Writerly Maladies

This article about "maladies" many writers out there are afflicted with is hilarious!

Excerpt:

Description Overload: Upon this page there is a period. It is not just any period, it is a period following a sentence. It follows this sentence in a way befitting a period of its kind, possessing a roundness that is pleasing to the eye and hearty to the soul. This period has the bearing of a regal tennis ball combined with the utility of a used spoon. It is an unpretentious period, just like any other, the result of hundreds of years of typesetting innovations that allows it to be used, almost forgotten, like oxygen to the sentence only darker, more visible. And it is after this period, which will neither reappear nor matter in any sense whatsoever to the rest of the novel, that our story begins.

Welcome To The Kitchen

"Has anyone been listening to me?" asks Ima, the menu for all our Rosh Hashana meals on a pad of paper in front of her at the table.

"Yes, yes," says Straight Man.

"Alright," Ima smirks. "What are we having tomorrow night for dinner?"

"Umm...challah, apples, honey..."

"New fruit!" Mavis exclaims. "What are we having for our new fruit?"

"I dunno..." Ima says teasingly.

"You know...what is it?"

"It's a surprise."

Mavis flings open the fridge and pulls out something long and green.

"It's this!"

"Mavis!" cries Ima. "That's a cucumber."

.................................................

Shana tova, everyone! May you all have a meaningful yom tov with inspiring tefilla and tables surrounded by warmth, camaraderie, fun, family, and friends. May you all be written in the book of life and may your tefillos be answered.

Tired Conversationalist

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?"

Bringing Creativity Back

I think this is the most extraordinary video. I absolutely love it. You should all watch it - it's well worth the twenty minutes.



I believe we should really work towards a world where creativity is fostered in children and remains with them when they become adults.

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.

Why I Will Not Make A Good Gofer

This morning, I was about to leave for the caf when D2 said to me, "Oh, Erachet, are you going to get breakfast?"

"Yep."

"Do you think you can get me a cup of coffee?"

I hesitated. Coffee was not the sort of thing I was much experienced in. In fact, I had never made a cup of coffee before in my life.

"Sure...but I don't really know how..."

"Oh, it's easy! Okay? I'm going to explain it to you."

"Okay."

"Okay," said D2, and began slowly. "You take a cup. Then you fill it up about this much with coffee. Then you place it under the milk thing and fill it up some more with milk. Then you put two sugars in."

"Okay," I said. "I can probably do that."

So I went to the caf and, before I knew it, there I was standing in front of the coffee counter. I had never paid much attention to it before. I stared at it for a moment, D2's instructions suddenly becoming incredibly complicated.

I couldn't find a place where you get coffee from. There was a big urn that said "Caution: Hot Water" on it. Then there was a machine with three different kinds of milk. Three! Next to that was another machine with spouts for either cappuccino, french vanilla, or hot chocolate.

Okay. First thing first. Take a cup. I can do that, right?

I started to reach for a cup and then hesitated. There were two different kinds. Did D2 want a large cup? Or a small one? I tried to remember if she had specified but, my mind blanking on me, I had to use my own judgment. I figured I'd get her a large.

Large cup in hand, I then tried to decide which of the three flavors on the machine could one possibly mean when asking for "coffee." Clearly, the answer was not hot chocolate. Was it cappuccino? French vanilla? I had absolutely no idea and, after two whole minutes of deliberation, I stuck the cup under the spout labeled "cappuccino" and tried my luck.

After the cup was about 3/4 full, I decided it was full enough and went over to the milk. Here was another complication. Did D2 want whole milk? Skim milk? 1%? At home we get 1% milk so I figured that was safe.

As I was adding the milk, another girl looked at me with keen interest. "Is that good, what you do? Cappuccino and milk?"

I felt a little startled. Was there something wrong?

"I-I have no idea," I stammered, trying to sound like I knew what I was doing. "This is for someone else."

But something about her question made me think I had made a mistake. When she then took a small cup, put it under the "Caution: Hot Water" urn, and brown liquid came out, I knew I had completely messed up.

I decided to skip the two packets of sugar and instead covered the cup and brought it back to my apartment.

After having gotten wrong the size of the cup, the milk, and the coffee, D2 later told me she'd give me coffee-making lessons.

The Kazoo Snafu

There once was a man
Who played the kazoo
And he tried to enter a band.

But the band did not want
To have a kazoo
And held up their snobby hands.

The kazoo-player sniffed
And tossed up his nose
And said to them, "I will show you!"

He went to a street corner,
Pinned on a rose,
And played the Kazoo Snafu.

It went--
Hmmm hmmm hmmm
Hmmm hmmm hmmm
Screeeech!

And from all over town
The folks came to look
And they paid him a penny each.

"I'm rich!" thought the player--
Thought pennies were gold--
And took this good sign as his cue.

He gathered his money
And, feeling quite bold,
Skipped off while still playing Kazoo.

He's now near a hundred
And lives like a king
And none wish to tell him what's true.

Though he lives mighty fine--
Never paid for a thing--
His life's one big happy Snafu.

The Ballad Of Magellan

I used to like this song as a kid.

Freilichen Purim And Happy Birthday (Again)!

A few weeks ago, I wished a happy birthday to my little brother Mavis. The thing is...it's his birthday again!

Mavis, as I mentioned in the earlier post, was born on Purim. I already wrote about what it was like the day he was born. But I didn't go into much detail about his bar mitzvah, which we celebrated on his actual birthday - Purim.

He read megillah that morning in shul (and was amazing. I'm not just saying that because I'm his sister. People came up to us afterward and asked why my brother wasn't in the Yeshiva Boys Choir) and afterward he was having a party (costumes optional) about two minutes away. Various boys (Straight Man's friends mostly) were driving Mavis's friends from shul to the party. In fact, everyone was so concerned about getting all the guests there...we all sort of forgot that Mavis needed a ride, as well. I guess everyone assumed he'd be getting there somehow - that it wasn't up to them to figure out how. After all, he was the bar mitzvah boy, right?

Mavis ended up having to go over to another one of the guests who hadn't left shul yet and asking if he could please have a ride to his bar mitzvah.

The party itself was majorly fun, especially since my family was all dressed up in period costumess (colonial and stuff).

The chagiga tonight was also really fun. Highlights were:

• A girl wearing a sign that said, "Bernie Madoff stole my costume."
• A girl dressed up as a michlala girl - humongous poof and all.
• Zimri and Kozbi (that one was a little bit gross).

I sort of love it when people dress up as random things from Tanach. I think it's hilarious and so clever.

On the bus ride back, I discovered that I do have the abilitiy to sit next to a random person and talk. So I am not hopeless in social situations, after all! How relieving. (Joke.)

Also - I'm going to Israel tomorrow (what?!). For a wedding. I know, it's random and kinda weird and I'm missing two days of school and coming back to two midterms and a senior thesis, but what can you do? When a best friend from childhood gets married, everything else seems to get put on hold. Sort of. Not as much when it's in a different country across the ocean and you sort of aren't really sure that it's actually happening and won't be sure until after it's over when you say to yourself, "...Whoa. Was I just in Israel?" And even then, you're still not sure. Best to take pictures so you can prove it to yourself.

This post is random enough, I might as well end it with a Purim Torah joke. I used to know lots of these because the Rabbi of my fourth grade class gave us a whole sheet of them, but I only remember a few and only one of those that I remember is actually funny (in my opinion. Not laugh out loud funny. Just cute. They're all rather groan-worthy, really).

How do you know that Vashti was fat?*

In sixth grade, I remember we made fun of the Purim tape by going around saying in squeaky, whiny voices, "Vashtiiii...bring me a cup of caw-fee...!!!"

Anyway, I must go to sleep now, but happy birthday (again) to Mavis and a Purim Sameach to all my readers!!! That includes the lurkers, too! :)

*'Cause Vashti astah mishteh nashim! (Vashti was made of two women! [the real translation is Vashti made a feast for women])

A Different Kind Of IQ

(You may print this out to take or use a separate sheet of paper)

1. Read everything before doing anything.

2. Put your name in the upper right hand corner.

3. Circle the word “name” in sentence 12.

4. Write the date in all capital letters in the upper left corner of this page.

5. Draw five small squares under your name.

6. Put an X in each square you drew.

7. Put a circle around each square.

8. Put a circle around all of sentence 7.

9. Put an X under your last name.

10. On the back of this paper multiply 733 by 419.

11. Draw a rectangle around the larger of the two numbers in sentence 10.

12. Loudly call out your first name when you read this so your teacher can see who got this far.

13. If you think you have followed directions carefully up to this point, call out, “I have!”

14. On the back of this page, add 109.34, 1984 and 8965.

15. Put a circle around your answer, then a square.

16. Count from one to ten backward in a normal speaking voice.

17. Punch three small holes in the top of this page with your pencil point.

18. If you are the first person to get this far, call out, “I am number one!”

19. Write the numbers from 1 to 10 on the line. Underline all even numbers.

20. Say aloud, “I am almost finished.”

21. Now that you have finished reading carefully, do only sentences 1 and 2.


...If you have failed this test, I highly recommend you try paying more attention to directions. :)

Migration of MBC

Hat tip: Jameel

A Roundup Of My Life These Past Weeks

1. A new semester means lots of things. New classes, new books, new classmates to interact with, the strengthening of old friendships, and even new displays of humor in the elevator:

2. Starting off the semester sick is not the ideal of beginnings, but I did learn a valuable lesson: Nyquil takes approximately 100% too long to wear off. I took some last night and not only did I still wake up in the middle of the night coughing, I now also feel fuzzy in my head, like my legs are made of jelly, and like I need to just lay down and sleep for a number of years. I mean, I was tired before, but now I feel drugged. However, I did have a much deeper sleep last night so I suppose that, at least, is a plus.

3. It took me a surprisingly short amount of time to get used to having a Mac and not that much longer to turn into a huge fan. It's true what they say, there really are amazing graphics on here. And really cool features like simple finger swiping combinations on the track pad to do all sorts of things you can't even do at all on a PC. Don't get me wrong, there's a part of me deep inside that misses having a PC. But I love my new Mac. I'm increasingly happier I got a Mac instead of a PC, especially as, each day, I discover new awesome things I can do on here.

Anyway, Macs: highly recommended.

4. My parents' 25th anniversary was yesterday! I went home 'specially (though now I am back in school for the senior class shabbos) and my siblings and I got my parents an ice cream cake (the chocolate crunchies are the best part of ice cream cakes, of course). If my parents had not gotten married 25 years ago, I would not be here! So happy anniversary to them!


Have a great Shabbos, everyone!

Never Too Late

This story happened a while ago, but it just came up in conversation in my house and I felt it was most certainly post-worthy.

A friend of mine was getting married so about six months before her wedding, her mother took her wedding dress shopping in Boro Park. While they were there, the girl asked the shop keeper if it was too late to order some things. The shop keeper replied, "Honey, some people getting married when you're getting married don't even know each other yet!"

"The Shidduch Crisis"

Lots of people are posting about the infamous shidduch crisis. Is "shidduch crisis" even the right thing to call it? Perhaps some of it is self-imposed? Have we given ourselves a complex?

So many theories, so much advice...

Take what you will from this comic:


On a similar note, where are all the NORMAL guys, huh?

My Wonderful Apartmentmate(s)

I have a wonderful apartment mate. Her name is D2. This is the story about why she is so wonderful.

(SJ addendum: [deleted] [deleted] [deleted])
(Erachet addendum: Stop interrupting my post, SJ! You're ruining it!)

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: So...what's happening tomorrow?
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.

Later on in the evening, I was in the middle of working on this very post when D2 suddenly piped up with:

D2: Erachet? When do you think they last lynched people?
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?!

A little while later:

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!

[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]

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!

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.

Happy Birthday, Ima!

This post is for my mom.

It's weird to try and write a post in honor of your mother, because it's suddenly very embarrassing to get all sentimental. And if you're not going to be sentimental, you have to be insightful, but I'm not sure I have anything very insightful to say about mothers. Mothers, as a whole, are a like a girl scout club* with the slogan, "We are always right!" Don't you ever wonder why it is that whenever people talk about mothers, they always ask you things like, "don't you ever wonder why it is that mothers are always right?" Or sometimes they don't even bother asking. They just jump right in to, "I never wanted to admit it at the time, but my mother sure was always right!"

But are mothers always right?

It is possible for someone to be always right?

You were right that one time, weren't you? The one where you were certain, more certain than you've ever been before, more certain than you felt even about the sky being blue and the grass being green, that your mother was...wrong?

Hmmm. Something to ponder.

Well, the least I can do is leave a little anecdote. It'll be better than those corny Hallmark cards, you know? I can't stand those. "A rainbow for you...so all your dreams come true!" "Here's a heart, so we'll never be apart!" "Birthdays are like the Spring...they make me want to sing!"

Gag.

So here we go. Ima, you'll recognize part of this story.

It's approximately midnight in my house and my parents have just gone up to bed. My sister (Trademark, for those just tuning in) tells me we have to go get balloons from the trunk of my dad's car. We decide we don't want to use the front door because it makes too much noise, so we'll use the sliding door from the kitchen instead. That door leads to the backyard and then you have to walk around the side of the house to get to the front where the car is.

My sister opens the door, steps out, and I begin to follow when I hear footsteps in the kitchen. Without looking, I just know it's my mom (I am also incredibly talented at recognizing people's footsteps, just by the way).

"HI IMA!" I exclaim, jumping back into the house. My mother looks startled for a moment and then rather confused.

"Um...where are you going...?"

Oh. Haha. That.

"Well," I say, standing smack in front of the suspiciously open door. "I was...just getting some fresh air. It's really hot in here."

I'm pretty sure my mom didn't buy it. No matter what I said then to cover, it is incredibly unusual for our kitchen door to be wide open in the middle of the night. Still, I attempt to be natural about the whole thing and try to make my story as plausible as possible. I close the door, lock it, and declare I'm going to bed. My mother takes some things out of the freezer to defrost and also says she's going to bed.

"Oh...did you, um, close the door?"

"Yep!"

Too cheerful. Don't be too cheerful! You'll give it away!

"Did you remember to lock it?"

"Yep!"

And we both go upstairs.

About a minute later, I get a phone call from Trademark.

"Open the door, it's FREEZING out here!"

And we, the little elves in the night, then proceed to hang yellow streamers all over the kitchen. It was quite fun!

So, happy birthday, Ima! I hope it all makes sense now.

I know not much of actual substance was said in this post, so I give you:

P.S. Thank you, Ima, for everything and I love you! Also, thanks in advance for not yelling at me for writing this at three in the morning. After all, I want it to be here when you wake up! I know, I'm thoughtful that way. :D

*They even make cookies!

Hachi Tov Mei'Eretz Yisrael

Okay, so I'm a copycat. You know how Ezzie has best lines from shabbos? Well, while I was in Israel (with helpful prodding from the Apple after one particularly funny line before we took off that I told her about), I kept a record of (almost) all the funny lines from our trip AND I took video of fun or funny moments. And so I present to you (without, sadly, a cool box thing like on SerandEz):

Hachi Tov Mei'Eretz Yisrael

1. (Announcement over the JFK loudspeaker) Attention those waiting for the flight to London, the aircraft has been attacked by a large bird.
(We then proceed to be delayed three hours which causes us to lose our luggage in London. Stupid bird. Hmph)

2. Abba (while waiting to take off after a three hour delay in New York): Excuse me, what's going on with the delay?
Tall, lanky, male British flight attendant: I really don't know, sir. I've just come by to get an orange.

3. Trademark (my sister): I hate it when it's like two minutes to Yom Tov and Ima's like "okay, I'm lighting candles" and then we like pop out and our heads are spinning and I want a drink of water.
Erachet: *blank stare* ???

4. Mavis (my little brother): We should make Aliyah - then we can get a Mac!

5. David (my friend's Israeli husband who is meeting me for the first time): Let us know before you come next time - then I can get your chatan ready.
Erachet: Heh. Yeah, if you know anyone...
David: *seriously* Well, he's busy now but I don't think it's going anywhere, so...
Erachet: *chokes* Wait - you're talking about a real person?!?!

6. (After Mavis learns that a 'pencil' is an 'iparon' in Hebrew - his elementary school was too frum to teach him Hebrew. It's sad)
Ima: And how do you say 'pen?'
Mavis: Ummm...ipar?

And, the funniest of the funny:

(We saw this at a carnival thing at Gan Soccer on Chol Hamoed. It wasn't very religious, more cultural, but pretty amusing and fun. This is just a random guy in the audience getting a little over-excited by the music, I suppose)




P.S. Straight Man doing the pen twirl, an important skill:

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!

The Just-In-Casers

There is a certain class of people who are always looking to the future. They acquired excellent planning skills while growing up and are experts at thinking ahead.

They are known as the Just-In-Casers.

Just-In-Casers rarely like to commit to things. They much prefer to keep their options open. In fact, they hardly ever do much at all just in case something comes up later.

They don't like to buy things just in case they find them on sale somewhere else.

They don't like to wear their favorite pieces of clothing just in case they might want to wear them later in the week.

They don't like to fill their schedule just in case something comes up that they really want to do.

And, most of all, they don't like becoming fleishig just in case they want to eat ice cream later on.

This last one is very important. According to some stringent opinions, it is better to starve all afternoon and stay dairy for the possibility of ice cream at night than to eat meat and not be able to be open to the prospect of ice cream at all. Some are more lenient, however, and say that if you know you will still be awake six hours later, it is okay to eat meat. Just as long as you know you can still have ice cream sometime before you go to bed. If one waits only three hours, these restrictions need not apply and he/she can eat meat whenever he/she is hungry. Such are the rules of the Just-In-Casers.

If you are a Just-In-Caser, I'd suggest becoming lactose intolerant. Then you'll never have any of these ice cream issues. :)

For the rest of us, we must pray for decent parve ice cream.

Not On The Same Page

(This text-message conversation took place in the middle of Tisha b'Av while I was looking for one of my favorite books to read)

Me: Did I lend you To Kill A Mockingbird to bring to camp?
Mavis (my brother): No u didnt give me any dvds
Me: Lol! It's a book.
Mavis: O

(It also happens to be a movie, but shhhh. And I don't own the movie, anyway)

By the way, anyone who reads this blog and has not yet read To Kill A Mockingbird or doesn't remember it at all - READ IT. That's your summer reading homework from Erachet - and I hear a lot of people thought Erachet was "teacher" scrambled. Well, I suppose it is, but that's not what I meant when I made the name Erachet. :) But I'm still giving y'all summer reading! It's a smooth, easy read and is probably one of the best books ever written.