Weekend Report

Last weekend actually started on Thursday. Saying this makes me miss my college days, when every weekend started on Thursday. Sometimes even Wednesday.

Thursday was Emily's bachelorette party, orchestrated by yours truly. I took my obligations as maid of honor very seriously. First we met up at a chocolate lounge and told funny Emily stories over fondue, bonbons and champagne. Then we relocated to Howl at the Moon to drink copious amounts of alcohol and sing along with the dueling pianos. (Note: the pianos don't actually duel. Unless you're under the influence of some very strong drugs, and then they might. Or maybe they'll start dancing with purple wombats. I hate when that happens.)

While the party was a smashing success, I've already learned the hard way that my little anecdotes don't make good stories for people who weren't there. So I'll spare you. Suffice to say, the bride had a good time.

Shabbos was more social that I had anticipated. I ended up going over to my friend Gabe's for lunch, but I still managed to get in a few hours of good shluffy afterwards.

As soon as shabbos was out, I raced over to Emily's, and spent the next 24 hours in fully wedding mode. After making lists of everything that needed to be done the next morning, we watched a few episodes of Sex and the City, and actually got a good 6 hours of sleep.

The wedding itself was lovely, and Emily was a beautiful bride. There's no such thing as a wedding that goes off with a hitch, but all of our hitches were relatively minor so it didn't matter too much. I got to wear my Pretty Pretty Princess dress, which is now retired to spend the rest of my life in a closet. I also managed to make the groom teary-eyed, in a good way, during my speech.

All in all, a phenomenal weekend. Mazel tov to Emily and David Wheeler! I'll see you for Pesach, IYH, in the Holy Land.

To Blog or Not to Blog

When my life is very busy and my brain full of very important thoughts, my blogging tends to dwindle. When it seems like nothing much is happening in my life at all, I find plenty of things to blog about.

I haven't been blogging very much in the past few months. Since Pesach, to be precise. I know that this blog probably has not been the most interesting read since then, and I apologize to those who come here looking for entertainment. The truth is that the things I think about most are the things I can blog about least.

I am still trying to come to terms with losing Liz. Every day, I look at the picture of the two of us that I keep in my bedroom. She and her mother were in Chicago on a very, very cold winter day and I met them downtown. I think we're 19 in that picture. That was five years ago. I look at that picture every day, and I ask myself the same questions: Where are you now? Where did you go? And then the most painful question of all...why did you have to go?

This Sunday will mark 2 months since she passed away (I still have trouble writing those words, let alone saying them), and I'm still very much struggling to accept that I will never talk to her or see her again. Sometimes I forget that she's gone. I didn't realize until yesterday that I still had her email in my address book. The simple act of deleting that email address somehow took on tremendous significance, as though I were eliminating my connection to her. Irrational, I know. Even knowing it was silly, it still took all of my self-control not to close my office door, put my head in my hands and cry.

As I said, this Sunday will mark 2 months. This Sunday is also the wedding of my best friend from high school, Emily, and I am the maid of honor. It's very strange juxtaposing the two. It's a pretty strong reminder that life and love go on. Knowing it doesn't make it easy.

The bottom line is, don't let the blog inactivity fool you. I'm here, and my world is actually a whirlwind of activity and emotion these days. I just haven't really felt like sharing.

Ode to Technology

Background: I loved summer camp (overnight). The weeks I spent there every summer were some of the best in my entire childhood, and the friends I made were some of the truest friends I've ever had. I was so happy back then. But once the summer camp years ended, it was harder to keep in touch. We all went to different high schools in different parts of the Chicagoland area (translation: I lived in the city, and they all lived in various suburbs) and then different colleges.

Today I got an evite for an event I can't go to. Somehow, one of the girls I met my very first day of overnight camp at the age of 9 also got that evite...even though she didn't know the people who sent it. But she saw my name and recognized it, and sent me an email. I wrote back, and then excitedly signed online to tell one of my best friends (aka The Only Girl From Camp I'm Still In Touch With). She told me that another of our camp friends had emailed her a while ago, and forwarded me the email.

So now, thanks to the wonders of evite.com and AIM, I'm now able to be back in touch with two people that I have missed very much of the past eight years. Thanks, technology! (And an honorable mention to Al Gore for inventing the internet, without which none of this would have been possible)

Eeek!

* One week from Thursday is my best friend's bachelorette party (planned by Yours Truly)
* One week from Sunday is my best friend's wedding.
* Three and a half weeks from now, I will be unemployed. (This means I have three and a half weeks to finish everything I've been doing for the past two years)
* Four weeks from now, I'm going to DisneyWorld.
* 8 weeks from now, I take the GREs.
* 11 weeks from now, I leave the country for the better part of a year.
* Sometime in those 11 weeks, I apply to graduate school.

Starting to feel a little panicky...

Yet Another Reason Why I'm Proud of Being a Jew

Warning: Biased perspective. Deal with it. This is my world.

At the top of a Nytime.com article, there is a picture of a wounded man, his left leg a bloody mess, lying on the ground. Standing above him, with a hand placed gently on his head, is another man in uniform. The caption:
An Israeli soldier comforted a wounded Palestinian on Tuesday after a mortar explosion in Ganei Tal that killed three people.

Yes, that's right. An IDF soldier comforting a wounded Palestinian. If the roles were reversed, somehow I strongly doubt a Palestinian "soldier" (or should I call them "militants" like the Times does?) would have comforted a wounded Jew.

And while I'm on the subject of yesterday's attack, let's take a moment to admire the logic of Islamic Jihad. From the same NYtimes.com article:
"The dead were two Palestinians and a Chinese laborer, and the wounded were Palestinians from Khan Yunis, all sitting at a metal table in a greenhouse sorting fresh chives into bundles tied with rubber bands. Two were injured seriously, two moderately and one slightly. They were taken to an Israeli hospital in Beersheba for treatment.

Islamic Jihad took responsibility for the attack, calling it retaliation for the death of Palestinians, including one of its commanders, at the hands of Israeli forces."

Let's see if I've got this right: Islamic Jihad is retaliating for the death of Palestinians by killing more Palestinians (and non-Jewish workers)? And the ones that they only maimed...they're being taken care of by Israelis.

Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. Way to go, Islamic Jihad! You sure showed us!

The Bush Dictionary

This weeks's Stupid Comment By A Stupid President:

Gitmo detainees are "people who hate America, people that have been trained in some instances to disassemble, that means not tell the truth."

Dissemble means to deceive. Disassemble means to take apart. Unless the dictionary editors have been lying and disassembling to us all along.

Random IM Moment of the Day

Cast of Characters:
Adi- Buddy who used to live in Chicago and made aliyah a couple of years ago.
Blog- Blog

Adi: I thought of the name "Rodney" today and then thought of you...but I have no clue why....do you know?
Adi: it was the weirdest damn thing
Blog: My cat is named Rodney
Adi: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!

Weekend Report

It's been a long time since there's been anything of interest to report here in Cara's World. The springtime thawing of the social life seemed to have been delayed by a late frost. Now, however, it truly seems to be summertime and the social life can come out and play. Since this past 3-day weekend was jammed full of people and places (within the city limits of Chicago) and things, it'll be easiest to do a general summary. During the period between Friday and Tuesday, I...

...ate steak with my paternal unit, shot tequila, went dancing, watched the Cubs win, tasted Moroccan soup, saw Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and decided the book is far superior, made chicken stir-fry, walked several miles, watched Spirited Away and loved it, didn't see Star Wars III, had ice cream, and got kisses from Li'l Dino.

There are two unanswered questions which continue to plague me:
1) Why would a man get frisky with a woman in a (male) gay bar/club? It is a truth universally acknowledged that gay clubs are safe zones for women.
2) Meatloaf would do anything for love except that. What is that one thing which Meatloaf will not do?

Bright Shiny Ball of Maybe

I'm in a fantastic mood. The best part is that I'm in a fantastic mood for no particular reason. It's probably just the euphoria of seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and the growing feeling of anticipation as my big move comes closer and closer.

It's all about the possibilities. They seem limitless right now.
So maybe I still have 7 weeks left of work. But after that, I'm on vacation (and I'm going to Disney World!). Maybe my social life has been a little tame lately. Well, it's summertime, and that means the winter hibernation is over. Okay, so there's no guy in my life right now (and there hasn't been for a looooong time). I'm going to a country full of nice Jewish boys, so there very well may be one. He may even be the one. Maybe there will be lots of them (I don't know if that's refreshing or terrifying).

The possibilities just seem endless, and I'm loving it.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Yesterday evening, I stood with Li'l Dino (a.k.a. Cutest 2-year-old this world has ever seen) on a balcony, looking out onto the busy street below.

"Are you watching the people?" I ask.
Li'l Dino nods his cute blond head and tells me, "The people are driving the cars."
"Where are they going?" I ask.
Li'l Dino stops and thinks for a second.
"To Israel," he replies.

The Nakba of International Media

I normally leave the political commentary to others in the blogosphere. It's not that politics don't enter my world, but more that I don't feel the need to share my opinion on it very often. Today, I'm departing from this Cara's World policy, because I feel like it.

We just celebrated Israel's 57th birthday as an independent Jewish state. Jews across the world mark the happy day in various ways. (I went out to a Yom Ha'atzmaut party, though I think it would have been more appropriate to cock a snook at all those out there who still wish to shove me and my people into the Red Sea.) Why do we celebrate? Because for the past 57 years, we've had a country and an army of our own, and every Jew has a place to call home.

Of course, we can't expect our enemies to celebrate with us. What we call "Independence Day", they refer to as "Nakba" or "catastrophe". They've spent the past 57 years trying to strip us of our independence. The international media loves to forget this. With their usual selective hearing, they often publish whatever makes the Jews look bad and the Arabs look good. They've done it again.

Today's newspapers have articles about settlers protesting disengagement and all the havoc they are causing. The papers do not have articles about Abbas (also known as The-Guy-that-Israel-is-Expected-to-Negotiate-With) referring to the establishment of the State of Israel as "the Nakba". Other gems include the statement that "On that day, a crime was committed against a people, who were uprooted from their land and whose existence was destroyed and who were forced to flee to all areas of the world." Qurei (a.k.a. Another-Guy-that-Israel-is-Expected-to-Negotiate-With) was quoted as saying, "our wound is still bleeding 57 years later." Clearly these are men who respect Israel, and are therefore reliable partners for negotiation. Yes, I can see why Israel is expected to trust them. (Note for the stupid people: that was sarcasm) Oh, and by the way, I'm pretty sure that the State of Israel was created precisely because the Jews had just suffered horrible atrocities which attemtped to destroy their entire people and scattered them to all areas of the world. I'm also pretty sure that the Arab countries tried to finish the job the day after Israel was created. So forgive me if I cannot see the establishment of a Jewish state as a "crime".

What does the American media say about these statements? And I quote:

"______________________________________"

That was the sound of silence. They pick out the happy-sounding quotes, where Abbas obligingly tosses out words like "peace," "security" and "stability". The NYTimes uses the headline "Abbas Says Redress for Refugees Is Key to Peace". Now, that particular article does mention Qurei's statement, and then attributes it to the security fence. Call me skeptical, but I don't think that's exactly what Qurei was referring to.

The real catastrophe is not the existence of a Jewish state. The catastrophe is that so much of the modern world is deliberately wiping its memory clean of any recollection of the necessity of having a Jewish state.

Happy Happy! Joy Joy! #18

Mazel tov to Big Brother and BBG on their graduation from law school. You both looked great in the goofy black robes, silly black hats, and long purple hoods. I'm glad we captured the moment on film.

I Heart My Friends

One of the few positive aspects of the past few weeks has been the vivid reminder of why I loved college so much: I have awesome friends. The lack of responsibility and free-flowing alcohol were really just fringe benefits. My friends were what made those 3.5 years in St Louis so phenomenal. I've spoken to and email with so many of those wonderful people in the past few weeks. Some of the people I've been talking to are individuals who I had been close to, but lost touch with. Some are people I had never gotten to know very well. It doesn't seem to matter how close we were in college. Circumstances have brought out the best in everybody. I keep realizing over and over again how lucky I am to have gone to WashU and become friends with these people. Even Allan and Mikey.

In contrast, I just had a bizarre little Friendster experience which reminded me why I disliked high school, and the people in it, as violently as I did. I got a friend request from a guy I haven't spoken to since I was 19 or so. We had been friends, in that "he liked me but didn't want to be seen with me" kind of way. My high school was full of people like that. Still, when I got the friend request, I thought, "Cool. Maybe he's grown up enough to put all that high school bullshit behind him," and accepted the request. When he wasn't added to my list of friends, I figured that Friendster malfunctioned, which it frequently does, and so I sent a friend request to him. Imagine my surprise when my friend request was declined. After all, he tracked me down.

So, I have only the following to say...

To that particular high school classmate: Grow up, man.

To my college friends: You rock.

Glimmer of Sunshine

I got home last night to find a nice large envelope from the Kibbutz Ulpan Program. Inside that nice large envelope was a nice letter informing me that I've been accepted.

I start ulpan at Kvutzat Yavne on September 15. All I'm missing is the airline ticket.

I am now officially going to Israel this fall, for a minimum of five months.

The Unsent Letter

May 2, 2005

My darling Liz,

When your father called me last Tuesday, I was just sitting down to write you another letter. I was going to tell you all about my weekend, and the first days of Pesach. I was going to describe the new outfit I had bought, and tell you about the friends who had come over for seder. Now I can’t seem to remember any of those details. I can only think of you, and of the days that have passed since I learned that you were gone. Three days ago, I stood in a cemetery in Pittsburgh, surrounded by people who love you dearly. Now I am back in Chicago, and something in me just needs to write one last letter.

In my other letters, I told you as much as I could about where I’d gone, what I’d done, who I’d seen, and what I’d thought. It seems silly to do that now. Am I supposed to tell you about your own funeral? I can’t do that. I don’t even like reading or writing the word ‘funeral’ because it looks so cold and final. I don’t know how to adjust to the idea that you’re gone. How can there be a world without you in it? I keep remembering the most random little details: the short-lived crush you had on one of our mutual friends, the little stuffed moose that you kept in your car, the pair of red leather boots I’d wanted to borrow but had nothing to wear them with. I see you so clearly in my mind- in the bakery, on your sofa, in your studio, at the old house, at the new house, in my room. I hear your voice and your laugh. So many tiny memories and moments keep coming back to me, reminding me what a precious gift I’d had, and overwhelming me with the feeling of loss that such a gift is gone.

There are so many things that we just don’t say to our friends. Did you know that I thought you were the best of all of us? I don’t know anyone else who was so close to perfection. I can’t imagine ever meeting someone like you again, and I am so grateful that our paths crossed six years ago, and that we became friends. I know you will never hear this- after all, where can I send it? Yet somehow I hope that by sending it off into the Internet void, you will hear me anyway. I love you so much, my dearest friend, and this will never change. Now you will always be young and beautiful and perfect, and I will always treasure the years that we had and the memories that we made.

All my love,
Cara