Happiness

I was just sitting on my couch watching television and eating dinner and I realized I am incredibly happy. Happier than ever.

That is all

The Office

Ok, so 1 it's been a while and 2 I hate that I've become one of those people that blogs every seven months and says it's been a while.

But I am blogging for a reason today. I watch the office, like all good patriotic americans. And like all said americans, I was thrilled and disappointed that pam and jim got together. I'd like to make a wager. How long will they last?

I say 7 episodes. That is, 7 episodes from when they got together. 7 episodes from episode 1. I'm counting the hour long episodes as single episodes, even though they're clearly going to be shown separately in repeats.

Now, I realize saying 7 episodes is sort of crazy, as 5 have already aired and there are no signs of breakup in sight. Or, none to the casual observer. Yet, this is why I am putting this post up now, so I will be vindicated.

I'd also like to point out that it's pretty clear that episode 7 has not yet been written as of the moment (writer's strike, only one more episode (episode 6) is in the works) see numerous articles on this. Ok, so that's my theory. I can explain it now but I'd prefer to wait until after episode 7 of this season proves me right.

Well, I guess I'm back (next post in eight months)

Admittedly, a clever and wonderful post

I know what you've all been thinking: You've been thinking: What's a yule log?

I've been wondering the same thing myself. I have no idea. Why don't you check out Wikipedia. I bet they know. They know everything.

I'm not going to blog about yule logs today. No. I'm going to blog about something way more important. And that is this.

I've actually decided not to blog about anything. Goodbye

Admittedly, a lame post

I'll admit that I'm just updating so I can pretend I update this blog somewhat regularly. But I just started reading Special Topics in Calamity Physics in Labyrinth while I was waiting to see if I would win something in the raffle I'd entered (I did...) and it was so awesome, at least the first twenty pages were, that I had to buy it. I'm going to read it all weekend instead of studying for finals and writing papers. Sweet! So far, at least, she's like a Nabokov who's been injected with incredibly strong doses of pop-culture. Double Sweet!

You should read this

And by this, I mean the review I wrote, not the book I'm reviewing. Then again, go ahead and read the book. See if I care.

Also

I had a letter published in today's Columbia Spectator. It was bitter and funny, so I'm (naturally) not linking to it. But I'm sure you can find it if you really want.

Post about life

Hey All,

Isn't it amazing that I'm sitting here with a slice of pizza and blogging when I should be studying patents and copyright, in that order. What's amazing is that I'm at Cafe Nana and will soon post this into the blogosphere where my 3 readers will enjoy it.

I've decided to name my 3 readers:

1) Frank
2) Girlfriend
3) Bezalel

Thank you, Frank! You are the only person here who has no secret incentive to read this blog! I love you, Frank! (I love you too, Girlfriend) - I'm iffy about Bezalel.

You attentive reader will probably have also noticed that I posted pictures on my blog. These are from my trip to LA for Thanksgiving. I saw water. And sandpipers. Here is a picture of a sandpiper.

That Sandpiper was my friend. Then he flew away.

I also saw people.

5:45 waiting for the A train

And back again
 

The District Sleeps Tonight

On the Coast
 

Such Great Heights

To LA 

"New Post"

This post will be about the fact that this is a new post. I'm busy. With things. I'm excited for an article I'm writing for the magazine PresentTense, but I can't even think about that now, as I'm doing too much other shit. I will no longer use the word shit on this blog. I might be going to Barnes and Noble tonight, just so I can feel intellectual and smug. How stupid is that? Anyway, I'm really busy, and this blog has been getting too many hits. Stop coming here. I'm just a megalomaniac. There was a really good article I just read on Slate about how the internet is all about being a megalomaniac. I agree. But my site is different, because while whatisdavedoing.com is about a boring person, bibliophile is about me, and I lead an exciting life. And am too cheap and un-computer savvy to have my own real website.

Also, I wrote half instead of have today. I am a genius.

Words of Wisdom from Regina Spektor

This is how it works
you take the things you like
and try to love the things you took

8 pm warsaw tomorrow - I'll be there

Dream Catcher

I've been going to sleep incredibly late lately,almost early, between four and five. In consequence, I'm guessing (because I can't figure out any other reason why) I've been having incredibly strange, vivid dreams.

Last night, I dreamed that I was in the San Francisco, California area for Pesach with my extended family. It was the first night of Pesach, although it was daytime, and we were all outside our hotel hanging out and getting ready for the seder, which would be in the next room. Suddenly, there was a huge explosive sound, and we saw a space-ship flying through the air, leaving a thick trail of black smoke. "Oh," my father said, "that's the new space-ship". So then I wasn't worried, because I knew it was planned, and was going into space. But then the space-ship skewed off course and the bottom part fell off, and into the hills above our view. The top of the space-ship made it into space though. Suddenly, there was a nother, huge explosive sound, and an entire house, or housing complex, flew into the air. This was a couple of hills away.

I decided that I wanted to see this, even though it was the night of Pesach, and we had just started the Seder. So I walked away, and followed these paths that went between and through streets and constantly kept going up the hill. After one big street, I came to a winding path and there was an old man on the path, coming down. There wasn't room for both of us, so I moved to the side as best I could, climbing on rocks to do so. The old man made a comment about how the cars ruined the city, and how it was so hard to get around anymore. "At least," I said, "they have these walkways. I think they're really great." "Yes," the old man said, "they are really great." And I couldn't tell whether he just wanted to agree with me or whether he really agreed with me.

I kept walking up the path, which had by the time I met the old man begun to zig zag. Suddenly, I was through some barrier and could see all the hills around me, but then, suddenly, I was also incredibly afraid of heights. For some reason, the path ahead seemed incredibly jagged, and I couldn't take a step forward. I just couldn't take a step forward. So I turned around and went back.

By the time I got back, the whole Magid part of the Seder was over, and the family had, in fact, moved rooms, or I had been confused about where they had been before and they were actually at an adjoining room. I went in, and everyone in my immediate family looked disappointed. They were all either eating the meal or were done. Then they were going visiting. There were two troops of visitors. The first, stopped not so far away at a very vertical street, almost at a 90 degree angle, and they took a van I think, one of my cousin's and I (I remember who, but in the interest of privacy am not saying) took a scotter - he was driving, and I was behind him, to his or her friend's hotel. I remember getting there, and we went inside the hotel, and it was a lot lower class than the hotel we were staying at. The hallways were thin and the lighting was dim. And there were a lot of people there. We went down a hallway and turned right, to the elevator bank, and then my cousin gave me a wink and gently tapped the elevator button so the light turned on. Then it turned out that next to the elevator bank there was a semi-large foyer or living area, where people were gathered, to read Megillat Esther, before it was read in the morning. I was thinking that there was something wrong about this and then I woke up.

Just one comment - although there are many I'd like to make. The winding paths, while reminding me, in my dream of San Francisco, reminds me now of Jerusalem, and walking to my cousin's house there through Rechavya.

Mr. Ripley as Idol and Target

I just finished The Boy Who Followed Ripley, the fourth book in the Ripley pantheon and the third that I've read. You probably know Ripley - the creation of Patricia Highsmith - from the 1999 movie with all those hot guys in it, you know. I think Matt Damon, Jude Law. Anywho, I read the first book two years ago, and here's a brief plot summary oh wait, spoiler alert - Ripley, a poor kid from the 'other side of the tracks' in Boston, goes to New York, hooks up with this rich guy who thinks he went to Princeton and is rich, and is sent to Europe to bring the guy's son home. Badda bing badda boom, Ripley kills the guy's son (whom he ambiguously had a thing for, but for Highsmith, ambiguity is never that ambiguous), impersonates him, kills another guy, and gets a bunch of money.

Ok spoilers over - for the first book, hahaha. Anyway, this book, TBWFR (for the boy who followed, you get it), takes place years later. Ripley is married (practically sexlessly, to a beautiful Frenchwoman with incredibly wealthy folks) and living south of Paris. Then basically, the opposite of what happened in the first book occurs. That is, Ripley gives himself a new job, to find a rich person's child and bring him back to America. Except this time, Ripley does all the right things, he brings the boy home, and then the boy kills himself. Ooops, I just ruined the book for you. Sorry. It's worth it, though, because now I get to make a point.

The point is this: Highsmith, in her typical subversively tricky way, is saying that there's no point to doing good, because, while Ripley, in book 1, follows his animal instincts to get what's best for him, and thereby ends up rich and happy, in book 4, Ripley tries to be good, does everything right, basically does pennance for his misdeeds of book 1 by totally reversing them, but in the end Ripley just feels sad and empty. He comes away with nothing but hurt. Good book.

Pre Shabbos Jitters

I always never do anything on Fridays. Maybe this is why I love Fridays so much. I mean, today for example, I spent pretty much the whole day outside, and accomplished pretty much zero, but it's been the best day of the week, by far.

Rainy Days

I love rainy days. I have a great window and I can just stare out of it for hours, when it's raining. Looking at the drops on the glass, and how they attach themselves to the horizontal pole outside my window that I think is there to keep me from falling, and how they fall, and looking into Harlem and seeing the GW bridge all wet and foggy in the rain.

I also love still sitting here, in shorts and a t-shirt, when it's cold and wet outside and I'm warm and happy. Very very happy.

In other, not entirely unrelated news, I've been doing a bunch of writing lately.

Good things....

Come in buckets. Never one at a time.

One of said things is this: I just received the proofs of my law review article. They look stellar.

Beautiful Day

I've made it a rule (that I've pretty much followed, surprisingly) not to blog about things that I do in my professional or academic life. In other words, I only blog about my avocations. I think this is smart. First, it won't get me into trouble with the few people who read this blog (hopefully) assuming I have any professional relationship with those people. Second, eh I'm bored of listing reasons and I'll get to the point.

The point is, I'm going to talk about a book that's tenuously related to my academic life right now. Which is why - and for no other reason - I am not going to mention the book's name, or its author, or what it's about. Maybe what it's about will come up, but I'll try not to let it.

Anyway, I was rereading a book yesterday for a pseudo-academic pursuit. I had read this book the first time in high school, and hadn't picked it up in as many years. It turns out I had written notes in it, when I was in twelfth grade, I think. This was in the highlight of my loving literature phase. I discovered books - really, for the first time, even though I had discovered my love of reading much earlier - in 10th grade. That was when I started reading like crazy - I mean spending a good portion of my waking hours reading.

Anyway, I figured my notes would be crappy. After all, I was seventeen. I had no or little knowledge of the world. I was incredibly surprised to find 1) (here we go listing things again) my handwriting was crisp and nice, like it is now, when I want it to be (which is rare) and 2) the points I was making were not only good, but were as good or better than points I would make in the margins of my book today. Goddamit, I thought. I was smart.

Which made me sad. Because not only was I smart, then. I also clearly had a love, a desire to know. Something I've sort of lost. I can spend hours staring at crap on a computer screen (hello, woot.com) now, and I know that I wouldn't have been able to then. I would've prioritized better. I would have cared more. It takes effort for me to pick up a novel, now, because I know there is so much else I need to be doing. Then, I didn't give a damn about anything else.

Anyway, this is why I was sad yesterday.

Today, however, is a beautiful day (just look at the title of this blog post, for goodness sake). I am now in a bright, airy room, looking out onto beautiful Amsterdam Avenue, and thinking about how happy I am. The more things change, I guess.

The book also made me want to be a lawyer, and made me not want to be one, at the same time. It was still very good, the second time around.

The Idea of Blogging at Key West

Besides for being a basatardization of a great American poem (I'm tired of hyperbole - it's not the greatest, or even one of the greatest American poems - although there as a time when I'd have called it that), and a great idea (I really would love to be blogging in Key West right now, instead of in this frigid city), I thought it would be a nice idea to think about the idea of blogging.

I mostly started actually posting on this blog to give myself another chance to talk about myself. I mean, now, when the subject comes to the Internet, or when people talk about blogs, or when there's a lull in the conversation in general, I can say "oh I have a blog" "I talked about that on my blog" or "did you know I have a blog?" And then I can make a humorous comment about how even though the blog is called bezalela, it should be pronounced bezalel a, being my first name, bezalel, and my middle name, a, and I am not confused about my gender. Then we (meaning me and those I am talking to) lapse back into awkward silence.

But then I was thinking about it. I started writing on the blog because I thought it would make me write more in general. Besides for the year and a half burst when I was writing and revising my novel, and ocassional spurts of poetry, fiction, and criticism, I haven't been able to write consistently for very long about a single thing. I thought maybe if I forced myself to write a blog that would be half serious but mostly humorous, rhetorical, or pop-philosophical (how can something be half something but mostly something else? Figure that out...) then I would be able to sit down and write other things daily as well.

But, as I soon realized, writing the blog daily wasn't going to happen either. Writing the blog became similar to the way I write in general (except I don't edit the blog; I like the stream of consciousness effect of it, and I like laughing at the stupid spelling and gramatical mistakes I made when I read it over - which I do every couple of days). By that, I mean I write my blog sometimes once a week, sometimes more than once, sometimes less. There's no rhyme or reason to it. And while I like to think the writing I spend more time on (i.e. not this) is better than this, that might not be the case. I see me in both, which is weird. How can you see yourself in writing, anyway? It's just a bunch of letters. Script, that means nothing. Except you put it together, and it means something. It's a mystery, I guess.

This isn't, as I'm sure my 3 readers (who are astute and intelligent people, which is why they read this blog) have guessed, a goodbye to blogging. I'm not going to say, the experiment failed, so now I'll give it up. The experiment did fail, but I realized that I don't really care. While I like getting paid for my writing, and I like writing fiction and poetry that I hope one day I'll get paid for, I realized writing this blog that I also like spewing my thoughts, knowing (hoping, damnit, I'll be honest and say hoping) that anyone in the world can read them and then maybe they'll understand a little kernel of the world a little better, or at least think about something, or at least smile. It isn't fiction (well, most of it isn't), and I'm not getting paid for it. But it's still fun.

Street Fairs

I think a fun thing to blog about would be street fairs. In NY, in the fall, there is a street fair pretty much every weekend (Sat. and Sunday). These street fairs include about 5 of the same thing, about thirty times. They usually go on for about 15 blocks, closing traffic to all non-pedestrians (happy for me; sad for busses and cars), and you have to walk through the whole thing, to see if you're not missing anything.

You're not. This is what is at the NY street fair: Vegetarian Falafel Stand - this is always, for some reason, the first thing I see. There are 3 of these, always. Other things in the way of food are the disgusting mozarella type sandwich thing - there are 2 or 3 of those; The sad asian smoothy place that never seems to have any customers; The Thai food for $1 place; and the huge hunks of unidentifiable meat places.

Then you have the crappy jewelery places: these are about 75% of the street fair.

Then there's the weird random things. The huge paintings that are so hideous no one would buy them. The Victorian plush psychiatrists couch. The weird metallic statue that looks like it belongs in an Adams Family movie.

Then there's the star: the diamond in the rough. This is why you search. For the one thing - it's always one thing, and it isn't always even around. It's the good store. We found it (gf and I), today. Today it was a jewelery botique, but it wasn't crappy jewelery. It was jewelery made by an Eastern European (vaguely Russian?) (maybe Ukranian?) girl and her mother. The father was there too, but his position was unclear. The daughter seemed to be in charge. When I asked for a business card (their stuff was good enough to ask for a card), the father searched around among some random boxes for about 10 minutes, while I fidgeted uncomfortably, until he decided that he would make me my very own personal business card by tearing off a piece of paper, and writing his number on it - (or his wife's; or his daughter's; I wasn't really clear on this part). Then I scurried away, throwing the paper in the next trashcan I came to. Truth is, I had only asked for the business card in the first place to be nice.