I raise my glass to the actual size of everything

Strawberries are totally the attention whores of the fruit world. I came across this discovery thanks to my dad's blender and willingness to supply me with a practically endless amount of produce, which have led me to becoming fairly adept at smoothie-making. Put more than two or three strawberries in the blender and they not only take over the face of the drink (all strawberry-involved smoothies are decidedly pink) but also the flavor, shoving entire peaches and bananas into the forgotten recesses of palattedom. They're bullies, really.

My "First Friends My Age to Get Married" recently became my "First Friends My Age to Have Children." Though this freaks me out a little for obvious reasons (when exactly do I need to start buying wrinkle-prevention cream?), what weirds me out more is that Nick and Kristen are also quickly becoming my "First Friends My Age to Creepily Chronicle Extremely Personal Developmental Moments Over the Internet." Thanks to Nick's diligent wireless facebooking, I knew when Kristen's water broke, when they arrived at the hospital, how long she was in labor, when the epidural came, and exactly when their son was born. I don't think I'm alone in my belief that childbirth, though miraculous, is one of those things that only seems beautiful so long as we can all agree to forget the details: how horrifying the practice of passing a child through your legs actually is. I'd really like to encourage all future technology-adept parents that I know to abstain from the news feed and let me live in my blissful Selective Memory Land.

Also, the little boy, I am led to believe, will soon have his very own facebook profile created for him. I find this confusing. After all, one day their son will stop being a poop machine and will start being a cognizant human being who will presumably (if facebook is still around like it is today) want to create his own profile. When will his profile stop being a cute toy for mom and become a practical toy for him? Will he be offended that his parents essentially faked his identity online? Will there be some Bar Mitzvah-like bequeathing of the password when the profile will become his own? Or will he create a new one? It's just strange.

So, a downside to not being terribly emotional, I've noticed, is that when you actually have strong emotions, you're not sure what to do with them. Put them in a box? Give them special reception? Banish them as trouble makers? Pick through them like apples? I tend to challenge them to staring contests. I also tend to lose.

"One is tempted to define man as a rational animal who always loses his temper when he is called upon to act in accordance with the dictates of reason."