Nose Knows

I work with a woman who has a habit of smelling everything. She has a nose that picks up traces of things I can't even register; she smells deeply where I smell nothing. Her olfactory skills constantly make self-conscious me worry that I may smell bad. Eh well. I started thinking about smells last week, when I was listening to Lucinda Williams and the song “Essence” came on the iPod. I started to think about the word and its definitions, because I actually do stuff like that. According to Websters, essence has three definitions:

(1) the distinctive characteristic of something
(2) the inward nature or true substance of something
(3) a liquid containing a substance in concentrated form, as a perfume.

To me, smell is the most underrated of our senses, because smells capture memories better than the four others. Smells have the ability to time travel to very specific moments and call them out. For example, when I smell a cedar trunk, I am five years old and it's my favorite hide-and-seek spot, sitting on the really ugly quilt and itchy Hudson Trader blankets that filled it. When I smell a cedar trunk I am warm, adventurous, itchy, scared and mildly diabolical. When I smell pipe tobacco I'm sitting in a red woolen rocking chair with my Boppa and his lap dog and I am safe. Smells have an emotive quality that astounds me. They communicate in a language so intimate and infinite its almost anybody's guess but everyone speaks it.

I got to smell the ocean the other day. I realized that in the past two months the only time I've left Buncombe County was to drive to and from the Charlotte airport. Not really what one would call a great adventure, and really I needed some adventure in my life. So three of us went and smelled the ocean for a day. What a smell it is, isn't it? It is somehow this amalgamation of teeming life and blatant decay, of danger, comfort, salty and sweet. The ocean's essence permeates everything in which it comes in contact. It restores and takes life. We were joking about what heaven would smell like (because I'll be sorely disappointed in there are no smells in heaven. I'd be very bored) and here are the things on my list:

• Freshly washed puppies
• Freshly mowed grass
• One of my ex-boyfriends (seriously, that guy smelled AMAZING. I just sniffed him all the time)
• Hemlocks in the Adirondacks
• The ocean in Maine
• Another ex-boyfriend (incidentally, they both had the same first name but very different smells)
• Freshly washed babies
• Caramelized onions (I actually hate onions, but love the smell of them cooking)
• Campfires
• A true love first thing in the morning
• The air right after a big rainstorm
• The first cold day in the fall when the frost has a smell
• GAIN detergent
• Old books
• Freshly baked bread

There is an essence to things living and it is smell. Then there is the essence of people, the scent that is both viciously carnal and wholly new that breathes life into something already living and adds a completely different view of them. Pheromones are said to dictate who we are attracted to and who we aren't, so smell isn't that strange—it's instinctual what it does for us. My pheromones apparently pick those that end up breaking my heart. My pheromones suck. As I think of heaven as smells, I asked two of my friends what hell would smell like if it were three smells. I had one friend say, “The breath of a man first thing in the morning that you just realized you do not love” and that broke my heart, because that truly is hell. Well, that and dentists offices. And urine. What would hell smell like if it had three smells for you? What about heaven? I am curious, which means none of you will answer this question.

Link of the Week

New favorite blog of the week:
Passive Aggressive Awesomeness
It really speaks to my love/hatred of all things scrawled on notepads.

Drafty

I'm at work, it's a rainy day and you know what I've done today?
Watched the NFL draft on ESPN.com and yelled at the Redskins draft picks.
I mean I can't stand Dan Snyder anyway, but this draft seems to be all over the place.
And cross-checked my opinions with that of the Washington Post writer who kept up with the draft on his blog.
I'm a little obsessed.
Currently they have the 20th pick in the 6th round and I'd like to see the needs at DE addressed, but they did just draft a punter earlier this round so my head could explode.
And you wonder why I'm single...
Ok maybe I wonder why I'm single, ya'll can clearly tell.

(PS they didn't draft a DE like they needed, they drafted Colt Brennen from Hawaii, a great quarterback until he got eaten alive in the Senior Bowl by UGA. Not necessarily a bad pick, but still...D-Line people. Focus.)

'Venture!

Sorry I haven't posted in a while--my weeks get away from me very quickly. That's the problem with having a weekend midweek--I lose the actual weekends and suddenly a month has gone by. I'm always astounded by the date. I feel like life is traveling at warp speed.
I've been doing a lot of manual labor lately and it has been very good for me on a mental level. Working with my hands, getting tired and dirty, feeling sore and bruised: these things truly do wonders for my inner self. Seeing something tangible for progress....it is life giving. It's a challenge and an adventure.
When I worked for AL (the camp in VA) their oldest daughter called every trip a "venture!" and to any option given to her she would ask, "Is it gonna be 'venture?" without fear or hesitation. I would love to be more like that (She was 3 or 4 though and I'm not).
After nearly four years of wear, this morning I finally had my rope bracelet cut off my wrist. I'd wanted to save it for a special occasion, or have it done by someone I loved but in the end it was hurting my wrist so I got Jane to cut it for me with no pomp or circumstance, just between the coffee and the rest of the day. It is odd to not feel it. I miss it. That was a good part of me. Also: it is very small. I can't believe how tiny my wrist is.
I don't know what else to say. To which much is given, much is collected, much is crap and much is worthwhile. Some things never make sense, work they way you think they will, end the way you expect them to or peter out long before your timeline. That's a big, reoccurring thing right now.

Oh Kathleen

K how much do I love Kathleen Edwards? What a great friggin' show last night. She just rocked out the Grey Eagle, she's definitely a lively show, someone who looks like they are just having a blast doing what they do. New album is also worth a listen--she's alt-country future.
I got to talk to her for a bit after the show; we had a lively conversation about lake effect snow, mutual hatred of portions of the New York State Thruway and how The Birchmere (outside DC) used to be a grocery store. I want her to be my BFF. I feel it could happen. She likes whiskey.
Here's her blog. Which I like. Cuz I like her and all. Here's the vid for "The Cheapest Key" but the clean version...enjoy.

Dog in a Pond

Yesterday Jane had the flu and was stuck on the couch. I had the day off and was planning to rip up some flooring but it is rather loud and dirty and probably isn't a good thing to do when one is convalescing in close proximity, so I took Nant (Jane's sweet sweet dog) and we went up to Windy Gap to play and see some people. That dog ran herself HARD. We played lots of fetch, lots of tennis balls into the pond, lots of swimming (which I believe is life-giving to the heart of most lab-mixes). It was a joy just to see her so joyful. I needed something really simple and clearly exuberant to experience and it filled that. She was sound asleep in the car on the way home and had to be given some baby aspirin for her creaky old bones, but I still think she had a time.
I talked to my dad for a half hour last week and it was so much fun and positive and hilarious...he sounded like my dad again. I have missed him sounding like that. Dearly.
Tonight: Kathleen Edwards at The Grey Eagle. I'm pumped. I'm getting some Twin Cousins Alligator Balls (seriously) and a Pisgah Pale and I'm going to sit on my little butt and enjoy some good tunage.

On a completely separate note, I got disc one of "My So-Called Life" which is the first three episodes and here's my confessions:
* I now identify so much more with Angela's mother and her teachers than I do with her. Wow, age. I think, "Angela! Listen to your mom!"
* I now also think that Angela would do better to stick with Brian Krakow rather than Jordan Catalano, because Brian will probably develop good personal skills in college and go on to be very stable, successful and loyal while Jordan will barely graduate from high school and probably won't do anything with himself. And that, ladies and gentlemen, means I may be too old to be watching this show in the same light that I recall it in.

Hamster Wheel

I've been feeling really impersonal lately in the blogging world. And it's a strange world, isn't it?
Often I treat this little slice of virtual real estate as a diary of sorts and the concept that people I know to varying degrees and even those I don't know read it is very often forgotten. I'll vomit up an idea or personal truth and then forget about it, but then I go back and look at previous posts and I'm astounded that I put that out there.
I've had the same email address for ten years now; Yahoo has been a constant and a good friend since the spring of '98. I never clean out my inbox/outbox and so I can go back and read emails I wrote in the earnestness of a 17 year old or the rebellion of a 19 year old and be shocked at how some things haven't changed at all, just the names and the places are different.
Today that sort of breaks my heart.

Teaser for the Day

So I first came across this back in high school and still think it's pretty amazing.
It was originally written in 1940 by a French Professor as an example of how an idea or thought in English can be conveyed using words that sound similar to the intended words. I think it's interesting. So here is the test...what story is being told here?

"Wants pawn term, dare worsted ladle gull hoe lift wetter murder inner ladle cordage, honor itch off lodge, dock florist. Disk ladle gull orphan worry putty ladle rat cluck wetter ladle rat hut, and fur disk raisin, pimple colder Ladle Rat Rotten Hut.Wan moaning, Ladle Rat Rotten Hut's murder colder inset."Ladle Rat Rotten Hut, heresy ladle basking winsome burden barter and shirker cockles. Tick disk ladle basking tutor cordage offer groin-murder hoe lifts honor udder site offer florist. Shaker lake! Dun stopper laundry wrote! Dun stopper peck floors! Dun daily-doily inner florist, an yonder nor sorghum-stenches, dun stoper torque wet strainers!""Hoe-cake, murder," resplendent Ladle Rat Rotten, and tickle ladle basking an stutter oft.Honor wrote tutor cordage offer groin-murder, Ladle Rat Rotten Hut mitten anomalous woof."

There's no reward for getting it right...just the satisfaction of gettting it. Try reading this outloud for both entertainment and for help in figuring it out.

Two Vids for You

So I don't have too much to say...still trying to finish the flooring projects. Ugh.
Anyway, ya'll should have these. The first is misheard lyrics about the Sean Paul song "Temperature" which my friend Brandt and I always joked would be a great karaoke song because it's the most nonsensical thing out there. This is still nonsensical, but it's more fun nonsensical.


And this one...well...it's a satire on hip-hop. It's full of cursing, so just watch where you play it, but it is pretty dang funny. Thanks to Doug for sending this one to me. Now here it is, "Read a Book":



R-E-A-D A B-O-OKAY!

Captain Hook

So...update on the handywoman status:
Phase I: Back bathroom
Ripped out the old vinyl tiles (which I've been "accidentally" calling vile tynils) which only took, oh, a day and a half. I thought my left arm would fall off. Note: I am a lefty.
(But then Margarita, Katie and I went to The Town Pump in Black Mountain to see my friend's band and Margarita got hit on by townies and we got spicy baconators from Wendys and it made my arm feel so much better)
All the ripping out of tiles also took the skin off my pinky knuckle on my right hand, and I manged to hammer my hand a dozen times or so on my index knuckle, so my right hand looks like I got in a fistfight with broken glass. Awesome.
Day two found me finishing the ripping out of the tiles of death, vacuuming water out of a toilet (literally...it's why God invented shop vacs) and dragging the toilet into the living room. To quote Katie: "The TV is right here, here's the toilet and the couch...the kitchen is right there...I may never leave this room."
I then hand scrubbed the floor with Goo Gone to try to rid it of the skicky, which only partially worked. Then came the measuring and laying of the new tiles. And the cutting of the new tiles.
Cutting vinyl tiles requires a special hook-shaped razorblade that can be inserted into a regular carpet-cutter. It's a really bad idea waiting to happen. All the cutting took the skin off my middle finger's knuckle from dragging it across tiles, so I'd have to wipe the tiles off after I cut them cuz they'd be a little bloody. Don't worry, I'm clean.
On the very last tile, at 10:30 last night, I managed to put that MFing hook into the fatty part of my right thumb, on my palm. It's not a horrible injury, but it was bleeding pretty fast and hard and for a while I couldn't tell the extent of the damage (it's a puncture wound about 1/2" long but fairly deep) Jane came running with a towel and bravely finished cutting that last tile.
We didn't have any medical tape, so til this morning my bandage was some gauze and duct tape.
Is it sad to say that I'm sort of happy to be at my inside boring job today, just to rest up from the physical labor?

Blindfolded and Packin' Heat

I haven't been posting much lately, so most of the posts I do manage to get off are a spray of gunfire at the side of a barn; hitting and missing with equal ferocity. And thus I load and fire.

• Murphy and Caroline came down this past weekend for an extended stay and a Bad Idea Girls reunion. Things we learned:

We love to eat. Constantly.
We also enjoy quality beverages
Murphy is funny without trying
I have a molester cat that lives in my house
I steal the covers.
Muffin Top is in Tennessee

We visited Jack of the Wood, Heiwa Shakura, The French Broad Chocolate Lounge, Laughing Seed, Sunnypoint, Mayfel's, Barley's Taproom, Asheville Brewing Company, French Broad Brewing Company, Dirty Jack's, The Thirsty Monk, among many other stops. Wow. I can't tell you how I love those girls. They make living fun. They are so many of the best parts of life. And so what if we aren't necessarily good at darts, and Caroline is still bitter she didn't get to go to high school with Heath Ledger like Julia Stiles did in “10 Things I Hate About You”. It was a weekend so necessary for me—I needed a time of hosting and laughter. I don't feel like I've had enough of it lately. Gunticles. Giggle.

• Saturday night I was sitting in Dirty Jacks with Chuck, Kelly, Caroline, Murphy, Sara C, Margarita, Nate, Anthony, Kara, Doug and Patrick talking and laughing and in that moment I fell in love with this place all over again. This is my home, this is where I'm supposed to be.

• My Cranium calendar on Monday was a science quiz: “What word can be made out of the periodic names for the elements Sulfur, Oxygen, Carbon and Potassium?” and I love that Caroline answered it in less than 5 seconds. (Answer: SOCK)

• I have boy drama once again. How does this happen? I don't try for it, I promise. Things seem to be circling around. Just call me angel of the morning, angel. I appreciate honesty, depth, vulnerability and humility more and more. I used to think what I wanted was someone like me, now I believe it may be just the opposite.

• I'm in the process of re-tiling about half of the house. The back bathroom with vinyl tile, the kitchen, hall and other bath with ceramic tile. I love a new challenge and adventure, love honing skills and love an excuse to get another tool. I could be a very good handywoman. I don't feel like I've worked my brain much at all lately, so at least some physical labor makes me feel that at least part of me isn't spiraling toward atrophy.

• Team name “If Clinton Didn't Inhale Why Did He Come to Asheville High?” won the pitcher at Quizzo Monday night. Now I've been doing Quizzo since July and my team never won a team name until last week and winning it this week as well makes us a practical dynasty. Booyah. (for those who don't know, Bill Clinton came and gave a stump speech at Asheville High School on Saturday night as part of his campaigning for Hillary, hence our joke). Shout out to Jane for coming up with the name. I also won my 4^th shout out question. Ridiculous.

• I've been asked to write something and read it in a wedding in September. I've also been asked to consider becoming an officiant and actually doing a wedding in October. Both of these: totally awesome. I adore public speaking.

• Watched “Into The Wild” on Sunday—read the book back in 1998 or so, the movie was fairly true to what Krakauer did in the original text. Story of a boy with too much intellect to recognize when one simply doesn't know what he doesn't know. Sad. One downside of the movie: Eddie Vedder singing. I have never cared for him. Sorry to offend.