... is online here. The first LW is worried, believe it or not, about how to wish a temperamental friend "happy birthday." My advice, in part--

Put a lid on the rationalizations. I don't want to hear about what a wonderful and generous person Ms. Volcano can be on her good days or how much shared history you have or how you need a kidney and she likes to ride her motorcycle without a helmet and, hey, a guy can hope. She's an emotional terrorist and she's dismantling your grip on reality. Not wanting to tell your boss about the bad quarterly sales figures after he's already been stuck in construction traffic for an hour is normal. Being afraid to wish someone a happy birthday--dreading not only her direct rage but also her possible harm to your relationships with other people--is not.

... is online here. Career tips for the baby-faced:

While etiquette teaches that we ought not judge others by their physical appearance, social science teaches that we do, and that those judgments are swift, unconscious, and predictable. Multiple studies show that baby-faced people (men and women both) are thought of as guileless, friendly, weak-willed, submissive, non-threatening, honest, warm, kind, and trustworthy. Less likely to embezzle, more likely to be bamboozled. It can be harder to prove your competence as a baby-faced person, but much easier to prove your good intent.

... is online here. The first question is about correcting other people's language mistakes:

It's rude to correct a person's grammar when he or she is speaking, because in order to do that you have to interrupt your friend's hilarious or heartbreaking story in order to pontificate about faux Latinisms. Obviously only an unmitigated jerk would do something like that. Correcting pronunciation can be done with a single word, and thus is acceptable in certain circumstances (for example, if you know the mispronouncer would welcome the help or if it's your own name that's being mispronounced). Correcting written spelling or punctuation, though, doesn't puncture the moment.

... is online here. What's the difference between sharing an interesting article and offering unwanted advice? It can be tricky ...

Almost anything can be perceived as unsolicited advice, if the other person is determined to do so. Tell some folks that it's a beautiful day out, and they'll snap back that they know perfectly well they should be exercising more, but they just don't have the free time that some people seem to enjoy.

... is online here. Advice for party hosts:

The number one duty that hosts owe their guests is to protect them from one another. This means that when someone misbehaves at a party--by starting a nasty argument, drinking too much, or licking the serving ware--it is your unavoidable duty to crack down.

… is one I’m particularly passionate about. The LW is losing weight due to a medical condition—and getting unwanted compliments due to a culture that thinks weight loss is ALWAYS to be celebrated. A sample:

You dropped a significant amount of weight in a culture that equates thinness with healthiness and valorizes rapid weight loss, so everyone assumes you meant to and begs for your secret. (For an unpacking of those cultural assumptions, Google the Health at Every Size movement.) Paradoxically, we’re also a culture alert to eating disorders, so some folks may be complimenting you as a roundabout way of seeing if you’re developing a problem. Whatever their motives, yours are to set your boundaries and reassure others.

... is online here. A sample (from my advice to an LW with a small but very human problem):

Because you've hit it, J.S. You've described perfectly what it's like. I think a lot of folks are on that exact precipice about all kinds of things. We know and don't-know at the same time. We have all the data we need to make a decision, but we pretend we still need to do more research. Because we know what the decision is going to be, and we don't want to have to live with it.

... is online here. It's a tribute to my mother, and the many things I've learned from her, including ...

Keep 'em guessing: My mother is a sweet little widow who goes to church every Sunday. She's also one of the tougher street kids ever to scratch her way out of Depression-era Queens. She gets an enormous kick out of playing against type. Which is how I learned that to get people to listen to you, you have to keep changing it up. Paradoxes intrigue. Critical questions are most startling when phrased simply. A double-entendre is never more hilarious than from a devout Christian. And everyone from Jesus to Johnny Cash knows that sinners' prayers are sweetest.

In February, in dear-God-we-were-so-young-then February, I dared to write that 2013 was shaping up to be a mad, immoderate, lurchy year. Obviously, I wasn't to know the half of it.

Can I blame the crazy end-times feeling of the year for the feeling I have, too, of constantly pinballing from one deadline or bout of illness or major trip (his, mine, or ours) to the next? Or is that just life, the thing that happens while you're making other plans? I pointed out to a friend recently that she "has it all" more than any woman I know. And she laughed and conked her head on the table and said "Dear God" like I knew she would, like any of us would, even though she's a wise and grateful person and knows that she has a wonderful life: a good marriage, smart loving kids, a fulfilling part-time career, weekends full of art and science and family projects. And of course she feels like she's running around putting out fires and satisfying completely irrational demands and thinking about the next three tasks on her to-do list instead of the one she's actually doing.

Even the most meaningful and dignified life probably feels absurd a good deal of the time.

Some days I'm not sure if pushing back against that feeling of absurdity is the right path or not. Is it striving for greater mindfulness, or striving to look like a woman in a coffee commercial? 

... is online here. It's about bullies (the grownup, "I was just kidding" variety). A sample:

People seem to think that this is a social juncture where having a witty comeback would do them no end of good. Perhaps it would, in a placebo confidence-boosting sort of way; some people might only feel comfortable speaking up if they believed their words to be unimpeachable. But you don't need a witty comeback when a dog decides to hump your leg. All you need is a command voice and the will to use it.

Another thing people outside Boston may not understand: We routinely drive, bicycle, and traverse our public roadways like utter maniacs. In order to free up sufficient first-response police and medical personnel, we could either learn decent manners overnight, or stay home. We made the right choice.

... is online here. It's a three-fer! Here's question (and answer) number two:

How does one respond to colleagues who say "You shouldn't have" when you give them a small gift as a thank you, get well, or going away present?

B.W. / Reading

You say this: "Of course we 'had to.' What kind of terrible people wouldn't [reward a job well done/bring a sick person a plant/honor your long years of service]? Now say 'Thank you' and [open your present/get well/let?s all go out for a drink]!"

Got it? People who say "You shouldn't have" feel uncomfortable being the center of attention. So you give Wally Wallflower a gentle shake to remind him that, comfortable or not, he is the center of attention on account of his brilliant job on the Macguffin account or his broken leg or imminent retirement, and the rest of you are responding appropriately. Then you feed him his next line ("Thank you!"), just like a stage manager would.

My synagogue cancelled service tonight. I support this decision, but I know it cannot have been made easily. The symbolism is painful.

But if I am going to be a Jew hiding in my house, I am glad to be a Jew hiding in my house with my city, not from them.

All my life I have loved stories of wanderers who find their home. Boston is my home.

I love you. Be safe. Shabbat Shalom.

Last week I blogged about suggestions from chatters for the problem of feeding foodies: what to do when you want to entertain people whose cooking skills and food savvy far exceed your own.

Here's another dinner-guest-having problem that occurred to me this weekend: Do you feel socially obligated to offer friends fancier/more indulgent food than you yourself normally eat? I don't usually eat bread, for example, nor do most of my friends--but if I'm having my homegirls over for dinner, even the most ardently low-carb of the Fabulous Bureaucrats, I will put bread on the table. Because you're entertaining, it's what you do. Also, dessert.

I'm trying to move away from this, and cook for guests the way I cook for Mr. Improbable and myself--simple healthy food, which I'm actually pretty good at. But there's still a part of me--that raised-in-the-Midwest-in-the1970s-part, I suppose--that feels that "company food" ought to be indulgent, buttery fare. How about you?