I went to a football school, which meant that I went to a university that served up education and was simultaneously operating a sports franchise.

Orchid hunting is a mortal occupation.

I once had a boyfriend who couldn't write unless he was wearing a necktie and a dress shirt, which I thought was really weird, because this was a long time ago, and no one I knew ever wore dress shirts, let alone neckties; it was like he was a grown-up reenacter or something.

The biggest problem with working at a treadmill desk: the compulsion to announce constantly that you are working at a treadmill desk.

Why, I wonder, should the popularity of a news story matter to me? Does it mean it's a good story or just a seductive one?

What's funny is that the idea of popularity - even the use of the word 'popular' - is something that had been mostly absent from my life since junior high. In fact, the hallmark of life after junior high seemed to be the shedding of popularity as a central concern.

Now we're e-mailing and tweeting and texting so much, a phone call comes as a fresh surprise. I get text messages on my cell phone all day long, and it warbles to alert me that someone has sent me a message on Facebook or a reply or direct message on Twitter, but it rarely ever rings.