Grand Plans

[This post is somewhat immature, but I'd rather disclaim than take it down]

In the summers, people often have these grand plans about how they're going to spend their time.

"I'm going to join a gym!"

"I'm going to learn a musical instrument!"

"I'm going to watch all ten seasons of Friends!"

And so on.

I also have grand plans for this summer. I want to read a number of books, including The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. (And I'd love to read Don Quixote, but who knows if I'll actually do that this summer. And I want to read James Joyce's Ulysses just to prove I can.) I'm actually in the middle of reading Breakfast at Tiffany's, a book that I read a few summers ago and vaguely remember.

I want to start watching Seinfeld (my family owns one or two seasons). I've been told I'll love it.

I want to pick up the flute again. I haven't taken lessons since I was about 12, so that's ten years ago already. A few days ago I started playing again just to see what I could remember and I ended up being able to play (not spectacularly, but I'm extremely out of practice) Part Of Your World, Can You Feel The Love Tonight, and the Bonjour song from Beauty and the Beast. I was even able to play a few bars of Memory from Cats.

Even more importantly, however - I want to write. I want to seriously work on my writing and possibly actually do something with it. But it's hard to concentrate and really lose myself in writing when there is so much going on around me. I think I understand now why writers like to go to isolated cabins in the woods. And most notably, once I start working, it's really going to be a challenge to come home from a long day and then be able to write. And when I say write, I mean really sitting down to write for a number of hours. Not a few snatches here and there.

Right now is my time for that kind of writing, isn't it? If I don't do it now, before the craziness of life actually begins, then when will I? Is my dream of becoming a writer going to end up really being just a dream?

So often when I bemoan the fact that once I start working, I'll be working for the rest of my life, people smile that knowing smile and say, "Welcome to Life." Well, you know what? I hate money. I absolutely loathe it. Because if I can't spend the time doing what I want to do now, then when will I ever be able to? My whole life I'm going to have to spend working in order to make money in order to pay bills in order to live so that I can be able to go to work. What kind of a life is that? When will I have a chance to actually live my life the way I want to live it? My dream right now is to be a stay at home mother and a full time author. But how can I get to be a full time author if I am unable to actually write my first book? Where will I find the time and energy for real writing? And yet if I prolong this time without a job, I'll have no money. So basically my life is about having money so that I can actually have a life? But then, when will I be able to quit that part so I can spend my days writing? When I'm retired?

In the olden days, writers and all artists used to have patrons who would basically provide for them so that they could work on their art, which they would then proceed to dedicate to their patrons who had so generously supported them. Nowadays, I don't think we have such a system. At least, I've never heard of it. So those who wish to pursue the arts have to either be a "starving artist" or have to squeeze in the time before they are good enough and wealthy enough to make it a full time profession. Or their dream of working in the arts remains just that. A dream.

How many dreamers are out there who spend their lives doing something else completely?

When do you get to start becoming who you want to be in this world instead of just focusing on paying the bills?

Why am I 22 years old and already aware that there is real danger in losing my dream completely - that if I want my dream to become a reality, I'm really going to have to fight for it? Because nothing about this world, this life, is going to let me have it.

I just really hope it's not another one of those "grand plans."

The onset of summer

Change of season usually also brings about some sort of change in people. A person may feel determined in autumn to start the school year responsibly and organized. Winter may carry with it a peaceful air, where you can feel as free as the white snow that is both blank and rich, or you can cozy up inside with friends, hot chocolate, and a good movie. Spring gives the flavor of frivolity and exhilaration in the blooming world and all its adventures and possibilities.

Summer, on the other hand...summer for me is the starkest contrast of all - it brings about the biggest, most jolting change. Summer is when friends go home. Summer is when no one seems to be around. Summer is when you sometimes have to get a job doing something so completely and utterly mindless you can feel your wasted brain cells choking. Summer is a time for self-reflection, but you have so much time for it that you end up wallowing.

On the other hand, there are some people around - it's just harder to stay in touch and it takes more effort to get together. Summer is when you can catch up on your reading...catch up on your writing...learn how to get over hating ellipses...

I suppose it's about a balance. But it's harder in the summer. There isn't constant action to distract you. You're alone a lot more often than you are during the school year. It's like a switch that was on all year has suddenly, unexpectedly been turned off. Your entire comfort zone melts away. The big bubble of fun that surrounds you all year pops. You're left with only a little bit and that has to last you all summer long! And that summer can be like an uncharted map - three whole months of nothingness. Anything could happen. Nothing could happen. There's no way of knowing. It's like Alice falling down the rabbit hole and having no idea when she'll land or where or what'll happen afterwards or how she'll get back.

I think summer is the most frightening season.

Last day as an intern --> Vacation!

Today is my last day as an intern! And I'm writing a super cool story for the paper about a girl who can't fly on planes but her parents promised her she could go to Israel for the year so she's taking a cruise to London, trains across Europe and then a cargo ship across the Mediterranean. HOW COOL???

Anyway, speaking of trips, I'm going with my family to San Francisco for ten days on Sunday! We are still working out our itinerary so does anyone know of any really fun/cool/interesting things to do in either San Fran itself or just the San Fransisco area? We're also going to Yosemite for three days so anything there would be cool, too. Thanks! (And if no one knows of anything, we will blaze our own trail!)

I see. And tell me--

I DID MY FIRST EVER REAL, LIVE, IN-PERSON-AND-NOT-ON-THE-PHONE INTERVIEW TODAY.

And I thought I was very good! I just wish I wasn't such a slow writer because it got awkward how there were these long pauses between when the guy finished answering my question and when I asked the next one because I had to write it all down so I could get good quotes.

You know, I never thought I'd like reporting since I was always so insistent on being a creative writer only. Strictly stories, no newspaper. But I'm finding that:

a. Writing a reporter-style article still requires creativity and skill, just of a different sort.
b. When I was really young, I used to want to be a detective because I loved solving mysteries and figuring things out. Being a reporter is sometimes like that, even though it isn't real, investigative reporting, I'm still investigating the story, getting the facts straight, trying to find the truth behind things. It's fun. The only thing I have to get over is my discomfort with the telephone.

So I am still mostly a creative writing kind o'girl. But I can stick in a reporter article or two. Sure thing. Yep.

Snape, Snape, Severus Snape

The subject line came from this movie:



Aaaaanyway, today was my first day as a newspaper intern! So now three days a week I'm working for a paper and two days a week I'm working for a medical publishing house. Busy girl, me! And I got an actual story to write for the paper! I have to call people and interview them and everything!

And on a totally different note, not only do I now hope Snape is innocent, I believe it, too. I found two solid proofs of his innocence in the sixth book. NO, THIS IS NOT A SPOILER. It is merely careful reading.

1.

"Hagrid, why is Dumbledore angry with Snape?" Harry asked loudly.
"Shhh!" said Hagrid, looking both nervous and angry [.....] "Well--I just' heard Snape sayin' Dumbledore took too much fer granted an' maybe he--Snape--didn' wan' ter do it anymore--"
"Do what?"
"I dunno, Harry, it sounded like Snape was feelin' a bit overworked, tha's all--anyway, Dumbledore told him flat out he'd agreed ter do it an' that was all there was to it. Pretty firm with him." (pgs. 405-406 of the hardcover HBP)

2.

"Kill me then," panted Harry, who felt no fear at all, but only rage and contempt. "Kill me like you killed him, you coward--"
"DON'T--" screamed Snape, and his face was suddenly demented, inhuman, as though he was in as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them-- "CALL ME COWARD!" (pg. 604 of the hardcover HBP)

Those two definitely prove it to me. Especially that last one. I mean, yelling is not Snape's style. He's more soft and quiet in his anger, preferring twisted comments and sneers to shouting and all. He was clearly, clearly extremely touchy about being called a coward, perhaps because he had just done one of the most difficult things in his life by killing Dumbledore, and perhaps because he has to play double agent and is sick and tired of it. Who knows for sure? But it's pretty clear proof to me, anyway.

By the way, I'm rich!

Tomorrow it will be a week - a week - since my last post. Oh no! What is this world coming to?

Well, actually, it's mostly because I come home so tired after work and though I have much to say, I have little energy to write. I write mostly in my head as it's happening, but, of course, I can't blog from work (I'm new at this whole work thing. Give it time, give it time). So though I have a new dream diary post in the working (about vampires, to give you a little teaser), I thought I'd post something else beforehand. I don't want to neglect my flourishing, baby blog, after all! I must nurture it! Give it life and much TLC!

So I shall post about today's awkwardness.

Today the people in the publishing house held a pizza party for one of the men there because it was his birthday. The thing was, it wasn't kosher pizza so I of course couldn't have any. That's fine. I just stayed at my computer doing whatever I was supposed to be working on. But then the PRESIDENT of the publishing house came over and asked me if I wanted pizza. Now, this is the first time she was there when I was, so this is her first impression of me. I said, "no, thank you." So she asked me if I was sure and I said I was. Then she gave me this odd look and asked, "...Why?" I could sense how awkward this was about to become. "Well, I only eat kosher," I answered, a bit sheepishly. She frowned. "Oh. But--this is just plain pizza. There's nothing on it." I wanted to sink into the floor right then. "Yeah, but, it's okay," I said, feeling like a complete snob. I think she felt I was one, too, especially considering I heard her mutter a comment about 'kosher' under her breath as she went back into the conference room, and it didn't sound very positive. Or she just might have thought I was rather strange. But the way she had questioned me and reacted to my answers made me feel like a self-righteous snob in an "I'm sorry, your pizza isn't good enough for me," sort of way. Yuck.

So that was the more serious thing. The less serious and more idiotic thing was this:
I was searching for a book on the shelves in the conference room in order to mail to someone. A man who I had never seen before was in there, I think because he doesn't have a desk yet. So, I did the logical thing, I asked him if he knew where the book was. He commented that he was newish there also and had no idea how they organize their books. I sighed and commenced my search. After about a two to three minute pause, he piped up again with a, "by the way, I'm Rich." Now, me in my utter density thought he meant he was rich, as in, wealthy. I turned and stared blankly at him for a moment, having NO idea how to respond to that. Finally I just laughed a bit, taking it as a joke. It was only after he added, "yeah, like I said, I'm new here also," that I realized he meant his NAME is Rich. Idiot me!

Carryin' the Banner!

Today I had an interview at a local Jewish newspaper - at the place I'd been trying to get to a few days ago when I got miserably lost. So last night my dad and I drove there together and figured out a good way to go so today I was able to go myself. That was accomplishment enough. It was a pretty big drive for me - me, who is not a big driver to begin with. I had to drive on some pretty major, busy streets. But I found the place without incident and I made my way home afterwards with only a slight detour. So that was good!

The interview itself was, well, to be blunt, it was fun. I don't think I've ever had a fun interview before. Usually they're just the interviewer going on about what the responsibilities of the intern will be, what the company/publishing house/newspaper stands for, asks if I have questions, wonders about my year in Israel, and then shakes my hand and I leave. That was the first thing I noted with relief about this interview - I didn't have to shake the hand of a male person. I know, I know, you're supposed to shake someone's hand out of common courtesy, but I can't say I haven't felt weird doing it. So finally, finally, here was one person whose hand I didn't have to shake.

I think the most surprising thing about the interview was the fact that, after all the usual questions were finished being asked, my interviewer offered to give me a tour of the place. Slightly startled, I agreed and, not only did I get a grand tour, but I got to see the huge printing press they have there. I've never seen a printing press before. It was so cool. We first looked down on it from these big windows upstairs. It was in a humongous room and I really felt like I was looking down on some sort of Willy Wonka contraption. Then my interviewer actually took me down to the printing press and showed me the paper, the ink, all the different machinery and what it does - needless to say, I was enthralled, awed, and amazed. We then got to see some people working at another machine which blew air into publications to put the inserts in, you know, where there are those ads that always fall out of various publications when you open them. That was cool, too. Especially since it was being done just then. It was like watching the Oompa Loompas! I can just hear it now:

Willy Wonka: And this beautiful machine blows air into the candy in order to insert commercial ads so you can get that very peculiar sensation of watching a commercial without having it interupt your television program! We call it the "annoying advertisement gobstopper."

Aaaanyway, I really hope the fact that I got a personal tour of the place is a good sign. It was definitely a really neat experience. What also startled me was the fact that my interviewer said that if I get the position, he'd feel comfortable letting me go to events to represent the paper and basically be a reporter. And this was after I told him I've never done any reporting before. But just imagine! Wow. Just--wow. I really, really hope it works out.

Books

Today was my second day at work! It was much better than yesterday. I answered the phone like a normal person and actually helped people! Though T.H. called again, only this time when I asked who it was and he said it was Gwiffle's husband, he didn't get all defensive. He just sounded a bit touchy. But, really, mister, if you don't tell me your name when you call, how am I ever going to know you're Gwiffle's husband? I mean, we're going to spend all summer playing this game if you don't start introducing yourself when you call. You know, like, "Hi, this is Fliffle, is Gwiffle there?" And then I can say, "Oh! Fliffle! Why certainly, one moment please!" And it can all be rainbows and cherries between us! Ah, alas, wishful thinking.

But anyway, today I also got to compose a letter! And make a list of contacts! And copy edit a catalog! Though the best part was listening in on a meeting about the creation of a book. They talked about the font, the spacing, the size of the pages, the cover, the price - everything. It was amazing.

I love books. I love everything about them, the smell, the pages, the weight of them in my hands, the words - oh yes, the words. The stories they tell. I treat them with care. I recently decided to use bookmarks so as not to ruin the corners of the pages. I also learned from Fire and Hemlock not to leave a book on its face in order to hold the place.

One day, when I have my own house, I'm going to have a library. And a nice one, too. I also really want to have a tower where I can have my work room for writing and I can look over the whole town but they can't see me. And it will have a windy staircase going up. The library won't have a staircase, unless I have so many books that it needs one *grins gleefully* but it will have really comfy couches. The kind that are maroon colored and you sink right in. And the bookshelves will be cherry wood - oooh, that's nice.

I'm not sure why I'm designing my dream house on my blog at the moment. Perhaps it's because it is midnight and I am in serious need of sleep. I also wrote an entire post about something else but decided I didn't like it and deleted the whole thing, so I felt the need to at least post something. I wanted to post about eating in Circa and why I love kosher restaurants but that will have to wait for tomorrow. I'm way too tired now to think on anything more than a silly, superficial level.

But this is a shout out to those who love books as much as I do!

Fifty Nifty Posts on My Blog...Otherwise Known As "Phone Shy"

YAY. POST NUMBER FIFTY.

Ahem.

Aaaaanyway, today was my first day as an intern somewhere! It wasn't much like I imagined, though I didn't know what to imagine, so I guess that's not saying a lot. I had to update the links on their website so my limited knowledge of html came in useful, though. And I got to put together media kits, which are basically these manila envelopes with a copy of a newly published book in each and a letter to each person getting an envelope to please write a review of the book. That part was pretty cool.

By far the worst part of the whole thing was answering the phone. I am incredibly phone shy. (Curiousjew, if you've noticed I never called you back :) It's nothing against you and I shall eventually, I'm just really awkward on the phone, heh). Luckily, I didn't have to do too much phone answering because someone else was in charge of that, but if she was on a different line or had stepped out, I had to do it. Let's just say, some women get very touchy about the fact that you don't know they're so-and-so's wife. I'm sorry! It's my first day working there! So I don't know your husband is such-and-such. Big deal. I mean, really. Get. A. Grip. And what was even worse was when someone's husband called and I completely went blank. This was the scenario:
Phone: Ring ring, ring ring (it's a really odd ring)
Me: Please, please, someone else pick up (wishful thinking, if it rings at my desk that means the lady who usually answers the phone is either not there or busy and no one else is going to be picking up that phone)
Phone: Ring ring, RING RING.
Me: *Swallows and picks up phone* H-Hi, this is [insert first part of the name of the publishing house] *awkward pause* Um, Publishing House. *Thinks: darn, I knew I forgot part of the name somewhere*
Touchy Husband: Hi, can I speak to Gwiffle? [this is my code name, just nod, smile, and play along]
Me: Um, sure. Just, um, hold on. Wait, who is this?
Touchy Husband: This is her husband. Who's this?
Me: Um, um, I'm Erachet. I-I work at the, er, front desk.
Nice Person I Work For: Do you want me to take that?
Me: Uh...*puts T.H. on hold* It's Gwiffle's husband.
NPIWF: Oh, just tell him she's out and she'll call him back.
Me: Er, okay. *Completely forgetting how to use a phone, I proceed to press hold in order to get him back. It, of course, does not work. Then I accidentally made a conference call, I think, but I quickly hung up and just hoped T.H. had somehow gotten off the line*

Well, yes, that was a disaster. Luckily, that was pretty much the only one. Oh, then we had someone call who only spoke Spanish. That was fun.

Let's just say, I'm absolutely rubbish at answering the phone.

But to end this post on a happier note: FIFTY POSTS. HURRAH. Or, or, HUZZAH, even.

Whoaness - a four-day hodegepodge

I can't believe I haven't written in four whole days. I have a lot to say and not a lot of time to say it in, seeing as it's eleven o'clock (hee, I love writing out the time like that instead of digitally, like, 11:00) and I have to get up at six tomorrow morning. You see, tomorrow is my first day as an intern. I've never really interned anywhere before, if you don't count organizing pictures in a hospital archive for a friend of my dad's. I'm interning at a publishing house for medical textbooks every Tuesday and Wednesday this summer. It should be rather interesting, I hope. And this Thursday I have an interview at a local Jewish newspaper for the other three days in the work-week. I really, really hope that works out.

Speaking of that interview, my parents suggested I take a test drive to the interview spot today just to make sure I can get there without getting lost. Now, I have an awful sense of direction. And I mean awful. And I'm quite good at muddling up directions - which is just what I did. What should have been a seventeen minute drive, according to mapquest, turned into a two and a half hour adventure missing every single street my dad directed me to turn down. I ended up in the oddest places, ran a red light, nearly got into an accident, cried a couple of times while in a sketchy school parking lot on the phone with my dad, got yelled at by the security of the school (for being in their parking lot when the buses were coming soon), and was drenched in nervous sweat. Literally. My hands were wet, my face was wet, my hair was wet. I mean, I don't think I've ever been this nervous ever (and yes, I know I just used 'ever' twice in about four words. I was that nervous). It was my very first time driving out of my community on my own, I was completely lost, I kept getting myself more lost when my dad tried to direct me, and, yeah. Basically, it was a disaster. So we're going to try again tomorrow night and this time, one of my parents is coming with me to make sure I go the right way. I felt like such a complete failure this afternoon.

In other news, tonight was my brother's high school graduation. It was really nice, though some of the speakers spoke for rather a long time. I just cannot believe he graduated. It's weird, his entire life has revolved around high school, the hockey team, different teachers he liked, didn't like, his friends, and now it's over. Time to move on to the next level in life. I hope Israel is as good, if not better, an experience and that he continues to grow and mature and have an awesome time in everything he does.

Lastly, before I literally fall into bed, I've been having an internal debate with myself since high school. In high school, I had some friends declared they would not study secular subjects on Shabbat. I thought about it for a bit, but I really did need to study on Shabbat, or thought I did, anyway, and I never gave that up. It was a perfect long afternoon when I wasn't doing much else anyway - it was either studying, reading, or getting together with friends to eat each other's leftovers and debate over how to spend the afternoon. When I was in Israel for the year, the head of my school briefly mentioned once that he never studied on Shabbat and did well anyway. When I entered college, everyone I knew studied on Shabbat and I totally forgot about the concept that maybe you shouldn't. Until this weekend. This weekend, one of my best friends had some friends over from her college and they were talking about this very idea - studying on Shabbat. She explained to me that although she used to study on Shabbat in high school, she no longer does. Her friend told me that it is blatant hachanah (preparation) for after Shabbat and that a person should not even study religious subjects on Shabbat for that reason. I was flabbergasted. What about reading novels for school? When else do I have time to read for school??? No, he said. Even that I shouldn't do.

I frowned, I furrowed my brow, I reasoned, I rationalized, and I arrived at a dead end. The hachanah argument seems so logical and so obvious, and yet, I know that people study on Shabbat. I know people read for class on Shabbat. And I want to be able to. But am I allowed? Is hachanah for after Shabbat the real reason people don't do it? Or is it because it's not in the spirit of Shabbat to study secular subjects, and therefore religious subjects are okay and even reading secular novels are probably alright?

If anyone can relieve my mind on this issue, it would be greatly, greatly appreciated.