Man, people here are so unshy about having phone convos in public. The things I know about spouses and kids.

One guy calls his toddler twice a day--that's kind of cute. Woman in the cube next to me, when she's not complaining and being generally bitter is leaving kisses on her husband's voicemail which is considerably less cute to me.

Shareshareshare.

In a fit of desperation I grabbed a raisin oatmeal cookie at the cafe downstairs, and they're really pretty good! A bit on the sweet side, but well. I so did not need to know about them. Especially on a day where I neglected to bring fruit.

I was good and had carrots instead of the leftover pizza in the fridge.

Well, not instead. Before.

Meanwhile, we left Houston just in time to miss a tropical storm. I'm not too sorry about that, but I am going to miss rain.

people here are so unshy about having phone convos in public.

Many people who talk on their cell phones here behave as if nobody else can hear them but the person on the other side of the phone. It's almost like the "if I can't see them, then they can't see me" closing-eyes tactics, but in reverse, in a way.

I have no idea if it's an Israel thing or a cell phone thing or whatever.

I should mention that the pizza has a garlic white sauce, potato, cheese, red onion, basil, and truffle oil.

NOM NOM NOM.

I think it's a cell phone thing. Or perhaps just a phone thing, which I totally don't get. I HATE having anyone else overhear my phone conversations, even if they're the most boring check-in calls imaginable with my mom.

The most awkward cell phone conversation I wish I never had to listen to (but alas, the batteries to the portable CD player died) was when a guy in the seat behind me called another person, and after he asked the woman on the other side of the line if he's not interrupting anything: "Do you think one can change?".

I almost shrieked in my seat for the next 30 minutes of extreme self pseudo philosophical analysis. Jesus.

I HATE having anyone else overhear my phone conversations, even if they're the most boring check-in calls imaginable with my mom.

In this, Matt is me.

Shir! (or Nilly!), I need to see if a particular thesis from an Israeli graduate school is listed in their catalog, and I don't have Hebrew installed on my computer, which it tells me I need. If I sent you the link and the information, would you be able to look for me?

I feel that being Matt and Barb is excellent company. I just wish the people who hang out outside my office window would feel the same -- they seem to think that just because there's a single uninsulated pane of glass separating them from the person sitting four feet away, that said person doesn't hear them (a) recounting their drunken weekend exploits (b) breaking up in alternately screaming and begging for forgiveness ways or (c) calling mom for money.

(Ah, yes, I'm so looking forward to the students coming back.)

Perkins, of course I can try to help! You don't even need to ask. Send along.