So my fabulous cloaking companion got married (that was one of the happiest weddings I ever attended, ever) in Lakewood, which meant that I Q64ed-E trained-139 bussed it out there intrepidly. Walked in (in green Crocs, red toenails and a blue flower dress) to Bais Faiga to encounter the bride's mother, who looked at me and said, "Wait, I know you!"
I told her who I was and she escorted me to the uber-special bathrooms that nobody else knew about so I could change and prettify, which was great. And then I brilliantly managed to get lipstick on the bride's dress when she wanted me to hug her (not that she minded at all, because a) it was a tiny speck b) she was happy to see me and c) she just said B'seder and glowed). But it was the evening part that was best because....
THE MOST AWESOME PEOPLE EVER LET ME SLEEP OVER AT THEIR HOUSE.
The mother got her BA in psychology/ special education through some program in Brooklyn named Ita something-or-other and she is going for her Masters in Political Science and is super-smart and interesting. The father is one of the nicest, sweetest, kindest people ever and he learns in Lakewood's BMG (Beis Medrash Govoha) and they are fabulous people. The father had night seder till 10:30 PM and picked me up from Bais Faiga at 10:45 (so I got to stay for the whole wedding!) It worked out perfectly- I went there, slept over, had a party, was introduced to the two adorable children and am marvelling at the amazing chesed of Jews once more. Hurrah for all Jews! And thanks, Daughter of God.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Bar-Kamtza and the Wicked Fairy
In the true version of Sleeping Beauty, all the fairies who are invited to Aurora's christening eat their meal off a special gold plate with their name engraved therein. There is one fairy whom the King and Queen forgot to invite, as she lived in a tower and was presumed dead, or at the very least, was forgotten by all. When she arrived at the party unexpectedly, they merely served her off of china dishes, and she did not get her very own golden dish with her name engraved therein. Thus, she felt slighted, and angrily cursed Aurora.
For several years, there was a niggling thought at the back of my head whenever I read this tale...I couldn't quite place what it reminded me of. Then, today, when telling it over, I realized. The true version of Sleeping Beauty reminds me of the tale of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza.
Of course, in that story, a man was deliberately not invited to the party, not simply forgotten because he lived in a tower. And the trouble arose because he was thrown out of the party, not because he was served on china dishes instead of gold ones with his name inscribed therein. But because of this motif (the party oversight) he too curses his host and all the Jews. And thus we end with the destruction of the Beis HaMikdash.
In the Sleeping Beauty fairytale, if not for the fact that there was one good fairy who had refrained from giving her blessing and was able to temper the curse, it would also have worked out badly.
(If I were teaching this course, I'd have people learn the Gemara and compare/ contrast to the true Sleeping Beauty text, then write an essay comparing the two.)
For several years, there was a niggling thought at the back of my head whenever I read this tale...I couldn't quite place what it reminded me of. Then, today, when telling it over, I realized. The true version of Sleeping Beauty reminds me of the tale of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza.
Of course, in that story, a man was deliberately not invited to the party, not simply forgotten because he lived in a tower. And the trouble arose because he was thrown out of the party, not because he was served on china dishes instead of gold ones with his name inscribed therein. But because of this motif (the party oversight) he too curses his host and all the Jews. And thus we end with the destruction of the Beis HaMikdash.
In the Sleeping Beauty fairytale, if not for the fact that there was one good fairy who had refrained from giving her blessing and was able to temper the curse, it would also have worked out badly.
(If I were teaching this course, I'd have people learn the Gemara and compare/ contrast to the true Sleeping Beauty text, then write an essay comparing the two.)
Monday, June 22, 2009
In Which Olly Meets the LaGuardia Superhero: Sean Holian
Brilliantly dubbed (by an Anonymous witty person): My LaGuardian Angel
~
Well folks, today I flew American Airlines flight 382 into LaGuardia. It was a routine flight, all was well, and we disembarked at one of the D gates. Walking nonchalantly towards Baggage Claim, I am separated by a glass partition from those folks who are flying out of LaGuardia to another destination.
Curious, I peered through the glass.
And who should I see but the mystery TSA worker? That amazing man who ran all the way across an airport and boarded my flight two minutes before it was scheduled to take off, the one I dubbed 'The Miraculous Savior of Laptops?'
Resisting my first urge to knock urgently upon the glass in an attempt to somehow catch his attention, I try to think about how exactly I can make his acquaintance. Walking around the glass partition and towards the lady who generally checks one's boarding pass and ID, I tell her, "Hello! I know this is an unusual request, but I am actually coming back from a flight, not boarding one. That man over there in the glasses is the guy who saved my laptop about a month ago and I would really like to thank him. Is there any way you could let me in?"
She says, "No, you need to have a gate pass."
I look at her with imploring eyes.
"You could try talking to the TSA worker sitting over there," she nods, and I walk back behind the glass partition and tell my story to the TSA worker. He opens a super-special secret silver door and lets me into the security checkpoint area, telling me to talk to another TSA worker, this one female.
I tell this lady my story, and she tries to figure out which man in glasses I mean. I finally point to him. "Oh, you mean the Supervisor," she says.
Wow, I think. The Supervisor of TSA ran all the way across an airport and boarded my airplane to give me back my laptop. Wow.
"I guess I mean the Supervisor," I say.
She takes out her walkie-talkie and pages the Supervisor to her. He walks over to her, and she says, "That girl has something to say to you."
I look up at this tall, distinguished man with the kind eyes and glasses and say, "Hey. I'm hoping you're the right person because I think I remember you. I was flying to Chicago and this man boarded my flight and gave me back my laptop after I had left it on the conveyor belt. I'm pretty sure that was you."
"I don't remember," he says, and shrugs modestly. "It might have been me. When did this happen?"
"About a month ago," I say. "You boarded the laptop and said, 'Show me some form of ID' and asked if my name was Olivia."
"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Yes, now I do remember."
"Well, I wanted to express my total and complete thanks for saving my $1000 laptop. I was so flustered then that I didn't get to thank you properly! And I was wondering if there were something I could do, some way I could commend you or otherwise thank you?"
He smiles at me. "Usually people are yelling at me!" (I'm assuming that is because of lost items.) "Sure," he says and hands me a blue card with the email address one writes to in order to write up stuff regarding TSA workers.
My LaGuardia Superhero's name is Sean Holian. If any of you ever meet him, tell him that Olivia sends him her best and thanks him again.
Anyway, what are the odds that I should happen to meet my superhero in LaGuardia about a month after this whole incident took place? The odds that I just happened to peek through the glass (truth is, those are high; I'm always curious about everything) and recognized him and got to thank him appropriately? The odds that now I can write him the letter of commendation he deserves?
There are about a million people working in LaGuardia. I think the fact that I found my Laptop Savior is demonstrative of the fact that if God knows you really want to do something (and I really wanted to thank this man), He'll help you to do it. Thus, even though talking to flight attendants and the pilot and the gate attendant didn't help me track down the TSA man, a chance glance through a glass partition did. Thanks, God. That completely made my day; I'm a happy child.
~
Well folks, today I flew American Airlines flight 382 into LaGuardia. It was a routine flight, all was well, and we disembarked at one of the D gates. Walking nonchalantly towards Baggage Claim, I am separated by a glass partition from those folks who are flying out of LaGuardia to another destination.
Curious, I peered through the glass.
And who should I see but the mystery TSA worker? That amazing man who ran all the way across an airport and boarded my flight two minutes before it was scheduled to take off, the one I dubbed 'The Miraculous Savior of Laptops?'
Resisting my first urge to knock urgently upon the glass in an attempt to somehow catch his attention, I try to think about how exactly I can make his acquaintance. Walking around the glass partition and towards the lady who generally checks one's boarding pass and ID, I tell her, "Hello! I know this is an unusual request, but I am actually coming back from a flight, not boarding one. That man over there in the glasses is the guy who saved my laptop about a month ago and I would really like to thank him. Is there any way you could let me in?"
She says, "No, you need to have a gate pass."
I look at her with imploring eyes.
"You could try talking to the TSA worker sitting over there," she nods, and I walk back behind the glass partition and tell my story to the TSA worker. He opens a super-special secret silver door and lets me into the security checkpoint area, telling me to talk to another TSA worker, this one female.
I tell this lady my story, and she tries to figure out which man in glasses I mean. I finally point to him. "Oh, you mean the Supervisor," she says.
Wow, I think. The Supervisor of TSA ran all the way across an airport and boarded my airplane to give me back my laptop. Wow.
"I guess I mean the Supervisor," I say.
She takes out her walkie-talkie and pages the Supervisor to her. He walks over to her, and she says, "That girl has something to say to you."
I look up at this tall, distinguished man with the kind eyes and glasses and say, "Hey. I'm hoping you're the right person because I think I remember you. I was flying to Chicago and this man boarded my flight and gave me back my laptop after I had left it on the conveyor belt. I'm pretty sure that was you."
"I don't remember," he says, and shrugs modestly. "It might have been me. When did this happen?"
"About a month ago," I say. "You boarded the laptop and said, 'Show me some form of ID' and asked if my name was Olivia."
"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Yes, now I do remember."
"Well, I wanted to express my total and complete thanks for saving my $1000 laptop. I was so flustered then that I didn't get to thank you properly! And I was wondering if there were something I could do, some way I could commend you or otherwise thank you?"
He smiles at me. "Usually people are yelling at me!" (I'm assuming that is because of lost items.) "Sure," he says and hands me a blue card with the email address one writes to in order to write up stuff regarding TSA workers.
My LaGuardia Superhero's name is Sean Holian. If any of you ever meet him, tell him that Olivia sends him her best and thanks him again.
Anyway, what are the odds that I should happen to meet my superhero in LaGuardia about a month after this whole incident took place? The odds that I just happened to peek through the glass (truth is, those are high; I'm always curious about everything) and recognized him and got to thank him appropriately? The odds that now I can write him the letter of commendation he deserves?
There are about a million people working in LaGuardia. I think the fact that I found my Laptop Savior is demonstrative of the fact that if God knows you really want to do something (and I really wanted to thank this man), He'll help you to do it. Thus, even though talking to flight attendants and the pilot and the gate attendant didn't help me track down the TSA man, a chance glance through a glass partition did. Thanks, God. That completely made my day; I'm a happy child.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
To Discipline the Soul
When Dr. Salk cured polio, one shopkeeper wrote on his storefront window, 'Thank you Dr. Salk.'
If you had a storefront window, what would you write on it?
I think I would change the messages as the days came, much like the hair salons do it. They change up the paint in the window depending on the holiday.
Today's message would be: I miss you. Everything reminds me of you.
But it is also written: קָרוֹב יְהוָה, לְנִשְׁבְּרֵי-לֵב; וְאֶת-דַּכְּאֵי-רוּחַ יוֹשִׁיעַ
And thus I am certain tomorrow's message would be: כֹּל הַנְּשָׁמָה, תְּהַלֵּל יָהּ: הַלְלוּ-יָהּ
For I know, in my better moments, how great and just and kind God is. He dispenses blessings to all; He has granted me so much. God is remarkably close to us; He waits for us to beseech him. Sometimes, it is not the fact that He has answered but merely the fact that He is in the same room as me that comforts me. God Himself does not change; my perceptions do. That is why David is such an immortal guide; he wrote letter upon letter to God. He beseeches God, challenges Him, questions Him and begs Him. It even seems as though he battles his own soul.
מַה-תִּשְׁתּוֹחֲחִי, נַפְשִׁי-- וּמַה-תֶּהֱמִי עָלָי:הוֹחִילִי לֵאלֹהִים, כִּי-עוֹד אוֹדֶנּוּ-- יְשׁוּעֹת פָּנַי, וֵאלֹהָיWhy art thou cast down, O my soul? and why moanest thou within me? {N} Hope thou in God; for I shall yet praise Him, the salvation of my countenance, and my God (Psalm 43)
Perhaps that is part of our task as well, to battle ourselves? Ki od odenu yeshuos panai- for I shall yet praise Him. Despite all things.
This is how man devotes himself to God; He acknowledges that his soul falls within him, yet informs the soul that he shall yet praise God. This is the task, then. One must battle the self and find the will to praise God, despite the obstacles He raises. A new lesson, this. One must hold conversations with one's soul...indeed, one must discipline the soul. The soul may be cast down, but I shall yet praise God.
It seems, God, that You have taught me yet another lesson, one I had not learned. And so I shall endeavor to learn to discipline the soul. You know that is perhaps the hardest test You have yet set me. I find it much easier to be angry with you, and indeed, I think that is the first step. I have succeeded in that one. Now there is a harder step. It seems You wish me to learn to acknowledge my sadness and nonetheless praise you. Well, if David did it, beset as he was by Saul, sons who betrayed him, and having lost Jonathan, the person he loved most in the world, how could I claim it is not possible for me to do? I could not, in good faith, claim that. It is a little like the argument one has when one reaches Heaven (Yoma 35b). One cannot be too poor to learn- was anyone poorer than Hillel? Or too handsome- who was handsomer than Joseph? And my addition: one cannot be too sad, for was there anyone sadder than David? Ah God, it is a cheat, for we all know the answers. Let us, then, strive to conquer the possible.
If you had a storefront window, what would you write on it?
I think I would change the messages as the days came, much like the hair salons do it. They change up the paint in the window depending on the holiday.
Today's message would be: I miss you. Everything reminds me of you.
But it is also written: קָרוֹב יְהוָה, לְנִשְׁבְּרֵי-לֵב; וְאֶת-דַּכְּאֵי-רוּחַ יוֹשִׁיעַ
And thus I am certain tomorrow's message would be: כֹּל הַנְּשָׁמָה, תְּהַלֵּל יָהּ: הַלְלוּ-יָהּ
For I know, in my better moments, how great and just and kind God is. He dispenses blessings to all; He has granted me so much. God is remarkably close to us; He waits for us to beseech him. Sometimes, it is not the fact that He has answered but merely the fact that He is in the same room as me that comforts me. God Himself does not change; my perceptions do. That is why David is such an immortal guide; he wrote letter upon letter to God. He beseeches God, challenges Him, questions Him and begs Him. It even seems as though he battles his own soul.
מַה-תִּשְׁתּוֹחֲחִי, נַפְשִׁי-- וּמַה-תֶּהֱמִי עָלָי:הוֹחִילִי לֵאלֹהִים, כִּי-עוֹד אוֹדֶנּוּ-- יְשׁוּעֹת פָּנַי, וֵאלֹהָיWhy art thou cast down, O my soul? and why moanest thou within me? {N} Hope thou in God; for I shall yet praise Him, the salvation of my countenance, and my God (Psalm 43)
Perhaps that is part of our task as well, to battle ourselves? Ki od odenu yeshuos panai- for I shall yet praise Him. Despite all things.
This is how man devotes himself to God; He acknowledges that his soul falls within him, yet informs the soul that he shall yet praise God. This is the task, then. One must battle the self and find the will to praise God, despite the obstacles He raises. A new lesson, this. One must hold conversations with one's soul...indeed, one must discipline the soul. The soul may be cast down, but I shall yet praise God.
It seems, God, that You have taught me yet another lesson, one I had not learned. And so I shall endeavor to learn to discipline the soul. You know that is perhaps the hardest test You have yet set me. I find it much easier to be angry with you, and indeed, I think that is the first step. I have succeeded in that one. Now there is a harder step. It seems You wish me to learn to acknowledge my sadness and nonetheless praise you. Well, if David did it, beset as he was by Saul, sons who betrayed him, and having lost Jonathan, the person he loved most in the world, how could I claim it is not possible for me to do? I could not, in good faith, claim that. It is a little like the argument one has when one reaches Heaven (Yoma 35b). One cannot be too poor to learn- was anyone poorer than Hillel? Or too handsome- who was handsomer than Joseph? And my addition: one cannot be too sad, for was there anyone sadder than David? Ah God, it is a cheat, for we all know the answers. Let us, then, strive to conquer the possible.
Daddy's Girl
Just the word 'Daddy' brings so many images to my mind.There are the recent ones, like you teaching me Chassidus yesterday, and explaining about the four different worlds. Or you telling over the beautiful devar torah by the Netziv regarding the fact that the Mekoshesh believed that he was doing something good in demonstrating that one should not transgress Shabbos, but that is why we are told not to 'stray after our heart or eyes.' One should not commit aveiros l'shma.
There's your everlasting commitment to all of us, and the dreams you have forgone in order to do that. Every day that you are at work, I realize that you have enabled us to pursue all our dreams by trading in your own, and that both impresses me and makes me sad.
There are our many memorable rides to the airport, and the various discussions we have.
There's your constant ability to listen to me despite my moods, which can at times be dark or otherwise frustrating. Whenever I want to talk to you, you make time for me. You're very calm and understanding. You ignore my redundancy or other attention-seeking behavior in order to focus on my problem at the time.
You know that I secretly can read Hebrew extremely well, and that if I don't bother to think about it while doing so, I surprise myself, too. *smile*
You used to come to my room and chase away the nightmares. The nightmares have gotten bigger and scarier and you still show me that there's a way out even so.
You drive me everywhere and back, despite the hour.
You laugh, enjoy Rabbi Rakeffet, smile at the Flintstones and bear up well under your children's good-natured teasing.
I have always grown up thinking that you are a tzadik and whenever I read about tzadikim in my books, I envisioned you. It's still true.
You always have the answers. And if you don't have them, it's generally because there are none to be had and I have to work it out for myself, unfortunately.
You worry about all of us (and me) consistently. This shows that you care. We all love you back just as much, if not more.
I'm not the easiest child by any means, what with my questions and demands and wanting to know things, my sadnesses, my madcap follies or other foolishness. I thank you for looking past all that and realizing I don't mean to make your life as difficult as I do. And that I wouldn't have any other father in the world but you, regardless of their learning, stature or status. You're my perfect Daddy and I'm glad my soul picked you. It says children pick their parents; well, I chose the best ones of the lot. I've seen lots of people and they're not as lucky as me by far. How many kids openly discuss the things we do with their parents? And how many parents adopt my family inductees so easily?
If I could make a bouquet of sunlight, stars, knowledge, magenta, orange juice, bananas and grapes, then bind it all together with a bright ribbon, I'd give it to you and wish you a happy Father's Day. Then I'd tell you that I could never repay you for everything, not even if I tried to do so for my whole life. And that I love you, even during the times that I'm not behaving in accordance to your expectations. My wise, learned, loving father, I hope I can learn to be as good a person as you.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Fathers & Oaths
What does Herman Wouk's Inside, Outside, crinkle cookies and the command not to stray after one's heart or one's eyes all have in common?
They all remind me.
Here's the scene from Inside, Outside.
~
So Mother was talking to me, or else we were both sitting quietly, dreaming our dreams. Suddenly the door opened, and my brother Elya came running in with a great cry. After him came my father with a belt in his hand, hitting him and shouting, "My boy sleighing on Shabbess, and on a cake of ice! You, Elya, about to be bar mitzva! And to enter as a clerk in Oskar Cohen's lumberyard! You the best choir singer of Reb Mordechai! What will Reb Mordechai say when he hears it?"
With every sentence he belted Elya. They were both crying, and I cried too, and Mama cried. Never had I seen anything like this. It took Mother some time to calm Father down, but then he put his belt away, and went back next door to the shule. My brother Elya, after crying some more, also left for shule. Nothing was ever mentioned by my parents afterward. At least not in my presence. Only Mother said that she never before saw my father so excited, or striking one of his children.
As the years passed, and I grew up and began to understand things better, this incident kept coming back to my mind. I kept asking myself what made my father get so aroused. Was it the sin of sleighing on Saturday? I could hardly say so. He was not a fanatic; a believer in tradition, but I cannot imagine him punishing his son so severely for this sin. He would have admonished Elya and that would have hurt him more. No, that was not the reason.
Was it fear of losing his job? He did all the manual work of a shammas, taking care of the place and keeping the building and courtyard in order, also chanting the Torah, the haftoras and the megillas. My father did not have a strong voice but it was melodious, and he had a great ear for music. There was nothing but praise for his chanting. Still, there were some who were jealous of him and always looking to find fault. Father knew who they were. Perhaps he feared this act of Elya's would stir up a tumult, and cost us our livelihood.
But there was something more. He deeply loved his children. The mere thought of an accident, of Elya getting crushed by a cake of ice which overturned, or skidding into a hole in the ice and drowning, probably threw him into a frenzy. Never again did he strike one of us, for no matter what cause. This was probably the real reason.
~26-27
They all remind me.
Here's the scene from Inside, Outside.
~
So Mother was talking to me, or else we were both sitting quietly, dreaming our dreams. Suddenly the door opened, and my brother Elya came running in with a great cry. After him came my father with a belt in his hand, hitting him and shouting, "My boy sleighing on Shabbess, and on a cake of ice! You, Elya, about to be bar mitzva! And to enter as a clerk in Oskar Cohen's lumberyard! You the best choir singer of Reb Mordechai! What will Reb Mordechai say when he hears it?"
With every sentence he belted Elya. They were both crying, and I cried too, and Mama cried. Never had I seen anything like this. It took Mother some time to calm Father down, but then he put his belt away, and went back next door to the shule. My brother Elya, after crying some more, also left for shule. Nothing was ever mentioned by my parents afterward. At least not in my presence. Only Mother said that she never before saw my father so excited, or striking one of his children.
As the years passed, and I grew up and began to understand things better, this incident kept coming back to my mind. I kept asking myself what made my father get so aroused. Was it the sin of sleighing on Saturday? I could hardly say so. He was not a fanatic; a believer in tradition, but I cannot imagine him punishing his son so severely for this sin. He would have admonished Elya and that would have hurt him more. No, that was not the reason.
Was it fear of losing his job? He did all the manual work of a shammas, taking care of the place and keeping the building and courtyard in order, also chanting the Torah, the haftoras and the megillas. My father did not have a strong voice but it was melodious, and he had a great ear for music. There was nothing but praise for his chanting. Still, there were some who were jealous of him and always looking to find fault. Father knew who they were. Perhaps he feared this act of Elya's would stir up a tumult, and cost us our livelihood.
But there was something more. He deeply loved his children. The mere thought of an accident, of Elya getting crushed by a cake of ice which overturned, or skidding into a hole in the ice and drowning, probably threw him into a frenzy. Never again did he strike one of us, for no matter what cause. This was probably the real reason.
~26-27
Friday, June 19, 2009
The Urchin & Taran Packing + Moving Service
With a huge burst of applause, we welcome you to...the Urchin and Taran Packing & Moving Service!
Should you ever wish to ship all of your dishes to another state, call upon these young adolescents. They gladly gave up their entire Friday (their first day of vacation) to pack dishes for their adoring older sister. They are very talented when it comes to spatial thinking, something which does not enter into my domain of expertise at all. Then again, they enjoy teasing me about their epic pre-calculus brilliance in general.
Seriously, though- boys, you rock. You are fabulous. I shall have to import you to New York to pack all of this up again when I depart. I love you guys!
Should you ever wish to ship all of your dishes to another state, call upon these young adolescents. They gladly gave up their entire Friday (their first day of vacation) to pack dishes for their adoring older sister. They are very talented when it comes to spatial thinking, something which does not enter into my domain of expertise at all. Then again, they enjoy teasing me about their epic pre-calculus brilliance in general.
Seriously, though- boys, you rock. You are fabulous. I shall have to import you to New York to pack all of this up again when I depart. I love you guys!
Stranded in Lakewood...Not
With the combined help of Abergakames & Daughter of God, I am going to fly into New York, hang out in Queens, go to Manhattan, take public transportation to Lakewood, attend a wedding, and then sleep over at someone's house whom I have never met...so I will not be aimlessly wandering the streets of Lakewood! This is FABULOUS! Lakewood Party dance now! And hurrah for Jews who practice incredible chesed always. Today is a day to speak good of the Jews, as my father says.
Also, I dreamed last night that two girls I know burned down an entire dormitory a la crazy madwoman from Jane Eyre. The dream incorporated real life (I know the girls), high-falutin' literature, cell phones that didn't work, 24 (the bomb looked remarkably like the canister...), and amazing maintenance men. Also, the roof crashing in. Have I ever mentioned that death by burning significantly frightens me? If I die in a car crash, please let it be on impact- not by burning to death.
Best of all, it is THUNDERSTORMING in Chicago! Huzzah thunderstorms!
Also, I dreamed last night that two girls I know burned down an entire dormitory a la crazy madwoman from Jane Eyre. The dream incorporated real life (I know the girls), high-falutin' literature, cell phones that didn't work, 24 (the bomb looked remarkably like the canister...), and amazing maintenance men. Also, the roof crashing in. Have I ever mentioned that death by burning significantly frightens me? If I die in a car crash, please let it be on impact- not by burning to death.
Best of all, it is THUNDERSTORMING in Chicago! Huzzah thunderstorms!
tanzanite eyes
crystal turquoise eye so blue
evaporating smoke in chimney flue
dreams disguised as beloved dust
ashes coating blood like rust
forgotten echoes in the dawn
triumphant queen that kills the pawn
black and white as fire learns
the sacred text that sears and burns
silver teardrop on the pond
mold turned green like ancient frond
palm trees waving in the breeze
the anxious stifling of a sneeze
departed snowflakes that must melt
ebony eyelashes on golden pelt
the wink of an orb so velvet smooth
that it’s peculiar it won’t move
what work of god rests in the eye
that boasts immortal symmetry?
a fractured sphere of discontent
jealous, vain, yet to man lent
to perceive woes both just and kind
and pluck the fruit from orange rind
in this one jewel lives joy and rage
passion tormented, yet encaged
samson followed the forgotten scent
eve to her vision her arm bent
isaac could not see, but wept
when jacob to deception leapt
and was deceived by garments rent
though reuben knew well what they meant
how from this diamond-like device
can liquid fall, as in a trice?
ma bete! so belle did cry
as she did choose to heave a sigh
and trickling down her cheek did find
a tear turned diamond, as from a mine
glittering, its beauty clear
belle had turned a kind of seer
and knowing that the beast did die
made all haste to run and fly
the eye, a glorious creation
mourns god with this queer sensation
water falling from the lid
to reveal emotions hid
deep within the cauldron-state
that is man (when he is great)
or perhaps, when man is bad
to show that he can yet be sad
the tanzanites that are my eyes
have long quailed, yet been shy
but in the glory of the night
they regain a clearer sight
they see truly what they lost
appreciate the heavy cost
in the dark, my sight regained
i dance within the kiln of pain
abraham walked into a furnace
had no qualms, said ‘let them burn us;’
shadrach, meshach and abednego
chose as well to let life go
but were rescued by an angel
who pulled them out of ensuing danger
only haran had to die
the furnace tolerates no lie
who am i, that is my question
and what means this weighty lesson?
am I abram; shall I be saved-
or am I a lying knave?
is my acceptance of god conditional
based on the merely traditional?
shall my burns kill me, my god,
as you do not spare children the rod…
but lo! a tear! a tear was shed
my words you hear; they have been said
with a pure and willing heart
that under your blows does smart
in the kingdom of my mind
you shall my adherence find
and in the lamp that lights my soul
you perceive a burning coal
embers in me you awaken
despite all that you have taken
in my eyes you see me still
daring you to take at will
I have given- I shall give
until you drain me through a sieve,
and of no substance, wasted away
I’ll fall through the holes- to play
in other worlds, perhaps the tear
of grief so utter and so sheer
is turned into a kind of jewel
and as a god, you’re not so cruel
as to deny me the fragile gem
made of more than I truly am
in myself I find you, god
I bow to your immortal rod.
Redt?
For the record, I always used to think people were saying: "Yes, they read me a shidduch."
Now, that meant I was rather confused, because I didn't understand why exactly someone had to be reading you the Shidduch Resume. You have two perfectly good eyes; can't you read it yourself? But I guessed that maybe that was part of the Shadchan's role; she exists in order to read you resumes before actually sending them to you.
So could someone please explain to me: What does redt mean? And what language is it in?
Thanks so much! It's great to learn something new every day. *smile*
Now, that meant I was rather confused, because I didn't understand why exactly someone had to be reading you the Shidduch Resume. You have two perfectly good eyes; can't you read it yourself? But I guessed that maybe that was part of the Shadchan's role; she exists in order to read you resumes before actually sending them to you.
So could someone please explain to me: What does redt mean? And what language is it in?
Thanks so much! It's great to learn something new every day. *smile*
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The Lady of Light
Good-Night by Seamus Heaney
A latch lifting, an edged cave of light
Opens across the yard. Out of the low door
They stoop in to the honeyed corridor,
Then walk straight through the wall of the dark.
A puddle, cobble-stones, jambs and doorstep
Are set steady in a block of brightness
Till she strides in again beyond her shadows
And cancels everything behind her.
Opens across the yard. Out of the low door
They stoop in to the honeyed corridor,
Then walk straight through the wall of the dark.
A puddle, cobble-stones, jambs and doorstep
Are set steady in a block of brightness
Till she strides in again beyond her shadows
And cancels everything behind her.
~
Lady on a Balcony by Rainer Maria Rilke
Suddenly she steps, wrapped into the wind,
brightly into brightness, as if singled out,
while now the room as though cut to fit
behind her fills the door
darkly like the ground of cameo,
that lets a glimmer through at the edges;
and you think the evening wasn't there
before she stepped out, and on the railing
set forth just a little of herself,
just her hands, --to be completely light:
as if passed on by the rows of houses
to the heavens, to be swayed by everything.
Chandler Finalist
Holy crap, I'm a goddamned finalist!
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition.
Seriously- was anyone going to tell me at some point? Or were they all going to wait until I searched my name on Google randomly?
Holy gods! This is actually awesome- even if I don't win- it is awesome!
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition.
Seriously- was anyone going to tell me at some point? Or were they all going to wait until I searched my name on Google randomly?
Holy gods! This is actually awesome- even if I don't win- it is awesome!
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Dustfinger: The Auburn-Haired Sweetie
*insert teasing* Dustfinger's theme song would be Fashion by Lady Gaga.
Dress this girl in Dolce & Gabbana. *smile* Truth is, she deserves it because she's smoking.
Can't wait to see you all grown up, sweetness. Toss of the auburn curls and you'll leave them trailing in your wake, not that you're having trouble on that score now. Sometimes it is so hilarious (in the best way possible) to be your sister.
For those not in the know: Dustfinger is an incredibly popular, beautiful and otherwise extroverted child. I love her, but it is hilarious knowing her. I think the minimum number of phone calls she receives per day is 20. (This is not an exaggeration.) Dustfinger also cares a lot about people and her friends. I watched her defend our family's honor to someone who was stupid enough to get in her face about it. When it comes to family honor, Dustfinger is Zorro and shall avenge us all. In addition, she gave up her day in order to drive me to the mikvah, toivel dishes with me and help me wash and dry them. She frequently gives up her life in order to assist others. She's a loving, caring, emotionally attuned person and we love her for it. She also is very concerned whenever I am sad and exerts all possible means of cheering me up. She is, in effect, an incredibly wonderful sister.
On that note, here is a beautiful essay Dustfinger recently had to write in the style of Tim O'Brien from The Things They Carried. I think it's brilliant, and thus, wanted to share it with you. Dustfinger, in case you are curious, is 16.
~
The Things I Carry
She carried text messages from a boy named _______, a senior at the Fasman Yeshiva High School in Illinois. They were not love messages, and both of them knew that, but since they contained deep intense conversations, she always refrained from deleting them despite her constantly overflowing inbox. Every night, she would change into her pajamas, lie on her bed, and cradle her phone with the tips of her fingers, and spend a couple minutes reflecting on what she should have said when she still had unlimited text. She would imagine re-writing some of her responses and predicting his reactions. A few minutes later, she would sit up and place her phone on her night-stand; then when the light was off and she was under her covers, she would wonder if ______ was really whom he appeared to be.
The things teenagers carry are largely determined by materialism. Among the materialism are feather headbands, frisbees, digital cameras, movie tickets, Orbit chewing gum, packets of Crystal Light, number-two lead pencils, Sharpie markers, text books, bobby pins, and one or two sets of car keys. Yaakov always carries his iPod because it puts him in a good mood. Ruthie, who loves to shop, usually carries a Coach wristlet. Avi carries his cell phone. Ariella feels powerful when she carries money. Bentzy carries his wallet because in today’s society, one cannot function without it. It has his license when he needs to drive and credit cards when he’s in a jam. Scott carries a pad of paper because he claims he has a bad memory. Rachelle carries her swiss army knife and Nechamit carries chapstick for chapped lips. Tal carries his playstation portable to class and on trips because of its conveniently small size. Leora carries a specific heart-shaped necklace which her mother gave her. Emily carries Bath & Body Works hand sanitizer because it smells nice and keeps her hands clean. Ronit carries Advil and a waterbottle to ensure her good health. Sheppy carries his grandfather’s necklace. Sometimes, teenagers are also burdened with the intangible things they carry. Among these burdens are shame, guilt, and sorrow; but, there is also happiness, love, and friendship.
I carry many things. Some of the tangible things connote materialism, but in the twenty-first century, conforming to society has never been more important. To start off, I carry a brown, small Coach wristlet which contains a license, credit card, student I.D., cell-phone, spare change, house keys, Burts Bees Lip Balm, Bigelow Co. lip gloss, and sometimes car keys. The lip stuff is essential, firstly for dry lips, but also because it’s what teenagers must have. The license is a great change from the permit, although the car keys are still a privilege. With the license and car keys, I carry the responsibility of controlling of a 2-ton automobile to and from places in addition to delivering all passengers safely. The credit card and spare change show my love to spend money on things that will brighten mine and others’ day. The highlight of my life is my cell-phone. With it, I can connect with my friends on a daily basis while still maintaining a personal relationship (Facebook is just so impersonal!).
I wish I didn’t have to say this, but sometimes I carry famous brand names such as Abercrombie, Hollister, and Billabong. It’s true that I may be a walking advertisement for these stores, but simultaneously, I am able to identify with the rest of the crowd. If one doesn’t wear a brand label, he has a higher risk of being looked down upon—as sad as that is. I know people who do not know how to dress, even with labels! and I feel somewhat sorry for them because I know how the rest of society views them. It’s not what the clothes are, it’s how one wears the clothes and how much he can afford to spend on his clothes. It is not allowed for a teenager to walk around unkempt. I’ve been there, done that.
I carry the burden of beauty. I burn and gel my hair to change styles throughout the days. I get my eyebrows waxed and plucked. My nails are sometimes treated to a manicure and pedicure. My face is sometimes smothered with makeup and eyeliner. My poor feet walk unsteadily in aching heels. Nevertheless, beauty is important to me because generally, a girl must take care of herself to be attractive to the public. Jewish girls do have more restrictions in terms of how short their shirts and skirts can be, but then again, inner beauty also counts. I must continue to work on controlling my desires and treating others how I would like to be treated as that does not always come naturally. I like to believe that my goal to work on my inner beauty makes me beautiful.
I carry the goal of becoming a person who can impact others. I am the Shmirat HaLashon Action Committee (SHAC) Head of my school. I am a counselor at the Bernard Howrich JCC local Jewish orthodox day camp. I carry The Real ACT Prep Guide so that I will do well on the ACTs and use my knowledge to better the world. I want to inspire others and help others grow because deep down, I know that if I work at it, I can unleash my potential into the actual.
I carry the fate of listening to people. I try to understand their background, problems, concerns, and passions in order so that both they and I can grow. They find me pleasant to confide in and I enjoy that. Sometimes, though, the fate is a burden. The homework due the next day is pushed aside so I can comfort a friend who was recently dumped by his girlfriend. Sometimes the fate is joyous. I will shriek out of happiness if my friends tell me good news. Moods are contagious. From this, I can happily admit that I care about my friends and the occurrences in their lives, sometimes even more than I care about myself. If I am not for others, than what am I?
There is so much more to say about what I carry. I carry pride, respect, fundamental belief in my religion, love, hope, dreams, ambitions, smiles, and reliability. It’s a pity this paper can only be 1000 words.
Dress this girl in Dolce & Gabbana. *smile* Truth is, she deserves it because she's smoking.
Can't wait to see you all grown up, sweetness. Toss of the auburn curls and you'll leave them trailing in your wake, not that you're having trouble on that score now. Sometimes it is so hilarious (in the best way possible) to be your sister.
For those not in the know: Dustfinger is an incredibly popular, beautiful and otherwise extroverted child. I love her, but it is hilarious knowing her. I think the minimum number of phone calls she receives per day is 20. (This is not an exaggeration.) Dustfinger also cares a lot about people and her friends. I watched her defend our family's honor to someone who was stupid enough to get in her face about it. When it comes to family honor, Dustfinger is Zorro and shall avenge us all. In addition, she gave up her day in order to drive me to the mikvah, toivel dishes with me and help me wash and dry them. She frequently gives up her life in order to assist others. She's a loving, caring, emotionally attuned person and we love her for it. She also is very concerned whenever I am sad and exerts all possible means of cheering me up. She is, in effect, an incredibly wonderful sister.
On that note, here is a beautiful essay Dustfinger recently had to write in the style of Tim O'Brien from The Things They Carried. I think it's brilliant, and thus, wanted to share it with you. Dustfinger, in case you are curious, is 16.
~
The Things I Carry
She carried text messages from a boy named _______, a senior at the Fasman Yeshiva High School in Illinois. They were not love messages, and both of them knew that, but since they contained deep intense conversations, she always refrained from deleting them despite her constantly overflowing inbox. Every night, she would change into her pajamas, lie on her bed, and cradle her phone with the tips of her fingers, and spend a couple minutes reflecting on what she should have said when she still had unlimited text. She would imagine re-writing some of her responses and predicting his reactions. A few minutes later, she would sit up and place her phone on her night-stand; then when the light was off and she was under her covers, she would wonder if ______ was really whom he appeared to be.
The things teenagers carry are largely determined by materialism. Among the materialism are feather headbands, frisbees, digital cameras, movie tickets, Orbit chewing gum, packets of Crystal Light, number-two lead pencils, Sharpie markers, text books, bobby pins, and one or two sets of car keys. Yaakov always carries his iPod because it puts him in a good mood. Ruthie, who loves to shop, usually carries a Coach wristlet. Avi carries his cell phone. Ariella feels powerful when she carries money. Bentzy carries his wallet because in today’s society, one cannot function without it. It has his license when he needs to drive and credit cards when he’s in a jam. Scott carries a pad of paper because he claims he has a bad memory. Rachelle carries her swiss army knife and Nechamit carries chapstick for chapped lips. Tal carries his playstation portable to class and on trips because of its conveniently small size. Leora carries a specific heart-shaped necklace which her mother gave her. Emily carries Bath & Body Works hand sanitizer because it smells nice and keeps her hands clean. Ronit carries Advil and a waterbottle to ensure her good health. Sheppy carries his grandfather’s necklace. Sometimes, teenagers are also burdened with the intangible things they carry. Among these burdens are shame, guilt, and sorrow; but, there is also happiness, love, and friendship.
I carry many things. Some of the tangible things connote materialism, but in the twenty-first century, conforming to society has never been more important. To start off, I carry a brown, small Coach wristlet which contains a license, credit card, student I.D., cell-phone, spare change, house keys, Burts Bees Lip Balm, Bigelow Co. lip gloss, and sometimes car keys. The lip stuff is essential, firstly for dry lips, but also because it’s what teenagers must have. The license is a great change from the permit, although the car keys are still a privilege. With the license and car keys, I carry the responsibility of controlling of a 2-ton automobile to and from places in addition to delivering all passengers safely. The credit card and spare change show my love to spend money on things that will brighten mine and others’ day. The highlight of my life is my cell-phone. With it, I can connect with my friends on a daily basis while still maintaining a personal relationship (Facebook is just so impersonal!).
I wish I didn’t have to say this, but sometimes I carry famous brand names such as Abercrombie, Hollister, and Billabong. It’s true that I may be a walking advertisement for these stores, but simultaneously, I am able to identify with the rest of the crowd. If one doesn’t wear a brand label, he has a higher risk of being looked down upon—as sad as that is. I know people who do not know how to dress, even with labels! and I feel somewhat sorry for them because I know how the rest of society views them. It’s not what the clothes are, it’s how one wears the clothes and how much he can afford to spend on his clothes. It is not allowed for a teenager to walk around unkempt. I’ve been there, done that.
I carry the burden of beauty. I burn and gel my hair to change styles throughout the days. I get my eyebrows waxed and plucked. My nails are sometimes treated to a manicure and pedicure. My face is sometimes smothered with makeup and eyeliner. My poor feet walk unsteadily in aching heels. Nevertheless, beauty is important to me because generally, a girl must take care of herself to be attractive to the public. Jewish girls do have more restrictions in terms of how short their shirts and skirts can be, but then again, inner beauty also counts. I must continue to work on controlling my desires and treating others how I would like to be treated as that does not always come naturally. I like to believe that my goal to work on my inner beauty makes me beautiful.
I carry the goal of becoming a person who can impact others. I am the Shmirat HaLashon Action Committee (SHAC) Head of my school. I am a counselor at the Bernard Howrich JCC local Jewish orthodox day camp. I carry The Real ACT Prep Guide so that I will do well on the ACTs and use my knowledge to better the world. I want to inspire others and help others grow because deep down, I know that if I work at it, I can unleash my potential into the actual.
I carry the fate of listening to people. I try to understand their background, problems, concerns, and passions in order so that both they and I can grow. They find me pleasant to confide in and I enjoy that. Sometimes, though, the fate is a burden. The homework due the next day is pushed aside so I can comfort a friend who was recently dumped by his girlfriend. Sometimes the fate is joyous. I will shriek out of happiness if my friends tell me good news. Moods are contagious. From this, I can happily admit that I care about my friends and the occurrences in their lives, sometimes even more than I care about myself. If I am not for others, than what am I?
There is so much more to say about what I carry. I carry pride, respect, fundamental belief in my religion, love, hope, dreams, ambitions, smiles, and reliability. It’s a pity this paper can only be 1000 words.
The Continued Adventures of Olly, Dustfinger & Grandma
And so the day begins!
Grandma decided to take Dustfinger and I to see BroadwayInChicago's "Mary Poppins." (Well, first Grandma asked whether we wanted to see Topol's last appearance in "The Fiddler on the Roof" but I told her I had seen him before, so I wouldn't want to go again.) However, this meant that first we had to stop off at Bagel Country, where I got my habitual pizza-bagels-on-sesame-bagels and Dustfinger opted for chocolate pancakes. From there, we parked near Grandma's house, took the bus to the Howard Street Station, then took another bus to Downtown Chicago.
It was scenic and beautiful. Our busrides were lovely. On the way to Chicago we had a blind man enter our bus (it was amazing that he was so remarkably self-sufficient) and on the way back we had a handicapped man in a wheelchair ride with us. The lovely thing was that everyone got up to offer seats and otherwise assist. I love that about Chicago. You don't always see it in New York.
As for Mary Poppins, it was spectacular. There were brilliant special effects, the characters had supremely wonderful voices, and despite all this, I far prefer the film. The role of Mrs. Banks was completely redone. I have always loved the Votes-for-Women touting woman; she is a very strong character. This Mrs. Banks, although formerly an actress, has to determine whether she will aid her husband as a strong woman instead of doing as she is told. This is a poor change from the character that chooses to get herself thrown into jail, which is more satisfying. Also, at the end of the musical, Mr. Banks ends up being incredibly wealthy and otherwise saved as opposed to having the magical scene in which his hat is punched inside-out and he returns, laughing, to play kites with his children. I also loved the Admiral and the "Positions!" cry in the movie version. Not to forget the penguins, for that matter...there was actually an incredibly excellent production of Mary Poppins put on by the Chicago Chesed Committee (it was called something like that, anyway.) Married women played the different roles- as did Yael Richtman, a classmate of mine - and in some ways it was better than this Broadway musical. Also, I miss the exclamatory "It's the Missus," during Step-in-Time.
There were many new songs and scenes incorporated. There was one new addition to the musical that I actually liked. That took the form of a scene entitled 'Playing the Game' where the mistreated toys came to life and frightened Jane and Michael. It reminded me of one of my favorite stories in a collection rimmed in green entitled The Kingfisher Treasury of Stories for Five-Year-Olds. (Despite the fact that that collection now has an awful cover-the copy I own is far prettier-, you will never find better stories. This is the cover mine had. And the story I am thinking of is called "The Toymaker's Shop.") Anyway, the toys come to life and frighten the children. Mary Poppins takes all the toys away until Jane and Michael learn how to treat them nicely. She also, depressingly, disappears at the end of Act I (at which point I thought the show was over and was very dissatisfied. Upon learning there was an Act II, I was much happier.)
There is also the appearance of the wholly vile Ms. Andrew, Mr. Banks' nanny. She is a fun addition, although I always thought treacle was tasty, even if brimstone is not. Thus, her song doesn't make much sense. But Bert's walking on the ceiling of the theater is pretty awesome. So is the incorporation of 'until the chain breaks.'
Something else I should add in: I have never seen so many children at any Broadway production. The audience was 3/4 five to twelve-year-old kids. It was pretty impressive. They were having a party.
Anyway, enough of this yammering- I liked the film better.
As for the busride back- there was a little black baby girl who became friends with me. That was lots of fun. And then there was this excellent gentleman who had the following conversation (he was wearing a light brown/ camel brown suit, carrying a laptop case, had sandy hair, glasses and a bright shiny star-badge.)
Man: Is he wearing a black hat? Or a hat with fur on it? Does he have strings sticking out of his pockets? (pause, listening) No, just put those through the X-Ray. No, it is very disrespectful to open them. They're called tefillin, not fill-in. They are very expensive; they range from $600 into the thousands. They are for a religious ritual. No, I told you to just wave him through! Zeide means 'grandfather.' And whatever you do, don't drop them; if you do, it's a disaster. It will cost you your job. What? (listening again) No, he will not strangle anyone with the dangling straps! That's baloney. Believe me, if this guy has these things, he's peaceful.
So I thanked the guy on behalf of the Jews. I told him it was nice that he knew not to have people open the tefillin boxes. He was friendly. Dustfinger asked him how he knew so much regarding Jewish customs. He said, "Well, I've been Jewish for a long time." Apparently he was Israeli. It was fun to meet him on the bus.
Then I returned home to find that Mommy had cooked a supremely delicious spaghetti-and-meat sauce (handmade/ homemade) dinner. Plus she had purchased dessert. And everything looked beautiful. And so, blind men, handicapped men, little black baby, happy black family, various children and assorted magical shows later, it was lovely to return home. And I ragged the boys about the fact that they refuse to attend shows in which women sing, which means they miss out on delightful productions such as "Mary Poppins," "The Little Mermaid," and "Beauty and the Beast." Ah, the boys. It is fun that one family can produce so many people with various religious gradations. Huzzah for diversity! Let's celebrate.
Grandma decided to take Dustfinger and I to see BroadwayInChicago's "Mary Poppins." (Well, first Grandma asked whether we wanted to see Topol's last appearance in "The Fiddler on the Roof" but I told her I had seen him before, so I wouldn't want to go again.) However, this meant that first we had to stop off at Bagel Country, where I got my habitual pizza-bagels-on-sesame-bagels and Dustfinger opted for chocolate pancakes. From there, we parked near Grandma's house, took the bus to the Howard Street Station, then took another bus to Downtown Chicago.
It was scenic and beautiful. Our busrides were lovely. On the way to Chicago we had a blind man enter our bus (it was amazing that he was so remarkably self-sufficient) and on the way back we had a handicapped man in a wheelchair ride with us. The lovely thing was that everyone got up to offer seats and otherwise assist. I love that about Chicago. You don't always see it in New York.
As for Mary Poppins, it was spectacular. There were brilliant special effects, the characters had supremely wonderful voices, and despite all this, I far prefer the film. The role of Mrs. Banks was completely redone. I have always loved the Votes-for-Women touting woman; she is a very strong character. This Mrs. Banks, although formerly an actress, has to determine whether she will aid her husband as a strong woman instead of doing as she is told. This is a poor change from the character that chooses to get herself thrown into jail, which is more satisfying. Also, at the end of the musical, Mr. Banks ends up being incredibly wealthy and otherwise saved as opposed to having the magical scene in which his hat is punched inside-out and he returns, laughing, to play kites with his children. I also loved the Admiral and the "Positions!" cry in the movie version. Not to forget the penguins, for that matter...there was actually an incredibly excellent production of Mary Poppins put on by the Chicago Chesed Committee (it was called something like that, anyway.) Married women played the different roles- as did Yael Richtman, a classmate of mine - and in some ways it was better than this Broadway musical. Also, I miss the exclamatory "It's the Missus," during Step-in-Time.
There were many new songs and scenes incorporated. There was one new addition to the musical that I actually liked. That took the form of a scene entitled 'Playing the Game' where the mistreated toys came to life and frightened Jane and Michael. It reminded me of one of my favorite stories in a collection rimmed in green entitled The Kingfisher Treasury of Stories for Five-Year-Olds. (Despite the fact that that collection now has an awful cover-the copy I own is far prettier-, you will never find better stories. This is the cover mine had. And the story I am thinking of is called "The Toymaker's Shop.") Anyway, the toys come to life and frighten the children. Mary Poppins takes all the toys away until Jane and Michael learn how to treat them nicely. She also, depressingly, disappears at the end of Act I (at which point I thought the show was over and was very dissatisfied. Upon learning there was an Act II, I was much happier.)
There is also the appearance of the wholly vile Ms. Andrew, Mr. Banks' nanny. She is a fun addition, although I always thought treacle was tasty, even if brimstone is not. Thus, her song doesn't make much sense. But Bert's walking on the ceiling of the theater is pretty awesome. So is the incorporation of 'until the chain breaks.'
Something else I should add in: I have never seen so many children at any Broadway production. The audience was 3/4 five to twelve-year-old kids. It was pretty impressive. They were having a party.
Anyway, enough of this yammering- I liked the film better.
As for the busride back- there was a little black baby girl who became friends with me. That was lots of fun. And then there was this excellent gentleman who had the following conversation (he was wearing a light brown/ camel brown suit, carrying a laptop case, had sandy hair, glasses and a bright shiny star-badge.)
Man: Is he wearing a black hat? Or a hat with fur on it? Does he have strings sticking out of his pockets? (pause, listening) No, just put those through the X-Ray. No, it is very disrespectful to open them. They're called tefillin, not fill-in. They are very expensive; they range from $600 into the thousands. They are for a religious ritual. No, I told you to just wave him through! Zeide means 'grandfather.' And whatever you do, don't drop them; if you do, it's a disaster. It will cost you your job. What? (listening again) No, he will not strangle anyone with the dangling straps! That's baloney. Believe me, if this guy has these things, he's peaceful.
So I thanked the guy on behalf of the Jews. I told him it was nice that he knew not to have people open the tefillin boxes. He was friendly. Dustfinger asked him how he knew so much regarding Jewish customs. He said, "Well, I've been Jewish for a long time." Apparently he was Israeli. It was fun to meet him on the bus.
Then I returned home to find that Mommy had cooked a supremely delicious spaghetti-and-meat sauce (handmade/ homemade) dinner. Plus she had purchased dessert. And everything looked beautiful. And so, blind men, handicapped men, little black baby, happy black family, various children and assorted magical shows later, it was lovely to return home. And I ragged the boys about the fact that they refuse to attend shows in which women sing, which means they miss out on delightful productions such as "Mary Poppins," "The Little Mermaid," and "Beauty and the Beast." Ah, the boys. It is fun that one family can produce so many people with various religious gradations. Huzzah for diversity! Let's celebrate.
Humor Is A Man's Best Friend
A very true sentiment, prettily expressed. Therefore, my new statement.Tell me, God, why must everything remind me of this? Everything conspires to remind me. Not that I believe in mind-wiping (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is a form of torture, as far as I'm concerned.) But must everything remind me?
Ah well, I'm sure I shall just continue enjoying the humor...and on that note, let's go attack today's entertainment!
The Fall
TheOtherFauvent,
I watched The Fall. It was exquisite. Dreamlike, tragic and beautiful all at once, exactly the way a movie should be. It made me cry. I cannot remember the last time a movie truly made me cry, as opposed to merely bringing tears to the eye. If I were a movie, I would be The Fall.
The wedding scene was one of the ones that made me cry.
But I also loved:
I watched The Fall. It was exquisite. Dreamlike, tragic and beautiful all at once, exactly the way a movie should be. It made me cry. I cannot remember the last time a movie truly made me cry, as opposed to merely bringing tears to the eye. If I were a movie, I would be The Fall.
The wedding scene was one of the ones that made me cry.
But I also loved:
- "Googly, googly, googly."
- The quote you referenced regarding throwing oranges at priests.
- The fact that Alexandria plants orange halves with teeth within them, thinking that will grow oranges with teeth.
- The promise Roy makes to her and how he shows her his hands.
- The poetry/ literary nature of the film. Also, the beautifully evocative soundtrack.
- "The Fall"- falling from horses, orange groves, medicine cabinets, in battle...
- And of course, the fact that Alexandria changes the story.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
The Continued Adventures of Olly and Spock
Today, after not sleeping well, I moodily arose to face the morning light streaming into my room. Rubbing my eyes, I checked the time, then walked over to my computer.
Spock typed to me on Gmail Chat: Are you awake?
I answered crabbily: Unfortunately.
You see, I had to go continue washing dishes (the toiveling adventure is by no means concluded.) Despite this, Spock cheered me and informed me that I had to be ready by 10:45 AM, as that is when he would stop by to pick me up. And, if needed, he planned on washing dishes with me.
Tall, model-handsome Spock was waiting for me at precisely that time in his silver car. By then I had showered and otherwise revived. We returned to his home where we watched episodes of Frasier, definitely the most hilarious sitcom I have ever had the pleasure of enjoying. Frasier's humor is very much my own; it is erudite, intelligent humor as opposed to slapstick or crude jokes. After having watched 2 episodes, Spock and I headed off to the train station, where we enjoyed a train ride on the Metra and went to Downtown Chicago. By this point in time, it was freezing and pouring rain. Spock had cleverly thought to bring a blue umbrella along; he gets props for that. We walked through Millenium Park and to the Art Institute, where we checked out the new Modern Wing. Hitman had wanted me to do that, but I had not been available that day.
The Modern Wing is a beautifully spacious, airy, light-encompassing space. It is lovely. The works encased therein are also fascinating. I liked this painting by Peter Doig best. It is entitled Gasthof zur Muldentalsperre:
Then, famished after viewing all the wonderful artwork, we headed to the Art Institute Cafe. There, I purchased a bag of pretzels and The Recalcitrant Orange, while Spock purchased two cookies, pretzels and a Naked juice. He had politely waited till past 3:00 for me to say that I was hungry instead of telling me that he was. In any case, The Recalcitrant Orange was so-termed due to the fact that it did not wish to be peeled by my lovely fingernails, and so Spock had to cut a slice of skin off down the middle, exposing the orange core beneath. This looked like a piece of Modern art, something upon which we both remarked. Eventually, I ate The Recalcitrant Orange and Spock told me he enjoyed his Pretzel Fine Dining Experience.
After this, we looked at the Photography Wing, then headed back out into the pouring rain to return to the train. But not before walking through Millenium Park and passing by The Bean. Oddly, halfway up The Bean, someone had managed to place two handprints, which stood out given the rain sluicing down. Observe:
We then realized that the Band-Pit had an orchestra performing therein! So there were Spock and I, soaked to the bone, walking in the midst of Millenium Park with naught but a small blue umbrella above us, being serenaded by powerful orchestral music. Spock could not stop laughing when the trombones joined in. It was hilarious and lovely simultaneously.
We shivered and pressed onward, reaching the train station in time to board. (On the way, I engaged in some interpretive dance....rain dances are fun.) Spock did not drive us back to his house before ensuring that I would have food. Thus, we made a quick stop at the grocery store and he purchased Chewy Chips Ahoy!, Nestle Hot Chocolate, Snyder Pretzels and best of all, Styrofoam Cups so that I would be able to eat and drink at his house. Spock has an incredibly respectful attitude toward my many confusing and otherwise peculiar Jewish practices.
We returned home and Spock covered me in towels and blankets, ensuring that I could warm up a bit. He made me hot chocolate; we had our cookie-and-pretzel party, continued watching Frasier, and his mother was so sweet that she invited me to dinner (which of course I could not eat, as I keep kosher.) He then ventured outside into the pouring rain (barefoot; he decided it would be fun to drive me home barefoot) and drove me home.
And thus does one have a perfect day.
Spock typed to me on Gmail Chat: Are you awake?
I answered crabbily: Unfortunately.
You see, I had to go continue washing dishes (the toiveling adventure is by no means concluded.) Despite this, Spock cheered me and informed me that I had to be ready by 10:45 AM, as that is when he would stop by to pick me up. And, if needed, he planned on washing dishes with me.
Tall, model-handsome Spock was waiting for me at precisely that time in his silver car. By then I had showered and otherwise revived. We returned to his home where we watched episodes of Frasier, definitely the most hilarious sitcom I have ever had the pleasure of enjoying. Frasier's humor is very much my own; it is erudite, intelligent humor as opposed to slapstick or crude jokes. After having watched 2 episodes, Spock and I headed off to the train station, where we enjoyed a train ride on the Metra and went to Downtown Chicago. By this point in time, it was freezing and pouring rain. Spock had cleverly thought to bring a blue umbrella along; he gets props for that. We walked through Millenium Park and to the Art Institute, where we checked out the new Modern Wing. Hitman had wanted me to do that, but I had not been available that day.
The Modern Wing is a beautifully spacious, airy, light-encompassing space. It is lovely. The works encased therein are also fascinating. I liked this painting by Peter Doig best. It is entitled Gasthof zur Muldentalsperre:
Then, famished after viewing all the wonderful artwork, we headed to the Art Institute Cafe. There, I purchased a bag of pretzels and The Recalcitrant Orange, while Spock purchased two cookies, pretzels and a Naked juice. He had politely waited till past 3:00 for me to say that I was hungry instead of telling me that he was. In any case, The Recalcitrant Orange was so-termed due to the fact that it did not wish to be peeled by my lovely fingernails, and so Spock had to cut a slice of skin off down the middle, exposing the orange core beneath. This looked like a piece of Modern art, something upon which we both remarked. Eventually, I ate The Recalcitrant Orange and Spock told me he enjoyed his Pretzel Fine Dining Experience.
After this, we looked at the Photography Wing, then headed back out into the pouring rain to return to the train. But not before walking through Millenium Park and passing by The Bean. Oddly, halfway up The Bean, someone had managed to place two handprints, which stood out given the rain sluicing down. Observe:
We then realized that the Band-Pit had an orchestra performing therein! So there were Spock and I, soaked to the bone, walking in the midst of Millenium Park with naught but a small blue umbrella above us, being serenaded by powerful orchestral music. Spock could not stop laughing when the trombones joined in. It was hilarious and lovely simultaneously.
We shivered and pressed onward, reaching the train station in time to board. (On the way, I engaged in some interpretive dance....rain dances are fun.) Spock did not drive us back to his house before ensuring that I would have food. Thus, we made a quick stop at the grocery store and he purchased Chewy Chips Ahoy!, Nestle Hot Chocolate, Snyder Pretzels and best of all, Styrofoam Cups so that I would be able to eat and drink at his house. Spock has an incredibly respectful attitude toward my many confusing and otherwise peculiar Jewish practices.
We returned home and Spock covered me in towels and blankets, ensuring that I could warm up a bit. He made me hot chocolate; we had our cookie-and-pretzel party, continued watching Frasier, and his mother was so sweet that she invited me to dinner (which of course I could not eat, as I keep kosher.) He then ventured outside into the pouring rain (barefoot; he decided it would be fun to drive me home barefoot) and drove me home.
And thus does one have a perfect day.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Bloody Bloody Bloody Bloody Bloody Bloody Hell
Random fact of useless knowledge: Someone ought to write a dissertation comparing House's love of Vicodin to Captain Jack Sparrow's love of rum. They particularly ought to compare the kiss-off scenes. House' takes place with Cameron; Sparrow's features the lovely Elizabeth Swann.
Slightly more useful statement: Someone should go get me a drink.
Slightly more useful statement: Someone should go get me a drink.
Okay, I'm Knackered
Getting boxes from garage: 20 minutes
Packing stuff into boxes: 1 hour
Transferring boxes to car: 10 minutes
Driving to mikvah: 15 minutes
Toiveling dishes: 2 hours
Driving back: 15 minutes
Washing dishes & repacking them so as to ship them to New York: God knows, didn't start that part yet.
Best part: Woman who comes in to toivel dishes asking Dustfinger if she's a recently married lady, which is why she has so much stuff.
Dustfinger's expression: Priceless.
Anyway. I am knackered. Onward bound to the rest of this task.
Packing stuff into boxes: 1 hour
Transferring boxes to car: 10 minutes
Driving to mikvah: 15 minutes
Toiveling dishes: 2 hours
Driving back: 15 minutes
Washing dishes & repacking them so as to ship them to New York: God knows, didn't start that part yet.
Best part: Woman who comes in to toivel dishes asking Dustfinger if she's a recently married lady, which is why she has so much stuff.
Dustfinger's expression: Priceless.
Anyway. I am knackered. Onward bound to the rest of this task.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
The Kitchen Queen, AKA Eilonwy Comes To Life
I used to party like a waitress; now I am to be a Kitchen Queen (AKA Eilonwy.) My mother is under the mistaken impression that I'm getting married. Observe:
And by no means is that everything.
It was the conversation that ensued that was hilarious.
Mommy: Well, what do you think of what I bought you?
Chana: (utterly shocked) I was expecting a few pots and pans when you said you were buying me a kitchen.
Mommy: A few pots and pans? For shame. You're going to cook!
Chana: But it's like you think I'm getting married! You bought me a whole kitchen, not something to use while living in an apartment with a couple of girls.
Mommy: But you're going to have people over for Shabbos, aren't you?
Chana: Yes, but...
Mommy: *beatific smile*
Chana: Well, I guess when I get married I won't have to buy anything. I'll have all of this.
Mommy: *looking at me as though I were crazy* You think that I'm going to let you keep this rubbish when you get married? No, we'll buy you a whole new kitchen.
Chana: ?!
Mommy: Oh yes, and then there are the linens and the sheets (continues listing items)
Chana: He's a lucky guy, whoever he is; he's not going to have to pay for a kitchen.
Mommy: Chana, you are not keeping this kitchen when you get married. Do you think I love you so little that this would be your dowry?
Chana: Um. This is little?
Mommy: *rolls eyes* Sweetheart, you have no idea what I've got in store for you.
Dear Future Husband, whomever you may be, you are a lucky guy. You won't have to spend your money on kitchen items. Or on anything else, apparently, so long as my Mother has her way. Also, I'm the one who has to toivel all of this. Toiveling party! Rainwater in mikvas, what could be more splendiferous....sigh. Lost my mojo; need it back. Little talking dragon out of Mulan, where the hell are you?
And by no means is that everything.
It was the conversation that ensued that was hilarious.
Mommy: Well, what do you think of what I bought you?
Chana: (utterly shocked) I was expecting a few pots and pans when you said you were buying me a kitchen.
Mommy: A few pots and pans? For shame. You're going to cook!
Chana: But it's like you think I'm getting married! You bought me a whole kitchen, not something to use while living in an apartment with a couple of girls.
Mommy: But you're going to have people over for Shabbos, aren't you?
Chana: Yes, but...
Mommy: *beatific smile*
Chana: Well, I guess when I get married I won't have to buy anything. I'll have all of this.
Mommy: *looking at me as though I were crazy* You think that I'm going to let you keep this rubbish when you get married? No, we'll buy you a whole new kitchen.
Chana: ?!
Mommy: Oh yes, and then there are the linens and the sheets (continues listing items)
Chana: He's a lucky guy, whoever he is; he's not going to have to pay for a kitchen.
Mommy: Chana, you are not keeping this kitchen when you get married. Do you think I love you so little that this would be your dowry?
Chana: Um. This is little?
Mommy: *rolls eyes* Sweetheart, you have no idea what I've got in store for you.
Dear Future Husband, whomever you may be, you are a lucky guy. You won't have to spend your money on kitchen items. Or on anything else, apparently, so long as my Mother has her way. Also, I'm the one who has to toivel all of this. Toiveling party! Rainwater in mikvas, what could be more splendiferous....sigh. Lost my mojo; need it back. Little talking dragon out of Mulan, where the hell are you?
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