Trifles

Argh!

I need a cigarette.

I stopped smoking cigarettes a long time ago, believing, like James Bond, that smoking as an addiction is uncouth. A cigarette once-in-a-while is suave and helps calm the nerves. If you believe that, there are plots of land I have for sale in south Florida, email me.

I still need a cigarette.

Work

More information on the impending demolition of my department. Apparently, the team of monkeys (AKA the transition team) for the new governor decided to shoot then aim, in that order. They saw a problem with some divisions within department and decided the best route to take was to devolve the entire thing, rather than first perform a cost-benefit and efficiency analysis. The effect is that other divisions which have a history of high performance are getting dismantled almost as a sort of collateral damage, throwing the proverbial baby out with the proverbial water. This part of the governor's budget was so haphazardly thrown together that no one can answer authoritatively what the new IT will look like or what they will do! Brilliant.

There is some hope the governor will change his budget to reflect how brain-dead it would be to contract out IT services. We'll see.

SOTD

I quite enjoy the television series Poirot on A&E. Yesterday, I saw the episode How Does Your Garden Grow? which opens with David Suchet's Poirot stepping out of Geo. F. Trumper's! For you non-scentites, Trumper's is a renowned men's perfumer (in addition to other, men's grooming-related products). All through the episode, Captain Hastings, Poirot's assistant, complains of hay fever, but unbeknownst, is really bothered by Poirot's perfume.

The final scene has Poirot admitting he's wearing a scent to the abject surprise of the good Captain, Chief Inspector Japp and the redoubtable Mrs. Lemon. And what's more, he paid 5 guineas!

"Why, that's a year's worth of hair cuts, Poirot!" interjects Hastings, just before he sneezes again. The policeman is besides himself at the amount and is about to intone such when Poirot says his office is now closed.

"Hastings! You go home this minute and nurse your unfortunate affliction. Mrs. Lemon, cover your typewriter and good day to you, Chief Inspector!"

After dismissing them, Poirot continues his interrupted task of grooming his magnificent mustache, but pauses long enough to sniff his wrists and smiles in thorough enjoyment.

Attaboy, Poirot!

In honor of what is now my favorite Poirot episode, I am wearing a new classic, French perfumer Montale's Black Aoud. Normally, this would be completely out of my range, being some $200 for a 3.4-oz bottle, but I was able to get a 1ml sample.

I call it a new classic because even though this is from 2006, it smells Gothic, like something Dracula would wear as he makes the rounds of the luscious womens' boudoirs.

With notes of Cambodian aoud, patchouli leaves, mandarin, musk, and rose petals, I really love the opulent rose accord in this one which is strange because I usually do not like rose perfumes, like the despicable Czech & Speake No.88

I have yet to find out what an Aoud is, but who cares? It's wonderful.