Bamboo Harmony is a bit soft - similar to Bois 1920 oltremare, it has tea (specifically the powdered, ready-to-mix iced tea). However, the tea it has doesn't invoke yellow: not warm sunny days, but misty, damp mornings. It's cooling: soothing without the chill of mentholated ointment. Surprisingly, it evolves - thickens, actually, as the whiff becomes stronger on the skin - putting citrus (one note reminds me of Issey Miyake's Pour Homme) into the verdant mix. From calming and meditative tea, it transitioned into a summer punch: zesty, fruity and yes, fun bordering on casual. It strikes me as potent - one more notch and it would smell artificial. It's also, I hate to admit, similar to the scent most hotels use (it's probably the bamboo). I would reserve this in flashy occasions. The drydown is wonderful: sweet and tame.


In my head there were 700 earphones to untangle - one by one, there were so many - a mound of threads. Each was a task that would take years. He said it had to be in complete darkness - he said you had to until your eyes give up, until your nose picks up the slightest whiff of ear and wax and sweat stuck on hair. You have to lay each pair straight and next to each other. My finger muscles were stiff as claws, and my palms have callouses that swelled like paws. In a beat my head started to ache when one earphone blasted music, from which gadget I do not know. It was faint for what seemed like months, like a murmur cupped with a hand. In an instant the sound grew loud - it had life and words and threads of conversations. I started running out of fear and tripped on the wires I stretched for years.

From 15 December 2016

"But I (they?) left on (all?) my glasses" was what my son sleep-talked about at 2:28 AM, while reading 'Oxford Postcard: Comments' in a digital copy of The New Yorker.

From 22 November 2016

What makes me happy: An empty hamper. Bills paid on the dot. The way four year-olds say 'I love you.' Travel plans. My wife's baking. Reading a beautiful story until the end. Writing about the beautiful story. A good perfume. Mown grass. Snails in the garden. Places where you look up to see tree canopies or clear skies. Beef steak for dinner. Eating a meal in the same pot where I cooked it. Drinking cold water straight out of the pitcher. Bare, narrow ankles.