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emmanation

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Archive for the ‘advice (requested or otherwise)’ Category

ikea

Tuesday, August 2nd, 2011

When I found out we were getting an IKEA in Denver, I was super excited.

I’m not really sure why.

IKEA is like Trader Joe’s. If you don’t have one around you, you somehow think that you’re missing the coolest thing in the country. You think that everyone else has access to nifty deals that you don’t. You’re clearly overpaying for subpar goods, your brain insists. I’m just not entirely sure that’s true.

Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE Trader Joe’s. I would give up a toe to have a TJ’s close enough to be my regular grocery store. Microwavable Thai Lime Rice and Green Curry Tuna? Yes please.

I haven’t been to the IKEA yet, but I’m not entirely sure what I’ll be looking for when and if I do go. I sort of wanted to go the day it opened, because I love a good fanfare, but Crockett talked me out of it. Fortunately no one died (like those poor people in Saudi Arabia), but there was a pile up due to traffic that sent a girl to the hospital. Now that it’s calmed down, though?

What should I go look for? What is IKEA’s version of Thai Lime Rice?

babies teaching babies

Thursday, July 21st, 2011

Over the last few days, I’ve had the opportunity to speak to around 60 K – 5 teachers about diversity in STEM (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics) careers.

Not a lot of what I had to say was super interesting. Women have leveled out at about 26% of the STEM workforce, and we represent twice that much of the total workforce. Underrepresented minority groups represent 29% of the American workforce and only 9% of those working in STEM careers.

Blah didie blah.

I love this stuff, I do, but I don’t really have any relevant conclusions. With the elementary school teachers, I was mostly trying to open a discussion on the topic.

I didn’t get a lot of conclusions out of them either.

What I did notice, though, is there were two – two - teachers who appeared to be over 40. Another 10 or so were pretty clearly in their 30s. I’m sure that of the remaining 48 or so, several more were in their early 30s – it’s just kind of hard to tell, you know?

The point is, the overwhemingly majority of them pretty clearly had a 2 in front of their age.

Reviewing my elementary school experience, my teachers were uniformly young. Even Mrs. Ward, who I thought was super old, looked pretty young when I saw her 10 years later. If they weren’t all in their 20s, they were damn close.

Is this a thing? Do teachers move out of elementary school when they get older? Or do teachers move out of teaching all together as they get older? I think had plenty of middle aged high school teachers, but a) my school attracted lifers and b) I may have overestimated their ages from my I’m-never-going-to-be-that-old smugness at 16.

And, if elementary school teachers are mostly young and this wasn’t just a fluke, what does that mean for kids? Are 25 year olds the only ones who can keep up with elementary schoolers? Are the kids missing out on a level of maturity that they would gain if they spent all day with 50 year olds?

I want to close with an open letter to my first grade teacher.

Dear Miss B,

I really liked your fingernails. Even when you used them to pull my loose teeth that one time.

Also, thank you for using McDonalds as motivation to teach me to read. It totally worked and I seriously doubt you’d still be allowed to do it now.

I really hope that baby you left to have worked out for you. Also, if you haven’t started wearing your fingernails shorter, you might want to consider it. Inch long florescent nails were cool in 1987. Now they’d be lame. Just a thought.

Love, Emma

mah mah mah mah Super 8

Tuesday, July 19th, 2011

I am now batting 1000 for crying at the movie theater. For at least the last year, if not my entire life.

Actually? I do remember crying during a showing of Major League II when I was in 8th grade. We can actually probably assume that this unnecessary crying does in fact carry through my entire life.

I’m telling you this in the spirit of full disclosure, because I’m about to laud Super 8, and when I say it made me cry I don’t want you to wrongly assume that means something special.

So.

Super 8.

Here’s the thing about E.T.-esque movies. Well, here’s a thing about E.T.-esque movies. I was never that into them. Sure, I saw it. Didn’t everyone see E.T.? I really only remember seeing it once, though, and I probably only cried fourteen or fifteen times during that viewing. It was good. It was sweet, sort of, and interesting.

It’s possible that the reason Super 8 appeals to me more is that it isn’t actually a Spielberg film. He just produced – J.J. Abrams did the writing and directing.

I don’t think that’s it, though. I actually think that it’s coming to the genre from an adult perspective.

By that, I mean having crushes on the dads instead of the kids.

The children in this type of movie are admirable. They’re brave – they explore things that are scary (caves, alien spaceships, creepy woods, etc). They’re gutsy – they put their own safety at risk to hide or protect people (or aliens, or … well, it’s usually aliens). They’re learning who they are. They explore their friendships, which are generally strong and awesome.

It’s not that I don’t admire those kids. I just never identified with them. I had friends, but not prevent-a-hostile-takeover-of-the-world friends. I would not have gone into those woods or those caves. I sure as hell wouldn’t have gone into a spaceship of ANY kind. I explored via books, not actual walking around outside exploration. The biggest thing I hid from my parents was that when I cut food to share with my brother I always cut it 60/40 and took the bigger half. If asked to hide something from the authorities I probably would have turned that shit over and lobbied for witness protection.

While I was watching Super 8, I found myself wondering how the main character (a 14 year old boy), would deal with a step-mother.

Are you suggesting that the fact that Kyle Chandler played the dad had something to do with that? How DARE you.

What's that you say? Me, have a type?

The parents in these movies are usually struggling. Life isn’t perfect for them – maybe a spouse died, maybe someone lost a job, maybe a move is imminent. While they’re dealing with those issues, their damn kids are running all over creation finding crashed spaceships and pissing off the military.

They’re still young enough to be pretty.

Everything about the kids in Super 8 is perfect and exactly as you would expect.

Everything about the parents in Super 8 is heartwrenching, surprising, and tearjerking. The peripherals (the parents with 7 kids who are so worried about the boy who lost his mom, for example) are pitch perfect and the kind of people everyone has lived down the street from at one time or another. The two main dads, though – they’re glorious. They struggle with their own problems while they love their respective kids, and they do it in ways that are unpredictable enough to keep you engaged while the kids are doing exactly what you expect.

I could (and might) go back and watch E.T. and Flight of the Navigator, see if those parents have the same underlying story line. Maybe, since I was 14 myself, I missed it.

Maybe, though, Super 8 is just a wonderful stand out in what is otherwise sort of a predictable type of movie.

I mean, it’s no Major League II…

but it’s pretty wonderful.

You should probably go see it now.

But Kyle Chandler’s character is all mine.

DOIN’ stuff

Tuesday, April 12th, 2011

A friend of mine and I have been having these very serious discussions regarding what people do.

Not, like, as a career (although do we talk a lot about that). More like what you do, during the day. Like right now, I’m sitting on a couch, watching Family guy, sipping wine, and writing this post (yes, I probably published this Tuesday morning – rest assured that I didn’t write it Tuesday morning).

My friend, as I understand it, is of the opinion that certain things are sort of a waste of her time. Television, for example.

I don’t really understand how that whole attitude came about. I’m not calling her out, specifically. This is a widely held opinion and one that I frequently fall prey to. Reading is better than the radio, which is better than tv. Writing is better than reading. Meditating is, perhaps, better than writing. Working is better than meditating. Volunteering is better than working.

In some cases, this totally works. If you’re supposed to be working and someone is paying you for the outcome, you maybe shouldn’t be watching tv.

In other cases, though, I’m a little confused. Why, exactly, is reading better than watching tv? Really?

I was trying to relate this to sexual predilections the other night when talking to Crockett, and I wasn’t quite successful in my comparison. I was trying to say that we (we being cool people) have reached the conclusion that whatever weird sex people like is fine, as long as they’re doing it with other people who also like it and want to be there. The same cool people should be ok with whatever you do in your spare time, as long as you want to be doing it and aren’t hurting yourself in any major way (skipping work repeatedly to watch tv probably counts as hurting yourself).

As I said, doesn’t quite hold up.

Anyway, why is watching tv a worse way to spend your than reading? Or listening to the radio a worse way to spend your time than meditating? Where does that idea come from?

us

Thursday, April 7th, 2011

If this blog were a baby, some court would have deemed me absentee sometime in the last couple of weeks.

It’s not that I’ve been busy. I have been, but I used to write every day while I had a whole buncha shit to do. It’s not that I’ve been lazy. I’ve been doing stuff, left, right, and sideways. It’s that I haven’t had anything to say. I’ve been all conflicted, and blahblahblah, and just insert Charlie Brown’s mom here for awhile, ok?

For about a year now, I’ve been writing for a collaborative blog called The Road More Travelled. The bloggers are me and the mindblowingly  fabulous woman who has been my best friend for 17 or so years.

Last week, I told her I had to cut back on The Road posts.

I expected anger, or something, but she was all ‘dude, of course – whatevs’. Ok, not really. She doesn’t say ‘whatevs’. She’s classier than me.

The thing is, I feel like I have to be all smart on The Road. We’re making a point. We’re experiencing and we’re writing about it. We’re blogging about our quarter-life crises.(Yes, I am going to live to be 120 – you want to fuck with that?) We’re saying REAL THINGS.

I feel obligated to be smart.

I also have a food blog, called Mangled Baby Duck. (You know you wish you owned mangledbabyduck.com). It’s a cross between a recipe blog and a diary. It’s a pain in the ass, to be clear. I take pictures. I upload them and edit them and then write about what’s in them. The lemon asparagus risotto recipe I just posted took me almost as long to write down as it took me to make (which was a long fucking time, thankyouverymuch).

I feel obligated to make, eat, and do interesting things.

Here, though?

I don’t feel obligated to do jack all.

I feel obligated to be myself. To yap at whoever happens to land here, from the wide world of the internets, if that whoever feels like reading. Basically, to yap. I feel obligated to curse if I feel like it, but not to curse if I don’t feel like it. I feel obligated to show my cranky pants when they’re what I’m wearing, and to show my enthusiastic pants when they’re what I’m wearing.

I like it here. For some reason, that has made me feel bad lately. I feel bad because I don’t feel bad about being not-always-interesting, or not-always-smart.

Yeah.

It’s, what, a blogger thing? A girl thing? An Emma thing? A person-under-5’2″ thing? Who knows.

Anyway.

I’m back.

Feeling bad is for chumps.