Love, Italian style

Dear Marc, we're just back from Milan.

I know you probably say that a few times every year, but I seldom do. I relish the words "Yes, we just flew in from Milan". It's so Jackie Collins. I can't seem to get enough of it. Milan was hot, stylish and everything tasted so much better than anywhere else. I don't know how they do it.

We didn't know what to wear, so we ended up with me in eBay, Anders in suit and Vanja in one of those Indian dresses that capture the soul of tree-climbing princesses everywhere.


The ceremony itself was a breezy affair, that kept everyone in good spirits and on their best behavior. Just look for yourself, do you feel like these people are slow? NO! They have lots of stuff to experience. Let life roll.














The music was my favorite - loud and enthusiastic. OOMPA OOOMPA.
Da da da dadadadadadada.
Nah. It doesn't work. You had to be there.
















The bride looked every bit as divine as she is.
















The groom didn't look bad either. And he sounded wonderful.















What can I say? It was a blast. It was everything a wedding should be.
Then the next day, we saw a little bit of Milan.



















We went to 1o Corso Como to look and laugh at their $2000 blouses and then went to Peck to witness the serious business of food. I have never seen so many delicacies at once.












I felt like a poor peasant peeking in through the windows to the Russian tsar and tsaritsa before the revolution. I felt envy, hunger and fascination, mixed with a little bit of lustful disgust at the plenitude of food, offered to the rich in who's also in possession of a healthy appetite. Anything a food obsessed mind could imagine was there, looking more delicious than the human eye could possibly process. We inhaled the aroma of heavenly coffee and headed for the streets again.

So we didn't buy any food, but I bought my brother a gift that got us into trouble at the airport.
"Madam, you have two knives in here" is not what any one wants that x-ray guy to tell you. Blushing and giggling, I had to run back to the check-in again, to save the flight from a potential picnic bag attack.

now must sleep.
tomorrow, help me!

I need to look like a superfriendly mom when I bring Vanja to check out her new pre-school, then professional in tomorrow's meetings and then stylish and modern as I go out to dinner with clients in the evening.

What outfit should I wear that would bring me from granola to Grand Marnier and cola? What a disgusting drink! But you understand what I mean, no? Help me. I need help. You're the one, Marc, bring it on.

love
-e

Things I never thought I'd dream of, part 1

Dear Marc, how about a bench for the garden? That was never on my wish list growing up.
Let me know if you stumble over a better bench.

love
-e

Italians do it better

Dear Marc, we're off to a wedding in Milan. Will be back on Tuesday. Take care.
Love
-e

Dreamy pussycats

This morning, as I woke Vanja up, she said "mom, it's so difficult to dream about kittens". I know the feeling. Every night, she sets her mind on dreaming about tiny cats, every morning she wakes up, feeling her dreams have failed her.

I often feel the same way. It's so difficult to dream about kittens.


Love
-e

I drop it like it's hot

Dear Marc, do you remember The Young ones? I am Neil. All the machines hate me and go beep in my ear.

My laptop is kind of broken. I can't review Jordan's and Carmen Electra's and workout videos, cause Winnie the Pooh is stuck in the DVD-compartment. It won't eject. Perhaps because I dropped the laptop on the floor too many times. Now I'll never be fit to strip.

I need a computer encased in sturdy, drop-proof plastic. Like the wonderful, yellow Sony Sports walkman I had back in the eighties.

















The sad thing is that I bought this laptop because my old one was broken. It couldn't play DVD:s. It could before I dropped it in an escalator at Zara's. I need a Sony Sports computer.
Do you know where I can find one?

love
-e

Ps. Ok, so maybe it's my own fault machines hate me. I just attacked my laptop with a ruler, Trying to force the DVD out. No luck, the disc was stuck like a thumb in a coke bottle. But with the help of the ruler, a small screw fell out. I have no idea where it came from, might have been my own head. Now, the computer works better than ever. It ejected the disc and I have no trouble with it. Lesson learned: When stuck, try violence.

Ps. 2. Now I hear that many of my friends have experienced exactly the same problem. One little screw falls out and a seemingly broken computer starts to behave again. We wonder if this is a scam on Apple's part? What function does this little prankster screw have?
Macs = Scam. I think it's an...anagram.

When Marc, when?

Dear Marc, I think I speak for many when I say to you: Thank you for channeling the inner me into your fall fashion line. If I had a different kind of wallet and/or valet, perhaps the inner me would be seen on the outer me.

Meanwhile, this look is more true to the inner me than an x-ray of my heart. Curiously, such an x-ray would convey only a pair of black velvet pumps, priced $398.
















I would also pawn my library of used but loved biographies (save the Cary Grant one) to own this dress.


















How do you do it? How do you make these things seem so important?

What I really need is:

A bed side lamp.

A mixer.

An ironing board.

Rugs.

Glasses.

Plates.

More glasses.

New underwear.

A stroller that's not broken.

Orthopedic shoes.

A bottle opener. Preferably shaped like an elephant.















A coffee maker. I am a TECHNI VORM.

Professional attire. As it is, I can only buy clothes for three modes:

1. Party. Or rather a 60's theme party. Sadly, I have yet to be invited to one. I am waiting in my closet together with 10 yet to be worn colorful polyester dresses.

2. That nice, brisk, long autumn walk. I have more knit scarves and comfortable jeans than all of Cambridge's and Oxfords students have together. I want to look good sipping tea by the fire.

3. Typing. I buy clothes that will look great when typing. I mean great as in "I wish I was typing a novel on a type writer in a movie where Jennifer Connelly (cunningly wearing glasses to mask her beauty) plays me." I havent't typed on a typewriter since I got hurt by one in a typing accident in '84.

Try getting a job in any of these outfits. I just heard Victor & Rolf will be guest designing for H&M. When will you do it Marc, when? I need affordable, stylish and professional garments for fall. I know you can do it.

Til' then, I'll be that girl wearing a banana/raspberry Pucci-print skort, walking shoes and long, Argyle scarf in the corner. To avoid attention, I'll be hiding behind a typewriter. You know where to find me. In the fashion emergency dept.

Currently wearing an orange t-shirt with golden owl, worn jeans, white socks and glasses.
But on the inside, I'm foxy like a wolf. See pic at top.
-e

Valley of the dolls

Dear Marc, since you are a material man, or at least a man who knows a lot about fabric and materials, I just wanted to write you to say that there's a new doll in our house and according to her 4-year old owner, the doll's name is "Wool". And that it the longest sentence I have ever written. I like "Wool". It's cryptic and short and the sound is pretty too. Especially in Swedish. Ull.

Meanwhile, the 4-year old's other doll, the limb-lacking doll in the picture above, goes by the more common Margaret. I want you to know that she got this name after losing her head and legs. Margaret. I like it. It's kind of like Claire, another name I've always liked. Perhaps because it's a fat girl's name. How much did you love Judd Nelson? More than I did? I think not.

Love
-e

So sad and so wonderful

Dear Marc, there I was, thinking I would write you about clothes and fashion, and all you get letters about are medieval hair, astronauts and my mom. If it's a surprise to you, imagine what it must be to me!

Today, you'll get another letter removed from the world of fashion. But there are clothes in here. So stay posted. I'll write you about clever flowers. Let's spend the day honoring the memory of artist Ola Pehrson.

What interesting installations the world will never see now, we'll never know.
But at least the world can see the interesting works that have already been created.



























Like this suit? At first glance, it looks just like a regular pin stripe suit doesn't it? Well, take a closer look. That's the entire first two chapter of Karl Marx's "Das Kapital" printed up and down the suit. Perfect for the the stock trader who wants to stand out in a world of suits.

The year following the suit, Pehrson made an installation that appealed to many of us. He turned a cactus into a stock trader. Such a strong connection between trading and plants haven't been seen since the 1600's, when those crazy Dutchmen invested heavily in tulip bulbs.















The money spending cactus wasn't the last example of Pehrson's fascination with the stock market. A few years later, he created the NASDAQ vocal index. He literally turned the index charts into music.

And then, Pehrson created a piece of art that's magic to all of us who love food, moms and memories. His mom had collected menus from every dinner party she had given for 45 years. I get dizzy just hearing about such a treasure of information. Pehrson took this source of gold and turned it into art.

The man is gone, but his ideas are still around.
And what great ideas they are.

Love
-e

Vanilla Hair Extracts

Dear Marc, did you see this mug shot of Mr Ice? It was taken after he pulled hair out of his missus mane. Wouldn't you too save up strands for a new do if you'd ended up with a haircut like the above?

Haven't seen a bowl cut like that since I browsed my dad's library of books on medieval painting. Perhaps Vanilla looks to Hans Memling for style inspiration like the rest of us. As I type this, I'm dressed in a blue dress and wings, casually slaying a dark beast with a sharp object.

Better than a dog, but terrible loss of time

Dear Marc, did you go see the Darwin exhibition at the Museum of Natural History? You don't have to, I'll give you the highlight of the show right here. The man, legendary for his apt intellect worked like the rest of us when faced with a tricky situation. He made lists of pros and cons.

This is what he considered as pros as he contemplated marriage:

"Children-(if it Please God)—Constant companion, (& friend in old age) who will feel interested in one,—object to be beloved and played with.-better than a dog anyhow.—Home, & someone to take care of house-charms of music and female chit-chat.—These things good for one's health.-but terrible loss of time.—."

The appeal of female chit chat proved succesful. The famed scientist married his first cousin and multiplied with her. But from a genetic point of view, wouldn't marrying your first cousin be somewhat of a backstep?

You're not into that kind of thing are you? I just think it would be strange to have my grandkids marry each other.

Jack Crabb and the weight of thankfulness

Dear Marc. I'm home again.

DC was lovely. So was NYC. So green and nice. I felt enormous gratitude to Bea for bringing me there. I don't know how to make it up to her, I feel a little like the indebted native american in "Little Big Man". Do you know what I'm talking about? Dustin Hoffman saves a guy's life and because of this, the man is burdened by gratitude until he can save Dustin from biting the dust. Before that, he has to do everything backwards. He rides a horse backwards, washes his face with dirt, walks backwards, etc you get it.

I tried to express this to Bea, speaking of my Indian Thankfulness, but she misheard and thought I was saying "Indian Thankful Mass". She kept adding to the Mass by buying me all kinds of things. Lunch, sun glasses, dinner.

The Indian Thankful Mass grew greater and greater.
It reached a critical mass.

Am currently thinking up schemes to bring my friend to other end of world, we’re she’ll get to meet genii (is that how you pluralize it?), and sleep in the divine comfort of hotel linens.

Til then, I’ll wash my face with dirt.
How do you wash yours?

Also, where do the rejected body parts of surgically enhanced celebrities go? I liked Ashlee Simpsons former nose. Am thinking of getting it for myself. Ebay?

And for those of you who can read Swedish:
Det var ännu bättre. Jag pratade om Indian-tacksamheten jag kände. Bea trodde jag pratade om Indiantaxametern. Dring, dring, dring.

The obstacles

Dear Marc, sorry I haven't written in so long. There have been so many things in the way of my letter writing. First there was the trip to NYC with all its inherent treats and temptations. The beds were so comfortable I had trouble getting up at all. Tried to make it to your stores, but medieval paintings and a dead pharao got in between and stole time away. Then I met some friends who had been to see that wild bird nesting in Central Park so what little time we had left got eaten up.

Then I wanted to write you, but with 7 movies to choose between on the flight home, I couldn't make it. And then I had to fight sick children, jet lag (or as my mother confusingly calls it "jet leg"), work and the biggest obstacle of them all - Heathergate. Or should we call it Deather? Henise?

You know these people? What is the truth here?
It's blonde vs. blonde.

I don't know why I find it so intriguing. But the pictures of Denise and Richie seem so...staged. And the only one who seems to profit from that would be Heather. It's very confusing. Am also wasting letter writing time wondering when Britney's new baby is due. Also find it very interesting to see how Britney is morphing into Ashlee Simpson. How is this possible? With all my new scientific input, I'm still not able to grasp this.

Just look at Ashlee holding Brit's baby:



















love

-e

Ps. Forgot to ask you what element you would rather be. I was asked this question and gave the bland "oxygen" response. I figured being invisible and omnipresent on planet earth was good. But no. The clever scientist I talked to suggested I should be carbon. "Because under pressure, you'd turn into a diamond". A nice fact to ponder next time you're fretting and stressing.

Astronauts and sauerkraut

Dear Marc, what have you been up to?

I have been mingling with astronauts, reading about murders, sweeteners and the frustrating struggle for women in space.

I shook hands with a man who'd been to the moon today. It felt like a regular handshake. He had also been to Norway, he seemed to treat the two places with equal interest. I had followed my friend Bea to her book signing at the Museum of Air and Space. Bea was introduced as a person who had recently returned from the North Pole. That's the kind of people I like to surround myself with. Explorers and astronauts.

While Bea was signing books, I read up on the amazing women who might have gone into space in the sixties, had the look on the female sex only been a little more advanced at that time. NASA did not train the Mercury 13, they were sponsored by private funding. And they were never allowed to travel anywhere beyond this planet. It's enough to make me think of that old joke "If we can put one man on the moon, why not all of them?" And once we're at it, let's put all the women up there too, and over population of planet Earth won't be such a problem anymore.

Then read up on the Kissel murders and the fascinating history of Sweet N' Low before turning out the lights. Tomorrow, NYC.

Love love
/e

No pictures, no text

Just a quick shot of news from the world of physics: There are unimaginable possiblities and enormous powers to be explored in the future. Also atoms turn into fuzzballs when they move slowly. I think that's what they said.

lovee

Science Report

Dear Marc, have now bought shoes. They were too big and hurt a little but I'm not upset. They were on sale. Have now listened to interesting talks held by Nobel prize winners and distinguished women and gentlemen. They made science fun and almost accessible to a rookie like myself.

I have learned that the universe is flat and that on average, we all have one testicle and one ovary.

I was easily the least intelligent person in the room. It was rocket science, and I was proud to have been invited.

Are you down with string theory? Or super string theory?

I'm not talking underwear.

love
-e

Big Mistake

Dear Marc, I was so happy with my packing for this NY/DC adventure.

In my suitcase I had fitted (and left room for new purchases):

* One little black Jackie O dress
* One proud peacock dress in all the colours of the rainbow
* A crepe-de-Chine pantsuit
* A skirt and shirt set
* A black velvet top with white collar and matching black velvet pants
* My favourite pair of jeans
* Tops and tees

I was set to go, prepared for a formal banquet with the physicists at the awards show but just as ready to have a drink with friends in NY. The flight was nice and easy. We travelled joyously, with the exception of the moment when a few cups of coffee were spilled strategically on my seat.

I'm going as the translator, but my English is so rusty, I've tried to persuade my friend to introduce me as her mute translator. I want to make a sign saying "I work with written words, not spoken."

Then we arrived at the hotel and I unpacked. It was with no small amount of horror that I noticed I had left my shoes at home. All of them, except for the canary Chuck Taylors I was wearing on the plane.

Yellow sneakers don't count as formal wear do they?
Perhaps if I wear the black and white velvet costume and go into mute translator mode, the shoes won't be such a big deal. I'll be a mime at the awards show, my yellow shoes a natural adornment on a natural clown.

Must go to bed, jetlag has me on its sharp stick, shaking me over a fire of dreams. I'm falling.

love
-e