tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63939002024-03-23T20:00:32.448+02:00Visigoths and MeshugasIt's like the Great Sack of Rome in your head.ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.comBlogger102125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-5940639729372557422007-07-10T12:59:00.001+03:002008-08-27T12:08:25.130+03:00Say Goodnight, Gracie<p><strong>Notice:</strong> I know some people are going to be too lazy to read this all the way through. Long story short: this site is no longer active. But fear not. It is being combined with my <a href="http://hopandhope.blogspot.com">other site</a> to form a <a href="http://bitsofink.com">new site</a> in an effort to consolidate and prettify stuff. This post is cross-posted both at the <a href="http://hopandhope.blogspot.com/2007/07/say-goodnight-gracie.html">other site</a> and at the <a href="http://www.bitsofink.com/2007/07/10/the-ending-is-where-we-start-from/">new site</a>.</p><p>Life's a funny thing, they say.</p><p>I started blogging in 2003, as a sophomore in college. It was at the encouragement of a few friends who found my goofy sense of humor funny, and were willing (even eager) to read humorous pieces I had written. And boy, were they goofy. Some of the most creative (and dare I say inspired?) stuff I've written came out of that period, actually. And much to my surprise, people started reading. Not the 'public,' whoever they are, but people I knew - my siblings, and other friends and family - people who I wasn't even writing for originally. They actually found me genuinely funny. It was weird. My siblings, both older, never seemed to really <em>admire</em> me for anything, and now, it seemed, I was impressing them, and their friends. It was very cool, a real ego boost. And time went on, and I continued updating, with the occasional 3-month dry spell. I never got to the point of posting regularly or particularly frequently, likely due in a large part to my commitment to producing original work, rather than linking to other people's creations. Well, that and procrastination....</p>
<p>Allow me to digress here for a minute. I was something of an oddity in the blogging world. Most bloggers maintain readership by posting often. Typically, either these posts involve descriptions of their day-to-day lives, something which one never really runs out of material for, or they'd post links to other creative work, occasionally with added commentary. I was not prepared to broadcast the details of my life to the general public, and I didn't want to exist remora-like, living off the scraps left by the <em>real</em> producers of writing, images, music, and video. I wanted to be one of those producers, by writing relatively impersonal, humorous pieces. And that's pretty hard to do regularly, or it was for me, anyhow. But I kept at it, because even though my number of daily hits rarely crept above 10, it also didn't really sink down to zero. People were reading, so I continued writing, albeit sometimes infrequently. About a year and a half after starting blogging, it occurred to me that I had what to write that wasn't goofy and humorous. The material I had in mind was downright serious. And so I had a problem. I couldn't just post those pieces on the original blog, like nothing was different, because I didn't want to turn away readers who had come to expect humor. But I still wanted to share my thoughts on weightier matters than <a href="http://oisforoblivious.blogspot.com/2004/02/pants-fridge-excitement.html">the odd contents of my fridge</a>.</p> <p>So I started a <a href="http://hopandhope.blogspot.com">second blog</a>.</p><p>This just compounded my problems. Ideally, I would have a regularly updated blog, with many readers and an active and lively comments section. By creating a second blog, for my 'serious' stuff, I was splitting my efforts and my readership, and ultimately hurting my progress in reaching my goals. But what could I do? I kept updating both blogs, and people (still very few) read both. I wanted to upgrade. But how? Well, for starters, if I was going to maintain two blogs, when one could probably suffice, I could at least make them both stand out. Thus began the big redesign. After a few false starts, I redesigned each blog in turn, from the bottom up. The functionality remained the same, but they got all dressed up in what I thought were nice makeovers. Still, while I wasn't getting at the main issue, I ran into others. Blogger wasn't giving me the flexibility and control I wanted to have with my site, nor did I have online storage to use. Plus, the web addresses were long and cumbersome - there were regular readers who sometimes forgot them. So I decided on a new non-solution, something I'd been planning on doing anyway. Enter the as-yet-unused <a href="http://bitsofink.com">bitsofink.com</a>. I thought it was a neat little title which happened to be available - using a play on the word "bits" to connote digital writing, and a kind of meshing of the past and present, something I try to aim for in my writing. (Ok, so I guess that sounds a little pretentious. <em>Mea culpa</em>.) So then the question was "now what?" Well, I could (and did, actually) import the two blogs into one, hosted at bitsofink. But this wasn't a solution either - not yet, anyway. People would need to be redirected to the new site (actually, not such a difficult problem to solve), plus, what would become of the new designs? They centered around their banners, and the new combo-blog would be called something different. So if I wanted a new site, I'd need a new design. I got as far as designing the <a href="http://bitsofink.com/files/header.jpg">banner</a>, which I just dropped into a (fairly boring) pre-made template. But I continued updating the two Blogger sites, and nothing really changed.</p><p>Finally, the final straw came. You see, as I continued writing in the 'serious' blog, I found that I was writing more and more personal material. And life has a way of not being easily placed into 'humorous' or 'serious' boxes. Life just is, and we just live it - lovely and crazy and giddy and depressing as it is. It's sometimes <a href="http://www.bitsofink.com/2006/12/06/go-metric/">so terrifying you have to laugh</a>, and sometimes <a href="http://oisforoblivious.blogspot.com/2007/05/ping-pong-with-army.html">so laughable you have to cry</a>, and sometimes, it's just <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wabi_sabi">wabi-sabi</a>. So I was coming up with posts that didn't belong in one of the two blogs, but somewhere in-between. So I decided I'd just have to bite the bullet and do it. So I worked on a redesign that I think is nice enough to justify the move and the abandonment of the old sites. I've imported all of the old posts and even marked them with which blog they originally came from (using fun <a href="http://bitsofink.com/files/vm_icon.gif">little</a> <a href="http://bitsofink.com/files/foot_icon.gif">icons</a>. I still have a few things to tweak, and I need to clean up the old imported posts so they look right and such, but things are more or less up and running. Now I can get back to posting in earnest, and maybe even persuade some of the other bloggers who read my stuff to throw a link or two my way (hint, hint) to help me finally get this operation off the ground. The old sites will remain up, and I'll put up a notice to that effect within a week, but all new updates will be at the <a href="http://bitsofink.com">new site.</a></p><p>Phew, who knew blogging could be such hard work?</p>ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-15159795789444415072007-07-02T11:45:00.001+03:002007-07-02T12:07:03.163+03:00Conversations, Part 2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXAYQR7dRBOApM4-rU570_KhZ5O68kaWUS1d0r71Sacu_ddZiNlswq_xsAwkfJgS3MjZ0kA1vJmifktzo77WWwHszluOUsnCjaMG1aLLu_syksCWDnS5Ijlm-sTKccd3H7rH8UFA/s1600-h/FLAMINGO_small.gif"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXAYQR7dRBOApM4-rU570_KhZ5O68kaWUS1d0r71Sacu_ddZiNlswq_xsAwkfJgS3MjZ0kA1vJmifktzo77WWwHszluOUsnCjaMG1aLLu_syksCWDnS5Ijlm-sTKccd3H7rH8UFA/s400/FLAMINGO_small.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082523441313689250" /></a><p>So I seem to get weirder when I get more tired. I finally got my American (VOIP) phone line working at something like 1 or 2 in the morning, so I called some friends to let them know. After all, for $200 / 15 months, it's free to call anywhere in the U.S. (Nice, eh?) So I called my friend R, and we had this conversation:</p>
<blockquote><p>[<em>Phone rings.</em>]</p><p><strong>Me: </strong>Hey.</p><p><strong>R: </strong>Who is this? Jesus?</p><p><strong>Me: </strong>[<em>Hesitating</em>] Yes.</p><p>I have a mission for you. Go out and buy lots of flamingoes. Buy <em>all</em> the flamingoes. Form a flamingo army.</p><p>Tie them to your waist, and [<em>dramatic pause</em>] fly, fly, fly.</p><p>Fill the sky with pink.</p>
<p><strong>R: </strong>What???</p>
<p><strong>Me: </strong>I don't know. <em>You</em> said I was Jesus.</p>
<p><strong>R: </strong>Yeah, but- what??</p>
<p><strong>Me: </strong>Never mind.</p>
</blockquote>ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-58656100439977124052007-06-18T14:20:00.000+03:002007-06-18T15:00:56.334+03:00Conversations<p>I seem to have some of my more interesting conversations online.
Take this one, from today. I was complaining about not getting enough sleep to my friend <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/14447218">Eli</a>:</p>
<blockquote class="dialogue"><p><strong>Eli:</strong> may i suggest a method?<br/>
set an alarm for when u want to go to sleep...</p>
<p><strong>me:</strong> And train a monkey with a tire iron to knock me out when he hears the alarm?</p>
<p><strong>Eli: </strong>and treat it like the wake up alarm<br/>
lol<br/>
yeah, that might work<br/></p>
<p><strong>me:</strong> Been there, buddy.</p>
<p><strong>Eli:</strong> ah<br/>
ok<br/>
i never knew u had a pet monkey, though<br/>
that's pretty cool</p>
<p><strong>me:</strong> Well, I don't have one anymore!<br/>
The migraines were unbearable. And there was that incident with the guest.</p>
</blockquote>ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-20079710418883313602007-05-24T23:45:00.000+03:002007-05-25T04:09:22.518+03:00Not Spam, Exactly....An actual email I just got:
<blockquote> <strong>from</strong> Ski Safe <onlinequote@skisafe.com><br/><strong>to</strong> Trevor Rans <_______@gmail.com> <br/><strong>date</strong> May 24, 2007 6:15 PM<br/><strong>subject</strong> Thank you for using SkiSafeWeb (2819240821)<br/><p>Thank you for your interest in insuring your craft with Ski-Safe. We have assigned a password so that you can access your records later, either for this quote (if we have been able to provide it), or for another one that you might want. If your quote required approval, it will be accessible after we have reviewed it.</p>
<p>Your password is <em>[removed]</em> and you can change it any time.
We also have representatives standing by to help you and are happy to take your
call at 1-800-225-6560.</p>
</blockquote>
My actual response:
<blockquote>
<strong>from</strong> Ilan <_______@gmail.com><br/><strong>to</strong> Ski Safe <onlinequote@skisafe.com> <br/><strong>date</strong> May 25, 2007 12:10 AM PM<br/><strong>subject</strong> Re:Thank you for using SkiSafeWeb (2819240821)<br/>
<p>Dear SkiSafe and SkiSafe affiliates/loved ones,</p>
<p> I do not recall expressing an interest in insuring a craft with you, nor is my name Trevor. However, as I do not, to my knowledge, own a craft of <em>any</em> sort currently, I would be very interested to see the craft you speak of. I would even go by the name Trevor if you would prefer. What sort of craft is it? Does it have skis, as the name of your company would imply? If so, how does it navigate on non-slippery terrain (e.g. the road outside my friend Bobby's house, where there are several large, intimidating potholes)? Or perhaps it is a craft of an as-yet unspecified type. If so, can I choose? I believe I would choose a hovercraft (that, or a jetpack, but I hear that jetpacks tend to chafe). Yes, I think a hovercraft would be a fine choice. (They had one in that film, Back to the Future - I highly recommend it. It stars Michael J. Fox and an older fellow, whose name I cannot recall. He's the one with white poofy hair like Einstein.)</p>
<p>In sum, please let me know where and when I can pick up my hovercraft and how much the insurance you are offering will cost.</p>
<p>Thank You,<br/>
Ilan/Trevor</p>
</blockquote>
<p>I will keep you updated with whether they write me back.</p>
<p><strong>Update:</strong> They responded. Proof that some organizations have a sense of humor:</p><blockquote><strong>from</strong> Onlinequote <onlinequote@skisafe.com><br/> <strong>to</strong> Ilan <_______@gmail.com> <br/><strong>date</strong> May 25, 2007 12:31 AM<br/><strong>subject</strong> RE: Thank you for using SkiSafeWeb (2819240821)<br/><p>Thank you for injecting some levity into what might have been an arduous day.</p>
<p>Had you requested a more ordinary yacht or jet ski we might have been able to accommodate you, but alas, none of our programs cover hovercrafts (or submarines) so we must regretfully decline.</p>
<p>
However, I appreciate your lending credence to the statement of Galileo Galilei who said:</p>
<p>"I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to forgo their use." </p>
<p>Have a great weekend!</p>
<br/><em>[name removed]</em></p>
</blockquote>ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-43835986246433466622007-05-21T23:33:00.000+03:002007-05-22T00:06:05.749+03:00Who Was that Masked Infection?So, short post.
I was sick last week. All of it. I had all the wrong stuff coming out of all the wrong orifices at all of the wrong times. I went to the doctor twice and the immediate care place twice, and had needles put in, fluids taken out, other fluids put in, etc. And they still don't know what it is I am just now getting over. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDbbg5DoSnSrj4HA-Bloao4KLkI3UFDdHPCg0WgP7Y5Ca3XbY00rVLS8cVevR8ri49gQazQC3L9vSU2z3PM7phHyXlnJ_KPDwB3-bl8Mgwy_IJzYUwAhmynAJnDp2a_1k3GAfVw/s1600-h/bacbox.png"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDbbg5DoSnSrj4HA-Bloao4KLkI3UFDdHPCg0WgP7Y5Ca3XbY00rVLS8cVevR8ri49gQazQC3L9vSU2z3PM7phHyXlnJ_KPDwB3-bl8Mgwy_IJzYUwAhmynAJnDp2a_1k3GAfVw/s400/bacbox.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5067122811222858466" /></a>They checked for what they thought it was (Death-Causing Spiridium from Mars) and it came up negative, and...that's it, it seems. So, I decided to help them out by giving them a picture, featured here. If I had to guess, I'd say that they may have been thwarted in their identification attempts because it <a href="http://bitsofink.com/bacteriamask.png">normally appears in the wild in a clever disguise.</a>ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-56588913007924470682007-05-08T14:44:00.000+03:002007-05-08T16:02:04.479+03:00Ping-Pong with the Army<p>I went to the lishkat hagiyus, the army recruitment office, last week. It was suprisingly organized and efficient. Until the end.</p><p>In the end, I went into the final office, where they tell you, bottom line, what's going to happen with you.</p><p>They told me that I didn't have a giyus (enlistment) date yet, but I would get one when I got a profile (i.e. the number that represents your fitness). So I wasn't done with them yet. Let's start the cameras rolling...<blockquote><strong>Me:</strong>Am I not allowed to leave the country until you give me a date [as previously had been indicated to me]?<br/><strong>Girl 1:</strong>Yes, you won't.<br/><strong>Me:</strong> When will I have a profile, then?<br/><strong>Girl 1:</strong> When you bring in the medical documents that you're missing.<br/><em>- Begin quest for the missing documents. -</em><br/><strong>Girl 1:</strong> Go back up to the 2nd floor, and walk into an office and ask what documents you need to get a profile.<br/><br/><em>Scene: second floor office, several minutes later.</em><br/><strong>Me:</strong> I need to know how to get my profile.<br/><strong>Girl 2:</strong> Did you see the doctor here?<br/><strong>Me:</strong> Yes.<br/><strong>Girl 2:</strong>: <em>(Checking computer)</em> Ok, let's look at your profile.<br/>Me: <em>(Waits)</em><br/><strong>Girl 2:</strong> You don't have a profile yet.<br/><strong>Me:</strong> Yes, I know. How do I get one?<br/><strong>Girl 2:</strong>You need to bring the required medical documents.<br/><strong>Me:</strong> Right. Which ones?<br/><strong>Girl 2:</strong> Oh. <em>(Passes me off to another girl.)</em><br/><strong>Girl 3:</strong> <em>(Checking computer)</em> You need some missing medical documents.<br/><strong>Me:</strong> <em>(Through clenched teeth with a strained voice)</em> Yes, I know. Which ones?<br/><em>I get passed off to a 4th girl who says she'll be with me soon. I sit patiently until I don't feel like it any more, then go back into the office.</em><br/><strong>Me:</strong> I need to know which medical documents I need to get to get a profile.<br/><strong>Girl 5 (or maybe this was Girl 2 again):</strong> Isn't someone already helping you?<br/><strong>Me:</strong> Yes, but I don't know where she went.<br/><strong>Girl 5:</strong> She'll be with you soon. She hasn't forgotten about you. [She had.]<br/><em>Girl 4 finally walks by, and I follow her into the office.</em><br/><strong>Me:</strong> Which medical documents do I need to get?<br/><em>She turns to the other girls expectantly.</em><br/><strong>Other Girls:</strong> You need medical documents.<br/><strong>Me:</strong> <em>(Head explodes.)</em><br/><em>(Practically yelling)</em> But which documents?<br/><em>One of the girls (I am fairly certain either Girl 2 or Girl 3) checks the same computer they've been checking all along.</em><br/><strong>Girl 2/3:</strong> You need to come back for a psychological examination.<br/><strong>Me:</strong> <em>(Really wondering 'what about the documents?' but certainly not curious enough to bring</em> that <em>up again)</em> When?<br/><strong>Girl 2/3:</strong> We'll call you.<br/>Me: <em>(Not taking any chances)</em> When will you call me?<br/><strong>Girl 2/3:</strong> Within two weeks.<br/><br/><em>And I'm spent.</em></blockquote>ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-1645278605596113552007-05-07T00:10:00.000+03:002007-05-07T00:53:10.084+03:00Generation Gap?<p>An actual conversation between me and my parents. I'm honestly not sure if this is going to make me want to talk to them more in the future or less.<blockquote><strong>Mom:</strong> have u used your webcam? we also have one but haven't tried it yet<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> Not yet.<br/>
I feel that it's a bit too early in my career to start uploading compromising videos to the internet.<br/>
...<br/>
<strong>Mom:</strong> no no no compromising videos, just your face when we are talking. or else we'll upload those baby pix!!<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> Which ones?<br/>
There are lots more of Noam and Tali. I'm the 3rd child, remember?<br/>
<strong>Mom:</strong> how about the bathtub shots?<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> You don't have those of me.<br/>
<strong>Mom:</strong> want to bet?<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> Yes.<br/>
<br/>
[<em>long pause</em>]<br/>
<br/>
<strong>Dad:</strong> mommy is busy fruitlessly trying to find compromising pix of u<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> I know.<br/>
...<br/>
<strong>Dad:</strong> ...now Mommy is more determined than ever<br/>
don't b surprised if a Noam picture is claimed to actually b u<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> I won't.<br/>
I think I can tell the difference. Not sure.<br/>
<strong>Dad:</strong> uh oh, u should never challenge your mother, she found some<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> No way!<br/>
In an album?<br/>
<strong>Dad:</strong> how about dressed up as a classic nerd 4 Purim<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> Not good enough. She said "naked."<br/>
<strong>Dad:</strong> Or being hugged and kissed by Judy E. at camp when you were a wee one<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> Or "bathtub" at least.<br/>
So?<br/>
...<br/>
<strong>Dad:</strong> How about topless in the back yard?<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> Still not doing it for me...<br/>
<strong>Dad:</strong> The Purim nerd is pretty bad<br/>
<strong>Dad:</strong> But the mother is still on a quest, still looking for naked<br/>
<strong>Dad:</strong> Busted, found the bathtub<br/>
with a girl<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> No way!<br/>
That's Noam!<br/>
Which girl?<br/>
<strong>Dad:</strong> Tali <br/>
Since she's bigger than u in the pic, it has to be you<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> Is this a naked picture of Tali, where I just happen to be there and naked?<br/>
<strong>Dad:</strong> Just found 11 more<br/>
many at the beach in public<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> I am "b'shok."<br/>
That's Israeli for "in shock."<br/>
<strong>Dad:</strong> U and Tali are sharing a bathtub<br/>
There are also solo shots of u<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> ....<br/>
<strong>Dad:</strong> can we stop --- your mother doesn't give up and I'm hungry. This could go on all night now. I'm gonna waste away to nothingness, dying of starvation<br/>
all because you challenged your mother<br/>
u should know by now you can do that<br/>
especially if u think you'll ever win<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> I'm stubborn. You should know that by now.<br/>
<strong>Dad:</strong> BTW, it's a good humbling lesson for marriage as well<br/>
just something to keep in mind<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> ...and we're back to this.<br/>
<strong>Dad:</strong> how about the three of u naked in an outdoor shower<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> Ok, now you're just making stuff up. <small>[Editor's note: otherwise, I should go back in time and turn them into Child Services]</small><br/>
<strong>Dad:</strong> U want compromising, we got plenty, now go out and find a girl so we can thoroughly embarrass u<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> ...I'll work on it. -sigh-<br/>
<strong>Dad:</strong> have a great night. I'm going to eat the woodwork (or other inedible stuff not nailed down, while your mother searches the archives.<br/>
Seriously, have a great night. Talk to u tomorrow.<br/>
<strong>me:</strong> Ok.<br/>
Later.<br/>
<strong>Dad:</strong> bye</blockquote>
I am speechless. For me, that's a big deal.
</p>ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-8597221807340589932007-05-02T22:25:00.000+03:002007-05-04T11:40:18.318+03:00I Think I'm a Clone Now<p>A while ago, in January, while I was training in the U.S, <a href="http://nbn.co.il">Nefesh B'Nefesh</a> called me to ask if needed any help with my <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aliyah">aliyah</a>. It went something like this:</p>
<blockquote>
<strong>GUY:</strong> Ilan, hi, this is [whatever his name was; we'll call him Stanley] with NBN. I was wondering how we can help you with your aliyah.<br/>
<strong>ILAN:</strong> I already made aliyah.<br/>
<strong>STANLEY:</strong> You did?<br/>
<strong>ILAN:</strong> Yes.<br/>
<strong>STANLEY:</strong> When?<br/>
<strong>ILAN:</strong> August.<br/>
<strong>STANLEY:</strong> Oh.<br/>
<em> -awkward silence- </em><br/>
<small>(Recall that he's calling my American cellphone)</small><br/>
<strong>ILAN:</strong> I'm in the U.S. now. [pause] But only for a short while.<br/>
<strong>STANLEY:</strong> Oh.<br/>
<em> -awkward silence- </em><br/>
<strong>STANLEY:</strong> Well, if you want, you can still apply for our services. Give us a call when you get back.<br/>
<strong>ILAN:</strong> Sure, thanks.<br/>
<strong>STANLEY:</strong> Bye.<br/>
<strong>ILAN:</strong> Bye.<br/>
</blockquote>
<p>I'm not sure if he ever realized that not only did I make aliyah, I made it with NBN. In truth, NBN is a wonderful organization, which does amazing things for many people, myself very much included, so I shouldn't make fun of them. But it was funny.
I think I downloaded their application twice or something, and I'm in their database twice, so that in their files, there's one Ilan who planned out the aliyah process, made aliyah, even got a generous cash grant from them; and one Ilan who never quite got off the ground.</p> <p>Parallel universe much?</p>ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-43342745257470241662007-04-30T08:17:00.000+03:002007-05-01T09:06:08.892+03:00Kitten LeasingSo, on a scale of 1 to disturbing, should I be scared by the fact that the email indicated in this screenshot is <em>not</em> spam, but rather, sent by a close friend?
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMnQy19jyPsdkjp4Lp3ylwzzBDRGqKAyQIaa1XtwE0Y8GuOVCkgVzJBhyphenhyphenr4czx-mTiDuzixliNOiGc0c2Qua4tY3lgalrezYxrqqB2IF0TcuYc_Yt6OgcmjzPkooj6JkAKHVUFkQ/s1600-h/kitten+copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMnQy19jyPsdkjp4Lp3ylwzzBDRGqKAyQIaa1XtwE0Y8GuOVCkgVzJBhyphenhyphenr4czx-mTiDuzixliNOiGc0c2Qua4tY3lgalrezYxrqqB2IF0TcuYc_Yt6OgcmjzPkooj6JkAKHVUFkQ/s400/kitten+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059469478772456338" /></a>
My life is...different than other people's.ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-31161806791227353522007-04-20T18:29:00.000+03:002007-04-23T12:13:13.771+03:00Question Thursday Extravaganza<p>So... I've moved into my apartment and things are starting to calm down (see the response to Lauren's question below for more info on that) and to make up for missing the last few Thursdays, I am going to answer <em>every single question</em> I've received to date. Granted, that's only eleven questions, but that's all I got. Hmmm...perhaps it would be more impressive if I said I'm going to answer every single question <em>while submerged upside-down in a 200-gallon tank of water</em>. You can't see me right now, so let's assume I'm bubbling away here, answering in my own damp fashion<sup>1</sup>. Ok, so here we go:<br/></p><p><strong>Eli:</strong> Why?<br/><strong>Answertron 3042:</strong> Because I said so. Kids? Kids? Stop fighting back there, or no porridge for a wee- Ow! That's it! Once more, and I will <em>turn this blog around</em>. No rollercoasters, no funnelcakes, no watching slaves getting fed to lions, do you hear me?</p><p><strong>Eli:</strong> Why me?<br/><strong>Answertron 3042:</strong> According to one popular theory in modern physics, there are an infinite number of possible universes in existence. Hence, in a smaller, but still infinite number, there are an infinite number of Elis all asking "Why me?"<sup>2</sup> If you got this infinite number of Elis in a room together (yes, it would be a big room) and gave them an infinite amount of time with an infinite number of typewriters, a lot of Elis would probably get pretty stained with all that ink. Other Elis would form a free-market economy, using the typewriters as a currency, while still others<sup>3</sup> would use the typewriters as crude weapons, vying for brute-force dominance of the infinite Eliverse...<br>In other words, um, I dunno.</p><p><strong>Stuart:</strong> What's the best place to store nuclear weapons around the house so the kids don't get into them?<br/><strong>Answertron 3042:</strong> Nebraska.</p><p><strong>Stuart:</strong> Can white men sing the blues?<br/><strong>Answertron 3042:</strong> Yes, if you upset them enough. Try telling them that their pimped-out Escalade doesn't make them look 'ghetto.' Or drill a hole in one of their yachts. Or remind them that they are just cogs in a consumer-driven, laissez-faire free-market economy, where while nothing's truly free, value is placed on nothing, resulting in overindulgence in their drab and meaningless existences in a vain attempt to ignore the desperate ennui slowly sapping all life from their bones. Then kick them in the groin really hard. That should work.</p><p><strong>Stuart:</strong> Can blue men sing the whites?<br/><strong>Answertron 3042:</strong> Only in Canada. You sicko.</p><p><strong>Stuart:</strong> What is the circumference of Rosie O'Donnell?<br/><strong>Answertron 3042:</strong> Three Olsen twins.</p><p><strong>Stuart:</strong> If a woodchuck would chuck as much as it could chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood, doesn't the woodchuck have a pretty boring existence?<br/><strong>Answertron 3042:</strong> Who are you to judge the woodchuck community? They have had many great contributions to society, including the invention of sporks, the concept of irony, and vocal intonations indicating the end of a thought. (Before woodchucks, people would poilitely wait for a few seconds of silence before replying in a conversation. Dramatic pauses were dreadfully difficult, and a episode of West Wing would take 3 hours, at which point the actors would all collapse from exhaustion from all that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walk_and_Talk">walking and talking</a>.<sup>4</sup>)</p><p><strong>Stuart:</strong> How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie roll center of Tara Reid's brain?<br/><strong>Answertron 3042:</strong> Now you're just being plain mean. ::crosses robotic arms:: That's it. I refuse to answer. Now go to your room, Stuart, and think about what you've done.</p><p><strong>Reb Chaim:</strong> Here's a question for you: The Torah says that during the Exodus the Jews did not have enough time for their bread to leaven, so they ate unleavened breads, which is why there is an obligation to eat Maztah on Pesach. However, let's say they had enough time for their bread to rise, they still would not have eaten leavened bread because it's Chametz and it was Pesach, so why do we need the reason that they had no time for the bread to rise, just say they didn't eat leavened bread because it was Pesach?<br/><strong>Answertron 3042:</strong> So the children would ask. No, seriously - both happened, and there are <a href="http://tanach.org/#shiur11">two different aspects to matzah</a>, each part of a (somewhat ) separate holiday that starts on the 15th of Nissan.</p><p><strong>Lauren:</strong> What is wrong with the Thursday question thing?<br/><strong>Answertron 3042:</strong> I am now in fully functioning order, ma'am, and I suggest you be more sensitive in the future. How would you feel if someone asked you what was wrong with you, then you went and told the teacher and the other kids heard and didn't let you play with the nice red ball and you got stuck with the stupid blue ball and you could only play with Harold, the kid with all the food allergies and the inhaler, but who needs those other kids anyway and no, I'm not crying. I just have a cold.</p><p><strong>Lauren:</strong> And how serious are the Thursday questions allowed to be?<br/><strong>Answertron 3042:</strong> As serious as you want. Mind you, I won't necessarily answer serious questions seriously. I might even answer them ironically.</p><p><strong>Lauren:</strong> Is it too late to submit a question?<br/><strong>Answertron 3042:</strong> Can't.... continue.... questions too.... meta.... ::Answertron 3042 explodes, leaving pieces all over cyberspace.::<sup>5</sup></p><ol class="footnotes"><li>We are going to deliver all answers using the new, high-tech Answertron 3042, to expedite the answering process, and because robots are freakin' awesome.</li><li>Some of those Elis have tentacles.</li><li>Probably including the tentacled Elis.</li><li>Plus, William Shatner couldn't get a word in edgewise, but I'm not saying that was a bad thing.</li><li>Lauren, you owe me a new question-answering robot. And chocolate. I want chocolate.</li></ol>ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-49289245233241333392007-04-01T08:57:00.000+03:002007-04-02T09:13:37.244+03:00Do Not Adjust Your Monitor...No, it's not your fault. There is currently a glitch in the <a href="http://oisforoblivious.blogspot.com/2007/03/introducing-question-thursdays.html">Question Thursdays</a> system. We are working to hammer it out. In the meantime, though, if you need to get from New York to Dublin, <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=d&hl=en&saddr=new+york,+ny&daddr=Dublin,+Ireland&sll=57.984808,-55.019531&sspn=72.354033,164.53125&layer=&ie=UTF8&om=1&z=4&ll=48.166085,-36.5625&spn=43.171238,82.265625">Google has the directions</a> (<span style="font-size:85%;">via <a href="http://www.kottke.org/remainder/07/03/13112.html">kottke.org</a></span>).ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-85700279482354604872007-03-21T20:06:00.000+02:002007-03-26T09:16:22.249+02:00Introducing Question Thursdays<p>In order to jump-start this blog again (having finished redesigns of <a href="http://oisforoblivious.blogspot.com">both</a> <a href="http://hopandhope.blogspot.com">blogs</a>, plus a bit on an <a href="http://bitsofink.com">as-yet-unclear project</a>) I'm introducing a brand new program, called <strong>Question Thursdays</strong> (alternate, more clever titles are welcome and encouraged.) Here's how it works:</p><ul style="list-style-type: decimal;"><li><strong>Thursday arrives</strong> in Israel, whatever the time zone you may happen to be in. This generally happens once a week, though there was that time when NBC scheduled two Thursdays in a row, so everyone could fulfill their must-see-TV obligation. They were showing a Very Special Friends episode (The One Where Ross Becomes a Heroin Addict But Gets Better and Phoebe Blows Up Burundi.)</li><li><strong>For 24 hours, you, my adoring readers send me questions</strong> - anything ranging from the idiotic to the inane. Seriously, any question at all (yes, you can ask me where you left the car keys, but I'm telling you for the billionth time, they're on the counter next to the phone.) Use the email address in the sidebar<strong>*</strong>, and don't fret if you feel like sending it earlier in the week.</li><li><strong>I will choose</strong> one or more questions to answer in a manner of my choosing. Please understand that "in a manner of my choosing" could mean "as I were a 15th-century villiage idiot ('Forsooth, while reading your missive, I didst soil myself in publick.') or it could mean "while riding Tobias, my pet manatee." (He's a magic manatee - much like a normal manatee, only more full of himself.)</li><li><strong>You read</strong> and commend me for knowing so darn much.</li></ul><p>That is all. The answers should be up before Shabbat in Israel. Let's get rolling! And when you're done rolling, send me questions, you dizzy readers.</p><p style="font-size:80%; font-weight:bold;">*Edit: You can Either post your questions or use that email address. See the 2nd and 3rd comments.</p>ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-85179317023757619172007-03-02T01:17:00.000+02:002007-03-02T01:27:14.310+02:00Hebrew Lessonסבלנות - <span style="font-weight:bold;">sav<span style="font-size:180%; line-height: .8em">.</span>lan<span style="font-size:180%; line-height: .8em">.</span>ut</span> - n. Patience, specifically patience for the speaker from others.
<span style="font-size:80%;">Note: there is no word for patience in the other direction.</span>ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-90861350672196588292007-02-28T15:18:00.000+02:002007-03-15T16:37:11.575+02:00Going Mad<p>This must be what going mad feels like.</p><p>So it's almost Purim, the one Jewish holiday totally saturated in silliness. And yesterday, I was dressed up in a makeshift diaper and eyepatch, standing in front of 50 people, sucking my thumb.</p><p>And the show hits...a new low.</p><p>You see, our office has fun activities from time to time. And Purim, I imagine, is one of the bigger ones. Fine, no problem. But I wasn't in the mood for silliness and fun today. I wanted to just sit and do my work, or at least get distracted accidentally, not intetionally. But one of the managers came in to my cubicle and told me to go. I asked if I have to. She said yes. (I soon expected the German-accented "you veell be go-ink and you veell be enjoyink eet.") So I went.</p><p>They introduced the game: each group would use the available materials (pipe cleaners, large pieces of construction paper, etc. to make costumes, and the best costume would get a prize. So our group decided to dress up one of us, and I let them bicker about it, having no desire to participate at all in this silliness. And I got increasingly annoyed and just wanted this silly thing to be over. I was in a bad mood, I guess. So finally, after like seven minutes of this I threw my hands up and said I'd dress up. Anything to get the agony over with. Unfortunately, I hadn't been paying close enough attention to what they were planning on doing, which is how I ended up prancing about the stage, supposedly dressed as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moshe_dayan">Moshe Dayan's</a> great-grandson. This, mind you, in front of many people I had not even met, but who will now likely remember me as "the guy who dressed up as a baby." Great.</p><p>Oh, and to top it all off, though I tried washing off the red makeup they used to make me "rosy-cheeked," it just kind of faded, so I looked like I was blushing for a while afterwards. Which maybe I should've been.</p><p>That's it. I've entered the Twilight Zone. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nightmare_at_20,000_Feet">There's something on the wing</a>, and only I can see it, and no one's gonna believe me.</p><p style="font-size:75;">P.S. I'm back in Israel, for those of you who didn't know. I intend to give you some stories about Arizona and returning to Israel sometime soon. LOTS of writing to do, and a lot of other things. Like finding a place to live.</p>ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-21228375780782945042007-01-02T17:45:00.000+02:002007-01-18T21:33:55.190+02:00Life Lessons: SuperheroesThere is a fine line between a superhero and a man in tights who likes to sit on rooftops and watch people.
Maybe it's the cape.ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-37233905994038990272006-12-27T22:25:00.000+02:002007-01-28T16:56:55.292+02:00Somewhat SuperIn response to a letter I had sent him, a friend of mine emailed me the following:
<blockquote>How's the weather out there? What exactly are you learning during this 'training' period? Are you learning how to build a nuclear bomb from silicone? Really?</blockquote>
Now, this was an odd series of questions, to say the least. I responded in kind:
<blockquote>Ok, you got me. We're building bombs. Not out of silicone - which is used as a sealant, for firestops (whatever those are), and certain types of -ahem- implants. I think you were referring to silicon - without the 'e', which is used in making computer chips. But we don't use those to make bombs either.
In any case, the training is going just fine, except for the interesting effects of prolonged radiation exposure. I now lack eyebrows, but have developed some interesting powers. I can
now detect mimes at a distance of 100 kilometers and I read people's minds, but only in haiku form. It's a interesting talent, that last one. Often when I try to use it on women, I get something like the following:
<center><span style='text-align: center;'>Creepy guy staring
Really have to go get a
Restraining order.</span></center>
And sometimes, it's hard to understand what they're saying, so I get things like this:
<center><span style='text-align: center;'>My thoughts don't always
Make sense or flow together.
Cauliflower duck.</span></center>
</blockquote>There are some questions better left unasked.ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-66076414072619666072006-12-11T08:53:00.000+02:002006-12-11T09:58:49.973+02:00TweedA few weeks ago, I was in New Haven to take a flight to Philadelphia. Mind you, I didn't <em>want</em> to be in either New Haven or Philadelphia, but airports tend to be the kind of place you are with no clue why you're there and a strong desire to leave - like the dentist's office, or Germany. You don't like the place you're going any more than the place you're leaving, but you're at the airport, so what the heck. You fly.
This was, without a doubt, the smallest airport I have ever been in. Unfortunately, it wasn't comically small, or this would be a more entertaining blog post. In any case, in the airport was this sign:
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzzGlugaPvi1SEcXLA-6WX9iV2QB-7sHXIDjpfhKt6ZNGquR3TIdMW75rMAaQn7FAAbp9vo9BPqy3ed6CKBM9T5m8PhUT-ck9I3aoo0oanWaJe7JUxv9_UdT7SNB-ANcEZX8TqOw/s1600-h/DSCN0276-1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzzGlugaPvi1SEcXLA-6WX9iV2QB-7sHXIDjpfhKt6ZNGquR3TIdMW75rMAaQn7FAAbp9vo9BPqy3ed6CKBM9T5m8PhUT-ck9I3aoo0oanWaJe7JUxv9_UdT7SNB-ANcEZX8TqOw/s400/DSCN0276-1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5007163547151155186" /></a>
(I know it would seem that I was drunk or not wearing my glasses, but neither is true.) In case you can't read it, it says "ATTENTION ALL PASSENGERS: TWEED NEEDS YOUR SUPPORT!" Needless to say, this was a bit perplexing. Why would <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tweed_%28cloth%29">tweed</a> need my support? It seems to be a well-supported fabric, what with the abundance of elderly and/or stuffy British men. And why not promote support of some of the more flamboyant fabrics? Where is the taffeta lobby? The chiffon promoters? (Yes, those are both great band names.) Furthermore, how <em>does</em> one support tweed? Is there a Tweed Workers' Union or a Tweed Foundation?
This truly is one of man's great mysteries.
(It turns out that the airport is named <a href="http://www.flytweed.com/">Tweed</a>, and apparently needs handouts. But I still think that Tweed Foundation idea has merit.)ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-1165337492344666532006-12-05T18:48:00.000+02:002006-12-11T09:59:41.928+02:00Get Up, Get DownSo I said I would tell the story from after I arrived at the airport to go home for Thanksgiving. I get to the airport plenty early, and jump through the various hoops security makes you jump through ("Please remove your jacket, sir. Please remover your shoes, sir.....No, sir - j-just your shoes! Sir, please put your pants back on." "But they were chafing something fierce!") and arrive at the gate with nothing to do for an hour and a half. So I take my suit and my carry-on bag and go to see if I can't get caught up on my email and blog reading.
I take out my laptop and behold! There is free wireless internet access, and lo, it is good. Well, I start going through my reading, and soon my 1.5 hours become 3 hours, due to a delay. I realize that I should keep my laptop battery charged for the plane, and I look around and find an outlet. I close my laptop, put it in my bag, and take my bag and suit and go over to the seat with the outlet. Put down suit, put down bag, open bag, get plug, plug in, get laptop, open laptop. And then I think I hear my name over the loudspeaker. Ok, I unplug the plug, close the laptop, put it and the plug in my bag, pick up my bag, pick up my suit, and go and wait in line to talk to the person at the information desk.
In retrospect, I think I'm so obsessed with my own name that I just assumed it was me they were calling. I'd probably respond to any name with a reasonable number of vowels and consonants. For example, I could see this scene playing out: <blockquote><strong>LOUDSPEAKER</strong>: Marie Antoinette, Marie Antoinette, please come to the front desk. There's an mob of angry French peasants waiting for you.
<strong>ME</strong>: Hi, my name's Ilan, there's a mob here for me?
<strong>AIRLINE PERSON</strong>: Um, yes...over there. Are you-
<strong>ANGRY PEASANT 1</strong>: Hey, I thought she was prettier!
<strong>ANGRY PEASANT 2</strong>: Hey, I thought she was a woman!
<strong>ANGRY PEASANT 3</strong>: Hey, I thought love was only true in fairy tales / Meant for someone else but not for me / Love was out to get me, that's the way it seemed / Disappointment haunted all my dreams. / Then I saw her face, now I'm a believer / Not a trace of doubt in my mind....
<span style="font-size:85%;">[At this juncture, a wonderfully choreographed dance starts, complete with the peasants twirling their pitchforks and juggling their torches. At some point, the real Marie Antoinette shows up, and the control and grace the dancers exhibit when setting up the guillotine and executing her - without missing a beat, mind you - can be described as nothing short of "masterful."]</span></blockquote>Eh, where was I? Oh, right. So, as you see, my tendency to assume everyone's talking to me can dangerous. Beheading-level dangerous, or worse - spontaneous-public-musicals-level dangerous. But nothing so dramatic happened. After waiting for fifteen minutes on line, holding my carry-on and my suit, I get to the front of the line, where I am promptly informed that I wasn't called at all. Shoot, I could've spent that time I wasted in line watching a cat attacking an air conditioner on YouTube! (My money's on the air conditioner.) So I go to sit down again and discover my outlet's been taken. Oh, well. Suit down, bag down, laptop out, laptop open. And then I hear the announcement again. It sure does sound like my name, but they're saying to go to the desk by the gate instead. Well, at least there's no line there. I ask the woman sitting next to me if she heard what name they just called. She says no. (I will note at this juncture that I have no qualms speaking to total strangers. The reverse is not always true.) Close laptop, put in bag, pick up bag, pick up suit, go over to desk. As I'm walking there, I hear an announcement for a woman named Linda with the same last name as me. I pause and check my ID. No, I'm not Linda. It must've been her they've been calling. I go back to my seat, smiling sheepishly at the woman. "It wasn't me," I say, not wanting to seem like a crazy person. She just smiles in my general direction and goes back to her computer. Then (wouldn't you know it) comes another announcement, and they most definitely just called me to the gate desk. Close laptop, put in bag, pick up bag, pick up suit, and march over to the desk.
"Did you call _________, party of one?"
"Yes are you [checking the list] Ilan?"
"Yes."
"Oh, well, there's a problem with your assigned seat."
"There is?"
"Yes, it doesn't exist."
"It doesn't...?"
"Yeah, there isn't a row 23 on the plane."
At this point, I consider going mad, perhaps gibberingly so. I decline.
"So....now what?"
"Oh, we're assigning you to a different seat."
And I get a new boarding pass, and go back to sit down. I was worried for a moment there that I would be forced to sit on someone's lap for the whole flight. I mean, that could be ok, depending on the comfortableness of the lap in question, but non-lap seats are certainly preferable. Anyhow, I put down my suit, put down my bag, sit down, open my bag, take out my laptop, and soon, a plug becomes available, so I plug it in. Then, after a while, the boarding call <i>finally</i> comes. Plug. Laptop. Bag. Go! I stop, turn around and go back. I pick up my suit and go back towards the gate.
Sighing, I enter the line for boarding. This is going to be a long flight.ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-1163720706657155432006-11-17T01:36:00.000+02:002006-12-04T17:57:47.730+02:00Keeping Me On My ToesSo...I'm in the airport right now, ready to fly to visit my family and friends back east. My flight should've left 20 minutes ago, but we have yet to board, due to a delay. So I figured I'd blog. It seems I've broken out of my 1.5-year-long posting slump lately. Let's hope it lasts.
To get to the airport, I took a cab. I call up the taxi company, order a cab, and try to figure out why the receptionist keeps calling me "honey." (It may have been a reference to how some of my friends in college called me <a href="http://plumpe.home.mindspring.com/crosstitch%20Hunny%20Pot.jpg">Hunny</a>, but that would be odd, since none of those friends work at the All-State Taxicab company.) So after a half day at work, I go home, gather and pack the last few things, and catch the cab waiting outside. The cabbie is nice and jovial and figures out without me telling him that I'm going to the airport. Nice.
We set off at a nice clip, and almost hit another car, but that's ok, since my motto in driving is "a near miss is still a miss." (This being my second driving motto, my first being "The brake is on the left, stupid.") And then as we're going along, the car hiccups, like we ran over something, or the engine is coming down with the black lung. I raise my eyebrows.
"What was that?" I ask.
"Oh, the air conditioning isn't working." He rolls down the windows. Hmmm. Kind of confused here.
"What was that?" I ask again.
"I don't know."
"You don't...?"
"Yeah, I don't know. I am surprised too." This would've been an ok thing to say if he had said it in an adult-being-concerned voice. But no, he said it with a kind of wonderment, as if the car had just started dispensing free candy out of the broken air conditioning vents, and we were just reaping the benefits.
<font size="1">Note to self: Design candy-dispensing air conditioning system for cars. Make millions and get a tummy ache.</font>
"Oh," I say, unable to properly respond to this. Then he offers some new information.
"The check engine light is on....like always."
<em>Great. I am going to die.</em>
<strong>UPDATE:</strong> I did not die after all.
I'll tell you my in-the-airport story soon, but I think we may be boarding now.ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-1163653121550847142006-11-16T06:40:00.000+02:002006-11-16T07:09:00.356+02:00Yes, But Where Do I Find the Lawn Ornaments?Want to have some fun? Walk into <a href="http://www.bedbathandbeyond.com">Bed Bath and Beyond</a> and have the following conversation:
<blockquote>
<strong>YOU:</strong> Excuse me, where is the Bedding Department?
<strong>BED BATH AND BEYONDER:</strong> (<em>pointing</em>) Over there.
<strong>YOU:</strong> And where are the bath items?
<strong>BED BATH AND BEYONDER:</strong> (<em>pointing</em>) Right there.
<strong>YOU:</strong> Thank you. And, uh, where can I purchase the beyond?
<strong>BED BATH AND BEYONDER:</strong> I hate you and everything you stand for.
<strong>YOU:</strong> So...you're all out of beyond?
<strong>BED BATH AND BEYONDER:</strong> There is not enough fire in hell to express the rage I am barely containing.
<strong>YOU:</strong> Hmmm...I guess I'll just look around then. I heard they have the best beyond in town in this place.
</blockquote>ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-1163143716095627592006-11-10T08:36:00.000+02:002007-01-02T19:07:42.625+02:00Listen UpSo a few days ago, I posted an audio post, expecting accolades, pats on the back, and a possible Presidential Medal. But alas, I forgot that few people read this, fewer would be willing to sit and listen to 5 minutes of me prattling about waffles and Monopoly and how every male citizen of the Republic of Tonga has a crush on the same girl from Liechtenstein (a country whose primary claim to fame is that they are the largest exporter of false teeth - <a href="http://travel.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,31252-1299598,00.html">no joke</a>!), and even fewer would be so bold or generous as to actually <em>post a comment</em> or give me a backrub. No, I'm here, commentless and with an aching back.
But I decided to invesigate why I had gotten no real response. I realized that though <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/31/338/1600/stats.jpg">more people than usual</a> had visited my site - likely due to the actual presence of a new post, of all things. But I don't think people actually bothered to listen to my audiopost because - get this - it was pretty boring. You had to wait till the middle just to get to anything halfway entertaining. I think maybe if I try another time, I should start with a song and dance. Well, you'd only hear the song, but the dance would be hella cool, I assure you.
So it seems that instead of actually posting, I posted about how I should post. In other words, I blogged about blogging. It is a well-known fact that bloggers love blogging about nothing more than themselves, the narcissistic ingrates.
<font size="1">Note to self: a fun side project/post-modern digital perfomance art: make a blog whose every entry is about why I'm blogging, how I should stop blogging, that I'm thinking about stopping blogging, why people blog in general, or why the sitcom <em>Becker</em> was never really given a fair chance. Find a way to make ridicuous amounts of cash money off of this blog - enough to purchase Gary Coleman, or at least rent him once a month.</font>
In the meantime, I leave you with an excerpt from my in-progress novel, <a href="http://hopandhope.blogspot.com/2006/10/novel-idea.html">Limestone</a>:
<blockquote>Mac woke up and instantly regretted it. He concluded that waking up would just be the first of a series of bad moves that day. He had no clue just how right he was. He rolled sideways and off of the bed. He realized it was not a bed, but a couch. Craig’s couch. He was in Craig’s apartment, he decided, as that was the standard location for Craig’s couch. The word apartment seemed to hold some special importance. He wasn’t sure why. Finally pushing himself up to his feet, Mac decided it was as good a time as any to open his eyes, and tried to. Succeeding on the third try, he discovered that the normally level ground was writhing and twisting like a python, or like he imagined a python might, were it a hardwood floor with furniture on it. He realized that his stomach was trying to tell him something, something urgent. He ran to the bathroom and vomited with gusto. Deciding that he had had such a good time of it the first time, he vomited again.</blockquote>Vomit jokes. Will they ever get old? No. No they won't.ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-1162881391722215292006-11-07T08:34:00.000+02:002006-11-07T08:56:19.886+02:00Moving Into the 20th CenturySo I'm trying something new: audioblogging.
Listen, and all will be explained.
Let me know what you think, whether you prefer text, etc.
<embed src="http://odeo.com/flash/audio_player_gray.swf" quality="high" width="322" height="54" name="odeo_player_gray" align="middle" allowScriptAccess="always" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" flashvars="audio_id=2354296&audio_duration=982.0&valid_sample_rate=true&external_url=http://media.odeo.com//files/9/4/4/1036944.flv" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" /></embed><br /><a style="font-size: 9px; padding-left: 110px; color: #f39; letter-spacing: -1px; text-decoration: none" href="http://odeo.com/audio/2354296/view">powered by <strong>ODEO</strong></a>ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-1160094685793142952006-10-06T02:25:00.000+02:002007-05-26T21:35:27.958+03:00TabernaclesI wasn't planning on posting. I didn't have anything to post on that I could think of. But then I happened across <a href="http://lanseybrothers.blogspot.com/2006/10/130-stairs.html">this post about Sukkot</a> found on <a href="http://lanseybrothers.blogspot.com/">the Lansey Brothers' Blog</a>. I just had to leave a comment to that post. Hilarity ensued. Or rather will ensue, I hope. Or maybe despair will ensue. I just want some ensuing to happen, ok?
<blockquote>As I recall (and I am <em>not</em> making this up), according to the halachot of sukkah, you can use a person as part of a wall of a sukkah, provided that 1) the person doesn't move and 2) the person is unaware that he/she is part of a sukkah. So just invite some friends over:
<strong>Eli:</strong> Hey, guys, come over my house for dinner!<br/>
<strong>Guys:</strong> Great!
<em>Later that evening...</em><br/>
<br/>
<strong>Guys:</strong> Can we come inside?<br/>
<strong>Eli:</strong> No, we're eating out here, because it's Sukkot.<br/>
<strong>Guys:</strong> Oh, right. But where's the sukkah?<br/>
<strong>Eli:</strong> Um...I don't...know. Can you guys stand in lines forming a rectangle? Here, let me arrange you. Now don't move, ok?<br/>
<strong>Guys:</strong> What's going on? Why can't we move?<br/>
<strong>Eli:</strong> It's, it's a game! the, um, the "don't move till we're done dinner game!"<br/>
<strong>Guys:</strong> Dinner? So we can eat now?<br/>
<strong>Eli:</strong> No, not so much.<br/>
<strong>Guys:</strong> Why not?<br/>
<strong>Eli:</strong> Because you're not in a sukkah.<br/>
<br/>
<em>The Guys spontaneously combust due to the volatile combination of frustration and absurdity.<br/>
The Rabbinic Sages roll in their graves. Some may even weep.</em>
<br/>
So there you have it - a simple solution, all laid out. All you have to figure out now is what to do about schach. (<strong>Eli:</strong> Ok, now wear these branches as hats...)<br/>
By the way, women are not excluded from this. Even though the mitzvah of being part of a sukkah is a time-bound positive mitzvah, a woman can be a sukkah wall as much as a man can. However, it may be wise to adopt the custom of not having a sukkah made of both men and women, as it may lead to mixed dancing.</blockquote>ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-1155317033017755232006-08-11T20:18:00.000+03:002006-08-11T20:24:07.643+03:00For Your Listening PleasureOne of my very first posts, one which to this day, inexplicably, has fans, was my musical debut - the hit song "Blender Man." I'd provided a link which has since gone dead, but has now been revived (without being all zombified or anything). So <a href="http://oisforoblivious.blogspot.com/2003/10/sing-us-song.html">enjoy, at your own risk</a>. Maybe I'll make some audio posts, if all y'all want me to.ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393900.post-1155013532282121202006-08-08T08:00:00.000+03:002006-08-08T08:08:35.536+03:00To Pud, or Not to PudWhile writing <a href="http://hopandhope.blogspot.com/2006/08/dreamtime.html">this post</a>, I was reminded of a question asked by one of my campers years ago:
<blockquote>Is "pudding" a conjugation of a verb "to pud?" And if so, how does one pud?</blockquote>Furthermore, I would add, is it safe for children under the age of 18 to engage in pudding without an adult supervisor? Is it legal to pud in Nevada? Can anyone pud, or is it an activity restricted to a select few, trained over the millenia to master the sacred art of pudding?
These, my friends, are the questions that our generation must answer. I can only hope, for our childrens' sake, that we're up to the challenge.ilanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03348559130150486122noreply@blogger.com3