Presence

Geek Pride

Patton Oswalt, in an interview in the latest Wired Magazine:

Wired: There's a great line on your new album, Werewolves: "My geekiness is getting in the way of my nerdiness." What's the distinction?

Oswalt: A lot of nerds aren't aware they're nerds. A geek has thrown his hands up to the universe and gone, "I speak Klingon — who am I fooling? You win! I'm just gonna openly like what I like." Geeks tend to be a little happier with themselves.

My Feelings...

...would best be expressed in a monologue from the movie, "The Big Lebowski," starring the "amiable, craggily handsome" Sam Elliot:

More information over on Penny's blog.

On Intercalating My Birthday

Those of you familiar with the Hebrew calendar know that there is a 19-year cycle. That is to say, if all things work out correctly, the Hebrew date and the Gregorian date should coincide every 19 years. It follows that ones 19th Hebrew and Gregorian birthdays would coincide as well. That is, of course, unless you are me.

For some strange reason, I am a cosmic anomaly. According to every Hebrew to English calendar converter that I have consulted, although in 1977, February 7th and 19 Shevat fell out on the same day, nineteen years later, in 1996, they did not. My 19th birthday was off by not one, but two whole days (February 7th 1996 was 17 Shevat). The reason for this, based on an examination of the calendar, is that 5756 (1996, as it were) was shleimah, meaning it had 355 days, one more than a normal year, due to both Cheshvan and Kislev having 30 days. 5737 (or 1977) was actually chaserah, 353 days. So by the time Shevat 5756 rolled around, the calendars were off by two days.

Interestingly, the fact that 1996 was a leap year helped somewhat to set things back into place; the extra day in February left a single days' difference between the Gregorian and Hebrew calendars. The calendars were finally realigned on December 11, 1996, as 5757 was chaserah, while 5738 was k'sidrah. So, for those of you playing along at home, if you were born:

• From Nov. 23, 1976-Dec. 21, 1976: Your Gregorian 19th birthday was off by one day from your Hebrew birthday.


• From Dec. 22, 1976-Feb. 28, 1977: Your Gregorian 19th birthday was off by two from your Hebrew birthday.


• From Mar. 1, 1977-Dec. 10, 1977: Your Gregorian 19th birthday was off by one day from your Hebrew birthday.

The reason this happens is that, while the Hebrew calendar follows the 19-year metonic cycle, this only accounts for leap years. It does not determine the number of days in a year, which is instead determined by the day of the week on which Rosh Hashannah falls out (and some other stuff). I'm sure there is a way of combining the two to come up with a formula for figuring when things fall out when, but I'll leave that as an exercise to the reader.

Why am I telling you all this? Well, it just so happens, through another strange series of events, that this year, on my 30th birthday, both my Hebrew and Gregorian birthdays coincide (although not on the same day of the week as originally - which would be asking too much). So for all you '77ers who felt cheated back in '96, this year, you shall at last have satisfaction. Enjoy it; the next time the two will coincide is the year 2053.

A Baltimore Day

All is not right on the home front.

• Wow! Look at all that snow! Yeesh. These meteorologists need some accountability; I saw, from now on, whenever they call for a blizzard and we get nothing, we get to publicly humiliate them in some way. Or, they just have to work a shift at the local supermarket every time they predict snow.


• I have no idea what is going on with HFS. I do not like Kirk and Mark, I miss the Junks. Kirk and Mark are just not funny. HFS is dying, if not dead.


• My BGE bill was almost doubled from last month, which doesn't make any sense to me; yes, it's been cold, but we just got a new furnace which is supposed to be saving us money. The whole damn world's against me, dude, I swear to God.

Let's Go Bowling

Joe Morgenstern of the WSJ begins to scratch the surface; in Deconstructing The Dude:

Young people in particular identify with the Dude's slackerdom because they're feeling pressured by the need to make fateful choices in a complex, competitive world.

On Kaddish

Kaddish has always been somewhat of an enigma to me; I never had a good understanding as to why it functions as a sort of multi-purpose prayer. On the one hand, we use it to seperate between sections of davening, which, despite the fact that it is in the midst of the prayer service, is a bit of a mundane application. On the other hand, we say Kaddish while in mourning for a parent, a usage that has tremendous theological significance. Yet again, we recite Kaddish upon finishing a tractate of Talmud.

This morning, while I was in shul with my father, who is saying Kaddish for my grandfather, I realized a connection that, I think, reconciles the apparent multi-faceted role that Kaddish plays. We say Kaddish at the completion of something, whether that is something we have been studying, a section of the prayer service, or a life. At somethings completion, we can clearly delineate in time our experience of that thing, and by connecting it to God, elevating it beyond the temporal, into the realm of the infinite.

In the past, I viewed the mourner's Kaddish as a sort of affirmation of faith; once bereaved, we must affirm, for a period, the greatness of God in order to bring about an acceptance of our loss while at the same time reconciling with the One who brought it about. I always had problems with this, however. Why, then, would Kaddish be only a real mitzvah by the children (meaning, how come a spouse would not say for an extended period as well)? Both my grandparents were married for over 60 years; surely my grandmothers would need to mend fences with God just as much, if not more, than my father or mother?

If, however, we view the Kaddish as a statement made upon a life's completion, it makes sense. The children are the ones that must carry on after their parent has passed; it is through them that the memories of the deceased will carry on, through them that the good deeds done by the deceased while in this world will take on a timeless nature as they bear fruits in the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Only through the deeds of the children does a finite life of an individual begin to grasp at infinity.

[Note: the halacha by a convert, and whether or not he mourns for his non-Jewish parent, may fit very nicely with this. hm"y, vtz"i, vacmo"l]

Papa

I gave the following eulogy at my grandfather's funeral today:

I don't think any of us expected to be here; while death is tragic at any age, there is a certain sense of solace when a loved one lives out there days in health and happiness and passes away surrounded by family and friends. In Papa's case, although he lived a long life with his family, in good health, I still feel as if he was taken before his time. When my father told me Papa had died, I could not believe it; for the next few hours I expected a call saying it was all a big mistake. How could it be true? Just two weeks ago, Papa had taken me to see his gallery and workshop, told me about how he had arranged to use the space after helping a local contractor on a project. He told me about a new commission he was working on, and his plans for a new sculpture he would be starting, just as soon as some 5-inch pipe came in. If you were to describe Papa's daily routine to someone who didn't know him, and ask them to guess his age, I'm certain they'd be off by at least 30 years, possibly more. Papa was so full of life, of creativity; he was in constant motion. I still find it hard, even standing here, to accept that he is gone.

Whenever we would visit, I'd make sure to leave a little extra room in the suitcase; Papa would have given me the shirt off his back if I'd asked for it (or even if I'd just said it was a nice shirt). Whether it was a piece of his artwork or a new gadget he'd picked up (on sale at the Job Lot), Papa would always offer to ship one out to me. He wanted to make sure we had everything we needed, and if there was a way he could help, just try and say no.

To be Papa's grandson was to know that, no matter where you were, Papa was thinking of you and was proud of you. When we were in California a few weeks ago, at one point Peninah took the kids back to the hotel for a nap, and I stayed at Aunt Cherie's with Papa, to help him get his photo printer working. We talked for a while about the Jewish Home, about my business and about the kids; Papa said he hoped he could be there for Ezra's bar mitzvah, and I didn't even question it. As we were leaving, and I went to give Papa a hug, he began to say something to me; I thought he was going to say how nice it was to see everyone, and thanks for coming out; instead he said, “So, when are we going to see you people again?” I had thought that schlepping my whole family across the country would at least buy me till we got home before the inquiries resumed, but, alas, I was wrong. But that was Papa; he was so proud and had so much love for his family, his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, he couldn't help but ask when we'd see each other again.

My grandfather's Hebrew name is Eliyahu. I'd like to read to you a passage from II Kings, chapter 2. The prophet Eliyahu is walking with his student and successor, Elisha:

11 And it came to pass, as they still went on, and talked, that, behold, there appeared a chariot of fire, and horses of fire, which parted them both asunder; and Elijah went up by a whirlwind into heaven.

12 And Elisha saw it, and he cried: 'My father, my father!'...And he saw him no more; and he took hold of his own clothes, and rent them in two pieces.

13 He took up also the mantle of Elijah that fell from him, and went back, and stood by the bank of the Jordan.

Our tradition tells us that Eliyahu did not die, but waits in heaven for the coming of the Messiah. Like his namesake, our father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, was taken from us in a whirlwind, in a flash, in the very midst of his life. Although it's hard to imagine a world without Papa, perhaps this was for the best; for Papa lives on, in our hearts and in our minds, as he always was; so full of life, and so full of pride and love for his family.

On Epiphanies

I had an epiphany this morning; it happend in shul, before davening, while I was reviewing this weeks parsha. This post is not about the content of the epiphany, but rather on the general experience of having an epiphany.

For me, the epiphany is not an instant, "eureka," moment. Rather, it's usually preceeded by a few days' (or weeks') of various different thoughts bouncing around inside my head. At some point, a theory is formed that explains the various different thoughts and puts them into some unified context. Now I'm working with a theory, but I don't know for sure that it's correct; it just seems to fit. And then, the epiphany happens, some thought or idea that ties it all together in such a way that it's just perfect. It's like a Tetris game, and you've got one really, really long straight piece, and you clear off the whole board.

In this case, it was the beginning of parshas Va'eschanan; I felt the epiphany gathering speed as I read the opening of the parsha. As I went through the Ten Commandments and Shema, everything was coming together, bits and pieces of ideas that had been floating around in my head were all rushing at me, as if propelled by some cognitive whirlwind. When I got to Duet 6:18, it was all over, everything fit together perfectly.

As for the content of the epiphany, I'm going to get to that later (I may podcast it, since it's easier to talk through these things than to write them down). But it really was a Perfect Storm; stuff from the previous posts on Devarim, Euthyphro, Genesis, everything just falling into place. I can only describe it as serendipitous; they are some of the only moments of my life that I might be convinced to acknowledge as attributable to a higher power.

This post also stands as proof that I can not write just two lines about anything.

The Family Plot

I had the occasion to visit the cemetery where my great grandparents are buried. I had never been there before, and may never be there again, so I took some photos of their headstones with my cameraphone.

This is my great grandmother, Jennie (nee Gederman) Gershman.

This is my great grandfather, Isadore Meyer Gershman, whom I am named after. Although his middle name is not inscribed here, we have always called him Yitzchak Meyer. Also, Gershman is here spelled in Yiddish; I have always spelled it without the ayin and the alpeh.

I was in Rhode Island for my greant aunt Ruth's funeral; she died last Shabbos at the age of 95. She was buried with her husband on the other side of the same cemetery. After the burial, I went with my father, grandfather and great uncle George (98 years old) to visit the rest of the family. It was the first time I said El Maleh for anyone. I also took a picture of my father's mother's mother's headstone as well, but forgot to save the photo.

Making your own Mazel

The older I get, the more I have come to realize how much of who we are and what we do is decided by forces beyond our control. Whether genetics, chemical imbalances, formative experiences or circumstances of birth beyond our control such as socio-economic or family status, so much of how our lives will play out is already decided for us. Ask yourself: How many of my life's decisions did I truly make on my own, without influence from sources beyond my control?

This is what Judaism refers to as mazel, commonly translated as luck, but more appropriately connoting that which is beyond our control (see Sotah 2A, or my explanation of the opening gemara). Religion in general tends to be very much against giving credence to Mazel, insisting instead on attributing to Man free will to guide his life however he sees fit. It is argued that a criteria for a system of justice is that Man be free to choose between good and bad; if Man is not responsible for his actions, how can he be justly punished for transgressions? Accepting determinism is viewed as incompatible with a world in which Man is responsible for his actions.

Judaism, I think, takes a different approach, recognizing Man's determined nature, while at the same time insisting he take responsibilty for his own destiny. It becomes one of life's ultimate ironies, that despite so much of a Man is predetermined and beyond his control, he (or she) alone must take responsibility for his actions.

The role of science is to help Man confront and subdue Nature through technology, in an effort to produce a better world. This science is objective, it makes no value judgements on the applications of the discovered techniques; the kind of world that is created by the application of technology is dependent upon the society that cultivates the science. In a society fueled by fame and fortune, we get blogs and stock markets. It is easy to imagine an alternate society in which technology is more directly applied to the alleviation of human suffering and increasing human dignity. Perhaps we are on the path, angling ever closer to a world in which Mazel no longer rules our destiny.

Full Disclosure

I suppose I take it for granted that people know why I make constant reference to various search engines or bands on this blog. And then every so often I am talking to someone and mention one or the other, and they say, "How come you are always talking about that/them?" and I realize that many folks don't know the full extent of my connection to these various entities. As such, I thought I'd go through and fully disclose all my various affiliations and associations so everything is out in the open.

First off, Blogdigger. Blogdigger is a blog search engine. The basic idea is we gather blog posts from as many blogs as we can, index them, and provide a service that finds the latest posts on any topic you are interested in. To me, the great thing about blogs is the ease of publication, and the breadth of available topics. There are no daily sources of news, discussion or thought on issues that, while of immense interest to me, aren't sufficiently popular to merit inclusion in regularly published mainstream media. There are, however, people blogging about these issues on a daily basis; the trick is finding them. Blogdigger aims to solve this problem. Some of my favorite searches are for things like parsha or Maimonides or "sotah OR chagigah OR (moed kattan)." Blogdigger is really useful for finding stuff on any topic I'm interested in on a daily basis; it's got lots of other uses as well, so check it out.

I am the founder and CEO, and I recently parted ways with my full-time employer and am working on Blogdigger, so please check it out, and let me know what you think, how we can make it better. You can follow developments on Blogdigger over at the Blogdigger Dev Blog. I also blog at gregword, on topics of technology, startups and other business related stuff that doesn't fit here.

O.A.R., as you may or may not know, is a band. The reason I talk about them so much is because my brother, Benj, is the bassist. We've watched the band grow from high school to Madison Square Garden. Check out their music, it's good (and I'm not just saying that).

I have on occasion blogged elsewhere, but I'm not really actively doing that anymore. All I will say is that if you are a Harry Potter fan, this site is a must read.

I am not affiliated with any of the restaurants mentioned on this site, other than being friends and/or neighbors of some of the proprietors. I get no meals for free, although I wouldn't turn down a steak sub if it just so happened to find its way onto my doorstep late at night. ;)

Things don't have to have happened to be True

Exhibit A:

I'm pretty sure the events dramatized in this video never took place, and that the characters are completely fictional. Never the less, every second is pure, unadulterated Truth.

Always Look on the Bright Side...

It's Day 12 after having my tonsils removed. The only good thing about not being able to eat solid foods for a week is that I've lost close to 10 pounds. I was promised "loss of appetite and weight loss" when I got ulcerative colitis, but the darned thing didn't deliver. The tonsillectomy, however, came through like a champ.

All in all, as long as I took my regular doses of Tylenol with Codeine, I was basically fine. Last Wednesday I decided, for some strange reason, that I no longer needed pain medication, and spent the day in agonizing pain. Since then, I haven't missed a dosage. I watched many, many movies (thanks Kalil!) while convalescing, and even got a bit of work done. And hopefully, I won't get strep no more (I was on antibiotics straight from the end of November right up until my surgery on Jan 19th).

If you ever need anything in the Ear, Nose and Throat area, I highly, highly, highly recommend Dr. Andrew Goldstone. He is a real mensch, and a fine doctor to boot.

Rite of Passage

Ever since my son Ezra (age 6) was born, I have been waiting for the day which turned out to be today: The day I sat down with him for his first viewing of Star Wars.

Star Wars, without question, had the most profound affect on me as a child, more than just about any other thing I was exposed to. Only until Lucas murdered the good name that was Star Wars with the prequels did my feelings for these films become tempered back to the level of near quasi-rationality.

I debated for a long time when would be the right time to introduce Ezra to Star Wars. We do try to minimize the amount of violence he is exposed to, and the original, despite the mutilations it suffered at the hands of it's only-lately self-righteous creator (HAN SHOT FIRST!!!), has a fair bit of death in it. I first saw Star Wars at a much younger age, and recall asking my parents what really happened when a Storm Trooper got shot (my father, to his credit, told me an actor had to die each time). I also debated for a moment whether Ezra should see Star Wars in chronological or historical order (this decision was easily made in less than 10 seconds). All in all, now seemed to be the right time.

Overall, I think he liked it. I'm not sure there was the same level of amazement for him in the sights and sounds that there was for me; he's used to CGI and video games, that weren't around in my day. But I don't think he's ever been exposed to a story so grand, so epic, as Star Wars, and I think that is what he liked.

One thing that couldn't be helped: due to older nephews and other bits and pieces of pop culture that make their way into our home, he is already aware of Darth Vader's true identity. I am not sure, but I think he is still unaware of...sister. We shall see.

It's strange to think about; will this thing, that had such a profound affect on my life, play as significant a role in my son's life? The times have changed, and perhaps what worked for the fathers will not work for the sons. In so many ways I want him to love it as I loved it, to have it open his mind the way it opened mine; and yet I know he is his own person, and while it may not be Star Wars that plays the role, something else may well serve to inspire him in ways both similar and different.

I am Jack's cauterized throat tissue

You'll forgive me if I'm less than my usual coherent self; I had my tonsils removed this morning due to chronic tonsilitis and strep throat. I'm much more lucid that I expected to be at this point, but man are these drugs good.

The doctor said one of my tonsils was like a jelly donut (in that it was large, squishy and filled with lots of stuff; not in that he felt an uncontrollable urge to eat it). Apparently I asked to see them as the anesthetic wore off, but I don't remember. I wish I'd had a camera. Oh well, maybe next time. My throat already feels like two small gnomes moved out.

And now for more codine.

Quote of the Day

"I guess it comes down to a simple choice, really. Get busy living, or get busy dying." - Andy Dufresne

Kindred Spirits

Someone found one of my old posts via a search for religious meaning the big lebowski on Yahoo.

Welcome, my brothers.

What in the world is Pre-1A?

My son is in kindergarten. That is, last year he was in four-year old nursery, next year he will be in first grade. So, as far as I can tell, he's in kindergarten. In TA, and various other institutions of Jewish education, the kindergarten year is called Pre-1A. Try as I might, I have been unable to discern the origin or purpose of this arcane nomenclature. And today I saw Gil wrote that Pre-1A was, "between kindergarten and first grade," which only increased the confusion, since, as far as I can tell, that's summer camp.

My original theory was that somewhere in the annals of Jewish history, there was a school that had a classroom labeled "1A" for the youngest students. One year, they decided to have a class of even younger students, you apparently met in an unlabeled classrom. They were dubbed "Pre-1A." And then everyone in the world followed suit.

If anyone can shed light on this, I will be forever in your debt.

Status Update

I'm likely going to attempt to try to start posting a bit more frequently, in an attempt to better balance various aspects of my life activities. Since I've been out of it for a while, here's a quick status update of what's going on.

• Reading: Gates of Eden, by Ethan Coen - a collection of short stories from the man who brought us Walter Sobchak. Some are downright disturbing, while others, especially the ones about growing up Jewish in a semi-traditional household, we're particularly poignant (I Killed Phil Shapiro is my favorite). I'm done reading it, if you'd like to borrow, let me know.
• Listening: The Woods, by Sleater-Kinney - quite good. I recommed The Fox (good tune, no idea what's up with the duck and the fox), Modern Girl and Entertain. I'm certainly not the target audience for this band, but I enjoy it nonetheless. I'm a bit perturbed by the fact that I preordered from Amazon for $13.49 and it is now selling for $11.99.
• Watching: The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou - I never published the post I wrote about this movie after seeing it in the theater. I love the fact that when presented with the choice of researching actual marine life or just making up his own little world, Wes Anderson chose the latter. After all, that's what an 11 1/2 year old do. I now own the complete works of Wes Anderson (Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring). Also, season one of Scrubs.
• Not Watching: Revenge of the Sith - partially because of sefirah, but also because I refuse to get all worked up over something that will likely disappoint. I'll see it eventually, to say goodbye to Star Wars and my childhood imagination, and to try, one last time, to use The Force to make George Lucas' head explode.
• Eating: Beer-battered onion rings from Accents Grill. Oh so wrong, and yet, oh so right.
• Working: I've been dealing a lot recently with Location-based technologies. It's some pretty cool stuff. Lots of ideas, lots of strands to keep in the old Duder's head.
• Learning: After finishing Sotah, my chavrusah and I began learning Horayos, expecting it to be interesting and deal with topics like Rabbinic Fallibility. It wasn't and didn't, so we're looking for a new tractate to dig in to. I would like to take a gemara and approach it from a thematic/narrative perspective; I've success with this in the past with Chaggigah and Moed Katan, and tried with Sotah, but it was either too big, too deep, or both (also, my whole approach may just be wrong). I'm open to suggestions.

A few random data points:

• Years since graduating high school: 10


• Years married: 7


• Years since first child born: 6


• Years since last child born: 0.75


• Number of times seen Episode III: 0


• Number of times seen Episode II: 1.5


• Number of times seen Episode I: 3


• Childhood dreams and innocence destroyed by Star Wars prequels: All of them.

Talk to you soon.

OU Asian Relief Fund

The OU has set up a page for donations to a relief fund for victims of the disaster in Asia.

Also, Amazon has set up one-click donations to the Red Cross through their site.

Catching up

Q: when is the difference between 3 and 2 greater than the difference between 2 and 1?

A: When you're dealing with children.

When we went from one to two, it was really no big deal; I took the big kid, Penny took the small kid. Now there's two of the big kind, and still only one of me. You see the problem.

I recall talking to a friend with three kids, around the time we announced our third was on the way. Expecting words of reassurance, or at least an acknoledgement that life would eventually return to a semi-normal state, I was a bit taken aback by his reply. "It's hell," he said.

In all seriousness, things actually are going pretty well. The kids are adjusting, and, believe it or not, I'm actually getting more sleep than I was before the baby was born. Of course, it also helps that Eden is absolutely adorable.

And I'd like to thank everyone for the well-wishes left below; they are muchly appreciated. I passed them all on to Penny as well. After all, she did most of the work. Most.

Moving on up

Speaking of moving to Israel, an inordinately large number of Baltimore families seem to be making aliyah this summer. Off hand I can think of three from our shul, as well as at least two others from the Greenspring area. I heard that the total from Baltimore comes to seventeen families; Nefesh B'Nefesh reportedly has 1500 people on their flights at the end of the summer.

So what's going on? Is it the downturn in the economy? Israel's economy is even more dismal that ours right now, so I don't think that has much to do with it. It's practically impossible to get a job in Israel while living abroad. Anyway, all the people I know moving are either gainfully employed or comfortably retired.

My theory is that it's the real estate market; house prices in Greenspring are at an all-time high. Perhaps the extra cash is enough to convince people the time is right to circle the wagons and head East.

All seriousness aside, a serious contributing factor has to be the abysmal state of kosher food in Baltimore. Do not underestimate the power of the stomach.

Cue "Jaws" Soundtrack

Say what you will about the cicadas, but these fellas have an uncanny flare for the dramatic; since about a week ago, little holes in the ground appeared all over our backyard, no doubt from the newly-hatched Brood X larvae, hungry for human flesh. They're heeeere, but they're waiting for just the right moment to reveal themselves and smother our summer in their incessant chirping.

I remember this from the last round; playing outside at recess, we naively thought the fields had simply been aerated. Little did we suspect that our very lives were about to change...FOREVER.

Good, Evil and The Official Bionicle Book

My nephew Zevi, turns eight today. He ate lunch at my house last Shabbos, and on the way home, he came up with some pearls that were so precious, I had to write them down.

Zevi is into Bionicles. I discuss them with him frequently, mostly because I love kids toys, having many fond memories from my youth of playing with Star Wars action figures and Transformers. Zevi showed me a new Bionicle he had , and told me this one was a bad guy.

"Who decides," I asked, "who is good and who is bad? Perhaps the bad guys are fighting for their survival, and view their cause as just. How do you know who is truly Good, and who Evil?"

"Easy," Zevi replied. "The Official Bionicle Book. It says who is Good and who is Evil." Not the answer I was expecting, I'll admit, but a good one.

A bit later, as we were walking home from shul, I stopped to talk to someone I hadn't seen in a few years. We schmoozed for about five minutes. Afterwards, as we continued to walk home, Zevi turned to me and asked, "I thought women were the talkers."

"What?"

"I thought women were the ones who talked and talked, always making you late?"

Happy Birthday Zev, we love you.

How to fold clothes

[via Blogdigger Media]

Japanese, apparently, is the international language of clothes folding. I don't understand a word in this video, but "How to fold clothes" just spoke to me. I mastered clothes folding after only one viewing!

On an unrelated note, it's cold in here.

I fixed it!

The pipes were really calling today, at least in our house. Our kitchen sink had been leaking for a few months, and finally got bad enough (i.e. - the water was now dripping out onto the floor, rather than pooling up in the bottom of the cabinet) that it needed taking care of. In these situations, I apply Greg's First Rule of Home Improvement:

First rule of Home Improvement (also known as the "What the Hay" Rule): "Try it yourself first; it's already broken, so the worst you can do is not fix it; then you call the pros."

Unfortuneately, I often forget about the corollary to the First Rule:

Corollary to the First Rule (also known as the "Out of the Frying Pan, into the Fire" Corollary): It is possible, and likely, that when applying the First Rule, you will screw things up so badly that the damage will be worse than when you started.

I had tried to fix the leaky trap a few months ago (following the First Rule); I over-tightened the jam nut, cracking it, which, naturally, made things worse.

So yesterday I went to the Home Depot (Park Heights - the worst-run Home Depot in North America) and purchased a replacement jam nut. It didn't quite fit right, so I went back and got a rubber-pipe-joiner-thing (the technical name escapes me at the moment). The first one was too small (1-1/2" to 1-1/2"), so I exchanged it for a larger one (2" to 1-1/2"). This one was the perfect size, the smaller end fitting snuggly over the drain pipe, and the larger end covering the trap perfectly. Only one problem - the rubber joint was too long, so I couldn't reassemble the pieces.

And then, in a moment of inspiration that I can only call divine, I ran upstairs, grabbed my coping saw (left over from The Crown Moulding Experiment), and cut off about a half-inch of the rubber, and, viola!, it worked! All the bits and pieces were back in their places, and no water leakage. I was quite pleased, as I'm sure you can imagine. I really hadn't expected it to work.

And so, life in the kitchen has been returned to normal. The moral of the story is that you should always try, because without trying, you never fail and have to pay a plumber $800 to get a pummice stone out of your drain line. Which still confuses me, because we never owned a pummice stone...

@#$%#@$

Question: How many times have I come up with brilliant, unique ideas, begun working on them, only to find someone else has been working on the same thing, and gotten out the door before me?

Answer: So far, 3.

I've yet to let it stop me, though. I'm either incorrigibly optimistic or incredibly stupid. Probably a little of both.

Huh?

Baruch Dayan Emes

Various blogs mentioned that Mikey Butler passed away. Although I was not friends with Mikey, we were in YU at the same time; whenever his name is mentioned, I recall a specific experience I had with him that I will never forget.

YU had a series of colloquia called Dorm Talks, where Roshei Yeshiva and respected administrators would speak on assorted "real-life" topics. The topic of discussion for one particular session related to pre-marital testing for genetic diseases such as Taysachs and Cystic Fibrosis. R. Herschel Schachter was among the panelists.

I was engaged to Peninah at the time, and since neither of us had any history of genetic disease in our familes, and we had been dating for a while, we decided not to get genetic testing done. Whether this was an intelligent decision or not could be debated, but our feelings were that, even if we found out bad news, we would still want to get married.

When the subject came up in the discussion, R. Schachter advised that, should two individuals who are dating, even seriously, find out that they are high risk for genetic disease, then they should break off their engagement. I recall specifically what R. Schachter said: "You'll find someone else." This was not what I wanted to hear, as I we were a few short months away from getting married. Feelings of guilt and apprehension of the unkown filled my mind. Perhaps we should get testing done? No, I thought to myself, we've come too far to break it off now.

And then something happened that I will never forget. Mikey Butler, from the back of the room, stood up, raised his voice, and asked the question that I, and I'm assuming most people in the room, including myself, had not even considered, let alone contemplated, asking.

"How can you say that? Your saying that people like me can never get married!"

It's hard for me to describe this scene, to do it justice. At the front of the room, you had R. Herschel Schachter, the Rosh Kollel of Yeshiva University, preeminent student of R. Soloveitchik; one of the most highly regarded and respected (and rightfully so) rabbis in America. In the back of the room, standing up amidst the mass of students, you had Mikey Butler, a 19 year old with cystic fibrosis. R. Schachter had, in no uncertain terms, just told everyone in the room that Mikey should never get married. Mikey, who had to know that he would not live a normal life, could not accept this generalization.

I looked back to see R. Schachter's reaction. He had no answer for Mikey. He simply nodded his head, repeated again that he felt it best to break off the engagement, and the discussion moved on. Mikey's point, whether it had been intentional or emotional, had been made.

When I was in yeshiva, learning Torah and studying, it was easy to forget that there is a real world out there where people, even children, die young. It was easy for me to hear a statement that if a couple has a genetic conflict they shouldn't get married, and think of that in terms of my own situation, rather than in terms of the broader implications of what it meant for people like Mikey. It's easy to reduce someone's pain and suffering to a page in the Shulchan Aruch. That's impossible, however, when that person stands up in front of you.

I would like to wish the family comfort on their loss. Mikey truly was an incredible individual.

Doctor, Doctor, it hurts when I go like this

The pain is everywhere.

My arms, legs, neck, back and stomach.

I wince at the slightest movement.

My arms hang limp at my sides; if I try and lift them anymore than a few inches, they scream in protest. Standing up after sitting at my desk for a few hours is practically impossible; muscles that yesterday I didn't know existed refuse to respond to my commands.

I walk like Frankenstein, lumbering down the hallway with a look of pain plastered across my face. Every laugh is filled with pain; coughing and sneezeing feels as if a bomb has gone off in my insides, the thunderous echoes of the blast rolling over my rib cage. I lie, practically motionless, waiting for my body to regain its composure.

All this from a little game of football. They call it the Turkey Bowl.

It's not the pain that bothers me, so much as the fact that, in my mind, I'm still the 11 year old who stole 55 bases in little league, the 13 year old who ran a six-minute mile, or the 14 year old who rode his bike for miles through the woods, crossing streams without stopping to catch a breath. Instead, the pain reminds me that I'm the 26 year old who spends most of his life working in front of a computer, can barely make it up a flight of steps without stopping to rest, whose childhood lies forever and far behind him, unreachable except through the memory of what once was.