Unjustified

So many people are so stressed out about so many different things. My stress does not come from schoolwork. It does not come from too much on my plate. No, it comes solely and completely from myself and my inability to give up on the things that I love. I wish I had too much on my plate. I wish I was stressed about something that I had to do and work really hard on but at the end of the day was really, really proud of. But I'm not. Because, you see, aside from writing, anything else I like I never get to work on.

Okay, enough skirting around the point. I wasn't going to write about this. It's self-created drama with myself (okay, that was redundant) and the whole world doesn't need to hear about it. But then again, it's been bothering me all night. I mean, I'm not doing my schoolwork, I'm just kind of hanging out in my room not doing particularly anything at all. I even went down to the C-Store thinking that maybe I was hungry, spent about fifteen minutes meandering around in there, and then left without getting something because I suddenly realized I wasn't hungry, after all.

This is going to sound stupid. It's going to sound completely absurd and like I'm turning something trivial into a big deal. It's just, well.

I don't know how to write about this without coming off like a complete prat. But it just makes me so sad...so very, very sad that I, well, I don't make any appearance in the school play. I mean, none. I have a tiny part as it is, but not only is it small - it's said from backstage. As in - I do not actually step foot on the actual stage.

Well, not technically true. We're doing Little Shop of Horrors. I get to be inside the plant making it move around and stuff. I know, I know, it sounds really cool. And, to be honest, I'm excited about doing it. But I'm not, you know, the voice of the plant. I mean, my mother's going to come to this show and not even see me. I don't have to do any acting at all. Even my speaking part has very little acting. I'm a radio interviewer, for crying out loud. I have about five lines that don't say very much and they're said from backstage. Anyone could do it.

I don't want to whine, I don't want to complain, I'm not fighting this. I don't know why I'm not just quitting, but maybe it's because I really do want to work inside the plant. Maybe it's because I can't turn my back on theater, I love it so much. But I just feel...I don't know. Jipped. I mean, I always feel this way. I always get the really, really, really cruddy parts in plays. Maybe I think I'm a better actress than I actually am. I don't know. But it bothers me. I mean, why would God give me such passion for acting and for the theater, if He then doesn't let me actually do anything with it? Does anyone understand how incredibly frustrating it is to watch everyone else work so hard on their parts and complain and stress and complain and stress and then be really, really happy at the end and do a wonderful job and get congratulated...and you can't? And you're not a part of that?

Oh, yes, sure. Everyone is crucial to the play, etc. etc. etc. But I can't help but believe that most of that speech is pity talk. Even if they need someone to do the plant, even if they need someone to be the radio announcer, they don't need me to do it. Anyone could. Who am I in this production? Who am I in any production I've ever been in?

Nobody.

When it comes to plays, I just feel like I'm such a nobody. I keep trying to tell myself it's not important, it's not what matters, it's just a stupid play, but it's not. I love it, I have such passion for it. In every play I've been in, I always know everyone's lines by heart, even before they do! I act it out in front of my mirror, wishing, just wishing I could play a real character, someone with personality, someone who has something to say, something real to say.

I just wish someone would give me that chance - even just once.

And what's harder - when you have a tiny part, you're never justified for anything. There's no reason you shouldn't know your lines perfectly, there's no reason you should feel stressed out, there's no reason anyone should cater anything to your schedule because, come on, how much are you really being asked to do?

And people can snap at you because they're so stressed with their big parts, their important roles, their roles where their parents can actually be proud of them for accomplishing something and where people can be impressed by them and where they can feel proud of themselves. And where they can actually have fun. And where they're at every practice and get every single private joke. And you get so overlooked. You don't even know whether you're really included when people talk about "the cast." And people are rude to you when it gets close to the show - the other actors, I mean - and they don't notice it, nor do they mean it, but they're just so stressed and there's such high tension - but for you there's not. For you, you feel it when you get snapped at, when other's take out their high stress level on you, but you're expected to excuse it. And you do excuse it, of course. But it still hurts you. And these people are your friends, normally.

And all this, I know this is all going to happen. It happens every time. That's just the way theater is. I guess all I'm saying is, it's hard to be the small guy. And nothing about it is ever justified.

Thirty Seconds

Thirty seconds.

You have thirty seconds to convey to someone you truly admire just how much she has touched your life. You have thirty seconds to make an impression on a celebrity who doesn't even know who you are and who will most probably forget about you soon enough.

What do you say?

How do you spend those thirty seconds?

These were the thoughts going through my head as I waited on line to meet Gail Carson Levine, author of Ella Enchanted. I had the book in my hand, all ready to be signed, and could not figure out just how I was supposed to behave. Would I be doomed to be just another gushing fan?

My turn came. I took a deep breath and stepped up to the tent where Gail Carson Levine was sitting at a small table, a black marker in her hand. She looked at the sticky note on my book which had my name written on it, took the book from me, and said, "Erachet, did you like the answer I gave you before?" You see, I had asked her a question during her reading and open forum about what she does when she feels discouraged with her writing.

"Yes!" I replied eagerly. "Yes! I loved it! Thank you!"

And there I went. The words kept gushing out. They didn't even make sense.

"It really helped me! I am a writer, I want to be a writer, I love writing so it really, really--! Thank you! I love Ella Enchanted! I read it when I was little! Thank you!"

I was rambling - blathering on like a complete idiot. I could hear myself doing it but I was unable to stop. Any second now and I'd have to step aside for the next avid fan to gush all over her. I had to make an impression! I had to say something worthwhile! Something she hadn't heard before! Something she'd speak about when she gave future readings! "One girl once said to me" etc., etc., etc.! (I'm sorry, speaking about writing, I don't even know the correct punctuation for the end of that sentence).

I think I failed. That was the only downer of the day. I was incredibly disappointed in myself and in my inability not to act so stupid.

But.

BUT.

I did end up getting Ella Enchanted signed by Gail Carson Levine.

And.

AND.

I SAW JULIE ANDREWS.

It was incredible. I can't even begin to describe the way it felt to see her, to hear her, to watch her, and she was only about ten feet away! Too bad the only people she was calling on to ask questions were about age six and under - BUT STILL.

I loved today. I really, really did.

I just wish I had used those precious thirty seconds a bit wiser.

In which Cicero needs an ego check

Some of you may remember my previous post about Cicero, my brother's goldfish. Well, all the new, little fish that we got to keep Cicero company died within a day. It was really very depressing. After that, we decided to clean the tank - but this was no easy affair. First of all, there is this suction tube thing that we have to use to suction out a lot of the dirty water from the tank (this way, we don't have to take the fish out). What you do is you put one end in the tank, one end in a buckey, and, voila, bye bye dirty water! Easy, right? Nope! In order for the tube to start getting the water out, you have to start the suction by using your mouth and sucking on it like a straw. Now, it's a very long tube and there shouldn't be any problems - but, well, this is me we're talking about. There always seem to be problems. The very first time I did it, my mom was in there with me and I kept sucking on the tube but not hard enough because I kept getting scared that I was going to suck up the actual water. Well, finally, I sucked really hard - and got a mouthful of dirty fish water! I quickly spat it out and ran to wash out my mouth. It was so gross!

After we got the water out, I started to put clean water in but, since there was still some dirty water in there, and since the gravel was still dirty, it just clouded up all the clean water. So finally Trademark decided we should take out the fish and redo the whole tank. And this was after I had, by this point, gotten two mouthfuls of fish water. Nasty.

So, fine. We took out the fish, poured out the dirty gravel, scrubbed the tank until it was spotless, and then realized we didn't have enough new gravel to cover the whole bottom of the tank. So we had to go to the pet store and get new gravel. There, we decided to look for some bigger fish to put in the tank with Cicero, since he was probably very lonely all by himself all day (so we figured). The guy in the pet store said it probably wasn't a good idea to put another fish in the tank with Cicero because he was probably very territorial by this point. But we all thought, a goldfish? How nasty could a goldfish get? I mean, it's just a goldfish.

Little did we know, let me tell you.

We didn't end up getting new fish then, but today, my parents and siblings went out to do various errands and came back with a new goldfish, but this one wasn't teeny tiny like the other one had been (who had died along with the itty bitty swordfish and two other fish from my previous post). It was pretty normal sized, a bit smaller than Cicero is now.

Well, as soon as my mom put the new fish into the tank, Cicero went nuts! He started darting around, all agitated, and then began chasing the new fish. I actually took video of it on my camera. It was insane!

Oh Cicero, Cicero. What are we going to do with you?

Daf Yummies

Mavis invented a concept called "Daf Yummies." I assume it's a kind of candy. I think these should really exist.

Straight Man invented a concept called "TGIK" which stands for "Thank God It's Kosher" and is a chain of restaurants in random places where you would not think of finding kosher food. These should really exist, too.

Chag sameach everyone!

My Teacher Sometimes Turns Into A Glumph

This is a poem I just wrote, possibly for a children's story, possibly not. I think illustrations to this would be awesomely fun. Also - it is in iambic pentameter! In fact, it is basically an English sonnet, but with one extra quatrain thrown into the mix.

My Teacher Sometimes Turns Into A Glumph

My teacher sometimes turns into a Glumph,

When all her niceness goes away and hides,

And meanness settles in her with a “humph!”

She eats our snack and steals our swings and slides.

And in this state she caught me throw a book --

A small transgression, nothing like a crime --

And pointed with her finger to a nook --

The corner where I was to do my time.

Against the wall I stood, scolding my tears,

When suddenly, I was called back to play.

I studied Teacher and gave up my fears

For it was clear the Glumph had gone away.

The room lit up at once with Teacher’s cure.

All meanness gone - yes, not one thing was bad.

And happily we, as a class, were sure

Our teacher was the nicest ever had.

Your teacher’s nice, I’m sure, but don’t harrumph,

Be wary when she turns into a Glumph.

Little Fish of Horrors

Okay, before I start this entry, I would like to give nicknames to my siblings so that y'all can know (sort of) who I'm talking about - sort of like characters in a story! And also, everyone else seems to be doing this and it seems like fun. :) So here they are:

Straight Man - brother, 18 years old, studying in Israel
Trademark - sister, 16 years old, in eleventh grade
Mavis - brother, 13 years old, in eighth grade

And that's everyone! Well, besides me, of course :) And my parents.

Anyway.

So Straight Man (hee, now I can stop saying things like "my brother" "my sister" "my other brother" - okay, on with the story). Yes, so, a few years ago, Straight Man decided he liked fish. And finally, last summer, while we were in the Berkshires, we went to a fair and he actually won a goldfish. This was exciting for him, because it meant he could now get MORE fish and then get a whole fish tank and put it in his room and be very happy. It was a small goldfish and, to be honest, most of us were skeptical that it would last the rest of the trip, let alone make it home all in one piece. But, to my brother's delight, the fish did make it home. It even survived the long car ride back. So it wasn't long before Straight Man got a tank and a few more fish, one of which was a Beta fighter fish.

Now, something that I knew about Beta fighter fish (I shall have to write a post about Shammai and Hillel the Beta fish another time) but that Straight Man didn't know is that male fighter fish eat other fish. They have to have their own fish bowl. But, as Straight Man only had one tank, in it went with all the other fish.

And, one by one, the smaller fish started disappearing. They wouldn't just die. They'd be gone. It was clear to all of us what was going on. The Beta fish was eating the other fish!

Soon, all who were left were the Beta fish and the little goldfish from the Berkshires. I think Mavis might have given him a name, but I'm going to give him a second name - Cicero. Cicero, as you may or may not know, was an Orator from Roman times (I think. At least, I read his stuff in Latin class) and he gave great, somewhat pompous speeches. Well, this little goldfish from the Berkshires soon became a big goldfish who was the dominant fish in a tank with a fighter fish! How did this happen, you ask? Well, it happened one dark, stormy night, when zombies and goblins were roaming the streets, and SUDDENLY....er, yeah, I have no idea. But somehow, it did. It grew and grew and grew and grew into a giant goldfish and now it swims in front of the tank, especially when one of us in there, pacing back and forth and back and forth, its mouth opening and closing and opening and closing and it really looks like it's giving some sort of aggitated, grand speech! Therefore, his name is now Cicero. At least, it is on this blog.

So, one day, the fighter fish died. That meant that Cicero was the only one left in the tank. And we decided he was lonely. Here he was, this huge fish, always trying to speak to us, it seemed, and we figured that if it had some other fish to make grand speeches to, it would be happier.

Meanwhile, Straight Man left for Israel and my sister and I decided that we were going to be the ones to get new fish. So, this past Friday (yes, erev Yom Kippur - this was how important it was to us!), we went to the pet store and got one goldfish, two little fish that were clear with a pink highlight at the top, and one swordfish (a small, freshwater one, not the kind you're thinking of from the ocean). Now, two days later, the small goldfish and both highlighted fish are dead. Just the swordfish remains. Oh, and Cicero.

The interesting thing is that the other fish when they were alive, and the swordfish now, would hide behind things in the tank - almost as though they were afraid of Cicero! My dad suspected Cicero of eating the smaller goldfish when we couldn't find it yesterday, but last night I found it floating behind something. I don't think Cicero would actually eat any of the smaller fish. But it is definitely the dominant fish in the tank. It still gives speeches, although now I think it's a bit confused as to why there are other fish (well, one other fish, at this point). One major problem, though, is that since it's so big, it gets all the food. It's ALWAYS hungry. And I mean ALWAYS. And it just keeps growing. I feel bad for the swordfish! It's going to have to learn to be more assertive.

I think we just need to get some bigger fish.

Homework

I happen to love all my homework this semester, but I thought a whole bunch of you would appreciate this poem - I know I do, from past semesters when I've had annoying homework to do.

Homework! Oh, Homework!
by Jack Prelutsky
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	Homework! Oh, homework! I hate you! You stink! I wish I could wash you away in the sink. If only a bomb would explode you to bits. Homework! Oh, homework! You're giving me fits.
	I'd rather take baths with a man-eating shark, or wrestle a lion alone in the dark, eat spinach and liver, pet ten porcupines, than tackle the homework my teacher assigns.
	Homework! Oh, homework! You're last on my list. I simply can't see why you even exist. If you just disappeared it would tickle me pink. Homework! Oh, homework! I hate you! You stink!