Thursday, November 30, 2006
Dear Marc, the other day, when I was invited to a costume party and couldn't find my pirate hat (I was so disappointed! I was so set to pin a few dead birds on my shoulder and try eating with a hook for a hand), I ended up going as a glamour mime.
While I wouldn't recommend this look to anyone, I think it's a good thing to dress as your worst nightmare. A way to conquer your fears.
At the costume party, I saw Snow white dancing with astronauts. I saw a box of crayons drinking beer. I saw jockeys hugging surgeons. I witnessed a group of Amish gentlemen getting down. I saw a whale doing the running man. I saw my former boss in the disguised of a sick man.
"What are you?"
"I am Sick"
Trust a former copywriter to dress the part of an adjective.
But the winner that night took the prize (as winners tend to do):
A kitschy fisher man complete with frame, pipe and all.
I like this flesh colored costume too, though it's from a party I was never even close to.
What's the best costume you ever saw?
(I'm miming this as I type)
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Dear Marc, I finally bought the boots (see, you can buy them on sale now!). I've never loved a pair of boots like I love these. Feel the love streaming from this end consumer. It's real. So what if it's superficial love, it was funded by superficial deeds. I wrote one article on celebrity tattoos and one about grown ups and toys to pay for my boots.
It's late November. Winter came, then changed her mind. It's not that cold, but it's very dark. At the office, the daylight lamps were in use to save us from darkness induced depression, so common in this part of the world. I have new boots. Darkness doesn't bother me.
Then I took Vanja to see the dentist.
I swear, even going to the dentist was a joy wearing new boots.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Dear Marc, does this imply that the nipple covers (or breast wart covers for those of you who know what I mean) come from abroad? Or that they should not be used outside the home? Domestic polyester. Not to be confused with I'm-out-the-door-polyester.
I also find a comfort in the 5 pair package. For those of us with that kind of udder set up.
Dear Marc, don't you just love Google?
I Google for a picture of smoking women in the 20's. Google wants to help me.
Google thinks I'm searching for female vices and fills me in where I seem to be at a loss. Thus, a search for women + smoking is not enough for my friend Google. She adds mustached men and alcohol to the mix. But she forgot the boots.
What are your vices? The same as mine?
Dear Marc, I know your grandma taught you how to knit. My granny teaches me other things.
Grandma: Emi, you know how people say they've quit smoking?
Me: Sure I do. I believe them.
Grandma: Don't. People never actually quit smoking. They only quit buying their own smokes.
Grandma: Emi, you know how people say they've quit smoking?
Me: Sure I do. I believe them.
Grandma: Don't. People never actually quit smoking. They only quit buying their own smokes.
Friday, November 24, 2006
Dear Marc, writing you has left me with more than 200 silly letters, embarrassment and grief (that last word is only added to create impact). But it has also given me new friends and a bright place in the media spotlight.
I hear I'm in the current (printed) issue of SOMA magazine -THE OBSESSION ISSUE- because of all these letters to you. I haven't seen the issue, but I believe it's true. It seems to be a fine publication.
Ps. If anyone reading this has any notion of how British childcare works, please let me know. It's a jungle out there.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Dear Marc, it's late in the evening. I'm sitting here, typing invoices while thinking about marriage. Not even my own, non-existant marriage, but my parents.
The other day mom told me "I was only 25 and to promise someone my love for eternity, it just seemed like forever. I told your dad he could have me for ten years, then we'd see. More importantly, I had him promise me he would never utter the words "I told you so" in our shared household".
"That's your most important principle regarding your 35-year old marriage?"
"Yes. What are you doing?".
"I'm taking notes."
What's your best relationship tip?
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Dear Marc, are you familiar with the etymology of the name Gyllenhaal?
It's easy for us Swedes. We know it means "The golden hole".
Now we all wonder exactly which hole the name refers to.
Language! Offering new mysteries every day!
Ps. Ok, so maybe there are other explanations as well. But I like the one above best.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Dear Marc, first of all, you look amazing. You look younger than your man. How did you do it?
Evian, cigarettes and love?
I'll try it too!
You know I've been busy covering the big 5 candles party over here. Tidying up the place, I found one of Vanja's new gifts, a Bratz doll. And as I did, my life crumbled.
Look at her, all barefoot and hippie-happy. But she might not be so peace loving after all. At any moment, she might pull on those boots and powerwalk all over Barbie.
The kid in me had a moment. I tried to put the boots on the doll. Impossible.
You have to remove the feet to put on the footwear. I'm serious.
A million times I've wished for this. That I could simply remove my feet to put on the shoes or boots of my dreams. For this little doll, it was a normal thing. Perhaps this is how life is for everyone else around me too? Do the rest of the female world simply remove their feet? I feel this might very well be true. Why haven't I been let in on this? Why have I suffered in pain, squeezing my too broad feet into exquisite little pieces of footwear?
This earth shattering insight leaves me with the following question: when will you be making detachable/attachable MJ feet?
After having removed my own, I will need an extra (designer) pair for those lovely beach walks and sleep walks. Please make them long and Italian looking.
Note to self - check off from to do list: Write Marc Jacobs a letter on the benefits of removable feet.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Dear Marc, today was a great day. Vanja turned 5.
She got all she wished for and more:
1 big bowl of breakfast porridge
1 glass of juice
1 big books about cats
1 Madicken book
1 soft set of PJ's
1 Russian doll, to be painted by anyone 5 yrs or older
Her politically correct mom had promised to bring organic exotic fruit to pre-school to be hid in the forest as a treasure during an outing. However, the pc mom ran out of time, luck and money and made an apple pie instead. The attempt to convince the pre-school teachers to hide the pie in the forest was highly unsuccessful. The pie seemed to have been treasured no less, not a crumb was left.
Then I threw correctness out the window and opted for indulgence. I picked two cakes from this array and went to pick Vanja up from pre-school.
Meanwhile, she'd been crowned. She's the ruler of my heart and this day, she reigned supreme at pre-school too.
My parents and brother came for dinner. Mom said "Oh no, I'm not wearing make-up. And I'm sure you're going to put me on that world wide web again!". She never wears make up. So I don't know what she was worried about. That world wide web, perhaps.
My brother Björn cut the cake. He's a radio reporter. If you want to listen to him, click here to hear a clip. It features my brother's interviews from NASA, Houston, where he went to find out more about food in space and space toilets. Björn's lovely girlfriend, Frida the judge, couldn't make it to our house. She was in Russia on a research trip.
It was a good b-day. Just like last year's.
When is your birthday?
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Dear Marc, you're a genius when it comes to marketing, so perhaps you can help me. I decided to put ads on this blog. I thought perhaps the sophisticated AdSense system would somehow identify Marc Jacobs-related items. I envisioned this page, filled with attractive MJ-ads.
I didn't do it for the money. Which is good, because so far, I've made only 78 cents from ads. I was flattered to see AdSense matched my blog with gay jewelry. But I want more ads. At other sites, I see the future of web ads. They look delicious, click-enticing.
Or no ads at all? I need help. I need suggestions. I need you.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Dear Marc, I love how Eva captures the spirit of the song "I'm every woman". Look how she wears various pieces of clothing, representing every woman and style in the world.
It may not look so great, but it's very fair to all womankind.
And that's what matters!
Dear Marc, I don't know about you, but winter came round to hit me in the ribs before slapping my hands crazy dry. My hands are so chapped and sad that they've become a topic of conversation in my house. Even worse, my dry hands have ignited fights.
Concerned about their sorry state, A murmured on and on about the benefits of hand lotion while I was working. I was striving to meet a tight deadline and lashed out against him, saying he should love my hands unconditionally and treat them with respect. My hands should never have to listen to the harsh words my beloved was spreading left and right.
A pressed his lips tight and not one more word was spoken on this topic.
Two days later, we were in a taxi, going home from a nice dinner party.
Romance was in the air and A took my hand in his.
Suddenly, a light laughter rose from my right side. It was A.
"Oh Emi, I touched your hand, and it was so hard not to say anything, I had to hold myself back! Your hands were so incredibly dry. But then I realized you were wearing knitted gloves. The relief!".
From now on, sleeping with lotioned hands in mittens.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Dear Marc, how are you? It's Father's day in Sweden. We celebrated by letting the father sleep in, then treat himself to bacon, eggs and tea, while the mother had chocolate cake and coffee and love poems.
I'm about to celebrate my own father too. Here he is, where he belongs, in the kitchen. He cooks for my mom every day, which is good. My mom has her own thinking when it comes to cooking. (and yes, those are trays of mushrooms drying in the book shelf, we're stocking up for the long winter).
We found these delicacies outside my parents house. They had my mom's name written all over them. You never know with her, what's the plan? She keeps life exciting for all of us. I asked dad about mom's bananas. He said "I have no idea. But I won't stop her." To her defense, she makes the best jams and chocolate desserts you've ever had. And she's brilliant.
I don't know what the father of your life wants for his big day. Perhaps a new t-shirt?
Joel's cranky. Got to go.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Dear Marc, know how I've been telling you about breast warts and other gross Swedish terms? Well, I have kept one of our most unappealing expressions hidden from you. It's an adjective used by many people, most of them don't even think about how disgusting the saying is.
I'm talking about snorhalt. As in "akta dig, det är snorhalt ute". Didn't get that?
Let me translate for you. Swedes of every age, creed and political affiliation say this. "Please take caution. It's slippery like snot outside".
I don't think your distinguished language stoops to such an archaic level.
But ours gladly does. Unfortunately!
-e, still writing in English obvious reasons.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Dear Marc, know how I always complain about the pain of high heels? How I'm like the little mermaid after she turned in comfort for the benefit of walking the earth with feet instead of fishtail (mermaid tail?)?
Well, now that I've seen Britney post-divorce news, I've seen the light. Perhaps all I need is a small mediterranean guy helping me keep my balance. How small can he possibly be? Isn't Britney practically pony height? And he's shorter. I love short people. Their brains are the same size, but the rest is kept to a minimum. Come help me keep my balance, bite size.
ps. Perhaps everything is not small. I don't want to step on anyones toes or privates here. Let's leave that to imagination, shall we. Thank you!
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Dear Marc, looking through the fashion plates from one of your recent shows, I came across these lovely ladies. I know they're royalty in the world of fashion, but to me they seemed so familiar for other reasons.
They looked like old friends of mine, QE1 and Michele Arnolfini! Sitting in the frontline of your show. This is what I see when I look at them.
Their looks are classic and will stand the test of time. I shall steal as much as possible of their regal postures and stern expressions.
Who do they remind you of?
who saw ugly betty yesterday. I knew there would come something great out of the devil wears prada!
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Dear Marc, I know it makes no difference to you, but it seems I'm moving to London with my family for 6 months. Since I know nothing about this town other than that they have the best Indian and Pakistani food this side of Bombay/Mumbai, I'll treat any information like morsels of gold.
Where is a good place to live with two little kids? Should one opt for the suburbs or cling to the city with all the museums and cafes and stuff? It seems A's office will be located in London SW. This means nothing to me. Perhaps you know?
Finally I will get to try plum pudding for real. With brandy butter. And browse the stores, broke, but in no rush. Oh, the luxury of watching what others will get to wear!
ps. Don't you find it peculiar that the Queen wears a watch? Isn't she time herself? Surely everyone waits for her? Surely her assistants could keep track of the time? I like the watch on top of glove look though. Will try it myself, perhaps that's how it's done in London. Also, I just noticed that she's standing in front of a Canadian flag. Can we pretend it's the Union Jack? Thank you!
Dear Marc, I was once a member of The Sweptaways, an all ladies singing ensemble. And when I say once, I mean it, I only attended once. My main reason to join was to befriend the interesting and beautiful singing ladies. Alas, my lack of talent and ambition told me to stay home the following week, and the week after that.
But look at them! Their lust for life, their adorable fruity headscarves, their we're not wearing black today attitude, it's enough to make me want to run back and ask them to take me back.
They sing tributes to Carmen and Kate Bush. If you know the lyrics to Wuthering Heights, you can sing along with the video below.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Dear Marc, you're a successful man and as such, I'm sure you've had your share of luxury treats and foods, although I understand you mostly subsist on coffee and cigarettes.
But people must have treated you to caviar, to champagne and truffles. In the past 10 years, have you ever had to make do with one lonely pita pocket cause you were out of cash?
I'm not wealthy in the way that you are, but I still feel a kind of kinship with you, since I once ate a single 1000 dollar olive.
It wasn't the taste or the place that made this olive so precious. I consumed it in a Spanish roadside joint as part of a highly forgettable meal. Having enjoyed tortilla and cerveza, I picked up a simple black canned olive and felt my tooth crack against the pit of what I mistakenly thought was a pitless olive.
Half a tooth fell out right there and then, the other half a month later. Not one to mince words, my mother told me I was now kind of shabby looking. She offered to pay for the replacement. I happily accepted and then tried to convince her my post-nursing bustline might also need a small lift. My mom is generous but she's got limits. She told me to get a better bra and go see my dentist.
The dentist gave me the financial verdict. It would cost me 1000 dollars to restore my lovely full set of teeth. That would include a titanium screw (sure beats buns of steel) and a fake tooth. My dentist said perhaps my insurance would cover some of it.
The other day I received word from the insurance company. They agreed to pay part of the procedure in order to give me a "functionally and aesthetically acceptable result".
This means I have it on paper that my current grin is aesthetically unacceptable.
I find this fact so funny that I may not go ahead with the procedure at all.
Just wishing I'd kept the olive pit that caused it all.
I wish I'd kept all the legendary treasures of my life.
The step of stairs that scarred me at 5. The pen that a friend stabbed me with at 12.
What do you wish you'd kept?
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Dear Marc, did you read about how Hilary Swank was injured when a stripping co-worker had his suspenders flying because of his sexy moves? They hit ms Swank in the forehead, doctors had to sew her up!
Lesson learned: when you're witnessing a striptease, be sure to put on a helmet first. Or run, run for your life, run like the wind, like Hilary Swank can, when you see someone starting to untuck shirts and touch their flys. You could end up in stiches.
ps. When will we see this clip on YouTube? When? When? I don't think I'm the only one. Chad are you with me on this?
Friday, November 03, 2006
Dear Marc, this look is wonderful. I'd love to see it on ten different women to see who can do it justice. It's hard even for the model to look smashing and serious here, there's something so cheerful and jokey about the pants. Thanks for showing us that fashion can also be about having fun, looking ridiculous and still having room for a puppy or two in your leg area.
I want those pants like I want longer legs and world peace.
I also crave the following look, which might work easier in my professional life.
I now feel I need those clothes. I'm pasting my head on that little model body and maybe I could get away with it. It's either that or I'll have to print out that exact doe eyed model face and make a mask for myself.
Or better yet, make a printout of the model in the clothes and glue that picture to my entire body. Who cares, I'm freelancing from home. In a web cam meeting, I'll look convincing enough.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Dear Marc, I don't know if you read that letter about Swedish words? Now I can't stop thinking about this vulgar language of ours.
(If easily disgusted, stop reading here.)
We were talking about breasts the other day, and now I'm about to tell you a word somewhat related to mammaries. Let's talk a little about the placenta, the tree of life. Your clever people stuck with the latin word. My people did not. My people were nuts. They decided to call it "moderkaka". The mother cake. There is nothing more to say about this, although I would like to have the elders apologize for their unfortunate coinage.
After the birth of my first child, having declined to look at the miracle of pre-natal nutrition, I went to have lunch in the self-service dining room at the hospital. They were offering steak that day. Next to the dish, a small printed note (made by a vegetarian?) brusquely told us to control our appetite. The message was short and to the point: "Only one meat mound/person". Bara en kötthög/person.
Word of the day: Kötthög.
With a language like ours, it's easy to bow down to the English. But no one wants to stand on the lowest step of the language ladder. We Swedes want to look down on someone too. That's why we love the Finns. The Finns call bags "pussi". So when you're in Finland buying potato chips, you can choose between getting a "Minipussi" or a "Megapussi". So handy!
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Dear Marc, I have a co-worker I love. Right now I love her more than ever, cause she told me she refuses to wear t-shirt bras. She thought they're made out of old t-shirts. "They're disgusting!".
What's the best misconception you've caught on tape today?
Dear Marc, things are happening here, and I might have big news for you very soon.
As always, I turn to disco (in this case Kelly Marie) when trying to describe my emotional status:
My head is in a spin
My feet don't touch the ground
Because you're near to me
My head goes round and round
My knees are shakin' baby
My heart beats like a drum
I can't tell you more right now. Will get back to you with updates.
Meanwhile, a blizzard brought us back to a time before automobiles.
November 1st rolled around, and like an intern taking her new job way too seriously, the first of the winter months brought so much snow that buses and trains and cars were brought to a halt. A had to walk for an hour through the storm to get back to our house.
It made me feel like I was living out a fantasy from the Little House on the Prairie. And you know I like that.
How's life in the world of fashion? Snowy on the outside, special on the inside?