What I Did Today (aka OMFG):

Only at camp.

This actually happened last summer, but I'm living in the same room so I was reminded of it on my way in tonight:

From the doorstep of my room at camp, one looks down onto the tennis court and basketball courts...

Ok, quick digression because it's too fabulous not to mention: like most things at Jew Camps everywhere, nearly every square foot of my camp is named after someone who donated the money to make that spot happen. For many many years, Judge Joseph Wapner and his wife Mickey have been patrons and supporters of the Institute that houses my camp. They gave the money for the courts. They are... the People's courts. Ohhhhh yes.

So: from the doorstep of my room at camp, one looks down onto the tennis court and basketball courts and one evening I stepped out of my room and did just that. There, under the basketball hoop, were some staff members hanging out during their free time. One was sitting on the ground with her computer, using the wireless internet signal from the office. A few others were sitting on the ground a few feet away, learning how to light a fire using a bow drill.

Wireless internet/fire without a match. Only at camp.

Except, I broke three nails doing it.

So, I was in the dining hall for breakfast at 8:20 this morning, as every day. And between then and now (5pm), I've had exactly three (non-consecutive) hours during which I was not teaching dancing somewhere or eating lunch back in the dining hall. In those three hours, I did not once come back to my room, though I could have. I didn't sleep or read or eat. During the first free hour, I played (and learned) frisbee. During the second hour, I joined a bunk for their mountain biking ride. During the third hour, I played frisbee.

Who is this and what has happened to RDB? More on this later 'cuz this is serious.

Reading is Sexy.

"Miss, I found out for you what the soup du jour is. It's 'the soup of the day'."

I'm in the town where I work, out on lunch break, looking for the local post office so I can turn in my temporary mail-forwarding form and buy some forever stamps (how romantic of a name!). I'm driving, and I call toll-free assistance and get the 800 number for USPS. I call them:

Me: Hi! I'm trying to find the nearest post office but I don't know what zipcode I'm in.
P.O. guy: Then I can't help you, I'm sorry. Have a good day.
Me: Wait, I can't just give you the name of the city and state?
P.O.: No, I need a zipcode.
Me: Ok, well, then, I need to find a zipcode.
P.O.: Ok, what's the city and state?

Like, written with a PEN. On PAPER.

If you know me in Real Life (or "meatspace", as some would have it, but that kind of grosses me out), you probably know that I'm about to leave for sleep-away camp. Which MEANS, clearly, that you need to haul out the stationery and the stickers and send me at least ONE hand-written snail-mail old-school tear-it-open LETTER between now and August 12th. If you don't know the address, check out my eponymous website. Hope your summer is as fun and crazy as mine! Deep breath...


(No, this doesn't mean I for sure won't be posting until August 12th. I've gotten a little bit addicted to this, so it'll probably continue. That does NOT relieve you of your above-mentioned obligations :)

(No, you dope, to *work* at sleep-away camp. I am, hard as it is to believe, no longer 16 :)

For example

So I got these fabulously glamorous acrylic nails and a french manicure. (This, from a girl who refuses to wear make-up? Welcome to Contradiction City, population: me.) And they're pretty long and pretty impressive. And a Kindergartener says to me, in the way that only a six-year-old can, when life is still simple and every word has its clear and obvious opposite:

"Wow! Your nails are pretty! Are they real or are they pretend?"

"The best tour I took was with a group of radical reference librarians in town for the Anarchist Bookfair in Golden Gate Park."

"The question of accessibility is a question of invitation: will individuals feel
invited to participate in and contribute to a democratic culture or will they live
in a world where most content is corporate-owned and -provided? The
promise of the Internet-as-Alexandria is more than the roiling plenitude of
information. It's the ability of individuals to choreograph that information
in idiosyncratic ways, the hope that individuals might feel invited by the
gravitational pull of a broad and open commons to "rip, mix, and burn"-to curate. This new sort of curator, in effect, is one definition of blogger: an amateur experimental librarian for the Internet, the curator of (in blogger/writer Cory Doctorow's phrase) a digital Wunderkammer,
a private informational choreographer who has made her alignments public."

I love Harper's Magazine.

Nu?

So, what do you think of the banner? BESIDES that it's too big; I already know that.

No, really.