Last Chance

2013 was a pretty good year. I have no regrets.

Let's talk about goals. I made a goal and I didn't reach it. Tomorrow is New Years. But that doesn't mean that the goal is over. It's one of those goals that can extend beyond the time set out.

So I am filing for an extension. I will keep at it, and G-d willing reach my goal soon, and set new goals and reach those as well.

2014 feels weird in my mouth, but I never really liked 2013 anyway. I don't like odd numbers.

G-d willing this year will be a good one.

Glass ball, is there a tall handsome man in my near future?

Best wishes for all of you in the secular new year.

Dear Notebook

I've missed this. I used to write in you all the time back in sem, when I didn't have a laptop and my thoughts would run and I had to write them down or lose them forever.

Lately I've stopped thinking so much. Or I got so busy I had no time to think. Or I didn't let myself think. Which is good because sometimes when I think too much bad thoughts pop into my head, sad depressing thoughts, and lately my thoughts have been normal and happy and stable.

But I'm not sure what day of the week it is. I'm gonna say Monday, but it doesn't feel like Monday. It feels like this week has been going on forever and so tomorrow must be Wednesday which means pizza day in the office, only it's not Wednesday and I don't eat pizza.

Break time means free time which means boredom or an all-consuming need to fill up the silence with noise, preferably the kind that quiets your thoughts and makes you stop thinking. Only, TV drama is way worse than real life. It sucks you in, and suddenly you find yourself loving/hating/involving/investing yourself in fake relationships you see through your computer screen, and when you turn off the show you can't stop thinking about it, and when you go to sleep you can't stop thinking about it, and when you work you can't stop thinking about it, and it consumes you and you know it's time to stop but you just can't turn it off.

You want someone to shut it off for you and tell you to stop watching shows that suck you in so much and make you sick when the characters fall in love or out of love, and you know it's all fake but you can't help it.

But no one comes to shut it off.

12:00 AM comes and you find yourself standing in the kitchen thinking it's time to make a lunch and go to sleep and you can't move.

So you call home and listen to your father's voice on the phone, which is weird because you hardly ever speak to him for so long at a time, and then he says hold on and so you hold on for 3, 5, 7 minutes but he doesn't come back and you know he's forgotten about you.

So you do the mature thing and drag yourself to bed and vow that tomorrow you won't watch that show anymore. But you know you can't stop.

You can't wait for break to be over and life to go back to normal, while wondering what it is about the TV drama that makes your life seem so boring. But that's what TV does to you.

And you wonder if somewhere out there is someone who will know when to pull you back from the edge.

Six Word Challenge

Hemingway was asked to enter a contest: write a meaningful book that contains only six words.

He wrote: "For sale. baby shoes, never worn." - an entire world in those six words.

What would yours be?



(Credits go to a Facebook friend for posting this.)

Oh Boy(s)

Long ago when I was young and innocent, I was uncomfortable around boys. They made me feel self-conscious. I would move differently, talk differently, think differently around them, always wondering how they perceived me. I would make a big deal out of every small glance, every spoken word, wondering if he was thinking about me, what he thought about me. For instance, when I was fourteen and I called my neighbor to speak to her, the sixteen year old boy answered the phone, and he asked how I was doing, how's school, etc. Forever after I kept thinking how nice it felt that he took an interest in me. (I may have had a crush on him).

Fast-forward like four years. At eighteen my sister got engaged, and I wanted to jump on the bandwagon. I was in seminary and I told my mother I was absolutely ready to get married, and I wanted to start dating. After some determination it was decided that I was not ready. (Married at 18? Haha, says my present self to past self.)

A few years after that I started dating. It was exciting and nerve wracking at first, but it quickly turned to draining and annoying, each date a roller coaster on its own. No matter how many times I tell myself that I won't care if it doesn't work out, it is hard nevertheless feeling like it will never happen for me.

But, life happens, things settle, and I began to feel calm and that it will happen at the right time. Better to get married at the right time to the right person, than too soon to the wrong one.

Enter: my young roommate. In her late-teen-early-twenty stage, all she can talk about is boys. To my knowledge, she has not dated once. But all the time it's "My mom says this dress looks so great on me, all the boys will be after me". or "So this cousin who is seven years old wants to set me up with her other cousin who is like nineteen, and I'm like, no way! That's so embarrassing!". Or "I was at a shabbos table full of guys and the host asked me who I'm married to, so I flipped my hair and said, 'no one'." Or, "My chaseedish cousin who is like six wants me to date her uncle, he's like eighteen and that's normal by them. And every time I'm there they mention him and I'm like, guys stop, it's embarrassing." Or "I was by my friend's house and her brother asked me to leave the room because he was going to work out, so I said, right like I've never seen guys work out before, but he insisted that he doesn't like working out in front of people. So I left the room but I had to go back in to get something, and he was shirtless."

My first reaction whenever she does this (which is all the time) is to say, shut. up. Get over it. There are tons of guys in the world and you are bound to bump into a lot of them, or be teased about dating them. So seriously, grow up and get over it.

But then I remember how I was at her age. Young and innocent and convinced that you could go out with any guy and iy would work out, cuz guys are like, guys, and aren't they all the same?

But no. They are not. And maybe while I have realized that I need just one, no matter how hard it is to fine, she is still in that stage of 'oh wow look how many are out there, so many possibilities'.

And who am I to wipe the stars from her eyes? She will find out soon enough, dating isn't all that it's made out to be.

For my mom

Who goes wherever her kids need her.

And for my dad, who follows her wherever she goes.

I love you.

Who will bring the food?

She asks me to go over there, make sure he's alright. She doesn't tell me, but I know if she were here that's what she would do. Maybe he wants to talk, she says. Probably not. Maybe he doesn't want me there at all.

She's worried about him. But don't tell him I told you to go. Right, like he thinks I would just show up on my own, out of concern.

So I go. I bring food, because how could I show up empty handed? I say, I brought cream cheese sandwiches, I'm not really sure what you like. I don't know what he likes. I don't know if he wants to talk. I don't know how he feels. But I came with food.

I ask him how he's doing. He responds as expected. What are you really supposed to say in this situation?

I don't know. So I bring food. And I tell them I'm here if they need anything. I know they probably won't take me up on the offer. But that's what my mother would do.

What are you afraid of?

He sits down next to me and I freeze in place. I barely breath, my eyes focused forward, unblinking.

"Hows your evening going?" he says.

"Great," I say, hoping like hell that he will get up and move on.

He is sitting so close to me, not touching me but just barely. "Are you happy?" he asks. I don't respond.

'Please leave me alone. Please leave me alone. Please leave me alone' I repeat in my head, over and over.

But he doesn't. He just keeps talking. He says he thinks it's nice that I don't have a phone in front of my phone. That the world needs more people like us. I am not willing to put him and I in the same category.

When I relax enough to move my head, I notice his fingernails are cracked and dirty. He has a rolled joint between his fingers. Some of his teeth are missing. For all intents and purposes, he looks homeless.

But he doesn't smell bad. I notice that.

He keeps talking, I try to tune him out but he won't stop.

He says he just wants to talk, he's a good guy, he just wants to connect with other people.

He says his name is William, by the way, and he hopes one day I will remember him as a good guy.

He seems to think that we are alike, and I hope that is not true.

 But I decide he seems harmless enough, so I start responding. "Are you happy?" I fire back at him.

He says not really, he is lonely sometimes and he just wants company.

He mentions Jewish people. I ask him if he believes in G-d. He says he doesn't believe in one G-d who runs the world, he thinks we are each our own G-ds and goddesses.

I tell him that I believe in G-d. And by the way, I'm Jewish. He says that's nice.

Thank G-d it is now my stop. I stand to get off. He stands too. I groan.

He says, oh I actually have to get off here too. I need to go to C___ station.

I say, you missed it, it's two stops back that way. He says he will walk.

I say it's a long walk, just take the subway.

Please don't follow me, Please don't follow me, Please don't follow me, I think over and over again. He doesn't follow me.

I leave the station. My heart is pounding. 

William, you are right. It is sad that there are so many bad guys out there in the world that we are taught to be afraid of them all. I live in New york and I know that the subway is ripe with weirdos. My first instinct is to run in the other direction.

If I wasn't afraid, I would tell you that I am happy, for the most part. That I'm a writer, and isn't that cool? That I'm different than a lot of people, that you and I have something in common, we both want to connect to people, but the difference is that you try while I block everyone out. I don't need people, I say. They are burdensome and annoying. They speak a different language. We have nothing in common.

William, why me? Out of all the anonymous faces on the train, why did you choose to sit down next to me? And why when you ask such a simple question, are you happy, does my heart pound and my mind is saying yes but thinking hmmm I never thought about it cuz no one ever asked.

I'm afraid of you, because I fear the unknown. Had I known you were no threat we may have had a pleasant conversation.

But I am also afraid of myself, and what I would discover if I let my guard down.

I'm afraid of what will come out when I open my mouth. I have so much to say, but no one really asked.

Why me?

Stay warm tonight, William. I will remember you.

The World and I

"There's no I in team". That's what they like to say, anyway.

If I help you, will you help me? Will we do this together?

But it was I who was up until 6 am writing my paper. It is I who will give it in. It is I who will be graded on it.

You encourage us to discuss, share, learn from each other. But what happens when I get paired with the one person in class who barely speaks or writes English properly? In an English class. An English major. It is grade school all over again as I search the crowd seeking out a partner, someone, anyone but him. And all I want to say is, why sir are you majoring in English when you can barely write it?

It is torture reading a poorly written paper, and to have to comment and evaluate it is hard. I want to mark it with a big red F and move on with my life. I know better. I am smarter. I am greater. My paper is complete, it meets the guidelines, it is perfect.

Why then must you ask us to reread, to rethink, to question, to restate, to reask, to revise, to rearrange? All words that begin with 're', the prefix that means to do over again. But I don't want to do over again, I want to be done with it. Don't make me question it, I have no answers.

Yes, I'm tired. My brain is lazy. It wants to curl up in warmth and sleep and stop revising a paper that will have no impact on my life.

I don't need you to tell me how to do things, because I already know.

Who said that I am right and you are wrong? Who said that the way we speak and write is right or wrong or must comply with the rules? Who has made these rules?

In an alternate universe, you would read my paper and groan at how bad it is and how hard it is for you to read such junk. You'd think to yourself, if only everyone could write like me the world would be a better place. You would walk outside and think that the sky is shining for you, that the birds are singing for you, that everyone is praising you for you are great.

I easily slip into the mode of right and wrong. Why do you heat up water in the microwave instead of on the stove, that's just dumb. Why do you straighten your hair every day, it looks just fine curly. Why do you take advil when you have a headache, be a man and suffer through it.

The question, really, is why is the world not more like me.

But instead of telling you what a stupid paper you wrote, I smile and say that you have a good start, here is where you can go with it.

I say, oh poor you I'm sorry you have a headache, when all I'm thinking is, (*cough*)drug abuser(*cough*).

The world may be full of idiots, or I may need to learn more tolerance, or both.

The answer lies not in the world, but in me.

The House Across The Way

I see them mostly every day. I can't say I really know who they are. We share a walkway. I say a neighborly 'Hi, how are you' when I see them. She's a mom, with two kids. There's no husband around. I thought he died. I heard they're divorced. I didn't care enough to find out which was true.

The little girls sat outside one day with a table full of toys from their house, yelling "Sale! Sale!". In an effort to help them out I bought a pack of playing cards for two dollars. They told me I was their second sale of the day.

On Purim I did the neighborly thing and accepted shaloch manos for them when people came around, rather than letting it sit outside their door.

I chatted briefly with the mom. I offered to let the girls wait inside my apartment when their mom wasn't home. I've seen them in school uniforms and assumed they attended the local frum girls' school. I hear them coming and going. I'm a New Yorker at heart. I can't say I really know them. I can't say I really care.

One day I saw them outside wearing pants. I looked twice to be sure they were the same little girls who lived next door. They were. I said hi and walked past. It made me sad.

I try not to be a nosy person, but I wondered if anyone knew, if anyone cared what was happening to the family. I only sort of know their names.

One Shabbos I heard the little girls outside. I am slightly ashamed to say I spied on them through the peephole. I heard them call their mother. No one answered the door. The older girl said, in a nervous voice, "I'm gonna ring the doorbell". The little one looked uncomfortable. She rang the doorbell and I ran quietly away from the door, thinking about what I saw. Their mom came to the door. I'm not sure, but I think I heard her voice through the intercom.

I'm thinking, somebody should do something about this. Anybody. But not me. I barely know them. I'm not nosy. What would I say?

And so I stood by and did nothing, and let these Yidishe neshamos slip away.

A simple gesture

He appears at my desk and immediately I wonder what he wants.

"I just wanted to say hi".

I say hi, in a bewildered voice.

"How are you?", he asks, with concern in his voice.

He asks like he cares. Like I am important and my state of being matters to him.

I say I'm fine, thanks, it's nice to see you.

He works in the upper management of the company and I've only spoken with him a few times. It is nice to feel like he knows me.

Say hi like you mean it.

Pity

There are times in life when we show the world how strong we are, that despite any situation we can keep going and stay strong. We scorn pity, we say no thanks we're fine, move along.

Then there are those times like when you get your wisdom tooth taken out and all you want is for people to say 'awww how's it feeling, that really sucks'.

Ya it sucks. I can't eat anything, I can't drink anything, there's blood, and I'll spare you the rest.

I may be brave but coddling would be nice. (Thanks mom).

#Hashtag #Chanukah #Blues

I can see the big greasy latkes my mother used to make when I was a kid. We would sit on the floor and play dreidel, eat chocolate coins and donuts and enjoy Chanukah like only a kid can.

One of my fond memories from childhood was running across the street to Lefferts park right before Shabbos Chanukah to see Rabbi Butman land in a helicopter and get a dreidel. He would light the public menorah in Manhattan and fly back to Crown Heights to make it in time for Shabbos. Then he would hand out dreidels to the kids waiting there.

Chanukah was an exciting time, to have vacation from school, get Chanukah gelt, and eat and eat and eat.

Chanukah as an adult is hard. Between work, school and life, I have to make time to light the menorah. I dread the greasy food, I treat donuts like they are the enemy, I can't imagine how many calories are in all these foods. 

We had an office Chanukah party for the first time ever and I made the effort to go. It was fun seeing coworkers after hours, there was food and alcohol and entertainment. Some people brought their spouses and families. I brought no one. 

I came home to see a card for me from my grandparents. They send me a Chanukah card every year, with a check inside. It is a nice gesture and I smile when I see it. Someone is thinking about me.

For me, the meaning of holidays has changed a lot since I became an 'adult'. Things are not done for me anymore. My family doesn't really have huge parties. If I didn't light the menorah for myself, no one would. 

It is a hard transition from being a child to being an independent individual with responsibilities. It gets easier but not funner. Even though I go through the motions, it would be nice if I could just show up and participate. 

Despite my personal feelings about holidays, it is heartwarming to see menorahs in banks and gas stations and know that the whole world is celebrating the festival of lights.

When chatty is too chatty

I got an email from my professor entitled "A letter to pretty much everyone I know". It was a holiday greeting of sorts. I don't know if she intended to send it to students or if she simply sent it to her whole email list.

It was 'family newsletter' style, updating people on her life, what she is doing now, etc. Oh, and that she is pregnant! Yay.

Is that too personal to be telling students? She actually told me already, we were walking to the subway together after class and she said she hates taking the subway, she used to bike to school but she stopped now because she is pregnant, even if that is just an excuse.

When I say pregnant I mean I can barely tell. She sits at her desk most of the class but I have seen her standing up and I don't recall seeing a baby bump. (Although I'm not the greatest judge, in high school there were teachers like in their 5th month and girls would be whispering about it and I would be like, what, she's pregnant? Huh.)

She is a very friendly teacher and the class is small and 'intimate', but I still think a line should be drawn and personal information such as having a baby need not be shared.

Oh, so on the show 'The Biggest Loser' the trainer Bob 'came out' as being gay, he was trying to encourage a contestant to 'come out' to his parents. I saw an article how this is the first time that Bob was open about his gayness. But c'mon, we all knew already. So is he now gay because he said it publicly, or was he gay all along? But if someone called him gay before he 'came out', could he sue for defamation of character? Is that a real thing?

Does all personal information have to be shared publicly? 

What I'm thankful for

It's quiet in the apartment as I watch my menorah keep an eye on it while watching a show on my laptop and I am thankful for the quiet. It is hard living with other people and coming home after a hard day of work and being surrounded by noise, and being asked how my day is when I don't care to talk about it.

But at the same time I am thankful that I have people in my life who ask me about my day.

I am thankful for my free time, which is rare these days. Between work and school I am pretty busy and have very few hours that I can just relax.

I get a call from a friend asking if I can come over and babysit now. She took a gamble that I wouldn't be in school and she got lucky. It is cold and rainy out and the thought of leaving the house on my free night is not welcoming. But I always tell her "call me if you need me" and I am always busy when she does, so I go. And I am thankful for the three gorgeous cuties who keep me company when they are supposed to be sleeping. The 3 year old tells me about the menorah he made, and squeezing 'shemen zayis' into his menorah and I want to pinch his cheeks. I say I'll tell them one bedtime story and I struggle to remember the story of Chanukah, something about Antiachus the wicked king, he did to the Jews a terrible thing, and besides he was so mean....- hey it's hard to forget that song. But the kids help fill in the blanks and we get through the story just fine. Then I tell them it's time to sleep.

I am thankful that I have a job where I feel appreciated necessary for the cause and I feel accomplished (when I don't want to strangle someone). I like that I have my work 'people' and work jokes and am a part of it.

I am thankful that I get to leave work at work and go home at the end of the day and not think about it.

We take so many things for granted, like food and shelter and money. I can't imagine my life any other way, neither richer nor poorer. I have come to accept that what I have is mine and I achieved it, I earned it. But it can be taken away in a second.

I am thankful that I feel content and grounded in life, that I am proud of what I have done and where I am heading. I am proud of what I left behind, it is great to be able to recognize that at any given moment in life, you are where you were meant to be.

Happy first night of Chanukah. Have a donut!

Silence

Chance.

John Cage's 4'33”. 

At first I thought it was the dumbest thing I ever heard, to take silence and call it music. 

How can you say that someone “composed” silence, or that they own it? 

It looks really dumb seeing a guy sitting there and not playing the piano for 4 minutes and 33 seconds. 

But truly, it is brilliant. It makes one question, what is music really? 

Is music the beautiful sounds of flutes and violins played for people who want to enjoy the music or dance to it? 

Is music the loud blaring pop that we listen to today? 

Or perhaps the jazz that was so popular, with all the instruments that came with it. 

Methods of chance are weird, make up strange sounds, take objects that we would not normally think of as instruments and use them to compose what can only be referred to as noise and that I would ask someone, no insist that they turn it off. 

It is torturous to listen to it and think thatanyone can possibly call that music. 

But to think that someone could block out a portion of silence and call it music, learn to listen to the sounds, a portion of time can never be duplicated, the idea of it is brilliant. 

Even if I would never choose to listen to it.

Scattered Pieces

There was money on the floor and no one was picking it up.

They didn't seem to realize that those tiny greenish scraps of paper littering the floor was a dollar bill torn into many pieces.

Who would do that?

Scattered forever never to be reunited.

Or perhaps swept up and thrown away.

21 pieces. All over.

There is George Washington's face.

You just stepped on him.

Clever, or stupid?

A game?

A message?

Were 'they' waiting and watching for someone to pick up the pieces and put the puzzle together?

But I can see it's just one dollar.

So really, is it worth it?

What Now

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Someone left the tap on again. I watch it and contemplate getting up to shut it off.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I have an essay due tomorrow. Haven't yet started it.

Drip. Drip.

Essay will not write itself.

I just sit and stare and listen to the sounds around me, try to hear the silence in the music, and wait for someone to walk by and shut it off.

I stand in the supermarket isle, my basket too heavy to hold.

I leave it there on the floor and walk up and down the isle, looking for a certain type of chips that I can't seem to find.

Get to the end of the isle and turn around and keep looking. Nothing.

Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.

The sink is leaking harder now.

I can't find the chips. Where are the chips?

Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.

Why won't it stop.

I sit outside on the steps eating licorice. Close my eyes and hope no one will find me here.

Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.

I found the chips. They are long gone now.

The tap is still dripping. It won't stop.

It's a steady stream. 

I can't seem to move.

Someone walks by. I ask her to shut off the tap.

The dripping stops.

Two minutes later someone leaves the tap on again.

I can't seem to win.

Wish I knew what to do next.

Remember, Remember, the 5th of November....

Happy 5 years of blogging!

Today also marks one year from the day that I started working at my current job. Big accomplishment for me, considering I could never imagine myself committing to one job for more than a few months.

I am older and wiser now, and more prepared to take on the world. I hope that this coming year will enable me to continuing growing and analyzing the world around me, in an effort to understand it. I hope that I can add a new perspective, and that people will gain something from seeing the world through my oddly shaped glasses.

Have a cupcake in my honor.

If I went trick-or-treating

"Did you go trick-or-treating tonight?"

I look around in confusion. Who is she talking to? She repeats the question again, looking at me.

"Did you go trick-or-treating tonight?"

I say "hahaha, no, I'm actually coming from-"

She points to my red tote bag, which is holding my books from school. Says, "I thought, wow that's a lot of candy."

I smile and ask them how their trick-or-treating is going, did they get a lot of candy, I comment on their costumes and say how cute. I wish them luck in their candy gathering and tell them that I saw a lot of litter on the subway from candy wrappers. We wish each other a good night and part ways.

If I went trick-or-treating would I egg them if no treats appeared? Would I go from door to door and use that opportunity to tout my religion? In exchange for a treat, tell them about G-d?

I'd say, the real treat would be if we could all stop fighting, and live in peace and harmony.

I'd say, Obama's just a name and in a few years he will move out of the White House, and won't you just feel foolish for saying such nasty baseless things about him.

I'd say all these heartless murders are killing us, and there is an autistic child that went missing a few weeks ago, and we may never see him again. I see his picture everywhere and I wonder if he is lost somewhere in the subway tunnels where no one will find him. I think about his parents waiting at home for a call, to hear news good or bad and all they want is for their child to come home. And that little boy is not going trick-or-treating tonight.

I'd say we are separated by race and religion, by political standing and allegiances to teams that play games that mean nothing at all. Sports that waste millions of dollars yearly so fans can stand 3 deep at a bar and scream at the television screen, as if they could decide the fate of other humans. But you and I we share this world, we share the air we breath. We are all humans, people just trying to live our lives.

I'd say wouldn't it be nice to turn on the news for once and not hear about people dying, prisoners escaping, government officials being arrested for corruption, missiles falling in Syria and people pointing fingers and always trying to place the blame on anyone else.

I'd say aren't you scared to let your child leave the house dressed in a costume or a mask, looking like all the other bedecked children tonight and approach a stranger's house, many strangers' houses and ask for candy, are you not afraid for your child's safety.

If I went trick-or-treating I'd give out candy to all the kids, even the ones who came back for seconds, knowing that maybe their moms or dads are too poor to buy candy and tonight they want to feel just like everyone else. I'd make sure that they throw their wrappers in the garbage and not litter them on the subway floors and benches, because after all, that may be someone's bed tonight.

I think of all the people coming in contact with each other, strangers with flitting passing interactions, they laugh and talk and are emboldened by their disguises. They swarm the streets and subway cars in groups, hoping to get lucky tonight. Tomorrow will be back to school and work, if they wore a mask tomorrow they may get arrested for suspicious activity, we are taught to be scared of people in masks and hoods and disguises, but tonight, they blend right in.

Think of how much each person has to share with the world, if everyone dropped advice into these brightly colored trick-or-treating baskets instead of the poison we call candy, the poison that dentists love and parents hate, the poison that guilts people every day into dieting, if we forgo that poison for snippets of love and goodwill we may all be that much healthier and wiser.

I walked by a store tonight that had a sign in the window that announced "NO candy, only stickers", and I wondered which child was dumb enough to enter just to get a sticker, when everyone else was offering free candy.

If I went trick-or-treating I would say, "Sorry, NO candy, but I do have advice, I have life experience, I have insights and opinions, I have a unique outlook on life that is sure to be different than yours, I have happiness and sadness and stories, and love, I have inspiration that is sure to last way longer than that piece of candy that you stuffed in your mouth, or the one you left behind on the subway, deeming it unfit for your possession.

If I went trick-or-treating I would neither trick nor treat, I would not dress up in disguise. I would go out as myself, with all my flaws and all my attributes, I would share what only I can give and show people what they have been missing.

I would be ME, and hope that the world accepts me for who I am.

The Giraffe Challenge

One friend changes her profile picture to a giraffe, and I think "huh".
Two friends: Okay, what's up with this?

After a little digging, this is what I found: 
There is a riddle going around Facebook. If you get the answer right, nothing happens. If you get the answer wrong, you must change your profile picture to a giraffe for 3 days.

The riddle goes like this: "3:00 am, the doorbell rings and you wake up. Unexpected visitors, It's your parents and they are there for breakfast. You have strawberry jam, honey, wine, bread and cheese. What is the first thing you open?"

Really, my opinion of humanity is falling lower and lower.

If you feel like trying to solve the riddle, try your hand at the challenge here: http://thegreatgiraffechallenge.com/.

In the end, it really just comes down to: Do we have time for all this stupidity?