In other news, I got to Skype with WB today since my classes were canceled yet AGAIN. I missed seeing his face and hearing his voice at the same time, it was definitely needed. The continuation of “snowpocalypse” also left me time to do two loads of laundry, clean out both the kitchen and bathroom sinks, AND make fudge! A productive (ableit fattening) day if I’d say so myself.

There’s a lot going through my mind as I watch these. Early this morning, Mubarak supporters entered Tahrir Square and violence erupted. Rocks were thrown on both side, people hacked away at cobblestones on the street so that they could throw the bricks. I saw people being hit, falling down. People bleeding from the head. Without actually being there, the footage left me enthralled from the comfort and safety of my apartment.

I continued to watch as pro-Mubarak police forces rode in on camels and horseback and attacked protesters. The army did nothing. They stood by and watched. Molotov Cocktails flew through the air. People continued to fall. Shots were fired.

And now, still as I watch I see a wall of men pushing down a single woman. I see the injured being carried out. Tear gas, maybe the army has finally intervened? But who knows? Mubarak continues to tell his troops to resist violence.

What are they fighting for? Watching it on screen one could get the idea that this kind of protest is savage, but it’s a war for freedom from an oppressive, totalitarian reign. April 19th, 1775: The Battle of Lexington and Concord. War erupted between British troops and colonial Patriots. To me, these founding fathers of our democratic nation seem impossibly far away. They are idolized in my political science courses. The discussions surrounding their actions seem to imply that fighting a revolution was the only way anything was going to get done. The American Revolution is viewed in modern times as a logical course of action taken to achieve freedom.

And yet..it all seems so distant. We live such comfortable lives in the United States. Our government functions in a relatively just fashion. Sure, sometimes I’m upset about a particular act of legislation, but I don’t have to endure 28 years of oppression. My voice can be heard without rocks, or bricks, or Molotov Cocktails. My vote has mattered since the day I turned 18, and before that I had rights.

When I watch these violent protests I am conscious of the political goals of the Egyptians. I understand the potential of a new regime on Israel. I get it. At the same time, I watch these protests and I see where we were 250 years ago. I can only imagine making such an significant impact on my nation’s history. I’m thankful for what I have, and today I have given pause to the way in which I was granted those freedoms.

From my high-rise apartment I can usually see Lake Michigan clearly. In the summer I like to watch the boats sail back to shore. Today I see…well, I can see the building right across from us..and that’s about it.

While I hunker down on my futon mattress with a big bowl of soup I’ve started to think about all of the outrageous amounts of snowfall the United States has been having. The inevitable question that I’m sure plagues all environmentalists this season is clearly…Does all this snowfall have a link to global warming?

The view from my apartment

On January 12th, 2011 there was snowfall in 49 of the 50 United States. Luckily for my parents, that was the week that they were in Florida. For the rest of us, things were a little different. While many people may suggest that such an increase in snowfall disproves global warming, this is far from the truth. Something which continually bothers me about the global warming debate is that people assume that “warming”=”the earth is getting hotter all the time”. If it’s snowing so much, how can there be global warming?

This is why recently scientists have begun to rename the concept “climate change”.  In general, the idea of global warming is that the deteriorating climate will begin causing more intense weather. Living in Chicago this year, I’ve experienced tornadoes, blizzards, Indian summers, and torrential rainstorms. Tornadoes in downtown Chicago alone are evidence that strange weather is afoot.  My sister in Boston has been shoveling snow off of her sidewalk for about a month straight, my Dad’s travels to and from New York have been suspended on multiple occasions in the past few weeks. While I’m used to trudging to school in my boots, I won’t be doing so tomorrow. My school has canceled classes for the first time since the 1980s.

Does this sound like normal seasonal weather to you?

It’s definitely been a reminder on me to continue focusing on the environmental foot-err..bootprint that I’m leaving behind.

Similar to my last post, I’ve been experiencing the “Why me?!?” blues again. As I type this, an adorable kitty is falling asleep in my lap and Pandora has finally figured out a station that plays the perfect amount of French pop, the phone rings  and I know that anything I planned to do for the rest of the night is just not going to happen. It’s him.

When WB calls my life lights up again. We didn’t start out long distance, although I guess it’s alway been a little weird. We met working as counselors at summer camp together, he’s from about 2.5 hours drive away from the city. Unfortunately, his school is about 10 hours drive away from the city and that’s where he’ll be for the next 1.5 years. Ugh, long-distance math was never my strong point. I like knowing that we’re going to be together forever because he smells good.

Analyzing a long-distance relationship is so different from talking about a “normal” relationship. (Although with increasing developments in technology, long-distance is becoming more common than ever) The steps are completely different. WB and I didn’t meet online, so I can’t say the physical stuff never happens, but we’re really only with each other physically about 3 months out of the year when it all gets added up. When physical contact is limited, you find deeper ways of connecting.

In Judaism there’s a concept known as negiah. A person who is shomer negiah does not have any physical contact with the opposite sex, outside of immediate family. In large Jewish communities, store clerks will leave change for a person on the counter instead of handing it directly to the customer to avoid touch. When one gets married, they allow themselves to touch their spouse, but before the marriage they do not touch at all. I sometimes like to see this as being in a really long long-distance relationship. When you don’t spend all of your time together thinking about sex or having sex, the relationship grows much more quickly. I’m not saying that those who are together all the time CONSTANTLY have sex on the brain or something, but I know from personal experience that when you’re touching (even cuddling) there is always that thought in the back of the mind.

WB and I mostly communicate via skype, instant messenger, and phone calls. Throughout the day we’ll text each other or send funny picture messages of things we see, but when we get some time at home we really like to have skype or something open so that we can have a conversation and still carry out our daily activities. We share all of our thoughts with each other because…well..you know how sometimes something happens and you just HAVE to tell somebody about it? He’s a click away. We’re talking to each other the entire day, but we also have the time to hang out with other friends and go about our daily activities.

When we do see each other we get a preview of what married life will be like. We basically live together because sleepovers are necessary. We cook together, then clean up together. There’s no “alright, thanks for coming!” as he leaves you with a pile of dishes to do. Nope. You learn each other’s morning habits, their bedtime routines. You see the weird little quirks that might annoy you at first, and you have time to figure them out.

He made me a puppy. Jean-Baptiste!

I’m not saying that I don’t miss him. Every. Single.Minute.  It would be amazing if he were here all the time. Sometimes I get really frustrated because I haven’t talked to him all day and then he goes and hangs out with his friends. When a person isn’t face-to-face you can’t command of the their attention. I’m sure sometimes he gets annoyed when I haven’t responded to his text for a few hours and he has something important to tell me. Some days it’s just SO unfair that he’s gone and other girls get to walk down the street holding hands with some guy they met a week ago. We’ve been in this for over two years and he doesn’t really know my friends or family THAT well because there’s so little time to spend with each other when he’s in town that finding time for everyone is hard.  Sometimes I feel like going to bed super early because then I’ll be ending the day and there will be less days until I’m with him again.

You miss holidays together, we’ve never been together for a Valentine’s day. Every time you go anywhere it’s a “date” because when you’re together, you’re together for days at a time. You go for months without a hug. You start to get kind of bitter when people complain about their boyfriend going away for a weekend.

But you do it because you’re in love. Because once I found WB, not a single other guy could grab my attention. Because I know that after these 3.5 years of waiting, we’ll have an amazing forever.

Last weekend he drove 20 hours, 10 each way, to see me for 2 days. We had only been apart for three weeks, but he knew I was having a hard time with the distance. A direct quote? “Best decision I ever made.”

Has it been a month yet?

No, I’m a real grownup because this weekend I had my first encounter with The Cable Company.

It’s truly a sign of womanhood in my family. My mother has spent countless hours irate on the phone with our cable provider, and growing up we learned that this was not the best time to ask Mommy a question. Even my father learned that dealing with The Cable Guys was a task specifically designated to the matriarch of our brood. She would raise her voice, her eyebrows would practically touch her hairline, and she would emphasize what an important part of the community she was. (“Do you know what I do?!? I work with CHILDREN with AUTISM!”) While I would cower in fear of my mother after a phone call to The Cable Guys, I seem to have learned a thing or two. Today was my day.

Leopold attempts to fix the cable himself

Well, yesterday actually. Saturday morning I woke up to an array of black-screened channels. After putzing around on the internet a bit and unsuccessfully attempting to fix the problem myself, I finally worked up the nerve to call the cable guys.* In reality, I used AT&T’s online “Chat with an Expert” feature, which lead me to Reshein or Rashid or Reshawn or something…the point is, R-dawg attempted to follow the same process which I had gone through on my own FOUR TIMES. I’m not sure he fully understood the problem, as my TV froze up halfway through the “reboot” process every. single. time.

Apparently dealing with 30+ other customers at the same time, R-dizzle suspended my conversation until the reboot process was finished. This would have been perfectly fine, except the problem as I had told him several times, was that the reboot process never finished. Ever. Oh, and the great thing about suspending your customer service chat is that you can’t actually tell the technician that the process has encountered a problem. So I get a call from RT&T about an hour later “checking in to make sure everything got fixed”.

Me: Um, NO, actually. Nothing has been fixed. The whole problem is that the tv freezes during the rebooting process.

R: Oh, ok. I’m going to reboot the system again. I will call you if we have any more updates.

This happened three times. On the third phone call Rasdfasg told me that I should call the service center if I had any more problems because it was the end of his shift and gave me their phone number. Frustrated, I gave up for the day and resorted to watching season one of House on DVD.

Today I woke up feeling a little bit better about the situation. I turned on the TV only to be greeted by the same insufferable frozen loading bar. The green light was still blinking on my cable box, which means “critical error”. (I learned that from the internet, not my technician friend.) So I got out the number he gave me yesterday and attempted to contact AT&T.

“I’m sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in use.”

WHAT.

*grumbles and gets on google*

After successfully navigating my way through AT&T’s ridiculous website, I FINALLY got the number for tech support. I dialed the number and was almost instantly put on hold (no surprises there!). Let me tell you, dear reader, something about AT&T’s on-hold entertainment. They do it a little differently over there. No elevator music, no bad 90s music, nope. They have sales plug after sales plug after sales plug. Thankfully, my ears were blissfully spared the automated information on paper billing, as the advertisement was interrupted by Matthew. Ah, Matthew from Tech Support. The voice of an angel. So Matthew told me that he was going to run me through the reboot and then stay in touch.

“Hold on just a minute, Matthew! This is exactly the problem with this box. It will freeze about 30 minutes into the reboot.”

“…you mean you’ve been through this process before?”

UM YES.

*ahem* “Only multiple times yesterday. It’s frozen in the same exact spot every single time.”

“Oh…well in that case, you probably need to get a new box. Let me schedule somebody to come over there and replace your box.”

*Cue Hallelujah Choir*

THANK YOU MATTHEW!

Unfortunately, Matthew’s many talents, while including being a miraculous tech support guy, do not include finding miraculous openings in the AT&T repair schedule.**

I’ll have a new cable box around 8 pm Friday. (Yep, that’s right, it’s Sunday.)

Overall I think I take a different approach than my mother when dealing with The Cable Company. I’ve realized that, while occasionally remaining calm leads you through the same menial repair process 4 times, it can only help the situation. Hey, I’ve got my cable back..almost. For now, I’m stuck watching season 2 of House and My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Yeah…my DVD collection is  limited. Opa!

*The label of “Cable Guys” is not meant to be sexist in any way, I just happened to be working with an entirely male “team”.

**Matthew happened to mention a survey which may be arriving in my inbox sometime this week, I assured him he would receive rave reviews.

Not their 19th..I suppose I could count to figure out which one it is, my guess is number 17 or 18.

I heard from my cousin recently that the Duggar Family has welcomed their 19th child into the world, three months early! Weighing in at 1 lb 6 oz, little Josie Brooklyn Duggar made a surprise entrance into this large family’s world. Luckily for her, I’m sure they have plenty of baby gear, seeing as her older sister is not quite a year old just yet. Congratulations, Michelle and Jim Bob, you’ve done it again…well…sort of.

Listen, Duggars. I watch the show (yes, occasionally so I can criticize your sexist attitude toward your daughters, but also because I think babies are cute). I understand that you have as many children as G-d has provided for you, but honestly…enough is enough! This kid is at serious risk for all kinds of problems. She’s tiny, her organs cannot be fully developed yet, she’s going to be in the hospital for a long time. It’s nice to know that I’m sure she’ll have a family that loves her, you’re good parents, even if I completely disagree with your values. I just think that the fact that you had to have a C-section with your last kid, and now this with your newest child should be a little indicator that maybe it’s time to stop. Not only because you’re putting the lives of your newer children in danger, but it is also hard on a woman of Michelle Duggar’s age to be pregnant and to give birth! If she died (heaven forbid), Mr. Duggar would be left alone with 19+ children to care for. Sure, he’s got the help of his older daughters. (Don’t get me started on the fact that one of them is nineteen and not in college or finding a job to support herself…), but that one baby alone, with or without problems resulting from birth complications, needs the full-on attention of a parent. It’s great that you have all of these older kids to act as live-in nannies, but a few of them are ready for the outside world. Just because you’ve decided to have more kids doesn’t mean they need to hang around the house and help you raise them.

Not to mention the huge environmental footprint this family is leaving. Sure, you buy from a thrift store, you shop at Aldi instead of Whole foods, but there’s a difference between saving money and saving the planet. This world is already overpopulated. If you want to have more kids, adopt one of the ones you took pictures of in El Salvador instead of handing them Bible passages and a cheap Polaroid. I think it’s safe to say that your family line isn’t in danger anymore, Jim Bob, so please just…at least buy a pack of condoms just in case. I just think..well, sure G-d has still provided you with the machinery to physically make a baby, but he may sending little hints to let you know, it’s time to stop and let your son and Duggar-in-law take over the family business.

-Pasc

Should the Duggars stop having kids?
(polls)

Me with a friend, who obviously does not understand the pleasures of Greek coffee

Sure, some of it is weird if you’re unaccustomed to the rich, potent flavors, to the subtle kick of the perfect blend of spices that keeps you guessing; but being brought up on this stuff, I can say that it is fantastic and I love food.

The Greeks can take anything and make it delicious. I grew up hanging at my dad’s ankles while he whipped up some spanikopita or arni fournou. Much like people get cravings for a Big Mac or a burrito, I get cravings for saganaki. (That’s not to say I haven’t indulged in the ahem…culinary masterpiece..of American fast food.) Heck, I’ve seen octopus and other unidentified sea creatures made into delicious dishes. This wasn’t the case at my house, as my dad does not like seafood of any kind, but I’ve spent plenty of time in Greek restaurants and have seen my fair share of strange dishes.The point is, Greek food is absolutely fantastic, and I think it has something to do with the role food plays in Greek society. As corny as this sounds, the Greeks really do cook from the heart. It’s more than eating to sustain oneself, it’s to show love, it’s comfort in a bowl, and it’s an  art.

I have fond memories of my childhood that all surround the kitchen area. If we weren’t eating, we were cooking, and if we weren’t cooking we were watching the Food Network, or talking about new recipes. Not only was I influenced by the Greeks, but my culinary experiences around the world have really helped shape my palette.

Spaghetti Ice Cream in Germany

I was the kid who would sign up to bring homemade fried chicken to school luncheons, while the other kid brought in a bucket from KFC. It wasn’t that we were being showy or trying to protest KFC’s treatment of animals, it was that idea that bringing in a dish showed how much an event meant to me, that I was willing to provide for my classmates as part of a community. I still think that way, and I think that’s why I want to study culinary arts. I want to feed people good food and make them feel happy. Today, for example, my dad was having a bad day, actually most of my family was; however we had made plans to eat at The Greek Isles with my grandmother tonight. Grudgingly, we all went, and I have to say, after a few glasses of roditis and some lambchops, my dad was smiling and joking just like usual! I could tell that the food, while the company was a bit tired and quiet, really brightened up his otherwise gloomy day. I want to do that. I want to have that effect on people, and I want my medium for doing so to be food.

I guess being a little Greek girl has its consequences too. I’ve been overweight since I was about seven years old. I was never “The Fat Kid”, but I was always the kid hanging out with him so that I would look skinnier in comparison. It’s terrible, I know, but I’m being honest.

My relationship with food has never been entirely healthy. I’ve been guilty, as most, of eating just because there’s nothing else to do. Unfortunately, at 5’3″ with a slow metabolisim, that is really never ok to do. Now I’m taking a different path in cooking. I’m working on cooking not only healthy food, but food that emphasizes portion control. I feel as though some people do not recognize that as one of the main factors of being overweight/obese. Sure, you’re eating one of those 100 calorie rice cake snacks, but you’re eating three packs of it! It’s something I’ve had to work on, and will continue to work on in the future.

Now, with my increasingly observant Jewish lifestyle, this task has become even more challenging (in a way that I enjoy), I get to modify all of my dishes so that they’re kosher! While I was a vegetarian for five years, I recently turned back to meat. This may seem like an interesting choice, considering the fact that I’m starting to keep kosher, but it really gives me more options in terms of cooking. I can cook vegetarian dishes and meat dishes, which leaves me with plenty of variables to put into recipes. It’s time to for me to cook something that’s good for my body as well as my soul.

Artie came into our lives with a bang, literally. When I was five years old, my parents finally lost their first family dog, Trixie. I don’t remember much about her, except that she was small and kind. While my mother was enjoying the doglessness of the house, my dad was dealing with his grief in a different way. So one day he took my sister out for ice cream. My mom set up a movie for us in the living room, me (5), my brother (8), and our cousins, (5,3,and a few months old). It was a calm day, we were happily enjoying our popcorn on the floor. Suddenly a monster came tearing through the house, knocked over my baby cousin, and ate the entire bowl of popcorn. My mom screamed, because she had no idea what was going on, but by the time she came over to check on the kids, we were happily petting our new friend while he devoured our snack.

My dad always saw Artie as his “rebound dog”, because he got him right after Trixie had died, but he fit in perfectly. Dad says they were deciding between two dogs at the shelter, a nice, calm dog staring at him with sweet eyes, and the dog bounding up and down, jumping on the fence. He let my sister pick the dog, and I think she picked wisely. They had found him wandering down the highway by himself, only 3 or 4 months old. Ears too big for his head and a wild streak, we knew that Artie would be bounding up and down our house for the rest of his life.

He was wild, that’s for sure, and we grew up together. My mom would leave me alone at the kitchen table while I was eating lunch and he would jump up and eat it before I even took a bite. He would get into the garbage a LOT. My favorite of his epic feats was when my mom left a pasta dish in a glass casserole pan on the stovetop and picked up my dad from the train station. When we came home, the pasta was nowhere in sight, but the glass container sat on the stovetop, unmoved and perfectly clean as though nothing had ever been in it.

I can’t really describe the relationship I had with my dog. As he was maturing, so was I. He calmed down right around the time that I didn’t want to try and ride on his back anymore. When I would fall down and cry he would come sit next to me with his head in my lap and lick my face. He was a selective licker, he only licked when he felt as though it really would mean something, otherwise he’d just sniff your hand and decide it wasn’t worth it. He was afraid of our cat, 7 years his elder and still bitter about the loss of Trixie, who would hiss and meow loudly whenever Artie came near. This, however, did not prevent him from eating the cat’s food at any given moment. He was sweet-natured, gentle with babies and the elderly, rough with the kids who wanted to wrestle, and an overall sweetheart.

We didn’t realize how smart he was for awhile, then he started opening doors. This doesn’t mean he pushed open doors that were already open a crack, he pushed up the knob with his nose and pulled back. My parents, in an effort to foil his plans, bought circular doorknobs which were thick, and he couldn’t fit his nose underneath them. For a few hours, Artie seemed upset, sitting in front of the door, watching people go in and out. Then, he walked up to the knob, placed his mouth around it, and turned his head. We had teethmarks on the doorknobs, but Artie was happy and so were we.

He was strong and beautiful. On walks, as he was dragging me along on his leash, people would stop and tell me how pretty he was. Even when he was 13, he’d be running around the house, trying to run away, getting into the garbage. We would keep him upstairs when my mom had clients in the basement, and I would sit with him in my parents’ room. One time he got so mad that I wasn’t going to let him out to see the clients that he walked over to my mom’s dresser, looked at me with purpose in his eyes, lifted his leg, and peed. He sounds rambunctious, but he was perfect. He understood me and I understood him. We used to have staring contests and play this game where I would wink one eye, and he would copy me. When my brother and sister moved out and my parents were working a lot, he was my only company. We’d take naps on the floor together, or in his dog bed. He wasn’t allowed on the beds, but I let him on mine when nobody was home.

There are so many memories flooding back to me with each picture. He was my favorite subject, even when I was eight and I put my bicycle helmet on him and made him sit in front of our flowers. He got old fast. When he was 14 he got lymphoma and in six months he went from his puppy-like energy to an old, slow dog. It wasn’t the lymphoma that was slowing him down, he was getting treatments and actually beating the cancer, it was his hips. He stopped being able to walk up the stairs. The first night of his chemo everyone was in bed and I heard him barking. I ran downstairs to see what was wrong. He was scared.  He couldn’t get upstairs to sleep with my parents and he’d never slept alone before. That was when I realized that my dog was going to die soon. I laid down with him and cried, burying my face into his big, soft fur. The next weekend when I came home from school I had the sudden urge to take a lot of photos of him. The vet told us we would have a few months with him still. My sister was on her honeymoon in Thailand, so my brother brought her dog over and they were cute together. Even though he was always my model, he never made it easy, except that weekend. He let me take the best pictures of him I’d ever gotten.

You know how they say siblings have an ubreakable bond? Well…we all knew. My sister started crying on the plane home from Thailand for no reason, I got really upset the day I left him, my brother took my sister’s dog over to the house every day.

The next friday I got a call from my dad. I can still remember every word.

Me: Hi dad, how are you?

Dad: I’m alright, how are you?

Me: I’m fine.

Dad: Well, I guess not actually. We lost Artie today.

I burst into tears, my dad told me I shouldn’t be too surprised, we knew it was coming, but even if you knew that your brother was going to die it would still be horrible. Even now as I type this I’m crying. My dad took him in for chemo that morning and he was in rough shape. The vet took my dad and Artie into another room and, my dad didn’t really realize what was happening for a few minutes. I guess he held Artie while they put him too sleep, but I still wish they could’ve waited one more day so that I could say goodbye.

Now his collar hangs in my room. Sometimes when it jingles I forget that he’s not around anymore. He was a lifelong friend and I will always miss him.

We have a new dog now, Pasha, and I love her to death. She’s sweet and very inquisitive, but I don’t know if I’ll ever have the same bond with her. She’s my parents’ dog and soon I’ll be moving out. I guess you never really forget your childhood dog. Two years later and I still cry about him and miss him.