Yipster

A few years ago my sister turned me on to the blog Marginamia. The author collects interesting names from the world around her; books, movies, blogs, catalogues (The Names of J.Crew).  I credit the blog with helping me become more catholic in my (totally theoretical at this point) name collecting. Marginamia has one entry dedicated to Finnish craftspeople of note and another  to alternatives to Harlow and Marlo. Both entries are equally valid and I am really, seriously, not judging anyone for anything they might name or not name anyone. So today, when the Graceland station on Pandora (may I recommend it, particularly if you are driving over the Cahuenga pass in a fuel efficient vehicle and you are feeling totally fine about aging, so fine you can listen to “Dad Rock”, even though you realize that soon “Dad Rock” will mean something else and Paul Simon and David Byrne will be “Gramps Rock”), I was pleased to listen to 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover. There are some really good names in there:

Jack

Stan

Roy

Gus

Lee

And extrapolating…

Paul

Simon

Cecilia

Julio

Art

Garfunkel

Boxer

TheCapeman

Fifty-ninth Street (first and middle last name)

Just pitching.

xo Bridget

I have been wearing a perfume that the internet feels strongly about. For any serious sniffer, it’s old news. Bvlgari Black was released in 1998 and Luca Turin thinks it’s a masterpiece. Here is what the internet says: “sexy, rubber, leather, smoked tea, freak show, soft, vanilla, boring, not that interesting, weird, wow, NOT BEING DISCONTINUED, my hubs wears it too.” 

Since I last wrote about perfumes I have sampled and consistently worn the following: Arquiste Anima Dulcis; Santa Maria Novella Tabaccco Toscano; Aedes de Venustas EDP

And currently Bvglari Black, mostly because Tabacco Toscano was repeatedly referred to as “Bvlgari Black lite” so I thought I’d try it. If it was Bvlgari black-light I would have run, not walked. 

-Bridge

Last month I shot a commercial for a product I can’t name doing something I can’t talk about. Hopefully, it will run. I had to hold this unnamed product a certain way to make sure it was in the shot along with my approachable and “charactery” face. It was a close-up and I had to maneuver my arm in a very unnatural way to make it work. Then the camera moved and we did another take. The director of photography asked me to raise the product. I was still in the aforementioned unnatural position and couldn’t really get the product any higher with my arm smushed against my body, “I can’t.” I said. 

“Move your elbow, Bridget.” He said. “And don’t say can’t.”

I was embarrassed. He was right, that was all I had to do. But I was locked into the first position and hadn’t considered I only had to move. I hated being so obviously and stupidly rigid and obtuse. I have had the good fortune to use my arm for 29 years; I know how it works. Even if “don’t say can’t” sounds like an affirmation and therefore is an immediate enemy of mine, he had a point. Perhaps one doesn’t want to, or it seems impossible, or has never been done, but you know, sí, se puede. 

Move your elbow and don’t say can’t. Now exhale into chaturanga dandasana, really feeling the floor beneath you. 

John Gottman, marriage researcher, pithy writer, divorce predictor, all around interesting figure. 

George R.R. Martin, THE FATHER OF DRAGONS, WINTER IS COMING, YOU KNOW NOTHING JON SNOW.

I’m buying one.

-Bridget