Cheese, please

I was reading the New York Times Magazine yesterday afternoon and came across this article which talked about how putting grated cheese on seafood pasta is tantamount to sacrilege, according to everyone in the entire country of Italy. And to Italians, who are living in other countries, as well. You just don't do it. I have never been to Italy, but apparently there are very many culinary dos and don'ts when it comes to eating Italian food, so that you can eat without being yelled at. Which makes me most apprehensive about ever visiting.

In Los Angeles, an Italian waiter looked around anxiously as he shredded some Parmesan onto my plate. “I could lose my job for this,” he said. In New York, the menu at Da Silvano stated in no uncertain terms, “No cheese served on seafood at any time.” From Palermo to Palos Verdes, the more outraged and belligerent they became, the more I stood my ground. Don’t put cheese on your seafood, don’t order a cappuccino after noon, keep your bread right side up — the rules never stopped.

According to the rules, when you put grated cheese on seafood, the cheese flavor overwhelms the delicate flavor of fish, and the entire balance of the dish is gone. Of course every chef has his own opinion about this idea: “It is a very difficult thing for me to accept.” “When I think of this, my mouth does not water.” “Not in our culture. No. Never.” But all of them basically amounted to a big fat no.

And while that might work in Italy, Americans never follow the rules, especially in the kitchen. And perhaps in general, we just have no taste. Literally. I mean, we stick ketchup on everything! And while I respect the idea of such a non-bending will when it comes to preserving an old school way of cooking, thank god I have no qualms about ever following a recipe, the way it was written.

Reconnecting with JeeHee

Another thing that made my day was reconnecting with JeeHee, who reads my blog. When I made my blog private for awhile, I was sad because I had no way of knowing how to invite her since I did not have her email address. And truly, I would think of her at least once a week, because I really missed her comments. Thankfully she is way more savvy than I am, and reached out to me via Flickr mail! Too bad it only took me three months to read my mail. I am such a loser

JeeHee, I missed you!

Sealfons + Selfons = Sielfons

Today, I have spent a greater portion of my day organizing my photos in Flickr, because I am woefully behind and backlogged. Like every other part of my life, so what's new. Anyway, I actually decided to check my inbox because I had 11 messages, and I have never checked my Flickr mail, EVER. And lo and behold, I had some great messages.

One was an email from a guy named Scott Selfon. Whose surname obviously sounds like mine, minus the A. In fact, whenever people misspell my name, I usually end up with his spelling. Anyway, he reached out via Flickr mail, because he thought we ought to be related. Since his family is very small, and coincidentally, I thought mine was too. And both families are from Pennsylvania — my grandfather was born in Tyrone PA. Wherever that might be. Somewhere near Altoona, I believe.

Anyway, this prompted me to go on the Ellis Island website, where I did not find any Sealfons nor any Selfons. But I did find a family of Sielfons, who came over from Austria in 1892, on their way to Philadelphia, PA. Schomdel (35), Mordhal (15), Reize (8) and Salome (9). I do not need to point out the obvious — that they were obviously Jewish. Which makes the puzzle pieces pretty much fit, since my family is Jewish, and my grandfather was born in 1914, and I knew his family was from Austria. And his family had to have come over around the turn of the century.

Which means that either Mordahl or Saloma were my grandfather's dad. Since it appears that Schomdel came over with his 3 children, which makes me wonder, what happened to my great great grandmother? And this makes my family's name actually Sielfon. And most likely, Scott's as well. Wow. This is pretty freaking amazing — its like I have a whole family I never even knew about! And of course, now I want to know everything. Like what happened to my grandfather's family. And who are they? And now I want to go to Austria and look for any and all Sielfons.

Destination: Mexico City

Today I woke up and realized that I had exactly five hours to see the entire 2000 square kms of Mexico City. Realizing that this would require something more than my useless Wallpaper* Mexico City Navigator, which has no real map, I called the front desk while still laying in bed, and ordered a car and driver, and here is what I saw:

Californication

All day, I have been looking forward to watching all 12 episodes of Californication, once my Feminine Hygiene GFLT meeting was over. I downloaded all of the episodes last night, in an act of procrastination, when I was supposed to be putting my presentation together. After seeing one half hour episode during a six hour television marathon of the WB channel (also loved Gossip Girl) while in the São Paolo Hilton on a Sunday afternoon in January, I have been dying to see the entire series. And tonight, I stayed up until 3am until I had watched all 12 episodes. Which is approximately 6 straight hours of television viewing. On my 15" laptop monitor. In fact, my laptop almost overheated and the sheets were practically smoking. I had to let it rest overnight, under-side up, so it could cool down.

Needless to say, the series of brilliant, as is David Duchovny as Hank Moody — I loved it…There is much nakedness and lewdness and sex. And also, a lot of vomiting, for a six hour stretch. And there are three vomiting scenes, that are disturbingly realistic. But I have chosen to overlook the puking.

They are beginning the filming of a second season this month and I am anxiously awaiting to see what happens. The first season ended so perfectly, that its almost like there does not need to be a second season. Except of course, we all know that nothing works out perfectly ever after and Hank and Karen will probably mess it all up.

¡Cerveza fría que bebe!

Tonight was the last night of our women's health GFLT meeting. And after four days of discussing the state of business around the world of Stayfree®, Carefree® and o.b., we all were so ready for a drink. Or many drinks. I mean, there is only so long you can talk about Feminine Hygiene…so five of us went across the street to a local bar for some drinks before my Brazilian colleagues left for São Paolo. Believe it or not, I actually had two beers! (Ok, one and a half…I did not finish the second beer.)

Little packets of mints

Tonight, I ate dinner with a colleague in the hotel's Mexican Restaurant, La Chimenea. Dinner was totally satisfactory, but the best part was that on the way out, there was a little basket full of these Christmas mints! Hopefully, they have not been sitting there since the holidays.

On top of Grasshopper Hill

This evening, on our way to dinner, our host brought us to Castillo de Chapultepec, which was constructed in 1785 when then viceroy, Bernardo de Gálvez, ordered a country house be built at the highest point of Chapultepec Hill. Interestingly enough, it was also where William Shakespeare's Romeo + Juliet was filmed in 1996, starring Leonardo DiCaprio.

Cookie time

While I was not bowled over by the service, or the environs, at the Presidente Intercontinental Hotel, the snacks served during our meeting were pretty spectacular. Besides the mid morning crudité platters, mini stuffed tortillas and other stuff, there was always a platter of cookies, served directly after lunch. And refilled throughout the afternoon. The cookies were definitely homemade, and unlike most catered affairs' cookies, were really quite delicious. My colleague and I managed to somehow eat at least four or five cookies, a piece.

I was not kidnapped

This is what the taxi area is supposed to look like, according to the Mexico City website. However, for whatever reason, I saw nothing that resembled this. For starters, the taxis were not even the same color as above — I only saw green Volkswagen Beetle taxis.

Tonight when I landed at Aeropuerto Internacional de la Ciudad de México, there was no one holding up a sign with my name on it. Which is one of my little insecurities — as in, what is no one comes to collect me? So, to give the guy the benefit of the doubt, I waited for about 30 minutes and then sadly realized that I had to find my own way to the hotel. My phone battery had died on the way to Mexico, which means I could not even call the hotel to find out the proper taxi rate, nor could I call the company who was supposed to pick me up. Oh, and I had no pesos, and not enough dollars to exchange for any sizable sum of money.

I found an ATM and took out 1500 pesos, praying that a taxi to the hotel would not be $150, and then bravely set out to try to find a way to the Presidente Intercontinental Hotel. A guy wearing an airport uniform came up to me and asked if I needed a taxi. I said yes, and he told me to go to "puerto seis." Ok. Along the way, another guy, who looked lumberjack-y, asked if I needed a taxi and I said yes. The guy from the airport appeared out of nowhere and told me to only get my taxi from "puerto seis, ONLY." These other guys were apparently jitney cab drivers looking for fresh meat. Or perhaps just blond girls carrying bright orange Orla Kiely bags printed with coffee cups, and an enormous bag full of sanitary napkins. Oddly enough, there really weren't that many of us at the airport last night.

So, I get bounced from puerto seis to puerto cinco to puerto quatro, and every so often, my airport friend shows up to tell me, "no, go to that gate down there." I am now crabby, and royally pissed off at the event planner for forcing me to drag my huge bag of feminine hygiene through the Mexico City airport, while feeling bilious and bloated, brought on by the food on Mexicana Airlines.

Finally, I ask a guy wearing a taxi badge, which the airport guy told me look for, for a taxi ride. He asked where to and said ok, when I told him, and then started out a rather fast trot up a flight of stairs. Leaving me to fold up my suitcase and carry it, along with my maxi pads and coffee cup purse, up the stairs by myself. I was getting a sort of sexist vibe from all of the airport workers. My deodorant broke by this point, since I was wearing a cashmere turtleneck sweater and my ubiquitous down vest. Halfway through the walkway to some other place, another guy arrives, fast and seemingly angry words in Spanish are exchange, the new guy takes over, and the first taxi guy walks away, pissed off. Uh, oh.

So my new guy leads me through the Camino Real hotel, where I seriously considering staying. Fuck the Intercontinental at this point. But then he carries my bag down the steps to outside, where a giant black Explorer-y kind of truck SUV thing arrives, with all black tinted windows. There is no taxi sign. No meter. Nada. A few little green Volkswagen beetles taxis shoot past, slow down, then speed up when they see the black monster truck enveloping me. I don't have the best feeling about this situation. But I am so tired and annoyed, I am like what's the worst that can happen? They kidnap me? No one will even know I am missing until tomorrow. And its not like anyone would put up a ransom. Plus, this surely would not be worth it, since I am not even from a rich family, and its evident. I mean, I am carrying a laminated canvas handbag, and everyone else on the plane had Louis Vuitton luggage.

So we drive down what can only be described at a sketchy alley. For those of you who are from New York, the auto body repair alleys behind the Mets Stadium are pretty much what the street looked like. One of the two guys gets in and out of the car a few times, and I wondering why on earth I threw away the rest of my almonds in the airplane lavatory. And why on earth did I not buy the peanut M&Ms at the Hudson News in JFK? What if I don't eat for like five more days?! The guys gets back in and shows me a laminated sheet saying it will be 600 pesos to the hotel. $60 is way more than even a taxi ride from JFK to Manhattan, but I am not really in a position to negotiate. So we drive to my hotel, uneventfully — not kidnapping occured, but then when we arrive, the guy demands a tip. Which is pretty fucking ballsy I thought. Aren't tips like a bonus? You can't ASK for them. I only have a 100 peso bill though, and let them know I don't have change. They feign ignorance, and I have to fork over some dollars. I get all rude and American-y on them, and slam my car door for emphasis.

However, I guess, $70 is a small price to pay for not being kidnapped with a dead cellphone and no snacks. So I am happy…that I am not dead in a ditch, or tied to a chair in a little non-air conditioned house with a corrugated tin roof, á la News of a Kidnapping.

Hello, Mexico!

Yoga in my Easter basket

Today I went to Vanessa Spina's class at ViraYoga, for Easter. I am not a religious person and other than happy memories of Honey Baked Ham® with my family and eating easter candy during church when I was a child, I really do not do anything particularly special to celebrate. But I felt that going to an Anusara yoga class would be appropriate because I actually find that type of yoga to be way more spiritually connected than the type of yoga that I usually do, which is Iyengar. 

Even the classes start differently. In addition to there being lots of hugging, kissing, catching up and general chatting before the classes start, once class begins, instead of just chanting a series of Oms, we always chant the following chant: 

Om namah shivaya gurave, satchidananda murtaye, nishprapanchaya shantaya, miralambaya tajase Om.

Which means: I offer myself to the the Light, the Auspicious One, who is the True Teacher within and without, Who assumes the forms of Reality, Consciousness, and Bliss, Who is never absent and is full of peace, independent in existence, the vital essence of illumination.

Which to me, is as spiritual as it gets. And whether I believe in the details of any specific religion is not what helps me through the day. Instead, its knowing that there is a something larger than life that I can believe in, depend on, and offer myself up to. I remember one Anusara class, where my teacher explained to us that when you inhale, God is exhaling; and when you exhale, God is inhaling. And as long as you are alive, you have this very intimate dance with God as you both connect through the breath. And when you stop connecting with God through the breath, well, you are no longer alive. To me, that was incredibly profound and I have never forgotten that concept.

Happy Easter.

Feeling Thirsty?

Today is World Water Day.

And ending today, this past week was World Water Week — restaurants participating in the Tap Project invited their customers to donate a minimum of $1 for the tap water they would normally get for free. For every dollar raised, a child will have clean drinking water for 40 days. Currently, UNICEF provides access to safe water and sanitation facilities while promoting safe hygiene practices in more than 90 countries. By 2015, UNICEF's goal is to reduce the number of people without safe water and basic sanitation by 50 percent.

Oddly enough, New York is not cited as a participating city for whatever reason. And yet Cincinnati, Ohio is. As is Greenville, South Carolina. Despite this oddity, there are many restaurants in the city that participated in the Tap Project, anyway. In Brooklyn alone, they were a bunch (see here)…and Fort Greene had the largest amount of restaurants participating, out of any of the Brooklyn boroughs.

For those of you who missed the Tap Project this year (see my post about it last year), you can donate right here. I gave $50 — which means a kid will have clean water for 900 days, or almost two and a half years.

Celebrating نوروز

The first day of spring is the beginning of the new year, Nowruz, in the Iranian calendar.

During the Nowruz holidays people are expected to visit one another (mostly limited to families, friends and neighbours) in the form of short house visits, which are usually reciprocated. Typically, on the first day of Nowruz, family members gather around the table, with the Haft Seen on the table or set next to it, and await the exact moment of the arrival of the spring. At that time gifts are exchanged. Later in the day, the first house visits are paid to the most senior family members. Typically, the youth will visit the elders first, and the elders return their visit later. The visits naturally have to be relatively short, otherwise one will not be able to visit everybody on their list. A typical visit is around 30 minutes, where you often run into other visiting relatives and friends who happen to be paying a visit to the same house at that time. Because of the house visits, you make sure you have a sufficient supply of pastry, cookies, fresh and dried fruits and special nuts on hand, as you typically serve your visitors with these items with tea or sherbet. Many Iranians will throw large Nowruz parties in a central location as a way of dealing with the long distances between groups of friends and family.

Some Nowruz celebrants believe that whatever a person does on Nowruz will affect the rest of the year. So, if a person is warm and kind to their relatives, friends and neighbours on Nowruz, then the new year will be a good one. On the other hand, if there are fights and disagreements, the year will be a bad one.

One tradition that may not be very widespread (that is, it may belong to only a few families) is to place something sweet, such as honey or candy, in a safe place outside overnight. On the first morning of the new year, the first person up brings the sweet stuff into the house as another means of attaining a good new year.

Haft Sīn (هفت سین) or the seven 'S's is a major tradition of Nowruz. The haft sin table includes seven specific items starting with the letter 'S' or Sīn (س) in Persian alphabet). The items symbolically correspond to seven creations and holy immortals protecting them. The Haft Sin has evolved over time, but has kept its symbolism. Traditionally, families attempt to set as beautiful a Haft Sīn table as they can, as it is not only of traditional and spiritual value, but also noticed by visitors during Nowruzi visitations and is a reflection of their good taste.

I look like Tweedle Dee

I am particularly loving my outfit today. Featuring a pair of my split leg Lululemon yoga pants, and my favorite striped tee shirt from Old Navy, I donned my navy silk bubble dress from Osklen, paired with navy striped knee socks from the Gap, my "frog" colored clogs from Sven, and my lime green scarf from Chocolate. This outfit took me from my massage to my salsa lesson to my yoga class, with only a quick removal of certain articles of clothing, depending on the appointment. So, despite looking like I fell out of Alice in Wonderland, I was actually quite thrilled with my outfit selection this morning.

Easter treats from Kristy!

Kristy, you are so incredibly sweet! Thank you, thank you!
This package arrived just in time for Easter.

Lunch from 'Swich

Mushroom salad, sweet potato chips, banana lemonade + a lime DumDum lollipop.

Post It Note art

I was on Tina Roth's blog today and read a post about Marc Johns, who has posted his collection of Post-It note art on his Flickr page. I have a personal love affair for Post-It Notes, thinking that all note taking should actually take place on Post-Its. When I worked at Martha Stewart, I would just carry a stack to each meeting, take notes, and then stick them all over my desk, reminding me of all of the work that I had to accomplish. Invariably, during dull meetings, some notes would become little drawings, although perhaps not as delightful as Marc's. For instance, I never drew pictures featuring men's underwear. Instead, I used to draw little people — one per Post-It — and then stick them on the side of my monitor.

Inspaworld

The outdoor pool

The LED sauna

The gold sauna

Tonight, I met Sheri after work, and we went to Inspaworld. Now, this is not the first time I have accompanied Sheri to a bath house; but it is the first time we have gone to a bath house that I not only loved, but cannot wait to visit again.

The 10th Street Bath House was way too gross, and I am convinced that the guy who gave me a massage was not super professional, if you get my drift. And then Sheri took me to some place in Queens off of Northern Boulevard, where a mom brought her 10 year old boy into the dressing room, and that freaked me out. Umm, because 10 year old boys are so already thinking about girls in ways not appropriate to be in the women's dressing room.

Inspaworld was perfectly delightful on a Thursday night after a long and exhausting week of conference calls. It was almost as nice as the place we went to in Hyundai Beach, South Korea. Where we all fell asleep on the floor. And if you want to sleep on the floor at Inspaworld, there is an ondol floor just for that purpose.

First Day of Spring

My Love Hotels book

My Love Hotels book arrived today! This has been on my wish list since it came out about a year ago, but I never got around to buying it until a few days ago, when I get a little slap happy with Amazon One-Click. And no, I am not dying to be tied up in the Hello Kitty S+M room, although the printed bed spread does make me laugh.

For those of you who aren't in the know, Love Hotels are to be rented by the hour for amorous liaisons. The rooms offer a fantasy of luxury and escape from crowded tiny apartments where families or neighbors might spy on licit or illicit physical pleasures. The bulk of Love Hotel rooms are simply "nice;" the accentuated touches include beveled edges, many mirrors, large TVs with Karaoke, big bathtubs, the Golf channel. But occasionally you'll find a hotel with a roman temple build around the bed. Or a bath and shower designed to resemble a mountain stream. Perhaps a circular bed under a functioning carousel. However, the theme rooms revealed in this provocative collection of photographs are steeped in fantasy, their elaborate décor ranging from simulated subway cars to religious bondage with much kink in between.

School girl fantasies pervade every culture, but there's something about the sailor uniform that makes boys go wild. This room replicates a typical Japanese public high school classroom. Notice how the clock is set to 3:40 p.m., right around the time when most students have left the building and you can have your horny after-school detention student all to yourself.
This room is a dream come true for sex machine enthusiasts. It features several contraptions to copulate on, including the new automated love chair from Korea, and it looks like one of those high-end sex toy stores in Second Life. Unfortunately, the machines don't come with instructions, so you have to know what you're doing.
The pink-and-white cherry-covered bedspread creates a kinky contrast with the blood red cuffs that adorn its four corners in the Hello Kitty S&M Room. A stuffed version of Hello Kitty watches voyeuristically from her swing above.

For decades Japan's love hotels have provided a place for couples to enjoy anonymous, uninterrupted sex. Politician and secretary, teacher and student, husband and hooker -- all are welcome, as long as they pay in cash and leave when the time limit is up. But 2006 spawned a new type of love hotel. Decorated with theme park interiors and equipped with game consoles, karaoke boxes and sex machines -- these establishments provide kinky fun for all types, from fetishists and sadomasochists to the ordinary couple seeking sexual adventure.

In her new book, Love Hotels, American photographer Misty Keasler portrays some of the newest, most creative love hotels in Japan.
– Lisa Katayama

Happy hour with our neighbors

Before.

After.

A week or two ago, I picked up the most recent Donna Hay magazine, and noticed that there was a whole article on making terrines. Knowing Kenny's love affair with foie gras (and in my head, terrines and foie gras are almost the same thing), I suggested that he make one. And that we invite our neighbors over for a happy hour, to eat it. Of course, all of the recipes called for pork and NONE of our neighbors eat pork, which means Kenny had to combine two recipes together and use ground chicken instead of ground pork. But, he used the Le Creuset terrine pan to make the most terrine-y looking terrine that I have ever seen. Complete with that gelatinous stuff that comes from cooking chicken and then refrigerating it. It was quite delicious, and the hit of the happy hour.

Paranoid Park

This afternoon, we went to go see the new Gus Van Sant movie — Paranoid Park — at BAM. Based on the novel by Blake Wilson, and filmed by Christoper Doyle, who was the cinematographer for almost all of Wong Kar Wai's movies, I was very much looking forward to seeing what the cinematography was like. The film was very ethereal and moody, and very much like being inside of the main character's mind. I really enjoyed it very much.

Kermit the Frog, on Spring Street

My 6 word bio

New car smell

Tonight, we picked up our long awaited new car at Beiner Audi in Long Island…and I have say, even though I truly wanted the A3 hatchback, I am really loving the A4. It feels so, well, so fancy. Which means that we are now fancy car owners. And that feels really nice.

Men In Trees

Tonight, I randomly happened to check abc.com to see if there was anything new on television. And Lo and Behold, there were two new episodes of Men In Trees! I finally got to know whether Jack lived or died! I was hanging by a thread! And of course, I cried. And I did not get to bed until past midnight; and then I was all wound up and super emotional. I just get so sucked in to these programs. Sigh. I only wish I had started watching this series earlier — I joined it sometime before Christmas and so much had already happened. which means that I just have to get my hands on a copy of the Season One DVD. 

Rusty's wife's cookies

Rusty, my co-worker, emailed me this afternoon and let me know that he had a container of little sugar cookies with pink icing and sprinkles, that his wife baked for him. And that he was willing to share some with me. I am not sure I had even finished reading the email before I was at his desk, reaching towards a little pink cookie that really had my name written all over it. Apparently, his wife bakes him cookies like every other week! Which is so awesome. I dream about being that sort of wife.

Instead of baking him cookies bi-weekly, I call Kenny while I am in near tears on the Manhattan Bridge expecting him to tell me how to downshift on my new bike, and then get all crabby when he says stuff like, "It's easy! Your things are integrated." Whatever that means. But what it really means, I guess, is that I really need to bake him cookies every two weeks.

Where have I been?

The beauty of this is that my friend Pilar sent me this link, and she lives in Idaho. I live in New York and for whatever reason, these projects have completely missed my radar. Sheri, why have you not told me about this? Where have I been? I would love to be a part of these Improv Everywhere sessions…although perhaps NOT the No Pants one. However, the pictures from it are hilarious (in fact all of the events look like a ton of fun), and I was laughing out loud looking at the some pictures of the people in their underwear on the subway. Truly priceless. The whole concept makes me realize that A. I need to have more fun in my life, and B. I need a new project to keep me inspired.

Hello Kitty sanitary napkins

Elizabeth went to Shanghai last week, and knowing my love of Hello Kitty, and my work related focus of feminine hygiene, was actually able to find something that merged those two passions. Scary perhaps. And oddly enough, she found me some Hello Kitty maxi pads.

You might wonder why I would find this a delightful present; but this is my life now. In fact, my desk is always covered with a random assortment of feminine hygiene supplies and personal lubricants.

In fact, maybe a month or so ago, we had a brainstorming meeting for o.b. and there was a moment when I just blurted out something to the effect that honestly, if we just made Hello Kitty® branded o.b. tampons, the world would be a better place. There was complete silence at the table. And I had to mumble that well, maybe I would use them, at least. And the conversation picked up, but I think people thought I was really weird. But darn. Now some random personal care company in China has beaten us to the punch, and they have Hello Kitty napkins, so Johnson + Johnson can't. Which is such a bummer.

I then googled Hello Kitty pantyliners and found this blog...which leads to a whole post unto itself.

Being inside while it rains

Tonight, there was a huge storm while Kenny was in Flushing for Grandma's 80th birthday dinner. I was at home, sick in bed and and the rain against the window screen woke me up, suddenly. For a little while, I lay there, startled with my heart racing, watching the rain angrily slam against the window, and I felt relieved that I was inside, in bed. Knowing that no matter what, I would not have to go outside and get wet. All I would have to do is shut my eyes again, and the rain would go away. After calling Kenny to make sure that he was not driving in this horrid weather — he was eating sautéed lobster instead, I am sure — I burrowed under the duvet and went back to a sound sleep.

CB I Hate Perfume, redux

This evening when I came home from work, I found a delightful package waiting for me on the counter — from CB I Hate Perfume. (For those of you who have never been to his store, it is in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. You should stop by and check it out, as Christopher makes all of his store's perfumes from scratch and specializes in creating unique scents, such as snow or rubber cement or even roast beef. Since I have met Christopher Brosius a few times, he is the perfumer behind CB I Hate Perfume, I thought that perhaps he had sent me a gift. We were going to work together on a project for one of the brands I work on, but sadly it did not work out due to timing. However, he does not have my home address, so I was thinking to myself that he really went the extra mile to look up my information somewhere.

And then I opened the package and realized that it was from my dear friend Joni!; and that she had sent me Winter 1972 and Mr Hulot's Holiday, as a little surprise. She had no idea that I even knew Christopher, but happened to love the site and thought I would too. Which is such a wonderful happy accident. Because I LOVE his work and the idea behind his scents; see my post from last year, here, about the scents I would make if I knew how.

The color green

For awhile, I had been wondering if there was something wrong with me for wanting to have an entirely green wardrobe. For as long as I can remember (and I can remember back before I was two years old), I have adored kelly green. My room was green, I wore green clothes, ate off of green dishes, only ate green vegetables (and almost all of them), and picked out the family's green Toyota Celica when I was three. But perhaps it was after being Kermit the Frog for Halloween, and enduring Kermit-y remarks, I ditched my love of green for almost 20 years. Its always been there; as in my someone asked me my favorite color, I would say green. But you would never really know it from looking at me. But about two years ago, I saw a green swimsuit in J.Crew in the perfect shade of green. And so I ordered it. And then another one, in the same color, but different cut. And then some green cashmere sweaters in the same color. A pair of green cords. And then it became a full-fledged love affair all over again. I have green bowls. A green down parka — and I am still actually sad that I slept on purchasing the kelly green parka at J.Crew from two seasons ago. Now I have 8 green sweaters. Green undershirts and underwear. And 3 different pairs of green clogs.

So, I had been harboring fears that I was just weird. But New York Magazine ran an article a week ago, that I just read this evening, on people who ONLY wear one color. Which is awesome, because now even if I am weird, it is nice to know that there are OTHER weird people at there who are exactly like me.