Conversations, Part 2

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:

[Phone rings.]

Me: Hey.

R: Who is this? Jesus?

Me: [Hesitating] Yes.

I have a mission for you. Go out and buy lots of flamingoes. Buy all the flamingoes. Form a flamingo army.

Tie them to your waist, and [dramatic pause] fly, fly, fly.

Fill the sky with pink.

R: What???

Me: I don't know. You said I was Jesus.

R: Yeah, but- what??

Me: Never mind.

Conversations

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 Eli:

Eli: may i suggest a method?
set an alarm for when u want to go to sleep...

me: And train a monkey with a tire iron to knock me out when he hears the alarm?

Eli: and treat it like the wake up alarm
lol
yeah, that might work

me: Been there, buddy.

Eli: ah
ok
i never knew u had a pet monkey, though
that's pretty cool

me: Well, I don't have one anymore!
The migraines were unbearable. And there was that incident with the guest.

Ping-Pong with the Army

I went to the lishkat hagiyus, the army recruitment office, last week. It was suprisingly organized and efficient. Until the end.

In the end, I went into the final office, where they tell you, bottom line, what's going to happen with you.

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...

Me:Am I not allowed to leave the country until you give me a date [as previously had been indicated to me]?
Girl 1:Yes, you won't.
Me: When will I have a profile, then?
Girl 1: When you bring in the medical documents that you're missing.
- Begin quest for the missing documents. -
Girl 1: Go back up to the 2nd floor, and walk into an office and ask what documents you need to get a profile.

Scene: second floor office, several minutes later.
Me: I need to know how to get my profile.
Girl 2: Did you see the doctor here?
Me: Yes.
Girl 2:: (Checking computer) Ok, let's look at your profile.
Me: (Waits)
Girl 2: You don't have a profile yet.
Me: Yes, I know. How do I get one?
Girl 2:You need to bring the required medical documents.
Me: Right. Which ones?
Girl 2: Oh. (Passes me off to another girl.)
Girl 3: (Checking computer) You need some missing medical documents.
Me: (Through clenched teeth with a strained voice) Yes, I know. Which ones?
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.
Me: I need to know which medical documents I need to get to get a profile.
Girl 5 (or maybe this was Girl 2 again): Isn't someone already helping you?
Me: Yes, but I don't know where she went.
Girl 5: She'll be with you soon. She hasn't forgotten about you. [She had.]
Girl 4 finally walks by, and I follow her into the office.
Me: Which medical documents do I need to get?
She turns to the other girls expectantly.
Other Girls: You need medical documents.
Me: (Head explodes.)
(Practically yelling) But which documents?
One of the girls (I am fairly certain either Girl 2 or Girl 3) checks the same computer they've been checking all along.
Girl 2/3: You need to come back for a psychological examination.
Me: (Really wondering 'what about the documents?' but certainly not curious enough to bring that up again) When?
Girl 2/3: We'll call you.
Me: (Not taking any chances) When will you call me?
Girl 2/3: Within two weeks.

And I'm spent.

Generation Gap?

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.

Mom: have u used your webcam? we also have one but haven't tried it yet
me: Not yet.
I feel that it's a bit too early in my career to start uploading compromising videos to the internet.
...
Mom: no no no compromising videos, just your face when we are talking. or else we'll upload those baby pix!!
me: Which ones?
There are lots more of Noam and Tali. I'm the 3rd child, remember?
Mom: how about the bathtub shots?
me: You don't have those of me.
Mom: want to bet?
me: Yes.

[long pause]

Dad: mommy is busy fruitlessly trying to find compromising pix of u
me: I know.
...
Dad: ...now Mommy is more determined than ever
don't b surprised if a Noam picture is claimed to actually b u
me: I won't.
I think I can tell the difference. Not sure.
Dad: uh oh, u should never challenge your mother, she found some
me: No way!
In an album?
Dad: how about dressed up as a classic nerd 4 Purim
me: Not good enough. She said "naked."
Dad: Or being hugged and kissed by Judy E. at camp when you were a wee one
me: Or "bathtub" at least.
So?
...
Dad: How about topless in the back yard?
me: Still not doing it for me...
Dad: The Purim nerd is pretty bad
Dad: But the mother is still on a quest, still looking for naked
Dad: Busted, found the bathtub
with a girl
me: No way!
That's Noam!
Which girl?
Dad: Tali
Since she's bigger than u in the pic, it has to be you
me: Is this a naked picture of Tali, where I just happen to be there and naked?
Dad: Just found 11 more
many at the beach in public
me: I am "b'shok."
That's Israeli for "in shock."
Dad: U and Tali are sharing a bathtub
There are also solo shots of u
me: ....
Dad: 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
all because you challenged your mother
u should know by now you can do that
especially if u think you'll ever win
me: I'm stubborn. You should know that by now.
Dad: BTW, it's a good humbling lesson for marriage as well
just something to keep in mind
me: ...and we're back to this.
Dad: how about the three of u naked in an outdoor shower
me: Ok, now you're just making stuff up. [Editor's note: otherwise, I should go back in time and turn them into Child Services]
Dad: U want compromising, we got plenty, now go out and find a girl so we can thoroughly embarrass u
me: ...I'll work on it. -sigh-
Dad: have a great night. I'm going to eat the woodwork (or other inedible stuff not nailed down, while your mother searches the archives.
Seriously, have a great night. Talk to u tomorrow.
me: Ok.
Later.
Dad: bye

I am speechless. For me, that's a big deal.

I Think I'm a Clone Now

A while ago, in January, while I was training in the U.S, Nefesh B'Nefesh called me to ask if needed any help with my aliyah. It went something like this:

GUY: 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.
ILAN: I already made aliyah.
STANLEY: You did?
ILAN: Yes.
STANLEY: When?
ILAN: August.
STANLEY: Oh.
-awkward silence-
(Recall that he's calling my American cellphone)
ILAN: I'm in the U.S. now. [pause] But only for a short while.
STANLEY: Oh.
-awkward silence-
STANLEY: Well, if you want, you can still apply for our services. Give us a call when you get back.
ILAN: Sure, thanks.
STANLEY: Bye.
ILAN: Bye.

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.

Parallel universe much?

Get Up, Get Down

So 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:

LOUDSPEAKER: Marie Antoinette, Marie Antoinette, please come to the front desk. There's an mob of angry French peasants waiting for you. ME: Hi, my name's Ilan, there's a mob here for me? AIRLINE PERSON: Um, yes...over there. Are you- ANGRY PEASANT 1: Hey, I thought she was prettier! ANGRY PEASANT 2: Hey, I thought she was a woman! ANGRY PEASANT 3: 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.... [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."]

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 finally 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.

Keeping Me On My Toes

So...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 Hunny, 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. Note to self: Design candy-dispensing air conditioning system for cars. Make millions and get a tummy ache. "Oh," I say, unable to properly respond to this. Then he offers some new information. "The check engine light is on....like always." Great. I am going to die. UPDATE: I did not die after all. I'll tell you my in-the-airport story soon, but I think we may be boarding now.

Yes, But Where Do I Find the Lawn Ornaments?

Want to have some fun? Walk into Bed Bath and Beyond and have the following conversation:

YOU: Excuse me, where is the Bedding Department? BED BATH AND BEYONDER: (pointing) Over there. YOU: And where are the bath items? BED BATH AND BEYONDER: (pointing) Right there. YOU: Thank you. And, uh, where can I purchase the beyond? BED BATH AND BEYONDER: I hate you and everything you stand for. YOU: So...you're all out of beyond? BED BATH AND BEYONDER: There is not enough fire in hell to express the rage I am barely containing. YOU: Hmmm...I guess I'll just look around then. I heard they have the best beyond in town in this place.

Tabernacles

I wasn't planning on posting. I didn't have anything to post on that I could think of. But then I happened across this post about Sukkot found on the Lansey Brothers' Blog. 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?

As I recall (and I am not 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: Eli: Hey, guys, come over my house for dinner!
Guys: Great! Later that evening...

Guys: Can we come inside?
Eli: No, we're eating out here, because it's Sukkot.
Guys: Oh, right. But where's the sukkah?
Eli: Um...I don't...know. Can you guys stand in lines forming a rectangle? Here, let me arrange you. Now don't move, ok?
Guys: What's going on? Why can't we move?
Eli: It's, it's a game! the, um, the "don't move till we're done dinner game!"
Guys: Dinner? So we can eat now?
Eli: No, not so much.
Guys: Why not?
Eli: Because you're not in a sukkah.

The Guys spontaneously combust due to the volatile combination of frustration and absurdity.
The Rabbinic Sages roll in their graves. Some may even weep.
So there you have it - a simple solution, all laid out. All you have to figure out now is what to do about schach. (Eli: Ok, now wear these branches as hats...)
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.

Comment Cards Rock

Hello all. I haven't posted lately because I've been busy/ignoring you/trying to take over the world, or at least my roommate's half of the room. So there.

But I have been doing some other literary work: You guessed it - I've been filling out comment cards at the local kosher dining hall (it's called 104 West!¹) in order to make this a better and more amusing world, for me at least. I now present to you a few of my more beloved comments:

Can you please use Duncan Hines' brownie mix for making your brownies? I may renounce Judaism if you do not.

Please stop putting nuts in your cookies! I have a severe fear of nuts and toddlers.

I'm lonely. Can 104 West! (formerly Kosher Dining Hall) provide me with a friend? Can I have a (preferrably magical) pony?

Can you please provide decaf tea OR give me control of an underappreciated third-world country? (Not one of the landlocked ones, please.)

Ok, that's it. I'm out like the soap. ____________

¹Yes, the exclamation mark is part of the name, and presumably, one mentioning the name of this institution must properly inflect the words to show excitement or exclamation. It can cause confusion when depression and hunger coincide. For example: PERSON 1: Hey Bob! How's it going? BOB: Hello, Person 1. It's going poorly. My cat just got run over my the tow truck that was towing away my uninsured car that sponatneously crashed into a ttree while I was in bed, having cried myself to sleep upon being dumped by my girlfriend. PERSON 1: Oh, bummer. BOB: Yeah. I'm going to kill myself now. First, maybe I'll grab a bite to eat at 104 West! PERSON 1: That's the spirit!

Yet Another Chicken Post

Today, boys and girls, we're going to learn about Jews and their wacky Oral Tradition. In a disussion of Hilchot Shabbat (the Laws of the Sabbath), the gemara (Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Shabbat 75a) brings up an interesting case.

Let’s say you own a chicken. You know, the tasty fowl with an IQ lower than its shoe size^1,2. Well, your son wants to play with the chicken. Or more accurately, he wants to play with the chicken’s head. Why? I don’t know. Maybe Toys ‘R’ Us was out of Tickle-Me-Elmo dolls. Maybe he drank some of Daddy’s “special juice.” In any case, he’s crying for the chicken’s head, and as luck would have it, the chicken’s head is (get this!) attached to the chicken, and the chicken is quite fond of its head and unlikely to enjoy your son playing with it. (“Come here little chicken, I just want to- OUCH! My eye!”) So you intend to remove the head to better facilitate its use as a plaything, but it’s the Sabbath, and it’s forbidden on the Sabbath to kill an animal.

“Well, that’s ok,” you say to yourself, “I don’t want to kill it. I just want to neatly remove the bird’s head so I can shut up my kid. Though he’ll probably lose interest in a matter of hours, like he did with the dog³ and the nuclear reactor⁴ I got for his birthday. The ungrateful little brat.”

Enter the Rabbis.

They say, “hold on, big fella. First of all, stop talking to yourself. People are staring. And also, can’t you tell that this is the classic case of pesik raisha?”

“Pe-what?”

“Pesik raisha. Can’t you understand ancient Aramaic? Sheesh. The full phrase is ‘pesik raisha v’lo yamut,’ meaning ‘can you cut off the head and it won’t die,’ a rhetorical question. You see, were you to cut off the chicken’s head, it would become what is technically known as a Decapitated Chicken. As you may know, Decapitated Chickens⁵and in fact, decapitated fowl of all varieties, are wont to die, a condition which greatly impedes being alive. Thus, although your action wasn’t meant to kill the chicken, and you may even want the chicken to survive, it will definitely end up dead anyway, so killing it is forbidden. So go tell your brat to shut up because you can’t give him the chicken’s head until after the Sabbath. Though if you ask us, after the Sabbath you should take him to a therapist, because, frankly, this whole ‘playing with a chicken’s head’ thing is pretty darn messed up right here.”

“Oh boy! Thank you, Rabbis!” you exult. “Now can you please explain this whole ‘kosher’ thing to me? Why do we need to wait for hours between eating meat and milk? Why do we have to use separate dishes for milk and meat?”

“Beats us. You modern Jews are just plain crazy. Back in our day, we could eat Chicken Parmesan.”

“Golly.”

“Golly indeed. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got some threshing and winnowing to do.”

And like that (poof), they're gone.⁶ __________

¹ Yeah, I know. Chickens don’t wear shoes. Not yet, anyhow. ² Chickens are royally stupid. I’m not making this one up. Sometimes, when it rains, chickens will tip back their heads and try to drink, and in the process, they will drown themselves. Did you catch that? They are the only animal on God’s green earth that I know of that drown themselves while on solid ground. Even my cousin Melvin who will likely have “That boy just ain’t right” carved on his headstone, and who has eaten enough Play-Doh to support Slovakia for a year, generally keeps water out of his trachea. ³ “Come here, little doggy, I just want to light you on fi- OUCH! My leg!” ⁴ “Come here, little atom, I just want to pet- OUCH! I’m glowing!” ⁵ Another great band name. ⁶ Bonus points if you can correctly name the movie that that last line was referencing.

Waiting for Godot

Another page from the "Conversations with Roommate" file:

ME: Did you ever read "Waiting for Godot?"

ELIE: Yeah.

ME: What did you think of it?

ELIE: "Waiting for Godot"...hmmmm...makes me want to shoot myself.

ME: So you didn't like it, then.

ELIE: (Completely seriously) No, it was great.

I'm speechless.

Stanford Favorite & Damn Communist Space Dogs

I know, I know. A new post was long overdue. So sue me. Not for real.

I suppose I should break this into two posts, but I doubt that most people will realize that there are two new ones at once. So, first is this: My brother Noam is a grad student in English literature at Stanford University, and somehow, he finds me funny. So he showed a post or two to his friends out in Palo Alto, CA. He recently told me:

Noam:everyone i know loved the albert thing Noam: the english department at stanford university now acknowledges you as one of the funniest people they've ever read (These are direct quotes, with only his screenname changed to protect him from stalkers and the Mafia.)

So while I'm not sure what this says about the impending downfall of Western civilization, it does give me a huge ego trip. And when you come right down to it, that's what really matters, right?

And here's post number two: I would like to share a brief snippet of my oh-so-interesting life with you lesser mortals. I hope you can handle it. A couple nights ago, I was talking to my roommate Elie about, um, I actually think it was interior design. Anyway, the conversation went, more or less, like this:

ME: We should put up paper on the walls so we can write on them.

ELIE: No. It's a good idea in theory, but it won't work. Like Communism.

ME: Well, Communism had eighty years before it failed. Can't you give this a chance, too?

ELIE: Communism had eighty years, and look at what happened!

ME: What do you mean? They sent a dog into space. That's one less dog we have to worry about here.

ELIE: I don't like dogs either, but-

ME: Then again, if the space dogs come back and attack, it might be bad. So we aren't putting up the paper, then?

ELIE: Damn Communist space dogs.

Albert, you are my hero!

Hey there, to all those out in fan-land,

As many of you may know, I have a job. It's here in beautiful Norwalk (Motto: "Getting stuck on I-95 since 1847.") working at a company, which, for reasons that will soon become clear, shall remain nameless. It's convenient, since it's pretty close to Stamford (Motto: "Hey, at least we're not Norwalk.") Other than that, though, the job doesn't have much going for it. My local taskmasters call it an "internship", from the Latin roots int, meaning "a job," and ernship, meaning "in which you are given a series of mind-numbing tasks, each worse than the last, by cruel, heartless, and balding men, who likely had troubled childhoods and choose to take it out on you rather than on fellow motorists, the way any NORMAL person would, and you are paid next-to-nothing. And circus clowns regularly laugh at you." Believe me, there is nothing on God's green earth that is more humiliating than clowns laughing at you. Nothing. Except maybe turtleneck sweaters laughing at you. So, as the name implies, for my internship, I am paid a grand total of (drumroll please) ten dollars a day. Why do they pay us at all, you ask? Good question. I did some pondering, and came up with this: "Cornhusker's delight." Then I sobered up, and came up with the following scenario. Imagine a boardroom where executives are meeting:

[Note: all names have been changed (to Albert) to protect the guilty]

ALBERT: So, Albert, how's that unpaid internship project coming along? ALBERT: Just swimmingly, sir. (He holds up a report. In one of theose shiny covers that impress executive-type people so much.) ALBERT: Let me see that (Grabs the shiny report, a scans through it, stopping to admire each pie chart for at least 2 seconds. Murmurs to himself.) Hmmm...slavery...troubled childhoods...menial labor... clowns... turtlenecks. (Looks up.) I like it, Johnson. ALBERT: You're supposed to call me Albert in this story, sir. ALBERT: Oh, right. I like it, Albert. ALBERT: Thank you sir. ALBERT: But... ALBERT: But what sir? ALBERT: It's just not humiliating enough. What can we add? ALBERT: Monkeys, sir? ALBERT: How are monkeys going to help us? ALBERT: I don't know sir. I just like monkeys. ALBERT: (Leans back in his chair wistfully.) So do I, son. So do I. But that doesn't make them effective. ALBERT: (Forlorn.) No, I suppose not. ALBERT: (Jumps up from his seat.) I've got it! When you go to a restaurant and the waiter is bad, what do you do to REALLY let him know that you're upset? ALBERT: I rip out a few of his less vital internal organs with a fishhook, strap his ragged still-living body to the underside of my car, drive over really rocky terrain, then tie him to an anthill full of fire-ants to let them finish off the job, sir? ALBERT: No, I mean, what would I do to let him know that I'm angry. ALBERT: Oh, that's simple. You give him a penny as a tip. That way he knows that you haven't forgotten a tip, but that he isn't worth more than a cent. ALBERT: Exactly. Let's give these snot-nosed college interns just enough money so that they know we have calculated their value to us at lower than minimum wage. ALBERT: Brilliant, sir. Just brilliant. ALBERT: Thank you Johnson. ALBERT: Albert, sir. ALBERT: Whatever. (Pours himself a martini.)

So there you have it. I'll just let you ponder that one for a while.

Carl, Nancy, and a Belligerent Dairy Product

Hello all. Why does this intense feeling of guilt wash over me whenever I finally sit down (or prance about, often) to write after a long hiatus? It's like I owe someone something. (Well, Fred claims I owe him $20 for that bet the other day, but I stand by my position. Donald Rumsfeld resembles a rutabaga more than Donald Trump does.) On a side note, I've noticed that I've been regularly getting at least two hits a day over the past month, despite having not a single update in that whole time. I must just be that cool. So I had this quasi promise-thing to fulfill, and I blew it. My "Over the next week or so" became "over the next month or so," and the child I was babysitting the other day became a savage cowbell-wielding sasquatch, with a penchant for expensive chocolate. Boy, were his parents upset when they came home! I'm sure they'll drop the charges soon enough. But until then, please refer to me as "Sir Commodore." In fact, please do so until further notice. It makes me feel all warm and squishy inside. So...right. Where was I? Oh, I remember. Making fun of you. No, not you - the other one. All your limbs are abarticular and your lugubrious face looks like the underside of a dung beetle, which makes me wonder if dung beetles are born with innate inferiority complexes due to their unfortunate name, that is to say, would a praying mantis make fun of the dung beetles - well not a whole gang of them, maybe just one, since a whole gang of dung beetles could be downright dangerous - and by all this, what I mean to say is you're a big jerk with way too much experience in nanolithography than is reasonable and healthy. Yeah.

Now that I've dealt with the gobs of guilt welling up around me like cream soda, I can get around to the task at hand. Which is, of course to present my new script for either a screenplay for a romantic comedy or a deodorant commercial. I'm not sure yet:

CARL: Oh, Nancy! NANCY: What Carl, what is it? Why do you insist on eating soap? Must you hurt me so? CARL: Yes! (Carl cackles.) Yes I must! (Carl pulls off a mask. He loses an eye in the process. He now looks like a man without his left eye.) NANCY: (Screams in fear.) CARL: (Screams in pain.) CHEESE: (Stands alone.)

And, cut! I may have to fire the cheese. He's been trashing his trailer nightly and I won't put up with it for one more minute.

Juggling in Tibet

I made a promise (see the end of the previous post), and I shall deliver. But first a little background:

First of all, everything that follows in this post is, believe it or not, 100% true. Anyway, my childhood friend, for various reasons, has ended up in Tibet. With Buddhist monks. I talked to him about it a few months ago, and, naturally, I was curious about - well, everything. Upon discovering the facts, I felt that the old adage was reaffirmed: The more things change, the more they become completely bizarre:

[Note: I present here, the conversation, unaltered, except to correct spelling and some grammar, to protect the innocent, and to exclude sections that are unnecessary.]

Me: Anyway, so what're your days like? Me: I mean, what do you do? Ben: Wake up, go to language lesson at 9:30, attend local event/lecture until about 1 w/lunch, and then, specifically for me, hang out at a monastery for the rest of the day with my 12 year old American monk friend. Ben: Today I have to write a paper on it. Me: "12 year old American monk friend"? Ben: his name is T. Gyatso Ben: or Brenden. Me: Is the monastery hang-out session by choice or requirement? Ben: he's been a Tibetan Buddhist monk since he was 8 Ben: choice, we all have to focus on something. Ben: one person's doing Tibetan writing, another interviewing refugees Ben: I Ben: 'm teaching monks to juggle Me: Oh, yeah - we all go through a Buddhist monk stage at one point or another. Me: I'm just a late bloomer. Me: (Am I being offensive? I hope not.) Ben: Depends on who you say it to Ben: its kind of hard to offend me. Ben: I told my group leader it was my goal to find the Dalai Lama and beat him up to see if he would still smile. Ben: She didn't like that, Ben: so its a subjective concept .... Ben: and I'm proud to say that I'm only half kidding about the monk juggling thing Ben: like, its not my main focus Me: Nice. Me: I got it. Ben: but I really am doing it Ben: already taught T. Me: I wouldn't expect anything less of you, Ben. Ben: He's got the 3 ball cascade up to about 50 catches.

Wow. This conversation left me speechless. I hope it has a similar effect on you, dear reader. Or that it induces you to send me large sums of money. Either way.

Ready, AIM, fire!

So, based on the fact that I've been getting an unusual amount of hits recently (4 a day or so) without fairly recent content, makes me think that it might be a good idea to add something. But, you see, I just started school, and it occurred to me that I'm taking 21 credits as a Computer Science major. (Translation: I'm going to either be that annoying over-achiever that you love to hate, or one of those people whose friends and neighbors end up on the news saying things like "but he was such a nice guy.") As such, though I've gotten off to a decent start - one whole week without failing - I haven't really been thinking much about what to write. However, do not despair! Friends, Romans, countrymen and Janet (that rather odiferous lady I met last week at the supermarket) - lend me your ears. Or at least read on. Here is an actual IM conversation I had with my friend Ari. I don't know - I started joking, and he played along. I guess I just found it amusing:

Me: So when're you coming? Ari: one sec... Me: Um, I mean Shavua tov. [Hebrew for "have a good week."] Me: It came out wrong. Me: That's what I meant to say. Ari: shavua tov Ari: umm... Ari: i'm not sure when we're coming Me: I see how it is. Ari: i have to check out my calendar, and check with the others Ari: possibly march Me: You don't love me anymore. Ari: unclear Me: What is it? Did you meet someone else? Me: Is it the way I wear my hair? Ari: it isn't true, i tell you Me: Or how I bite my toenails? Ari: Me: I could stop -honestly! Ari: you'll never take me alive!!!! Me: Yeah, grovel, you worm. Ari: ok, you force me into this Me: You won't be going any where without this... Me: <holds up Ari's liver> Me: Ha! Ari: they'll never catch me Ari: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah Ari: my liver!!!! Ari: it was YOU all along! Me: Uh-huh, and if I go, the liver goes with me. Me: Your call, buster. Me: Anyway, so March, huh. Me: I guess I'll just cry myself to sleep until then. Ari: i'm thinking yeah Ari: i guess so