I had a serious longing to know what he smelled like, and now I know the cologne he wears. I do know WHY I longed to know - I remember what people smell like more readily than what they look like, strange as that sounds - I just wasn’t expecting to find out so soon. I was actually anticipating having to ask him myself. Apparently, another fan from South America had the same need to know what he smelled like. But I wasn’t kidding about the olfactory memory. I can still remember the scent of my very first love without even having the actual cologne in front of me.
So, John Paul Gaultier. As soon as I sniffed Piero’s personal choice in male cologne, I knew I had someone else in my past who smelled like this – if not this fragrance exactly, then something very similar; this was introduced in 1995, and I think my memory goes back further than that. I see a brown tweedy sports jacket when I smell this … I see a hand with a school ring … I just can’t remember the face! It will come to me, though, probably when I least expect it. It’s a very pleasant association, whatever it is.
I have no idea how the fragrance is marketed and packaged in Italy – probably in a nice, functional bottle. Here in the U.S., it arrived in a can. You’re reduced to looking at the can, trying to figure out how to open it, muttering, “What the …?” for five minutes, already undone. But when you finally get it open … that lovely little green bottle in the photo does not do justice to the real thing –you’re looking at a nude male torso complete with protuberances, the exact nature of which is best left unmentioned. I’m thinking, “Did he actually envision an entire American continent of girls and women wandering over to the perfume counter to see what he smelled like, and happily fondling this lovely thing with an image of him fixed firmly in their minds when he answered that question?” If he did, I have an entirely new level of respect and admiration for the self-marketing instincts of the guy. What a Valentino HE is going to turn out to be!
Oh! Sorry. You know me, and my love of perfume descriptions (see “Magickal Moon”): “warm fresh mint, lavender, orange blossom and woods, manly and warm.” I don’t know about the fragrance, but the bottle is definitely “manly and warm” – mainly because I’ve been holding it for the last hour, staring at that protuberance. Mmm. Love the scent, by the way … it’s delicious.
The other thing I did today out of little more than curiosity was wander around Naro, Italy via Google Earth, looking at the town he grew up in at ground level. I absolutely love Google Earth for that reason – it’s almost virtual reality, wandering around the streets of Naro, and you’re able to visit places you know you’ll never see in reality. Streets would go straight up, opening onto vistas of the entire valley below, and then zoom straight down again – and I’m thinking, “NOW I know why he has leg muscles to die for!” No really. He really does. Awesome calf muscles, which I guarantee you he developed, just walking to school every morning.
But the beauty of Google Earth is that it allows you to wander Naro so thoroughly that when you find yourself back at a familiar intersection, you realize, “I know where I am!”, and almost feel that if you went there in reality, you wouldn’t get lost, simply because you’re at least minimally familiar with its paths. Somewhere you’ve never seen before then becomes part of your internal landscape, and its familiarity is comforting in a way. So I read graffiti on whitewashed walls, read advertising posters, looked at Venetian lace curtains in windows, looked at the awesome landscape surrounding Naro. I know it may not impress him as much as it did me - after all, he grew up there - but as I wandered around, all I could think of was, "How beautiful this is!"
Just deleted from my answering machine the message from the office of the surgeon (specializations: oncology and plastic surgery), reminding me of my appointment. As though I could forget.
Not that YOU need reminding but I’ll do it anyway: almost two years ago (29th of April, 2010), I was riding on a bus that was broadsided by a jeep. BAM! Was thrown face first into the plastic molded seats in front of me. Knocked two bones out of my spine. So far I’ve had physical therapy, spinal fusion surgery, post surgical issues, both of my feet have gone temporarily dead below my knees and now … after I had assumed that the worst was over, the lump on my forehead from the accident had grown from something small and hard to something considerably larger and had then metastasized into something more serious. Even my doctor thought it was harmless and only realized she was wrong after 20 days of antibiotics failed to have any impact. I’ve discovered that I am really, REALLY tired of facing one medical disaster after another. I’m too young for this nonsense.
On the other hand, friends and co-workers have been telling me they liked my new hairstyle: “It’s really cute!” What they don’t know is that the reason I haven’t trimmed my long bangs which cover up my forehead is that they also neatly cover up this ugly looking bump. Which will be going away relatively soon; I’m just not looking forward to the surgery.
The more I thought about it, the more the obsession made sense. You find irresistible anything that can bring you comfort or which can take your mind off more frightening possibilities, and in this case, it was Piero Barone’s voice that silenced the anxiety and the fear instantaneously. I suspect I had not realized how frightened I was until I latched onto his beautiful voice with a passion, and the fear began to lessen. I am still listening to him throughout most of the day.
Not that I think I’m all that beautiful or anything (unless you’re Piero Barone reading this, and then: I lied, I’m drop-dead gorgeous and a dead ringer for Angelina Jolie!!) (do you think he believed me?), but I must state for the record that over the years, I’ve grown accustomed, as the song says, to my own face. You look in the mirror every morning, and while there are days when you wish you’d received a few more hours of sleep … your face is still just that: your face. It probably shouldn’t be your identity, but of course in many ways it is.
The path forward for this thing is apparently a forced face-lift. Or, more technically speaking, a forced forehead lift. What they plan to do is cut the tumor out and then pull facial skin up and over the wound. And I say “forced” because, while I understand that a lot of girls and women can’t think of anything they’d like MORE than a good face-lift, I’m not one of them. First, I didn’t need one, and secondly, I don’t have loose skin in the area that would make a facelift an improvement on my appearance, and third, I’ve seen some really bad facelifts that make women look like Batman’s Joker, so believe me when I say: I know that things can go horribly wrong with them.
Speaking of Piero and his unexpected impact on my life – and DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME! I’M A PROFESSIONAL ON A CLOSED COURSE! – (huh?) –he answered a question one print reporter put to him during the 2011 tour – “where do you get your stylish glasses?” “Luxottica” was the answer. Never heard of them so looked them up online and went from there to reading their investors’ information and went from there to buying Luxottica stock, and went from there to saying, “Woo-hoooo!!” for the third time when the stock promptly went straight up. Thanks, Piero! And as I said earlier, “DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME …”, I did my due diligence on it, and didn’t just invest because of his choice in eyeware, and … oh, you get the idea.
After getting the really crappy news from the surgeon, I went over to the place where I get MY eyeglasses (cheap and ugly plastic things because I’m allergic to metals, and thank goodness I only wear them while driving and watching TV, so very few people have actually seen me wearing them) – had my annual eye exam and discovered that Luxottica makes Prada frames out of titanium! I happen to know that I have no problem with titanium as I have titanium plates and screws in my spine … so I did a dance of joy at being able to get some real cool looking glasses and sunglasses. The Luxottica salesman (also Italian) who happened to be in the store at the time said I looked “ravishing”. Ravishing! OK fine, yes I know he was trying to sell the frames, but I choose to believe him without question. Why would he lie? He’s ITALIAN! Hoo boy, do I love Italian men! Thanks, Piero! Methinks he made wearing glasses seriously stylish.
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