Spetmeber Scent Xperiment, Day 8

Chopin has very little to do with this post, I just felt like snapping a moody pic of him. I got this bust of him at Ross a few years ago; isn't he just dreamy?

Moving right along, Friday was a Body Shop Neroli Jasmine day -- just sublime. why does fruitiness in a perfume convey innocence? Why are floral notes in perfume usually considered the opposite? For me, here's how I think of my little scent library, in order from most innocent to least:

Body Shop Satsuma (very orange-y)
Calgon Get Juic'd Plum Raspberry
Sephora mûre (very blackberry-ish)
Body Shop Neroli Jasmine (might as well be relabeled "Astrid in a Bottle," it's absolutely me and so divine)
Body Shop Sandalwood
Body Shop Ananya

There's definitely a psychological progression within the fruit spectrum, at least for me; darker-colored fruit (plums, blackberries) smell more gothic to me, peculiar yet true.

Back to Chopin: did you know he died when he was thirty-nine? THIRTY-NINE, people. Just horrendous. You stick around long enough to impress people with your brilliance, then your lungs get wacked out and that's it. It makes me think that I need to hurry up and get impressive -- but not before I stop and smell the blackberries first.

NB: don't ever wear perfume oil on both your wrists AND your throat. It will make people faint dead away, plus you'll frighten their dog. And then you'll have to do an emergency rinse of your wrists and hope for the best as your friends regain consciousness. Not that I'm speaking from bitter experience or anything.

Spetmeber Scent Xperiment, Day 3

Invisible Day

I felt invisible yesterday, in a not-entirely unpleasant way. Did the Satsuma thing again, as per Rebekah's request, and did a whole bunch of unpacking and book-sorting. Read a chunk of "Mary Poppins, She Wrote; the Life of P. L. Travers" by Valerie Lawson, and I've hit the part where Travers starts hanging out with theosophists. I've decided that if I weren't such a card-carrying atheist, I'd be a theosophist instead; it just seems like a barrel of monkeys plus a bag of Doritos, you know? I also happen to agree with the theosophy slogan -- "There is no religion higher than truth" -- although the actual practice of theosophy involves quack seances, 'telegraphing' with the undead and so forth. Fun for a Saturday night, but not my idea of truth, exactly.

Still, there's no denying that theosophy attracted some really remarkable people, besides friends of P. L. Travers. From Wikipedia: "before his death Scriabin [a theosophist] planned a multimedia work, to be performed in the Himalayas, that would bring about the armageddon". IS THAT NOT AWESOME? Also, Henry Steel Olcott "is still remembered fondly by many Sri Lankans." Man, that's one of my goals in life, to be remembered fondly by many Sri Lankans. Nifty.

So, yeah, lots of heavy lifting, light lifting, reading about quacky folks, and more lifting. Then there was Peruvian cuisine, and a Lee Hazlewood music tribute at Tangier, where everyone was ironically hip except me, because I was still wearing my unpacking/reading-about-theosophy clothes, and no amount of Satsuma goodness (now entirely faded) could make up for my utilitarian, shambly look. Not that I minded: the very last performer of the evening, whose name I sadly couldn't get, was just a man and a guitar singing Lee Hazlewood, and his purity and simplicity blew. me. away. It more than made up for all the pouting and posturing from everybody else that night, and I wanted to give him a hug afterwards.

Conclusions:
1. Being the perfume novice that I am, I'm learning that perfume does not magically renew itself (Renew! Renew!), and requires periodic upkeep. I'm sure this is painfully obvious to everyone except me, but I pride myself upon being a fast learner. Heck, I didn't learn how to properly blowdry my hair until last year, and now see how snazzy it is! This is what I get for being raised by a tomboy mom.

2. It's not a good idea to take perfume requests. Sorry, Bekka, but I was really in the mood to just smell soapy clean and nothing more. I guess there's no predicting these things, though.

3. I need to figure out a way to do a multimedia presentation in the Himalayas, and also hang out with many Sri Lankans.

P.S. The above photo was taken in my bathroom. Yes, I really do have a hula girl keeping me company. And I use the doll's head, which is hollow, as a cup to hold my toothbrush. More info than you ever really needed, huh?

Spetmeber Scent Xperiment, Day 2

SSXD2 lasted until about 2 this morning, which is why I haven't written about it until now. Here's how it went:



I chose the Body Shop Satsuma (the ESP award goes to Rebekah, rock on), because I needed to feel alert, and citrusy scents are handy for that. So far so good.

So, there I was, flipping around various TV channels yesterday morning, munching on my breakfast (strawberries, plain yogurt and oat sprinkles, yumz), when the words "Bill el Científico" flashed across the screen.

Huh, I thought. That kind of looks like 'Bill the Scientist.' As in "Bill Nye the Science Guy." Sure enough, the familiar chorus of "Bill! Bill! Bill!" popped out moments later, and I was then treated to an episode of Bill el Científico yammering away in dubbed Spanish about the science of breathing. Apparently, the Spanish term for thorax is 'thorax.' And mucus is 'mucosa.' There was also a mention of the Krebs Cycle, I believe.

All this science fabulosity was then followed by another excellent episode of "Bill el Científico," wherein he discussed friction ("Friccion!"), as evidenced by him sliding around a lot. Also, there was an excellent demonstration of ball bearings, using marbles and a jar lid, which spells doom for any household with an impressionable and overly curious 11-year-old.

Speaking of impressionable, did I mention that, back in high school, I wanted to marry Bill Nye? The man is total hotness in a blue lab coat. Granted, he does look a tad cadaverous, what with the deep-set eyes and high cheekbones, but I kinda go for that sort of thing. After all, I also like David Bowie, Daniel Day Lewis, and cadavers. Er, I mean....

Yeah.

So, after all this hilarity and swooning and Spanish-dubbed excitement ("Friccion!"), I decided to get down to business, trotting out to my local caffeineatorium with script in hand, but that all ended when I went outside. And slammed into an invisible wall o' heat, about 102 degrees Fahrenheit, which would have been enough to fry Bill Nye's bowtie right off his sexy geek neck. This was a killing heat -- I went back inside, and was already done for the day. It was sad, and no amount of Satsuma awesomeness was able to counteract it. I read a little, napped a little, read some more, napped some more, etc. I also dimly recall watching some "SpongeBob SquarePants" in there, which is always a fine idea. The script, thankfully, turned out to be pretty impressive, but it wove weirdly in my dreams with SpongeBob, which I'm not sure I'd recommend.

I awoke with a start around 8pm, feeling groggy, and then I was suddenly consumed with the need to salvage the day. Or night, whatever. And so, feeling a little woozy and disconnected, I headed out into the Pasadena evening, and I'm really glad I did. It was like the entirety of Pasadena, which had napped right along with me, had decided to stir along with me as well, and the sense of expectancy in the air was electric. Everybody was out, even in my part of the neighborhood, which is just houses and trees and crickets and dim streetlights and not much else. In the dark, people coasted past on bicycles, gears clicking as the riders quietly chatted and laughed. Children giggled, dogs bounded, trees glowed in the streetlights, guys shyly nodded their hellos, crickets chirped, and couples kissed. Actually, I think Pasadena may have broken some record for kissing couples, right around 8pm yesterday.

Like I said, it was that kind of evening. And the Body Shop Satsuma fit it perfectly: sweet, clear, yet serenely lush.

I grabbed an iced Japanese Cherry green tea and chocolate chunk muffin at the Coffee Bean, settled in with a second script (a vile paint-by-numbers gorefest, yawn), gave up on the script after twenty minutes, and people-watched. Folks were thronging to Pinkberry across the street, which still baffles me. As for the rest of the crowds, the night was too hot for people to be as jumpy or chatty as they normally would be on a Saturday night, so there was an almost liquid quality to people's movements, a lethargy which made everything seem even more serene and meaningful somehow.

Pasadena, last night, had presence. It was magical.

After I finished my tea and muffin, I decided to head home, but when I hit my street, I just kept going -- something deep within me couldn't give up this night just yet. I still have no idea how long I walked in the dark, twenty minutes? Two hours? It was quietly glorious, in that wistfully suburban, Ray Bradbury sort of way. Air conditioners hummed, sprinklers swished, houses creaked and settled. In the distance, through an open window, Mel Gibson yelled "Freedom!" as an orchestra swelled. I passed an older woman who was outside just to enjoy things like me -- she was gazing absently at her sprinkler when I walked by, and we quietly said hello to each other before we let our minds slide away again into the dark. It was nice. And my perfume lasted the whole time, adding that little something extra. Just beautiful.

I wasn't planning on wearing the same scent twice in a row, but it has been specially requested, plus it was undeniably part of yesterday's magic. I can't wait to see what happens tonight.

Spetmeber Scent Xperiment, Day 1

So, after an inspiring exchange thus far with a pen pal (er, keyboard pal?), I've decided to do a little experiment with myself over the next month or so, which I have dubbed The Spetmeber Scent Xperiment. The misspelling of September is intentional, which will make sense if you go back and read the entirety of my blog. Enjoy! I'll wait here until you're finished.
.
.
.
.
.
Okay, nice to see you made it back. So, here's the background to my experiment: I normally never wear perfume, which my keyboard pal deplored, saying that one's nasal activities should not necessarily have to be restricted to breathing. There's a fun-scented world out there, and it's time that my provincial olfactory system be taken for a spin, if you will.

The experiment: to wear perfume every day for the next thirty days or so, ideally not wearing the same scent two days in a row. I already have a small library o' perfumes, which I've allowed to languish, and now's my chance to finally put said library to good use.

The point of the experiment: to see if this somehow improves my existence, or at least my perception of my existence.

Now, I understand that today was technically not yet September (or Spetmeber), but Science Waits For No One. So, today I chose to spritz myself with Sephora "mûre," which not only made me feel immediately sassier, but even inspired me to wear my Officially Sassy Pumps, which I stupidly forgot to photograph earlier.

No matter.

(Side note: I noticed when I got home just now that I had forgotten to log out of MySpace, which may have confused some people into thinking I was chained to a computer all day, but in fact I was Out and About, sharing my perfumed sassiness with the world at large under the guise of picking up footage I shot, catching up on teaching-related paperwork, getting groceries, and having a lovely dinner al fresco with Rebekah.)

Back to the Spetmeber Scent Xperiment, Day 1: Despite the fact that the scent wore off quickly -- must remember to up the dosage next time -- its psychological effects carried me pretty well throughout the day. Students complimented my sassy shoes. Cashiers complimented my sassy earrings. Even the e-mails I received today seemed sassier, including the boring listserv ones.

Conclusion, end of Day 1: Sephora mûre rocks, but it would rock harder if it didn't wear off so quickly. I'm not used to bathing in perfume oils, but I guess desperate perfume times call for desperate perfume measures.

Saturday will be a big day o' script reading for me, done in a lovely nearby coffee shop, and I am as clueless as you are about what scent I shall try for tomorrow. An invigorating Body Shop Satsuma, perhaps? A more mellow Calgon Get Juic'd plum raspberry? Or a more mysterious sandalwood, in case I'm tired of smelling like a fruit bowl? Or perhaps a walk down Memory Lane with Body Shop Ananya (my signature scent in my freshman year of undergrad)?

I'm sure you're bored senseless by now, but this is a world I haven't explored in a long, long time. It's almost like discovering I have a third eyeball and can now see in four dimensions. Or something.