Man, woman and child; updated 3/31/10

A compendium of little weird stuff that doesn't fit in anywhere else.

I'm always fascinated by the way men of different generations approach the opening-the-door thing. "Older" men, whom I guess we must now characterize as those in their 70s, always open the door for me, even if they're carrying a heavier load. (They also call me "little lady." Don't know how I feel about that.) "Younger" men, whom I guess we must now characterize as those in their 30s AND BELOW, always open the door, and sometimes try to help me through it. Men my age, roughly the Age of Aquarius, don't know what to do. They're casualties of the early days of women's lib, and they don't know if I'll take it well or eat them alive. I usually trace them to the door, to avoid an awkward situation for everyone.

I was in the local Ben Franklin store, skimming magazines between appointments. A man stood next to me, fumbling with the buttons on a cell phone. Suddenly he looked up and asked, "How do you spell 'vulnerable'?" I obliged, and watched him pound away at his tiny keyboard and then go. I watched him with a tired wonder: who was he texting -- or twittering -- that he needed the word "vulnerable"? Correctly spelled, no less. Hope it wasn't an English test.

3/31/10. Substituted at the school today. Ran out of math class pretty fast, and let the kids talk for the remaining 10 minutes. One of the girls was going on and on about how she and her boyfriend were going to get "pig-faced drunk" on her 21st birthday. She was actually looking forward to throwing up. I tried to point out, gently, that she didn't have to mark her milestone in that way. One of the boys piped up, "Hey, Mrs. Bailey, it's a tradition. Like -- like Christmas!" he finished triumphantly.