Funny (even if misspelled - and if you've ever read my posts you surely can't blame him)

So my brother, along with some of his art school buddies have an art blog that they post on. It's mostly how they keep in touch with each other post college, and help critique each others works in progress. They do occasionally post some interesting stuff about comic book art and animation in general, so feel free to check it out if you desire.

I finally linked it in my list of links (been meaning to for a while). Since this is old stuff I figured I'd repost it here (until he tells me to take it down I guess) because I think it's funny .

He drew and wrote this himself and it makes me laugh every time I read it (and not because he misspelled "Scared").

And for some reason I can't seem to put the picture on this blog so I shall link to it directly. Please read and laugh.

CLICK HERE FOR THE IMAGE

I should hold onto my thoughts

So I was thinking about a political entry, only I realized I just put down all my ideas in a comment on Rawbean's blog and putting them up here would be redundant. So I was going to do a food blog instead, talk about the food system in this country, but then I realized I ranted about that not so long ago in a comment on Amber's blog, leaving me with very little to write about now.

So, instead of what could have been well thought out essays on current events you're stuck with my less well thought out rants on those previously mentioned blogs, and a bit of the rest of the random thoughts that are currently floating through my head.

I am getting totally burnt out of working at Starbucks. All my energy is just gone. Like a zombie going through the motions. And it doesn't help that I've been getting mostly closing shifts and that just kills the entire day.

Was invited to an underwear party that I couldn't go to because of my previously mentioned gripe. I probably wouldn't have gone to said party if I was able because I don't so much like people, especially strangers, and I would have known no one at said party save the hostess. And though I wouldn't mind seeing the hostess in her underwear (she's crazy hot and she knows it), I don't know how comfortable I would have been letting everyone else see me in my underwear. But it became a moot point, which is the part that's bothering me.

I liked the Iron Man movie. It was kinda predictable (who is he gonna fight but another big Iron man?) but was fun anyway. Not too keen on Gwenneth Paltrow, liked how they changed Jarvis from a human butler in the comic to a computer ai system in his house. Am interested to see where they go with the Ten Rings terrorist group and how they link it to The Mandarin without seeming racist in the next movies. Also think it's funny that Samuel L Jackson played Nick Fury as Nick Fury in the Ultimate Universe is modeled after Sam Jackson. Weird meta-fiction post-modern stuff going on there.

Can't wait for Indiana Jones. Am a little worried about it though. The previous movies are so good (Well the first and the third ones are) and it's been so long and so much build up that if this one is anything but amazing it's gonna be a disappointment.

Weired out a bit after talking to a co-worker about the batman movies. It turns out that the first michael keaton batman film came out a year before she was born (she's only 18). I remember seeing that in the theater.

Got a new computer a while ago (a macbook pro laptop) and having been having fun using it. Only I don't really need all the applications that it comes with and don't do music or movies, and feel like I should have just bought a regular macbook instead. On the plus side it was about 600 dollars cheaper because I was able to get one on clearance (only 2.2 ghz instead of the newest model which is 2.4) through the NYU computer store using my brothers student discount. I spent what I was planning on spending on a regular macbook, but could have definately saved a lot more money (and I really don't have that much to spare).

Another brother just got engaged. I don't remember if I posted bout this or not, and am too lazy to go back and check. I'm happy and excited for him. I just wish people stopped assuming this would make me unhappy for some reason as he is younger than me (they assumed the same thing when my other brother who just got married about two months ago, who is also younger - I have three younger brothers, I am the eldest). What kind of ass hole do people think I am that I'd be sad because my younger brothers found happiness first? I'm a bit jealous (not that I want to be married, but it'd be nice not to be single) I won't lie about that, but it's not an angry jealous, it's more like a be inspired jealous to make me get off my ass a bit more. And compared to the happy, the jealous is infinitesimal. And I'm psyched for the wedding. The last one was just so much fun.

In the same vein, I wish people would stop asking me when it's going to be my turn to get married. It's like they want to depress me by dredging up my singleness (this goes double for the people that mention J_ in the same sentence, as if talking about my ex who I was crazy, madly, head over heels in love with and who broke up with me, is supposed to somehow make me feel good about myself and my life? Assholes).

I just finished a short story that I'm kinda proud of and want to maybe send it out to literary magazines. But I'm still looking for some readers to give me some feedback. So if you are interested in helping me out, and reading it and letting me know what you think I'd be happy to send it to you. I'm not posting it in my fiction blog because I want to do something with it and that's just for random ideas and work I don't care as much about.

That's it I guess. Thanks for reading

Suckers.

Why only wenseday?

Why have I only been posting on Wenesdays? Well, that's an extremely boring question. Don't you have anything better to do with your time than ask something that absolutely no one either cares about, or has even noticed? If you are reading this blog, then I assume that answer to the latter n is a resounding no. Thus, I shall answer the former.

The only time I've really been at the computer with the time or inclination to write, ie haven't been working at starbucks since 5:30 in the AM, or am about to go into Starbucks to work until 11:00 in the PM, is when I am at Tribeca Productions on Wensedays and often, especially during the writer's strike, have nothing else to do. Now that the writer's strike is over, I still have little to do, hence my posting only on Wenesdays.

Some news:
I added a link to my youngest brother's new blog That Green Gentleman in my link section.

I'm getting sick, but trying desperately not to. I didn't sleep at all on Saturday night. We went out for my brother's bachelor party (not the one with the blog) and I didn't get back from Manhattan until four in the am. As I was scheduled to work at six thrity I figured sleep would just make me more tired and I stayed awake and worked my eight hour shift. I got a lot of sleep afterwards, but everytime I wear myself down like that I get sick. And always the same way too. Sore throat that turns into a runny nose and congestion headache, and is usually gone in about a weeks time. So I figure I have a few more days of drinking copious amounts of orange juice, eating lots of soup, and trying my best to stay out of the cold and rain (doens't help that I was out shoveling snow three times yesterday, and that it is horrid and cold and rainy today), drinking tea, and sleeping.

As always, good night, and good luck.

Still so sleepy

This was going to be my week of lists, where everyday was a different fun list (no not links, just random Ami thoughts) but I've been too tired to get anything together. Still working more hours than I would like, and sleeping too little. I've had a bit of fun, went out for dim sum with two freinds yesterday before work, so that was nice.

I started the ball rolling in planning a bachelor's party for my brother who is to be wed in March, but completely fell off the ball due to work, exhustion, and a bit of laziness. Lucky one of Hillel's freinds picked up the ball and there is a tentitive plan for the weekend. So I got lucky, and feel a little bad that I didn't acutally plan anything myself, just threw it out for someone else to plan.

To be honest, having written only two paragraphs I've already forgotten what my point was going to be in this post. I know I had a point when I started, but now, not even two minutes into typing this, I've lost it. I need to stop working six days a week.

And on that note, hooray brother, hopefully it will all work out. And lists shall probably come next week, if I get back on my game.

Stay happy kiddos

Also, it seems Rawbean stopped blogging again. I'd have probably known this sooner had I read her blog more frequently. But I read other people's blogs about as frequently as I post my own, which gives you a pretty good idea as to how often that is. It isn't that I don't like the blog, if I didn't I wouldn't link to it from here, just that when I don't blog myself I kinda forget about the blogging of others. it's one of those out of site, out of mind (and that was an intentional pun, site instead of sight, as in website, it's funny because they're homophones).

Of course it's never as bad as it's imagined

Spoke to my folks about J_. Like I predicted they aren't happy, but unlike I feared, they are much more accepting and polite about the relationship. They aren't accepting in they way that they are supportive, but they aren't blowing up about the whole thing. It was a calm talk where they both were more angry about the lying than the relationship itself - well, sorta. Of course the lying was going to be the issue, I knew that, and we dealt with it like mature people. My father is, well, to put it nicely, displeased about as much in the relationship as he was with the lying. To his credit he's refrained from preaching to me about inter-dating, and now asks about J_ in a sincere manner (because he is sincere). My mother, contrary to any comments Jason might have made last post, is at least feigning supportiviness. She isn't doing it very well, but she's trying which is very nice, and more than I feel I deserve after lying to them for so long (though I really only feel guilty for getting caught since I was planning on telling them just not yet, as if the situation happened all over again I'd still probably do the same thing - does that make me a bad person?). They've also said that they want to invite J_ over for a friday night dinner this summer. Friday Night is a thing. It's the Sabbath Meal. My pops being a rabbi this is a proper (though not at all formal) family meal. We all sit down together, eat a big meal, and do the appropriate rituals one is supposed to do for the sabbath meal. It's not a huge deal to invite J_ to friday night, but it's a much bigger deal to invite her for Friday over any of the other nights of the week.

So, my thoughts currently. I was taking to a freind about the relationship, and the folks, on both sides. On J_'s side, her brother doesn't like me much, but mostly due to the age gap. And I can respect that, even if I don't like that he doesn't like me. Her mom doens't like me because I'm "too small and I have bad vibes." Not an exact quote, but that is how I've been informed that she doesn't like me (at least that's how J_ put it). I have a harder time respecting this, only because it's a bit vague and I think is just masking other prejudices that she isn't going into, or at least that J_ isnt' telling me. But I respect her Mom, because she's her Mom, and if we ever talk I think I can win her over - someday. Regardless, in her family I'm the negative aspect in the disaproval.

In my family, my siblings have no problems with J_, at least not that they have told me. They are neutral, mostly because they haven't really hung out with her. Asaf, who I think might have spoken to her the most seems to like her. My folks don't approve of the relationship because she isn't Jewish. But they don't hold that against her. It's me they disaprove of because I'm dating a non-jew. The Non-Jew in question; once they meet her they'll probably really like her. So once again, though this time in my family, I'm the negative aspect in the disaproval.

Not very cool.

But what can you do?

like a pretzel twisting itself into more knots

I got sun bunred yesterday. All along my arms. It really sucks. It made sleeping difficult becuase everytime I'd move and and anything would rub up against them it'd hurt.

But that's really not the big deal. I've kinda, sorta, a little bit, been lying to my folks about J_. And by kinda, Sorta, A little bit, I mean I have most definately been lying to my parents. I've been living at home for far too long (can't seem to get a job - which is a whole other rant) and am forced to tell my folks of my comings and goings. Not so much because they are really strict or anything, just that in the course of a conversation they'd ask, "where are you going?" But only if I was going somewhere.

I haven't told them about J_ because I didn't want the tsuris (the headache) of explaining to my parents (one a rabbi, the other a jewish educator) that I was dating a non-Jew (J_ is chinese, and mildly a buddist). They are pretty much on my case about, well the rest of my life, and this was just one more thing I didn't want to have to deal with. The plan, at least in my head, was that I'd tell them if it got serious enough beteen me and J_ (which it kinda has) and once I did get a Real Job. That way, there would be less to nag me about, and I'd be able to move out of the house. It was going to be on my terms, in my somewhat passive aggressive sort of way. Sure it wasn't the best plan, but it was a plan that made me feel better about lying to my parents (which I've been feeling guilty of for almost as long as I've been lying).

I'm up in Syracuse right now where I stayed with J_ for the weekend. My mom called. Amtrak called my house - because I gave them my home number when I reserved my ticket back - and told them that my train from Syracuse was going to be an hour and a half late. So my mom calls me and says, "You lied to us." Which is possibly the worst way to wake up ever. I told them I was going to see freinds in Boston this weekend. Then she gave me the train info and the number who to call. She was very pleasant over the phone, didn't even sound angry, which to be honest, makes me feel even worse.

So that cat is mostly out of the bag. And not only do I feel like a heel for lying for so long (I mean i felt like a heel while I lied, it's just worse that my lie was forced into the open instead of me taking charge and doing it myself) - well, I don't have a second thing. Now my life is going to get both easier and harder.

The worst part is, and it's something I deserve, and something that mekes me feel like I'm in high school all over again, they won't be able to trust me when I tell them anything in regards to my comings and goings, which is in turn going to make living at home hard for all of us.

Guilt and anxiety suck.

dumb

I'm up at this ungodly hour on a Sunday because I'm the idiot who read the schedule wrong and thought I was working from five-thiry to ten forty-five in the AM when it is in fact in the PM. Tonight my brother (the second of three) is having a birthday dinner (21st birthday in fact) in the city tonight and I already said I could attend.

The only reason I'm still up is so I can call the person working the eight AM shift and switch hours. I hope he can switch (not calling him to the slightly more reasonable hour of seven fifteen) otherwise I have to bail on my brother, which is completely uncool.

Why I am a huge dork (or strike one off the list - sorta)

I am no longer intimidated by Manhattan. I was for the majority of my life, thinking it was just too big and crowded and scary. Since moving to Queens I've been operating on the basic (and Noodles please forgive the cliche) "fake it 'till you make it" principle. The surprising thing: it worked. I haven't made it in Manhattan (in any sense of the phrase "made it") but I am comfortable figuring out how to get around and even confident that if I get lost I can still find my way home. Granted this is only for walking and taking the subway. Driving on the Isle of Manhattan is an altogether different issue.

This sudden growth of character occurred yesterday as I made my way from the butt end of Queens to the Starbucks at 31st and 7th for a Starbucks training class. First I awoke to the horrid sound of the telephone, my manager called to remind me that I did in fact have a class in Manhattan that day (a fact I knew and was hoping to sleep in a bit as I worked 'till closing the night previous). I was supposed to be dressed up to Starbucks standards (black or light khaki pants, white or black shirt, black shoes). As I wasn't going to be working behind a bar or waiting on customers, I decided they don't get to tell me what to wear, thus I wore my new semi-hipster looking brown checked pants (only six bucks on sale and the first article of clothing I've ever purchased from the Gap) and my blue sneakers (I was gonna wear my red converse high tops to really flesh out the hipster look, but it had snowed and canvas converse sneakers are the exact opposite thing one should wear in the snow). As a compromise I wore a black turtle neck, because it was in fact cold and a turtleneck was a good idea.

The class: boring, boring, boring. Five hours that could have been one, tops. Most of it was learning all about Starbucks corporate (who cares) and proper customer service. The meaningless phrases "enthusiastically satisfied customers" and "legendary customer care" were tossed at us as frequent as McCarthy would discuss supposed members of the red menace. I don't know how legendary I can be without removing a sword from a stone and then being crowned king of England (though I would make a good king). And how enthusiastic can a caffeine addict be before taking that first sip of coffee in the morning, and is the enthusiasm really because of my service or because they are addicted to caffeine? Though I think I finally got the hang of the coffee tasting thing.

After five and a half hours I left the Starbucks and made my way up to Midtown Comics to meet my brother Hillel who just got out of work. We decided (rather I decided and he was gracious to accompany me) to go to the Cake Shop in the lower east side to see the punk band The Vandervoorts. They were up with two other bands, the Ottomen and Paper Fleet. We had little interest in the other two and were hoping the Vandervoots would be up first so we can leave early. But the show wasn't until nine and it was barely six o'clock. We called our youngest brother Asaf (a freshman at NYU) and headed downtown to Chickpea - a falafel and Shwarma joint, to meet him for dinner. We ate, hung out, got a call from Lily - Hillel's girlfriend - to let us know she'd meet us at the Cake Shop, retired briefly to Asaf's dorm, then leaving Asaf behind (the show as 21+ and he’s only 18) hopped on the F train to Delancy Street to make it to the show on time.

We got there exactly at nine. No one started playing until around ten. Cake Shop itself is quite possibly my new favorite place in Manhattan. Upstairs (ground level) it's like a bakery/coffee shop in the front - selling pastries, coffee and such. In the back they sell cd's - lots of independent music I've never heard of, some of it really cheap. Downstairs in the basement is a bar and small area for the musicians to perform. It isn't very big, maybe 60-70 feet long and only about 15-20 feet wide. It's dark, lit solely by a few recessed bulbs in the back and over the bar, and Christmas lights over the "stage". It's small, cozy, and so eclectic you could plotz (hooray Yiddish! the ultimate dorkifier). Apparently they have a good beer I've never heard of but my brother likes for only three bucks a bottle - which is a really good price for a beer I've never heard of and have already forgotten, or so he says.

Why, you may ask, did I venture all the way to the lower east side, to this small underground (by which I mean literally beneath street level) bar for three bands no one (two of them, even I) has ever heard of? The answer is simple. If you check out my previous post, the first name on the list is Doroth Gambrell. Dorothy, author/aritst of my favorite web comic Cat and Girl is also the guitarist of the band (you guessed it) the Vandervoorts.

The place was anything but packed. I think Hillel, Lily, and I were the only people there who weren't friends with any of the bands. If I were to say there were 25 people there total (including the bands themselves) that would be me being generous.

So we sat, talking, Hillel, Lily, and I, waiting for an hour before the Ottomans got on (the Vandervoots were to play second). I was hoping it'd be a quick set because I didn't want to stay in the city so late, I still had to take the LIRR back to my place in Queens. What I thought would be a cheesy indie rock trio turned out to be very enjoyable. The Ottomen in my opinion sound a bit like early Weezer, but much more light hearted, happy. All their songs, save "lonely surfer girl" were fun, upbeat, some funny, and most tongue in cheek. Their songs ranged from a short bit about Dandelions, a bizarre slapstick song about bloody red socks and how they got that way, and a song about King Kong sung from his perspective on the whole affair. The acoustics weren't the best, and they sounded a bit like a garage band, with the playfulness of people still playing in their garage for their friends. I wouldn't call it amateur, just kids my age having fun playing rock star but not taking it seriously.

Next, the Vandervoorts. A punk rock quartet. All their songs were short, probably no more than a minute, and each ended very abruptly. It was very punk, in the more old school idea of punk. Not in the poppy perfectly mixed and harmonized young punks (Sum 41 I'm looking at you) you see on MTV who wear spiky green hair and some chains "punk." This was very much the unmixed, raw punk sound, played by people into the music, who dressed just the way they liked, not to make a "statement". But just like the band before them they played a bit tongue in cheek, never taking themselves too seriously. The bassist in particular made the most adorable faces when she played. Maybe not something one looks for in a punk rock band, but for these guys in this setting, it just worked.

They finished their set a little after eleven. We were itching to go (both Hillel and Lily needed to wake up early today, and I wanted to get home at a reasonable hour). Now here is the big news. After the set, after they cleaned up but before Paper Fleet went on, I walked over to the band. I shall repeat. I walked over to the band. Granted there was barely anyone else there but this was a big step for me. I am generally the shy and awkward guy who hides in corners during social gatherings. But I walked over to the band - well really just the bassist and guitarist as the other two members disappeared into a back room.

This is how it went down.

"Hi, I don't want to bother you, but I'm going to be a bit of a geek for a second, as I generally am a geek, which is neither here nor there really," I ramble when I'm nervous, obviously, "and I wanted to say I really liked your set tonight."

"Thanks." They both said and smiled, real friendly like.

"It was really good. Er... one of you makes Cat and Girl?"

The bassist pointed to the guitarist, smiled, then walked to the back room.

"I just wanted to say I'm a big fan of the comic. It's my favorite web comic. I like it a lot."

"Thanks." Dorothy said as if trying to hide in her beer. She was very quiet, and seemingly very shy (or she just wanted to get the hell away from me). "What's your name?" And she put out her hand.

Again, I ramble when I'm nervous. "Ami, Amichai, really but no one can really pronounce Amichai. Ami. I'm Ami. Dorothy, right?" She nodded and we shook hands. "It’s how I learned about your band and this show. I can’t stay to hear the next band, I gotta get back to Queens." I’m master of the more information than necessary school of conversation. "But I'm glad I came, and just wanted to say I really like your comic, and the band was really good."

I don't generally get star struck. Big names most often don't phase me. If, say I bumped into John Malkovitch on the street - and I have, literally on the crowded streets of Harvard Square in Cambridge, a bit embarrassing really - I wouldn't get all tongue tied (I wasn't in fact; I apologized and we both went on our merry ways). For some reason however, when I meet minor celebrities (or those who are only famous in my head) I am a loss for words. When I met Scott Mccloud at his book signing I couldn't come up with a thing to say. And now, shaking hands with a girl who lives in Brooklyn, draws a web comic, and is in punk band no one has heard of, I giggle with nervousness. The best part, was that she seemed so shy and embarrassed, demurely shaking my hand, quietly thanking me while seemingly wishing she could hide inside her beer bottle. Had I more money and more guts I would have offered to buy her a drink. Not due to any romantic inclination, just because I really admire her work. But I did not have more money, and I certainly am a coward so I excused myself saying I had to get back to Queens.

"Thanks for coming." Was the last thing she said as I smiled equally shy, and walked back to Hillel and Lily and the three of us walked back to the subway, not bothering to wait around to hear Paper Fleet play.

I took the F train to 32cnd and 6th, then walked up to Penn station, took the 12:21 train back to Queens, and walked from the station, about a mile home in the snow. Over all I'd say it was a very good day.

Fond Memories of Narnia

Once again I was going to attempt to write about my father's honarary degree but am distracted by Ms. Noodles newest post (and for those of you who don't read her blog you should. In fact you should go and read all her archived posts because I think she's that good).

Anyway, for those of you too lazy to use the link I provided to said post, or if you like reading the full texts of posts before you read what they allude too, Noodles briefly discusses the C.S. Lewis classic The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe and the upcoming movie adaptation.

I know, it's a parable, Aslan is Jesus, I get it. Not being Christian, and raised in a Jewish home I didn't pick up on any of that the first time I read it. I just thought it was a decent book but didn't really wow me either way.

At age 15 my family moved to Israel for my father's sixth month sabbatical. We lived in Jerusalem in 38 Tchernekofsky Street apartment #2, near the 32 bus line on its way out to Giloh. From the very small back porch on this second floor apartment I had one of the best vistas of the hills of Jerusalem I have ever seen in my entire life. Every night the sun would set over the hills and cast the city ablaze. The song Yerushaliam shel Zahav (Translation=Jerusalem of Gold - Phish covers the song as a bonus track on the album Hoist) took on a very literal aesthetic as I watched through the sliding glass doors. I spent those sixth months studying in an Israeli public high located between the shook (the open air market, where people in stalls and pushcarts sell and haggle for everything from fresh dates and produce to fresh meats - killed in the market itself - to toys and gadgets, to warm baked goods) and the central bus station. Everyday for lunch a few friends and I would walk past the guards at the gate, down the street and purchase fresh baked rolls and some sort of pastry (everyday something different) and a carton of Yotvatah chocolate milk. We'd walk back to school and eat outside because it being the Middle East, it was always warm out. The down side, I had school six days a week, from Sunday-Friday. I've appreciated the calm of a five day work (in comparison) ever since.

Getting back to the apartment, for about three months - and I don't even remember the reason why - I would sit with my brother Asaf (my junior by seven years - the youngest of us four Greene boys) on the back porch and read in order, the entire Lion, Witch and Wardrobe series. From the very first book to the very last one. I don't really remember the stories that well, but I remember sitting on the porch with my brother reading them. I remember getting a blanket and sitting outside wrapped up with him when it got cold at night (as it did during the first few months). I remember watching the sun set casting the city ablaze as Narnia would be in stewing in our imaginations. I remember coming inside after a chapter or two because my voice was tired and promise to pick up again the next day, or at the very least, by the weekend. He was able to read the books himself (all of us were big readers at a very young age) but for some reason it was something we did together.

For that reason I am a bit hesitant to see the movie. I don't really remember the stories that well, but I know I would rather my association with the books be of my brother on our back porch, and not some lavish Hollywood production.

new blogs that I like

So it's Saturday night and I should go out and have fun. I haven't actually gone out and had fun in a long time (at least two months). Lily (my brothers girlfriend), as I mentioned two posts previous, just turned 24, and tonight she is celebrating her birthday. First, dinner at some vegi chinese place in chinatown then drinks at some dive bar (which as a prerequisite must have a photobooth - as per Lily's birthday wishes) somewhere in alphabet city (on avenue B or D, I can't recall). Granted I would hang out with all my brother's frieds (I have no freinds in Manahattan yet - or queens for that matter), but that will most likely be fun. I do have a tendancy of being incredibly awkward at all times (those who know me personally can back this up) and that might not be such a good thing amungst strangers. Regardless I don't even know if I'm going as I am coming down with a cold. I either got it from my father or a different brother, both of whom are sick. Today is the first day and I know it's just going ot get worse tomorrow. I ache like nobodies business (as if someone lubricated all my joints with battery acid) and my head just started pounding. I took some tylenol, which has eliminated my symptons, albeit temporarily. The scary thing is I can feel my heart beating. Psuedophedreine (sp?) causes your heart rate to increase. I took an anti-histamine pill and though it's probably just my hypochondria, I think I can feel my heart beating much more quickly in my chest. It's not a big deal as it often happens when I take anti-histamines, but it isn't very comfortable.

I'm also very poor, as in quite literally broke (well more than just broke since I'm in debt up to my eyebrows - damn expensive college loans) so I don't even know if I can afford dinner and drinks, let alone just dinner, or just drinks. I would very much like to celebrate Lily's birthday but I think destiny is forcing me to do otherwise and once again stay home and watch TV (maybe with a nice bowl of soup and copius amounts of tea).

Regardless, tonight I have decided (inspired by lady hearteater) to throw out some links to other blogs I read. Some in fact I just started reading, while others I have been reading for a while. None of which are linked in my sidebar. I should probably do that too (at least with some of them) but I'm sick and far too lazy to really go into my template and do the additions. When I feel better....

But until then:

Lunatic Fringe just news and stuff, but I like how he writes it.

Ten Minutes Older a clever hopeful british film maker who has described herself as over educated and under employed - and I can completely relate to that.

Clandestine Call Girl This one really blew my mind. I'm pretty sure it's legit. It's the online diary of a woman who lives a normal life like all of us, yet on the side she's a proffessional escort. I actually took a day to go through and read all her old entries. From a psychological standpoint it's riviting (also she has a nice writing style that makes the blog very accessable).

XoTessamarieoX I love Jazi Fizzle!. Two blogs from two forteen year old girls. It's not riviting, or even that interesting, but I never had sisters, and there is something very interesting getting into the head of a someone who is so alien to me.

Friday's Web Most people who read my blog probably read hers first so there isn't much I need to say. If you haven't read it, you should check it out.

Lady Hearteater. Ditto with what I said about Friday's Web. Another fun lady with a fun weblog.

Now don't say I never gave you anything.

Birthday Blog

My youngest brother Asaf has officially turned 18 as of today! He can get drafted and vote; he can buy lottery tickets, cigarettes and porn. He can also purchase items previously unavailable to him in stores; that's right, the home shopping network and other special TV adds have opened their arms to him with all the useless gadgets the world has to offer - provided he's willing to shell out only four payments of $19.95 (plus shipping and handling).

And the final nail in the coffin that was his youth: he can have consensual sex with someone his own age legally and not be accused of statutory rape (not that he was ever accused of statutory rape, justing saying that as long as he stays sexually active within his own age group he'll never have to worry about it - also, who would want to rape a statue anyway?). That's right boys and girls, the government no longer has any say regarding his sex life.

But the happiness doesn't stop there. Not only is it Asaf's birthday today but Lily, Hillel's (the eldest of all three of my younger brothers) girlfriend, was born 24 years ago today. This isn't that big of a step for her as she can already purchase lottery tickets, cigarettes, porn, and the other junk only available through this special one time TV offer. But it is a momentous day for her as well because; well, just because it's fun to enjoy a birthday. I do feel bad for her though, she is allergic to wheat and it's difficult to find a birthday cake she can eat. Last weekend Hillel did a test run for a chocolate cake using spelt flour instead of wheat from a recipe in Gourmet Magazine. They way I see it, that's true love.

Happy birthday to all and to all a good night (or afternoon, or whatever time is when you read this)

again, too much time on my hands

First I noticed that my previous post was posted twice on the same day for some reason. I deleted the duplicate as duplicates are rarely good (my twin brother found that out the hard way, he will be missed) and now the site is clean. Well, clean in the sense that it's orginized.

Boy howdy, I am not a goth (I don't think I'm an "anything" save really big dork) but I took what I believe to be a very scientific test and found out that if I was a goth this would be me:


Girl Name: Mistress Acaia

Guy Name:Sir Sebastain

* I see
sadness in your heart*

You carry too many
secrets in your heart. You should really try
and vent about things more often.


What Is Your Goth Name?
brought to you by Quizilla

So true, so true.... er what?

post script extra trivia point. Though completely coincidental, Sebastion was also my German name for that one year I studied German in high school. No, I didn't pick the name in either case, but apparently the cosmos is trying to tell me something. I figure I'm either supposed to change my name to Sebastion, kill someone named Sebastion, or marry someone named Sebastion. None of the choices are very appealing as: I like my name; I have taken a vow never to kill (again); and I don't know of any straight women named Sebastion. In theory I could marry a man (as it is legal in my home state of Massachusetts) but contrary to my mother's suspsions (she won't ever admit she suspects, but it's obvious she does) I am not gay. I just wish the cosmos would be more specific.

My Superman T-shirt

I hate nature. Actually, I love nature. Only, I hate it.

I can enjoy nature if say, I'm tossing around a ball or a frisbee, or if I happen to be taking a nice hike, or even going camping. I strongly believe in preserving our natural wildlife, state parks, finding renewable sources of energy, and so forth.

I hate mowing the lawn. I absolutely hate mowing the lawn. Let me reiterate, I despise mowing the lawn. You can say I feel very strongly on the matter. It isn't that I just hate mowing the lawn, I hate having to continually mow the lawn. At least once a week (twice if it rains) the grass must be cut. It's a two hour chore that wipes me of most of my energy killing my Sundays. I dislike shoveling snow, but I only have to shovel the driveway, and only when it snows. I have to mow the entire lawn every week. Every last blade of grass. I don't know how much it actually is, maybe about 3/4's of an acre, which isn't so bad, comparatively speaking (my neighbors across the street have about the same amount of land, but more lawn that I do - though they have one of those mowers you can ride on; I don't).

Whilst mowing I tore a hole in one of my favorite work shirts; rather, a tree tore a hole in one of my favorite work shirts. It's about an two and a half inches wide, and smack in the middle of my back. I either have to get rid of the shirt, sew it up (which will look pretty stupid) use it as a rag (god forbid) or toss it (I couldn't possibly). I could continue to wear it with the big hole in the back, but that also looks pretty stupid. Not that I'm trying to impress any one (I hardly have what one would call a rippling physique), but I should carry myself with some sort of-- ah, who am I kidding, I'll probably continue to wear it with the hole; even out in public. But that was a bummer.

And I killed a snake. I didn't mean too. I didn't see it. I didn't even know I killed it until I was emptying out the lawn mower bag and found it in a few pieces. It was just a simple garden snake, probably helping fend off pesky rodents or insects around the garden and lawn. It meant me absolutely no harm. And I know it shouldn't be that big of a deal, but I'm one of those "all life is sacred" freaks so killing the snake is just more bad karma I'm going to have to burn off some how. Maybe I'll go out and feed some stray dogs to the lions at the zoo. That might do it.

Anyway, I'm off to eat my lunch, then take down the storm windows because it's finally nice out again.

On a side note, my youngest brother is coming home from his three month trip to Israel today. Spent the third (and final) trimester of his high school senior year there. He will be landing in New York around now actually, and take a bus back to his school with his fellow classmates. Thus he should be back here at home around 8pm. I'm psyched to see him again, but I know he's really bummed to be back home (his girlfriend was with him in Israel, and now they are going to be spending the summer apart, then going to different schools in different states, MIT - her and NYU - him). But he's a good kid, I know he'll adjust. Regardless, it'll be nice to see him again.

That's all for now, carry on then...

Passover outside of Neverland (not related in any way to Michael Jackson)

I've learned a few things from my grandmother during our brief stay here in New York for the holiday. 1)I don't know my way around a kitchen because she's been cooking longer than me. 2)All black men beat their spouses. 3)All arabs smell funny (not the best site, but I'm too lazy to look for a better one). 4)English should be the national language and those who don't speak it be damned. I don't speak to my grandmother often, and the aforementioned lessons reminded me why. There isn't too much else I learned from my grandmother save this one last bit, which floored me.

She was trying to go over my family tree and perhaps it was just due to the dementia (not an insult, simply the technical term for her current mental faculties) she inadvertently led me to believe that I have cousins who married each other (she was unclear as to whether they were blood relations or not). Maybe it's legal, maybe it isn't. Either way something about that isn't kosher. Sure I laugh when I watch George Michael pine after his cousin on Arrested Development, but now the jokes strike a little closer to home. Ewwww.

When discussing these cousins my grandmother went on to say that they are such nice people and it's a shame their kids grew up to be such free thinkers. This is one of the biggest yet politest insults my grandmother could come up with: free thinkers. Because there is nothing worse than a free thinker. Sure these kids live on a commune and are probably living some sort of grungy hippy lifestyle, one of which I probably would not be so comfortable living myself, but out of all the ways to rebel this is one of the most peaceful. This commune, she confirmed, is not one belonging to any cult or crazy religious faction, just a bunch of "free thinkers" living together on the land. I was almost disappointed when she said how great of a guy I am, not like those "free thinkers." Sure I may be a vegetarian ("What do you mean you don't eat meat? That's just not healthy." This coming from the same woman who complained there wasn't any shmaltz in the chopped liver) but that can be forgiven.

Scratch that, I am disappointed. I don't go out of my way to show how different I may be, I am what I am. I always kinda hoped, however, that I'd stick out just a little. I am a bit odd, my name amongst my friends usually turns into an adjective ("that's such an Amichai thing to do" used when I make a fool of myself usually by bumping into something or tripping over myself, both physically and verbally). My clothes most often don't match, though that has less to do with an intentional aesthetic and more to do with the fact that I am color blind. I never stick out of a crowd but I never quite fit in either. This disappointment quickly washes away as I realize not being a "free thinker" may be the least of my worries because someday I am going to die (say it isn't so, I can't stand it).

It's true, and though the mere thought of death sends me into a panic attack (one panic attack about my own mortality once forced me to take an early lunch at work, I nearly hyperventilated - and I'm only 24) I shall continue. I know I'm going to die because my grandmother is going to die. I don't think she's going to die anytime soon, but the more I sat and talked with her the more I realized she really is of a different generation. I always knew this conceptually, but I can count the amount of times I've actually sat down and talked to her on one hand making this concept easier to ignore. She dropped out of college to help work for the war effort for christ sake. The most I can really say is I dropped out of a cultural criticism course in college because I spent a semester getting stoned thus lacking the mental capacity needed to comprehend the readings assigned. She is of an older generation solidifying me as part of a younger generation I have never really identified myself with. But once you are part of a generation you know there will come a time when that generation will end. Soon all those alive during world war two will be gone. Hence, someday I too am going to die.

I realize all this during Passover, the holiday when all Jews are supposed to think of ourselves as if we personally left the bondage in Egypt. This one particular idea strikes me as being particularly bogus, especially after the horrid but inevitable conclusion that my life has an expiration date. The Jews who left Egypt (if they ever really existed in the first place) are now the oil under the Sinai desert. The only real bondage I'll ever have to deal with is the repayment of my student loans (which is not the same sort of pressure as building the pyramid, but still horrid in a different sort of way). If anything I'd prefer to think of myself as the generation of Jews who enter Israel after 40 long years in the desert. But that is really neither here nor there.

As I neither exodused from Egypt or received the land of Israel crossing through the waters of the Jordan river split in twain (when it comes to crossing bodies of water God is a one trick pony) Passover seems a bit silly. I have to admit, however, it is my favorite holiday. It gives me hope that one day I'll be visiting my potential grandchildren, sitting in their parents living room, boring the crap out of them as my grandmother did to me, forcing them to realize they are just as mortal as I am.

Those unsuspecting suckers.

kibbles and bits

My great aunt Lil is unsure of her age and her birthday. This has nothing to do with any infirmity often associated with old age, as she has her full wits about her. It is simply because she doesn't have a birth certificate. She is either 85 or 86, she isn't sure. She grew up poor in Manhattan and family birthday celebrations weren't important due a very simple fact: they didn't have the money to celebrate. Since she doesn't know the date of her birth she now celebrates every year on April 1st. Out of the entire 365 days from which she could choose (366 on a leap year) she choose April Fools day. She's a weird old lady, but my esteem for her rose greatly after learning that little tid bit.