Fashionistas

 A few mornings back, I had a choice of headlines: Israel seizes control of Rafah border crossing, and See what all the stars wore at the Met Gala. 

On the one hand, I am always fascinated by the world of fashion. 

On the other hand, I am always fascinated by the world of war. 

A tough choice that. 

Essentially, it all comes down to the way I want to approach the coming Apocalypse. Do I want to know when the missiles are coming, or would it be better to dance while Rome is burning? In this particular model, Rome will be the United States. The missiles might come from Russia. Or North Korea. Or Pakistan. Or some corner of the planet that decides to up their game when it comes to those vague "Death to America" threats. 

Why would anyone on this musty old planet of ours wish harm to us, or in this case, U.S.? How about the strained opulence of events like The Met Gala? While so much of the rest of the globe is starving or shooting at one another, celebrities assemble on the first Monday in May to prance about in fantastic costumes in hopes of raising money to fund the part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art's (checks notes) department of fantastic costumes. Individual tickets to this event are prices at seventy-five thousand dollars. Each. 

Competing for my attention on the morning after the big costume party, or rather the big expensive costume party, were photos of the whimsical creations of designers who create outfits to be worn for one night and tanks rolling into Rafah. The line was blurred briefly by the appearance of protesters outside the Gala, but they were kept blocks away from the event by police blockades ready for anyone who might try to crash. 

Or blow up. 

And the division between fantasy and reality was maintained for one more night. 

Sleep tight, America.