sarcasm

Independence Day

Independence Day in Israel falls on a different date every year. It is celebrated on the same date in the Jewish calender, but it’s very different from the common calender that most of us use – the one with January, February etc. The Jewish calender is actually based on the cycles of the moon – by looking at the Jewish calendar I can always know when it’s going to be a full moon and when there isn’t going to be a visible moon at all. It’s quite comfy.

No matter when Independence Day falls here, though, whether in April or May, it is always celebrated in the exact same fashion all over the country. On the Eve of it, there are performances in every city, some streets are closed off so people can roam freely in certain areas, and the same pointless, useless, dumb junk is sold all over. One time, I bought a headband with orange or pink pom-poms standing up on it. I think I purchased a necklace one time as well. Still, this year I saw my favorite pointless junk, but I refrained from buying it – sunglasses with little light bulbs all around the rims that flash on and off in different colors. Sensible, stylish and not at all tacky, I say!

That’s only one part of the holiday, though. On the day itself, the skies of Israel are blurred with smog and smoke – everyone, simply everyone, has barbecues. EVERYONE. There isn’t a free grassy knoll or an empty park bench to be found anywhere.

If someone could explain to me how any of this is supposed to symbolise patriotism for the state of Israel, I would appreciate it.

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What People See in George Clooney

I never get it. I really don’t. I don’t think he’s that good looking, his facial hair looks like it’s painted on, and he has odd hair that looks naturally gelled up. I’ve never seen him in General Hospital, but I don’t understand how he became the heart-throb he is considered.

There is, however, one thing I love about George Clooney. He is absolutely amazing at being sarcastic. He drips with sarcasm, insincerity and dry humor when he wants to, and I find THAT, of all things, to be the coolest, most awesome thing about him as an actor.

He’s a good actor, no doubt about that, but still – heart-throb? Hardly

[Can you tell this is a spur of the moment post because my mother is flying tonight and I have no time to spend on the computer?]

Horoscope

Your guardian angel may appear to you as another human today, maybe even a close friend. There’s no need for complex analysis when someone brings you good news, unexpected cash or an invitation to a very special night. Just make certain that you have the intelligence to say “yes” before the opportunity fades.

Hm. Interesting. Let’s go over this piece by piece. There was no guardian angel whatsoever that came to me today. Not another human, not a close friend. The closest thing to a guardian angel was the piece of dark chocolate I had after dinner. That was heavenly indeed.

Next part. The good news thing is interesting, mostly because I didn’t get any news today from anyone, not good, nor bad. Cash was not recieved either, and an invitation to anything more exciting than my evenings sitting at home and writing essays would have been incredible. But I didn’t get one. Meaning I also didn’t have an oppertunity, or the intelligence for that matter, to say “yes” to anything from anyone.

I suppose the stars don’t have all that much effect on me… me and at least half the other people who got this same horoscope today as I did.

Snail Mail

There is something superbly romantic about sending letters. Actual letters. Written by hand, in an envelope, stamped and sealed. It’s too bad it’s a thing of the past. Of course, emails are quick, easy, accessible from anywhere nowadays and just plain BETTER in many ways. But they don’t have a personal touch, not unless you make each email a work of magnificent poetry and prose.

If anyone has read Stephen Fry’s The Stars’ Tennis Balls, they know that there is a wonderful description of how letters used to be in the first few pages. To anyone who hasn’t read the book – do. His descriptions of the letters of two teenage lovers, newly enamored with each other, are just incredibly funny and betimes even poignant.

A romantic to my core – sadly, I seem to be alone amongst my friends in this sentiment – I wish sometimes that I lived in a time where letters were exchanged as fast as possible and with excitement and were passionate and interesting. However, a cynic to my core as well, as I’ve stated before, I know that would mean we also would have to marvel at the price of stamps and swoon at everything and drink lots of tea or something. Perhaps not such a good idea then.