I went to Barneys Co-Op today.
Perhaps that sentence evokes images of a perfect, waif-like Park Avenue princess striding regally through the store, tossing buttery-soft silk and cashmere and leather into her obedient whipping-boy Franz's arms whilst the sales staff groveled at the very sight of her and fought each other to be the one who got to bring her an ice cold bottle of Evian and a bag of mixed nuts.
Heh, mixed nuts.

Anyway, you could not be farther off.
I slink in wearing my extremely conspicuous bright yellow thrift-shop trench coat (but I was also wearing my one nice pair of Wolford tights, and I wanted to scream "LOOK! I'M WEARING EXPENSIVE TIGHTS! BE NICE TO ME!" at the employees so they would stop evil-eyeing me) and try to avoid the suspicious eagle eyes of the fabulous salespeople (why are all Barneys employees cool? How do you become cool enough to work at Barneys? Is there a tutorial class? Can I enroll?) whilst covertly fondling expensive fabrics and imagining my alter ego, Amme (It's Emma backwards. But surely you got that) swathed in the stunning gowns and absurdly cute minidresses and shiny patent stilettos, being adored by pasty yet intimidatingly cool male Gucci models. Like him.
I spend a few minutes stroking sumptuous, stunning stuff (do I win the alliteration prize? And can the prize be one of these things?) like this Marc Jacobs lace dress which should totally have a passionate, raunchy affair with these vintage Frye boots (not from Barneys... they hail from Mirror Mirror vintage), and it would be a total Baby-and-Johnny,
upper-class-Marc-Jacobs-minidress-and-vintage-tough-bad-ass-Frye-Boots-from-the-
other-side-of-the-tracks secret-lovers kind of romance, and the dress's father (or in this case, Marc Jacobs, the dress's designer) could disapprove and the boots would get fired but would show up at the end-of-year dance and say to Marc Jacobs, "Nobody puts Dress in a corner" and then they would dance together to "(I've Had) The Time Of My Life" and it would be really hot and amazing and...I may not be mentally stable. If any psych majors are reading this, tell me- is it psychologically questionable to personify a dress and boots into the main characters from Dirty Dancing? It may be that the dress and boots together would be less adorable and more insufferable, pretentious Mischa-Barton-esque hipster, but...LET ME BELIEVE IN LOVE. I HAVE TO BELIEVE IN LOVE. ThisDVF pencil skirt frankly makes me want to grovel and suck up to the wearer (or in this case, the mannequin) like a Gretchen Weiners. "You know a year ago she told me I couldn't wear DVF pencil skirts anymore? She said DVF pencil skirts were HER thing? So, for Hannukah, my parents got me this really expensive DVF pencil skirt, and I had to pretend like I didn't even LIKE it, and...it was so sad!"
However, on a more painful note, this 3.1 Phillip Lim double-breasted coat goes for a hefty $645. This is completely and totally reasonable. After all, it's not like this exact flannel shirt (perhaps minus the kicky little belt-bow thing) has been hanging in my grandfather's closet since 1972.If there is one thing my long and painful bout with the Lanz nightgowns I used to favor as a young girl during my "I am Anne of Green Gables" delusion taught me, it is that you can't sex up flannel. And correct me if I am right, but haven't these Marc Jacobs jelly flats happened every year for about four years? Isn't it time for them to QUIETLY SLINK AWAY TO THE ISLAND OF LOST FLATS THAT WOULD HARDLY FLATTER ANYONE WHOSE LEGS DID NOT APPROXIMATE THE WIDTH OF COCKTAIL STIRRERS, BECAUSE, COME ON, THEY'RE WEE LITTLE SEE-THROUGH SHOES AND THE WHOLE WEE-LITTLE-SEE-THROUGH-ANYTHING THING SHOULD REALLY BE COMING TO AN ABRUPT HALT BY NOW?
So, after I'd viewed all that Barneys had to offer and become increasingly more and more depressed about the barren state of both my closet and my wallet, I slunk out of the store and drowned my sorrows in a) gelato and b) online shopping.
Although my alter ego, Amme, was still happily swaddling herself in $500-a-yard fabrics and feasting on Russian caviar (while retaining her perfect figure), I decided to say "Screw you, Amme!" by showing you all these little gems which are both fairly affordable and will make you look cool enough to earn an approving smile from the demons at the Jeans Bar at Barneys (no offense to any Barneys workers reading this. It's not you, it's me- I'm a jealous shrew who envies your perfection and employee discount. Can we be friends? No, really, can we?)
First, from the fabulous Suzabelle...
Good googa mooga, that is a hot little sweater. The crotchety, cat-having, eyeglasses-wearing, young-whippersnapper-hating English teacher inside me loves a good cardigan.
I love it. I don't own it. As Liz Lemon would say, "Blergh." Blergh indeed, Liz. Blergh indeed. P.S. Still searching for ONE BLOGGER WHO WATCHES 30 Rock. Come on, out with it. SOMEBODY? ANYBODY?
Do you even KNOW how good this georgette top would look with that DVF pencil skirt? Or slim black pants? Or scrub pants, for God's sake? Okay, so it's not quite that versatile. But if I had this shirt, my reputation as "that girl who has bits of food on her shirt and falls asleep in public places" would be instantly replaced with "that incredibly classy, gorgeous girl with the perfect hair who is always alert and awake in public and never drops her obscenely messy tote and screams expletives whilst scrambling around on all fours trying to get all her stuff off the street on Madison Avenue".
I got the pleasure of seeing this dress in the flesh at Le Frock in Seattle, and was going to buy it (it is, to date, the only satin/silk garment that hasn't given me an extra phantom ass) until I realized I wouldn't wear it as much as the tunic top I DID end up buying. Still, whenever I look at the picture I kick myself in the shin. Which is painful. Maybe someone will leave it on my doorstep in a wicker basket with an adorable little baby blanket and a note saying "Take Care of Me". You know, like in the BSC book where the baby turns up on Abby's doorstep and it turns out it's, like, her long-lost cousin. Not that I remember anything about the Babysitters' Club books. I'll just say this- Claudia Kishi is my cult goddess. Did anybody out there NOT want to be her?
I lust after this dress like every heterosexual male in the world apparently lusts after the girl from Fantastic Four. Even though her head is disproportionate to her body. But whatever. Hey, dress? Call me sometime. Maybe, you know, if you're not busy, we can get a beer. Or something (wiggles eyebrows suggestively).
God, waist-belts are flattering. Not the huge tacky shiny Pussycat Doll ones from Mandee's (I've christened them "the anti-chastity belt), but cute ones which emphasize your cleav, downplay your stomach and make your legs look thinner in proportion. I feel like the belt on this stunning swing dress would serve all 3 of those purposes. Plus, me likey the color. Midnight blue. Rawrrr. You know what shoes would look hot with this dress? These Miu Mius. I feel like a footwear pimp.
Now, this could go either way. It could be either your diabetic Aunt Edna who thinks men and women should ride on separate city buses and gives you the evil eye when you turn up at her house in- horror of horrors!- a TANK TOP, or it could be a painfully cool and stunning Parisian outfit that you wear on a rainy Sunday to visit art galleries solo, because you're that cool and aloof, while men throughout the city fall in love with you. Let's all hope for the latter.
Meanwhile, over at Popgloss...
When I find a gray vintage "scooter dress" online for $13, I do a little dance of joy in my computer chair. Especially since the model actually looks happy, and not like she's having sewing needles jammed into her cornea.
Can you think of any occasion in which these shoes would be declasse or inappropriate? Okay, maybe. But my God, I want them anyway. I would wear them with my vintage black BCBG dress and the dark purple belt I got at a thrift store for $2.
This is supposedly called a pill bottle dress, which I find perplexing, but not enough so that I stop imagining myself wearing it with various stunning shoes. It is entirely possible that it could make the wearer resemble a poorly upholstered sofa, or, indeed, a duvet cover (because who hasn't had the horrible experience of being stuck with that ugly couch/duvet cover/armchair that is utterly without charm and makes the entire room it inhabits look like a holding cell, yet is shamefully comfortable/a valued family heirloom and therefore Not To Be Removed/too cumbersome to drag out the door? And so it lives on and on in your house, slowly sucking out the appeal of every piece of furniture you subsequently buy). But I like to look at it anyway.
God, I love cute tote bags. They cost nothing, they hold everything, and when you own one you can legitimately excuse carrying around four different hardcover books, three dog-eared copies of Elle, an instruction manual for an espresso maker you don't own, assorted beads, sparkly things, dots of glitter and shards of glass (ow), multiple pairs of "just-in-case" socks, a random green flip-flop, the receipt for everything you've ever bought, enough business cards to build a new Space Needle out of paper, random Chinese food takeout menus, wind-up toys, assorted Jelly Belly beans, a burned CD of "Begin To Hope" in case you are in a place where you need to hear Regina Spektor and there happens to be a CD player lying around, and the odd spoon or two, because hey, you've got the room.
A bag shaped like a telephone! A RED telephone! This excites me in a way that only a girl who has 9384923843 bottles of red nail polish, more red lipsticks than any woman should ever own, red socks, red miniskirts, red hair pins, red chopsticks, red coffee mugs and, as a child, watched The Red Balloon over and over in a trance could ever be excited.

Popgloss.com is pretty much the niftiest little website ever. And when I use the word "nifty", you know I mean it. You can find anything from Christian Louboutin pumps to hats made of Lego. Visit it RIGHT NOW. I found this little Chloe dress on the site, and the part of me that's longing to wear my hair in braids and listen to Joni Mitchell is saying, "Save up for it! You know you want to!" as well as this Vivienne Westwood sweater- very the '80s meets Sonia Rykiel in Paris. What a pretentious sentence. But it's true.
But the number-one expensive item I would sell my internal organs for are these Miu Miu patent pumps. I saw a pair in a much more attractive dark swirly black-red shade and literally spent a full half hour looking at them. Then I searched for the shoes in that exact shade for TWO full hours online, but alas, it was in vain. I really, truly think I would be a better person with these shoes on my feet. And I'm not just saying that. So if some wealthy millionaire is reading this with his bifocal, stroking his Monopoly-guy mustache and saying "Hmmm, I need to get rid of $415", well, you know who to make the check out to. I promise I'll start doing charity work. Or something. "Hmm," he thinks, "I must reward Emma for her mediocre behavior with a fantastically expensive pair of shoes. And perhaps a Jacuzzi filled with hundred-dollar-bills and Crunchie bars. And a diamond pony. And Paul Rudd with a gift ribbon tied around his head."
Have you ever had an item in a shop that you fell swiftly in love with and started visiting in the store, murmuring sweet nothings until your friends start to worry that you have actually lost your last tiny shred of sanity because you are making a hajj to a pair of shoes/bag/coat/whatever? Tell Mama all about it. What was the item? Did you ever buy it?

THE MUSIC, TV, & MOVIE CORNER- I went to see Superbad. And I walked out. No, ne me quitte pas...wait. I have no problem with bawdy humor (in fact, I love it- not for nothing am I the only girl I know who watches Reno 911), but it should be just that...humorous. I just got tired of the constant penis jokes, you know? It was like paying twelve dollars to hang out at a frat house. Maybe I'm getting wiser in my old age, I don't know. [REDACTED- SUPERBAD IS THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED]. Anyway, the only other movie I could sneak into was Stardust, which is so not my thing, but I liked it. Sort of. Jeez, I want to look like Michelle Pfeiffer when I am Of A Certain Age, even though she does spend most of the movie looking decomposed. Am I the only one who was rooting for her to get her youth back throughout the movie? Screw Claire Danes. Why do I like her again? Oh, right, My So-Called Life. Shut up, you watched it too. Some of my fondest memories are renting every episode of this show from Blockbuster when I was nine and feasting on the only good ABC show ever made.
"So how would you describe Anne Frank? " "Lucky." "Is that supposed to be funny, Angela? How on earth could you make a statement like that? Hmm? Anne Frank perished in a concentration camp. Anne Frank is a tragic figure. How could Anne Frank be lucky?" "I don't know. Because she was trapped in an attic for three years with this guy she really liked?" - Angela ( in a bad mood ) & teacher
Wrong. And awesome. Oh yes, they went there.
I just discovered Kate Nash. She's kind of Lily Allen 2.0. Well, I don't really want to decide which one's better. But I like Kate a lot. This is one of her few songs that I actually love, but the video is lovely.

Tila Tequila should be killed. I mean, if she ever is, I didn't do it. But God, she makes the skin under my fingernails itch.

SIGHTINGS- Conan O'Brien's taffeta boxer shorts, is it hot in NYC right now. Accordingly, the people are dressing somewhat skimpily, which sometimes works (girl in Sheep Meadow wearing airy little blue cotton minidress, assorted vintage-looking bracelets, and white espadrilles which I coveted) and sometimes, well, doesn't (woman at Island Burgers and Shakes in tiny gold tank top and white vinyl micromini with clunky black gladiator shoes, I'm talkin' to you). I, myself, need some good suggestions for places to buy really cheap and cute tights. I will be switching to a new and uniform-free school this upcoming school year, and I plan to debut the Tights-And-Dresses-And-Boots thing to celebrate my freedom from itchy wool kilts.

CURRENT ATTIRE- Purple cap-sleeved top from Buffalo Exchange in Seattle, darker-purple belt cinching it at the waist, short black vintage BCBG skirt, violet tights (actually...they're LEGGINGS. I was so pissed when I bought them at Urban Outfitters and despite the fact that they said "Low Rise TIGHTS" on the front, they had no feet, meaning that I can only wear them with boots from now on. Hence, my need for a new tights shop) and black suede boots. It's actually cool enough outside to wear this outfit. And I love it.

Auf Wiedersehen
<3

P.S. Do we likey the new header?
P.P.S. Where the hell did Touche19 go?

Back-To-Drool! Was That Lame and Immature? Oh Well.

FFFFNNNAAAARGHHHHHHHH.
That's the noise I make when I am livid. Really, it is. Ask anyone.
If I see one more commercial about "BACK TO SCHOOL! BACK TO SCHOOL! BACK TO SCHOOL! PARENTS, IF YOU TRULY CARE ABOUT YOUR CHILDRENS' EDUCATION, BUY THEM OUR PRODUCT! DO IT RIGHT NOW!" I will eat my head.
When did the world decide it was okay to push Back To School down our throats in early-slash-mid-August?
Look, I KNOW I have to go back to school. I REALIZE that all good things must come to an end and eventually my carousing in the sun will have to give way to napping in chemistry class. But do I really need to be reminded of it every thirty seconds?
Don't get me wrong, I like school okay. I am not exactly Hermione Granger, but I'm at least awake and lucid for a fair portion of my classes (strike the napping-in-chem comment from the record, Your Honor).
STILL.
Every two-bit company in North America is using the inevitable commencement of school to hawk their shitty, two-bit product. "Kids, start back 2 (why always the infuriating number-as-word? STOP INSULTING MY INTELLIGENCE, COMMERCIAL!) school in STYLE, with our backpack/cellphone/notebook. And all we ask for in return is $39.95! And your parents' credit card number! And your SOUL!"
Basically, it's been like this.
"Hey, want to start off the new year in STYLE? Well, swing by our store and buy the new TEAKETTLES! Studies show that families with teakettles are 78% more likely to have their children go to Ivy League schools than families without teakettles! So run, don't walk, to pick one of these back-to-school beauties up for yourself!"

So very necessary.
"Hey, kids, guess what? A NEW SCHOOL YEAR IS STARTING! And I bet you're sick of your old, run-of-the-mill pirate hats, right? Cool kids wear the new and improved SUPER-SAUCY SCHOOL YEAR PIRATE HATS! The new pirate hats now come in three new styles guaranteed to fit your head in a sleek, chic and studious way, so c'mon down and check it out! Start the year off sassy with the new pirate hat."

"I know what you're thinking. Why should I buy oranges right now? Well, we at the Orange Corporation will tell you why. We're running a special deal on BACK-TO-SCHOOL ORANGES™! Oranges will boost your little tyke's brain for his or her return to school. Seriously, buy our BACK-TO-SCHOOL ORANGES™ today. Go. Now. Right away.

"Your kid is probably smarter already, just from looking at a PICTURE of the BACK-TO-SCHOOL ORANGE™.

"The only back-to-school commercial (and I'm actually not even sure it IS back-to-school, which makes me love it all the more) that hasn't made me want to hurt someone is this one.

I mean, come on. Kids in backpacks dancing SHOULD annoy me, but "We Want the Funk" by Parliament is playing. It's okay by me. In fact, it makes me laugh so hard I nearly unseat myself every time it comes on TV (Yup, I'm THAT dynamite. Don't be too jealous).
By the way, I could have discovered a new continent, hiked the Himalayas and grown a full beard in the time it took to upload that video, so please enjoy the dancing children and Parliament. In fact, please watch it more than once, so I feel like I've gotten my money's worth.

Anyway, back to my point. If you are a commercial for jeans or cars or cellphones or what-have-you, just SAY THAT. Don't do all this "Fall is here! School is starting! WHOOPEEE! Now buy me!" shit. I am, while perhaps not MENSA-level in the brainpower department, not stupid enough to fall for your transparent schemes. In fact, it for some reason brings to mind an old Mitch Hedberg quote which I heard whilst suffering through the five-decades-long act of a misguided stand-up comedian who thought it would be awesome to retell EVERY JOKE MITCH HEDBERG EVER TOLD in a fist-eatingly dull monotone. “I hate turkeys. If you stand in the meat section at the grocery store long enough, you start to get mad a turkeys. There's turkey ham, turkey bologna, turkey pastromi,.Some one needs to tell the turkey, man, just be yourself."- Mitch Hedberg.
It's not like I'm totally DREADING the new school year, but the constant barrage of reminders makes me feel kind of panicky and boxed-in, kind of like on Sunday night when you've done no work and you have mounds of things due tomorrow morning and you've chosen to spend your evening inhaling empty and completely unnecessary calories, talking on the phone about nothing, watching TiVoed Top Chef episodes and wishing you could trade your crappy sorbet for smoked scallops in truffle sauce.
It's just a stressy, fidgety feeling that hangs just out of reach at the back of your mind like a particularly annoying mosquito you can't quite swat. "Only a week to go! Have you shopped yet? Are you prepared? Are you ready? Do you have your stuff yet? Do you? DO YOU? DO YOU?" And the incessant commercials really only exacerbate that general on-edge nerviness. Keep in mind that I am not a person who deals well with pressure- the night before a big paper is due, you are most likely to find me running in circles in my room screaming and drinking caffeinated beverages and drafting mental plans to escape to Uruguay, far, far away from papers and responsibilities. I'm trying to get my mind off the nerves by looking at amusing pictures such as this one (heh. Animals are funny) but it's not working.
You know what, I'm going to get my inner Crazy Mumbling Lady on the Street Who Throws Wine Bottles on and say that it is all the GOVERNMENT'S fault that back-to-schoolsiness is being forced upon us. Can we all be in agreement that it is the government's fault? Thank you.

In other news, I am totally coveting this little mod coat from Popgloss for back-to-...Oh God, now I'M doing it! FALL, I meant. I'm coveting it for FALL. I know mustard yellow flatters nobody, but isn't it sort of adorable? These earrings would put me nicely in touch with my inner vineyard-owning, wine-tasting gutter lush. I also have a deep, infinite, passionate, Mr. Darcy-and-Elizabeth-Bennett-style love for these pumps. Oh sweet God. They make me want to be a better woman. I think they would look so great under sheer or opaque tights, and even though I tend to shy away from backless in fall I would completely make a grand exception (that is, if some kind fairy godmother were to get totally high and decide she needed to buy these for me). Oooh, in spite of my annoyance with BTS merchandising I must say fall is one of my favorite style seasons. I'll probably do a post about my fall wish list soon (so think of this as the preliminaries, if you will), and I am fairly excited to go FALL shopping. Just fall. Not the dreaded BTS-word. Or perhaps...AUTUMN shopping. Does that have a nicer ring to it? I think it does.

THE MOVIE, MUSIC, TV & BOOK CORNER- So I have a problem. I have a deep, long-running loathing of the show called The Hills. Surely you know it. Cat-fighting, club-hopping bitches bond over boys and rip each other apart over rumors. I mean, really, I hate this show. I think the world would be a better place if it didn't exist. And I know what you're thinking- "If you don't like The Hills, just STEER CLEAR OF IT. Christ." But it's not that easy. I'll be on the treadmill or reading a magazine and info about The Hills will just plant itself into my brain in a way that info about World War I never did, and before you know it I know exactly who Audrina Partridge is and who she lives with and who she's dating. It's embarrassing for me, a professed Hills-hater; I'll be ranting about the annoyingness of this show, and whomever I'm talking to will mention mildly that I seem to know an awful lot about it for someone who hates it so much. And I'm left to turn purple, mutter something under my breath, and slink away in shame like a...shamed slinky. Do you see my paradox? It's not like I'm saying people shouldn't WATCH The Hills if they're so inclined- I am hardly a map of good TV taste myself (I have seen every episode of Saved By The Bell ever made, as well as Full House, and I'm a sucker for that gloriously, painfully tacky "is-this-what-our-country's-youth-is-coming-to" show My Super Sweet 16. And I have been known on more than one occasion to sit through a made-for-TV Lifetime special starring Nancy McKeon). And I know if I REALLY didn't want to know about the show, I could stay as far away as possible. But our damn culture makes it so hard to remain cool, aloof and ignorant about bad TV! Damn you, pop culture! So, to sum up...The Hills sucks, and I'm a hypocrite.
Being the world's biggest Jane Austen fan, I decided to swallow my misgivings (i.e. Anne Hathaway annoys the crap out of me, and she looks like she'd be really smug and obnoxious if you met her in person) and go see Becoming Jane. My verdict? Ehhh. It's not that Hathaway was awful- she actually wasn't half bad-but the whole thing was sort of...I don't know. Succinct, aren't I? Basically, I don't claim to be an expert on Jane Austen's life, and I have no problem with cutening up history to sell movie tickets, but it all felt a little fake and fluffy. I didn't hate it, though (in fact, at times I really liked it), and I am now predictably in love with James McAvoy. They did have good chemistry, even if the whole thing felt a little bit farce-like. When I got home from the movie, craving more Austenization, I watched the original version of Pride and Prejudice, with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle. Awesome.
Being a literary scholar of extreme proportions, I am reading a little-known tome called Uncle John's Curiously Compelling Bathroom Reader, which I (sadly enough) recieved as a Christmas gift. It is kind of curiously compelling. Do you know the origin of boxer shorts? Well, I do. And it is juicy.

Ooh, and I just read a little book called Back Talk, by our own ALEX RICHARDS! SQUEEE! It was great, and I was flipping out over the coolness of the fact that SOMEONE WHOSE BLOG I READ WROTE IT! Happy days indeed. Everyone read it, you won't be sorry. And I'm not just saying that because there's a good chance A.R. will read this- it's a really cute, funny, well-written book and the author doesn't condescend to you the way teen-lit authors usually do. Plus, quotes from Heathers!

In music news, I just discovered Carole King. Why did nobody tell me how great she was before?

SIGHTINGS- I finally saw someone walking around in a House Of Holland tee. It was the "Cause Me Pain, Hedi Slimane" one. Oh, and by the way? The new "Cum Again, Christopher Kane" shirt? Naughty! And kind of gross, actually. But mostly, naughty! And I also saw a girl prancing around in the sparkly blue equivalent of Maya's inexplicably amazing pink glittery shoes (I don't know if they were actually the same shoes- they didn't have the rockin' bow that Maya's do, but they were still le sex). What is it with you girls and your amazing footwear? I'm wearing straw flip-flops with a hole in the bottom right now. They're embellished with koalas eating bamboo. Seriously. This is why I'm hot.

CURRENT ATTIRE- The aforementioned straw koala flip-flops, funky graffiti-printed Smack boy shorts, soft, comfy white V-neck tee. The sort of thing you can only wear with a coffee and muffin in the bliss of solitude.

Oh, I almost forgot! I didn't announce the winners of my Bratz caption contest in my last post, so after careful deliberation, here goes...

What is this Brat thinking?
In 1st place is the fabulous Dilemma, with "Note to self-must remember to fill Valtrex perscription ASAPZ. These crabs are so itchy! Bee Tee Double-U, what is this femininininsm? Is that itchy too?"
AWESOME. Dilemma, as a prize for your supercalifragilistic wit you will win the following mention of how rockin' and hilarious you are. I know it's a lame prize but we at the Emma Corporation are cheap. If I was craftsy I could send you some funky Etsy jewelry like Ambika does, but...I am not craftsy. Sorry. But really, people, Dilemma's blog is frighteningly well-written, hysterically amusing and she basically never does a bad post. So check it out if you haven't already.
In 2nd place is the lovely Mrs. Fashion, with " " Yep, that's right. She's not thinking anything.
At. All.
Her brain is empty.
Have I won?
Why yes, Mrs. Fashion, you have, because I laughed out loud reading this. By the way, those are quotation marks with nothing in them, as in to indicate that the Brat's mind is blank. But you all probably got that.
In 3d place is the brilliant AmyLiz with "Oooh, furry zebra print purple patent clogs falling from the sky? A giant blue and pink teddy bear to complete my lovely lovenest? Oh, no, a..." *CLONK as a large safe smashes her flat on the sidewalk*
Brill. Check out her blog, people, it's muy cool.
BONUS- Maddy's "This is my pensive face." Simple, yet hilarious.
By the way, you are all so farking funny that it was INCREDIBLY difficult to select just a few winners. Stop being so witty, you b!tches! No, don't, really. Me likey humor.

до свидания, забавные люди
(I'll leave you to figure out what that means in Russian)

At this particular moment in time, I'm living in that delightful midsummer limbo during which it's not quite time to be panicking and itching and frothing at the mouth about another year of school soon to come, yet not quite at that point where it's hot and sticky and every day the New York streets are sweating with too many boiling, tired people vying to make it home in time to collapse in front of the air conditioning all afternoon with a cold beverage and the latest "ANGELINA AND BRAD ARE HAPPY...OH WAIT, NO, NO, MY MISTAKE, THEIR MARRIAGE IS OVER, THEY ARE LIVING A SHAM OF A FARCE OF A LIE, THEY ARE TWO BROKEN HALVES OF A WHOLE, BRAD HATES ANGIE AND IS PLOTTING TO TAKE OVER THE LOST CITY OF ATLANTIS WITH JENNIFER ANISTON, ANGIE IS TAKING THE KIDS AWAY FROM BRAD OH WAIT NO MAYBE THERE'S HOPE YET FOR BRAD AND ANGIE NOW OH AND BY THE WAY BUY THIS SHIRT AND THESE SHOES BECAUSE THEN YOU'LL BE COOL AND FAMOUS TOO" magazine.

I must confess to perusing many a sand-encrusted copy of InTouch or Us Weekly while lying on the beach or sitting on an infernally hot subway, but at least I can say that have little real interest in Brad and Angie's relationship, or, for that matter, exactly whose pants Lindsay Lohan squires cocaine around Los Angeles in. I hereby wash my hands of the whole sordid matter.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
There.
Anyway, where was I before my brain ran off without me?
Oh yes.
My summer has been filled with all the regular idyllic things like the ocean, the smell of honeysuckle, iced coffee, et cetera, but that sort of thing is boring to write about and even more boring to read about. So, I've compiled for your reading entertainment the Emma's Schizophrenic Summer Playlist and Movie List. Enjoy!

"Alison" by Elvis Costello.
Now, I don't know if anyone else is familiar with this phenomenon, but sometimes you'll be driving around and a certain song will come on the radio and you can't help but scream out the lyrics and bob your head energetically from side to side in a way that is disturbing both to your fellow passengers, general passersby, and/or street-corner hoboes stealing banana peels from garbage cans whom you might drive past. "Alison" is one of these songs.
AAALLLISOOON, I KNOW THIS WORLD IS KILLING YOOOOOOOUUUUUU...
ALLLISOOON, MY AIM IS TRUUUUUUUUE...
MY AIM IS TRUUUUUUE...
MY AIM IS TRUEEEEEEEEE.

"Swallow" by The Wailin' Jennys.
I'm generally not a folksy person- I have no interest in prairie skirts (with the exception of one misguided, on-sale ankle-length Kenzo tent-masquerading-as-skirt I once wore out for a full four hours before running home in shame) or grinding my own maize or whatever it is folkspeople do.
But I think The Jennys (we in-the-know hipsters are permitted to shorten the band's name from The Wailin' Jennys to simply...The Jennys. Avant-garde, yes? Yes.) could convert even the grittiest, concrete-jungle-loving, sunshine-and-happiness-hating Nuuu Yawker.

"California" by Joni Mitchell.
I don't think you really need to explain this song.
I'll just say that it has been the soundtrack to many an Emma Mini-Road Trip.
And while we're on the subject of road trips, and, therefore, on the subject of greasy food chains one might need to stop at whilst taking said road trip, try the Baconator at Wendy's.
SIX STRIPS OF BACON.
Joni Mitchell and bacon. 'Nuff said.

"Raspberry Beret" by Prince.
Whenever I type the word "Prince" on this blog, I feel like I should pay a royalty to The Molly (I was going to write The Princetastic Molly, but then I decided that was stupid, and I deleted the "Princetastic" but forgot to delete the "The", and then I thought this could be kind of a cool nickname for Molly if she's into it. I always wanted to be called The Emma. God, I need to be put in a group home somewhere).
THIS SONG IS THE MOST DANCEABLE SONG OF 2007. And that is coming from a girl who has sworn off dancing in public, because when she dances she looks like this.

God, I miss that show sometimes.

This last one is a double feature...
"That Time" and "Summer In The City" by Regina Spektor.
I felt I had to include "Summer In The City" because, well...come on.
It's summer.
I live in a city.
It's a beautiful, haunting, exquisitely worded song.
Blah, blah, blah.
"That Time" is one of my all-time favorite Spektor songs.
It is best suited for sitting out on my fire escape with cold, milky coffee and a plaintive, fast-paced, caffeine-induced mood.
It bounces off my walls in a way I very much enjoy.
God, in my next life I want to be Regina Spektor. Is that possible?
So, those are the songs that have been governing my summer.
Next up, my new favorite movie...
"The Talented Mr. Ripley".
An almost-perfect movie, as far as I'm concerned.
Tom Ripley: I always thought it would be better, to be a fake somebody... than a real nobody.


Whenever I watch the jazz club scene, I miss Italy so much. Americano, Americano!
I was going to use that as the title of this post, but I thought everyone who hadn't seen The Talented Mr. Ripley (poor misguided souls) would think I was insane.
Honestly, it was extremely odd to watch this brilliantly crafted movie filled with interesting plot twists, amazing fashion (all the women in this movie are dressed in a way that makes me crave a life of red-lipped, full-skirted privilege in the fifties) and gorgeous men (yes, I'm a teenage girl. Yes, I love Matt Damon and his nerdy glasses in this movie, even if he is incredibly creepy. I couldn't help rooting for him anyway, which I think is part of the genius of the plot. P.S. Not to be declasse, but...Jude Law's ass.
When he was still attractive.
You're welcome).
Anyway, it was odd to watch this movie, because the night before I'd gone to see "I Know Who Killed Me."
I, and everyone I was with, spent the entire movie alternating between hysterical laughter and begging one another "Please, let's leave, while we're still young. I can't do this anymore! SOMEONE, PLEASE, TAKE ME HOME!".
I mean, are you supposed to take that movie seriously?
I find it impossible that someone picked up the script, read through it and said, "Wow. We have to make this happen. Someone find me Lindsay Lohan and a pole and a bunch of prosthetic limbs".
The simple contrast between the two movies is mindblowing. They're at completely opposite ends of the spectrum.
I can barely wrap my mind around the fact that they're both referred to as movies, and I am NOT exaggerating. If you think I am, go catch the matinee of "I Know Who Killed Me".
Voila, end of list. Fairly short list, huh?
I guess it was more like a mental Post-It note of random jottings.

SIGHTINGS- Oh, the glory. A gorgeous red-haired couple, the girl in one of those Indian beaded shift things that look good on nobody except for gorgeous slim girls, the guy in fitted, long dark denim shorts and a white mens' tank with white Converse. They looked fantastic, like some sort of annoyingly, simply perfect ad for annoying, simple perfection. A pixielike Asian girl with idirescent yellow eyeshadow, a small black canvas miniskirt, a purple, red and pink block-print tee, and those much-coveted shiny Christian Louboutins. And it all worked. Lucky bitch. A gorgeous guy with an Afro in a simple white button-down and khaki pants, with vintage penny loafers and an amazing chocolate-colored man bag. A girl in a sparkly silver bikini and gunmetal silver flats which for some reason I completely coveted. She managed to look neither like a disco ball nor a Miss America Reject, and it turned out very chic.

CURRENT ATTIRE- Red-and-white floral-type knee-length skirt, tight white tank top, red shiny ballet flats, red vintage bangle. I feel like a fire engine, but I like it.

<3

Oh, The Humanity!

Up until a few days ago, I had no particular vendetta against Bratz! dolls (except for the fact that their name comes with an exclamation point. This is unforgivable in my book). They were just those oddly slutty dolls with the smushed faces and the faux fur miniskirts and the lips the size of Jupiter. Vaguely disturbing, but that's life.
However, I just discovered that the Bratz! are starring in their own personal MOVIE. Is that okay with the world at large? Because it's not okay with me. What's the tagline? "Lobotomiez R Supercute!" "Brain Removal Is So Totally SQUEE!"? They remind me of trashier versions of the Aerie Girls who used to talk about Gilmore Girls on the CW. You know, "OHMYGOD OHMYGOD I LOVE LORELAI'S SHIRT SO MUCH AND I REALLY LIKE THE GUY RORY IS DATING HE IS SO PRETTY I LIKE WHEN BOYS HAVE, LIKE, HAIR AND EYES AND TEETH IT IS SO HAWT OHMYGOD DOES ANYBODY HAVE ANY OXYCONTIN?"

This is a picture of a Bratz doll. WHY ARE HER LIPS 90% OF HER FACE? WHY ARE HER JEANS EMBELLISHED WITH DIAMANTE? WHY IS SHE WEARING A CROPPED RED TUBE TOP? Do we seriously want the six-year-olds of today running around showing the world their vajayjays? I'm not some insane no-fun stickler who frowns upon young women who dare to expose their kneecaps and thinks Barbie is Satan spelled backwards (Barbie, although hardly a positive role model, at least seems like she would know how to spell CAT if she were a person), but buying your children Bratz can only encourage a love of recreational Robitussin and driving around in enormous Range Rovers with boys named Gregg and Chadd who are so thoroughly baked that they can't even see you.

Oh my God. When I have kids, I'm putting them in a convent. Who looks at this toy and thinks, "Hmmm. We should market this to children"? It looks like a tiny plastic sex slave. It is wearing a minuscule pleather skirt which is only SECONDS away from an unfortunate chocha-airing (Winona, your thoughts on this?), hooker boots, a little belly-exposing jacket, and a face full of makeup and hair extensions which frankly scream "I am a miniature porn star". I ain't no Quaker (I'm a big fan of the leather skirt and boots, except my leather skirt actually CLOAKS my REPRODUCTIVE ORGANS, and my boots don't have secret compartments in them to stash one-dollar bills in), but surely this can't be normal? And people WONDER why the youth of America keep putting their vaginas on display and passing out and ODing on cocaine and getting arrested? The answer lies in the Dolls aisle at Toys R' Us. Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer the dolls that gradually make children develop eating disorders- these Bratz are just so blatantly disgusting.

She looks like a tiny extra from the set of "Greasy, Skeevy Porno- Part IV". It makes me want to go fetal and cry for awhile (tiny formal booty shorts! LEOPARD PRINT! Pancake makeup! Is someone out there trying to KILL ME?). If the only alternative to Bratz (and while we're on the subject of the name, can we talk about how not EVERYTHING HAS TO HAVE A Z IN IT? Try these on for size- Skankz? Prostitutez? Dirty Homewreckerz? Venereal-Dizeaze Carrierz?) is those prissy American Girl dolls, I will gladly devote my life to manufacturing them and sewing their little gingham aprons by hand. If you gave a Bratz doll a gingham apron, she would fashion it into a backless thong evening gown in a nanosecond. And then she would paint "SEXXXY" across the ass in rhinestones. And then she would splatter two big glitter handprints over the tetas.

I'm not even going to talk about the fact that this Sporty Spice Brat is wearing a HOT-PINK PLEATHER JUMPSUIT. It was okay for the real Sporty Spice, because it's not like she actually played sports. But presumably Sporty Brat would, you know, PLAY sports, and not just drop her pleather jumpsuit for the lacrosse captain. Whatever. My main problem is that the box says, Bratz Play Sportz. SPORTZ. No. Just...no. JUST SAY SPORTS. MY GOD. I need a cold shower, and a nap. Sweet Jesus.

Apparently, some forward-thinking, trenchant young intellect at the Bratz! corporation has decided to give the girls the one thing missing from their lives...
Their own personal brand of Pimpz. In Mac Daddy sunglasses, with air guitars. Haven't you heard? Brothel(z) are totally the new pink.
Bad enough that mothers are actually BUYING THEIR CHILDREN THESE TOYS- do we really need a MOVIE? It makes my head hurt. Times like these, I understand the appeal of Maria's abbey. I would have locked myself up in that shit FOREVER, and prayed so hard even Mother Superior would have wanted to take me out for a stress-relieving cocktail. To satisfy the need for a more...chaste children's toy, but still with a dash of sex appeal for those more promiscuous nine-year-olds, I have devised a toy which I like to call...Nunz™ !

Nunz™ are a stylin' nine-and-a-half inches from top to toe. They come with personalized rhinestone-encrusted wimples, and their flowing floor-length robes can be customized to read "Fraulein #1", "Sister SEXXXIE", or "Your Monk Thinks I'm Hot". They are also required to wear the traditional black slip-on loafers- however, there is a new alternative hot-pink faux-fur-covered loafer that can be substituted for the black ones.
Nunz™ are still in the development stage, but to get the main idea of their super-sexy (yet surprisingly chaste!) look, picture this...
+ = your average Nunz™ doll!
Order fast, because I have a funny feeling these babies will sell like hotcakes. Speaking of which, the first two hundred people to order a Nunz™ doll will also get their own personal Bible embroidered with their choice of slogans- "HOTCAKES", "BAPTIZED BABE" or "JESUS HAS MY CELL #". Call us now! 1800-Nunz, or you can email at TheNunzShallInheritTheEarth@msn.com.

Now, I'm really not a fan of any childrens' doll currently on the market (I was never a very dolly person. I did have Barbies, but I ended up tattooing and eyelinering them beyond recognition), but Bratz are the only doll that sends me into self-righteous flames of feminist anger. I hate to agree with the religious right on anything, but seriously, these dolls are not healthy. Why can't it be like in the old days, when our parents would just let us play with knives and guns and Advil in the sandbox? See, I turned out fine. Right? Right?
RIGHT?

I thought so.
To end this post, I will give you lurvely readers a little challenge.

Caption this Brat's thoughts. What is she thinking? The most amusing submission (i.e. the submission that makes me spit out my drink in unattractive snorting laughter the farthest) will win a SPECIAL GIFT!!!*
*The Special Gift will most likely involve a little message-mention in my next blog post about how cool you are. Also, I'll send you a Nunz™ doll when they're done being manufactured.

MUSIC, BOOKS, MOVIES + TV CORNER- Okay, I didn't get to make this joke in my last Potter-related post *takes deep breath and prepares blogosphere for extreme hilarity*
Pretty deathly, those hallows, eh?
*collapses in fit of mirth, snorting and cackling with glee at own wit*.
Shhh. Let it wash over you and enjoy it.
Anyway, I definitely did not read the book AGAIN, so be quiet. The fabulous Shelby pointed out in a comment last post that J.K. Rowling must have totally ripped the epilogue off from, like, fanfiction.net. True! So true! For SHAME, Rowling! Oh well, you wrote 7 perfect and amazing books so I forgive you.
I was just thinking about an episode of a TV show I saw at the beginning of the year, where all the characters conspire to rob Mick Jagger. It was odd, and awesome, and it made me think about which celebrity I would want to rob, you know, if I rolled that way.
I would rob Lindsay Lohan BLIND, so maybe she would stop spending all her damn money on BLOW.
I'm sorry, I felt bad for her at first because she is at least marginally more talented than most, and could one day be a decent, maybe even better-than-decent actress if she just stopped being such a cokehead, but suck it up. Keep your damn nose clean, kid. If you want an avalanche of white powder, go to Aspen.

Music-wise...um, embarrassingly enough, I've been listening to a lot of Journey. She's just a small town girl...living in a LONELY WO-ORLD...she took a midnight train going aaannnyyywheeere... speaking of which, did everyone else see the Bill+Hil campaign-song Sopranos spoof? I swear to God, it made my month. Doggone it, I kind of love those Clintons, I cannot lie.

Even though I'm completely rooting for Obama. Hopefully, he'll make an entertaining campaign video soon. And hopefully, it too will star Bill Clinton.
Also, I just discovered Guster's "Carol of Meows" and am already looking forward to shaping my Christmas around it.
Of course, the Beatles' "Rubber Soul" has been enchanting me. I've also been listening to Paul McCartney's "Maybe I'm Amazed", and it blows my mind. As does "Blackbird"- single most lovely lyrics of any Beatles song, in my opinion. Although that's a tough contest.
TV-wise...it's August, nothing is on. Oy. I'm going to have to better myself...through LITERATURE. Blech! Reading! Just kidding, I am a complete book whore.

SIGHTINGS- Your mom.
Yeah. I made a "your mom" joke. I saw your mom.
Look, there is NOTHING, all right? I saw a woman in a SCRUNCHIE yesterday. At the risk of sounding like the episode of SATC where Annoying Bradshaw rabbits on for two hours about how nobody in New York wears scrunchies and her poor, beleaguered new boyfriend finally sees the light and slowly starts to hate her as much as I did, scrunchies should be burned alongside Crocs in a communal ritualistic bonfire. Perhaps the Fug Girls could preside over it.

CURRENT ATTIRE- My new electric-blue T-shirt dress, with a waist-cinching belt, a white tank underneath, and my navy wedges. This will be my new summer standby outfit, I believe.

<3