Ass you like it

Dear Marc, did you see "The Family Stone" yet? I went the other day, hadn't been to a movie in ages. So there we were, my friend Annika and I in the dark together with SJP, Claire Danes, Diane Keaton, handsome Luke Wilson, Heather McSomething and Dermot Mulroney in his finest since "Living in oblivion". This time, he almost made it conceivable that Julia Roberts would have fought as hard as she did to almost get him in "My best friend's wedding".

All that aside, Mulroney's efforts were not the most lasting impression. No, walking home from the theater, what I remembered most vividly were the glorious pants worn by Heather and Sarah in the last scene. Yes, we're on a first name basis after those pants. Or should I say Sarah Jessica? Is saying just "Sarah" implying that we're on a first first name basis? How confusing. Let's not talk about her anymore.

Let's get back to the pants instead. The trousers were so great, all I could think was "Where do I get them". Leave it to a woman to think "it must be the pants" when faced with a fine behind.

So Marc please tell me, as you're a fashion designer and friend of a womanly shape, where do I get them? Apple-bottomed lines?

Is it genes, jeans or pilates? Photoshop, high heels or heredity?

Please tell me they can be found somewhere among the pictures at marcjacobs.com

Love, etc
-e

ps. Closing with a pic of the real Family Stone. The one that won't fit on a finger, but in the palm of your hand.

A reason to learn Swedish

Miss Rotfrukt and her Ranelid snacks.

Happy New Fear

Dear Marc, what are you doing for New Year's Eve? And what are you wearing?
I hate New Year's. Hate it. When given the option, I prefer to be out of the country. And out of my mind. My best New Year was spent losing and then finding my shoes on a beach in Thailand. I lost and found them about 5 times. Every time as joyous as the first.

My almost worst New Year's was returning to a party at 3 am with blood dripping from an injured knee, filling my pretty left boot. Then I was told the police was on a search for me. I followed that up with telling an already upset boyfriend that I had feelings for another guy. Everything bad that happened that night was my fault. That fact did not make the experience a bit more enjoyable.

Oh, the misery. And as usual, footwear take centre stage in both the good and the ugly stories of my life.

My worst New Year's I can't even tell you about without bursting into tears. A few days later that horrid night, a very regretful "forgive me" letter was sent from this girl to a remote acquaintance. (Man, that word looks funny in writing. Just try to write it with the New Year's first hangover.)

This New Year, I'm playing it safe, I think. But there have been talk about eel gracing the menu. I can't help but to take this as an omen of bad things to come. Did you see the Japanese movie Unagi - The eel?

It does not whet a person's appetite for the fish/dinosaur.

All the same, I'm now in the same situation as millions of people across the world, thinking about what to wear.

I have a few style icons.

1. Audrey
















2. Nora








3. Philip Bloch

So New Year's Eve, you know what I'll be wearing. Stripes, a pencil skirt and a thin moustache.
I'll send a picture if you tell me your best and worst New Year's Eve stories.

love
-e

Face it

Dear Marc, I spent Christmas with family. The family I created with A, and the family I was born in. It was a good time. I received great gifts and ate traditional Swedish feast fare such as pickled herring, anchovies and potato pie and cabbage salad. They say we're living in 2005, soon 2006, but our diet is positively medieval.

Not that I don't like it. I spend the rest of the year dreaming of Christmas.

As for the Christmas presents, I received just what I wanted - dvd:s, books and chocolate.
I share the love of chocolate with my mom and sister in law. The latter is a judge. She told my mother how her colleagues had been shopping for chocolate with her twice a week for a year and still managed to buy her the wrong kind as Christmas came up. They had even bought her milk chocolate truffles, when there were dark ones around. She was sad to find this evidence that her colleagues didn't really bother enough to notice her preference.

My mother was shocked to her core.

"They bought you MILK CHOCOLATE? And they had shopped for chocolate WITH YOU? And these people are judges? What other things do they fail to notice in their daily lives?" My mother is a psychiatrist. She makes it a point to remember personality traits. She would not forgive these sloppy judges.

Meanwhile, dad was decorating his face.

You see this picture? What a cosy moment with grandfather and grandchild














But wait, what's up with the man's nose? Did he drink too much port while nibbling on stilton?
Let's take a closer look.














Ah. He just got a little happy playing with Vanja's playdough. And why shouldn't he? Sure beats adding food to his face like he usually does.

I'm not kidding. Look away for a moment and look back at dad and you're in for a happy surprise. And I'm not talking about the traditional bottle cap eye. No. In my house there have been cucumber eyes, candy eyes, roast beef lips and strawberry noses, an odd assortment of teeth and sock ears.

I remember as I turned 18 and we were all eating out in a fancy Italian restaurant. Dad was proudly announcing a toast to his firstborn. His eyes misted over. Or did they? It was hard to see behind the clam shells he had whisked out of his Frutti di Mare. They fit perfectly behind his glasses, as a little sauce from the pasta dripped onto the table cloth.

It might sound embarrassing and at 18 I did not appreciate his manners. But these days, I bring out eye friendly fruits, vegetables and meat whenever dad's coming over. I love how he can't help from cheering us up. It's an absurd world and it's only fitting that eyes the colour and shape of sliced sausage should bring a little happiness into my life. Besides - no need for a Christmas tree with a trimmed up dad around!

Seeing as you're a man known to transform your entire self into condiments, I'm sure you can appreciate a clam enhanced dad.

What brought happiness into your world this Christmas Marc?
curious greetings
-e

Vanity Fair

Dear Marc, know what I saw yesterday? A car with a license plate proudly announcing "Hot Rat". You go through all the trouble of getting a vanity plate and that is what you come up with? I love it. I love you Hot Rat.

Thinking of getting a Hot Rat tattoo myself.
How about that?

Love
-e

Lost and found

Dear Marc, I know you're great at bags. I find it hard to pick a bag. I always feel I have to buy the bag of my life. And until I do, I stick to plastic bags and tired, cheap old bags.

When people talk about how important the handbag is to women; I feel I must belong to a third sex. There are bags in the world, but they're not important to me. I prefer big pockets.

Not that I don't need a decent bag. To celebrate Christmas and the new year, I decided to make a fresh start. I emptied my bag on the kitchen table. This is just some of the stuff I found in my bag:

*Agenda
*Wallet
*Pens
*Receipts
*A folding rule
*One glove with small animals on it
*Baby food
*A plastic goat (might come in handy)
*A rattling egg









*A cookie cutter to make festive, seasonal cookies









* A toothbrush holder. The brush was missing.










* A very small cardigan, belonging to Pippi Longstocking's monkey friend, herr Nilsson









When I got this far, it suddenly became very clear to me that the mess in my bag was not my fault, but the doings of this guy:















Could you recommend a specific bag to hold these treasured belongings?

Good night, love
-e

Dead philosopher society

Dear Marc, how are you? The kids are finally sleeping and I'm supposed to go through my bills. I'm not even looking at the bills. What can I say, I have a lot to get off my chest. Hairs, etc.

No. What I'm really writing you about is a completely different matter. We went to family dinner at my mother-in-law's place the other day. The food was delicious, she's an excellent cook. We had

* Baby brussel sprouts
* Finnish carrot/turnip casserole
* Beetroot salad
* Garden salad
* An assortment of cheese
* Ham
* Potatoes
* Home made meat balls
* Vanilla ice cream with chocolate chip cookies
* Fruit salad

And some other dishes that I don't know how to translate. It was a great meal, with lots of great wine. As I got a little tipsy, I listened in as my boyfriend's family began discussing Lacan. I'm not familiar with Lacan. Everyone else was. They were all surprised that I did not know of his important theories.

To add to the misery, I had made a fatal discovery before going to dinner. The cold winter air always makes my hair a static nightmare. I was out of hair products, and in order to avoid looking like a fraggle, I had sprayed my poor locks with a little Body Shop Olive Oil Mist. Let's call it Body Shop Olive Oil Mistake from now on. It did stop the hair from being static. It also made me look like I hadn't gotten a decent shampoo in 5 weeks. And 5 years.

They talked on about Lacan until someone took pity on me and asked "so Emi, what do you do during the days?".

"Oh nothing much. I take care of my kids and write letters to Marc Jacobs."

They didn't know who you were.

I love my family in law and I think they feel my love. But that night perhaps I felt they thought their son/brother could have done better than to end up with the person sitting there in front of them:

A woman with hopelessly greasy hair, blatantly ignorant of intellectual forthcomings, spending her days writing letters to unknown fashion designers unlikely to reply.

So what, nobody's perfect. In the spirit of another French intellectual, Michel Onfrey, I poured another glass of wine, got too drunk, laughed too loud and talked too much.

How are your family dinners?
Must go read up on Lacan. Seems interesting.

big love
-e

ps. Now that I have searched for pictures of Lacan, I must say this one is my favorite. The philosopher dream boat. Sorry it's so pixel-y.

Link lady

Dear Marc, I want to write a long letter, but Joel Burgundy is on the floor, begging for attention.

I just wanted to tell you about some links. I'll make it quick.

Did you see Pandora?
Finally you can make your own Rufus Wainwright/L'il Kim radio channel and share it with us!

While listening to that lovely music, treat your eyes to kittens and baby hedgehogs!



















I also wanted to alert your eyes to the pretty art of Boygirlparty. Especially now, since the art is so attractive, it's been stolen off the walls of the gallery! From a show called "Let's share". People always take things too literally!

Now, happier times are had by the people at Hello Lucky! Making greeting cards with knitting monkeys, with the tag line "You shouldn't have". But I'm so glad you did, knitting monkey!





OK, Joel is angry now. Must go. Will write you more, later.

love
-e

Speed freak

Dear Marc, do you drive? Do you have a license? I mean, growing up in NYC and attending fashion school in the same town, did you ever really need a car? I was 29 and quite pregnant when I took my license.

The road to my license was long and paved with terror, fear and expenses. To this day I can remember the feeling of my driving instructor's big hand on my right thigh. She was not harassing me, but simply tried to help me step on the gas.

I fear speed. Downhill skiing is an exercise in courage for me. I hate going on airplanes. I don't have a fear of height, but the thought of the speed we're going at scares me and can only be muted with the help of red wine.

I was born in the wrong time. The days of donkey/mule transportation, so memorable in these Christmas times, seem very attractive to me.

But back to driving. The money I spent on driving classes actually exceed what I paid for my apartment. I could have hired a cab from here to Afghanistan for that sum. And have money left for the return.

Realizing that I was not made for driving hurt. Even more painful was my driving instructor's humble question at the end of our 27th Renault outing together: "Have you considered driving an automatic instead of a stick shift?"

I switched to automatic. Still, success was far away.
Some of my car-related fear can be blamed on my parents. Or rather, my dad, who has a thing for driving while doing other things. I remember one time in Chicago, with dad driving with his head out the window, admiring the tall buildings. When stopped by police, dad's honest reply "sure I was looking at the sky scrapers while driving. We're tourists, what a beautiful city you have here" surprisingly got us out of a ticket situation. Chicago police men must be very proud of their town.

The day I took my license, my belly touched the steering wheel. I was in my 9th month of pregnancy and the proud owner of a fine 80's Mercedes (matching my complexion).














I have not driven since.

But now that we're moving, I intend to be the best driver in town. If you don't drive, I'll soon be able to teach you how. Please don't be offended if I put my hand on your thigh. It's in your best interest.

Love
-e

The new house

Dear Marc, how do you feel about winter? I'm trying to warm up about it. The season has certain perks. Like feeling in better health than old white men, while at the same time envying their poetic expressions:



















It was Lucia here yesterday. It's a big thing here, the festival of St Lucy or whatever you may call her. Like so many other saints, St Lucy would rather die than give up her Christian faith.
Kids dress up in white to portray her faith and innocense, the dress belt is a symbol of her sacrifice and the candles in her hair? We added that for effect. We need more light up here.



















Blue plastic socks? Just part of the picture, not tradition.
Vanja loved Lucia. Then we went home and made a gingerbread house. I made most of it while Vanja told Santa's little helpers what she wants for Christmas.













I'm no Martha Stewart. But I like making gingerbread houses. Especially if they feature historic pictures of fish carriers.


















This picture is not part of the story. I just wanted to share my new favorite out of A's shirts. Raisin Hell in Los Angeles.














Back to the house. Everyone was there.














The bouncer was nice.

And people were singing.
















And telling stories.


















There's sugar everywhere. I must clean up and go to bed. Do you bake? Perhaps I could interest you in a homemade gingerbread house? I made my best one at 17, with Madonna, Mickey Rourke and Matt Dillon hanging out of the windows.

I will never be that great again.
Sad-happy greetings from the bakery

-e

Look of the year

Dear Marc, what a great outfit! I love the tender pink and cute little ears of your costume. Was it gettin hot in there? All that said, what I'm really interested in finding out is: Who is that strapping lad with the sunglasses and updated native American getup in the background? I want, I need, that look for New Year's.

Love
-e

ps.
Wait, is that blonde Viking braids? And a cellphone on a string? He just doesn't stop! I want it all!

Lingering lingerie

Dear Marc, are my babies being served?















Apparently not. I try to keep them in decent clothing, but fail all the time.
I see you have a very cute line for the little ones - Little Marc. Cashmere hoodies and other nice wear for the ones we can't love enough. My kids won't get to wear cashmere. Cause I'll shrink it doing laundry and laundry there will be. In other words, I can't afford Little Marc and am trying to get over it.

Let me tell you what my kids wear instead. My underwear. I know, this will emerge in therapy 20 years from now. But it's by choice, not by my force. Vanja used to love my pretty, colorful Cosabella undies. To the extent that she would wear them as necklaces around the house. Not that I would let anyone see it, ever.

But then one day, I see she's put a Sciaparelli-pink mesh unmentionable on top of her diaper. It looked great. The effect of the pink against the white Pamper was very pretty. Then the phone rang, time flew and all of a sudden we were in a great rush to get to Vanja's kindergarten. Those morning minutes are so much shorter than any other minutes during the day. I dress in a hurry and dress Vanja at the same time and it's not til I get on board the bus to work that the thought hits me "whatever happened to that pink thong"?

And this is the reason why I had to ask the nice ladies at my nursery school the following absurd question: "Excuse me, but did you see my 2-year old wearing a pink thong today"? There was no skirting the issue. If she had been wearing it, I wanted it out in the open. But the nice ladies just laughed and said no. And how I regret ever asking that question. So embarrassing!

But the next day, I found my Cosabella string in Vanja's drawer at kindergarten after all. I guess what I'm trying to say here is: could you please make designer diapers that are more pleasing to the 2-year old eye than her mom's undies? Thankyou.

Did I just ask you to make designer diapers?
Somebody please stop me.

Love by the bucket
-e

Sign: Rodent

Dear Marc, what's your sign? I'm a Virgo, the zodiac loser. We're not losers in the traditional, low-achiever way. No, one of the Virgo trademarks is the industrial nature we supposedly embody. Add to that an anal-retentive persona and worrisome character. Perfectionists and busybodies unite under the Virgo sign.

That's not me. I read whatever it says that Leos will experience, which is enough to disqualify me from being an orderly Virgo. I'm loud and proud. And one day, I will have a mane of red golden hair.

The signs confuse me. I mix them up. There are lots of ram-looking signs. Are you one of those? I'm happy to be a selfmade Leo, but if there was really a sign that would be true to my nature, it would be the sign of the squirrel.

Small and energetic, nibbling on small foods, I have a tendency to hide things. It's not on purpose, but it happens every time I clean.

Then I forget where I hid the stuff. This was fine when I lived by myself and only tucked away my own belongings. As of now, it's driving A crazy. He can't find any of his stuff. And I can't tell him where to look. I'm sure this is what it would be like to live with senile elves.

The other day he found his hat in his sock drawer. His bills have been rescued from the trash. And I can't remember why I ever thought it was a good idea to put his iPod in the bathroom cabinet. Neither can he.

As we're moving house, just about everything he owns has "disappeared". I know it's my fault. At the same time I think he should be grateful, since our place is so clean! I thank my lucky star that he's got more patience than I deserve. I think that's one of his sign's trademarks. He's a Cancer, moving sideways through life. Since I'm a cute Leo/Squirrel moving steadily forward, we try to share the perspectives the other half misses out on. Without yelling.

I know you're a dog owner. Do human star signs apply to them? Can a dog be a Libra? Since 1 human year is equivalent to just about 7 dog years, how do you tell a dogs stellar standing? It's as confusing as foreign money exchange. Or is it simply the birthdate that counts? What about Chinese signs? Can a dog be a rat or a pig? Perhaps Shirley McLaine can tell us. Do you know her? She seems to know a lot more than I do. I'll try to look it up in one of her books. If I can find them. Now where did I put them?

Sending you a nutful of season's greetings.
love
-e

It's in the news

Dear Marc, what do you look for when you read your morning paper? I love odd headlines. My all-time favorite was published long ago, in the Springfield News Sun. A story on gangmembers, doing garden work as a form of community service, was headlined:

Gang members put down guns to pick up hose.

That's all for now
-e

Missing: Important body part

Dear Marc, did you ever lose an important part of your body? I apparently have. Over dinner, mom tells me I look skinny. It's not a compliment, but rather a matter of concern. She asks me "did you lose your ass?".
The way she puts the question, it may very well be found on the bus I took to her house. Has anyone seen my ass? I must have misplaced it. It's my age and has served me well.

Let me know if it somehow ends up on eBay.
Love
-e

Dark, brown and gooey

Dear Marc, since we're selling our apartment, I'm staying with my parents this weekend. I love staying at their place. Mom fills me in on the family gossip and dad sings while he cooks dinner for us in the kitchen. To show my gratitude, I usually buy them chocolate. Or rather, I buy mom chocolate. Dad isn't all that big on material gifts, as long as you laugh at his jokes, he's happy.

So I'm buying mom a bag of chocolate. Or rather two, one bag that we can eat together and one that she can hide from dad and nibble on alone. Mom is the middle child in a group of five siblings. Whenever dessert is served, she hurries to get the biggest piece. Having only one brother, who's more into main courses than desserts, mom's rush always surprises me.

We let her have the biggest slice. No big deal.

Buying chocolate for mom, I remember what happened last time I asked her if she
had any chocolate in the house. I know she would. She said yes and brought out a big bowl of chocolate. This is suspicious. Normally, I only get to sample 2 or 3 pieces. Now I have 35 pieces in front of me .

"Wow mom, how generous!" I say, and even I can hear the surprise in my voice.

Then I notice they're novelty chocolates. With just a tad of jalapeno. Mom looks guilty.

I call her on this. "You don't like these do you?"

Of course she doesn't. The chocolate splendor is not so fishy anymore. She brings out the real, 70% chocolate, and I can see that every step on the way to her secret chocolate cupboard is weighed down by the burden of her reluctancy.

It's not that she won't share. She just has a really hard time believing anyone else could possibly appreciate the fine chocolate as much as she does. She thinks I'd might just as well pop some M&Ms, while she, with her refined palate is the only one around to notice the nuances of the chocolate I just brought her.

I might bring her three bags tonight. One she can hide away, one we can eat together and one I won't tell her about.

What's your favorite chocolate? Please don't tell me it's white.

Truffled greetings
-e

Flash from the past

Dear Marc, did you ever see my girls?
Their names are Juliet, Jane, Doris, Eve and Kate Parker. If you don't recognize them, I'm not surprised. But if you do, it makes me so happy.
They're from the early days of the internet, the Parker Quints were my babies then.

When you were dressing up Courtney and Winona, I was playing with digital paper dolls. I think we both know who took the more successful path. Still, je ne regret rien.

I'd like to quote Wooderson from "Dazed and Confused" (he's talking about freshmen) when I think about my girls: "I get older, but they stay the same age".
Look how cute they remain (forever):





Sending you warm love in the cold winter night
-e

Archibald Jacobs? Marc Leach?

Dear Marc, can we talk a little bit about your resemblance to Cary Grant? Is this something you get to hear ALL the time? A friend of mine pointed this out (thank you Sara).

Here's the man we all love, and sometimes compare Clooney to:






















But perhaps Clooney has nothing to do with it. Perhaps we should really compare this man with Grant?













Do you have a secret past? Were you really born in the UK and started out as a trapeeze artist?
Is your real name Marc Leach?

I always did think Marc Jacobs sounded too good to be true.
Will write more about you and Grant another day. Now must run pick up daughter at nursery school.

Thursday love
-e

He's crafty

Dear Marc, with the new crafts movement sweeping the world, don't you think it's time you helped us out?

I'm thinking you should combine your love for fashion with your love for crafts and create ready-packs to knit and embroider. There wouldn't be a bridal shower/baby shower/martini gathering where your crafts wouldn't be a part of the party.

And since only 1 out of 10 women finish a knitting project, you would never need to worry that buying the yarn and pattern from you would make any of us less interested in buying your own finished products. The stats are my own. The actual figures may very well be a lot less, like 1 out of 100 women finish a project. But we like to start them! Always have, always will.
























(are these women blind or are they just showing off?)


I know you knit. I know you embroider. Why should Kaffe Fassett be the only man to cash in on women's love for the crafty man?

Oh, another thing, could you please make a decent-looking case for knitting needles?

Thankyou!
-e


ps. Did you see this? Go knit yourself!

Dress them up in your love

Dear Marc, the holidays are just around the corner, so I thought we'd might discuss gifts today.

I think the following women are worthy of a lovely Marc Jacobs seasonal gift, be it a Christmas gift, Kwanzaa celebratory token or Hanukkah offering. If they're Muslim, I think you just missed Ramadan. But who wouldn't like a gift or two?

I have made a list of ladies who I think deserve encouragement because they are simply more interesting than others.


Ruth Reichl
After wearing all those disguises I think Ruth is more than worthy of a dignified wardrobe. You don't have to buy it for her, but if you did I'm sure she'd take you to the best restaurant in town. I think it may be her own kitchen. I love Ruth's writing. Now that I've read all of her books, I feel beside myself. Ruthless. Not good.

Amanda Peet
Amanda looks the way I feel I should. Every time I look in the mirror, I'm surprised to see a short Swede staring back at me. I can't take my eyes off Amanda. So watchable! Talented and funny. Comes equipped with cute date with big scarf.















Missy Elliot
We all love Missy. You must too. Perhaps if you send her a little something she can teach us how to dance? Missy, I don't own a thing you would like. But perhaps I could interest you in some brandy mustard? It's delicious with your 1-minute ham.

Oprah
What do you give someone who's got everything? Brains, looks, money, the color purple, success, newfound friendship with Letterman and speed dial to Dr Phil? I think you should give her a new line! Marc Jacobs for Oprah. Sure beats Harpo. Think she's happy with that brandname? Like Lorac? How about you going for Cram? I think a new brand might be the only thing that lady needs. In the entire world. Oprah, if you're reading this, I want that 20th anniversary box where you look happy and just a little bit crazy. Don't let those angels throw dust in your eyes.



















Eva Mendez
I saw Hitch the other day. Now I love Eva too, like everyone else. Don't miss out on the credits, where Eva lets us see her true colors, in a wonderful, fantastic, not-to-be-missed-for-anything dance. Yeah, she danced with Will Smith who I usually love, but who can look at Will when Eva's dancing next to him? She'll be a dancing billboard for you!
When I see Eva I'm also reminded that I need to buy more of those amazing pantyhose they make these days. My favorite kind boasts of its "shock-up, Brazilian effect". Do you offer this kind of masterpiece, the crown of modern engineering?

Must go to bed,
sweet dreams from
-e.

ps. that top picture comes from a lady who really loves her shirley temple dolls. She's not the only one, Temple doll collectors have conventions every other year. There will be one next year, wanna go?

Just seal the deal

Dear Marc, have you ever lived in suburbia? I'm moving there in spring, despite the fact that I think I'm a city person. I love the city. I love the service minded spirit of my 7/11. I like walking shoulder to shoulder with people I don't know or even recognize. I appreciate the choice I have to choose between take out and my own cooking. I like what the city life has to offer, like museums, restaurants, cafes, shops and the happy laughter of drunks who have for once forgotten the cold.

I'm moving to a place where none of this exists. Instead I hear there are deer, squirrels and flowers. Which is lovely, I know. So pretty and great for the kids. As we were getting close to sealing the deal, I woke up at 4 am, in a sweat, panicking over our decision. It's such a priviliged person's problem, I know, but I was still stressed out. I waited a few hours and called my brother.

me: I can't do this. I can't move. I'm a social person.

my brother: sure you are. you spend all day socializing. by way of your computer.
.......
can't argue with reason. so we are moving. it will be fine.
speaking of sealing the deal, I told my boyfriend about talking to my brother, calling the conversation a real "seal dealer", to which he replied "how much for this fine, pretty gray seal with its nice layer of fat? do I hear 5 dollars? 10?".

just letting you in on the conversations of my life. what are you and your friends talking about?
let me know, don't leave anything out

love
.e

My directorial debut

Dear Marc, did you see Mr & Mrs Smith? We just did. After sushi and saying goodnight to the kids, we spent the evening in the company of Pitt, Jolie and a whole lot of explosives. All I wanted was to cut away from the chase. The chase just never ended.

Blah, blah, blah, bomb, blah, blah, blah, explosion. Knives, guns, ammo.

In the end I was so bored I brought out my laptop and started writing to you. If you feel like I do, could I interest in our alternative version of the movie? Attaching a pic from the set.
Love from your
-e

Oscar, Dre, mom and me

Dear Marc, in every correspondence comes a time when one of the correspondents starts quoting Oscar Wilde. We have reached that point now.

We’re buying a house right by my parents’ house. It’s very similar to theirs. All I could think as I looked around was Oscar’s old truth “All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his.” I knew I would one day turn into my mother. I was just not prepared when that day came.

My mom loves me, this I know. She wants us to live nearby, so we can see her and dad more often. That’s why she tells me that the house we’re about to buy in her neighborhood is “dark, old and too expensive”. It’s also “too far from everything and you will most likely have trouble finding childcare”.

I’m used to this. All my life she has been trying to protect me from disappointment. Every birthday the same thing: “Your birthday is coming up sweetie, but you’re not getting any great gifts this year. Nothing special. I mean it.” She’s not saying this to build up for a happy surprise. She does really mean what she says. Like she has wrapped up pieces of cardboard and pinecones for her kids b-day. Nothing special. Don’t be disappointed. And then I would receive perfect gifts.

I can hear her through her warnings as she talks about the house. She wants to protect me from disappointment all over again. I hear her love. It’s so strong and beautiful. “You’re a city girl, you will hate it out here” might sound to others like she really advises me not to buy the house, since she knows me better than most. But I know that what she’s saying is “Welcome to the neighborhood”.

And as I tuck my daughter in at night I tell her "we're buying a house and you will get a room of your own. It's not a very big room and it's rather dark". Like any white, soon-to-be suburban, middleclass mom of two, this makes me remember the words of a genius named Dre. As he so aptly put it "The motherfucking saga continues".

now must feed kids oatmeal.

love
-e

Winter Wonderland

Dear Marc, the virgin snow just hit Stockholm like a cold kiss, leaving the city blushing with frost. I love the day the first snow falls over town. This year, this is how I celebrated the arrival of frozen water falling down on us. First I woke up and had coffee with a side order of various media sources.


















Then I took a walk down to my favorite cafe to serve my son some lunch. We were both pleasantly surpriced when we noticed that the waitress had made a happy jam face on the surface of the yoghurt. How thoughtful.















Then I took a walk with my friend Kajsa and her son Olle. We pretended we were walking down a Russian boulevard in an updated version of Anna Karenina.


















On our walk out to the beautiful park at Djurgården, we saw this man, further helping that Tolstoy classic come alive. I almost wanted to cry out "Dear God, no reason to overdo it."














Post horse-sighting, I went to pick up my daughter to go buy seasonal cookies.














Munching on cookies, we also passed by our favorite store, Apparat, and talked to the penguins.



















That being done, we strolled back home and bought a house. More on this tomorrow. Big love from your own emi, who wonders if the snow has fallen in New York or Paris or wherever you are today .

-e