The Shabbos candles have long burned out, and the night hangs inside the Flyshack Palace. A small yellow light illuminates a sprawling world of blue flowers. As my eyes follow the curves and patterns, my mind is whisked into a wonderland of yesteryear, where behind every door lies a scene from my childhood, a piece of my past, a part of my self. Now, as we take this moment to remember what once was, I want to take you through some of those doors.
The flowers looked like faces. They came in threes, two on top for the eyes and one on the bottom as a small mouth. At first, the faces seemed bizarre, but as I grew to know and love them, they became like family. When I would come back to visit after a long absence, our eyes would meet in silent hello and I could almost see the mouth smile.
A stomach virus would bring me to the bathroom for nearly 24 hours straight. Those were painful ordeals, but I had a friend to help me through it. Their presence was reassuring - it represented the ability to persevere through hardships and come out on the other side standing strong.
I see myself as a toddler learning to brush my teeth. All around me are my blue friends, standing by to witness the occasion. Years later they are still there when I get braces and have to learn how to brush my teeth once again. They watch as I bring in a whole army of new friends - the shaver, the toenail clipper, the hair brush... they never protest about the new things in my life, because they know that they have a special place.
Now, they are gone. Two decades reduced to nothing in a matter of hours. The empty spaces on the wall cry out to me in a forlorn wail of loneliness. The new faces are not the same. And I - I am forced to close my eyes and escape into memory - the only place where I can find those peaceful pastures of blue.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Burn, Baby, Burn
It's been one of those days.
It was the first day of the dreaded, notorious Organic Chemistry Lab. The place where you need to know the difference between a Buchner and Hirsch funnel. The place where you spend hours watching tiny crystals through a foggy lens, waiting pathetically for a sign of melting. The place where a flask never boils when you want it to and almost certainly boils when you don't.
Needless to say, I was a trifle nervous as I walked into the lab at 1 PM this afternoon and thoroughly exhausted when I tumbled out at 5. The vast majority of the 4 hours in between had been spent in one of two states: 1) Waiting forEVER for something stupid to happen 2) Flailing frantically as 7 important things simultaneous happened beyond my control
I returned to my room, intent on depositing my person on the couch and unplugging my brain for a little while. I noticed that it smelled good as I walked in. At first, I thought that it was due to my improved placement of my Yankee Candle electric air freshner, which has been filling the common room with a pleasant aroma of vanilla since I bough it 3 days ago [Note: my roommates claim that the vanilla device delivers something more like a choking odor rather than a pleasant aroma. However, they have failed to consider the fact that they are completely wrong.]
It was, however, something else that was delivering the smell which I fancied. Inside my oven lay two trays of baking hors d'oeuvre... which I shall henceforth christen aw dervs since this is America and language can change if we all try hard enough. Anyway, I remembered that the guys running the Kedma launch party had asked to borrow our oven to heat up their aw dervs and we said "ok".
At this point I found the couch that I had been craving and turned on some tunes and proceeded to recharge my batteries. A few minutes later, in walked Sarah Breger to check on the aw dervs. I stumbled over as she opened up the oven. "They aren't done?" she asked inredously. "They've been in for over an hour, and they're supposed to cook in 20 minutes!"
I looked at her and grinned, as if to say "You're looking at a guy who's been in orgo lab all day. I know ALL ABOUT how much you're supposed to heat stuff. It takes forever!" And with that thought in my mind I cranked the oven all the way up. Sarah smiled and left. I felt vindicated. Sure, I may have failed today in orgo lab because I could boil my benzoic acid sample fast enough, but at least I won't have that problem with the oven and the aw dervs. I may be a lousy chemist, but I am a divine chef. I sat down at my computer and lost myself in facebook for about 15 minutes.
That's about when the smoke alarm went off.
I jumped up and bolted into the common room. The aw dervs were definitely not doing well, and the smoke was cascading down the front of the oven door like a Waterfall from Hell. With the kind of energy only supplied by rare bursts of adrenaline, I had the windows open in seconds flat, fanned the smoke detector and sat down next to the oven with a small electric fan pointed directly at it.
The top tray is pretty burnt. I hope the Kedma staff doesn't flay me alive. I ruined their aw dervs and now no one is going to read about Israel, or the Jewish people, or baseball or childhood or whatever the heck Kedma is all about. I turned the heat down to make sure I don't burn the lower tray. I hope they finish baking before the launch in 13 minutes...
At the rate I'm going, don't count on it.
It was the first day of the dreaded, notorious Organic Chemistry Lab. The place where you need to know the difference between a Buchner and Hirsch funnel. The place where you spend hours watching tiny crystals through a foggy lens, waiting pathetically for a sign of melting. The place where a flask never boils when you want it to and almost certainly boils when you don't.
Needless to say, I was a trifle nervous as I walked into the lab at 1 PM this afternoon and thoroughly exhausted when I tumbled out at 5. The vast majority of the 4 hours in between had been spent in one of two states: 1) Waiting forEVER for something stupid to happen 2) Flailing frantically as 7 important things simultaneous happened beyond my control
I returned to my room, intent on depositing my person on the couch and unplugging my brain for a little while. I noticed that it smelled good as I walked in. At first, I thought that it was due to my improved placement of my Yankee Candle electric air freshner, which has been filling the common room with a pleasant aroma of vanilla since I bough it 3 days ago [Note: my roommates claim that the vanilla device delivers something more like a choking odor rather than a pleasant aroma. However, they have failed to consider the fact that they are completely wrong.]
It was, however, something else that was delivering the smell which I fancied. Inside my oven lay two trays of baking hors d'oeuvre... which I shall henceforth christen aw dervs since this is America and language can change if we all try hard enough. Anyway, I remembered that the guys running the Kedma launch party had asked to borrow our oven to heat up their aw dervs and we said "ok".
At this point I found the couch that I had been craving and turned on some tunes and proceeded to recharge my batteries. A few minutes later, in walked Sarah Breger to check on the aw dervs. I stumbled over as she opened up the oven. "They aren't done?" she asked inredously. "They've been in for over an hour, and they're supposed to cook in 20 minutes!"
I looked at her and grinned, as if to say "You're looking at a guy who's been in orgo lab all day. I know ALL ABOUT how much you're supposed to heat stuff. It takes forever!" And with that thought in my mind I cranked the oven all the way up. Sarah smiled and left. I felt vindicated. Sure, I may have failed today in orgo lab because I could boil my benzoic acid sample fast enough, but at least I won't have that problem with the oven and the aw dervs. I may be a lousy chemist, but I am a divine chef. I sat down at my computer and lost myself in facebook for about 15 minutes.
That's about when the smoke alarm went off.
I jumped up and bolted into the common room. The aw dervs were definitely not doing well, and the smoke was cascading down the front of the oven door like a Waterfall from Hell. With the kind of energy only supplied by rare bursts of adrenaline, I had the windows open in seconds flat, fanned the smoke detector and sat down next to the oven with a small electric fan pointed directly at it.
The top tray is pretty burnt. I hope the Kedma staff doesn't flay me alive. I ruined their aw dervs and now no one is going to read about Israel, or the Jewish people, or baseball or childhood or whatever the heck Kedma is all about. I turned the heat down to make sure I don't burn the lower tray. I hope they finish baking before the launch in 13 minutes...
At the rate I'm going, don't count on it.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Won't Get Fooled Again
Lesson of the Day
Do not ever do either of the following:
There is only one cure I know of when it comes to feeling queasy. I must simply walk around outside until the queasiness passes. This particular occasion gave me the chance to take a spontaneous tour of campus (does this place EVER get old?!), as well as a chance to say hi to one Shalom Goldberg. I also got to relax on a bench down by the river, where the quiet sounds of the water lapped against me like... water.
Then, on the way home, I decided to throw in the towel and buy some Pepto Bismol. Time to shower.
Do not ever do either of the following:
- Drink coffee which has been sitting out in the coffee pot for over 24 hours
- Taste a meat-containing dish which your friend has just described as "rancid"
There is only one cure I know of when it comes to feeling queasy. I must simply walk around outside until the queasiness passes. This particular occasion gave me the chance to take a spontaneous tour of campus (does this place EVER get old?!), as well as a chance to say hi to one Shalom Goldberg. I also got to relax on a bench down by the river, where the quiet sounds of the water lapped against me like... water.
Then, on the way home, I decided to throw in the towel and buy some Pepto Bismol. Time to shower.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
Lovely Rita
I'm feeling really angry at the police right now. See, me and the police usually get along pretty well, but when it comes to parking meters there's always this friction between us. I always get to my meter one second too late. Once the guy was there writing my ticket as I approached the vehicle. I tried to persuade him to let it go, but he didn't speak English very well. He indicated that he couldn't take the ticket back, even if he wanted to, because it was entered into the system or something.
It happened again today, this time in Queens. I'm parked on a small side street off of Main. I wasn't really worried about a ticket because hey, this wasn't exactly Midtown. There were plenty of spaces available, and it was the middle of the afternoon. Nope. There was the ticket smirking at me from my windshield, 3 minutes after the meter had expired.
Where are these guys hiding? Is it just by chance, or is there some kind of system? If the former, perhaps I should read moreh nevuchim or accept the fact that I have bad Karma. If the latter, then those dudes should be finding better ways to spend our tax dollars than fining good guys like me for taking up space on a lightly populated road for 3 extra minutes.
I understand the theory behind the quick-response. If you develop a reputation for not responding quickly, then it becomes more tempting to leave you car in the spot past the time, and then it becomes much harder to find spots in the first place. That's just bad for everybody.
But on the other hand, we do have cases where there's a well-balanced medium between the letter of the law and the more realistic practice thereof. Think about speeding tickets. If speeding tickets worked like parking meters, we'd all be paying fines every time we went 2 miles over. But the system still works, because it's based on multiple factors - how busy is the highway, what time of day/night is it, etc. The point is, you are in control. You are given a certain amount of leeway beyond the printed speed limit, and at the end of the day the law keeps you from driving recklessly without inconveniencing you.
Why can't parking meters be like that too? If someone leaves a meter empty for an hour, that person is clearly irresponsible. But if I'm sitting in a restaurant finishing up lunch with my friends, and I know my meter is running out soon, why should I have to run back and fill the meter any more than I should have to drive 5o mph when everyone else is going 65?
True, there has to be a standard. Also, cops don't necessarily know how long a meter's been on empty. But if they do, I think they should use their discretion and cut us some slack.
It happened again today, this time in Queens. I'm parked on a small side street off of Main. I wasn't really worried about a ticket because hey, this wasn't exactly Midtown. There were plenty of spaces available, and it was the middle of the afternoon. Nope. There was the ticket smirking at me from my windshield, 3 minutes after the meter had expired.
Where are these guys hiding? Is it just by chance, or is there some kind of system? If the former, perhaps I should read moreh nevuchim or accept the fact that I have bad Karma. If the latter, then those dudes should be finding better ways to spend our tax dollars than fining good guys like me for taking up space on a lightly populated road for 3 extra minutes.
I understand the theory behind the quick-response. If you develop a reputation for not responding quickly, then it becomes more tempting to leave you car in the spot past the time, and then it becomes much harder to find spots in the first place. That's just bad for everybody.
But on the other hand, we do have cases where there's a well-balanced medium between the letter of the law and the more realistic practice thereof. Think about speeding tickets. If speeding tickets worked like parking meters, we'd all be paying fines every time we went 2 miles over. But the system still works, because it's based on multiple factors - how busy is the highway, what time of day/night is it, etc. The point is, you are in control. You are given a certain amount of leeway beyond the printed speed limit, and at the end of the day the law keeps you from driving recklessly without inconveniencing you.
Why can't parking meters be like that too? If someone leaves a meter empty for an hour, that person is clearly irresponsible. But if I'm sitting in a restaurant finishing up lunch with my friends, and I know my meter is running out soon, why should I have to run back and fill the meter any more than I should have to drive 5o mph when everyone else is going 65?
True, there has to be a standard. Also, cops don't necessarily know how long a meter's been on empty. But if they do, I think they should use their discretion and cut us some slack.
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