Angela Bocage

Very, very late on posting this….

Because I think it happened in January. But it was this magical night in Philadelphia, warm and ever so slightly misty, and very dark, and I worked a bit latish in center city to then walk over to the Borders bookstore to Charles Burns’ book signing. Whee, there I was, [trying to pretend not to be terrified at being out in public where I could be observed and despised by my fellow humans who would recoil in disgust and possibly crush me like a worm were they to notice me, for how could they not then instinctively intuit my loathsomeness and the need to rid this plane of existence of an evil of my ilk?!] getting to meet this great artist at last whose work just inspires me to my core. And besides being this amazing artist whose crisp black and white inkinesses and negative space somehow by sheer vibration create color, being this prolific imaginer whose dark baroque eruptions dance elegantly with language clean as a Morandi painting in words, he’s a real sweetheart, super nice and gracious. I’ve never been able to really understand the whole color-out-of-black-&-white thang, I just stare at his pages at length. If you’ve never read his stuff, please don’t deny yourself this experience of beauty. You might go to his entry at as a start, because for some reason I’m not finding his actual website tonight–I’m lucky if I can walk and think at the same time actually, we’re dealing with humongous sinus infections in an epic microbial badminton match around here–or look at the hardcover collection of Black Hole which is what he was signing and discussing that evening. When I spoke to him I of course told him how fantabulous he was, but mostly we talked about our BREEEEEELLLIONNTT seventeen year old daughters and how they’re juuuuust starting not to be too embarrassed by us 😀 and how one of our former publishers who’ll remain unmentioned is a total asshole. And bless his heart, Burns is a Philly boy now, too, after doing the childhood-as-trek-around-the-U.S.-cauza-Dad’s-job that I and many other artists did as well. Go buy his books, y’all….


Sweet skin…sweet clothes…and a sweet deal

Many swear by Laura Mercier’s fine foundation products, whose oil-free, silky, yet coverage-provident formulae make them my teenage fashionista correspondent’s favorites. At the fantastic shop fronting the Rittenhouse Square area Blue Mercury spa, I learned today that LM also makes sweetly fragranced bath and body products, and brought home the chocolate shower cream. It smells fresh and clean, which is amazing when its notes of vanilla, honey, and possibly amber are intoxicatingly rich and delicious. Shea butter and macadamia nut oil promise smooth nourished skin; if more moisture is needed, the same fragrance comes in a generous-sized jar of body butter. This particular Blue Mercury shop always seems to have lovely things I’ve given up on finding elsewhere, so let me also mention that your beautiful, fragile vintage/silk/rayon/knit or crochet items that can’t machine wash will also be pampered and brilliantly fragranced by my other Blue Mercury find, Tocca washing solution for delicates. Unable to choose between longtime fave Stella, a spicy, woody, fresh blood-orange-based scent, and Florence, a white floral full of gardenia goodness, I got both. Not a lot of this luscious serum is needed to wash a reasonable size tub of lacy dresses, knit hats, etc., and by getting both, why, it will last twice as long, how’s that for logic? Never could be fully logical when things smell SOOOOO good and aren’t even fattening….

Among the grooming rituals my big strong gorgeous partner religiously observes, Neutrogena hand cream at least once a day and always right before sleep is very comforting, to keep with today’s theme smells fresh and wonderful, and certainly makes her hands’ skin velvety soft. It’s not the least bit expensive, so if you don’t observe many rituals for yourself, try this one–after you’re done blogging, reading, making lists and smooching/snorgling your sweetie and your pets, of course, or you’ll literally have a mess on your hands–but you’ll see instant difference, benefit from its springtimey, mood-elevating fragrance, AND have extremely caressable hands.

(This is the sixth month since I quit smoking, so perhaps the healing of smoke-inhalation-anosmia is what’s making me delight so in the olfactory wonders of the world. Yay smokefreeness!)

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