But, really, though?

I have a ridiculous Google News alert for papal matters related to the Jewish people for my thesis that, you know, I intend to write in 2011. Nevertheless, I like to stay abreast of Catholic/Jewish relations, so I keep my eyes peeled for interesting news stories. Somehow, this popped up the other day, and it really makes me wonder why our time (or, in this case, the Vatican's time) isn't being better spent...

"Pope Urges Priests to Wear Smarter Outfits"

Really? Apparently the Pope, when not causing stampedes that kill young girls or controversy over condoms, has been urging Catholic clergy to better identify themselves and stand out from lay folk as much as humanly possible. How dare you wear trousers when you could be wearing ankle-length cassocks that, in fact, look like dresses. The Pope seems outraged that only thirty percent of clergy wears said robe-dresses.

Look, I'm not trying to mock the Catholic Church here. Every religious tradition has its quirks. I just can't understand how, with issues of poverty, disease, war, inter-religious tensions, and other rather important problems plaguing the world, the Pope has the time to be concerned with the attire of clergy. I know you like your bright red shoes, buddy, and I like me some red shoes myself, but let the clergy focus on helping people. Don't turn the Catholic Church into an episode of What Not to Wear.

Choo Takes Wellington

I was just flipping through my April issue of Vogue and I have to say, I'm pretty excited that Jimmy Choo is taking on the Wellington rain boot. I'm perfectly content with my Burberry rain kicks, but it's exciting to see another marriage of high style and sensible practicality.

Except... What gives, Vogue? These were announced in the second week of January! And given that they don't come out until mid-June, I'm not so sure featuring them just for April showers was the best idea. Just saying...

Hope Renewed.

I just came back to school after a week off for Spring Break. I spent my break at the Jersey Shore, where I got to see a few friends briefly before coming down with bronchitis and a fever of 102. All in all, though, it was nice to relax for the week and be away from the usual grind.

On Thursday, I came into the city for a meeting. It's super easy from the shore--I just hopped on a New Jersey Transit bus. On my trip back that afternoon, I sat in the very back seat where I figured I would be able to take up two seats without bothering anybody. A gentleman sat down in the seat directly ahead of me and turned to face me through the crack of the seat. "Would you mind if I put my seat back?" he asked. He asked! I said, "absolutely, go for it!" and spent the rest of my ninety minute trip in disbelief. I've taken my fair share of busses back and forth from New York, not to mention airplanes, and never once has anybody asked before cranking their seat in my face.

Personally, I almost never put my seat back. It makes so little difference to my comfort and impedes so much on the subsequent discomfort of the person behind me that I never quite understood the purpose of the reclining seat in the first place. Still, I've come to accept that very few people share my desire to keep others comfortable and have been reduced to muttering the occasional "asshole" under my breath as seats have come down on my face while I tried to situate myself.

But hearing a regular guy, in a suit and probably commuting from work, turn to ask a sweatshirt-clad college student if she minds if he puts his seat back tells me that maybe there really is hope for the future of common decency. It takes so little effort to simply ask the question instead of assuming you're entitled to being the most comfortable s.o.b. on the bus. So thank you, sir, for restoring my faith in humanity.

Fear of Grief

Why are we so terrified of death? I'm not even talking about the act of dying, but rather the topic of mortality. There are so many things in our culture that are natural parts of life that we like to pretend don't exist, force ourselves to hide, or skirt in conversation. From things as simple as the idea that girls don't sweat to things as profound as illness and death, why are there such huge chunks of natural human life that we avoid at all costs? What is so uncomfortable about grieving and death?

Today, I bumped into an acquaintance who said he'd just gotten back from being home. I knew he'd been home because there had been a death in his family, though I wasn't sure that he knew I was aware. He and I have had plenty of conversations about goals, how to survive college, making good decisions, and other things of at least some consequence, yet all I could do when I saw him was to offer an over-the-top kind smile and pat him on the back as he exited the elevator.

What are we so scared of? Our culture today seems to have no problem talking about everything we don't need to know, from who is sexually involved with whom to disgusting details of drunken nights and ensuing hangovers. Girls follow the lead of Sex and the City and have no problem kissing and telling, and people are even surprisingly open about deeply personal issues like suicidal ideations, abortions, family struggles, financial difficulties, and substance abuse problems. But we can't talk about death. We don't know how to talk to somebody who's just lost someone.

I think back to a year and a half ago when my grandmother (z''l) passed away. We were extremely close, given that we didn't live nearby and were only able to see each other a handful of times each year. I was devastated when she passed away, but when people found out and said, "I'm so sorry," the only thing I could think to say was my generic response to all apologies: "It's okay." Of course it's not okay. But then I would go on to say, "She was 92, she lived a long life," in some way trying to justify her death. Not because I felt it was necessary, but because I couldn't think of any other way to respond to those offering their condolences. "Thanks," didn't seem appropriate either, nor could I handle the emotional toll of bursting into tears each time it came up in conversation.

Which brings me to another point--quite similarly, tears are another thing we cannot naturally cope with. In fact, my default reaction to a person crying is to get irrationally angry, because I'm so paralyzed by the display of emotion that I can't muster any kind of reasonable response. It's not like I don't cry--we all do. But really, how does one console a person who weeps? The same way I attempted to show solidarity with my friend. An over-the-top kind smile and a pat on the back.

Yes, we as a culture have a lot of issues on our proverbial plates. We have to deal with war, poverty, the recession, natural disasters, disease, and a host of other problems. But, knowing that we can't all save the world, perhaps we can all start small and work on our reactions to those who grieve. There has to be a better way than merely placing an open palm on a shoulder blade. And maybe when we figure out what that is, we'll have already gotten that much closer to dissolving the other problems that plague our generation.

"I'm beginning to resent pen and paper."

After nearly forgetting just how much I enjoy reading a good book, I finally coaxed myself into finishing one. It took me almost 2 months of reading on the subway to and from Brooklyn and on the hodgepodge of flights I took to get back from San Diego, but I finally finished Broken Verses by Kamila Shamsie. I very much enjoyed it.

It wasn't my favorite book ever, but I most enjoyed Shamsie's use of language. Many parts of the book read like poetry, to the point where I finally had to take out a pen and start underlining the lines that sounded so beautiful. I would probably like to read it again some time, if I can ever get through my impossibly long reading list, because it strikes me as the sort of book you can get more out of each time you read it.

Though the characters were very well-illustrated and accessible, I had a hard time getting completely absorbed in the plot. I followed it and I was interested, but I didn't necessarily feel like I spent the time I wasn't reading aching to know what would happen next. I'm not sure if that's a product of reading in 10-20 page increments every few days over a two month span or that it's just not that kind of book, but it obviously didn't keep me from continuing to read, so it wasn't a deal-breaker. And honestly, probably for the best since commute time was the only real time I had to read.

Overall, I'd give it four stars. I'll have to add Shamsie's other books to my wish list!

A Taste of Belgium

I started my day today by leaping out of bed (at noon), thinking I had slept through my lunch date. Luckily, I hadn't, and I was able to make it down to Chelsea in just enough time to catch up with an old friend I hadn't seen for four years. She met me at the corner of 21st and 6th and we bustled into a wonderful Belgian restaurant on the corner called Markt.

I was totally impressed. The staff was incredibly friendly and formal, and they collected our coats at the door. It had a rustic kind of feel to it; even the napkins had character. It was a little noisy, but it definitely captured the authentic European bar feeling well. Or at least what I remember it to have been the last time I visited Belgium.

I was craving pasta after a week of Mexican food in sunny San Diego, and their penne with tomato, basil, and mozzarella was simple, classic, and quite good. The portions, too, were quintessentially European: enough food to fill you up and nothing more. I can't remember the last time I was able to actually finish a meal! And for good food and a funky, classic atmosphere, the price was definitely right as well. Check it out next time you find yourself in Chelsea--any time, really; they're open from 8 a.m. to midnight!