Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Vampire Cat

white and black cat lying on floor

Photo by Min An on Pexels.com

Disclaimer: Photograph is an approximation of the cat in question.

Sometimes living with small predators can make you think twice. Yesterday Rom cut his hand just-short-of-needing-stitches badly while woodcarving, and came in dripping blood on the floor. I started wiping it up, with Cat Esmerelda beside me, watching . Then Rom asked me to help him bandage it in the bathroom. When I came back to the kitchen, the remaining drops of blood were gone. So we have a vampire cat. It’s like a vampire bat, but without wings.

“Vampire Cat, Vampire Cat

Does whatever a vampire does

Can she fly through the air?

She cannot, she’s a cat.”

Or, “Vampire Cat, doo doo doo doo doo doo…” (And why has there been no word of a Baby Shark movie? Sure, there’s not much to work with, but that’s never stopped Hollywood before.)

The weird thing is, Ez seems like the least bloodthirsty cat we’ve had. She doesn’t bite or scratch, even in play. She’s just a little scavenger.

FURTHER THOUGHTS ON MY FORTHCOMING INHERITANCE

The fortune said an “unexpected” amount of money. Well, any amount would be unexpected at this point. Also, it would be hard to unexpectedly inherit money “in bed,” unless you’re Melania Trump. Speaking of which, Donald said he prefers to call it a “strike” rather than a “shutdown.” Well, I prefer to call it a tantrum. So there.

Nick is not doing well at sucking up, thinking that I am actually endeared by his insolence.

He was tickled to find out (hey, maybe he should be tickled! How much money would that be worth, hmm?) that my username in the International Perfume Community is CobraRose. Hey, the purpose of the Internet is to give yourself a cool nickname.

Advertisements

Brought To You By the Voices In My Head

person holding string lights photo

Photo by David Cassolato on Pexels.com

…because I had a dream recently in which someone asked me to post again. Yes, that’s sad. No, I am not going to Make a Resolution To Post More Often, because you’ve heard it all before.

BUT YOU NEED TO KNOW–

–that the self-service kiosks at McDonald’s are full of poop bacteria! POOP!! Yet another reason not to use them. Of course, that was a very small study. Perhaps the customers on the West Side of Evansville are cleaner people. And while we’re on the subject, when the study came out saying that restroom hand dryers just blow poop bacteria (or “poopteria,” as scientists call it) back onto your hands, I expected to see them taken out of restaurants immediately, but so far I have been disappointed.

Speaking of germs, I am currently battling a cold. Well, perhaps “battling” is too strong a word, as it’s a very mild cold. Mild enough that I did not bother telling Nick, who took me to Canton Inn for my Christmas present. Actually, first he took me to the National Guard Armory, because he left his wallet in his office. He didn’t let me see his office, though.

A WORLD’S FIRST!!

After our meal, I said, “Time to find out about our futures in our fortune cookies!”

“Our future?” Nick said nervously. “You know you have to add ‘in bed’ to those.”

“Our respective futures, then,” I said.

I

got

an

actual

fortune.

“You will inherit an unexpected amount of money within the year.”

“Should I start sucking up, then?” said Nick, knowing I have no children (that I know of).

Notice they did not say a large amount of money. And they did say I’d inherit it, not win the lottery or find it on the street. Maybe Nick will die and leave me some. I bet he didn’t think of that. Whatever it is, it will happen within the year. I don’t know if that’s the calendar year or a year from today, but at this point they’re almost the same. I’ll keep you posted on my inheritance progress.

DID YOU KNOW?

Fortune cookie messages are not written by Chinese soothsayers, but by hack writers like me.

 

 

Easter Eve: L’Artisan Passage d’Enfer

(Note: The below is an excerpt of my review of this fragrance on makeupalley, and no, I don’t know how I got the photo in that awkward location, and all my attempts to fix it only make it worse.)

I joined MUA to find my signature scent–a concept I’ve always loved, even though one hears the term “fragrance wardrobe” more often these days. I also asked my husband for input, since I really had no idea where to start. He said, “You should smell like cool, misty dusk or dawn in an interesting place.” I referred this poetic description to the MUA fragrance board, and they recommended notes like sandalwood and incense. DH then elaborated on his suggestion, saying my perfume should evoke “a chapel that smells at the same time like the fresh wood when it was newly built, and like the incense that’s been burned there for years–that chapel at dawn.” He actually got a little choked up, describing this fragrance for me. Two of the specific fragrances the board recommended were woodsy/incense scents–Tam Dao and Passage d’Enfer. Tam Dao is more Asian temple incense. Passage d’Enfer is churchy, so that’s what I ordered a bottle of, all the while thinking, “They can’t get everything he said into a bottle.” Well, that’s exactly what they did, plus a “bonus” gray-stone note which completes the mood perfectly. The wood note is light and bright, as is the lily. The incense is also airy, and only a little smoky–as if the incense is not burning now, but has been recently. The tawny feline sweetness of benzoin becomes more noticeable in the drydown, as it mingles with the musk. I liked this fragrance immediately, but it took me awhile to fully appreciate and love it. It’s comfortable in any weather, appropriate for any occasion. But it’s not merely wearable. It’s also lovely, elegant, and distinctive. It’s composed of contrasts, marvelously resolved–rich yet light, smoky yet fresh, or, to quote my husband yet again, “intoxicating yet austere. It makes me want to bite you.”

I wrote that in 2004. So why is my signature-scent question still not settled? (A question all the more pressing, considering I first started looking when I was 14.) Two reasons:
     1. Do I like PdE better than the perfume of my dreams, Mitsouko?, and
     2. Shouldn’t I really be wearing a rose scent?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

gray concrete column inside vintage building

Photo by Flickr on Pexels.com

Baby Shark: Review and Analysis

The above video was being played by a child repeatedly at McDonald’s. Watch it now (praying that it will not then become an earworm forever, but your prayer will be in vain), and we will discuss.

The video opens with a pair of fish engaged in animated conversation. But THEN, the shadow of a shark looms over them. We are alarmed, until the little yellow shark smiles, and we are relieved to discover it’s just a baby after all. It sings:

“Baby Shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Baby Shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Baby Shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Baby Shark!” (subtitles are provided in case you’re having trouble following along)

Baby Shark then swims behind some sponges, but then a bigger pink shark emerges and sings:

“Mommy Shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Mommy Shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Mommy Shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Mommy Shark!”

She is readily recognized as a female by her lipstick and long eyelashes. She swims behind the clump of sponges, and a bigger blue shark emerges. (Are you sensing a pattern here?) In a deeper, booming voice, he sings:

“Daddy Shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Daddy Shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Daddy Shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Daddy Shark!”

I thought they would start with the narrative exposition at this point, but no, the entire cast is not on scene yet. Next to emerge from the convenient bank of sessile organisms is a shark with wrinkles (I kid you not) and spectacles, in what I guess is meant to be a faded shade of pink. She is, of course,

“Grandma Shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Grandma Shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Grandma Shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Grandma Shark!”

Gee, who will emerge from the sponges next? By now, I was sort of hoping that Grandma Shark was a widow. But no–he’s green! With white eyebrows! And a white mustache! He is, he informs us,

“Grandpa Shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Grandpa Shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Grandpa Shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Grandpa Shark!”

Luckily, my fears that they would introduce both sets of grandparents, and maybe some cousins, were unfounded, and they now advance the plot.

“Let’s go hunt, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Let’s go hunt, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Let’s go hunt, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Let’s go hunt!”

Oh no! (doo doo doo doo doo doo) we think–they’re going to show small children what sharks actually do! Especially when the little fish join the chorus:

“Run away, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Run away, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Run away!”

An unrealistic note of suspense was introduced in one frame, in which the little fish are chasing the shark family instead for some reason. I did not notice until about my sixth viewing (the things I do for you people…) that there are a couple sea anemones watching all the action. But the smaller fish find, I guess it’s a dead sponge–something with a bunch of holes, at any rate–and dive into it, and, you guessed it, burst into song:

“Safe at last, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Safe at last, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Safe at last, doo doo doo doo doo doo

Safe at last!”

However, they are dangerously elated by their narrow escape, and by the demands of musical theater, because they pop back out of their refuge so they can sing AND DANCE:

“It’s the end, doo doo doo doo doo doo

It’s the end, doo doo doo doo doo doo

It’s the end, doo doo doo doo doo doo

It’s the end!”

Which it indeed is, since the whole Shark family is lurking behind them, brandishing forks and wearing bibs. The little fish notice this and stop smiling, causing the sharks to start smiling, and we fade to black.

The moral of this story: If you’re playing hide and seek, don’t jump out and dance around. It all makes me want a fish sandwich. Doo doo doo doo doo doo.

 

Fall Festival Follies

ancient animal antique architecture

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

“None of these dragon stamps looks like me,” Nick observes testily, craning his snaky neck over my shoulder. “This one is breathing fire, which I can’t do, thanks to you–”

“–I thought you’d given up on that idea,” I observe. He twitches an ear, as if dislodging my comment from it.

“…And this one looks like a snake or a salamander, or something…”

“I think they call that kind a worm.”

“And this is that Chinese kind of dragon. I’m not sure those things even exist. Now, this one is–well, breathing water or something, in the ocean. I don’t know, I suppose that could be me, if I decided to go sink ships or something…”

“Why are you always talking about destroying things? Get your claws off my shoulder.”

He does so–slowly, no doubt pretending it was his own idea–and lies down in front of me, with his back to me. But his ears are canted back, listening for any word or movement. After several moments of silence…

“I’m ignoring you,” he says. Several more moments…”I’m still ignoring you.” The ears quiver. Then, since he requires constant attention–

“You’re ignoring me back! I knew it! No fair!”

“I don’t think you know what fairness means. Do you want me to tell you a story?”

“When do I ever not want that?”

“OK, then. Let’s pretend that you were a man…”

“I don’t know, that might be boring.”

“…at the Fall Festival.”

“Do I get to destroy anything? Can I eat all the cotton candy?”

NICK AND ME AT THE FESTIVAL THIS YEAR

I had been avoiding the Fall Festival, because 89 degrees did not seem like fall. (Oh, it might be climate-change fall, but that doesn’t exist, right?) Besides, I’m nervous in crowds, so I usually grab something from the booths right next to St Joe, on the edge nearest my house. But Nick texted me that he had ride tickets, and I had been wanting to ride the Scrambler again, which they don’t let anyone do alone. Which is rather odd, since it doesn’t even turn you upside down. If it did, I wouldn’t be on it.

I tracked down the aforementioned Nick, with his mate and his kids, Things One, Two and Three. (Thing Three is still a baby, and had no particular interest in the festival.) Nick and his kids had just been on some ride that simulates weightlessness. “So did you like it?” I asked him. “Of course not! It was horrible!” Rather odd to hear from an Army helicopter pilot. “I’m still nauseous,” he grumbled, but it availed him not, because he had two kids who wanted to go on rides, and most of the rides they wanted required an adult as well. So he kept muttering under his breath, “Hurry up, before Dad dies,” and such.

I want you to take note of the NOBILITY of this man, making their cart on the ride SPIN FASTER because it made Thing Two squeal with glee, even though, once it was over, Nick was biting his lip to keep from throwing up.

And he proved himself a GENTLEMAN as well, because, even in his weakened state, he accompanied me on the Scrambler, letting me step up onto his hands (I plan on having him spread his coat over puddles for me to walk on in the future), and carefully positioning himself on the outside, so he was the one who got bumped into as the ride turned. (I was trying not to bump into him, but I wasn’t trying very hard.) I also told him the story of a Scrambler ride in my past, where my strapless top popped off, and the guy I was with pretended not to notice. Nick said that, if that happened now, it would be a “desperate bid for attention,” which reminded me why I hate him. Nevertheless, he is now my official Scrambler Partner, and if he throws up, he’ll be on the outside and it won’t get on me.

BUT OF COURSE, I MADE ALL THAT UP. HERE’S WHAT REALLY HAPPENED…

I went to the festival with Nick, who insisted on flying up to the top of a building, and then swooped down onto a clown and ate all his cotton candy.

 

A Poem Lovely As a Tree: Diptyque Tam Dao

brown close up hd wallpaper surface

Photo by FWStudio on Pexels.com

Choosing a photo for this review was easy for this perfume, which is all about wood. Choosing a title, however, was not, because, unlike several of the scents we dealt with previously, Tam Dao does not evoke a scene or mood for me. All it does is smell great.

We are now at the other end of the spectrum, as it were, of scents which were recommended to me as a result of Rom’s suggestion of something cool, misty, and dusky. We started with blue florals–violet and iris, went through more complex blends, such as the two Guerlains, and are now back at simpler scents, but focused on woods and resins this time.

Tam Dao, created in 2003, is basically about sandalwood. The opening is raw and rough, almost splintery–probably the cypress that’s listed as a note. There’s almost a rosy tinge to it, too. I don’t know how rosewood smells, but I can imagine it smelling like this. The fragrance quickly settles down to a beautiful creamy sandalwood, smooth and soothing. There isn’t much more I can say about it, but nothing more needs to be said.

YOU DON’T GET ALTERNATIVE-TO-PERFUME CONTENT TONIGHT BECAUSE I WANT TO GO WATCH THE SIMPSONS WHILE ROM MAKES DINNER. LIFE IS HARD.

Oh, and vote for me, even though I’m deserting you.

 

A Distant Ship: Jean Patou Normandie

woman in body of water

Photo by Rene Asmussen on Pexels.com

Normandie was created in 1935, and named after the luxury ocean liner. All first-class passengers on its maiden voyage received a sample of this perfume.

It was recommended to me as a powdery amber, and that, plus spicy carnation, is pretty much it to my nose. That plus–THE PAST. Like Le Dix, which I reviewed previously, Normandie smells dated to me. It’s a time machine in a bottle,  going back to a time before my own. Why this smells too old-fashioned to me, and L’Heure Bleue, which also has powder, spice, carnation, and a sweet drydown, does not, is a mystery.

Like Niki de Saint Phalle, Normandie is no longer in production, but can still be found on Ebay, in its art-deco-patterned box.

AND A P.S. TO THE PREVIOUS POST

Fiber-supplement experimentation–Congratulations, Metamucil! WAY to find an orange dye which withstands the digestive process!

The Hissing of Summer Lawns: Niki de Saint Phalle

nature animal green lizard

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

When Niki de Saint Phalle perfume was recommended to me as one of my dusky scents, I was eager to try it. How could I not be? The bottle is blue glass (favorite color!) with colorful snakes on it, and I have a cobra tattoo on my arm! Plus, it was released in 1987, the year Rom and I got married! How could I not love it? As it turns out, I didn’t, but it is an interesting scent, and definitely unique.

Niki de Saint Phalle was an artist and sculptor, and designed the snake-trimmed bottle for her fragrance. The scent is a combination of many unusual notes–pine, grapefruit, marigold, geranium–and thus smells hissingly green and spiky. It’s a bit too acerbic for my taste, even though I love green scents. But what fascinates me is the picture it evokes–that of a garden in late summer, when the only flowers still blooming in the blazing sun are, you guessed it, marigolds and geraniums. Dry, hot, and pungent. It would be the perfect scent if you love the scent of marigolds. But I don’t.

(Correction: It turns out that NdSP was created in 1982. 1987 is when I first heard of it.)

PART II, NO SEGUE ATTEMPTED

My current least-favorite commercials:

–“My hiney’s clean! I’m Charmin’ clean!” Yeah, it’s OK to show something’s butt if it’s a cartoon. If we learned nothing else from South Park…

–and the mouthwash commercial that shows a bunch of people’s gross mouths and the problems they have–Dry mouth! Garlic mouth! Cotton mouth! Stop showing me this! It’s not even a cartoon! Come to think of it, we did go from end to end here.

Speaking of which, now that “Nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, diarrhea!” has been done in country and soul formats, we need a rock version.

‘WHOA, WE’RE HALFWAY THERE, WHOA-OH, GIBBON AND ECLAIR!’

Yes, the quotation marks above are incorrect. This will come out in hearings after I am President.

You know you’re sitting near a nerd when you hear the sentence, “They just rebooted their entire mythos.”

Speaking of nerds, a nerd on the bus solved a thorny theological problem–“God could have created evolution!” I’ve been saying this for years. Well, not on the bus.

Mmmm…Mitsouko by Guerlain

clouds countryside dawn dusk

Photo by Tim Savage on Pexels.com

Mitsouko haunts me. This is the only perfume that brought tears to my eyes the first time I smelled it, and the only one I wear in my dreams. (I dream about shopping for others, but if I apply perfume in a dream, it’s always Mitsouko.)

Part of its spell for me is obvious–its basic building blocks of peach, rose, and oakmoss are my favorite notes. But Mitsy is so much more than the sum of its parts, and in a way that’s hard to explain. It’s like faith–if you understand it, no explanation is necessary, and if you don’t, no explanation is possible. It was created in 1919, and thus qualifies as unfashionable now, yet it transcends fashion. It smells like peaches, roses, and forest floor, but liking all those smells doesn’t guarantee you’ll like it. It smells intensely autumnal, but is glorious on a summer day (especially in the dampness which is such a hallmark of the climate here). It’s an introverted scent with its dusky woodsiness, yet it’s dramatic. Maybe melodramatic. Introverted yet intense.

It’s not a crowd-pleaser in this “Eww, someone’s wearing perfume” era. But it’s a masterpiece nevertheless, and ever the more.

IN NON-OLFACTORY-WORK-OF-ART-RELATED NEWS…

On pumpkin-pie box at McDonald’s–“Packed with all the flavor it could possibly hold.” Well, isn’t that true of everything? Apparently not, since one of their meal combos was described as “Just the right amount of yum.” Because yum isn’t something you want too much of.

I am in postage-stamp heaven. Currently available are–not only rose stamps but DRAGON stamps! (“Who uses stamps anymore?” Nick yawns, but he is just out-of-sorts because his picture is not on any of them. Also because I haven’t made him my running mate yet.)

HOW TO PROTECT THEM FROM THEMSELVES?

Cat Esmerelda fell off the top of the door, leaving claw marks on the way down.

Cat Glamour will eat any bits of kitty litter scattered on the floor.

This seems to me emblematic of our current political situation.

VOTE FOR ME. I’M THE OUTSIDER AND I WILL MAKE ALL THESE POLITICAL ADS STOP.

Outside Looking In: Guerlain L’Heure Bleue

photography of turned on street lamps beside bay during night time

Photo by Reynaldo Brigantty on Pexels.com

You should know, I suppose, that I choose the illustrations for these posts very carefully–it sometimes takes me more time to do that than it does to write. When dealing with that most quintessential of dusky scents, L’Heure Bleue (“The Blue Hour”), it took the most time yet. I knew I wanted a sunset shot, but I wanted it to convey a very particular mood, which I was having trouble finding in the very many sunset photos available. I finally settled on this one for no other reason than its resemblance to downtown Riverside Drive in my own city. But once I enlarged and inserted it, I knew it was perfect. It expresses, in a way familiar to me, the feeling of a long road home.

L’Heure Bleue was created in 1912, so it has the built-in nostalgia factor of a bygone era, especially poignant for being before the World Wars. But its nostalgia value for me is more personal.

I wanted to try LHB, loving its name and image, but I was expecting to hate it. It features anise and carnation, two of my most-detested notes. And I did indeed loathe it the first time I tried it–visions of mothballs danced through my head. What changed? I don’t know. I’m not even sure why I bothered trying it again. But then…

…still anise, still carnation, but I found them unsettling in a weirdly pleasant way. This was alienation in a bottle. For some reason, it reminded me vividly of a field trip in the fourth grade. The only thing I remember about the trip was the bus ride home. It was winter, and the sun was almost down at 4:30. I was the new kid in school (my radio-announcer stepfather moved us to a new city almost yearly) and had no friends. I was lonely and misunderstood and self-pitying. It was, well, the kind of time you write about later.

LHB’s sharp powdery opening then swirls into flowers and powder and smoke, beautiful in a blue-gray sort of way, like the unhappy memory once you’ve had time to process and make sense of it (and perhaps recast it in a more appealing light).

And then…the happy ending. The scent changes to golden vanilla with an almondy cast, as if you end your journey in a brightly-lit kitchen, filled with the smells of your grandmother’s baking (rather than the smells of my mother’s wine-inflected sauces–appetizing, but not perfume material). Or, to change metaphors, the effect of the sun still glowing on the horizon, giving hope to mortals.

AWKWARD SEGUE

Well, it’s food-related, anyway.

–Manager at McDonald’s–“Where’s the sausage-and-egg biscuit?”

–Employee–“Right there, with the red side of the paper up.”

–Mgr.–“That’s not how you’re supposed to wrap them.”

–E.–“Well, how are you supposed to wrap them?”

Let me hazard a guess–WITH THE WORDS “SAUSAGE AND EGG BISCUIT” FACING UP?? Or, for the illiterate, the orange side of the paper up.

 

 

%d bloggers like this: