NOTES: mandarin, guava, lily, violet leaves, Genet flower, mimosa, jasmine, honey, amber, sandalwood, vanilla, iris

As a fan of Coach purses, I couldn't wait to try the perfume by Coach.  Actually, I must have been living in a bubble, because I wasn't even aware that such a delicacy existed until a few days ago.  I immediately found my way to eBay.com to purchase a sample vial, and the rest is history.

CLASSIFICATION:  Feminine, floral

AGE GROUP:  Perfect for anyone

SIMILAR SCENT(s):  Perhaps can be associated with a classier, way more appealing version of Estee Lauders Pleasures.

FORM: Eau de Parfum

I was not expecting this perfume to be even remotely pleasing to me.  Not to stereotype any one that likes Coach products, but I usually envision the typical Coach fan to wear a more "classy" perfume than I do (I am a fan of fresh, fruity and light floral fragrances), and hey, that's a compliment! From reviews I read, however, it seemed as though Coach created a perfume that could possibly appeal to everyone.  I think they just may have succeeded.

Instead of being strong or too offensive at first application, Coach is a slightly sharp (although still pleasing) floral fragrance.  The sharpness wears off, and a tart floral scent remains.  The scent is not as light as my usual preference, but I definitely did not catch myself wrinkling my nose in disgust.  It is a very cool, bright scent that can easily be dressed up or down.

Coach is neither too young or too old-fashioned, and if anything, the biggest fault that I can find is that the scent is not very unique... it's just a tart floral with some aquatic notes.  However, in trying to find a fragrance that would be suitable for women of all ages, uniqueness is not really an option.

I personally feel that Coach did a wonderful job creating this crowd pleasing fragrance.

As an Eau de Parfum, I had absolutely no problems whatsoever with the lasting power.

REPORT CARD

(We highly recommend reading our guide to understanding our grading system if you haven’t already)

First sniff (bottle): B

First sniff (skin): B

Worn scent: B

Staying power: B

Scent as compared to note(s): B

Bottle: B (special edition bottle = A++)

Overall: B

Although nothing truly unique, Coach for Women is a pleasing floral scent that is intended for women of all ages.  It can be worn in every season, and can be dressed up or down accordingly.  I personally will not be purchasing this fragrance to add to my collection, as it is not quite my style, but I was surprised and very happy with what I sampled.  Good job, Coach.

Fluff Piece

Its a writing

With no edge at all

Some would call it evasive

Below all the fuzzy softness

Is always a more cutting thought

Dog bites man or man bites dog is news

A man loves a woman and shows her a kindness

Is never news unless it involves the Hope Diamond

The hidden fact is all lives taken in a sweep of time

Contain every emotion ever felt from elation to

Severe unbearable pain that sears the soul

In my fluff piece softness survives

Tenderness reigns above all

Dreams become reality

Pain and tears are

Banished into

Oblivion

]]> http://padairvanvleck.wordpress.com/?p=70 Sat, 19 Jul 2008 15:06:06 +0000 padairvanvleck http://padairvanvleck.wordpress.com/?p=70 SOUNDS OF SPRING

It’s said my dogwood murmurs
But the sound comes from bees
As worker-bees stuff pollen
In the pockets on their knees

9/12/00 Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

MIMOSA MAGNIFICENCE

Mimosa fans, edged in pink,
Arrayed in dainty clusters,
Float on down like whirlygigs
Or mini feather dusters.

7/12/00 Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A MOMENT IN TIME

Fragile gossamer wings
Dip to kiss a dandelion,
Creating a minuscule breeze
And an explosion of tiny parachutes

8/3/90 Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

1'st ... Arkansas NPD 1990

I do love seeing the Mimosa in bloom…especially in the wild like here in the George Washington National Forest…

© 2008 D L Ennis, All rights reserved.

NOTE: Permission for the use of my images is granted for personal websites and blogs but is to include a link back to this site and proper credit given to me, D L Ennis. Link to be used...(Visual Thoughts http://dlennis.wordpress.com/)

NOTE: Commercial use, and the creation of prints, must be purchased! For more information you can contact me here.

No hay nada en la isla. Puede ser. Para estas personas, les mandamos la crónica de un fin de semana común y corriente, en la isla, a breves dos horas —o menos— de remo desde Rosario. Sin alcohol —no vino Hernán—, sexo, pastillas, marihuana ni nada de eso. Un campamentito sólo para descansar, como hacemos cada fin de semana. Lo cuento como cuando escribo en mi libretita. No se enojen por los errores o la letras que me como.

-----------------------------------------------------

Abro los ojos. Es de mañana. Sigo mareado. Pensé que se iba a pasar con dormir un rato. Pero no… ahora duele más. Descubro un pequeñísimo corte en el parietal izquierdo, y en el labio inferior. Espalda otra vez sobre la cama. La radio un ratito. Programa sobre arte urbana, o algo así. Habla Carlos Galli, el director de la revista El Vecino. Habla mucho. Duele la cabeza. Sábado a la mañana y alguien que no para de hablar. Apago la radio. Los sábados deberían ser silenciosos. Toda la semana estuve escuchando gente que habla y habla —conferencia ecologista, los consejos de Calixto, teatro, mis alumnos, personal docente, los dentistas que trabajan en mi casa, mi mamá, los ladridos de Maleva—. El sábado no. 

Todo adentro de la mochila. Ropa, más ropa, libritos y la libretita. Listo. Toma la bicicleta y arranco a lo de Nacho. No puedo seguir la línea de brea de la calzada. Voy en zigzag. No está bueno.

Nacho me dio las tapas de su kayak. Ahora a visitar a mamá. Por la avenida no porque me van a llevar puesto los autos. Hola, ma. Te traigo la ropa sucia. Qué te pasó que estás como borracho, me pregunta. Nada. Tuve un problemita en el centro, anoche. Te emborrachaste, insiste mamá. No, ma… me quisieron robar y me pegaron. Pero, hijo… Nada, ma… estoy bien. Ya me revisé la cabeza y no tengo nada. Ni un chichón. Y esos cortes, pregunta llorando. Chau, ma. Me voy al río. No tengo nada. Querés unas facturas, me pregunta. Sí. Qué bien. Me llevo las facturas.

Pasamos un barcito llamado Popeye. El dueño, Julio, era proxeneta de los empleados de la conexión Victoria-Rosario. Él les llevaba chicas por las noches. Las buscaba de la villa miseria donde doy clases. Hace rato que Julio no aparece por su bar. Algunos dicen que fue asesinado. No lo sé.

En el Lugar están acampando Mati Chico y mi tocayo silencioso. Nos saludamos. Preguntas típicas de los kayakeros: ¿Se quedan a la noche? ¿Dónde van? ¿Hace cuánto que están? Típicas.

Se fue el mareo. Qué bien. El río cura todo. Casi todo, porque a lo que ando añorando, no me lo hace olvidar ni el rumor del Guayra. Pasando el viejo hornito de barro, unos amigos de Leonardo lo saludan. Él los invita a venir con nosotros, ellos dicen que no. Sole, con cara de enojada, les dice que ella no muerde. Los chicos ríen. En el AKU —donde acampaban frecuentemente los antiguos miembros de la logia— nos saluda Dobson —ex Combatiente de Malvinas al que respetamos muchísimo—. Preguntas típicas. Pasamos un hermoso sauce a punto de ser devorado por el río y un viejo llamado Federico le propicia piropos a Sole. Debe ser el calor, que altera las hormonas. Llegamos a los alisales cercanos a la Boca de la Milonga, y Sole y Leo no hacen más que pelear. Sopla el norte: viento de los locos. 

Cuando pasamos el Primer Zanjón, ellos discutían sobre si es bueno o no ser celoso. Unos chicos, en sunga y con la piel blanca como la teta de una monja, le dicen a Sole que no son celosos, que bla bla bla. Sole les dice que ella ya tiene dueño. Yo les pregunto si están disfrutando los últimos días de la semana por el Orgullo Gay; ellos ríen y dicen que sí. El calor nos libera a todos.

La tarde nos encuentra en el segundo zanjón. Qué lindo día. Juntamos leña, preparamos un sábalo para cocinar a la noche, y nos pusimos a matear. La tarde se va lenta y llega el frío.

El sábalo salió muy rico. Limón, pimienta y sal.

Paz en la noche. Se oye un urutaú y unas lechuzas. Una estrella fugaz gigante se desarma en el cielo y cae en pedazos. Magia. Estuvimos muchas horas cantando y riendo.

Desde abajo, los troncos de los sauces se ven colorados por el fuego que no se ha apagado. Me he tapado. Envuelto en la bolsa de dormir. Hace frío. Leo y Sole discuten a lo lejos. Qué densos. Debe ser el frío.

Yo pienso. Pienso. De a ratos estoy contento, de a ratos mal. Pienso en el suceso de anoche, cuando me golpearon en el centro. Pienso en el error que me mandé esta semana con un niño en la escuela —una especie de mala praxis pedagógica—. Chispas que suben lentas, que esquivan las ramas más bajas de los árboles. Hace frío. Lo siento en la cara. Leo y Sole callaron. Al fin. Entonces veo otra estrella fugaz que pasa brillante por arriba de nosotros. Los ojos se cierran.

Todo es siluetas oscuras. Toso. Del fogón sólo queda un tibio rescoldo debajo de las blancas cenizas. Los ojos se cierran.

Por qué no te vas a mear más lejos, pregunté. Qué pasa. No eran humanos. Mucho ruido. Una chancha enorme con su cría. Había chanchitos por todos lados. Le grito desde el suelo y se van. Cierro los ojos.

Leo se enfurece con el ruido que hizo la chancha.

Mis alumnos están en la puerta de la sala de maestros y me dicen que no entre. Chicos, los reto, tengo que ir al baño. Los hago a un lado y paso igual. Oscuridad. La luz está cortada y no encuentro las perillas. Veo solo sombras en esa habitación. Voy hacia el inodoro y atropello algo en el camino. Quejido largo, lento, bajito. Un suave lamento que llegaba de lo que acababa de pisar. Los ilumino con un encendedor y descubro que son extraterrestres. Dos. Viejos y cansados. Te trajimos las cosas para tu último viaje. Ya no vas a volver de éste. Señalan un costado, y logro diferenciar una mochila muy grande. Frío en la rodilla derecha. El extraterrestre que me había hablado vomitaba sobre mi pierna. Pobrecito. Tose y me pide disculpas con los ojos rojos de dolor. Mi rodilla tiene vomitada fría de un ser de otro lugar. Siento mucho frío en la rodilla. Asomo la cara por la bolsa y veo que el aislante ha quedado lejos. Rodé varios metros y tengo las piernas apoyadas en una chapa fría y mojada por el rocío. Ruedo para regresar a la colchoneta. La bolsa de dormir está mojada a la altura de la rodilla. Frío. Sin salir del saco, extiendo la mano, alcanzo el poncho que uso de almohada, y cubro mis piernas para zafar de lo mojado. El tarro de la cámara de fotos será la nueva cabecera. La luna aparece. Es una sonrisita menguada. Los ojos se cierran.

Ruido. Quiero orinar. ¿Es de día? Otra vez la chancha y su piara joven. Está al lado mío. Recojo las piernas, preparo un impulso y PUM. Patada al cuarto derecho. La chancha grita y corre. Lleva una bolsa en la boca. Algo robó.

Los ojos se cierran.

Una silueta en la costa. Qué hacés, mono, le pregunto a Leo. Meo, responde. Tirale unas maderitas a las barazas, así se arranca otra vez. Hay mucha neblina y va a quedar todo mojado.

Los ojos se cierran.

No resisto. Tengo que orinar. El alba empieza a rayar lentamente. Todo es neblina. Avivo el fuego. Escucho un motor, y la lancha se acerca a la costa. Voy bien para los Meones. Va bien, sí, hago eco a su pregunta. Porque nos perdimos por acá. Sí, pero va bien. Cuando pase el rancho, empieza a meterse en el brazo. Va bien, pero ojo con los troncos y los arenales.

Le niebla no permite ver a cien metros.

Preparo el mate. Amanece. Yo soy el primero en levantarse. Y las facturas que mandó mi mamá, les pregunto. Estaban acá. Recordé la chancha con la bolsa en la boca. Leo me confirmó la pérdida del alimento.

Salimos a caminar por el albardón. Recorremos las lagunas escondidas, y llegamos al campo abierto. Qué bueno. Lleno de patos y aguiluchos. Pasamos varios terraplenes hasta dar con un enorme charco. Sobrevuelan dos chajás, y una cigüeña nos mira de lejos. Decenas de patos bajan a buscar el agua, y el sol nos permite una ligera siesta. Leo encuentra una yarará en el pasto. Son hermosas. La gente, por bruta e ignorante, las mata. Son muy venenosas, pero jamás atacan. Son animales maravillosos.

Son muy venenosas, pero jamás atacan. Son animales maravillosos.

De vuelta al campamento hay que volver a los mates y pensar en el almuerzo. Unos fideos con una cremita. Muy sencillo. Muy rico.

¿Para qué más?

Siesta al sol. Qué lindo.

A mi casa urbana porque tengo que volver temprano. Qué mal.

Mañana es lunes. Ya llagará el nuevo sábado. Mientras, habrá muchísimo para hacer en estos cinco brevísimos días que faltan.

¿Pára qué van a la isla y se pasan allá todos los fines de semana? Si allá… si allá no hay nada.

A MSTF Partners criou para a Mimosa a campanha de lançamento do seu novo conceito: o Índice Glicémico (IG), que é um parâmetro que mede a velocidade de absorção dos açúcares.

A campanha será veiculada em televisão, com um filme realizado pela Tangerina Azul, na imprensa e no ponto de venda. A direcção criativa deste trabalho foi de Susana Sequeira e Lourenço Thomaz.

Kick off your round of celebrations with free mimosas and massages, courtesy of Massage Master Liz, this Saturday, June 28th. We'll be setting up around 11 am (that means morning-time!) and you are more than welcome to come on by, even if you have to drag one of us dithering and drooling from the massage chair to get your fair share of rub down action. Hooray for Pride!

OsMoz Notes:
Top: Bergamot, Geranium, Hawthorn, Hyacinth
Heart: Mimosa, Rose, Violet, Lily of the Valley
Base: Cedar, Sandalwood, Amber, Heliotrope

Date: 6/24/08 Weather: 75 degrees, sunny, humid

Comments: Starts out pleasantly green and rosy with a hint of violets. I can see why this is considered a benchmark rose fragrance. Within 5 minutes, it becomes rose geranium soap. Gaack!!! It takes about 45 minutes and a healthy walk for it to settle down into a mildly soapy floral with a healthy dose of lily of the valley. The amber and the vanillic scent of heliotrope also begin to make an appearance. About 3 hours in - more amber and woods. Hint of green rose. Gone in 6 hours.

Now Smell This
Perfume Shrine
Basenotes
Grain de Musc

(Puffing into paper bag.)
(Violent shuddering.)

Let's just lay it on the table.  Babies R Us terrifies me.  I'm sure it's a great store, a great company, but what's inside sucks out my soul and makes my eyeballs explode.  So many colors, so much kid glitz, and a whole aisle of nipples!

(Hyperventilating.  Again.)

So I procrastinated until the last possible moment before making the trip to the local mecca of all things for small humans twelve and under.  To share the horror, I dragged the programmer along.  He was skipping out on the shower festivities to go to Europe (Jazoon) without me, so I had to torture him before he escaped the continent.

Typically, when I enter the shrine to children's materialism, I put on mental blinkers, because inevitably I get pulled down some other aisle in order to oooh, ahh, and scratch my head in confusion at what are today's toys.  Most things seem over-sensory complicated and cheap.  And please don't get me started on the "make every little girl a princess" aisle.  I now know where the world's supply of pink tulle goes.  Of course, what do I know about toys?  As a kid my favorite game was to have T-Rex eat naked Barbie (and Barbie was always naked) and then everyone would get thrown from tree branches as they committed suicide (a game an aunt taught my sisters and I).

Back to adventures in baby paraphernalia land.  I have memorized the baby section location.  More importantly, I've memorized where they shelve the boppies.  Probably between 9 to 11 of my friends have received boppies.  They're easy to identify and are on everyone's registry.  The problem: I'm bored with boppies.  Maybe I'm ready for the next level of shower gifting.  That, or blame it on the mimosas.

The last shower I went to was only half a step away from being a wedding reception.  Fancy hotel, brunch, decorations, and best of all:  a mimosa open bar.  This shower made it worth going into baby hell Babies R Us.  And then across the room I saw not one, but two, tiered cakes.  Yes, cake before noon, I was in heaven.  Then the shower came to an end.  No dessert.  Was the expectant mama going to keep all that sugar for herself?  I sidled up to the table thinking maybe there were slices around it; I'd just missed the announcement due to being glued to the mimosa station.

I felt like complete dumbass when I got closer.  The cakes were made of diapers.  Arts and crafts masquerading as sugar and fat.  What a let down.  But the concept was interesting (more mimosa-induced fantasies probably).  Moms-to-be usually only register for one or two boxes of diapers but I'm sure they go through tons.  They may just register for all that other equipment because they feel bad making people buy something their little darling is going to crap in.  But really, they probably just want hundreds of boxes of diapers.  And this wouldn't bother me at all.  I love practicality.  I like to try and give people what they really need.  So this cake of diapers was definitely a way to give a new mom what she really wanted but make it look pretty.  So I've decided to try it for Saturday's celebration of reproduction.

Retrieving and dragging the programmer out of the video game aisle (and only getting distracted by the board games for fifteen minutes (I swear)), we headed to the adjacent Target after I deciphered from the registry what brand of diapers my friend desired.  I lost the programmer along the way (Borders and some excuse about needing coffee), but I forged on to Target and the diaper section.

Where I stood in awe.
And confusion.

When did diapers quit being called diapers?

Now they're swaddlers and cruisers and easy ups?

I spent a half an hour chewing my lip in indecision between sizes, weights, and whether or not to get the sensitive skin versus brillo pad tough skin.

I did make it out alive, just as the programmer showed back up.  His response to the box I showed him.

"What the f%$^& is a swaddler?"

Hell if I know, but it better be related to a diaper.  Regardless, I'm making a cake out of them.

1 g de cire d'abeille
1 g de cire de riz
1 g de cire de carnauba
10 flocons de cire de mimosa
10 ml hv de coco
6 g de beurre de cacao
1 bonne pointe au couteau d'oxyde de zinc
10 gouttes d'extrait au choix (ici j'ai utilisé chocolat blanc)
3 gouttes de vitamine E

Pigments :
2 ml d'ocre rose
3 ml de mica brillant
0.5 ml de mica cuivré
Quelques brillant à cosmétique "vieux rose"

Mélangez l’huile, le beurre et les cires ensemble au bain-marie. Lorsque le mélange est tiède, ajouter les pigments, le mica et les extraits . Rempli environ trois petits tubes de 9 g. Il est un peu plus foncé à l'application mais devient très tendre après quelques minutes !

Etiquette à venir !

10 flocons de cire de mimosa
10 petits morceaux de cire d'abeille (environ la même quantité que mimosa)
2 bonnes pincé de cire carnauba
5 c.moka de beurre de karité
3 c.moka hv de coco
1 cc de substitut végétale de Lanoline (anti-âge et protecteur)
1 cc de miroir de sucre (effet gloss) *facultatif
1/4 cc de gomme guar (pour ajustez la texture à votre guise)
4 gouttes de jus de betterave (pour colorer)
10 gouttes d'extrait de coco
5 gouttes d'extrait de framboise

Faites fondre les cires, l'huile végétale et 3 c.moka de beurre de karité. Incorporez le mélange, lorsqu'il est un peu refroidi, au miroir de sucre et substitut végétale de Lanoline. Lorsque le tout est bien mélanger laissez reposer 5 minutes et ajoutez les 2 c.moka qui reste de beurre de karité, la gomme de guar, la vitamine E, le jus de bettrave et les extraits en fouettant énergiquement. Voilà votre petit sorbet est prêt à être mis en pot !

Vous pouvez varier facilement la texture de ce mélange en ajoutant plus de beurre de karité et moin de miroir de sucre... à vous la créativité !

Vous pouvez imprimer cette étiquette pour agrémenter un peu votre pot !

Vi auguro tutte le cose che auguro a me per questo uicchend.

Baci sparsi e una canzoncina propiziatoria a voi.

Now this restaurant is more than just a dinner place however, they do a weekend brunch that in my observation draws a far larger crowd than the dinner does. Their brunch is nothing special and in fact comes with numerous frustrations due to cost cuts, but it has one saving grace that brings people (even me) back over and over again, unlimited mimosas! Once you order one ($6.00) mimosa, the staff will continually refill it as many times as you want. And I will be honest, you'd expect with a deal like that that the mimosas would be extremely watered down, and yet it is not the case with these at all. These mimosas are certainly well balanced. But on the other hand, many aspects of the brunch leave you unfulfilled. For example a table of two and a table of four both receive the same number (4) of mini-muffins when seated. I personally believe that when providing a sample a muffins there should be at least two of every flavor and at least two for each person. Worse than that, when my table ordered a second serving of muffins (to allow everyone to sample each flavor), we were charged ($6.00) and received the same number. Beyond these side notes, the food itself is not bad but is over priced for the quantity. In reality it is a breakfast/lunch masquerading as a brunch. The last problem with the brunch stems from the flexibility of the menu to accommodate different types of patrons. When the college kids come down to enjoy unlimited mimosas, they establish an environment that annoys and disrupts the families who are presumably there for the food. I have been a member of both types and over the past year have noticed a decrease in families there for brunch versus dinner.

Before getting into the ranking I will conclude by saying that despite my criticism I am a return visitor (I mean you can't argue with unlimited mimosas) but I only go for dinner when the weather is too rough to make it the extra distance to Acqua on Amsterdam and 95th (to be reviewed, check back soon).

The Ranking (for explanation, see “Review Key”):

Food: Two Straws (nothing special for dinner and its brunch items are disappointing).

Price: $$$traws, Expensive (minimum $30-$35 for a two course dinner and a drink).

Atmosphere: Casual and welcoming (but very noisy during brunch).

Overall: 2 Straws (the food is good and the brunch has its moments but overall there are better places to go).

The Details:

Website: http://www.regionalnyc.com/

Location: 2607 Broadway, between 99th & 98th street, Manhattan, New York.

Phone: (212) 666-1915

Reservation: No need. Open Table

Dress: Casual.

Hours:

Monday- Wednesday: 5:00pm- 11:00pm

Thursday & Friday: 5:00pm- 11:30pm

Saturday: 11:00am- 4:00pm Brunch, 5:00pm- 11:30pm Dinner

Sunday: 11:00am- 4:00pm Brunch, 5:00pm- 10:30pm Dinner

Judite de Sousa, Ricardo Pereira e Helena Sacadura Cabral são os nomes que se associam à campanha de mupis da Associação Portuguesa de Osteoperose, que arranca hoje com a mensagem ‘Beber Leite reforçado em Cálcio Todos os Dias é a Maneira mais Fácil de Prevenir a Osteoporose’. O objectivo é informar o público sobre as características da doença, numa acção criada pela DDB Lisboa, com direcção de arte de Paulo Ramalho e copy de Catarina Ramos. A acção conta com o apoio da Mimosa.

© All rights reserved

These neat little pink puffballs are growing along our driveway. The flowers are very light pink, but I've seen pictures of much darker and brighter ones. Maybe our HOT Georgia sun has bleached these out! I think it's a pretty plant, so I'm calling it a flower. Others would call it a weed, because it freely grows on roadsides, in thickets, and along open woods. The scientific name for this plant is Schrankia uncinata. The common name of Sensitive Plant or Sensitive Brier came about because the leaves fold up after you touch them.  Schrankia is a close relative of the Sensitive Plant, Mimosa pudica. In fact, some botanists classify this one as Mimosa microphylla.

I have heard it said that a "weed" is merely a flower that is out of place.

Le non-storie sono quelle in cui le donne investono moltissimo. E investono in termini di speranze, aspirazioni, sogni. Salvo poi arrivare ad un tale punto di disperazione da dover trasformare tutto. Trasformare si, dato che, quello che è stato, non può necessariamente essere cancellato. Che quello sarebbe fallire. E una donna non fallisce. Se è una Donna.

Quando il punto di disperazione giunge al suo apice, la Donna trasforma il "Vorrei che tu mi volessi bene" in "Ti ho donato tutto il mio bene". Uno step e poi il "ciao". Già, in mezzo c'è uno step.

Lo step nello specifico e nell'assurdo anche, è dato dal dono totale di sè. Una Donna chiude una non-storia facendo all'amore. Una Donna chiude una non-storia facendo all'amore con un uomo che al massimo le vuole soltanto bene. Detto così può sembrare abbastanza assurdo ma credo sia il modo sublime che la Donna ha per congedare il sogno. In quel momento la Donna capisce che non si sta dando ad un lui ma che si sta concedendo al suo sogno. Con amore. Morente. A quel punto lui non può più nulla. E se anche avesse la sensibilità per accorgersene, e non succede praticamente mai, questo non servirebbe comunque a niente che una Donna, quando dice "Ciao" è perchè ha superato anche l'ultimo step.

E se una Donna riesce a superare tutto questo io credo che quella sarà una gran Donna, molto più indulgente con se stessa, molto più attenta a rendersi felice, molto più forte, molto più consapevole.

Per tutte le donne che sono ancora incastrate in non-storie così, io lascio una canzone:

Buona vita e buon uicchend

Luckily, the fridge door offered a pragmatic and bubbly bounty tonight, in the form of a bottle of the cheapest blanc de blancs to be found this side of...well, anywhere.  Great OJ -- Odwalla unless you're juicing, please -- and cheap Champagne (OK, OK, sparkling wine) are the keys to a sublime yet affordable Mimosa.  Lately, I've embraced blanc de blancs for blending with OJ because the citrus flavors of a Chardonnay-based bubbly partner perfectly with orange juice.

Knowing the Mimosas would be sweet, I added a bit more kick than usual to the sauce used to finish the fried rice.  Extra sriracha chili sauce and red pepper flakes were the order of the day, in addition to the usual suspects (soy sauce, sesame oil, and...well, I can't tell you the WHOLE secret recipe).  The only questionable part of the pairing was the broccoli, which didn't go seamlessly with the OJ.  Bit other than that, the sweet and the heat played nice together, and a good time was had by all....

Cheers,

The Bubblemaster

Een klein voorsmaakje ;)

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La casa di cartone

We have a mimosa tree in our front yard, too, which I'm told I will come to hate in a little while when it starts "shedding" or whatever mimosas do. But until then, it makes for a nice tree to look at.

- Jonathan