will blog for shoes.

We're too young to be losing so many.

2010-04-18T22:56:00.003-04:00

Someone I went to high school with died last week in a car accident. I found out on Twitter, and got a little more information on Facebook, and since we were never really friends, I pieced together the rest of the news online, too. Death in the age of social networking is still in its unprecedented phase. No one really knows what to do. I'm reminded of the article my professor and advisor, Dr. Elizabeth Stone, wrote for the Chronicle of Higher Education not long after the death of my friend and editor, Casey Feldman. I remember vividly the conversation many of the other editors had, where I pondered at what point it would be appropriate to take down my profile picture of Casey and me at our end-of-the-year party. Does taking it down mean I'm over it? Is it callous to go back to "normal," even if it's only on Facebook?

Now, with the death of a high school classmate, I'm again reminded of our makeshift memorials. Three students in my high school class alone died before graduation. My senior year, the large rock outside our school became a memorial rock, painted over each time another student's life was taken. We never knew when it was okay to paint over the rock again unless someone else passed away. In a generation of "kids with stuff," making tangible (or techno-tangible) memorials in the only way we know how, it can be even tougher to let go.

In the age of social networking, bad news travels even more quickly--I may never have known about the death of someone whose locker was always just two away from mine were it not for the superficial Facebook friendships I've maintained with people I haven't actually spoken to in years. I was never really friends with Elliot, but the proximity of our last names in the alphabet often put us in the same place when homeroom rolled around. When I heard he had passed away, I took a quick look at my cell phone. Sure enough, Elliot became the third person whose number remains in my contact list even after death. I never deleted my grandmother's home number from my cell phone after she passed away in 2007, nor could I bring myself to delete Casey's number, email address, and speed dial information when she died last summer. Now, it's as though a precedent has been set: even though the only reason Elliot's number was saved in my phone was because he sometimes prank called me, it feels more like a rejection of someone's memory than practicality to delete the deceased from an address book.

When I Googled his name, I came up with prayer requests from the church I once attended, asking members of the parish to keep deployed members of the military in their prayers as they fought for our freedom. I can't even wrap my head around how awful it is to survive two tours of duty and come home, only to die in a car accident. I was further devastated to hear that he is survived by a young wife and son. My thoughts are with his family and friends in this difficult time. Rest in peace, Elliot Teisler.

Need an Internship?

2010-01-14T17:20:00.003-05:00

My "alma mater" of magazines is looking for my replacement! :) Looking for an internship, or know someone who is? Check out Jewcy, you definitely will not regret it! Below is the job description:

Jewcy seeks editorial interns for spring semester 2010 for 10-20 hours a week depending on schedule and course load. The position is unpaid but can count as class credit depending on the specifications of your school. Duties include:

Editing posts
Writing posts
Deleting spam accounts
Moderating comments
Recruiting new writers
Helping to select which site content will be featured as a lead story, in weekly email newsletter, etc
Cropping and resizing photos
Maintaining Jewcy’s Twitter feed and other social media accounts

Interested applicants should email Jewcy Editor Lilit Marcus at lmarcus@jewcy.com. Please send a resume attached in MS Word format and in the body of an email explain why you think you’d be a great fit for the position. The subject line should be “Jewcy Intern Spring 2010.”

Dear Maine: Really?

2009-11-04T11:35:00.004-05:00

I guess it's always surprising to see who ends up being the bigot among us, right? Today, many gays, gay allies and supporters of equal rights awoke to some bad news: Maine voted "yes" on Question 1. What does that mean? Homosexual couples are not permitted to wed.

Wasn't it just a few months ago that Maine was celebrated for allowing same-sex unions? And now, Maine voters have voted to repeal the law their governor signed off on this spring. Not only is it a slap in the face, it's also reminiscent of life on the the elementary school playground. The kid who always gets picked on is suddenly accepted by the popular kids to play dodgeball, only to find out he's about to be pelted with the ball by the people who he thought supported him. Right now, Maine is sticking out its tongue at its gay citizens and saying, "JUST KIDDING, WE DON'T LIKE YOU! NA NA NA NA!"

I'm not a New Englander, but I anticipate being one someday, and I'm more than a little disappointed that such backwardness is coming from a region celebrated for its breadth of education and enlightenment. I can't even blame the government for making the poll question ambiguous and hard to understand. It was pretty simple: "Do you want to reject the new law that lets same-sex couples marry and allows individuals and religious groups to refuse to perform these marriages?" It doesn't get much more straightforward than that, Mainers. And yet 57 percent of Maine voters thought it was okay to take away a basic human right. Can I vote against your marriage, there, sir? Ma'am?

it's always the ones you least expect, isn't it?

A friend of mine from south of the Mason-Dixon took this opportunity to ask Northerners to stop bashing the South and "maybe let gay people get married, thanks." Aren't we supposed to be setting an example? Aren't places like the Northeast (and California) supposed to be the places where progess begins, not ends?

Eventually, we'll all be treated as equals. I have every faith in this. I just hope it happens in our lifetime, and sooner, rather than later.

Here's hoping @je_suis_le_chef is right when he says, "give it a year for it to change and then 20 years for people to forget that gay marriage was ever an issue."

Young? Jewish? Share Your Story!

2009-10-25T21:43:00.002-04:00

I'm in the process of working on a book about modern Jewish youth culture in America and I need your help!

I'm seeking submissions of interesting stories from young Jews (aged 15-30) who have something to say about their personal experiences with any of the following topics (or another topic that isn't listed):

Emerging from Interfaith Homes

Birthright Israel

Making Aliyah

Hillel, AEPi, AEPhi

JDate

Hip Jewish Media

New Jewish Music

Jewish Counterculture

Exodus from Denominational Identification

Young Rabbinate

Reclaiming Ritual Observance

Hebrew, Yiddish Usage

This isn't your Bubbe's Judaism! You know it, now tell me why. Email jewishyouthstories@gmail.com for more information or to share your story, and get the conversation going on the Kibbitz Network at kibbitznetwork.ning.com.

First deadline for submission: Sunday, November 15, 2009.

Need more time? There will be plenty more opportunities to submit in the future. Get in early to help me get the ball rolling!

Note: Not all submissions are guaranteed inclusion, but all are appreciated. Submit stories in first person, 200-1000 words. If you want to share your story but don't feel comfortable writing it yourself, we can arrange a phone or email interview. Spread the word to your friends and family--this is going to be big!

Accepted File Types: .doc, .docx, .rtf, .txt

"Casey"

2009-09-19T20:46:00.001-04:00

The Age of the ISBN

2009-08-06T02:43:00.004-04:00

Well, we already know that my mom wrote a book. (Quit Telling Me What to Do! was released in May 2009 by the Advantage Media Group.)

But now, I'm super-pleased to say that I have two friends whose books will be published in the spring of 2010. They're already up on Amazon (and I've already pre-ordered).

Never Tell Our Business to Strangers: a Memoir, by Jennifer Mascia, is expected by Villard on March 2, 2010

Save the Assistants: a Book for the Beleaguered, by Lilit Marcus, is due out from Hyperion on April 13, 2010. The book is just the next step for Save the Assistants, which already hosts a blog for the beleaguered. As Lilit's intern, I'm happy to report that she is a fantastic boss - no beleaguerment here!

In October, I'm heading back to the lovely Charleston, South Carolina to attend Advantage Media's Annual Author Marketing Summit (with mother in tow) for what I'm sure will be another wonderful experience with Alison, George, and the rest of the Advantage family. All this book business has really got me thinking - could I be the next one with an ISBN? I've got the idea, the outline, and a couple of connections in the industry, so keep your eyes peeled. It may not be long before I add "author" to my résumé.

For now, however, reporter, writer, journalist, editor and occasional poet will have to do.

Quirky Art Jewelry For the Win

2009-08-05T14:46:00.004-04:00

This pendant from the MoMA store is absolutely fabulous. A unique piece of art like this is always worth the bigger price tag.

Thanks to @meganbe for the heads up! (Add it to her wish list, too!)

These too.

2009-08-03T22:04:00.002-04:00

See, these are even more reasonable than the last ones.

Dear Stuart Weitzman: I adore you. The end.

I need a place to wear these...

2009-08-03T21:52:00.004-04:00

...and someone to buy them for me. Size 7. Thanks. :)

"I can think of no human being who has a better time than an eager and energetic young reporter."

2009-07-18T13:21:00.009-04:00

"Be kind to everyone you meet, for they may be facing a harder battle." I try so hard to always remember this, and to abide by carpe diem because we all know life is too short. But no matter how hard you try, there will always come a time when you wish you had tried harder. Today is one of those days.

We had our ups and downs, certainly, especially when it came to me sticking to deadlines. I started off in my position as assistant news editor mildly terrified of you, because you seemed to have it all together. But I was happy that, by the end of the year, we were able to gossip about boys and spend time laughing in the Observer office. You embodied the spirit of the "eager and energetic young reporter" and everyone knew never to stand between you and your story. You got down into the investigative topics no one else wanted to sift through, and your talent was made evident by the name you made for yourself at Fordham. Hell, your work on the religion beat even got you a top spot among Ivy League writers for the Chandler Award for Student Writer of the Year in Religion. Mostly, I envied your ability to dedicate everything to The Observer, even if it meant giving up on other opportunities. Nobody had any doubt that you were the best for the position of news editor for the second year in a row because of your unwavering dedication. You truly WERE the news section of the Observer. I can't think of news without thinking of you. And more than that, I think we all knew you would kick serious ass as an investigative reporter for some major news outlet, and it wouldn't take you long to get there. I always envisioned our future as some kind of competition, even after college, of who gets published in the New York Times first or who's certain to become a household name before the other. You probably would have won.

Now, I guess, we'll never really know. I was so shaken when I heard the news today, because you were so young and talented and had such a bright future. Sure, that's what they all say, but it couldn't have been more true for you. I only wish I had told you these things while I still had the chance. Because sure, we had our share of minor squabbles, of rolled eyes and raised voices, but I became a better news writer by writing for you, and I truly respected your drive as a journalist. And maybe those little pockets of tension were just clouds of envy, because you had something I don't.

All I can say for sure is you shouldn't have been making headlines like this. You should have been writing them yourself.

If heaven has a newspaper, I'm sure you'll be editor-in-chief in no time. Say hi to Walter Cronkite for me, and more than anything, please rest in peace. The Observer will never be the same without you. We'll miss you, Casey.

Fordham Observer: The Observer Mourns the Loss of Its News Editor
Fordham Notes Memorial Blog

Regrets

2009-06-12T00:14:00.003-04:00

I have always believed that there is no sense in living life with regrets. It may be a cliché to say that everything happens for a reason, but it's true. The reasons may not always be good and they may not be something that we can easily understand, but there are reasons no less. I'll discuss this idea more in an upcoming post on "bashert."

Given my philosophy, I'm hard-pressed to come up with anything that I regret. Sure, I wish I was better at sending birthday cards on time or keeping my desk organized on a regular basis, but that's not the kind of thing one regrets. It's just the kind of annoying quirk everyone has that he or she would like to work on. Or not.

Still, though, something sticks with me. I've come to terms with the fact that I'm athletically challenged, a perpetual procrastinator, and definitely the worst car-parker on the planet. I've even settled my internal turmoil about never keeping up with Girl Scouts, because let's be honest, I just wanted to collect the badges anyway. What I haven't gotten over, however, is that I never got better at singing.

Every little girl wants to be a dancer or actress or singer at some point in her life. Most of them get over it. I gave up dancing practically before I picked it up. I gave up choir after freshman year in high school and theater after sophomore year. I'm a writer; I've always been a writer. I'm more than okay with that--I'm thrilled to have the opportunity to do something I love and be respected for doing it. But there's still that little part of me that's stuck on my 7th grade mentality and wants to sing on a big stage in front of thousands of people.

Maybe part of me wants to be a little bit like Susan Boyle--to prove everybody wrong. Perhaps it's because of all those people who told the sobbing, fourteen-year-old version of myself that Michael Jordan never made his high school basketball team, so there was still hope for me to be a great singer.

But now I'm 20. I've never had professional voice lessons, I only made it into select choir in my last year of middle school because I cried too much, and if you could hear me singing in my car driving down the highway, you'd know there really is no hope for me to ever become a great singer.

So that's my one regret for my twenty years of life so far: that I never found a way to have the kind of singing voice that would make people wonder if I could be a pop star. Even though I would never want to be a pop star, I can't help still wishing I had the chance to knock somebody off his feet with a powerhouse solo on a big stage. If ever they come up with a magical cure for a terrible singing voice, be sure I'm the first person you call, so I can check that solo off my list of things to do before I die.

Shoes Unfit for a Saturday

2009-05-04T01:58:00.000-04:00

The cuts on my feet are healing
becoming pinkish
greenish scabs.
This, after walking miles
in shoes unfit for a Saturday
in Prospect Park.

It was a day of bandaids
and sunburn
and recycling Friday’s dinner dress.

Springtime days can sometimes perplex
with their summer sun and their winter winds
and I was unprepared.

But I’ve scrubbed the trail dust from the soles of my shoes
and out of the cleavage of my toes.
I’ve swept the mess of curly brown hair off my reddened shoulders
and away from my open eyes.

And after a bath of aloe vera
my tan lines are fading into
a healthy
summer glow.

I may have scars on my arches
and blisters on my toes
but the cuts on my feet are healing.

(c) 2009 will blog for shoes. please don't repost without permission.

Fathers and Their Daughters

2009-04-18T12:51:00.007-04:00

I'm in sunny Charleston, South Carolina for the weekend and I can see the flecks of southern charm seeping into my psyche. I saw something this morning that was totally heartwarming. For me, at least.

I don't know if it was southern hospitality or just plain good parenting, but I was in a cute jewelry boutique when a father walked in with his three young daughters. They were probably between 8 and 12. He was SO good with them. He waited patiently for the [super well-behaved] girls to try on jewelry, quizzed them on the songs that came on the radio, and said, "you're welcome, baby girl," so sweetly when thanked for his gifts.

This is probably more sentimental rambling than anything else, but it was so refreshing to see a father so good with his three daughters. Good parenting seems to happen so infrequently these days (as evidenced by the five screaming 3rd grade boys who darted up and down the hall of my hotel all night last night) and I'm glad to see that there's still a few good ones around.

The True Meaning of Holidays

2009-04-07T10:00:00.003-04:00

It's about to be an interesting time to be a Catholic-raised Jewess. Or at least for me, specifically. As tends to happen every now and then, Passover and Easter are falling at the same time.

Passover begins on Wednesday night, and I, of course, would like to attend a seder. Passover seems like one of the handful of holidays you simply can't get away with celebrating alone. Depriving yourself of your favorite kinds of carbs (and don't forget that pesky kitniyot) doesn't seem nearly as worth it when you can't kick off the celebration with family, friends, and an over-the-top seder with all the necessary four glasses of wine. However, being the daughter of a lapsed convert--an only child to a single parent, might I add--there is simply no one to have a seder with. My family isn't Jewish. I didn't grow up Jewish, so I don't have friends at home whose families could invite my orphaned mother and me to join them. And my mother's friends seem to be spread all across the country in places where it would be entirely inconvenient to join them.

So, as it stands right now, we may likely be spending Passover alone. I won't even try to fake my own seder-for-two at our kitchen table. I'm all for tradition, of course, but I would even take my buddy's family seder--a family that calls themselves "Jew-ish"--complete with pasta, bread, and any other prohibited Italian foods within reach, over no celebration at all. This lack of seder scheduling doesn't seem to phase my mother, a lapsed Jew of sorts, but as someone exploring her faith, I'm saddened to be missing out.

On the other hand, I grew up celebrating all the Christian holidays. We host Christmas Eve every year and my mom gets mad if she doesn't get at least a card from me for Easter. And now that Easter is on Sunday, there's an expectation that we will be celebrating. We won't. Or at least not in any conventional sense of the word.

So I said my family isn't Jewish. They also aren't terribly functional. When your immediate family is made up of two people, plus my godfather--who is family but likes to leave before holiday meals in order to beat traffic--it's difficult to justify holiday feasts. My mother's only sibling has no relationship with her whatsoever, and after my grandmother passed away, we were left with no real blood relatives to share such occasions with. Though we've been lucky to share Thanksgiving and Christmas Day with loving friends every year, there's still something inherently awkward about waiting around to be asked to join.

So I've gotten to thinking. What is so special about holidays anyway? Of course, I understand the religious and cultural significance of the holidays themselves, but why have we selected what is in some cases an arbitrary date (as some argue about Christmas, but I won't even begin that debate) to get together and celebrate it? Why do we all have to clear our schedules for Sunday because that is the day that has been decided for us as the time when we will gather together and celebrate? Personally, I'm much more fond of the way we celebrate birthdays--sometimes on the day, sometimes on the nearest weekend, and others whenever it's most convenient for all parties. I understand why it's impossible to treat religious and national holidays in the same way, but for those of us who may be forced to twiddle our thumbs on the day when everyone else is feasting, try something new! Throw an Easter part two for friends and family you can't see on the actual day and celebrate the togetherness, not the calendar day. Because after all, holidays were never supposed to be about an exact moment in time, they're supposed to be about the experiences you have.

I always knew I was a trendsetter...

2009-04-04T10:00:00.005-04:00

...though I guess you can't be a trendsetter if you've only ever thought internally about said trend, and never outwardly embraced it.

Still, though, I'm very proud to announce that Tiffany has released a new collection of Tiffany Keys--key-shaped pendants in various sizes and styles. I can't tell you how long I've been searching for a key pendant that I liked. Not the big obnoxious Juicy Couture ones, nor the ones that never really looked like keys in the first place, and I never did find an actual antique key that struck my fancy.

Though I can't say I have $1500 to drop on this particular key, the Crown Key Pendant, I am pleased at Tiffany's trend-setting ways, because we all know every jeweler will now come up with their own "Tiffany-inspired" style.

Perhaps the other jewelers' Web sites won't be so inherently irritating to navigate, too. For a girl who loves to window shop, even if it means clicking through photos on-line, the Tiffany Web site design makes me so infuriated that I generally refuse to return. Your loss, my friends.

"Confessions of a Recessionista Bride"

2009-04-03T13:00:00.001-04:00

This came up in my Twitter feed the other day as a request to follow and I have to say, I'm totally entertained.

A newly-engaged woman has come up with a brilliant idea to raise funds for her wedding. She's requesting donations. She's got a blog, a Twitter, and a link to PayPal ready to go. No updates so far on how much she's collected, but I have to say I admire her creativity. My mom took a second job to pay for her wedding, and I'm thinking maybe if I start a fund before I can find a date, it can get the ball rolling so I'll be married before I'm 40. All of this is actually blatantly untrue, I've had two lovely dates this week. But the fund might still be a good idea. Especially since I'll be wearing shoes that cost as much as my dress. And I also anticipate them being bright red. But now I'm getting off-topic.

Anyway, I've got my own "Mama wants a new pair of Stuarts" fund that I've got to attend to, so I don't anticipate donating, but check it out! And if nothing else, donate a dollar for the sake of her creativity and courage!

But, really, though?

2009-03-23T23:48:00.005-04:00

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

2009-03-23T23:17:00.004-04:00

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.

2009-03-23T21:26:00.006-04:00

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

2009-03-09T01:58:00.006-04:00

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."

2009-03-07T18:10:00.006-05:00

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

2009-03-04T18:06:00.006-05:00

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!

Saying goodbye...

2009-02-21T18:22:00.004-05:00

Well, it's public now. So public, in fact, that it made one of the top stories in the JTA's daily briefing on Wednesday: "Jewcy's Funding Dries Up."

I wasn't ready to say goodbye so quickly. I never got to meet Michael's dog, Kingsley, or beat Craig at ping pong, and Faustine never got a chance to help me with my French. I'll miss Todd's intensity and the way Lilit never failed to find at least one hilarious photo, link, or story per day. I'll also miss Tara's comfortable stylishness and Hayley's daily soba runs, even though I never got a chance to figure out what the hype was all about. I'll even miss the way the office echoed when my heels clomped on the concrete floors or Tive assaulted his keyboard for indiscretions of its past.

Farewell, 45 Main Street, Suite 613 [like the mitzvot]. I'll miss you.

Relationship, Unraveled.

2009-02-16T01:31:00.000-05:00

Relationship is defined by Oxford American Dictionary as "the way in which two or more concepts, objects, or people are connected, or the state of being connected." Relationship as defined by Americans by and large, however, generally refers to an intimate relationship between significant others, romantic and/or physical in some capacity. Which makes it really difficult to have a conversation about "the way in which two or more people are connected," given that people automatically assume you're talking about romance. Which, I might add, is the very last of the listed definitions: "an emotional and sexual association between two people."

Everybody has a "relationship" with everybody else that they've ever encountered. I even have a fickle relationship with the door to any room that houses an Observer meeting, since we always seem to find rooms with doorknobs that won't turn. It's a relationship between me, a person (or so I should hope), and an object.

But that, of course, is not my point. My point is why try to define a relationship? We are all in relationships with one another, in some capacity. I realize we live in the era of Facebook where it's become very important to publicize that a person is "in a relationship with [insert link to profile here.]" I even remember the days of MySpace where finding this information required actually visiting a person's profile, since it didn't come up in your news feed. And there's nothing like the epic middle school breakups, where one party was only made aware by seeing an "in a relationship" status turn to "single."

I'm not trying to promote any kind of non-traditional lifestyle choices. All I'm saying is that there's no reason to force something into a narrow definition when it's not ready to be there. Two people who are romantically involved in some capacity have a relationship of some sort from the moment they meet. They are in a relationship when the situation is, in some way, mutually beneficial and two-sided. But to wake up one morning and decide that you must assign some kind of societal rules to your interactions with another person, for the sake of being able to call it something, is utterly silly. So much so, in fact, that I felt it entirely appropriate to use a word as ridiculous as silly.

There is so much in life that's already complicated, difficult, and generally upsetting. There's no reason to make excess trouble out of something that's supposed to add positive qualities to your life. I can't say I ever thought I'd be the one to dissuade another from over-thinking things, but there's a first time for everything: enjoy the present and appreciate what you do have, because otherwise the future will come and you may have nothing left, the fault of over-analysis and pigeonholing.

Combining My Two Great Loves: Shoes and Journals

2008-10-14T20:43:00.005-04:00

Let's face it: I am obsessed with journals. I'll disagree with the claim my dear mother always makes that I'll "never be able to finish all those journals!" but it did take me seven years to fill eighteen. Then again, I guess eighteen is a pretty substantial number. And that's roughly how many blank journals await me in a box that's tucked away in my room. Talk to me when I'm 27.

The reason I'll never fill all my journals is because I doubt I can ever muster the self-control to buy at the rate I write. Or write at the rate I buy, for that matter. Snagging one journal a season? No way. If I see one I like, I'll buy the whole series. Continuity, I tell you!

Regardless, I've fallen in love with Paperblanks. I filled two last summer and I loved both of them. And so, as I often do to avoid real work, I surfed around their Web site to check out the available styles. And I must say, I think I need all four of the "Fabulous Footwear" collection. Or at least just the High-Button Boot. Add it to my wish list, folks!

Reclaiming Home.

2008-10-09T01:12:00.004-04:00

"Home" is always a very loose term when you're a resident college student. Some people say, "hey, I'm heading home," and walk back to their sterile dorm room. Others use the same phrase and hop on a plane, train, or bus to visit family and friends in what is often the land of their youth.

As much as I love school life, it's still school life. I feel comfortable in my dorm room, but it's not home. Home is where my mom is making cupcakes and my dogs are fighting me for the couch they've claimed since I've been away at school. It's pumping the "Spring Blossom" hand sanitizer in my bathroom and smelling what home smells like. But perhaps the most important part of home, my very own bedroom to do with whatever I please, doesn't greet me with the same fondness as my hyperactive pups or my welcoming mother. Why?

We moved. In May of my senior year in high school, we moved a couple of towns over. Long enough to unpack boxes and situate furniture before my late August departure, but not quite long enough, when spliced up by a 12-day trip to Italy and frequent commuting to the Jersey Shore, to create the perfect sanctuary.

Especially when I never quite unpacked everything, and the boxes multiplied as my stuff continued to collect on the floor of my closet, and my dresser conveniently fell apart during my first month at school, causing my mother to package all of its contents in plastic bins before shipping it off elsewhere. And so here I sit, on the floor of my bedroom, surrounded by twenty three--nope, missed one: twenty four--plastic bins, filled with roughly a third of my life. Don't ask me where I got that proportion, I'd never be able to tell you.

And so I wonder, how does one reclaim home in six days or less? I'm home for an extended long weekend (oh, the joys of national holidays, Jewish holidays, and convenient college scheduling, all working together in perfect harmony.) That's my project for the week. Wish me luck.

Far off places, daring swordfights, magic spells, a prince in disguise!

2008-09-21T23:52:00.005-04:00

On a visit to Morningside Heights this afternoon, I stumbled upon an adorable bookshop on 114th and Broadway called Morningside Bookshop. It's the quintessential bookshop: floor to ceiling stuffed shelves and ladders on every wall. I picked up a half-price book outside on the sidewalk--Women Who Shop Too Much: Overcoming the Urge to Splurge by Carolyn Wesson--sure to be the topic of an upcoming blog post!

"From one laptop owner to another..."

2008-09-21T21:43:00.004-04:00

Bringing your own power strip to Starbucks. Genius. I'm like a Boy Scout, always prepared--why didn't I think of that?

Covet.

2008-09-19T12:46:00.006-04:00

The Stuart Weitzman 'Puente' in black suede and red patent is the first shoe in a while to actually make me drool. I had to be torn from the window of the Columbus Circle store after hours by a friend who claimed, "that is way too much for a pair of shoes." Lies. He's just jealous they don't come in his size.

I'm a size 7, by the way, and they look fabulous on my feet, for anyone who's into random acts of kindness.

A New Jew's First Shabbat Service

2008-09-19T12:46:00.005-04:00

My friend Cat and I have been talking about going to a Shabbat service all year, but we're both busy college students and could never find a Friday evening when we were both free. With finals starting next week, our schedules finally matched up and we attended our first Shabbat service in Manhattan. Well, my first Shabbat service ever. Which is precisely why I refused to go alone.

I'm not going to lie, I do consider myself Jewish, but at this point, it's kind of more "barely Jewish". I was born Jewish but raised Catholic, which is just a confusing happenstance all around. I've been "finding myself" since I got to college, if you'll forgive the cliché, and decided to give this Judaism thing a try. I've been doing lots of reading, but the books don't tell you exactly how to be a good Jew. But maybe I'm just reading the wrong books.

Regardless, going to my first service that wasn't a Bar or Bat Mitzvah was an intimidating experience. I asked Cat what I should wear and she wasn't sure herself. So I flipped to the Shabbat section of Jewish Literacy. Nothing. Cat was sure to remind me last week, for my first seder, that I had to cover my shoulders, so I figured that would be a safe bet for this night as well. Was I supposed to make sure my knees weren't exposed, either? I'm still learning and I'm terrified of being inadvertently disrespectful. So I Googled Shabbat attire, settled on a black short sleeve shirtdress and two inch heels, and headed to go meet Cat.

We followed the crowd and stood outside for a while, mentioning to a few people that we were new to this congregation and asking for tips. A board member sat us down and welcomed us to ask any questions.

I was never a good Catholic, but part of my idea of religious services still reverts automatically back to the Catholic church. I was somehow almost surprised that there weren't pews, but rather seats arranged in a radiating circle outward from the center. "Much more comfortable than pews, right?" Cat joked. I picked up the Siddur and Cat reminded me that it's not ever supposed to touch the floor, and if it does, I'd have to kiss it. I noticed a guy to my right look horrified to see one on the floor, pick it up, kiss it, and clutch it for the remainder of the service.

The website said there would be transliterations for those "not comfortable with reading Hebrew." Maybe we should have asked for that. Because the Siddurim we had only contained Hebrew and English translations. Cat could hold her own, but I was just focused on being proud of myself for knowing which way to turn the pages on the first try.

I have to say, my favorite part of the service, apart from the downright beauty of the synagogue itself and the enchanting voice of the female rabbi, was when, suddenly, half the congregation got up and started dancing. This definitely never happened in any Catholic church that I'd heard of. Cat and I were tempted to join in, but our sore feet and heels thought otherwise, so we remained intrigued onlookers.

All in all, though I had no idea what was going on for 98 percent of the service, I enjoyed myself. And even the self-conscious part of me felt assured that no one was pointing and staring, asking "who's that girl and why isn't she doing this right?" Which is precisely why I love Judaism. Even though I know even less of the rituals than I did in Catholicism (which is saying something--I could do the sign of the cross and sometimes remembered to say "and also with you" when someone reached out a hand and said, "peace be with you," but anything outside of that, I was lost) I have never felt judged. I didn't go to mass when I was younger because I didn't know what I was doing and felt that everyone was judging me. But every Jew I've ever spoken to has made it a point to tell me that Judaism is about learning, not about getting it right the first time.

So I may not have gotten it right the first time, certainly not with my attempts to keep kosher for Passover and then enjoying cookie dough ice cream and General Tso's chicken, but I'm learning. And that's the important thing.