my occasional musings on life, love, art, perfume ... what else is there?


Seattle is having one of its rare spells of sun and heat ... in the eighties yesterday, into the nineties today.

I've lived in the tropics but that's a long memory. I'd forgotten what it is to wake up early with your muscles loose, your damp hair sticking to your temples and neck ... thirsty because it's already warm, warm, warm.

Last night it was so sticky as I went to bed, that I rummaged around looking for some cooling fragrance ... and came up with Divine Homme d'Coeur.

It's a symptom of how astute other fragrance reviewers are, that in this morning's after-the-fact search for words to describe this fragrance, I learned that iris/orris is the predominant note, followed by cypress -- the cypress I discerned as a piney reminiscence of RL Polo (green).

But this noble fragrance is not Polo ... it does not bludgeon you into submission, although initially you are very aware of its presence. It was a mistaken choice for me ... as clean and sharp as it is in the beginning, it belongs on a man and I fell to sleep feeling kind of transgendered. (A subconscious salute to Gay Pride Day -- yesterday -- I guess.)

This weekend, we did our salute to Geopolitics In Cinema ... and viewed both Syriana and Munich. Mideast carnage from the seventies to the present. From a prone-to-depression standpoint, I suggest you not do this. In these films, no one comes out looking good. And there is more exploding blood per square celluloid centimeter (I made up the celluloid part) than you ever want to see.

Unfortunately, both are more realistic, more reflective of the world we live in, than I wish were the case.

Twice in recent television commentary, I've heard the 8th century referred to as the apex of Islamic militants' worldview. That they wish to return us to that golden era of the Caliphate, where men were men and women knew their place.

Both these films show the high price western civilization is paying, both in penance for not working to bring the Islamic destitute the economic benefits of our golden era, and in blood as we push back at the violent representatives of resentful hordes that apparently feel moving backward -- thirteen centuries -- is their best option.

God -- and there is One God [Adonai Elohenu, Adonai Echad] -- help us all.

Today's fragrance (What? I might as well smell good as the world falls apart.): Cerrutti 1881. A clean, powdery, faintly grapefruity scent. Translates well on me. Second thoughts: there's no grapefruit in this! According to Jan Moran, the notes are bergamot, violt, mimosa, freesia, jasmine, orange blossom, geranium, coriander, rosewood, chamomile, sandalwood, musk, ambrette. No grapefruit! What's violt? Oh. Bet it's violet.


Blogger Doug said...

The deserts north of Los Angeles are having one of their common heat waves. I wish for a day in the 90s. I haven't seen Munich yet in spite of renting it twice but Syriana was enough. Of course, surliness doesn't affect me badly.

10:21 AM

Blogger Jemima said...

I hear. Scary and sad.

12:47 PM


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