Korean cafe

"In Korea, there are many types of cafes with diverse themes. Cafes are not just for drinking coffee and meeting people, but also for fun activities. For example, in a so-called 'Dress cafe', you can wear any dresses you want while you drink coffee or drinks. You can also take pictures. Boys can wear tuxedo in this kind of cafe. For a special celebration, you can go to a dress cafe and dress up like a bride and a groom (with your boyfriend). You can also rent a room in the dress cafe for just you and your boyfriend. In dress cafe you can also wear special clothes like old fashion school uniforms of Korea. There are lots of accessories, so you can match them with your clothes. There is cafe called 'Jail Cafe'. This cafe really looks like jail. You can have drinks in the prison. The clerk in jail cafe dresses up like police. You can also have fun with handcuffs, pistol and so on. In 'Cat or dog cafe', you can enjoy your drinks with cute dogs and cats. There are about 30 kinds of dogs and cats in this cafe. So if you want to see many kinds of dogs and cats, 'Cat and Dog cafe' would be nice to go. You can also bring your dogs or cats to the cafe. There is 'Cave Cafe' also. You can have drinks in cave. The cave is decorated with beautiful lights. Even though the cafe is in the real cave, there are no bats of course. 'Trompe-l'œil cafe' is really funny cafe. Trompe-l'œil is Franch word which means trick. There are lots of funny realistic paintings in this kind of cafe. If you take pictures in front of the paintings, it really looks like you are in that paintings. There are famous painter's paintings like Pablo Ruiz Picasso. In 'Board game cafe', you can play any kind of board game you can imagine. And, 'Hello Kitty Cafe' is a cafe for those who love Hello Kitty. You can enjoy Kitty Cake which looks like Kitty, and cafe latte in a Kitty cup.
[edit]"

JULIA # 61 - Parallell 1 av 3

I.

Flygbussen 06:50 från Stockholm till Arlanda, fylld av sömniga själar och trötta gäspningar. En blond flicka med långt långt hår tittar oroligt på klockan. Hon är sen som vanligt. Trött på denna ständiga kamp mot tiden men med ett visst lugn om att hon ändå kommer att hinna.
Helt utan värdighet och stil, men visst, hon kommer att hinna med det där flyget till London.
Hon kommer att hinna, hinna att hitta jobb där, hinna att bli upptäckt som modell,
hinna komma över mannen som lämnat henne, hinna att ta ectasy,
hinna att rädda en vän, hinna få hemlängtan, hinna att lära känna staden,
hinna att irra runt runt på dess gator, hinna att bli förälskad i livet igen.
Det är inte mycket tid kvar tills planet går, men tillräckligt.

Hon kommer att hinna av den enkla anledningen att man inte kommer för sent till sin egen flykt.

Det finns något i universum som kommer att göra att bussen kör en kilometer i timmen fortare, att incheckningen stänger 30 sekunder senare än planerat, att personalen har en bra dag och släpper in eftersläntaren när det är tveksamt om det är berättigat. Inga stora saker, de går obemärkt förbi, universum är diskret.

Änligen framme, 07:50, två minuter tidigare än beräknat, busschaffören måste ha kört lite snabbare än vanligt, fem minuter kvar, hon tar sin väska och springer,
lämnar Sverige bakom sig, lämnar Stockholm och munspelsmannen, föräldrarna och ångesten och Spy Bar, korvstånden med de äckliga ketchupfläckarna, vännerna som lovar att hälsa på och alla miljoner råttor som kommer att fortsätta sina liv som om ingenting har hänt, våren, allt lämnar hon bakom sig och springer i jakt på en avgrund som håller.

Helt omedveten om att om hon bara hade vänt sig om hade hon sett mannen i hennes liv, han som i fyrtiofem minuter suttit bakom henne på bussen och snusat.
Men ingen fara, om de är menade för varandra måste de ju få en chans till.

JULIA # 58 - I'm not the girl who misses much

The people, the photographer, the tan, the altar, the hair cuts, the city, the horrible coffee machine that was always on the brink of explosion, the Pol Remy, the bucket from Tati, the colours, the Le Chateau, the time, the pink lip stick, the night that followed, the heart broken in that way and not in another, the fake wooden floor, the jokes and the thoughts of that day.

It’s not that I prefer that to what I have now – I just want both worlds at once.

MARIA #15 - WHALES

yesterday I ate whale for the first time in my life. I ate it both raw and slightly fried and it was really good, although I felt cruel and although I the day before yesterday said that I would never eat whale. you see when I first moved to iceland in 2005 I lived on the countryside in a place called Hvalfjordur, which means "the whale fjord" and many times I stared across the fjord trying to spot something moving and coming up for air, but I never saw anything. One day I went to a whale slaughter house, its not so much a house but a big ramp filled with huge hooks and bones as big as cars which I where told are whale ribs. I was completely horrified and fascinated at the same time. it was so quiet there, and so much blood had streamed down that ramp into the ocean.


today i watched the fifth element and cried because love conquers all (and destroys all evil) but is hard to find. I think I am allergic to dairy and I just had a four cheese pizza.

JULIA # 38 - I have many sistas, but only one sister

Remember that time when we were speaking on the phone, me in Paris, you in Brussels
I was trying an outfit and preparing for a day in the sun
and you said
"Isn't it funny that the only one who cares about you gaining weight is your boyfriends ex-girlfriend?"
I didn't fully understand, so you explained:
"Your boyfriend doesn't see the difference, your friends couldn't care less and grandma will only be happy that you can afford to eat.
It's only your boyfriend's ex who notices and tries to convince herself that she has won, cause you have gained a kg or two."

My sister gives me almost too many reasons to love her.

Aleksandra # 14 - Friday frolic

Julia, or the art of never being invited but always showing up, often with half a dozen guests and a cake. Now you can listen to bébé's hoarse voice on the Swedish radio.

Afterwards you can admire Carolina's chapka.

And later tonight, let's get smashed for a good cause.

Aleksandra # 5 - Happier New Years

2009 started on a Thursday and ended on a Thursday. In between, Israel invaded Gaza. Russia turned off gas supplies to Europe through Ukraine. Barack Obama was inaugurated as the 44, and first black, US President, while Jóhanna Sigurðardóttir was appointed Iceland's Prime Minister and the first openly lesbian head of state in the world. Elections to the European Parliament were won by right-wing parties. The Lisbon Treaty entered into force. Climate change was discussed in Copenhagen.

Two German kids aged six and five packed their bags with swimming gear and tried eloping to Africa - they were in love and longed for a life in the sun. French soap opera writers gained the right to strike. Marc Jacobs stopped serving cocaine on silver platters during his shows (it's the financial crisis). Silvio Berlusconi consorted with underage blondes and naked prime ministers, insulted Finnish national heritage and was accused of links to the mafia, before being elected rock star of the year by Rolling Stone magazine.

As the year drew to a close, and I still failed to make sense of the past 365 days, a friend made me drink for a new year, worse than the next, but better than the past. Dear friends, relatives and lovers, raise your glasses and drink for a year where life, work and love is one and where the passion in our hearts melts all obstacles. Let's enter this year with high hopes and ambitious missions and fanatic zeal to make them happen. Let's love with crazy and suicidal hearts that never grow cold.

At the end of this year, I will have saved a life, traveled to Tanger (because it rimes with danger) and live in the same city as my sister.

Aleksandra # 1 - Why do you cry, is there something in your eye?

- Nej, jag har bara inte hunnit supa mig själv medvetslös ännu. Jag har gjort det igen, jag var en hopplös, jävla optimist som gav dig en andra chans och nu vill jag skjuta mig i självförakt. Besvikelsen över att bli besviken igen, jag som bara vill vara god och glad och ta livet med en klackspark istället för blanda vin med vodka och förbanna dagen du föddes på.

Jag skyllde min smärta på kärlek, gav upp min frihet och självrespekt i kärlekens namn och såg inte det omöjliga. Jag jämförde oss med Carrie och Big. Jag led fastän du faktiskt aldrig bad mig om det och fastän kärlek inte kräver sådana uppoffringar, men jag hade sett för många tv-serier. Jag var dum. Mea culpa.

Men det är slut med sånt nu. Det finns begränsningar av vad man kan uppnå med ren viljekraft. Jag har insikstfullt beslutat mig för att inte höra av mig, för jag

a. vill inte vara kär i någon som inte bryr sig om mig.
b. hoppas att du gillar mig tillräckligt för att höra av dig så småningom.

Får inte ligga med varje kille som skriver dikter till min ära. En man som krossar mitt hjärta är inte nödvändigtvis en lovande poet.

Jag kanske borde åka bort. Ovanför molnen skiner alltid solen. Jag kommer inte tillbaka förrän jag vet varför jag grät. Kärleken vill inte att man gråter i dess namn.

JULIA #1 - SMOKE

Smoke

A few years ago, I worked in a bookshop in Dublin and sometimes I operated the tobacco counter. There I learned that customers are defined by their cigarettes. Here are some of the associations I made:

Benson&Hedges: Bought by inborn Dubliners with heavy accents. Only men, mostly bald.
Marlboro Light: Girls, boys, everyone rather young and good looking. Party smokers. No yellow nails, no yellow teeth, no smoker’s cough, yet.
Marlboro Red: Mostly people I never remembered but also the beggar lady outside the store who always paid with very small change
John Player Blue: An Irish favourite, especially among those living on the North side of the Liffey River. “20 Bleu dere love when yeer ready” echoed in my head at the end of the work day.

Other associations I’ve gathered throughout the years:
Lucky Strike: An urban legend says that Lucky Strike got it’s name through a advertisement campaign where one cigarette out of 1000 would contain marijuana. If you got that very cigarette, that was a lucky strike.
Gauloises: Almost embarrassingly associated with Parisian nostalgia. Rarely pronounced correctly outside of France.
Perfect for chain smoking in bed and, trying to make the smoke fill out the void of a broken heart. (It won’t work but it will give you something to do for a while)
Red Prince and John Silver: For the suicidal ones
Vogue: Popular among truck and taxi drivers in Poland.
Camel: Smoked by Charles Bukowski's father. The pyramids are supposed to be magical, with different dimensions in every angle.
A lot of money and thought has been put into the design of the packaging, first by hiring the highly sought after graphic designer Fred Otto Kleesattel and later by incorporating camouflaged objects into the camel, such as buildings, Manneken pis and a naked man.
Davidoff: Strong beautiful girls with hard hard eyes. Often found a long way from home.
Tigra: Belgian cigarettes. The tiger lady on the pack is said to be a 50ies model from Antwerp who was murdered under strange circumstances.
Marlboro Menthol: Parisian boy unconsciously reviving childhood memories of drinking sweet mint tea with his father on the balcony near the harbour of Alexandria.
Pall Mall: Kurt Vonnegut called them “a classy way to commit suicide”, although I don’t agree. To me, they’re a last resort, and they don't even have the little cartoon flip that can be used as a filter.
Blend: I’ve never seen them outside Sweden but each time I hear the words ‘Yellow Blend’ I see an unhappy single mum in the 90’s in front of me, with a castrated cat by her feet, smoking Yellow Blend under the kitchen fan.
Mayfair lights: Their slogan goes "a good smoke at a fair price" and they’re the alternative if you find yourself broke in London, cause you’ve spent all your money on pints and those funny looking but expensive cabs. They taste like shit but apparently they’re the second most popular cigarette brand in the U.K

There are unfaithful smokers too – those who start off sneak-smoking Marlboro lights at an early age, as they get more life experience they turn to Lucky Strike. With their first job and some cultural references in their backpack, they switch for Camels. Later, as the economic crisis hits them, they rationalise, step down and convert to Pall Mall.

A smoker’s life is always in motion.

Cigarettes are a curious symbol. They have a dangerous aura among them, but the killing takes enough time for me to be brave enough to ignore the danger. Smoking brings people together and cigarettes contrast perfectly with the beauty of youth and smell like death and (night) life simultaneously.

But to be honest, all of this are just stories and associations made out of illusions, trying to make lives more like films and turn grey days into melodramatic ones. The real consequence of me writing this post is that I’ll have a really hard time finding a health insurance to a decent price since I now got SMOKER written on my forehead.

Hello, my name is Julia and I like living on the edge.