I guess this would be the Introduction

So. I can't believe I've started a blog. Who do I think I am, dooce? No. But - that's who I'd like to be when I grow up! A woman who has gifts sent in the mail to her from readers, and tweets about the misadventures of getting her washing machine fixed. And makes a living for her whole family off her blog and the whole dooce-phenomenon that emanated from it. Yeah, that sounds about right as far as my career aspirations go. But let's get this straight. First of all, I am not a mommy-blogger (alas, I am not a mommy). Though, strange as it may sound, I initially got into reading blogs through some of the most famous moms in the blogosphere. So, with all fairness, they (or you? is this how this medium works? I am supposed to assume they might be reading this?) are acknowledged as a source of inspiration for me here.
Nor will I ever be a fashion blogger, especially not one of those who take a picture of their daily outfit, that is a DAILY picture of themselves, and analyze it to bits. Don't get me wrong, I am obsessively narcissistic - just not in that way. OK, I confess, the best of these have been interesting to read, and fun to use for stylistic inspiration, or the other way around.
Nor, unfortunately for some (i.e., my husband), is this going to be a food blog (now really who do I think I am, ZM?). No, the world has enough of what-I-baked-today blogs written by far better, more experienced cooks than myself, and oh, look at the pretty pictures, here's where I pour the egg mixture into the flour and spice mixture, why yes, I am an octopus, how else do you think I take these gorgeously-lit photos while pouring batter into a pan? NO. Frankly, as far as photography is concerned, I am just not talented enough, and it is not going to become a serious hobby of mine with some practice and a better flash, sorry (so as not to leave your eye-candy craving unsatisfied, I urge you to click here).
Come on, I just barely understand how to, what do you youngsters call it, link stuff in this here blog. Do not expect this medium to be any more technologically oriented than that. More than what it inherently is, I mean. The sheer fact that I am actively contributing to the amount of rant and ramble that already exists on the public platform known as the world wide web is a high-techy miracle and, more than that, an epistolary revolution.
Let me go on with the disclaimers just for a bit - I guess whenever I am really personally engaged in something I write, I feel obliged to explain my sources, and clarify the hell out of why I am writing it in the first place. I call it meta-me that's doing that introductory part of the writing - because this last point about epistles may not be so obvious. I am, or should I frankly say was (but would like to think of myself as still am), an avid letter-writer. I will, maybe, elaborate on my letter-writing history in a later post, but let's just say that my family and friends at home seem to enjoy my long, overflowing with minutiae, sporadically sent emails about my pre-graduate-school adventures in the Midwest. This blog will probably replace those. So, is that what this is, an extended travel-journal? Yes, I guess, and if anything, it could fit the category of "exciting and not so exciting (read: culinary and not so culinary) mishaps of my life abroad". I hope said family and friends will forgive the not-so-obvious choice of writing in English instead of Hebrew, their mother tongue, while these Israelis, let's face it, constitute my sole readers (at least of this first post. Let us not forget my dream of internet-fame and thousands of anonymous strangers virtually poring over my life!). Why should I suddenly go public with my everyday impressions of life in America, academic misdemeanors, and experiments in the kitchen, I do not know. I simply do not have a truly convincing answer to the question why this blog exists.
If you think this is starting to sound too apologetic, you're right. I graduated and then TA-ed in a prestigious but malfunctioning program in the Humanities division of a prestigious but malfunctioning institution: I got a lot of experience in, and then was valedictorian (seriously) of humanities apologetics. I am soon to be a Classics graduate student who will, unless things drastically change, write about Greek Tragedy. In other words, blog or no blog, I could, and probably (that is, hopefully) will, make a living writing about the question why write. And read. And live. The End.

HOWEVER. I wasn't totally honest with you before.* And I've already started to give it away: I will indeed post about food. And if anything finally did make me sit down and write - no, it wasn't my husband's inciting to "take lots of pictures of everything we make" (Generally speaking, I do the baking. He does the stocking up on chicken-, fish-, and beef-stock. And touches the meat. We're really gendered that way) "…and then next year, when we're both graduate students and have no time to cook, we'll post those photos on your what-we-ate-today blog. They won't understand HOW WE DO IT!" Sorry. No. - it was a jar of home-made mayonnaise. Which warrants a post of its own. That is, an ode.
So yes, the time left before I start grad school I intend to devote (among other things! like getting my Latin grammar back in shape! I PROMISE…!) to improving my baking skills, buying baking paraphernalia, and in general baking a lot.

*But here's the real, hardcore piece of honesty. As some of you may have guessed, a possible reason behind this blog is The Event that Shall NOT BE Named - TESNOBEN (yeah, yeah, lamest acronym ever. Just keep the suggestions pouring in). In other words, the only remotely appropriate alternative title to my blog at this particular point in my life would most likely be: My sister died when I was 27. Subtitle: The hard part was that I kept on living.
Whoa, whoAA! Too much information? Well, yeah, but you know what? I figured that a) my closer friends, who know of TESNOBEN, were already kinda saying something along those lines to themselves, or as my dear friend TK put it: Latin is a dead language and all those dead people ever wrote is essentially about death anyway. For your emotional health: Bring on the butter! (I'm actually curious to hear if TK approves of this exhibitionist splurge and whether or not it's therapeutic) b) my remoter friends did not just suffer from TMI-induced choking on their latte, for they have stopped reading, out of boredom and embarrassment, somewhere along "alas, I am not a mommy", and c) if there is any one of you anonymous readers out there, you might think this is an interesting turn of events that warrants your attention to my share of humiliatingly-sincere internet rant. Enjoy.