People often ask me why my AOL Instant Messenger buddy icon is a panda bear.
The story begins in the fall of 2001 at Kingswood-Oxford high school. Matt Baram was an innocent, naive child who believed in equality, among other things.
When Matt overheard the joshing his friend was receiving from one John Preissler, Matt felt obligated to even the playing field by coming to his friend's defense.
Matt said to John, "Hey man! At least he doesn't look like an alligator!"
John sat in his chair befuddled, shocked by Matt's surprisingly accurate description of his features.
Matt's moment of triumph soon came to a shocking halt when Jeff Fliss, a wise man of few words, said, "Preissler may look like an alligator, but you look like a giant panda!"
For the rest of sophomore year Matt Baram became known as The Panda Man. Ninety percent of the messages in his sophomore yearbook began "Hey Panda!" and include a reference to eating bamboo.
At first The Panda Man was not a fan of the nickname, but soon came to embrace his new identity. After one particularly sweet blocked shot in a basketball game, The Panda Man shouted to his adoring fans, "the creator of PANDAmodium has arrived!"
The nickname has since died out. Matt's instant messenger buddy icon serves as a constant vigilance to his old identity.
If The Panda Man is remembered, then the creator of PANDAmodium still exists...
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Tale As Old As Time
Earlier today I attended a lecture by renowned French intellectual Elaine Finkelkraut. But that's a story for another day.
The story I want to tell is about a Princess Bride and her true love Wesley- the Man in Black.
Since I was little, this two-hour fantasy adventure captivated me with its portrayals of destiny, revenge, pirates, duels, true love, miracles, evil, and good.
The Princess Bride is a cinematic classic. For the past two years it has become my duty to show the movie to any unfortunate soul who has yet to watch it.
If you are my friend then you have seen this movie.
My heart is warmed when I see a "second time watcher" spread the serenity of The Princess Bride to underprivileged "never seen it" souls.
That is why today was a happy day.
As I took my seat before Finkelkraut's lecture, I noticed an elderly woman to my right placing a brand new copy of The Princess Bride into her bag.
I couldn't help but smile and stare. She turned to me and said, "It's a marvelous picture! I just had to buy it for my grandson and all his friends!"
I don't know this woman. I will likely never see her again. But she and I share a common purpose: to spread the joy and happiness The Princess Bride provides.
Children, teenagers, friends, adults, ladies, gentleman, and things of all ages: Heed the words of this random elderly woman and see this marvelous picture. I promise you will enjoy it.
I leave you with these final words: My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father! Prepare to die!
The story I want to tell is about a Princess Bride and her true love Wesley- the Man in Black.
Since I was little, this two-hour fantasy adventure captivated me with its portrayals of destiny, revenge, pirates, duels, true love, miracles, evil, and good.
The Princess Bride is a cinematic classic. For the past two years it has become my duty to show the movie to any unfortunate soul who has yet to watch it.
If you are my friend then you have seen this movie.
My heart is warmed when I see a "second time watcher" spread the serenity of The Princess Bride to underprivileged "never seen it" souls.
That is why today was a happy day.
As I took my seat before Finkelkraut's lecture, I noticed an elderly woman to my right placing a brand new copy of The Princess Bride into her bag.
I couldn't help but smile and stare. She turned to me and said, "It's a marvelous picture! I just had to buy it for my grandson and all his friends!"
I don't know this woman. I will likely never see her again. But she and I share a common purpose: to spread the joy and happiness The Princess Bride provides.
Children, teenagers, friends, adults, ladies, gentleman, and things of all ages: Heed the words of this random elderly woman and see this marvelous picture. I promise you will enjoy it.
I leave you with these final words: My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father! Prepare to die!
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
You could poke an eye out!
"Be careful! You could poke an eye out!"
-Mothers of the world
This famous credo is directly responsible for most people in the world still having their eyes. Yet despite the proven legitimacy of the renown warning, it appears to me that BU students have chosen to ignore the words of their mothers.
Whether a downpoor or unusually strong mist, BU students quickly dawn their canopy-esque umbrellas.
Unfortunately, this normally protective measure quickly turns dangerous on the narrow sidewalks of Comm Ave.
Many BU students are short. Worse yet, they don't understand the mechanics of being short. As the short BU student opens his tent size umbrella, he fails to realize that the sharp metal prongs, which protrude from 8 different octagonal points, are at the eye level of the "normal height" students.
As I and other "normal height" students have learned the hard way, walking on Comm Ave. when there's a chance of rain is a war zone. I have bruises and scratches on my face to prove it.
Brooke Feldman- As the recently elected Student Union President, and as a close personal friend, hear my words. It's time to listen to the needs of BU students and fix this terrible, dangerous, potentially blinding experience. BU needs to give out official BU umbrellas that protect from sky droppings, but are reasonably sized and lack those dangerous metal thingies.
Furthermore, umbrella size should be regulated and rule breakers subjected to the pain of the same metal prongs I have been tormented with for the past two years.
Brooke- the time for change is now. You can create a legacy as the first President in the history of Boston University to protect the tall from the persecution of the short.
I have faith you will do what's right (our friendship might depend on it)!
-Mothers of the world
This famous credo is directly responsible for most people in the world still having their eyes. Yet despite the proven legitimacy of the renown warning, it appears to me that BU students have chosen to ignore the words of their mothers.
Whether a downpoor or unusually strong mist, BU students quickly dawn their canopy-esque umbrellas.
Unfortunately, this normally protective measure quickly turns dangerous on the narrow sidewalks of Comm Ave.
Many BU students are short. Worse yet, they don't understand the mechanics of being short. As the short BU student opens his tent size umbrella, he fails to realize that the sharp metal prongs, which protrude from 8 different octagonal points, are at the eye level of the "normal height" students.
As I and other "normal height" students have learned the hard way, walking on Comm Ave. when there's a chance of rain is a war zone. I have bruises and scratches on my face to prove it.
Brooke Feldman- As the recently elected Student Union President, and as a close personal friend, hear my words. It's time to listen to the needs of BU students and fix this terrible, dangerous, potentially blinding experience. BU needs to give out official BU umbrellas that protect from sky droppings, but are reasonably sized and lack those dangerous metal thingies.
Furthermore, umbrella size should be regulated and rule breakers subjected to the pain of the same metal prongs I have been tormented with for the past two years.
Brooke- the time for change is now. You can create a legacy as the first President in the history of Boston University to protect the tall from the persecution of the short.
I have faith you will do what's right (our friendship might depend on it)!
Monday, April 24, 2006
The end of a career? Say it ain't so!
As a self-proclaimed basketball junkie, I tend not to care who's playing or who's commentating. As long as there's some bball to be watched, I am glued to the tube.
But for the past five years I, along with millions of others, have been lucky and blessed to listen to TNT's pregame, halftime, and postgame shows led by Ernie Johnson.
Johnson has a rare combination of intelligence, humor, and charisma that make him a pleasure to listen to, a real feat considering how many terrible sports commentators plague American television.
Even if the game is a blowout, Johnson manages to keep basketball entertaining through his friendly jabs at fellow analyst Charles Barkley or his comments aimed at Craig "I often wear a red suit" Sager.
Sadly, Ernie Johnson has cancer.
At the end of this year's NBA playoffs Johnson will begin his chemotherapy. Whether he will ever be able to return to the studio and continue the job he does so well is currently unknown.
Ernie- Despite the Utah Jazz's (my team) lackluster showing the past few seasons, you helped keep me addicted to the game of basketball. Thanks for everything.
I along with millions of others will be soaking up your words the next few months, with the great hope that you will be back next season, better than ever.
But for the past five years I, along with millions of others, have been lucky and blessed to listen to TNT's pregame, halftime, and postgame shows led by Ernie Johnson.
Johnson has a rare combination of intelligence, humor, and charisma that make him a pleasure to listen to, a real feat considering how many terrible sports commentators plague American television.
Even if the game is a blowout, Johnson manages to keep basketball entertaining through his friendly jabs at fellow analyst Charles Barkley or his comments aimed at Craig "I often wear a red suit" Sager.
Sadly, Ernie Johnson has cancer.
At the end of this year's NBA playoffs Johnson will begin his chemotherapy. Whether he will ever be able to return to the studio and continue the job he does so well is currently unknown.
Ernie- Despite the Utah Jazz's (my team) lackluster showing the past few seasons, you helped keep me addicted to the game of basketball. Thanks for everything.
I along with millions of others will be soaking up your words the next few months, with the great hope that you will be back next season, better than ever.
Friday, April 21, 2006
The Man
"To be the man, you've got to beat the man."
-Ric "Nature Boy" Flair
The game of basketball isn't played for fun.
Not for exercise.
Not for pride.
Not for the love of the game.
Basketball is played for one reason:
Victory.
Danny- Since we were little you and I have not judged each other on good looks, intelligence, wit, sense of humor, taste, talent, or video-game prowess (all of which I dominate, anyway).
Instead, Baram brother dominance has always been determined by who can put the ball in the hoop 21 times before the other can.
Readers of the world- last week, as my brother Danny returned home from his new LA digs for hearty Passover celebration, he was reminded of the painful truth he has had to endure since he was 12 years old and I was 8.
I am the better Baram brother.
41-27, 31-24, 51-32.
The scores speak for themselves.
-Ric "Nature Boy" Flair
The game of basketball isn't played for fun.
Not for exercise.
Not for pride.
Not for the love of the game.
Basketball is played for one reason:
Victory.
Danny- Since we were little you and I have not judged each other on good looks, intelligence, wit, sense of humor, taste, talent, or video-game prowess (all of which I dominate, anyway).
Instead, Baram brother dominance has always been determined by who can put the ball in the hoop 21 times before the other can.
Readers of the world- last week, as my brother Danny returned home from his new LA digs for hearty Passover celebration, he was reminded of the painful truth he has had to endure since he was 12 years old and I was 8.
I am the better Baram brother.
41-27, 31-24, 51-32.
The scores speak for themselves.
The Passover Slave
During the Jewish holiday of Passover a Jew is supposed to feel as if he himself were freed from slavery. This year I was given help achieving slave status.
Last Wednesday night, as my family gathered in our Dining room to begin the ritual Passover Seder, we noticed that someone essential hadn't arrived.
The dog.
Yofi, an 18 pound Corgi/Chihuahua half-breed, our faithful companion for ten years had escaped to the outside world.
For the next hour engines roared, poison ivy infested forests were searched, death infiltrated our thoughts, and tears flowed like the Nile. Finally, after it appeared hope was lost and Yofi was a goner, I sadly began the drive home.
And then, on a yard a few houses away from where I was driving, I spotted a tail waggin', grass sniffin', territory markin' poop of a dog. Yofi was found and our Seder could begin!
Not yet.
Upon returning home my father said my mom was still conducting her forest search, and worse yet, had neglected to bring her cell-phone with her. My feelings of frustration soon turned to feelings of fear, as I believed I heard the voice of a screaming woman coming from the woods.
The next 20 minutes I sprinted, like a man posessed, through the backyards of our neighborhood, screaming my mother’s name. The neighbors stared at me through their back windows like I was a lunatic, which I was. Then my cell-phone rang.
My mother had returned shortly after Yofi was found. Unfortunately, no one shared this news with my father or me.
As our Seder finally began an hour and a half late, I was drenched with sweat, scraped from the forest brush, hoarse from screaming, and sore from the frantic search.
I was beat up, lifeless, and exhausted. Yet I was so happy that even matzah seemed appealing.
I was like one of the Jews being freed from Egypt.
Last Wednesday night, as my family gathered in our Dining room to begin the ritual Passover Seder, we noticed that someone essential hadn't arrived.
The dog.
Yofi, an 18 pound Corgi/Chihuahua half-breed, our faithful companion for ten years had escaped to the outside world.
For the next hour engines roared, poison ivy infested forests were searched, death infiltrated our thoughts, and tears flowed like the Nile. Finally, after it appeared hope was lost and Yofi was a goner, I sadly began the drive home.
And then, on a yard a few houses away from where I was driving, I spotted a tail waggin', grass sniffin', territory markin' poop of a dog. Yofi was found and our Seder could begin!
Not yet.
Upon returning home my father said my mom was still conducting her forest search, and worse yet, had neglected to bring her cell-phone with her. My feelings of frustration soon turned to feelings of fear, as I believed I heard the voice of a screaming woman coming from the woods.
The next 20 minutes I sprinted, like a man posessed, through the backyards of our neighborhood, screaming my mother’s name. The neighbors stared at me through their back windows like I was a lunatic, which I was. Then my cell-phone rang.
My mother had returned shortly after Yofi was found. Unfortunately, no one shared this news with my father or me.
As our Seder finally began an hour and a half late, I was drenched with sweat, scraped from the forest brush, hoarse from screaming, and sore from the frantic search.
I was beat up, lifeless, and exhausted. Yet I was so happy that even matzah seemed appealing.
I was like one of the Jews being freed from Egypt.
How The Legend Was Born
The Time: Summer 2001
The Place: Camp Shalom
The Context: My eleventh year spending my summer swimming, bballin', canoeing, tubing, scavenger hunting, camp firing, singing, hiking, romanticizing, and pranking within the confines of Camp Shalom.
The Event: Matt Baram—basketball champion, social animal, movie buff, and gift to women—became Matt Baram—rock superstar.
The Reason: After exhausting all traditional 15 year old mechanisms for mocking their peers, Matt Baram and Camp Shalom guitar legend Mike Davidson formed the iconic rock band: 2 Fresh Cats. With hits like "The CIT Song," "Josh Cohen is B TA TUEY," and "Counselors In Love: Mer and Jake" Matt and Mike found a fresh, hip, emotional new way to mock their fellow campers.
The Aftermath: Matt decided Mike was holding him back and the once larger than life duo disbanded forever. Matt then dedicated himself to the study of guitar so he could rise from the blackness of Mike's shadow once and for all.
The Now: Five years later, Matt has become the premiere guitarist for all campfires and sing-a-longs. He can often be heard jamming along Comm Ave. accompanied by the saxophone prowess of Warren Allen. Crowds of 30 year old men with babies and random girls with video cameras often assemble to enjoy Matt and Warren’s soul cleansing renditions of "Amazing Grace," "Stand By Me," and "F# Blues."
Don't miss out on the action.
("Josh Cohen is B TA TUEY" MP3 found at http://www.garageband.com/artist/2freshcats)
The Place: Camp Shalom
The Context: My eleventh year spending my summer swimming, bballin', canoeing, tubing, scavenger hunting, camp firing, singing, hiking, romanticizing, and pranking within the confines of Camp Shalom.
The Event: Matt Baram—basketball champion, social animal, movie buff, and gift to women—became Matt Baram—rock superstar.
The Reason: After exhausting all traditional 15 year old mechanisms for mocking their peers, Matt Baram and Camp Shalom guitar legend Mike Davidson formed the iconic rock band: 2 Fresh Cats. With hits like "The CIT Song," "Josh Cohen is B TA TUEY," and "Counselors In Love: Mer and Jake" Matt and Mike found a fresh, hip, emotional new way to mock their fellow campers.
The Aftermath: Matt decided Mike was holding him back and the once larger than life duo disbanded forever. Matt then dedicated himself to the study of guitar so he could rise from the blackness of Mike's shadow once and for all.
The Now: Five years later, Matt has become the premiere guitarist for all campfires and sing-a-longs. He can often be heard jamming along Comm Ave. accompanied by the saxophone prowess of Warren Allen. Crowds of 30 year old men with babies and random girls with video cameras often assemble to enjoy Matt and Warren’s soul cleansing renditions of "Amazing Grace," "Stand By Me," and "F# Blues."
Don't miss out on the action.
("Josh Cohen is B TA TUEY" MP3 found at http://www.garageband.com/artist/2freshcats)
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