Message to Velvel

"Hookah and the Nakhla Scam" would be a pretty good name for a band.

Especially a band that has an autoharp. And a gong.

I'm Sorry, Kermit

It has come this blog's attention that Kermit the Frog can indeed slam dunk a basketball. Cara's World and all its affiliates hereby formally apologize to Kermit for daring to compare his awe-inspiring basketball skills to its own sorry softball "skills".

Cara's World is therefore giving itself a Time Out, as punishment for its lack of faith in Kermit.

*twiddling thumbs and pondering its horrible crime*

Time Out completed. Phew, that was rough.

Your Opinion Counts! (Really, It Does...)

As I sit in my new office, looking out of my window (I have a window now! Yay!!), it occurs to me that my sole office plant has no name.

He used to live in someone else's office, because the lack of natural light in mine was causing him to grow grievously ill. But now that he's moved back in with me, I think it's time that I bestow a name upon him.

What should I name my little green friend? (Note: Kermit has already been arbitrarily vetoed.)

Weekend Report

My weekend rocked. Not because I did anything especially amazing or note-worthy, but precisely because I didn't.

Shabbos was restful, which is as it should be. I took a walk towards my favorite Thinking Place, and read in the sunshine for a while, until I got hungry. Then I went home, ate some yummy fresh fruit, and had a lovely shluffy.

Motzei shabbos was chock full of friends. My high school friend Emily and her fiance Dave were in town, so we went out for a bit. And then I headed over to Bryan's, where I proceeded to sing badly with the many guitars, drink a bit of bourbon, and bond with Leah (who rocks, by the way!). Someday, in the not-too-distant future, please stay tuned for the unveiling of my artistic masterpiece of the weekend: a digital still-life entitled "Bryan". I'm just waiting for it to be emailed from Denmark.

Despite both the Smashers and the Cubbies losing on Sunday, it was still a great day. My much adored aunt is in town, and that alone is wonderful enough to make it a great weekend.

Smashers Update

We lost again. Fairly badly. But I do think we're getting a lot better! We were also missing a lot of our heavy hitters, which left it up to people like me to come through with the offense. And seeing as how I have still not reached first base, that's fairly comparable to relying on Kermit the Frog to slam dunk a basketball.

No game next week, so that gives me two whole weeks to work on my batting. It's not that I don't make contact. It's just that the ball never goes anywhere when I do. (I feel like there might be something deep and metaphorical buried in that, but it's Monday morning, so I'm going to let you dig for it on your own.)

Things (or People) That Make You Go 'Hmmm...'

I have one particular friend who happens to be incredibly thought-provoking. He probably has no clue that I think of him as such, so we shall call him "Mr. Hmmm" to protect his identity. Almost more than any other friend I have, he has a way of making me look at myself, and the world around me, and try to improve what I see.

Mr. Hmmm made a comment in the past week about Eli and Miryam's splendiferous wedding (my word, not his), about singing (shouting?) "Yerushalayim" as we all danced. At the time, it struck me as well, because there was something so beautiful, so gripping about those moments when the band fell silent, and the only sound you heard was "Yerushalayim" being called out over and over again. Yet, until Mr. Hmmm mentioned it, days later, I had already forgotten about it.

Now it's on my mind again. Perhaps it's because the 3 weeks are approaching, which was the context of Mr. Hmmm's comment. Perhaps its because, only a few days after Tisha B'Av, I'm (finally) going back to Israel. Whatever the reason, the sound of that moment, of "Yerushalayim", is lodged in my head.

And I find myself grateful to Mr. Hmmm for reminding me. Not only because that particular moment was beautiful, and worth holding onto, but also because it made me notice more of the beautiful moments that get tossed in among all the mundane ones, upon which I normally comment. So I think I'm going to follow his excellent example, and get more in the habit of remarking upon the beautiful things in this world. And even though Mr. Hmmm is not in the habit of reading my blog (and, in fact, may not even know it exists), and probably wouldn't even recognize this post as being largely in tribute to him, I still want to say: Thanks.

Sweetly Sarcastic?

There are about fifteen things that I have racing through my head, all of which I want to post about. Yet finding a way to talk about any one of them is proving surprisingly difficult. So I suppose I'll start with topics floating in the Blogosphere, and then make my way back into the reality that isn't virtual.

MOChassid posted a description of the Chicago Chevrah, which I just read this morning. It's always surprising to read what others think of you. Particularly in this case, when MO-C and I have never actually met, but only traded comments through the Blogosphere. On one hand, it shouldn't matter what someone that I've never met happens to think of me. Yet MO-C's description made me smile, and made me happy.

There was one word in particular that jumped out at me, because it relates to something that has been on my mind a lot in the past week or so. He called me "sweet". Since most of my posts tend to be focused on the mundane absurdities that I come across, I didn't think that the 'softer' side of my nature would show at all. Sometimes I worry that it doesn't even come out in conversation much anymore.

At a sheva brachos meal last night, a female friend (yes, I do have them) told me I was too young to be so cynical. It made me stop and think. Am I cynical about romance and relationships? In actuality, no. Yet, given my sarcastic comments, which are normally mistaken for wit, I'm not surprised that I come across as cynical. I'm not sure how to remedy this. At what point do the defense mechanisms and walls that we build become so effective that others can no longer see past them? (And why does writing this post make me feel so much like Carrie Bradshaw?)

Deep Thoughts from An Oleh

The following are various inappropriate (ergo, humorous) excerpts from an IM conversation with my buddy Adi:

Adi: I regret not making out with a lot more people
Blog: you were shomer
Adi: touche
Adi: and i LOVE the ladies, so it was pretty big of me to fight that urge. though now i think i shoulda made out with everyone.


Blog: i don't think i'm at my sexiest when using rapper slang
Adi: if youre naked at the time, it can be forgiven


Adi: Making out with people (when you don't have girlfriends/boyfriends) totally rocks...

Rock on, my friend. Rock on.

Ouch

$1,327 including tax.

But I'm going.

From the Cap'n O' the Smashers

In an e-mail communication, the Smasher's captain had this to say about this blog:

"The race for Rookie of the Year is tight as Cara has shown a dramatic increase in fielding at short center as well as her ability to connect with the ball..."

It's on now. I went to the batting cages last night, and connected with just about everything that machine threw at me. This is gonna be my week.
First base will be mine. Oh yes. It will be mine.

Wow! Who Knew?

Brushing hair is fun!

I don't get to do this often, because brushing my uber-curly hair would have the undesirable effect of making me look something like a Jewish Chia Pet. And that just brings up bad memories of summer camp, and some annoying boy running past me shouting "Ch-ch-ch-chia!" until it somehow became a nickname. (Note: Girls do not find it endearing to be named after items you purchase at Walgreens)

But my hair is straight now, and the brush just glides through. This is so cool! I feel like I should be in a shampoo commercial, flipping my hair over my shoulder and sending sultry looks into the camera. Now I just have to figure out what sultry looks like, find myself an agent, and not wash my hair ever again...

Kudos

This blog hereby pledges undying love and devotion to Allie, for taking time out of her Sunday to make me beautiful for the wedding.

Not only did she do a fabulous job making my hair straight, but it was a blast having girl time while getting ready.

I think I also have to give her credit for my newfound fondness of the color pink. I'm really liking pink these days. A lot. It's sort of scary.

Happy Happy! Joy Joy! #9

Mazel Tov to Eli and Miryam Clevs on their marriage yesterday! Yay!

The wedding was beyond gorgeous, as was Miryam herself. I'm not ashamed to admit that I started getting teary-eyed when the Tanaim plate was broken (speaking of which, I never got a piece. Uh-oh. I'm doomed...). I'm usually emotional at weddings anyway, but this was beyond the norm. Probably because it's not everyday that two people I adore get married to each other. Then factor in having known the chosson my entire life. It's a good thing I'm not in the habit of wearing mascara.

It was such an amazing wedding that I don't even know how to begin writing about it. I think one of the highlights had to be escorting Eli and Miryam to the yichud room (ok, fine, to the elevators, which would take them to the yichud room)...across Michigan Avenue. We stopped traffic. It was unbelievable. Hundreds and hundreds of well-dressed Yidden, clapping and singing in Hebrew from the park, across one of Chicago's busiest streets, through the hotel. It was beyond cool.

Miryam definitely wins the 'Super Kallah' award. She was a dancing machine. I've never seen a kallah dance so much, and sit so little. I want to be Miryam when I grow up.

I'm going to have to write more about all this later, when I get my thoughts in order. My whole weekend was great, between the Shabbos Kallah, seeing a bunch of friends motzei shabbos, and the wedding. But the wedding just overshadows everything so much that I had to stop and think, just to remember what else I did over the weekend. I'm still on my simcha-induced high. I hope it takes a long time to come down.

Smashers Update

We lost. Actually, 'lost' is too mild a phrase. We were brutally crushed beneath the other team's cleats. It shouldn't have happened. They were good and all, but we were playing horribly. The saddest part is that we were completely on our game...before the game began. We had a great warm-up beforehand. We were hitting well, catching well, fielding well. And then we forgot what we were doing.

I, personally, played decently. I didn't use my head as I should have, but I played some good defense. I still haven't gotten that base hit, but I think I unofficially won the "Toughest Chick" award. And I have the bruises to prove it. Big Brother trained me well.

Record: 1-2. On to next week...

I think I've Figured It Out...

Last night, I was walking down the street with my friend Erin, and a complete stranger told us that we should be in a soap opera. (I have to give him props for a creative pick-up line. It sure beats whistling, and murmuring "Hey, baby".) Erin and I did what most women would do, and laughed as we continued on our way.

But in the light of day, I find myself thinking about that idea. And it occurs to me that my life is already something like a soap opera. It just needs a bit of tweaking, and a few more glamorous characters. Like the woman who everyone thought was dead, but was really living the good life in the Bahamas with her divorce lawyer, who comes back when she finds out that her ex-husband is about to marry her long-lost twin sister. Then I'll add in the devilish, and devilishly attractive, male nurse, who is actually an undercover detective, willing to use any means necessary to further his investigation of his gorgeous next-door neighbor.

Maybe I should hold auditions.