New semester. New course load. New internship. New blog.
I have no idea how long I have been writing this blog for. But I do know two things: (1) The amount of posts does not accurately represent that time period and (2) my back didn't have hair on it when I started. So basically, it's been a while. In any case, I decided that before I go further with more rambling posts about Judaism and fantasy football I should lighten the mood up a bit, and tell you a a little more about myself, in the form of a childhood story. (Update: much like my beloved Ravens, the S****** S***** were eliminated in the semi-finals. Congratulations to my boy Ed, whose repeat Fantasy victory is undoubtedly going to be the happiest moment of his year. And he's getting married this summer.) It's a coming-of-age tale, one that has already been featured in argument-form at letsdukeitout.com and has doubled as my last minute wedding toast for the official older brother of the blog. My point is, many of you have already heard it.
Sharing a room with brothers, especially an older one, is a necessary part of growing up. It's like training camp. Before I reach the regular season that is real life, I gotta get hit a few times. But unlike in football, where hits are strictly of the physical nature, these hits are also mental, emotional, and in my particular case, due to my inability to understand how unimportant defeating Super Mario Land 1 is, fiscal. Splitting the room is half is something that many roommate brothers decide to do, and something that even more end up doing. So when a Soccer ball-stationary contract was placed before me complete with a line for me to sign my name, which was also the only writing I could do at the time, I jumped at the opportunity to not only show off my writing skills but also to get some much needed privacy.
The first indication that something was off was the laughter that immediately echoed through the hallways of our average-at-best-sized suburban home. The second was the fact that I was no longer allowed to walk into my room. Like Esau, I had been tricked into a deal I did not necessarily want to make. In fairness, I signed the contract and the room, as my wise brother informed me, was in fact split in half. What I was failed to be notified about was that our green line did not go across the floor. It was on the walls. The room was split laterally. Up and down. I was entitled to the top bunk, the ceiling and everything on it. He had the bottom bunk, the floor and everything on it. Even my prized possession, the ceiling fan, was rendered useless when I realized that its switch laid below the line.
The horror officially came to a close after I invaded his land and literally ripped the contract in half, rendering it ineffective. Well, it was that and the crying to Mom. Either way, order was restored, and I learned an important lesson in survival: sometimes you have to embrace your inner Jacob and trick a brother in order to get by.
And since I know I could've easily ended up sold into slavery like Joseph, I consider myself lucky.