A Casa Bonita con Doctor Fatalidad†

You may have heard of Casa Bonita.




You may have heard that I went there last week for Dr. Doom's birthday.‡

Ah, Casa Bonita, giant pink adobe palace of the Queen City of the Plains.




For those of you out of state and unfamiliar, here is what Casa Bonita is all about§:




Tallest, Hairiest Nephew had just learned about the history of Colfax¶ in school that day, so he hipped us to some Casa Bonita facts:

1. Casa Bonita was built in 1973 and opened in 1974.
2. At a cost of $2 million.
3. With no blueprints used.

I find it a little frightening that a place with so many levels and a giant water feature in the middle was built without blueprints.




Casa Bonita has many, many live entertainment opportunities. Cliff divers, shoot-outs, wandering mariachis.




It keeps kids completely enthralled.




Until weaponry is offered.




Anyway, the purpose of the whole debacle was Dr. Doom's fifth birthday.# He requested an Army theme,†† so we had masks and helmets. I believe you've met Brother and Tallest, Hairiest Nephew.‡‡




I'd like to introduce you to the Peach, Dad's fiancee.§§




And I had to ask the FSIL@ if the cake was professionally done¶¶ because wouldn't this be an excellent Cake Wreck?




Of course, everything looks better by candlelight.##




Even Dr. Doom has that soft glow.




Once the candles go off, of course%...




There is a gift shop at Casa Bonita.†††




It looks about like you might expect a gift shop at Casa Bonita to look.




There is also an arcade at Casa Bonita. Apparently, Spider Stompin' is the Whack-a-Mole of the new millenium. If they came out with Spider Stompin' for the Wii, I could probably have the legs of a fencer.‡‡‡




Remember my rant about mash-ups? Not all mash-ups are bad.




†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Yes, I looked up "doom" in the English-Spanish dictionary.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Because I made a *huge* fuss about it.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Note the part where anybody over two has to pay $15 for a really, really bad taco salad to be at Casa Bonita.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I'm making the assumption they didn't include the hookers and blow part of Colfax in that. Then again, as my friend Jeff says, "If you make an assumption, you make an ass out of you and umption."

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): As he got in the Land Cruiser to go home, he said, glee painting every inch of his voice, "I can't *believe* that I'm FIVE!" Go on... make "awwwww" noises.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): It appears the days of Disney Princess Death Match are behind us. Dr. Doom now has a disdain of all things pink and girly. I like to thnk that secretly, in the dark of night, he says good night to each of them, Walton's Mountain-style.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Note the family resemblance.

§§FOOTNOTE (§hingles §uck): Dad was not, sadly, in attendance. I will believe to my dying day he got shingles just to get out of eating Casa Bonita "food."

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Former sister-in-law. Y'know... like FSO, only slightly less likely to drunk-dial at 2:30 in the morning.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (baloons and artillery): While the balloons were done by a professional baker, the tank candles were all eBeth.

##FOOTNOTE (the number of times I got it wrong...): Don't try to pretend you're not floored by the artistic majesty of this photo.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Then again, my flash-phobia leads to some pretty unmajestic work, so maybe it's a wash if you aren't floored by the artistic majesty of the candles but manage not to be wholly derisive about the wiggly, grainy shots.

†††FOOTNOTE (Easter's *over*): Of COURSE there's a gift shop at Casa Bonita.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (tracks of my tears meets tears of a clown, leaving tracks of my clown): Which would go nicely with the swimmer's arms I have hanging in the basement. *rimshot*

Best Fishes and Many Tanks

First, let me tell you of knitting a fish.†

Later, I will speak of Casa Bonita.

[SUMMARY: Foreshadowing!]

This is the Deep Sea Angler Fish by Hansi Singh.





In the spirit of never leaving well enough alone, when I knit the original angler fish, it was roughly the same colours Hansi uses in her model fish. It was also worsted weight and somewhere between baseball- and softball-sized.

Not appropriate at all for a Dr. Doom gift, particularly for a birthday as important as *FIVE*.

[SUMMARY: We have high and specific standards here at the Rickety Blog.]

So I poked around and found Cascade Lana Grande, which is roughly three times the size of Cascade 220 and far more likely to reach the football-sized range I was hoping for.

Also? Improbable colours, not normally found in nature.‡

From cast-on to the mad, sniffling, swearing,§ praying¶ removal of the lure,# it took me about seven hours. Most of the things that seemed intimidating and fiddly when I read through the pattern turned out to be relatively painless and stitch-by-stitch.††

I kinda love this fish.

So did Dr. Doom.‡‡

Let's all take a moment to thank the Holy Cats and the FSM for kids who really appreciate knitting.

[SUMMARY: Amen.]

Anyway, it was a hit and we'll talk about Casa Bonita tomorrow.§§ On the tragic weekiversary.¶¶


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Call me Ishmarin.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Not for some benthic creature snuffling along the dark ocean floor, in any case. Also? Doesn't the full frontal fish look a little like the Ferrari from the other day?

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): See, the pipe cleaner that held the lure up so fetchingly in the worsted weight version didn't work so well in mega-thick yarn. The lure kept flopping over his eyes like Martha Stewart's bangs. I whip-stitched a spine along the back of the lure to stiffen it up (heheheh). No go. I sewed increasingly intricate, tight and architectural anchors from the lure to the fish. Still no go. About two minutes into the lurectomy, I was nearly in tears and spitting profanity, afraid I was going to accidentally steek the fish on the eve of the Big Birthday.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Even if you're not a saint-in-waiting, any kind of steeking -- particularly *accidental* steeking -- calls for prayer.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Somewhere in the fight to get the lure to straighten up and fly right, a nagging doubt that had been niggling at the back of my mind kicked in: when my mom was in grade school, she had a friend who left a wire hanger on her bed, rolled over on it in the middle of the night and poked her own eye out. This has left me with a healthy (I can hear you snickering) fear of wire in things that might be slept with or rolled upon. So, really, I was just as happy not having wires on Dr. Dooms fish, only by the time I came to that conclusion, I had a diabolical web of anchor stitches and a real fear of inadvertently steeking the fish.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Hansi's marvelous pattern-writing is fully responsible for the ease of this project.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): He even put down his glow-in-the-dark, LED-lighted pirate sword long enough to give it a good squish.

§§FOOTNOTE (just a little dizzy): All this sitting up has depleted my fever-soaked constitution.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (quarter note -- because it's a short post. Get it? Yeah, I still think I'm funny): I'm pretty sure that's a word.

Knitwear!

Good? Bad? Ugly? Knit!


{Sarah Backlund via Highsnobette}


I'm so torn. Interesing, to be sure. Funcitional, only on another planet.

You should go check out the whole collection.

Maybe she'll publish the patterns for these...

Kissable

1957 Ferrari 250 Testa Rossa to be auctioned by Sotheby's.




{RM Auctions via Yatzer}

Isn't that the curviest, most lickable little car you ever did see?

It looks positively knittable.

It looks friendly like a muppet, but wicked like a spider.

It looks like something Zaphod Beeblebrox stole.†

Y'all know I have a birthday coming up, right?


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Letting my geek flag fly.

I Live to Serve

Another public service announcement, this one from Dr. Doom† via his mother:

As long as swine flu is a concern,‡ we should wash our hands after petting a pig.§


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Via his mother - at book club last night.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): We all agreed that *always* washing your hands after petting a pig, swine flu notwithstanding, might be a better credo.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): He said nothing at all about licking a pig.

: (

OK, I want blue.

Not this blue. Well, not that header. And the orange star... I don't really want the orange star.

Oh, why didn't I pay more attention in HTML class?

Lorenzo Saves a Barfly

Some days, a meme is just what I need.

Structure.

Guidance.

Further validation† of my presence on the innernets.

The Honest Scrap Award is simple:

Say 10 honest things about yourself, pass it on to seven people. Lorenzo Laurie tagged me.

Now, Laurie's cat was the honest scrap in her blog. Does this mean, I wondered, that I should have Quill, the Cat for Scale, do this? Or should I do it?‡

Being much like King Solomon,§ I decided to do five Quill honest scraps and five me honest scraps. The lucky souls I tag can interpret the rules any way they choose.

Quill:

1. Despite the fact that I regularly rake the door jamb of the powder room, my claws are too long.

2. I can't eat canned food without getting a whole glob of it on my nose.

3. I don't get the fascination with yarn, but circular needles are the best kitty toy ever.

4. She makes me jump for treats. Secretly, I like it.

5. I'm mostly deaf, so I can't hear when you say, "No!"

Marin:

1. Despite the fact that I regularly chip them on work files, knitting, spontaneously while driving... my claws are too long.

2. I can't eat lunch without leaving a memento of the occasion on my shirt.¶

3. I don't know why anybody would knit with anything but circular needles. They're the best knitting invention ever.

4. I pretend that making the cat jump for treats is a training exercise. Secretly, I feel wicked# doing it.

5. I am fully capable of slipping into a knitting-/reading-/thinking-/gazing-induced trance, so I can't hear you when you say, "No!"

OK, who wants it? Nathan -- take a break from perfumery? Tani†† -- you never do any of these things. Jayne -- ditto. Patrick would be funny if he actually did it, but will probably sneer at the whole idea of being tagged. Ally, we haven't done this in the longest time. Sylvia can answer for the House of Fuzzy Crack‡‡ if she wants. And... The Pollyannas.§§


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Something I need deeply and on a daily basis.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Know how I have a book problem? Some of my book problem is a subset of my research problem. If I can't be a saint by the time I die, my Plan B is to know everything. So, yeah, I researched the issue.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): In my own mind.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Horizontal surface, dontcha know.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And sometimes a little guilty. He's 18 -- I probably have no non-sadistic reason for trying to make any an old cat learn any new tricks.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Whose blog is a biiiiig secret.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): If I can do my fuzzy-wuzzy, she can do her fuzzy-wuzzy.

§§FOOTNOTE (two Pollyannas in one!): Who I am now conveniently counting as one, but who can do a tag-team response, maybe including their respective cats.

Aftermath

So the presentation went well, thanks for asking.†

Sitting down and distilling my job‡ into an accessible,§ concise,¶ entertaining# three minutes was a marvelous exercise. I'd recommend it.

If you're unfocused, it can help weed out the chafe.††

If you're feeling small, it can highlight your talents your and many, many mad skillz.‡‡

If you're bored, it can give you something to do.§§

I bet you could do it for any project¶¶ or aspect of your life.##

This has been a public service blogpost. If this had been an actual blogpost, there would have been considerably more fibre, fragrance and dick jokes. We now return you to your regularly-scheduled blog, already in progress.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Some of you did. I'm not making this up.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): The portion of it this client uses, in any case.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): No big words, many analogies, Bob the Builder references...

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): You'd never guess it here, but I am a master of concision. My high school drama teacher told me so after I distilled "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" into four relatively brief sentences without missing a single important point.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because I almost always think I'm funny.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Mix metaphors much?

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Because mad skillz are what you guys are all about.

§§FOOTNOTE (waves of boredom crashing on the shores of mental ingenuity): This may replace the Tom Sawyer Funeral Game as my favourite waiting-at-the-DMV activity.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (bonk bonk): Baby Surprise Jacket, I'm looking at you.

##FOOTNOTE (pounding to the rhythm of the motivational speaker): ...in a VAN, down by the RIVER...

Srsly?

They† want us‡ to give a presentation tomorrow.§

Ten to fifteen minutes.¶

On what exactly it is we do.#

If any of y'all has a clue, could you please let us know before the meeting tomorrow?††

kthx - Bye!‡‡


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Not the US Dept of They this time, a more formidable foe: The Client.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Hans and me.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): When I told Hans, he started talking about Power Point presentations. I gave him The Look. He made the sign of the cross and backed out of the office.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I may have to work on my vamp... a little soft shoe, a little shuffle-off-to-Buffalo... maybe a sing-along.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): If I knew that, it would probably take me less time to get it done.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): 2:00 pm, MDT.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): You know my brain just exploded -- I'm kthxing you.

My Friends at Nintendo Save My Lips

In Nintendo's very successful campaign to be my new best friend, they have sent me another little present.

As always, I picked the box off the front porch and spent five minutes trying to remember who I know in North Hollywood that might be sending me a CD.

[SUMMARY: Proving that some people really never do learn.]

I got my happy, friendly letter from the Girls' Guide to Gaming:




And a very pink and girly Nintendo accessory† with lip gloss‡:




See? My friends at Nintendo don't just want to entertain me, they want me to be beautiful and moist of lip too.

[SUMMARY: Making gaming girly for nearly ten months.]

It's a philosophy I can get behind.


‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): It's a keychain that holds four game cartridges for maximum Nintendo portability.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And a heart! Girly!

Opposites

Yes!

{5th Avenue Shoe Repair via Highsnobette}


No!


{Martin Lamothe shirt dress via Highsnobette}

A Tale of Two Wines

TTHFCIF

At last month's book club, when I was still estranged from wine, Tani served this†:




Unfortunately, I have no idea how good it was, but the bottle is certainly worth the price of admission.‡

[SUMMARY: Proving one can take enjoyment without partaking of the wine.§]

A couple of weeks ago, I was heading to the pay station of the parking lot I frequent downtown and I saw two guys on the sidewalk. All over the sidewalk, actually. They were gesticulating broadly and cursing at the top of their lungs and taking up the *whole* sidewalk.

I secretly hoped they'd be gone by the time I got there.

One was carrying a briefcase. Surely they had to go to work.¶

[SUMMARY: Silly rabbit.]

The Businessman awkwardly opened his briefcase just wide enough to extract a bottle of wine. He and his compatriot proceeded to drink straight from the bottle.

Just as I passed them, Compatriot sucked down the last of the wine, theatrically wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "Chardonnay!" in a gleeful voice.

At the time, I wished I had the guts to take a picture, because I was definitely blogging it in my head.

Lucky for me, people who carry wine in briefcases are not as environmentally conscious as you might want, and the next day when I struck out from the pay station, I saw the bottle sitting there on the sidewalk.




I got my picture. And there is a frog on it. So good things come to those who wait.#

[SUMMARY: Little life lessons here at the Rickety Blog.]

Also worth the price of admission.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And her homemade Tiramisu. From which I was also estranged. It was all very strange, being estranged as I was.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Hint: Admission was free, but don't let that distract from the whole Bitch experience.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The grapes are *still* sour.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): No, and don't call me Shirley.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): ...and are willing to be pushed into the gutter by sweeping arm gestures.

Needle Love from Yatzer

Knitting needles too!


{AtCasa.it via Yatzer}

Fibre Love from Yatzer

My favourite design site has crocheted food today.


[NeedleNoodles via Wool and the Gang via Yatzer}

For Your Dining Entertainment

Sometimes in the oil and gas world, we do acreage swaps.†

Say Bunnykiller Oil & Gas has the oil and gas leases‡ on the red parts and Dead Dinosaur Exploration & Production has the leases on the blue parts§:




For one, Bunnykiller and Dead Dinosaur may not want to work together.

For two, they may not want to or be able to get their own road rights of way or pipeline rights of way from surface owners for two separate and intertwined drilling programs.

For three, the state Oil & Gas Commission may say they can only drill one well per 160 acres, and with those red and blue squares being 40 acres each, it's mathematically untenable for them to get what they want out of the area without being in each other's pockets.

So they draw up an agreement to swap acreage. I believe this even has certain tax advantages. In any case, this is what they might aim to do:




Now everybody's safe in their own little red and blue worlds% and peace reigns in the earth-raping business.@

It sounds really sweet and Disney from your point of view, but Hans and I have to deal with the contracts involved, and they're not standard issue items in our workaday world. Hans, being greener than I,¶ occasionally comes to ask questions or confirm suspicions.

Recently, he did so, using his inimitable Hans style to get his point across.

Now that you have the backstory,# ladies and gentlemen, I give you Hans and the Acreage Swap††:




†FOOTNOTE (crossed): There's a lot of boring educational stuff before you get to the good part.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Because that's how we get the land we drill on -- leasing the minerals. Generally, it's for two or three years and we pay a per-acre bonus up front. Then if there's a well producing in marketable quantities, the landowner gets a royalty on that, usually about 15%.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): I did the graphics myself.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Don't read a lot into that.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Or that.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): By roughly fifteen oil and gas years.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And now you know almost as much about landman work as I do.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Hans is such a good sport. He doesn't only mind when I mock him, he lets me take movies of it.

The Reveal†

As you may remember, a crucial dinner with Dad was cancelled two weeks ago because of the NCAA final.‡ With that postponement, we were left on the edge of our seats as to the questions, "Etcetera... what?", "What kind of trowels exactly?" and "Does Dad have a name for the chicken footed gardening implement?"

Our mutual educations hang in the balance.

[SUMMARY: Antici... ]

The answer to the first two questions can be seen here:




OK, one question, really. I don't know about you, but I can't identify the etcetera in this drawer. I see a pile of trowels and what could be a hot water bottle.§

[SUMMARY: ...pa... ]

But I think we can definitively state that there are no garden trowels in the Trowels, etc., drawer at all, hence, no chicken footed gardening implement.

HOWEVER...%

I did flat out ask Dad about the chicken footed gardening implement, and he got that slightly bemused Dad look on his face¶ and said, "Well... I don't know that there is one... it's certainly a garden [insert international sign language for chicken foot garden implement here]... a cultivator of some kind."

[SUMMARY: ...tion]

I win!

Dad did not have a ready, conclusive name for the chicken footed gardening implement. Brother owes me lunch.#

Funny epilogue: We were in Peach's vast foyer†† explaining the trip to the basement.

"I bet Brother Dad would say, 'Well, I don't know...' and make something up for the chicken foot thing and he said Dad would *know* the name so I won. And we were curious if there were gardening trowels in the drawer, but there aren't. Just masonry trowels."

"There are garden trowels?" asked Peach

"Sure," said Dad.

"They look like a miniature shovel," said I.‡‡

"Ahhhh. And is there a name for the..." she hung out there, apparently not sure about the "chicken foot" construct.

"Well, yeah," said Dad, with a distinct hand signal. "Sort of. It's a cultivator."

"A cultivator," said Peach.

"Yeah, but you have to make the sign when you say it," said Dad, demonstrating international sign language for chicken footed gardening implement for her edification.

In case y'all ever wondered how I might have come by my sense of humour.

[SUMMARY: Your wait is over.§§]

Honestly.

That's how I came by it.

Dad, by the way, is fishing this week,¶¶ so we skip yet another father/daughter dinner.

The gelato level in my blood is getting low and I'm getting mean.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I'm pretty sure "reveal" wasn't a noun before reality TiVi. There's also a chance "reality" wasn't an adjective before reality TiVi.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): For those of you who follow college basketball, I think we can all agree dinner with me would have been WAY more entertaining than that game. We played the odds and we lost on that one.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Could be another trowel. Could be a secret door to the land of Narnia. I can't figure out what it is.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): In my best Steven A. Smith voice.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The familiar and exact look I told Brother he would get on his face.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Any side bets on whether Brother tries to welsh by saying he won because Dad *eventually* came up with a name?

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): You could fit my master bedroom in that foyer.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): ...deftly mixing my singulars with my plurals.

§§FOOTNOTE (tied 'em up in knots): We've just tied up so many loose ends here today, haven't we?

¶¶FOOTNOTE (I really put my foot in it this time): Miss dinner for basketball... miss dinner for fishing. One more abandonment issue and we're going to need to find a daughterly version of "Cats in the Cradle."

They're Reading My Diary

Or my mail.

Converse a les Crocs

Want.


{Jalou via Highsnobette}

Available only in France.

Do they even *have* crocodiles in France?

And with the American lizard skin industry in dire straits, you'd think a quintessentially American icon like the Chuck Taylor would keep it close to home.†

Think globally, act locally, people!


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Yes, I know they're not real crocodile skin Chucks. It isn't funny if we stay within the parameters of reality.

Is "Old News" Oxymoronic?

And who are you calling a moron?†

Ah, it's a good thing I'm here to laugh at myself. I mean, I know all y'all are laughing at me, but I'm laughing because I think I'm funny.

[SUMMARY: I take what I can get.]

In last weeked's Travels with Shanny, we witnessed this gem:






"Do you suppose if Jesus came back now, he'd say, 'When *I* was crucified, we didn't have any wheels on our crosses. Oh, no, we had to drag our crosses through the alleys of Jerusalem with no help at all! Uphill both ways! And my father went *right by me* on his way to work!'"‡

Then we took a seat to watch the weirdos and tourists§ drift by and I saw this sign:




In all my years wandering up and down the 16th Street Mall, I never noticed this sign. I told Shanny so.

"Hey," he said, "Do you think they'd arrest the guy with the wheeled cross?"

[SUMMARY: Shanny's going to hell. I'm gong to hell.¶ The arresting officer would most certainly be going to hell.]

Sometimes you just couldn't make up anything funnier than what's floating around out there not trying to be funny.

*************

Black Violet - Tom Ford Private Blend

Marin says: Lime... or bergamot, maybe,# with something else fruity -- I'm going with apricot, since it's one of my favourite notes and is just a little drier than peach, for these purpoes. My wrists feel warm -- not in a burning, allergic way, but in an electric blanket, comforting way.

We know the citrus isn't going to last long, since that's citrus's lot in life. That scent boosting it up, pushing it over the edge... vanilla? Amber? Warm and sweet, but a little dusty and not sugary. It has a moment of flirting with bay rum.

And there goes the citrus.

Now I smell like a Barbie doll fresh from her package, the scent I generally get when there are violets in the offing.†† That's quickly overcome by a blond wood. Not sweet, not balsamic, but definitely woody.

And... scene!

In the time it took you to read this, the scent went almost completely away. My wrists still feel warm, but it's very difficult to find the slightest trace of a scent left.‡‡ It's a shame -- I really liked the scent, very well balanced, intriguing, with some of my favourite inoffensive notes§§ well represented.

Tom Ford says: Crisp Citrus$ surrounds a modern pulpy Fruit Accord,$ fused with Black Violets.$ Woody$ accents fold into Oakmoss adding the universally comforting sensation of warmth.$

Hans says: it smells like an Abercrombie & Fitch cologne someone got me in high school.¶¶


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I should know better than to ask that.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Wow. That's so deep you could do a doctoral thesis on it.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Probably a good thing. I'm not sure I want to go through an afterlife without Shanny. Hey, if you make saint, do you get to appoint a cabinet?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I only throw bergamot in because half the time when I think I smell lime, the perfumer tells me it's actually bergamot.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Epiphany: it's interesting how many perfume notes take me back to some childhood toy: Barbie, Play-doh, Silly Putty...

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): If I put the tip of my nose right at the bottom of my hand with my nose-holes perpendicular to my wrist, nothing. If I lay my nose-holes right on my wrist, I get a surprisingly full snork of violets and wood.

§§FOOTNOTE (twisted sense of smell): 'Cause we all know how I feel about honey.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (A&F models, staring off-camera to the sea): He didn't say whether that was bad or good, but he did allow as how he had ended up with maybe five bottles of cologne through his lifetime, but had probably worn cologne twice.

$FOOTNOTE (on the money!): I'm claiming apricot as "modern pulpy Fruit Accord" and I'm mildly freaked out that the warm thing may be a feature of the blend rather than just my own reaction. Those KY his 'n' hers commercials keep going through my head. Also? Some day I'm going to get a bead on what oakmoss smells like...

It's Just a Jump to the Left

Unlike toast, throwing texts won't damage the movie screen, but would MST3K be nearly as fun without Crow and Tom Servo?

p.s. -- I think this is a great way to end a Friday.

ETA (8/29/2010): In visiting this post much later, I find when I click "play," I get a message that says the video has been removed by the user... whatever the hell that means. It's still on YouTube and you can see it here if you're so inclined.