Monday, February 26, 2007

erm

sigh...co-opted by the onion...

viewer discretion is advised

Friday, February 23, 2007

pronuclear

i think i may be one of the most morally reprehensible individuals strolling stern's dormitory corridors, and this is why: i hate people.

now, this isn't to say i have nothing going for me at all. some women are men haters. some women are women haters. i hate indiscriminately.

yet the fact remains: when i found out my roommate, the one i davened for daily all summer, was flying out of town for three days, i celebrated secretly for weeks.

i cannot even pretend to understand it. the girl is probably the closest thing to a sister that i'll ever have (er, besides for my actual sisters, who don't count for obvious reasons.) i am continually amazed by her propensity to live with me, unphased by my questionable neuroses ("i have to eat now so i can do aerobics in seven hours"), my complete lack of patience ("are you ready to leave yet? how about now? ok, i'm going to the elevator without you...i'll meet you in the lobby..."), my tendency to nag ("did you remember to eat breakfast? did you remember we have cereal in the kitchen? did you remember that your milk is spoiled? are you going to take a jacket?") and - the mother of all horrific roommate qualities - my crippling and sadly hereditary Bathroom Anxiety. besides for all of which, she is sweet and fun.

nevertheless, from the moment she started engine-searching airline tickets, i conducted a private countdown in my head. one more week till i can go to sleep and wake up whenever i want to! five more days till i can work in complete silence! three more days till i attain Unlimited Bathroom Access! one more day till i achieve TOTAL ISOLATION!

i felt like i had won the jackpot. like the richest of all men. and simultaneously, of course, i was ashamed of myself. so i tried to pretend that i didn't really know when she was leaving and didn't really want her to go. and the countdown rolled on.

she was supposed to leave on a thursday night, right after school. she packed her suitcase in the morning and told me she wouldn't see me again until tuesday. my other roommates go home on thursday night as a rule, so i started prepping myself. seven more hours, i thought. seven more hours and i can go directly to sleep and stay up all night writing feature pieces and watching sixteen candles! hurrah!

and then, the minute before i left for school, i heard her laugh: "silly me. the flight doesn't leave until tomorrow."

a feeling of doom descended upon me. "tomorrow?" i said, turning around in the doorway. "you mean, friday?"

"that is tomorrow," she agreed.

"but...what time?" i said, trying desperately not to let my Morally Reprehensible emotions taint my expression.

"11:30."

now, i am not the expert flyer that many college students are. however, i know enough to have zero to no faith in friday flights, particularly in the winter, particularly at 11:30. i cannot in fact remember knowing anyone who has successfully flown five hours before shabbos. i saw my freedom crumbling before my very eyes.

"what time are you going to wake up?" i asked her warily.

she shrugged. "eight or eight-thirty."

GAH! went the voice in my head. NOT FAIR!

i went to school and again attempted unsuccessfully to pretend that this too was a good development in my life. i can totally handle this, i told myself, wallowing miserably through my philosophy class. she is my roommate and i love hanging out with her. i have hung out with her continually for a significant portion of my away-from-home life. shabbos is going to rock. we are going to party.

yet alas, it was all in vain, because there was that secret pronuclear part of me going: unlimited bathroom access denied. do not pass go. do not collect two hundred dollars.

there was only one thing to do, i resolved. i could Not Let Her Miss That Flight.

and then i REALLY sunk to a new level.

"what time are you going to go to sleep tonight?" i asked her, following her around our dorm room, wringing my hands. "are you all packed up? is your alarm set? did you pick the ringtone that wakes you up? i know you're exhausted; why don't you go to sleep now? are you ready to go to sleep yet? why don't you wake up really early tomorrow? do you want me to go to work in the hallway so you can to sleep now?"

"perel," she said, "i'm fine."

i subsided nervously, taking my work out with me anyway, hoping she would listen.

but at 1:30 i stepped back into our room and she was only just coming out of the shower.

"you're still awake?!" i cried, exasperated. "you have to wake up early tomorrow! and you didn't sleep last night!"

"relax!" she said. "i have my alarm set!"

"but you sleep through your alarm!" i wailed.

"not when i really have to wake up."

i shook my head. i had been planning to sleep in the other room so i wouldn't wake up when she left, but i realized now that this was folly; i would never be able to sleep until she left anyway. i climbed into my bed, wrapped myself in a blanket, and sat there, watching her, watching the clock.

i must have drifted off eventually, because the next thing i knew her alarm was going off. i squinted at the clock, fumbled for my glasses. seven-twenty. i cast a sideways glance at her in dread. sure enough, she silenced the alarm and turned right over, like it was any other morning.

do i wake her or not wake her? she wanted to wake up at eight...i think that's too late...if she wakes up at eight, she won't be out of here till nine...it's rush hour...she'll miss her flight...i won't get my vacation...

"wake up! wake up! get out of bed! your plane's about to leave!" i blurted.

she sat up, squinting at me.

"get out of bed! you're going to miss your plane and be stuck here for shabbos!"

she squinted at the clock. then she looked back at me. i gestured wildly with my hands.

"i'm not moving till i see you get a move on."

"perel," she noted tiredly, "i'm up. i'm FINE."

it was only after i had witnessed her rolling her suitcase down the hall that the larger, perhaps even more disturbing truth dawned on me. for you see, i know of only one other such person: a person who can stand even close relatives for only a short period of time, a person who develops homicidal anxiety about missing your mode of transportation, a person with a bathroom in the basement.

i am turning into my grandmother.

Sunday, February 11, 2007

oh loretta

my attempt at advertising:
my brother's attempt at advertising:
http://majormoron.blogspot.com/2007/02/fulaxin.html

who's got the money-making genes in this family?

Thursday, February 08, 2007

i just want to bang on the drum all day

(reader alert: the following post, written at 3 a.m., is a hopelessly confused, meandering, and self-centered ramble. we thereby recommend it to you as pretty good fun.)

i didn't plan to write a birthday post this year, mostly because i have had my hands full trying not to:

  • give anybody any reason to think about my age
  • attract any undue attention

and of course

  • care.

truth told, i can't say where or when i got this idea - that birthdays for adults are wimps. yet i seem to believe in it. trolling back from the computer lab at 12:36 this morning, i had this vision in my head of a Mature, Grown-Up Person, for whom a birthday is just like any other day, except they might wear a bolder tie. it is unprofessional, i decided, to have birthdays. you stop having parties in the fourth grade for a reason.

but i also realized that i harbored a secret hope that, having obtained the age of majority, people would figure i've been reasonably old for a good chunk of time so long as i didn't make a fuss of it. at last, i thought to myself, i've caught up with the rest of you - i'm finally just like everybody else! old! hallelujah!

but it's not true.

i can't trace the root of this feeling, either, but i've considered age a stigma for a very long time. i remember being eight or so and thinking ahead to my bat mitzvah. time seemed an impossibly slow process then. i realized that getting up to my bat mitzvah would entail double digits, a phenomenon which alarmed me, and i figured it wasn't worth it to stick around that long. yet surprisingly, here i am.

it never made sense to me. if no one told me how old i was, i would have placed my own bid at forty. (which is about where yonina's got me.)

but somewhere along the line everything got screwed up. i was the 11-year-old standing on the yacht of some other girl's bat mitzvah - and she was two grades below me. i was the junior begging tenth graders to drive me around.

i was the 17-year-old dancing at my friend's wedding.

i developed a kind of nervous tic. i lived in constant fear of anyone finding out how old i was. my friendships and relationships of any kind, i was convinced, were built on shaky ground, stacked on a single card: on the assumption that i was a peer. equal. not out of place in any way.

at the same time, however, i became even more paranoid that this was not the case, that i was not a peer. i was not the genuine article; i didn't have the experiences everyone else naturally assumed i did. what was it like to be 18, 19, 20? these people that i sat in class with every day, that i laughed with in the radio station and hung out with in my room...who knew what mysterious knowledge and insight they had that i, a minor in disguise, couldn't fathom? i tried to tell myself that i could stay on top of the game by meeting my obligations - focusing on my work and living like i've always lived - but deep down i knew i was missing something. i was a minor in disguise, an agent incognito, pretending to be something i was not. i couldn't possibly understand the nuances of everything that was happening around me, and consequently, i've always been a little jumpy when conversations turn personal. i was afraid to give myself away, and i was afraid of how much i would miss - and this was the truly scary part - without even realizing that i'd missed it.

everything reinforced one point: i may feel like i'm just like everyone else, but in truth, i'm not at their level just yet - and if they find out, it's curtains for me.

i repeated that to myself over and over so many times, in so many situations, that i could not help but believe in it. and the more i repeated it, the more i separated myself. in my own mind i grew younger and younger until i was shocked that the college had admitted me at all. and my friends and roommates who were in their 20s...

that was harder to reconcile. i don't know if it's just a natural consequence of being the oldest child, but for some reason, i associated the 20-and-30-something years with my parents. 22? i would think. my parents had ME by then! which meant they were clearly already Adults by that age. Adults - those Mature, Sophisticated persons who know how to put on make-up correctly, understand what the abbreviations in car commercials mean, and generally know how to Do Things - well, i wasn't one of those. but my roommates were nearly that old, my friends were that age and beyond. so they must also be Adults. they were already on the other side of the gaping divide. and i was still a kid, a teenager with an mp3 player who had to be picked up from her summer job by her mother every day.

but then it got confusing, because as i discovered, being 20 doesn't automatically mean you know how to do everything. my friends did things, stupid things, the kinds of things i would do, even though they were older and wiser. they couldn't be adults; they were just like me. i would start to let go a little, to think of them as just friends without the question marks, only to be forcibly reminded of the differences later. this one works here; this one's renting her own apartment; this one's engaged. me, i'm just out of my depth. i ask the questions i hear other people asking and listen to the answers everyone else gets and hope no one will notice that i have no idea what's going on. well? are you a kid or are you a grown-up? and if you aren't either of those, then what does that make me?

i thought that once i was 18, once i was an age that is nearly common in the college crowd, i would understand where i belonged, i would feel more like an Adult. but i'm as mixed-up today as i was last night. i don't know if i get the concept. how do you get from waiting for your mom to pick you up to being 35 and having a successful career in advertising? when do you get that computer chip screwed onto your brain that tells you how to Do Things like taxes and strangers? when do you start knowing the right thing to say and the right place to go and the right thing to do when your best friend calls you and tells you her mother's very sick?

i thought i'd be caught up now, that i'd know some of the answers. but i'm not, i don't, and i think i'm finally beginning to realize the group i've always admired from a distance - they don't really know, either. some of them know everything, and i bet they always have. others just seem to be making it up as they go along.

and me- i'm out of my depth, but i don't know that people have much steadier footing. all i really know is this: i may be no more of an Adult today than i was yesterday, but age is not to blame for that.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

proof that american idol causes brain damage

"you did not just open the window," the girl said. "it's FREEZING outside!"

i turned around wearily, sweat-soaked. she was lying on the (one) pilates mat in front of the tv, wearing a sweater. sweat dripped from my forehead, and i motioned vaguely at the other girls around me - some on treadmills, some on ellipticals, some on bikes.

"there's 25 girls in here," i begged. "and no air-conditioning. i'm dying over here."

the girl next to her repeated, "you can't open the window. it's cold outside. we could catch a chill."

"you have the heater on high," i pointed out.

"no, i'm sorry," she said firmly. "you can't open the window. i could get sick."

i was frustrated and i was hot, but i went back to my place in front of the mirrors and attempted to continue my aerobics routine. i may have been uncomfortable, but they had a point, and in a public space like that you can't subject everyone to your set of rules. i turned the heater to low and was trying to channel my irritation into my kicks, just like my mother taught me, when one of the girls got up off the mat, walked over to me, and cleared her throat.

i paused my music. "hi," i said.

"hi," she said. she glanced at her friend, who was still sitting in front of the tv, and then looked back at me. "listen," she said, "do you think you could do that in your room?"

i blinked at her.

"do what?"

"your dancing," she said. "with the loud music."

"you want me to do this in my room," i repeated slowly.

she nodded. "yeah."

you have GOT to be kidding, i thought.

"do you want me to turn my music down?"

"well, i mean, since you're so hot and everything, maybe it would be better if you just did it in your room. then you could open the window."

in my head, a little picture of my room - roughly the shape of a cuticle, only smaller and occupied by two beds, a desk and a dresser - popped up. i laughed.

"you have GOT to be kidding," i said.

she turned defensive. "i don't think it's funny. you know, people come down to the gym to watch tv. your dancing and music shouldn't interfere with that."

"i'm perfectly ok with turning my--"

wait a minute.

"what did you say?" i squinted.

she crossed her arms, giving me a good long view of her engagement ring. "the reason people come to the gym is to watch tv," she explained impatiently. "because there's no other place to watch it. that's why it needs to be warm in the gym. your loud music and dancing interferes with people watching tv, and that's not fair. so i'm asking if you can go up to your room."

i found myself at a complete loss for words. had she said something like, "your music's too loud," or "your sweatshirt's on the weight table," i would have known how to respond. this, however, was so far beyond me it was like a distant star in the night sky.

first of all, there are many places, in my building alone, where you can watch tv. american idol, doubly so. there is the - get this! - TV LOUNGE, on the first floor, where the tv is RESERVED at 8:00 for american idol. in fact, everybody goes there specifically to watch american idol and eat reheated chinese, these being two excellent reasons why i don't do aerobics in the tv lounge. this is also failing to take into account the student lounge on the 19th floor, from which some of you may remember i stole a rather large television all those many months ago.

but none of that really matters, because there is a subtle yet extremely dense problem with this logic. follow me closely here, as what i am about to say may come as a complete shock to those of you who are not natural-born citizens of this star-system:

PEOPLE DO NOT GO TO THE GYM TO WATCH TV. PEOPLE GO TO THE GYM TO WORK OUT.

well, earthlings do, anyway.

unfortunately, when actually confronted with this girl's claim, i failed to produce a counterargument nearly as cohesive as the above. it was more like that scene in star trek where i think chekhov or spock or someone grins broadly and pretends to die, while the other tells the robot, "he died from too much happiness!", and the robot's head subsequently explodes.

what i came up with was, "huh?"

"your dancing is making it hard for me to hear american idol!" she said.

"yeah," interjected her friend, "that's why you should go up to your room."

i stared at both of them for a very long time, trying to follow their reasoning. i couldn't even find it in me to be angry. finally, abandoning my attempt to make the math line up, i did the only thing i could do:

i laughed.

and then, with much, much effort, i turned down my music a little, turned back to my mirror, and continued my aerobics routine.

somewhere out there, i thought, is a very lucky guy.

proof that american idol causes brain damage

"you did not just open the window," the girl said. "it's FREEZING outside!"

i turned around wearily, sweat-soaked. she was lying on the (one) pilates mat in front of the tv, wearing a sweater. sweat dripped from my forehead, and i motioned vaguely at the other girls around me - some on treadmills, some on ellipticals, some on bikes.

"there's 25 girls in here," i begged. "and no air-conditioning. i'm dying over here."

the girl next to her repeated, "you can't open the window. it's cold outside. we could catch a chill."

"you have the heater on high," i pointed out.

"no, i'm sorry," she said firmly. "you can't open the window. i could get sick."

i was frustrated and i was hot, but i went back to my place in front of the mirrors and attempted to continue my aerobics routine. i may have been uncomfortable, but they had a point, and in a public space like that you can't subject everyone to your set of rules. i turned the heater to low and was trying to channel my irritation into my kicks, just like my mother taught me, when one of the girls got up off the mat, walked over to me, and cleared her throat.

i paused my music. "hi," i said.

"hi," she said. she glanced at her friend, who was still sitting in front of the tv, and then looked back at me. "listen," she said, "do you think you could do that in your room?"

i blinked at her.

"do what?"

"your dancing," she said. "with the loud music."

"you want me to do this in my room," i repeated slowly.

she nodded. "yeah."

you have GOT to be kidding, i thought.

"do you want me to turn my music down?"

"well, i mean, since you're so hot and everything, maybe it would be better if you just did it in your room. then you could open the window."

in my head, a little picture of my room - roughly the shape of a cuticle, only smaller and occupied by two beds, a desk and a dresser - popped up. i laughed.

"you have GOT to be kidding," i said.

she turned defensive. "i don't think it's funny. you know, people come down to the gym to watch tv. your dancing and music shouldn't interfere with that."

"i'm perfectly ok with turning my--"

wait a minute.

"what did you say?" i squinted.

she crossed her arms, giving me a good long view of her engagement ring. "the reason people come to the gym is to watch tv," she explained impatiently. "because there's no other place to watch it. that's why it needs to be warm in the gym. your loud music and dancing interferes with people watching tv, and that's not fair. so i'm asking if you can go up to your room."

i found myself at a complete loss for words. had she said something like, "your music's too loud," or "your sweatshirt's on the weight table," i would have known how to respond. this, however, was so far beyond me it was like a distant star in the night sky.

first of all, there are many places, in my building alone, where you can watch tv. american idol, doubly so. there is the - get this! - TV LOUNGE, on the first floor, where the tv is RESERVED at 8:00 for american idol. in fact, everybody goes there specifically to watch american idol and eat reheated chinese, these being two excellent reasons why i don't do aerobics in the tv lounge. this is also failing to take into account the student lounge on the 19th floor, from which some of you may remember i stole a rather large television all those many months ago.

but none of that really matters, because there is a subtle yet extremely dense problem with this logic. follow me closely here, as what i am about to say may come as a complete shock to those of you who are not natural-born citizens of this star-system:

PEOPLE DO NOT GO TO THE GYM TO WATCH TV. PEOPLE GO TO THE GYM TO WORK OUT.

well, earthlings do, anyway.

unfortunately, when actually confronted with this girl's claim, i failed to produce a counterargument nearly as cohesive as the above. it was more like that scene in star trek where i think chekhov or spock or someone grins broadly and pretends to die, while the other tells the robot, "he died from too much happiness!", and the robot's head subsequently explodes.

what i came up with was, "huh?"

"your dancing is making it hard for me to hear american idol!" she said.

"yeah," interjected her friend, "that's why you should go up to your room."

i stared at both of them for a very long time, trying to follow their reasoning. i couldn't even find it in me to be angry. finally, abandoning my attempt to make the math line up, i did the only thing i could do:

i laughed.

and then, with much, much effort, i turned down my music a little, turned back to my mirror, and continued my aerobics routine.

somewhere out there, i thought, is a very lucky guy.