We cut the legs off of our pants and threw our shoes into the ocean.

Things o' the day:

1. Balloon boy on the Today Show goes on my list of top 10 things I wish I'd never seen.

2. Matt and Kim stripping in Times Square goes on my list of top 10 things I wish I'd seen three years ago.

3. I'm over all the "top albums of the decade" countdowns taking over every single music magazine in my household.

4. My Spanish teacher loves making fun of me.

5. Two college interviews cookin' in the oven. mmmmmm smells delicious.

6. Danielle Ate the Sandwich

7. Wake up in the morning feeling like...a....uhhh...

8. Next major project: manipulating time and space.

9. Breakfast for dinner. That is often what's up.

Been waiting for the sun to rise...

Reading old wall-to-walls, aside from serving as a complete waste of the very little time I have to get a whole bunch of things done, has caused me to come to a couple realizations:

1. Why is it that I can see my conversation with someone back to three years ago when we first met and began talking? Why is it that I had such poor grammar back then?

2. We are going to be really different as a generation for this reason exactly: we can see everything. We're the new shtetl, except without the goats and cows and other "If I Were a Rich Man" details.

3. When I'm forty, I might still be able to trace back to this exact conversation: one that lasted for hundreds of posts and began a real friendship. That's my other realization: we begin friendships through zeros and ones, even if (actually, especially if) we know that person in real life. Being a high school student with a keyboard is like being a knight with an extra arm made out of steel: you can reach over your shield and feel nothing if you lose a finger or two.

4. Wall-to-walls are the new home videos. They are like looking at pictures of yourself when you were a little fat kid. It's awkward and a little painful, because you can see every tiny flaw. Like that time you said "bad grammar" or "lmaozzzz" (both of which can, upon re-reading, unfortunately lead to cringes so fierce that your bones ignite). These priceless moments are frozen, and can be unlocked with just a few clicks...if you're weird enough.

5. My final epiphany: love is real. And it's all over the internet.

Can you tell me how to get...

My new favorite activity is being a big kid and a little kid at the same time.

I have to say that, while I'm busy reflecting on my high school education and filling out college apps and finishing first quarter, I am marveling at the wonder that is Sesame Street. What other way can preschoolers connect with Feist and Tilly and the Wall and Jack Black and Michelle Obama?

I dare you to watch this and not feel at least 50% happier than you do right now.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fZ9WiuJPnNA

A Brief Interlude Addressing College Admissions Directors and the Like...

Salutations!

If you are reading this and are coincidentally affiliated with one of the colleges I am applying to, then Mr. Teague is right. Admissions people DO care what I post on the internet! That's actually rather flattering and somewhat bizarre but we'll overlook that for now.

I have a message I need to get to you right away: I really care about going to college. I really care about my education. I have spent ridiculous amounts of time working up to all the numbers and letters I typed into my application.

So...read my blog? Excuse the language? Love and accept me anyway?

Sure, I guess that's sort of what I was trying to say.

I haven't seen you in a while.

15 days until Camp.
and it feels like just a few minutes ago I was typing this same post in anticipation of Avodah.
it's so weird.

I guess this is what being a grownup feels like.
time goes by too quickly.

but this weekend was fun.

Manischewitz?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4W4DVubs9Z0

Souplantation

Milk was a really good movie.

Probably the most empowering thing I've watched in an extremely long time. But, much to my delight, it gave both sides to Harvey Milk's story. It showed his opposition in a negative light (as is extremely fitting) and it appropriately outlined the flaws in his character. It rightfully let him die a martyr and a powerful activist, but it also gave us insight into his personality. Mostly, it was just damn inspiring. At least for me.

But at the same time, it also reawakened all my anger about Prop 8. It made it seem like Harvey Milk died in vain, like everything he worked for was just reversed by the religious right. It was extremely frustrating to witness, but I guess that's the emotion that lights the fire under the asshole of revolution.


On the bright side, I helped some five year old reach the frozen yogurt machine.

You gotta give 'em hope.

It's just a rift in the Conversation.

lucky i'm in love
with my best friend
lucky to have been
what i have been
lucky to be coming home
again.

Honey honey, come and dance with me.

sometimes all you can do
is just be there
and hope that the people you care
will know.

NFTY, the Common Cold, Owl Eyes, and Pink Shirts.

This weekend is my third NFTY Fall weekend.

How weird is that?

Last year, I felt like NFTY Fall was my Jewish life coming full circle. So then what is this? Double circle? Venn diagram? I don't know.

I think feeling down is contagious. I think it's contagious the same way that laughs and chicken pox and yawning is contagious. And I don't even think I have any reason to feel down. Maybe it's just a mix of my notorious tendency to be impatient, a lack of text message response by a certain special someone, and worrying about my adorable Popop. I really don't know. I seem to say that a lot, and it's even starting to bother me. Why on earth don't I know? Fuck.

I also saw a college consultant today. Quite a card, that lady. Living with her husband in a tiny little cottage overlooking La Jolla, probably one of the most expensive pieces of real estate in southern California. Smiling and waving from her bookshelf was John McCain and Sarah Palin, so I knew that of course we'd get along. Oh, if only you could type sarcasm. But she was one of those sweet right wing nutjobs, like the type that thinks gay culture can be summarized by the Queer Eye guys and contained within the ghettos of Los Angeles and New York City. She was rather audacious as well. I'd say the most memorable moment involved her looking directly at me, pushing over a bowl of Swedish Fish, and asking, "Have you ever met a gay?" It was delightful. I really had to stop myself from choking, laughing, and tearing up all at the same time.

Shalom Shalom. I don't know why you say shalom, I say shalom.

As our country withers, I look back...

___ People Doing Extraordinary Things.

I have loved Heroes for a long time.

But this season is something completely unlike anything we (the viewers) have ever experienced. Sure, it is still a thrilling and mind-bending show employing extremely talented actors and digital effects people. But where did the story line go? How did the show expand so greatly that we can't even keep track of our beloved characters? How did they all go so bad?

What happened to Peter, a nurse from New York City who cared for a sweet elderly black man and dreamt of flight? What happened to Matt Parkman, the cop who wanted to be something greater? What about Claire? Where did her romance go? The show resembles an over inflated balloon. It has completely popped, and now the personalities of the characters have been completely compromised. And I don't think the old Heroes is ever coming back.

life in the house of lowe

Goodbye Waves and Driveways

I don't want my birthday to happen this year. My parents keep asking me what I want. My mom thinks my old Birkenstocks are looking pretty crappy, so therefore I must want new ones. My dad thinks my iPod is breaking (okay so maybe it is...) so therefore I must want another one. What's wrong with all the stuff I have already? It's like "Into the Wild" when Christopher's parents want to buy him a new car for graduation. Why should he want a new car? What's out there to be seen and experienced is so far past any form of temporary, superficial joy that material things can get you. My mom wants me to have a party, because you only turn sixteen once. Not a big thing, like maybe ten kids and a boom box. But how do you tell your mom that the only people you want to celebrate your birthday with are the most amazing forty six individuals you've ever had the joy of spending your summer with, and all of them are sprawled across the country? How do you say nicely: "no, I don't want your shit. I don't want your money. I don't want an iPod or shoes or any of that crap. I don't want any thing. I want my family back."

How on earth do you explain that to your mom?
And how can you love your birthday without that Santa Rosa sunshine?

homesick.

i miss camp.
i miss avodah.

i miss living out loud at the top of my lungs.
i miss eating tater tots and grilling in the jo fo.
i miss snuggling.

i miss talking in the shower.
i miss my sisters.
i miss our bathroom full of magazines.
i miss the sunshine and the trees and the grass.
i miss making friendship bracelets.
i miss the songleading office.
i miss playing guitar for hours everyday.

i miss watching grey's in the bk.
i miss holding hands.
i miss mamas woodsie, rach, and zoe kallah.
i miss newman.
i miss being home!!!

[only 10 months to CIT oh nine]

I'm getting married.

you're all invited.

one month...

camp camp camp!
dan nichols
no more lcc!
songleading
playing guitar all day
sunshine
tater tots
hikes
trees
san fran
cabins!
family
seashell sheets
dee sauce
mirpeset, beit am, beit t'fillah, kikar, mirpa'ah.
too much rock for one hand, baby.

Oh jesus...literally.

Can't we all just leave Barack Obama alone and let him get on with his campaign? Obviously, his reverend is a crazy egomaniac who has decided to drive Obama's campaign into the ground. I'm sick of it. This isn't anything like government is supposed to be. Poor Obie, he's just trying to make a difference.

bubble toes

A few weeks ago, someone told me about a new artist called Colbie Caillat. she told me that Colbie was like Jack Johnson: calm, soothing, and a great guitarist. as the daughter of Ken Caillat, an executive producer working with Fleetwood Mac, i was expecting something mediocre at worst. i'm sad to say that her hit single, "Bubbly," made me bleed from the eyeballs. Yes, she is an actual vocalist who writes her own songs and plays guitar. there is no doubt that those two things win points to even the worst of pop artists. However, what i've begun to realize is that Colbie is frustrating. too often everyone boasts "she is the female version of Jack Johnson." But she is really just the mixture of everything that people HATE about Jack Johnson. Her lyrics are tacky, her songs are overplayed, and advertise ridiculously staged and cheesy romantic situations. It's like a bad movie full of fake love. you think "ooooh, a new guilty pleasure!" and then you realize that there is no pleasure. i'm sorry, coco, but go back to LA.

crispy, crispy benjamin franklin

so someone told me not so long ago that he is a sucker for acceptance. at first, i thought...eh, that's a little weird. especially in his case. but then it kind of started to make sense. right now is the final stretch leading into nfty elections. of course, i tell that to anyone except for a select group of maybe 200 people and it means nothing. no one knows what it is. even my own parents don't really get it. it's not just acceptance. it's not a cult, it's not a place for jews to hook up or smoke pot. it's just being who you are and finding people who love you. it's like that textbook definition of family. which is why i understand his need for acceptance. because i can't imagine my life without my nfty family. because i know they love me no matter what, and i can hardly say that about most people at school. and hell only knows, if i didn't have that unconditional love, i might have to start caring about what people at school think. i might have to buy a juicy couture jacket.

so really, world, what i'm trying to tell you is this: a craving for acceptance is not as weird as i previously thought. and i'm just so ready to get back into the arms of my love, nfty. yes, that's tacky, but there will never be a time in which my life isn't tacky.

From here on in, I shoot without a script.

This song is for the rats who hurled themselves into the ocean when they saw that the explosives in the cargo hold were just about to blow. Let them all go.

This song is for the soil that's toxic clear down tho the bedrock where nothing of consequence can grow, drop your seeds there, let them grow. Let them all go.

This song is for the people that tell their families that they're sorry for things they can't and won't feel sorry for. Let them all go.

Citizens of tomorrow...cheer it on!

If you take of Montreal and throw in a girl with a green violin, you get Eagle Seagull.

If you take Good Shoes and the Rakes and throw in four extremely attractive nerds, you have Tokyo Police Club.

According to Christopher, if you take Sean Penn and give him a cousin with Downs, then you have We Barbarians.

If you put two kids with big headphones in downtown San Diego and fill them with In N Out and then throw them into an amazing show with 'seizure lights', you have my night. UH MAZING.

Avo-dah-dah-dah-dah.

I'm in!
Oh my god, I'm in!

Don't want to say I told you so...but...

told you so!

i am proud like a mom. his collection was gorgeous, original, and FIERCE. of course we all knew he was going to win, but confirmation is always comforting. i'm ready to see what this kid's going to do with his 100 grand.

Avo-di, Avo-do

I just interviewed for AV08. Yikes.
Let's get some bagels to calm our nerves.

Just something about nothing in particular...

I think I would like to be Diablo Cody.

Disdain and Pepchatas

Okay. So I realize that Pepchatas are a basically obsolete beverage invented by two Jews cerca 1999. But it's delicious. On a completely different note, I am watching a video of myself when I was three years old. My dad tends to think he's cool when he does things like make DVDs out of old school tapes that should never be watched. Back then, I was made of Band Aids and fake wisdom and cherry spin pops. And I couldn't ride a bike. I just couldn't do it. So this video progresses and by now I'm about ten. And I still can't ride this stupid fucking bike. And I just crashed into a fence. I think my dad was getting pretty close to disowning me, because you can hear him kind of sighing into the video camera. Oh, yikes, I just hit some old people in a golf cart.

Websters: Listen Up

Lately, I've been compiling a list of all that newfangled colloquial language that is so popular amongst our highly sophisticated student body.

lope- low profile. To "lope" is to keep something undercover or on the "down low." (see also: lope the mule, loper, lopers.)

steez- a complex combination of style and ease. To have a steez truck or some steez-y shoes implies that said possessions are "cool" or "dope." It may also indicate a unique quality.

mob dez- to "tear it up" by participating in desert dirt biking or four wheeling.

bro- a young white male listening to awful music of the hip hop persuasion. He may also have a "lifted" truck, ugly girlfriend, ugly hair, blank expressions, and Toyota Longbeds.

For more valuable vocabulary lessons, see www.urbandictionary.com

New Years Resolutions

Jesus Camp: What Did Potter Do?

So I'm watching Jesus Camp with an open mind. Probably because it is 3 in the morning and I'm still sugar buzzed from ice cream cake almost four hours ago. But anyway, here I am with my open mind. And there is a...large...lady talking about sin. And kids crying because they are being "saved" by Jesus. And school teachers preaching Creationism. And they are praying to Jesus that their Powerpoint system doesn't break down. And the most anti-liberal brainwashing bullshit ever. But here I am with my open mind. I'm thinking "well, okay, fine. It is their right to think this. It is their right to live like this. And, hell, even if I don't like it, it is their right to teach their children this. And they probably don't like me that much for being a gay-loving, pro-choice commie liberal."

And THEN this lady opens her mouth. And she says that Harry Potter is a sinner. He is not a hero. He does not stand for good or justice. And I'm thinking "WHAT? Harry Potter is every little kid's hero! He is a symbol for what every kid wishes he or she could go out and achieve! Harry Potter fucking rocks." And then I think back to the end of the seventh book, when Harry decides that he is willing to sacrifice his life for the good of the world, and he steps in front of Lord Voldemort's wand unarmed. So, to stretch the truth, Harry is essentially laying down his life in front of the Lord for the good of humankind. Take that, Jesus Camp!

Sweeney Todd

Disgustingly fantastic and fantastically disgusting.

Fabulously haunting and hauntingly fabulous.

Brilliantly scary and scarily brilliant.

Half the cast of 'Harry Potter', the darkest humor one could find, and Tim Burton.

People Pies!

In the Kitchen, Boiling Society...

I heard the epilogue to Crime and Punishment was bad.
"Shannanagins," I thought.
So I finally just grew a pair and read it.
I heard right.
It's kind of like my initial refusal to go see Across the Universe.
I should have just gone with my gut.
So now I'm just busy pretending it doesn't exist.

Something to Ponder...

I have a pal named Christopher.  More or less than three days ago, he was nearly run over by our English teacher, who just so happens to hate the pair of us.   Anyway, I am about to turn in a paper to said teacher.  She will hate it, but I figure I will post a small bite as food for thought.  The paper is on Crime and Punishment.  If you haven't read it, then please do.

Raskolnikov’s bitter attitude yet somewhat clean conscience displays his obvious loyalty to Nihilism.  He believes that if he were to have had stronger convictions and not confessed, his actions would therefore have not been a crime.  This is an interesting point.  A common cliche is “beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”  Could the same not be true for crime?  Could not crime be solely in the eye of the beholder, and society just plays to the “eyes” of the common people?  If being a “sinner” depends on one’s definition of a “saint”, then perhaps one’s definition of a criminal depends on one’s definition of a crime.  If Raskolnikov was the ubermensch and had stronger conviction in the crime he committed, then he would essentially have been able to forgive himself.  However, he strips himself of his rights to the crime he commits when he conforms and confesses.  To Raskolnikov, the crime is confession, and the punishment is eternal remorse.

Pushing Daisies

This brilliant show came on the scene earlier this fall, and I have been addicted ever since.  Clever yet slightly creepy humor is reminiscent of the Adam's Family, yet bright and slightly trippy color schemes keep it fresh.  Whoever does the costumes for this show is a genius.  Basically, Pushing Daisies fits the bill for a good show: intriguing plot, fucked up family members, matching personality disorders, death, gore, and a loveable protagonist who seems to grow cuter (and yet more nerdy?) every single episode.  Wednesday nights will never be the same.  (Sorry, Project Runway)

Juno

I am so excited for this movie. First of all, our heroine, Juno, is amazing. And our hero is adorable. And together they make the cutest teenage parent couple ever. And it also happens to be by the same director of "Thank You For Smoking." I can't even begin to explain how ready I am to see this movie, so I'm just going to paste in the movie poster.

Jesus, etc.

Today was cold.  Frozen, even.  If anyone needs a reference point, my friend from Virginia (who also witnessed the greatest documented snowfall Rhode Island has ever had) thought it was cold.  So I suppose my chattering teeth and numb toes have proper justification.

To further beat around the bush, I'm going to talk about the man himself.  The big Decider.  I was watching Daily Show reruns and saw a quote that I love..."An Iraqi child could never understand the joys of Chanukah."  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, yours truly Mr. Bushie said this one.  And tonight, as I unwrapped volume I of Sesame Street, I realized that not even the big Bush himself could understand the joys of watching Jackie Robinson chilling with Oscar the Grouch.

But that's not what I want to talk about.  What I really want to do is...well...admit that I am sort of maybe kind of...well...wrong.  OKAY I said it!!! I was plain wrong about the ADL program!!!  (Hear that Trocchio?  You can stop sucking that water weenie now!?)  Anyway it turned out well...I now have a friend who can tell me how much he can bench press.  (Which, if you couldn't already tell, is not exactly the top quality I usually search for in a pal.)  Mostly I just look for someone who can put up with my crazy brain...but you know what?  I found someone in ASB...yes, everyone, the big Asshole Klan itself, who can do just that.  New friends are always fun, but this time they are just random.  Which kind of makes me love them more.  SO FINE, Troch, you are off the hook for now, but I'm sure that by tomorrow I'll be able to point out some other stupid shit that you have done...*cough cough* "the dream football field" *cough cough*

Water Weenies and Socioeconomic Reforms

Okay, I'm going to make one thing clear right now.  This post has nothing to do with Water Weenies or Socioeconomic Reforms.

However, it does have to do with school and the ADL project.  Which is exactly what you would expect, much like water weenies, I suppose.  And as a water weenie fan, I am incredibly disappointed by the silliness of the program.  We are supposed to be fighting RACISM...and yet somehow we are still talking about high school cliques?  Did anyone ever think that the only reason that we HAVE cliques is because high school teachers always try to make it seem like we do?  We don't all fit in to one category, adults!!!  We are all individuals, and trying to make us fit into neat little boxes doesn't work anymore.  In fact, I doubt it ever did.  Life isn't some clean cut little package that you can safely tuck away.  It isn't black and white.  It's messy and sloppy and nasty and gross and grey...like a booger.  Life is like a big fat booger, and adults are trying to just cover it all up with tissues.   There is not enough Kleenex in the world, let me just tell you that.

So go grab yourself a water weenie and SUCK IT!!

Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs

So right now I'm in my temple youth group lounge with my pally Leah Schoenfeld who is currently a toaster. She may grow up to be a refrigerator.

Regardless, I am about to embark on what is sure to be the greatest adventure of our teenage lives, my second NFTY FALL weekend. So I'll be back on Sunday with plenty of insightful and witty banter for the cyber world to enjoy. Peace!
(by the way, the title of this entry happens to be a book by Chuck Klosterman. Go read it.)

The Present Is Lame

Models used to be fat.

And they were hot.

I miss the 1930s.

Cupcakes and Communism

So as my Spanish class knows, I am a commie.

Loving communist ideals is just one of those things I can't help, like menstruation and loving 10 Things I Hate About You.  So here is my idea.

Last week my pal Marisa and I were making some delicious cupcakes.

I noticed that in order to make good cupcakes, you have to put equal batter in each cup...

and equal frosting on each cupcake...

and everyone gets the same amount of delicious morsels.

And whether you are the unfortunate parent who has to make the cupcakes...

or the kindergardener with blue frosting on its face...

you get the same amount of cupcake.

Therefore, universe, I pose to you this groundbreaking culinary concept:

Cupcakes are a perfect example of communism.

[And why it is so delicious.]

When Jon Stewart Blows Your Mind...

So I'm watching the Daily Show right now.  It's a re-run but I haven't seen this one before...which is a pretty rare occasion.

So anyway...Barack Obama is on the show.  And I'm listening to his voice.  And his tone.  And his language.  And it BLOWS MY FUCKING MIND.

He speaks with ELOQUENCE!  He uses words like "quagmire" and "Iraq" without sounding like a damn fool.  And it blows my mind BECAUSE all I can think about is..."so WHY didn't we get this before??"  And suddenly I'm reminded of why I so often fail to identify with America.  BECAUSE IT IS FUCKING CRAZY.  [I know, it is a little bit late to have this realization, but bear with me here]  How is it that we have this president that can't speak, while a man so much younger than him is not only a great speaker, but can carry on intelligent conversation that ISN'T written out for him.  Wow.  Growing up under the Bush regime has certainly been a ride, and you know what?  I'm just so ecstatic for it to be over.

The only thing I'm going to miss about old Bushie is that I'm no longer going to be able to laugh whenever the president opens his [or her!] mouth.  Oh well, I guess I'll have to go buy another Dane Cook album.

       

happy smallpox day [thanksgiving].

So What Now?

Feeling old is nothing new to me.  I just feel old.  Not in the achy boned, denture glued, hip replaced way that actual old people do.  But old in the way that makes me feel young.  Which doesn't make sense.  But on the way to my desk chair I stubbed my toe and it hurts.  So please forgive my nonsense.

Okay.  So today is November 19th.  The memorial day of a girl I never knew.  Lesley Carrion.  I never even got to meet you, and yet I feel like I know you.  It's an oddity that I will never grow accustomed to.  It's weird for me to tell your sister: we will never  forget you.  Because I don't have any memories to forget.  Isn't it weird how you can love someone on a leap of faith?  I don't know, I think it is.

My toe still hurts.

Anyway, back to my first point.  I feel old.  I just registered for driver's education online.  Which should make me feel young...I mean, most of my friends already drive and have cars and everything.  But it makes me feel old.  Not in a way that makes me want to go buy a power chair, but in a way that makes me excited.  I'm going to drive.  (Just like in the song by Dispatch!)

That's all.