“Oh, I’m sorry! My name’s Nick. I’m a reporter out here in Santa Monica, and I just finished up an interview with Julia [Child] for our paper out here.”

I was really going to have to get my phone number unlisted.

“I’d like to get your thoughts on some things. Because I asked her about you, and frankly, she was kind of a pill about it. Is this a bad time?”

“Oh. No. It’s fine.”

When I hung up the phone five minutes later, I felt numb.

…I sat on the couch beside Eric…. “That was a reporter from California. He just interviewed Julia. He asked her about me. She hates me.” I giggled, like I do in these breathless situations. ”She thinks I’m not respectful or not serious or something.”

…Eric put his arm over my shoulder. “What is she, ninety?”

“Ninety-One,” I sniffled.

“See? She probably doesn’t have the first idea what a blog is.“

…”I don’t know. Maybe she thinks I’m taking advantage or I’m — I’m not –” I was taken surprise by a sudden rush of tears. “I thought I was — I’m sorry if I –”

And then abruptly I was wailing….

–Julie Powell, Julie and Julia, pp. 333-334

So there was a Simon Fraser University Masters thesis written extensively about me and seven other “mommybloggers” (grrr…). I heard about it yesterday, of all places, when I was sitting at Podcamp TO, listening to a panel discussion, of all things, about what happens when social media goes wrong. My heart started pounding when I heard — my face turned beat red, palms sweating, hands shaking.

I’m used to people responding to my individual posts in the comments, on twitter, even on email. I’m definitely not used to someone reading my blog from start to finish, making gross assumptions based on posts here and there, and then publishing these gross assumptions and frustrating misreadings in a thesis — both offline and on — and not telling me about it, even after the fact.

At first I was furious. And I definitely (over)reacted on twitter:

I got really upset that The Thesis wasn’t in fact about the “works” themselves or the genre of blogging, as indicated in The Thesis’ abstract, and that, rather, it was about our lives, our income, whether or not we love that our children are away (for 2.5 hours, hello) at preschool, and so on. When Danigirl sent me the abstract (which was all I could see for hours until I got home to open the pdf file that contained The Thesis), I was a little flattered and excited. To be studied in the context of Bakhtin’s Dialogic, for example, and to be categorized as “Canadian Women’s Literature,” was so cool. Bring it on!

But, when I opened the document and searched my name…, I was floored. All those assumptions about all sorts of irrelevant stuff. It hurt. Bad.

I think the thing that bothered me most was when The Thesis writer suggested that I may have contrived how I started blogging in the first place. I told the world that Ali Martell introduced me to blogging when the Monkey was 8 months old, and that’s the truth — no questions asked. But, according to The Thesis writer, I “contrived” this bit in order to appear flippy and erratic or whatever. In another post, she ingeniously discovers, I mention that Jennifer Lawrence, who happens to be the author of the blog MUBAR (which no longer exists), helped me out when I was clinically depressed while pregnant with the Monkey. (And, by the way, an article was written about my prenatal depression and published in some major psychiatry journal — APA? — and, you betcha, the author asked my permission even though they used an alias and I’d never find it in a million years!). Yes, Jen Lawrence helped me, but it was OVER THE PHONE. I didn’t know she had a blog, or what a blog was.

Why does this bother me? Because it’s an insult to my integrity as a blogger. SURE, I might exaggerate things — for entertainment’s sake — here and there, and less so these days. But I would never flat-out lie. I would never “contrive” something. To me, that’s the ultimate insult to a blogger.

Somewhere, way out yonder in the internet ether, there’s a great old email conversation in which Ali reveals to me, “I HAVE A BLOG,” and to which I reply, “WHAT’S A BLOG???”

Anyway.

Whatever. I’m really okay now. I’m flattered that I’m in an MA thesis, even though the reading of “me” is false and unflattering for the most part. As you can see on twitter, I felt beyond violated and uncomfortable when I first read the thesis. But, I haven’t looked at it since, and I’ll never look at it again — and I feel better. And I can laugh at the broad assumptions, as I’ve also done on twitter:

And, this one….

Oops, how’d that tweet get there? (Disclosure: CONTRIVED.)

Here, see I can make light of The Thesis writer’s totally unfounded statement that I am the most “affluent” of all the bloggers (if she only knew!?):

Should the student have contacted me? It would have been the nice and, I think, scholarly thing to do.

Do I blame the student? Do I “hate” her SORT OF like Julia Child hated Julia Powell? No. I’ve done a Master’s Thesis, and I know how difficult that can be on several levels. This writer wrote the thesis in 2008. She’s obviously young, likely not a mother. There I go assuming, though….

As with all controversies surrounding “mommyblogging,”  people are now taking the opportunity to troll thoughtful posts on the subject and preach about the ethics of “mommyblogging.” We’re putting ourselves and our kids out there for scrutiny and misinterpretation, so apparently we should just suck it up, not react, and just plain expect this. But, surely we’re allowed to “giggle” or “wail.” On twitter?

Know what happened to me today? I went to Starbucks (shut it — I’m not affluent — I got a card for Valentine’s Day). Rascal and I sat beside a woman who was typing on her mini laptop. When she got up to leave, she said:

You know, I’ve been watching you, and you’re a wonderful mother. I see the way you talk to him and look at him, the way he looks at you. And I don’t see that all the time, unfortunately. It’s amazing to watch you. And I’m a therapist….

That compliment, that observation of ME, was so beautiful and so welcomed given my current frustration. And, so often, my readers and fellow bloggers, whether in comments, twitter, or email, make me feel THAT good with their genuine, caring feedback and friendship.

You can’t read a blog and claim to know the writer. As I stated several days ago on twitter,

You can’t judge a blogger by his or her blog. It’s not a novel. It’s its own genre. One absolutely worth exploring at an academic level.

If you’d like to see a copy of The Thesis, just contact me — which is easy to do for the record….

Love!

xo Haley-O

With the advent of twitter lists (which I doubt I’ll ever get around to making myself because I hardly have time to write to-do or shopping lists let alone SEVERAL lists dividing my friends into groups — high school much? — and unintentionally snubbing them, which is bound to happen)…what was I saying? I forget because I got distracted by Whitney and Jay’s conversation on this eve’s rerun of MTV’s The City….

That picture is so last year, like, when Jay and Whitney were still together. But I didn’t have time to find any current pics of them. But I DID have time to watch THIS WEEK’s episode just now. And I just want to say that, if Elle Magazine wants to interview bloggers — because, as Joe Zee (Elle‘s creative director) puts it, “blogs are the places where news is breaking right now” — they should come TO ME, and my SLIPPERS…. Remember these?

Still wearing ‘em! There’s nothing these two less famous bloggers have that I don’t, right? I blog in my pajamas, too, and shop with my mother…? No? Yes? Elle?

If I don’t get into Elle Magazine, can I at least get on X-WEIGHTED? I need to lose these last 15. Or maybe I’ll just curl up on my couch with my Puffins and make twitter lists, instead. It’s safer here in my comfort zone…. Except right now. Because Josh just made clam chowder, and it STINKS in here.

So, I do have a little list JUST for this blog because my poor blog gets pushed aside so often these days for other more “pressing” things, and this really shouldn’t be, really saddens me, really has to stop because I love blogging…, and if one more thing goes to sh*t because I’m working too much, then something’s got to give. Because DOGGONE IT, I’m important.

So my list, ahem.

1. I love the way Rascal says “banana” — “badanan,” as in, “MO BADANAN, MAMA! MO BADANAN.”

2. Rascal eats too many badanans.

3. The Monkey is addicted to hugging. In the middle of the Swine Flu pandemic, she’s hugging strangers (not that it really matters because Swine Flu is air born).

4. I had Kabocha squash for dinner.

5. Rascal can count to two now. It’s official: “One, Doo, ONE!”

6. Monkey is obsessed with drawing me without a body because, apparently, “it’s too hard” to draw my body….

7. WHICH I choose to take as a compliment, because why not and DOGGONE IT!

8. I’m the disembodied turbaned head on the far left of the drawing — next to me is the artiste herself, her brother, and a caterpillar.

8. I am NOT too old to love The City, OR The Hills….

9. I also love the Glee, The Office, The Tudors, So You Think You Can Dance and Survivor.

10. I did watch V, but I will never watch it again.

11. Just like I will never watch Fringe again.

12. Or the Y&R, which I quit a month ago, WHICH should be a post in itself because it’s a big f-ing deal.

13. I want Russell to win Survivor.

14. I can’t end on #13 not because it’s “bad luck” but because it’s just a weird number to end on.

15. #15 is a better number to end on than #14.

16. I always go for the odd numbers.

17. OCD.

18. But, #18 is an ideal number to end LISTS on.

19. Even though it’s an odd number.

20. I think I’m into even now.

Today I went to a conference. If you follow me on Twitter you won’t be surprised to learn that I sit hear typing with bright-red bloodshot eyes because I basically tweeted the whole conference via blackberry, or at least most of the great things I learned at CaseCamp — a so-called “unconference” about what venerable organizer Eli Singer calls “deep deep internet culture” — except for a certain genius session about viral videos by a certain SAM REICH of the certain COLLEGE HUMOR, who insisted that whatever happens at CaseCamp stays at CaseCamp. Crush. Check it:

I can do that.

I have the cat….

I just need to get him in the mood and start stalking him. Then he’ll be a STAR like Ninja Cat over there, and like — I haven’t told you yet — RASCAL, who’s going to be doing his first (and only) photo shoot for bTrendie (and if you want to see the photo next week, you’ll have to join with code CHEATY, aiight? Don’t worry you’ll love it — we’re better than ever). He’ll be modeling TEA clothing…. Can you HANDLE it? I can’t.

But, it’s okay if we can’t handle it because, ya know…, there is NO SPOON….

And can you believe Kanye had the nerve to interrupt OBAMA?

“IMMA LET YOU FINISH” — BWAH!

I think CaseCamp ’09 should have been subtitled “IMMA LET YOU FINISH.” Because Kanye and his recent MTV outburst was the joke of every. single. session. And it was hilarious every. single. time.

Indeed, one of the things I learned at CaseCamp was that this whole Kanye IMMA LET YOU FINISH phenomenon is actually a MEME — pronounced MEEM — the most infectious meme around right now (click that one, it’s hilarious). And guess who’s making a mint from it….

I had a GREAT time at the conference, despite the fact that I shed all over my black shirt because I’m apparently a cat now and the weather’s changing (or I desperately need a haircut), and despite the fact that I walked into the men’s washroom — which, according to CaseCamp would classify as EPIC networking FAIL — and stumbled beyond embarrassingly when I introduced myself to the adorable Sam Reich.

Apparently, I love social media. Apparently, I love tweeting and blogging, and I love hopelessly losing myself in this truly awesome deep deep internet culture of ours.

Love!
xo Haley-O

I’ve been doing a lot of different things lately. Some things I’m really proud of, and some not so much….

On Saturday night, for example, Josh-O and I and the kids went out in the backyard and found ourselves, not a minute later, at our next-door neighbours’ backyard party. Actually Monkey crashed the party and we followed. It was a small party, and they are MAJOR Italiano — so we were showered with port and chocolate cake and freezies for the kids and PARTY FAVOURS. Monkey loves their almost-7-year-old daughter, “G,” now. She always wants to go play with “G.”

So, late yesterday afternoon, while I was grimacing in the backyard, “G” emerged with her mom “M,” herself grimacing. M and I sat on the stairs in her backyard and just vented about late-afternoon motherhood as Rascal, Monkey and G played. Monkey and Rascal got more freezies, and I left an hour or so later — when Josh-O arrived home from work — smiling, and feeling a lot better about life.

We’re like the girl’s of 227. Hanging out outside the house, just shooting the sh*t….

I’m lucky. Aside from one neighbour — ahem — I’ve got some great, hot mamas to commiserate play with in the neighbourhood!

Speaking of hot mamas (and perhaps why I’m a little lackluster?)…. I DID NOT HAVE A CHAI TEA LATTE TODAY….

That’s right. NO CHAI. Because I’ve made a pact. It’s called HOT ASS PACT 2009. Right now there are a whole four of us: me,  @sarcasticmomLC, @karensugarpants and @MrsFlinger — all funny ladies who want their arses HOT within a month…. Because we don’t think we can give up our addictions for longer than that. (Although, as my loved ones, my scale, and my pocket book know, I really must.) Instead of the chai, I’ve re-discovered an old low-cal/low-sugar favourite of mine….

And I had TWO of ‘em today: a chai tea BAG with a splash of soy milk and some agave nectar — which is basically honey but without the high GI rating. And don’t worry, this is not about losing weight (been there done WITH THAT). No, it’s about GAINING a HOT ASS. Heh.

And, finally, speaking of hot asses…. I was JUST joking around with Howard Stern on twitter. I told him….

I’m pretty sure I tweeted this after sharing a margarita with another neighbour of mine (and we all know how low a tolerance I have for ANY stimulant) because OMG. Would I ever? Well, I honestly didn’t think I’d be faced with this dilemma. But, then, just today, I got this tweet from, who else but, HOWARD_STERN….

Easy enough…, I showed him my squirrel. But, then I got a Direct Message, which means, OMG — that THAT ONE lucky person that Howard_Stern is following? See up there, in the yellow box? 1 following and 15,365 followers? That ONE person he’s following is ME. ME!!! Wonder why……. Anyway, the Direct Message said, simply….

Of course, I shrieked. In front of my kids. And I got all flustered and freaked out and started taking my top off and getting out the camera. But, then…. I started THINKING….

a) I WAS only joking.

b) It’s probably, as @alimartell said, not the REAL Howard Stern but some “prepubescent or old man”….

c) I was PROBABLY drunk when I wrote the tweet….

d) My mom won’t let me….

e) Josh-O won’t let me (although he’s torn because “a deal’s a deal” and “HAAAALEY!!!”)….

e) My mom (an avid Stern fan) says it can’t be Howard because Howard’s on holiday and talks on his show about how he doesn’t do social media….

But, what if….

I mean, would I? At this point in my life, I’ve shown at least a hundred people my boobs — I mean mainly because of that one time, when I was nursing Rascal, and he delatched and totally exposed my humungous naked lactating breasts JUST as the entire congregation at my synagogue was let out of services and heading (like a  STAMPEDE, as I remember it) straight toward me. (We won’t go into the whole thing about that old lady in the lace Kippah pointing her finger at me, “SYNAGOGUE IS NO PLACE FOR BREASTFEEDING — THERE ARE MEN HERE! LEAVE!”)

Anyway. I hate being a wimp. And I DO love Howard. And @Howard_Stern DID follow me…. But, when I said “show you ma boobs,” I MIGHT have meant showing them FULLY CLOTHED…? UNDER MY CAT? I mean, I could get poetic with it…. What do YOU think?

I am CRAZY. I know. But, crazy keeps things interesting and different. Right?