Just Dance

Here's the thing: if you are going to say something bad about someone, just say it to her face. No one wants to here that you don't like her from her best friend's camp friend's cousin's coach's little sister. It's not flattering.

If you don't like my hair, hate my singing, or just think I suck, honestly, just tell me directly to my face. (None of this would be true, obviously, as I have awesome style, amazing talents, and I'm a spectacular person...)

If you're going to tell everyone but myself that I'm in madly love with you, yet lack the courage to tell me to my face, do you really think it's true? Do you think that by spreading these oh so false rumors you're making yourself look good, making me like you more, making the world a better place? We're going to say no on this one.

If you think it's a great idea to tell all your closest and most distant friends that I have secret orgy parties for the prettiest girls I know, you're probably wrong. Creative, yes, intuitive, not so much. True, I frequently have the most beautiful girls in the world sleep in my basement; Why? you may ask, because they are my closest and dearest friends, is that allowed? Again, I'm going to say, si, oui, ja-- who doesn't love a good slumber party?

The thing about gossip is that you can only handle it for so long. There's only so much to say. Whether it's deeply honest, exaggerated, or completely false, it gets a bit old, a bit tedious, a bit too relentless. And if it's not true, why are you even saying it? Will people like you more? Maybe temporarily. Will you get something out of it? Most likely not. Are you making someone else feel good, smile, laugh? Tearing someone else apart doesn't make you any better, any stronger, any wiser.

I'm not trying to pledge my innocence. I, too, have been guilty of copious amounts of gossip and overly embellished girlish chitchat. I may have said a thing or two about your nails, your driving skills, your ideas.

Suddenly I’ve become more conscious of what I say and to whom I say it. If I really don’t like something, think something’s wrong, I’ll tell you. I look back to my middle school days and remember the novel thrill of starting rumors, just for the creativity factor and maybe a little bit for the popularity.

But we’re not thirteen anymore. Making up stories, talking badly about other people just for the sake of conversation is ridiculous, unnecessary, and unacceptably rude. How little are you doing with your life that you cannot manage to talk about yourself, about the other people in the conversation, and not have to bring in a third party? How bored are you with your life that you feel the need to make up stories about others, make everyone else believe they’re true, and just sit there and giggle.

And how weak are you that after creating these fantastical embellishments on reality you lack any courage to mention them to the protagonist of your delightful anecdotes?

In Judaism, we have a concept called לשון הרע “Lashon hara,” literally meaning “evil tongue.” As the most serious of sins, we are advised to fight against it, never gossiping, slandering, or disrespecting any human being. Jewish or not, this human value exists within all of us—who are we helping by creating malevolent words, cluttering our thoughts and speech with them when we should progress onto greater concepts and improvements in the world?

It’s time to start telling the truth, enjoying our own lives without creating misnomers about others. In order to better ourselves, better society, better the world, we need more concern with real problems and real people rather than this slanderous gossip in which we frequently feel the need to engage. What if every time we opened our mouths to say something disrespectful about someone else we twisted our words around, praised this person, or just changed the topic of conversation completely?

And truthfully, if you have something to say about me, I’d prefer you just say it to me.

Ode to a Song

There are things I question everyday. There are things I forget about. There are things that annoy me but I just let them go. There are things that drive me crazy and I try my best not to let my own crazy lash back out at them.

A few weeks ago my grandparents took me to the symphony (bringing the average age of the audience down by almost eighty years.) At the beginning of the concert, the orchestra started playing the National Anthem and almost the entire audience rose. White haired men and women with canes, walkers, and even wheelchairs stood in their best posture, and started proudly singing along, hands over their hearts, belting out the lyrics as loudly as possible. The voices blended together in a complete cacophony: after spending my entire life in choir, I am pretty sure I have never heard a more jumbled, unbeautiful rendition of the “Star Spangled Banner.”

But I was taken aback. I glanced around the room as I observed all these individuals joyfully joining together in song, wishing I could be as carefree and happy as all the senior citizens surrounding me. I felt sentimental and pretty gushy about the whole ordeal (in Yiddish we call it Ferklempt—that is the only way to describe it) and questioned the event for the next three hours of the performance.

I’m not really sure why the song was so meaningful to me, perhaps because it was just so unexpected or maybe because it was a Sunday afternoon, and I was functioning on little to no sleep. But the unity, the passion, the excitement in this hodgepodge of people really struck me.

And it made me question our harmony as a people. Why are we always fighting, always trying to take away another person’s rights, always telling someone she’s wrong, always hating, always angry? Why can’t we just stand up and sing, sing anything, and let everyone be happy?

There’s something about music that will do that. It can be the words or the melody or the rhythm, but music makes you feel things, it connects us all together.

I live through music. It brings back memories, evokes emotions, inspires me for the future. I have playlists for sleeping, driving, baking, waking up, remembering, studying, dancing, singing, smiling, crying, writing—you name it, I’m prepared.

I love soundtracks: movies, television, plays. I love remembering the performance, the drama, the feeling I had while watching, and regaining that feeling through the music.

There are so many things that I question everyday; so many things to which I will never find the answers. And even though I know the solutions are distant, I allow the music to lead me to new ideas, new thoughts; inspire me to think originally, inspire myself, to be more creative and live life more fully.

Capitally Positive

I was recently on a flight home when I heard the all too familiar, all too bothersome, less than portentous announcement: “Please turn off your electronic devices to prepare for landing.” Usually, my irrational fears of water landings or impromptu curbside deplaning would cause me to properly stow my iPod beneath the seat and call it a day.

However, Tuesday night was not one of those occasions. As I peacefully hummed along with Rufus Wainwright, I resisted the urge to hold down the pause button but rather cranked up the volume, leaned my head back, and shut my eyes to avoid any vexation from the flight attendant.

As I rested back against the horrifically contaminated, somewhat sticky vinyl seat, I felt a certain sense of contentment. Perhaps it was only the mere three hours of sleep I had the night before. Perhaps it was the ridiculous amount of chocolate peanut butter I had loaded onto my travel sandwich. Or maybe it was just my exhaustion from spending the last fifteen hours on my feet.

Whatever it was, wherever it came from, I realized that at that moment nothing else mattered. That I could rest at ease, listen to the music pulsate through my head, and not worry about what was going to happen. I knew I had done my good for the world that day, that I had made my contribution, and it was enough for then.

I’m not going to deny being Type A. My clothes are organized in order of color, my calendar is meticulously structured, I nominate myself Captain of Everything, I have a thing about matching bras and underwear…

Quite honestly, it’s so rare that I can actually lie back and relax, truly relax and not clutter my mind with other qualms, that I forgot what it felt like.

Earlier that morning, I had set foot in the White House for the first time; later I ate lunch in the U.S. House of Representatives, followed by hours of lobbying and discussions and topped off by watching a speech in the Senate. All the while, I was focused on bettering the world: persuading congresspeople to vote for the Local Law Enforcement Hate Crimes Prevention Act, encourage the development of renewable energy sources, protect the world from Iran, diminish worldwide anti-Semitism, and so much more. Each issue was so important to me, so personally relevant and meaningful to the whole of society, that with each word I spoke to each individual I felt like I was personally bettering the myself, the country, the world.

And we’ll see if anything I said actually made a difference. But in the meantime, I newly awakened to the fact that my life is important, relevant, necessary.

I didn’t keep my iPod on because of a death wish, I had no intention of causing the plane to crash. I didn’t keep listening to Rufus to hear a few more words, as I know every lyric by heart.

I continued listening because my contentment would not let me have any other care in the world than my personal happiness at that moment. I felt so proud that I had helped the world that day, and realized there is no reason I should not feel that way every day of my life. So from now on I vow to live each day of my life to help someone, make something better, improve the world.

And as I leave my computer to go tuck myself into bed (and maybe even catch the last few minutes of Rachel Maddow) I ask myself: what did I do today?

I made someone smile.

Girl Talk

I can competently find the bathroom, order food, and get directions in myriad countries. I look forward to watching Telemundo after midnight, observe American Sign Language speakers intently as I secretly eavesdrop on their conversations (is that horrible?), and even have a special language with my friends, yet I find my linguistic skills lack when it comes to insanely fanatical girlish statements. What may appear as mundane, apathetic comments are truly packed with meaning, which can take hours to deduce— far too late to apply the actual meaning to the situation.

I was recently at a friend’s house for an all night movie party. Awesome? I know. She paused the first movie before it even started and called out to her sister, “We’re going to wait for you, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, I’m just getting food,” her sister called back.

Translation: “We want to watch the movie so get your butt over here. Now.”
Translation: “I’m hungry. It’s Saturday night. We’re watching chick flicks. I’ll eat what I want and take as long as I want picking it out.”

It took another friend to properly decode the language from one girl to another, joking that only the female gender would understand this dialect. But do we? Can we just deduce whatever meaning we like from what these girls say and enjoy it?

I sure cannot. I either a) fail to realize that the implications of the code, or even notice that the conversation is being carried on in code or b) respond with some unreasonable code of my own.

“Would you like to come inside?”
“Well, I have to be somewhere in an hour.” (Said place is fifteen minutes away)
“Okay.”
“Sure.”

Now what? Seriously? Stay? Go? Nod rapidly and walk away? What decision was deduced from this foolish, implausible, language of the female gender, in which each girl feigns indifference, never reaching a solution but causing the other girl to completely twist the words in every possible combination in order to conclude something?

This weekend I took a trip to Cleveland with a couple friends. The theme of the weekend was “100% neutral” as in, when we would make plans during our time in Ohio, none of us would make a decision.

“Want to go to a party?”
“I’m 100% neutral.”

“Would you prefer a hot or cold breakfast?”
“I’m 100% neutral.”

“How do you feel about the flattest land on Earth?”
“100% neutral.”

As we boarded the train to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame my friend asked, “Are you sure this is smart?”

Friend 2: “100% neutral.” (I should mention at this point friend 2 is actually male, however exhibits many female tendencies—upon typing this I realize I will be beaten later, sorry man).

Me: “What do you mean? Of course this is smart. We’re here. We’re going.”

Translation: “Do we really want to pay $22 for a stupid museum? I don’t!”
Translation: “Not really, but I’ll just go with the flow.”
Translation: “Stop talking in code. We’re going to see Madonna’s cone shaped bustier, end of story.”

Upon leaving the museum, which is clearly one of the coolest places ever, there was no question whether the experience was worth our money. Absolutely no question.



We are never indifferent. We cannot accomplish anything by being 100% Neutral. And in lieu of quoting John Mayer, I do however need to ask: Why can we never just say what we need to say? Is it that difficult?

What is with all the code? Why can’t we just say what we really mean? What is going on that even in the closest of friendships we cannot even express our simplest desires? From where did this girl code originate, who thought it was a good idea, and when will it stop?

Pedaling Along

As I sit here eating Mexican rice pudding out of a violet “It’s not easy being a princess” mug, I can acknowledge one thing: life is good.

This is true, not just for me, but for everyone. As often as it may seem fantastical, fictitious, or distant, we’re pretty damn lucky to be alive.

Imagine: a bike ride in February, in Chicago. Yes, today I skipped my beloved kickboxing to take a ten mile bike ride up and down the Green Bay Trail (it’s a path parallel to the train which runs across the North Shore of the city). As I pedaled on my highest gear on this surprisingly warm and pleasant day, I kept pushing myself to go faster, travel further, and never stop. A mix of Juanes, the Flashdance soundtrack, and maybe even the Dixie Chicks kept me cycling through the drenched sludge. My black leggings were soon gray with splattered mud but I dutifully continued on.

After I reached the point of exhaustion I began to travel home. (This is a bad idea. Bad bad bad. Start for home when you are about half tired…) The sun started setting in the most beautiful orange-pink iridescent glow as I traveled my last few miles at a considerably slow speed. There were points when I felt like I couldn’t possibly move my feet anymore but I forced myself to keeping moving, however sluggish I may have been.

I watched as the other occupiers of the path—joggers, dog walkers, and, of course, my fellow bikers—passed by in either direction, either nodding or waving a slight “Hello, keep up the good work” or furrowing their brows in an inconspicuous manner, trying to hide their discontent for my unbelievably slow pace and embarrassingly filthy clothing. Either way, with each interaction I was motivated to continue my trek, make it home without fail, and acknowledge all of my fellow path sharers.

I have a collection of black and white bicycle photos, which I hope to make into a book someday. I have a fascination with bicycles-- it's so interesting to me that way that people have complete control while riding, and how people fill these inanimate objects with such life.


By the time I finally arrived home, my legs felt more like Jell-O than actual human ligaments and I doubted my ability to stand up much longer. But I felt accomplished. Maybe it was all the endorphins from hours of endless pedaling or perhaps just the good weather, but I suddenly felt like everything was perfect. Not ideal, just perfect.

Because everything has a way of working itself out. Good always leads to more good. An obstacle opens our minds and makes us stronger. Even unnecessary bad causes us to react, reconsider ourselves, and understand that something better will eventually occur.

There’s a lot about life that I don’t understand, most of which I probably never will. But I do believe in the universal good. That the people who nod to you on the trail, suffering alongside you, truly understanding your position, make a life worth living. That everyone is in this together, pulling alongside each other, no matter how different our views may sometimes seem. That even the person scowling at my mucky pants just wants to help, hoping that I didn’t wear my favorite pair on such a yucky day.

And I know that eventually, everything works out. Something worse could always happen, something better will always come along. Just like my Jell-O legs brought on a craving for this pudding…