Yesterday, I was recruited to be a confederate in an experiment involving kids. A research assistant knocked on my door, and said they needed a man ... a real man. Okay, I'm sort of paraphrasing there, but the fact remains that I was selected because of my gender. I agreed, and she handed me a cue card with some dialogue and associated actions, and told me she also had a cap for me to wear. As we walked down the hall to the experimental room, I read the dialogue. By the time I got into the experimental room, I had deduced that my role in this little project was going to involve making some kid uncomfortable. You see, there was a 2-way mirror dividing two rooms. I was in the room with another experimenter who was operating a video camera, filming a young girl (maybe about 9-ish) interacting with a third female experimenter. The interaction involved playing with toys, then leaving the room, at which time the toys would be replaced (I don't know what other manipulations were going on). At some point, the previous toy gets replaced with a plastic golf set. I'm supposed to knock on the door and come in. Some random dude wearing a baseball cap that she's never seen before is going to start talking to her, moving closer with every utterance. I don't know if streetproofing factored into this experiment, but just reading the script creeped me out.

So I knocked on the door and came in the room. I comment on the golf set. She nonchalantly agreed that it was cool. I wait the designated length of time and walk forward. She's completely unfazed. I ask about whether she's been playing with lots of toys. Again, she casually answers. Before I can even get to the next line, she asks me if I want to play golf with her. It was all ad lib from there, as we played plastic mini-putt for the next minute or so before the experimenter returned.

The evidence from riding the bus suggested that maybe I looked creepy or something. Evidence from this 9 year old girl, however, has assuaged those fears.

I'm a kiwanis widower for the next little bit. Rebecca is out at the kiwanis music festival, which has been going on for the last week, and goes at least 1 more. So that leaves me this morning with Pokey. Carolyn is over with her laptop to keep me company and get out of the house, probably so that she doesn't have to hear mom and Erin bicker. And also because Pokey is cute when he's not over-tired and cranky. Right now he's in the bungee jumper and not sure if he should be content, or have a melt-down. I'm pretty sure he's overdue for a nap.

So Carrie and I sit here at the kitchen table, each with our laptops, and as John would point out, it looks like we're playing battleship. Carrie is on facebook, as was I until I decided I was done there. I can't find Chris Hayes, my best friend until my family moved in 1987,  even though I know he's on there somewhere - I saw him tagged in an old class photo from grade school. The problem was, I couldn't remember where else I might want to go on the internet. It was as though I couldn't remember life before facebook. But then I remembered that I used to blog every 4 days or so, and that brings me here.

There was something I had been meaning to remark on, but the thought always occurs to me on the bus, when I am not in a position to be blogging. It has to do with personal space. Often one gets on the bus when it is nearly empty, but fills up a few stops later. At some point, someone gets on and all the seats have at least one person in them. The person has a choice: sit down next to me, or next to someone else. People always seem to choose the latter. Now, on one hand, I don't mind the extra space. Once we're off campus, the odds of someone else getting on the bus is pretty slim, so I put my bag back up on the seat next to me and I have more leg room. However, on some level, I feel a judgement has been made, and I've been found wanting. Wanting what, I'm not sure. I don't think I stink. I don't look like a weirdo, do I? I'm usually just sitting there reading a book. So why all the bus rejection?