Throughout the last couple weeks I have been at home in the small Midwest town where I grew up and I must say, I've been thoroughly enjoying my time here. I don't know if it's the time with friends, the summer school class I'm helping to teach, the feeling associated with being somewhere so familiar, or the simple fact that we're not dying of humidity, but I'm trying my best to soak up every last drop of this small town home brew before I officially move to New York and learn to sip cosmos. (That line is strictly metaphorical, mind you.)
Last week, I had the good fortune to be around for a friend's 21st birthday party and got the opportunity to hop around some bars in town that, truth be told, I'd never stepped foot in before. Among the party guests was one of my closest and oldest friends as well as some old high school classmates, and we had a wonderful time together. Nothing crazy; just a healthy dose of companionship, storytelling, reminiscing, and a couple drinks between friends that left me with a contented smile.
Another close friend invited me to co-teach a summer school music class with her this week and I have been having a WONDERFUL time working with a select group of middle school band and orchestra students. Having not taught instrumental music for a year I am beyond thrilled to be working with string players again, and this time I'm learning almost as much as they are in the process. The class, entitled "Exploring Ensembles" has been focusing on composition, improvisation, and student-led ensembles with a wide variety of instruments. These are areas which I have rarely explored as either a student or a teacher, and I'm finding - right along with the students - that improvisation and composition really isn't so scary! In fact, I've been working specifically with a trio comprised of a guitarist and two violinists that are learning to jam together and are composing their own piece as a result. Today when I told them I would not be with them next week because I'm moving on Tuesday, they all wined and nearly begged for me to come at least on Monday to work with them some more. How could I say no to that? It's only been four days and it has been an enlightening and enjoyable experience for all of us.
On Tuesday, a friend and I drove to the city where I lived the last couple years so we could go swing dancing. Since it was my last time with that crowd for quite some time, they were kind enough to offer me a "going away" dance where all my favorite partners switched with one another to dance with me for a song. The whole night was at once fun and bittersweet; having to say goodbye to the friends I've made through swing was challenging, but knowing that the skills I developed with them are coming with me to New York makes me hopeful that I'll be able to find another group of swing buddies in my new home.
It's interesting that I've been so happy here the last couple weeks. Since I moved away for college and came home only on vacations and the occasional weekend, every time home felt stifling. I quickly became accustomed to the amenities offered by a bigger city: diversity in culture and food, performances and fine arts, opportunities that simply don't exist to the same degree in small towns. Coming home, by contrast, was challenging. If I wanted to go out to eat I was faced with the same carnivore-friendly fare that left me wanting. The stories that circulated always felt tepid and recycled in comparison to the dynamics of the bigger town I'd grown to love. Everything always felt the same to me, and that lack of spice was bothersome after having experienced and participated in and tasted the various flavors of a city.
Now things have changed. After only a couple weeks in New York I was itching to get back to something safe. Today, I found it quaint and pleasant to spend an hour at the neighborhood coffee shop/bookstore, schmoozing with the owner (who is also a friend of my mom's) and chatting casually about well-known community members by their first names. Suddenly, talking with people around town and hearing their thick regional accent is inexplicably endearing. Essentially, what had annoyed me and bothered me about my home town is now miraculously lovable. Funny how that happens right when you're about to leave it all behind.
I remember when I was applying for college in my senior year of high school. I had four schools on my list, two of which were very high, one was an adequate third, and the fourth I put on the list because, well, why not. That fourth school also happened to be the last one at which I auditioned and I nearly didn't go to the audition because I was so disinterested in going to that university. As it turned out, that university was the one I ended up attending, and in hindsight I think I got a better education and overall experience than I would have at any of the other schools. The city itself surprised me in how it grew on me, and I'm quite confident that things turned out exactly the way they were supposed to.
Let's hope New York surprises me, too.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Making it Home
After nearly two weeks in the apartment without so much as a chair, our stuff has finally arrived. Thank G-d.
To say we had challenges with the moving company is a gross understatement; from the moment they told us we were misinformed about the timeline of the moving process (a few weeks after picking up all the possessions from Tomm's old apartment) to finally getting our belongings a day later than promised, the whole ordeal has been a series of the most unfortunate events. But hopefully the bad luck that was the hallmark of this experience will make way for only the best of luck in our new apartment.
There is a great sense of accomplishment to be had in completely unpacking, assembling, putting away, and organizing one's apartment in a single day. If only I could be that productive every day!
Today is my last full day in New York before I return to my small town home for the rest of the month. Since the street had to be cleared for street sweepers today I had the responsibility of moving the car from the most glorious parking spot ever and finding some way to occupy myself for a couple hours. So after filling the tank and cleaning it of all the papers and garbage that have accumulated since Tomm first bought it, I drove around trying desperately to find a parking spot so I could get some breakfast. Oh, that reminds me. Gotta buy milk today.
It took a while, but I finally found a one-hour spot along a street with a variety of cafes featuring words like "Organic" and "Vegetarian" on their artistically designed windows and signs. I found a cozy little one and I only wish the parking meter would allow me to relax here longer. Streaming unobtrusively through the speakers in the corner is the music of Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, and Billie Holiday. The granola was homemade, the fruit fresh, the baristas friendly and charismatic. One even took my name with my order and then proceeded to actually call me by name as he brought out my food. It's the little touches like that that make me feel a little less alone around here.
Loneliness is undoubtedly my greatest fear in this adventure. I wouldn't call myself introverted, but nobody would peg me as a social butterfly. It often takes time and a great deal of consistency for me to make friends. People said it would be wonderful that we're living in resident housing because I would find the spouses of other doctors who are left with too much time on their hands, but unless I start knocking door-to-door trying to find them, I'm not sure how we'll meet. It's not as if the super hosts weekend mixers for the non-doctors in the building. Though wouldn't it be interesting if he did?
The last two days I combated the loneliness by going to a local animal rescue. It's about a mile and a half away, a pleasant walk. Once there I asked if I could walk some dogs, so I was presented first with a highly energetic pit-bull mix that strained at the leash. We walked around for about a half hour and when I returned they asked if I'd like to walk another. This went on for a couple hours and by the time I left I had walked five dogs ranging in size from a small terrier to a beautifully monstrous cane corso with a brindle coat.
I returned the next day and the employee from the day before recognized me. I walked four dogs and also got into a conversation with another volunteer whose name I actually remember! I walked with her to the train station along with the fattest dog I've ever seen who was incredibly happy when the walk was over. There seem to be a lot of volunteers at the shelter and though I don't know if they need more, spending quality time with dogs who desperately need the attention is good for everyone involved. If I have a chance I'll go back this afternoon.
Ultimately, my goal is twofold: to not be lonely, and to make friends. Hopefully one leads naturally to the other. Wish me luck.
To say we had challenges with the moving company is a gross understatement; from the moment they told us we were misinformed about the timeline of the moving process (a few weeks after picking up all the possessions from Tomm's old apartment) to finally getting our belongings a day later than promised, the whole ordeal has been a series of the most unfortunate events. But hopefully the bad luck that was the hallmark of this experience will make way for only the best of luck in our new apartment.
There is a great sense of accomplishment to be had in completely unpacking, assembling, putting away, and organizing one's apartment in a single day. If only I could be that productive every day!
Today is my last full day in New York before I return to my small town home for the rest of the month. Since the street had to be cleared for street sweepers today I had the responsibility of moving the car from the most glorious parking spot ever and finding some way to occupy myself for a couple hours. So after filling the tank and cleaning it of all the papers and garbage that have accumulated since Tomm first bought it, I drove around trying desperately to find a parking spot so I could get some breakfast. Oh, that reminds me. Gotta buy milk today.
It took a while, but I finally found a one-hour spot along a street with a variety of cafes featuring words like "Organic" and "Vegetarian" on their artistically designed windows and signs. I found a cozy little one and I only wish the parking meter would allow me to relax here longer. Streaming unobtrusively through the speakers in the corner is the music of Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, and Billie Holiday. The granola was homemade, the fruit fresh, the baristas friendly and charismatic. One even took my name with my order and then proceeded to actually call me by name as he brought out my food. It's the little touches like that that make me feel a little less alone around here.
Loneliness is undoubtedly my greatest fear in this adventure. I wouldn't call myself introverted, but nobody would peg me as a social butterfly. It often takes time and a great deal of consistency for me to make friends. People said it would be wonderful that we're living in resident housing because I would find the spouses of other doctors who are left with too much time on their hands, but unless I start knocking door-to-door trying to find them, I'm not sure how we'll meet. It's not as if the super hosts weekend mixers for the non-doctors in the building. Though wouldn't it be interesting if he did?
The last two days I combated the loneliness by going to a local animal rescue. It's about a mile and a half away, a pleasant walk. Once there I asked if I could walk some dogs, so I was presented first with a highly energetic pit-bull mix that strained at the leash. We walked around for about a half hour and when I returned they asked if I'd like to walk another. This went on for a couple hours and by the time I left I had walked five dogs ranging in size from a small terrier to a beautifully monstrous cane corso with a brindle coat.
I returned the next day and the employee from the day before recognized me. I walked four dogs and also got into a conversation with another volunteer whose name I actually remember! I walked with her to the train station along with the fattest dog I've ever seen who was incredibly happy when the walk was over. There seem to be a lot of volunteers at the shelter and though I don't know if they need more, spending quality time with dogs who desperately need the attention is good for everyone involved. If I have a chance I'll go back this afternoon.
Ultimately, my goal is twofold: to not be lonely, and to make friends. Hopefully one leads naturally to the other. Wish me luck.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Shabbos in the Hood
This week marked my first Shabbat (or Shabbos as it's known in its Yiddish pronunciation) in my new neighborhood. Before I tell you about it, I think it's important for you to understand a little more about this particular neighborhood in Brooklyn.
I'm learning that Brooklyn, and New York in general, is an astonishingly diverse place. As I mentioned in my first post since arriving, the variety of languages, nationalities, and traditions is astonishing. There are, however, certain neighborhoods throughout New York that have noticeably higher concentrations of certain ethnic groups, as delineated here.
My neighborhood is a Hassidic hot spot of not just NYC, but of the world. Hassidic (sometimes transliterated as Chassidic) refers to a branch of ultra-Orthodox Judaism which puts significant emphasis on absolutely following the letter of the law and its accompanying rabbinical commentaries. Additionally, Hassidic Jews typically avoid many attributes of secular life and form insular, close-knit communities among themselves. Most people recognize ultra-Orthodox Jews by their black hats, long beards, payes, and black coats, and the women by their long black skirts and dark long sleeved-shirts. This is worn in even the most oppressive heat and humidity, but it is all a part of the centuries-old traditions that have allowed these Orthodox communities to flourish.
This part of Brooklyn is situated directly next to a large Chinese community -- [insert joke about Christmas and mahjong here] -- and has a handful of Mexican and Puerto Rican restaurants thrown in for good measure. Still, when Tomm (a modern Orthodox Jew raised in a Jewish neighborhood) came here for his interview I distinctly remember him only saying "I'm not Jewish enough to live here." He was only half joking.
So now imagine me, a traditional Jew raised in a small town whose Jewish population hovered somewhere around 50 people, suddenly thrown into the heart of American Hassidism with a Jewish population estimated at over 100,000.
Thus it was with some uncertainty that I began thinking about where I would go for Shabbos services on Saturday morning, since a Hassidic shul (synagogue) isn't quite my thing. I did some research and found there were four modern Orthodox congregations nearby. Great! Having nothing else to go on, I decided to try out the one closest to the apartment, a measly three short blocks away.
I'll spare you the unnecessary details of the shul, but suffice it to say it was old. Big and old. It had probably been around for generations and was probably a pretty sizable congregation at some point, but judging from the number of empty pews during the service the community has shrunk considerably. As is standard in Orthodox synagogues, the women had their own section separate from the men (because men are too easily distracted by our beauty), and by the end of the service I was one of only six women there. According to Jewish law, women are not required to attend prayer services so it's typical for there to be more men than women in a synagogue, but this seemed sparse even by my standards.
I was obviously the youngest person there by a significant margin, so naturally I felt very at home. The congregations in which I've grown up and to which I've belonged have usually been on the older side and I feel quite comfortable in a congregation primarily made up of people my parents' age and older. But that was just about the only thing that made me feel comfortable there. First of all, there was little to no singing among the congregants, so I felt the service was seriously lacking in ruach, spirit. Second, nobody seemed to do any part of the service together, so I didn't sense any community. But what struck me as odd was that nobody said hi to me or welcomed me until long after the service had ended.
Perhaps it was presumptuous, but I've grown up believing that Jews look out for one another, and that new faces should be welcomed wholeheartedly. In fact, there was a sign in their social hall that said something about always being the first to welcome someone new. During the short social and snack time after services known as kiddush, the women did say hi to me and one even offered me some job hunting advice, but overall I felt the reception was cold.
I told Tomm about it later and he admitted that he wasn't entirely surprised. There are two types of small communities, he said, and they're either open or closed. Both my community at home and the one I've been a part of for the last six years are small but very open. They welcome newcomers with open arms and an invitation to lunch, they play Jewish Geography and search endlessly for connections to people they know, and there is never a shortage of smiles to suggest that they are sincerely happy to meet another member of the tribe.
But it seems that the shul I walked into was of the closed persuasion. They are probably a small, aging community where new is not always good. Perhaps the changing neighborhood has not treated them kindly. Or maybe they've just lost too many young people to the more glamorous Jewish neighborhoods around New York. Equally possible is that New York Jews are simply different than Midwest Jews. Whatever the cause, I'm not convinced I'll find my new community in that shul.
At least I've got three other places on my list!
Friday, July 5, 2013
Independence
As we all know, the 4th of July is a day to celebrate our freedom, to spend time with family and friends, to dine on hot dogs and potato salad, and to decorate your new apartment.
It's amazing how much you can get done when both people living in the apartment have the day off - thank you national holidays!
For those who don't know, I've moved to Brooklyn for one reason and one reason only: my fiance. He graduated from medical school a few months ago and moved here to do his residency at a local hospital. Since he has to be here for at least the next five years, I figured I'd join him because let's face it, long distance sucks. For the purposes of this blog, let's call him "Tomm." (It's a thing he came up with. Just go with it.)
So Tomm, by some glorious and miraculous flash of good fortune, was granted off for the 4th of July. This made me excited for two reasons: One, I got to see him during daylight hours. Two, he got to help me finish setting up the apartment. There's a lot I can do on my own, but I felt he should be around to help pick out an air conditioner and window treatments.
So we shopped. We got that air conditioner, the curtain rods and curtains, and all the miscellaneous things our apartment was lacking. We also went on a massive grocery shopping spree to fill our barren kitchen because nothing says "welcome home" like a fully-stocked fridge.
Early in the day we had talked about what we wanted to do to celebrate the Fourth. We agreed that a fireworks show was the way to go, but in researching the various options it looked like the only fireworks show going on was the Macy's show on the west side of Manhattan along the Hudson. Discussion wasn't even necessary to decide that we weren't going to travel into and out of Manhattan that late at night to be pushed around by a million people, so I looked into alternative options. As it turns out, there's a park not too far away that happens to be the highest natural point in Brooklyn which, according to the website, made it a wonderful place to watch the Manhattan fireworks show. Sure, it'd be a little far away, but it would also be significantly less chaotic and easier to get home afterward.
Well, all the errands took longer than expected and by 8:00, only an hour before the show, we realized it just wasn't going to happen. That's when Tomm was struck by a brilliant idea: why don't we go to the 10-story apartment building next door and try to watch the fireworks from there?
We ate our lox and bagel on the way (happy birthday, America!) and found an open window near the entrance to the roof. We were cautious about going onto the roof for fear that it might get us in trouble, especially since it wasn't our building, so we resolved to stay at the window. We weren't facing Manhattan, but we did have a beautiful view of Coney Island, the Verrazano Bridge, and at least three separate fireworks shows going on within our view. It was lovely.
After a few minutes a man who may have been the super came up the stairs and asked if we had been on the roof. We dutifully said no. "Did you see anyone else?" "Nope, nada, no one, sir." "Alright then. Come with me," he said as he opened the door to the roof.
Wow.
From every point on the top of the building, walking around in a full circle, we could see fireworks. Staten Island, Coney Island, Brooklyn, Manhattan....there were fireworks going off in every direction. We didn't know where to focus our attention! Some were close enough to really enjoy, others were further in the distance and provided just a hint of colorful light on the skyline. Around 9:30 we saw some finales beginning with unstoppable streams of fireworks, one after the other in robust, glowing grandeur. From what looked like the heart of Manhattan we saw a glorious display of red, white, and blue explosions that were probably perfectly timed with music, blaring over the voices of a million spectators. We didn't hear the music; instead I heard a soft breeze and the occasional sweet nothing whispered into my ear.
We tried to count how many shows we could see and figured that 20 was probably a low estimate. Neither of us had ever seen anything like it, and we both agreed that it was way better than anything we would have witnessed from the park. What's more, since we could see so many we were there for a full hour and left while some shows were still going - much longer than the 25 minute performance Macy's would have given us.
While watching the fireworks, I thought about this Independence Day. Quite honestly, this may be the most independent Independence Day I have ever celebrated. Installing an air conditioner and putting up curtains may not be quite what the Founding Fathers thought of as statements of freedom, but it certainly is for me. And as Tomm and I stood upon that rooftop with fireworks lighting up the sky in every direction, I felt assured that we can make it work in this big, scary city with so much to offer. I just need to right vantage point to see it.
It's amazing how much you can get done when both people living in the apartment have the day off - thank you national holidays!
For those who don't know, I've moved to Brooklyn for one reason and one reason only: my fiance. He graduated from medical school a few months ago and moved here to do his residency at a local hospital. Since he has to be here for at least the next five years, I figured I'd join him because let's face it, long distance sucks. For the purposes of this blog, let's call him "Tomm." (It's a thing he came up with. Just go with it.)
So Tomm, by some glorious and miraculous flash of good fortune, was granted off for the 4th of July. This made me excited for two reasons: One, I got to see him during daylight hours. Two, he got to help me finish setting up the apartment. There's a lot I can do on my own, but I felt he should be around to help pick out an air conditioner and window treatments.
So we shopped. We got that air conditioner, the curtain rods and curtains, and all the miscellaneous things our apartment was lacking. We also went on a massive grocery shopping spree to fill our barren kitchen because nothing says "welcome home" like a fully-stocked fridge.
Early in the day we had talked about what we wanted to do to celebrate the Fourth. We agreed that a fireworks show was the way to go, but in researching the various options it looked like the only fireworks show going on was the Macy's show on the west side of Manhattan along the Hudson. Discussion wasn't even necessary to decide that we weren't going to travel into and out of Manhattan that late at night to be pushed around by a million people, so I looked into alternative options. As it turns out, there's a park not too far away that happens to be the highest natural point in Brooklyn which, according to the website, made it a wonderful place to watch the Manhattan fireworks show. Sure, it'd be a little far away, but it would also be significantly less chaotic and easier to get home afterward.
Well, all the errands took longer than expected and by 8:00, only an hour before the show, we realized it just wasn't going to happen. That's when Tomm was struck by a brilliant idea: why don't we go to the 10-story apartment building next door and try to watch the fireworks from there?
We ate our lox and bagel on the way (happy birthday, America!) and found an open window near the entrance to the roof. We were cautious about going onto the roof for fear that it might get us in trouble, especially since it wasn't our building, so we resolved to stay at the window. We weren't facing Manhattan, but we did have a beautiful view of Coney Island, the Verrazano Bridge, and at least three separate fireworks shows going on within our view. It was lovely.
After a few minutes a man who may have been the super came up the stairs and asked if we had been on the roof. We dutifully said no. "Did you see anyone else?" "Nope, nada, no one, sir." "Alright then. Come with me," he said as he opened the door to the roof.
Wow.
From every point on the top of the building, walking around in a full circle, we could see fireworks. Staten Island, Coney Island, Brooklyn, Manhattan....there were fireworks going off in every direction. We didn't know where to focus our attention! Some were close enough to really enjoy, others were further in the distance and provided just a hint of colorful light on the skyline. Around 9:30 we saw some finales beginning with unstoppable streams of fireworks, one after the other in robust, glowing grandeur. From what looked like the heart of Manhattan we saw a glorious display of red, white, and blue explosions that were probably perfectly timed with music, blaring over the voices of a million spectators. We didn't hear the music; instead I heard a soft breeze and the occasional sweet nothing whispered into my ear.
We tried to count how many shows we could see and figured that 20 was probably a low estimate. Neither of us had ever seen anything like it, and we both agreed that it was way better than anything we would have witnessed from the park. What's more, since we could see so many we were there for a full hour and left while some shows were still going - much longer than the 25 minute performance Macy's would have given us.
While watching the fireworks, I thought about this Independence Day. Quite honestly, this may be the most independent Independence Day I have ever celebrated. Installing an air conditioner and putting up curtains may not be quite what the Founding Fathers thought of as statements of freedom, but it certainly is for me. And as Tomm and I stood upon that rooftop with fireworks lighting up the sky in every direction, I felt assured that we can make it work in this big, scary city with so much to offer. I just need to right vantage point to see it.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
I'm back...and in Brooklyn
Whelp, so much for trying to keep a blog throughout my first year of teaching. Blame it on fatigue, stress, business, or sheer complacency, but after a full month of not writing I realized it just wasn't going to happen. But this time I'm back, and hopefully here to stay for a little while longer as I explore this new territory called The Big City, a.k.a. Brooklyn, a.k.a. My New Home.
My move isn't 100% official yet, but I just got my Brooklyn Public Library card so I'd say it's close enough. I'll be going back to my small town home once more before moving here for good, but in the meantime I'm doing my best to make my new apartment and my new neighborhood feel as close to home as I can. Though I've gotta tell you something: it's hard.
You see, I grew up in a small town with a population well under 50,000. I'm used to wide streets and big backyards, two-story houses with separate two-car garages. I'm used to a 15-minute round trip to drop off a book at the library, free and ample parking spaces and giant lots, and something like the Cheers theme song, where everybody knows your name.
I'm also used to pretty much one language and one accent (though thickness varies) throughout the city, one widely accepted set of traditions (though I typically did not share them), one primary religion (not that I was a part of it). I'm certain I'm not giving my home town nearly enough credit for the diversity that does exist there, but by New York standards I come from a pretty cookie-cutter Wonderbread kind of place.
Okay, okay, so I did go to college in a big city. Well, in the context of my own state, anyway. New Yorkers don't even recognize the city when I mention it. But even there I didn't feel the city was overwhelming or multitudinous. Actually, all things considered, I really enjoyed living there. I'm a bit sad to have left.
So here I am, a small town Jew in a giant metropolis where people live on top of one another, where languages, ethnicities, traditions, and dress codes bump and shove and glide and mix with one another like splatters of color in a Jackson Pollack painting. Beautiful to some, jarring and uncomfortably chaotic to others.
With this change comes a shift in the purpose of my blog. This time 'round, I think I'll need this space as a way to process everything I'm experiencing and to share it with all the people who can't be here with me in person. This is the biggest, grandest, most terrifying adventure upon which I've ever embarked, and this blog might just be the one thing that keeps my head together.
Join me, won't you?
My move isn't 100% official yet, but I just got my Brooklyn Public Library card so I'd say it's close enough. I'll be going back to my small town home once more before moving here for good, but in the meantime I'm doing my best to make my new apartment and my new neighborhood feel as close to home as I can. Though I've gotta tell you something: it's hard.
You see, I grew up in a small town with a population well under 50,000. I'm used to wide streets and big backyards, two-story houses with separate two-car garages. I'm used to a 15-minute round trip to drop off a book at the library, free and ample parking spaces and giant lots, and something like the Cheers theme song, where everybody knows your name.
I'm also used to pretty much one language and one accent (though thickness varies) throughout the city, one widely accepted set of traditions (though I typically did not share them), one primary religion (not that I was a part of it). I'm certain I'm not giving my home town nearly enough credit for the diversity that does exist there, but by New York standards I come from a pretty cookie-cutter Wonderbread kind of place.
Okay, okay, so I did go to college in a big city. Well, in the context of my own state, anyway. New Yorkers don't even recognize the city when I mention it. But even there I didn't feel the city was overwhelming or multitudinous. Actually, all things considered, I really enjoyed living there. I'm a bit sad to have left.
So here I am, a small town Jew in a giant metropolis where people live on top of one another, where languages, ethnicities, traditions, and dress codes bump and shove and glide and mix with one another like splatters of color in a Jackson Pollack painting. Beautiful to some, jarring and uncomfortably chaotic to others.
With this change comes a shift in the purpose of my blog. This time 'round, I think I'll need this space as a way to process everything I'm experiencing and to share it with all the people who can't be here with me in person. This is the biggest, grandest, most terrifying adventure upon which I've ever embarked, and this blog might just be the one thing that keeps my head together.
Join me, won't you?
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