How I Got My Only Scar; That’s It Part 2

“Here comes the sun little darling. Here comes the sun and I say..” the song blared distantly on the speaker system.

Like clockwork, my counselor chirped, “Alright, girls! Up! Hoppers to the dining hall in 10 minutes!”

I wasn’t a Hopper, so I pulled the covers over my head to block out the light and the one fly that was buzzing in my ear all morning, causing a half sleep-like state.

 I could usually get away with this for a good 3-5 minutes.

“ALEX! UP. Line-up is in 7 minutes and I don’t want you last in line again!”

Of course I would be last in line again. Who were we kidding?

 “Raise the flag raise the flag at the break of the day when the daily work is beginning, raise the flag raise the flag at the break of the day when the daily work is beginning.” I lazily clapped along as girls side chanted around the flagpole.

“Well everyone,” Sarabeth, head of girls side announced, “we have a VERY special day today here at Perlman Camp!”

“It’s Erica’s birthday!” one of the older girls called out. In response, a 7AM  level of excitement "wooo" from her bunk.

“Yes it’s Erica’s  birthday, but we also have a specialty day!” Sarabeth continued. “Today..drumroll please…. Will be Harry Potter day!”

Gasps and woos from the Potterheads. Silence from the rest.

I had only read the first 2 books because my sister told me they were a little scary, but I was a gasper, a wooer, and likely one of the most excited people on camp for the magical day that would ensue. Because I was a naive little believer. 

“You will be sorted into one of four houses at breakfast, where the day’s activities will be explained. Freshmen, off to the dining hall!”

My hopes were immediately diminished when I saw that there was no transformation of my every day dining hall into the "Great Hall," no floating candles or sky above. I guess I realized that magic definitely isn't a thing. 

 Just like Harry, all I could think throughout my soggy waffle breakfast  was, “not Slytherin please not Slytherin. Gimme Gryffindor pretty please sorting hat gods I want to be in Gryffindor. Or Ravenclaw. But not Slytherin”  

So of course I got stuck in Hufflepuff.

As you can imagine, the day was pretty unremarkable. A mere mask of every day activities and challenges, but channeled with the competitive component of us being on separate teams or “houses.” Though the loudspeakers did play the eery, classic Harry Potter theme music between activities, I was unimpressed. Plus I was in Hufflepuff. How excited could I get? My only consolation was that a close friend from my bunk, Mollie Gibson, would be on my team.

 Until I heard that the final day’s activity would be a quidditch match. Still hope for magic!

At the match, I was again disappointed, but also in awe, to find that the players held the broom between their legs and did not, in fact, fly. The "snitch" was an athletics counselor dressed in mustard yellow, running about. The goal posts were only about as tall as myself. And worst of all, I was still rooting for Hufflepuff.

To add to the burn of our housing placement, another rather annoying girl from our bunk, Eva Tulchinsky,  came up to Mollie and me during the heat of the match and said, "Gryffindor is the best, you guys SUCK," (as if we didn't know this.) Mollie continued on to quarrel with the rude girl who cared way too much about arguing a clearly proven point. The fight escalated into Eva clawing at Mollie. When I saw this, I ran and got between them. You mess with Mollie Gibson, you mess with me.

Eva scratched away at my arm and drew blood. A counselor saw, and she was sent away without canteen for the night. I continued to pick at the scrape from Eva because I'm an idiot, and because it looked cool... and it turned into a small white scar on my upper right arm. I still wonder to this day if I'm Eva's last horcrux...

..And that night I pulled the giant sword of Gryffindor from a sorting hat. Because we all know the sorting was a fluke and I was clearly the bravest person at B'nai Brith Perlman Camp. 

C'est ca. 


PS THIS IS ME AND MOLLIE AT THAT AGE. WOULD YOU MESS WITH US? (PROBABLY) 

Beyonce Lied; Funny Hurts More

Robin Williams' death has deeply affected anyone who has been touched by his limitless performances. Reactions range from anger at his loss, tasteful commemoration of his acting triumphs, to open discussion about mental health issues. The last of which, is my personal favorite.

Our actors by definition have an obligation to distract us from reality. Though they often hit us with more real (It's not your fault,) within that distraction, it's calculated. It's on a screen, not in our lives.. for now. As we saw from Heath Ledger's loss, our actors are not immune from the feelings they fight to instill in us via their talents and efforts. While I'm not saying actors are all at risk or deserving of more attention, it's their entire profession to mirror human nature, so their work and their reactions say a lot more about all of us than we may care to acknowledge.    

Funny characters in a  work, the one's whose technical one dimensional purpose would be to make us laugh, have a tendency to also be the most honest and clear thinking. I believe the Fool in Shakespeare's King Lear helped begin this tradition of "you're laughing at me because it's too difficult for you to acknowledge realities of these awful situations." The Fool has an unparalleled level of clarity, in contrast to his counterparts, and yet he will always be the Fool. Sometimes I'm interested in how Louis CK is even considered a comedian. His brand of humor specifically isn't even funny to me, it's a clear vision of the world. It's people watching on crack. He's just reiterating the world he sees with decent timing. But that is in so many ways the role of the comic. Show us the world in an idea or an observation, and we'll laugh at you because it's too fearful and hard hitting to our core to get near for ourselves.

 One of my favorite Kurt Vonnegut quotes explains, "Humor is an almost physiological response to fear." As someone who has been considered "funny" by some.. I would say that this is the best summary of my inclinations. When I make a sarcastic side comment, it's a subconscious ploy to be loved that has worked time and time again. Which comes from an inherent fear of not being loved. Robin Williams in an '09 interview told us that his second descent into alcoholism was fear induced. "It's just literally being afraid. And you think, oh, this will ease the fear. And it doesn't." No matter how funny, talented, brilliant a man is, he never will be impervious to every day fears.

Everyone has fear, and everyone copes and reacts differently. I hope with William's death, we can continue to learn that no one is immune to fear, depression, or grief; not even the ones who can temporarily relieve us of those exact same plights with their humor and performance as a hilarious cross-dressing nanny. In sum, we've all got to look out for each other, even the ones we least suspect need our help.