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E

ScentOpera, the Review

Oh, boy.

Okay. So I went to the "Green Aria" yesterday, the Guggenheim's scent opera for their Works & Process series. I made sure to be utterly scent-free, for obvious reasons. I even walked up through Central Park, to try and keep myself from carrying too much car exhaust in with me. It was a gorgeous day in New York yesterday, by the way, bright sun and just the right temperature to really enjoy being out and about. So obviously, I head right to the underground bunker-theatre at the Guggenheim.

First, I'd better describe the setup. The beige auditorium was small, maybe 100 seats, and curved around a small stage; through most of the opera, though, the place was pitch black. Each seat was equipped with a thing that looked like an articulated microphone -- you know, the kind they have on podiums and speakers can adjust the stem to get the mic in front of their mouths? It was attached to the right arm of each seat. Where the mic head would be, there was a short metal tube that had various holes in it, but mainly just the open end pointed at the attendee. If you looked into the tube, there was a nozzle inside, at the base. Engineering-wise, it really was incredibly unobtrusive, so thumbs up to those guys.

The talk with the librettist, composers and fragrance creator was quite cool, mostly because Christophe Laudamiel gave a really fabulous explanation of the technology involved in dispersing the scents. He started off by creating the scents (which he then sent to the composers), but once they got to the "scent organ" he realised he'd have to do a lot more work. A LOT, it turns out...

Problem 1: Each scent was traveling at different speeds through the tubing to the seats. A diffused scent could take anywhere from 30-50 seconds to reach the outermost seat's articulated mic, so he ended up having to carefully phase the scents in an deliberate order to ensure they emerged at the right time to match up with the right musical cue.

Problem 2: Within each scent, the NOTES were traveling at different speeds. So imagine a second layer of scheduling complexity to the task outlined by Problem 1!

And that's not even getting into the nightmare of having to make sure the scents cooperated when played sequentially.. So basically, Christophe Laudamiel is a genius. Now, to the event itself.

The scent organ started blowing cycled air at first, letting us adjust the attachments; the rate of air was similar to that overhead blower in a plane or bus seat. I figured out pretty quickly that aiming it somewhere around my throat seemed to let me smell without feeling windburnt. First, we were introduced to the "characters". These turned out to be a variety of scents with names like "shimmering steel", "chaos", "technology", "fire", and "evangelical green". But there were about 25 of these scents, and they came in bursts of about 3 seconds of scent and the accompanying musical cue. I have to admit, my nose was smarting from the quick changes, a stinging that wasn't particularly pleasant. About five of the scents were really rather unpleasant.

I got it, though. The scents were definitely in keeping with their names. Earth smelled like soil. Runaway Crunchy Green sort of made me think of snowpeas. Fire was brimstoney and burney. Absolute Zero was a very crisp frozen smell. The Airs I mentally bookmarked immediately, accompanied by flutes and generally being as close to a palate-cleanser we might get.

Then the screens up front broke the opera down into four movements. I can't really outline them here other than to tell you it looked like some sort of environmentalist opera: everything's green and natural, then there's tech, then they fight, then everything comes together in harmony. There was a lot packed in there, though, with individual "characters" carrying out specific actions... I guess what I'm saying here is that there was a lot to take in, and not much signposting as to how to follow along.

Then the theatre went dark, and we were off.

All I can say here is that I think this event was intended for more rarefied audiences than one that includes me. I found a lot of it very frustrating, to the point that I realised multiple times through the performance that top half of my face had tensed up in concentration and I had to will the muscles to relax again.

The music paired up very well with the "character" scents, but it was almost too much to take it. I'm supposed to be keeping track of the music, the scents, AND a story I've only just been introduced to in bare-bones form?! The music acted as a warning a few times for the scents I already knew I really didn't like: a kazoo noise meant that "Funky Green Imposter" was about to shoot out at me, so I'd lean away. Whenever I heard a deep cello chord I'd stop breathing entirely, because that meant a billow of burnt fiery smoke scent. And whenever the strings and flutes paired up I'd lean into the mic and breathe deeply, because that meant AIR.

I actually found an old high-school friend in the crowd before the lights went down and chatted with him about all of this afterwards, when we were back in the world. And these are my conclusions:

The lack of a familiar storyline really, REALLY hurt. I know I write a lot, and so probably have a bias towards plot, and that this was an experimental piece that is about twenty miles further out to left field than any practical application would be. But the total unfamiliarity with the story, paired with an unusual specificity in that storyline that was implied by the score but then emphasised by the bursts of fragrance, made this a very hard thing to knit together. I couldn't keep track of what was happening besides a vague recollective quality like "oh, wait, that scent was technology -- I guess we're at that movement now? Maybe?" Hugely disorienting.

I left this unconvinced that scents can play anything like the roles of "characters"; I suspect I've always thought of scent as an aura or descriptive sense, so tacking it directly to a character with its own (totally unclear) motivations was a huge mental struggle for me. If this had been "The Story of Man" or even "The Garden of Eden", or some other well-worn tale that most of the population have a working narrative to match, then I think I'd be coming away with a totally different opinion. But this entire event was like being blindfolded, spun around and shoved into a crowd. I got snippets of what was going on, and I could tell what character was around me at any given time, but damn if I knew why.

Clearly, I'm far too pedestrian for this sort of thing. The organ itself is a glorious creation, and the scents were very evocative (though there were very, very few floral/gourmands, making things like the fruity "Chaos" welcome whenever they puffed through), and I enjoyed the music but fear I was using it more as an early-warning system than actually listening to the composition as a whole.

I will absolutely be first in line to try again if anyone ever decides to write a score to tell a story, then uses the scents as supporting players to boost the illusion that the story's swallowed you whole. But using scents as primary actors, and then strictly pairing scent with sound -- that seemed too regimented. The scents couldn't emote, and the music was to busy keeping pace to really transport me. In the end, I just wanted a more visceral experience than the intellectual exercise I got.

(ETA: Oh, and also? 24 hours later, I'm still getting whiffs of some of the ScentOpera scents. I don't actually have any lingering on me, this is total hallucination, but it's also sort of unpleasant. Abrupt, too, just sitting in my flat minding my business when suddenly I get a whiff of arid green. Fingers crossed this goes away.)

CB I Hate Perfume "Violet Empire"

I swear, it feels almost redundant to test CB perfumes. I suggest you go to his site, read all of his descriptions of his perfumes. They're so spot-on, I can't actually read them until I've already written my own impression, because otherwise I feel like I'm just cheaply parroting him.

Violet Empire is a gentle, airily sweet scent on me. It almost defies its floral moniker -- the feeling I get off of this is much more tactile. The velvet of moss, the warmth of sun. But it's a gentle sensation, not a sleepy one, because I also get a whiff of something sharper and brighter that keeps me awake: mint? Anise? The violet itself is under everything, but definitely underneath, and sometimes totally obscured by the notes on top.

I suspect that there's no sillage to this at all, but purposefully. "Violet Empire" is regal: the scent doesn't come to you, you come to it. Not flashy, not loud, but unlike anything I've smelled so far. No one would smell this on you unless they were close. It's like an aura that swirls around the wearer, full of vague implication but no direct statements. Understated and curiously powerful.

Verdict: You could wear this anywhere, absolutely anywhere. And to me, it smells like an alternate, hidden dimension.

ScentOpera

From the Guggenheim Calendar. Ahem:

"The ScentOpera introduces a new art form created by Stewart Matthew based only on smell and sound. Matthew collaborates with renowned fragrance designer Christophe Laudamiel and composers Nico Muhly and Valgeir Sigurdsson. Original scents and music will be performed in the dark via a customized scent organ for a world premiere unlike any other. The creation of the ScentOpera is supported by Fläkt Woods, Thierry Mugler Parfums, and Arup."

It's been pointed out to me that "customized scent organ" is a dodgy term to use in polite company, so... sorry about that.

I actually was so taken by the concept that I purchased the tickets, and only then really registered the names of the sponsors. If you've been reading the blog, you may very well have had the same reaction to one of the names as I did: specifically, a sudden and vehement exclamation of "MUGLER!". But I don't think that Mugler's had anything to do with the actual scent collection itself, and to be fair I ended up being rather intrigued by "Alien".

I'm totally fascinated by the concept, of course. It's not far off what I do now anyhow; splash on perfume, close my eyes and sniff, usually with music playing somewhere in the background. But the designer of this extravaganza promises that some of the smells are not going to be particularly pleasant, and I'll be surrounded by other people in the dark.... I'm anticipating an experience very close to tripping on LSD, to be honest. Especially since at least one of those composers is Icelandic, and everyone knows that 70% of Icelanders believe in elves.

The event's in about a week, and I promise to report back. Unless Mugler IS participating olfactorily, in which case I will be sadly deceased.

CB I Hate Perfume "In the Library"

I've been holding out on you.

Ages ago, I started writing a story that had a perfumer in it. The perfumer worked in a dark room in a windy tower, every surface in the room covered in vials and pipettes and handfuls of blossoms or mounds of ground spices. He was working in secret, because his work was outlawed. It was too real, too strong and too subtle to be allowed. I loved the idea that his little glass vials could be worn as part of a disguise, that a character could put on a certain outfit, alter their features, and then as a last touch use a dab of this illicit perfume to tie everything together and sell it.

The perfumes in this story are nothing like the ones I've reviewed here, which are mostly about enhancing your natural appeal with a totally alien scent. I mean, I have no excuse for walking round smelling like a flower, or a stick of incense. Those are sort of aspirational echoes; I like choosing a scent that might hint at an impulse or personality facet, but none of these are real-world smells. No one's going to think I've been running around honeysuckle trellises just before coming over for dinner.

That's why I enjoyed writing this story so much; all the scents were selling the image. Scents like "fishmonger" or "carpenter" or "airman". Scents that would make other people's senses lie to them, that would guarantee the wearer a hidden layer of assurance.

And then I discovered CB I Hate Perfume, and found the perfume-maker, stepping out of my imagination and landing right here in New York.

"In the Library" is a scent I can't really review. I can't reel out extended scenarios for it; they're all bound up in the scent itself. "In the Library" is vellum and parchment, places where dry leather has cracked and turned dusty, frayed edges of cloth-covered bindings. And it is serious. This is not romance or sitting by a fire or drinking a cup of tea, this is a book. I have very good memories of reading old books, so this is a happy scent for me. For others, who maybe got stuck researching back in the stacks and hated it? They probably aren't as happy.

No verdict, no judgement, this perfume eludes all effort at categorization. This is a scent for the wearer and the wearer alone. It actually changes my mood, or refines my personality. I've worn this under a turtleneck with tortoiseshell glasses and I have felt more scholarly, but still me. It works with Christopher Brosius's other scents in the same way: I know where I'm going to be that day, and there's potential for me to feel all sorts of different ways, and I pick a scent to bring out the way I want to feel.

I can't tell you to go out and buy this at all. I can just say that this particular perfume is not one I ever wear for the benefit of another. It's like a bottled landscape, and if I put it on, I can live in that landscape all day.

Scent Lab

"I wear Pom Noir year 'round, but just layer it w/ other Jo Malone scents. For example, layered w/ her Nectarine & Honey Blossom, it keeps that scent from being too sweet and one-dimensional. Together, it's wonderful and perfect for spring. Jo's scents really almost are all at their best when layered, not worn solo." -- Amber


Amber, EXCELLENT tip. I'm a cynic at heart and so have never really taken Jo Malone's "fragrance layering" credo seriously (I just assumed it was a way to get us to buy more expensive perfume). But I stand corrected, because it turns out that a 2:1 ratio of N&HB to PN smells absolutely incredible!

Somehow the N&HB smooths out all of the PN's sharp edges, without actually blunting the lovely fruity scent. And just in case, I applied some just before I got into bed, knowing I'd be awake reading for a few hours and then would try to drop off to sleep. Sure enough, no headachey feeling, no sickly-sweetness. I'm not saying that the scent stayed the same the whole night, just that the pom syrup drizzle didn't wake me up.

Very good call! Anyone have advice for layering with Burberry's London? I liked it, but my mother says it smells "like body odor". Charming.

Jo Malone "Pomegranate Noir"

(In a shifty nod to the economic disaster, note I'm now displaying a 30ml bottle. Ahem.)

I had no expectations for this scent. I don't really go shopping for pomegranates at the market, and though I do spend a good 30% of every earth day in total darkness, who knows what "noir" means? Will a gruff man in a fedora appear on my doorstep, call me sweetie, and then spend the next 2 hours struggling with a drink problem and a crime syndicate? (And is it worrying that I find that strangely tempting?)

So all I had to go on was the fact that I know Jo Malone's citrus stuff really doesn't work on me, but her rich florals and fruits do. To the scent lab!

[later, in living room]

Well, gosh, this somehow isn't what I expected. When I first put it on, there was a sort of "oh, holy god" reaction, the feeling that that small spritz certainly packed a punch. It takes a few minutes to untangle what's going on here, and even then I can't really isolate the notes, I can just get a feeling. This is pine forests and lichen and candied plums, velvet and fragrant woods. The pomegranate's in here too, freshly split in half and lovely, and I think that might be what saves the scent from being too strange and heady and incense-thick.

I know I'm going to have to put this scent back into my cabinet and wear it this autumn, probably in October. Initially I thought I'd just say this is a Christmas scent, but the longer I wear it, the less I want to pigeonhole it. There's a gentle time in New England, when the leaves have all fallen but are still fresh on the ground, and the night begins to fall very quickly, seemingly 10 minutes earlier by the day. And I remember walking home from friends' houses in that unexpected dark, with a chill in the air that heightened the pine and dampened sound so that I was just this warm live young note, walking through a stillness that seemed almost mystical.

That quiet satisfaction somehow carries through to this scent. The difference is that it feels more knowing: the same quiet night, but an adult woman with dark flowing hair and a long burgundy coat in the distance, walking into mist. (Test before you buy, though -- this doesn't stay long on me unless I'm wearing enough layers for it to really simmer against my skin.)

EDIT: Well, that's unexpected. I thought the perfume was gone, and then boom -- pomegranate juice. Like it's been boiled down to a syrup, then drizzled on my wrist. Longevity? This doesn't fade, at ALL. But it really is a much different scent two hours in, and to be honest, I'm not sure I could sleep with it on. Pomegranate juice is very, very very sweet, and there's not much else happening at the last stage. Yikes.

Verdict: Wonderful for the start of cool weather -- when everyone else is wilting from the lack of sun and sullenly wrapping up, this lush scent wards off any chill from within. But when the scent turns syrupy... Well, I'm not sure I can take it.

Public Service Announcement

Attention Jo Malone shoppers:

I just got an email notifying me that you can get 25% Jo Malone products. It only lasts until the 11th because it's a Valentine's promotion (accursed holiday!), but try this link and see if it's still in action.

Quoth the rules:

OFFER VALID ONLY AT JOMALONE.COM (NOT VALID AT JO MALONE SHOPS OR DEPARTMENT STORE LOCATIONS). VALID FROM 2/10/2009 - 2/11/2009 ONLY ON JOMALONE.COM. VALID ON IN-STOCK MERCHANDISE ONLY. NOT VALID ON PURCHASE OF GIFT CARDS, EGIFT CARDS OR CUSTOM GIFT SETS. NOT VALID ON PENDING PURCHASES OR PURCHASES MADE BEFORE OR AFTER 2/11/2009. ALL PURCHASES ARE SUBJECT TO BANK AUTHORIZATION PRIOR TO PROCESSING. ONLY AUTHORIZED PURCHASES WILL BE PROCESSED AND SHIPPED. WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO CANCEL ANY ORDER DUE TO UNAUTHORIZED, ALTERED, OR INELIGIBLE USE OF OFFER AND TO MODIFY OR CANCEL THIS PROMOTION DUE TO SYSTEM ERRORS OR UNFORESEEN PROBLEMS.

Obviously, I've got a bit of a soft spot for this particular retailer, so that's making this temptation particularly acute.... Mmmm, Jo Malone. Here's a roll call of the Scents & Sensibility reviews of Jo Malone products:

Red Roses

Nectarine Blossom & Honey

Lime Blossom

Amber & Lavender

Orange Blossom

Vintage Gardenia

DKNY "Be Delicious"

It took me a while, but I finally got my hands on a tester of DKNY's "Be Delicious" (no the real one, not the impostor).

Right off, this smells like a long, twirling peel of granny smith apple. When my dad made cobbler in the summer, he'd put all the apple peelings in a dish and we'd snack on them like they were potato chips. They were chewy and waxy and made the inside of your mouth feel a little prickly if you had too many, but they were also the only thing to tide you over until the cobbler got out of the oven. It's a good smell for me, and the first spray was clean and bright and fresh.

So maybe my expectations are memory-based, and when I don't get a follow-on of baked apple or sugar or cinnamon, I'm confused. Instead, the drydown on me is... salty. A heavy, steamy saltiness that's hard to describe. Like peeling an apple in a saltwater sauna. And then trying to eat slices of the apple, now coated in this hot-rock salt mist. Am I making this sound gross? Because on me, this smells gross.

I'm going to give this another shot in summer, I think, just in case this is getting smothered under winter clothes and a heating system. Because I just can't take the idea that my skin curdles citrus AND salts fresh fruit!

Verdict: Regrettably, for me this is a bad apple.

State of Play

Dear reader,

Well. Things have not precisely gone as expected.

For one, I started working at a corporation where perfume in the office was not exactly banned, but certainly not encouraged. The mix of coworkers at the office changed too -- I was used to like-minded people around my age, and suddenly found myself the youngest member of a team full of married workaholics. It was also a corporation where I sat 9 hours a day at a desk, staring at a screen, and feeling as though my soul was steadily being drained dry. And did I mention that it qualified as a "finanical", aka the corporations that were particularly damaged in the economic collapse? Going to work got to the point where it was like reporting for detention... or an execution. When you're at a job like that, it has the effect of bleeding everything else in your life dry too; you come home and have no energy to write or cook or think or do anything more than slump in a chair and watch cable news or crime procedurals. You lose all sense of perspective, and it all gets rather unhealthy.

And so it went, for 10 long months. And then? Then my company downsized, and I was unemployed. Strange, isn't it, that it took losing my job to wake up?

So now I'm back. Luckily, I wasn't in a total coma over the past year; I managed to amass quite a range of samples, as well as a few local perfumes that are truly a breed apart (not always a good thing, though always interesting). So I'll be able to start posting sample reviews pretty swiftly. Now that I have time to kill and need to save money, I'm also posting on a slightly more off-topic blog, Hobo Kitchen, which is about budget cooking. Make of it what you will.

Check in when you can, and I know it's a tough job market out there and people have all sorts of responsibilities to keep in mind, but -- man. I can't tell you how much better my mental state is now that I'm not at that job anymore. It wasn't my choice to leave, and I miss the income, but it might have saved my mind.

Eliza

Jo Malone "Red Roses"

Every time I saw this scent described, people referred to it as a "young rose". I did not know what that meant. It made me think of the waxy roses your boyfriend gave you on Valentine's Day when you were fifteen, the ones that smelled both watery and sharply sweet (mostly likely due to the plant feed dumped into the buckets of bouquets at the local supermarket). And if that was what a "young rose" is all about, no thank you. I'll stick with other memories.

But in December, as I was returning from a fabulous trip to the UK, I found myself wandering past the Heathrow Jo Malone store. I was a bit high off the absurdly advantageous exchange rate, and so splurged on an entire bottle of "Red Roses" without even taking a spritz (never a good idea to apply an unknown perfume before a transatlantic flight -- might have an "Angel"ic experience). As soon as I landed I broke out the bottle, and I've been wearing it frequently ever since.

I get what they mean by "young rose". This is like waking up early, putting on the teakettle and wandering outside while there's still dew on everything. It's still cold out and everything's slightly chill to the touch, but you bring out your tea and a book and settle at a table on the patio right by a rosebush. And as the sun rises and everything warms, a gentle, soft warmth of rose builds in the air mixed with dew drying on greenery and that very clear smell of early morning.

This isn't a big bloomy scent that brings to mind velvet and dusk and the Phantom of the Opera, and that's why it's something I can wear frequently. Not to get graphic, but some rose scents can be a little porny on a 20 year old woman, but might be perfectly appropriate on a 50 year old -- it's a sensuality and depth I think older women have earned and can balance, while on a younger woman it tips over into neon sign territory. There are occasions to wear a scent that shouts "lush" and "ripe", but... I prefer to choose those moments carefully.

"Red Roses" doesn't cause that sort of confusion. It's no simple bud rose in a vase, or even a gorgeous storebought bouquet. It's living, breathing roses all around you, distilled into liquid form -- full of potential, and one of my favourites.

Verdict: If you're the type who loves spending time in hedge mazes and gardens, this one's for you. Lovely and classy, possibly a rose scent for people who can't find the right rose.

Paris Hilton "Can Can"

Seriously -- I went to the Macy's counter, and this is the only sample they had. Freaking Paris Hilton will be my first return-to-US review. How perfectly twisted is that?

First on, all I could think of was Flowerbomb. There's that same sweet petal hint, but difficult to untangle -- there's something plastic overlying this scent that muddles the notes, and it runs straight through all the stages of the perfume.

After the intial Fauxerbomb hit, the first distinct note was confectioner's sugar, like when you're dusting a cake and some of the sugar gets caught in the air and you breathe it in. It really gets into your nose and the back of your throat, very aggressive, and actually resulted in me going to get a glass of water to cut the sensation a little. Just as I thought "too much", the sugar died down a bit and a more muted tone appeared.

Unfortunately, I didn't like the next stage any better. All baby powder and floral and sugar, like the perfumes in a child's makeup kit, alongside the miniature lipstick and waxy eye tint. There's a sour flower in here, possibly a lily that's just going off... Ah! Got it!

You know those sachets of plant food you get with flower arrangements? You're meant to mix it in with the water and it supposedly makes your roses live longer. I think it's mostly sugar, and if you let the roses stay in that water even a little past their bloom, this insidious smell shows up. Sickly sweet and decomposing.

Verdict: It's tempting to try a witty comparison between Paris Hilton's perfume (plasticky, saccharine and decayed) and her persona (no comment). But in the end, this is just Flowerbomb well past its sell-by date.

Back from Beyond

New Zealand is a lovely country, reader. It's green and lush and gorgeous, surrounded by turquoise waters stretching out forever under cornflower-blue skies. The clouds racing by overhead are just as white and puffy as the sheep dotting the hills. Goofy orange-billed black birds with absurdly gangly red legs watch you from the roadside, and Christmas is marked by an explosion of red spiky flowers on the pohutukawa trees.

In my experience, it's mainly a visual experience. Granted, this could have a lot to do with the fact that I was mainly based in Wellington, where the wind enjoys blowing old ladies over at the slightest provocation. The wind eagerly seeks out anything it can and promptly whips it out into the Pacific -- scarves, documents, children under 10. Facing such odds, mere scents don't really have a chance.

That's not to say I didn't try; but here's another thing about NZ. There are 4 million people there. In a city like Wellington, that means you will soon find yourself recognising people on the street. And if you're skulking around their perfume halls, that means the staff at the beauty counter will soon become quite suspicious about you.

So if you're looking to test perfumes, don't go to New Zealand. If you're looking for espresso that will ruin you for all others, for vistas that will strike you dumb, and lovely fabulous people with a dry sense of humour and a bloody annoying accent, then book your tickets now. I've only been back in the US two weeks, and I already miss it dearly.

Dear All

Was it the JLo fragrance that did it? I'll never know. All I can tell you is that my laptop suddenly started making this awful fan noise, the software collapsed, the power system fried, and I kept getting a very elusive whiff of "Still". After a month of toting the machine around town, I finally managed to find a kindly repairperson who did his Mac-whispering thing and ordered new parts. So we're back.

Since regaining access to the blog, I've noticed that there are a couple of readers who are less than pleased with my assessment/knowledge/general comportment. That's understandable -- perfume's a pretty personal thing, and at times a very emotional thing. If I scoff at something you were wearing when your husband proposed or the scent your late mother used to wear, it's not surprising the reaction is indignant.

I stated pretty frequently in earlier entries that my judgements are coloured not only by my personal body chemistry and age, but also by my own sense memory. Admittedly I tailed off on those sorts of disclaimers recently, mostly because I felt it was getting repetitive -- but it does still stand. This is by no means an impartial perfume blog; it's completely partial and very particular to my own reaction.

Please do continue leaving comments, good or bad. But I did want to assure all readers that I'm not trying to lay down a comprehensive judgement on perfumes -- it'd be foolish to even try, given how vivid the difference can be from wrist to wrist.

(And as a side note: Given that I have relocated to the far side of the ocean, I don't have the most brilliant access to fragrances. If you'd like to see a perfume reviewed on this site, feel free to email me or leave a comment suggesting it and I'll do what I can to source it. If you happen to have a sample of it lying around and would like to pop it in an envelope and post it, email me and I'll give you the address. I guarantee that anyone who takes the time to post a sample will get a prompt review.)

And with that bit of housekeeping done, back to the fun stuff.

Eliza