Pleasure Notes

It’s the end of summer, and I’m not quite sure where it went. I don’t feel very conscious in my life at the moment. In fact, this year is moving about as smoothly as a Colorado river overflowing with spring run-off. And I’ve had about as much control of my journey as a leaf would in that rapids-filled river. The weird thing is, that hasn’t been a bad thing. Just scary. And illuminating. Once again, I’ve discovered that the Control Freak streak in me is quite deep. I’m working on it, along with everything else.

Here are this past month’s highlights:

1. Halle Berry. Before you call the tabloids, let me explain. I do not know her. I’ve never spoken to her. But I happened to be at an event with her. I was left with two impressions… a) She is just stupid pretty. I mean, the damn woman GLOWS. Photos do not do her justice. The mind boggles. b) She is super sweet. Truly. Couldn’t be nicer, or more genuine, based upon watching her interact with other guests and staff at the event.
   

   Versace Campaign. Photo by Mario Testino.

   And it’s the sum of a) plus b) that make this a highlight… You see, I’ve been trying to dilute the venom that rises in my gut every time I contemplate the Entertainment Industry of late. Just one too many hacks or straight-out bastards failing upward, and one too few talents recognized, translates into quite an acidic brew for me to shallow. On a daily basis. So, seeing that Ms. Berry is actually kind and humane is like receiving a much needed salve to a wound struggling to heal.

2. A Canuck. Not just any Canuck. One of my best friends. She visited this month, from Vancouver, as she does almost every year. And, as always, it was a profound visit. The kind that includes non-stop conversations, challenging ideas, laughter and tears, and perhaps one too many Cantaloops.
3. The beach. Most New Yorkers don’t visit the Statue of Liberty much. Many have never been to Zabar’s. The same phenomenon happens in L.A. Living here, I find that I don’t go to the beach nearly as often as someone who doesn’t live near the beach would think one should. There’s the traffic, the parking, the pile of laundry that needs to get done. Always something. But every single time I do go to the beach, I am caught again in its grasp and swept away by its beauty and power. Luckily, this month, I actually got to the beach THREE TIMES! And on one occasion, I saw the most devastatingly rockstar, 15-minute display of acrobatics from a school of dolphins. It brought tears to my eyes.
4. A kill. No, I did not slaughter a deer. I simply pursued a long-shot and caught what I was reaching for. I know I’m being vague. Because it doesn’t matter what the long-shot was. What matters is that I followed my instincts, threw caution to the window and took a chance. On someone else. And I didn’t fail. And they didn’t laugh. Pretty awesome. Now, I’ll just have to work on using that same approach on myself.

Scent

I woke up this morning to the smell of ash, a sharp contrast to floral sweetness. The air is heavy with the scent of fire. It is weird, foreboding even. The forest fires that are raging through Southern California at the moment aren’t at my doorstep, but I can see the billowing clouds of smoke, eerily beautiful in their sunset-like glow against the blue sky. The birds chirp here, but I wonder how many of their brethren have lost their homes. It’s never the humans, and their abodes, I worry about (though I wish safety for the firemen). It’s always the animals. And the trees. And the flowers.

My eyes sting. There is a dustiness in my throat. Soot collects on surfaces, even here. It is already hot.

Shortly, I will adjust to this new scent. I will stop hearing sirens. The clouds will disperse. The air will eventually clear. The fires will be put out.

But I can now confirm, I prefer to awaken to the scent of roses rather than the smell of fire, any day.

No, I will not be discussing my dating dilemma. I have a simple formatting question to ask of you all, my dear readers. I am turning to you because I am wallowing in indecision – not an uncommon state, I’m afraid. Indecision is something I wrestle with every day. Sometimes, seeing every option in a given situation is a blessing. At other times, it can make me insane. Which is why, now, I’d like to ask your opinion about a single thing. An element of Pleasure Notes. Without further ado…

In the Pleasure Finds Friday feature, do you prefer prices listed for items or just a subjective budget category?

I know, all that build up, and such little payoff. But just think how much I clearly value your opinion, to dedicate an entire post to asking such a seemingly inconsequential question. Inconsequential to you, perhaps. But, to me, it really is important. I want to make your time here as pleasurable as possible. Not that I’ll necessarily go with the consensus, but I’d like to hear it. I promise, it’ll help me make up my mind!

Oh, and thanks!

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By Generate Design

I love time, how it disappears when I’m having fun and mysteriously lengthens if I’m bored, anxious or sweating profusely in front of a new crush. I don’t actually respect it very often, however. Which is why I love watches. I have a place in my heart for a particular Movado, but until then, I totally did this little cutie, from Generate Design and available in a bunch of different colors.

What color would you choose?

It’s digital, but in all the right ways. The hands and minute marker dot are LED, but in order to make sense of the light, you still have to know how to tell time the old-fashioned way. And if you set your watch like I do, you’ll then have to subtract between five and ten minutes from that. I always set my watches fast. That way, I’m on time… sometimes.

Price: Affordable. Available at Generate Design and other fine contemporary design studios.

At First Blush

All that glitters may not be gold, but it sure catches my attention, and that gets me into trouble. Not the kind that has me trying to accessorize a pantsuit in Sing-Sing. The emotional kind. The kind of trouble that translates into envy, resentment and debt.

I have a pretty amazing life – phenomenal friends, supportive family, engaging employment, comfortable home, adequate health. A sane person could be completely content with that. Hell, I should be completely content with that. However, here’s where my crazy head comes into play. Well, my crazy head and In Style.

You see, the depth and beauty of my life can’t be summed up in a glossy three-sentence bio. It requires inspection to fully appreciate. It isn’t flashy. It doesn’t inspire people to gasp in awe. It doesn’t support many paparazzi moments. i don’t frequent a different restaurant’s soft-opening every night. I can’t tell the brand of a pair of jeans based on its pocket stitching. The glamour quotient is decidedly low.

But I live in L.A., the epicenter of all things glittery and glamourous. This city supplies the tabloids and guilty-pleasure magazines with endless fodder. That fodder is like quicksand. It sucks you in. Or it sucks me in, at least. It is so easy for me to get distracted into thinking that I’m missing out on… something. There are so many restaurants, clubs, bars, openings, events, festivals, and moments that I don’t get to, don’t hear about, or can’t afford. At first blush, those missed opportunities seem so significant.

An emailed Urban Daddy update about the newest Hollywood Hot Spot has me lamenting my life instead of celebrating it. Catching sight of a friend’s new Jimmy Choo peep-toes has me resenting the width of my feet and the size of my bank account. Idling next to a fabulously phallic roadster has me plucking at my fabric-covered car seats. It is pure insanity.

The best medicine to counteract the crazy – aside from meditation, gratitude and a slap upside the head – is an occasional taste of what I erroneously think I want. Dining at a super-trendy, high-end restaurant. Schmoozing at a Joel Madden-DJ’d shindig. Sipping a pepper-infused cocktail in a crowd of men and women who don’t seem to understand the purpose of clothing. It always gives me a horrible case of indigestion.

It makes my life, as it is, look exceedingly rosy.