Notes from Nadir


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Info Reviews 2 Statements 0 Photos 0 Chart. Where to buy. Search on. Nadir is a new perfume by Not Perfumes for women and men and was released in The scent is earthy-spicy. The longevity is above-average. It is still in production. Scent 7. Longevity 8. Sillage 7.

Nadir | Monograf

Bottle 8. Submitted by Calista , last update on Rate Collection Souk Classify Notes. Translated automatically Show original Show translation. We don't always know why a perfume was made and what intuition was hidden behind it when it was created. Some fragrances are supposed to awaken beautiful memories of distant countries.

Others should seduce or touch. Many of them are made out of love and many out of memories of people and certain situations. Some have also been made for personal use and for a very special purpose. This also happened with Johanna Venables. She created Nadir for only one reason Nadir A strong note of camphor immediately receives the first contact in the top note.

Mentholy and almost fresh, medicinal and bitter. The Recitativo—Fantasia is the most original movement in the sonata. The violin makes its entrance with an improvisation-like passage this is the fantasia of the title , and the entire movement is quite free in both structure and expression: moments of whimsy alternate with passionate outbursts. After the expressive freedom of the third movement, the finale restores order with pristine clarity: it is a canon in octaves, with one voice following the other at the interval of a measure.

Gradually, the music takes on unexpected power and drives to a massive coda and a thunderous close. After the first Allegretto of the sonata, the performers could scarcely read the music. Now the official regulations forbade any light whatever in rooms which contained paintings. Even the striking of a match would have been matter for offense. The public was about to be asked to leave, but the audience, already full of enthusiasm, refused to budge.

Music, wondrous and alone, held sovereign sway in the darkness of night. Chaconne from the Partita No. This Chaconne is of course THE Chaconne , one of the most famous and difficult pieces ever written for the violin. Bach composed it around as the final movement of his Partita No. The first four movements present the expected partita sequence— Allemande, Courante, Sarabande , and Gigue— but then Bach springs a surprise: the last movement is a chaconne longer that the first four movements combined.

The Chaconne offers some of the most intense music Bach ever wrote, and it has worked its spell on musicians everywhere for the last two-and-a-half centuries. Beyond the countless recordings for violin, it is currently available in performances by guitar, cello, lute, and viola, as well as in piano transcriptions by Brahms, Busoni, and Raff. She had a spare room. Two-car garage. Free internet.

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And a few conditions I went from looking for a small apartment of my own to a roommate situation. I called a Culver City resident who had a two-bedroom unit. The location was near the freeway, parking was hard to find, and there was one bathroom. As Mom would say, it was a roof over my head, so I made an appointment to see the place the next day. I walked over to The Grove, a trendy outdoor mall near the original Farmers Market on Third and Fairfax, not knowing it was my final time there.

Notes from Nadir

I was optimistic that I'd get a place and reside within Los Angeles County. I smiled, remembering the actor. Back in , I won a contest on Amazon. A couple of days after the order was placed; I got an email from an Amazon employee notifying me that I was a winner in their upcoming contest.


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Someone affiliated with the movie I'd ordered would deliver it to me. I had to sign and fax back a release form. I'd need to be available the following Wednesday in order to answer the door for the special delivery. On that hot Wednesday afternoon in July there was a knock on my front door. I was surprised to see the star of the movie standing there! But a quick glance to my right and I was unhappily surprised to see that the Academy Award nominated actor had tracked tar upstairs and globs of it were on the new beige and white woven doormat I'd set out expressly for the occasion.

I'm sorry, the actor said, looking down at his now dirty sneakers. I was embarrassed for him.


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  • The mat was far less expensive than his shoes. I recalled looking into his large eyes and thinking how kind they were; he radiated a friendliness and hospitality that was seen in the character, Paul Rusesabagina, he portrayed in the film. I was upset about the mini tar pit gushing downstairs on the walkway and making its way towards the street, but the landlady wouldn't fix it, nor would the city. I had put some cardboard on the walkway to stave off the flow so I was puzzled as to why Don Cheadle stepped in it.

    The tall UPS driver was super friendly as he was being filmed.

    He played his role of having me sign for the package and I played mine as the signee. The camera guy was positioned near the stairs filming the constrained action. Below him, on the edge of the walkway, stood the boom operator and I noticed a few other people who I guess were publicists and those affiliated with Amazon. We went downstairs and they wanted to interview me in front of the landlady's house but I said no and we settled on the corrugated metal background of the garage. Not a scenic locale, but far enough away from the always-home landlady.

    I told Don that I was a very private person and he said, You must think I'm sick! He grinned, adding, You actually never really get used to all this A woman carrying a Ralph's shopping bag stopped on the sidewalk and was gawking. I asked Don if he got lost, remembering the Comcast cable guy who had the audacity to knock on the landlady's front door and she threatened to call the police on him for trespassing.

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    I gestured to the north at the apartment building. He shook his head. Right there. A well built large Spanish style house on the east side of Willow Street with a freshly landscaped front yard. Instead of discussing the genocide flick he had come to promote, I mentioned his other films: Boogie Nights and Volcano , the latter which was filmed in the area. Standing at the top of the driveway, unused to being in front of cameras, I was uncomfortable.

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    I noticed that traffic on Park Street was stuck and wondered why; it was only Los Angeles was a common filming ground but I didn't expect it to happen to me in front of a garage. As the cameras rolled, Don autographed the DVD. He also gave me a package of green Save Darfur wristbands. Soon he was gone, traffic increased from parade speed, and the spectator resumed her journey. I went back into what I referred to as the compound, closing and locking the gate behind me.

    I looked at the cover of the DVD with Don's dramatic handwriting filling the top portion.

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    After so many years of trying to make it as a screenwriter in the film business, I finally had someone in the film business visit me. I went upstairs, saw the newest markings, and wished that Le Petit La Brea Tar Pit was fixed but it was too much money, according to the owner.


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    • I'd first moved into the apartment after it was totally remodeled. All the appliances were new, the grey Berber carpeting was recently installed, and walls were stark white as were the mini blinds. To me, it was the cutest little apartment in the Miracle Mile area. I used to joke it was a miracle that I'd found the place as it was affordable and I even had my own one-car garage right below me as well as use of the washer and dryer that was in the other garage.

      Like in the film, Kundun , the young Dalai Lama's employee told him: Today you lose, tomorrow you may win. He snapped his fingers for emphasis. Things change. Oh boy, did they! Not instantly, of course, but I observed the landlady's mental collapse. Bush to an agoraphobic alcoholic. I used to see empty plastic whisky bottles whenever I took out the trash. Hell, at least she put 'em in the blue recycling bin like a good citizen. It was sad to watch her disintegrate alone in that two-story house on the corner of Willow and Park Streets. I always referred to anything that went on in her house as Up Front.

      Her only son checked up on her frequently because he had to stay in her good graces in order to inherit her house. His nickname was King, because he thought he already owned the place. I had to go Up Front to get the mail that was next to the front door and cringed when I saw the short guy watching me pick up my mail. I despised the communal mailbox setup because so often, especially in recent years, my incoming mail was skimpier. A few times envelopes had been opened. I was also missing items I knew were being sent. I finally rented a mailbox. After that, I only went up there once a week to check.

      I first met King when he was an acne-faced art student who painted anything with a flat surface. That included saws, boards, canvases, cans, metal birdcages, and anchovy and sardine tins. Sometimes I'd see him working on a piece and would tiptoe past him so as not to disturb King, then in his Le Artiste mode.

      He wouldn't have heard me unless there was an earthquake because his damned radio was blaring 's pop tunes. Record level rainfall in early caused flooding. The ground was soaked and late one night I heard a loud crash followed by a popping noise. I saw a brilliant flash of light coming from outside. It was a transformer blowing out and there was no electricity. I would discover the next day that one of the trees had split in half due to the rain sodden earth. It had caused the power lines to flame up and drop some heavy tree limbs on a couple of parked cars, crushing them. A month later, my hot water heater went out.

      I knew that Queenie wouldn't fix it but maybe her son would deign to repair the peasant's sole means of lukewarm shower water. He was Up Front with one of his art cronies and I overheard laughter but no response to any of my voicemail messages. Two days later he called and told me Queenie had a stroke and was in the hospital. I offered my get-well wishes and sent her a card when she was put in a long-term care facility. As long as she was alive I had a place to live, I reasoned. As soon as she died King would evict me.

      The darkened house suddenly had lights being switched on. He was now the King of Willow Street when he moved back in and his mother returned, confined to a hospital bed. One of them walked into my apartment one afternoon, claiming it was an accident. Had I not been there I'm sure he would have been lurking around, as I knew that King had probably sent him up there. There were noises Up Front now that sounded like screams and shouts.

      I overheard muffled rantings that were mockeries of Queenie's speech pattern. What was really going on up there?

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