tonight at 8

the premiere episode of Man Eats Lawnmower National Weekly Championship! Have you heard a dumb news story recently? Think it could holds its own in a fight? Tune in to wyur.org - call our studio number, 212-923-2471  - and pit it against our contestants for a chance to win the Mystery Trophy!

my dat wif prins wiliyim

(click here for more traditional narration)

do it for your country

you know you're excited.

don't call us, we'll call you

i caught up with the pt tonight during her bedtime snack and thought i'd take advantage of the opportunity to ask her about her future.

me: the pt, what do you want to be when you grow up?

the pt (eating cookies): probably an orphanidge.

me: er...a what?

the pt: you know. an orphanidge.

me: you want to be an orphanage when you grow up?

the pt: yeah.

me: do you know what that is?

the pt: duh.

me: do you mean you want to run an orphanage?

the pt: oh. yeah, probably. give them clothes and stuff.

me: that's pretty kind of you. out of curiosity, why do you want to do that?

the pt: there's nothing else to do. oh wait! i remembered what i REALLY want to be.

me: oh, okay! what's that?

the pt: a MAILMAN!

me:

the pt eats another cookie.

me: a mailman?

the pt: it's the easiest job in the world!

me: how do you figure that? you have to go to all these houses and deliver the mail.

the pt (confidentially): and that's IT!

me: there's a lot of houses, you know. that's a lot of driving.

the pt (shrugging): so i'll walk.

me: so you'll--the pt, walking is even slower than driving.

the pt (shrugging again): then i'll bicycle!

me: er - okay, but won't you get kind of bored? all you'll ever do is put mail in mailboxes.

the pt: that's what makes it so easy! you just go over to the blue mailbox on the corner, take out all the mail, put it in the bag, and put it in people's slots!

me: i see.

(pause)

me: the pt, i need a job.

the pt: me too. but i know how to roller skate.

me: what now?

the pt: do you know how to roller skate?

me: um...i guess so, but i don't have any skates.

the pt: oh. well that's your problem. if you knew how to roller skate, you could be a mailman.

me (at a loss)

the pt: why don't you just go to college?

me: i already did that.

the pt: well, you could go to medical school.

me: i don't want to be a doctor.

the pt: oh. well, you could go to waiter school. hey, why don't i go to waiter school?

me: waiter school? what is that, where you learn how to be a waiter?

the pt: yeah! that's a great idea! i think i'll do that afterward.

me: after what? after you're a mailman?

the pt: no. after college.

while i'm on this posting spree

to lighten up all the navel-gazing going on about here of late, here's a 'grandma rose' episode for you, guest-starring everyone's favorite great-great aunt from poland. that's right, ladies and gentlemen, give it up fooorrr.....bobba!

THE SCENE

A grandmother and college student, zooming down Jewel Avenue like the mafia. Time: 6:37 pm, Friday afternoon.

GRANDMOTHER: Oh my GAWD Perlie, I can't believe you are still managing to get on the wrong bus after FOUR YEARS, oh my gawd how I was worrying so that you would not make it, and here you are five minutes before Shabbos and you're a mess, how are you ever going to - HO HO HO!
COLLEGE STUDENT (startled): What the--?

GRANDMOTHER makes a sudden u-turn; COLLEGE STUDENT's face slams into laundry bag on her lap.

GRANDMOTHER (rolling down COLLEGE STUDENT'S window and leaning across her): WHAT HAVE WE GOT HERE!

She has double-parked her car in front of a little fastidious house. An elderly woman in a Hawaiian shirt and sweat pants is standing by the curb in front of the car. She looks miffed.

COLLEGE STUDENT: Oh hey, it's Bobba!

GRANDMA (shouting, as if elderly woman is hard-of-hearing): PAULIE! I SEE YOU HAVE COME OUT OF YOUR HOUSE!

BOBBA (shouting, as if GRANDMA is hard-of-hearing): SO?

GRANDMA: SURELY YOU ARE NOT GETTING IN THE CAR FIVE MINUTES BEFORE SHABBOS!

BOBBA: IF YOU MUST KNOW, I LEFT SOMETHING IN THE CAR. SO NOW I AM GOING BACK FOR IT.

GRANDMA: OH. I SEE.

BOBBA: YES.

(awkward pause)

COLLEGE STUDENT: Hi, Bobba!

BOBBA: ROSIE, WHO IS THIS YOU GOT IN THE CAR HERE, PERLIE?

GRANDMA: YES. SHE IS COMING TO ME FOR SHABBOS BUT EVEN AFTER FOUR YEARS SHE CANNOT GET ON THE RIGHT BUS. SHE IS JUST A BABY.

BOBBA: HMPH.

GRANDMA: SHE BROUGHT ME FLOWERS.

COLLEGE STUDENT: Because she's so pretty!

GRANDMA: OH MY GAWD, PAULIE! DID YOU HEAR THAT? SHE SAID I AM PRETTY!

BOBBA: SHE SAID YOU ARE PRETTY?

GRANDMA: YES! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

BOBBA: I CAN NOT SAY. I DO NOT HAVE MY GLASSES ON.

GRANDMA: OH. WELL THEN YOU COULD NOT SAY.

BOBBA: NO.

The cars behind GRANDMA'S car honk in a manner indicating that they would like her to pull up, or park, or get towed.

GRANDMA: Okay bye.

COLLEGE STUDENT: Bobba, can I come visit you on Shabbos?

BOBBA (sniffing the air): It will rain tomorrow.

GRANDMA: Then forget about it, kid. Rain is the pits.

COLLEGE STUDENT: But Bobba only lives a block away from you, Grandma.

BOBBA: It is bad luck to go outside when it is raining.

COLLEGE STUDENT: I'll walk fast.

GRANDMA: No no no, it is no good to go outside when it is raining.

BOBBA: No. No good.

COLLEGE STUDENT: What if it's not raining?

BOBBA: So then you can come. What do I care?

GRANDMA: But not if it is raining.

BOBBA: No! Rosie, don't let her leave the house if it is raining!

COLLEGE STUDENT: But-

GRANDMA: Very well. Goodbye, Paulie.

BOBBA: Good bye and good riddance.

GRANDMA's car pulls abruptly back into traffic and makes a hard right.

GRANDMA: She is a weird one, that Bobba.

a post

post, says anonymous. alright, alright, alright. generally i like to keep these things quality - i only have a really good thought twice a year! - but we'll see if i can form some of my ramblings into something cohesive.

so....october, huh? geez.

it's senior year for me. the rest of you might recognize this year by its more popular name, 'the Year You Decide That Actually, the Past Three Years Weren't That Bad, and You Don't Really Want to Move Out of Your Dormroom.' stern does offer the interesting option of a fifth year, but in my case, this would be blatant stalling (which is a federal offense in my country.) i love school and could probably sit in classes, doodling in the margins and underlining keywords, forever, building elaborate storylines in my head and doing exactly nothing practical with myself again. but there are drawbacks to the Eternal School Plan (esp):

1) technically, i need experience, not further schooling, to get a good job in my field.
2) nothing practical = nothing paycheck.
3) this would eventually drive everyone i am related to mad.

so instead i am pursuing the Elusive First Job path (efj), which for a journalism major coming of age in the midst of a journalism crisis, looks like this:

-READER'S DIGEST WEB COPYEDIT INTERN: 'Remove excess page numbers and parantheses from multiple manuscripts. Translate Canadian and UK English into American English.' (ie, real english. clearly the use of the term 'translate' indicates that they are indeed foreign languages.)
-COPY INTERN FOR PC MAGAZINE: 'PC experience a must. Mac appreciated.'
-EDITORIAL INTERN FOR SPIN MAGAZINE: 'Interns at SPIN are responsible for transcribing interviews, researching stories, running errands, organizing mail, conducting interviews, and compiling music news for possible use in the magazine.'
-02138 EDITORIAL INTERN: 'Part-time or full-time editorial internships are available this spring at 02138, the new independent magazine for Harvard alumni. We seek confident, witty writers and hard-nosed researchers to join the creative team in our midtown Manhattan offices, starting in January.'

and on and on it goes.

notice something about these postings? that's right - they're unpaid. virtually all of them. i am coming to the slow realization that writing is at the most an intriguing field and at worst a reeeeaaallly low-paying one, so you had better get some job satisfaction to pad your earnings. i'm at a strange crossroads: everything seems possible and impossible at the same time. wow, i could do music interviews! i dreamed of doing music interviews in high school! yeah, but you don't hang around in bars and have only been to three concerts in your life. what music magazine is going to hire you? well- okay, but i could work for ziff davis! they're a block away from my dorm, they publish internationally-read computer magazines, and they even pay! yeah, but what do you have on your resume that a huge publisher like ziff davis wants to acquire? three years of writing center tutoring, a stint as an assistant at hadassah magazine, a summer interviewing zookeepers at your local zoo. there's no harpercollins or new york times on there. what are you going to do about it? how will you break through?

there's nothing to tie me to any one place. admittedly, i am not a light packer, but all i've got is a room's worth of stuff. so where should i go? will i go to seattle and become a radio editer? will i move to miami and duck hurricanes yearround? should i go to the hip singles community in silver spring that everyone talks about, and get a job at a political outlet in dc? should i move to london and work as a tour guide in a castle (impractical, but fun)? should i conquer my incomprehensible fears of ha'aretz and attend grad school for half the price in israel? what about la? atlanta? chicago? toronto?

what about new york? i could stay there. oh Father in Heaven, how easy it would be to stay there and not. ship. my stuff. across country. i could move to the heights like every other stern grad, battling cockroaches by night, working in the city by day, davening in the subway on those loooong morning commutes. i could make compot for the potluck shabbos meals everyone's got going on over there, room with people i went to class with but never knew, and attend the world's maximum-fire-hazard meat market for davening every shabbat. i could eat at the little restaurants in front of yu and wish i was still young enough to be in college. nix!

or i could move to the west side. but um...isn't the west side for people who plan to make money at some point in their lives? you know. people whose out-of-college jobs cover things like having your own bedroom. gee...i really want my own bedroom...and the upper west side is pretty....but it's a 'scene.' what does that mean? does it matter if it's out of your price range?

or i could live in queens. or brooklyn. or the lower east side? unknown. unknown. unknown. two-fare, one-hour-plus commute zones.

(whew. okay, pause for a second. show of hands. how many of you are glad you don't have to live in my head full-time?)

or i could live in milwaukee. in my parents' house. and work for...bridge-building magazine? or get my masters at uwm? and er...live in my parents' house? wait- i'm having a flashback from the future:

middle sister: i'm not on sock duty! SHE'S on sock duty!
youngest sister: how am i supposed to know whose socks are whose? we all have the same size feet!
mom: i don't care who's on sock duty, between the three of you, some one should have figured out that the argyle socks are your father's, and those are MY pantyhose!

ergh. maybe not.

anyway, while my parents love me, we have a strict no-kids-above-18-living-here-permanently rule. and i can't imagine what my bubbe would make of it.

bubbe: i thought you could use some crochet covers for your pencils for school. so i'm going to come over tomorrow for coffee and crochet them for you!

so as you can see, i have a lot of deciding to do. but instead i just feel sort of stuck. all my life i've had a gameplan. it's been like stops on the six train: first comes elementary school. then comes middle school. then comes high school. then comes college. in many households in my community, that last would have been seminary. but in the end - i've found this more and more - we all wind up in the same place:

now what?

the rules were so clear and irrefutable before. everybody knows you have to go to high school. what high school, with which haskhafa, these are details you can worry over and work out on your own, but you always have a general idea of what has to happen. in other careers, the road is very well-worn. going to be a doctor? well, then you have to get into medical school, land a residency, take the boards, join a practice...going to be a lawyer? have to get into law school, be a clerk, take the bar, work at a firm...going to be an accountant? have to get the internship, go to networking events, land the entry-level position...

going to be a...you? what do you do to become a 'you'? what do you do when there is no road, and even you aren't sure where you're going?

i don't know. and neither do many of the girls i grew up with. a lot of them live near me now, in one living arrangement or another, and i find myself having the same conversation with all my friends, high school or stern alike. we're all kind of just 'here', now. we've finished the kid chapters but don't really know how to start the adult parts. we all know you're supposed to get married and have families. but how? suddenly the other person in that equation weighs a lot more than they did when our hashkafa teachers referred to them. we all know you're supposed to get jobs - although we have differing ideas about what's suitable for jewish women - which you need to show up to at eight in the morning. but what? we can get jobs cutting out stenciled borders in kindergartens for mimimum wage - is there more than that? is a job something you do to make money for your family, or is it a way to harness your talents to make a difference in the world? you can't know what your purpose in the world is - but can you guess?

we all want our lives to work out okay. but we don't have a gameplan. there's no rules anymore. so how do we know we're doing the things we should?

some people would argue that all this 'not knowing' is actually freedom. the freedom to innovate, to go where the wind takes you, etc. i've given some thought to this argument, and i'm honestly not sure. i think i'm afraid that if i go with the current i'll get lost somewhere far, far away, and won't know my way back. but maybe that's part of being an adult, too.

i don't know.

by the way, anonymous - you said you'd bake me a cake.