When I read e-mails from my friends, I "hear" the e-mail in the voice of the person who sent it to me. I don't hear the characters speaking in my head when I read novels, even if I can think of a particular actor whom I'd like to see play that character. But I always hear my friends' voices in e-mails.

Do you do this, too? Do you hear the voices when you read books?

I'm not one to poke fun at silly celebrities just for being who they are, but this cracks me up, from Yahoo News:

Oh noes! If the hackers are wily enough to fool even Paris Hilton, noted computer genius, what hope do the rest of us have?

Oh, this is amusing. Much as I love dogs, I despise any kind of sentimentality about them, especially the currently fashionable kind of moral sentiment that paints them as somehow purer and nobler than us humans. My feeling is summed up well by Stephen Budiansky, who wrote: "If dogs truly were human, they would be jerks. As dogs, they are wonderful." Dogs can be wonderful moral teachers, but more by forcing us to confront our own psychological issues than by providing an example to be emulated. (Check out PeaceBang's lovely post about what she's learned since getting her beagle Max.)

So you can imagine how much I love this charming little quiz designed to show you your dog's moral and spiritual superiority to you: "[W]e all might look to our dogs as BEACONS of mental health with many behaviors and responses to which we could well aspire as our longterm health goals."

Let's see how well Milo and I measure up. For each statement you're supposed to say whether it's more true of you, your dog, or both equally. Here we go:

Joyfully undertake frequent vigorous physical exercise.

Milo's got me beat on that one paws down.

Happily eat the same food day after day.

That one too, though why it's considered an aspect of mental health I'm not sure.

Almost always cheerful, fun-loving, ignoring aches and pains.

Milo wins that one too. Of course, he's a terrier. He'd ignore a skull fracture if there was a squirrel in front of him.

Need no medical help (valium, prozac, etc.) to relieve stress or tension.

Please. See "He's a terrier" above. When IAMS comes out with Lamb Rice & Xanax, I'll be the first in line.

Seize most every opportunity to enjoy the natural world.

Milo for the win! I haven't really felt comfortable rubbing myself on a possum carcass ever since I became Miss Conduct. It just doesn't seem to go with the brand, somehow.

Can take criticism and blame without resentment.

He takes the blame for all the gas that is ever passed in this house, for one thing. Bless you, Milo. You want a happy marriage? Get a dog to blame all the suspicious smells on, and a GPS so you don't fight while you're driving.

Can ignore a friend's limited education and never correct him/her.

If by that they mean "Can pay keen attention to what a lesser-trained friend is getting away with and try it himself," then Milo for the win.

Can face the world without any lies and deceit.

I think I win this one. I'm in favor of the occasional social white lie, but I don't routinely try to convince total strangers that my family never feeds me, never plays with me, never gives me any affection or attention and if you don't give me a bite of your cookie I might just die. Die, I tell you!

Can resist treating a rich friend better than a poor friend.

If "rich" is defined as "having access to money," then Milo and I are equally indifferent to the relative wealth of our friends. If "rich" is defined as "having access to chicken," we are not.

Can joyfully live without pep pills, cigarettes or liquor.

True, I drink and Milo does not. Then again he sleeps 16 hours a day, so who's courting more oblivion?

Weight in more normal proportion to body.

I'm going to uncharacteristically ignore the blatant fatophobia of that comment and simply point out that regardless of our BMIs, my weight is in much better proportion to income contributed to household food budget than Milo's is.

Can resist complaining and boring people with your troubles.

Honestly? We're both big whiners. Mr. Improbable is a very, very patient man.

Can understand and accept when your loved ones are too busy to give you any time.

And often express this understanding and acceptance by attempting to sleep on their computers while said loved ones are trying to write, or stealing strategic documents and leaving the room with them while loved ones are doing business on the phone? That would be Milo.

Have no prejudice or discomfort WHATSOEVER with others' creeds, colors, religions, or beliefs.

Hey, I'm proudly Jewish, but I don't feel the need to spend all January peeing on people's discarded Christmas trees like someone I could name.

I think the end result is that Milo and I deserve each other. Who has better mental health, you or your dog?

Yesterday's chat transcript hasn't been posted online yet; I'll link to it as soon as it is, though.

Tomorrow morning I'll be on the Peter Blute Show on WCRN 830 AM at 9:15. We're going to do a slightly longer, back-to-school segment. So if any of you would like to offer some back-to-school etiquette, time-management, stress-busting tips, leave them in comments here!

UPDATE: Yesterday's chat is online here.

The final season of "The Shield" started this week, and Mr. Improbable and I caught up on the first episode last night. An entertaining sidenote of the show, for me, is that I went to the University of Kansas with Jay Karnes, who plays Dutch Wagenbach, and David Rees Snell, who plays Ronnie Gardocki.

I didn't know either man well. The social dynamics of an undergraduate drama department are akin to those of a dysfunctional police station in certain ways, but not others. If anything, back then, Jay was Vic Mackey, all bold and charismatic and two steps ahead of everyone else, and I was the intellectual, awkward Dutch Wagenbach. Perhaps unsurprisingly, given that, I used to do a really good imitation of Jay. Which I never quite had the nerve to do in front of him.

I was slightly better acquainted with David, who was in my year, and we took a few classes together. And hereby hangs the tale, and the point of this anecdote.

I remember walking across campus with David one day, and he mentioned that he'd done stand-up comedy. This, to me, was unfathomable. It was like he said he'd been in the Iditarod. So I asked him about it, and he told me how to get into open mike nights and what to do after that.

I didn't act on it for several years, but eventually, of course, I did. And I got pretty good, and even started to get requests to be an opener and a few paid gigs. I certainly did it enough that I can now say, "I used to do stand-up comedy." And that was what David had said, that stuck with me--that even if you only do it once, even if no one laughs, you can say for the rest of your life that you got up there and conquered the fear and did it.

He was right. And it's been one of the smartest professional moves I ever made. I've got a decent educational and professional resume--but it's the comedy that makes me stand out from every other 40-something Cantabridgian with a social science and non-profit management background. It helped lead to this column, for one thing, which led to a book, which will lead--who knows?

Hopefully to L.A., to do something or other, if people out there read books. Because I really want to take David Rees Snell out for a good dinner to thank him for an offhand comment that changed my life, in the way offhand comments sometimes do. (What have you ever said that might have done that? I bet it wouldn't be something you'd even think of.) And to congratulate him for his truly professional and excellent portrayal of a character with no discernable personality traits whatsoever. Ronnie Gardocki is written as a plot-advancing cipher and David makes you believe in the character every moment. It looks like he might get his due in this seventh, final season, and I hope he does.

Also, I've finally come out of my Wagenbach shell enough to show Jay Karnes my impression of him singing "If I Loved You" from "Carousel."

And hey boys, if you Google yourselves and find this post in the meantime, drop me a line. (Don't bother racking your brains for my last name, there's been a few changes on that score since college.)

We're not in Kansas anymore.

Don't forget, everyone, I'll be chatting today from noon to 1 on boston.com. Come on by--how many Palin-free zones are there on the Internet right now? I promise this chat will be one. Well, maybe not entirely:

A reader writes in with further advice for Anonymous in Boston, who is irritated by her obsessively neat friend:

It appears that (Anon) and her friend (F) are in a dance that is not helpful to Anon. To preserve the friendship, I suggest some new steps for Anon.

Anon should plan for F's next visit by deliberately leaving some things out of line or in the wrong place or not picked up, etc. Anon then makes a list of what she's done and keeps it to herself. During F's visit Anon makes sure she (Anon) notes what F has done. After the visit, Anon grades F and keeps the list and her score to herself, of course.

For the next visit, Anon can do different and even more difficult misplacements to test F's competency. Again, Anon gives F a score, with bonus points if F fixes something that Anon had not purposely messed up. Each subsequent visit Anon messes up different things and keeps score. Maybe for the third and subsequent visits, Anon might predict F's score before F's visit to see how good she (Anon) is at knowing her friend.

This new way of playing the Dance of the Visit may free Anon from feeling annoyed and offended and equalize the power between the two friends, as well as giving Anon some fun along the way.

My advanced degree was in Family Therapy.

Love it.

This one's for the ladies, and for the gentlemen who enjoy looking like us for whatever reasons of their own. (Oh, Eddie mon amour, can't we go out on the town for mojitos and makeovers some night? Call me! Mwah!)

I've been doing a little upgrading to the ol' face & figure lately. Nothing Joan Riversy, not going to be facelift kitty:

... just going in for facials a bit more regularly, made a dermatologist appointment, had a quick makeover at the Body Shop, and the like. Your skin and hair change as you age, and you can't expect what worked when you were 28 to still do the same thing when you're 41. (If you've never gone in for makeup advice at a Sephora or Body Shop or your nearby Clinique counter, I'd advise doing so. I go in every couple of years to see what new products are out there, get ideas, and make sure I don't get stuck in my ways. Contrary to common fears, the beauty-counter ladies don't do a ridiculously hard sell, and you won't come out of it looking garishly made-up; they take your overall style into account and make you look like you, only better.)

And, I'm wanting to buff up a bit in preparation for the book tour. Books do get judged by their covers, and so do their authors--may as well look as good as I can! (Chant with me: O-PRAH, O-PRAH!) So here's some products I've been very impressed with, and best of all, all but one are drugstore buys--Miss Conduct likes to do her spiffing up on the cheap--so you can just print this post and toddle on down to your neighborhood CVS:

Eucerin Dry Skin Therapy Plus Intensive Repair Body Creme. Yes, namewise, it is rather the moisturizer equivalent of "Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mama's Hung You in the Closet and I'm Feeling So Sad," but once you get past the excessive verbiage (Now with 10% More Meaningless Nouns!), it's quite good. I have suffered for years--and I mean suffered--from dry skin on my legs, so bad that I scratch myself bloody in my sleep. And I've tried everything, up to and including slathering A & D Ointment and Vaseline all over my lower legs and wrapping them in cling film before bed. Nothing has worked except this. Is it the alpha hydroxy? Who knows. All I know is I don't wake up in the morning looking as though I've spent the night fleeing through bramble patches, and that's enough for me.

Corn Silk Face Powder. Yes, Corn Silk, that 1990s classic! Who knew they still made that? Well, they do, and it's long-lasting and non-cakey and comes in "No Color," so you don't have to worry about matching your skin tone under drugstore lights. Take a powder!

Body Shop Lip & Cheek Stain and Neutrogena Shimmer Sheer in Mystified. What's mystifying about the Neutrogena Shimmer Sheers are why all of them except Mystified are in colors so subtly pale that a Swedish albino could wear them with no fear of looking like a painted lady. Mystified, though, is a nice healthy bronze. You put the Body Shop Cheek Stain on first, then layer a bit of Shimmer Sheer over it, and you look real nice and natural and bright. Color on your face comes from two places--the blushing blood under your skin, and suntan on top. Wearing the Stain and the Shimmer (now there's a title for a romance novel) gives you both.

Revlon Brow Fantasy brow pencil & gel. All I need to say about this--you know how every mother and daughter have some kind of appearance-related "issue" that they fight about? With me and the ConductMom it's always been my eyebrows. On my last trip to visit her she said, "You finally figured out what to do with your eyebrows." And she's right. This is a great product for definition without making anything look too heavy. A hint--I have jet black brows, but I've found that dark brown pencil/gel works better. If I go with a product as dark as my brows actually are, I get this kind of Joan Crawford/Romulan thing going on. A fantasy, yes, but not one to aspire to. So if you have strong coloring, you might want to try going a shade lighter, too.

Revlon Colorstay Overtime Liquid Lipcolor. Like the sheer, light look of gloss but hate the way it lasts for, oh, 40 seconds, and reminds you of being in junior high to boot? This is a good product for you, then. I'm prone to dry lips as well as dry legs, so most "long-lasting" lipsticks give me total crack-addict lips within three hours. This one doesn't, because it really is liquid. Revlon is into two-in-one packaging these days; the brow pencil/gel has a pencil on one end, a gel with a mascara-type wand on the other; this has the color on one end with a sponge applicator, and a clear sealant or something on the other end that you brush on. It's pretty much the only lip color I wear anymore; I have a neutral Bare Maximum, a nice pink Infinite Raspberry, and Stay Currant which is actually a good true red (so hard to find a true red, am I right, Eddie darling?) A good answer to the "Is it okay to touch up your lipstick in public?" question I get occasionally: with this, you don't have to. Ethics, etiquette, and engineering!--am I right, or what?

Alba Papaya Enzyme Facial Mask and Pineapple Enzyme Facial Cleanser. My facialist recommended these products and I've been very impressed. I do the mask a couple of times a week and it does a great job getting rid of dead skin cells without burning through several layers of dermis. Gentle yet effective.

What beauty products keep you looking your best, O lovely ones?

SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT: After a summer's hiatus, Beauty Tips for Ministers is back! Hooray for my favorite fashion blog's return. For a little background on PeaceBang and Miss Conduct, click here. The first sermon is hers, and if you scroll down you can read mine.

Thank-yous to my guest bloggers of last week! I hope you all enjoyed them. I enjoyed some lovely downtime last week and am ready for fall. Further thoughts and reflections on summer's end to come ... eventually. But today I'm still on vacation.

A guest post from Catherine Caldwell-Harris, aka the Traveling Psychologist (her own blog is here):

While watching the final minutes of last week's gripping women's marathon in Beijing, China's Zhu Xiaolin drank from her water bottle and then passed it behind her to the other Chinese runner in the pack, Zhou Chunxiu. "Collectivism," my husband remarked with a knowing glance at me.

That word has often appeared in our household since a four-month sabbatical to Taiwan and China this last spring made us think more deeply about cross-cultural differences in collectivism and individualism. People in collectivist societies value group harmony, frequently subordinate individual goals to group goals, and feel the pain of family members' defeats (and joy at successes) as their own. Individualist societies value individual uniqueness and achievement, self-directedness, autonomy and the right not to be burdened by excessive obligations to others, especially non-family. Cross-cultural researchers debate how collectivism and individualism manifest differently around the world: are these the endpoints of a continuum of separate dimensions; is the line that separates in-group from out-group more flexible in some cultures; does it stop at nuclear family for Europeans, extended family for Latin American and Mediterranean peoples, and extend to national identity for the Chinese? A point of consensus is that the U.S. is the most individualist country, and China the most collectivist. And now on our TV screens we see these two very different societies interacting.

From an American (or individualist) perspective, the scene of the water-bottle passing was striking. Why waste precious energy handing a bottle back over one's shoulder? A marathon is not a team sport. Glory goes to the winner. Yes, she's Chinese also, but can't she just get her own bottle during the run by the water station? Or maybe a marathon is a team sport for some runners. Haven't we heard that Kenyan runners strategize and help each other, at least at the beginning of a marathon? Do Americans do this? Readers, do I remember correctly that the Brits also shared water bottles earlier in the race?

A book about China-U.S. differences that will appeal to readers who want to move beyond vague statements about group harmony is Richard Nisbett's Geography of Thought. Anyone remember, from Intro Psych, the "Fundamental Attribution Error"? This occurs when people attribute the cause of behavior to someone's personality, ignoring (or minimizing) the role of situation and context. Nisbett summarizes a wealth of research from the last two decades indicating that this error isn't a universal of human nature, but varies across cultures.

In one striking study, psychologists analyzed American vs. Chinese newspaper reports of school/post-office shootings. Chinese reporters emphasized situational factors: "gunman had been recently fired," "post office supervisor was his enemy," "influenced by example of recent mass slaying in Texas." American reporters focused on attitudes and traits: "repeatedly threatened violence," "had a short fuse," "was a martial arts enthusiast," "mentally unstable." (Morris and Peng, p. 113). The authors asked college students to read accounts of these shootings and give their opinion on whether the shooting could have been adverted if, for example, the fired postal worked had retained his job, or if the shooter had more friends living close by. Chinese and American students responded very differently. The Chinese students said they thought the might not have occurred under these different circumstances, while the American students maintained the murders would still have occurred. To return to sports, winning is described differently by sports writers in Asian countries who offer a broad look at the contributions of coaches, family and mentors, while U.S. news accounts focus more on the unique abilities of the winners (see, for example, this analysis of Olympic reports and this comparison of China vs. U.S. sports reporting).

Blogs and the popular press started to report on these and other East-West differences in mind and behavior, and some self-help websites remind readers to keep in mind reasoning biases that may stem from an individualist orientation. This resonates with some of the advice of our own Miss Conduct, with her entertaining posts on "The Annals of It's Not About You" and her reminders of the absurdity of feeling that an overweight person is being fat "at" you.

Enjoy the Olympics and the stunning Chinese athletes, and keep passing the water bottle.

A guest post from Verena:

Why I love and don't love my town...because people call the police for all the following reasons. Taken directly from the weekly police log in the newspaper:

At 4:51 a.m. a Mytown Road caller reported hearing a loud noise from downstairs. Police found a large, frozen Poland Spring bottle had fallen over and down the porch stairs.

At 10:06 a.m., a caller reported that a man and child of about 4 were seen crossing the town bridge. Caller felt the child was underdressed for the weather. Police report that the child was dressed just fine.

At 3:46 PM, A caller on Mytown Road reported a suspicious man sitting by the town Bridge. An officer responded and found a nearby resident watching traffic.

At 1:05 p.m., a caller from Mytown Road requested advice concerning a fox that has been killing her hens. Police referred the resident to the Division of Fishery and Wildlife.

A Mytown Road resident requested police assistance with removing a bat from her bedroom at 8:43 a.m. An officer was unable to locate the bat but helped the homeowner open all her windows.

At 3:17 p.m., a Mytown resident came into the police station to report she witnessed a driver littering near Town Swimming Pond. Police tried to contact the registered owner of the vehicle but were not successful.

At 12:16 a.m., a caller from California reported he was having difficulties with the UPS Store on Mytown Street regarding shipping and billing. An officer advised the man of his options.

At 4:22 p.m., a caller from Mytown Avenue complained about dirt found on the walkway that may be from septic work at a neighbor's house. An officer responded and found dirt on a public sidewalk that was not causing any problems.

A caller from Mytown Street reported hearing yelling from a nearby residence. At 11:18 p.m. An officer checked the area and found people inside the home talking. The windows and doors to the house were open, causing voices to carry.

At 5:40 a.m. a Beede Center employee reported a street sign sticking out into the road on Mytown Street. Police responded and found the "Mytown Shares the Road" appeared to have been hit, possibly by a tractor trailer unit.

And then in June, it was Turtle Week. These are all reported with 48 hours:

At 8:52 a.m., officers responded to a report of a turtle in the road on Mytown Turnpike near xxxxx.

At 9:21 a.m., officers responded to a report of a turtle in the roadway on Main Street by Mytown2 Road.

At 10:36 a.m., officers responded to a report of a turtle in the roadway on Mytown3 Road.

At 7:41 p.m., officers responded to a Mytown4 Street resident's request for assistance with a large turtle she believes to be stuck in her yard.

At 11:15 p.m., officers responded to a report of a large turtle in the roadway at Mytown5 Road in front of the Mytown Apartments.

UPDATE: At 1:37 p.m. a Mytown Street resident reported her neighbor had threatened her with the words "You have been warned" because of her barking dogs.

A guest post from the ConductMom:

Hello! I am glad at last to meet some of my daughter's friends. And for the record, I did not pass on to Miss Conduct any of her talents. She turned out to be a bright woman in spite of me, rather than because of me.

[Editor's note: The opinions of the guest posters are their own and do not necessarily reflect the sentiments of Miss Conduct.]

I am a successful volunteer for the Hospice Organization - have been off and on for 10 yrs. or more. Being in that atmosphere, I discovered something about myself that I had not previously known. And that is - I enjoy being around people that are in need of what I have to offer them when they may be at the hardest part of their life, be it a patient, a spouse, or a child. As most of the readers know, it truly is better to give than to receive. I am in the process of being at a place in my life where I have a lot of time to give away. I signed on with Hospice again recently. Having had them serve my husband, myself, and my daughter, in 1999, when our husband/dad passed away, I knew I had to "give back," and here I am 10 years after the fact, downright excited about getting back into the fold.

I take it as a privilege to serve not only the patient, but the immediate family as well. This is something I know I do well, and although there are no monetary rewards, when I am leaving a home after a visit, I feel blest inside myself for having assisted. If I can go to a nursing home and take a hospice patient out for a wheelchair walk, it serves us both. I "raid" the dollar stores for small gifts, and or treats to take to "my people". It already has been, and will once more be, a major part of my life. It will be a rewarding time for me to make cupcakes, and see smiles when I take them to someone's home, or to make homemade macaroni and cheese to take to the spouse of a patient.

I am blest!! When I was younger I always enjoyed people, and now at my point in life, I realized I really have "a calling"! Better late than never.

I feel awkward to say this, but it does not bother me in the least to be with a person that is dying. To my mind it is an honor to be at the bedside of that person (I was with my mother and my husband) and watched them slip away to another place, finding peace at last. Maybe that peace, that is always "readable," transfers to me, because I always feel that same sense of it. And, I in turn, talk to those around the bed (most always the spouse and adult child) and try to fill them with the peace that is in me.

I always offer a prayer with their permission, but have never been refused. And my prayer is always thankfulness for ending their race with death and being the winner!

If I visit a "terminal" patient, I do not avoid the fact that they are dying, when I converse with them.....mostly they talk, I listen, but always find a comment to make ; maybe, "your children (husband, grandma, etc.) have been blest to have you for all of your life. IT sounds as if there are happy memories you will leave them." Or maybe "It is good for me when I visit you because you are an open and honest person and it makes it easier for me to be with you."

Strange as it may seem, making comments similar to those above, never do I use the word "die" to them. They are aware of the situation, but to say "when this is over" makes them even more aware of the present situation. My own comfort level at the deathbed almost always changes the attitude of the people that are there. When I am with any of these wonderful folks, I do not just "elder-sit," which is all the requirements are. I carry a devotional book, a page of jokes from Readers Digest. I also have a jar of moisturizing cream to massage dry legs and arms. If someone likes Peanut Butter Cups, there will surely be one in my bag!

I most likely will make coffee/tea or whatever the family needs. I offer to call friends (they want to notify family themselves for the most part). This personal "ministry" is a blessing to me and the joy of my small part in the lives I am associated cannot be measured. My comfort level, again, makes it easier for the bereaved to ask for assistance in "what do we do now," because of course, there I stress at this point and we all want to do the right thing. Many times I stay in contact after the death, mainly because in the short time we have been in each others lives, we have become very close.

A guest post from Catherine Caldwell-Harris, aka the Traveling Psychologist:

I carried my laptop and canvas chair to my usual lookout spot atop the beautiful Chestnut Hill reservoir at Cleveland Circle and was startled to find I would not have the rocks and grass to myself: I would share then with silvery beer cans, cardboard beer boxes, and cigarette buts and Dunkin' Donut bags.

Of course -- it's kids. Kids come up after dark to smoke, drink and litter. The joggers who loop around the majestic reservoir 30 feet below are probably tree huggers who would pack in, pack out and carry plastic bags for dog pick-up.

What do you do when someone trashes your nature spot, readers? Take a snapshot and post it with an angry note? Start cleaning it up with an aggrieved air so that the joggers feel bad and stop to help? Stake out the spot in the next nights so you can give the drunken offenders a piece of your mind?

Why do people litter, anyway?

It turns out that people -- joggers, kids, hikers, homeless - don't litter just because they're lazy and don't care. My box-strewn spot is what social psychologist Robert Cialdini would have predicted based on the "before" picture. The past decades of late night reservoir viewing have left the lookup with broken glass and small detritus. In "Crafting Normative Messages to Protect the Environment," Cialdini noted that people litter in an already littered environment, and they refrain from littering in a pristine environment. Littering happens when plastic bags, cans and broken glass inform us that this is a place where the normative -- usual, expected -- practice is to litter. A pristine environment sends the message that we would be socially out of step if we littered.

An example of people's sensitivity to social norms comes form an ingenious study conducted at Arizona's Petrified Forest National Park, which was trying to keep visitors from taking fossilized wood from park paths. Large amounts of wood were being pocketed by visitors despite signs reading: "Your heritage is being vandalized every day by theft losses of petrified wood of 14 tons a year, mostly a small piece at a time." Despite these signs -- or because of?

Cialdini and colleagues reasoned that the signs were informing readers, "Lots of people steal wood (and so you may as well do what everyone else does)." Collaborating with park officials, they placed secretly marked pieces of petrified wood along the paths, and then varied the warning signs. When signs mentioned the number of others who had stolen wood, theft of the marked fossilized pieces were 5 times higher than when signs simply told visitors not to remove the petrified wood from the park.

According to these environmentally minded social psychologists, when we stoop down to pick up someone else's litter, we're doing a lot more than just cleaning up after a prior jerk or providing a service to the unknown next viewers on the scene: We're sending the message to future joggers, walkers, and drinkers that this is a litter-free place.

This research explains why smokers will not put their butts in a plastic bag and take them to a trash can until they see most other smokers doing this.

A further implication of the social psychology research is that when we see others actually cleaning up litter, then we take in the message that cleaning up litter is socially desirable. But Americans may not draw this conclusion, since altruistically cleaning up litter isn't frequently done - or is it? If you saw someone cleaning up litter would you think:

(a) "That is so cool, I guess I should clean up litter I see too."
(b) "It's good someone is actually picking up their own litter."
(c) "Park employees are finally doing their job."
(d) "That's a homeless/crazy person who has a hoarding disorder" (or: is looking for bottles with MA deposit, or: cigarette buts with a pinch of tobacco left).

I gave advice on a wedding faux pas to a Londoner this Sunday, and a reader identifying himself as "a Brit, and survivor of weddings both sides of the pond," writes in to tell me that, as I'd suspected, cross-cultural etiquette advice is a tricky matter:

"Standing with a gentle smile on your face" would be regarded as the most offensively patronizing behavior, and in some quarters (though, I am sure, not ones you would frequent) would result in an inquiry "Are you looking at me?" followed by a swift head-butt to the face. The correct behavior would be to stand back and laugh uproariously and afterwards, wiping tears from your eyes and grinning inanely, go up and tell the happy couple that they are total tossers, and that you can't believe they actually went through with it.

Please note that at British weddings, it is perfectly acceptable, nay essential, to be completely blotto by this stage of the party, so even if some offense is taken, no-one will have any memory of who said what by the next day.

There it is, then.

A guest post from Verena of Gaining Ground:

I was seeding radishes with a first grader yesterday, and I explained that after you put the seeds down you have to cover them with dirt, like you are tucking them into bed. We pinched and patted and gently put all those radishes down for a good nap. Perhaps once the seeds are snuggled in the dirt, they begin to dream, a funny dream of changing into something that is not a seed at all, something green with leaves and maybe a delicious watermelon at one end. At the end of the dream, when the plant dies, the seeds yawn and re-awaken to be collected and saved for next year. Those seeds get bored in their little paper packets over the winter, and often tell stories to pass the time. One speaks up and says "I had this crazy, long dream last summer that I turned into a PLANT. It was weird, you know. I'm just a seed, nothing else."

In my years of farming, I have found that seeds are amazing magicians, plants have personality, and social dynamics and etiquette are quite necessary for good vegetables. Have you wondered what is courteous to a plant? We ask our plants questions all the time. Would you like another drink? Are you hungry? I'm so sorry you've caught that bug going around, is there anything I can do? Are your neighbors bothering you by standing too close? Are you ready for dinner now or do you need a little more time? Plants are generally fairly straightforward, with the occasional passive-aggressive response from the root crops (which since they grow underground, you can't see the problem until it's too late) and the prickly outbursts from zucchini who are annoyed that you don't come calling often enough.

Farming is not a job, it's a working relationship between the farmer and the land. Farmers have to learn the likes and dislikes, habits and moods of the land they work just like one understands a friend, and the more years you spend together the better you will know one another. You find yourself having conversations with your land like "Do you remember four years ago, when it rained so much and everything drowned and I cried all summer? That was a hard summer. God, I thought I was going to leave you that season. I'm glad I didn't. I actually applied for a job at another farm. But it didn't mean anything, I swear. I hope you'll forgive me." You can spend your years blaming your partner for your problems. Your soil is so bad, the weather is disagreeable, can't you just be like that really great farm down the road and pick up after yourself? Why do I always have to run the irrigation? Can't you just provide the rain for once? You can complain, or you can have faith that your land is doing the best it can to grow food, and that every year is a chance to practice acceptance of what is true of your partner in shrubbery and vegetation.

In one of my favorite poems, Wendell Berry writes that "The real products of any year's work is the farmer's mind." While I have found this to be true, I also appreciate the strawberries.

My book is done.

Oh, not done done--there's still a couple of months of revisions to go through, and then there will be proofs to, ah, proof, and the like.

But it is written.

I just finished it.

Seven content chapters, an introduction, a conclusion. All finished. Acknowledgments have yet to be written. I may do an appendix of recipes (Miss Conduct's Healthy Soul Food Buffet for Guests with Multiple Allergies) if my editor likes that idea. I don't know how we're going to do references, yet.

It's done, it's not yet fully assembled or polished. But I am going to get what I hoped for--a week of lazing about, a week of NOT being Miss Conduct. I have posts from guest bloggers lined up for the rest of the week. I've turned in columns for two weeks in advance. I don't have to look at the book again until after Labor Day. I get to vacate.

Wow. People, I just finished a book, yo. It's 10 a.m. on a Sunday morning, and I just finished a book.

I might just walk down to Starbuck's and get the fanciest, ventiest, most expensive coffee drink on the menu.

(I don't think 10 a.m. is too early for champagne, if one has finished a book. But Mr. Improbable is returning from Austria tonight and I want to save that celebration for him. For now, a frappucino will do.)

... "Dexter" is full of madly quotable lines, but that one is a particular favorite of mine. Please don't speculate on why. (But do click on the link to see Showtime's hilarious take on Soviet realism.)

Season three starts September 28, and needing a fix before then, I checked out two of the Jeff Lindsay books that the show is based on--Darkly Dreaming Dexter and Dearly Devoted Dexter.

The next time I ever hear anyone make overarching comments about the blanket superiority of books to television, Dexter will be Exhibit A in my rebuttal. The show is vastly superior in every literary quality--characterization, themes, plot, dialogue--and is also exquisitely shot, with brilliant music. Compared to the show, the books are a one-trick pony: he's a serial killer who only kills killers! Got it. Next?

So if you're already a fan of "Dexter," don't bother with Mr. Lindsay's books. But here's something that will scratch your itch--Bradley Denton's Blackburn: A Novel. Like Dexter, Blackburn is a serial killer with a conscience, although you don't have to kill to get on his list--ripping off old ladies will suffice. Like "Dexter," Blackburn is hilariously funny as well as disturbing, from Blackburn's first experiment exposing the hypocrisy of an inspirational speaker to his final meal. It's hard not to imagine Michael C. Hall in the role, for various reasons--Blackburn's inability to grasp social subtleties, and his tendency to say things that have a much deeper level of truth than the person he's talking to realizes, for starters, not to mention the whole killin' folks thing--but Blackburn is more self-aware, more grounded than Dexter. He is also more isolated, and lives in a bleaker, dustier, emptier version of America than Dexter does. But the wit, the moral acuity, the gruesome hilarity, will remind you.

It's a shame that Bradley Denton, who wrote a far superior book, is not getting the fame and fortune that Jeff Lindsay has. It's one of the little random cruelties of fate, one of the thousands of unfairnesses that grind us down. Reading about men who decide to take action, even highly inappropriate action, against such injustices; ah, that can be a delight.

1942 Emily Post's Etiquette, the index, final entries from:

Taking leave, what to say
"Thank you present," at fraternity house party
Three is a crowd
Topics of conversation, fishing for

Unconventional situations, business women in

Voice, low, an index of culture
Vulgarity, worse than frumpishness
Wall-flowers no longer in fashion
Well-dressed man, brief sketch of
Wiping off tableware, rudeness of
Won't-think-about-others person, unpopularity of
Worldly wisdom, modern training in

Yacht, being a guest on
Young woman, what she may ask a man to carry

Zigzag eating, definition of

1942 Emily Post's Etiquette, index of the, more from:

Parents, present-day problems of
Partner, the ideal, at bridge
Party, theater, giving a small
Payment, awkward questions of
People we love to stay with
Personality of a handshake
Pests, theater
Pick-ups on the campus
"Pleased to meet you" tabu of tabus
Popularity, analysis of
Position in community, how acquired
Prinking in public
Professionals, imposing on
Puppy, as a friend-maker

Radiance, most beautiful quality of a bride
Reading, becoming a lost art
Romance, modern ways of destroying
Roosevelt, Theodore, a master of etiquette

Sealing wax, use of
Self-made men, manners of
Self-unconsciousness, the secret of popularity
Servantless house, serving a buffet party in
Sex appeal, less effective than talent; banned in business
Silence, how to break an awkward
Sit, how to, gracefully
Snobbishness, avoiding appearance of
Socks, right and wrong kinds
Spats, not popular
Spoiled child, recipe for making

Is anyone having problems with the comment system? A couple of times today I've gotten repeats of comments that people have already sent in (and that I've approved through moderation). If you're having difficulties, can you describe what's going on either in the comments section, or e-mail me? In the meantime I'll try to post a comment myself and see if I can figure out what's up.