I dedicate this post to my sister-in-law Kate who lurks on the blog, and who just yesterday was telling me the next time she’s at my house she’s going to watch while I make my beef stew, because she wants to figure out what my secret is.   My beef stew is excellent.  It’s not fancy; it’s not fussy.  It’s so easy to make I’ve never bothered to write the recipe down. When the Big Cheese is out of town I’ve been known to eat it three times a day.  I make it all winter long.

So as a public service I decided to write down my recipe, although I’ll give credit where it’s due and note that it’s based on a recipe for boeuf bourguignon in my mother’s 1951 Joy of Cooking.  All amounts are approximate and it’s not an exact science.  I’ll stick to the bare bones and put my nitpicky details at the bottom for people who care.  Bon appetit.

One package (1 – 2 lbs) decent well-marbled beef, I use beef tips*

Two spoonfuls bacon grease** and some crumbled bacon, if you’ve got some

One handful flour

Three medium or two large onions, yellow or white

3 or 4 medium thin-skin potatoes (I use red or white and leave the skin on)***

One bottle red wine****

1. Cut the beef into bite size pieces and dust them with the flour, coating them.

2. On the stove, heat 1 spoonful of bacon grease in your big Dutch oven or stew pot.  Toss the floured meat in there and brown it.  Take the meat out and put it on a plate.

3. Chop up the onions.  Using the same pot, put the other spoon of bacon grease in there and add the onions.  Cook them, stirring occasionally, 10 – 15 minutes until they cook down and caramelize a little.

4. Put the meat back in.  Add your bottle of wine and any seasoning you want (I use salt, pepper and rosemary).  Add crumbled bacon if you have some, 3 – 4 pieces is good.

5. Put the lid on and bake in the oven at 300 degrees for two hours.  Chop up your potatoes into smaller pieces like the meat and add those.  You can throw in some chopped carrots too if you want.*****  Cook another hour.  Et voila.  Serves 6 – 8. 

 Further Notes:

*I get that the point of a long slow-cooking beef stew is to use cheap stew meat, but at least where I live, beef tips from Trader Joe’s don’t cost much more than stew meat from the grocery store, and the meat is more tender and flavorful.

**I keep bacon drippings in my fridge, but you can cook some bacon and throw it in there too.  I’d write the words “leftover bacon” but there’s no such thing as leftover bacon.  Obviously you can skip the bacon grease entirely and use olive oil, but it doesn’t taste the same.

***Or you can use little new potatoes, halved.  Volume-wise, the meat, potatoes and pre-cooked onion are about equal.

****Most wine-based stew recipes call for x amount of wine plus water (the Joy of Cooking recipe is ¾ wine to ¼ water.)  At some point I decided, why not use a whole bottle?  I generally use a decent bottle of cabernet – not top shelf, but not utter crap, either.  If you wouldn’t drink a glass, it doesn’t belong in your food.

*****If you want basic 1950s American-style boeuf bourguignon, leave out the potatoes and carrots, add some sliced mushrooms, and serve it over buttered egg noodles for a fun retro meal that dinner guests plow into.  If you want to add more vegetables and diversify your stew, that’s dandy too.  I don’t add them until the last hour because I find they get a bit soft for my tastes.

PS Here’s a link to Ina Garten’s somewhat similar recipe which gets rave reviews, although I have my doubts about the frozen onions (one commenter found them squishy).  Maybe I’ll try the tomato paste and cognac next time.

Illustration: my father’s drawing on the inside cover of my 1951 Joy of Cooking, rebound several times.  My father gave it to my mother, who literally couldn’t boil an egg.  It makes me smile every time I see it.

The start of the year signals my gardening obsession returning. So, all my seed packets have arrived and at some point I’ll log them onto an Excel spreadsheet (the only opportunity I allow myself for super-nerdy listing – those vegetables and flowers need a schedule dude). And I have a stack of raspberry canes, asparagus crowns, strawberry plants, and other bits and pieces arriving over the course of the next two months.

But my current big focus, and I don’t know why, is dahlias. Like my grandfather before me, I can’t get enough of them. They’re totally unscented, earwigs clamber all over them and cause non-chemical hippy types like me no end of pain, aqnd their leaves are as dull as ditchwater, unless you happen to have a cultivar with that fashionably dark quality. But their flamboyant 70s glamour  always thrills me. They were the talk of the allotment last year, and everyone wanted to know what I was growing. Well, everyone is a bit of hyperbole, but there you go. I’m boasting.

So, in the spirit of summer, here’s some borrowed images of a few of my current favourites:

Lover Boy, image courtesy of dahliabarn.com

Downham Royal, courtesy of Sarah Raven

Rip City, courtesy of Amazon

Jocondo, courtesy of Arrowhead Dahlias

Chat Noir, courtesy of Sarah Raven

Pontiac, courtesy of Sarah Raven

New Baby, courtesy of Sarah Raven

I’m growing about 50 varieties. I know – I’m excessive.

And in the spirit of managing excess, alongside a desire to spread the love (I celebrate seventeen years with Matthew today), I’m clearing out a few of my perfumes that, though loved, are now never worn. You don’t need to send anything in return (although gifts are most welcome…): this is more to clear out some space, freshen up, tidy the bathroom.

The bottles I have to give away are as follows:

Eau d’Italie Bois d’Ombrie 100mls hardly used;

L’Artisan Parfumeur Dzing! 50mls  – about 70% full;

L’Artisan Parfumeur Voleur de Roses 50 mls – about 70% full;

Hermes Rocabar 100mls – about 85% full:

Patricia de Nicolai Vetyver 30mls – hardly used.

Leave a comment if you’re interested in a bottle, alongside wild promises of gifts in return. The wild promises will be dutifully ignored and bottle winners selected entirely at random. I’ll let you know in two weeks time.

I have a confession.  Natural perfumes tend to not do it for me (hanging head and scuffing feet).  Not because they lack artistry or creativity, but it is the ingredients that tends to not set with  me very well or seem a little muddied.  One exception has been Strange Invisible Perfumes. Now I have another exception, Soivohle’, formerly Liz Zorn perfumes. 

 Tobacco & Tulle – From the website, ” tobacco and tuberose absolutes with natural animalic and botanical musks.  Contains cruelty free hyrax tincture, beach harvested ambergris, also contains a touch of green oakmoss.”  I adore this scent. From the moment I uncapped it and sniffed until I had worn it around a while.  There is a tobacco/oakmoss intensity, sharpened by the ambergris on the open, musky and veering to the skanky.  It’s sharp, acrid, but the tuberose just rolls around in there, adding depth and not really softness – maybe just gives all of those pungent notes a good landing area.  The pungent, almost acrid feel smooths out into a great earthy tobacco scent.  It is interesting, hardcore and beautiful, everything I want my perfume to be.

Grand Canyon -  Notes of orange flower, citrus, spices, herbs, myrrh, black pepper and laurel.  A spicy citrus on the open, underlaid with the herbs and incense.  It is made as an homage to the Grand Canyon, and the laurel and herbs in this make it at time to smell like that gorgeous desert air, but like you have one of those spicy cinnamon  orange  things mixed in and some smoky incense being burned over the horizon.  It is completely snuggly and warm and lovely.  March and Marina have reviewed this in the past and liked it, and I’m in the same camp.

Underworld -  Notes  of vetiver, balsams, jasmine, rose, smoky leathery base.  Vetiver, leather and balsam. If you like your vetiver and/or leather served up earthy and smoky, this is your scent.  It is not as green as Guerlain’s Djedi on the open, but it has a similar feel, that rough vetiver.  As it dries down, the floral notes and a spiciness pushes through, softening it.  One of my yoga teachers makes us strengthen to get into a pose, then keeps telling us, as we are breathing hard to soften something – your ears, your fingers, your eyes.  Strength and softness held in tension.  That’s Underworld, and it’s simply gorgeous.

Well, so far, I’m not finding anything I hate or even am indifferent to, and I’ve got several more samples to go through next week!  So I’m a fan now, and I think more of you would be too if you tried them. So!  Yes!  Let’s give away a set of samples on these four.  Just drop a comment, and you’ll be in the drawing.

The winners of the set of Omnia Profumo samples are:  Ninara Poll and Nika.  Just click on the Contact us on the left and send me your address and what I’m supposed to be sending you.

Can we talk about movies briefly.  It seems like almost every movie this winter season has been despairing or ineffably sad in some way or another.  The big exception has been Slumdog Millionaire, which everyone should see, it really is as good as the hype, but don’t expect something big – expect something completely human and full of hope.  In the last week I’ve seen Revolutionary Road and The Wrestler. Both great films with great acting and direction, beautifully shot, and in the end, characters despair.  The Wrestler is seriously hardcore, so don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re going to see this uplifting redemptive movie that may make you cry in the end, but will leave you all fuzzy inside. That just won’t happen. Same with Revolutionary Road – it’s not a love story, and there’s no redemption in it either.  Should you go see them? Yes.  I recommend you read the book before you see Rev Road - it helps flesh out some things they didn’t have time for in the movie.  The Wrestler, Mickey Rourke is brilliant. He has an unself-conscious vulnerability that he has always had as an actor, something that draws you in.  It’s a gift most actors don’t possess, and he should win the Oscar for that performance.  He should also wear Tobacco and Tulle, easy on the Tulle.

I’ve also seen Doubt and Benjamin Button this season as well. And they aren’t full of despair, but they’re not exactly happy-happy-joy-joy flicks, but both are excellent.  You know what I really need? For “He’s Not that Into You” and “Confessions of a Shopaholic” to open in a couple of weeks so I can laugh for a change in the theater!  No, March, I refuse to go some that Mall Cop thing, even though I adore the lead actor in it.

What movies have you see, and what did you think of them?  I did notice in Rev Road, Millie had a bottle of some Guerlain perfume on her dresser – she should be wearing L’Heure Bleue - but I couldn’t make out the perfume bottle on April’s dresser.  Also, have you tried a Soivohle perfume, and what did you think? I know there is a violet one that gets high regard, is it the Domino Viole?

BTW II, who was it that recommended Gina at Blondie’s in Denver for color and a cut?  Brilliant tip. I went there today, and she did an amazing job on my hair, she is just terrific, so thank you!!!

I’m sure many of you remember when Bois de Jasmin was blogging regularly.  She was my nemesis.  There I’d be, an adult completely in control of my environment and behavior.  And I’d saunter over to her blog, read a beautifully written review of some obscure scent (new, niche, classic) and then, in a trance, head to a perfume etailer or eBay and buy it unsniffed.  She could have written a review of, I don’t know, Merde de Chien and I’d have whipped out my MasterCard.  It was infuriating.

And thus it was that I found myself frantically bidding on a vintage bottle of Jolie Madame shortly after her review.  I won it.  I waited, glowing.  It arrived. I tore open the box, popped the bottle open, dabbed (sprayed?) it on triumphantly, and … sweet mother %*#$%*)$*) why don’t you please go ahead and kill.me.now.

Jolie Madame was the nastiest, skankiest piece of liquid hell that had graced my wrist until another BdJ review made me buy Jacomo Silences (another shout-out to you, V!)  I tried Jolie a couple more times but that was all I could take.  If I recall correctly, I wrapped it up and sent it as a surprise gift to the only person on the planet who might inexplicably, conceivably like it – Bois de Jasmin.  She was thrilled, and that was that.

Regular readers have already sussed out where this is going, because I am so predictable it’s a joke.  Two weeks (?) ago I said something like, leather fragrances – love to smell them, but wearing them — meh, not so much.  But this Lancome Cuir thingummy – this I like!   Then someone mentioned Jolie Madame.  Then Louise said she could hook me up with a sample of the vintage, since she owns some, and everyone else on the planet including you and your hamster already bought up the new bottles of Jolie Madame at TJ Maxx for $14.99, so all they have when I go is Caesar’s Man and Liz Claiborne, and what is up with that?  Is it some karmic thing?

Jolie Madame is, in essence, violets and leather.  I can’t remember what the new smells like, but I’m assuming it’s a little more polite, although serviceable.  The vintage bottle Louise has is violets and leather in the sort of base that causes less … discerning people to step away quickly in alarm.  Ah, the beauty of vintage fragrances.  The top notes may have wandered off or turned rancid, but frequently what you get at the bottom is extraordinary.  Back in the day they really made some musky, animalic wonders.  Jolie Madame’s notes are gardenia, bergamot, coriander, orange blossom, jasmine, tuberose, rose, jonquil, orris, patchouli, oakmoss, vetiver, musk, castoreum, leather, civet… yeah, I know.  Read those base notes and weep, whether with desire or repulsion.  To smell that in a vintage iteration is to get an obscene amount of pleasure in a smell.  I just had to give my nose three years to come around to it.

The weird part is, this particular vintage bottle goes all wrong on Louise, although her others are fine. I won’t describe it further, in case you are eating breakfast, but it’s the sort of vaguely organic smell that would have you sprinting for the liquid Tide on the double.  So it was win-win all around – I bought her bottle, which smells great on me (if I do say so myself) and she got a little cash out of the deal to spend on makeup.  Which she did (and have you seen those new Lancome glosses?)  And then we all sat down for a cuppa joe in the basement of Saks and lived happily ever after, The End.

PS  This time of year always gets me down a little.  I spent last night watching The Women (the original, not the recent remake) — speaking of Dames!  And the clothes!  Those gowns by Adrian!!  And I love that the nail polish they’re wearing is … Jungle Red.  And perfume even has a role, what more could I want?

Jolie Madame ad trademark, courtesy of wipo.int; Joan Crawford, Norma Shearer, Rosalind Russell, The Women

An Italian company, Omnia Profumo, has four new scents that are now available at Luckyscent.  $135 for 125 ml, which is a better price point than most lines are coming in with recently, so I’m greatly encouraged before I even sniff them.  It occurs to me that the higher the price point on the perfume, the higher the expectation is.  So if they are at $1 a ml’ish range, I’m happy to just let them be perfume and not works of art.  Price prejudice?  Sure.  We all expect more from a Laboutin shoe than from a no-name brand shoe we picked up at Nordstrom’s on sale.

Ambra has notes of Orange, bergamot, geranium, incense, lavender, patchouli, vanilla, labdanum, opoponax, amber.  This is a very nice, dry, incensey amber, just a little heavier on the amber on my skin than the amber, and the vanilla dusts some softness in it that keeps it from being in the way-harsh amber territory.  This is one of the few ambers I can wear and wear happily.

Granato has notes of Jasmine, hawthorn, lilac, geranium, rose, gardenia, orange, nutmeg, cardamom, cinnamon stick, white thyme, anise, cedarwood, patchouli, sandalwood, vetiver, white musks, vanilla.  This has a thymish open, which sorta fools you into thinking this is something else a little more boozish maybe, but, no, it is a rich, spicy floral that keeps shifting long into the drydown and never quite settle.  Nicely complex and dark, it’s my favorite of the four by just a little

Madera has notes of Vanilla pod, caramel, Madagascar vanilla, peach blossom, wildflowers, tobacco flower, coconut, white musk.  This is an amazing caramel scent, and I despise most caramel scents in perfume because they never get it quite right  This one skipped over that one note that grates on my nerves, the sugary one, and lets the vanilla, muscs and peach blossom add the sweetness.  It veers a little more toward the vanilla after it’s been on a while, but more in the vanilla pod category than the sugary vanilla.This one is cuddly perfection.  Gourmand lovers will adore it, but it has a lot to offer anyone who likes a caramel vanilla scent.

Onice has notes of citrus, anise, lavender, licorice, peach, pineapple, rose, nutmeg, geranium, hyacinth, jasmine, ylang, mint, sandalwood, musk, cedarwood, amber.  Very green on the open when I expected a lot more fruit in there.  Luckyscent notes the smell of celery, which I completely agree with, it smells like very lush celery.  It stays light and green wood on me, and I never really get any of the licorice, fruit or floral notes except as a soft background.  It’s not my favorite of the four, but I can’t help but think that this would suit me perfectly on a hot summer day.

Overall, I liked this line and especially like that they have a reasonable price point.  Granato is probably the most complex and interesting of the four on me, but I do have a yen for the caramel Madera.  Let’s do a set of sample give-away on this. Just drop a comment, and I’ll draw one or two names out on Thursday as winners of the four-sample set.

Question to ponder – what do we now consider a reasonable price point per ml for perfume?  Is $1 a ml still it, or are we revising upwards?  Or downwards? And how much more do we expect when we’ve paid $200 for 50 mls?

I was kicking around ideas for perfumes for a dame with Angie at Now Smell This and Alyssa at Perfume-Smellin’ Things, and we decided to do a multi-blog post on the topic.  I’m looking forward to seeing what they had to say on the subject, and I bet you are too, so be sure to check the links.   Here are my subjective, random thoughts on the topic.  

Dames are broads, but not all broads are dames.  Dames are larger than life.  They demand and command respect.    Some dames are beautiful; some are wicked; some are wicked smart; and some are all three.   Dames can stand up to men like Frank Sinatra, Clark Gable and Humphrey Bogart.  Whether they’re obvious or coy about it, dames are running the show.

Perfumes for a dame are by definition big fragrances.  They have sillage; they have personality; they have power.  They are often classic fragrance and if not, they may have retro overtones.   Perfumes for a dame may not be for everyone, but whether you’re channeling Lauren Bacall or Dame Edna, there’s probably at least one dame fragrance in your wardrobe.

Trouser Dames can wear pants, and may even wear the pants in a relationship.  Trouser dames include Marlene Dietrich, Barbara Stanwyck, Lauren Bacall, Kate Hepburn.  They’re a little … bent.  Love and fear them.  As I type this I am wearing a lovely gift of Chanel Cuir de Russie in extrait, and there, my friends, is a fragrance for a trouser dame.   How can you resist its earthy powers?   Trouser dames wear:  Chanel Cuir de Russie, vintage Femme, Caron Tabac Blond or Narcisse Noir, Bulgari Black, Knize Ten, Vero Kern Onda.  Lips: MAC Film Noir or Ruby Woo, NARS Red Lizard, or (for a neutral look) MAC Twig with Chanel nude liner.  Nails: Revlon Raven Red or Sephora OPI Never Enough Shoes, or just short, buffed nails or maybe some Essie Ballet Slippers, depending.

     “A dame that knows the ropes isn’t likely to get tied up.” – Mae West

Lipstick Dames are at the opposite end of the spectrum from trouser dames.  They are all about the pretty, although they’re still not to be trifled with.  Mae West, Marilyn Monroe, and Ava Gardner are lipstick dames.  Lipstick pretty scents conjure up dressing tables and silk robes, but they’ll throw a drink in your face and stomp you with their stiletto heels if you misbehave.  Lipstick dames wear:  Piguet Fracas; Malle Lipstick Rose or Iris Poudre; Fifi Chachnil; Cuir de Lancome; Patou Joy, Molinard Habanita; Guerlain Apres l’Ondee.  Lips: Christian Dior in Red Premiere, MAC Bombshell, NARS Schiap.  Nails: Revlon Cherries in the Snow, Zoya Morgan, NARS Schiap.

     “You treat a lady like a dame, and a dame like a lady.”  – Frank Sinatra

Corsage Dames love big white flowers, maximum sillage, fine champagne, and Tahitian pearls.  They are elegant but tough.  Corsage dames include Billie Holiday, Rita Hayworth, Jean Harlow, and Elizabeth Taylor. Corsage dames wear: SIP Lady Day; Malle Carnal Flower; Donna Karan Gold; Estee Lauder Private Collection Tuberose Gardenia; Parfums de Nicolai Eclipse, Montale Jasmin Full, Christian Dior Poison, Serge Lutens Un Lys.  Lips:  MAC Russian Red or Brave Red, Lancome Absolute Rouge.  Nails: OPI Malaga Wine or Blues for Red; Chanel Gold Fiction.

     “I’m the nicest goddamn dame that ever lived.” – Bette Davis

Corset Dames wear their fragrances like a force field.  All dames wear fragrance to please themselves, not necessarily to attract those around them – and this is especially true of Corset dames.  They can be as aloof as they are beautiful; they are not everyone’s cup of tea.  They can be dangerous or difficult.  You may only find them alluring if you’re a bit jaded and like a challenge.  Corset dames include Bette Davis, Lana Turner, Joan Crawford and Greta Garbo.  Corset Dames wear:  Guerlain Mitsouko; Malle Noir Epices, Musc Ravageur or Un Fleur de Cassie; Desprez Bal a Versailles; Vivienne Westwood Boudoir, Mona di Orio Nuit Noire.  Lips: Chanel Vamp.  Nails: OPI You Don’t Know Jacques or Russian Navy, Sephora OPI Metro Chic.

I could have added dozens of perfumes to my lists, so please chime in with your additions and comments, and thanks to Louise and Musette for their thoughtful suggestions as I wrote this.

icons, top to bottom:  Bette Davis, Lauren Bacall, Ava Garder, Billie Holiday, Greta Garbo

Awhile back I mentioned I was looking for a retro creme red nail polish, and you all had a bunch of suggestions.  Here are some winners, with the caveat/explanation that I started with what was easiest to find locally rather than purchasing online.

Cheery cherries – the sort of bright, retro red you can imagine on a set of 1940s dishtowels.  These reds are great on me and would be fun in the summer on my toes.  Winners:  Sephora/OPI And A Cherry on Top, Sally Hansen Cherry Red (a fab red for, like, $2.39?!), OPI Red.

 Classic deep vixen red – Revlon Raven Red got rave reviews from several of you.  I admit, I don’t think it’s my best red.  It’s slightly brown on me, and would look better on someone with a little darker or warmer skin tone than mine.  Having said that, it is indeed a gorgeous color, and I’ve gotten compliments when wearing it.   Another gorgeous deep vixen that isn’t as dark: Sephora/OPI Personal Shopper. Yowza.

Revlon was having a BOGO when I bought Raven and the colors were pretty picked over, so I wound up with Revlon Red.  It’s funny – on its own, Revlon Red is a great color.  It’s a bright, slightly warm generic red that’s like the red crayon in the box of Crayolas.  The problem is, if you’ve spent much time playing in reds, you can come up with colors that are so much better, even though on some level it’s practically splitting hairs.  Revlon Red is a perfectly fine emergency red purchase, but it doesn’t have the shine or the depth of a great red.  Ultimately I decided to Franken it into a deeper red with the addition of some black.  (Frankening hint gleaned from my art background – you can darken a color much, much faster than you can lighten it.  I add black two drops at a time and shake shake shake.)  I wound up with a color I like much better.

Blue red – y’all were right, OPI’s I’ve Got the Blues for Red is an excellent color.  It looks a little cool on warmer skin tones but on me it is a true, neutral classic red that is neither bright nor vixen-y dark.  It’s gorgeous.  I also had difficulty finding it, one site having labeled it as discontinued, so if you’re in love with that color you might want to scrounge up a backup.  Sephora/OPI Le Beau was an interesting, lighter blue red.

And my own personal winner is … OPI Malaga Wine!  I tried on so many colors, and while the differences can be subtle, the final effect can be huge.  I wound up with Malaga Wine sort of by, um, accident on an order of spring pastel creme nail polishes (yeah, stay tuned for that) because you mentioned it and I’d noticed it on several color wheels on Nailgal and thought it looked pretty.

Malaga Wine isn’t what you’d expect from the name – it isn’t purple, or maroon-brown.  On me (fair skinned/cool toned) it is precisely the color I had in my mind’s eye for my classic retro red.  It’s deep rather than bright, a true red rather than blue or orange, and stays red even in dim indoor lighting, rather than going vampy.  My only minor complaint is that it took three thin coats to achieve the opacity I wanted, rather than the two I usually get from OPI, but I might have a bum bottle.  At any rate, the color is stunning – as dark a red as you can get and still be red.  It gives me movie star hands.

I’ll drop an additional bit in here – one of you mentioned a MAC Lippie named Classic Dame.  And I was beside myself – how did I not own something with such a fabulous name?!?  Well, because it’s been discontinued, that’s why.  It was part of their Mattene collection, so it’s in a thin tube and it’s a matte finish, with a color somewhere between Brave Red and Russian Red.   I got busy and found one online (eBay, but there are other etailers). It.Is.Killa.   Do I need another red?  Um, at this point, probably no.  Do I regret my purchase?  Not even a little.

So.  Tune in Monday for more about dames.

cherry image: sweetgaldecals.com

I discovered Stephen Colbert in a somewhat unlikely manner: it was in a required graduate class, “Critical Theory”, during which my professor invoked Colbert’s signature word, “Truthiness”. Mind you, this was in the middle of countless invocations of Freud, Nietzsche, Kant, Foucault, and Derrida; enough philosophical jargon to simultaneously curl your hair and short-circuit your brain. Being the “mature” student and feeling the need to set an example for my younger classmates, in addition to being a shameless academic butt-kisser, I watched my first episode of “The Colbert Report” that night, and have been glued to it and “The Daily Show” ever since. Both have been a balm to my tortured American soul, especially now when they poke fun at that country north of the 49th parallel – you remember; the one where I am persona non grata.

About two weeks ago, Colbert’s “WORD” was “The Sweet Smell of Success”. Apparently, there was a study done at the University of Liverpool involving men who did not shower for two days, and men who were wearing Axe body spray (known as Lynx in the UK). Women were asked their opinions of these men, not from having smelled them in person, but by viewing them on video tape. The results of the study showed that the women picked – just from viewing, not from smelling – the men wearing Axe body spray. The conclusion was that the Axe men projected more confidence. In typical “Stephen Colbert” fashion, Stephen Colbert found a few interesting things to relate to this study. He pretended to huff some Axe out of a brown paper bag claiming that it was “just like huffing money”, proceeded to spray it on a U.S. Treasury bill, and claimed that Axe could be used to deodorize bad debt to make it more attractive to fund managers. Lastly, he sprayed a healthy blast of Axe in the direction of his audience, saying that it would give the American people, and our downtrodden economy, a much-needed boost of confidence. The irony of the whole bit is that Axe stinks to high heaven, and all it really does is deodorize crap, preventing us from sniffing out what’s really going on.

Seeing this segment got me thinking about what all this really means. I went in search of the study and ferreted out the details on the website cosmeticsdesign.com. Here are some of the findings:

• The research suggests that the effect may not rely on the sense of smell of those around the individual. Rather, the secret seems to lie in the increased confidence that the product gives to the wearer, who will then appear more attractive to others.
• The study involved 35 heterosexual male volunteers, half of whom were assigned a commercially available deodorant product. The other half of the study group were assigned the same product but without the active fragrance and deodorant ingredients.
• Questionnaires were used to estimate the men’s self confidence and self-perceived attractiveness before any product had been applied, 15 minutes after the first product application and then after 48 hours of use during which the volunteers substituted the test deodorant for their normal and did not wash.
• After two days the volunteers recorded a short video introduction which was then rated for attractiveness and confidence by a panel of female participants. In this way the panelists never smell the volunteers and attractiveness is judged solely on appearance.

Coincidentally, I was reading the latest novel by author Siri Hustvedt, “The Sorrows of an American”, when this episode of “The Colbert Report” aired. In it, the main character, Erik Davidsen, a psychoanalyst, judges several secondary female characters by their individual scents. Although Erik Davidsen is a fictional character and the people who took part in the Axe/Lynx experiment are real people in the real world, it is still a conundrum worth grappling with: is it fair to judge others only by appearance or only by their scent? Am I guilty of this? Are you guilty of this? In the words of a public figure whose meteoric rise and swift decline some of us watched with clenched teeth and fists, “You betcha!”

Personally, I feel that certain scents can be capable of covering up dirty little secrets. Blasting the Axe or applying half a stick of deodorant in an attempt to cover up our unwashed muskiness is pretty lame, but necessary on occasion. To do it regularly is just plain wrong, especially if one has to interact with others. But, who among us has worn a scent in the hope that it will project a different side of us, someone we are not entirely comfortable being, and ultimately, to instill confidence? I’ve done it, you’ve done it, and I’m sure Caribou Barbie has done it. I hear she’s partial to coyote musk and moose dung, er, chili.

There is a segment of my scent collection that is quite capable of masking a multitude of neuroses. I have numerous decants and several bottles that don’t see the light of day very often, but there have been specific occasions when their presence is appropriate if not absolutely necessary. I find I gravitate towards big, bold florals when I attend weddings. I wore Frederic Malle’s Carnal Flower and Donna Karan Gold eau de parfum to the last two weddings I went to. If men are in suits and women dug the good jewelry out of the sock drawer and are carrying purses the size of postage stamps, I feel the need to conform; even if I’d rather be home sporting sweats, curled up in my favorite chair with a book and a mug of tea. Then there was my failed Mitsouko attempt at Bergdorf Goodman last spring. It wasn’t going to work no matter what the outfit or setting. And I am totally fine with that. Maybe we don’t identify with every scent we wear, but we do owe it to ourselves to be honest about what we love, and what we are willing to put up with. But, how much do we really care about what others think? I’ve never worn fragrance to a job interview or to classes during my later-in-life tenure as a student. I just felt it was inappropriate. However, I do wear fragrance around those members of my family and friends who know how much I love it. My best friend refers to me as the “Stinkwater Queen” regardless of what I wear, and her husband has made several less than diplomatic remarks over the years about my choice of scent. I don’t care.

When it comes to masking the stench of what’s wrong, either with ourselves, or what collectively ails us, we eventually need to come clean. Axe, Lynx or any other eau will always wear off, leaving us right back at square one. We need to get past the “Truthiness” in order to uncover the truth. And that’s the WORD…

UPDATE FROM MARCH: okay, maybe it’s my sinuses aggravating me, or the phase of the moon, or the sound of the dog barking endlessly across the street, but I’m pulling the plug on this post.  Full disclosure: I had to reread this post three times to see what people were upset about, which I guess says something about my own sensitivities, or lack thereof.  At any rate, I am, for the first time ever, turning off comments, and I have asked our bloggers to leave out any further references to politics, because I really, really hate moderating comments.  Sorry for the dustup.

You can never have red lipsticks enough, right?  If you’re me, one is too many… or so I thought.  March is fully to blame for this red lipstick thing, it’s just insiduous how you just start thinking about it and then wondering if you really could pull off red lips.  This is the ridiculously overpriced Serge Lutens No. 1 Mise en Mort, I think it’s called, but SAs refer to it as 1.  So does it work with my coloring, etc?  Or am I just thinking it does and will be laughed at when I go out in public? Can I really pull this off?  I’m depending on y’all not to lie to me, I need the truth.  Do you all also know how hard it is to take a picture of yourself?  You just feel so self-conscious and weird, and it always takes about 30 photos before you find even one you can live with.  Not like, mind you, live with.  The beauty, as I said in Tuesday’s post, is this lasts forever. Sure, it’s 75 smackeroos, but when almost every lipstick I’ve put on comes off in about 10 minutes. This one has been on for an hour and counting, with almost no change, no bleeding, no moving around, all fairly important things in your dark reds.  Is it worth $75?  Good Lord, of course not, but it is for me because it’s the only lipstick, especially red, that I’ve put on so far in my life that hasn’t wound up all in the corners of my mouth in 10 minutes.So if you think this shade doesn’t work, despite my thinking it totally does, what other red would you recommend for my coloring?  And while we are making recommendations, I think I need to trim my hair back up about a half inch or so, yes?  Or should I go a little longer?

Winners of the Peche Cardinal samples from last week should hit the contact us button on the left, e-mail me your address, remind me that it’s for the Peche Cardinal sample, and those people are: rachaelg, annie, Charlotte V,  hollyb, dekfina, Erin T,  Louise, pyramus, Lys and London.

To google Maja, Myrurgia’s iconic fragrance from 1918 (probably most familiar to people in the U.S. in soap form) is to find everything and nothing.  Its ubiquity – the Spanish equivalent of Ivory Soap?  Jean Nate? – means there are dozens of places to buy it online and a simultaneous total lack of information about the brand or the fragrance.   I never did find a complete, plausible list of fragrance notes.

One website featuring products from Spain enlightens: “Hints of rose, jasmine, and other flowers.  Esteban Monegal, an artist, sculptor, and violinist, decided to create bath products that would be as much a work of art as his musical contributions. This is the result: a luxurious brand unrivaled throughout the world.  The classic Maja fragrance, unchanged in 100 years, is now available in a remarkable bath and shower gel…” The website notes (with an apparent lack of irony) that the products are now made in Mexico.

Shifting over to Basenotes and MUA, where the reviews are thin, offers up a strong case that “unchanged in 100 years” is a fiction — the fragrance has not only been reformulated recently in its move to Mexico but (according to furious reviews) is a ghost of its former glorious Orientalist scented self.

If you’d like to read some interesting information about the brand, Carmencanada at Grain de Musc has forgotten more than I’ll ever know, so here’s a link to her Myrurgia blog post and another to her great post about Carmen Tortola Valencia, the person who appears on the Maja label, and thanks to Carmencanada for educating me.

So.  There I was in our local Perfume Discount Mart, sniffing around with the proprietress, who has the patience of Job, as far as I’m concerned.  I saw the bottle of Maja and sprayed it on absentmindedly while sniffing two or six other things.

Every now and again a cheap, fun fragrance dances into my life when I least expect it.  Maja does smell like the kind of fragrance that should exist as soap (which is the only way I’d thought of it).  It smells like good carnation and jasmine soap, not “soap” as in Clean Laundry.  It smells lightly spicy and gently floral.  There is a touch of green and citrus, and nothing “fresh,” thanks very much.  It is a skin scent with surprising longevity.   It’s the sort of thing I’d use in warmer weather instead of cologne.

I bought an older bottle of the original Maja EdT on eBay for comparison.  I can see what people are complaining about – it’s a different scent.  It still smells like soap, but it’s darker and spicier and almost masculine.  The older version smells sour, in a nice way; it is muskier and smells of incense.  The vintage version really wins in the drydown — the guest-room carnation and spices gives way to a honey-soaked richness that the new stuff just can’t match.  The newer version has been gourmandized a bit, with a creamier, warmer base. Smelled side by side the contrast is fairly striking.

The older Maja EdT is stronger, although it’s not a fragrance powerhouse.   Neither of them is the stuff of genius, but both of them are welcome, simple fragrances when I want my sillage to be minimal and uncomplicated.  The original is the obvious classic, and the drydown is delicious, but I have to say, I rather like the new one too.  They smell nice layered.  I cheerfully shelled out $14 (!) for a 1.7 ounce bottle of the new stuff and the vintage can be found pretty regularly on eBay.  And now I need to try the actual soap.

PS.  You can friend Patty and me on Facebook.  There’s a Perfume Posse group you can search for, and we (and some other people you will recognize) are attached to it.  I’m a newbie on Facebook, I joined recently along with a bunch of my friends from college.   Come find us, we’d love to meet you!

Maja perfume poster: allposters.com

I never did a proper Paris recap. If you’re not particularly interested in a travelogue,  I’ll try and pepper enough new perfume details as I go through to make it worth your while.

We very much were tourists for the first week, doing almost no shopping. We did finally get in the cemetery after going out there like three days in a row. I know that Metro route like I know my own nose now.  Peaceful, melancholy, it is the resting place of our love and lives.  As I stood there, a raven would fly by and caw, and it was so Poe’ish, but without the beating heart or the guilt -a nightmare sanitized of its fear.  Can you tell how much I like cemeteries?  I wish I knew why, it seems a little ghoulish, but it has alway been a place of comfort and happiness to me – maybe it’s just seeing so many people that journeyed through life and are at rest reminds me that pain will never last forever and life is too short to not blast through it with joy.

The picture above is one I took while we were there.  I took a picture of Jim Morrison’s grave too and was vaguely disappointed that nobody was screwing or taking drugs on it, which is what I’ve been led to believe happens with regularity.

One of my favorite places was the Musee d’Orsay.  Now, as a big art museum, it might be considered a little light, but as a beautiful place to eat lunch – pay the price of admission, head one floor up and just brace yourself for light and joy while you dine on some mighty tasty eats.   The whole museum is airy and beautiful and not tooo much to see in a couple of hours.  The Louvre takes days, and I still haven’t carved out sufficient time to get in there – next trip.

We walked and walked and walked and rode trains forever, and that is truly my favorite part of Paris.  It was in the 30s and chilly, but you just bundle up as fashionably as you can (except my footwear… listen, my feet have to be warm when it’s cold out or I’m a horrific bitch to be around) and enjoy.

Oh, perfumes?  Let’s see, snifed the new Armanis briefly, not enough to form an impression.  Tried the new Olivia Giocobettis, which I’ll post on later.  Loved two of them, couldn’t smell another, one – or was it two? – bored me.  Went to Arabian Oud, and they discontinue stuff too often, which is irritating, but they had some amazing new things, which makes up for my irritation. There was one that was a his and hers set of scents, and the woman’s scent went on Shirley’s neck, which we all happily snuffled off on the rest of the day.  We even got to see the same lovely man that we met the first time, Mahmoud (sp?).  He tells great jokes and has the heart of hospitality built into every fiber of his being.  Harry was really miffed about skipping the perfume shopping that day as Mahmoud could have totally hooked him up with a hookah bar and some  of whatever kind of tobacco that goes in that.  He groaned and whined and carried on like I’d stolen his “The Office” DVDs. 

Sephora on the Champs seems to have cut back a lot on their perfume, but I do need to figure out how to get that lovely woman who did my makeup in there to come and do it every morning. She turned me beautiful in about 10 minutes with a little bit of Chanel foundation, undereye concealer and lipstick.  I went in a little worn out from a long day and walked out to Shirley and Diane asking me what in the hell I had done to flip that around so quick.

Speaking of lipstick, those of you who have friended me on Facebook might have a clue what’s coming next, but… March finally got to me on the red lipstick. All through Paris, I kept trying red lipsticks on, even bought three – that Giorgi Armani Lip wax thing and a couple of pretty YSLs -  which I promptly lost somehow.  But the perfect one?  Now, I know I’m going to be laughed at here, but I just don’t care.  I tried it on in Serge Lutens, and it’s the perfect shade for me.  Here’s a link to someone (not me!) wearing it.  I put it on, wore it around for about six hours, and still had prettily tinted red lips with no caking or smearing or otherwise goofy crap going on around my mouth.  Now, you must understand, lipstick lasts on me for about 3 minutes.  Red lipstick seems to last longer because it tints my lips a little better.  But Serge Lutens No. 1 Mise a Mort is perfect and horribly overpriced, and I didn’t buy it… um, then.  I promptly ordered it from Barneys the day after I got back home.  It should be here later today. If I get it and have time, I’ll post a picture here or on Facebook with me in it.

Look ahead to some English bulldog puppy pics on Thursday. Yes, I got him, his name is Vinnie, and he is perfect and wonderful and bounces around and has charmed everyone.

Okay, it’s official — Patty and I will be in L.A. the weekend of March 14th.  Why?  Just for the fun of it.  I’m going because Patty will drive, and Patty thought driving in Italy was fun so you know she’s crazy.  We are planning some sniffage, some Retail Therapy, and … you tell me!  What else should we do? This is my first visit to L.A.

Franco at the Scent Bar has graciously offered to open early on Saturday the 14th and throw us a Posse Party!   So polish up your spurs and dust off your saddlebags, because that morning (probably at 10 am) we’ll all be gathering for freeeeee Liquid Refreshments and Other Goodies, and you’re invited!   We’re mulling the most efficient way to maintain an RSVP list because Franco would like to have a rough guesstimate.  We’ll keep you posted as we organize more of the details, I think Patty’s setting something up on Facebook.  So … anybody want to come? De-lurk and say so!  Also feel free to put the word out there to fellow MUAers, POL, etc.  If you have any suggestions for where else I should post this (does MUA have a bulletin board?) let me know.   I am really excited.

Also, Musette suggested a fun game — Barack Obama’s transitional team called you in a panic — you’re going to be his fragrance advisor (it’s a new position at the White House, and it pays really well!)  What should he wear to the inauguration?  For the festivities?  On a daily basis?  How about Michelle, what fragrance(s) should she wear? Alternately, what fragrance will you wear for any inaugural events?  I know some of you have already been down to the Mall for the musical events.

I decided 2009 was going to be a year to try new things, so this morning I’m having oral surgery!  I hear it’s tons of fun.  I’m planning on spending this afternoon jacked up on Vicodin watching reruns of House, assuming all goes well, so keep your toes crossed!  I’m planning on not wearing any perfume, because who wants a favorite scent indelibly associated with oral surgery?  Also I will be painting my nails blue.

Finally, here’s my annual photo of my heavily perfumed orchid that is blooming again.  One of you suckered me into buying this ridiculous thing several years ago after I did an orchid post, I stuck it in a window and have been actively neglecting it ever since.  It responds to this tough love with the spectacular bloomage you see here, which goes on for days and smells fantastic.

Cheers!

confetti image: thegreenpages.com

I’m making some new choices for myself in 2009, and today I’m choosing to paste in an article from the Washington Post published in December, with attribution, and I guess if they don’t like it I’ll take it down.  They make you register to read it, and it’s one hassle many people don’t want to bother with.

This article resonated with me because I struggle with making a lot of decisions on a daily basis.  I am not a procrastinator — I get them done.  But I wish they felt less important to me.  Here is an alternative.

Also, I was fascinated by how much buy-in the author got from total strangers.  Granted, I’m sure he developed his spiel and polished it over time.  Some people like the gals in the doughnut store just weren’t going to play.  But the fact that he could eventually get folks to look up from their lives and choose his shirts and health insurance?  It’s a beautiful thing, in my opinion.

* * *

Choosing Not to Choose 

Written by TM Shine,  Dec 14, 2008, Washington Post Magazine

This social experiment had to begin with doughnuts. They have always been my downfall. Not because of the fat, floury contents or the mortality-threatening sugar count, but because I can never decide which dozen to order in the intense pressure of a crowded Dunkin’ Donuts. I start to drown in a torrent of rushed decisions and false moves, with nothing to look forward to but inevitable dissatisfaction with the choices I’ve made; the act has always been a metaphor for my life.

At some point, it occurred to me that my problem wasn’t really doughnuts.

It was making decisions.

These days, there are so many choices to labor through, from the most basic, such as paper or plastic at the grocery checkout counter, to the nearly suicide-inducing, such as the friends-and-family plan or unlimited texting. And don’t even get me started on undercoating or extended warranties.

In these tough times, the abundance of life-changing decisions — finances, health care, career moves — can be overwhelming. But don’t take it from me. Ask the guy who wrote the book “The Psychology of Judgment and Decision Making.” That would be Scott Plous, a psychology professor at Wesleyan University. “There’s no question that we have more choices than ever before,” Plous agreed. “And decisions are generally harder and more time-consuming when there are lots of alternatives.”

Even Steve Jobs, whose technology allows us the misery of 18,000 music selections in our pockets, has to counteract so many choices by wearing the same outfit — blue jeans, black turtleneck, New Balance sneakers — every single day of his life. With every move you make, you’re bombarded with predicaments from the banal to the extraordinary, and you obviously can’t trust yourself to make the right decisions anymore — look where that’s gotten you.

I know I’m not alone in this. We’re all feeling a little needy now that The Decider is about to caravan back down to Texas. Whom can we turn to? The new resident of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. might have some more important things on his mind than our individual indecisiveness. Friends and family always have their own agendas; therapists are useless; and, since the economic meltdown, there is a three-month wait to get in to see a psychic in this town. So, who’s left?

Strangers, of course. They’re everywhere.

“Excuse me,” I said to the woman behind me one morning in the queue at Dunkin’ Donuts. “I’m currently asking strangers to make all my decisions. Would you mind picking out a dozen doughnuts for me?”

“I’ll order two, but then you’re on your own,” she said.

“Never mind.”

Everyone knows the first two doughnuts are the easy ones.

“I’ll do it, but you’ll have to tell me what you like,” a gangly woman who had overheard the previous exchange said.

“Thanks, but that kind of defeats my purpose,” I responded.

“As long as you’re paying,” a thick-armed guy shrugged at me just as it was his turn to order.

He attacked the chore with glee. His choices were a blur of glaze and frosting. He stopped only once, looked back at me and said, “Sprinkles, two sprinkles,” and they fell into the box with the majesty of a fireworks grand finale.

It was a win-win, a successful random act of indecision (RAI). And I was striking a blow for science. “Your experiment will reveal how much pleasure in a dessert comes from it simply being a dessert, rather than a dessert that you would have chosen,” Plous had observed. “In many cases, the difference in benefit between two choices is smaller than we’d guess.”

And that’s not even counting the pleasure of not having to be the one to make the tough decisions. I couldn’t wait to get home and have someone in my family make a face about the two apple crumbs — Why’d you pick the-e-e-se? — so I could reply quite proudly, “I didn’t.”

Just Add Water

This may be the best idea I’ve ever had. For two weeks, I relinquished control over my decisions. I turned the reins over to perfect (well, I don’t know about perfect) strangers.

Imagine the possibilities. You go shopping for sneakers and ask the person in the next aisle to pick out a pair for you, or you hop in a taxi and ask the driver to take you where he thinks you should go. Start small. At a restaurant, approach the couple eating at the next table — “I hate to bother you, but I need to know what I want for dessert” — and work your way up to bigger decisions: “Burial or cremation?”

You can’t start smaller than Starbucks. I was bellying up to the barista, perspiring heavily from a bike ride, when I started to ask the woman beside me what I wanted to drink. She cut me off midway through my spiel about how I was asking strangers to make my decisions and social experiment and whatnot … She didn’t need any of that nonsense.

“Just have a water,” she said, snatching a bottle from the front case and thrusting it at me.

She herself ordered something that took the barista 11 moves to make, but I was suddenly a model of simplicity: a sweaty man drinking cold water.

Already, my life was beginning to emerge from the fog. Left to stew in my own brew of insecurities, I’d still be tortured over caf, decaf or half-caf. And the encounter didn’t seem odd. Thanks to television shows such as “The Office” and “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” awkwardness is now fashionable. Awkward is the new suave.

Moments later, I asked a gentleman at the newsstand if I should become a night shaver instead of a morning shaver. I always wanted to be a night shaver — go to bed cleanly shaven and wake up with sexy stubble that would be alluring until at least noon and …

“Absolutely not,” the gentleman said.

I’m sure he’s right.

Later in the day, when I asked a sandy-haired woman at Old Navy to pick out a shirt for me, she began to look me up and down as if I were trying to pass through a security checkpoint. I didn’t mind the once-over, but the twice-over and the thrice-over were a bit annoying. Her eyes were darting and zooming in on my weaknesses. Zoom: Stain on shirt he’s wearing — sloppy guy. Zoom: Right ear noticeably bigger than left — bad genes. Zoom: Scar on wrist — possible suicide attempt.

I had to fight the urge to stop her and shout: The scar’s just from punching a lamppost. It’s not even going the right direction for a suicide attempt.

Zoom: Chicken legs. They’re not really chicken legs. They’re more like free-range chicken legs, which are a little more muscular than chicken legs because they’re … you know … running free. But I stopped myself. I didn’t want her decision muddied by all the same junk in my head that muddies my decisions.

Once committed, she was sincere and devoted to the cause. “I want you to have a crisper, cleaner look,” she exclaimed.

When an actual employee of the store overheard part of our conversation and asked quizzically, “Sir, can I assist you?” my new helper quickly snapped back, “No, I’ve got this.”

She did. She had this all the way. “And don’t tuck it in,” she said, as I headed for the checkout counter. “It’s designed to be worn out.”

I was still feeling crisp and clean when I stopped at the library. The mission: to give a stranger the chore of selecting a book for me.

“You sure? Picking out a book … that’s kind of an intimate decision,” the chosen one said. She was sitting at a tiny table with a little boy and looking up at me as if I was one more irritation in an already long day. But once I said I was positive, she popped up as if she’d just adopted me, no questions asked.

“Follow me.”

With the little boy in hand, she cut across the library with the supermarket stride of a mom who just realized she’d forgotten the Fruit Roll-Ups two aisles back. We were headed deep into the bowels — past the large prints and the self-helps, beyond the reference books, even. Then she stopped short, pivoted, dropped a four-pound book in my hands and said, “Here.”

I thanked her profusely, but I’m not sure it even registered. She just mentally checked me off her list and was on her way. The whole encounter — in fact, the entire day — was astonishing. By dusk, my new life’s course had been set by an entire team of people whose names I didn’t even know.

I’d accepted all advice without question, with one exception: While at the local cineplex, I asked the third woman in line what I should see, and she said, “Nights in Rodanthe.” I just couldn’t do it. I went home to watch “Bones” on TV.

At an ATM stop on the way home, I gave the gentleman waiting in the shadows behind me no preface, no social experiment bull, no need for a full body scan. I just asked — “Should I get up early tomorrow or sleep in?” — and he just knew.

“Sleep in.”

Good decision. I needed the sleep, because I stayed up late reading “The Singing Life of Birds: The Art and Science of Listening to Birdsong.” I got to Page 136 before closing my eyes on a brave new world.

Not Sweating the Big Stuff

If any one group of people was ever in need of a diversion it’s the group waiting for the 12:15 p.m. to Newark.

At least that’s what I thought when I arrived at the airport with an armful of decisions that needed making. In my hands were printouts of several health-care and financial options, as well as a brochure for night courses available at a nearby junior high school. With that kind of workload, I needed people both bored and contained.

I figured it would be awfully hard for a stranger sprawled out on industrial grade carpet, barefoot, using a pink duffel bag as a pillow and reading OK! magazine to tell me, “Sorry, I’m too busy right now.”

It wasn’t that hard. In fact, she didn’t even stretch out the response that way. She just chirped, “Bizzy.”

My next stratagem was to approach individuals who appeared friendly, which meant they were wearing sneakers. Well, people who wear sneakers are actually quite ornery.

Oddly, it’s the Bluetooth type — and, more specifically, individuals with two laptops — who are the most gracious, endearing people on the planet and who are ideal for this type of social experiment.

“I don’t do experiments, but let me see those papers,” a two-laptop guy said, snatching the documents out of my hands.

I told him he didn’t have to do it all, that I was going to spread the work around, but he ignored me. Then, without looking up, he handed the junior high brochure back to me and said, “Get somebody else for this.”

I left him looking over the financial papers and found a guy four seats over who took two phone calls just during the 15 seconds it took me to explain my predicament.

“Okay, what have we got here?” he finally said as if he were used to people constantly sticking things under his nose to sign off on. When it came to making big decisions, he was on cruise control.

“Does the class have to be useful?” he asked. “There’s stuff like ‘How to Start a Home Business,’ and then there’s just junk like … like calligraphy.”

“Useless is good,” I said.

Back in the next row, just as Two-Laptops started thumbing through the health-care and financial documents, a colleague of his showed up, and he was quite gregarious, so I thought for sure my man was going to get sidetracked. But Two-Laptops was homed in on my task, and the next thing I knew, the associate wanted in and had his hands on the health plans.

“I used to be in the insurance business,” the associate said. That initially turned me off because I thought he might still have cronies in the business and try to sway me toward his old buddy Kenny who sells overpriced coverage to imbeciles. But then he added, “They’re all scum,” so I nodded my approval.

My approval. Listen to me. I had become extremely giddy, especially when I spotted Night-Course Guy using the Wall Street Journal as a makeshift desk as he circled items in the junior high brochure.

It was at that moment that I decided that when I do “Random Acts of Indecision” motivational talks — around the Northeast and selected regions of the Midwest — this will be the anecdote I wow my disciples with right before the lunch break buffet, which is going to be excellent.

While the boys were diligently working away on major decisions I didn’t want any part of and there was a good 20 minutes till boarding, I had planned to leave them alone. Tell them I’d be over by Gate 34, sitting with the people waiting to go to Detroit.

But before I could stray, they started bombarding me with questions. With hands raised, they had me running back and forth between them like a schoolteacher monitoring a class.

“Do you already have coverage?”

“Yes, but I need to switch.”

“So, it hasn’t lapsed yet?”

“No.”

“Are you going to be adding money to your 401(k)?”

“No, I don’t plan on ever making any more money.”

“Do you like watercolors?”

“No, I mean, yes!”

I kept thinking that all this unusual activity at the airport could attract the attention of Homeland Security agents, and possible Tasing.

“Are you the type that would seek out unconventional treatments and never give up?” Two-Laptops asked.

“No, no, I’m famous for giving up.”

But, they didn’t give up. Which is the beauty of RAI.

End result:

1. BlueCross BlueShield Limited Benefits Plan 71 — hospital and surgical only.

2. Straight Vanguard money market account with annual yield of 0.09 percent.

3. One-stroke painting.

Okay, people, let’s break for lunch.

Danger Signs

When I told my friend Laura about RAI and how much I was getting accomplished, thanks to leaving all my decisions to strangers, she posed an interesting question.

“What if you can’t stop?”

That is a good question. And, in fact, I’ve decided there is no good reason to shut down this adventure after only two weeks. Random Acts of Indecision is not a social experiment. It’s a lifestyle.

I was finishing up this story at a restaurant not far from my house, the first laptop loiterer this pizza place had probably ever seen. It was a glorious day. A day for calling in sick to work, buying 14 pounds of grapes from Whole Foods and stomping them into wine in your basement.

I was so giddy with indecision that I wanted to come up with decisions I didn’t even have to make. Should I rotate the crops on my squash farm this year? What color ribbons should I put in my lapdog’s hair after today’s grooming? Should I start Terrell Owens on my fantasy football team this week?

I’m not usually one to look too far into the future, especially since several people have told me I don’t have one, but nothing gives me more pleasure than to envision myself at a roof garden party in 2012 as a woman nudges her date while muttering, “Look, that’s the guy who hasn’t made a decision of his own since November ‘08.”

I couldn’t wait for some moment of great turmoil — a bind, a dilemma, a predicament of major proportions — with people coming at me from every side shouting, “What are you going to do? What are you going to do?!” so I could calmly respond, “It’s not for me to decide.”

Midway through this endeavor, I interrupted Maryland-based professional life coach Christy Helou’s lunch to get her expert opinion on Random Acts of Indecision. “It’s an interesting and intriguing experiment,” she said over the phone. “Except for a little thing called the loss of control over one’s life.”

“Oh,” I said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

That sounds a lot like a disaster in the making, doesn’t it? But it also sounds a little bit like being free.

As I wrote these words, I was eating a slice of pizza with toppings — mushroom and sausage — chosen by the frail man I had held the door open for five minutes before. I was wearing a crisp striped shirt picked out by a meticulous sandy-haired woman and, between sips of iced tea, glancing at Page 351 of a book that was enlightening me to the “Cho-WE Cho-WE” of the Carolina wren — all the while patiently waiting for the next customer to come through the door to decide whether I wanted to use the eatery’s rarely cleaned restroom or wait until I got home.

The burden of responsibility for my life has lifted. Evangelicals and alcoholics have their moments of being born again, and this is mine. The old adage “You have no one to blame but yourself” doesn’t apply to me anymore. Next year, when things go wrong, I will have no one to blame but each and every one of you.

T.M. Shine last wrote for the Magazine about Washington’s seats of power. He blogs at tmshine.blogspot.com and can be reached at tmshine@msn.com.

Along with Now Smell This, Lee and Nava will be attempting to refine, reduce and produce a ten item perfume list that represents the best of winter.  This particular winter, at any rate.

Lee’s Turn

Now, I’m not a lister – anything but. And normally, winter in the UK is a strange extended segue of moisture and decay that exists between the russets of autumn and the lime greens of spring. This year, however, though we can’t claim the seasonal intensity of Fairbanks, Alaska, or Whitehorse, Yukon, it has actually been cold. We’ve had three weeks of frost (unheard of in recent memory) and on two days, the freeze lasted for 24 hours. Incredible. I recall, as a child, those hoar-frosted skeletal branches of trees and icicles forming on gates and roadsigns. This winter has been a reminder of my past. And, in honour of that, I’m prepared to do a little listage – of what I’m wearing this winter, more than what might be winter-appropriate.

Eau Noire / Sables – take your pick of the rich thick comfort brew. A warm blanket that’ll stick with you for days, these two immortelle brutes are snugglesome to me. Eau Noire is maple syup curry tempered with lavender; Sables is straight up herbalised syrup. Both are wonderful.

Tumulte pour homme – a bargain basement scent from Christian Lacroix (darling), still remarkable easy to find – for pennies – in the UK, though apparently increasingly rare elsewhere. This is a plain and simple woods scent. Somewhat synthetic, it nevertheless performs a  go to function for me and sundry other folks I know. Fills a space in one’s wardrobe (ideally one’s cedar wardrobe) oh too perfectly.

Five O’clock au Gingembre – now, plenty people have knocked this recent release of Serge Lutens. Not me though. It’s the one I reach for when none else will do. It strikes me as a remarkably refined men’s scent, beginning with spiced tea with a sharper acidic tone to keep it on the lively side, before heading into bezoin softness in the drydown. My winter no brainer.

Timbuktu / Dzongkha – to irritate March, I’ll celebrate both of these Duchaufour wonders. I wear Dzongkha more out of the two – the iris lends it a quiet, contemplative quality, whereas Timbuktu can seem a bit too bright sometimes. I prefer that one in summer. When will Luckyscent release their Duchaufour-created l’Artisan number?

Finally, le Labo Poivre 23. Ridiculously expensive, ridiculously limited availability (though Liberty will post, you know), this is nevertheless my favourite release of 2008. A perfect incense, vanilla, pepper and labdanum combo, it’s everything winter needs. Thick without suffocating. I can’t imagine it disappointing anyone.

Nava’s Turn

Profumum Olibanum: Dry incense and sandalwood tarted up by the slightest bit of orange blossom. Every time I wear this I feel as if I’m getting a bear hug from a defensive lineman.

Chanel Coromandel: If there is such a thing as elegant, ladylike patchouli, this is it. I don’t normally go for elegant and ladylike, but I love this one. The vibe totally changes in warm weather, but for now, it’s perfect.

Josef Statkus Eau de Parfum: Vanilla, patchouli and incense – oh my! Honestly, I can barely smell the patchouli, but the vanilla, incense and whatever else is in there is a wonder to behold.

Etat Libre d’Orange Nombril Immense: I’ve been feeling about as insignificant as navel lint lately, so not only is this scent aptly named, it echoes my mood. Really, after the umbilical cord is cut, what purpose does the belly button serve? Seriously though, I fell in love with this the first time I sniffed it. One of the all-time greatest cold weather comfort scents that doesn’t smell like maple syrup or cupcakes. Not that it’s bad to occasionally smell like maple syrup or cupcakes.

Donna Karan Chaos: If I had to go through life without this now, I’d have some serious issues that could require extended hospitalization. The name should infer that the scent would literally be “chaos” in a bottle, but it truly is the most calming, soothing, liquid equivalent of Xanax and Prozac. Figures I fell for this the second time around. But, the second time around is supposed to be better, no? Chaos also has year-round potential, which is totally out of character for me. Yeah, I love it that much.

And now, dear poppets – what are your choices?

image: Colibita lake – snow crystals macro, bortescristian, flikr.com

I’ve been a fan of the MDCI perfumes since they were first introduced and a bigger fan of the owner, Claude Marchal.  Finally we got to meet in Paris today, and he brought the four new perfumes that will be coming out from MDCI for a sneak sniff.  I’ll only talk about one today because… well, that’s all I have time to get to before I have to get to bed and catch a flight out tomorrow.

Peche Cardinal means cardinal sin and was created by Amandine Marie with notes of davana, peach, blackcurrant, tuberose, lily, and I’m going by memory and can’t remember the exact other notes and could kick myself for not writing the other notes down.  As soon as the bottle was opened and the first spray came out, we all (including the 18-year-old Harry) swooned.  Yes, it’s fruity, but a little tart, and a floral, but the tartness tautens the composition and holds your interest, and it doesn’t veer into that sweet fruity or too rich floral that is the normal path perfumes that have fruits and florals go when they grow up. The peach is ripe, luscious and the perfect pitch against the florals and base notes, and it almost.. well, bubbles?  There is a joy that I get every time I sniff this scent – it is happy and almost giddy, not too young — more like a woman who has lived and still can be a girl, without all the tediousness of youth, just unfettered joy to be alive.  All three women and Harry agreed that this is no softspoken scent, and it is gorgeous.

I will be happily wearing Peche Cardinal… and – hey! - so will ten of you.  Due to the shortness of this post and Claude’s generosity, I’m going to give out ten samples of this to ten commenters on this post, picked randomly.  

There are three others coming out as 2009 goes along, and they are all completely different, two are created by Patricia Nicolai.  I can’t remember which one it is since I already packed the samples, but it’s a spicy little number that is whispering my name over in the corner near my elbow.  More on that one and the others next week!

I heard you all missed me… 

I’ve returned a bit later than I planned to, so I hope everyone had an enjoyable holiday season and 2009 is off to a good start. I wish I could say the same from where I’m sitting; things did not work out exactly as I’d planned, and instead of a communiqué from the Great White North, I am now hailing from somewhere south of the Mason Dixon Line. A dramatic paradigm shift, I know, and I am calling it a “pit stop”. It may be a cliché, but, “The best laid plans…” Well, you know the rest.

When last seen, I was heading to Canada for what I thought was going to be more than a “pit stop”, but the Canadian Border Services Agency thought otherwise. Although I am not a Canadian citizen, I am the daughter of a Canadian citizen (my deceased mother), and have been traveling there all my life to visit my family. I’ve never had a problem crossing the border via land or air, even over the past 7 years since “security” has taken on a whole new meaning. I’ve always known my luck was bound to run out sooner or later and run out it did, spectacularly, and at a very inconvenient time. I’ll spare you all the gory details, but I will advise anyone planning to travel to Canada to do so with caution, especially if you choose to cross at the Thousand Islands land border crossing in New York State. This facility serves as a “sin bin” for those Canadian Border Services employees of questionable character and intelligence. If you don’t believe me, I’ll give you my immigration attorney’s phone number. His exact words to me were, “That is one bad-ass border crossing.”

In the meantime, I am barred from traveling to Canada until next October; Seriously. Feel free to think of me as your friendly neighborhood enemy radical. You can literally smell me coming. The upside is that I am now working towards finally obtaining dual citizenship. I’ve started and abandoned the process a number of times; governmental bureaucracy is not my preferred poison, especially when dealing with the Canadian government. Their citizenship guidelines have changed many times over the years, and I’ve been eligible and ineligible at different points. Now it seems I will once again be eligible in a few months, so I am definitely planning on doing the deed. By the way, the fragrance selection in the duty-free shop on the Canadian side at Thousand Islands is lame; REALLY LAME. Not exactly what I wanted to say, but I’m trying to keep this within the boundaries of good taste.

Suffice it to say, this entire situation has been a shock to my system, and it has affected me in ways I could never have imagined. I’ve been vacillating between the gallows humor, anger, ridiculousness, and sheer ignorance and stupidity of it all. This would surely make a damn good story to regale people with at cocktail parties; not that I attend many cocktail parties, but if I did, I can definitely envision holding court in someone’s living room, putting people off their drinks and watching their jaws drop to the floor. In reality, I’ve been fogged over to the point where I have been unable to take pleasure in most things that used to give me pleasure; including fragrance. Things smell differently to me now, and what I used to love to smell, I can’t seem to stomach. Fragrances I’ve raved about smell “off” and ones I used to sport on rare occasions now provide more comfort than I ever thought possible. Is it any wonder that Donna Karan’s newly re-issued Chaos is what I reach for most often now? My rave review of Estée Lauder Sensuous should be stricken from the Posse archives because it now makes me gag. Lostmarc’h Lann Ael: Syrup of Ipecac. Bond Scent of Peace: a metallic, sour grapefruit nightmare. L’Artisan Vanilia: rancid burnt sugar mixed with baby vomit. I am not well…

The only smells that make me happy these days are the aforementioned Chaos, Comme des Garçons’ Harissa; am I literally full of piss and vinegar – er, blood oranges and chili peppers? I think I might be. Incense Zagorsk; pimento berries and pine have never smelled so right. Occasionally, Satellite Padparadscha works its way in, but Idole de Lubin makes me feel like I have an over-proof rum hangover. My bottle of Christian Lacroix Tumulte Pour Homme is down to the dregs. I had squirreled it away because it is impossible to get. Now I would offer up a vital organ to whoever can tell me where I can get some more. My Serges? Don’t even go there. Muscs Koublai Kahn reminds me of a horse barn that hasn’t been mucked out in decades. Borneo 1834 smells like a construction worker in need of a steel wool scrub-down. Animalic is completely out of the question and skank is officially off the menu.

The only “foodie” or “gourmand” scents I seem to be able to tolerate are Philosophy’s Cranberry shower gel, which I believe has been discontinued, and Pacifica’s Mexican Cocoa pillar candle. Actually, you might find me curled up in the fetal position in front of the Pacifica candle display at Whole Foods. I never cared for them before, but now I find them powerfully soothing. Trolling department store fragrance counters used to be powerfully soothing, but I can’t bring myself to go there yet. I think I’ll get back to them eventually, or this could possibly be an existential crisis that will permanently alter the course of my life. There are many days when I don’t reach for fragrance at all, which is what I find most shocking. In the past, not spritzing or dabbing on something was tantamount to forgetting to put on underwear. Now, it’s a regular thing.  

Here’s an update: I ventured to the local mall for the first time since my reverse-relocation to pick up a few non-essential kitchen implements. I’ve been watching a lot of Food Network cooking shows over the past few months and those seem to soothe me almost as much as Pacifica candles. I realized I couldn’t live without one of those long-handled mesh strainer thingies, so I ended up getting two. Ina Garten, the Barefoot Contessa, has me jonesing a French food mill, but I couldn’t find one. I’m not that disappointed; I do own a food processor and a blender. I wandered through Sephora and sampled Ed Hardy Love & Luck. Big mistake; worse than Ed Hardy Women.

I deliberately parked outside one of the department stores so I could exit through the cosmetics/fragrance area. The only scent I sampled was Harajuku Lovers “G”. It was soft, coconutty and not too sweet. There were still some of those cute solid perfume compacts for sale and they made me smile. I didn’t buy them, but I’m seriously thinking I need them. The road back might not be as long as I thought. Stay tuned…

Thanks to the lovely and always gracious CarmenCanada from Grain de Musc, whose review you can read at the link, we got to sniff a little of the newest Jean-Claude Ellena Hermessence, Vanille Galante.

Those of you looking for a nontransparent, nonluminous JCE perfume, you can just keep looking, you won’t find it here.  Do you think he answers the phone, “This is Jean-Claude, my favorite color is clear!”?  I do adore his work because I think that sheerness, while still retaining the essence of what you’re trying to capture, is like working in pastels and watercolors without having it look all floofy and girlish.  Vanille Galante is green and lily on the open, with just hints of vanilla, fairly nonspecific, floating around.  Lily always goes a little soapy on me in the early part of the drydown, and Vanille Galante followed that pattern.

Once it emerged from that, the green recessed nicely, the lily didn’t get all blowsy and big, but the vanilla emerged in just the way I want my vanilla. Not car freshener vanilla or the woman at the theater that drowned herself in Sugar ‘n Vanilla from Walgreen’s, but like fresh Madagascar vanilla pods, a little smoky, but leafy, like you had the actual pod in your hand next to a very subtle lily and perhaps just a bit of white chocolate.  It is breathtakingly subtle and smells completely like a JCE creation, creamily transparent.  What I want the most to do is to have my own bottle soon so I can spritz it all over. I have a feeling this one will work on me similar to the crack-like Vetiver Tonka and Osmanthe Yunnan - mostly floating around in a cloud because it gets lost on my skin, but that cloud surrounds me all day long. 

If you are looking for a traditional sweet vanilla or strong vanilla, this won’t be for you, but if you want to see a treatment of vanilla that’s not been done before, you should find this interesting.  I adore it, but I’m not sure that will be a universal thought.  Already the cries can be heard in my head of the perfumistas, “But it doesn’t last!  It’s barely there!”  Sometimes less is more, especially when it comes to vanilla.

Word is it should be released the end of January or first of February in Paris. Not sure what that translates to stateside as far as time, but in the past, it has taken 2-4 weeks to hit the states after it releases in Paris.  In the meantime, I’m going to buy some lilies and hold them next to my Madagascar vanilla pods and inhale to my heart’s content.

Paris is lovely, as always.  The winter light here just blows me away, and I’m busily snapping pictures daily.  We’ve done more of the tourist thing this time because my uncle has had a bad cold, so we haven’t been able to spend much time with him.  We’ve gone to Montmarte, Sacre-Coeur, Notre Dame, St. Germain wandering, St. Chappelle – wait, can I just bitch briefly about this?  What a gorgeous chapel, but 8 euros just to get inside and see one freaking gorgeous room?  I’m no cheapskate, but that really pegged my wtf meter right out of the parking stall.  We tried to see Pere Lachaise cemetery this weekend, but it was closed – dangerous! said the signs, snow and ice!!!  Well, at least if someone falls and cracks their heads, they don’t have far to go, but seriously, how dangerous can a cemetery be?  We were wickedly disappointed and vowed to go back every day with a grappling hook until we can get over the wall and in. I want IN that cemetery. I love cemeteries, and my head is full of all the pictures we’ll take there, but I need to be over the wall.  Ideas?  We went to the Musee d’Orsay, and this week is the Louvre for at least one day and then a day or two of whirlwind shopping.  It has been a great trip, but all trips are great when you go with lively people who are game for anything.

We got sidetracked in the comments recently about what might make a good all-purpose fragrance gift, and Lunarose made the suggestion that we do a post on that topic.  I think that’s a great idea.  Here are my thoughts — agree, disagree, add your own.  Guys — sorry, I did this aimed at women.   Feel free to contribute your male equivalents.

1) If it’s a friend or relative who lives nearby, and someone I know well, I’d take them shopping, show them some options, and let them pick their fragrance.  This post is about giving a quasi-generic fragrance to someone you don’t know especially well and/or wouldn’t necessarily drag shopping with you — your Aunt Sally you see once a year, or your distant cousin Jane on her 40th birthday.

2) If your response is, well, don’t buy fragrance for someone you don’t know – if I have to buy something for Aunt Sally, because this year I got her name in the Christmas gift draw, I figure my chances of getting her a fragrance she likes aren’t any better or worse than any other gift (chocolate, clothing.)  If she doesn’t like it she can …

3) Return or exchange it, which is why I would try to pick a reasonably available fragrance from a place like Nordstrom or Sephora and I’d include a gift receipt.  I don’t think Macy’s takes used merchandise back.   If Aunt Sally loves your gift, she can get another bottle, or the lotion, without having to go to Florence or Tokyo to get more.

4) Also, for no good reason, I’m going to keep the price limit at $100 or less, but you don’t have to.  In fact, you can declare all my rules stupid.  I’ll give some rough price quotes for each and correct me if you know I’m wrong.

5) These fragrances are for adults, and I’m defining “adult” as … I don’t know.  Age 17 and up.  If they’re 16 or younger I’d buy one of those cute Marc Jacobs Daisy gift sets I got for my niece and call it a day.  Also I should mention that I threw a bunch of Jo Malone samps (the most benign ones) into her gift box and she really liked those too, the orange and grapefruit were big hits.

So, after some consideration and two painful, rigorous days of re-sniffing the candidates, my winners are:

1) Hermes Kelly Caleche, pictured at top.  A soft floral, with notes of iris, lily of the valley, mimosa, tuberose climbing rose and leather. It’s pretty without being fussy, it bears the Hermes name which signifies quality, you could wear it to work, and it’s grown on me over repeat sniffs once I got over the missing leather, in fact it’s rather peppery on me.  The bottle’s handsome.  You can buy it at online discounters for $50 (!) or in stores for $75.  Alternates: regular Caleche or Caleche Eau Delicate.

2) Chanel No. 5 Eau Premiere pictured at left – again, it bears the name of a quality brand, it smells classy without being aloof, and like Kelly Caleche this is to me an all-day fragrance that you could go to dinner in and still feel pretty.  A softer, more light-hearted interpretation of No. 5, with aldehydes, jasmine, rose, ylang-ylang, iris, amber, and patchouli, and about 50% of the time I swear I get a hit of incense … whoops!  This breaks my $100 price point by $25 at Nordstrom.  Maybe it’s online somewhere cheaper. 

3) Bulgari Pour Femme, which is the fragrance that started our conversation in comments.  I don’t find the bottle particularly elegant, but it isn’t hideous, and most people would associate the name Bulgari with something luxe.  Nordstrom: “A clear and sensual fragrance, with a unique note of sambac jasmine tea, mimosa, fresh flowers and Prelude rose.”   You can get an entire gift set (1.7 edp, body lotion, and shower gel) for $86 at Nordie, probably cheaper at online e-tailers. UPDATE: nope, taking this off my list.  Maybe I got a bad bottle, or they tweaked it, or maybe my taste got better.  It smells weirdly plasticky on my skin.

4) Coach Regular, at left, a slightly aquatic floral (mandarin, guava, violet leaves, water lily, honey, orange flower, mimosa, jasmine, sandalwood, amber, vanilla) or Legacy (lighter and more gourmand – florals, amber, vanilla, woods.)   The bottles are pretty, I hear they’re selling like hotcakes, they seem to have broad appeal.  $75 for either.

Off the top of my head, things I did not include:

Prada Infusion d’Iris, because so many people can’t smell it at all.

David Yurman, because too many people can smell it.  Okay, kidding, but if I remember right this is one of those fine-by-me mall frags that many of you loathed.

The Vera Wang oeuvre.  These should be on my list, right?  But they all seem so … blah, except the original, which I dislike mildly. What’s the deal with VW?  Am I anosmic?

Eclat d’Arpege.  One distressing part of this research was that everything begins to smell like Light Blue.

While I’m issuing random, biased edicts:  one fragrance I would not give would be Chanel No. 5.  Follow my twisted reasoning.  For those of us “into” fragrance, which I assume you are if you’ve read this far, Chanel No. 5 is an admirable icon that you, personally, may love or not.  I think for the general non-perfumista giftee, though, Chanel No. 5 might seem almost painfully generic – like it’s the only fragrance on the planet and you wanted something “classy” and you put five seconds into the thought process.  For the general public, No. 5 is the high-end version of grabbing a gift box of Jean Nate off the shelf at CVS.  Your gift needs to look like you put more thought into it.

So … which one of my list would I want?  None of them.  Okay, if pressed, I’ll take the Chanel.  But can I tell you what a frustrating, mildly depressing experience this was?  How grateful I am for my fragrance collection?  How you should learn from my mistakes and never, ever put Ed Hardy Love & Luck on at the same time as Gaultier Ma Dame just so you can remind yourself what that newfangled gourmand stuff smells like?   Here’s what I’d take – a bottle of Annick Goutal Eau d’Hadrien, which I practically fell to my knees in front of and sobbed over when I picked it up after Day One of this sniffage.  You have no idea how interesting Hadrien smells until such a moment.  Day Two I threw caution to the wind and sprayed myself with the last liquor-like vestiges of Opium EDP in the almost-empty bottle at Nordstrom.  I’m sure you could smell me across the breezeway to the parking garage, but hey-  at least I was worth smelling.

Okay, your turn!  What are some good generic giftable fragrances?  Would you give a fragrance in these theoretical circumstances, or go with something else?  Have you ever given (or been given) a fragrance like this, and how did it work out?

Man, has this ever been a full moon couple of days.  I won’t even bore you with the weird details.  Instead:

1) For those of you who have wondered, over the past months/years, exactly what it is the Big Cheese is doing on his extended trips to Asia — among other things, he is collecting art.  For the past several months we’ve been working on his gallery website.  It is far from complete and still needs a fair amount of revision in terms of content, and he’s still uploading images, but if you’d like to see some interesting artwork, here’s a link to his site. I’m really proud of the work he’s done.

2)  My  86-year-old dad dragged me to The Curious Case of Benjamin Button yesterday; he wanted to see it because he’d read the Fitzgerald short story decades ago, and I had to drive him.  I had zero interest in the movie, based on a review I’d read and my assumption that the alleged items of interest were: 1) Brad Pitt and 2) watching the wonders of prosthetic makeup as they reverse-age him, and who cares?  I thought the plot sounded stupid.

Instead I was blessed with one of the best movies I have seen in recent memory.  It is fundamentally about love in its infinite variety, and the ways we express love, and the price we pay for daring to love one another.  My father and I cried at different parts (it begins around WWI, and some of the historical stuff really resonated for him.)  I’d say go see it just for its sheer retro gorgeousness — the clothes! the cars! — but that would be selling the movie short.  I didn’t cry because the movie made me feel sad; I cried because the movie made me feel.  Also, it’s got Cate Blanchett and Tilda Swinton, my idea of heaven.

Cribbing from the review in Newsweek, “the overall impact of Benjamin Button is greater than the sum of its parts. The metaphor of a life lived backward is strangely haunting. Benjamin’s saga is singular yet universal: anyone who has contemplated his own mortality will find it hard not to be moved by the evocation of the fickleness of fate. Lyrical, original, misshapen and deeply felt, this is one flawed beauty of a movie.”  Also, go when you’re ready to kick back and relax  — I didn’t realize until we left the theater that it’s two and a half hours long, a movie length that in most cases would have me climbing the walls.  Not this time.

image: Khine Minn Soe, Guavas,  chrisdodgegallery.com

Paco Rabanne 1 million:
From your ad I would’ve thought
You’re butch and young and streamlined,
But you’re more the zaftig sort.

I don’t like Aedes de Venustas Eau de Parfum
that much. You probably don’t agree
But it strikes me as a dank incense
and leaves me shiveringly.

Amouage Homage.
Those round French vowels, so very nice.
But you’re one not yet tested:
Too much rose and too much price.

Chanel Beige takes to the stage
And I know what my problem is -
It’s chic and cut-glass, a class pain-in-the-arse
And I just don’t get that biz.

Dior Homme Sport is unrelated
To its sibling Dior Homme
The latter’s iris is replaced
by a citrus rom-pom-pom.

El Attarine – a luminescent dream
Is how you started out.
But now the more I sniff you,
Dirty musk is all you shout.

Gaiac 10 may be too slight
To command quite all that trouble
To obtain it.  But if more available,
I’d get it at the double.

Gucci by Gucci pour Homme:
Sniffed and not outstanding.
But James Franco – hubba hubba!
A fine choice in their branding.

Kenzo Power
Power of flower.
Bottle lovely.
Juice nearly a wower.

Oh Duchaufour! what’s happening?
You’ve gone all weird aquatic,
With Mag Romana and Fleur de Liane
I’m seriously unerotic.

Tom Ford White Patchouli:
The pornmeister likes his oxymoron.
And who’d've thunk that this bland pap
Is where he stopped getting his whore on?

 My excuse? A lousy cold that started mild and has had me in bed for three days straight. And it’s not even pleasant company. Please, do better below.