Saturday night

It's Saturday night, and since I always post on Saturday night, here I am, even though I have very little to say and a whole lot to do. Shavuos, the great Jewish Holiday of Cheesecake, starts tomorrow night. It's a two-day affair, four festive meals, and we are having guests, and I have not yet shopped or even really planned menus, so there is, shall we say, what to be done.

I did have a little surprise waiting for me tonight, though, once Shabbos went out and I turned on the computer to check my email. Now that I have this new Blogger blog, I also have a sitemeter, which of course must be checked obsessively at least... ummm... let's pretend I only check it once a day, okay? So I did my daily check after reading my email, and was somewhat surprised to discover 26 hits in the last 24 hours.

Why is this surprising? Well, the truth is that I am probably one of the least insular Orthodox Jews I know. Of my closest (non-family) friends, two are Chinese, one is a gay Baptist, one is a Texan Methodist, one is a spectacularly tolerant Protestant with a Catholic daughter, and one is Korean. But truthfully, I don't tend to get much email or site traffic on Shabbos, since most of the people who email me and read my blog are, well, observant Jews. So I was rather surprised to discover, on checking my sitemeter (for the first, last, and only time today, really!) that I had 26 hits, and some of those visitors read my site for more than half an hour.

And all of those people came from Sarah's site. Which means that they all think I'm a serial killer. No fancy html for me, but Sarah's site is here:

http://www.handknitter.sarahpeasley.com/

So, for those of you visiting from Sarah's site, I'm not a serial killer. Really, truly, I'm not. I like babies and small furry animals. I don't yell. I'm lousy at holding grudges. I never ever ever get violent (okay, so, fine, in the interests of full disclosure, there was that one time when I had just gotten pregnant and was mad at my husband and threw the broccoli kugel across the kitchen, but I didn't hit anyone with it, and it was an isolated incident, I swear.)

I am so not a serial killer. I can't even kill mice. And when my cat got a bird in the basement a few years ago, it sent me into utter hysterics such that my roommate thought someone (person, not bird) had been murdered in the basement. I can stomp on roaches. That's about it. And I only learned to do that in cold blood after I moved to New York and realized that living in New York meant living in a state of cockroach war.

I just thought you should all know.

And with that, it's time to go make some cheesecake.