Car. Gas. Man smells.

Here's a fun fact: I love hot rods. Muscle cars. You name it. Do i know a THING about them? No. Absolutely not. But I really think that oogling at vintage cars is the overlap in the ven diagram between man an woman. Lay your peepers on these babies from a recent trip to my favorite city, Austin, TX. 

Basil on the Brain

I love basil. I think it's fresh and zippy, and, at the risk of being too abstract, is a great spring gateway herb between rosemary in the winter and mint in summer.

The other day I went to Whole Foods to get my usual post-spin class bison burger patty. Actually, this was only the second time. I rarely actually cook, and I cook meat even less (read:never). When I saw there were no patties made, I went in to a brief state of panic. But I forged on and decided that I could DO this. I would, for the first time EVER, make a burger.

"What should I mix in with the meat?" I thought. And then it struck me, BASIL! I had just had a wonderful basil cocktail at Farina in San Fran a few days prior, so basil was on my mind. For many, this may not have been much of a feat, but for a beginner like me, I felt quite accomplished!!

(For anyone interested, the drink was called the Basil Supreme: Square One Cucumber vodka, basil, Cinzano Dry Vermouth, Sugar)

This Smells Expensive

Well, this morning was sub-par. I'm not gonna lie. So I tried to lift my spirits the way any american woman age 18-30 would do: I bought something that I didn't need that was too expensive. Today's drug of choice was Kinerase HydraBoost Intensive Treatment. (I'll be 30 in a few days so I'm upping my game in the skin care category)

This evening I just COULD NOT WAIT to wash and moisturize my face. Two pumps later I smoothed the soft blue serum over my so-far wrinkle free face. DE-FREAKING-LICIOUS. I searched frantically for the ingredients to figure out what was gracing my nose's presence. (At first it smelled a little like grape juice, but alas, no ingredients fit the bill)

There is some orange oil, but no... the magic combo is in the orange oil and (tiny drumroll) evodia fruit extract.

Well well well, after a little research, I think evodia extract is going to be my new best friend.

Apparently, it helps with arthritis AND headaches. Good for this almost 30 year old to keep in her back pocket.

Where the hell have YOU been?

I can smell that bitch from down the road!

Spring is in the air....and it's cruel

Yesterday I took myself for a walk in the wet, post snowpocalypse defrost. I could smell spring, I SWEAR! But it is still light years away. This was proven by my giant sleeping bag coat I reluctantly wore today. I hate you february.

Pink Medicine

That's what my parents called it. And as a child it came in liquid form. It had a sweet smell, somewhere between candy and disgusting. Anyways I've been taking antibiotics for a sinus infection and just now smelled it... before I put it all together an image of the folks popped in to my head. Thanks m and d.

Chicago and the Chocolate Factory

The Blommer chocolate factory sits exactly between my apartment and my school. I can never smell the chocolate from home, but I can count on smelling it as I leave school in the evening. I wish I could tell you that the smell of the chocolate fills my soul, warms my heart, etc etc etc. No such luck... the consequence of the chocolate factory in the city, is unfortunately quite opposite. You see, by the time the smell of the semi sweet cocoa hits my nose, the hearty, thick scent that I have come to expect from chocolate has been replaced by a metallic tin-like situation. The scent takes a journey through the city streets, all the while, picking up more undesirable scents on it's way: trash, wet sidewalk, more trash, exhaust. So by the time I can smell it, it no longer offers me the soul filling, heart warming benefits of all-things-that-include-sugar-and-butter. It's like falling asleep knowing there is a snowstorm outside, and by the time you get around to playing in it, it's already dirty with soot and yellow with dog pee.

Cigarettes

Smoking is sexy with the right car/super hunk.

Smoking is sexy with the right outfit.

I could even fit cute package design in to my vintage agenda.

There's one particular spot in my apartment that smells like smoke. It lingers right above the bathroom sink. This means every time I go to do something that is for health purposes, like clean my face or brush my teeth, I have to rectify that this activity, for the next year, will smell unhealthy. I live alone, so, unless my dog has taken up the habit, I can safely say that no one is smoking in my house.

For the record, I smoke occasionally. My first cigarette was with my friend Chris, at a high school dance, sitting in the seat of a backhoe on the high school soccer field. (No, I'm not a red neck, yes I felt like a total bad ass.) My current smoker status is totally sporadic. I will go a year or two without a puff, and then one bad day and BAM! I'm lighting up. What saves me from becoming a real smoker is that i actually get a cigarette hangover. I wish I could say I will never ever smoke one again, but that's another blog all together.

I'll be honest in that there are occasions when I do enjoy the smell of smoke:

1. At a large, festive, outdoor gathering

2. When I'm young and impressionable and have a crush on a boy who happens to smoke (primarily, see years 1995 - uhhhh, present.)

3. When I'm in a foreign country, and the smell of cigarettes add to the, um, foreignness of the experience.

The "good " cigarette smells, are really outweighed by the bad, in my book.

1. When people return from smoking in the rain.

2. When people try to cover up the smell of cigarettes with body spray. (Which I oddly don't mind on my friend Sarah)

3. When I'm sick.

4. The smell of a chain smoker's car.

5. The smell of cigarettes on my clothes after being at a party or bar where a lot of cigarette smoking happened the previous night.

and of course....

when the smell of cigarettes creeps in to the most sacred place in my home, and I'm not even the one smoking.

My nose in Italy, it's not about meatballs.

Annick Goutal's Petit Cherie, the same bottle I bought in 2004.
A teeny car parked in a strange piazza, although I don't remember which one. On the corner of Via del Giglio and Via Faenza I think.

Above: Via Cosimo Ridolfi 2, 50129 Firenze, Toscana, Italy

Six and a half years ago, during the spring semester of my last year in college, I lived in the building above. Thanks for taking me back, google maps. I was 23 in this last semester (I spent 5 years in college, go UMASS!) and was looking forward to living in such a historic city, drinking cappuccinos, and going on "la passegiata" after dinner. I did all this, and more, but to my surprise, I did it mostly alone. Maybe it is because most of the Americans that chose to study abroad that semester were 4 years younger and usually drunk. (Underage in America means bottoms up abroad). All I remember were Uggs, lots of Uggs, hot off the press. And juicy couture sweat suits. (you know you had one) I befriended some Italians but my Italian was...eh.

So I strolled and I shopped, oooh did I shop! One day I decided it was time to purchase a perfume by which to remember Italy. I popped in to a perfume shop with a mission. Because I had never bought a real, grown-up perfume, I put my olfactory fate in the hands of the expert. I asked the shop girl to chose a perfume for me. If I were a perfume, what perfume would I be?

She took one look and decided that I was Petite Chérie by Annick Goutal. The perfumer describes the scent as being "reminiscent of a young girl's cheek that you want to lovingly kiss." Well, I don't know about all that, but... I wore this scent walking around a rainy Florence, writing, taking photographs, and listening to Aphex Twin on my first generation ipod. The time spent alone, in such a beautiful place, was pure indulgence. Smelling Petit Cherie now reminds me of the adventure that the 23 year old me started to madly crave. I guess if I had a signature scent of all time, this would be it. I buy new perfume every so often, but this is the stuff that grounds me, makes me feel like I'm walking on cobblestone streets again.

Petit Cherie Olfactory family: Fruity, floral, musky (pear, peach, musky rose, fresh cut grass, vanilla)

Fall in Chi Town: Whiskey 2 Ways

mmmm...meat and cheeeeeese.

Above: The competition.

Above: Home turf. Below: approaching the competition.

The folks I go to grad school with are wonderful. A few of them graciously hosted a whiskey tasting party this past weekend. Our party boasted over 10 species of bourbon, whiskey and the like. I took a quick survey of the spread, and, after mixing myself a Bulleit with Tea, I headed upstairs.

A delightful component of this party was the roof deck on which it was hosted. (See above, weep with envy.) As soon as I popped my face out of the door and on to the roof, all sorts of cermel-ey spicy deliciousness slapped me in the face and yelled, "FALL IS HERE!!" I followed my nose to an outdoor grill, which, instead of the expected burger, was keeping a sweet batch of whiskey cider perfectly warm.

I tried to remain loyal to the bounty of my comrades party, but I couldn't help myself. So I tried a cup. And then i tried another, just to be sure it was as tasty as the first one.

Growing up in Massachusetts, where apple picking is the go-to fall sport, the smell of cider means cold is near. Mixing it with such a wonderful night made the upcoming chilly weather feel just a little bit warmer.

Cheese ball.

The Air is Confused...

I thought this post was going to be about the smell of Indian summer, but I just learned that what I thought was an Indian summer turns out to be just a warm day in September. Oh well.

One reason I love being back at school is that I can walk around the city on a weekday morning and have the city all to my self. I embarked such a walk yesterday morning and the air was decidedly different. It was warm, but not quite summer like. The air was heavy, but not exactly humid. The scent was a mix of city sidewalk, warm brick, and city garden...Oh how I appreciate those 2 ft wide strips of planted anything in the middle of the city!

K's nose thinks...

"There's a particular mould which reminds me of my childhood. Especially when the scent blows in the cool air of a dark basement.

Wow. what kind of childhood did i have?"

What T's nose thinks...

I especially enjoy it when other people tell me what their noses think. I'll be honest, I don't get around to smelling many babies, but I do love the smell of my mom. T sent me this nose thought, along with this photo.

"I love the smell of babies after they shower and they are creamed, powdered and fresh.

I like sleeping with my nose tucked in my mom's armpit. She smells like a baby too.

There is something about that smell that makes you feel protected and there is a feeling of innocence attached to it."

Honky Tonk

Although I lived in Austin for two years, I was never motivated enough to go to the legendary dance hall, The Broken Spoke. Then I left Texas, which left a hole in my heart, and I started going back on a very regular basis. This past visit, I finally pulled on my boots, grabbed my favorite dance partner, and headed down to the honky-tonk.

The photo at the top is of a place at the Broken Spoke lovingly called the "tourist trap". So of course, we ventured in. Immediately upon entering, I could smell almost 50 years of history.... dust, old paper, dry wood, and the lingering smells of liquor and chicken fried steak. Photos everywhere of Dolly Parton, Willie Nelson, and Joe Ely & Kris Kristofferson. Even a token Rose McGowan photo. (?!?)

While current museums show photos of historical events, play relevant music, and even offer up a civil war shot glass or a "remember the Alamo" t shirt, The Broken Spoke offered up a different kind of souvenir: a hangover (come in S, M, L, XL), music to dance to well in to the night, and a musty old library that smelled homage to days gone by.

So sappy. I'll snap back next post I promise.

In closing...

Hot Glue

You hurt so good, hot glue gun. You are the reason I didn't get a single manicure between 1996 and, well, 2009.

The smell of hot glue, which is really just burning plastic, is the smell of getting things done. Something is the works, about to happen. In college, hot glue gun burns were like battle scars, and we were oddly proud of them. A friend of mine who was (and still is) a rower (is that what you call them?) would put some on his finger tips and show it off, like a little kid with chocolate all over his face. This latest run in with hot glue? Well, I just moved, and I just HAD to make new curtains. I do have a sewing machine, but prefer to make hems with a glue gun. These are as cheap as it gets: muslin and burlap.

I gotta go nurse this hot glue created blister on my finger, but I'll do it with a smile on my face.

Fireplace

Soon, it'll be that cozy time of year again. Dried leaves mixed with sunshine mixed with a great new sweater. I got a little preview of a favorite fall smell last week while visiting good friends of mine in their (early 19th century?) cottage. The thing about fireplaces to remember, is that they always smell better/more from outside of the home. This fire smelled great, don't get me wrong, but passing by a house with a fire in the fireplace is sometimes more romantic than being in the house. There always seems to be feelings of envy mixed with feeling of warmth and comfort that are hard to resolve. Hot n cold.

"Oh man i LOOOOVE that smell. Thank you whoever has that fire going" and "damn you for being so cozy in there"

Next time i pass by this smokey treat, I'll try to remember that even though I'm the one out in the cold, I've really got the best seat (in the house... yuk yuk)

Lobsta and Chowda

Back to New England for me... last time for the summer. And what a way to cap it off! I flew in to Boston and drove right up to New Hampshire for the annual Bow Lake Lobster "bbq". I've said it before and I'll say it again, nothing smells New England like seafood.

For some reason, I just don't trust sea food outside of New England. And if I DO decide to trust it, it's because I'm paying dearly for it. So arriving home to this community dinner for just $25 a ticket (2 lobsters, chowder with oyster crackers and lardons, corn-on-the-cobb, rolls, cake, beer...) WITH my wonderful family and boyfriend was just about the best homecoming a girl could ask for.

Plastic Shower Curtain

I just moved in to a new apartment. With this change, comes the responsibility of buying new shower curtain liners. Whenever I move, I always grapple with the decision to buy something cheap and low quality, or buy something not cheap and of higher quality. Inevitably, I do both, and regret my first purchase while making the second one. Such was the case with the first shower curtain, above, purchased at Wallgreen's for 4 bucks. Note to self, not all shower curtain liners are created equal.

Ok well here's my point: There is a particular kind of plastic that this particular liner smelled of. And it's the same plastic these cheap-0 inner tubes are made of. I opened the curtain liner package and was whisked away to summer time memories of floating. It also reminded me that, as a young girl, I thought it would be cool to keep small pets in the inner tubes. Sounds cruel, I know, but I was a kid so give me a break. It's not like I ever did it.

Farm Smells, Part 1

I'll be honest, I'm not sure when "Farm Smells: part 2" will happen, but I know it will. So just stick with this one for now. On my way to work the other day, I had the pleasure of driving behind the silver truck you see here. It had something in it that lives on, or just vacationed on a farm. Up along side me pulled, whatever thing in truck A has for dinner. It was a farm-for-the-road. So I played this song in my car, because it was the first one that came to mind when I felt those farm feelings. It may not make sense to you, but still, it's kind of cute. (if you like kids, which I don't, really, and I STILL think it's cute... ok ok ok I like kids just fine. Calm down. )

Popcorn...again, sorry

This should be more of a tweet, I know, but go ahead and try something: pop some popcorn in the workplace without discussing it first. The response might sound similar to what it's like for the first snowfall of winter.
"popcorn...whose making popcorn?"
"is that popcorn?!?!!?"
"what IS that smell?"

...kinda like no one has smelled it before.