her web series and on her site, she’s currently running a very apropos video called Adultolescence: House Party, a how-to. I think if she were a dead girl, we’d gel brilliantly. Maybe I’ll check in on her anyway and proffer a personal invitation. Sometimes those with exceptional brain usage, beyond the ten percent most of you pills use, can sense me. She seems like she uses a tad, just a tad, more than ten percent.

Other Hannah Harts include a student at the University of Southern Maine, an actress, a photographer, another writer at another geek site called The Mary Sue: A Guide to Geek Girl Culture (Quite a coinkidink, I think!) and even a couple of cons: one Hannah Hart recently incarcerated at Sarasota, FL central booking, and one Hannah Hart, Victorian criminal, shipped off from Middlesex, England in 1836 aboard the Elizabeth and dumped on the good folks and natives of New South Wales, Australia. Nice work, England. See, I told you there’d be a mook or two. Have your Bing party in a public location, kids. While I’m at it, let’s have a look-see at some other Lucy Devereaux and my authoress pally, Jennifer Devore.

Other Lucy Devereaux include: a photographer (Why is every modern girl a photographer? B&W? Please.), an architecture student from the U.K., a grocery pricer for a national supermarket chain, and some muffin in Madison, Wisconsin.

Other Jennifer Devores include: a cellist, a math teacher, a boudoir photographer (geez), a makeup artist, a marketing exec and, lo and behold, another guest of the state, this one arrested in Clark County, OH.


Please, no mug shots for this Hannah Hart! This is my house!

 

Not listed, because I do have some respect for the dead, are a number of Lucy Devereaux, Hannah Harts and Jennifer Devores in  obituaries and ancestry reports the world over. Wait, I guess I just listed them. Anyhoo, I assume they'll all be at my Bing ball. Why wouldn't they? Beaded gowns, notable figures from throughout history, absinthe with the wormwood, yet without the psychosis and plenty of surf, salt air and sloshing shrub glasses. The cocktail of choice? We've decided upon the Pink Palace, in honour of the Beverly Hills Hotel 100th birthday. Ooh! I think I just changed the theme of the party! 100 Years of Beverly Hills! Come dressed as any B.H. era you dig: 1930s Marlene Dietrich trousers in the Polo Lounge, 1950s Marilyn Monroe sex kitten heyday, 1970s bungalow-trashing rocker, 1980s neon Nagel beauty or even 1990s 90210 Dylan McKay. Don't forget your stylin' Porsche 356 speedster.

 

Dylan v. Brandon? Please. Was there ever a question? Photo: Cloudzilla

 

Yes, an excellent plan! Lucy will love it, despite the lack of a Beverly Hills steampunk era. Sorry, babe. Maybe you can do the Marilyn Monroe thing. Come on, do the voice for us. You know you love doing it. Besides, I don't want to meet  all those other dames with the same name ... would you?


Photo: Alden Jewell

 

Abyssinia, cats!

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Meet Miss Hannah

Hannah Hart, ghost dame of the Hotel del Coronado

Hannah Hart, ghost dame of the Hotel del Coronado

So, here's the low down, all you Joes and Janes ... I'm Hannah Hart, dead girl. Don't fret, it's actually a sweet dish being dead. Having perished in 1934 in a terrifically vicious accessories incident with actress Ida Lupino, I reside where I died: San Diego's gorgeous Hotel del Coronado. It ain't a bad gig at all, really! Great weather, swanky guests (not to mention a few fellow ghosties), amazing amenities, my own private turret overlooking the sea and all the java juice and giggle water I can handle; plus, these bartenders know how to make a Planter's Punch like nobody's business! See, I've been waiting for this Internet thing forever ... now, instead of slamming doors and moving lamps, I get to wag my tongue all I like at goodtobeageek.com

Abyssinia, kids!