I had big plans for Fall Break. I wanted to go to Vegas. I had visions of flaunting my legality. I would sit at a slot machine, shmooze with Cher and sneak into the Real World suite at the Palms. Then Yom Kippur happened. With a last name like Goodman, I knew I couldn’t spend the holiest day of the year parading around with would–be Vegas showgirls. (Said would–be showgirls ended up spending their breaks on couches in New Jersey and Los Angeles. Hey guys.) Instead I went home to celebrate the Day of Atonement. But then a terrible, horrible thing happened. I didn’t go to temple. I’m admitting this in print: I didn’t go to temple on Yom Kippur. I didn’t even fast. While my parents were starving and shuckling at shul I was sitting in bed eating challah and watching the CW’s The Secret Circle — all four episodes. Back to back. I guess I can make myself feel better and say that in between tweenage witch clips, I reflected on the past year and repented in my own way. In reality I just snacked on my mom’s homemade matzoh balls. I guess I should have been more productive — or at least more God–fearing — this break. I could have brewed my very own beer like our Ego of the Week (p. 4). I could have watched Rent for the 18th time (p. 11). I could have even gone to see some cool sexy art exhibits in Philly (p. 13). So to all who ask me this weekend, “How was your break?”: I learned a lot about magic and gained three pounds.
Street life,
