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emmanation

You like me! Of course, you probably don't know me very well.

instagram

June 21st, 2017 by biscuit

Instagram vs Snapchat.

One of my very bestest friends is an avid snapper, and I was trying to put my finger on why I don’t snap now but I am all over insta like a … a … well, someone who posts a lot on insta.

I do post a lot, especially lately. I mean, I don’t know what a LOT a lot is, but I post two or three times a day most days. Is that a lot (she asks as if she wants reassurance but she really doesn’t)?

I guess I think of insta like a diary. Facebook used to be a diary. For example, six years ago today on Facebook I posted the status ‘iPad, check. Toothbrush, check. Camera… SHIT.’ Obviously I was going somewhere (sailing I think), and I forgot my camera! That’s a fun tiny blurb, yes? No? Yes. But Facebook is mostly for pictures and sharing political links now (and it’s dead, right? Let’s all agree. It’s basically dead. Our grandparents are on it and we are parents of people who are also on it. It’s Main St USA and no one actually thinks it’s cool to be on Main St.)

The thing about Instagram is: it stays and pictures are unambiguous. Filtered, yes, but if you were with someone or not with someone or home or in Portland, that’s permanently represented.

The thing about Snapchat is: it goes away.

I get the appeal of that, but I also feel like it’s part of the issue about space women are constantly struggling with. When you snap, you’re putting something into the world that says ‘heeeeeyyyy guys here’s a thing if you wanna look at it but if you don’t don’t worry it’ll be gone pretty soon so don’t worry about it if you don’t want to ’cause …. yeah anyway thanks byyyeeee’.

I could be wrong. It could (always) be my personal awareness of taking up space in the world. I’m a woman who, despite her best intentions, worries endlessly about the effect my very presence has on other people. Am I too loud? Is my skirt too distracting? Am I talking more than I should?  Does my new tree bug my neighbors? Does my new shampoo smell? It’s tiring, and Snapchat is a relaxing way to show people things. It’s easy to think ‘oh no one has to see this if they don’t want to’. However, by that same measure, Snapchat doesn’t tell any kind of story about you or your life.

So Instagram. Insta is the diary-est of all the available diaries.

(Excepting a blog but WHO BLOGS ANYMORE?)

So, Instagram. People can opt into you without you doing the same and vice versa. Everyone loves a sunset and dogs and yoga, which makes it feel like a wonderful place to *also* love all those things. You’re easy to scroll over, but also anyone who cares can roll back through months or years of what you’ve been up to, and you can too.

None of this touches on the overwhelming desire to share in the first place, of course. I’m always aware of what the perception of my pictures might be, and I’m open to it. This blog is over a decade old – I’m a committed sharer and the reasons are between my and my psyche.

I just … want to leave a mark.

God I’m old.

But still cute. You can confirm on my insta.

ice cold I roll my eyes at you boy

June 6th, 2017 by biscuit

Picking songs that other people are going to listen to is VERY STRESSFUL.

Like, I think I have good taste in music, but literally no one doesn’t think that about themselves. If they thought what they liked didn’t show good taste, it would thoroughly undermine the entire concept of good taste and that would be the nucleus from which the end of the world sprouted. (No? Are you sure? Like, double check quantum physics and get back to me. I don’t fully understand quantum physics but I went to an engineering school and am pretty sure someone there told me once you could use them to explain any damn thing you wanted, and this is the quantum-music-taste hill I’m going to die on.)

When I was in Portland with my little brother last weekend we had a whole app based youtube queue set up on his chromecast (<- today in sentences Emma from ten years ago would think were gibberish).  We were all adding, and it was skewing rap heavy because that’s mostly what he and his friends listen to. I could have backed off and let it happen, but I wanted to contribute and also not to listen to rap for four hours.

(I don’t dislike rap but I have a hard time staying engaged when there’s not a through melody. Like, I’m a huge Childish Gambino fan, but my brother hates him… I guess he’s intro rap? Because … of the melody? I know it’s shocking, but this is NOT something we covered in engineering school. All your preconceptions blown, right? Right.)

My approach was either great song or great video. I went retro a couple of times (Leave the Biker), full on pandering at least twice (see Lana del Ray and the Jenny Lewis video with Anne Hathaway and Kristen Stewart (a combo that surprisingly fills the needs of most people who like girls? Can I get an amen?)), and I’m not embarrassed to admit I appealed to my brother with people we’ve seen together.

That is way too much thought.

Literally, what is the worst thing that could have happened? That my brother’s friends didn’t think I was cool? I’m his older sister – they were pretty decided on the coolness of me long before now. (Probably I won some of them over when I looked super fly in a suit as his best man a few years ago.)

These are phases I go through. It’s like I’m scared, sometimes, to take up too much room in the world. To make someone do literally anything that’s not exactly what they had planned.

Probably I need to switch over to some Blondie. Some Tegan and Sarah. Some Tove Lo. Sometimes it’s ok to play your own song.

 

I love my butt and won’t shut up

June 6th, 2017 by biscuit

Yoga is so great, you guys. (The title is from Mary Lambert, Secrets. I don’t usually say what it’s from but I don’t want everyone to think I’m just THAT PROUD of my ass.)

I mean, yoga totally has made my butt better, I think? You’d have to ask Crockett, I guess.

(I actually did ask him a couple of months ago if he saw any difference in me since I started yoga, and he said I was getting ‘denser’ but look the same. Which, sure.)

That’s not the main reason I like it, though. I like it because sometimes, I don’t want to do it but I do it anyway. I like it because it’s taught me a lot of things that resonate, like the concepts of drishti and nivata. (A place to rest your gaze while you’re keeping your balance and a safe place without wind.)

I like it because my teachers know me, and notice when I’m not there.

I like it because sometimes I forget about everything but my hips and shoulders for half an hour, which is sort of a feat.

Also I like it because the clothes are cute as shit.

Ok, fine. I also love my butt.

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June 6th, 2017 by biscuit

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brudder

May 31st, 2017 by biscuit

I’m going to see my brother in Portland on Saturday!

Mostly, I suspect, we’re going to watch movies and drink? We’re really good at watching movies together.

When I was in high school, my health teacher lived down the street from us. (This is going somewhere, I promise.) Health class in Nederland was medium* pointless. Nobody didn’t know what sex was – a kid in my actual health class had a mom who was only 13 years older than him, and we all knew exactly how that happened. No parents protested the banana condom lesson. Our questions in the anonymous question box (did all health classes have that?) were less ‘are boy and girl nipples the same?’ and more ‘Miss Bonnie, when you blow your husband do you spit or swallow?’

Two things.

  1. I actually didn’t really know what was going on, I just pretended I did. Like, I knew Vince’s mom had sex when she was young in order to be a 28 year old mom of a 15 year old, but that’s about it. I was a gigantic tiny-baby-prude. When someone told me you could get condoms for free from the nurse, I GASPED LOUDLY and said ‘in HIGH SCHOOL????’. I once called my brother a dildo because I heard someone at school say it and thought it was just, like, a jerk? My mom had to remove herself from the room to crack up before she was able to yell at me.
  2. I was terrified of Bonnie, the teacher. She knew shit, you guys. When you’re a tiny-baby-prude, an adult who knows shit is both your life goal and the thing to be avoided at all costs.

Because we were the kids who lived down the street, once she knew I existed, Miss Bonnie asked me to housesit for her.

My fear made me an excellent housesitter. I cleaned up after myself religiously lest I dirty some surface Bonnie and her husband were going to do-grown-up-things-on, for example. I kept my eyes down in every room but the living room and guest room, just in case there were … sex toys hanging from the ceiling? I don’t know why I did that, we’d have to ask 15 year old Emma. I kept going, though – she paid like $25 a day because she had a million plants and in the summers they traveled a lot. Eventually they got a cat and I started spending some nights and daring to turn on the TV, even. So brave.

One weekend that I was there, my brother came over and he and I watched In The Mouth of Madness. It scared the shit out of us. I’ve seen it several times since and don’t really understand why – probably it was because it was the first time we’d watched scary movies without our parents accessible just down the hallway. I think he actually ended up staying on the couch because he was too scared to walk the quarter mile of mountain road back to our house and I sure as hell wasn’t going to walk with him.

(Also, I’m not a good sister sometimes.)

Anyway, that’s the first time I remember realizing that we had good movie vibes. Some people just can’t watch movies together – they want to talk when you don’t or vice versa, they think what’s scary is funny or what’s sweet is saccharine, whatever. I like watching movies with my brother. We’ve got good snark when snark is what’s required, but also good silence. Plus, we’re both wildly susceptible to jump scares.

BOO.

Anyway. I’m going to see my brother, and we’re going to watch movies. And it’s going to be great.

*medium pointless, not totally (also hi)