8 Years Later

It's been 8 years since 2 planes flew into the World Trade Center. Think about how surreal that sentence would have sounded 8 years and one day ago. In that one fateful day, everything changed. The world before 9/11 was a kind-hearted place, a place where nothing so catastrophic could happen instantaneously. There were problems in other countries sure, but our generation was oblivious to this. We grew up in the 90's, and weren't alive for the Vietnam or Korean Wars. Our world was peaceful (in our eyes). That Tuesday morning changed all that.

Before September 11, 2001, America was in a blissful ignorance, aware that many other countries despised us for our ignorance (and arrogance), but indifferent to it nonetheless. There was terrorism going on around the globe, but it didn't really have an impact on the average American. Suddenly, the spear of violence and bloodshed was thrust into the heart of America. For a week straight, all the basic TV channels showed nothing but the rubble, and countless of replays of the crashes and the subsequent collapse of the Towers. It was all we could think about. We didn't know how we were going to move on from this tragedy. But we somehow managed to move on.

Aside for the previously mundane rendition of Star-Spangled Banner at sporting events, I never really considered this country to be that patriotic. Suddenly, when the ballad was sung at baseball games, all that you saw were countless faces drenched in tears by the end of the song. On porches and cars all you saw was red, white, and blue. The colors were everywhere you went, as if they served as a constant tribute to those who lost their lives. The country, and it seemed that humanity, had been unified; all it took was a horrendous act of destruction.

The defining moment of my parents' generation that everyone henceforth asked, "Where were you when x happened" was Kennedy's assassination. My generation's moment is 9/11. I remember where I was when 9/11 happened. I was in my seventh grade classroom wondering like the rest of the class where the teacher was. Then he walked in slowly and told us all the grim news. My immediate reaction was: "What kind of joke was he trying to pull?" He wasn't joking, as my 12 year-old-brain realized. When I eventually saw the wreckage on TV, I shamefully admit that thought of how nonchalantly I would take the news when I heard of suicide attacks in Israel. I realized that terrorism had hit this country, and whatever impenetrable shield we thought we had to stop these things from happening, was gone forever. One memory from the whole scene that juts out from my mind is how during a (what was supposed to be a worldwide) moment of silence for all the brave souls who perished in the tragedy, some countries were celebrating with singing and dancing. They were celebrating because thousands of people were dead. The audacity to do something like that is unfathomable. I can't believe how cruel and heartless those people were. Well for those of us that have hearts and still feel the loss of human life even after 8 years, let us remember those who died on that day so the rest of us could live.

Don't Cry Over Spoiled Milk

I know it's been a while since I've written a blog, but this funny story prompted me to document the funny/ random things that are happening to me recently that I might soon forget. So consider this for my memory's sake and your entertainment's. So, I was at Dunkin Donuts tonight with Avi and Bentzy (I dunno if I should use their real names but who cares) and I buy a "feast" of sorts (by Dunkin Donuts standards). This mini-meal consisted of an egg-and-cheese on an onion bagel, a strawberry-frosted donut, and... a vanilla-chocolate combo milkshake. That part's important. So I eat my delicious egg-and-cheese, as well as my bagel. Now's the time I'm glad I got a drink. I start taking a large sip from my milkshake, eagerly anticipating the deliciousness of the drink. As I finish my first sip, I say to my two friends, this milkshake tastes funny. (Avi had also noted how funny his chocolate milk had tasted; a eerie coincidence. But he managed to finish his drink, not willing to admit that something was amiss.) Anyway, after one more sip that tasted more than off, I asked Bentzy to taste some just so I didn't think I was crazy. After he drinks from his straw, he almost does a spit-take as the taste hits his lips. "Oh G-d, that's awful," he quickly remarks. That being enough for me, I patiently wait back in line until I can talk to the lone Dunkin worker, who tonight was the Supreme Court of the place, having full power to honestly do what he wanted. Once it's my turn, I tell the guy, "I don't know how to really say this (so shocked by it all), but this milkshake is spoiled." His response, still even now, a good 90 minutes after the story, confounds me: "Well that's what happens when you mix two flavors together." He then asks me to move aside to help the next customer. Not wanting to make a scene yet, I decide to oblige, and wait for the last customer to leave. Now all that's left is me and him. It was the most intense showdown I'd been involved with in quite a while. It seemed clear that neither of us were backing down. After the last person leaves, I asked for him to try it. Naturally, he refused. I then said that it doesn't taste normal. Again he refers back to his ridiculous answer of mixing two flavors. He then suggests to add more ice cream. This man clearly did not understand the whole idea of pasteurization, I tell you that. So as he proceeds to add more ice cream, I tell him that it is just wasting more ice cream. He doesn't care. He adds more ice cream. He then asks me to try it again. To appease him, I took the bullet, and tried a little more. Unsatisfied as I knew I would be, I immediately pushed it back in his direction. I said, "Can I please get my money back?" I might as well have asked him to give me one of his limbs. He ignored me and walked away, making himself some coffee. He then serves someone at the drive-thru. As they pulled up to the window, I told them not to order a milkshake. After he's sufficiently done ignoring me, I ask him to speak to the manager. He tells me that the manager wasn't coming in until tomorrow morning. At this, I was ready to stay there all night if I had to. No way was I going to let this guy win. So after a few minutes of him still refusing to grant my refund, someone I know pulls into the parking lot. I said, "I'll be right back and motion for this guy to help me get my refund. The guy in the van tells me he wasn't planning on going inside, but apparently my assertion for him to help me did the trick. After I come back inside, the guy whips out my $5.29 so fast, I almost forgot that I had waited fifteen minutes for this. My friends told me that my signaling to the other guy must've scared the clerk. Not knowing what a bunch of frum Jews were capable of doing at 12:30 at night was enough to make him give me my money back. Lebowicz 1... Dunkin Donuts... nothing.

Public Speaking

I'm taking a public speaking class this semester. For the people in the highly-acclaimed and challenging business school, it's a requirement; it's not a requirement for me. I am currently a psychology major, but when the matter of career paths is pursued further, I usually give a sheepish, "I don't really know what I want to do with my life." I actually get upset, when there are so many people my age who say they know exactly what they want to do with their lives. Is it because their assurance magnifies my uncertainty? That's probably it. It could also be that they have the clear motivation, that I seem to be lacking, and really wish I had.

But I digress.

So as I said, public speaking. Now I signed up for this class, not just because I heard that it was an easy "A," but more because I regret not taking it in high school, and feel that it's a very important skill to have. Naturally, always wanting to build my ego as each day passes, I join this class. 

The teacher is-- for lack of a better word-- a chiller. He understands the annoying stuff about this school and truly empathizes with us, since he went here for hsi undergrad too. He told us at the beginning of the year, that hopefully we will be able to find out what our biggest fears are, and who we really are as people. Always feeling a constant hesitance about who I really am, I was excited at this prospect. 

A few weeks ago, we were given an assignment to give a speech to inform. The speech had to be interesting, relevant to the audience, and more importantly, presented well. Over the last few years, I've started feeling less embarrassed about things that I do, which is sometimes good, often times bad. I was happy to give a speech; I enjoy public speaking, if it's about a topic I enjoy and the group is small enough. Luckily, I just finished reading a book about detecting body language in others. A highly-interesting read. I decide to share some of the tidbits from the book to the class in my speech.

It took me a while to actually sit down and write out what I wanted to say, but I was able to do it. 

I knew what my selling point would be: Find out when girls like you. Women, who apparently are much more attuned to reading body language than guys, drop several nonverbal signals before making things more obvious with verbal ones. If the guy is too slow, she might figure he's not worth it. Also, guys desperately see a pretty girl somewhere, and think maybe they have a shot. They engage her in conversation, not noticing, the several uninterested looks she gives (fake smiles, crossed arms, etc.). So my point to the gentlemen in my class was: Wouldn't you like to know how to read some of these signals?

When I gave my speech, which I had practiced about 5 or 6 times (the teacher recommended 8), I felt confident I knew what I wanted to say. I made eye contact with people, rarely reading directly from my sheet, and most importantly, I got people interested.  My teacher gave me an "A" on the speech, which I was thrilled about. Also, not only did my classmates and teacher tell me I did a great job, but I felt like a did a great job on it, too. I've also signed on to do a stand-up comedy routine at an event for charity on Sunday. Hoepfully, things will go well.

Now...

 If only YU had a speech major?

Eli

A Night Owl

Why is it that my sleep schedule is so screwed up? I don't really get it. It's not a matter of not being able to fall asleep (thank G-d I don't suffer from insomnia). But, it's I just decide to stay up late. I don't even do anything worthwhile with my time. I usually go to sleep some time between 1:30- 2:30 am, but I'm not doing homework, like most of my friends who are pre-med; I'm wasting time. I check facebook a lot, definitely the biggest waste of time on this planet, but like TV it has so much popularity. So I look at the top of my computer, mesmerized how the clock can tick by so quickly, and realize that I need some sleep. Of course silly enough, I wake up every day feeling quite tired, while the Jiminy Cricket in me is yelling, "I wonder why, moron!" I seriously either need to find a hobby that gives me something valuable to do with my time or just force myself to have a bed time.

Probably signing off two hours too late,

Eli

I Have Mixed Feelings about January

I Have Mixed Feelings about January

I think most people like the month of January. It starts out with a perfect legitimate reason to get plastered, and from that point on, everyone can start out with a clean slate. People hold this image of New Years as being this magical day that gives everyone the ability to start things over because, after all, the calendar is starting over, so why can't they. I don't really buy into the whole New Years resolution concept since most people end up breaking their resolutions after about a week. But New Years aside, January has a certain uniqueness that separates it from all the months. A paradoxical battle rages in my head when it comes to how I feel about the month. On the one hand, it is my favorite month; on the other hand, it is my least-favorite month.

The reason it is my favorite month is because it was the month I was born in. I came into this world on the 11th of January, 1989. Although I never saw a time when jean jackets and scrunchies were popular, I was technically born in the 80’s.

As I was saying, I was born on January 11th. When I was younger, I often would be worried that my gifts from Chanukah would be melded into birthday gifts. Birthday gifts had to be distinct, separate gifts that I was entitled to, regardless of when Chanukah was. Why should the celebration of my birthday be tarnished because of a certain holiday that can't make up its mind if it wants to be at the beginning, middle, or end of December? So I would always look forward to this day honoring my entrance to the world..

I used to have these big elaborate parties when I was younger, usually accompanied by classmates, who I may or may not have been friends with. After all, when you're six, how many people do you really dislike? Through time, when society declares that a person is too old to have the traditional birthday party, it sort of evolved into a dinner with family and sometimes friends.

The gifts also changed with time. Initially, like most kids, I was asked what I wanted for my birthday, or parents' intuition took over and they had a good sense of what to buy me. Throughout the years, the whole element of surprise and excitement about the gifts dissipated. Parents would have less time to find that perfect gift that would light up their child's eyes. And let's not forget how hard it is to really make a teenager happy or even content. So, naturally the concept of a birthday gift evolved into a particular sum of money that would pretty much be consistent each year. Through this evolution, I slowly started feeling less excited about my birthday, knowing that it was just a day where I'd receive some nice money (which don’t get me wrong, I am grateful for), but it has lost some of its sentimentality.

I have trouble pinpointing which of my twenty birthdays stands out the most as being once I can call my favorite, mostly because I don’t remember half of them. But one stands out in my mind as being the most dear to me. This was my 17^th birthday. That January 11^th jumps out to me more than any other because it was the first and (I think last) surprise party that I was thrown. The day went on routinely like many birthdays, me telling every teacher that it was my birthday with the hope of getting some special excuse from not taking a test or going to class. The scheme never worked, and the day carried on. Once school ended my mother picked up me and my friend, B, from school, as was the norm. Instead of driving him home the normal route, my mother was driving in a different direction and she was speaking to B, in a manner that seemed pretty suspicious. When I asked what was up, B told me that they had called a few friends and we were going out to my favorite pizza restaurant. As we got into the restaurant and I sat there sitting with some of my closest friends, and I saw how much effort had been done on my account, I was touched with a sense of happiness that I know should encapsulate every birthday.

That birthday stands out most in my mind as being the happiest and saddest in the most bittersweet of ways, and explains why January is my favorite and least-favorite of months. You see, just a mere six days after that wonderful memory filled with elation and joy came a day that was filled with sorrow and mourning. On January 17^th, my mom died.

Now, as I look ahead every year in the calendar toward January 11^th, I think of how important birthdays are. Those of you that know me know I have this amazing ability to remember friends’ and relatives' birthdays (don't worry, everyone thinks it's weird). I try calling anyone whose phone numbers I have to wish them happy birthday. The reason I do that is because I know how important a birthday is to someone. It’s a day that belongs to the honoree and everything takes a backseat to him. I feel so passionately about birthdays that part of me still has the child inside of him that needs to stay up until midnight specifically to see the clock turn 12:00. I realize how special that birthday was, how special it was to have that great memory of my mother, and to cherish that memory that embodied her kindness.

When January rolls around, I feel the excitement of my approaching birthday, but a great portion of my heart still thinks of that last birthday I spent with my mom. A month that used to be reserved entirely for celebration now has to be shared with the opposite feeling of grief. But every January that comes, I try to think of the positive things that I can learn from my mother's selflessness and generosity, and incorporate her into my daily life.