~ Wednesday, December 17, 2003 ~

Terminal Velatkity

There is a maximum speed that falling objects approach. Having once reached this speed, they will not accelerate any further. There is a lesser-known asymptotic point of yumminess that latkes and applesauce approach. Having reached this point of deliciosity, it is, a priori, physically impossible for them to taste any better. It has long been thought that even reaching this point of terminal yumminess is beyond the reach of mere humans. However, it was reached tonight. Congratulations go to Rob for having breached the unbreachable line...and much gratitude goes to him, too, for driving across town to bring me a generous sample, still warm.

~ prattled by Miriam at 12:14 a.m. [+] ~ 0 comment

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Watson! I have it!!

The word "strain" can be defined three ways. It can be a noun, "a strain," a hereditary trait which shows up repeatedly, or even the generations and generations which display that certain trait. It can be a verb, "to strain," either 1) to remove the unwanted bits and let only the pure pass through, or 2) to exert effort or struggle

And why is this statement an epiphany on the order of Sherlock Holmes? Because all three of these definitions can apply to Judaism. What is Judaism to me? Judaism is strain. How? 1. 2. 3. Conclusion. Poof! Instant essay! :) Take that, JTS Application Essay Prompt #2.

Perhaps I will post the fruits of today's efforts after I clean it up a bit and make it look less like a first draft. Oneish down, three to go.

And just for the sake of realism, as much of today as I spent writing, I also spent much of today Not Writing. Amazing what sorts of things one finds time to get around to doing when one ought to be doing something else. I figured out how to play Stalk of Wheat on the accordion. It has all sorts of crazy chords that were led chromatically rather than by the circle of fifths, and had to be put together with several chord buttons. They were hard to finger, and I was forcing myself not to look at the buttons. I played slowly.

Current Music: No One Knows My Plan, TMBG

~ prattled by Miriam at 8:34 p.m. [+] ~ 0 comment

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More Californianisms

Snow. It's beautiful and white and fluffy and crunchy and magical. Yes, soon it will be grey and brown and slushy and dirty and creeping into my socks and freezing my ankles and toes, but for now I'm going to walk back to the laundromat and forget about that, just enjoying the pretty pretty snowdrifts and the feeling of receiving this gentle shower.

Man at laundromat (seeing my snow-encrusted hair trailing down my back, and my coat-induced roughly triangular form): You look like one of them...them Christmas Tree angels.
Me (tentatively feeling the top of my head and hearing the *crunch* of the snow on my hair): Yeah, I guess I should get a hat or something.
Him (after a pause): You won't get sick or nothing, will you?

*beat*

Me: No. I am immune. To everything.

Unrelatedly, one of the best things about having a floor-to-ceiling heating pipe against the wall in my room is that I can dry my gloves with it and entertain myself at the same time. The pipe is close enough to the wall that I can just wedge the thumbs in between the pipe and the wall and they'll stay in place, so they dry off and meanwhile it looks like disembodied hands are reaching through the wall and climbing up the pipe.

Current Music: Rap coming from Cheyanne's room

~ prattled by Miriam at 5:12 p.m. [+] ~ 0 comment

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My "Made in California" label is showing.

This morning, while walking to school down Central Park West, I noticed small white granules in the cracks between the cobblestones. "What's this white stuff?" thought I. "I don't understand." I looked about, and didn't see any snow. Could they be sprinkling salt on the ground in preparation for future snow? Then, as the little granules disappeared as I walked further south, I realized...oh. That is snow. I spent the rest of the walk grinning like an idiot. I know, I know, but...snow! Later, I watched a brief but charming demonstration of the snowish equivalent of drizzling, which was lovely to see from the Beit Midrash window on the ninth floor, while leaning over the radiator that lives in the bookshelves. The pieces were so tiny and fluffy! For my excitement, I was teased extensively by Talia, who is from Long Island and is allowed to do that. (Someday she'll come to California and freak out over an earth tremor, and then I shall tease her, too.)

Walking home at the end of the day, I discovered that it wasn't only Talia who's been teasing me. The North Wind has played me for a fool. I've been idling for so long, wondering when New York Winter is going to spring out and attack me with all its ferocity, and for weeks there was nothing but slight teasing chill, highly unusual for November, lulling me into a false security. November was the lion cub who plays with its prey before smacking down its paw and delivering a crushing blow. December is that paw, and today the December wind gave me its finest example of a Crushing Blow. I have been both Crushed and Blown. I couldn't walk two blocks before my legs turned solid and my face shattered into pieces. "Come on, Miriam," I told myself, "you can handle a little cold, you're not a wimp!" Apparently, I was wrong about that. I can't handle this. To think that the stealth slush puddles Cheyanne's been telling me so much about haven't even started lurking by the curbs.

Maybe it's time to start wearing a scarf and a hat. Or taking the subway home.

And just to prove this isn't entirely empty whining, the temperature today, according to Yahoo, was 26 degrees F., but here in New York we have Winter Version 10.2, Now With Added WindChill, making it feel like 14 F. Yow.

Unrelatedly, I find I'm missing Dickens Fair quite a bit these days. Yeah, I know, complain about the New York Winter and ache for the Imitation London Christmas. What can I say? I am no Platonist. The Beautiful Lie dazzles me.

[On the offchance that you haven't heard, it tickles me no end that Ophelia Fezziwig made it into the publicity shots, turtle slippers and all. If you already know this and don't wish to hear about it again, don't read this paragraph.]

Current Music: Take a Dance, Bare Necessities

~ prattled by Miriam at 9:51 p.m. [+] ~ 0 comment

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(whew)

Thanks to Rob for enlightening me regarding the previous post. For "all" of you who were wondering along at home, it was Guildenstern. Of COURSE it was Guildenstern. Here's the quote he sent me:

"A man breaking his journey between one place and another at a third place of no name, character, population or significance, sees a unicorn cross his path and disappear. That in itself is startling, but there are precedents for mystical encounters of various kinds, or to be less extreme, a choice of persuasions to put it down to fancy; until - "My God," says the second man, "I must be dreaming, I thought I saw a unicorn." At which point, a dimension is added that makes the experience as alarming as it will ever be. A third witness, you understand, adds no further dimension but only spreads it thinner, and a fourth thinner still, and the more witnesses there are, the thinner it gets and the more reasonable it becomes until it is as thin as reality, the name we give to the common experience... "Look, look" recites the crowd. "A horse with an arrow in its forehead! It must have been mistaken for a deer."

I wasn't too far off. :)

Current Music: Lullabye to Nightmares, TMBG (in my head)

~ prattled by Miriam at 2:12 a.m. [+] ~ 0 comment

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