CB's Journal

Lapse

I haven't been writing much here or anywhere else for that matter lately because I am in process of quitting smoking.  Writing is a trigger for me and I find it EXCEEDINGLY difficult to sit at the computer typing away without also puffing away.  So, I've been trying to avoid it as much as possible.  Avoiding triggers during at least the first four weeks of the quit is critical.  So I've been declining invitations where I know people might be smoking, avoiding situations that would normally make me "tense" and I've warned most friends and colleagues that I am quitting therefore I could blow at any moment.

I began trying to quit this year (again) in February and have been struggling with this damn addiction ever since.  February & March were ridiculous but in April I joined a Smoke-Free Project group which prepares one to quit, establishes a plan for doing so and provides an enormous amount of much needed encouragement and support. This is all fine and worked well pretty much until this morning when I just had a lapse.

I had to go to the market to pick up some supplies and on my way there I noticed a good many smells.  The wooden water tank company on the next block was sawing wood and it had the most marvelous bitter scent of galbanum.  A little further on, I was struck by the odor of new oak leaves and the difference between their scent and those of other trees.  Once I hit Bedford Avenue, I began picking up food smells from the cafés & restaurants I was passing and it was all good - especially the smell of fresh brewing coffee which I don't really drink anymore.  Noticing these marvelous smells was a big change for me from recent outings when I was pretty much only aware of the horrible smells one encounters daily in New York.  I have a terrifically sensitive nose and even when I am smoking I can smell a lot of things that others can't.  When I am not smoking however, I swear I can smell EVERYTHING - especially odors that are frankly appalling.  I don't know what the olfactory version of "blinding" is but that's what it's like.

Now when I left the studio to go to the market, I was on the point of exploding.  Since I am basically two weeks into my quit, I am still very much in the middle of the stage where the subject experiences intense mood swings and can be meek & mild one minute and raging like Godzilla on a visit to Tokyo the next.  This is not pretty to watch and certainly most unpleasant to experience first hand.  While the group has been very helpful in providing tips to deal with these wildly changing moods, the addiction very cleverly makes the subject feel that the ONLY thing that is going to prevent the head from going Super Nova thus laying waste to the Tri-State Area is a cigarette...

Thanks to the group and the wonders of modern psychotherapy, I've managed to identify my triggers and I know precisely what I expect cigarettes to do for me.  Since I formally quit two weeks ago, I have had very little trouble in not responding automatically to triggers and no longer feel the necessity to light up after meals, when I'm bored, having drinks with friends or simply lying around in the evening.

Mornings on the other hand are an entirely different matter - ESPECIALLY work day mornings like today.  I've long known that I smoke far more in the morning than at any other time of the day.  This was confirmed by a group exercise where we listed every single cigarette we puffed during a 24 hour period from the very first upon waking to the very last before bed.  On the average work day, I had four within half an hour of waking - one while waiting for the water for tea to boil, one while the tea was steeping and then two with the first actual cup.  On higher stress days (and who doesn't have those on a regular basis in this town?) I could get through an entire pack before the clock struck noon.

Since I quit, the morning hours have seemed frequently impossible to get through.  I've found myself either hyper-actively bouncing off the walls while raging over nonsense or feeling completely lethargic and unable to concentrate on anything.  During the latter periods, I can wander around here like a character out of Edward Gorey misplacing small but important objects that I will most certainly need in future but will no longer remember where I'd put them and then staring out the window at absolutely nothing while the tea from my cup dribbles on the floor.  This can go on for hours.

The really annoying thing for the subject who is now "smoke-free" is that the emotional swings are unpredictable.  One never knows when the volcano might blow. Also it frequently seems that the urges grow weaker & weaker but then suddenly for no real reason the subject is again on the verge of insanity.  This is all EXTREMELY irritating. 

Of course I've been using nicotine patches & have also been sucking nicotine lozenges like crazy.  While these definitely help, unfortunately they do not completely silence that insidious voice in the head that constantly says "the only thing that's going to make you feel better is a cigarette so go ahead".  That voice must be dealt with in a different fashion and yelling "SHUT THE FUCK UP" at the top of the voice does little but cause looks and get certain pedestrians the hell out of your way.

I've found that when the lozenges aren't enough that simply doing something completely different in those moments is extremely effective at calming the "overwhelming" urge to light up.  I take a walk with or without dog, go to the gym, or simply get the hell away from the computer.  I've also developed a sort of "art therapy" approach where I simply change my seat in the studio, pick up a sketch book and doodle for a bit.  And with all these techniques, I've found the urge generally passes pretty quickly.

Still there are mornings like this one.  I try that stuff & still I'm raging around like something out of the Book of Revelations.  So when I decided to take a walk to the market to pick up the stuff, I did so thinking that getting out & having a walk might do the trick.  Well today, it didn't.  As I was checking out, the clerk (who knows me) asked if I wanted a pack of cigs & without really thinking I automatically said "Yes." 

So I smoked one on the walk back and another when I got back to my computer to try to finish today's email.  As I was pulling out a third, I suddenly wondered what the hell I was doing and yelled for my assistant.  I told him to take the rest of the pack, rip it up into tiny little pieces and then take it out & dump it in the nearest public trash bin.  Which is what he did. 

I am not terribly happy about this.  However, I now know full well that guilt or self-blame aren't going to do a damn thing.  So I'm going to fall back on the relapse plan & spend the rest of the day taking care of me.  "Taking Care Of Me" is I am told one of the key components in dealing with nicotine addiction.  It is however for a great many people (including me) not the easiest thing to do.  It takes a large sized attitude adjustment & quite a lot of practice.  And it can be especially difficult to do if one has a lot of others things that "must" be done "right this minute" as well like running a business.

Still it is vitally important and that's why I haven't been writing so much the past few weeks and it's also why the spring perfumes are slightly behind schedule.  They'll all get done at some point when I've gotten through this stage and am feeling reasonably stable again.  In the meantime, the main priority is to make sure I'm well. So, as soon as I've clicked "save" here, I'm going to pack up & head to the gym.  After that, I may well take myself out to lunch & a movie.  I hear the new Star Trek is very entertaining. 

Women with Style

I just received a letter from a friend.  She's traveling abroad at the moment and though she's having a good time, she's still clearly not happy with the local style.  She's a designer herself so she notices these things.  She mentions "walking through 3 million women dressed as prostitutes" trying to find some local cuisine but all she could find were "about 5 macdonalds and a couple of kfc's".  This mind you is in a country fairly renowned for its design sense and cultural traditions.

I completely feel her pain.  Over the past few years I've come to the decision that there are certain parts of New York that are to be avoided at all costs - particularly on the weekends.  The sidewalks are over-packed with men dressed as if they're about to paint the house or fix the lawnmower and women in clothes that are much too tight, much too short, and much too cheap.  They teeter along on stilettos which they clearly can't operate correctly.  Indeed as I watch them stumble along, I wonder if they're really accustomed to walking on two legs in the first place.

The meatpacking district in particularly prone to infestations by these people and I find it ironic that, back in my taxi driving days, this was a neighborhood where at night there was nothing but Florent, a few "special interest" clubs, and a flock of tranny hookers.  Based on the current dress sense of the women in this neighborhood today, I could easily imagine that the original hooker population somehow proliferated to extraordinary proportions except for the fact that back then they actually had more style and could walk on their heels.  Today when I walk through the meatpacking district I have the unpleasant sensation of suddenly finding myself in a third rate sophomoric comedy where a bunch of horny high school boys were able to magically animate a bunch of mannequins from "forever 21".  I'd wonder how much these women charge by the hour but i can't imagine it could be very much.  They look too manic or too bored to be the least bit attractive and all are exactly the same and perfectly interchangeable.  Still they manage to get dates - at least among the "frat" boys.  I find this intensely disheartening.  I know that for decades, fashion has taken its inspiration largely from the streets but this is ridiculous.  "Streets" are one thing, "streetwalking" is another.

I remember a time in New York when the city had a good deal more style.  I remember a time when each neighborhood had its own unique look.  Sometimes this was good, sometimes bad but the point is there was VARIETY.  Now the frat/hooker look is pretty much everywhere and clearly the epidemic is spreading through the rest of the boroughs.

Last evening in fact, as I was walking the dog, I ran across a young person working the tranny hooker look outside beacon's closet.  She was standing in the middle of the sidewalk with her tube top pulled out staring down at her tits like she'd never seen them before, the entire time yelling, "WHA..?  WHA...? WHA...?" into her cell phone.

This might have been interesting as some kind of performance art but sadly this chick wasn't kidding. 

So today, that memory "fresh" in my mind, when I read my friend's letter, I couldn't help but think about women I've met in my time who had tremendous personal allure.  Isabel Toledo for example.

The first time I met her, I was working as a shop assistant at Barney's.  This was back in the day when that store was still on 17th street and the pressman family still ran riot there.  One evening when the store was habitually empty, Senora Toledo arrived with her husband.  She was wearing a full red skirt, a crisp white blouse cinched by a wide black belt and a black lace mantilla over her hair.  Of course the effect was that of a traditional Spanish lady, yet there was something terrifically modern about her look as well.  She is after all a brilliant designer and she looked fabulous.  And I do not use the "f" word lightly.

She was also carrying a beautiful black lace fan which was always before her face.  In fact I never saw her face in its entirety - merely her beautiful eyes sparkling over the fluttering rim of the fan.  Although I asked her numerous questions as I helped her to find what she wanted, she never spoke to me directly and I actually never heard her voice.  She simply leaned toward Reuben, shifted the fan slightly and whispered her reply to him which he then passed on to me. 

Now of course I recognize that such behavior is highly mannered and could easily be easily be extremely irritating not to mention insulting.  Yet I remember her as being one of the most captivating women I have ever met.  Her eyes, her manner, her look - all were perfect and I'd have gladly done anything she asked.  She played that fan as Yo Yo Ma plays his cello - as a unique and authentic expression of who she was.  That's style.

Perhaps the woman I've been lucky enough to encounter who had the most style was Diana Vreeland.  This was also back in my taxi driving days.  One evening, I knew there was quite a grand party taking place at the Guggenheim Museum.  I'd been driving people there all evening.  A lot of them were wearing very interesting clothes and I wondered what it was like inside at the party as I dropped them off.  But several hours later, I'd forgotten about it until I was flagged down by a man in a tuxedo in front of the Guggenheim.  He helped his wife into the car and then leaned forward and asked, "Would you mind waiting a moment?  We're waiting for my mother.  But please start the meter."  I didn't mind at all especially after hearing that last bit.  You'd be surprised at how many people expect cabbies to sit idly waiting for ages without having any inclination at all to pay for that time...

Anyway, we waited for a while until finally the wife said gently, "Perhaps you might go find her?  You know how your mother is when she's talking..."  The man smiled but then said, "It's OK.  Here she comes now."  I turned my head to look and was instantly struck still.

There floating across the pavement surrounded by a flock of men in tuxedos was a woman who was unmistakably Diana Vreeland.  She was wearing a sleek yellow satin sheathe that my guess would be Dior circa 1955.  It had a matching satin stole and matching yellow satin shoes.  White stones sparkled around her neck and at her ears.  She looked absolutely amazing.

Now Mrs Vreeland was no beauty certainly by that age.  But then she never was - that was the point.  But on this evening well into her 80's, she was dressed to kill and clearly fascinating a large group of men of all ages.  They followed her like puppies and hung on her every word.  I watched her as she slowly moved to the car.  She turned her head this way and that to chat with the men around her.  She leaned back against one of the men, tossed her head and laughed.  The men couldn't look away and neither could I.  I have never seen a woman move so elegantly (at least off the ballet stage) and more to the point, never have i seen a woman more alive.  She was so clearly having the time of her life and her joie de vivre lit all those around her.  Mrs Vreeland was perfectly magical and a good part of that magic was her style.  It was unique, it was flawless and it was as bright as the sun.

I think a lot of people today miss the point of Mrs Vreeland.  Nothing but a clothes horse obsessed with fashion.  I don't think this is true.  From what I've read of her and by her, I's say fashion was her business but her passion was style.  She understood absolutely that fashion is merely a tool and that clothes are dead unless they're worn.  It is never the clothes that are important but the life you lead in them.

Diana Vreeland stepped beyond fashion knowing that it is best used to express individual style.  She approached style as a philosophy - almost a religion until like Zen it permeated and informed every aspect of her life and became an authentic expression of who she was.  She's the one who inspired me to write many years ago, before i formed my first company, my own personal "style manifesto":

Beauty is an art

Art is a discipline

Discipline is a way of life

I think Mrs Vreeland would have liked those sentiments and perhaps would have approved.  I think back on copies of Vogue that I've looked at that were issued under her reign there.  God knows they were radically different in their approach than that sad publication as it exists now.  Of course there was a good deal of fashion editorial but there was always a hell of a lot more.  Mrs Vreeland explored the whole world.  She sought out so many other cultural ideas of what was "beautiful" and she shared them monthly with her readers.  As an editor, Mrs Vreelend never imposed - she expanded and more to the point she encouraged.  She encouraged women to be aware, to be adventurous, to experiment and to make the most of their lives.  This is hardly "frivolous" as many claim today.  Living your life is never frivolous.

So what's changed?  Why the crowds of basically identical hookers and the dreary boys they hang with?  I think back to a conversation I had a few years ago with Dianne Brill - the queen of New York nightlife back in the day.  I asked her what had changed - why were things so dreary now and so few clubs existed that were worth going to?  Her first response was "rent!"  Dianne is a very practical woman.  But I said there must be more to it than that.  There were still parts of the city where - like in the 80's - space was still relatively cheap.  But still nothing happens...

She reflected for a moment and than said to me, "Individuality was celebrated then."  And I knew she was right.  That's what changed.  I'm not certain where or why (although I have some ideas) so many people have lost their capacity to celebrate their own individuality.  No longer can they live their own special life and Go All the Way.  I think that's sad.  Especially when I am stuck in neighborhoods infested with hoards of soulless tranny hookers who have clearly set the women's movement back by at least 50 years.  I look at them stumbling along in their stilettos and I'm reminded of a quote from my favorite Compton Mackenzie novel.  To paraphrase, it runs like this:

Women have always dressed to reflect what men want them to be and if men want them to be hookers then I am sorry for what men have become. 

I'm not here to criticize.  As far as I'm concerned, people should make their own choices and must be allowed to go to hell their own way.  But I have always been here to encourage.  So while I would certainly love to see a great deal less of the tranny hooker look both here and abroad, I know there's no point in railing against in.

Instead, I'd like to encourage women (and in fact people in general) to step out of the herd and be once again adventurous, to try new things, to take a chance and Go All the Way.  I'd like to encourage them to open their eyes and have a good look around and appreciate all the gorgeous variety that's out there.  I'd like to encourage people to grow up, have some dignity, learn to age with grace and appreciate the wisdom that comes with experience.

But most of all, I want to encourage them, as I have always done, to express and to celebrate their own special INDIVIDUALITY.

I know this will take some time - as many things worth doing will.  But hopefully at some point in the not to distant future, this change in attitude will happen and I'll be happy again to venture out in public... 

Happy Easter

I found this card that I'd made several years ago and thought it might be nice to post it today.  Christmas is all well and good but I prefer Easter.

Best Wishes to All!

CB 

Rights

I just got back from an appointment in Manhattan.  Frankly, the trip there and back again was, as the French say, insupportable.  The weather today is heavy and extremely humid - conditions that make any scent or odor seem considerably stronger than usual.  I was therefore assaulted five times by perfectly obnoxious "fragrances" - four of them "musk".  I am now back in my studio feeling perfectly sick.

I sincerely wish, that for just one hour, those who insist on drenching themselves with "musk" or other crap fragrances would be forced to experience themselves and I and people like me do.  And I hope that, should such a miracle occur, they have their puking bowls handy.

I would not deny anyone the right to choose to wear whatever fragrance they wish.  Far from it.  However, I must insist on greater personal responsibility when it comes to wearing scent in public.  And i will insist that Your Right to Wear Any Strong Perfume Ends Where it Hits My Nose.

It is only fair to point out that I am currently in NO mood for backchat on this subject.  Those who disagree and are perfectly happy to continue to be public olfactory offenses are welcome to go to hell or at least to stay the hell away from me.  I have had ENOUGH.

Now I am going to cancel the rest of my appointments for the afternoon and take an enormous amount of aspirin.  Hopefully I will be unconscious until the acute headache and nausea pass.  And when i regain consciousness, I will begin searching for a fully operational gas mask. 

CB Premium Accords

The Premium Accord Section is FINALLY active on the website!  HOORAY!  Please have a look and enjoy!

Dandelions

A short while ago, I changed the background on this page to reflect something a bit more cheery and spring-like.  And i chose this background of Dandelions, which makes me happy every time i see it.  But I am informed it is not to everyone's taste...

An anonymous woman wrote me that there was a mistake on my website.  She flatly stated that "dandelions are not flowers - they are weeds."  Well.  My initial impulse was to fire back a terse reply along the lines of, "Oh yeah? Some of us think differently so suck it up, bitch," but fortunately manners kicked in and I restrained myself.  But it did make me think.

First of all let's get it clear that according to my Oxford Unabridged Dictionary, Dandelions meet all necessary botanical requirements to qualify them as flowers.  So there.  And naturally later on in that same volume, weeds are described as "unwanted plants".  But who, I wonder, could really not want a Dandelion...?

Perhaps it's an odd choice but Dandelions have long been my favorite flower.  This puzzles many people but then they might forget that I have always had rather unusual opinions as to what constitutes "beauty".  It is clearly inferred that perfumers should prefer something a bit more predictable along those lines - the rose, the lily or at least something exotic like an orchid.  I think these flowers are perfectly lovely and I am very fond of them and many others besides, but when it comes to favorites I still choose the Dandelion.

I love them because they are beautiful.  Their fierce yellow is so cheery and unashamed sprinkled across a green lawn.  This simple beauty always gladdens my heart.  Incidentally, some of my favorite works of are are those created by Andy Goldsworthy and are made entirely from Dandelions...

I love them because they are innocent.  Dandelions can be such fun.  Picking them in mason jars, popping off their heads to see who can go the farthest, getting the fingers sticky while making crowns and chains and of course later on when they've gone to seed, there is the small thrill of telling time on a "dandelion clock".  These are such brilliant childhood pleasures.

I love them because they are fearless.  Dandelions will grow anywhere and will go where they please.  Although I prefer to see them in the country, I am delighted to meet them unexpectedly in the middle of my industrial neighborhood here in New York.  I find something inspiring in the courage of a single yellow adventurous head sprouting from the cracked concrete.

I love them because they are resilient.  Dandelions survive the harshest conditions.  Beat them, burn them, poison them, rip them out by the roots - these flowers will return.  To war on Dandelions is futile.  Defeat will never bow their fuzzy heads.

And i love them because they are simple and humble.  Dandelions are the most unassuming of flowers and perhaps I love them best because their beauty so often sneered at or overlooked.

All of these are highly admirable qualities in anything don't you think?

Frankly I also love Dandelions because they are delicious.  It is the custom every spring in my part of the world to go out into the fields and cull their young leaves.  These are then cooked up in a delicious sauce served over boiled potatoes and ham.  I have had dandelion salads and even dandelion fritters made later on in the season with the flowers.  Also delicious.

Naturally everyone is entitled to their own opinions and welcome to go to hell their own way - including that rather rude anonymous woman with her "weeds".  Still I find it somewhat sad that there are so many who cannot appreciate the simple unassuming beauty that is often found right under the nose.  But that's the way life goes.  There will always be those who insist on seeing "weeds" instead of "flowers".  Well these sad people are not my concern.  I am only interested in those who will take the chance to see life the other way around.

So whatever others claim, I will still think of Dandelions as one of the most beautiful of flowers and I will continue to strive to be more like them.

Black March

I went to a funeral on Friday.  Of course it was very sad but it was also strangely beautiful as well.  It marked the end of a remarkable, rich, long life and was, as the man himself might have written, "quite suitable and satisfactory."

The actual internment took place in a quite lovely cemetery on Long Island.  It was green and parklike - beautifully landscaped with huge trees, flowering shrubs and certain bits of sculpture in the style of the early 60's.  I thought all this perfectly appropriate to the man destined to spend eternity in this quiet lovely place.

The weather that day was beautiful as well.  It was one of those clear balmy days that often happen in March and to which those of us who live in highly seasonal climates so look forward to every year.  It was the kind of day that finally marks the end of winter and promises the beginning of spring.

As we paid our last respects, I stood meditating on the sky, the landscape and the air full of the scents of fresh earth, tended grass and new buds and i couldn't help but think of Stevie Smith's marvelous poem, Black March.  It seemed the perfect day for it.

Many people have asked me what inspired me to design my perfume, Black March, and I've always referred them to the poem without saying more.  I'm not sure how many people have then actually looked it up and read it nor am I sure how many understand it.  But Black March is now and always has been one of my very favorite poems and I understand its secret well.  From our side, death often appears so terribly tragic but I think it is important to remember that from another point of view, it is ultimately very kind indeed...

"I am a breath of fresh air.  A change for you..."

And that's the secret of this perfume. 

Premium Accords

Well this entry is going to be a little messy.  For the past week I've been both working like mad and having a fairly severe allergy attack that seems now to have turned into a cold.  Loving the weather.  Anyway what with all the projects I've been trying to finish and the sinus medication which i finally broke down & started taking yesterday, the head is rather spinning...

But in any case, the new Premium Accord section of the website is nearly complete and should be visible on the website sometime Saturday.  I'm very happy about this.

And what are Premium Accords you may ask?  Well for quite a while now, I've been getting a lot of requests for certain Individual Accords in either trial size or water perfumes which I completely understand. Unfortunately since all the Individual Accords are made to order, we cannot make tiny 2 ML vials of them.  And while we can and do make custom individual accord water perfumes for certain clients, the cost is QUITE expensive.  People don't often realize that making a water perfume is extremely complicated and generally requires a good deal of testing & experimenting beforehand.  Of course once that process is complete, we can then make batches of water perfumes which of course we do for all my ready-to-wear perfumes.  But to do it for one single scent, it takes time & materials and usually winds up costing at least $125 per bottle - often more.  This is fine for those who are willing and able but in general, that doesn't really fit in with my philosophy of "the best possible perfume at the best possible price".

So I've been thinking about this for quite some time and have finally come up with a solution - CB Premium Accords.  I've sorted out the ten most popular individual accords and we are now making them in Premium Accord Absolutes, Water Perfumes and the very popular 2 ML Travel/Trial Absolutes.  So now people will be able to spray many of their very favorite individual accords and will be able to sample a good representative selection beforehand.  

There is one difference between the Premium Accord Absolutes and the Individual Accord Absolutes which I'd like to make clear.  The Premium Accord Absolutes are done at a double concentration and are therefore quite a bit richer and more effusive than the basic absolutes.   This has also been something I've had a lot of requests for in the past.  And while here at the gallery, we often make custom concentrations for our clients, this hasn't really been generally touted on the website.  Hence, the Premium Accord Absolutes.  We will though continue to make the standard concentration Individual Accords for those who prefer them and those can still be found on the appropriate Accord Series page.

Now as I mentioned, I've begun the Premium Accords with the ten most popular individual accords - Smoky Tobacco, Burnt Wood, Soaked Earth, North Atlantic (lovely!), Crushed Fig Leaf, Beautiful Launderette, Old Leather, Grass, Wildflower Honey and White Ginger Flower (also lovely!).  And there are a few others that I'll definitely be adding to that list a bit later in the year - Chocolate Box & Pumpkin Pie for example... I'm going to continue to keep an eye on the accords and to listen to my clients' feedback & requests to determine which new accords will be added to the Premium section in future.  And I expect that each season, I'll go through my archive to find a few that are interesting but often overlooked and which would be very suitable to the time of year.  That will be fun.  I've been so wrapped up in blending perfumes for the past few years that even I myself sometimes forget just how many intriguing scents I've got here...

So i discovered this morning that the 2ML Travel/Trial sizes in all the Premium Accords automatically posted to the site yesterday and are now live.  Those can be found under the Perfume Shop heading on the 2ML Travel Size list.  I didn't realize that's the way the website is designed but that's fine.  We're ready to go and have already gotten a bunch of orders which will be going out today.  But the rest of the area about the Premium Accords including their Info & Shopping page, will be ready to go & live on the site sometime on Saturday.  GOOD.  It's been quite a process to get all that done!  Still it's been entirely worth it and I hope this will make a lot of people happy!

Cheers!

CB 

Poem

Oh life is a glorious cycle of song

a medley of extemporanea

and love is a thing that can never go wrong

and I am Marie of Roumania.

Dorothy Parker - Enough Rope 

Almost Bought the Farm

OK so this is another entry that really has nothing to do with perfume.  Frankly I'm not certain just what ithas to do with exactly but it certainly has to do with something...

Last evening about seven, I was sitting in front of the computer finishing up for the day.  Nothing unusual there - this is how it is every day the gallery is open.  I was going over the books, going through the mail real & virtual, answering what needed to be dealt with immediately and making notes on the rest.  Simultaneously I was writing checks, entering things in my calendar and chatting with a friend via the internet.  I suppose thisis what they call "multi-tasking" and I was in my usual end of day rush mode since I wanted to get this stuff done so I could be off to dinner and relax.

Suddenly I realized that I hadn't taken my evening herbal/vitamin supplement which, according to the bottle, I'm supposed to do half an hour before each meal.  I'd begun taking them about two weeks ago as part of my ongoing self-renovation program but I have a tendency to forget to take them.  The recommended dose is 2 capsules containing a "special blend of herbs & vitamins" that are supposed to boost the metabolism encouraging muscle tone & shaling off excess fat. Frankly I'm not yet certain if they're working or not but I figure what the hell. 

So in my distracted state with one eye still on the computer screen, I opened the bottle, shook out 2 capsules into my palm and tossed em down the back of my throat as I reached for the bottle of water that routinely sits on my desk.  This was no big deal as I've done this with pills of all kinds countless times in my life.

But suddenly I realized one of them was stuck.

And in a split second I became aware that it was not stuck in my throat but in what I believe is technically called "the windpipe".  Then I began to choke and very badly at that.  At this point, a series of images and scenarios began to flash through my mind mostly on the theme of "ok what do I do now?".  Drinking water was out of the question because I was coughing so hard I couldn't swallow and would simply blow it up all over the floor. The coughing itself did nothing to dislodge the pill - I could still feel it firmly wedged where it shouldn't be.  I knew I had to get it out of there fast before the gel coating of the capsule dissolved and released the powdered blend of herbs & vitamins into my right lung.  I had no idea what the effect of that might be but I didn't think it would be good.

Now I'm a Pennsylvania Dutch boy and we don't easily ask for help.  This is how we're raised.  We have absolutely no hesitation in instantly caring for others over the slightest sneeze or paper cut but when it comes to our own ailments, that's a different story.  Physical ailment or injury is only considered "serious" if it involves actual unconsciousness or phenomenal loss of blood.  In rare cases, a temperature above 105 might warrant attention as well. But in my present case, I realized I was getting dizzy from lack of air and might pass out and that "unconsciousness" here may well lead to the more serious complication of "death".  I needed assistance.

Fortunately one of my assistants was still working downstairs and I managed to stagger to the door, kick it open, and gasp out "please come NOW".  This took a bit of time because there was a major coughing fit between each word and I could barely breath.  When he arrived running, I still had enough breath left to ask if he knew the Heimlich maneuver because it was now crystal clear to me that that was exactly what I needed and pronto.  He didn't.

Now at this point, I was no longer able to speak.  I'm gasping for breath and coughing so hard the tears are pouring down my face rendering my glasses totally useless.  It occurred to me from boy scout first aid classes, that one of the key indicators of very serious choking is the victim's inability to speak.  I must say that made me more than a little nervous.  "Terrific," I thought to myself. "Seriously choking and blind as a bat.  Very sweet."

What followed was a rather frantic mime wherein I tried to demonstrate to Lars how to do the Heimlich while he shouted suggestions about pounding on the back or questions about calling 911 after which he grabbed me from behind and began pumping the diaphragm.  This probably would have been hilarious if seen in a film but live in person it was all a bit too exciting...

I tried to relax my gut & let him force the air and hence the pill out of my lung.  This wasn't easy.  Every time he tried to pump me, I naturally tightened the abdominal muscles which naturally didn't help at all.   Regular yoga and trips to the gym have given me a fairly strong core and it seemed natural to tighten every time he tried to Heimlich me. Eventually though I was able to let go a bit so we could try to dislodge that damn pill.

After a bit I finally felt the capsule shift slightly to the point it seemed to behalf in my throat & half in my windpipe.  Then I felt the gel coating dissolve and the powder release- half in my throat & the other half somewhere else which I assumed to be my lung.  It burned like hell and my whooping redoubled.  Very fortunately by this time I was able to gasp out a few words so I was able to let Lars know what happened.  He told me to drink milk to coat the throat and luckily there was some we keep for tea in the studio fridge.  I had a good swig of that which helped although I was still coughing so hard it felt like I was on the verge of blacking out.

But after a while the whooping diminished, I was able to get down more milk and keep it down and by 7:30 was able to wipe my eyes, clean my glasses and feel mostly normal again.  My chest still burned a lot although not nearly so bad as before but I was still concerned about what the effects of the vitamin mix would be on my lung.  Would I have a stroke?  A heart attack? Or might it just cause an infection which could lead to pneumonia...? Supplements are designed to be absorbed by the digestive system NOT by the respiratory.  Lars told me he would stick around for a bit as he had work to do and I should call if I felt strange.  I thanked him sincerely, sat down and began to think.

In a life packed with incident, I've never considered my own mortality before.  Never once.  Not the time the tree fell on my head or the day I fell off the bridge at New Caledonia State Park or even the time a crazy man pulled a knife on me at 2 in the morning on 8^th Avenue as I was on my way home from the deli.  I didn't think about it back in the fall of 1997 when I had a throat infection that was so bad that in another century it would certainly have killed me.

I've lived in New York City for nearly 30 years and have never been concerned about personal safety.  I drove a taxi on the night shift, walked through Central Park at four in the morning and regularly through the East Village at night during a time when people were routinely killed by crazed drug addicts. I've never been run down by buses or bad drivers.  I've avoided psychos, muggers, bashers and AIDS.  I even managed to avoid being brained by a falling air conditioner that hit the sidewalk behind me so close I could feel the breeze on the back of my neck and bits of plastic zing off the back of my head.

But last night I realized that if things here had been slightly different - if perchance I had been alone - I might well be dead today.  The simple act of taking one little pill, one mundane daily occurrence and I might very well have bought the farm.  This time, that shook me.

I think this has something to do with age. I've never in the least been concerned about growing older - in fact I revel in the process.  I take pride and pleasure in exercising myself physically and mentally.  I go to the gym regularly and try to walk as much as possible.  I eat well and don't often indulge is excess fat, sugar or carbohydrates.  I don't drink very often and apart from cigarettes (which are an entirely different story and which I'm well aware must stop) I have no addictions nor am I tempted by recreational drugs.  I take classes in things that interest me and try to learn as much as possible. I read, look and listen to keep my brain as sharp as can be.

I make very little effort to conceal my age as anyone who can do a little math can figure out.  If one of my perfumes is called "At the Beach 1966" then it goes without saying that if I can recall Rehoboth Beach from that era I am clearly not in my 30's as many assume (although I am pleased when they do). I have no hesitation in telling tales of dancing on a box at Palladium, seeing Grace Jones in the men's room at Studio 54, going with friends to the Pyramid Club when it first opened or attending the first New York screening of Diva.  There is so much to tell about my life in New York and the people I have been so fortunate to encounter.  But many of these things obviously happened quite a long time ago...

I am very glad to have done these things but more to the point, I delight in the wisdom that such experience can bring but which can only come with age.  There is so much more I can understand about life and how it works now than I possibly could when I was 22 and I know as I grow older, that wisdom can only expand.

And I've reached the point in my life where at least one of my roles has changed.  When I was young, I had many friends who were in their 40's. I loved hearing them tell of meeting legendary people, attending brilliant plays or seeing Maria Callas live at the Metropolitan.  I could share my world with them, the world of New Wave, but they could give me something much more and I loved them for it.  Now that I myself have reached what the French call "that certain age" I have become that man who seems to fascinate certain of the young. I've become a mentor figure to several young friends and I must say I enjoy that very much indeed.

But I confess though that it can make me sad sometimes to hear those in their 20s express their views of Life, the Universe and Everything.  They often know so much but understand so little.  The thing that makes me sad about that is that I realize full well that intellectual understanding counts for nothing and there is no way to share experience.  One can tell or advise but these children still have to figure it out for themselves.  Only then can they really understand.  Sometimes that can be painful to watch but I remind myself that I survived my youth and so will they.  I was the same way then that they are now.

OK back to last evening's near death experience.  I think it was the full realization of my present age that shook me.  Of course my life has had its share of hardships and disasters and portions of it have been deeply and bitterly painful despite outward appearance.  Deeply loved friends and relatives have disappeared never to return and I miss them constantly and keenly.  But on the whole I have been extraordinarily lucky and my life is very good.  I have accomplished much and I sense that there is still a great deal to come.  I am a long way from being finished yet on this planet.  But I realize now,for the first time in my life, that my time here is limited.  I've got to get cracking if I want to get everything done.

So handing in my dinner pail over something as insignificant as a vitamin pill would seriously interfere with my future. That is not the way I'd wish to go and this is not in my plans.  I have no intention of clocking out - not yet.  A fortune teller once told me that I would live a very long life so I always imagined I'd be struck by lightening or something after my 90th birthday.  Or perhaps I'll wander out into the woods in the middle of a blizzard to quietly freeze and they can find me in the spring.  This actually happened to a local old woman in Pennsylvania and while it was certainly very sad I thought at the time it was quite beautiful as well and that's how I'd choose to go myself.  Or maybe, as one of my mother's very elderly patients did, I might one day gather my loved ones, announce my intention to leave, bid them farewell and then tuck myself into bed and be gone by evening. 

But I also realize, now more clearly than ever, that these are not things we can choose.  It's over when it's over and there are precious few who are lucky enough to choose that moment of departure.  So, to borrow a favorite phrase from the Chestnut of the Month Club, it is vitally important to make the most of all the time we have.

And that, Ladies & Gentlemen, Boys & Girls, is probably my New Year's Resolution for 2009.  I realize this year it came a bit late but whatever.  It's time to start Living Fully.  It's time to get over the petty worries and fears and Make the Most.  Go All the Way.

I know this is hardly an original idea but still it's an important one and one I wish to share.  And that's why I've spent the better part of this morning writing all this out instead of getting on with making the perfume.  But now that I think about it, the point of my perfumes is really all about capturing certain experiences of life and to do that I must fully explorethem.  Which in fact I realize is just what I've been doing with this near-death one by writing it out.  To me, Scent is Life but to be able express that life one must live it, reflect on it and understand it.  That's the key.

It also occurs to me that my life is rather like perfume.  Its story unfolds slowly over time presenting constantly changing experience but at some point it must fade away leaving only a memory behind until in time that too fades.  Life is like perfume in that both must be experienced NOW because they will be gone. 

So perhaps today's entry might have something to do with perfume after all.  I'm still not quite sure...

Time will tell.