Message in a bottle...reading is a choice

Trust in bottles...and jars

This is not what I should be doing now. Friday is around the corner, and I have a big phd presentation to prepare. It is hot, and my brain has given up on trying to make sense of the 'twisted' art it studies. I've been lost in the abstract terrains of the planisherical grid maps and the pointless vanishing point of a great artist who challenged perception and expectations, objects and space. We are in the 60s and the locality of culture becomes increasingly destabilized as the major political and social events challenge boundaries and question the site-specificity of our focus. The media become newer, and change the location of art exhibition. Road trips, which were defined by the beat generation, shape a new kind of viewer who carries around multiple personal visual stimuli and continuously redefines landscape and mass culture; travels provide opportunities for self-consciousness and idiosyncratic behavior and at the same time critical submersion in the collective effect of the already familiar. Perceptual models were challenged, and our position in relation to the canvas of life was shaken. Man walks on the moon and space is not the same. All these we now take for granted; but it took humanity a leap of faith and a dream. And in this journey there was the very best of us, art, to supply us with trust; as art is the very best version of ourselves, we instinctively trust it takes us where we should go, trust it takes care of us. For some mysterious reason, art has no 'other side' that is out of sight even when the illusionistic conventions of perspective leave something to be constructed in our minds; the trust that it is there, and it is how we want it to be, is what makes art a secure place.

This blog is built around the concept of trust. I assume you read my advice on which product does what trusting that what I suggest may not be correct, but it is the outcome of little knowledge and research, and a lot of acceptance: acceptance of my respect for you, acceptance of my mistakes. Trust will be the outcome of allowing your vulnerability to touch my vulnerability; and this is what will keep us both standing. In this secure environment, let's hope we find a shore devoid of defences.

The Rolling Stones (i can't get no) Satisfaction

Still resisting a face off

I'd much rather have someone's silence than all the "noise" that pollutes my being and is all around me. In that silence, conviction smiles and fervor blooms.
I will explain: Friday night and the official end of one of the most crucial weeks in my work life. The first big test for me in my new job and it came early and it was big! All is good, I proved once more I am a "closer." So, tonight my two friends, one visiting for 2-3 days and the other, the "usual suspect," went out for dinner and drinks. With one ear to our table and the other, the nomadic, drifting around picking up words, and discussions, I once again did what I normally do: listen to other peoples' conversations. I know I am not supposed to do it, but I do it and it is fun. But lately it has become a tiring exercise that confirms my solitude in the predictability of words flying around (another proof that I've been doing it for far too long!). In the table next to us, three guys talking about women, not us three as you would perhaps expect, but their conquests of homeric proportions. We just confirmed men talk more about women than we about men. Then a couple on a first date. That confirmed to me that the vow I took of never-even going on a first date again was the last correct decision I made. All this perfection flying around...this is certainly not the route to love. Love comes dressed in imperfections, shortcomings and vulnerabilities. I wish we could just all be brave for a few minutes and bare our faces and hear our low pitch voice that tells us that we are just so great people but that at the same time we are so imperfect, so insecure, so afraid. I've promised you a "Human geography, part 2" and it is coming; this is a preparatory stage of that piece, which is so difficult to write. But I will, I keep my promises (I like the arrogance of this statement). I am sure it has happened to you too. Admit it! you listen to other peoples' conversations and fill in the blanks, pass judgment and predict the course of the affair. I do it all the time, and the only thing I hope for is that through this indiscretion I learn myself and built up my power to unveil my darkest side. It is like the makeup remover we use at the end of the day, that strips off makeup, dirt and the "face" of the day and exposes our nice, clean epidermis along with its impurities that compose part of our Truth; (the rest is hidden deep in our existence and needs a less gentle face off).

Over the rainbow - my innocence, somewhere there!

The innocence of day cream

I am so happy. I decided to stay home this long weekend to work on a presentation for my phd due in two weeks. Not much accomplished on that front, and although I exhausted all credible and some not so credible excuses (i.e.: clean the house, do the laundry, polish silverware, I have a supermarket scheduled for tomorrow and must wash the car for the first time since August, even starting a small kitchen fire and then clean kitchen again), I still have not done much. I need to add to this that my wireless keyboard has been giving me a very hard time, acting weird, skipping letters, and you probably noticed that on my last entry and I am sure on this too. But the reason I am happy is that while going through some boxes in my study room, I discovered typewritten semi-worked out articles coming from the 80's carrying a lot of guilt for my non-finito pattern; I used to write for a Sunday paper and a couple of magazines and so every day I would spend a few hours preparing new, 'standby' articles. We had typewriters then, so these copies are the only copies that have the imprint of my mind and thoughts at the time. Interesting. And going through those yellowish sheets of paper, I picked a few that I could perhaps transfer here. Most of them for some reason revolve around the concept of innocence, perhaps it was the time I saw my innocence going to my lost paradise...I was 28-29.

Innocence is a concept that comes up in my writings throughout my life. A true romantic, I seek comfort and reassurance in the works of Goethe, Mary Shelley, Oscar Wilde, Thomas Mann, Oswald Spengler, Huizinga, and I search for lost paradise in the game, risk, love and flaneur style of living. And innocence is the concept that is mostly searched in those miracle jars that contain the ultimate elixir of youth: our day cream. The search for the perfect day cream has me, like most of us, emptying my bank account and overcharging my plastic. I have tried them all: the caviar in La Prairie, the miracle in La Mer, the nature in Sisleya. And you will perhaps all concur: they all work for a week or so, and then things are back to normal facing the floor! I am so upset with all the money wasted on these elixirs, I could have had my convertible Alfa Romeo getting dirty out on the street. And one day I wised up and started my research which brought me in front of my miracle: Dr. Hauschka Rose Day Cream. It comes out in two versions with the Light for the Summer. I would advise you to go through the site of this cosmetics brand and you will read the holistic approach of Dr. Hautschka, which in a nutshell allows skin to breathe at night and be protected during the day. I've been using it for three years now, challenging years (47-50), and I can honestly tell you I not only receive compliments but, most importantly, I feel great! And it costs c. 18-28 euros depending where you live. I gave one tube to my mother two years ago and she is now its best ambassador. It does not say a word about miracles but I will tell you something a very chic and famous French lady wrote some time ago: Use a cheap cream to fortify and hydrate your skin and save up the money for a face-lift.

Led Zeppelin - Stairway To Heaven - sometimes words have two meanings

Limitations for liberation

Missed me? I misplaced my inspiration, but I am here now. I started with my favorite lists. It is my method for writing when inspiration is on vacation. I sit in front of the laptop and start with making lists: supermarket list, cosmetics list, to do list...and then, without any warning, words that sometimes make some type of sense start appearing on the screen. This is the method I am using today, although there is so much activity in my head. So much has happened, so many thoughts. But let's go one step at a time. You see, I have developed this kind of life philosophy 'one day at a time-no expectations and no assumptions.' All of us know how difficult it is to shift gear and move from the end of the line as we construct it in our daydreams and our imagination to that philosophy of 'let things happen'; Let life surprise you and try not to compete with life's imagination; just look for those signs that tell you to detour, or shift gear, or break, or accelerate.

It all came back to me that long weekend I took to go to that island and my friend's home. I'll tell you right away, both the island and the house became my paradise. It was the first of many times to come; I am planning to spend some time there this summer and work on a dream have. The weather was fantastic, the food exceptional...all was great! Day one: we arrived kind of late in the day and had to arrange for a mule to carry the 1,000 parcels my friend had shipped to the island. And of course, unpack them and start making decisions as to where goes what. The following morning, I woke up with the feeling that all island mosquitoes had a feast with my blood. Then the big upset: no running water! we tried, and tried over and over, and still no water. An extra water-pump just helped us fill in buckets (all the buckets in the neighborhood) and then the time came for me to take my morning shower. By now you know that this is the biggest most important moment for me in the day. Those minutes in the shower with my favorite shampoos, conditioners, soaps, all fragrant, ohh! the perfect way to start the day (this and my Illy espresso). So, the moment was ruined for me, or wasn't it? My friend left to go to the village, I was all alone, took a big bucket and a pitcher and stepped into the shower. A bit of water on my hair, and body of course, to prepare for the shampoo; cold, ice cold water running down my back, and my front for that matter (only later I realized I could have separated the two-washing my hair and my body; that would have made the whole thing less torturous, but don't forget the bleach effect-the saga continues). Then the difficult decision: how little shampoo could I use to clean my hair but rinse it easily at the same time? Well, a little, very little. And it does the job. I normally put six pumps of shampoo on my head each morning and an equal amount of conditioner and body soap. Just enough to add to the environmental decline of our planet and at the same time contribute to the shortage of water supply. That day, I made the choice that single-handedly probably started reversing the course of environmental destruction: a little bit of shampoo and conditioner (I had to think twice before using it-but took a deep breath and did it, otherwise I would be still be trying to untangle the hair) cold water and so much effort for the one thing I take for granted each morning, my warm running water. I was exhausted as I stepped out and walked to the patio with a towel around me, hair dripping on my back, coffee getting cold, sat on a chair, put my feet on another, and looked up and saw the best view ever! And for one moment I was happy.

The Out-of-Africa-sans-Robert-Redford experience with its limitations reminded me that perhaps the way to liberation goes through the restriction of those things we take for granted. It also reminded me that living in the moment and experiencing in a different way that one thing we do unconsciously and mechanically makes each day stand out in our memory, and our life not a 'bunch of Thursdays'.

P.S. To my competition: I know, I don't have it, but if you do not write I'll catch up with you, and you do not want this...

The Quest for treating body and being...coming up

Nirvana - Come As You Are

Smell down memory lane

A special and emotional day for me today. I don't know how many of my readers have crossed the threshold of 50, but we all know it is not easy. The biggest chapter of our life is now finished and the only thing we can do is open some pages -arbitrarily or on purpose- and try and recall. Recall faces, hugs, smiles, kisses...all the fun stuff, but somewhere there something scary and sad pops in. But this is us too. It has been a difficult few days. I went through a box of photos; there are only a few of me, perhaps no more than 20 but each one with its own web of stories. The one who took it and is gone now, the one I was thinking of and is gone now, the one next to me, again in most cases gone. Bittersweet...and 1-2 surprises; photos I couldn't remember I had.
I hope I don't tire you, anyway I believe may make some of you dearest readers recall bits and pieces of your past.
First it was the years of water and soap, the years of elementary school. I still remember my mother's Shalimar smell. So mysterious and so motherly at the same time. My sweet mom, the first to call me this morning, the one I wanted to talk with the most. Fifth grade and I get my first kiss. I will never forget it. He was perhaps the most unattractive boy. I liked someone else. They are both dead now. The one I liked took his own life about ten years ago. The one who kissed me, the brave young boy who crossed the playground and came right in front of me, took a big breath and kissed me so soft, died of aids about eight years ago. I want you to know I always remember you.
Then the years of my first cologne: Ivoire by Balmain. I was so proud to smell like a young lady and flirt with my first love, Anthony, the gorgeous water polo player, blond with blue eyes, and the best body. We were so much in love, and all we did is hold hand and kiss embarrassed little kisses. But I always remember him when I catch the smell of Ivoire in the air.
Then it was the years of Charlie. The years of California, dorms, singles bars, and the years of my first husband, Ted. We were young, in love and stupid. But I love every minute of our 3year marriage. I stayed with Charlie, even after our divorce and Charlie blended with the hospital smells when I was treated for cancer 25 years ago. Then it was the years of Obsession. Very bad on me, still don't know why I chose it. It attracted my almost second husband Harris, but also gave a boost in my career. I started writing in a Sunday paper, continued teaching and curated art shows. Then it was the years of White Linen and my second husband, Dimitris. Seven years later I am out of both and happy to be single: the years of Iris by Hermes. Spicy, sexy, elegant, unique, stayed with me until two years ago. It saw me through numerous men of no importance to me. And then two years ago, the big change: No men in my life and the best, sexiest most exclusive and provocative perfume: Carnal Flower (Fr. Malle). I've been stopped in the street by men and women to be asked about it. A taxi lady in England was given my purse size Carnal Flower. Havoc, but no men! And a couple of months ago, and for no reason, I was drawn to Bal d' Afrique by Byredo; exotic, unique, it travels you and doesn't even ask you if you want to travel. I know it is taking me somewhere, I know.

At 50, I feel ok. I will tell you, 50 comes with a lot of ironing (spent more than 2 hours this morning), more hours of personal training, less food (this, I hate more than ironing), Bal d' Afrique, plans for new frontiers, an overdrawn checking account, an unlimited Visa which has miraculously reached limit, the search for a new car, a red Alfa Romeo Pininfarina, and as my brother -the psychologist- says, a 25year old gorgeous man next to me... And, as any self-respected woman of my generation would do, a consultation with my guru in Africa (thank God for Skype!) on Tuesday. This is my gift to myself, a search for the Truth that is hidden somewhere inside me and answers to all those questions that logic cannot deal with.

The Soft Skin (Françoise Dorléac & Hayden Christensen. 2)

Alternative moisture

Hello stranger!
I am so sorry I've been out of touch, but in reality I have not moved an inch. Always here. I was just a bit reluctant to write because I'm afraid what I write is futile and vain. It is like painting something you like, really enjoying the process... and you have fun... and you are proud of your creation, and then standing in front of a piece of crooked painted canvas, small, not flashy, with dull earth colors, yet the impression it leaves on you is oh! so vibrant and multi-layered and clear. What do you do then? you just silence. This is what happened to me. At the same time, I seem to have a competitive bone in me and so I decided not to give up but challenge him. And this is what I am doing, I will keep on writing... So, here I am!

The one I am talking about gave me the topic of tonight's entry: How to moisturize your body with shampoo. Obviously this is some short of unconventional approach, totally foreign to me, not willing to adopt. Imagine spreading shampoo and then combine this with living in the most humid place on earth. Bubbles everywhere! Well my friend, you obviously know nothing about cosmetics, but I know you are willing to learn...So here it is, I have a better method, which I discovered the years spent in Los Angeles some decades ago: Johnson's Baby Oil. Do you remember how the other day I was introducing you to Monoi Oil? The process is similar: after shower and while still wet, spread baby oil, massage and towel dry. That's all it takes and little by little you will notice significant change in your skin texture. Imagine I was doing this after a full-time job of sunbathing under the strong California sun. And years down the road my skin is soft, velvety and looking young. Try it and let me know. I'm sorry, I have to go now and prepare slides for tomorrow's class. Competition starts another day...
Bye!

Bleach effects

Hello stranger!
Back again after a short vacation. I was planning to write something completely different, much deeper and certainly more philosophical than this entry. But the events of the day and the realization of the level of my stupidity have dictated an account of the disastrous effects of an obvious overdose of bleach on my hair. I am a rather blondish woman, but you know how this goes: you are never too thin or too blond (and certainly these days, you are never going to be too rich if you keep spending on overpriced hair salons and personal trainers). My recent highlights are to blame for the following, all happening in the course of the past ten days:
1. I saw one of those multiple choice quizzes published on Facebook and felt I should check it out and see what result I would get. But the quiz uploaded was already checked and curiously enough all answers given were number A. That gave me no clue whatsoever; I even went one step further and discussed his choices in a -I thought- rather smart, brainy and sophisticated manner. The following morning, a request to my colleague to find this same quiz on the internet (since the one posted had all the answers inked in already!!!) produced a rather worried and puzzled look followed by the obvious -to everyone but me- explanation: "you just move the cursor!" Of course. How stupid am I, chapter 1.
2. A few days after that, I am in the office with the same colleague, overworked- stressed out, and door closed, I want to speak to the person whose desk is right outside my office. I get up, walk to the (I repeat: my closed) door and I knock three times!!! my door!!! Thank God I did not ask who that was! How stupid am I, chapter 2.
3. Today, a classic example of "I believe the world revolves around me." And unlike some people I know, I do not have a friend to point out to me the obvious, but instead she agrees with me that I am in the centre of the universe. So of course, a very sad message that had absolutely nothing to do with me was regarded by me as a direct announcement. It was not directed to me...no, no no!!! But, I had to respond with a statement of similar or greater gravity and personalize the whole issue.
I just hope my humiliation gave my Dean M. a smile on a difficult day. And by the way, the message stands as is, and I am never going to retract. How stupid am I, chapter 3...or I have lost my head. Dear Dean M., let's exchange friends, and maybe hair color tips.

Time to pack

I've spent the past six years travelling at least once a week, and in most cases by plane. In the beginning the bags I carried matched in number those of Elizabeth Taylor or any other mega-star for that matter. Insecurities dictated almost a pair of shoes per day spent and function attended, my whole closet of clothes and undies, and of course ALL my cometics. But little by little (especially after discovering that I had to carry the luggage without any help from anyone) the number of items carried in them was inversely proportional to the number of plane travels. Little by little the number of clothes matched the number of days away from home, but still the number of cosmetics jars and bottles remained the same. Until the airport liquid restrictions. Then the big change in my packing habits came. Now I travel with one week-ender handbag to avoid waiting in airports for my luggage or even worse losing it. The handbag has one-two change of clothes, one pair of shoes, few undies and just a quart size, zip-top, clear plastic bag with my mascara bomb, the shampoo liquid bomb, and my perfume; well, not exactly. I carry a toothpaste (a travel-size Marvis), a mascara, lip gloss, concealer, travel-size perfume, shampoo and conditioner (in small individual containers), deodorant, and samples of body cream, face cream, face cleaner and, always, my Aesop 'Immediate Moisture Facial Hydrosol' to hydrate my face when in the cabin (we'll talk about it at another time). And this is all I carry; I forgot to mention a book, a notebook and recently my Blackberry to do all my mail and also write.

Oh, and one more thing: among the liquids allowed without any restrictions are in items used to augment body parts for medical or cosmetic reasons (such as silicon breasts).

I was brief tonight but I need to do a bit of ironing, prepare for my trip and work on a presentation. Still, I wanted to be with you! Talk to you tomorrow and the issue will be 'when at your hairdresser'. I have an appointment scheduled and I am sure a lot to tell you. You see, I only go there once every two, two-and-a-half months (I absolutely hate it!) but gives me the chance to make stories of people I watch there.

Sleep well!

Skin vacation

I was reading from Nora Ephron's book "I feel bad about my neck", a rather funny book on ageing and its challenges: " [...]I am never going to become a bag lady. But I am only about eight hours [of maintenance] a week away from looking exactly like that woman on the street," something that I found out the very hard way: About three months ago I suffered from excruciating pain in my arm which started from the right shoulder and went all the way to my fingers and thumb. Excruciating pain and mind you that I do not even blink during bikini wax. The logbook of that adventure reads: Day one: day of negation; spent it popping pills, strong (maybe even illegal) pills. Day two: tried to write (I had a deadline to meet, but we missed each other) and could not even touch the keyboard. Days three and four were spent in bed, totally incapacitated, unable to even go to the bathroom; here I should tell you that I have a useless left arm. It was during weekend, yes this happened during that particular weekend none of my friends were in the city. No family, no friends to bring me even a glass of water, no food in the house (at least nothing cooked), could not call delivery because: a) I could not move to open the door, and b) I, the bride of Frankenstein, definitely did not want to traumatize anyone. Two days without shower, without washing my hair -not even my face for that matter- wearing the same pajamas and crying in pain. And then the pain was miraculously gone, and I could move, go to the bathroom mirror, freak out!!! (bag lady is an understatement) and then start taking care of myself. An hour later, after bathing and drying my hair, wearing fresh clothes and brushing my teeth, I discovered my complexion was brighter, my hair more luminous, my eyes sparkling (my teeth too!) and had lost 2-3 pounds. All it took was a two-day break from any beauty regime for me to look better! How is that possible? Is it the skin's response to a regime vacation? Is it a sort of recharging the skin's batteries? Is it just like what holidays do to recharge spirit and brain? Well, I am taking one this coming weekend, and there is no pain involved this time. Just a couple of days on an island. Of course, I am going to bring along some basic cosmetics, and tomorrow we'll discuss packing cosmetics under recent airport restrictions (yep, the mascara bomb!), but I will pretty much take time off creams and stuff. Well, I will shower and brush teeth, but no more that this. Just suntan oil. Let's see if this works under controlled-laboratory conditions and if the results will be the same like three months ago. I am sure I will eat, because where I am going the food is great, but I will also swim, walk and drill holes on the walls (my friend who owns the house believes I can operate a black&decker!).

Sleep well and talk to you tomorrow.

Jamie Foxx - Unpredictable (It's Sunday and I feel playful)

Longevity of an affair in a jar

Have you noticed how our bathrooms are full of half-used jars and bottles? In most cases when we hit the cosmetics counters we have an avid desire to buy as many and as unnecessary as possible, go back home and try them all. In one evening we may peel off, apply on, smear, spread over and remove everything we bought. And then the next evening, and the next, but pretty soon we'll just forget them all. The jars and bottles will be there, we'll feel guilty and one day they will just go dead. And then at some point we'll spring clean the cabinets and they will be tossed. Of course I do this, but at least now I've put this nasty habit to good use! or this is what I am telling myself.



What makes us go ballistic when in the presence of all these miracles contained in jars? Do we feel more secure when our cabinet resembles the counters of Bobby Brown, Guerlain and La Prairie combined? And then, why do we just give up and stop trying. Where does all this enthusiasm go? Does it resemble a crash that just fades away when we experience it a few times? What happens with this love at first sight after a few dates? Why do we not end up together but instead give up on the affair? Isn't reaching the destination point the ultimate goal? Or is the process -no matter how limited- all that we need? Why is long-term commitment so difficult? And is the one product that goes all the way, the one for us? For me, this is the case, this is the way to test its value. If it challenges me (even if it brings up things I do not want to see, like redness), if it is intriguing (mysterious, unorthodox and unpredictable), if it upsets my normalite, if it is loving and respectful, then I will be completely faithful and devoted. By now you probably believe that I anthropomorphize cosmetics...I don't, although the duration of a relationship depends on similar characteristics: It must do good to us, keep us happy and young, love us, respect us and then we'll be there day after day in a lasting relationship (oops! I just thought of the fact that our favorite cream will be shared by many-many women and I don't think I like the parallel anymore!) But let's assume our effort to find the right cream very much resembles that of finding the right man. Which cream do we trust? The one, the mainstream, that screams "I am the best"? or the one that goes against any preconceived notion and magically makes you trust it? I would go for the alternative option every time!

Yoko Ono Eye Blink - Flux Film 09 (1966)

Time relativism

Hi there!
I am starting with what I owe you; the ultimate moisturizing treatment. It is the "OR, passion Le masque dolce vita" by Odile Lecoin. Absolutely fantastic! A mask you apply on your face once a week (I do it twice-hyperbolic in everything!) and you either leave it on overnight or you put a little bit after morning shower and remove any excess product with a cotton pad before you put on your day cream. Packed with antioxidants it protects skin from dehydration and oxidative stress. You really have to try it, it changed the way my skin looks and feels. Difficult to find, but I am sure you can always order it online.



I am with you tonight along with my two accomplices: cold strawberries and scotch. May 1st today, and my favorite month is here. This beautiful month that rejuvenates nature and us is rather a torture for me. You see, I am a May girl and the issue of time accompanies this month. Time is the main concept that defines cosmetics as they are in the frontline of the battle against it. So, I believe you would agree with me, the theme of the month has to be "Time".

The only thing that is permanent is change. This contradiction, which was in the heart of the previous century, declared that the validity of any calculation or prediction must be based on the relative position of the observer: so, make sure you stand in that particular space where you see me as a girl in her twenties!

Have we thought how much our notion of time has been affected by the use of modern technology? When just a couple of decades ago human communication had an interval of one-two weeks, in which time anticipation would grow and passions would increase, now we expect an immediate response and positioning of feelings. When we were starting to flirt, and a piece of paper would carry on it part of our heart and enthusiasm, we would have to wait for days to either take a breath of absolute happiness or an expression of absolute devastation! Now, a click on the enter button works like a stopwatch and our expectations for immediate response weaken the validity of this response. How relative is time? How quickly do we expect a treatment -like the hydrating mask in the beginning of this entry- to work? Is it with the first application? And what if it does not work that fast? Are we so accustomed to satisfying our hunger with a fast burger on the run, that we use this as the measure of success? Are we so accustomed to the quick elevation of feelings and desires that the success of a prospective relationship is based on the quickness of emotions, honest or not? A hug that only lasts a few seconds can it have the power to built a feeling of certainty that goes beyond time? In the place of an answer, I am accompanying this entry with a video of a blink, just a blink and its uniqueness in time.