SJ and I return rather late from our various sojourns of the day (classes, really). N is sprawled on the couch in our living room (living room? living area), our new floor lamp on so she can read.
"This apartment smells like cooking. Like peppers," says SJ, glancing curiously around for what might be causing the smell. "Did you make dinner, N?"
"Yeah," says N. "By the way, I love this floor lamp!"
"Oh, thanks," I say (for I had bought it). "And I made dinner, too! But I didn't eat it yet."
"What did you make?" asks SJ.
"A peanut butter and jelly sandwich," I say matter-of-factly.
SJ rolls her eyes at my idea of dinner.
"Where did you get it?" asks N.
I stare at her.
"My peanut butter and jelly sandwich?"
Showing posts with label SJ. Show all posts
Showing posts with label SJ. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Starting Out On A Journey
I am officially done with school.
Ever.
(Or maybe not ever, but for now.)
Last night was my last night as the Apple's roommate. In fact, it was my last night as part of TBA (what I nicknamed our apartment on my blog way back in the beginning of the year. I believe it stands for "The Best Apartment" - not very original, I know). But not even, because M.R. had already left.
Last night, the Apple and I talked a bit until we were nearly asleep (that didn't take very long, seeing as we were both exhausted from packing and transporting luggage). When I shut the lamp, I thought to myself, "These last few seconds before I fall asleep are my last few seconds as a member of this apartment. When I wake up in the morning, my time at Stern will really be over." While I was still the Apple's roommate, it was like school was still in session, even though there were no more classes. I was still a part of my Stern experience. Now I'm home for Shabbos and any return to the Stern premises will be as a graduate.
Truthfully, I do have one more night in my apartment at Stern. D2 and I are packing our stuff on motzei Shabbos and leaving Sunday morning. But it will be just us. We will be the last ones to say goodbye to The Apartment.
...And then we, and everyone else, will go on together to the next stage of our lives.
What's both nice and strange at the same time is that we're not saying goodbye to each other. We're going to be seeing each other next year. This is not like the end of the year in Israel when people go off to their respective colleges in various different states or countries or even continents. Those people you really need to say goodbye to. But not my friends now. We're still going to be together in some ways, but...differently. I don't know what it will be like but it doesn't feel lonely.
D2, Chana, SJ, M.R., and the Apple,
This year, there were struggles, triumphs, difficult moments, awesome moments...but you guys have been amazing apartment mates.
At the start of this year, I wrote a post on beginnings. Well, now we're all facing a new kind of beginning. It's the beginning of a path in a completely different walk of life. But I think we're not alone on that path. It's one we don't know well at all, yet we are not walking it in solitude, even as we are also all doing different things next year.
There's a song from the end of the movie Anastasia that I love. It's meant to be a love song really, but I think it can really apply to any sort of close relationship - especially a deep-rooted friendship that will help each of us face whatever journey we have up ahead.
As I step wistfully out of one stage and nervously, but not unhappily, into the next, I take with me everything my time at Stern College for Women has provided me with. In a way, I am the same person I always was, except I'm being that person in a different way. It's slightly confusing. But refreshing, in a way. It's exciting to feel like I can possibly do something important with my life outside of the comfortable school cocoon.
So thank you, Stern College.
This post feels somewhat awkward, but I guess some things are hard to say, let alone say with elegance.
This blog will no longer be the records of a girl in college. Now it will be something else. Perhaps it will be more important to me than ever to write about what happens to me. My life suddenly feels like it's one big surprise.
I suppose we shall see what happens come tomorrow.
Ever.
(Or maybe not ever, but for now.)
Last night was my last night as the Apple's roommate. In fact, it was my last night as part of TBA (what I nicknamed our apartment on my blog way back in the beginning of the year. I believe it stands for "The Best Apartment" - not very original, I know). But not even, because M.R. had already left.
Last night, the Apple and I talked a bit until we were nearly asleep (that didn't take very long, seeing as we were both exhausted from packing and transporting luggage). When I shut the lamp, I thought to myself, "These last few seconds before I fall asleep are my last few seconds as a member of this apartment. When I wake up in the morning, my time at Stern will really be over." While I was still the Apple's roommate, it was like school was still in session, even though there were no more classes. I was still a part of my Stern experience. Now I'm home for Shabbos and any return to the Stern premises will be as a graduate.
Truthfully, I do have one more night in my apartment at Stern. D2 and I are packing our stuff on motzei Shabbos and leaving Sunday morning. But it will be just us. We will be the last ones to say goodbye to The Apartment.
...And then we, and everyone else, will go on together to the next stage of our lives.
What's both nice and strange at the same time is that we're not saying goodbye to each other. We're going to be seeing each other next year. This is not like the end of the year in Israel when people go off to their respective colleges in various different states or countries or even continents. Those people you really need to say goodbye to. But not my friends now. We're still going to be together in some ways, but...differently. I don't know what it will be like but it doesn't feel lonely.
D2, Chana, SJ, M.R., and the Apple,
This year, there were struggles, triumphs, difficult moments, awesome moments...but you guys have been amazing apartment mates.
At the start of this year, I wrote a post on beginnings. Well, now we're all facing a new kind of beginning. It's the beginning of a path in a completely different walk of life. But I think we're not alone on that path. It's one we don't know well at all, yet we are not walking it in solitude, even as we are also all doing different things next year.
There's a song from the end of the movie Anastasia that I love. It's meant to be a love song really, but I think it can really apply to any sort of close relationship - especially a deep-rooted friendship that will help each of us face whatever journey we have up ahead.
As I step wistfully out of one stage and nervously, but not unhappily, into the next, I take with me everything my time at Stern College for Women has provided me with. In a way, I am the same person I always was, except I'm being that person in a different way. It's slightly confusing. But refreshing, in a way. It's exciting to feel like I can possibly do something important with my life outside of the comfortable school cocoon.
So thank you, Stern College.
This post feels somewhat awkward, but I guess some things are hard to say, let alone say with elegance.
This blog will no longer be the records of a girl in college. Now it will be something else. Perhaps it will be more important to me than ever to write about what happens to me. My life suddenly feels like it's one big surprise.
I suppose we shall see what happens come tomorrow.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Graduation
In a few minutes, SJ, the Apple, and I are going to be leaving for our graduation.
For the past few days, I've been thinking about what I would write on the day of graduation, and nothing too inspiring came to mind. I thought about writing a parody to the Les Miserables song, "One Day More" (as some of my friends and I used to do when there was one day left of something), but it seemed a bit silly. Then again, perhaps it's worth being silly about graduation?
Nah.
Then I thought about linking to some posts I wrote recently about growth and maturity. But that seemed overreaching, a bit. I don't want to write something too heavy or overly deep (or too cliche). I'm not valedictorian or anything. :P
So I figure I'll just write, simply, that today is graduation, and that after today I will be a ceremonial graduate of Yeshiva University - but not a real one quite yet because my finals don't start until Sunday (isn't that mean?).
Mazal tov, Class of 2009!
For the past few days, I've been thinking about what I would write on the day of graduation, and nothing too inspiring came to mind. I thought about writing a parody to the Les Miserables song, "One Day More" (as some of my friends and I used to do when there was one day left of something), but it seemed a bit silly. Then again, perhaps it's worth being silly about graduation?
Nah.
Then I thought about linking to some posts I wrote recently about growth and maturity. But that seemed overreaching, a bit. I don't want to write something too heavy or overly deep (or too cliche). I'm not valedictorian or anything. :P
So I figure I'll just write, simply, that today is graduation, and that after today I will be a ceremonial graduate of Yeshiva University - but not a real one quite yet because my finals don't start until Sunday (isn't that mean?).
Mazal tov, Class of 2009!
Sunday, May 3, 2009
The Misadventures Of A Rainy Friday
There are some days when the rain is so fierce that it is not rain at all, but rather like the all the lakes and rivers of the world are falling from the sky right on top of you. This past Friday was such a day.
SJ, D2, and I set off on our trek from Stern to Penn Station in a gray world with a damp breeze. On occasion, a few droplets of water would sprinkle onto our faces, but as we walked, these droplets became more like fully-grown drops and their descents occurred more frequently than "on occasion." By the time we were halfway there, the sky had begun to dump its entire watery contents onto New York City.
For those unfamiliar with summers in New York, they go something like this: Nice Day. Hot day. Humid day. Very humid day. Very, very humid day. So-humid-it's-like-walking-through-sticky-swaths-of-hot-cotton-candy day. Stormy day filled with drenching, torrential rains, blinding flashes of lightening, and thunder so deafening it sounds like the sky's going to crash to earth any minute. The next day is a beautiful one, and the cycle begins again.
Although we have yet to reach summer, the rain which drowned our feet that day might as well have been an early summer visitor. SJ and I each had umbrellas, but the wind had decided to whip mine backwards into a position that was utterly useless. My hair, my shirt, my skirt, and my feet became completely drenched. I only hoped the contents of the suitcase I was dragging were still dry.
By the time we three got to Penn Station, our clothes were sticking to us in that uncomfortable way that wet clothes do and our hair hung limp and bedraggled. I could feel water squishing around in my shoes.
In such circumstances, a person may tend to feel bogged down by her wetness. I certainly felt that way. We had only four minutes until our train and we still had to buy tickets, but for some reason I could only shuffle my feet slowly around the train station. Everything around me, in fact, was operating on a slower, wetter system.
There were long lines by each ticket machine, but somehow both SJ and I managed to get a turn. I got tickets for D2 and myself, but SJ's machine was broken. We had no time for her to try on my machine, however, so we ran to our platform with one minute to go, stumbled clumsily (and wetly) down the stairs, and threw ourselves onto the first car of the train just before the doors closed behind us.
The train was a Double Decker, and for a moment we stood there in wet confusion, wondering where the seats were.
"Shall we go up or down?" I finally managed through chattering teeth. The others must have been too wet or bewildered or both, for they each mumbled something that didn't sound very much like a suggestion.
"Up, then," I decided for them and we all traipsed up the steps, shivering in our sopping clothes. Unluckily, there was nowhere for us to sit, so we had to stand until we reached Jamaica. That was where we had to switch.
I called my dad at that point to ask if he was also on the train. Then we could get a ride home from the train station. He wasn't, but he said he was on another train that was also switching at Jamaica, so we decided to meet up.
At Jamaica, we met my father and made the switch easily. Our next train had seats for us, but not together, so D2 went to sit in one area while SJ sat in another. "We're getting off at ---" I told them just in case we got separated, for it was a different stop than the one we were originally going to on our first train. Then I stood for a bit near D2 because I felt too wet to sit, but SJ finally convinced me to sit with her. I suppose that was when things went a bit awry.
Looking back on it, I don't think D2 noticed that I was no longer standing near her. When the train pulled into our stop, SJ and I got off the train, along with my father. As I got off, I looked around for D2 but couldn't find her anywhere.
"Is someone supposed to get off the train with you?" asked a man from my community. I nodded.
"What's her name?"
"D2," I said.
He poked his head back in the train and called out, "D2!"
But no one answered and the doors were closing.
As the train pulled away, SJ and I both took out our phones to call her. And we both noticed we had text messages from her asking if we were going to the stop our initial train, before we met up with my father, was going to. We looked at each other.
"Oh no," we said.
"What happened to D2?" asked my father. "Was she sleeping?"
I shrugged. "What's the next stop?" I asked. "Because that's where she's going."
SJ called D2, who told her what the next stop was. Then, still wet (though it was no longer raining), we trudged to my father's car and drove off to pick up D2.
Ten minutes later, D2 was found and in the car with us.
"When we get home, we should all have hot chocolate," I said.
"Ooh, yes!" exclaimed D2.
When I was taking a writing class at Stern, my stories frequently ended in everyone going home to have hot chocolate. SJ called these "hot chocolate endings." I figured we all deserved our own hot chocolate ending.
As soon as we got home, SJ, D2, and I ran up to my room to change our clothes. SJ, already wearing a light blue shirt that was mostly dry, borrowed a pastel pink skirt from me. Looking in the mirror, she exclaimed, "I look like ice cream!"
D2, meanwhile, had discovered that an air mattress was piled on top of my bed so that the whole thing looked like the set of The Princess and the Pea. She climbed on top and curled up. SJ and I, thinking this was a fun activity, climbed up with her. But after a little while, I remembered about the hot chocolate.
"Oh yeah, let's go have hot chocolate!" said D2, when I reminded her.
We all slid off the piled mattresses and bounded down the stairs.
"Do we have any hot chocolate?" I asked Mavis, who, like most teenage boys, was lurking around in the kitchen. We usually did have hot chocolate, but I wasn't sure if we had gotten any since Pesach.
"I don't think so," said Mavis. "But you can always use Ovaltine!"
So we tried the Ovaltine. The issue with that was we couldn't use the instant hot water on our sink. We had to actually heat up milk.
"Maybe we shouldn't," I said, glancing around the kitchen that had various Shabbos cooking activities going on in it.
"Aw, why not?" asked D2. I hesitated.
"We can just warm it up in the microwave," suggested SJ.
"Okay," I said. "But...in what?"
"Mugs?"
"Can you microwave mugs?"
"Sure! We do it all the time in my house."
"Um...okay..."
So I got down three mugs.
"Wait, girls, why don't you try these?" suggested my father, taking down some Styrofoam cups. I felt more comfortable using those and took them readily. SJ and D2 each poured themselves a cup of milk and put the cups in the microwave.
I waited for them to be finished but D2 kept putting hers back in.
Finally, it was my turn. I decided that instead of putting it in and out a million times, I'd just put my cup in for a full four minutes.
I suppose no one really paid much attention to what I was doing, because no one stopped me. SJ and D2 were busy with their cups of hot chocolate. I waited around for my cup of milk to finish microwaving.
As I waited, I did other things. I went upstairs to get something. I talked to SJ and D2. Mavis and I spent some quality time bothering each other. And then I decided to check out how my cup of milk was doing.
The first thing I saw when I looked over at the microwave was a steamy door and lots of white behind it.
You know that feeling where you suddenly feel the blood rushing around in your head? Shabbos was in less than an hour and I thought for a moment that I had broken the microwave.
After my feet unstuck from the floor, I shakily pressed the "stop" button and pulled open the door. A large circle of white liquid lapped up against an empty Styrofoam cup in greeting.
When I panic, I am generally overcome with a slow-moving, intense calm. I suddenly know exactly what to do, and what I knew most of all in that situation was that there was no reason my mother had to come into the kitchen until the milk was all cleaned up.
I became almost devilish about it.
"Should I take a picture?" I asked SJ.
"Yes!" she grinned. "It's like illustrated milk!"
I giggled and ran to get my camera.
Before long, I had both taken a picture of the milky masterpiece and had cleaned it all up. It was quite easy to clean, too.
"Here, let's try again," said D2, grabbing hold of the Styrofoam cup.
I looked at her incredulously, nearly started laughing again, and shook my head.
"I think I've had enough experimenting with milk for now," I said.
So I did not get my hot chocolate ending.
But I did get some illustrated milk. Oh, and a great story.
SJ, D2, and I set off on our trek from Stern to Penn Station in a gray world with a damp breeze. On occasion, a few droplets of water would sprinkle onto our faces, but as we walked, these droplets became more like fully-grown drops and their descents occurred more frequently than "on occasion." By the time we were halfway there, the sky had begun to dump its entire watery contents onto New York City.
For those unfamiliar with summers in New York, they go something like this: Nice Day. Hot day. Humid day. Very humid day. Very, very humid day. So-humid-it's-like-walking-through-sticky-swaths-of-hot-cotton-candy day. Stormy day filled with drenching, torrential rains, blinding flashes of lightening, and thunder so deafening it sounds like the sky's going to crash to earth any minute. The next day is a beautiful one, and the cycle begins again.
Although we have yet to reach summer, the rain which drowned our feet that day might as well have been an early summer visitor. SJ and I each had umbrellas, but the wind had decided to whip mine backwards into a position that was utterly useless. My hair, my shirt, my skirt, and my feet became completely drenched. I only hoped the contents of the suitcase I was dragging were still dry.
By the time we three got to Penn Station, our clothes were sticking to us in that uncomfortable way that wet clothes do and our hair hung limp and bedraggled. I could feel water squishing around in my shoes.
In such circumstances, a person may tend to feel bogged down by her wetness. I certainly felt that way. We had only four minutes until our train and we still had to buy tickets, but for some reason I could only shuffle my feet slowly around the train station. Everything around me, in fact, was operating on a slower, wetter system.
There were long lines by each ticket machine, but somehow both SJ and I managed to get a turn. I got tickets for D2 and myself, but SJ's machine was broken. We had no time for her to try on my machine, however, so we ran to our platform with one minute to go, stumbled clumsily (and wetly) down the stairs, and threw ourselves onto the first car of the train just before the doors closed behind us.
The train was a Double Decker, and for a moment we stood there in wet confusion, wondering where the seats were.
"Shall we go up or down?" I finally managed through chattering teeth. The others must have been too wet or bewildered or both, for they each mumbled something that didn't sound very much like a suggestion.
"Up, then," I decided for them and we all traipsed up the steps, shivering in our sopping clothes. Unluckily, there was nowhere for us to sit, so we had to stand until we reached Jamaica. That was where we had to switch.
I called my dad at that point to ask if he was also on the train. Then we could get a ride home from the train station. He wasn't, but he said he was on another train that was also switching at Jamaica, so we decided to meet up.
At Jamaica, we met my father and made the switch easily. Our next train had seats for us, but not together, so D2 went to sit in one area while SJ sat in another. "We're getting off at ---" I told them just in case we got separated, for it was a different stop than the one we were originally going to on our first train. Then I stood for a bit near D2 because I felt too wet to sit, but SJ finally convinced me to sit with her. I suppose that was when things went a bit awry.
Looking back on it, I don't think D2 noticed that I was no longer standing near her. When the train pulled into our stop, SJ and I got off the train, along with my father. As I got off, I looked around for D2 but couldn't find her anywhere.
"Is someone supposed to get off the train with you?" asked a man from my community. I nodded.
"What's her name?"
"D2," I said.
He poked his head back in the train and called out, "D2!"
But no one answered and the doors were closing.
As the train pulled away, SJ and I both took out our phones to call her. And we both noticed we had text messages from her asking if we were going to the stop our initial train, before we met up with my father, was going to. We looked at each other.
"Oh no," we said.
"What happened to D2?" asked my father. "Was she sleeping?"
I shrugged. "What's the next stop?" I asked. "Because that's where she's going."
SJ called D2, who told her what the next stop was. Then, still wet (though it was no longer raining), we trudged to my father's car and drove off to pick up D2.
Ten minutes later, D2 was found and in the car with us.
"When we get home, we should all have hot chocolate," I said.
"Ooh, yes!" exclaimed D2.
When I was taking a writing class at Stern, my stories frequently ended in everyone going home to have hot chocolate. SJ called these "hot chocolate endings." I figured we all deserved our own hot chocolate ending.
As soon as we got home, SJ, D2, and I ran up to my room to change our clothes. SJ, already wearing a light blue shirt that was mostly dry, borrowed a pastel pink skirt from me. Looking in the mirror, she exclaimed, "I look like ice cream!"
D2, meanwhile, had discovered that an air mattress was piled on top of my bed so that the whole thing looked like the set of The Princess and the Pea. She climbed on top and curled up. SJ and I, thinking this was a fun activity, climbed up with her. But after a little while, I remembered about the hot chocolate.
"Oh yeah, let's go have hot chocolate!" said D2, when I reminded her.
We all slid off the piled mattresses and bounded down the stairs.
"Do we have any hot chocolate?" I asked Mavis, who, like most teenage boys, was lurking around in the kitchen. We usually did have hot chocolate, but I wasn't sure if we had gotten any since Pesach.
"I don't think so," said Mavis. "But you can always use Ovaltine!"
So we tried the Ovaltine. The issue with that was we couldn't use the instant hot water on our sink. We had to actually heat up milk.
"Maybe we shouldn't," I said, glancing around the kitchen that had various Shabbos cooking activities going on in it.
"Aw, why not?" asked D2. I hesitated.
"We can just warm it up in the microwave," suggested SJ.
"Okay," I said. "But...in what?"
"Mugs?"
"Can you microwave mugs?"
"Sure! We do it all the time in my house."
"Um...okay..."
So I got down three mugs.
"Wait, girls, why don't you try these?" suggested my father, taking down some Styrofoam cups. I felt more comfortable using those and took them readily. SJ and D2 each poured themselves a cup of milk and put the cups in the microwave.
I waited for them to be finished but D2 kept putting hers back in.
Finally, it was my turn. I decided that instead of putting it in and out a million times, I'd just put my cup in for a full four minutes.
I suppose no one really paid much attention to what I was doing, because no one stopped me. SJ and D2 were busy with their cups of hot chocolate. I waited around for my cup of milk to finish microwaving.
As I waited, I did other things. I went upstairs to get something. I talked to SJ and D2. Mavis and I spent some quality time bothering each other. And then I decided to check out how my cup of milk was doing.
The first thing I saw when I looked over at the microwave was a steamy door and lots of white behind it.
You know that feeling where you suddenly feel the blood rushing around in your head? Shabbos was in less than an hour and I thought for a moment that I had broken the microwave.
After my feet unstuck from the floor, I shakily pressed the "stop" button and pulled open the door. A large circle of white liquid lapped up against an empty Styrofoam cup in greeting.
When I panic, I am generally overcome with a slow-moving, intense calm. I suddenly know exactly what to do, and what I knew most of all in that situation was that there was no reason my mother had to come into the kitchen until the milk was all cleaned up.
I became almost devilish about it.
"Should I take a picture?" I asked SJ.
"Yes!" she grinned. "It's like illustrated milk!"
I giggled and ran to get my camera.
Before long, I had both taken a picture of the milky masterpiece and had cleaned it all up. It was quite easy to clean, too.
"Here, let's try again," said D2, grabbing hold of the Styrofoam cup.
I looked at her incredulously, nearly started laughing again, and shook my head.
"I think I've had enough experimenting with milk for now," I said.
So I did not get my hot chocolate ending.
But I did get some illustrated milk. Oh, and a great story.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Illustrated Milk
One Shabbos while at SerandEz, this conversation happened:
Now, on the surface, that seems to make no sense. What on earth is illustrated milk? What can I mean by it? Why do I find it so calming?
Here is a picture of illustrated milk:
There is something about that cool blue and white image that I find extremely comforting. I'm going to let you all into the workings of my mind for a moment. From this sort of picture, I think about similar images from childhood. For example, my mind today jumped from the image of milk to this image from If You Give A Mouse A Cookie*:
Illustrated milk, for me, symbolizes childhood. A sort of cookies-and-milk childhood. And I find that childhood comforting. It's a safe place. It's a world where you feel like anything is possible. Don't you remember being a little kid and feeling the wide world out in front of you, sensing all the possibilities, all the adventure, feeling you could do whatever you wished when you were old enough? Remember when people used to tell you that you could be whatever you want when you grow up?
But then you grow up and realize it's not enough to just want to be something. You have to actually have the capabilities for it. You have to be qualified. And the world has to also want you. And so, too many dreams drift slowly away in the dirty city air, or get crushed by the multitude pairs of feet rushing, rushing, rushing to and from office buildings and banks and courts and banks and office buildings. That dreaming little voice in your head gets drowned out by the screeching subway cars as they storm by like a herd of charging elephants.
And then again, sometimes you're able to approach things from that childlike point of view, to see the world in its vastness and possibilities once more, and feel that you really could do anything if you wished to. If you can do that, the very narrow, trapped feeling of, "I am finishing college and must now follow the next step in this path set for me by some sort of authoritative figure and find a job doing something I know I'm capable of, probably starting at the way bottom filing and answering phones, etc. etc. etc." melts away, is overpowered by this new - or perhaps old - eye-opening mindset.
Who says I have to play by the rules? Who says I have to be obvious? Just because I always thought of myself as an English person doesn't mean I can't get a job doing something that has nothing to do with books. Maybe I'll find something to do that's entirely random and yet utterly enjoyable. Maybe I'll find something that's completely out of the blue and yet insanely interesting.
I'm not bound by my major or by my passions. I think sometimes passion can be stifling. It's very possessive. It doesn't let you even want to do anything else.
I don't want to shed my passions. I still want to write. My dream is still to write. But I also wish to enjoy my life. This is my life I'm living, here. Not some checklist someone created for me with elements I must tick off every couple of years. A life does not have to be lived according to a list. A life is not something linear where you go from one predetermined thing to the next predetermined thing to the next. A life is all over the place. It's spontaneous. It's surprising. It's the only one I've got - I want to make it worth living. I want to enjoy it. And why shouldn't I enjoy it?
In this life, I wish to follow the Torah and halacha properly, to one day raise a frum Jewish family, to fullfill all my goals and ambitions as a writer, and to be happy with my life in every aspect.
I think we should all strive to be happy with our lives. We aren't going to get another opportunity to enjoy where we are other than in this life we are now living. Make the most of it.
Be happy. :)
* If You Give A Mouse A Cookie is one of the best children's books EVER.
Erachet: It's calming. It looks like milk.
SJ: So when I need to calm you down I should just pour you a glass of milk to look at?
Erachet: No, only illustrated milk.
Now, on the surface, that seems to make no sense. What on earth is illustrated milk? What can I mean by it? Why do I find it so calming?
Here is a picture of illustrated milk:
There is something about that cool blue and white image that I find extremely comforting. I'm going to let you all into the workings of my mind for a moment. From this sort of picture, I think about similar images from childhood. For example, my mind today jumped from the image of milk to this image from If You Give A Mouse A Cookie*:
Illustrated milk, for me, symbolizes childhood. A sort of cookies-and-milk childhood. And I find that childhood comforting. It's a safe place. It's a world where you feel like anything is possible. Don't you remember being a little kid and feeling the wide world out in front of you, sensing all the possibilities, all the adventure, feeling you could do whatever you wished when you were old enough? Remember when people used to tell you that you could be whatever you want when you grow up?
But then you grow up and realize it's not enough to just want to be something. You have to actually have the capabilities for it. You have to be qualified. And the world has to also want you. And so, too many dreams drift slowly away in the dirty city air, or get crushed by the multitude pairs of feet rushing, rushing, rushing to and from office buildings and banks and courts and banks and office buildings. That dreaming little voice in your head gets drowned out by the screeching subway cars as they storm by like a herd of charging elephants.
And then again, sometimes you're able to approach things from that childlike point of view, to see the world in its vastness and possibilities once more, and feel that you really could do anything if you wished to. If you can do that, the very narrow, trapped feeling of, "I am finishing college and must now follow the next step in this path set for me by some sort of authoritative figure and find a job doing something I know I'm capable of, probably starting at the way bottom filing and answering phones, etc. etc. etc." melts away, is overpowered by this new - or perhaps old - eye-opening mindset.
Who says I have to play by the rules? Who says I have to be obvious? Just because I always thought of myself as an English person doesn't mean I can't get a job doing something that has nothing to do with books. Maybe I'll find something to do that's entirely random and yet utterly enjoyable. Maybe I'll find something that's completely out of the blue and yet insanely interesting.
I'm not bound by my major or by my passions. I think sometimes passion can be stifling. It's very possessive. It doesn't let you even want to do anything else.
I don't want to shed my passions. I still want to write. My dream is still to write. But I also wish to enjoy my life. This is my life I'm living, here. Not some checklist someone created for me with elements I must tick off every couple of years. A life does not have to be lived according to a list. A life is not something linear where you go from one predetermined thing to the next predetermined thing to the next. A life is all over the place. It's spontaneous. It's surprising. It's the only one I've got - I want to make it worth living. I want to enjoy it. And why shouldn't I enjoy it?
In this life, I wish to follow the Torah and halacha properly, to one day raise a frum Jewish family, to fullfill all my goals and ambitions as a writer, and to be happy with my life in every aspect.
I think we should all strive to be happy with our lives. We aren't going to get another opportunity to enjoy where we are other than in this life we are now living. Make the most of it.
Be happy. :)
* If You Give A Mouse A Cookie is one of the best children's books EVER.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
My Wonderful Apartmentmate(s)
I have a wonderful apartment mate. Her name is D2. This is the story about why she is so wonderful.
To SJ, Chana, M.R., and the Apple -I love you guys, too! Chag sameach to my apartment and chag sameach to the entire JBlogosphere.
Now everyone go eat a jelly doughnut!
*But we are not playing Gamad v'Anak, so of course D2 is not my person, nor is she anyone's person.
(SJ addendum: [deleted] [deleted] [deleted])M.R., SJ, Chana, D2, and I were out in the kitchen talking. D2 was at the kitchen table on her computer. The conversation went like this:
(Erachet addendum: Stop interrupting my post, SJ! You're ruining it!)
Erachet: So...what's happening tomorrow?Later on in the evening, I was in the middle of working on this very post when D2 suddenly piped up with:
SJ: Um, it's reading week.
Erachet: I know that. I mean, what are people doing?
D2: You want to see what I'm doing tomorrow, Erachet? [She puts her arm around my waist and gently drags me over to her computer] Here, come, I'll show you what I'm doing.
[On the screen, there is a youtube video of a cat being dissected. D2 presses play]
M.R.: Don't look, Erachet! Hide your eyes!
Erachet: Wha--NO WAY, D2 EW EW EW! I am going to the other side of the table!
SJ: Now our apartment's going to smell like formaldehyde again.
D2: Erachet? When do you think they last lynched people?A little while later:
Erachet: Er...I don't know?
D2: No, really. If you had to guess.
Erachet: Ummmm, I...really couldn't guess.
D2: Come on, guess.
Erachet: Uh...after the Nuremberg Trials?
[SJ walks into the room]
D2: SJ, when was the last time they hanged people as punishment?
SJ: Well, Sadam Hussein was hanged.
Erachet: Oh, that's right!
D2: Okay, the last time in America.
SJ: Um, don't they just use lethal injection?
D2: But I think I remember people being hanged! I'm going to look it up.
Erachet: Why... are you interested in this?
SJ: D2's planning out her future life of crime!
Erachet: Yeah, but hanging?
D2: Come on, don't you ever get interested in things?!
D2: [Reading off her computer] "Only the states of Washington and New Hampshire still retain hanging as an option." Isn't that crazy?!Other D2 quotes of the night:
1. So I was telling my friend how in genetics lab we made menorahs out of bacteria, which we did. And my friend said, you know, I really don't like being around giddy people. And I said, I'm not giddy!As you can see, we've got quite a gem of an apartment mate here in Stern. But, in all seriousness, we love her. And if we were actually playing Gamad v'Anak (secret Chanuka buddy) in our apartment and if D2 was my person, this post would certainly serve as a gift to her!* But in any case, now D2 has a post in dedication to her that is completely lishma, and hey, she deserves it!
[Erachet: Menorahs out of bacteria?! Sounds pretty giddy to me!]
2. Time to metaphorically roast the proverbial duck.
[You're not supposed to get it. There's nothing to get. D2 doesn't get it either. The only way to get it is to understand that it is not supposed to be gotten. Got it? So now you get it. :P]
To SJ, Chana, M.R., and the Apple -I love you guys, too! Chag sameach to my apartment and chag sameach to the entire JBlogosphere.
Now everyone go eat a jelly doughnut!
*But we are not playing Gamad v'Anak, so of course D2 is not my person, nor is she anyone's person.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Fudge-A-Mania
This Shabbos, Fudge and SJ came to my house. It was really a lot of fun (MOST!), but I would just like to point out two conversations on Friday:
Fudge: Wow, this is just like Monsey!
Erachet: What do you mean?
Fudge: There are trees!
Fudge: Wow, this is just like a real house!
Erachet: Um, that's because it is a real house...
Fudge: It just doesn't seem like you can have real houses in a place like New York!
Case in point! :)
(Don't worry Fudge, you're still awesome :P )
Fudge: Wow, this is just like Monsey!
Erachet: What do you mean?
Fudge: There are trees!
Fudge: Wow, this is just like a real house!
Erachet: Um, that's because it is a real house...
Fudge: It just doesn't seem like you can have real houses in a place like New York!
Case in point! :)
(Don't worry Fudge, you're still awesome :P )
Monday, September 1, 2008
Pockets
There is an integral part of clothing that guys seem to have in abundance but that is decidedly missing in many articles of clothing for girls. This is so completely unfair that I think it is time to take a stand. No longer should girls be forced to carry around bags or purses - we want pockets.
Yes. POCKETS. You know, those little sacks inside pants and very few skirts in which to store small items like, say, a cell phone?
The desire for pockets goes way back to the times of Peter Pan, who says:
"Oh what pleasure
She'll bring to us
Make us pockets and sing to us"
But should only boys have pockets? Girls are there to sew them for boys?
Nuh uh. No way. I don't think so.
Things have gotten so bad that the following conversation actually took place this afternoon:
SJ: Purses are so annoying.
Erachet: Yeah. I think we should all advocate for pockets!
Madd Hatter: [completely and utterly serious] Pockets? What are those?
[SJ and I give her a look of astonishment]
Madd Hatter: [slightly confused at the way we are looking at her] No, really! They sound like something I would like!
You heard that right, folks. Us girls are even forgetting what pockets even are! We've got to demand them before it's too late!
WE WANT POCKETS!
Yes. POCKETS. You know, those little sacks inside pants and very few skirts in which to store small items like, say, a cell phone?
The desire for pockets goes way back to the times of Peter Pan, who says:
"Oh what pleasure
She'll bring to us
Make us pockets and sing to us"
But should only boys have pockets? Girls are there to sew them for boys?
Nuh uh. No way. I don't think so.
Things have gotten so bad that the following conversation actually took place this afternoon:
SJ: Purses are so annoying.
Erachet: Yeah. I think we should all advocate for pockets!
Madd Hatter: [completely and utterly serious] Pockets? What are those?
[SJ and I give her a look of astonishment]
Madd Hatter: [slightly confused at the way we are looking at her] No, really! They sound like something I would like!
You heard that right, folks. Us girls are even forgetting what pockets even are! We've got to demand them before it's too late!
WE WANT POCKETS!
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Top Ten Highlights Of The Week
1. Baking cookies with D2 (or, rather, eating D2's freshly baked cookies) and bringing them to the security guards downstairs
2. Beating SJ in Boggle :)
3. Writing bad poetry with SJ and the Apple
4. Our wild west poetry teacher looking for a board marker, not finding one, and muttering, "Heck!"
5. Our poetry teacher going around the room asking us our names and why we are taking the class. When my turn came around I said, "I'm Erachet, I'm an English Lit. major, and...I've done a lot of creative writing on my own."
"Really?" he asked, interested. "What sort of writing?"
"Well, mostly short stories but also some poetry. And, er, a lot of just...random blurbs."
"Well, that's poetry, too, you know!" my teacher exclaimed.
"Er, uh, well, they're more like beginnings or middles to random short stories," I explained hesitantly.
"Oh," he said, now looking at me as though I was a bit slow. "Those are called drafts."
Then a bunch of people laughed.
"Oh," I said. "Yeah. I write drafts."
6. Beginning a whole new year of adventurizing with SJ!
7. Beginning a new school year as the Apple's roommate :)
8. Getting five pages from my lit. and philosophy teacher about how to write a one page response (BRING IT!)
9. My 18th Century Satire class taught by my Gothic Novel teacher from last semester - and the funky book we're gonna read later called Tristram Shandy. It sounds sooooo....bizarrely cool.
10. School Books Buying: Survival Of The Fittest. It's a dog eats dog world out there in Barnes and Noble...
2. Beating SJ in Boggle :)
3. Writing bad poetry with SJ and the Apple
4. Our wild west poetry teacher looking for a board marker, not finding one, and muttering, "Heck!"
5. Our poetry teacher going around the room asking us our names and why we are taking the class. When my turn came around I said, "I'm Erachet, I'm an English Lit. major, and...I've done a lot of creative writing on my own."
"Really?" he asked, interested. "What sort of writing?"
"Well, mostly short stories but also some poetry. And, er, a lot of just...random blurbs."
"Well, that's poetry, too, you know!" my teacher exclaimed.
"Er, uh, well, they're more like beginnings or middles to random short stories," I explained hesitantly.
"Oh," he said, now looking at me as though I was a bit slow. "Those are called drafts."
Then a bunch of people laughed.
"Oh," I said. "Yeah. I write drafts."
6. Beginning a whole new year of adventurizing with SJ!
7. Beginning a new school year as the Apple's roommate :)
8. Getting five pages from my lit. and philosophy teacher about how to write a one page response (BRING IT!)
9. My 18th Century Satire class taught by my Gothic Novel teacher from last semester - and the funky book we're gonna read later called Tristram Shandy. It sounds sooooo....bizarrely cool.
10. School Books Buying: Survival Of The Fittest. It's a dog eats dog world out there in Barnes and Noble...
Monday, August 18, 2008
Calling All English Majors!
I don't usually post one RIGHT after the other like I'm doing just now, but this was too good to pass up.
Bad4 noted a disproportionate number of English majors in the blogosphere. So I just want to give a shout out to everyone who is an English major - or who is an honorary English-major-wanna-be.
ENGLISH MAJORS ARE THE BEST.
Also, SJ commented over the weekend that I post more often than anyone she knows. I was debating whether or not to feel self-conscious about this, but then I decided, y'know? It's my blog and if I have a lot to say, well, I can't help that! I don't speak enough in person so I guess I'm just drawn to writing. And no one has to read it if they don't wanna, you know? And now I know I'm gonna get yelled at by someone about being apologetic and disclaimering on my own blog, but...! Hmmm.
Bad4 noted a disproportionate number of English majors in the blogosphere. So I just want to give a shout out to everyone who is an English major - or who is an honorary English-major-wanna-be.
ENGLISH MAJORS ARE THE BEST.
Also, SJ commented over the weekend that I post more often than anyone she knows. I was debating whether or not to feel self-conscious about this, but then I decided, y'know? It's my blog and if I have a lot to say, well, I can't help that! I don't speak enough in person so I guess I'm just drawn to writing. And no one has to read it if they don't wanna, you know? And now I know I'm gonna get yelled at by someone about being apologetic and disclaimering on my own blog, but...! Hmmm.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
The Tale of the Lever
Once upon a time, three girls named SJ, D2, and Erachet ventured into a candy shop. There was candy everywhere - on the counters, on the shelves, along the walls...
SJ and D2 were excited by all the candy.
Erachet was too, but she was something else. She was curious. She walked over to the plastic containers lining the walls filled with m&ms. Each container had a different color of m&ms in it and, more importantly, each container had a big, red lever attached to it.
"Hmmm," wondered the ever-curious Erachet. "I wonder what would happen if I just...pulled...?"
She reached out and pulled on the lever attached to the container filled with red m&ms.
TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP!
Out fell scores and scores of m&ms onto the floor!
Uh oh!
Those gross m&ms from the floor cost Erachet $1.25.
And that, boys and girls, is why you should never pull levers if you don't know what they do, especially in candy shops.
The End.
SJ and D2 were excited by all the candy.
Erachet was too, but she was something else. She was curious. She walked over to the plastic containers lining the walls filled with m&ms. Each container had a different color of m&ms in it and, more importantly, each container had a big, red lever attached to it.
"Hmmm," wondered the ever-curious Erachet. "I wonder what would happen if I just...pulled...?"
She reached out and pulled on the lever attached to the container filled with red m&ms.
TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP!
Out fell scores and scores of m&ms onto the floor!
Uh oh!
Those gross m&ms from the floor cost Erachet $1.25.
And that, boys and girls, is why you should never pull levers if you don't know what they do, especially in candy shops.
The End.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Funness
I am going on a plane in two days! I can hardly believe it!
Remember this?
Things to do while visiting SJ:
1. Avoid Devil Squirrels
2. Have adventures
3. Have fun
4. Write
5. Have adventures
6. Go driving with SJ (that's sort of intertwined with 2 and 5)
7. Go Parking (when it's sunny and the sky is blue...don't forget to always bring a snack, and to carry boggle on your back)
8. Play Boggle
9. Personal Boggle
10. Watch fun movies
Things to do before I go visit SJ:
1. Clean my room some more
2. Write some more
3. Pack
Hmmm, have I forgotten anything anywhere?
Remember this?
Things to do while visiting SJ:
1. Avoid Devil Squirrels
2. Have adventures
3. Have fun
4. Write
5. Have adventures
6. Go driving with SJ (that's sort of intertwined with 2 and 5)
7. Go Parking (when it's sunny and the sky is blue...don't forget to always bring a snack, and to carry boggle on your back)
8. Play Boggle
9. Personal Boggle
10. Watch fun movies
Things to do before I go visit SJ:
1. Clean my room some more
2. Write some more
3. Pack
Hmmm, have I forgotten anything anywhere?
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Raiders of the Plastic Spoons
It happened one late morning at the secret, hidden home of the Blogfather. The apartment was empty save for the Bloggers SJ, M.R., and myself, Erachet - or so we thought.
It was while we were getting ready to leave that we noticed it - The Bug. It was big and black with long, furry, wriggling legs. Even worse - it was in Elianna's room! The polite thing to do, of course, was to kill the intruder at once but no one wanted to go near it. Finally, I had to face the thing myself ("HAHA! YU R MY BUG NAW" [the PT]) . I tried to squish it with a cardboard box from the garbage but, alas, it did not want to be squished. Once I finally did manage to squish it ("the bug has been squishinated by the girl!" [sic]) and throw it out, it was only mostly dead which, of course, means still slightly alive. What if other dangerous and grosser than gross enemies came to its aid?
This called for drastic action by present members of the Blog Squad. Bad4Shidduchim had hinted to us that there was something special and important about taping plastic spoons to the table and flinging jelly at the clean white walls. I believe her instructions were such:
Well, we were evacuating the apartment rather immediately, so we figured a shield of this kind against enemies of the Arthropoda phylum would be very useful. Luckily, we came prepared. We took out our handy plastic spoons and immediately began taping them to the kitchen table. Observe:
Next, we got out the jelly:
And then - up went the shield:
And the Blog Squad saved the day once again! The home of the Blogfather is sufficiently protected against Arthropods.
Unless...Serach didn't wash the walls did she? Did she???
Uh oh.
It was while we were getting ready to leave that we noticed it - The Bug. It was big and black with long, furry, wriggling legs. Even worse - it was in Elianna's room! The polite thing to do, of course, was to kill the intruder at once but no one wanted to go near it. Finally, I had to face the thing myself ("HAHA! YU R MY BUG NAW" [the PT]) . I tried to squish it with a cardboard box from the garbage but, alas, it did not want to be squished. Once I finally did manage to squish it ("the bug has been squishinated by the girl!" [sic]) and throw it out, it was only mostly dead which, of course, means still slightly alive. What if other dangerous and grosser than gross enemies came to its aid?
This called for drastic action by present members of the Blog Squad. Bad4Shidduchim had hinted to us that there was something special and important about taping plastic spoons to the table and flinging jelly at the clean white walls. I believe her instructions were such:
Use for 22 plastic spoons:
Needed: masking tape, a table, 22 plastic spoons, jelly, a nice white wall
1. Position table about 15 feet from nice white wall
2. Tape edge of handle of spoons to table, the bowl side over air
3. fill bowl of spoons with jelly
4. press gently down on edges of jelly-filled bowls of spoons in rapid succession
5. admire squishy sound and colorful sight
For best results, use many flavors jelly in a pattern. Keep spoons close together. With practice, you can aim them to create patterns of your own design.
Note: only for practice in facilities which you will be evacuating immediately.
Well, we were evacuating the apartment rather immediately, so we figured a shield of this kind against enemies of the Arthropoda phylum would be very useful. Luckily, we came prepared. We took out our handy plastic spoons and immediately began taping them to the kitchen table. Observe:
Next, we got out the jelly:
And then - up went the shield:
And the Blog Squad saved the day once again! The home of the Blogfather is sufficiently protected against Arthropods.
Unless...Serach didn't wash the walls did she? Did she???
Uh oh.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
SJ, Erachet, and the Devil Squirrel
I seem to only be able to write blog entries at strange hours of the night/morning or when I'm feeling, well, not all there. True, I fell asleep for a few short minutes on the flight home last night, but really, I haven't gone properly to sleep since Monday night. I am wiped, man.
Anyway, this story is meant to be read in conjunction with SJ's wonderful retelling of our driving escapades yesterday (was it really yesterday? I have no idea what day it is anymore).
So once we reached our destination, after quite accomplished driving by SJ through all means of traffic and weather conditions, and after much heroic navigation by yours truly, we decided that seeing an immense, majestic waterfall in the midst of gorgeous, wintry frost-covered pine trees and regal mountains must be accompanied by lunch.
Now, it is generally accepted that lunch-eating is not exactly the meanest of feats, especially when you come prepared for the noon meal and are greeted with a variety of empty picnic tables upon which to arrange everything.
The term generally accepted, however, does leave room for there to be the occasional exception. Yesterday's lunch was such an exception.
SJ and I had been in search of a dry picnic table to eat our lunch at since many of the outdoor ones were all covered in snow. Luckily, we noticed a large overhang which protected several picnic tables from snow and we headed in that direction, thinking it to be the perfect place to consume our midday meal. While entering the overhang, I noticed a particular squirrel sitting on a large rock and watching us intently. It did not seem at all bothered by our ever-approaching presence as we came closer and closer to the overhang. The woodland creature merely stared and licked its paws. This behavior seemed a bit odd to me, since I'm used to New York squirrels which run when people get too close. I was a bit unnerved not to witness similar behavior from this out-of-towner squirrel.
I soon forgot about the strange animal, however, as we selected our picnic table and put down our things. I quickly made a phone call to my mom and, while I was on the phone, I heard SJ comment, "it's on your foot!"
Now, I do like animals, but I have to admit that I'm not the biggest fan of wild ones being on my feet. I started and looked down, discovering the same squirrel as before. It jumped up onto the bench and then onto the table, completely fearless of us. SJ and I tried to shoo it away but it was not very impressed by our efforts. It proceeded to sniff our food and look in our bags. I, meanwhile, had been on the phone with my mother this whole time and was somewhat distracted, which is why SJ was able to grab her things and all our food and run. I merely ran, leaving my things on the table.
The frightening part was that originally, before I ran, I started to back slowly away and the squirrel began to chase after me. This was not normal squirrel behavior. So I ran. SJ and I tried again and again to sneak back to the table and retrieve my things but each time, the squirrel was there waiting for us! Only when the Devil Squirrel became distracted by much sillier humans than us taking its picture and exclaiming and cooing over it and how close it got to them that SJ and I were able to dart quickly under the overhang, snatch my things, and dash like lightening back out. We literally threw ourselves in SJ's car and shut the doors firmly closed against any squirrel intruders.
Thus concludes this particular tale of the Devil Squirrel. However, I doubt this is the last time humanity will have heard from the evil rodent. Any sightings should be reported immediately to Agents S. Jay and E. Rashay.
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