Clown pants were a big-ticket item this Spring/Summer 09 season in Copenhagen

I am unsure how I feel about these pants, aesthetically- and economically-speaking. These dyslexic M.C. Hammer pants — baggy at the bottom, fitted at the top — sell for around 1500 kroner a pop (which is about $300 bucks). All for an ill-fitting piece of shiny parachute fabric around the legs, with an elastic waistband and elastic cuffs at the ankles.

I've only spotted these trendy pants floating on the beautiful bods of the wafer-thin, gorgeous Danes of Copenhagen. The girls in Denmark, no matter how hard they try, wear these things effortlessly, without looking like they just rolled out of bed. Now Americans, on the other hand, have gotten into some very bad fashion habits. And it pains me. I don't know how many times I've gone to a nail salon in Sacramento on a Saturday morning around 11AM, only to see a bunch of Sac State co-eds pull up in their BMWs, clutching their Starbucks with their chipped acrylic nails, wearing flannel, plaid pajama pants, hooded college sweatshirts and ratty old Ugg boots. I look at them and think, "Who raised you?" You're here at Modern Nails because you care about your hands and toes, but what about everything else? Can't even get dressed before leaving the house? Truly, California needs to stop this 'every day is Casual Friday look' because it has deteriorated into Pajama Saturday. And it's borderline ridiculous.

But I digress. This summer, while traveling around Europe and Southeast Asia, I did not see any clown pants in France or Italy, not in Sweden or India; and certainly not in California. These pants are a highly controversial topic in Denmark though -- even more than the immigration issue. At a key work retreat at the advertising agency where I'm employed -- where we discussed best practices on things like client pitches, mood boards and proper note-taking -- a few boys in the office raised their hands, filed an opinion, and took a non-majority vote deciding that, "The girls aren't allowed to wear the clown pants to work any longer."

So there you have it. They have been outlawed.

They are so ugly, I simply had to have a pair - and I'm not even pregnant. But I refuse to plunk down so much money in these tough economic times. So, my mom Nancy came to the rescue, as she often does.

While home in California just after my birthday last month, we designed and made the pairs featured here. It was a hoot! We went to the fabric store and bought some beautiful textiles in four different patterns for around 8 dollars, and a Vogue pattern for 99-cents. We made 2 pairs of deliciously trendy, possible ugly clown pants, just for me. Midway through the sewing process, my dad and 2 sisters asked my mom why she was sewing me pajamas. I cringed, because that's exactly the look we're not going for. But I'll let you be the judge.

The first pair comes in a silky, pseudo-polka-dot pattern, with a 1970's Pucci-inspired orange & gold waistband.

The second pair is more of a classic clown pant, in a traditional purple, green and black floral print. Simply lux and so comfortable.

I pair these pants with a white tank under a black cotton cardigan, a simple ballet flat, and a 'don't mess with me' smile.

Please, feel free to comment on how much you love them, or hate them, or are jealous of my new pants.

Yours in good fashion,

Cammy

Surprise! The Happiest Place on Earth is not Disneyland. It's in Scandinavia!

Every year, the last three years, Time magazine releases an article citing a survey from the Univeristy of Michigan claiming that “Denmark is the happiest country in the world.”

And every year, 10 of my American friends email me the article to let me know I’ve made a good decision, moving to Denmark.

I don’t know how to respond to these emails because there’s a fiery collision of thoughts, emotions and experiential data in my brain when I hear about this.

Here’s my scientific response to it.

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Calling Denmark the happiest place on Earth would be like calling celebrities (the knicker-less Britneys, or the strung out Amy Winehouses of the world) the classiest people on Earth. Or Russia the most vodka-avoiding country in the world. Your knee-jerk reaction is whaaaaa? Howwww? Whyyy?

And there’s no greater proof of the hollowness of this study than the evidence provided by the people who sprang into action to disprove it: the Danes.

The Danes are so dour they wince at the thought of the rest of the world calling them shiny happy people laughing. Because they’re not. Period. They are kind-hearted, they are cool, they are fashionable, they are sexually-charged, smart, punctual, and world-class beer drinkers. But the happiest?! By whose definition of happy? Eeyore’s?

I believe that if you were to survey the non-native community of residents living in Denmark – those who’ve experienced living in a non-Denmark country – and asked them if the Danes are the happiest, they would tell you, without equivocation, no. The reason is, most Danes don’t exude warmth or the slightest slivver of happiness. To look another person in the eye, to smile at a stranger, to let someone go in front of you in line at the grocery market, just to be nice, would be Jack-o weird in Denmark. Because Denmark, outwardly, is a very abrupt, manner-less, smile-less, quiet, foot-tappingly impatient, chipper-free nation. Now, when you get Denmark drunk, all bets are off; then, the warmth and openness flow. But, until then, through no fault of their own – and I have no idea why – most Danes appear very closed off. But appearances are deceiving, and of course, my conclusion and perception of Danes is mired in years of living in American ebullience and pretense. In America, you can talk to anyone; we look people in the eye; we’re up for making friends on the subway. Maybe we have too many friends. And yet despite the outwardly ‘happy-come-hither’ gaze, many Americans are on Prozac.

Danes are as well, they just would never tell you. Or their mother, husband or best friend.

So here’s what the University of Southern Denmark concluded, setting-the-record- and Oprah Winfrey (who committed a whole show to the topic!) -straight.

According to Danish researchers themselves: It's not all the free things, the welfare-state safety net or the pickled herring: "it's the low expectations."

[O]n surveys, Danes continually report lower expectations for the year to come, compared with most other nations. And "year after year, they are pleasantly surprised to find that not everything is getting more rotten in the state of Denmark," the paper concludes.*

And so, beneath the façade of contentment they wear like a pashmina is a deep-rooted melancholy and pessimism that everything will turn out badly. When events don’t end up über-shitty, wow, what a surprise. You have a happy country.

And some very confused foreigners living in it.

*Source: http://curiouscapitalist.blogs.time.com/2008/07/02/danes_still_the_happiest_even/

Sanne Salomonsen - Denmark's rock mama

UDEN DIG...which means WITHOUT YOU

LYRICS

Sidste år ved denne tid,
gik vi sammen her.
Nu er alle sporene slettet.
Vinden hvisker ikke mere,
nu du ikke er
lige her

Jeg forstod vidst aldrig helt,
hvorfor du forsvandt.
Og din tvivl var svær at bære.
Følger du mon drømmen nu,
om at være nær,
hvor du er

Du gav livet mening
Det bliver svært at blive,
lige så lykkelig,
uden dig.
Du gav livet mening
Jeg kan aldrig blive,
nær så lykkelig
uden dig
Jeg elskede

Hvor jeg end vender mig hen,
ser jeg efter dig.
Er du mon om det næste hjørne?
Ooh, alle andre mennesker bliver
fremmede for mig,
uden dig.

Ooh yeah Uden dig
Uden dig.

Two Roads...by Robert Frost

Lesson 5: How to speak in American, Learn English!

Learning to communicate when being robbed

LA County Fair Commercial - Classroom

I find it difficult...

I find it difficult to keep my act together when a European tells me that we got it wrong -- that Al Qaeda terrorist Osama bin Laden doesn’t actually hate everything about America and the West. The proof being that "he once was a big Arsenal Football fan." Arsenal is in Britain, I think. 

And that he, Bin Laden, "carried out the attacks on Sept. 11 as part of a bigger mission we must try to understand."

 

"And that America has taken thousands more innocent lives, like in Hiroshima." 

"What is 3,000 compared to the hundreds of thousands who died there?"

And on and on, until my eyes cried blood. This was last night. 

 

I don't think this person saw the footage of desperate men and women jumping out of the windows of the Twin Towers right before they came crumbling down. Obviously, this person has never been alive when his or her beloved country was attacked in four surgical strikes in three cities, minutes apart. Clearly, he doesn't know -- nor did I until yesterday -- how sensitive this issue is for the 99% of Americans who lived through that horrifying day nearly eight years ago. And who maybe doesn't want to add up the sum of such naïve drivel to be "your country had it coming."  

I can move past the false metaphor of Hiroshima and the September 11 terrorist attacks, but any “digging inside the mind and reasoning of a terrorist” is dishonest if it fails to acknowledge that the needless spreading of panic, terror and innocent bloodshed is the means to achieving their specific ends.

Oh, to be homesick and sensitive all at the same time. 

I am a hot mess today,  awash with emotions I didn't know I could feel. 

In 12 days America will honor the events of 9/11 on the 8th anniversary of the attack. 

President Barack Obama has called for Americans to commemorate the day with a National Day of Service and Remembrance. I was pleased at this gesture -- it's a thoughtful call to action and an homage to the thousands who perished that day, and the many thousands more who came together to give aid, triage, relief and heroic sacrifices for their fellow citizens in the hours that followed the attacks. 

I remember that morning talking on the phone to my best friend Chris (who lived back east), minutes after the second plane went into the tower. My teeth chattered and I started to shiver, which happens to me when I get sad and panicky. "Cammy, at least the buildings are still standing! It's going to be OK. You're such a spazz."

He hadn't uttered that last word before the towers collapsed right before our eyes, on the live morning news I was watching on LA channel 8. They crashed to the ground in a heap of dust and mushroom-cloud of debris. I told Chris he was full of shit, then called my mom and woke her. I called Jordan, my boyfriend, who had spent the first 18 years of his life in Manhattan. None of us knew what to do. 

I dressed for work, knowing I wouldn't make it onto the Paramount lot. Filming of the TV show I worked on had been cancelled. The set would stay closed and deserted for several days.

I needed to get out of the Santa Monica apartment that I lived in alone, so I wandered into the Seattle's Best Coffee shop just around the corner on Wilshire Blvd. The usual morning shift was there that day. It was like seeing old friends. I ordered my usual and my buddy Mario - the round one who always gave me extra whipped cream -- came out from behind the counter to give me a hug. It warmed me up better than any coffee could.

Across America, Random Public Hugging went up by 987% that day back in 2001. It felt like Armageddon. The clash of emotions inside most Americans was more than any civilian was prepared for. We were vulnerable and bruised; fearful and sad; we needed each other more than we realized. 

On that day, as we saw a disaster strike America, citizens across the country came together and showed the very best of America: compassionate, unified and resolute.

Today, I would give anything for a random hug. From anyone, though I know I sound weird. That would never happen in the country I'm living in now. 

I find that difficult.