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emmanation

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

Archive for the ‘things I think are pretty’ Category

things for this week

Monday, July 25th, 2011

Spilled Milk podcast

About them: Here at Spilled Milk headquarters, we combine food and comedy in a bowl and stir it up until it explodes. Join your jovial (possibly too jovial) hosts, Molly and Matthew, for recipes, cooking tips, winning lotto numbers, and catfights. Spilled Milk has not been evaluated by theFDA and is not intended to treat any disease, but just between you and me, it probably cures chlamydia.

Chlamydia, people. This is comedy gold.

 

Lubec, Maine

As you can see from the sign, Lubec is as far east as you can get in the United States. Of course, Canada is just across the Quoddy Narrows.

I’m pretty sure this is the kind of place that rejects you if you aren’t 17th generation or if you accidentally say ‘Quoddy’ wrong.

I kind of want to move there and make friends with some old men and eat a lot of lobster rolls.

 

Hunting Arrows

Who knew that arrows following your mouse around a screen could be so purdy?

 

Emma’s unite:

I couldn’t find this image on his website, but according to alphadesigner.com, Emma and Maria are the names to beat. He’s got a bunch of other maps too.

 

no makeup week

Friday, September 24th, 2010

I’m a little late on this whole ‘makeup free week’ thing that’s sweeping our Internets. (Huffpo and Jezebel didn’t pick it up in time to start with her either, and they have vaginapower the likes of which I’ve never seen, so I don’t feel too badly about my tardiness.)

However, it’s an interesting idea, and I’m considering joining in. I’m sure she won’t begrudge me an offset start date, right?

Rachel of Rabbit Write, the mind behind the idea, says:

The philosophy is this. Make-up is great. It is a powerful tool, a way to express yourself, your mood and interior life. But, when you can’t go without something, it loses it’s spark.

To me it sounds like her point is that she wants to be using makeup to accessorize, and instead it’s been moved into the category of ‘defining’. As in, I can put on a scarf when it’s handy and appropriate, but I am certainly capable of leaving the house without one – and for her, makeup is no longer like that.

To discover if participation is worthwhile, I’m trying to establish what category makeup falls into for me.

My approach towards makeup changed when I quit working as a pastry chef. When I was in the kitchen, high temperatures and 5 am commutes and flour and sweat would have destroyed anything I put together, so I never bothered. When I started working at an office, I realized that makeup was something that some women did before they came in for the day. They put together an outfit, they blow-dried their hair, they did their makeup, and then they came to work. Never one to stand out, I started copying them – sometimes, when I remembered, and almost entirely with makeup that had been floating around my various bathrooms for enough years to make a mysophobe cringe.

I thought it looked fun! It wasn’t so much that I felt a responsibility to wear it (ask Queen B – my personal style when I rejoined corporate America was … experimental). It was more that I wanted to play. For me, then, makeup was art.

Now? Now I’m the grad student who, today, spent $100 at Sephora. Sure, it was mostly on moisturizer – but how on earth did I get from there to here?

I have two gorgeous girlfriends who are usually makeup free, and I asked them to weigh in on why that was, to see if they could help me sort this whole thing out.

Laura (this was on the phone, so I’m paraphrasing):

Usually I forget or don’t have time. I have a five minute face I can do, but it’s clear mascara, clear lip gloss, and blush. Since the blush is the only thing you can really see, I don’t feel like it makes that much of a difference.

Star, my dinbff (derby-IM-new-best-friend-forever):

It’s a fact of life that we judge things based on appearance. I have never been “into” makeup. My mom has never been “into” makeup. I try every couple of years to get into makeup but I always try to dive in head first and get all glam all the time. I have realized that is not the point. That is also not me. I am trying again, but I forget about it. When I do remember, I noteice that I still look and feel like me but just a more polished version.

I realized, talking to them, that I never forget makeup. Sometimes I don’t wear it – if I’m home alone and my only plans are the grocery store? I leave it off. I don’t keep any at Crockett’s house, so nights I spend there are inevitably followed by makeup free days. I’m always aware that I’m not wearing makeup, though.

I’m still torn, you guys. I see her point, and part of the reason I’m reluctant is that I don’t want to not wear it. Am I even sure people would notice? No. I’m love my skin tone and have never successfully matched it thank-you-italian-father, somehow lipstick and I have never bonded, and my cheeks are plenty rosy on their own thank-you-irish-mother. I wear eye makeup, period.

Maybe I’ll hop in the shower after posting this and forget to put makeup on afterwards?

Probably not.

What are your thoughts? Would you go a week without makeup? Is that a normal week for you?

I’m totally inceiving right now and you can’t even tell

Monday, July 26th, 2010

My love for Inception is not because of my overwhelming-and-verging-on-inappropriate love for Ellen Page.

It may be because my love for Joseph Gordon Levitt and my love for Cillian Murphy, when combined, is virtually unstoppable. (What? I like my men pretty – sue me.)

Really. I was saying dirty things in the movie theater, and I went to see it with Crockett and my mom – NOT, as you might imagine, the ideal audience for a running commentary of the things I want to do to those pretty, pretty men.

Of course, my  mom had similar feelings for Tom Hardy, so really it was only Crockett who was left out.

Although now that I think about it, when we got home, Crockett said, ‘Who was that woman who played DiCaprio’s wife? Marion Cotillard? Yeah, she’s all right.’

You don’t know Crockett, so let me explain. ‘She’s all right’ would translate into ‘dammmmnnnn that girl is fine’ in the mouth of a man who said things like that. Crockett is dignified and full of the deep thoughts and therefore says no such thing. Except sometimes about me. Because otherwise I cry a little, noisily and with lots of snot.

I bet Marion Cotillard gets snotty and weepy too sometimes. Probably.

Do you need more of a reason than lots of pretty, pretty people? If you’re that guy, that I don’t care about looks* guy, there are reasons for you too.

  1. There is fabulous (verging on magical) sciencey stuff. Even better, the verging on magical stuff isn’t over-explained or under-explained (I’m looking at you, Primer), and is instead slowly revealed piece by piece, right when you care.

    Gordon Levitt will Drink. Your. Shifting-gravity. Milkshake.

  2. There are takeaways. I double dog dare you to leave the theater without wishing you had a totem.
  3. Finally, the characters would be worth rooting for even if they weren’t so damn adorable. They have hopes and fears and goals, just like real people. Cept, you know, real people with the power to climb into your head and fuck with your dreams.

There are reviews galore, so I’m not going to bother with more. Instead, I might just go see it again – it’d be a better and more entertaining use of my time than answering programing questions like ’3. IS THIS LINE A MEMORY LEAK OR DANGLING POINTER?’

*Liar. No one is impressed, dude.

well hello there

Friday, July 16th, 2010

While I have been vacation going/job quitting/school studying/company starting, I’ve picked up quit a few new readers.

I don’t know where you came from, but I love you more than you can possibly know. If you need anything, call me. Liver? (Wait… which one do I have two of? Kidney?) Whichever organ I have two of, you can have one.

That’s how much I love you.

Just so you know EXACTLY what you get from emma-nation, though, I’ve made you some pictures. Print them out small and stick them in your wallet, print them out huge and hang them on your wall, get them tattooed on your ass, whatever. I don’t judge. (That’s a lie, I judge all the time. I judge like I’m being paid for it. But I won’t judge YOU, obviously.)

For when you’re feeling blue:

emma-nation: because we can't all stare longingly at the ocean

For ANYTIME. EVER:

For when you’re feeling intellectual:

emma-nation: you want meta? I'll give you meta.

Also, don’t forget The Road More Travelled, a new collaborative quarter-life-crisis we’re-doing-good-just-by-making-it-through-the-day blog. It’s so new there aren’t any posts yet, but we’ll be up and running daily starting Monday. It’s less about shit-that-happens-to-Emma and more about growing up, having thoughts, stuff like that. Thoughts: everyone has them. Well, mostly.

For when you’re feeling snarky:

The Road More Travelled: Because really, what have YOU done with YOUR life that's so great?For when you want to know you’re not alone in thinking that regular everyday things are kind of cool:

The Road More Travelled: Because sometimes? Growing your own cauliflower is exciting enough.For when you really just want another cocktail:

The Road More Travelled: Beer bellies for all!

And finally, if you feel like looking at pictures of food (and who doesn’t, amirite?), you can always head over to my sad little love child of a blog Mangled Baby Duck.

Mangled Baby Duck: Because my foot is sexy.No, my sexy foot doesn’t have anything to do with it being a food blog. Neither does the title, for that matter. What do you people expect from me?? God, you’re so demanding sometimes.

That’s it, I’m taking my kidney back.

29 and counting

Tuesday, July 6th, 2010

When I need to remember how long ago something happened, I start by remembering where I lived at the time. (I’m currently thinking about this because I have an oldish computer and I’m trying to figure out exactly how old. Ah yes, red apartment old.)

I moved out of my parents house when I was 17 to go to college. Yes, at 17. Yes, I’m a genius*.

98/99 – Dorms.
99/00 – An apartment in Henderson Kentucky. I followed a boy. Because at 19, that’s the kind of girl I was. I’m not that kind of girl anymore. Unless the boy is Crockett.
Mines Park (apartment style college housing). Actually, they’re technically just apartments but you have to be a student to live in them. It’s the kind of thing you usually see for family housing, cept it’s for rowdy undergrads.
00/01 - A house in Golden, CO. I lived in the garage part and I saw my first ghost there.
01/04 – A big townhouse in Golden with three years worth of rotating roommates. In this case, instead of remembering the house I just remember if the tiniest sprinter lived there at the time, or perhaps that insanely irritating kid who lived in the basement and insisted that since he had Irish in him he wasn’t able to get drunk oh and also he felt no pain, or perhaps TAYLOR!

TAYLOR! He's all class, all the time.

04/05 – A townhouse across the street from the above mentioned townhouse, because Jumpsuit and I had broken up and I had about 3o seconds to decide where to go. Moving across the street was damn stupid, btw, but we were sharing custody of Cloey. (Who was and is MINE. Just sayin’.)
A townhouse in Boulder with a couple, a girl who turned out to be one of my besties, her boyfriend, and someone’s little brother (not mine). A three bedroom, two and a half bathroom townhouse. With six people and three dogs.
05/06 – A huge (500 sq ft maybe?) studio apartment in downtown Boulder with a kitchen that actually rolled around on wheels and an actual linoleum floor. It was built in the sixties-ish and hadn’t been updated since. I loved that place, and weirdly, the first time my mom ever got drunk was in the same building.
Back to my parents house, briefly, after one of my dogs got me evicted.
A friend’s house in Boulder. I loved the house, wasn’t nuts about the friend but was essentially couch surfing, so I was the beggar in the beggar/chooser relationship at that point.
06/07 – My red apartment. It wasn’t actually red, but it was a 325 sq foot studio with no natural light and with lots of installed mirrors to make it appear larger. My primary piece of furniture was a red daybed/couch, and all I remember is the red being reflected off all the walls. I ended up breaking my lease because it was driving me insane, and I’m sort of surprised I didn’t start wandering around Boulder in my nightgown muttering ‘redroom, redroom’ before I got out of there.
07-now – My townhouse.

I feel rooted in my townhouse, and you can probably see why. It’s the only place other than my parents house (which has now been sold and has some other family living in it, which is weirdweirdweird) in which I’ve had any kind of consistency. I haven’t had to pack up every 8 – 12 months. I don’t have to ask permission to put holes in the walls.

As I’ve grown up, so has my place. Crockett and I still call it the dollhouse, of course, but that has more to do with the diminutive size of the girl, dogs, and house than the decor (at least I think it does!)

About a month after I moved in.

From a couple of days ago. Note the pictures on walls, the big tv, the ACTUAL BLINDS on the windows, plants everywhere - it's like I'm an adult.

I know things will change again. I’m not going to live here until I die. Honestly, I probably won’t still be here on my 30th birthday. But I love it here, and my ‘dollhouse years’ are some of the best I’ve had so far.

P.S. If you’d told me when I moved in that the three carloads of stuff I had would multiply into a houseful, I would have scoffed. Literally, scoffed. (That’s when you make a noise in your throat that sounds like you’re coughing and laughing, right? Or is that just what it sounds like it should be?) And yet, I now have a houseful of… well, stuff. Clothes, shoes, kitchen accoutrements - I’m pretty sure they are humping like rabbits when I’m not looking. If not, there is no physical explanation for where it all came from.

*I’m not actually a genius. I skipped third grade. I was a second grade genius.

Doesn’t that sound like a book?

I Was a Second Grade Genius
(Damnit)

By
Emma