A Contribution from Phillip Toledano

A Valentine’s Day Poem

There are two countries that I love very much.

You probably could guess them: America and

Sweden.

I’m kidding with the second one.

I like to be a stinker.

Nothing against Sweden — it's superb over there

But my heart belongs to Denmark.

The quickest way to piss off a Dane is to tell them

You’re obsessed with Sweden.

That’s sort of like moving to South Dakota,

& telling the folks there that you’re obsessed with

North Dakota.

When it’s really all the same.

I have a hard time telling the Danes that I love

Their country.

It’s like a 15-year-old trying to tell her mom that

She loves her. True as it is, it’s hard.

She’s pissed you off too many times.

So you mumble the words to her,

“Yeah, I love you Denmark. Whatever.”

“I don’t know how to live without you.

But sometimes you’re so hard on me.”

“Sorry for calling you those names, and telling you to

Suck it.

Sometimes I misbehave just to get your

Attention.

I’m callous and bitchy, and you’re an easy

Target. You just flash me back your tan smile,

Then lower your head. You’re way too polite

And modest for me."

"You don’t let me get away with my old tricks.

You’re so fresh and plucky beneath your

Shy demeanor. I can’t get close to you because

I don’t get you.”

The truth is, sometimes I feel like a girl without a

Country. That’s how Americans perceive

Canadians: “90% of You live within 90 miles of our US

Border, but you’re not Americans. So what are you?”

I use words that are elitist and annoying, like hubris

To describe that tendency of ours.

I want to option a script for the Coen brothers called

“No Country for Old Menacing Chicks” but I don’t know

What it means, to option a script.

I like to make up words, like perplexion...which is when

You have a perplexed complexion; red, ruddy cheeks that

Hold a contemplative position seconds longer than

They should.

Like this poem.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Denmark.

Will You Be Mine?

XO

Blogging the Blues

A POEM

What does homesickness taste like?

It tastes like pink cotton candy. You sink your teeth into it,

and experience something sweet and luscious. You savor the

cosmopolitan world around you; that you get to live in right

now. You smile because you have an army of a family far

away that you get to miss.

It gives you a toothache. So you curl your lip to taste

something salty escaping your eyes. You live with it. You

want to throw the candy floss away, but it’s never that easy.

What does homesickness sound like?

It sounds like white noise. Like a booming, hollow gasp that

trickles down into a pin drop. It echoes throughout a

cluttered apartment. It sounds like a phone ringing that never

gets answered. It’s the sound of an idiot foreigner butchering

the word rød, and calling her red friend an ass. It’s the

vibrato of an adult whining like a little girl, to the man she

loves the most.

It’s the hum of a half-minute conversation with pops about

the weather, while 'The Rumour Said Fire' sings a lullaby

in your ear.

What does homesickness look like?

It looks like hackneyed poems...that puff off the page like

jacked-up songs that would make Diane Warren blush.

It struts like slutty leather pants with a gold zipper,

purchased with cash. It's as sticky and scarlet as Dior lip gloss.

It is huddling under the blanket devouring books about a

mormon teen in love with a vampire. It’s the sight of a

refrigerator filled with camembert and brie.

That’s all.

What does homesickness smell like?

It smells like a fatty pork loin dissected by the cunning

fingers of someone who wants to keep kosher.

It's the scent of the sandalwood in your mom’s Hanae Mori

butterfly perfume. It wafts like Betty Crocker red velvet

cupcakes that do the trick. With tahitian vanilla frosting. It

has the essence of aged olive oil from Modena made by an

Italian amore. You can pick up a trail of witch hazel and

alcohol antiseptics slathered on chapped hands, taking a

beating.

What does homesickness feel like?

It feels like Gaultier suspenders worn too tight, so you walk

around unfashionably hunched over. It feels like a

misaligned jaw. Something askew, the toothache moves

south in the body, settling down in the chest. The pain is a

lonesome twister in the cavity where your heart used to beat.

You miss; you bend over laughing, you ache.

A tumbleweed blows through your body. Some days the pain

is a dusty pit in your belly. Every day the pit grows a bit

bigger. And the seed gets taller, strengthened by the blissful

absence of the one person whose should bring water to

your garden. And the fact that your pain is something this

person is okay with, makes the agony you feel that much

harder.

♥

CT

The Amazing Fleggaard!

Just across Germany's northern-most border with Denmark you’ll find an incredible superstore called Fleggaard. There, you can buy everything you need – tubs of gummi bears, cases of wine, industrial strength dishwashing soap – at prices 30% cheaper than you’ll find in Denmark. It is Denmark's Costco, packaged as a German loophole.

Though the store is in Germany, it is owned by Danes and exists solely to help Danes avoid the high taxes on goods they are forced to pay in their lil' island-country. If you’re having a party in Copenhagen, it’s smart and common to make the 4-hour schlep just across the border to Germany to buy all your liquor (after all, parties are expensive, with all the drinking that goes down). So, Danes will drive for 2 hours, take a ferry ride, drive another 2 hours, all to SAVE oodles of cash.

So, as Fleggaard is just over the line between Germany and Denmark the company slogan goes “Lige Over Grænsen” which translates to “Just over the line” in Danish.

Their advertising agency has taken that mantra to heart, with a series of gorgeous ads featuring scantily clad models that are 'just over the line.' The first film (below) included a plane full of stunning red-bikini-wearing models who, topless, parachute out of an airplane.

The 100+ women do stunts in the air – while free-falling -- holding hands to spell out “Half-off on Dishwasher soap at Fleggaard.”

You’d be hard-pressed to find a man in Denmark who hasn’t seen and fallen in love with that commercial. It was geared strictly to men.

Last week, Fleggaard released their tasty treat for the women. This ‘music video’ (above) features a zeppelin plane filled with beautifully buff male models who enter a cavernous, womenly-shaped landscape.

Like the one before it, it is “lige over grænsen” – just over the line. And it's hysterical. Denmark's most fearless and talented commercial director, Peter Harton, outdid himself this time. He should be bringing his magic to New York City or Los Angeles some time in the future.

Enjoy!

"Lige Over Grænsen"

(Don't watch the video below if you're an easily offended: feminist; religious person; under the age of 16; or a gay male. This is purely gratuitous T & A that shows creative & beautiful Denmark, in all it's glory).

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.

: (

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.