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.
