News of no interest whatsoever except to very close and patient friends and family members and maybe people with no life
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| WebJournal - The blog will set you free News of no interest whatsoever except to very close and patient friends and family members and maybe people with no life |
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Tuesday, October 14, 2003 Smells are very powerful indeed. Dial Soap. My very first time in California, just after JP's first by-pass surgery. We were there to consult with Dean Ornish but he was on a sabbatical so we took a nice vacation too. We stayed with Eduardo and Benji at their place in Laguna Beach. They had Dial liquid soap in the bathroom. To me, Dial Soap smells like a striking colored bathroom, bright red towels, a view on the Ocean. It smells like my first time in the US as an adult. It smells sunny and hopeful. Ivory soap it's a week in NYC with my friend Liliana. We were staying in an small apartment on the same street, the same block I am living on now. It was constantly raining. The apartment was dark. We were in and out, shopping in the rain. I fell in love with the city. I watched NY1 in the morning, fascinated with the traffic report. The bathroom smelled of Ivory soap. After all these years I still open a bar of Ivory soap with eager anticipation and I never fail to get a whiff of it. It is amazing how easily I am catapulted back to my very first impression of NYC. I just saw they altered the formula for Yves Saint Laurent's Rive Gauche parfum. How could they do this to me? Rive Gauche is Paris, high-school and my first boyfriend (well, actually my third, but my first serious one). Rive Gauche smells like long walks, cutting school, bars before classes and the occasional joint. It reminds me of a couple of parties at the house of Annie Girardot's daughther, Giulia Salvatori. At the time we shared the same gang, albeit only for a short while. Still, smelling Rive Gauche sends me straight back to her apartment at the Place des Vosges. The lights were dimmed, a drama queen of a friend was always weeping on a bed, my boyfriend was drunk and I was either talking or dancing. Some things never change. L'Air du Temps is Paris too, albeit at a quieter phase. Meeting JP will always smell of Paco Rabanne pour Homme to me. He used to be drenched in the stuff. I smell it and I see him, basically just a kid, with his blue sweater and his green bomber jacket. I also immediately remember his car, for the same reasons any couple without a house of their own remembers their car fondly. Paco Rabanne and the first time I saw a glimpse of his naked tummy, when he was sitting sprawled back on a nightclub sofa. I remember mentally following the line of hair that disappeared into his jeans. We were not doing "it" yet and I was in a constant state of arousal. Twenty something years later and it's still a vivid image etched in my mind. Polo by Ralph Lauren is Don, long walks around Desenzano del Garda, long long talks into the night and wild parties. A sense of excitement and of new beginnings. Fresh, intense and brief. Non-sequitur ... Why do I ever bother going to half-ass hair salons? The stylists are straight out of a Eastern European bordello. The manager is constantly eating. The lady who cuts my hair reeks of cigarettes and mints. The place is a mess and everybody is unfriendly. Not only that, but they even criticize my previous hundred bucks haircut from a decent salon. So why do I do it? Because I only want a trim, I don't need an appointment and I am in and out in less than 25 minutes, that's why. 10:42 PM
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