India

So I know it’s been a while, but this post is about to be jam-packed.  I recently returned from a trip to India, and I had a truly life-changing experience.  You might be thinking, “yeah, sure, that’s what everyone says any time they step outside the country nowadays,” but I’m being completely serious when I tell you that the trip was eye-opening and thought-provoking in so many ways.  In addition to being a moving experience, my time in India was just really fun. I had a great time with my friends and the whole group, thirteen students, got really close.  We formed a sort of family within the first few days there, which is important and unbelievably comforting in a country that is foreign in every way.  Throughout the whole trip, one reoccurring theme was present: ridiculous things. In a place where everything is new and different, one is able to only grasp a few of the countless details.  I am a person who appreciates all things ridiculous, and beyond the beauty, art, and culture of the country, the one thing that I managed to find in each place we visited was the absurd. 

            
Let’s start with my arrival in New Delhi. It was 9:00 pm and I was absolutely exhausted.  I had just stepped off of a sixteen-hour flight from Chicago, nonstop, and had been drifting in and out of sleep for the past few hours.  My neck was sore, I was lugging around a bag that was larger than I was (which, by the way, continued to grow throughout the 18 days as I added more and more scarves to the load), and I was hungry from having turned down the Indian styled airplane food.  Somehow, vegetable paneer doesn’t sound as good when it is coming from a flight attendant. Anyways, we boarded a bus in a strangely warm and noisy place and were driving through the streets back to the hotel when I suddenly became very uncomfortable.  I looked out the window of our large tour bus and noticed that there were no lanes.  Let me correct myself: the lanes exist only in theory.  No matter where we went, a two lane road turned into a four and a half lane road as there were cars, motorized rickshaws, busses, motorcycles, bicycles, and cows all squeezing past wherever they could find space.  And red lights are optional.  That’s terrifying.

            
We left New Delhi a few days later to go to Varanasi.  When we were there, we learned that India is filled with metal detectors that serve no purpose.  Every time that we entered our hotel, we walked through a metal detector that made space ship noises.  We all expected to be stopped or asked to take out our cameras, but instead we walked right on through, past the man with the large mustache who waved and smiled all day long.  After arriving, we had a few hours to rest, and then we went out into the cities on rickshaws.  I felt bad, because somehow it just seemed cruel to ask a man who looked half my weight and a good head shorter than me to pull my friend Maggie and me uphill through the most crowded city I have ever seen.  But Rickshaw Rick barely even broke a sweat, in one hundred degree weather! 


We walked through the winding roads and through the markets all the way down to the Ganges.  After taking a boat ride along the river, we returned to the rickshaw drivers to be taken home, and that was when I learned my most important lesson: don’t talk to strangers.  I know that every child is taught that since they are old enough to talk, but apparently eighteen year-olds need to be reminded of this crucial rule.  As we were being bicycled through the packed streets, where cows have the right of way and people will hit you with their motorcycle before they will stop, two nice-looking young men pulled up along side us on their motorcycle.  We got to talking and they asked us where we were from and what we were doing in India.  The people are so friendly; it seemed harmless enough.  But that all changed when, after twenty minutes, they were still riding next to us and asking us to meet up later on. Maggie and I started to feel uneasy, and so we began to ignore them in the hopes that they would leave us alone.  It didn’t work, and we soon realized that they were following us.  Rickshaw Rick took detours and side streets, sped up and slowed down, but we couldn’t loose those creeps.  Finally he pulled over and pretended to fix something while the stalkers went up ahead.  He leaned in close to us and said, “If they try to grab you, punch them.”  At that moment the situation became very real to me. I turned to Maggie and said, “Do you see me? I can’t punch anyone!”  Maggie looked back and said confidently, “I was made for this,” so at least I was in good hands.  The creeps followed us back to the hotel, at which point we bolted for the useless metal detector and went inside to hit the buffet.  Getting stalked really makes you work up an appetite.


So I was stalked around the country: at the Red Fort in Agra, at a palace in Jodhpur, and even asked out by the zip line guide in Udaipur.  I never got used to that, but learned how to avoid it.  The other thing that I never could get used to was the fact that people in India were interested in me.  Not just me, of course, the whole group, but still.  What is it that made us interesting at all to Indian people? They were the interesting ones!  But everywhere we went people wanted to talk to us, take pictures with us, and shake our hands.  We would be approached by large groups of Indians who would throw their arms over our shoulders, sometimes without asking, and smile while their spouses took countless shots to document the moment.  We took pictures with families at the Bahai Temple in New Delhi, with Indian young adults at the Taj Mahal, and with a group of Chinese Monks at Buddhist sites outside Varanasi.  Sometimes, people just whipped out their cameras and phones and took pictures of us as we walked by.  One of our chaperones explained that the people who lived in villages never saw Westerners unless they traveled to the big cities, so they would take pictures with us and go home to their families saying, “Look! I met American celebrities!” And who can really argue?


The most uncomfortable, however, were the people who would hand us their babies.  They would walk up, shove an infant into your arms, and point at the camera.  The first time that this happened, in New Delhi, all of us were shocked and we laughed about it all day.  It became a reoccurring theme throughout the trip, though, and within a week or so it had happened to most of the girls.  Someone would step onto the bus after visiting some sight and say, “I had my first baby picture.”  Though it never happened to me personally, I believe I was the only girl in the group of eight who never had a baby thrust into my arms. I don’t know if I seem less trustworthy than the others, but for some reason, I never had a baby picture.  Maybe next time.


Apart from all of my strange experiences, India opened my eyes to beauty that I have never seen before.  We watched craftsmen at work: replicating Mogul Miniatures, weaving silk saris, creating handmade woven rugs, dying fabrics, and forming vases from hunks of clay in a matter of seconds. I saw landscapes that seemed too picturesque to be real and architecture with a level of detail that could give you headaches.  The one thing that constantly struck me, however, is the beauty of color.  Everywhere we went, we were surrounded by the most brilliant hues.  So buy a tote bag and bring some brilliant color into your life, because sometimes we all need a little color to add a little joy into our days. 

-Emma

Snow Day

I don’t know about you, but I have never been a huge fan of the snow. I live in Chicago and have to deal with it for about four months of the year, so I am definitely used to it.   But that does not mean that I like it.  Every year all of my friends get super excited for the first snowfall, and, not wanting to look like the Grinch, I go along with it. Sometimes I think I am even able to convince myself that I am looking forward to it.  I think, “well, it feels like winter, I guess it better look like winter, too.”  And then, as soon as those icy flakes start to fall, I remember why it is that I don’t like the snow: it’s cold, it’s wet, and it limits my shoe selection.  Again, I know that makes me sound like a curmudgeon, but snow is only nice from inside.  It’s lovely to sit in your living room with a fire roaring in the fireplace, sipping hot tea, but it’s not so nice trekking from your car to the school and having wet feet for the first 4 hours of the day.

This year, however, was different.  I have a newfound love of the snow.  And I’ll bet you can guess why.  That’s right, snow day! The last time that I had a snow day was in second grade, and I still remember it as one of the most magical days of my life.  I don’t go to one of those schools that dish out snow days like turkey on Thanksgiving.  No siree, my school has not canceled class due to the snow since 1967 (some argue that they canceled in the 80s for a snow day, but it was actually because the boiler broke).  So this was a truly historic event.  All day on Tuesday my friends and classmates kept saying, “I really think there’s going to be a snow day this time.”  But I remained skeptical.  I didn’t want to get my hopes up, only to be crushed with disappointment.  But, to my surprise, I was wrong.  The school called a snow day, and I was like a little kid who’d just been set free in Toys R Us with a credit card.  I called my brother, to brag of course, and he was outraged.  “WHAT? YOU HAVE A SNOW DAY? THIS IS RIDICULOUS! WHAT HAS THE SCHOOL BECOME?”  If you can’t tell, he was jealous. After doing a quick victory dance in my kitchen, I packed up my belongings and went to stay at a friend’s house. 

The best surprise came the next night.  I was about to start my homework, when I received four text messages at the same time informing me that school would be canceled for the second day in a row.  “Is this real life? How could it be?”  My victory dance was a little bit longer that time.  I felt like I’d just won the lottery.  I called Jake again, and he could barely even speak to me.  I think it’s the most upset he’s been in a while.

So, you might ask, what did I do on my snow days? Did I go sledding? Did I have an epic snowball fight? Did I bust out the cross-country skis that I don’t own? The answer to all of your questions is: No.  I did absolutely nothing, and it was wonderful.  Sure, I hung out with friends, and I baked, and I watched movies with my mom.  But this snow day was different from the magical adventure in second grade.  I did not make snow angels or bust out my snowsuit.  I did not carve out tunnels or try to build igloos.  Nope.  I roamed around my house, drank my weight in green tea, and enjoyed the feeling of having absolutely nothing that I had to do.  It was a beautiful thing. 

Now, the snow often calls for heavy gear: hats, gloves, mittens, scarves, the works.  And when you are out and about, you need a place to store the goods, because we all know your pockets aren’t that big.  So you’ll need a bag big enough to fit all of your regular necessities, plus your snow gear.  And nothing is better for the job than a stylish tote bag.

 -Emma

Pale in Comparison

Happy New Year! I know it’s been a while, but I thought I’d give you all a little bit of time to catch your breath after all of the holiday and new years festivities.  It’s been an eventful couple of weeks, let me tell you.  Our holiday season did not start off so well, because about a week before Christmas my mom slipped on the ice and broke her wrist.  Keep in mind, this is a woman who has lived in Chicago her whole life and faced the most brutal of winters.  The fact that she has managed to keep her balance until now is deserving of a round of applause.  I don’t know about you, but it makes me a little freaked out to be on the ice.  But maybe that’s just because I am one of the klutziest people in the world, when I’m not dancing.  The break was bad and my mom needed surgery, so that was not too much fun.  It hasn’t all been bad, though.  For one thing, Jake and I got to be my mom’s chauffeurs for about a week, so we had lots of time for good car talks (the best kind of heart-to-hearts) and I finally learned to drive a car other than the beast.  And, in the spirit of our family, my mom has learned to laugh at her situation. For two weeks she had to keep her arm elevated, so we all walked around the house waving at her constantly. 

Despite my mom’s injury, we still went to Mexico.  It really was the best place for her to heal, and the rest of us didn’t mind it too much either.  This year I was especially hopeful that I would get tan, or at least mildly beige, but no.  I have finally realized that it is time to give up all hope of ever getting that bronze glow, because I am permanently pasty.  My mom tries to make me feel better about my condition by telling me that I’m alabaster, like a China doll.  But who are we kidding? I’m practically translucent.  I would like to say that it’s genetics, but my parents both get quite dark after a day or two in the sun.  Jake is more or less in my boat, but I think that I am truly the whitest thing to ever walk this earth.  I partially blame my mother, who brought along, wait for it…spf 85 for the trip.  I mean, really, isn’t it all the same after 30? We opened up her stash of sunscreen when we got there and found spf 55 (which was gone after 2 days), spf 70 (which went next), and the truly absurd spf 85.  On the second to last day I found out that she was hoarding a bottle of spf 50, so I stole it and brought it to the beach, but it was too late. 

In my effort to get tan, I laid in the sun for hours (I’m talking 5 hours a day here, people), with the desperation that only a near-albino girl can have.  I did everything I could, but it was hopeless.  Even the managers at the restaurant noticed.  Little known fact: Mexico loves me.  For whatever reason (though it’s not hard to believe) whenever we go to Mexico, the people take an extra liking to me.  Maybe it’s because I try to speak Spanish, or maybe it’s just because I’m awesome.  So the two managers at the restaurant would come over to chat, and one day, Narciso said, “Wow it’s amazing! You’ve been laying out for days and you’re still so pale!”  As if I didn’t already know.  Later that night he informed me that they sold tanning oil in the gift shop, if I was interested.  Too bad that I would have been burnt to a crisp if I had used it.  Then, a few days later during breakfast, the other manager says, “I can’t believe you still haven’t gotten tan. Not at all! I’m going to go pray to the Mayan gods for you.  Maybe they can help.”  Really? I mean, I know it’s bad, but at least I got a few sun freckles.  And I could have sworn I had a faint tan line.  That counts for something, right?

So for all of you men out there reading this (if you exist), you know what’s coming up.  I’m mentioning this early, because I know how much you like to procrastinate.  You don’t want to be that guy who is frantically searching for a Valentine’s Day gift on February 13.  So when you are thinking about what to buy for your loved one (or loved ones), order them a tote bag!  They come in lovely hues of pink, if that seems more romantic, but we all know that all of the colors are great for a gift.  And they can hold a lot of sunscreen.

-Emma

'Tis the Season

The Holiday Season is finally here!  I live for the holidays.  I am actually one of the few Chicagoans who love the winter.  Not even for the sledding and the snow (which I could do without).  But besides sweaters, wool socks, and hot tea, my favorite part of winter is the holiday spirit.  I know what you’re probably thinking: “But Emma, you’re Jewish!”  Yeah? So what!  There’s something magical about the scent of warm spices and decorative lights (only when done tastefully, though, so don’t get crazy, people).  I took a trip to Christmas Town with my friends this weekend.  It’s a town that just goes buck wild for Christmas, and the whole downtown area sells Christmas stuff and decorates for the holiday.  The best part is the candy shop where you can watch them making fresh candy canes.  And then eat the fresh candy canes.  Yummmm. 

I also have a mini-obsession with Christmas trees.  They’re just so beautiful and happy.  I mean, really, how can you not be happy when in the presence of a Christmas tree?  So much festivity, so much tradition.  It’s great.  My mom asked me the other day if I have Christmas envy and I responded, “No, just Christmas tree envy.”  So naturally I asked my dad if we could keep a holiday tree in the house.  He denied my request, so I downscaled to just a small one in my room.  I offered to call it a Chanukah bush if he wanted, but he pointed out that there is no bush in Chanukah.  But I was relentless.  What did I do last year? Shoved one in my locker at school.  Yes it was a pain, and yes, I lost time working around it to get my books, but it was so worth the struggle. 

I should probably talk about my own holiday a bit, though.  I really and truly love Chanukah.  And everyone always says that it is just for the presents, but I swear it’s not.  Chanukah is first and foremost a festival of lights.  A celebration of miracles.  An embellished holiday that is loosely related to a true historic event.  But that is neither here nor there.  Who really cares if Chanukah was promoted to get kids more involved in the temple?  I certainly don’t.  Chanukah is about hope, optimism, family, and intense games of dreidel.  It’s been a few years since I’ve played, so I’m probably a bit rusty, but trust me I used to clean up.  Sure, it’s kind of a game of luck, but I think I was still pretty good.

But the reason that I really love Chanukah is that for eight days, you have that one thing to look forward to each night.  That time when everyone gathers around the menorah and says the prayers and lights the candles.  It used to be more stressful when Jake and I had to fight over who got to light the Noah’s Ark menorah (awesome, right?).  Now that we’ve updated to a more “sophisticated” menorah, the only thing I have to worry about are the candles themselves.  I’m kind of afraid of fire.  I really like being around fires (cozy fireplace fires, bonfires, campfires, etc.) but I’m terrified when it comes to using lighters and holding burning candles.  I refuse to use the lighter to light the first candle. I tentatively light the others, but make someone else put the candle back in its place so that I can avoid the hot wax.

So this is where the rubber meets the road.  I’ve heard a lot of positive feedback about the posts, so now it’s time to really show your appreciation.  It’s the holiday season, people, and I know that you’re all rushing around to get your holiday gifts. Whether those gifts be late Chanukah gifts, Christmas gifts, heck, even Kwanza gifts, you know what to get.  A tote bag!  The perfect present to show someone that you care. 

-Emma

Turkey Bowl

Thanksgiving is all about tradition.  It is one of my favorite holidays.  So much love, happiness….thankfulness.  I know that’s cheesy, but it’s such a warm holiday.  Nothing gaudy or overly commercialized.  And let’s be honest here, everyone looks forward to Thanksgiving dinner.  But in my family, Thanksgiving dinner is not even the half of it.  Let me tell you about some of our other rituals on this fall holiday.

First is the family football game.  My dad’s family has had a football game on Thanksgiving morning every year since far before I was born.  It’s just a standard game of touch football, but let me tell you, it gets pretty intense.  I started playing when I was around 7 years old.  And if you know anything about me, you know that I am in no way good at football.  I think it has something to do with the combination of me not being able to throw or catch, much less both at the same time.  (Last year in gym class we played flag football and I got placed in the B League, so we spent a week running drills.  In the five days, I did not catch the ball once.  Eventually my teacher took pity on my and handed off the ball so that I could feel somewhat accomplished.)  So needless to say, I am not a huge asset to the team.  My cousin is my age, and for a few years they let us play on the same team.  They would periodically stop, about once every 45 minutes, to run a “G-Play.”  Let me take a second to break down a typical Girl Play.  Everyone pretends to actually try, but nobody really does.  Someone throws the ball to one of the girls on the team, and we all ignore the rules of the game, meaning whether the girl drops or catches the ball, she grabs it and runs until she gets a touchdown while everyone fake lunges at her so that she thinks she really made a contribution to the game.  And then the game continues as usual.  A few years ago, I realized that these plays didn’t count towards the final score.  I felt a little dejected. 

Once we outgrew G-Plays, however, it was time to throw us into the actual game.  Meaning my cousin and I had to be on opposing teams to guard each other.  Both of us complained and put up a huge fight, but our fathers could not be swayed.  Once the game started, we were down to business and, eager to prove ourselves, got a tad bit too aggressive.  It started with harmless guarding and running, but soon swelled into pushing, hair pulling, elbowing, clawing, and I think I was even slapped across the face.  So that was the end of that experiment.  Now we usually play for a few minutes, and then sit on the sidelines drinking hot chocolate. 

Then we have the usual Thanksgiving dinner at my Aunt and Uncle’s house, which is always delicious and leaves everyone pleasantly (or unpleasantly) full and satisfied.  My grandpa usually lets out a good ol’ “Buaaaaaaah” at the end of the meal, so you know it’s good.  And then comes black Friday.

Black Friday has changed in my family throughout the years.  My parents used to try to take my brother and I to museums, but those days were filled with complaining and Museum Legs (You know, that feeling when your legs feel like jello that you only get when walking around a museum?)  Then we tried shopping, but after several near trampling incidents, we decided that perhaps a movie would be best.  So now we see a movie every year on Black Friday.  This year we’re going to see, you guessed it, Harry Potter.  I feel like the last person on the face of the earth to see it, so I’m excited.

Anyways, Thanksgiving is filled with family, tradition, good food, and great leftovers.  So when you’re packing up the leftover turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes (mmmmm) and cranberries, and you need a bag to place all of the Tupperware in, you know where to find one.  A tote bag, available in lovely fall colors, is perfect for the job.

-Emma 

Dance Away

I may already have mentioned this, but I am a dancer.  I have been dancing since I was two years old, and I love everything about it. But my favorite part of dancing is performing.  I’m not an attention-seeking weirdo or anything, but I absolutely love dancing on stage: the lights, the costumes, the loud music, I live for it.  So what has inspired this discussion of my dance life?  Orchesis.

Many of you may be scratching your head and furrowing your brow thinking, “what in God’s name is an Orchesis?”  Orchesis is the dance company at my high school, and it has been a huge part of my life for the past two months.  Every year we hold auditions in September, and we have performances in November and May, with a three-month break between seasons.  So our November showcase is next weekend.  Which means that this is the week that I go around telling everyone that they simply MUST come see the show.  Often enough, people hear the word Orchesis and ask one of two questions:

1.     “Oh, so do you, like, play the violin or something?”

2.     “Isn’t that some kind of interpretive dance… thing?”

The answer is no. No, Orchesis has nothing to do with Orchestra, and no, Orchesis is not an interpretive dance group…the idea scares me a little bit. 

So every year we start rehearsals just after auditions, in the first or second week of September.  Once you make the company, you are cast in a certain number of dances, depending on your year in school and how many seasons you have been on Orchesis.  There are several seniors each season who choreograph pieces. The rest are choreographed by Ms. Riner (the dance teacher in charge of Orchesis), other teachers, and guest choreographers.  This year, I am doing an independent study in choreography with Ms. Riner, so I choreographed a full piece and a mini solo that is in another dance.

But what I really want to talk about is tech week.  Tech week is the week before the show, and we run the entire show once or twice each day with lighting and costumes.  Tech week is also a week of traditions.  Each day, we dress up according to some ridiculous theme to advertise for the show.  Past dress-up days have included: dress like a dancer day, dress like an athlete day (which we were all made fun of, so that one didn’t stick), white t-shirt/hallway marker wars day, monochromatic day, etc.  So you get the idea.  This year is pretty exciting, because the seniors decided to bring back pajama day, which means….wait for it…drum roll please…ONESIES.  That’s right, this Tuesday I will be sporting a bubble-gum pink adult onesie complete with dogs for feet to school.  If you can’t tell, I’m kind of excited. 

Besides dress up week, we have other traditions, most of them revolving around food.  Don’t think for one second that we are those kinds of dancers who don’t eat anything.  I would venture to say that at least half of Orchesis traditions involve food.  On the Friday of the first show, we are called out of eighth period so that we can go get some food before our 4:00 pm final dress rehearsal, which means that we all pile into cars and go to get Italian ice and French fries or milk shakes.  Then, after the final dress and before the opening show, we sit in a giant circle, eat pizza, and talk.  And then there’s always the random nights during tech week that we order $80 worth of Thai food for the company to eat during the run-throughs. 

So what do I do when I have lots of costumes, dance shoes, and makeup to bring for the shows?  I throw all of it in my Tote bag, of course! For all of you dancers out there who have tons to carry around for classes and shows, and the athletes who have their own equipment, you’ll need a big bag to transport all of your goods.  Make it a tote bag. 

-Emma

Christmas in October

Trick or Treat!  Halloween is only ONE WEEK AWAY!  If you haven’t already guessed it, I love Halloween.   Then again, I am a Halloween baby.  My birthday is the day before, so I have always felt a special connection to the fall holiday. I love the spirit, the costumes, and of course the candy.  But when did Halloween become the who-can-throw-the-most-technicolored-plastic-junk-in-your-front-yard contest?  I mean, really, people.  Look out your windows.  The wispy fake spider webs? Tacky.  The plastic spiders? Tacky.  In my opinion, you’ve got to go big or go home. The decoration that I used to get a kick out of was the witch that looks like she has flown into a tree.  But now I see them everywhere!  Too many witches have been texting while flying. 

On the other hand, there are SO many people who are going all out on their decorations!  It’s like everyone has to have a horror movie set in their front yard to be considered a civilized American.  The guy who lives down the street from me sets up a graveyard in front of his house every year.  Want to guess when he had it all set up by?  September.  That’s right, it has been there for a month.  Impressive, or obsessive?  You tell me. 

But we all know what Halloween is really about.  Well, besides the candy.  Costumes!  I get really into costumes, I always have.  And I was not always something generic.  When I was in second grade, I went as a geisha.  The costume came complete with Kimono, chopsticks in my hair, and white face makeup.  Thinking back on it, that is kind of an odd costume for a little kid, but I guess I was just unique.  My brother, however, used to steal the show every year.  He had the most obscure costumes.  My personal favorite was the underwater lobster fisherman costume.  He even had a net filled with fake lobsters.  He was four. 

This year, my friends and I were trying to find something good that we could go as in a group.  Our first idea was the Seven Deadly Sins, but I don’t think anyone wanted to be Gluttony.  Then, my friend Mira came up with Inconsequential Disney Characters.  I liked that one.  Can’t you picture the conversation?

“Cool costume, but…what are you?”

“Oh I’m so-and-so”

“Who?”

“You know, the soldier from Mulan?”

“No…”

“Oh, well, he’s a pretty inconsequential character.  No lines, or anything.”

But none of us could think of enough inconsequential characters.  Probably because they are inconsequential.  My idea was that we go as a box of crayons.  We could all buy crayon costumes, and then make a box that would fit all of us just so that we could be an enormous hassle anywhere we walked.  But we never ordered the costumes.  Or got around to making the box.  So I think that we are going to be Gym Teachers.  It’s just an excuse for me to wear tube socks. 

Now to the candy part.  Whoever came up with this system of walking around and getting free candy from people is a genius.  But where are you going to put all of those sweets while walking around?  A plastic pumpkin?  That’s been done.  A pillowcase? Hard to carry.  What’s easy to carry and large enough to fit enough candy to give you a mouth full of cavities?  That’s right.  A tote bag.  So when you are looking for the perfect trick-or-treating bag, in fall colors, you know where to find one.

-Emma