The taste of change…


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…is sweet!

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Spacebooking myface


From someone I went to high school with, who just sent me a THIRD Facebook friend request (I’ve ignored the first two):

Do you not want to be my friend?

Here’s the problem with Facebook: just because I’m on it and you’re on it and we went to high school together 20 years ago doesn’t mean that we have to be “friends” on the Internets. If we’re not friends in person and haven’t seen or spoken to each other in 20 years, there’s probably a good reason for that, and I don’t really want you privy to my online activities. That’s why I don’t attach my name to this blog, my Twitter updates are protected, and I utilize just about all of the privacy settings on my Facebook profile.

I don’t understand why people think that just because we knew each other once or just met in passing a few years back, we have to be “friends” on Facebook. Hell, right now, I’m Facebook “friends” with people I don’t even LIKE! (However, if you’re reading this blog and we are friends on Facebook, rest assured I’m not referring to you here.) And I don’t understand why people who won’t even say hello to me in the halls at school send me multiple friend requests on Facebook. Sometimes this social networking thing baffles me.

Maybe I’m being uncharitable or curmudgeonly. Maybe the person from high school who is sending me all these friend requests truly wants to be my friend both online and in real life. Maybe they’re a collector, like a lot of people on Facebook. Why do I feel like such a troll because I don’t want to accept this person’s request?

How do you approach Facebook friend requests? Do you accept them all, regardless of your actual relationship with the person, or do you have criteria for accepting them?

Gargh.


Well, now this is just annoying. (Specifically, the “flavors” portion of the forecast.) Masala is going to be a flavor trend in 2009? You’re saying, lady, that “a mixture of spices” is on the rise amid foodies in ’09? Wow, that’s … insightful. Oh, and “masala” is the “kissing cousin” to curry?

Fuck me, people. Maybe it’s just because much of my dissertation research deals with the politics of curry and masala (ask me why I hate curry powder!), but this just gets right up my nose. Christ, even wiki-fucking-pedia knows the difference between masala and curry, not to mention the various genres of “curries” based on region.

Masala = an aggregate of spices, usually associated with Indian cooking.

Curry = a sauce-based dish. The British took to calling any sauce-based dish a curry, which belies the individual spice and flavor profiles of any given dish.

NPR, I expect better from you.

Ten weeks


Why do they call it the babymoon? I’m so much happier now than I was when Laurel was first born. Those first three weeks or so were bad, bad, bad. There was lots of anger and sadness and pain and anxiety and anger and yelling and depression and frustration. That was not a happy time. I think the babymoon is now, when I’m getting a touch more sleep, my lady-baby is smiling and cooing and gurgling. She’s my boo-boo kitty, my kissyface, my lulu, my gooey girl. She’s my sweetest companion and I’m her biggest fan. Can’t say that I felt that way anytime before Thanksgiving.

at the end of our walk this afternoon

at the end of our walk this afternoon

Meanwhile, Harry continues to grow into a doting and devoted big brother. I’m so proud of him and how much he adores his baby sister. He gets more and more sophisticated every day, and it blows my mind. If only he’d eat something other than macaroni and cheese and chicken nuggets (do NOT call them chicken tenders!!!).

tomorrow's turban fashions today

tomorrow's turban fashions today

The holidays were low-key here. No travel, really, except to go visit my grandparent the weekend before Christmas. While there, we surprised Matt with a 40th birthday party complete with a Greenberg turkey and an ice cream cake. On Christmas day, we went out for dim sum with our friends S, C, and I, then went back to our house for another birthday cake for Matt (carrot cake from Upper Crust), wrapping things up with dinner at my folks’. It’s nice to start our own traditions after years of schlepping in honor of others’ traditions. If I never have to travel for a holiday again, it’ll be too soon.

Now it’s all about catching up on work I’ve not had the chance to do in the past two weeks because H has been out of school. He’s at the sitter’s tomorrow (with Laurel) and then goes back to preschool on Monday. I’m having serious, serious reservations about sending Laurel full-time to daycare in a couple of weeks. Suddenly I understand all those women who left the workforce to stay home with their babies. But if I want to meet my goal of having my dissertation defense-ready by December, I have to hand her over to a caregiver. But no one says I have to like it.

Oh, and have you heard Fleet Foxes? Get on it. You’re missing out.

I’m getting ridiculously excited about the James and Wharton seminar I’m taking in the spring.