Looks like the experiment from a couple of days ago didn’t work. Here’s the article in full, I’m still interested in what you all think.
A Happy Hipster Hanukkah
By STEPHANIE ROSENBLOOM (NYT) 1775 wordsPublished: New York Times, December 15, 2005
''HELLOOOOOOOO Jews!'' the M.C. shouted to the 1,000 or so people sipping drinks and jostling elbows in the hazy purple light of Crobar, the Chelsea club, on Sunday evening. Disco balls twinkled. Electric menorahs glowed. In the candlelighted V.I.P. area, people bit into chocolate Hanukkah gelt. From a stage on the dance floor Rachel Dratch of ''Saturday Night Live'' bemoaned being Jewish at Christmastime, and Triumph the Insult Comic Dog, the foul-mouthed puppet, belted out a joyous rendition of ''Shalom Aleichem.'' It was not long before people were waving their arms above their heads and lobbing inflatable dreidels through the air like beach balls.
There was a name for this merriment: ''A Jewcy Chnukah,'' a freewheeling celebration of the holiday produced by Jewcy, a group that brings together young Jews through celebrity-filled events. (Proceeds from Sunday night went to Natan, a philanthropic organization that supports projects that engage young Jews in their religion and heritage.) At the end of the evening, which included performances by the rocker Perry Farrell and the cast of ''The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee,'' Jon Steingart, a founder of Jewcy, peered down at the packed dance floor. ''This,'' he said, ''bodes very well.''
''A Jewcy Chanukah'' is but one of many kitschy celebrations that in the past few years have made comedy as much a part of Hanukkah as latkes and sour cream. The irreverent and sometimes R-rated Hanukkah productions, popping up during what many people have called a Jewish hipster moment, are largely a reaction to what many Jews say is an overwhelming amount of Christmas hoopla. Their humor-laden productions attract thousands of young Jews (some of whom have never gravitated toward their own culture before) and, perhaps inadvertently, raise the question of what it means to be Jewish.
''We have 12 months of the year to assert our Jewish identity, so why now?'' said Rob Tannenbaum, one half of the variety show ''What I Like About Jew.'' ''The time of year that I feel most like a minority group is Christmas.''
Mr. Tannenbaum said he tries to convey his feelings to his Christian friends by asking them to imagine this: ''Everywhere you go strangers say to you, 'Merry Ramadan.' Anywhere you go you can't get into a store because people are bowing to Mecca. You'd be an angry minority. You'd be like, 'Enough of this Ramadan all ready.' ''
Christmas has gotten out of hand, said Jackie Hoffman, who is starring in ''Chanukah at Joe's Pub,'' a one-woman show. ''No one does 'The Sukkot Revue,' '' she said, referring to the autumnal Jewish holiday, ''because then we're not being badgered.''
Some Jews feel Hanukkah, which begins this year at sundown on Dec. 25, is the perfect time for comic relief because it is not a significant holiday. ''We don't do this with Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashana,'' said Joshua Neuman, the editor in chief and publisher of Heeb magazine. ''There's an added comedic value in that we know it is largely the result of American commodity culture.''
Hanukkah is a minor, generally child-centered holiday that celebrates the victory of the Jews over the Syrian Greeks around 165 B.C. No classic Hanukkah films or ballets were inspired by it. There is no ''Miracle on Hester Street,'' no ''Radio City Hanukkah Spectacular.'' Jewish songwriters have been more inclined to compose Christmas songs, including many of the most beloved: ''White Christmas'' (Irving Berlin), ''The Christmas Song: Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire'' (Mel Torm ) and ''We Need a Little Christmas'' (Jerry Herman), to name but three. Adam Sandler's 1995 ''Hanukkah Song,'' in which he enumerates Jewish (and semi-Jewish) celebrities, is the closest thing to a mainstream Hanukkah tune.
''I think Sandler was the catalyst for a lot of this,'' said Robert Smigel, the voice (and hand) behind Triumph, after his performance on Sunday. ''A lot of that was him asserting himself as a Jew.''
In 1997 the creators of ''South Park'' mined the potential agony of being a Jewish child during December with the lament, ''It's Hard to be a Jew on Christmas.'' By 2003 T-shirts that read ''Jewcy'' were selling like potato hot cakes, and Jewish hip-hop went from a simmer to a boil. On Monday VH1 will attempt to understand why Judaism is all the rage with a pop culture special called ''So Jewtastic.'' An excerpt from the show's press material reads, ''In an age when Madonna demands to be called 'Esther,' Jon Stewart is a sex symbol and seemingly everyone speaks a little Yiddish, it's never been hipper to be a Jew.''
Chris Mazzilli, the owner of Gotham Comedy Club, said its annual ''A Very Jewish Christmas'' is one of its most successful shows. This year he expects about 800 people, up from about 400 last year.
''For us it was a lot easier six years ago,'' Mr. Tannenbaum said. ''There was a lot less competition on Christmas Eve. It was us or the Matzo Ball. Our only competition was a bunch of pathetic Jewish singles trying to drink enough Manischewitz to forget that they were probably going to be alone on New Year's Eve.''
This year ''What I Like About Jew'' will have its largest tour ever, a six-city romp around the East Coast. ''Like most other trends,'' Mr. Tannenbaum said, ''the Jewish holiday hipster started in New York and has spread outward.''
The movement is likely to only go so far, said Rabbi Marc Gellman, part of ''The God Squad,'' an interfaith cable television show, and a Newsweek.com columnist. ''This revival is primarily a New York-L.A. thing, and it's the result of the fact that the only geographical region that has a majority of Jews outside Israel is Manhattan,'' he said. ''If you live in Wichita, the new hip Jewish movement will never reach you.''
That these Hanukkah shows tend to be the product of secular Jews also keeps the mood light.
Over the last three years more and more young Jews have been flaunting their heritage, donning T-shirts that proclaim their Semitic roots, listening to the Hasidic reggae singer Matisyahu and climbing onto the celebrity-driven kabbalah bandwagon. And though many occupy the same Lower East Side walk-ups that their grandparents once did, they are not interested in quietly assimilating. They identify more with the cultural trappings of Judaism -- the music, the cuisine, the humor -- than with the teachings of the Torah.
''We ourselves are less observant Jews, but we are still very culturally Jewish,'' Mr. Steingart of Jewcy said. The comedian Rebecca Drysdale is of like mind. ''My connection with being Jewish is not a religious one,'' she said. ''It's cultural.''
Mr. Neuman explained: ''There's this emerging sense of new Jewish culture that is self-consciously postdenominational and largely devoid of religious context.''
But those who define themselves as ''cultural'' Jews may alter their definitions over time, Rabbi Gellman said. ''When they have kids,'' he said, ''they'll say: 'What do you mean? Of course my kid will have a bar mitzvah.' '' He also pointed out that while some people call themselves ''cultural'' Jews, ''Judaism defines identity by blood, not by belief.'' Translation: If your mother is Jewish, so are you.
''I think they know very little about Judaism, but they seem to be crying out for some identity,'' said Ms. Hoffman, who has nine years of yeshiva under her belt. ''I don't know if this generation knows much about Sophie Tucker and Mort Sahl and George Jessel. I think they're just grasping for something during such an unbelievable onslaught,'' she said, referring to the Christmas season. It is good that people are grasping, she explained, but added that taking a Judaism class can be worthwhile. ''Investigate before you declare yourself a Jew in name only,'' she said. ''It's not so bad.''
Triumph the Insult Comic Dog riffed on that topic on Sunday night. ''Jewcy is the bold new movement of cool Jews,'' Triumph said, his gravelly voice dripping with sarcasm. ''Yeah, we want to be cool. We're Jews, like the Beasties! We don't want to be nerdy, like Einstein.'' Then he admonished: ''Crack open a Torah. Learn something. That's right! I'm lecturing you bitches!''
The lecture came lovingly gift wrapped in humor, but like many jokes it contained an element of truth. ''It's not just a kitschy subject matter,'' Mr. Smigel said later. ''It can be reduced to that, and that's a fear of the older generation. I feel very lucky that I got to get a real education in the religion.''
Some people do not enjoy the new Hanukkah shows. ''The older generation is often uncomfortable with our performances,'' Mr. Tannenbaum said. ''There is a sense that was common in an older generation that you shouldn't do anything that could be bad for the Jews. Don't be loud. Don't be vulgar. Don't be proud. Blend in. Assimilate. Finish college.''
During the first song in ''What I Like About Jew'' (one of the milder lyrics is ''She puts the whore in hora''), Mr. Tannenbaum said he usually hears ''a chair scraping and a pair of orthopedic shoes leaving the room.''
No such exit was made at ''A Jewcy Chanukah'' on Sunday. After two hours of music and comedy, Perry Farrell mixed the sacred and secular by singing ''Avenu Malkenu'' and ''Jane Says.'' Then he curled his string bean body over a microphone and cried, ''Happy Hanukkah!'' in a voice so joyful, he might as well have shouted, ''Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.''
12.25.2005
12.20.2005
The Slow Motion Brain State
I must be crazy for posting today; I’ve spent the last seven hours writing a paper due this Thursday. I have another six page paper due Tuesday, and a ten page paper due the Monday after that.
I’ve gone into self-induced hibernation for the next few weeks.
I can only write so much. After that, my brain starts to work in slow motion. I’ll sit and change a sentence for five minutes. I won’t make different corrections, rather I’ll go back and forth between two corrections over and over, each one sounding correct.
It’s at this point I realize its time for a break.
I’ll get up and walk into the kitchen, turn around a few times, and walk back to my desk. I can usually squeeze out another few sentences, before my brain slows down again. The longer I write the more walk around breaks I have to take.
This state usually lasts through finals, till next semester. Sadly, there is no next semester for me, for this is my last at YU. Part of me will miss the slow motion brain state of finals time. But really, this time happens every day, just after I wake up.
The morning routine is so engrained within most of us, we don’t even know what were doing. When I think back to the early morning, all I remember are the words,
“Max Fresh, with Breath Strips”
My best guess is it comes from the words on my toothpaste. I think I must read and reread it as I brush my teeth.
The only other time the slow motion brain state occurs is just before I fall asleep. For more on this, see the “Sleep Ramble” post.
I’ve gone into self-induced hibernation for the next few weeks.
I can only write so much. After that, my brain starts to work in slow motion. I’ll sit and change a sentence for five minutes. I won’t make different corrections, rather I’ll go back and forth between two corrections over and over, each one sounding correct.
It’s at this point I realize its time for a break.
I’ll get up and walk into the kitchen, turn around a few times, and walk back to my desk. I can usually squeeze out another few sentences, before my brain slows down again. The longer I write the more walk around breaks I have to take.
This state usually lasts through finals, till next semester. Sadly, there is no next semester for me, for this is my last at YU. Part of me will miss the slow motion brain state of finals time. But really, this time happens every day, just after I wake up.
The morning routine is so engrained within most of us, we don’t even know what were doing. When I think back to the early morning, all I remember are the words,
“Max Fresh, with Breath Strips”
My best guess is it comes from the words on my toothpaste. I think I must read and reread it as I brush my teeth.
The only other time the slow motion brain state occurs is just before I fall asleep. For more on this, see the “Sleep Ramble” post.
12.17.2005
A Happy Hipster Hanukkah - New York Times
I'm not sure how this is going to work. I saw the "Blogger" button on my Google Bar, which I clicked after I read this article. Let the experiment begin.
The article is about Jews becoming hip and celbrating Jew-culture. I've yet to see this around YU, but it may happen...I wonder what you all think about it.
Read it HERE
The article is about Jews becoming hip and celbrating Jew-culture. I've yet to see this around YU, but it may happen...I wonder what you all think about it.
Read it HERE
12.13.2005
What's Emerging at Ground Zero
I’ve been real busy and neglectful of the Blog. For that I apologize. Just so you don’t get bored and forget about me, here is an Op-ed I wrote about NYC and Ground Zero:
Ground Zero continues to be a source of fascination. While the tragedies of 9/11 will always remain a scar on the psyches of New Yorkers and the nation, the physical healing of the site has only just begun. Insights form New York City history and the modern science of Emergence is helping politicians, developers and engineers rebuild lower Manhattan.
I applaud the multiplicity involved in Ground Zero’s reconstruction. The Lower Manhattan Development Corporation (LMDC), a joint state-city corporation governed by a 16-member board of directors, is a sign of great progress for this city.
In the days of Robert Moses, power would never have been distributed this broadly. Moses alone would have chosen both the reconstruction plan and the contractors. He would have likely used the opportunity to push through his failed Lower-Manhattan Expressway or Brooklyn Battery Bridge projects. Or else, he would have replaced the sterile office complex of the World Trade Centers with something even larger.
He would have healed the Ground Zero site with an ugly scar, like the one rusting at the Worlds Fair grounds or like the strangling highways that surround Manhattan today.
While Mayor Bloomberg and Governor Pataki are currently caught in a power struggle that would have been familiar in Moses’ era, theirs is a more balanced fight than anything with which Moses would have been involved. The Lower Manhattan Development Board is half appointed by the Governor of New York and half by the Mayor of New York, something to which Moses never would have agreed.
The infighting between our Mayor and our Governor for say over the reconstruction of Ground Zero is a sign of healing in a post-9/11 and post-Moses world.
Moses’ strongest and most successful opponent, Jane Jacobs, intuitively grasped the lessons of the modern science of Emergence. Emergence is the science of bottom up organization, like that of ant colonies or the human brain. Jacobs sees cities as operating under these same, self-organizing rules.
In The New Yorker, Jacobs is said to disagree with restoring the grid of streets near Ground Zero. She said there, “I was at a school in Connecticut where the architects watched paths that the children made in the snow all winter, and then when spring came they made those the gravel paths across the green. Why not do the same thing here?” Her proposal is right out the textbooks of Emergence.
The developers seem to have accepted Jacobs’ suggestion, at least for Cortlandt Street, where they will construct a multilevel, glass-walled shopping galleria called Cortlandt Way instead of reopening the regular thoroughfare. This space will increase the random interactions of multiple agents (in this case people) that produce the self-organizing structure of emergent systems. A regular street limits these interactions, as pedestrians are limited to sidewalks and separated from each other by streets.
The more open nature of the Cortlandt Way mirrors the more open process of development going on in lower Manhattan. Both are encouraging signs for the future of this great city.
Ground Zero continues to be a source of fascination. While the tragedies of 9/11 will always remain a scar on the psyches of New Yorkers and the nation, the physical healing of the site has only just begun. Insights form New York City history and the modern science of Emergence is helping politicians, developers and engineers rebuild lower Manhattan.
I applaud the multiplicity involved in Ground Zero’s reconstruction. The Lower Manhattan Development Corporation (LMDC), a joint state-city corporation governed by a 16-member board of directors, is a sign of great progress for this city.
In the days of Robert Moses, power would never have been distributed this broadly. Moses alone would have chosen both the reconstruction plan and the contractors. He would have likely used the opportunity to push through his failed Lower-Manhattan Expressway or Brooklyn Battery Bridge projects. Or else, he would have replaced the sterile office complex of the World Trade Centers with something even larger.
He would have healed the Ground Zero site with an ugly scar, like the one rusting at the Worlds Fair grounds or like the strangling highways that surround Manhattan today.
While Mayor Bloomberg and Governor Pataki are currently caught in a power struggle that would have been familiar in Moses’ era, theirs is a more balanced fight than anything with which Moses would have been involved. The Lower Manhattan Development Board is half appointed by the Governor of New York and half by the Mayor of New York, something to which Moses never would have agreed.
The infighting between our Mayor and our Governor for say over the reconstruction of Ground Zero is a sign of healing in a post-9/11 and post-Moses world.
Moses’ strongest and most successful opponent, Jane Jacobs, intuitively grasped the lessons of the modern science of Emergence. Emergence is the science of bottom up organization, like that of ant colonies or the human brain. Jacobs sees cities as operating under these same, self-organizing rules.
In The New Yorker, Jacobs is said to disagree with restoring the grid of streets near Ground Zero. She said there, “I was at a school in Connecticut where the architects watched paths that the children made in the snow all winter, and then when spring came they made those the gravel paths across the green. Why not do the same thing here?” Her proposal is right out the textbooks of Emergence.
The developers seem to have accepted Jacobs’ suggestion, at least for Cortlandt Street, where they will construct a multilevel, glass-walled shopping galleria called Cortlandt Way instead of reopening the regular thoroughfare. This space will increase the random interactions of multiple agents (in this case people) that produce the self-organizing structure of emergent systems. A regular street limits these interactions, as pedestrians are limited to sidewalks and separated from each other by streets.
The more open nature of the Cortlandt Way mirrors the more open process of development going on in lower Manhattan. Both are encouraging signs for the future of this great city.
12.07.2005
Will it grow back?
I found myself in Midtown this afternoon. I was around Stern (not by choice, I was meeting a friend at Mendy’s for lunch) when I remembered that my roommate’s girlfriend had mentioned her hair salon was near Brookdale. I recalled, as well, how badly I needed a hair cut. She said it was just across the street.
I hate hair cuts. They never turn out the way you asked, there’s some stranger poking around with sharp objects near your head, and for weeks after it’s all over, you’ve got that “I just got a hair cut” look. I’m not a big complainer, but hair cuts drive me nuts.
During my stay at YU, I’ve gone though some harrowing hair experiences. The first was when I stupidly went to University Cuts, or University Barber, or whatever that sketchy place on Amsterdam is called. The guy didn’t speak English and there was no antiseptic container for the scissors, only a gross jar. The best part was half way through, when he said, “Uh…you know the good thing about hair? It grows back”. At the time, I thought that to be the worst phrase one could hear when getting a hair cut.
I was wrong.
You’d think I’d learn to stick to English speaking barbers, but no. On the YU Italy trip this summer I stumbled into a normal looking Italian Barber shop and stupidly thought, “Well, I’ll give it a go, I need a hair cut anyway”.
We somehow negotiated a price, despite the language barrier. They led me back to one of those sink-chairs and sat me down. When they had my head back in that awkward sitting up, head washing position, the lights whet dim and crazy, Italian techno music started up. Strobe lights came on and I felt like that dude from Eurotrip, who was caught in a similarly vulnerable position (though much worse for him).
I was in a daze from all the flashing lights and loud music, but they managed to get me into one of the seats and started to cut my hair. After some time I began to realize the barber was crazy. I looked like a chea pet (Tani can testify to this). The Roman barber mumbled out, “Eh…you like?”
I said, “Well, it’s a little crazy.”
“Eh…this shop is crazy! The music is crazy!” he said as he leaned in to say quietly in my ear, “And we’re all on the crazy stuff!”
At which point I realized, “It will grow back” was no longer the worst thing to hear from someone cutting your hair.
I hate hair cuts. They never turn out the way you asked, there’s some stranger poking around with sharp objects near your head, and for weeks after it’s all over, you’ve got that “I just got a hair cut” look. I’m not a big complainer, but hair cuts drive me nuts.
During my stay at YU, I’ve gone though some harrowing hair experiences. The first was when I stupidly went to University Cuts, or University Barber, or whatever that sketchy place on Amsterdam is called. The guy didn’t speak English and there was no antiseptic container for the scissors, only a gross jar. The best part was half way through, when he said, “Uh…you know the good thing about hair? It grows back”. At the time, I thought that to be the worst phrase one could hear when getting a hair cut.
I was wrong.
You’d think I’d learn to stick to English speaking barbers, but no. On the YU Italy trip this summer I stumbled into a normal looking Italian Barber shop and stupidly thought, “Well, I’ll give it a go, I need a hair cut anyway”.
We somehow negotiated a price, despite the language barrier. They led me back to one of those sink-chairs and sat me down. When they had my head back in that awkward sitting up, head washing position, the lights whet dim and crazy, Italian techno music started up. Strobe lights came on and I felt like that dude from Eurotrip, who was caught in a similarly vulnerable position (though much worse for him).
I was in a daze from all the flashing lights and loud music, but they managed to get me into one of the seats and started to cut my hair. After some time I began to realize the barber was crazy. I looked like a chea pet (Tani can testify to this). The Roman barber mumbled out, “Eh…you like?”
I said, “Well, it’s a little crazy.”
“Eh…this shop is crazy! The music is crazy!” he said as he leaned in to say quietly in my ear, “And we’re all on the crazy stuff!”
At which point I realized, “It will grow back” was no longer the worst thing to hear from someone cutting your hair.
12.05.2005
Actual Lights in the Heights
Here Josh B., are the lights in the Heights from 186th street. Sorry for the blurriness, it was freezing and I had no gloves. This is a great example of perseverance and a merrier neighborhood.Lights in the Heights
Is it sacrilegious to think Christmas decorations are great? I think people should have colorful flashing lights up all year long. The trees I can do without, but the lights should stay up.
The best lights in the Heights are on 186th between Audubon and Amsterdam. It’s this second floor fire escape with Christmas lights hanging all over the place. Awesome.
I was talking with this dude who said Christmas lights are ok, but only in snow covered suburbs. He said the lights in the Heights were lame and pathetic. I told him I think it’s just the opposite. These Dominicans are doing the best they can. They’ve got no snow covered yards. No gently sloping roofs on which to hang their festive gear. Instead, they jam their few flashing lights into the measly space they have available. A window, a fire escape, the phone booths…And that makes them all the more festive and merry. Not merry in the Christmas sense, but merry in the “let’s hang colorful flashing lights outside our windows and on our fire escape” sense.
Which brings me to the movie Elf. It was just on cable and I guess that’s what made me think about the lights in the Heights. Will Ferrell running around NYC in an Elf costume just makes you think. And I realized this snowy time in New York is really one of the best. Bad Christmas jingles in all the stores, ten times more stupid tourists running all over the place and everyone wants to go ice skating.
This time of year is just different.
This time of year, one can understand Buddy the Elf (“Hi, this is Buddy the Elf, what’s you’re favorite color?”) when he says, “I just like to smile! Smiling's my favorite.”
The best lights in the Heights are on 186th between Audubon and Amsterdam. It’s this second floor fire escape with Christmas lights hanging all over the place. Awesome.
I was talking with this dude who said Christmas lights are ok, but only in snow covered suburbs. He said the lights in the Heights were lame and pathetic. I told him I think it’s just the opposite. These Dominicans are doing the best they can. They’ve got no snow covered yards. No gently sloping roofs on which to hang their festive gear. Instead, they jam their few flashing lights into the measly space they have available. A window, a fire escape, the phone booths…And that makes them all the more festive and merry. Not merry in the Christmas sense, but merry in the “let’s hang colorful flashing lights outside our windows and on our fire escape” sense.
Which brings me to the movie Elf. It was just on cable and I guess that’s what made me think about the lights in the Heights. Will Ferrell running around NYC in an Elf costume just makes you think. And I realized this snowy time in New York is really one of the best. Bad Christmas jingles in all the stores, ten times more stupid tourists running all over the place and everyone wants to go ice skating.
This time of year is just different.
This time of year, one can understand Buddy the Elf (“Hi, this is Buddy the Elf, what’s you’re favorite color?”) when he says, “I just like to smile! Smiling's my favorite.”
11.29.2005
Venetian Dream
This is a "digital doodle" I made in class last night. Its two photos I took this summer on the YU trip to Italy.
I was thinking the other day about double exposure pictures, which are two photos taken on the same piece of film. Thus, one shot is overlaid on another with interesting results. I was wondering how to duplicate this in the Photoshop age and this is what I came up with.
The difference is the lack of randomness. Here, each part of both pictures, their various color saturations, etc. have all been decided by the photographer. With film, you never really knew what would turn up till the print was made. I'm a big digital over film advocate, but in this instance, I miss the randomness.
I'm working on a method that might recreate the process of double exposure, with all its randamtivity, but with film. I'll let you know how it turns out. Until then, let me know what you think of this photograph (or is it a photograph, maybe its more like a painting...).
11.27.2005
Surviving Thanksgiving II; The Residual Effects
Well, I’ve made it out alive. It just got…a little bit crazy these past few days. But now my roommates have returned, as have most of my friends. I think things are on the up and up.
I actually made it all the way to midtown for an Estihana sushi roll, veggie egg roll, Sapporo beer and a steak (I told you food was running low, I was hungry.). I went to see an old high school friend, with whom I go to this particular restaurant whenever she’s in town.
After dinner, when I got on the elevator at 181st street, one of my random stranger friends got on right after me. This was the kind of random stranger friend that I recognize even before they come up to me to relate intimate details about my life.
As with most of my random stranger friends, I wasn’t sure if I actually knew the guy or not. I looked for a kippah and saw none, so of course I assumed he was just some white dude living in The Heights. Then I realized random white people don’t live in The Heights unless they go to YU.
I tried to remember where I knew him from. As with all my encounters with random stranger friends, I thought back to high school and my early years at YU to try to place him. No luck.
I started to fear that I had become a random stranger friend to someone else. What if he only looked like a familiar YU guy, and I really had never met him before?
I tried to catch his eye, maybe jog his memory. He was in front of me on the elevator, though, so this was pointless.
As we got of the elevator, I decided the past few days in solitary confinement had left me desperate for human contact. This truly was some random YU guy, and not a relic friend from my past.
But, passing the fruit stand on 183rd (or whatever street that its on); he glanced back and looked me in the eye, as if to say “Yeah, I know who you are. What are you gonna do about it?”
“Nothing,” I thought, “Its all just residual hallucinations from Thanksgiving”
That’s when I heard him pick up his phone and answer in an Australian accent. It was GABE! I did know him. From sophomore year (or something). Sadly, though, he turned right on 184th and was lost.
Will I see ol’ Gabe again? Will I ever figure out in what year I actually knew him, or if indeed I was still delirious? Did I actually leave my apartment at all, or was this all some extended delusion from staying in my apartment too long?
Stay tuned and find out.
I actually made it all the way to midtown for an Estihana sushi roll, veggie egg roll, Sapporo beer and a steak (I told you food was running low, I was hungry.). I went to see an old high school friend, with whom I go to this particular restaurant whenever she’s in town.
After dinner, when I got on the elevator at 181st street, one of my random stranger friends got on right after me. This was the kind of random stranger friend that I recognize even before they come up to me to relate intimate details about my life.
As with most of my random stranger friends, I wasn’t sure if I actually knew the guy or not. I looked for a kippah and saw none, so of course I assumed he was just some white dude living in The Heights. Then I realized random white people don’t live in The Heights unless they go to YU.
I tried to remember where I knew him from. As with all my encounters with random stranger friends, I thought back to high school and my early years at YU to try to place him. No luck.
I started to fear that I had become a random stranger friend to someone else. What if he only looked like a familiar YU guy, and I really had never met him before?
I tried to catch his eye, maybe jog his memory. He was in front of me on the elevator, though, so this was pointless.
As we got of the elevator, I decided the past few days in solitary confinement had left me desperate for human contact. This truly was some random YU guy, and not a relic friend from my past.
But, passing the fruit stand on 183rd (or whatever street that its on); he glanced back and looked me in the eye, as if to say “Yeah, I know who you are. What are you gonna do about it?”
“Nothing,” I thought, “Its all just residual hallucinations from Thanksgiving”
That’s when I heard him pick up his phone and answer in an Australian accent. It was GABE! I did know him. From sophomore year (or something). Sadly, though, he turned right on 184th and was lost.
Will I see ol’ Gabe again? Will I ever figure out in what year I actually knew him, or if indeed I was still delirious? Did I actually leave my apartment at all, or was this all some extended delusion from staying in my apartment too long?
Stay tuned and find out.
Surviving Thanksgiving
Day 1:
Its just me. This extended weekend is a testament to survival. I’ve packed only the essentials: bread, wine and some chicken. Oh yeah, I also made soup. My roommates have gone. Friends have forsaken me. The sun sets, I must be off.
Day 2:
The meals were delicious, but now only a memory. Hunger sets in. Should I venture out for some supplies? No, it’s too cold and I’ve got no cash. Better to hunker down and feed myself on the warm glow of the television.
Day 3:
I still haven’t left the apartment. Cold and inertia keep me indoors. It’s now past midnight and I’m still not asleep. Food runs short.
Day 4:
I’m not sure how much longer I can last. I’ve forgotten what the outdoors feels like. I’d open a window, but I’ve grown too weak. I’m lucky to last the night. If I haven’t posted anything by tomorrow, send word.
Its just me. This extended weekend is a testament to survival. I’ve packed only the essentials: bread, wine and some chicken. Oh yeah, I also made soup. My roommates have gone. Friends have forsaken me. The sun sets, I must be off.
Day 2:
The meals were delicious, but now only a memory. Hunger sets in. Should I venture out for some supplies? No, it’s too cold and I’ve got no cash. Better to hunker down and feed myself on the warm glow of the television.
Day 3:
I still haven’t left the apartment. Cold and inertia keep me indoors. It’s now past midnight and I’m still not asleep. Food runs short.
Day 4:
I’m not sure how much longer I can last. I’ve forgotten what the outdoors feels like. I’d open a window, but I’ve grown too weak. I’m lucky to last the night. If I haven’t posted anything by tomorrow, send word.
11.21.2005
Beaten by the Snapple Beast
I went to buy a Snapple today.
Simple enough. I put in a dollar into a vending machine somewhere in the backwaters of Muss (don’t ask what I was doing or how I got there, Muss just seems to absorb you). I pressed “A1” -- Kiwi Strawberry, delish.
Nothing happened.
I tried A1 again, but to no avail. I then leaned over and discovered a Snapple from this crazy machine costs $1.25. No way am I going to pay anything more than a dollar for something that comes out of a vending machine.
I pressed the coin return lever and to my surprise a shiny Sacagawea dollar tinkled out.
“No, effin way,” I thought.
I then proceeded to find another dollar bill to exchange in the machine for a dollar coin. The machine was on to me though, as this time four quarters crashed into the coin return slot instead.
I kicked the machine.
I fingered through the dollars to make sure I had picked up all four, when I noticed one of them wasn’t a quarter at all. At least it wasn’t an American quarter. The damn thing gave me a Canadian quarter.
I kicked the machine again.
Instead of having a few of those neat golden coins in my pocket, I was now out less than the two dollars I had initially invested. This due to the lesser value of Canada’s useless currency.
As I retold this tale to a buddy of mine, he pointed out the lesson one can learn from such an experience:
“The Snapple machine takes Canadian money.”
If I could safely navigate through the labyrinthine halls of Muss, I would tell you where this Snapple Machine lies. We could go forth and slay the overcharging beast with our crappy Canada money, and reap the rewards of cheaper drinks.
Alas, these rewards do not merit the risk of eternal wandering in the maze that is Muss.
Simple enough. I put in a dollar into a vending machine somewhere in the backwaters of Muss (don’t ask what I was doing or how I got there, Muss just seems to absorb you). I pressed “A1” -- Kiwi Strawberry, delish.
Nothing happened.
I tried A1 again, but to no avail. I then leaned over and discovered a Snapple from this crazy machine costs $1.25. No way am I going to pay anything more than a dollar for something that comes out of a vending machine.
I pressed the coin return lever and to my surprise a shiny Sacagawea dollar tinkled out.
“No, effin way,” I thought.
I then proceeded to find another dollar bill to exchange in the machine for a dollar coin. The machine was on to me though, as this time four quarters crashed into the coin return slot instead.
I kicked the machine.
I fingered through the dollars to make sure I had picked up all four, when I noticed one of them wasn’t a quarter at all. At least it wasn’t an American quarter. The damn thing gave me a Canadian quarter.
I kicked the machine again.
Instead of having a few of those neat golden coins in my pocket, I was now out less than the two dollars I had initially invested. This due to the lesser value of Canada’s useless currency.
As I retold this tale to a buddy of mine, he pointed out the lesson one can learn from such an experience:
“The Snapple machine takes Canadian money.”
If I could safely navigate through the labyrinthine halls of Muss, I would tell you where this Snapple Machine lies. We could go forth and slay the overcharging beast with our crappy Canada money, and reap the rewards of cheaper drinks.
Alas, these rewards do not merit the risk of eternal wandering in the maze that is Muss.
11.17.2005
Cementers
So yesterday morning I walked past the sidewalk outside of Schottenstein where some guy was jack hammering. An hour later, the whole sidewalk was rubble. There was dirt, New York City dirt. At first, I thought how neat, that guy is really doing something. Who else gets to dig around in NYC, the concrete center of the world?
But today I walked past the same stretch of sidewalk and the same dude was putting the finishing touches on new cement. After I fought back the urge to stick my hand in it and make an immortal, handprint graffiti, I wondered if he had actually done anything. What if he just ripped up the sidewalk to lay more sidewalk? What if that’s how New York sustains itself? They just pay people to destroy, and then rebuild, its millions of miles of cement.
I guess if this were really true, we’d see these cementers more often.
But still, how do we really know?
But today I walked past the same stretch of sidewalk and the same dude was putting the finishing touches on new cement. After I fought back the urge to stick my hand in it and make an immortal, handprint graffiti, I wondered if he had actually done anything. What if he just ripped up the sidewalk to lay more sidewalk? What if that’s how New York sustains itself? They just pay people to destroy, and then rebuild, its millions of miles of cement.
I guess if this were really true, we’d see these cementers more often.
But still, how do we really know?
11.16.2005
Its coming
Not to write one of those annoying "Oh, the Fall makes me weep and wistful" Blogs, but today was such a warm, Fall day...This picture is to remind us what's to come. No one posted a haiku about the last photo, so i dont expect any for this one either.
11.13.2005
Sleep Ramble
I wrote this a while ago, but it still seems relevant:
I just want to write and write and I have all these things to say, but the blank page frightens me. I’ll get a good sentence going, but then the vast emptiness below the page makes me dizzy and I have to stop. How could I possibly fill up all that whiteness with meaningful ideas? Then, just to get myself going, I vomit out any passing thought that floats into my head, and try to squeeze out the void below. Before I know it, I’ve filled some of that void and it becomes easier.
Then I reread what I’ve spat out and notice that the word “void” is used too many times perhaps. And then the part that talks about squeezing out the void doesn’t come across how I wanted it to. Instead of evoking the idea of squeezing your eyes shut when you’re on a precipice, or some rickety bridge, it sounds like I’m trying to squeeze out the whiteness on the page with my words. Or maybe it doesn’t, am I being too critical? Will someone read it the way I wanted them too? This indecision could cripple a man.
Now that two paragraphs have themselves established, I grope for where to proceed. Should I transition into some story or anecdote (are those the same thing)? Should I go on about how its past midnight and that I should be sleeping or else I’ll be too tired tomorrow and since its Monday my whole week will be off, just like the last one and the one before that? Maybe I should just forget the whole thing and go back to bed like I’m supposed to. But then I’ll toss and turn like I have been for the past hour or so, just to get up and try to write away my angst. Where does that angst come from? Is it all the half thought out ideas from the day coming back to haunt me? Do they cry out with unfinished business that I’m supposed to complete for them? Or is it all the tasks I’ve not completed, crying out to be accomplished. Whatever it is, it’s keeping me awake.
The whole process of falling asleep is a struggle for me. My body is tired, I recognize that, but for some reason my mind stays awake, in spite of its best interest to rest. They say it takes the average person twenty minutes to fall asleep. Twenty minutes! I’m lucky to fall asleep in under an hour. I have various tactics for finding a comfortable position, that’s not the problem. It’s when I find that position that the trouble starts. I start to hear the activity in my head. A broken record of some song I heard in passing during the day. An image of the snow falling lit up brilliantly by the street light. The lab practical I didn’t study for. All these things start to blend together and I feel like an actual blender is twirling in my chest and stomach. This is not a severe sensation, but it’s just enough to make myself uncomfortable. So I must switch positions and start the search for another comfortable one. Then the process repeats.
Now I look back and admire how much of the void has been converted into meaningful ideas. Then I wonder if the ideas are truly meaningful, or just rambling. For the moment I’ll take pride in the fact that the void has been converted into ideas, meaningful or otherwise. At this I start to worry about a new void that is opening up below. The next page is just around the corner. But, after tackling the first page, the second will only be easier. Unless, that is, I don’t venture further. If I just end it here, I’ll have no more voids to conquer no self doubt or over usage of the word “void”. No repetition or misspelled words. I’ll have a complete story, or set of ideas anyway. I can jump back into bed with the knowledge that a once blank space has been filled up with something of substance. That might comfort me enough so that I’ll fall asleep. That is, unless I start to worry if what I’ve just written has gone no where and said nothing. Then the page would have been better off left blank.
On turns the blender and the process begins again.
I just want to write and write and I have all these things to say, but the blank page frightens me. I’ll get a good sentence going, but then the vast emptiness below the page makes me dizzy and I have to stop. How could I possibly fill up all that whiteness with meaningful ideas? Then, just to get myself going, I vomit out any passing thought that floats into my head, and try to squeeze out the void below. Before I know it, I’ve filled some of that void and it becomes easier.
Then I reread what I’ve spat out and notice that the word “void” is used too many times perhaps. And then the part that talks about squeezing out the void doesn’t come across how I wanted it to. Instead of evoking the idea of squeezing your eyes shut when you’re on a precipice, or some rickety bridge, it sounds like I’m trying to squeeze out the whiteness on the page with my words. Or maybe it doesn’t, am I being too critical? Will someone read it the way I wanted them too? This indecision could cripple a man.
Now that two paragraphs have themselves established, I grope for where to proceed. Should I transition into some story or anecdote (are those the same thing)? Should I go on about how its past midnight and that I should be sleeping or else I’ll be too tired tomorrow and since its Monday my whole week will be off, just like the last one and the one before that? Maybe I should just forget the whole thing and go back to bed like I’m supposed to. But then I’ll toss and turn like I have been for the past hour or so, just to get up and try to write away my angst. Where does that angst come from? Is it all the half thought out ideas from the day coming back to haunt me? Do they cry out with unfinished business that I’m supposed to complete for them? Or is it all the tasks I’ve not completed, crying out to be accomplished. Whatever it is, it’s keeping me awake.
The whole process of falling asleep is a struggle for me. My body is tired, I recognize that, but for some reason my mind stays awake, in spite of its best interest to rest. They say it takes the average person twenty minutes to fall asleep. Twenty minutes! I’m lucky to fall asleep in under an hour. I have various tactics for finding a comfortable position, that’s not the problem. It’s when I find that position that the trouble starts. I start to hear the activity in my head. A broken record of some song I heard in passing during the day. An image of the snow falling lit up brilliantly by the street light. The lab practical I didn’t study for. All these things start to blend together and I feel like an actual blender is twirling in my chest and stomach. This is not a severe sensation, but it’s just enough to make myself uncomfortable. So I must switch positions and start the search for another comfortable one. Then the process repeats.
Now I look back and admire how much of the void has been converted into meaningful ideas. Then I wonder if the ideas are truly meaningful, or just rambling. For the moment I’ll take pride in the fact that the void has been converted into ideas, meaningful or otherwise. At this I start to worry about a new void that is opening up below. The next page is just around the corner. But, after tackling the first page, the second will only be easier. Unless, that is, I don’t venture further. If I just end it here, I’ll have no more voids to conquer no self doubt or over usage of the word “void”. No repetition or misspelled words. I’ll have a complete story, or set of ideas anyway. I can jump back into bed with the knowledge that a once blank space has been filled up with something of substance. That might comfort me enough so that I’ll fall asleep. That is, unless I start to worry if what I’ve just written has gone no where and said nothing. Then the page would have been better off left blank.
On turns the blender and the process begins again.
11.10.2005
Remember?
It was so cold today, I thought I'd share this photo I took in Cali. to warm everyone up. (Also to distract people from the controversy over the last post).
Post a Haiku about it and be cool like tani.
11.09.2005
The Things You Hear
Some Freshman I heard today: Are we allowed to take out books from the Library?
I love YU. Here’s another:
BMP Rabbi: It’s like the Theory of Gravitivity…
And finally:
Art Teacher: I can go either way.
I love YU. Here’s another:
BMP Rabbi: It’s like the Theory of Gravitivity…
And finally:
Art Teacher: I can go either way.
11.08.2005
Random Stranger Friends
It looks like YU Blog?! has gone public. I guess that means I’ve graduated to blogging an actual blog. Blog-tastic.
I’ve still yet to figure out the point of this whole thing, but that will probably surface over time. My general focus is going to be YU. Hence the name, “YU Blog!?” I’ve been here long enough that I should have at least a few things to say about this place.
Over the last four years, I’ve realized a few drawbacks about sticking around one place for too long. What amazes me the most is how many people I know only because they say “Hi” to me when I see them around campus. I have no idea who these people are. Its not like I’ve just forgotten their names; I doubt if I’ve ever known them.
And there are lots of them. I’m sure everybody knows a few people only well enough to recognize them, but not well enough to know their names. But I sometimes wonder if I have more friends I know, or more of these random stranger friends who think I know them, when in fact I couldn’t place them for the life of me.
They all have that YU look. The look that says, “Hey, I’m a YU guy” even in Times Square or some random subway. Do I look that way? Maybe that’s why they say hi to me in the first place. Not because they know me, but because I have that YU look that only makes them think they know me…
The problem is they all seem to know my name and other intimate facts about my life. “So, Alex, how were your holidays? Did you go to Chicago, or stay in Wisconsin?” In any other setting that would freak me out. In the comfort and security of YU, though, I just smile and pretend that we’re old buddies. “Ya, thank G-d, how were yours? It’s good to see you.” Maybe I should be afraid.
It’s come to the point where I can recognize these random stranger friends. Thus, I can preempt their “Hello’s” with a greeting of my own. That way, they think I have some idea who the hell they might be. Sometimes I think about asking them how I know them, or how they know me, or what their fucking names are. Unfortunately, my charade has gone on far too long. I’ve been “friends” with these people for too many years to start asking questions now.
Is my memory that bad that I’ve forgotten all these people I once knew in some class, or from some event? Or are there minions of Grange-stalkers out there who pretend that we’re friends just to freak me out?
If any of you are reading this, just assume that I do, in fact, know who you are. I don’t want to figure out how I know my random stranger friends at the expense of weirding out my real friends. And if the truth must be known, I’ve grown attached to both groups. My real friends are good for what normal friends are good for-support, hanging out, whatever. My random stranger friends keep things interesting when I walk around campus.
YU wouldn’t be the crazy place it is without both.
I’ve still yet to figure out the point of this whole thing, but that will probably surface over time. My general focus is going to be YU. Hence the name, “YU Blog!?” I’ve been here long enough that I should have at least a few things to say about this place.
Over the last four years, I’ve realized a few drawbacks about sticking around one place for too long. What amazes me the most is how many people I know only because they say “Hi” to me when I see them around campus. I have no idea who these people are. Its not like I’ve just forgotten their names; I doubt if I’ve ever known them.
And there are lots of them. I’m sure everybody knows a few people only well enough to recognize them, but not well enough to know their names. But I sometimes wonder if I have more friends I know, or more of these random stranger friends who think I know them, when in fact I couldn’t place them for the life of me.
They all have that YU look. The look that says, “Hey, I’m a YU guy” even in Times Square or some random subway. Do I look that way? Maybe that’s why they say hi to me in the first place. Not because they know me, but because I have that YU look that only makes them think they know me…
The problem is they all seem to know my name and other intimate facts about my life. “So, Alex, how were your holidays? Did you go to Chicago, or stay in Wisconsin?” In any other setting that would freak me out. In the comfort and security of YU, though, I just smile and pretend that we’re old buddies. “Ya, thank G-d, how were yours? It’s good to see you.” Maybe I should be afraid.
It’s come to the point where I can recognize these random stranger friends. Thus, I can preempt their “Hello’s” with a greeting of my own. That way, they think I have some idea who the hell they might be. Sometimes I think about asking them how I know them, or how they know me, or what their fucking names are. Unfortunately, my charade has gone on far too long. I’ve been “friends” with these people for too many years to start asking questions now.
Is my memory that bad that I’ve forgotten all these people I once knew in some class, or from some event? Or are there minions of Grange-stalkers out there who pretend that we’re friends just to freak me out?
If any of you are reading this, just assume that I do, in fact, know who you are. I don’t want to figure out how I know my random stranger friends at the expense of weirding out my real friends. And if the truth must be known, I’ve grown attached to both groups. My real friends are good for what normal friends are good for-support, hanging out, whatever. My random stranger friends keep things interesting when I walk around campus.
YU wouldn’t be the crazy place it is without both.
11.01.2005
Hello
Well this is it. I've become one of the millions of Bloggers out there. At this point, I'm only Blogging a diary, because no one knows that YU Blog?! exits, but that's OK. Blogs are just public diaries anyway, so I'm half way there.
In this inaugural edition of Blog Y.U., the only Yeshiva University student Blog I know about (which isn't saying there aren't any others), I'm going to quote an article I wrote recently for The Commentator. It pretty much frames my thoughts on this school, and might also explain why I'm Blogging about it at all, though who really knows the answer to that.
Here it is:
"Y.U. sits atop the greatest city in the world. It provides a thorough Torah education in tandem with high caliber secular studies, like no other institution in America. Small class sizes provide intimate learning environments and a diverse student body helps to ensure that these environments remain interesting. This school’s distinguished past is matched only by its hopeful future.
And yet, people complain.
One might say complaints are justified. Over the past three and a half years that make up my stay at Y.U., I have seen the irreplaceable loss of some great educators, such as Rabbi Chiam Eisenstein and Professor Perry Fish.The many complaints regarding Jewish Studies requirements, such as the copious Bible courses required to graduate, come to mind as well.
But people also complain about the food, the tuition, the lack of a co-ed campus, the education; they complain about The Heights, the dorms, and the administration.
People complain too much.
When I feel like complaining about these complainers, I look back at my experiences from the past six and a half semesters and remember that complaining will get you nowhere.Instead of feeling despair when thinking about such problems, Y.U. has taught me to attempt change.
There are grounds for complaint when looking at the few pages that make up the course offerings here, especially when comparing Y.U. to other schools that fill booklets with the courses they offer.I could have complained when I failed to see Photography as an offering from the Art department when I first arrived at Y.U.
Instead, a chance meeting at the 2003 Arts Festival taught me the alternative to complaining. There, I met the former assistant dean, Dean Jesinowski. She commented to me about the high quality of student art at Y.U., specifically regarding photography. Instead of complaining about the lack of photography classes, I pointed out to her that student art could only improve if Y.U. offered more classes in these areas. I told her how I had always wanted to learn photography at the college level. Over the next weeks and months, she, Dean Adler and Professor Lindenthal worked together to bring us the photography department we have today, which could soon include a state of the art digital studio.
This experience taught me about the tremendous resources available at Y.U., many of which are untapped by the student body.I saw Y.U. with new eyes and began to look around for other opportunities that would better my time and experience here.
A second chance encounter led me to another of Y.U.’s great resources, Jim Reckert and Production Services in Belfer. I went to the basement of Belfer, as most students do, to mail a package.I was sending some pictures that I had printed to a relative.One of the many helpful employees there noticed them and mentioned that Production had the capability to print poster size photographs.After much time spent in depths of that building and many prints later, I began work-study there.I value the education I received working there to the same degree as the education I gained from the classroom.
The more I looked at what Y.U. could offer me, the more I saw.
This school of ours actually paid for me to travel to Europe-twice.The Jay and Jeanie Schottenstein Honors Summer Travel Program took me and other students to London and Dublin during the summer of 2004 and to Italy during the summer of 2005.Within a traveling Jewish community, we were able to observe those cultures first hand.No other university in the world could provide that, especially at the cost of a mere three credits per class.
I have taken courses with Professor Paul Glassman that my friends at other schools are jealous of, such as Evolution of the Skyscraper and Art in New York, where students go on field trips almost every class to many of New York’s cultural treasures.
One can look at Y.U. through negative eyes, or one can see Y.U. as a place to cultivate into an environment of opportunity. Experiences such as these are open to anyone enrolled here, if they would only look for them.
Those in need of help seeing what Y.U. can provide should take a short trip to the Academic Advising Office, led by the most helpful Dr. Thea Volpe, which can assist students in finding their own vision of Y.U.’s opportunity.
One can see Y.U. as a homogenous student body; we are all Jews. One can also see the amazing diversity here. There are Americans, French, Australians, Moroccans, Russians, Canadians, Brazilians, and Israelis; there are Modern Orthodox, Chabad, Sephardi, Orthodox, Reform and Conservative Jews. Wonderfully, Y.U. can work for all of these individuals. There are several Jewish study tracks available to meet all of their needs.
The “Y” in Y.U. offers unlimited growth opportunity from many distinguished
Rabbis. While the “U” may not be the same co-ed experience found elsewhere, a short ride on the subway can provide the culturally diverse experience some students might be looking for, one that is un-matched by most Universities in the country. When people complain about the secular classes here, they often forget what a unique opportunity it is to learn directly from a professor in an intimate setting. I am friends with most of my professors, while my friends at other schools often do not have the opportunity to meet their teachers outside of the classroom.
Y.U. will be what you make it. Just as a hot air balloon responds to the amount of energy supplied to it, Y.U. will take one only as high as he is willing to ascend. See Y.U. as a “fake” school, one to get through with minimal effort, and the school will carry you along, but only so high. See Y.U. as the unique place it is, and there will be no limit to the varied experiences available here that will affect the rest of your life."
For those of you who've made it this far, assuming I tell someone about this whole thing, the above isn't the printed text from the paper. That copy has been edited a bit. This copy is just what I wrote and sent to them...
Anyway, we'll see where this whole thing goes and where it takes me.
It's been fun so far.
~Grange
P.S. Thanks to Josh Hoizen for tech support.
In this inaugural edition of Blog Y.U., the only Yeshiva University student Blog I know about (which isn't saying there aren't any others), I'm going to quote an article I wrote recently for The Commentator. It pretty much frames my thoughts on this school, and might also explain why I'm Blogging about it at all, though who really knows the answer to that.
Here it is:
"Y.U. sits atop the greatest city in the world. It provides a thorough Torah education in tandem with high caliber secular studies, like no other institution in America. Small class sizes provide intimate learning environments and a diverse student body helps to ensure that these environments remain interesting. This school’s distinguished past is matched only by its hopeful future.
And yet, people complain.
One might say complaints are justified. Over the past three and a half years that make up my stay at Y.U., I have seen the irreplaceable loss of some great educators, such as Rabbi Chiam Eisenstein and Professor Perry Fish.The many complaints regarding Jewish Studies requirements, such as the copious Bible courses required to graduate, come to mind as well.
But people also complain about the food, the tuition, the lack of a co-ed campus, the education; they complain about The Heights, the dorms, and the administration.
People complain too much.
When I feel like complaining about these complainers, I look back at my experiences from the past six and a half semesters and remember that complaining will get you nowhere.Instead of feeling despair when thinking about such problems, Y.U. has taught me to attempt change.
There are grounds for complaint when looking at the few pages that make up the course offerings here, especially when comparing Y.U. to other schools that fill booklets with the courses they offer.I could have complained when I failed to see Photography as an offering from the Art department when I first arrived at Y.U.
Instead, a chance meeting at the 2003 Arts Festival taught me the alternative to complaining. There, I met the former assistant dean, Dean Jesinowski. She commented to me about the high quality of student art at Y.U., specifically regarding photography. Instead of complaining about the lack of photography classes, I pointed out to her that student art could only improve if Y.U. offered more classes in these areas. I told her how I had always wanted to learn photography at the college level. Over the next weeks and months, she, Dean Adler and Professor Lindenthal worked together to bring us the photography department we have today, which could soon include a state of the art digital studio.
This experience taught me about the tremendous resources available at Y.U., many of which are untapped by the student body.I saw Y.U. with new eyes and began to look around for other opportunities that would better my time and experience here.
A second chance encounter led me to another of Y.U.’s great resources, Jim Reckert and Production Services in Belfer. I went to the basement of Belfer, as most students do, to mail a package.I was sending some pictures that I had printed to a relative.One of the many helpful employees there noticed them and mentioned that Production had the capability to print poster size photographs.After much time spent in depths of that building and many prints later, I began work-study there.I value the education I received working there to the same degree as the education I gained from the classroom.
The more I looked at what Y.U. could offer me, the more I saw.
This school of ours actually paid for me to travel to Europe-twice.The Jay and Jeanie Schottenstein Honors Summer Travel Program took me and other students to London and Dublin during the summer of 2004 and to Italy during the summer of 2005.Within a traveling Jewish community, we were able to observe those cultures first hand.No other university in the world could provide that, especially at the cost of a mere three credits per class.
I have taken courses with Professor Paul Glassman that my friends at other schools are jealous of, such as Evolution of the Skyscraper and Art in New York, where students go on field trips almost every class to many of New York’s cultural treasures.
One can look at Y.U. through negative eyes, or one can see Y.U. as a place to cultivate into an environment of opportunity. Experiences such as these are open to anyone enrolled here, if they would only look for them.
Those in need of help seeing what Y.U. can provide should take a short trip to the Academic Advising Office, led by the most helpful Dr. Thea Volpe, which can assist students in finding their own vision of Y.U.’s opportunity.
One can see Y.U. as a homogenous student body; we are all Jews. One can also see the amazing diversity here. There are Americans, French, Australians, Moroccans, Russians, Canadians, Brazilians, and Israelis; there are Modern Orthodox, Chabad, Sephardi, Orthodox, Reform and Conservative Jews. Wonderfully, Y.U. can work for all of these individuals. There are several Jewish study tracks available to meet all of their needs.
The “Y” in Y.U. offers unlimited growth opportunity from many distinguished
Rabbis. While the “U” may not be the same co-ed experience found elsewhere, a short ride on the subway can provide the culturally diverse experience some students might be looking for, one that is un-matched by most Universities in the country. When people complain about the secular classes here, they often forget what a unique opportunity it is to learn directly from a professor in an intimate setting. I am friends with most of my professors, while my friends at other schools often do not have the opportunity to meet their teachers outside of the classroom.
Y.U. will be what you make it. Just as a hot air balloon responds to the amount of energy supplied to it, Y.U. will take one only as high as he is willing to ascend. See Y.U. as a “fake” school, one to get through with minimal effort, and the school will carry you along, but only so high. See Y.U. as the unique place it is, and there will be no limit to the varied experiences available here that will affect the rest of your life."
For those of you who've made it this far, assuming I tell someone about this whole thing, the above isn't the printed text from the paper. That copy has been edited a bit. This copy is just what I wrote and sent to them...
Anyway, we'll see where this whole thing goes and where it takes me.
It's been fun so far.
~Grange
P.S. Thanks to Josh Hoizen for tech support.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)