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Celebrate Cell-phones

I’m back home from camp. YAY! More posts forthcoming…

Anyway, there was a panel Friday night discussing “communication”; this a euphemism for “cell-phones are evil”.

I have to stand up, go against the grain and say, go ahead and let cell phones infiltrate and destruct the world as we know it. I say this, because in simple economics terms; the benefits outweigh the costs.

Every second of the day, cell phones selflessly protect the fragile self-esteems of girls everywhere.

At every simcha, social gathering, street corner waiting, there are girls fiddling around with their cell-phones. They seem so busy, so focused on their task, so driven. No, they are not waiting for an urgent call, for a ride, an answer, a chat. They’re more likely to be deleting contacts, fooling around with the calculator, reading old texts, and if they’re daring, changing the language on their phone.

Why, you might ask?

Cell phones are a symbol of communication, of connectivity, access to people. People equal social success, popularity, and need. Therefore if you are busy with your cell phone you must be popular, needed, well-liked, and important…instead of having no one to talk to at your “modern” cousin’s vort. People perceive you differently. You are suddenly indispensable and cool.

It protects a person from feeling stupid, looking pathetic: desperate.

It also is a great defense mechanisms as it protects the mind from realizing how fragile the person really is.

So what if girls go around with artificially inflated ego based on “social success”? They aren’t crying in the bathroom, closet eating, whining, which is all the better for me and the world at large because an insecure girl is a force to be reckoned with.

Cell-phones: you are a G-d-send.

 

 
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Posted by on August 26, 2008 in Uncategorized

 

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Jumbo Ego

We had Baliboo day in camp.

 

Some staff members thought it would be fun if we organized a few games ourselves.

 

It was fun.

 

I participated in Jumbo. And I won. The rope was above my waist, and I’m extremely high-waisted and not short.

 

I’m still on a high.

 

I’m still reveling in the glory.

 

I am so proud of myself for winning.

 

Besides for the great adrenaline rush of jumping, making it, measuring up the competition, telling the little kids watching in awe to get out of the way, picking up your skirt way too high, running to get pants before the vaad hatznius chastises me, holding back a derisive laugh when someone falls spectacularly…I haven’t played sports in two years…and I’m still good.

 

How’s that for an ego boost.

 

It’s a part of me that I thought was over once I was no longer a camper. And HELLO, I’m still alive and kicking. 

 

I won. I won. I won. I won. I won. I won. I won. I won. I won. I won. I won. I won.

 

Who should I gloat to next?

 
6 Comments

Posted by on August 7, 2008 in Uncategorized

 

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Bulimic Sanctuary

Of all the million and a half disorders listed in the DSM IV, I always thought, Yay, at least I’m safe from one.

 

I thought I was immune to bulimia. Not because of my great self body image, self esteem, or other psychological factors. It’s very simple really, I have a TERRIBLE gag-reflex.

 

I can’t make myself throw up for the life of me, and trust me I’ve tried. Once I swallowed a taco chip, whole (great talent, I know). I bawled as it scratched its way down my esophagus. Fingers, toothbrushes, coughing, nothing brought it up. Five minutes later, I was fine, mentally and physically, secure in the knowledge that the taco chip made it to my stomach without killing me, and that I’d never be bulimic.

 

All this has changed since last night. No, the taco chip did not come up from the digested afterlife…I made myself throw up…all confidence, that there was one thing I could always hold out on was gone.

 

The fault lies in the nine days food in camp. It’s hunks of quasi melted cheese and starch. It didn’t settle in my stomach, but glued together my ribs. I whined to everyone, I attempted a nap, I whined a little more, but after an hour I had to face the facts, there was only one way to go…up (taken out of context this last sentence can almost sound like spiritual motivation)

 

I didn’t actually believe I could make it happen given past experience.

 

I kneeled pleadingly in front of the toilet and hugged the rim.

 

I tried coughing heavily. I got a headache.

 

I tried my fingers. I tickled my uvula.

 

I tried a toothbrush. Three times.

 

My neck lurched and extended and heaved and I…regurgitated.

 

Now, I’m charley hoarse in my neck as well as ¾ s of the rest of my body.

 

I’m also reevaluating my mental stability.

 

So far so good.

 

 

 

 

 
3 Comments

Posted by on August 7, 2008 in Food

 

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Non-Jewish Musical

So, I’m heading a SongDance, bit of a last minute favor.

I’ve never done this type of thing before; so far I’m having fun.

 

In any case, the song we’re using is from a musical.

 

I love how because I’m the goy, I’m expected to have known the song.

 

And when I didn’t, I was expected to have Blockbuster card to rent the dvd to see it—I  don’t have one.

 

Forget about that; it comes with the territory.

 

I still haven’t figured out though, why it’s okay to use “Non-Jewish” sources.

 

The Rock, The Music Man, Bond, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Lord of the Dance, Guys and Dolls, Cinderella, Sound of Music, Oliver Twist, Pearl Harbor, Pirates of the Caribbean, Newsies, Hercules, Lion King. Thoroughly Modern Millie, Les Miserables, Wicked, Abba, Fiddler on the Roof….these are just the first few that popped into my head.

 

Not that I’m well versed in them, but people feel the need to tell me where everything is from because, of course, they assume I know it already.

 

All of a sudden “Chachma ba’goyim ta’amin”?

 

Pick a side!

 

What happened, when I wanted to teach The Verger, Gary Soto’s poetry, Jane Yolen’s “Fat is not a FairyTale”, when I wanted to quote Bernard Shaw, and when the Scarlet Pimpernel was nixed too?

 

You tell me.

 
5 Comments

Posted by on August 4, 2008 in Uncategorized

 

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Criteria for Success

I love being the “goy” in camp. It gives me carte blanche to say and do anything I want.

 

The interesting thing is the criteria that makes me “the goy”

 

I don’t have any t-shirts with collars.

 

My t-shirts are orange, green, blue, yellow, red…not black, white, pink, lavender or whatever “fine” colors everyone else is wearing.

 

I wear real running sneakers, not pumas.

 

I don’t own a single alligator or horsy product.

 

I go running

 

I wear denim skirts and tube socks

 

I go swimming, and I’m not a lifeguard.

 

Also, I’m not self conscience enough to wear shorts when I swim

 

I’m reading Alice in Wonderland instead of “Blackout” or “Ransom” or whatever dramatically sounding cliché is out in the Jewish bookstores today.

 

I have a hairstyle, instead of the blunt cut, in a high bump, that adds three inches to anyone sporting it.

 

I wear high heels.

 

When the guest speaker asks if anyone remembers the Alamo, I was the only one who said yes, and gave him a brief history.

 

I know how to sing, really sing, not Bais Yaakov sing, so I actually sound good.

 

I know what a podcast is.

 

…I’m trying to figure out, what’s the significance, and I can’t. But meanwhile, I’m enjoying my status.

 

…and the best part is when people ask me what my job is,

 

I smile sincerely and say “Shiur counselor.”

 

The bug-out eyes, and slack-jawed reaction is priceless.

 

Everytime.

 

 

 
8 Comments

Posted by on August 3, 2008 in Uncategorized

 

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All Tried Out

I can’t decide if I should be impressed or sympathetic with some children’s confidence.

 

I’ve been sitting in on play tryouts and it’s hysterical. Excellent material.

 

Today’s discussion: The child that has no talent, and sincerely thinks she has a shot.

 

She’ll swagger up to us

 

“I want to try out” she says and then shifts her weight from one hip to the other and puts one hand on that hip. We smile, already identifying the type, ask her name and hand her a script.

 

Then she might say a variety of things.

 

“I was in cantata first half” (yeah, as a tree {seriously})

“I’m very funny”

“All my friends think I should try out”

 

 We nod and smile tightly

 

And she starts to read.

And we start having muscle spasms.

My cheeks hurt so much. Not from laughter, but from trying to contain it.

 

When they attempt to sing it’s even better. You’d expect girls from the ages of 11-15 to know the words to hamalch hagoel, and yaaleh ve’yavo. Apparently, I have high expectations, because ye’varech has morphed into ye’baneitz. And ve’yishuma, is now ve’yidama.

 

Of course they all start out with “I’m hoarse.”

It gets better with those who tell you “I take voice lesson” (They should demand a refund!!)

The girls sing too softly, start to high, try to start the high parts on a lower key, as though we wouldn’t notice (they end up squeaking anyway). Or they’re just plain old tone deaf…

And when they finish they look at us in earnest, waiting for us to sing their praises.

 

Enough of me making fun of them. The question is, should I admire them for their confidence to try, even though they beautifully awful, or should I smile sympathetically at their delusions of grandeur?

 

I’m not sure.

 

Really.

 

 

 

 
5 Comments

Posted by on August 1, 2008 in Uncategorized

 

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Compact Stress

Packing for camp is too stressful for me.

 

I feel like all my possessions are playing hiding-o-seek with me.

 

“Ha ha,” the chant, “you can’t find me!” And then there are those things you forget about completely, like toenail clippers.

 

You might have figured out that I’m packing for camp. Three points for you.

 

Packing makes me cranky.

I hate dragging the suitcase out of the back closet. Of course it’s the worst suitcase. With the broken wheel because my siblings who are in camp the whole summer had first dibs.

I hate refolding thing so it fits in better.

 I hate double wrapping my shampoo.

I hate having to decide what nosh I want to survive on this year.

I hate thinking I have enough room and I really don’t.

I hate trying to close the suitcase, but it doesn’t go until I enlist the help of my father. I hate the retarded mess in my room.

I hate having to count if I have enough underwear to last the duration.

I hate having to figure out how many Shabbos outfits I need, how casual can I get away with, and will anyone notice if I repeat?

I hate calculating how much clothing I have to leave over for myself to wear from the time they take my luggage till I get to camp (a whole 20 hours!)

 

AURGHHH!!!!

 

Anywhoo…I’m almost done, Thank G-D!

 

On that note, I’m not sure if I can keep this blog going through August, as the camp I’m going to has no internet access. I’m working on something though. I’d appreciate your comments and critiques. Have a good one!

 

 

 

 
4 Comments

Posted by on July 28, 2008 in Uncategorized

 

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