On my dresser stands a new bottle of perfume. I can tell it’s real and expensive. The bottle itself is a sight to behold. Made of colored green glass, it’s shaped like a plumper version of an hourglass, bringing to mind phrases like “fullness of body” and “intensity of allure.” I make up these words on my own. I know I shouldn’t be taking perfume so seriously, but I’ve never had grown-up perfume. This did not even come to rest on my shelf because I bought it, although I coulda. It doesn’t come from my husband, although it shoulda. It comes from my mother-in-law, instead. I shoulda open it… but… I am intimidated. I’m scared of perfume.
It’s a funny thing, this fear. It is certainly not only about a fear of perfume per se. Anyone coulda told me that from a mile away! Perhaps the fear of using a bottle of perfume is akin to the experience of people refusing to take off the plastic cover off of furniture, although they really shoulda. Maybe it’s just like when we were kids and we were given new toys that were so special, that we weren’t allowed to take them out of their boxes (remember the first Balikbayan box you ever opened and out came your first walking doll that was instantly snatched by your mother and forever kept in a cabinet?). There’s fear there too: a fear of getting things dirty, or a fear of losing things especially to the power of dust and grime to make shiny new things suddenly old, or even a fear of forgetting. In plastic, they stay pristine, protected and pure. It’s silly, really—believing that anything can be protected from time.
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LOS ANGELES—With the successful showing at the box office of Leonardo DiCaprio’s latest action-adventure sci-fi film, “Inception,” there is no doubt that the humble and talented actor is one of Hollywood’s most bankable stars.
Grossing $60.4 million in the opening weekend alone, the Chris Nolan-helmed movie that depicts a team led by Leonardo stealing dreams and implanting ideas in people while they sleep has got audiences wanting to see the movie again and again.
We interviewed the glamorous Leo in Beverly Hills and he told us how he chooses his roles, his directors, and the movies that he makes.
“I have always just taken a very simple approach which is can I provide service to that character?” he said. “Can I give something to this piece of material? Do I have an emotional connection to it? Can the director ultimately pull off this concept?”
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Margarita, is a child borne out of love. Of course that is true of all children, but this one in particular, was born on a night of desire. Yes, I must begin by oversharing.
When I started preferring jumpers and sneakers to ruffled dresses during my tweens, I thought that forcing me to wear anything with ribbons or lace was downright cruel. It wasn’t that I would get hives wearing a girly getup, it was that tween-age self-inflicted drama made me believe I would die—at least figuratively, of embarrassment, that is—wearing something that I felt wasn’t “me.”
When we were newly married, one of the mothers in my life gave me this advice: always kiss each other’s rings at night and never sleep with both of you angry. I thought that these were particularly wonderful suggestions and appealed to the romantic in me.