John and I are thrilled to be writing a column, so kick back (in a Fusion Furniture sofa done up in Madcap Cottage performance fabrics, natch!) with an Aperol Spritz cocktail and get ready for a few tales from the Madcaps’ mad, mad, mad adventures. With some luck, we will offer a bit of spark to cheer your day paired with some social commentary that’s just south of nice but a notch north of naughty. Just remember to keep that aforementioned libation firmly in hand: The more you drink, the more akin to Auntie Mame we shall seem.
April may be the cruelest month, but January certainly takes its toll. Just after the holiday celebrations, the year kicks off earlier and earlier with a whirl of trade shows and more trade shows that are murder on your feet and a veritable treatise on how travel really has lost all of its glamour.
Bring back Braniff and Pan Am, we say. Pronto.
But speaking of trade shows…
Stalwarts — the Madcaps included — zip from Dallas to Atlanta to Las Vegas meeting whilst greeting and “ooh-ing” and “aah-ing” and drinking too much mediocre Chardonnay and popping Airborne to prevent the flu and wishing that airports were less awful. We pray for a washing machine to speed clean our underwear, hope for a valet in our next life who can unpack us and repack us, and wonder just how we can look chic in sensible shoes and not like a nurse. Does the CVS next to the hotel have booze, you ask? And just how much are we paying for this mediocre hotel room that might have been the peak of chic circa-1978?
John and I hightailed to and from Dallas Market and onto a round of Madcap new business meetings in Philadelphia before unpacking and packing again and jumping on a plane bound for Atlanta. If I had access to Xanax, I would have taken three pills before descending into Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport and that’s merely on the arrivals end.
A spirited Uber ride led us to Atlanta’s “boutique-styled” Hotel Indigo Midtown where we discovered that the closet in our guest room was actually the bathroom.
“Well,” noted John, the eternal optimist, “at least we can do our business in the Indigo loo while washing our hands and our hair without getting up from the toilet.”
“Boutique-styled, my ass,” I quipped.
“Exactly,” said John.
Needless to say, there was no need to luxuriate in the glory of our hostelry so we decided to hit Market with a vengeance.
A brisk walk down Peachtree Street... Yes, we walk.
(Speaking of which, I have never seen a peach tree in Atlanta, have you?)
The aforementioned brisk walk down the fruit tree-devoid Peachtree carried us to AmericasMart Atlanta... And en route we encountered a very colorful cast of characters, including a dapper gent who serenaded us with his kazoo and accordion. Talk about multi-tasking!
And then it was a veritable flurry of fun-filled AmericasMart activity.
We chatted up Mark Abrams at the Port 68 showroom; met the Timberwood furniture folks; perused the creations of Bahamas-based design force Amanda Lindroth; ogled Ron Royals’ stunning photography; sipped booze at Wendover with the uber-talented Leslie Langford; dined with the Ballard Designs team at the Golden Eagle; launched the Madcap Cottage tabletop collection at Certified International with a plate signing/meet and greet attended by more 150 MC fans; sipped more cocktails with our friends at Fringe Market; and presented design ideas to a possible new licensee.
Whew!
And now, well, we are not in Las Vegas. We decided to sit out that dance and kick back a bit in style.
Instead, we are cozied-up in Tennessee’s fabled Blackberry Farm where we are writing a travel feature and partaking of spa services. And, no, we are not wearing sensible shoes. There is room service. And our bathroom is truly sprawling.
Garçon, another martini, s’il-vous plait.
Signing off.
