- Yom Hatzmaut

Though most other bochurim like myself do not recognize or celebrate this day (if they even know what it is – I know of a few that have never heard of it), I recognize and appreciate it, and am proud of it. I feel that there is a flaw in the Yeshiva system in their negligibility to acknowledge this day. We are all part of Klal Yisroel, and the fact that we, instead of Yishmael, reside there now, is a cause for simcha. I do, however agree with yeshivish viewpoint in regard of making it into a type of Yom Tov, saying Hallel for it and all that. While it is nice that we acknowledge it, there is no source anywhere in the poskim, or at least that I know of, that it should be treated halachicly different from any other day. So it was on that note that the Special Committee for Zionistic affairs was formed this morning before Shacharis (or Shacharit – for all you Israelis out there). It was this core of five white-shirt yeshiva guys, looking more for an avenue to display a rebellious streak, rather than promote patriotism, that got to work right after Shacharis. While three of them, wearing those blue "United With Israel" tee shirts were busy planting Israeli flags at various points around the campus, one was bringing in a huge sheet cake with an Israeli flag on it into the cafeteria. Pieces of this cake, wrapped in blue and white napkins, were given out for free. And where was the last member of the committee? While everyone else was at breakfast, he was busy tinkering with the wires of the intercom system. The final stage of the plan was that during the first few minutes of shiur, the Hatikva (an acapella version) would be played throughout the yeshiva via the intercom system. Then all went wrong. Three minutes to live time, the committee was permanently shut down and disbanded, when the powers-that-be got wind of the operation. Then the rest of the day on had the letters e-x-a-m-s written all over it…

- poS(A)T Boredom – Part II

As the last two exam-takers entered the exam room, the proctor began to speak. From the beginning, he sounded like a rambling broken record. Throughout the exam, he droned on and on about the same things over and over again. Well, I can’t really poke fun at him, as he was reading from a rulebook, which most probably is the reason that he sounded like record gone bad. Though that does not change the fact that he sounded like one. At that point, I realized that only one of my three friends had made it to the exam room on time. In the beginning of the first mathematical section of the exam, we were told to pull out our calculators. After powering up my TI-83 and saving the Zelda game I was in the middle of, I began to tackle the first question. Calculators that have raised screens or digits that are larger than one inch are assur to use on the exam. So of course, according to Murphy’s Law, there had to be someone in the room who was using one. When asked by the proctor if she has a backup calculator, the girl in the back of the room pulls out at TI-83. What on earth was she thinking?!?!?!? That girl was about to use a four-function calculator instead of a graphing calculator? Someone was not thinking to clearly that day. All went well until the middle of the second section, when my legs started feeling cramped. While everyone else in the room had plenty of space to stretch their legs, me being what I am, my legs stretched out would have overrun the leg-space of the person in front of me. So it was a big relief when we had a five-minute break. After stretching this way and that, I strode over to the water fountain to stock up on more liquids. Just before the exam resumed, a chap with a quite unfortunate situation approached me. He had brought to the exam a 0.7 lead pencil, and a pack of 0.5 lead, which slid straight through his pencil. So I lent him one of my pencils (not the purple one!), and felt good that I had the foresight to bring more than one pencil to the exam. Between two sections, I do not remember offhand which one, we were required to copy over a statement in cursive, not print, and sign it with our name and date. The silence was broken by the girl in front of me, who sheepishly (not sure if that’s the right word – but whatever) asked the proctor how the letter "I" is written in cursive! By the time that I left the exam room, it was near noontime, but it felt as if I had spent the whole day cooped up in there. You know, for the first time, I realize the stupidity of co-ed education. From a objective angle, there was a guy in the back corner of the class who would have done much better on the exam had he been concentrating on it as much as he was on the young lady in front of him. I met up with my friends, who had been relocated to a different exam room, and went home. I typicality lay my hands on any edible item that is in my sight, but for some odd reason, when I got home, I found that my appetite had vanished! If there is such a thing as a emotional/mental hangover, that’s what I had. The next thing that I felt was a feeling of utter boredom and loneliness. Sitting on the couch, unplugged, with nobody home and no car, I pondered on what to do next. Even though I had a few major tests coming up, the last thing that I felt like doing was studying. I was absolutely fed up with abstract concepts. I wanted to do something with my hands, not on paper. At last, I decided to go back to Yeshiva and chasir (not pigged out) for my upcoming bechina. After doing that, I got together with a friend who was also bored and searched for something constructive to do. Salvation came in the form of robots. Spending 5 hours together, we designed, built, programmed, and tested a six-wheeled robot that we made out of Lego bits. When we were done, our robot, who we named Charlie, could do wheelies, flip other robots upside down, and could be controlled by either joystick or PDA. And on that note, I went to the nine-thirty maariv at Agudah, counted sefirah (yes, I am still counting), and hit the sack.

- poS(A)T Boredom -- Part I

Yes, the title is corny, being a unsophisticated play on words of the phrase "post mortem". I figured that I should save myself the remarks that are bound to follow. Yeah, so the point is that I made it! I made it! (and I am still standing!) Nope, contrary to popular belief, taking "the" test does not cause any long-term health defects (other than anxiety, migranes, and loss of appetite after the exam). All seriosousness aside (yet another bad attempt on my part to make you laugh), it really was not as bad as people made it out to be. The worst part was definently the night before, when my anxiety was at a maximum while searching for my admission ticket. After rioting the house, I found it sitting in its envelope with the rest of my mail. After that, I decided to make a checklist of the things that I needed for the next day. The list included the required items; a permissible calculator, a no. 2 pencil (three 0.5mm mechanicals brought I, one pink, one red, and one purple – and, I have no idea why I just had to tell you that, but whatever), and my admission ticket (which I still cherish [j.k.]). Additionally, I broght with me some items that needed – or thought that I needed, due to previous PSAT experiences (like the time that the proctor was about to throw me out because I needed one tissue to many.) with that I promptly hit the pillow and fell into a comfortable seven hour sleep. One six-twenty minyan and a cup of Taster’s choice coffee later I was good to go. So armed with my TI-83, three pencils, lead, kleenex, strawberry chapstick (don’t go anywhere without it!), a eyeglass cleeny cloth (don’t know what it is called – and don’t care, either), and last but not least, my admission ticket, I strode into BTD HS a step ahead of the rain. After being assigned to room 206 (or toooo-ah-shix, as my proctors wife put it,) I went to take the last drink that I would be taking for the next hour or so. I mostly try not to talk about other people in my hocks, but since I do not think that any of you were in my test room, I will relate some stuff that went on. When I first went into the test room, there were only two other people there. So I got first dibs on a seat. The problem was, all of the first five seats I tried decided to levitate at the expense of my knees when I sat at them. At last, I selected a table. It was quite nice, having a whole table to myself. And with that, the test started. To be continued…

- Pre-SAT Frenzy

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- Sencondary Hat Covers

Blue. Hats. Bags. I must say, there are absolutely so many things in my life that ring hue of blue to me. To list them all would be way too mind-consuming. So I will just list a few. My toothbrush and toothpaste are blue and so are my eyes. The tune that my alarm clock plays is called blue something or another. And then I go outside, and what do I see, other than a big blue sky? O.k. so if you cheshbon it this way, for margin’s sake lets say that 50% of the time it is sunny, which means a blue sky. And add that to the fact that half of the horizon is sky, and that most of the planet is water , so yeah, whatever, it suffices to say that most of earth is blue. Yah, so as I was supposed to be saying, the other day, I was walking out of shul on a cloudy day, and let me tell you, the sight was not pretty to me. The only three things I saw were seven mile bags (blue, of course), the ceiling and some lights. That was really disturbing, as I couldn’t find the doorway, which was shrouded by blue. So there I am, wishing back a gutten yom tov to these faceless blue hats that were throbbing up and down. What disturbs me is not that people cover their hats when it rains. I do that myself. When it does not rain though, even if it is cloudy, what is the point of walking around with a blue tepee on your head. I hear you if you don’t hold by the eruv, but in that case you wouldn’t be able to have a bag bechlal. So if doesn’t rain, tuck your bags into your pockets, or better yet, instead of wasting bags when you are done, go out and spend those few dollars on a hat cover. Juravel’s and others sell them cheap, and, you can be machmir while looking like a mentch. And there again, it probably doesn’t bother many people except those who are tall enough to see the top of peoples hats, which is probably an exclusive group, myself included. Tall out.

- My First - On Bubbles

Yes, bubbles. No, not the type of bubbles that we used to play with when we were little. Hey, we’re big now? Well, at least I am, in the literal sense of the word. You know, the other day a middle schooler (pah) commented to me that he perceives me as being of a higher stature, what ever that’s supposed to mean (jk – the point is – that is coming from a middle schooler???) Ok, so I am now sitting there pondering on this strange comment and I happen to start thinking about perceptions. To me, the world as I see it does not seem strange at all, as I am quite used to it. Often there are times when I comment to my peers on an aspect of my world that is so, duh, right there in my face and they are like, what? Then I reply to them, what? You did not see the spider on the doorpost and they are like, no, we don’t tend to look at doorposts. So incidents like that whetted my curiosity. I began to wonder what the world looked like to other, normal heighted people. So, much to the disdain of my poor knees, I went into a self-proclaimed midget frenzy. No offense meant to all you vertically challenged (many of you might say that I am one) people out there, but the world seems so darned queer from your perspective. At least for me it does. There again, where you to walk around on stilts the whole day, you would probably think that I am out of my mind in the views that I have. Blah, while I am typing this, I am listening to the new CD, Mix 4, and it rocks! Just wanted to let you people out there know that. Yep, Aaron, still thinking about what you said. Do you have any idea what we do in English class? Or rather, what I do? Ok, it seems like we are always doing gornischt. Whatever blasted-ball shpritz team is playing that day determines the mood of Mr. Osborn. No, with out the "e". He perpetually carries this waxed-over poetic look on his face. And talks with an anarchic drift in his voice. He oozes Poe and Mozart all rolled into one. So he makes us do these tests on stories that we read in ninth grade, and assigns us journals to write up stories and, can you believe it? HOCKS! Well, he calls them "stream of consciousness", but no matter, a hock remains a hock. So most of the time I am either doing math homework for the next day or writing a draft of the next silver moon chapter. And then pi-wi fader comes along and asks so retarded. No, not attar and not shiur, nossi. Questions about some camera… and then I see JB and try to repay him the dollar I owe, amidst cries that I do not owe him nothing. Then during recess there is nothing more geshmak than an ice cream from the canteen, no matter the rip-off or poor quality. So much for now. Oh my, I just realized that I did not talk about anything which I wanted to. Just as well. Out till next time ( which will hopefully be soon ) , ~yudaleh