Thanks, Captain Obvious!

I’ve noticed that people (myself included) tend to state the obvious when they have nothing better to say.

Every day for the past few weeks when I’ve walked out of my house, I’ve said, “Woah, it’s HOT outside!” (When I’m with someone I’ll say it out loud, and when I’m alone, I’ll think it.) Oh, is it hot? I see that it’s 101 degrees, but I didn’t feel anything!

Or, “Oh, it’s raining.” You think?

People also have a tendency to repeat facts that, while they may be true, are not relevant to anything:

“I’m hungry.”
“I’m cold.”
“I’m sleepy.”
“It’s dark outside.”
“It smells like skunk out here.”

Why must we fill the beauty that is silence (I don’t know if I would go as far as calling it “golden”) with unnecessary information? Is it that we long to connect with others around us through conversation, but cannot think of anything intelligent to say? Is it that we have all lost our capacities to think to ourselves, and must utter every thought that pops into our minds?

I’m going to try to be more cognizant of the obviousness of what I say.

But for now, I’m going to get a drink of water. It’s hot outside today, and I’m thirsty.

If you’d like to talk to a machine, press 0.

My dad called a Web site’s tech support a little while ago with a question. He was on speakerphone and I was in the room, so I could hear the whole conversation.

He called the number, and it rang a few times. Then a machine came on and said,

“All operators are currently helping other customers, but your call is important to us. Your approximate wait time is four minutes. Press the pound key if you would like to wait without music.”

So, my dad pressed the pound key. A minute later, some advertisements came on! I almost would have rather listened to music than the ads.

Here’s what the menu should have said.

“All operators are currently helping other customers, but your call is important to us. Your approximate wait time is four minutes. We recognize that time is valuable to you, so we’d like to make it as enjoyable for you as possible.

Press 1 for English.
Press 2 for Spanish.
Press 3 for New York English.
Press 4 for Pig Latin.

Press x1 if you’d like to listen to country music.
Press x2 if you’d like to listen to the opera.
Press x3 if you’d like to listen to an infomercial that showcases a product that can crack an egg, make an omelette, set the table, clean the kids’ rooms, and call your mother for a mere $19.95 if you order today.
Press x4 if you’d like to listen to Madonna from the ’80s.
Press x5 if you’d like to listen to modern Madonna.
Press x6 if you don’t like Madonna at all.
Press x7 if you agree with the current administration’s policies on the environment and security and would like to listen to similar propaganda.
Press 321-233-322-233-332-123-333-223-21 if you’d like to listen to the beginning of ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’

Press x8 to hear this list again.”

That might have been a bit more accommodating.

The key to peace in the Mideast: FOOD!

Screw journalism.

When I grow up, I’m going to go into the restaurant business.

I keep kosher–the food that I, along with Jews of the past and future, eat must follow the laws of the Torah. My friend Syema keeps halal–similar laws set out by the Koran that Muslims follow.

So here’s my idea. Why don’t Syema and I create a restaurant that follows both kosher and halal laws?

According to Wikipedia, both kashrut (kosher) and halal forbid pork, have certain rules for slaughtering animals, and forbid the consumption of blood. Our restaurant, naturally, will follow those laws.

The kashrut laws are a bit more strict, regarding which specific animals are kosher. Many kinds of seafood and various animals are allowed under halal laws but are not kosher. Also, halal doesn’t restrict eating milk and meat together, which is prohibited under kashrut. But then again, halal does not allow the consumption of alcohol. Therefore, our store will comply with the strictest of the rules belonging to each religion.

The store will be closed for all Muslim and Jewish holidays that require fasting or rest, including the entire week of Passover. During Ramadan, the restaurant will be open only after sunset, as the Muslims will be fasting all day long.

Cards with prayers for Jewish and Muslim services (including the Jewish grace after meals) will be available.

As for the menu, it will be a best-of-both-worlds kind of place–a sampling of the favorite dishes of Jews and Muslims worldwide. (Suggestions for what you’d like to see on the menu? Let me know.)

It is our hope that Jews and Muslims will use this restaurant as a way to bring peace between the two cultures. While some members of our religions may be fighting elsewhere across the world, there is no reason for us to be at strife here. Our religions have many similarities–why not celebrate them over matzah ball soup and biryani?

Here’s the best part: the name of our restaurant. We’ll call it…drumroll, please…

Shalom Salaami.

Coming soon to a location near you!

Scientific proof: I am not messed up in my head, and I do actually have something in there!

I’ve been having a lot of headaches the past few weeks–at least a few every day.

Yesterday, I woke up with a headache. That’s not exactly normal. So I went to the doctor’s office. He examined me (my reflexes are excellent!), and suggested I should see my eye doctor and get an MRI, just to be safe.

So, I was able to schedule an MRI at the hospital later that afternoon. I was a little nervous–I’ve never had an MRI before.

I removed all the metal from my clothing and lay down on the table. I was told to stay perfectly still or else I’d have to redo all the pictures. The doctor gave me earplugs because the MRI would be very loud. I thought, hey, how loud could it be?

I was rolled under some kind of cover (they asked me earlier if I was claustrophobic…luckily I am not). There was a little window I could look out of, and the doctor gave me a panic button in case of emergency.

The doctor said, “One in four women sleep or meditate during this procedure.”

First of all, what are the other three women doing? Knitting? Painting their nails? Kickboxing? And how would he possibly know that statistic? “Excuse me, miss, what did you do during that MRI?” “I think I stared up at the ceiling an inch away from my face…no, I did not sleep or meditate.”

Or, “Please fill out this multiple choice survey. During the MRI, did you:
a) experience full REM sleep, waking up feeling better rested,
b) daydream about what your wedding will be like, including the food, your dress, and your husband,
c) create a shopping list in your head, planning out the proper route you’ll follow at the grocery store, or
d) ponder the meaning of life, determining that the answer is indeed 42″

So, I tried to sleep, but the ear plugs did no good. The noise of the MRI was almost unbearable.

I couldn’t understand how I went to get an MRI because I had HEADACHES, and the noise was that loud. That’s like going to the hospital for your broken toe, and the doctor treats it by dropping sharp objects on it.

It wasn’t just regular noise, though. It was different pitches at various rhythms, with a few rests in between (maybe the musicians needed to rest their chops). One of the “songs” went like this: “Duk, duk, duk, duk, duk, duk…mehhh, mehhh, mehhhh, mehhhh, mehhh, mehhhh.” Another went, “Duk-a-duk-duk, mehhhhhhhhh mehhhhh.” I was trying to remember the different “songs” so I could sing them later for my friends, but it was hard to keep track of all of them. Maybe next time I’m at the hospital, I’ll ask for a copy of the soundtrack.

Halfway through, the doctor injected some kind of dye in me (he called it a “contrast” agent or something) so they can see it in the pictures. So next time you see me and I glow in the dark, you’ll know why.

I got the results today. Apparently, I’m perfectly normal in the head (who knew?). I’m getting my eyes checked tomorrow (if my vision is impaired and giving me headaches, that could explain why “love at first sight” hasn’t exactly been working for me lately), and then I’ll assess the situation.

And for now, hopefully I won’t get addicted to painkillers…

“Here’s your diploma…” “Thanks, but with my camera and cell phone, I don’t have enough hands!”

A few weeks ago, I was shocked as I watched my only sibling graduate from college.

I mean, I wasn’t surprised that he graduated.

But perhaps the phenomenon that surprised me shouldn’t have.

In the audience, we could hear chatter coming from the graduates, uniform in their black gowns and caps. But they weren’t talking to each other about college memories or about what they expected Barack Obama or their chosen professor to speak about. They were talking to the audience members via cell phones.

Pictured above: Michael (right) talks on cell phone while waving, next to his friends Eric (left) and Matt.

Both at the large university graduation and at the smaller school convocation, friends and family members waved to their graduates as they walked out (with pomp and with circumstance) as if they were leaving on the Titanic (it really is a sink-or-swim market for the grads!). They were waving like the parents used to wave to us pre-schoolers at my day camp talent show. “Hi, honey! I see you! You look great out there!”

And the graduates were just as happy to wave back. “Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad! Thanks for paying the tuition bills!”

Many of the grads also had cameras with them, naturally, to take pictures of one another during the ceremony. Michael, however, used it as an opportunity to take pictures of us.

Eric, here, is on the phone and waving while Michael takes our picture taking his picture.

First of all, where are the grads hiding these gadgets? Last I wore a graduation gown, I had no pockets, nor did I bring a purse with me. Second, why even bring the phone? Who else would call you besides your friends (sitting right next to you) or your family (sitting in the bleachers)? And if it was anyone else, would you really answer it? “Hi, I’m graduating right now, yes? No, I would NOT like to get a Discover card!”

What will we see next?

Will we call our journalist friend on television and have him wave to us on camera?

Will we call our dancing friend and tell her to wave, take our picture, and leap a little more gracefully?

Will we go to the symphony and give the oboe player a call and tell him he’s a little flat? Nahhh, even that wouldn’t help.

I like that old time rock…

I listen to classic rock.

On my favorite radio station (The Drive, 97.1 FM in Chicago), the announcers always say the music is “timeless.” They say their mission is to keep this music alive. They’ll remind me, the listener, of the feelings I felt when I first heard these songs.

It’s “classic rock,” but it’s not really “classic” for me. I’m only 19.

My general rule of thumb for music is if it was written more recently than 30 years ago, I’ve probably never heard of it.

Why is it that I love this music so much? I’ve liked the Beatles since third grade, and since then, I’ve also come to appreciate the Who, the Guess Who, Chicago, Eric Clapton, Pink Floyd, Blood Sweat & Tears, etc.

Was I born in the wrong decade? If I had lived in the ‘70s I would have been able to listen to my music without being unusual or different.

But then again, I would have had to be a hippie. And while I’ve gone through some phases of long hair in my life, I’m not so sure about the peace signs, the tie dye, or the drugs.

As Bob Seger sang,

“Call me a relic, call me what you will
Say I’m old-fashioned, say I’m over the hill
Today’s music ain’t got the same soul
I like that old time rock ‘n’ roll

Still like old time rock ‘n’ roll
That kind of music just soothes the soul
I reminisce about the days of old
With that old time rock ‘n’ roll.”