The Valmadonna Trust Library at Sotheby's

Assailed by multitudes, sheer numbers overwhelm. Books scale the walls; these books testify to our history, because we are a people committed to the written word, preserving our original thoughts, our ideas, our traditions. Most bindings are leather—deep red, faded brown, crumbling, newly restored. Each labeled with a title, a location, a year. In the first room, the shelves ascend toward the heavens, books lined up neatly, packed next to each other at stiff attention, each modestly fulfilling its role, one slim binding in an army of thousands. Colors and sizes of infinite variation, one plus one plus one plus one, together produce an impression of fantastic proportions, a wealth of knowledge cascading up and down each wall, eternal, insurmountable.

On every shelf several books are propped open, exposing the black specks on yellowed-white within. The lettering is mostly familiar—Rashi script or regular Hebrew—and I can read the pieces of texts on display, excerpts often recognizable but sometimes unusual. Other books contain foreign characters—Latin, Italian—and I can only guess what the words signify. Many of the open pages bear illustrations: Moshe carrying the tablets of the law, the Cohen Gadol in his vestments, a family around a Seder table. And then there are fat young cherubs, scantily clad heralds blowing horns, even the forms of a man and a woman, neither one clothed. I witness these images framing our holy texts; their presence jars my modern eye. Yet when the books were printed, such illustrations were expected, accepted, their existence testified to the importance of the words they adorned. I gaze at the thin black lines that make up the images and I think about debates over whether art history classes may be taught and I marvel at how time and context change the way we think.

An alcove houses the particular treasure of this vast collection: the Bomberg Shaas, a Talmud with a tale. Behind glass the brown-red covers glisten still, thick straps of leather on each binding proclaiming their royal origin, open to pages that have lasted hundreds of years, totally intact. The words of the gemara occupy their usual spot in the middle of each daf; Rashi and Tosfos surround them, stolid companions. But without the super-commentaries, the flourishes we have come to expect, the pages look strangely bare.

On a wall in bold letters a quote from Judah Ibn Tibbon (father of Shmuel Ibn Tibbon, translator of Rambam’s Moreh Nevuchim) reads, “Make books your companions; let your bookshelves be your gardens; bask in their beauty, gather their fruit, pluck their roses, take their spices and myrrh.” My friend and I stand feet away from these words, and eagerly drink them in. We are bibliophiles; this quote echoes in the hollows of our hearts.

But this quote applies to more than just a couple of nerdy English majors. Look around. See who else has come to breathe in these books. This room is packed. It is full to bursting with people. Yeshiva bochrim in black and white with black hats, young and old men without head coverings, an Orthodox girls’ high school on a field trip, Chassidim with curled payos flying, a woman who davens in my shul at home, a mother and son I met in Scotland—and of course, the YU crowd: students, Presidential Fellows, teachers, Rebbeim, and even the university’s president.

People of books. I am one in a living, thriving crowd; we care deeply about these words, these ideas. We have come to see, to marvel, to appreciate. And so I stand, assailed by multitudes, and the joy of these numbers overwhelms.

Another Post About Driving

Guess what? I’m hosting a blog party, and you’re all invited!

Since I am currently home for winter break, which makes the gathering of my friends for a spontaneous celebration considerably more difficult, I decided that the blogosphere would be a universally convenient place for us all to congregate.

What is the special occasion, you ask? “It can’t be her birthday,” you wonder, “she turned 21 just over a month ago. Perhaps it is an unbirthday party?” No no no. It is, in fact, a celebration of my braverism (ten points to anyone who gets the reference).

As follows: faithful readers will recall my freeway driving experience of a few months ago, and the elation I felt upon achieving that milestone. Those of you clamoring for an update are in luck: another milestone has been reached. Several, in fact.

Today I drove: (a) without a thorough (or even cursory) knowledge of how to get where I was going, (b) on seriously long expanses of freeway, and (c) through feet of snow and ice. No I am not joking; those of you who know me can pick your jaws up off the floor now.

Right, I deserve a party?

Admittedly, I did have Erachet in the passenger’s seat navigating and providing moral support, but since she is no driver herself, and had even less of a clue about where we were headed than I did, I still consider it quite a feat.

No matter that we skidded a little; that the steering wheel took on a mind of its own a few times; that I made a sudden swerve across three lanes; that I had to focus all my energy merely on clearing the windshield of foggyice for much of the trip; that I drove most of the way home as night fell without my headlights on—I made it, all in one piece, and so did Erachet, and so did the car—and that is what really matters, right?

Oh, and speaking of braverism, we also successfully faced a demon squirrel, and came away none the worse for wear, and with our lunches intact. Stop laughing, it was seriously scary—ask Erachet!

Now that you know why we’re having this party, come in, relax, put on some music, help yourself to some virtual ice cream, and start a deep philosophical conversation in the comment thread (what better party activity, after all?). Or write me something very creative or amusing. Or just say hello. Let me know you’ve come, in any case. It would be a shame to have a party without any guests.

Oh, and since I’m legal, let’s drink a toast: to conquering all our fears!

The Perks of Living in the City

or
Amazingly Awesome Things I have Done In the Past Few Weeks:

I am not a New Yorker, nor do I ever plan to be one. Though this is my third year living in NYC for college, I do not plan to stay here long—certainly not long-term. Yet, as much as I may complain about the New York area and Manhattan in specific, sometimes living in the city is amazing. In the past I’ve sometimes tended to get caught up in school and school-related things and not get out as much as I should. This year, I am happy to report, I have been doing a better job of exploring and experiencing New York. As follows, a brief guide/summary of some of the attractions I’ve discovered in my current city of residence.

Times Square -- though it is one of the most well-known tourist sites in New York, there is so much to see and do that it’s exciting to go back again and again even for those of us who live just a few blocks away. Some things to see in Times Square:

• Toys “R” Us – this store may be known to in-towners as nothing but a trite date-site, but really it is much more. Yes, it’s a great place to spy on shidduch dates, if that’s one of your hobbies (“Oooh, that one’s not going well, look at how her arms are crossed—I guess she’s not a fan of Ninja Turtles”; “They’ve for sure been dating a while, they look totally comfortable together”; “No matter how many we see, I still think a black hat and suit look strange in a toy store”), but it’s also a terrific spot to go with friends. One upside of going with an all-female group is the ability to spend extended amounts of time in the Barbie section without having to deal with a male feeling his masculinity challenged by an overload of pink. Seriously though, for those of us who are still on good terms with the 7-year-old inside us, it is always a ton of fun.


• The M&M Store, The Hershey’s Store – the former is much bigger (three floors) and carries anything you could ever want or need—all emblazoned with the M&M logo or pictures of the various M&Ms from the ads. They also carry M&M candies in more colors than you could have ever imagined. You won’t necessarily buy anything there, but it’s fun to look. The latter is much smaller, and in my mind a bit overrated. It doesn’t really sell much but chocolate—but then again, there’s nothing wrong with chocolate. :)


• Dale and Thomas Popcorn, aka Popcorn Indiana – carries popcorn in all sorts of flavours, including cheddar, kettle corn, barbeque, chocolate caramel, and white chocolate peanut butter—and it’s all kosher! My personal favourite is the kettle corn, which is the only flavour of which I am able to consume large amounts at a time. The ones with chocolate are amazing, but so rich that it’s hard to have more than a little. The popcorn costs little more than Starbucks, but is much yummier. I’m a fan.


• Broadway Shows – I am a huge fan of musicals, and Broadway shows, though often quite costly, generally provide an experience exciting enough to talk about for weeks. There are various methods of obtaining tickets for less, some of which I’ve found more effective than others. TKTS, in my experience, won’t offer tickets cheaper than can be bought at the box office, but will usually give better seats for the same price. Student rush tickets are available for some shows, or if you’re feeling lucky, many shows have a lottery for $20-25 front row seats. Take, for example, Wicked—one of my favourite shows ever. Long-time devotees of this blog may recall that I saw it in London, but of course that isn’t the same as seeing it on Broadway. Before today, I had twice entered the lottery and left empty handed. Today, however, I entered…and won! My friend and I paid $26.25 each and sat in the second row! We were so close that I could see Galinda’s zits hidden under seven layers of cover up. It was awesome, to say the least.

Pylones Stores -- never heard of them? Neither have most people—but trust me, they are incredible. Pylones makes accessories, furniture, kitchen appliances, keychains—all in bright, shiny, funky prints and shapes. They have three stores in the city; I recently discovered the one in Soho. The picture on the left will give you an idea of the kind of place it is. ‘Nuff said.

Poet’s House Reading Room – ok, so my Writing Children’s Lit teacher forced me to go. But it was cool anyway! A small room on the second floor of 72 Spring Street houses shelves and shelves of books and a quiet reading/writing area. And the door is yellow. I read an awesome children’s book there (Plum, by Tony Mitton, illustrated by Mary Grand Pre). But they are moving locations very soon, so it won’t be the same long.

Fish’s Eddy – another random store I discovered on a trek to Barnes and Noble; proprietor of such items as the “Heroes of the Torah” glass set, featuring pictures of Rabbis with generic Jewish names that neither I nor my friend had ever heard of—we are convinced they made them up. They also had colorful mottled dishware and plastic reusable straws with stripes and polka dots. I like bright colors.

The Great Children’s Read – you can’t go to this anytime soon, because it happened already this year. On the quad of Columbia University, children’s authors and performers gathered to read aloud, answer questions, and express their love of books and writing. I saw Julie Andrews. In real life. Proof on the left. I nearly passed out. And I saw a lot of other fun people/things too. Go next year.

The Staten Island Ferry – it’s a ferry, and it’s free, so why not? It’s better when it’s not so cold outside, but if you’re willing to brave a little wind you can get a great view of the city and the Statue of Liberty. And did I mention it’s free?

Midnight Runs to Duane Reade – “a drug store??” you ask, “that’s supposed to be fun??” And I answer: yes! 24-hour Duane Reades are awesome. Walking to Duane Reade with your friends at one am is a party in and of itself. And once there, there is no limit to what you can discover. Like laundry detergent. And chocolate. Ok, whatever, don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it.

Getting Ready for Shabbos Aboard the LIRR – admittedly, it takes a very specific set of circumstances, and a very special type of person, but it is an exhilarating experience. When you’ve missed the train you meant to take and then missed your back-up train, you aren’t left with many other options. The experience includes the classic one-handed makeup maneuver (the other hand holds the mini-mirror), and if you’re really brave you can do the train-bathroom-hair-ironing-trick (no, I didn’t do it, but my friend did…and I have the picture to prove it).

Bonus: Anywhere you go in the city, keep your eyes and ears open for interesting sights and dialogue. Example: in Toys “R” Us today I saw a group of be-payised, bearded, bekeshe-clad Chassidim posing with a bin full of bright red stuffed Elmo dolls while a young Chassidish girl took a picture. I coyly took out my cell phone and snapped one of my own. :) And eavesdropping (a necessity of life, for a writer) in the city is always sure to yield lots of colorful dialogue.

Of course, I also love ice skating in Bryant Park and Rockefeller Center, and looking at the holiday windows at Macy’s and Lord and Taylor, and lots of other things too…but really this entry was meant to record only those things I’ve done recently, because I didn’t want it to get too long. Oh. Right. Well. Ahem.

Sooo…that’s it for now, folks. Wherever you live, get out there and enjoy it!

This message brought to you by Adventurous People Promoting Life and Excitement (APPLE) and the Committee of Procrastination (COP)

What do PDAs, Little Red Bugs, and R’ Shlomo Zalman Auerbach Have In Common?

They can all be found in Central Park at the same time.

This afternoon, I fled the madness of Stern in finals season (see below, if you haven’t yet) to my favorite NY haven…Central Park. I love Central Park. I could write hundreds of posts about Central Park. There will probably be future posts about Central Park. But tonight I have a hard final that I haven’t studied for yet (again, see below) and therefore I will limit my words.

I went there today with three of my close friends, ostensibly to study in the park, though of course I knew better. We plunked ourselves down on the sun-dappled grass under the shade of a large tree and took out our notebooks. The grass was patchy, and we hadn’t brought a sheet, and thus I was shortly covered in dirt, weird plant thingies, and teeny tiny little bright red bugs that crawled across my notes uninvited. I tried not to think about where else they might be crawling.

After finding an attempt to read my notes unsuccessful (surprise!), I couldn’t resist lying down on my back and staring up at the sunlight streaming through the spring green leaves and branches of the tree high above me. The beauty of that spectacle was literally breathtaking. I gazed into the vast canopy above me, and felt the hard earth under my head. Now let me tell you, I am certainly no hippie-nature-girl, but at that moment, I communed with nature. It was actually stunning. I could have stayed like that for hours.

But I didn’t, because I felt that I should try to study again. So I did. And naturally, several minutes later, I found myself asleep. Not a deep sleep, but a lovely, breezy, summery doze. Asleep enough to be comfortable, but not too asleep not to notice and awaken with a start when I overheard my friends mention food. The food concerned turned out not to be of interest to me, so instead I took out the gummy worms I happened to be conveniently carrying in my bag and distributed them among the masses (a.k.a. my homies). I try not to go anywhere without sugar. Best to be prepared.

Then I tried to study again. My friends and I, however, were shortly distracted once more by a couple a few yards down the slope on which we camped. This couple was horizontal, and they were engaged in, well, let’s just say…they weren’t quite shomer negiah. My friends and I did our best to ignore them, but 10, 15, 30 minutes later, when they were still similarly employed, it started to grate on our sensitivities, and we couldn’t help but brainstorm imaginative ways to remedy the situation. We could walk up to them and say, “Hope we’re not interrupting anything…but would you mind taking a picture for us?” Or walk by and discreetly cough, “Get a room! Ahem! Get a room!” Or surround them in a ring and sing the shomer negiah song. This last option was shortly ruled out, however, because of kol isha issues.

Eventually, we realized that it was getting late, and if we didn’t leave soon we’d miss the mad rush to dinner at the caf and be left utterly foodless, as we were two nights ago. Stern really needs to learn how to order food during finals. Having hundreds of burned-out-from-studying-Jewish-girls, who stagger into the caf hoping for sustenance to get them through another loooong night of memorizing obscure information, to find that the only remaining food is a few semi-stale bagels and low-fat kugels…well, let’s just say, I feared for my life. I’ve never seen so many people in such a collective bad mood. But I digress…

We picked up camp and walked through the park in the direction of the subway station. Those who have been to Central Park will know that lining the main walkway of the park lurk myriad caricature and portrait artists seeking customers. As testaments to their skills, they display samples of their work, depictions of celebrities of all sorts. (Never mind that they probably spent hours doing those, while the one they will draw of you will take 15 minutes, and therefore will not look remotely like the samples, nor in all likelihood, remotely like you. Trust me, I know from experience.)

As we walked, I was expressing, for the thousand and seventh time my desire to purchase ice cream from the ice cream trucks (I’m a sucker for ice cream, especially the chocolate kind, and especially from trucks), when an unexpected sight caught our collective eyes. There, staring back at us from an easel, was the face of Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, in color! A middle aged Asian man sat, intently using pastels to copy a picture of R’ Auerbach clipped to the easel. There was no way we were going to just walk on by, so we stopped to chat. We told him we that we really liked his picture. The man’s English was less than perfect, so we didn’t understand everything he said in response, but we think he told us that he’d been commissioned to do the portrait by someone. Then he asked us if we were from Brooklyn. That was funny. We said no. We asked if he knew the Rabbi’s name, and he said no, and offered us the picture to caption. My friend wrote “Rabbi Auerbach” beneath it. We snapped the artist’s picture, and went on our merry way, marveling at the things one finds in good old NYC.

We had a jolly walk back to the subway station, and I played my favorite game: the Notice Everything Game. As a writer, and a lover of life, this game is important to my very existence. Noticing the funny, touching, quirky, and beautiful things that I pass enhances my appreciation of life, and my ability to describe. One thing we noticed was an “interesting” window display, pictured below.

We sardined ourselves onto the packed subway and finally arrived at our destination—in time, you will be glad to hear, for me to procure a piece of slimy chicken, some mediocre french fries, and a cup of utterly flat cherry coke. Gotta love caf food. Anyway, that was my afternoon.

Wow, I can’t help but a feel a little bit like friend and fellow blogger, Chana, who can’t seem to restrain herself from writing incredibly lengthy posts, and who happened to record a slightly similar park experience just a few weeks ago. Hmm.

Other notes on life…

On the subway earlier this morning, a family (mom, dad, pre-pubescent son) sat down near me. The father was clad in a peach polo shirt and khaki shorts displaying hairy legs, and also sported a large gray mustache. These people were tourists. How do I know? When someone all the way across the subway car sneezed, I was abruptly awakened from my half-doze when the father said loudly, “Bless you!” My first thought was, “What? You just don’t do that. Who does that?” I mean, it was a little weird. The sneezer wasn’t even in our line of vision! But after that immediate reaction, I smiled to myself. Ah, how I love out-of-towners. And from now on, I resolve to bless subway sneezers!

And…graduations make me tear up—even if I’m not graduating, and even if I don’t know the people graduating. Something about seeing all the relatives there, beaming with pride, cameras in hand, makes me emotional. It’s nice, in a funny way. Though transitions from one stage to another are always interesting, achieving a goal is something to be proud of. It’s good to take some time simply to be glad before having to move on to whatever challenges lie ahead. So hooray for my grads, and mazal tov!

Now I should probably start studying for my final…

IMHO, Busses Should Be Non-Smoking

First of all, I just thought I ought to inform anyone still loyal enough to be checking this poor, seemingly abandoned blog that it is, in fact, not dead…the only hitch is that I have been doing so much living myself that I have necessarily sucked some of the life out of my blog. In other words, I’ve been super duper crazy busy. And you know what? I will continue to be this busy until March 20th. So if this blog is sporadic between now and then, I apologize. Also, I’ve stopped reading most of the blogs I like. I’m sorry. I still love you guys—I just simply don’t have time! Heck, I don’t even have time for my roommates! And, I know, I know, Chana will say “Well, make time!” And I will answer her, as I did this evening, saying “There are only 24 hours in the day. If I knew how to make more, I would!” Honestly, I don’t have the opportunity to procrastinate anymore—every moment is eaten up by some activity, and even my homework often gets utterly left by the wayside. (Case in point: I wrote an essay at 4:30 am on a red-eye flight into NY—having read only 15 of the 70 pages of required reading. Yeeeeah.)

But, despite all this, I couldn’t resist a brief reunion with my blog. I shall now recount an interesting experience from my very exciting and eventful weekend. My high school flew me home to be an advisor on their shabbaton, and placed me as the only authority figure in a bunk with nine 8th graders. Many fascinating, illuminating, and amusing events occurred over those two days, but I shall only tell you about one right now.

Once upon a time…
I was the only advisor on my bus to the campsite where the shabbaton was to take place. Picture this: I am sitting in the front of the bus. Smack in the middle of the 1.5 hour bus ride, I hear shrieks from behind me. I turn around, and see chaos erupting in the back of the bus. A Junior girl runs up the aisle to me and exclaims, panicked: “The back of the bus is filling up with smoke!” I look, and observe this to be true. And the smoke smells like burning rubber. Uh-oh. Not good.

Everyone in the back of the bus has gotten up, and most of them are panicking. The remainder are slightly amused. Two girls decide to alert the bus driver to the situation. They tell him rapidly and in high pitched voices about the disconcerting situation. His very apt and intelligent response is:
“Huh?”
An elderly gentleman, it appears he is somewhat deaf. Eventually, he is so besieged by panicking students that he declares, exasperated,
“I’m pulling over!”
He does so, and gets up to see what the matter is. Observing the copious smoke, he gets out of the bus and examines it from the outside. He returns, and informs us,
“We’re overheating like crazy! We’re going to have to switch to a new bus.”
At which point he returns to his seat and resumes driving.

The students, meanwhile, involve themselves in wondering why we are now careening merrily down the freeway as the smoke continues to billow forth, call their parents and inform them that our bus is on fire, and speculate as to whether the bus will explode. I decide that someone should tell a real authority figure about the situation. So I call one of the Rabbis in charge. I tell him:
“The back of our bus is filling up with smoke, and we will probably have to switch busses.”
The sympathetic and useful response from this esteemed educator? “Hahahahahahahahahahaha!”
Right. Eventually, we pull over once again. On an on-ramp. To the freeway. (No, don’t ask me why we stopped there. I have no idea.) Soon we see another bus on the horizon, wending its jolly way toward our still smoking vehicle. It pulls in front of our bus and stops. The kids eagerly get up and fill the aisle, awaiting their exit from our bus (whose air is now as clouded as that of an unsavory bowling alley). Our driver bellows at everyone to sit down, as we must wait patiently as the two drivers transfer all our luggage from the old bus to the new one. We sit.

Eventually, we are told that the kids may leave the bus, slowly, and in single file, since we are, after all, sitting on an on-ramp as cars whiz past. I, however, am asked to remain behind, to assure that everyone gets off safely, and that all the luggage is transferred. The bus empties, and I stand in front of the open bus door, staying as close as possible to the bus in order to avoid being hit by a speeding semi-truck. Another five minutes pass as the driver moves duffels and sleeping bags to the new bus. I stand outside alone, waiting, and every few seconds peeking anxiously into the bottom of the bus to see how much luggage remains to be moved. Finally, he is done. I verify that everything has been transferred, thank the kindly driver of the rescue bus, and board the new bus, where, thank G-d, my kids are handling everything just fine. (Luckily, most of the kids on my bus were older, and not as rambunctious—if I had had freshman boys, I do not know what I would have done.) The driver starts the bus, and the rest of our ride is blissfully uneventful. The same, however, could not be said of the rest of the shabbaton (cue ominous music)…

London Visit Boiled Down (to the tune of "London Bridge")

I've been back in school for a week now, and busy out of my mind. But it simply wouldn't be fair to ignore my trip to the other side of the pond, so for anyone who cares to see, here is a summary of my experience.

People/Places/Things I saw in London (by category):

Touristy:

• Tower of London (where lots of people were tortured and died, before which they carved some pretty depressing ancient graffiti on the walls)
• The Crown Jewels (talk about shiny…makes Stern girls’ engagement rings look paltry and cheap--and that’s saying something)
• Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace (during which, to my bafflement, the Royal Band, bearskin hats and all, played a medley of Gershwin—a good American composer)
• Covent Garden (upscale shopping area, where we also saw a pretty good string quartet playing famous classical pieces in an open square…while very adeptly guilt-tripping observers into giving money)
• Leicester Square (lots of theatres, yet nothing like Broadway)
• Trafalgar Square (which contains a lot of famous stuff, like huge stone lions and Nelson’s Column, about which my ever-useful friend knew absolutely no history—but at least I can say I’ve seen it, even if I don’t know why it’s important)
• The National Gallery (from the outside only)
• Camden Town (a little like Greenwich Village, English style)
• The Tate Modern Museum (which was hosting a really cool exhibit that consisted of huge twisty metal tube slides that came down from each of the 5 floors, and which visitors could ride for free! We went down the one from the fourth floor, and it was well worth the visit.)
• Waterloo Bridge (great view of the city)
• UCL (University College London—not really a tourist site, but I was there nevertheless, and even attended a statistics lab without being asked whether I was actually a student there or not)
• The Tube (aka the underground—Mind the Gap!)

Jewish:

• 2 high schools
• 2 shuls
• R’ Tatz
• R’ Sheinberg
• One women’s learning program (organized by my friend)
• Extensive tours of Hendon and Golders Green

Just Plain Fun:

• Wicked (with British accents, for half the price of tickets in NY—what could possibly have been better????)
• Kasamba (‘nuff said)
• My friends’ families (English people are lovely!)
• A clip of an Iraqi TV talk show with subtitles (I wish I knew the link…but take my word for it, it was one of the funniest things I have ever seen in my entire life)

Things to know before going to England:

• They drive on the other side of the road! (I knew this, but it wasn’t on my mind when I got there…so the taxi driver looked perplexed when I tried to get in on the wrong side, and I narrowly avoided getting hit by cars several times after not knowing which direction to look when crossing the street).
• When they speak about “green men” they are not referring to extraterrestrials, but to the lights at crosswalks. (That took me a while.)
• There are no hechshers on food there…so if you anticipate getting hungry, you better pick up a Kosher Food Guide first…or carry an English friend around with you wherever you go. Also, learn some terminology or you could be very confused (crisps, biscuits, etc.).
• Things are more expensive there. Period. In order to avoid extreme frustration, pretend the pounds are dollars.

And there you have it, folks: SJ's guide to London! Now in (sort of) the same vein, it's time for me to head back to good ol' Survey of English Lit reading...fun fun!

Happy Chanukah! (Hannukah? Hanuka? Channuka? Hannoocuh?)

With things over here being so hectic, busy, chaotic, and all-around crazy, I still have not yet come up with my next brilliant blogging topic. But since I seem to be currently experiencing a blogging urge, I'm going to just start writing and see what comes out. I apologize in advance.

I went to my friend's house in Philly this shabbos and twas a lot of fun. I got 12 hours of sleep. That was fun. Plus, at lunch I poured a jug of water on myself. That was less fun, more wet. (No, it wasn't on purpose. I was pouring and the lid just fell off! And those who have comments about how klutzy I am may just keep them to themselves, thank you!)

The Donut Saga: Another friend who came for shabbos was taking a nap on Friday afternoon (she was getting a head start on sleep) and woke up before shabbos and told me that she had a dream that our hostess was offering us donuts (the kind with colored sprinkles on top!) and that I refused, saying "Dai, maspik (stop, enough)!" I asked her why I would say a silly thing like that. She didn't know. From the moment she told me about that dream, I began craving donuts. And there were no donuts in the house where I was staying. Which was sad. Then when we finally got back to NY (after missing several trains due to a very exciting adventure trying to find a chanukiah for a slightly irresponsible and adventure-prone friend), I begged my friends to keep their eyes open for the alleged kosher Krispy Kreme at Penn Station. Then (cue euphoric music)...we saw it! And just at that moment, the gate thing rolllled down, signifying that it was closed! Noooooo!!! So I was sad. So we walked back to school, and got together our chanukiot (both normal and makeshift) and oil and wicks and said brachot and lit and waited (fruitlessly) for boys to leave the lobby so that we could sing. And then various bunches of friends came in and we greeted them...and then some more friends came in and announced that they were going to get pizza, so I begged them to bring me back a donut, and they said they would see, and they left...and then a few minutes later, in came more friends--bearing homemade donuts that they made! And even though they looked more like little brown latkes than donuts, they were sufficiently oily and sufficiently sweet to satisfy my craving! And I ate four! (stop staring and shut your mouth--they were really small!) And then I went up to my room and shortly thereafter there was a rapping at my chamber door...and there stood friend-who-went-to-pizza-store, brown bag in hand, brown donut in brown bag! I thanked her profusely because it was sooo nice of her to get it for me...but I'm afraid that the donut is just going to have to wait patiently until breakfast tomorrow. I don't think I can handle any more oil right now.

Oh! Other really creepy story...we were walking back to school from Penn Station, and on the street was a card table, behind which an unshaven man wearing a santa hat was sitting, calling out loudly, "Help the homeless!" in a deep, raspy voice. As we passed, he suddenly said, without even changing his tone or skipping a beat, "Give tzedaka! It's a mitzvah! It will bring you bracha and hatzlacha! A freilachen Chanukah!" As we turned our heads and looked at him in astonishment, he rasped, "That's right girls, don't mind the hat," pointing at his Christmas chapeau. We were in a rush (and also a shtick weirded out) so we didn't stop to chat...but the experience was quite an interesting one. Anyone have any theories as to how the guy would have known those phrases (and whether we should have stopped and given him tzedaka?).

Ok, now it is quite late at night and I must go to sleep--I have a full day of procrastinating to do tomorrow! Happy Chanukah to all, and to all a good night!

A Girl Walks Into a Bar...

Yes, I know that just yesterday I promised a blogging hiatus. But I had an experience tonight that was both out of the ordinary and frustrating—an irresistible combination for a blogger. So, since I felt like writing about it anyway, I figured I might as well post it here. I hope you forgive me for yesterday’s misleading post. I guess I will now add a disclaimer to the disclaimer: I am on a break from blogging—unless something so blogworthy happens that I am necessarily compelled to violate my self-imposed exile.

Ok, so now on to the story…

Tonight I went to a bar for the first time in my life. Before you start ranting about the moral deterioration of today’s youth, I’ll relieve your concern by telling you that, no, I was not there to drink myself silly or to meet guys. In fact, I was quite resistant to the idea of going, as I had never planned to enter a bar, at all, ever. The reason I was there was because my creative writing teacher told us at the beginning of the semester that we had to attend a reading of fiction and write an essay on it at some point over the course of the semester. Of course, being good college students, my entire class left it till the very last second, and now the essay is due on Monday. So we all scrambled to find a fiction reading that was free and not too far away. And we did. There was to be a reading at an Irish pub right near my school tonight at eight. So a few friends from class and I decided to go. Beforehand, we did some research about the bar where it was to take place, since none of us are 21 yet and we wondered whether we would have trouble getting in. After looking it up, we hopefully determined that because it holds weekly fiction readings (as well as Irish language lessons), it was really not a bar, but rather a dimly lit cultural center that also happens to serve alcohol.

We got there tonight just on time, at 2 minutes to 8. The pub was small and narrow with a low ceiling—and the only part of my assumption that turned out to be correct was that it was indeed dimly lit. The only other people there were two college girls from another school who also needed to hear a reading for a class. My friends and I situated ourselves on a leather couchish thing against the wall near the small platform where a shtender with a microphone waited expectantly for the absent author to appear. We had ample time to observe our surroundings and comment on the novelty of actually being in a real live bar, because the author was late. It was fun for a few minutes, but then it got later--and the author still didn’t come. We started getting worried, and we asked the bartender (a normal-looking 30ish lady with a thick Irish brogue) whether the author was coming. She said that she didn’t know, because she “just provides the rrumm” (room or rum?) so we sat back down and chatted amongst ourselves. After we had waited about 40 minutes a few girls left, but two of my friends and I still waited hopefully—because we really needed to hear the reading tonight in order to write the essay in a timely fashion. At 9:01, over an hour after the reading was scheduled to begin, we finally gave up hope and left. The End. Great story, no?

Overall, it was an extremely frustrating experience, because not only did I go to a bar for nothing, and not only did I waste over an hour of my incredibly busy life, but I still have to take even more time to find another reading to go at some other point! Now it looks like I have to go to yet another bar tomorrow night to try again (two bars in two nights—I don’t know what has become of me!). To try to look on the bright side, I guess it can count as an interesting experience. Maybe I’ll even get a short story out of it someday. My creative writing teacher would be pleased.