IN ARCADIA, AN EGO

FACT Bucks County put on their annual charity fundraiser at Hortulus Farm, a gorgeous 100-acre parcel of bucolic bliss, which is usually only open to A-list celebrities, top-level politicians, and the extremely wealthy. However, on this occasion, we plebs who donate our design services bro bono to the foundation could get a taste. This year's theme was "Bacchanalia," a Roman-themed event. Togas were in order, but the only sort of toga I wear has lapels.



We made our way through lush, winding paths filled with plants one needs a permit to grow in this country. We then came across living statues, fountains, freestanding cages housing white doves, and Greek musicians playing in a gazebo in a lake full of black swans. After a fifteen-minute walk through this dreamscape (yes, it was that spacious), we made our entrance.



Friends and acquaintances were scattered about like so many dandelions, in and among perfect strangers--in other words, just the right mix. We met Renny, who is one of the owners of the estate, and Dan, the fellow who owns and produces Antiques Roadshow on PBS. Very friendly, approachable gents.

On a Retrosexual note: one is taken aback how Roman dress flatters the feminine form, lending grace and winsomeness; it is especially enchanting on Women of a Certain Age, whose poise and composure accentuate the effect. Seeing women in togas casually dining on handfuls of grapes or lounging under trees was a delight, as it gave the fleeting impression that one had fallen into a neoclassical painting. The number of little bewitching tableaus found in this temporary Arcadia was almost overwhelming, especially if one is the sort who spends his or her days yearning for such sights.



Food, drink and delectables were in great supply. The grounds held all manner of gardens and themed follies. One felt as though they were strolling the slopes of Parnassus itself. Satyrs and nymphs were behind every hedge and tree. Paradise with an open bar!



Being a gay event, the envelope of what constitued a toga was put sorely to the test: gentlemen in scandalously short togas with nothing underneath attempted to make the living statues break ranks by pretending to drop their napkins and bending over to pick them up, baring their nethers and hindquarters to all and sundry. Tasteless, yet very funny (depending on your angle and persuasion, of course). The catamites of older men eventually wound up in the circular pool that was surrounded in a ring of wildflowers, but they were quickly shooed out before the slightly older gentlemen smelled meat in the water. The usual suspects at such things were also present, namely Greco-Roman drag queens, as well as the concessionary synchronized asian belly dancers in purple catsuits for the five or so straight men attending.



Towards the end of the evening, we were informed that Lady P and I won the "David" for best dressed couple (I knew that her Klimt-inspired, fin-de-siécle theatrical take on a Roman noblewoman would strike the right note with this crowd). A regular Sarah Bernhardt, my beloved. Clap for her! (What a Rennaissance-era statue has to do with Roman antiquity is beyond me, but I suspect that such a consideration is secondary to the fact that the young fellow is sans loincloth.)



We then joined our Emperor atop Mt. Parnassus, and surveyed this Republic of Joy with an approving eye. I've always had a PO box in Elysium, but after today, I ache more than ever for a permanent address.

~W