Back in the saddle

Long, sensous weekend. Damn, it's over.

Treasure Valley Highland Games

Went to the Treasure Valley Highland games on Saturday. Smashing, as usual. I'm giving serious thought to participating in the "Heavy Athletics" which includes such delightful events as Turning the Caber, the Stone Putt, the Hammer Throw, the Sheaf Toss, and some other weight toss. No actual athletics, you see. Lovely to be surrounded by a bunch of over-six-foot Behemoths as they toss weights about. Yup, definitely signing up ... the first black Scot.

Actually, there are some really cool things to see and eat at the Games. Scotch eggs and meat pies! Yummmmm. Heraldry abounds, of course. There are tents arranged in a large circle, each one for a clan. There were the Clan McKenzies, the Clan Smiths, and all the others with their respective tartans. There were also lists of names on a board that showed what last names were clan members. Bollocks, of course, but doesn't hurt, right? Well, not for those who decide to get the clan crests tattoed on themselves.

The requisite "Family Name History" and "Family Coat of Arms" tent was also up. I walked in there and caused a small (very small) furor when I told the sales gent that he was selling shit. Achievements of arms are not granted to entire families, but to a specific man and unless one can trace their lineage to that particular man, one has no business using the arms.

At first, he thought I was joking, which I was (sort of), but he quickly realized I knew whereof I spoke so he beat a hasty retreat to help some other schmuck buy his family name history for $40. Poor bastards. I guess none of their ancestors ever took a name different from the one they were born with. I'd have loved the last name of Bond, for example. And you know why!

Perfume

Finally did it! After reading the glorious review of Light Blue by Dolce & Gabbana ("Dolce & Gabbana's Light Blue is an absolutely terrific perfume, rich without a trace of heaviness, sweet without a hint of stickiness. It smells like the freshest lemon-cake batter. Ever.") I decided to visit the perfume counter at Macy's. Earlier in the past few weeks, I'd visited the same counter by myself to smell some of the classics (Chanel No. 5), I'd asked for Light Blue.

The sales lady started walking me over to the appropriate counter and said I was the second man she'd showed the perfume to, and asked if we were together, at the same time as pointing to the most flamboyant gay man smelling my perfume. Yup, I guess I'm now a gay man. At least they have good taste. "No, we are not together," I answered and proceded to gab it up with my new "boyfriend" about how good it smelled.

Yesterday, I walked in with my wife, lest I be mistaken for a froufrou. That didn't work either, because the sales woman at J. C. Pennys incredulously asked if the perfume was for me. Yes, it's for me, not my wife. For me! Sheesh, I like the perfume, it's beautiful. Why should such a heavenly smell be only for women?

I hope I've opened a few minds.

For actual male cologne, I liked Lacoste Essential