AK and I spent 24 hours of our weekend in Palm Springs celebrating Christine’s bachelorette party. We partied the way I suppose bachelorettes in their thirties do: We had lunch at the Parker (a Jonathan Adler spectacle of swank with mirrored shag and $15 oatmeal), Christine worked by the pool at 7 a.m. and Michelle ducked out periodically to spend some quality time with her breast pump.
Plus AK was getting over a bad cold, so we found ourselves cozied up in bed at the Quality Inn* watching Saturday Night Live by midnight. But what a night for SNL! It was the long-awaited Betty White episode, which I think may go down in history as a TV tipping point: The moment when the power of the “I bet I can find one million people who want Betty White to host SNL” internet trumped the power of publicists and the rest of the TV machine.
And more importantly, the moment when a bunch of ladies—many of them over forty and one of them way over forty—took over a male medium and made it twice as funny as usual.
You go, Bllaarfengaar Bllaarfengaar.
*Christine and crew stayed down the street at the Colony Palms, an inn with actual quality. But my lady and I, proud cheapsters that we are, had fun exclaiming over our Quality Soap, Quality Bed and Quality Coupon For Carrows Across The Parking Lot.