Comment Etiquette

I have a major flaw. I want people to like me. And I care if they don't. This flaw has led to many unfortunate experiences in my life.

Like in college I dated several guys who I didn't like very much, because I had succeeded in getting them to like me and I didn't want to mess that up. (I had an "aha moment" junior year when I realized that if I chose to date someone, I had to actually like them, and was proud of myself for how brilliant that conclusion was.)

And needing everyone to like me made me a VERY bad waiter. "Oh no! Table seven didn't get their Diet Coke! They'll be mad at me!" "Oh no! Did I just walk by the Mexican salad-making-guy without saying hello? Now the whole kitchen will hate me!" "No, I can't possibly push the lobster just because it's the most expensive! That would be dishonest, and the customers would not like me very much." Needless to say, my career as a waiter was short lived, which was unfortunate for an aspiring actress in NYC.

But now is the age of Comments. Comments on blogs, on Facebook, on YouTube videos, on nytimes.com for gosh sakes. I love to comment and receive comments. It's one of the joys of my day.

But here is my dilemma: Do I comment on someone's comment? Isn't that the proper thing to do? What if someone comments back on my comment? Am I obligated to comment on their comment of my comment? My logic tells me that there is only so much time in a day, and if I am inspired, go for it. But whenever someone says something very funny, clever, or heartfelt in a comment to me, I do feel it is my obligation to acknowledge this. They need to know how I appreciated this! That I laughed, snorted, teared up, etc. so they know what a caring person I am and they continue to like me.

This gets rather exhausting. Especially for a control freak like me. Before the Cyber-Age, I could pretty much keep track of everyone currently in my life. But now that I am in touch with folks from grade school, grammar school, high school, college, jobs, shows, blogs, mom friends, local music folks, friends of friends, random cousins I had forgotten about and so on, I just can't keep up. Should I not accept friend requests from people I don't know? Then I could control a smaller circle of people. But I want to reach out and spread that Gemini Joy, remember?? So I'll go for it! Be friends with everybody! Comment when I feel like it! Laugh or cry and not tell the commenter about it?... But what if their feelings are hurt and they are not encouraged enough to comment so cleverly in the future? I'd miss out and they'd stop liking me so much and...

I need a nap.

Text to Blog?

So here I am, testing whether to believe Blogger.com, which claims I can send a text message from my phone and it will appear in my blog.

I've been having trouble completing enough thoughts to write a coherant blog entry, due to the preponderance of short people in my house. So perhaps whipping out my cell phone and jotting down a text whenever I have an inspiration between diaper changes and Barbie weddings is the way to go.

Uncle

Okay, I surrender. I just can't cook meat.

I mean I try, but I just can't get it right. It is either undercooked, overcooked, or a little of each. And yes, you can comment away about meat thermometers, about taking the meat out 5-10 degrees before it is supposed to be done, about feeling the bounciness of it, etc. etc. I know it all. I've heard it all. I've been lectured on it all.

And it doesn't help that my gourmet-trained-to-cook-in-a-northern-italian-restaurant husband, upon being asked how I know when the chicken is done, replies, "When it is done." Sigh.

Last night I fried some pork chops. I took them out when the middle was bouncy but not hard, white but not pink. Perfect? Well the corners, and the bits near the bone were raw. Yes, raw. What's a girl to do? Turn the pan, flip them around, yadda yadda. I do it all. I just got unlucky in this particular skill department.

A few days ago I broiled some steaks. My husband exclaimed, "These are perfectly cooked!" My secret? That evening I had an overtired screaming baby strapped to me in the front carrier as I cooked, and I was desperately trying not to singe her as I checked the meat. And I had stuffed my four year old in front of a movie so I could concentrate on one crisis at a time. Perhaps I should do that every night. My nerves would be fried, the baby would grow up a frightened, exhausted, burned young thing, the four year old would have frozen brain cells, but at least we all would be well fed.

What Goes Around...

I just realized that I've given birth to both of my parents.

Mom:  

Dad:

The Curse Of Facebook: Perpetual Skimming

I do love Facebook. A Lot. But it has changed the way I think. I am constantly on the lookout for the next clever, amusing, or thought provoking status update to post. Should I tell my Facebook friends about the fact that one's feet get cold while researching the best site in which to create a blog? (Figuratively and literally, since it is the dead of winter and my kitchen floor is freezing.) There's a sparrow at my birdfeedeer. Do people need to know that? What about the realization I just had about exclamation marks within status updates? I have to tell everyone!  I am my own audience to my daily life, sifting though activities as I do them and thoughts as I think them, deciding which to share. This is new.

What's also new is the way in which I read. Anything. I used to actually read things. Now I skim. I realized this a few days ago when I was reading an "important" letter from my health insurance company. I got to the end of the letter and realized I had just gotten the gist of the letter; details were lost. This was not good. Then I attempted to read an article on NYTimes.com. Skimmed it in 30 seconds while doing twelve other things on my computer (including Facebooking) and, whattaya know, I have no idea what the article said. I skim emails from close friends now too. Yesterday I missed the part in my friend's email where she said she was very sick, because she had mentioned it in the second paragraph. Well, Dearie, we Facebookers DON'T READ second paragraphs, because that's where it says all the useless repetitive stuff about "To see this comment thread, follow the link below...blah blah blah."

I always love a good novel, and usually have one going. Well I am still going through the motions of picking up the book and reading and turning pages and such, but alas! I am now constantly trying to force my eyes NOT to jump ahead to the next paragraph before finishing the one I am on. My mind goes, "So does she kiss him or not??" and I skip ahead, robbing myself of the juicy tension leading up to the moment.

Facebook is wrecking me and rendering me quite shallow. Hey! I think that'll be my next status update.

Why The Obtuse Title?

I've always joked that my autobiography will be called "Six and a Half Hours From Gemini" because, indeed, that's when I was born. May 20th at 5:30 PM. Gemini apparently begins on May 21st, or so I'm told.

Before beginning said autobiography, I've been waiting for:

a) understanding astrology enough to know what this birth time really means, and

b) actually sitting down to write an autobiography.

Well, since the internet and blogging have now been invented, here begins the 2010 version of an autobiography. And from what I know about astrology, I get all my earthy "I wanna stay home and clean the rug" urges from my Taurean side, and my "I'm gonna change the world with my beaming energy and JOY!" urges from that pesky Gemini in me.

If and when I learn more about this topic, complete with rising signs and the like, I'll elaborate. (Or perhaps someone will beat me to it via a comment, which would be even better.)