Momnesia

The set of "Evil Dead: The Musical" at the Trustus Theatre in Columbia, S.C.

Me: "I heard today that a group of bunnies is called a 'fluffle.'"

R.H.: "A fluffle?"

Me: "Yeah. I don't know if that's true, but I love it."

R.H.: "Sounds like kerfuffle. Can you have a fluffle kerfuffle? A kerfuffle fluffle?"

Me: "Most. Adorable. Fight. Ever."

Side note: Do not mention "Watership Down" to me. That movie gave me nightmares.

I love duck. This versatile, bold, fatty bird is rich and delicious, and good for anything from a classic roast to a stew. Oh, it's not particularly popular in the U.S., where we'd rather feed wild fowl bread at parks than use them to feed ourselves. But Maple Leaf Farms would like to change that, and they distribute roast duck through Publix supermarkets.

But... frozen? I was skeptical. I thought it would be bland and tough. So I tried a couple of the frozen half duck with orange sauce. Turns out, I was both wrong and right.

I was lucky to be among a few folks who were given advance special screening passes to see the new Disney live-action film "Earth to Echo" at the Augusta, Ga., Regal Cinemas on Wednesday evening. The movie officially releases to the public on July 2.

We had four passes, but only three people, and it was surprisingly difficult to interest a fourth person to attend with us. Many had not heard of the movie - even though I'm sure it's probably being promoted all over the Disney channel - or reacted to the title with disinterest. Overall, the advance opinion about this film, among friends, was a resounding, "Meh." But that wasn't going to stop us from enjoying a free first-run movie. So off we went.

In "Earth to Echo," four adolescents adventure to help an alien life form after their phones go nuts and reveal a secret message. Instead of dialing tech support like all normal people, they jump on their bicycles and embark on a 20-mile journey to help an adorably anthropomorphized alien get back into space.





The plot will feel familiar - even derivative - to adult viewers. It's reminiscent of "E.T.," "Mac and Me," "Super 8" and "Batteries Not Included," with a little bit of "The Goonies" thrown in, as the kids race against time, grown-ups and the government to help the little guy, nicknamed "Echo," get back to the mother ship. But most kids haven't seen these movies (except my kid, who I insisted watch "The Goonies" with me - for educational purposes, of course.)

The movie doesn't explain the much about the alien, and that's slightly disappointing. How do we know he's not an adorable alien mass murderer? What are these kids thinking when they set off to Witch Mountain, or wherever? And where are their parents? Seriously, if my child hopped on her bike to pedal 20 miles with three friends after an alien signal beamed into the smartphone that she does not even have, she would not leave her room until the age of 30 - or until my death, whichever came first.

But I guess coming up with an alien back story is probably more difficult than coming up with a back story for human children.

And the focus is really on them, and their journey. The four leads, plucked from relative obscurity, are capable actors with good chemistry. Teo Halm plays Alex, Brian "Astro" Bradley is Tuck (I wish my nickname was "Astro," for real), Reese C. Hartwig plays Munch ("S.V.U." 4 LYF!), and Ella Wahlestedt is Emma. Side note: Ella Wahledstedt has a brother named Thor. No home improvement projects for him.

Tuck (Astro!) is the film's narrator and biggest personality, and the young actor, best known from "X-Factor," has fun with his character's bravado. Halm makes Alex a subtle character with a rewarding conclusion. Wahledstedt imbues Emma with smarts, social intelligence and the natural tween girl tendency towards dramatics. But Munch (Hartwig) is the real screen-chewer, with instinctive comedic timing. Good luck to this kid.

All of the young actors work well with some slightly stilted dialogue - particularly in the lunchroom scene, doing their best to deliver what feels like an adult's imagining of how kids talk to each other. But I think Disney owes a real apology to Wahlestedt for making her Emma the "token girl" in the movie. The actress is lovely, but the character has little to do, and is rather clumsily crammed into the storyline. The movie could have just as easily been about three adolescent boys on an adventure. There's nothing wrong with a single sex collective, by the way. Witness:  "Now and Then" and "Stand By Me" ('Sup, Wil Wheaton, call me).

The studio decided to use some first person point-of-view camera work and "found footage" from the children's perspectives. It's been done before, but it really works well within this story, particularly for the target audience. Although there are a few suspenseful moments where I was looking for the "Cloverfield" monster. Fair warning: If you suffer from vertigo, this movie is not for you.




And that brings us to the effects. The animated alien, Echo, is an owlish snippit of adorableness, beeping and mewling like a cuddly R2-D2. Outside of the alien, the other effects not obscured by the shaky POV camera work were fine, if uninspired. Except for a scene where Echo takes apart a tractor trailer and puts it back together. That particular sequence felt cartoonish and pulled me back out of the story. It also made me question whether or not the filmmakers should have consulted a physicist to align the alien's abilities with the storyline. But, hey, it's Hollywood, not Harvard.

That scene actually sold me in a different way, because it impressed on me how well the child thespians in this movie reacted to the CG effects and alien - who wasn't even there when they were filming. Honestly, if working in a CG environment could bring Sir Ian McKellon to tears, kudos to the little moppets for getting the job done.

If laughter is any indication, the audience thought this movie was hilarious. The two tween girls I brought with me certainly approved, cackling uproariously at the verbal and visual gags. And most of the movie's appeal comes from the interaction between the adolescents onscreen - even as unevenly scripted as their dialogue was. Their chemistry and banter sparkled in places, failed in others. Personally, I think when adults work with kids, they should allow the kids to paraphrase lines to make them feel more organic. These kids were trying to hit the script just right in certain places.

This is definitely a PG movie, because there are a couple of slightly risque jokes, moments that will scare smaller children - and you don't want your more adventurous 4-year-old to get any ideas... like riding his or her bicycle 20 freaking miles to find a friendly alien. But also because it's directed by first-time feature-length filmmaker Dave Green, whose background includes "Zombie Roadkill." This is not a guy who aspires to direct children's fare.

Overall, I think the film will get run over at the box office after being book-ended by "Transformers: Age of Extinction" the week before, and "Planes: Fire & Rescue" the week after. The only saving grace is that it will be one of the few family-friendly PG movies out for a while, and parents can only see "How to Train Your Dragon 2" so many times.

I'm sure that Green and Disney are hoping that getting the jump on the July 4 weekend will position the film well. He'll get a "Ya did good, kid" from the Disney execs, and they'll keep him in their wheelhouse for his entire career. Here's hoping, Mr. Green. It's not a bad life, as I understand.

"Earth to Echo"
Rating: PG
Run time: 91 minutes
Produced by: Panay Films, Walt Disney Studios

I'm locking up the house while Emerson walks to the car, and I hear her irritated voice behind me:

"Well, you're welcome. I just walked through a spider web for you."

*chortle* "Thanks, Doodlebug.

*sigh* "Whatever."

Look what I have.

That's right. SIX BOXES of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

Oh, sure, I like candy. And Harry Potter. And Harry Potter candy.

But that's not why I'm so excited.



I'm excited because I get to share the wonder of these jelly beans with Emerson, my charming, precocious, intelligent child.

Those sound like really nice words to say about your child. And I mean them. But do you know what those three words, in combination, translate into for her mother?

BEING A SMARTY PANTS.

She's 9 years old, y'all. NINE. And I can already envision the first time she chews out her manager and quits whatever crappy part-time job she gets in high school. That manager will need therapy.

So, it's my responsibility, as her mother, to teach her how to use her words wisely. Prudently. I'm not saying she shouldn't unleash flaming verbal hellfire on the occasional egregious offender. I think I've shared before that I rather enjoy a good Julia-Sugarbaker-ing every once in a while.

But y'all. It is out of control.

What I didn't realize, when I committed to raising Emerson to think for herself, to examine the world around her, and to question what she is told, is that the first thing she would question would be her own mother. But of course it would be. I'm the first authority figure she ever encountered, and I'm the one with whom she has the most familiarity. I am Patient Zero.

While I am delighted to discuss with her the merits of the various My Little Pony characters, the wonders of the natural world, and whether the stories about our founding fathers that her teachers tell her are real or myths, I do not now nor will I ever entertain the notion that I have to explain why vegetables are necessary parts of every meal at every meal. The question has been asked and answered, your honor. Let's move on.

Enter the beans. No, not vegetables. Jelly beans.

If you are unfamiliar with Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, let me tell you the one thing you need to know: These are not candy. These are implements of torture. Flavors include black pepper, grass, and dirt. I don't even want to think about how horrible the taste-testers had it when developing these things. Who taste-tested the vomit flavor? Using what?!



Anyway, when choosing a jelly bean, it's almost impossible to tell the green apple flavor from the grass. That is what makes them so diabolical. Even Dumbledore couldn't tell them apart.




So my plan is to "reward" her with "candy" whenever she smarts off to me.

Of course, I'm mostly joking. They'll probably sit around the house until such time as one of us decides to sneak-attack the other. Like we did once with an old clementine that she left in the back seat of the car for a week. We chased each other around the house with it for a while, then began hiding it and randomly chucking it at each other. For about two weeks straight.

Oh, all you sweet, innocent, childless moms are reading this and clutching your bosoms in horror. Adorable. Get back to me after your first child turns a year old.

And if you are thinking of having children, consider: "Are my partner and I so awesome that we need to make another one of us? And, if so, can I tolerate having a pint-sized person, perpetually less well educated and articulate than I am, follow me around and second-guess every decision I ever make?" This is the question you need to be able to answer. "Do I really desire to be shadowed for the rest of my life by a tiny skeptic, engaged ceaselessly in Socratic maieutics?"

If you mostly don't mind answering a barrage of questions as long as the Hundred Years' War, then by all means, criticize me. Judge my creative, slightly uncomfortable, but ultimately harmless discipline tactics. But if you would like - just some days - to ease through life from waking to bedtime without having an existential crisis brought on by the precocious cross-examination of your own personal, miniature Don Rickles, then you need to get yourself a supply of jelly beans.

Or ear plugs.

Of course, if I did bring home a supply of ear plugs, Emerson would just teach herself sign language. But I only know one sign. Using my middle finger.

Emerson was tormenting me with knowledge from her book about bugs.

I hate bugs.

"Mom! Did you know that bedbugs are for real? I thought they were just a myth to get kids to go to sleep!"

"Holy... (guffaw)  I thought the same thing! I didn't even realize bedbugs existed in the real world until about 10 years ago!" I laughed.

"Really?!"

"Yes! And now I wonder, 'What other things are real that I didn't know about?' Like, narwhals. I really didn't know they were real until about two years ago. Because they look like unicorn dolphins, and that just sounded crazy to me," I explained.

She laughed. "Yeah, what else is real that we never knowed about?"

"I don't know.... maybe even the Boogieman is real!" I widened my eyes and faked a gasp.

"Maybe he's real but he isn't even trying to scare kids," she said. "Maybe he just really likes to boogie."

So, Emerson and I are finally getting around to watching "The Amazing Spiderman." She's snuggled up on my chest as we watch.

So, we moved our offices around on Monday, because the work flow and storage issues were greatly improved. Now I'm in an office by myself down the hall from the main office suite, and it's great. Quiet. WARM. Unlike the storage closet/Arctic freezer in which I previously worked.

I want to thank the 1,000+ folks who viewed my blog yesterday and today in response to this blog entry.

However, I've received some comments that I won't approve for posting.

Commentators, had you left any identifying characteristics, I'd have reported you to whoever had jurisdiction and actually gave a darn. But your keyboard courage wasn't strong enough to prompt you to leave your digital curtain, was it?

Just as a general response, I don't mind being called a feminist lesbian. I wouldn't mind being a feminist lesbian. But, alas, I'm just me. I'm currently dating a very fine man. So, thanks for your interest in all the things you want to do to parts of my body for which I have since learned a few new synonyms. But, no thanks. And in case you missed it, when I say no, I mean it.

Your responses were expected, typical, and did nothing but prove my point. Please go be a cliche somewhere else. Preferably an entirely different planet.

There have been two shootings in the past week by men who are angry with women for denying them something the men thought they were owed: sexual and/or romantic relationships.

When I read about these (Elliot Rodger and Keith Binder) and similar killings (Marc Lépine, George Sodini, an unnamed 16-year-old boy), like many women, I reflect on my own experiences. Because it is all about me. No, just kidding. Because shocking tragedies should absolutely make us stop and take stock of ourselves, our communities, and our culture.

The fact is, there are certain members of the population who cannot handle rejection, and who lash out in verbally and physically violent ways. Like Elliott Rodger did. When those people are bigger, stronger, richer, or more powerful than you are (or crazier, in Rodger's case), it is intelligent to think defensively. And the necessary truth is this: rejecting a man's sexual advance is scary.

Yeah, you heard me. I'm a 40-year-old mother, and I find it frightening to tell a man no. Why? Because it's dangerous. Check out this Tumblr on the subject: http://whenwomenrefuse.tumblr.com.

"The final solution to triumph over my enemies was to destroy them, to carry out my Day of Retribution... against all women for rejecting me and starving me of love and sex," Rodger wrote in his manifesto. Click here to read the self-indulgent, sociopathic and terrifying manifesto of Elliot Rodgers. 

I don't let a man pick me up for a date at my house. I don't even let him know where I live ("Oh, I live in West Augusta... near the thing... you know..." I don't even live in West Augusta.) until I've been seeing him for time enough to gauge his crazy as best I can. But once I'm out and about, it's hard to tell a man no in a safe and socially acceptable way.

Women are often nebulous in their rejections - "I'm busy, I have plans, I am working a lot lately, I have a headache," etc. - as opposed to being clear as day - "I am not now, nor will I ever be, interested in you." And men often complain about this and say that women "send mixed signals," or "play games." Because to a male observer, a woman demurring to a man's attentions by laughing off crude jokes, not addressing violations of personal space, and enduring boorish conversation, looks like consent. 

Look harder. Appeasing, placating and enduring the attentions of men in whom you have no interest is a rational form of self-defense to avoid inciting an aggressor. "Letting a guy down easy" isn't just to avoid hurting his feelings. It's also to avoid getting hurt. And these days that doesn't just include physical attacks. It can also include threats, online attacks, reputation smears, etc., that can impact a woman socially and professionally.

"If I can’t have it, I will destroy it. I will destroy all women because I can never have them. I will make them all suffer for rejecting me," Elliot Rodger wrote in his manifesto.

Let me give you a recent personal example:

Friends of mine and I all agree that life at this point in our lives is very different than we expected. There are much fewer cocktail parties and amusing anecdotes about jet lag, and a great deal more numerous Redbox rentals.

"Mama? Would you like to be a unicorn?" Emerson asked me.

"Heck, yeah, because then I could stab bad guys with my head," I laughed.

"Dat's not berry nice, Mama," she chided, and then grinned: "But it IS funny."

Me: "Aw, so sad. Neil Armstrong died."

Emerson: "Oh, that is sad. He was one of our first moonwalkers."

Me: "Yep. Do you remember what he said on the moon?"

Emerson: "No...?"

Me: "He said, 'That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."

Emerson: "Wull, that's not cool. Why couldn't he say womankind?"

LMAO!

So I tried to explain the definition of mankind, and she just shook her head.

"He could have said 'humankind,' and that would have included everybody."

There was no point in trying to explain poetic license. She was having none of that.

Let me tell you people about how annoyingly old and curmudgeonly I have become.