flewellyn: (Wild Boy of Avi's Room)
[personal profile] flewellyn
In the last month or so, I've had many friends and acquaintances, both old and new, tell me that I am "weird" or "strange" or "an odd duck". This news, I must say, I greet with the same level of astonishment as I would a revelation that the sky is, in fact, an azure hue.

In other words...duh.

I come by my oddity honestly, though. I think, in an attempt to be informative and (hopefully) entertaining, I shall provide some of the background of, well, what my family was like. This is, keep in mind, only one tale of many.

When I was a sophomore in high school (and fully bearded, I might add; the icon is from that time), it came to the attention of my mother that spaghetti noodles will stick to the wall when fully cooked. We hadn't heard about this before, and being of a scientific bent, we decided to test it one night, at the dinner table.

It happened to be Friday night, so as was traditional for my family, we had gotten a Challah, ordered Chinese (the same order every week; the lady who ran the Chinese place knew us by name), invited our friend Steve over, and made a big pot of noodles for the food. After my father had said the usual Shabbas blessings, and we'd started to eat our Challah, my mother brought up the desire to test our spaghetti for doneness.

So, she picked up a noodle in her fingers and flipped it onto the wall of the dining room. Sure enough, it stuck fast.

Now, naturally, the rest of us weren't going to miss out on this activity. So, my father, my sister, friend Steve, and then I followed suit. Of course, having just one noodle each on the walls was rather...errm...unsatisfying. So, with great deliberation, we decided to repeat the process, until, finally, after fifteen minutes or so, all four walls and the ceiling were covered with noodles.

It must be said, at this point, that the cats were very confused. "Foodlike items on the wall?" young Yitzak seemed to say as he sniffed a low-hanging noodle, "Weird!"

(One thing that isn't often said about throwing pasta on walls: if you leave it there overnight, you can flick it off the next day with no effort, and it leaves interesting grooves in the paint.)

So, that was our great pasta experiment. However, we didn't leave it at that. The ceremonial Spaghetti Toss became a weekly ritual, a part of our Shabbat experience as central to winding down the week as ordering the Chinese food or having Steve over. We continued this sacred rite for the remaining two years we lived in that house, eventually having to just strip the paint and redo it when we moved out.

What can I say? We're a bunch of pastacephalics.
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July 2014

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