What's that smell?

Sense memory is a strange and wonderful thing.

When I was a little boy, my mother used Pacquin Hand Cream all day, every day. Mom has always had a problem with dry skin, but her hands, which she used all day at the factory, and then continued to use at home while cooking dinner and cleaning, would particularly suffer. Pacquin had (and I'm sure still has) a very distinct fragrance. It's medicated, so the perfumes mix with the menthol oils and form something wholly unique. Unfortunately, I've inherited Mom's dry skin issues, but that's another story. Anyway ... Mom would buy Pacquin in bulk ... 6 or 7 tubs at a time. There would always be unopened tubs in the linen closet, just waiting for their chance to medicate and soothe. It's really thick stuff, too ... almost like paste.

My brother Michael and I would lament dinners with salad served as a starter, because when Mom would toss the salad, she'd use her bare hands. And more often than not, those hands had just been blessed with the medicinal goodness of Pacquin Hand Cream. I'm not sure about anyone else, but Michael and I were never able to develop a fondness for Pacquin salad dressing, so we'd cringe when we'd see the salad bowl in the middle of the dinner table. We'd always cut our own slices of bread ... pretty much always do anything for ourselves that would otherwise require the Hand Cream Queen to touch something. Don't get me wrong -- my Mom was a bang-up cook and we always loved dinner ... but those salads! ACK!!

So this morning, my co-worker stopped by my desk to chat, suss out the day, and gather things for her first appointment. She was wringing her hands together, and I could tell she was simply rubbing in some lotion ... working with paperwork all day has a tendency to dry out one's hands, and I do the lotion thing a lot, myself. As we were chatting, I caught a whiff of her hand cream, and was instantly transported back 20-odd years to my childhood.

"Are you using Pacquin Hand Cream?" I asked.

"Yeah ... it's the only thing that works for me," she replied. "It's lightly medicated, so my hands don't crack."

I laughed and told her my story. She laughed along with me and then slowly developed a quizzical look, tilting her head to one side and sighing.

"I always make salad with my pasta dishes, and of course, I mix it all up with my hands. And now, my daughter won't eat her salad with dinner anymore!" she said. "I wonder if it's because of the hand cream?!?"

I tried to muffle my guffaw, but it didn't work.
"It doesn't have a particularly pleasant taste," I said, and we both laughed again.

Mom has since moved on to other hand creams ... Bag Balm, Udder Cream, and other such greasy concoctions she swears by, praising their therapeutic values. I tried the Bag Balm once, and maybe I'm just a perv, but it reminded me way too much of wanton nights with an industrial sized tube of lube. I'll stick to my Aveeno, thank you.

My favorite spam email of the day:

Extraordinary Tranny GangBang!!!

Masterful.

Some random bits of goodness:

• Goodbye, "Chicken Little!" I'm so glad Kevin Covais is gone from American Idol. Buh-bye, Kev. Miss you already. Not.
  
• My sister Julie finally sent me her recipe for Chicken with Rose sauce ... and I'm a happy boy. It's a tasty concoction that brings joy to all who consume it. I'll be making it next week.
  
• It's come to my attention that no one is more self-righteous than a former sinner who has found his salvation in the Lord ... except perhaps for a former smoker who is now "smober." Yes, we all know smoking is bad for us. Give it a rest, and shut the fuck up already.
  
• I've developed a small crush on one of the maintenance workers at the office. He's nothing spectacular, looks-wise, but he's definitely attractive ... and his sweet nature and boyish grin only make him moreso. Sigh. The triangle of furry goodness that protrudes above his undershirt doesn't hurt, either.
  
• Have I told you lately that I love caffeine?
  
• My sister-in-law, Kathy, is having a rough time following her latest chemo treatment. For some reason, I'm finding it difficult to make myself call her and chat. First of all, I don't want to tire her, because I know how exhausting the chemo experience is on its own. Secondly, and most disturbing to me, I'm tentatively terrified to hear her in a weakened state. For as long as I've known Kathy, she's been a powerhouse of feminine energy and stamina. I'm dumbfounded that this has happened to her ... and I just don't know how I'll handle this, emotionally. And how fair is it to her for me to fall apart, you know? So I've been sending cards on a regular basis ... even though I feel more and more ashamed of myself with each envelope I seal ...

catch up

So I was felled last week by a killer bout of laryngitis-coupled-with-a-head-cold. It was NOT pretty ... nor was it fun. With that in mind ... the Idol recap isn't happening. It's too late now, anyway. I'll just throw my votes behind Mandisa and Chris (yummy) and let it go this week.

Saw V for Vendetta over the weekend. I enjoyed it. I was especially impressed with Natalie Portman. I've always liked her. Most people discovered her in The Professional. I didn't see that movie until years later. The first time I noticed Ms. Portman was in the vastly underrated Ted Demme gem Beautiful Girls. She was (and I sound like such a cheesy gay man right now) incandescent in that flick. All of 15 and captivating -- it's my favorite performance of hers. Anyway ... Vendetta was a bit all over the place, but I liked it. Interesting, for sure.

There was an older couple sitting behind us who really just about got bitch-slapped. They'd take turns sleeping ... and SNORING ... throughout the movie. I have a very very low tolerance for such bullshit, but when I first noticed the snoring serenade, I thought it might just be "me," and I was going to ignore it. Then I noticed Tony noticing it ... so I breathed a sigh of relief and thought to myself "This is why I'm starting to prefer to watch movies at home." A total of three different people complained to the manager, but it did no good. People suck.

Matty is doing well following his appendectomy.

I had a great job interview last week and am just waiting for some good news. Keep those fingers and toes crossed for me.

I hate James Blunt. And that Daniel Powter song makes me want to retch, as well.

mea culpa

I've been working on an American Idol recap for entirely too long, now, but I just can't get to it today. I'll work on it tonight and post it before the new episiode airs tomorrow night. All apologies.

I love Southern Comfort.
I love music.
I love comic books.
I love Audrey Hepburn.
I love Vivien Leigh. I think she's the most stunningly gorgeous woman to have ever lived.
I love the temporary feeling of euphoria one gets from drinking a rather substantial amount of Southern Comfort on a week night. :-)

Man, depression is a BITCH.
I've felt so down tonight. I can't shake it. And oddly enough, I can't put my finger on what's causing it. I just want to crawl into bed, cover my head with the blankets, and sleep until 2009.

So how 'bout that Crash? Wow. I'm still speechless. What a huge, huge upset. Don't get me wrong -- I love the movie -- but I can't believe it swiped the top award. Of course, the Oscars are a very Hollywood affair ... and Crash is a very Hollywood movie. It has a massive number of speaking roles ... it's a film that holds a mirror up to the LA scene and shows a very unflattering image ... and it's well-made, well-written, and a top notch production. So sure ... give it the Best Picture Oscar. But I guarantee you that in a few years, people will call its win over Brokeback a "fluke" and maybe even a "travesty." I won't go so far as to say I feel it's a travesty ... but I still think the wrong film won.

Elsewhere -- no real surprises, except for "It's Hard Out Here For a Pimp." Are you KIDDING me?!? I loved Jon Stewart's commentary: "For those of you keeping score -- Martin Scorsese, zero Oscars. Three-6 Mafia, one." Unbelievable. How "hip" of the Academy. ;-) And you KNOW that's what they were all thinking when they checked that box on their ballots. Honestly, though, there wasn't a really memorable song in the bunch ... hence the three instead of five nominees.

Yay for Phillip Seymour Hoffman. Wonderful actor. Solid performance. Not the best of the year (that honor belongs to Heath Ledger), but the perfect type of role for which to award the Oscar. His body of work is very admirable. And he has that "aww, shucks" factor when he speaks that's very endearing.

Reese Witherspoon looked gorgeous and gave a lovely acceptance speech. I knew she'd win. I recently watched Walk the Line at home on DVD, and it convinced me that she deserved to win. I'd seen the flick on the big screen and came away from it thinking "nice work, but not so sure if it's Oscar-worthy." Totally changed my mind during my second viewing. She comports June Carter with dignity, vivacity, charm, humanity, and skillful wisdom. Her June is truly torn over her failed marriages, her growing love for another woman's husband, and displays a humble grace when dealing with her own talents. I loved her performance.

Okay, so I still have a little crush on George Clooney. He's the Cary Grant of his time... without the bisexuality. :-)

Rachel Weisz looked radiant and was gracious and lovely at the microphone. Haven't seen her film, I'm sorry to say, but from what I've heard and read, she's apparently the best thing in it. Here's hoping the award brings her more screen time. I could listen to her speak for hours.

I thought Jon Stewart did a fine job as host. The Bjork/Dick Cheney joke was priceless.

Dolly Parton, whom I adore, looked like a weak facsimile of herself. Lay off the botox and plastic surgery, Dolly. Geez.

I noticed a real trend toward very glamorous, "Old Hollywood" gowns ... and it was nice. Cream and/or nude seemed to be the color of choice. Standout females for me were Jennifer Garner (whose breasts looked fabulous, thank you very much baby Violet), Reese Witherspoon, Zhang Ziyi, Sandra Bullock, Michelle Williams, Keira Knightley, Felicity Huffman, and Nicole Kidman.

Until next year ...

BTW

What in the name of MC Skat Kat was wrong with Paula Abdul last night on American Idol??? Sure, no one's ever accused Ms. Abdul of making sense, but ... WTF?!? All I know is I want whatever it is she's taking.

What? I've been gone for a while, you say?

Bless me bloggers, for I have sinned ... it's been entirely too long since my last blog entry, and for that, you have my apologies. Things have been insane at work (par for the course), and just about as insane at home (ditto). Excuses excuses ... who needs 'em?

Anyway ... some rambling thoughts:

I was surfing Billboard online yesterday, checking out the singles charts, and was pretty shocked that I recognized maybe two songs out of the entire top 20. Who ARE some of these "artists," anyway? Someone -- or thing -- called D4L had a number one hit at one point. Names like Dem Franchize Boyz (featuring Da Brat, of all has-beens), Daddy Yankee, T-Pain, Ne-Yo, and Cascada were attached to tunes all over the Hot 100 ... and I don't know who the hell any of these people are. Of course, I've not listened to "popular radio" for years ... but you'd think I'd have heard of at least a few of these acts just by accident. I'll stick to my iPod and pray for the day all this rap nonsense goes away. I'm sure I'll be praying a very, very long time.

I think I want to have Chris Daughtry's babies. Jesus Christ that boy makes my pants pound. And he can sing, to boot. As much as he turns my crank, I think I'd go with Mandisa if I had to choose my favorite Idol this season. But damn -- Chris just keeps getting better ... and you could bounce a quarter off that ass ... and get back two dimes and a nickel.

So there are numerous reports online and in tabloids that Clay Aiken has been engaging in cybersex for quite some time. One of the rags is even running what appear to be screen caps of Clay on his webcam, along with some raunchy chat exchanges. Who gives a shit, right? Right. While I do think it's kinda sad that tabloids have a field day with this kind of crap, I have to say ... did he actually think no one would NOTICE? Please. Sounds like Mr. Clay really wants to be outed to just get it over with. But please ... no one should be even remotely surprised that Clay is a big fag. He irons his spiky hair, for Christ's sake. And all one has to do is watch a Kathy Griffin special to hear some fabulously faggy bon mots about the Gayken.

I have a sneaking suspicion that Santino is going to win Project Runway. Argh. He's evil. Well, okay, maybe not evil ... but he's definitely a tit. I can't believe I'm addicted to another fucking reality show. At least it's only got one more week. And regardless of her snub of Jay and his Emmy dress, I still worship at the feet of the gorgeous Heidi Klum.

Even though I'm not overly psyched about the Oscars this year ... I still freakin' love the Oscars. I wonder if Reese will cry when she wins?

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