I listen to a lot of NPR.

Did you hear those jokes on NPR about people who continue to listen even during the fundraising drive? That was me. American NPR voices all have a similar quality that's hard to define. They're composed and thoughtful, like you can hear the furrows forming on the brows of the radio guests, yet also light and airy, like it's summer on the farm and a loved one is inside making lemonade.

I hate this.

It makes me think of the way I'm supposed to respond to angry emails I receive at work. Sounding concerned. It disturbed me when my voice didn't sound authentic on the phone with my best friend from New York. It's not like what I was saying wasn't authentic, it was the enthusiastic noises I made to fill empty spaces in the conversation. I wonder if she could tell.

There is something authentic about anger. It's scary when someone has too much anger, but a little anger around the edges is comforting. I read some personal essays by a good friend, and they brought me to tears. She is such a good judge of character. Her chameleon colors change color in front of someone who is good or bad. I watch her body language, and she tells me what's real.

Today I actually hugged door frame after a tense phone call and said, "I want my rhesus momma." Remember those rhesus monkeys who have been deprived of a real mother and given a fake one as a replacement? How come so many people have seen that? This bothers me.

I try not to note the disturbing things on a regular basis. The next entry will be about the Jersey Shore. But right now, I'm out of lemonade.