Some Terrifying News

Bsd

I heard some terrifying news that indicated there is a terrorist group in Crown Heights. I think we need to form an anti-terrorist group that will terrorize the terrorists. My dearly beloved suggested we subscribe the terrorists to dirty websites.

What say you?

Shall we stand up and fight?

Whirlwind

Bsd

It's snow-globe snowing out, and I have magically cleaned clothes.

I studied for my test tomorrow, and my chosson has two apartments we're going to check out.

I am in a whirlwind, but I am taming it.

Angry roommates, broken toilets, and children who won't go to sleep at naptime- they cannot disturb my delicate control.

I am told this is a precious time.

I vow to appreciate that.

To treasure every time Yisroel/Jonathan does something that makes me realize how amazing he is and how lucky I am.

To learn something about Hilchos Kashrus before I get a bunch of brand-new dishes.

To stay up late doing nothing.

To let the snow fall in my hair.

To try to create new connections between people I care about.

To pass my second semester of school.

Let it snow - I will appreciate its crazy beauty.

Nervous

Bsd
I'm at school, an hour earlier than I need to be, and yet somehow not ready.
I'm supposed to be giving two full-body massages to real clients, and I don't have my uniform shirt. I'm supposed to get one from my friend who is practicing right before me, but I just realized we're cutting the time for the transfer super, super, super close. So I'm kind of freaking out. Bowel-shaking, heart-pounding, sweat-inducing freaking out. And I can't even worry about giving the massage because I'm so worried about not being dressed right!!!!!!!!!
WHY DO I ALWAYS LEAVE THINGS TO THE LAST MINUTE???????????????????????

My Troubled Relationship... with School

Bsd
Haha. Sorry for the drama of the title. I'm in a superbly weird mood. Have been for a few days, but it is peaking now.
I hate that school is like this for me right now. I used to love it. Get up excited (well, maybe not. But usually I'd get excited at some point). Now I had to bribe myself with a book in order to make myself attend today. I guessed almost every answer on the test we took. It didn't help that I wasn't present at last week's class.
And it's all of it. On Sunday, I am expected to perform TWO MASSAGES ON REAL PEOPLE. Not fellow students, who will get it if you have to stop halfway through and look at your notes.
I have to buy uniforms, and folders, and stuff. I have to pay tuition. My phone fell in the sink last night and is totally dead. This is after surviving a fall into chicken soup.
WHY G-D??
I'm ranting and raving and whining.
But I'm supposed to be deliriously happy, and I am - when I space out on the subway, imagining the picture of me in my wedding dress and Converse.
But all this school and messy room and money stuff is SERIOUSLY bringing me down.
Like way, way, waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay down.
Like I'm beyond bummed and into hyper-depression, where I get sarcastic and talk to myself - LOUDLY.
So right now I hate school. Hate work. Hate everything because I DO NOT HAVE A HANDLE ON IT.

But Um

Bsd

After watching How I Met Your Mother, wherein a drinking game was played in which a shot was taken every time a certain character said, "But um -", not five minutes after I walked into class, my teacher said, "But Um -".

Unfortunately, there was no alcohol in the room.

It's a shame, as I could really use a L'chaim right now.

I'm looking in my crystal ball.... and I think I see one coming....

Bsd

I love my friends, and I am grateful for all of them.

But I am sick of the friends that I have that take and do not give.

That I listen to for hours while they process and rant and whine and cry, but who interrupt me just as I begin to talk about something I am having a hard time with.

I love my friends, but I hate having friends who have such a hard time dealing with their own issues they have no energy to help me deal with mine.

Who love me when I'm caring and wise and funny, but not when I need to complain about being miserably sick.

Who get angry at me, and then don't let me fix it.

The friends who don't let me get angry at them.

I just don't want to deal with it anymore.

I will, because I love my friends, all of them.

But I am so sick of it.

Some More Truth

Bsd

Remember how I promised to be honest?

To seek the truth?

Well, here's some.

Truth:

I often doubt that Moshiach is coming.

And not when you'd think I would.

Not when terrible, tragic things happen, or when I see evidence of our physcial world falling apart, no, those are the times when I have more faith that Moshaich is coming. That Hashem has some serious, long-term plans for us.

I doubt that Moshiach is coming on Wednesday evenings, when I'm wandering from the kitchen to my bedroom in my pajamas, alternatively looking for food and another good TV show to watch.

That's when I look at myself, at the realm? I'm living in, at its cozy little pattern of work and rest, of sleep and death, of life and all its crazy shit.

Where is Moshiach in all of this?

Where is that feeling that we are right on the verge of something incrediible?

That we are standing on the cliff's edge, and on the other side of the chasm, lies Glory?

I don't know what it was like when the Rebbe was still physically with us. I was about to be six in 1994, and the only memory I have of the Rebbe is Gimmel Tammuz.

But I imagine that energy pulsed through the streets of Crown Heights. I imagine that every time you did something right, you felt prouder, and every time you did something wrong, you felt guiltier.

I picture the t-shirts, the banners, the slogans not being the sole province of yellow-crazed foreigners, but of every Lubavticher.

And although I dont agree with the methods of those who campaign wih the cry of "Yechi" on their lips, I do envy their passion.

They believe that Moshiach is here, that he is with us still.

I don't want to make plans for the future.

I don't know how to balance planning even six months from now with the belief - firm, unwavering belief, belief so strong it makes you LIVE RIGHT NOW as your belief has been actualized - with thinking about saving up for a massage table, or making over my mother's wedding dress.

I believe Moshiach is coming.

I believe it because the Rebbe said so, and the Rebbe said so because Hashem said so.

And I believe in G-d.

My belief in G-d is illogical, and founded on a whole lot of emotion and a good dollop of neccessity, and so is my belief in the Geulah.

I know it is, and I choose to believe anyway, because - ha! - I BELIEVE IT IS RIGHT.

Even though I often doubt.

Crown Heights Poetry Slam Mission Statement

I was thinking of ignoring this whole issue. This is something taking place in my real life, and so what is being said on the internet doesn't really matter. But somehow blogging has become more than just a way to waste time. I feel like a journalist, like I have a commitment to discovering and discussing the truth. One of the reasons bloggers group together in communities is to call each other on our BS, to make each other dig deep and really figure out what the hell we are doing in our lives - our REAL lives.

So I'm not going to ignore this discussion.

The poetry slam was not my creation. It was a gift to me, from my older brother. Truthfully? I would never have created such a thing, simply because I wouldn't have thought I could! But Levi did. And he gave it to me because he believed I could do it. And I have.

It wasn't until after I was in charge that I had to think about what it was, and what I wanted it to be, and what and who and how and all those questions that have been raised. I have come to some of the answers by experimentation, and some by exploration.

I have some idea of what the Crown Heights Poetry slam is now. And I'm going to share it with you.

Words have incredible power. They take the reader to places they could never be, physically. They allow you to have unity with another person's mind and heart. They can mystify and clarify.

Poetry, especially perfomance poetry, can be a way to use words on a deeper level. The author is allowed to break grammatical rules and societal rules and whatever else in order to discover or create something that is unique to them, to their soul. You can tell a story, view the world through someone else's eyes, relive a traumatic or joyous experience, or tell a joke. It is a way to process your life, or the world, or anything; it is a way to connect to your discoveries and creations

That's how I view poetry.

Now here's how I view myself.

I am a Jew. That is the first and most primary way I identify myself, before my name, before my gender, before anything else. I have a Jewish soul.

And no matter what I'm doing, I am a Jew doing that.

So everything I do is - should be! - a Jewish thing.

Including my poetry.

When I tell a story, I can tell the story of the first time I davened. When I look through another's eyes, it can be that of the non-Jews who surround me, or the Jewish boy I imagine I will be the mother of someday. When I relieve an experience, no matter what it was, my Jewish soul was experiencing it.

So that is what the poetry slam is.

A place for Jews to come and relate their Jewish experiences.

It's not meant to be a shlichus. It's not meant only for religious Jews. It's a place for Jewish expression of the Jewish experience, whatever that is.

I want it to be as welcoming as possible for any Jew who comes.Religious, non-religious, man or woman.

With that in mind, the suggestion of separate seating was a welcome one. As for questions about a mechitza, or whether or not this event should even exist (because it is a mixed event), I personally don't feel those are relevant issues considering my goals. (Of course, my personal opinion isn't enough to rely on, and I do intend to ask my rav his perspective on this event.)

That's about it.

Any questions?

Because It's Been So Long, I Had Time To Rethink It - Superpower Redux

Bsd

Superpower Redux

There is this show, it's called Lie to Me, and it's brilliant. And based on a real person. And he has the superpower I want.

He can read people's minds. Well, not really. He can read their faces, and that's almost as good.

The eyes are the window to the soul, and your face is apparently the window to your mind. Everything you think and feel is expressed in subtle motions of the facial muscles.

And if you have quick enough eyes to notice them and the knowledge to interpret them, you know what is going on inside that person.

The ability to know when someone is lying? When they're angry or sad or happy or satisfied, even if they deny it?

To know when to trust? When to defend?

To know what someone really thinks about you?

That's a power I would want.

That would be real power.

Superpower Meme

Bsd

FINALLY DID IT!!!

Everyone wants to fly. I mean, look at the memes - flight or some variation is present in almost all.

Flight is freedom, or that is what we think.

Flight is power, or so it seems.

Flight is passion, or it could be.

But G-d created us two feet on the ground, wingless and heavy boned.

So where comes this deep desire for flight?

Think of it in reality:

Flight would be cold,

Flight would be tense.

Flight would be terror.

Except -

I close my eyes and imagine myself in flight

and I am bodyless.

Is that our desire for flight?

To be body-free

Like flame soaring up to its source

Soul returning to creator

Free of this world

its woes

and responsibilities.

Do we think:

" I am flying closer to God." ?

Bsd
Stupid, effing trains.
Stupid, effing test.
Stupid, effing brother.
Equilibrium upset, and I don't know why my roommate loaning me her sweater because she thought I could use something fun and cuddly to wear today makes me cry. And my best friend's a mother, my "uncle" has cancer, and I wish this weather would last all winter. But it won't, cuz I'm not home, I'm here, dragging my feet till the end of the week when I'll get wrapped up in strong arms, at the very least metaphorically speaking, and get some relief.
Poetry night is Sat night, and I have nothing to write; the one thing I think about is the one thing I can't yet talk about (at least out loud, to a public crowd).
Am I sleep-walking, sleep-talking, sleep-massaging/test-taking/kid-sitting/apartment-fixing all this time?
It feels like it.
The writing makes me come alive, caterpillar-cocoon style, the shell of my life hiding what's really going on inside.
Gotta go, class is starting.

'

















'

Definitions

Bsd

Walking down President St

Harlequin Historical in my hand,

and yes, that's who I am,

the girl with the bodice ripper and neckline covered,

the girl with the baby that's not mine and the boy next to me who's not my brother,

and I'm telling someone that she should think of living in Crown Heights

as if she's just living in Brooklyn,

like half the gay/black/hippie-ster people in my school

Replay that:

What?

Crown Heights isn't Brooklyn.

And that's not just who I am.

We talked today about definitions and where we were.

I said - we have to constantly redefine.

Redefine

and

Redefine

and Redefine.

Or we're dead.

Balanced on a thin edge,

and tipping over.

I'm not that girl.

Or at least I might not be, tomorrow.

Linkage

Check this out.

Good writing. Relevant subject. Try not to scare her with your strange blogger ways.

It's Time

Time for me to be honest.

With myself.

My friends,

Mashpia.

You.

You, the reader.

You, the mysterious unknown audience,

You, the ones whose numbers are saved in my phone.

I think I've reached a certain point in my life here.

Either I write about what I'm really thinking or I don't write.

But here's the deal:

Don't ask questions when I write mysterious statements.

Don't give me a hug the next time you see me (unless that's our normal manner of greeting).

Even when you think I need one.

I'm going to pretend that I am talking to myself, the way I do when I'm walking down the street and freaking out.

And you and all your comments?

That's just me talking back to myself.

Bsd

I think my Pandora is reading my mind, my mood.

Music that screams when I need to scream, cries when I need to cry, soars when I need to soar.

Nothing like having a soundtrack to your life, underscoring the moments you want to remember forever, the moments you'll forget never.

Now - angry and sad, scared and mad, I want to jump the cliff, jump the shark, laugh at how crazy it's all gotten, and thank G-d in my quiet moments for what I know I have, for the treasure hidden in the X-marked spot in my own room, my own heart, my own life.

First Day of School Checklist

Bsd

Wake up at the painfully early hour of 6 AM - Check.

Decide to wear my purple dress for luck and love - Check.

Wait for Albany Bakery to open their doors so I can buy breakfast - Check.

Korbanos on the train - Check.

Receive schedule - Check.

Meet Stephanie, who also doesn't have any books - Check.

Go to the subbasement to buy uniform shirt, massage oil, books - Check.

Wait on line for twenty minutes - Check.

Meet Lana and Helmy (who introduced herself as Helmy, named after her Estonian great-grandmother, who was an alchoholic) - Check.

Discover that Lana and I are in the same class, and decide to be late together - Check.

Spend 42 dollars on school supplies - Check.

Change into my tznius version of the school uniform ( school tshirt, black shirt, black short skirt, black leggings) - Check.

Make it to class - Check.

Listen to two hour lecture; need the restroom desperately by the end of it - Check.

Take the stairs to the library to make copies; meet Dani, Librarian Extraordinaire and Savior of My Sanity and Money - Check.

Stuff half an eggsalad sandwich in my mouth in the last five minutes of break - Check.

Watch demonstration - Check.

Partner up with Lana (as in Svetlana, not Lang), who happens to be from Russia via Israel - Check.

Receive 20 minute massage; finally relax - Check.

Give 20 minute massage - Check.

Realize that my table had been one leg higher the entire time - Check.

Change back to street clothes - Check.

Meet Jen and Katie, both fellow Brooklynites - Check.

Leave school - Check.

The End.

Unless you want to hear about how I did my reading at work while my kiddie slept away. Which if you do, means you are really desperate for details of my life. If you're THAT desperate, just call me.

It Smells Like Pee, And Other Stories of Chai Elul

Bsd

Yud Zayin/Chai Elul is my parents' wedding anniversary (27 years!), which is why I spent twenty minutes at Rabbi (Chaim, Mr. Gutnick Chumash) Miller's farbrengen with my phone plastered to my ear, listening to a calm voiced woman interrupt the beauteous Muzac to inform me that, "Your host has not yet joined the conference.".

When you live 3,000 miles away from your parents, you celebrate their anniversary by giving them a phone call. The Welton family has achieved an even higher level of sophistication - we give my parents a celebratory conference call. Whew, baby.

So, four kids, two parents, shouldn't be too hard to get us all on the phone at the same time, right?

Wrong.

Let's just say I'm grateful I have a small family.

On the less sarcastic side, we accomplished our goal. Anniversary call completed, I focused my full attention on the farbrengen.

It was worthy of full attention.

Best farbrengen I've been at since Rabbi Korn, and I LOVE Rabbi Korn's farbrengens.

I knew it was going to be good from the first glimpse I caught as I popped my head through the open doorway, confirming that the farbrengen was indeed where I thought it was. Crammed full of girls, the air in the room was heavy with heat - both literally and metaphysically.

I sat quietly, as I usually do at farbrengens. (Well, not entirely quietly. But any comments were directed at my friend Raizy (shout out to Raizy!), not the room at large).

Rabbi Miller was exactly what I have determined a good farbrenger should be - smart, passionate, funny, but most importantly, he let the girls lead him to what they wanted to talk about without getting lost in the shrillness of their arguments.

We wandered from topic to topic for a bit. A little bit about whether the system is flawed or not, whether mechanchim are given enough respect, whether Lubavitchers are afraid of their emotions (Consensus: Yes.).

A practical, if sometimes self-admittedly grouchy, man, Rabbi Miller decided we should all meditate on five emotional points during davening, and I will present them to you in their abbreviated form and let you all figure out how they'll apply:

1. Gratitude

2. Awe

3. Purpose

4. Joy

5. Hope/Yearning

(Sidenote: Maybe I am starting to get over my seminary hangup...)

So that was last night.

How did I celebrate Chai Elul today?

Well, I said Brachos and as I sped through them at my usual sub-vocal speed, the Big Five streamed through my head.

Then I tried to screw a handle on my dresser, and wished that the men in my life were more available to me.

In the middle of that, one of the men in my life (my older brother, geez) called and asked me to walk with him to Bank of America.

I live on Union and Albany. The bank is on Kingston and Eastern Parkway.

It took 45 minutes.

Damn, black people can dance!

After that, I went to my friend's house (Shout out to D.L.!) to do laundry, and did driveway guard duty for an hour and a half.

What is driveway guard duty?

That is when you sit in your driveway so no one will come and pee in it.

Which leads me to my walk home, late at night and in the dark.

It smells like pee in all the corners of Crown Heights.

Happy Labor Day.

Gut Yom Tov.

(I have to wake up at 6 AM tomorrow. The summer is officially over!)

Elul Times

Bsd

I've talked so much today that my teeth are sore, my mouth is dry, my throat is still pulsing with the energy of my words, and my hands hold tight the memory of their frantic movement.

New is the word of the month.

New year, new school, new roommates.

New relationship with my brother.

New me?

Only it's not a new me, it's the old me, the me I've been trying to be for so long now I couldn't remember who that was.

Only it's a better me, tempered by the failures of this year, strengthened by the hard-won successes.

Ksiva vchasima tova, people.

This Is About Cursing And Other Stupid Things, Because I Am Serious Far Too Often

Bsd

Curse words are hella fun.

See that? Just used a fun (semi) curse word to illustrate my point! They make speech grittier, and more real, and when you want to say something without sounding pretentious, they are really useful.

But often overused. Especially by me.

Which is why I have instituted my new system. If you are with me, and I use a curse word, I must pay you money. (Gotta hit me where it hurts, you know?).

F--- gets you a quarter.

S--- gets you a dime.

D--- gets you a nickel.

Interestingly enough, this system is actually working. I have begun to substitute words like "Shittake" and "Fudge it" for other, more pungent, phrases.

Cursing is also one of those things, like smoking and drinking, that boys - at least chassidish boys - seem surprised and somewhat unnerved to realize girls might do. (Someone, please help me with that sentence. It is structured horribly, but its 12:58 and I have no patience for reconstructing it. Also, will someone please help me figure what the word for remodeling a dress is?)

I still remember talking to a bochur once about what I like to drink, and being rather amused at his thinly veiled horror.

Ironically enough, when it comes to cursing, I am more shocked to hear a boy (especially bochurim) curse than when I hear women curse. When I hear women curse, it's usually one of my friends. It's one of those things we do in our more private conversations. I don't usually have that many private conversations with men, so less overhearing of cursing, ergo, when I do hear a guy curse, it's in public, and I feel the shock value of a crude word more severely.

Ok.

I have voided my brain of those thoughts.

Maybe tomorrow I'll ease into a post that delves a little deeper into the workings of my current psycho-emotional status.

Harry Potter and the Geulah

Bsd

I went to see Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince tonight with a few friends. I grew up with those books, and so I feel like I have to see the movies. Hated the Order of the Phoenix, both book and movie, but this one was rather good. Funny and tender and scary and sad, and I left the theater remembering why I liked the series, and of course, wanting to read the seventh book again, to remind myself of everything that happens.

I had a chavrusa with a friend today, the first time I've learned anything in months. We just went through a short sicha, a simple one, which talked about Geulah. The true and complete redemption. And then I went and watched Harry Potter.

I got home from the theater and no matter that it was 3 in the morning, I sat down with my roommate's copy of the Deathly Hallows and started to read. But it's late and I was tired, so I skipped to the end, to Harry's victory over Tom Riddle, and then the epilogue. Nineteen years later.

When I read that the first time, I was disappointed. It all happened so fast! One minute Voldemort stood there, and they were in the thick of battle and Fred and Remus and Tonks had died, and then he was dead, just a shriveled shell of a body, and then Harry stood with his kids at the train station. Just like that.

"His scar hadn't twinged in nineteen years. All was well."

I read it tonight and I almost cried.

A world where all is well?

It's a dream that hurts because it's been promised a reality.

Harry Potter's world is all well, but we're still fighting our good fight.