In the Magician King, there is a character who finally meets the people she has been conversing with online.  Actually conversing is too small a word.  The people who mentally saved her as she was spiraling down the drain.  Anyway, she encounters them, face-to-face, and has to adjust because they don’t match the image she has had her brain of these faceless people on the other side of the screen.

It’s not just a visual thing because I think we all suspect that people are going to look different from how we imagined them in our brain when we finally see what they actually look like.  But is the person as strong or as kind or as outgoing as we imagined them to be?

This computer screen thing is strange.

*******

I’ve had a lot of bloggers step out from behind the screen so we can meet face-to-face.  A long time ago, it seemed like more people blogged anonymously, both under an assumed name and without images on their blog.  The person you met up with at a conference or at a coffeehouse almost never looked like the person you had in your brain.

Nowadays, it seems like fewer people blog anonymously.  Even if they don’t use their full name, they at least use their first name and/or provide a picture or two.

Why has this changed?  Are we more comfortable with the medium, unafraid to admit that we’re writing the words?  Or is it a matter of wanting to be known; owning our writing proudly and wanting credit for our words?

*******

I love meeting people through my blog or their blog.  It’s like any friendship.  A connection isn’t very satisfying when it exists solely on the screen.  It’s a bit better when you can talk in real time.  And it’s (usually) at its best when you can spend time face-to-face.  This isn’t always possible, but when it is, I love getting to sit down across from another person.

When they are a blogger, too, it feels like you’re getting an annotated blog.  Like those Norton Editions that had the notes down the margins giving you interesting facts and elaborations on the text.  Because blogs are nice — blogs are wonderful — but sometimes you want more than what exists on the screen.

*******

Justine and I got together this past weekend.  We’ve done it before, either near her home or mine, but this time, we decided to point our cars at each other and drive until we met in the middle.  We chose a small town with the 27th best tea house in the state.  How did we know it was #27?  Because there is someone out there ranking these things.

(Except that the list changed!  It was 27th last week, but I just checked and it’s now listed as #25.  Go go little tea house!)

It was cold, so we mostly either sat inside establishments or wandered around small stores, and we finally ended up in a Thai restaurant for dinner.  We were seated next to a couple who were clearly on a date.  The man’s voice carried through the whole restaurant, and I’m not going to mince words: he was entertaining the girl with a running monologue about his love of guns and shooting things, including himself.

“Should we leave?” Justine whispered.

“I don’t know,” I murmured.  “It doesn’t sound like he has a gun with him.”

So we stayed and listened to their horrifying conversation for another 20 minutes until they left their table.  In my head I was thinking, if I had never started a blog, I would have never met Justine, and we wouldn’t have driven at each other today, and we would have missed this man’s date.

But I did start a blog so I did meet Justine so we did drive at each other and we did get to catch a conversation that I immediately recounted for Josh upon returning home and have since told many other people the whole 20 minute monologue.  It’s such a great story, and I would have missed it entirely if I hadn’t put my own story into the universe.

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

*******

I was recently reminded of why I only get my hair cut once every two years when I took the ChickieNob.  The stylist spent the entire haircut trying to convince us to switch shampoos, conditioners, and combs.

It is worse when I go.  She tacks on how I need a new hairstyle, how I need to colour my hair, and how I need to change the products I use.  I’m sure all these changes would be lovely, but I don’t want them and I’ve made that clear.

This isn’t unique to my stylist: the suggestions come from all stylists I’ve used.  And I am also aware that she works on commission and needs to sell me these products or services to supplement her styling income.  It’s a terrible system because the implied message to the customer is “you do not look good.”  And that just makes me feel like avoiding her vs. buying a product.

Getting a haircut is a dreaded task up there with sitting in the waiting room at the gynecologist’s office (yes, I prefer the Pap smear to sitting amongst the pregnant bellies).

What are your dreaded tasks that you avoid?

*******

Are you also doing #MicroblogMondays? Add your link below. The list will be open until Tuesday morning. Link to the post itself, not your blog URL. (Don’t know what that means? Please read the three rules on this post to understand the difference between a permalink to a post and a blog’s main URL.) Only personal blogs can be added to the list. I will remove any posts that are connected to businesses or are sponsored posts.

So this comment by Kasey really nailed a big reason why I keep my “what if” clutter.  I am very aware of the money I spent (or that someone else spent) to get that item.  Throwing it away, especially when there is even the slightest chance that I may need it in the future, feels like throwing money into a garbage can.  I wouldn’t do that with dollar bills, so it’s hard to convince myself to do that with an object that cost money.  In that sense, the sweater or travel mug or name-your-object is money.

It’s impossible to track how often it happens; that something I would have gotten rid of turns out to be useful down the road.  There are plenty of things that I use only occasionally, but once I use them, the clock resets.

So not knowing the likelihood makes me hold onto things just so I won’t need to spend the money a second time.  Especially when it costs me nothing to hang onto the item but would cost me money to replace.  Even though storing the item makes me miserable because it takes up space and creates clutter.

*******

Yes, we’re going to get JK Rowling’s new book.

*******

I’ve talked about this before, but we used to have a neighbour growing up whose parents had a floating holiday where they would decorate the tree outside their house with lollipops and invite everyone in the neighbourhood to harvest the tree.  You never knew when it would happen, so every morning you’d get up to look for the lollipop tree.  It’s not that I didn’t get lollipops from my parents at other times of years, but THOSE lollipops were so exciting because they were so unexpected.

All the Dirty Laundry was lamenting how you get to the end of the weekend and feel as if you just need a few more hours in order to feel like you’re on top of things or fully relaxed.

I mused that it would be nice if the universe gave us 12 extra hours every once in a while.  You’d never knew when you’d get them, but suddenly you’d be sitting there and the clocks would reset and you’d be given an extra 12 hours to fill at your pleasure — either to get ahead with work or to finish a project or to get a little relaxation time.  Anything you wanted.  Just 12 extra hours, popped into your week.

How would you spend those 12 hours if you got them this weekend?

Our family went as Doctor Who for Purim.  Josh and I went as the Tardis, the Wolvog as the 10th Doctor, and the ChickieNob as Madame Vastra.  She walked into shul weaing her Victorian dress and hat (with veil, which she wears like the Doctor wears a face… to be accepted.  Boo-yeah!), but carrying her mask.

She was making her way to the sanctuary for the Megillah reading when the rabbi’s son stopped her.  “Are you?  No.  You can’t be.  Is it?  Are you who I think I you are?  Are you Madame Vastra?”

The ChickieNob mushed her face into my side because she’s shy and the rabbi’s son is a teenager.  But it was probably the highlight of her year: someone immediately recognizing her costume.  Madame Vastra is very very important to her.

*******

Life from Scratch was chosen by Amazon to be one of the monthly deals for March. It will be on sale the whole month. I would love your help in getting word out via social media. Pretty please?

*******

Stop procrastinating.  Go make your backups.  Don’t have regrets.

Seriously.  Stop what you’re doing for a moment.  It will take you fifteen minutes, tops.  But you will have peace of mind for days and days.  It’s the gift to yourself that keeps on giving.

As always, add any new thoughts to the Friday Backup post and peruse new comments in order to find out about methods, plug-ins, and devices that help you quickly back up your data and accounts.

*******

And now the blogs…

But first, second helpings of the posts that appeared in the open comment thread last week.  In order to read the description before clicking over, please return to the open thread:

• “Teaching Our Friends and Families How to Talk About Donor Conception” (Don’t Count Your Eggs)
• “IVF Meds Unboxing” (Amateur Nester)
• “#MicroblogMonday: Morning Rituals” (Searching for Our Silver Lining)
• “Wastes of Time” (Stirrup Queens) — Thank you, Northern Star!
• “#MicroblogMonday: Risk vs. Possibility” (Invincible Spring)
• “Micro Post: Lament to the Children I Nannied” (Unpregnant Chicken)
• “Resilient” (Two Adults, One Child)
• “Neither Did I” (Brain, Child)
• “Happy Birthday, Finally” (Infertilityhonesty)
• “Help Spread the Word About Our #infertility Documentary!” (Don’t Count Your Eggs)

Okay, now my choices this week.

Res Cogitatae has a post honouring Leonard Nimoy.  I love that he has been the backdrop of a life, and I cried when I got near the end: “But Spock is special to me.  He’s seen so much of my life.  He’s remained constant, unchanging.  It was a real shock to learn again on Friday that he, too, was only mortal.”  Even if Star Trek isn’t your cup of tea, go over and read the post.  It is amazing.

The Elusive Second Line has a post about the different ways two people can process infertility.  It is about the time she realized that her husband “got it” even if up until that point, she didn’t think he understood how she processed things.  A lot to think about in the post.

Lastly, Constant in the Darkness (I know!  Again!) has a post about how they have been working to build their family for 12 years, and after that much time, how does one adjust to the state of NOT building her family?  It’s like being on a ship for 12 years and then finally setting foot back on dry land.  It takes a while to get accustomed to the lack of waves even if you’re relieved to have touched ground again.

The roundup to the Roundup: Recognize a kid’s costume when you can.  Please help me get word out about Life from Scratch.  Your weekly backup nudge.  And lots of great posts to read.  So what did you find this week?  Please use a permalink to the blog post (written between February 27th and March 6th) and not the blog’s main url. Not understanding why I’m asking you what you found this week?  Read the original open thread post here.

A couple came to Purim dressed as The Dress. The man was wearing it in white and gold and his wife was wearing it in blue and black. It, of course, triggered a sharing moment through the congregation: “how did you see The Dress?”

Blue and black.

When it first popped up in my Facebook feed, I didn’t get it.  It was clearly blue and black to me; so much so that it would not have ever occurred to me that someone else would see it otherwise.  There are plenty of colours that straddle a fence, and I understand that some may label it red while others label it brown.  But this wasn’t one of those situations.  It was a deep blue for me.  And underneath the question the poster posed — “what colour do you see this dress” — everyone had written white and gold.

I didn’t get the joke.

I tentatively pointed out that it was blue and black, feeling like I was back in middle school and not in on the joke and therefore had become the joke by stepping straight into it, like inadvertently stepping in dog shit on the grass.  Because everyone else kept saying, “white and gold!  Honestly, how can anyone not see this as white and gold!”  And the more they said it and the less I understood why they were saying it, the more I felt as if everyone was making fun of me.

Like there had been a discussion somewhere else that the best way to make people feel foolish is to create an Emperor’s New Clothes moment on Facebook and insist that something is what it isn’t.  And I just hadn’t been clued in on that decision.  And why hadn’t I been included in that discussion?  Because I was being tested?  Or because someone had to be the butt of the joke?

What clinched the deal was when I brought the picture to Josh and he glanced at it and said, “it’s white and gold.”  What had felt like a giant game of keep-away had now entered my house, and even my husband was in on making me feel foolish that I saw The Dress differently from everyone else.  And not slightly different.  I saw it as completely different, without an understanding of why they were saying two colours that I didn’t see.

Josh promised me that he wasn’t in on some big joke, and after a while, I believed him as we Googled it and discovered that half of the world was talking about this dress.  That was, perhaps, too big a playing field for playing a joke on Melissa.  Plus the twins weighed in with what they saw (one was blue-black, the other was white-gold), and I assumed that they weren’t prepped to take part in a joke.

I’ve read all the articles that say that The Dress highlights our inability to see the world from anyone else’s point-of-view.  There have been points made about everything from racism to autism.  Maybe I am inflexible in my vision of the world, but that’s not why I thought about and discussed The Dress.

My incredulity was because the whole thing made me feel like I was back at the elementary school lunch table, asking for the joke to be explained because I didn’t get it, and seeing everyone laugh even harder over my lack of understanding.  In my head, I was hearing a chorus of “Melissa doesn’t get it!”

And I am still not entirely convinced that all the white and gold people won’t turn to me next week and say, “we were just kidding.  You’re right, it is blue and black.”

Because it is blue and black.