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

A Fore Letter Word

Let’s talk about golf, shall we?  Golf is something of an addiction.  Once you get hooked, you just can’t stop.  But I suppose that only applies to those who are good at golf, myself not included.  My dad, however, loves golf.  It comes third, after only  his family and his work.  To him, golf is more than just a game.  It is a way of life, a philosophical challenge that can be applied to all aspects of daily living.  When I am having trouble in school or in dance, my dad readily offers a golf analogy that he believes will help me overcome my problems.  I tried to learn to play, once.  My friend Hannah and I enrolled in a one-week golf camp.  To give you an idea of how horrible I was, let me tell you about the driving competition.  Not in a car, but hitting the ball with a driver.  There was a prize for the longest and shortest drives.  My ball went backwards, but I still lost in the shortest drive category.  Somebody else’s ball went further backwards. 

My brother shares my dad’s passion, and the whole family has accepted that I have no golf potential (although my dad always said I had the perfect swing), but my dad has spent years trying to convince my mom to take it up.  My mom always refused, not even giving it a second thought.   She called it “your golf” when speaking to my dad about it.  She knew it was good for him to have a hobby, but she had no interest. But all of that just changed. 

About two months ago, my mom received a call while the two of us were out walking.  This is what I heard:

“Hello? Is everything ok?...What?... (Laughter)… Oh you can’t be serious…That’s awfully sweet of you but I couldn’t…Alright I’ll consider it.”

I asked who it was, and my mom said it was Steve, my dad’s golf teacher.  Apparently they had been discussing me going off to college, and Steve thought it would be fun if my mom learned to play golf as something for my parents  to do in their empty-nester phase.  He offered to give her a few lessons, and to keep the whole thing secret from  my dad.  My mom immediately wrote the idea off as ridiculous, but I told her she had to do it.  It would make my dad the happiest man in the world if he could play just one game of golf with my mom.  So she said she would try. 

Thus, the lessons began.  My mom showed up for her weekly lessons, and slowly but surely learned to enjoy golf, just a little bit. She would arrive dreading the next hour, but would leave giddy at her accomplishments. Steve called her tadpole, kindly poking fun at her beginner’s status.  I would come home from school, greeted with funny stories about the lessons and my mom’s soreness.  After the first lesson, she was so excited because she realized that there is a whole new market out there for vinyl golf accessories: bags, shoes, gloves, club covers, the works.  I think I saw her eyes sparkle a little bit just thinking about it. 

So my brother, my mom and I kept this little project a secret for about two months, when my mom finally broke the news to my dad.  She left a wrapped sleeve of golf balls out for him (my suggestion, might I add) with a card.  He read the card, in which she explained the whole story, and when he got to the part about her actually taking the lessons, his eyes bugged out and he mad a face that showed a cross between intense joy and disbelief.  She told him that they would pick a date that they could go out and play together.  He looked like a little kid who had just been handed a credit cared and let loose in Toys R Us.  So who knows?  Maybe my mom will continue this little endeavor and learn to love golf. 

If you are already a golfer, or this story has inspired you to take up golf, you know you are going to need to carry around all of your golf accessories.  And who wants to carry all of that around in your hands? Unacceptable.  So when you are looking for the perfect tote bag to transport your tools, you know where to find one. 

-Emma 

T Bags

It seems that fall is finally here.  I’ve been saying for weeks that it has been on its way and that I was starting to feel the effects, but this week I felt that crisp chill in the air.  Refreshing, bright, colorful fall.  Can you tell that I love it? 

You already know a few of the reasons why I am so devoted to this short and unpredictable season.  Of course there are the changing leaves, the taffy apples, the wool socks, the boots, the Halloween spirit, my birthday, the scarves, and the just-chilly-enough-but-not-so-cold-that-I-hate-going-outside weather.  But more than anything, my love affair with fall has everything to do with coffee and tea.

I may not have mentioned this before, but hot drinks are kind of my jam.  I live for them.  Why have an ice-cold soda when you can waft a steaming mug of tea?  I am also, though I hate to admit it, horribly addicted to coffee.  I know what you’re thinking: “Addicted? But you’re still in high school! You’re not supposed to be addicted until you are at least 25.” Believe it or not, it’s true. My addiction, however, is not like most.  For me, coffee is more than that brown muck that keeps you awake all day.  No, coffee is something to be celebrated.  That warm, bitter, taste.  The earthy notes with just a hint of sweetness.  I love coffee.  I love the taste; I love the smell; I even love my thermos that will, no matter how many times I wash it, always smell like coffee.  Drinking it is not a chore, it is an honor.  So I do not hang my head in shame for joining the millions that get splitting headaches on the one day of the year that they forget to drink coffee.  If crabbiness and a throbbing cranium are the price I must pay, then it’s worth it.

The only hot drink that I love even more than coffee is tea.  It is almost too daunting of a task to put my passion for tea into words.  Sounds do it more justice, but I don’t know how to translate a deep hum of contentment through the written word.  So I’m just going to have to try to tackle the former.  Tea warms not only my body, but my heart and soul.  I know that sounds cheesy, but a great mug of tea can actually change my mood and my entire day.  I pride myself on collecting teas from different places.  Whenever I come across a good teahouse on vacation, I stop in to taste and bring something home.  I have teas that suit my different moods, and I tend to favor different flavors depending on the time of the year.  When I am sick, I turn to my “magic tea,” a tea that I bought in a small village in Israel.  When I am stressed out, White Cloud is my dear friend that calms me down with her soothing notes of toasted coconut and pineapple.  When I need some energy, I look to my collection of black teas for guidance: apricot, vanilla, Irish breakfast, Island mango, original spice, the list goes on and on.  Sometimes, like Kermit the frog, when I am feeling green, Moroccan Mint and Jasmine Oolong are eagerly awaiting me.  So as you can see, I am something of a tea fanatic.  I look forward to tea shopping at my favorite tea store in the area, and I’ll make plans weeks ahead of time to ensure that I have a long, satisfying visit. 

Now, I know this sounds odd, but I often bring tea over to my friends’ houses.  I’ll bring a selection that we can make, if we feel so inclined.  Study sessions always require an array of greens, blacks, and herbals, so I need a big bag to transport my treasures.  Where do I turn? You guessed it: my tote bag.  So if you need to bring tea or coffee to a friend’s house, work event, or any other gathering and you need a bag to bring it in, you know where to find it.

-Emma