I believe I mentioned this on Twitter, but one of the biggest Japanese manga publishers has come out with a manga about Mr. Improbable and the Ig Nobel Prizes. Part 1 came out this week, part 2 next week. And I get to be in it, as Mr. Improbable’s loyal sidekick:

That’s not how I wear my hair anymore, but they did an excellent job with my eyebrows. I may take this in to the salon the next time I go to get them waxed.

People, I hope you all know: I never intended to have a life like this. I grew up in a series of aggressively normal Midwestern suburbs. Granted, I was kind of the Sookie Stackhouse of the Midwest: people knew there was something different about me, and weren’t necessarily comfortable with it. (I never had a convincing accent, either.) But this …

I don’t take it for granted, that’s all I mean to say. I know not everyone gets to be a manga sidekick. I know not everyone gets to be paid to write a story about their dog in a national magazine. I wake up sometimes and realize that I was born a Midwestern Christian, daughter of a good union man and a stay-at-home mom, and now I am a genu-wine member of the east coast Jewish media elite. I thought there might be more money involved in that then there’s turned out to be, but you can’t deny it’s still a hell of a long journey.

I’m grateful. I’m mightily amused. I laugh at least once a day at the sheer absurdity, the improbability, of my life. And I know God hears a prayer in that laugh, a prayer that words can’t articulate.

… is online here.

And here’s why I’ve been so quiet around here the past few days — because I’ve been working on this, my first article for Salon!

What a great way to end the week!

It’s quite clear what the blog is, I mean; it’s a blog about mystery fiction. I know some of my readers are fans — or even if not, many of you are all-around book people who enjoy a good review on its own merits. So check out Only Detect, which offers triweekly reviews of a variety of mystery novels, and a good blogroll, all against a tastefully retro wood-paneling background.

My column about crying toddlers in restaurants, and polyamory, got virtually no angry response. No defensive or entitled parents, no militantly childfree gourmands, no traditionalists convinced I am trying to destroy family values by suggesting a father learn to accept his daughter, no humorless polyamorists upset that I suggested they are all open-source geeks.

I am, however, still getting angry letters from people who insist that their dogs do too understand English. And who, in most cases, write with a lack of facility that suggests they believe their own deficiencies with the language must be proof of their pets’ compensatory abilities.

I will never understand people.

So, speaking of toddlers in restaurants (I haven’t felt brave enough to check my Miss Conduct e-mail account yet and see what, if any, fallout there is from yesterday’s column), there was a dustup about kids-in-public on some feminist/women’s blogs a few weeks ago. I’m not going to bother describing the argument because it went right down all the predictable grooves. One of those grooves, though, hit me in a new way: the question “My kids are the most important thing in my life, so if you don’t want to spend time with them, are you even really my friend?”

How do you feel about that? Do you have a “Love me, love my X (kids, spouse, religion, dog, art, profession, family of origin, politics, cooking)” in your life?

I don’t think I do. One “X” is pretty well my limit — if, for example, you actively hate dogs and you’re convinced that the social sciences are, without exception, pure hokum, chances are we’re not going become BFFs. And I can’t imagine being friends at all with someone who actively disliked my husband, in the sense of finding him an unpleasant or morally objectionable person. But if it’s more a situation of, “Hey, Mr. Improbable is a great guy, but I sort of don’t get his sense of humor and I’m prefer you and I mostly hang out on our own” — well, that seems kosher to me, and it would to him, too. I’m sure he has friends who feel I come on a little strong. (No, really.)

But I’m friends with people who dislike dogs, or oppose organized religion, or who have no interest in my psychological research, or don’t read my column/blogs/book, or in various other ways don’t support or show interest in a particular and important part of my identity.

Are kids a wholly different kind of X? I’m guessing not, based on the parents that I’m friends with. With few exceptions, I’m very awkward with children. I’m that friend my mommy friends get together with for grownup time. And that seems to work just fine, because they need those friends, too. And of course, I’m nice to their kids when I see them and I always enjoy hearing stories about them. But I’m not Auntie Robin, and my friends seem okay with that.

What’s your X? Have you ever lost a friend over an X? Are certain X’s qualitatively different from others?

… is online here. I’m dealing with two hyper-controversial issues–one somewhat exotic and one mundane–this Sunday:

1. Polyamory, and
2. Toddlers in fancy restaurants.

Which topic do you think I’ll get the most response on? And do you think the angriest letters will come from:

A. Sexual conservatives
B. Polyamorists
C. Parents
D. Non-parents

ON ANOTHER NOTE: Loving your responses to my post about rudeness and powerlessness. Yes, you are right, I was only looking at one side of the issue, and more or less deliberately so. I didn’t mean that lack of balance to imply that I think the rudeness (and cruelty, and abuse) of the powerful does not exist or is exaggerated. The post was intended more as an evocation of a feeling than a full social analysis. Will write more later about this — but, seriously, you guys are the best. Great stuff.

I’ve thought that for a while now. Rudeness doesn’t come from a place of strength. A person who feels empowered to affect their environment doesn’t need to be rude. Maybe they still will be, but the rudeness of the powerful is more likely to be thoughtlessness; they are too oriented to their own goals to pay enough attention to others.

Active rudeness, though, comes from the powerless. It’s their way of shoving back against a world that shoves them around every day. It’s why the voices of the poor are louder than the voices of the rich. It’s why the wealthy go to symphony and the poor blast Eminem. FUCK YOU. I AM HERE AND YOU WILL NOT IGNORE ME. Those who feel powerful don’t need to make that assertion. Of course they won’t be ignored. Their hourly rates or their books or the message that their groomed and well-clad bodies send ensure that.

To be courteous you have to feel strong. You have to believe that your words and actions affect others. (Remember the brilliant “30 Rock” when Liz goes to her high-school reunion, only to discover that the popular girls had actually been terrified of her and her sharp tongue? She’d assumed nothing her dorky self would say could have ever hurt them.) You have to believe that you have agency, that you can act, not merely react to circumstances. You have to believe that you have other ways of getting status and attention — which we all need — besides impinging on the physical or psychological space of others.

I’ve been thinking about that for a long time, and this article on Salon, about an unemployed man’s little compensatory ritual of rudeness, spurred me to put it into words.

A Facebook friend of mine recently posted the following quote by Anna Deavere Smith: “Grace is in how we treat each other when we could choose to exert power and we find another way.” I don’t know the context, so I don’t know if I agree with the statement or not, but I think it’s a lot easier to be graceful when you have access to legitimate avenues of power.

People who don’t get listened to start to scream.

People who aren’t given enough space start to push.

People who get cut out of the main action will start their own. And you may not like it.

What are your thoughts?

If you’ve been enjoying the Parker and Saki references of late — their succinct wit, their keen social observations — you might also enjoy the classic movie “The Man in the White Suit”:

Alec Guinness delivers one of his most beloved performances in this smart satirical comedy that pits a mild-mannered but single-minded inventor against the forces of Britain’s textile industry. Sidney Stratton (Guinness) is a brilliant if under appreciated research chemist on a quest to bring progress to mankind by inventing a new kind of fabric that never gets dirty and never wears out. When he finally succeeds, he is hailed a genius. But both textile manufacturers and labor unions soon come to realize that his miracle cloth could destroy their industry, and resort to desperate measures to make sure his invention never gets to market.

“Man in the White Suit” is going to kick off Coolidge Corner’s “Science on Screen” series on September 6, and will feature a post-show talkback featuring Mr. Improbable himself. Check out the theater’s description- — they’ve got a great page, including a trailer from the film — and perhaps I’ll see you there, yes?

I’ll be chatting live today from noon-1pm EST. Come on by and sound off on the issues of the day! We always have fun at our chats.

“Leonard Bilsiter was one of those people who have failed to find this world attractive or interesting, and who have sought compensation in an ‘unseen world’ of their own experience or imagination — or invention. Children do that sort of thing successfully, but children are content to convince themselves, and do not vulgarize their beliefs by trying to convince others.”

– “The She-Wolf,” Saki (H.H. Munro)

There are an unfortunate number of Leonard Bilsiters in the world, aren’t there, dear readers?

I don’t know why I’m in such short-story mode this week, but if you’ve never read Saki, or perhaps only read one or two of his stories in high school, you ought to go back and take another look. He’s a bit like Jane Austen crossed with Stephen King, only less wordy than either of them.

I run a reader question every Monday on my boston.com blog, and I’ve got to say I’m a little bit in love with today’s question. Go read.

The writing style of it reminds me exactly of this fantastic short story by Dorothy Parker, “From the Diary of a New York Lady During Days of Horror, Despair, and World Change.” Go read that, too. It’s quite short, and could have been written yesterday.

… is online here.

Ramadan mobarak to my Muslim friends and readers. I hope your daytime fasting is easy. I hope I can manage to keep my mouth shut when I see hijabis at my gym — I worry about them, exercising in this heat when they don’t hydrate! (Jewish worriers and Muslimah athletes are a bad combination during Ramadan.)

… because I’ve got a good conversation topic perking along at the other blog. Go share!