Taking me back.

Some people say that olfaction is the strongest of our five senses: it is hugely responsible for how we taste things, how we respond to the opposite sex (or, in some cases, the same sex), how we remember moments in time that may or may not have meant something. Sometimes, the memory is strong.

For me, there was this one very particular company that made a pine-scented candle. It was the only candle ever made that actually smelled like pine needles. All the others smelled of bad chemicals (and still do). I'd start to find it on shelves in October (you know, when all the Christmas sales start), and it would disappear from the shelves by mid-December. When I first discovered this candle, I was looking for a scented candle that would smell like pine, so that no one would notice (well, so I wouldn't notice) that the depressing two-foot tall plastic thing I'd set up wasn't actually a real tree. Ok, I know I wasn't fooling anyone, but gee, that candle just made me so damn happy.

When I was growing up, I remember sitting behind snowdrifts and beneath the pine trees where the ground was bare, making forts and being intoxicated by the smell of fresh pine sap. I would pick pine cones right off the branches and get raw sap all over my fingers, and it would take hours to get the stickiness off. It was a simple joy of childhood that still has the ability to make everything under my skin smile.

Having real Christmas trees in the house every year (except for the two or three awkward years where my mother actually thought she was saving the world by not cutting down any trees and bought plastic ones), is a memory I will always cherish: Mom and Dad lightly arguing over how much it's leaning to one side, or which bare spot should face which wall, or all of us pulling strands of cheesy silver garland through the boughs, and all up to that magical moment when we'd turn down the living room lights and plug everything in.

I remember sitting beneath those glorious, sparkly towers of odoriferous magnificence, waiting patiently for the bubble lights (which my mother still proudly displays to this day, thank you) to start bubbling. Most nights I'd fall asleep right next to the tree like that, lights out, Christmas lights on, Christmas music coaxing me gently through happy child-dreams.

These memories came back to me every year, with that one simple scented candle. It was pretty damn special. I haven't seen that candle in years. If I ever find it, I'm buying the whole dang store.

So what got me thinking about memories and all that was that, contrary to what I've heard, I do not usually associate my strongest memories with a scent. Indeed, for me, it's music. Always has been. Some songs (or a particular album) bring me back so strongly to a particular moment that it's often hard to listen to it. Sure I might think it's a good idea at the time, but as soon as I hear the first few notes, the floodgates open and I'm transported to the exact thing I was wearing, who I was talking to, where I was standing, what the weather was, and ultimately, what I was feeling.

I tried to explain this phenomenon to someone once when I was a young lass, and the guy I was talking to said, "Uhh, I think that's called nostalgia?" Yes, he was being sarcastic. I wasn't that young, and I really should have known what the definition of nostalgia was.

We were listening to Talking Heads' 77. I was a passenger in his car, wearing my pink Chucks (freshly inked). He was driving too fast along Route 565, a curvy tree-lined country road. He was about to turn onto his street, which was still dirt and unkempt and rife with mud-filled potholes, and I was cringing at the thought that I was about to be thrown around in a bucket seat. But ultimately I didn't care, because the leaves were so damn green, the way everything looks just after a good rain, and the sun pocked the ground with light, and the music was great, and we were about to meet up with a bunch of friends that I loved, and we were going to see Monty Python and The Holy Grail for about the fifth time, maybe even this time at my house.

Good stuff.

Fever.

Holy CRAP it's hot. Khan's brain is boiling and he's attacking me. Like, my face. He's scaring me a little. I don't know what to do about it. Crazy weekend. Life is sweet.

Khan just attacked my face again.

The good wife's guide. A modern interpretation.

Taken from "The good wife's guide" (previous post). Original text in italics.

Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have be thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good meal (especially his favourite dish) is part of the warm welcome needed.

Have your nanny order Chinese 20 minutes before you return from your hard day at work. Nothing is nicer to come home to than a hot box of noodles. If you are running late, tell your husband he can take that shit you didn't finish last night out of the sub-zero and nuke it himself.

Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.

Do a couple of easy Sudoku or Monday crossword puzzles on the way home. This will help clear your head of all the shit you had to deal with all day long and prepare you for all the shit you are about to deal with.

Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.

Invite your hot friend Jennifer over for some late night drunken wrestling. If you have kids, slip them each a valium so they won't wake up and disturb you. Slip your husband a couple, too.

Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives. Run a dustcloth over the tables.

Kick the toys and shit away from the doorway when you walk in.

Over the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.

Set the mood with your gas fireplace. Fall asleep watching American Idol.

Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Encourage the children to be quiet.

If the children and/or your husband are all yelling at each other, try screaming at them at the top of your lungs to get their attention. If that doesn't work, strap on your iPod and go for a run. Run for about a quarter of a mile, until you get to O'Mallory's. Don't come back until everyone's asleep. Or the next day. Whichever is the latter.

Be happy to see him.

Drink a bottle of Jack. And then give him a BJ.

Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.

Drink a bottle of Knob Creek. And then give him a BJ.

Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first - remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.

Nod and smile. And then tell him to take out the trash. Remember, good communication is the backbone of a good marriage.

Make the evening his. Never complain if he comes home late or goes out to dinner or other places of entertainment without you. Instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure and his very real need to be at home and relax.

If he wants to enjoy a night out with his friends, use the opportunity to check out that new male strip club your friend was telling you about. Bring your friend Jennifer with you.

Your goal: To try and make sure your home is a place of peace, order, and tranquillity where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit.

Kick the shit off the stairs on your way up to bed.

Don't greet him with complaints and problems.

Don't immediately tell him to take out the trash.

Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or have him lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.

Pour a nice glass of bourbon for yourself. Look at your husband sleeping in his La-Z-Boy. Go get your vibrator and call up Jennifer.

Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.

When you're on the phone with Jennifer, speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice so as not to awaken your husband.

Don't ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.

Tell him he's an idiot as often as possible. After all, you're the one who caught him cheating with his new secretary. You own his ass.

A good wife always knows her place.

Whatever.

It is your duty to put a ribbon in your hair.(Or, why all my marriages failed horribly.)

This gem (below) was forwarded to me by my mother. No, it wasn't a hint. Instead we discussed how very real this scenario was. Her mother was like this. All her friends' mothers were like this. A working woman was an insult to a man's ability to provide!

While I may be a little on the old-fashioned side when it comes to kid-raising (and barn-raising.. and maybe a little hair-raising), I am 100% committed to making sure that this is a part of our history that stays in our history. It was a dangerous time, like any dangerous time that thrives on the oppression of a race or a gender. Can you imagine having a partner for life, with whom you could never truly be yourself? And who you were expected to serve? What? NO. Maybe that's why it doesn't ever work out for me. I expect to have a partner-in-crime, a friend. I expect to spend my time with someone I "get" and who "gets" me. I expect to have someone to make plans with and laugh with. What I don't expect is to become someone's scullery maid.

I suppose that a lot of men have this residual expectation of women, a disease that hasn't yet been fully wrung from the genes of the few generations that proceeded it. And as long as we have old jackasses like this still in office, making laws, we will never see an equal rights amendment passed in to law. We will never see marriage be protected as a sacred union simply between two people who love each other. We will never live in a society where it isn't a sin if your marriage doesn't work out. Or better, where it isn't a sin if you choose not to get married!

So while the below seems to be a fake, the exact real text is said to be from a textbook on home economics for girls. So honestly, whether it's in a textbook (more dangerous, if you ask me!) or in a magazine, it's still just as disturbing. And yet, funny.

[click to enlarge]

Back up. Sorta.

Right now, the sky has indigestion and there is a spectacular afternoon thunderstorm rumbling all around me. Of course, I had to immediately go outside and walk around in it. Nothing is better than a wicked summer storm. Well, maybe except if I were watching it from the beach, which I used to do all the time, and now that I'm thinking about it, really miss. Sigh. When get a car... oh the things I'll do!

So the computer is (mostly) up and running, hence this post. A few more things to tweak, and I'll be working at full tilt. Anyone need a website? Some illustration? Design work of any kind? Anyone?

Meanwhile, The Cooper Hewitt National Design Museum announced its winners for the 2006 National Design Awards. I was not one of them. (Give me some time!) A couple of my former teachers, however, were. Mrs. Laura Bush sent out an invitation for a luncheon in honor of both the 2005 and 2006 recipients, held this past Monday, July 10. At the White House. Here is the letter my kick-ass teachers sent her:

Dear Mrs. Bush:

As American designers, we strongly believe our government should support the design profession and applaud the White House sponsorship of the Cooper Hewitt National Design Museum. And as finalists and recipients of the National Design Award in Communication Design we are deeply honored to be selected for this recognition. However, we find ourselves compelled to respectfully decline your invitation to visit the White House on July 10th.

Graphic designers are intimately engaged in the construction of language, both visual and verbal. And while our work often dissects, rearranges, rethinks, questions and plays with language, it is our fundamental belief, and a central tenet of "good" design, that words and images must be used responsibly, especially when the matters articulated are of vital importance to the life of our nation.

We understand that politics often involves high rhetoric and the shading of language for political ends. However it is our belief that the current administration of George W. Bush has used the mass communication of words and images in ways that have seriously harmed the political discourse in America. We therefore feel it would be inconsistent with those values previously stated to accept an award celebrating language and communication, from a representative of an administration that has engaged in a prolonged assault on meaning.

While we have diverse political beliefs, we are united in our rejection of these policies. Through the wide-scale distortion of words (from "Healthy Forests" to "Mission Accomplished") and both the manipulation of media (the photo op) and its suppression (the hidden war casualties), the Bush administration has demonstrated disdain for the responsible use of mass media, language and the intelligence of the American people.

While it may be an insignificant gesture, we stand against these distortions and for the restoration of a civil political dialogue.

Signed,

Michael Rock
Susan Sellers
Georgie Stout
Paula Scher
Stefan Sagmeister.

Sweeet.

Defenestration.

Unbelievable. I finally get to a place where I can really get going with this business.. and my computer decides to up and quit. I just can't believe how rotten this is. Especially the timing. Trying to hold the head high... and not cry! Shot off a bunch of "please bear with me" emails. And now, the deed of wiping everything must be carried out. If you don't hear from me for a while, that's what happened.

Hawke, out.

Lois Lane is not an elf.

After having seen SR again last night, and without going into too much nit-picky detail about what I didn't like (I'll leave that to my Superman-obsessed friends), I'll give this artless review: I liked it. A lot. Not a favorite of all time, but certainly a favorite of recent. Enough to see in all formats (i.e. Digital, IMAX, Drive-in).

I have one major complaint that is worth mentioning (aside from that awful wig and those awful colored contact lenses), only because it really does bother me a lot: Kate Bosworth as Lois Lane.

She's a beatiful gal, that Kate Bosworth. No denying that. And she was really excited to be cast as Lois Lane. And she studied the films of Katharine Hepburn to prepare for the role (a smart decision, to be sure). But did she pull it off?

I read somewhere that she initially refused the role, as she was concerned that super-fans would be forming lynch mobs and screaming for her head. Not her exact words, of course. I highly doubt this happened. Refuse a role in a guaranteed blockbuster? Harumpf. Or maybe that's proper Hollywood etiquette: refuse a gigantic role in a blockbuster film and let the director chase you a little. Maybe like the Japanese tradition of refusing gifts thrice before accepting; doing so beforehand is considered rude.

Also worth mentioning is the fact that Kevin Spacey had a huge part in her getting the role to begin with. Kevin Spacey, who had worked with Bosworth on Beyond the Sea and had already secured the part of Lex, recommended Bosworth to Bryan Singer. Bosworth was placed on a short list of the following actresses: Elisha Cuthbert, Keri Russell, Claire Danes.


Oh sure, they're hot. But Elisha Cuthbert and Keri Russell (and Kate Bosworth, for that matter) kind of have the same elfin look about them. And they are all totally wrong for Lois. Who decided that this "look" was Lois? Lois as an anorexic elf? Lois is not an elf! And Claire Danes? What?

Lois is a strong woman, a modern woman, a woman who won't settle down. Well, except maybe if she happens to get knocked up along the way. Which she did. She should be a little rough around the edges, a little irritating, and yes, feisty. Watching Kate Bosworth was like watching honey drip. Too sweet. Too slow. As much as she tried, and she did the best she could to be sure, she is just too damn nice. Lois is neither an elf nor is she anything at all like honey. And she is definitely not "nice."

So, let's give some struggling actors a break here and trust that the Superman franchise can hold its own without relying on "big names" to boost box office. People are going to see it regardless. With this in mind, here is the short list of women who have yet to break it in film, and who I'd recommend for the next Superman movie (assuming they can all act) before this elf thing goes too far.

1. Morgan Webb (Huge geek factor.)

2. Evangeline Lilly (Smallville alum and currently on Lost.)

3. Kelly Brook (Another Smallville alum and likes to take her clothes off.)

4. Jennifer Hawkins (Miss Universe needs a JOB.)

And that's my short list. I've limited the selection to women under 30 because, as a friend pointed out, they'll need someone who can hold up appearances for eight years or so, you know, for the next batch of movies.