Wednesday, November 30, 2005

I heart poor jokes, 2

Dear Marc, I'm so tired I can barely lift my hands to the keyboard. But I still wanted to drop you a note, since the holidays are coming up. I searched the web and found a classy gift that would suit most relatives.

And for those close or not so close that you still have to buy something for, why not give them t-shirts with poor jokes? I love them.

Here are my top picks:

Ah, ja really do.

And this one too, especially with the model look modelled in this look, how bored can anyone get? Or is this what sultry looks like?

Or perhaps you've got someone in your life who wants to give the world a geography lesson?
Help her/him out!:

Poor jokes made me the person I am today. I was brought up by a poor joker. Sadly, my dad's joke don't translate but they're all within the humoristic t-shirt range. What did people do before t-shirts came around to help people display their personalities? Did you just dress like your favorite food to start conversations?

Help me out before I pass out over the key board.
Love, love, love.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Train of thought

Dear Marc, how did you spend your Saturday? I spent mine on the cafe tram that takes tourists on a short but picturesque tour of Stockholm. I had both kids and a friend with me. Before getting on the little trolley, we had waited for ten minutes in the freezing cold. As we saw the tram in the distance and prepared to board, I notice that my son needs a diaper change. There are no bathrooms on the cafe trolley.

I'm a fast mom with a tendency to exaggerate my own skills. I said to myself "I can change the diaper here and now, at the speed of light." There was snow in the air as I opened the thermal overall and took off the smelling package. Joel's skimpy clothing was left unopened at the crotch, with his new diaper not completely secured. The tram pulled in and I started to load the pram onto the cafe trolley, but I couldn't get it through the door. That's when my heroic friend Annika took command and told me to get on the train with my kids, she would load the pram onto a non-cafe section of the train.

This is the terrifying view that met shocked Italian tourists on the cafe tram:
A mother carrying a half naked baby with his peepee exposed to the arctic wind. Her other hand raised in the air, proudly displaying a foulsmelling diaper. Things calmed down after the climax, but as you can see in the picture below, I never quite recovered from feeling and looking slightly panicked.

It was not my proudest moment. Later I told this story to my boyfriend and asked him "If at 16, someone would have showed you a picture of me at that exact moment and said "this is your future", what would you have done?"

"It's in my nature to accept my fate" he said and went to get more ice cream.

In closing this letter let me tell you that I wish you, sir, perfect tram boardings for the rest of your life. Also, if you should ever feel like making a sculpture of me, let it be a golden one with my fist raised in the air, clutching a diaper.

Love from your

Monday, November 28, 2005

That's what I call a Happy Meal

Looking up from my McCoffee because American was suddenly spoken at my local McDonalds in the heart of Stockholm, I was met with a pleasant surprise. Standing a few feet from me was Mr Vanilla Ice. That's not something you can prepare for. That's like running into Sophia Loren at your favorite Dairy Queen in Springfield, OH. My heart was racing, my eyes blinking at a very strange speed. I felt an urge to photograph the star, but my digiCam was left at home, as the batteries needed (as always) to be recharged.

At this moment, I also had problems phrasing my hello. Should I say "Vanilla", like we were on a first name basis? Should I go for the more formal, but largely ridiculous "Mr Ice"? I kept thinking his real name was something Dutch-sounding, like Mark Vanderloo, but that wasn't it. I did my best to refrain from calling him Mr Zoolander although I think that when you compare Stiller to Ice, Ice was the original. Look here at Mr Ice, back in the days:

Now compare it with the gaze called Blue Steel:

Here's a little credit where credit's due. I love Stiller, but Ice was first.
To my huge regret, I did not make it to greet Vanilla. I was stuck between 2 kids and a lady asking for change. But at least I saw Ice yesterday. And if you also have trouble remembering important facts, let me tell you that his real name is Robert Van Winkle.
Who did you see at your local eatery yesterday?


Ps. Marc, do jaws keep growing like noses do? It seemed the Robert Van Winkles face had grown, sideways. I've heard of the camera adding pounds, but never reducing inches. Perhaps it was the hat he was wearing, he always used to have that little blond mop of hair on his head, it may have had an elongating effect.

Ps. 2 To be filed in the category of "things I'd never thought I'd tell my kids" is the following quote: "Honey, that gentleman in the hat over there, his name is Mr Vanilla Ice". We had had a wonderful day, first Vanja went to her dance class, then we went to the movies, then McDonalds and mr Van Winkle. It was like ice ice icing on the cake.

Saturday, November 26, 2005

Welcome to the Breakfast Club

Dear Marc, know how kids say the darndest things? That was true in my house this morning. Vanja is four. After being served a healthy bowl of yogurt with fruit, she tells me she's still hungry. "All I got was yogurt. That's no way to treat a lady."

Indeed it is not. What did you have for breakfast this morning? Few things pique my curiosity like other people's food habits and other people's arguments. So I guess what I really want to know is: What did you fight over at breakfast this morning?

You don't have to tell me. But please don't give me the silent treatment. That's no way to treat a lady.

Yours truly, deeply

Friday, November 25, 2005

How does she do it?

Dear Marc, you know how women are constantly asked "how do you juggle kids, career, friends and romance?". It's really not so hard. Just make sure you make a career out of romancing your friends. As for the kid juggling, hold the baby like so:

Helpful love

Two women - one dream

Dear Marc, now guess what I dreamed last night!
Greetings from your own gladiatrix

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Friendship, shoes and manners

Dear Marc, did you ever hold a clothes swap? You know, where all your friends bring their tired, their needy, their never-used designer clothing? I have, I do it all the time. Nothing can stop me from getting rid of stuff I hate and getting pretty clothing in exchange. But every time I do hold a clothes swap, I am reminded of the intricate web friendship weaves into the world of fashion.

Like the other day, when 5 or 6 ladies came over (it’s not that I can’t count, but I’m drinking red wine and am munching wasabi peas and between these two vices, I don’t care to count. Typing this took me longer than counting those friends. So what. Let it be.) to trade their clothing. One friend brought out a lovely pair of high-heeled, pine forest in the dusk-green pumps. They were magnificent. We were all wondering why she did not want to keep them. Were they uncomfortable? Heavens no, more comfy than sleeping on silk and velvet. Were they ugly? Hell no, anyone could tell. Were they the wrong size? No, not even Cinderella had met a better shoe match. So what was the problem?

My friend had copied a friend’s style. It felt good in the store, stealing a style she had long envied. But with the little high heeled babies in her own closet, all of a sudden it did not feel so good. She had to bring them to a lousy clothes swap. I think this was the right thing to do. But it’s sad to have to conform to the silent rules of friendship: Thou shall not rip off your buddy’s pump style, even if she doth not wear them very often.

Take 2. In my closet hangs a little swan feather bolero. You got that right. Perhaps it should fall into the “what was I thinking” range. But it will go into this column, because the wine tells me so. One of my friends, a beautiful blonde, got married in it. To a handsome young man with brown eyes the color of a perfectly moist brownie. I like that bolero. But I never use it, so I thought why not give it to her, as she also happens to be one of the most generous people I’ve ever met. I gave it away, but she hasn’t picked it up and I haven’t been by her house.

Then a second friend calls me, asking if I have anything white and fluffy to wear, her lady choir is having their 15 minutes in the spotlight and they have decided to be glamorous. Here is my etiquette question for you: Is it OK to lend something out that you have already given to someone else?

My God, how Carrie Bradshaw is this letter?

I have lots more on this note. But this will have to do for tonight, this is already so long. What’s the strangest friendship situation you ever experienced because of clothes?

So curious to hear your answer to this!
Loving spoonfuls from
your e.

The future of the music video

Dear Marc, I have seen the future of the music video and it is bright. And colourful! That one is my favorite, while my daughter can't get enough Gumby. Which is your preferred Paperrad animation?


Wednesday, November 23, 2005

I heart poor jokes

Dear Marc, here's a joke for you.

What do you call a Swede with a laptop?

Snow Blogger

When you hear jokes like that, don't they make you feel funny yourself?
The impact of a poor joke is not be be underestimated or overlooked.

I salute you!

Taking Care of Babies

Dear Marc, Joel Burgundy just woke up. He's sitting in my lap, making it hard to type the letter I wanted to send you. But I will write it soon, because I have important matters to discuss about clothes, friendship and manners.

While you wait, feel free to rest your eyes on my babies.

Big love

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Pals don’t let pals forget pals

Dear Marc, do you remember the time before the Internet? I do. Before e-mail, there was pen pals. Would you like to be my pen pal, Marc? I’m a great pen pal because of all my experience from being a pre-teen world scribbler. I had a pen pal in every country and because my name was somehow printed in an Algerian newspaper, I worked hard as a 13-year old, trying to keep in touch with all my new African friends.

I knew what they had for breakfast in Korea in the 80´s. Kim Young told me the details. I knew how afternoons were spent in Tasmania, how boring it was to look after younger brothers in France, how the school uniforms itched in Scotland. My pen pals let me know.

I also received a letter from an inmate in the US. After writing 9 pages about himself and the crimes he had committed, the prisoner told me that he would never forgive me if I didn’t write him back. There are still days when I look out the window and wonder if he knows I don’t live at my old address anymore.

But the best letter arrived from India. It was short. It said “Emi guner, send me a pair of shoes and a bag. My size of shoes is 38”. There was no “dear”, no “please”. It was a poor person rightfully asking a richer to help out. Unfortunately, I lost the letter before I could help. I’m sure you can relate to this kind of letter, but don’t worry, I won’t demand that you send me a pair of shoes and a bag (my size of shoes is 36). I just wonder if you have recently received a letter from India with a message identical to mine? Time has come for me to clear my conscience.


ps. Here are some blogs I’ve read recently. If you have read all this, read them too. People tell me blog should have links and pics.

Hustler of Culture

Give me spirit fingers, dammit

Go fug yourself

Sunday, November 20, 2005

Paging Robert Langdon

Dear Marc, isn't it great to see different styles side by side? Different ideals, different aesthetics, different facial tones?

I offer you Streep and Valentino:

Interestingly, they reflect the ideals of ancient Egypt, where the male is often depicted in a tan version, while women are portrayed whiter than a water lily gracing the shores of the Nile.

Is the fashion world connected to the past in a mysterious and grand way? Is there a connection? I feel there may be, as I recently discovered the likeness between Tutankhamen and Donna Karan. Judge for yourself, your honor!

King Tut:

Queen Karan:

What does this all mean? What are the ancient symbols and modern fashion designers trying to tell us?
Also, what can we expect from you in the future? Will you be sphinxing on the catwalk? I hope so!

mysterious greetings

The beauty of hard work

Dear Marc, this is not a real letter, just a note about something I saw the other day.

Last Sunday, as I was walking home, I saw that my bus stop was getting a face lift. 5 construction workers were laying down new concrete and asphalt. It was a cold and crisp day and their breaths turned into little puffs of smoke in the air. And somewhere in the midst of all the hard work was a loudspeaker playing "We are the champions". Men at work, hot asphalt, cold air and majestic rock. It was like art to me.

Friday, November 18, 2005

Surround yourself with models

Dear Marc, what's it like in the fashion world, where everyone is so beautiful? I have Venus envy. I would love to be a beautiful dame of fashion myself, and that's why I would like you to know, that I too have modeled.

And here is the picture to prove it:

That's me in that dentist's chair. So when you surround yourself with models the next time, give me a call. As you can tell I look great laying down with a spatula down my throat. Now isn't that something to put on my resume.

Greetings from a model citizen in a far away land

Remains of the b-day

Dear Marc, I wonder if you're like me, spending lots of money on things you think will make your life just a little bit more perfect. Why else would anyone spend 40 dollars on a scented candle? I spend more than I should, but I don't think I'm the only one who's had to break out the company Visa to buy diapers cause I used up my household resources buying shoes. I'm getting old and thinking of all the things I've bought during the years makes me dizzy. I think I'm trying to reach the sensation I had as a kid on my birthday. You know the "you got me this?!!!! Get outta here! I can't believe it, I'm so lucky". I remember my 5th birthday when I got both a toy dog AND a doll. Those were the days.

I've had 20+ birthdays since, and can't even remember half of them. And of all the gifts, one of my most treasured mementoes is a card from my grandmother on my 8th b-day. Here it is.

In all the cities you've been to, all the stores you've frequented, did you ever see anything so beautiful? Probably not. I'm still chasing the feeling I got when opening the envelope. Now I'm trying to create it for my daughter, with the help of pastry frogs. Should I hope for it to work, or am I creating another shopaholic? Make that two, the way our son is gawking at the frog.

Chasing happiness through objects is futile, I know. Tom Ford summed it up nicely when he said "From the time we're born until we die, we're kept busy with artificial stuff that isn't important."

But sometimes you get a card that is pure magic.
What do you wish for?


ps. My daughter just told me she wants to be a princess, soaking in the bathtub. Coincidentally, that's what I want to be. Small world!

Thursday, November 17, 2005

How does he do it?

Dear Marc, I think the look above is an incredible number to pull off, and am impressed by the model's stern expression. It's a shot from Heatherette. Their entire Living Dolls collection makes me so happy. That and paper rad make my day today. What makes yours?


How does it feel?

Dear Marc, I hope you're ok with all these letters coming your way. I hope they don't feel, well, stalkeriffic. If you feel uncomfortable with being the object of my affection and attention, please let me know and I will direct my attention elsewhere. Writing letters to Ann Taylor will not be the same, but I'll adjust. Just send me a sign, like a pair of boots so I know it's you, and I'll put an end to these letters. Until then, I'll keep writing.

Big love

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

As if this was the place you turned to for fashion news

Dear Marc, I'm just writing to say (a little late)that Gawker has a good piece about Carine Roitfeld that refers to a piece in The Telegraph. So this is a link that refers to a link that refers to a link. How meta. And you've probably read them already. So what, read them again, Roitfeld is my new idol. Who's yours?

Don't leave me guessing

If we ever meet

Dear Marc, remember that story I told you the other day about the nice little lady who was beside herself because she met Robert Redford in real life? Do you have that effect on people too? Is it embarrassing? I mean, what do you do when the other person is blushing and huffing and puffing? Do you just stand there and wait for the emotions to pass? Is it just like it was in "Notting Hill" (a film I often turn to in search for reality)?

If we'll ever meet, this is how I'll look.
-your e.

Ps. I mean the pose, I know I will never look like Scarlett.

Ps 2. Note to potential lawyers reading this. Shame on you for going through Marc's mail! And shame on me! I grabbed this picture off e! but now can't find the link. But thankyou fashion police for making some of the best entertainment on the web.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

What was I thinking - Part 2

Dear Marc, what do you think I was thinking as I bought this? Groove is in the house? Marcia, Marcia, Marcia?
Ps. It's a skort.

Monday, November 14, 2005

What was I thinking - Part 1

Dear Marc, this is the first letter in a series. I will show you pictures and perhaps together we can identify what I once thought was an excellent choice of clothing, yet now I have forgotten why.

Exhibit A:

What was I thinking?
This will look great if I ever get invited to a Yellow Submarine party? I will reinvent myself, and my new name is Tuttifrutti? Maybe if I wear this, my life will be more like the Mary Tyler Moore show?

I like this outfit, it makes me so happy, but there doesn't seem to be any occassion as loud as the dress. Perhaps if I'm lucky I can wear it if there's ever a tribute to Carol Channing. Don't you think it would look great on her?

Can you help me please, what was I thinking? Perhaps we can trade, I'll show you mine and you show me your foggiest decisions still hanging in your closet.


Powered by Fletch

Dear Marc, when you’re stuck in an uncomfortable situation that you have to pull through, what do you do? I reach for the remote, which to many is known only as the most ancient of procrastination rituals. I beg to differ. I find strength through comedy. I charge watching the great epics of our generation. I'm not putting things off, I get ready.

I say this because it has helped me in time of need. There was the birth of our son. Don’t worry, I won’t go into details. I woke up, made coffee, told my boyfriend to get up and then we watched Anchorman, at 6 in the morning. Son Joel Burgundy was born a few hours later. Strength! Through Comedy!

Rewind a few years to another time in my life, when I was seeing someone who was sending me mixed signals. I knew we were heading for disaster, but before meeting eye to eye to speak out on the issue, I had to find strength. I made coffee and watched Fletch, at 6 in the morning. Strength! Through Comedy!

If you know you’re going to have a bad day, the least thing you can do for yourself is to make sure the day starts well. Then you have at least 4% good day out of the bad. Watch the movie twice, and you increase the good percentage to a whopping 8. After that I can’t help you, I suck at math.

What’s your own prescription to cure a shitty/challenging day?
And most importantly, what would Barbra do?

Yours, etc
-Dr Rosenpenis.

Breaking every rule

Dear Marc, the post below is too long and there are no links and almost no pictures. I hope you've got the time and stamina to read it. Fighting the blog rules is the closest I'll ever get to punk rock.


Brother of another grandmother

Dear Marc, I've read that you spent a lot of time with your grandmother growing up. I'm jealous. The closest thing I've come to growing up with a Jewish grandmother would have to be when I went to see my mom's close friend Judy who lived on Riverside Drive. We stayed with her and she told us stories about her amazing life. Her older brother was a composer in Hollywood back when my favorite movies were made. She told me that "The women had so much make-up on, they didn't impress me. But the Hollywood leading men, they were unbelievably handsome in real life." I also got to meet Judy's friends, hilarious ladies. One of them told me the following story:

"E, you know, I am an ordinary grandma with an ordinary husband, ordinary kids and an ordinary cat. There really is nothing about me that isn't ordinary except for one thing: I'm obsessed with Robert Redford and has been since he first made his appearance on the screen. I just think he's the most wonderful thing that has happened to this planet. Anyways, one day a few years ago, I went out to buy Christmas presents for my grandchildren.

I shopped and shopped and suddenly felt faint and decided to have an ice cream. So I went into a fancy ice cream store and ordered a cone, when out of the corner of my eye I saw something very familiar . I saw the face of Robert Redford. I got so nervous I didn't know what to do. But I finally pulled myself together and took a seat at a table. I was sitting there, shaking, torn between the urge to run up to Mr Redford to declare my admiration and the desire to behave like the respectable older lady I look like.

Let's just say admiration won over dignity this time. But just as I had decided to walk up to Robert Redford and ask him to marry me, dignity returned and I heard my inner voice loud and clear: "You silly goose, what would people think? And besides he'll just think you're a pathetic old hag."

Scared by the fierceness and potential truth of this message I ran out of the ice cream parlor. Well out on the street, however, I realized I'd forgotten all about eating my ice cream. I decided I would not let a man I had never talked to stop me from enjoying an ice cream cone I had paid for. Robert Redford or not. So I went back into the store again and asked the boy behind the counter where my ice cream was.

"I gave it to you, vanilla and chocolate" he replied.

But I insisted, I had neither received nor eaten the ice cream. The argument was about to
take an ugly turn when a smooth voice interfered:

"Excuse me, but I think I can help you sort out this misunderstanding. You are both right, you my lady paid for the ice cream and you, son, gave it to her"

I almost died when I realized it was the voice of Robert Redford.
I had to say something. "But then where did it go? I know I never ate it."

Robert Redford smiled and said "Well, I don't know why, but for some mysterious reason you put it in your purse."

In shame, I walked out of there and lamented both the poor impression I had made on my dream man and the effect the ice cream had had on my favorite bag.

Did your granny tell the same story? I don't believe that actually happened to Judy's friend, but who cares, she told the story so much better than I tell it back now.

And since I can't quit talking about my kids, let me also tell you that my daughter dreams of becoming a grandmother one day. I feel obliged to tell her the awful truth. "Yes, but then you will have to be a mother first". She won't have any of this. She wants to be simply a grandmother. Moms are too unglamorous .

ps. Do you make ice cream-proof handbags? I need one.

Easy on the eyes, gentle to the touch

Dear Marc, have you seen the Awful Truth with Cary Grant and Irene Dunne? It's one of my favorites. I just can't take my eyes off Dunne. And that's why I post this picture today, so that you too can get to enjoy the glamour of Lucy Warinner, the girl Dunne plays. I also want to ask you, since you're a fashion man, what kind of dead animal is she wearing? Bird, mammal or fake dead animal?

I'm closing this letter with a quote from the movie:

"I've seen your picture in the paper and wondered what you looked like."


Saturday, November 12, 2005

Apron of my eye

Dear Marc, do you collect vintage aprons? I wouldn't be surprised if you did. Why wouldn't you, they're often such little marvels of practical beauty. I am an apron aficionado myself. Or should I say apronista? I find them quite pointless, but charming nonetheless. They add style to every cheesy serving of scrambled eggs and links, a je ne sais quoi to ordinary household chores. My favorite kind has apples on it. I have several. I rarely use them, but the love I have for them is strong and true.

And that's why I was so happy to stumble over the mother and daughter team behind Jesse Steele aprons. The daughter, a model and entrepreneur and the mother, a former roofer, got together and created this great line of aprons. I want all of them, but I'm especially interested in a Christmassy fantasy with cherries and bows.

Are you making aprons for the next cooking season? With pockets for eggnog glasses, chocolate and cheese? Please?

I'm trying to look more like a housewife, choosing between Nigella and Bree. Or wait, is Nigella a housewife or just a Domestic Goddess?

Wishful greetings

Attaching a picture of one of my favorite appled aprons. Monkey peek free of charge.

Friday, November 11, 2005

A simple, but exceptionally clever idea

Dear Marc, now that you've tried your hand at apparel, shoes, accessories, baby wear and candles, isn't it time for you to broaden your perspectives even more? I want to thank you for making the world a more beautiful place. But when I think about what you've done for the common handbag, I can't help thinking about what you could do for the poor man's Sunday dinner. Dear Marc, isn't it time you put your magic to use on pizzas? Or other foods. Food that is a joy to both palate, eye and touch. Finally, even the blind will get a chance to experience the beauty of an embossed sausage.

In January of 2002 Rich had a simple, but exceptionally clever idea: Embossing foods with messages and images. The objective is to enhance the dining experience while providing a unique and effective means to enhance corporate marketing campaigns. The products that perform the embossing are primarily targeted to fast food, restaurant chains, catering companies, and institutional food service. The products also appeal to independent restaurants, and home chefs. Anyone, anywhere, from professional, to the novice (in any language – including Braille), can soon present, serve, or display many foods like never before.

Here's an image for inspiration.
Big love coming your way!

Ps. My daughter saw this picture and said "yum, that looks like a delicious cake". How can she not recognize a pizza? She's going all Siddharta on me. Must expose her to the real world.

I know I'm not the only one

Sharper, better, longer. That's how I'd describe this other girl's letter to you. But that won't stop me from writing you.

Love on the rise

Dear Marc, my daughter just told me, as we approached our apartment: "Mom, I'm really fond of the elevator. That's why I call it "My buddy"."

Should I be worried, happy or proud?
I mean, I also feel love for inanimate objects, but an elevator?
Where is that friendship going? Up?

Yours, etc

The last time I saw Paris

Dear Marc, what's it like in Paris on a day like today? Is it chaotic, sad, surreal? I remember the last time I was there, and everything was just as wonderful as things could be pre-chrisis for a couple of tourists holding hands in a the big city, oblivious of the miseries boiling in the suburbs.

In my mind, I'm there again, only things are calm in the French capital. I walk around in a "J'aime l'hiver" scarf to celebrate this least liked of seasons. I sip tea at Mariage Freres before sneaking in to Fifi Chachnil for girly lingerie and Paul & Joe simply to touch the silks and tweed I can't afford.

Those are things I did the last time I saw Paris. Until I get there, I'll keep dreaming of another blissful French evening such as the one I shared with my friend Sara, playing favorite French-related songs at a local bar. Whenever l'heure bleue hits, I pull out the playlist and reminisce.


Thursday, November 10, 2005

Little mouse on the prairie

Dear Marc, what was your favorite show growing up? In Sweden we didn’t get to see the Brady Bunch, Gilligan’s Island or even the Mary Tyler Moore show, which I’ve come to understand has made an impressive impact on Americans my age and yours. But we did get Little House on the Prairie.

Not too long ago, I was apartment hunting and entered a nice enough flat. But there was something weird about the place. The person living there had put up framed pictures of her friends on the walls. Nothing wrong with that, only that the framed friends were our friends too – it was the Friends cast. I think that is an odd thing to do. Almost kooky. But then I think about my own relationship to Little House and suddenly the kook seemed almost normal.

In my own life, I have never been as embarrassed as I was the time Laura had put apples under her blouse for a 19th century style breast augmentation. Do you remember that? Do you also remember the apples falling down in front of the entire class? Devastating. I still blush just thinking about it. I cried when Mary went blind. Hell, I cried every episode, it was like ER for 10 year olds, we didn’t have a chance.

Little House also set the standards for my love life. For years I fell in love with men of the Charles Ingalls caliber – dark, curly hair, great smile and a handyman approach to life. If they were wearing suspenders, all I could do was surrender. I may be telling you too much when I admit that I made my early loves call me half-pint. I know this doesn’t make sense, since Laura is the daughter and Charles the dad. So what? Don’t get Freudian on me now, I’m such an easy target.

What I wanted to say is that I just bought a dress reminding me about all the things I liked growing up: Little House on the Prairie, Anne Frank, Daddy Long Legs and even Grease (the 50's cut)– you packed it all into a dress, you genius you. From the catwalk to my kitchen - here’s a salute to you for being such a genius.

Love from your very own




Wednesday, November 09, 2005

The saddest song in the world

Dear Marc, what are you doing?
I'm sitting here wondering which lyric is the saddest of all.
People often mention Eleanor Rigby as the hands-down winner of this title, but I beg to differ. I'm rooting for Biz Markie's "Alone Again, Naturally".
You can say this is a modern day take on Gilbert o'Sullivans "Alone Again, Naturally".

Eleanor Rigby's not even in the "Alone Again" league. That's just the Beatles looking at sad people from a distance. Gilbert and Biz, they're writing form a 1st person perspective. And while you may think that Gilbert should win, with all the sad events in his song, I think Biz still takes the price. Cause in the legal aftermath of Markie's song sampling Gilbert, Biz's ingenius song was withdrawn from the album. Nobody beats the Biz in the saddest song competion. He's got my heart in a little (beat) box.

Who's got yours?

curious greetings

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

We must soport each other

Dear Marc, how do you feel about clowns? This is a big issue for me. I've noticed it's the same kind of crowd splitter as say, the abortion issue. You're either with the pro-clowners or the down-with-clowners.

When you see a grown man laugh when he should be crying, do you enjoy it? If you see him cry when he should be laughing is it better? No. It's just confusing. Clowns scare me.

I don't think it's funny when clowns throw pies in each other faces. I think it's a waste of food. However I did think it was funny when George Bush Sr. puked in the lap of the Japanese Prime minister years ago. Although that too, was in many ways a waste of food. But that was ok. Cause I bet he hadn't rehearsed it.

I don't think professional clowns are funny, but I think professionals acting like clowns are hilarious. Sometimes presidents even make me laugh when I should be crying. I can't help it. To punish myself, I wear these shoes around the house as a reminder of how serious the clown issue is.

Don't miss out on the rest of the stock.
Sale ends December 31st. Everything must go.
Just a friendly tip as I say good night, Mr Jacobs.


ps. As much as I dislike clowns, I still have the utmost respect for well written copy like the following, pushing Clown-So-Port shoes:

After a few hours in ordinary clown shoes, your feet ache and your legs get tired. But Clown-So-Port shoes will keep you feeling great all day. Unlike most clown shoes, there is actually a perfect fitting shoe within the outer "clown" shoe. Correct fitting shoes prevent aching feet, tired legs and sore backs. And there's more. The real secret to Clown-So-Port shoes is their quality design and construction.

Who knew?

Monday, November 07, 2005

In a time of crisis

Dear Marc, do you ever think about the things that make you love the ones you love? Isn’t it so much easier to think about the actions that make you love them less? Or perhaps that’s not true in your life, but only in mine. I can easily list the things that seem to decrease the pink stream of 100% love flowing from my heart. Crumbles on the floor, neglected phone calls, unwanted gifts when there has been a detailed wish list around (This is ungrateful I know. Honesty - vanity=1-0)

The antidote to this kind of negative appreciation is simple - one must think of the good times. In my case, whenever I’m upset with my man, I think about the time when he saved the day, not to mention his ass. This is what happened:

My boyfriend and love Anders is a handsome and smart fellow who works for a big telecom company. One day he was to hold an important presentation about new web strategies or something of the kind. He was well prepared, well read and most importantly, well dressed. He had put on the right kind of shirt with the right kind of shoes and the right kind of suit. I thought he looked like an executive dream come true. He was a little nervous, but not too much as the important listeners gathered in the meeting room. The presentation was ready, waiting behind the blue screen of the computer. Anders greeted everyone and stooped to plug in the projector. But as he did, he heard and felt his pants rip. Not a little rip, like the one I wrote you about the other day, but a huge rip. From the crotch and all the way up to his belt. They were expensive enough to make you think that should never have happened. But as it had happened, Anders had to solve the situation fast, and return to hold his presentation. A room filled with suits were staring at him, waiting to hear about the future communication possibilities of web and telecom.

Unwilling to let them witness his fine behind, Anders excused himself, saying he had to go get something and backed out of the room. Looking (here I would love to say desperately, but what do I know, I wasn’t there) resourcefully around the office, he grabbed a stapler and ducked into the men’s room where he stapled the pants together and ran back to the meeting, where he held the presentation, enhanced by steel in his nether regions. No one in the room knew how close they had been to a bare assed presentation. Should they have been impressed or provoked? I for one, remain proud and more loving than ever when I think about my man and his stapled pants. I’m also happy he held the presentation in our hometown. A stapled crotch is not the ideal item of clothing when walking through an airport metal detector. Or if you live close to large magnets. Happily we do not.

Sending you the kindest of Monday greetings

Ps. This morning, I brought out a stapler so that Anders could demonstrate the stapling action. Our daughter got hold of it and tried to staple her own belly. Like Level 42 would say, we’ve got self stapling running in the family. Looking back it's so bizarre, all the things we are.

Ps2. This is Anders demonstrating his world famous stapling technique.

Eye candy

Dear Marc, I understand that you are eagerly awaiting the next letter, since I haven't written to you all weekend long. It's on the way. It contains a hideous story from the world of big business featuring cold, sharp steel, bravery and manly men.

While you wait, please rest your eyes on this clever solution on how to make everyone in the household happy despite different opinions on what to watch.


Friday, November 04, 2005

Women of the world, raise your right middle finger

Dear Marc, let me say this to you: to many women you are a motivational force. I know this may sound strange, but fact is that many of us try harder, just to be able to buy our MJ stuff. Shallow, yes, self-gratifying, yes indeed. Just last week, P said to me: "You know Emi, one of the reasons I'm taking this new job is because I was in the Marc Jacobs West Village store the other day and I want to be able to just grab one of his bags without having to think it over if could afford it or not. "

And I could only agree. There are other people who say that they empower us the way you do. Like the diamond monglers. I love the "women of the world, raise your right hand" campaign. It's so seductive - so "I'm doing this for me". Until I think about the thing they're selling. Diamonds. I can live without diamonds. They're not really my thing. Clothes are emotional and dear to me. Diamonds are just other girls best friends.

The other day I was browsing an ad leaflet on skin products. It went something like this: "Time pure & clean and young skin are the perfect combination." And to enforce this message, the ad people had added poor combinations for comparison, like this: "A fancy restaurant and a poor guy are an unpleasant combination." I don't think so. I think the women of the world should be able to pay for their own food. And while we're at it, why not pay for our poor date's food, too, if he's funny and hungry.

What I'm saying is that if you feel down on yourself at times, then think about this: You're a force behind women's movement. You kickstart careers, that may have been put off had it not been for the need to get a perfect new coat. And with our new careers, we also help feed the cute, fun and hungry. It's a win-win situation. Be proud, young man.

In love and work, I remain yours truly

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

In the eye of the beholder

Dear Marc, When making this blog I was wondering what image I should use for my profile. The one I use is OK. But the one that reveals my true nature is probably better. See the picture above? That's my daughter at about 10 months. She's cute. But her true nature is better portrayed in the portrait below.

Ah, the little devil in disguise. See the picture of me sipping tea out of a Zabar's cup, tapping away at the computer. That really happened.

But again, there's an image that is closer to the truth. Here it is.

That's me acting out my longtime fantasy of being a Hildy-like character from "His girl Friday". And that's why this image is worth more. We all want to look pretty, but the truth is richer.

Now I wonder, which picture of you is more true to your character? This dreamy, beautiful fashion man, the Paul Auster of designers, photographed by Dmitri Kasterine:

Or is this more you, happy, preppy geekster on the cat walk?

Curious minds want to know.


Four candles

Dear Marc, my daughter’s birthday is coming up. She will be four. Do you remember what you wished for when turning four? Did you wish for:

1. A doctor bag
2. A doll
3. Cinderella – the movie

So far, I think we can check everything off her list. But then she said she wanted to add the following items:

4. A toy stingray
5. A new yellow bowl, not broken mom

When I tell Vanja’s grandmother that she wants a new, unbroken yellow bowl for her fourth birthday I can’t help feeling that we’re talking about the wishes of a Rumanian orphan. And where do you find a toy stingray these days?

My own wish list today is:

1. A baby blanket from Couverture
2. More Ruth Reichl books
3. A toy doll that looks just like my son.

What do you wish for?
I just read a long interview with you.

This is what you said at the end of the interview:
“There are nights when I can’t sleep. I go into a fantasyland and tableau sort of thinking, like, Tonight would be the perfect night to say, ‘Honey, I’m really tired and worried about work. And tell me about your day.’ ”

“Do you think someone will read this and try to get in touch with me?” He looks hopeful. “If I read that about someone, I’d drop him a note.”

It will happen. Someone will read that and drop you a line. Until they do, would you also like a stingray? I also have a yellow bowl to offer, slightly broken.

Big love
from your