Friday, August 1, 2008

The Zen of Fried Things


I was listening to XM Comedy on the way in this morning, and Jake Johannsen was riffing on toilets in China that are, for all purposes, porcelain holes. He speculated that there is a factory in China that makes... holes.

It took me back suddenly to the first time I heard of doughnut holes. I was nine, Brother was four. Mom had driven to Tomball during the school day% to pick up a paycheck and she was telling me that Brother had sat at the counter of the Woolworth's§ and eaten a dozen doughnut holes.

I laughed and laughed. First I thought it was some kind of expression, like, "tilting at windmills."

"Oh, that kid. He could sit and eat doughnut holes by the dozen."

Then I thought she was pulling my leg. Hey, I'd heard the Burl Ives song. A doughnut hole is nothing. It's the place where the doughnut isn't. It's air. It's a zen koan of a lack of doughnut.

[SUMMARY: I was young, I was naive in the ways of doughnut holes.]

But the point is not doughnuts.# The point is nature vs. nurture.††

Dork is like gay: you're born that way. Nobody can make you a dork, nobody can make you *not* a dork. You are or you aren't.&

[SUMMARY: How zen.]

The doughnut or the hole.‡‡

BPAL - Seraphim (sin & salvation)

Marin says: For an oil, this isn't bad at all. It's strange how much I like the very banal, very classic^ rose and sandalwood in the middle of this scent. It starts -- like most of them do -- with a very heavy incense smell.@ After a half-hour or so, it's very rosy, tempered by a good dose of sandalwood. I think I'd like it better if it was a bit more rose and a bit less sandalwood, but I kinda dig it. After a couple of hours, it fades to an old-lady aura. Not a bad smell, just not sexy or compelling.

ETA: But... OK, so with the oils, I dab a bit on my inner elbows and I put a healthy drop on my wrists.§§ Then I drip a little down my cleavage. Right this second,¶¶ the waft from my cleavage is intoxicating. To me, at least. I think the scent that doesn't get bruised on the wrist wrests## doesn't get so powdery.

I am so in love with myself right now.

Black Pheonix says: A perfume sacred to the highest of the angelic hosts: calla lily, wisteria, white sandalwood,$ Damascus rose$ and frankincense.

Hans says: That smells like baby powder.* You writing this down? Baby powder.

FOOTNOTE (crossed): With a ripple of the horizon and Wayne's World beedledeedledee noises.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Just to explain why I wasn't there myself.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): She stopped working when I was two, but was never one of those happy SAHM types. Dad wanted to provide, she wanted to nurse. She won.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Remember when Woolworth's had lunch counters? Remember Woolworth's? God, we're old.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Our family is known for its teasing, taunting ways. I come by it honestly.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): It rarely is.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Seriously.

&FOOTNOTE (ampersanded): I am Dork Yoda.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I'm not committing to which part of dork/not dork is the doughnut and which is the hole.

^FOOTNOTE (careted): Not always the same thing, but in this case, classic seems banal.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Is that frankincense?

§§FOOTNOTE (swirling from betwixt my boobs): When I use an EDT, I generally spray it all those places, then on the back of my neck, right near my hairline. Mostly because it's a very sensitive place for me and if anyone is going to nuzzle me, I want them to nuzzle me there.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two little decants, all in a row): One o'clock in the afternoon... about six hours after application.

##FOOTNOTE (pounded like the M on my keyboard): Kim! The glow-in-the-dark pig with 42 hearts smells like a French whorehouse! In a good way!

$FOOTNOTE (right on the money): Ha! Got one!

*FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Hans usually doesn't get to the scents until they've been fading for a few hours. He skipped the rose and went straight to the old lady.

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