As mentioned many times before, I am a misanthrope, and getting more so with each passing day. There are many people whom I do like not by category; one of such categories is snobbery.
As you know, Bronx is the only borough of New York that is attached to the mainland; the rest are on the islands, most exiting of which is, of course, Manhattan, even though it is the smallest. Staten Island is another island, and both Queens and Brooklyn, my borough, are part of a bigger island called Long Island. For whatever unfathomable reason, the area know as Five Towns is also know as Long Island, even though it occupies only part of that island.
Now, this area is supposed to be "fancier" than Brooklyn or Queens, and people who live there usually proudly say that the live "on the Island". Yea, whatever. It was actually one of my former friends' idea to point out every single time this proud exclamation is made in our faces that Brooklyn is actually also "on the Island".
Few weeks ago one such opportunity presented itself, and, unfortunately, I could not help myself. My boss asked me for a set of tax documents, which in our office consists of W-4 for federal government bloodletting, IT-2104 for New York State leeches, and IT-2104.1 for the NYC draculas. He politely told me that I have given him the wrong forms, since he lives "on the different island". As I told you, I couldn't help myself, party because my boss belongs to a community for which "living on the Island" is the ultimate goal, and with other members of which I have already had similar tasty encounters. "You know, I live on the same island", was my very respectful reply (to his very big credit, he just smiled and told me that he will take care of it himself).
Friday, July 11, 2008
SUGGESTED IDEA
I have a little suggestion for Dan Brown's new book. I mean, I have a very good suggestion for an idea for his next book, with almost ironclad guarantee of him not being sued by the possessors of that idea. Where did I get it? Would you believe it if I tell you I got it from the attendant at my local laundromat?
For whatever reason, this guys always enjoys schmoozing with me (I mean the attendant, not Dan Brown); and, in the best traditions of people from the late unlamented Soviet Union, his favorite topics are politics and political figures. In the realm of these topics, this guy is also a veritable unending fountain of conspiracy theories. The most popular of these, that the attacks of September 11 were engineered by our own government in general, and the Bush Administration in particular, was, of course, old news to me. In the best tradition of my people (Jews), I tried engaging my friendly attendant in a logical argument substantiated with facts, but, obviously, to no avail. I already stopped, and he still tried to persuade me that he was right; whatever.
Now, on my last visit, he entertained me with two more theories, which were both pretty fresh and extremely amusing. Number one: whatever policies put in motion by Gorbachev and led to the eventual demise of the Soviet Union, were instituted by him deliberately, after he received secret pay offs and the firm promises of comfortable life from American "Secret Services". Number two: the recent horrible earthquake in China was not a natural phenomenon, but something deliberately set off by American "Secret Services" from space, via satellites and secret weapons, in response to China's recent economic growth and America's recent economic troubles. So, how about these two: "Murderers and Useful Idiots" and "The Code of Ming"?
For whatever reason, this guys always enjoys schmoozing with me (I mean the attendant, not Dan Brown); and, in the best traditions of people from the late unlamented Soviet Union, his favorite topics are politics and political figures. In the realm of these topics, this guy is also a veritable unending fountain of conspiracy theories. The most popular of these, that the attacks of September 11 were engineered by our own government in general, and the Bush Administration in particular, was, of course, old news to me. In the best tradition of my people (Jews), I tried engaging my friendly attendant in a logical argument substantiated with facts, but, obviously, to no avail. I already stopped, and he still tried to persuade me that he was right; whatever.
Now, on my last visit, he entertained me with two more theories, which were both pretty fresh and extremely amusing. Number one: whatever policies put in motion by Gorbachev and led to the eventual demise of the Soviet Union, were instituted by him deliberately, after he received secret pay offs and the firm promises of comfortable life from American "Secret Services". Number two: the recent horrible earthquake in China was not a natural phenomenon, but something deliberately set off by American "Secret Services" from space, via satellites and secret weapons, in response to China's recent economic growth and America's recent economic troubles. So, how about these two: "Murderers and Useful Idiots" and "The Code of Ming"?
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
ARUBA, BABY!
Or My Brother's Graduation Trip
A little exclamation of pride: my baby brother graduated college this year; not just graduated, and not just any college: it was NYU and it was with honors! Understandably, our whole family was tickled pink; and our Dad decided to treat him to a graduation trip to the location of his choice. And, the most important, since none of his friends were available to go with him, and he did not want to go alone, I was selected as his traveling companion! Hurray!!
At first, he suggested Mexico. I nixed that idea, since I would not go to Mexico on principle; then he explained to me that he just wanted to go somewhere warm, where he could go to the beach and snorkel; the particulars were left for me to iron out. So, after much careful research, reading up, and compering different things (we are Jews, after all), I recommended Aruba. So, Aruba, here we come!
One of the reasons, by the way, why I settled on that particular little island was because different sources kept praising Arubans' hospitality and friendliness. One travel guide put it very nicely, saying that even though tourism is their main source of revenue, nobody learns to be that friendly just for work. How true that is, considering my constant frustration with the so called customer service here! Anyway, the reports were absolutely correct. The Arubans are very friendly and helpful; and Aruba itself is a perfect place for R and R.
This tiny island is about 20 miles by 6 miles in total. It's very close to the Equator, and as such has almost desert climate, which in my book is perfect, by the way. The temperature variations for the year are between 79 and 85 degrees Fahrenheit! Plus, there is low humidity, strong winds, which are actually quite pleasant, and cool nights; sheer heaven! To that, add gorgeous turquoise water! By the way, all the beaches on Aruba are considered public beaches, so, technically, you can park your bathing suite (and your behind) anywhere you fancy.
Aruba is a former Dutch colony, and now they are officially semi-independent, even though their national money are still produced in Holland and then shipped to them. Their official population is around 110 thousand people, and they have a Parliament consisting of 21 representatives. They even have a capital, although it's pretty hard to figure out the boundaries of that fair city. They have one airport where arrivals are only international and departures are either international or to USA (more on that later). They have one hospital, one post office, one police academy, one prison, one desalination plant for fresh water, and one oil refinery. They also have their own Beverly Hills: this is the area where American celebrities have their houses. Due to the nature of their soil, it's impossible for them to produce their own food, so they import everything. According to our tour guide, they produce only two things in Aruba: babies and beer. Yes, they have their own beer! It's called Balashi, and I was dared by my brother to try it (the only reason I did not was due to laziness on my part). Oh, yes, and they also have one factory called Pepsico, where they bottle both Pepsi and Coke! Go figure.
They have one main road, and when we were driving from the airport to the hotel, something nudged me as being unnatural. It took me a little while to realize that unnatural feeling came from driving 40mph on the main road! For a New Yorker, especially someone related to my brother in law, that's sacrilegious. One main road and nobody is rushing anywhere! But what is how they are: friendly, polite, very helpful, very relaxed, and not rushing anywhere at all!
Aruba was also the first place I have discovered in my travels that had Coke, but no Lubavitch! Plus, apparently, they and their visitors do not subscribe to vegetarian food much, which in total created some really funny situation with food for us. But, hey, we are not American born, so, what is a little food deprivation next to a wonderful relaxation! Although I did point out that we would be ones of the very few who would come from Caribbean vacation minus a couple of pounds, not plus:)
Jackie Mason has a great skit where he makes fun of people who go on vacation, and then all they can say is "but the water was so blue, it was fantastic"! I really enjoyed that skit, but, the truth of the matter was, by the time I have arrived, I was so exhausted, that the option of sitting by or in the gorgeous turquoise waves and not doing or even thinking of anything else was, well, fantastic. By the way, Aruba has two hotel areas: low rise and high rise. Low rise is up to five floors; I do not remember the highest hotel in the high rise area, but I think it had about twenty five floors. Insert smiley face here from a crazy New Yorker.
Out hotel was in the low rise area, and Expedia specified it as not "on the beach". Beach, by the way, was in around two minutes worth of walking:) Never the less, our hotel was not on the beach, but, as a consolation, it had two swimming pools and a hot tub. One pool was designated for the children, because it had giant slide in it. It also had the bar attached to it, so go figure. The other pool was officially for adults; it had waterfall on the northern side, and hot tub was right next to it. Of course, nobody cared who was in which pool; everyone just enjoyed themselves.
Of course, my brother and I, being dorks, had to do something. So, we went on the tour of the island, where we learned a lot of interesting facts about Aruba. One of them was the beer; the other one was that it is customary to have a rum store, a church, and a police station next to each other. We also learned that most of the Arubans are multi-lingual: they have their own dialect based on Dutch, then they learn the official Dutch, plus English and Spanish (for the tourists both from North and South America). Pretty cool, eh? We also saw their one and only lighthouse; in addition, we basically covered the entire island both from North to South, and from East to West.
We visited their numismatic museum, where we saw some really cool old coins, learned about Aruba's money (which is Florins and Cents), plus the attendant, exited at seeing two nerds, pointed out some really funky looking coins for which the late JC was supposed sold. Then we went to the Museum of Aruba's national history (which took about fifteen minutes to see in total). My brother also wanted to see the gallery of local artists, but nixed that idea after the history museum. We also went to Aruba's butterfly farm, where we saw lots and lost of gorgeous butterflies, plus were given a very informative tour with demonstration of butterfly eggs, cocoons, and chrysalis. After that we went to the Bird Sanctuary, where I managed to snap a picture of a camera shy crane, and later on we saw some beautiful green parrots, which were very similar to the ones that have a huge nest on the corner of our block here, in New York.
The most exiting were the Sea Trek and the submarine. Sea Trek works like this: you go to an island, listen to a little safety lecture, then you are given a pair of special slippers (and a wet suit, if desired), then you slowly go down the stairs, and when you are just about to submerge into water, they put a funny looking helmet on you, which basically lets you breathe under water. You get two professional divers for a group of eight, go down to about twenty feet, and literally walk under the sea! So, my bro did just that. I, unfortunately, succumbed to a claustrophobia attack, scared both divers and the guy who was running the show on top, then needed about five minutes to catch my breath, and ended up just watching the rest of the group through the wires that were connected to their breathing helmets. Ah, shoot!
After that, my poor traveling companion kept checking the submarine's dimensions, but this time his fears were unfounded. Submarine was so much fun! We dived to about 110 feet, and saw couple of sunken ships, different coral reefs, and a whole bunch of gorgeous tropical fish. One woman with a little child even found Nemo and Dori!
And, of course, we did a whole lot of shopping for cheap (sorry, inexpensive) souvenirs, in the proses of which we discovered that it pays to come to Aruba for jewelry shopping. And what kind of Caribbean vacation would it be without some exotic cocktails? But we indulged only twice; for the first time I got slightly tipsy; second time was a bit worse. Aruba also boast of a surprisingly large number of casinos, which we both decided to skip.
But, of course, the most important part was those gentle turquoise waves! Ah, what a pleasure! I think our last night there I sat in the ocean for about three hours straight!
And, the final funny: USA departures. If you are flying from Aruba to this blessed country, you clear the customs there. In order to do that, you are told to show up your souvenirs, your luggage, your mug, and the rest of you three hours before the departure time!! Tortured by TSA, poor American citizens usually follow this suggestion, which, of course, is a total bunk. First of all, the employees of different airlines do not even bother opening their computers till about two and a half hours before departure; then you spent about five minutes tops with the costumes agents. But, no liquids on board works also, and your poor shoes have to clear security twice while parted from your feet. Basically, a lot of time to visit duty free shops (which are not that plentiful or exiting), or bars (which are). I wish I would have known that in advance, so I could have spent more time in those luscious turquoise waves on the morning of our departure!
The best good buy was when our taxi driver, after unloading our luggage and thanking us for the tip, politely and with a smile told us "so, see you next month!" Ah, how much I wish it!
A little exclamation of pride: my baby brother graduated college this year; not just graduated, and not just any college: it was NYU and it was with honors! Understandably, our whole family was tickled pink; and our Dad decided to treat him to a graduation trip to the location of his choice. And, the most important, since none of his friends were available to go with him, and he did not want to go alone, I was selected as his traveling companion! Hurray!!
At first, he suggested Mexico. I nixed that idea, since I would not go to Mexico on principle; then he explained to me that he just wanted to go somewhere warm, where he could go to the beach and snorkel; the particulars were left for me to iron out. So, after much careful research, reading up, and compering different things (we are Jews, after all), I recommended Aruba. So, Aruba, here we come!
One of the reasons, by the way, why I settled on that particular little island was because different sources kept praising Arubans' hospitality and friendliness. One travel guide put it very nicely, saying that even though tourism is their main source of revenue, nobody learns to be that friendly just for work. How true that is, considering my constant frustration with the so called customer service here! Anyway, the reports were absolutely correct. The Arubans are very friendly and helpful; and Aruba itself is a perfect place for R and R.
This tiny island is about 20 miles by 6 miles in total. It's very close to the Equator, and as such has almost desert climate, which in my book is perfect, by the way. The temperature variations for the year are between 79 and 85 degrees Fahrenheit! Plus, there is low humidity, strong winds, which are actually quite pleasant, and cool nights; sheer heaven! To that, add gorgeous turquoise water! By the way, all the beaches on Aruba are considered public beaches, so, technically, you can park your bathing suite (and your behind) anywhere you fancy.
Aruba is a former Dutch colony, and now they are officially semi-independent, even though their national money are still produced in Holland and then shipped to them. Their official population is around 110 thousand people, and they have a Parliament consisting of 21 representatives. They even have a capital, although it's pretty hard to figure out the boundaries of that fair city. They have one airport where arrivals are only international and departures are either international or to USA (more on that later). They have one hospital, one post office, one police academy, one prison, one desalination plant for fresh water, and one oil refinery. They also have their own Beverly Hills: this is the area where American celebrities have their houses. Due to the nature of their soil, it's impossible for them to produce their own food, so they import everything. According to our tour guide, they produce only two things in Aruba: babies and beer. Yes, they have their own beer! It's called Balashi, and I was dared by my brother to try it (the only reason I did not was due to laziness on my part). Oh, yes, and they also have one factory called Pepsico, where they bottle both Pepsi and Coke! Go figure.
They have one main road, and when we were driving from the airport to the hotel, something nudged me as being unnatural. It took me a little while to realize that unnatural feeling came from driving 40mph on the main road! For a New Yorker, especially someone related to my brother in law, that's sacrilegious. One main road and nobody is rushing anywhere! But what is how they are: friendly, polite, very helpful, very relaxed, and not rushing anywhere at all!
Aruba was also the first place I have discovered in my travels that had Coke, but no Lubavitch! Plus, apparently, they and their visitors do not subscribe to vegetarian food much, which in total created some really funny situation with food for us. But, hey, we are not American born, so, what is a little food deprivation next to a wonderful relaxation! Although I did point out that we would be ones of the very few who would come from Caribbean vacation minus a couple of pounds, not plus:)
Jackie Mason has a great skit where he makes fun of people who go on vacation, and then all they can say is "but the water was so blue, it was fantastic"! I really enjoyed that skit, but, the truth of the matter was, by the time I have arrived, I was so exhausted, that the option of sitting by or in the gorgeous turquoise waves and not doing or even thinking of anything else was, well, fantastic. By the way, Aruba has two hotel areas: low rise and high rise. Low rise is up to five floors; I do not remember the highest hotel in the high rise area, but I think it had about twenty five floors. Insert smiley face here from a crazy New Yorker.
Out hotel was in the low rise area, and Expedia specified it as not "on the beach". Beach, by the way, was in around two minutes worth of walking:) Never the less, our hotel was not on the beach, but, as a consolation, it had two swimming pools and a hot tub. One pool was designated for the children, because it had giant slide in it. It also had the bar attached to it, so go figure. The other pool was officially for adults; it had waterfall on the northern side, and hot tub was right next to it. Of course, nobody cared who was in which pool; everyone just enjoyed themselves.
Of course, my brother and I, being dorks, had to do something. So, we went on the tour of the island, where we learned a lot of interesting facts about Aruba. One of them was the beer; the other one was that it is customary to have a rum store, a church, and a police station next to each other. We also learned that most of the Arubans are multi-lingual: they have their own dialect based on Dutch, then they learn the official Dutch, plus English and Spanish (for the tourists both from North and South America). Pretty cool, eh? We also saw their one and only lighthouse; in addition, we basically covered the entire island both from North to South, and from East to West.
We visited their numismatic museum, where we saw some really cool old coins, learned about Aruba's money (which is Florins and Cents), plus the attendant, exited at seeing two nerds, pointed out some really funky looking coins for which the late JC was supposed sold. Then we went to the Museum of Aruba's national history (which took about fifteen minutes to see in total). My brother also wanted to see the gallery of local artists, but nixed that idea after the history museum. We also went to Aruba's butterfly farm, where we saw lots and lost of gorgeous butterflies, plus were given a very informative tour with demonstration of butterfly eggs, cocoons, and chrysalis. After that we went to the Bird Sanctuary, where I managed to snap a picture of a camera shy crane, and later on we saw some beautiful green parrots, which were very similar to the ones that have a huge nest on the corner of our block here, in New York.
The most exiting were the Sea Trek and the submarine. Sea Trek works like this: you go to an island, listen to a little safety lecture, then you are given a pair of special slippers (and a wet suit, if desired), then you slowly go down the stairs, and when you are just about to submerge into water, they put a funny looking helmet on you, which basically lets you breathe under water. You get two professional divers for a group of eight, go down to about twenty feet, and literally walk under the sea! So, my bro did just that. I, unfortunately, succumbed to a claustrophobia attack, scared both divers and the guy who was running the show on top, then needed about five minutes to catch my breath, and ended up just watching the rest of the group through the wires that were connected to their breathing helmets. Ah, shoot!
After that, my poor traveling companion kept checking the submarine's dimensions, but this time his fears were unfounded. Submarine was so much fun! We dived to about 110 feet, and saw couple of sunken ships, different coral reefs, and a whole bunch of gorgeous tropical fish. One woman with a little child even found Nemo and Dori!
And, of course, we did a whole lot of shopping for cheap (sorry, inexpensive) souvenirs, in the proses of which we discovered that it pays to come to Aruba for jewelry shopping. And what kind of Caribbean vacation would it be without some exotic cocktails? But we indulged only twice; for the first time I got slightly tipsy; second time was a bit worse. Aruba also boast of a surprisingly large number of casinos, which we both decided to skip.
But, of course, the most important part was those gentle turquoise waves! Ah, what a pleasure! I think our last night there I sat in the ocean for about three hours straight!
And, the final funny: USA departures. If you are flying from Aruba to this blessed country, you clear the customs there. In order to do that, you are told to show up your souvenirs, your luggage, your mug, and the rest of you three hours before the departure time!! Tortured by TSA, poor American citizens usually follow this suggestion, which, of course, is a total bunk. First of all, the employees of different airlines do not even bother opening their computers till about two and a half hours before departure; then you spent about five minutes tops with the costumes agents. But, no liquids on board works also, and your poor shoes have to clear security twice while parted from your feet. Basically, a lot of time to visit duty free shops (which are not that plentiful or exiting), or bars (which are). I wish I would have known that in advance, so I could have spent more time in those luscious turquoise waves on the morning of our departure!
The best good buy was when our taxi driver, after unloading our luggage and thanking us for the tip, politely and with a smile told us "so, see you next month!" Ah, how much I wish it!
GENTLE INNOCENCE
All of you are by now aware that sincerely yours is very much anti green. Most of you are aware that the company I work for is very much pro green (although I personally did not know it at the time I took the job). Fortunately, most of my co-workers do not usually raise my blood pressure, with few exceptions.
The one who probably annoys me the most got nicknamed Komsomolka; fortunately, only people who survived communist Russia can get the full appreciation of my private joke. Of course, that worthy individual is very Komsomol like when it comes to all matters green and pro-environment, in light of which the following vignette is even more ironic.
A couple of weeks ago she was put in charge of organizing the party celebrating our new identity (do not ask) for our division. That alone was a huge mistake and oversite, but that is not the point. To make the long story short, I was asked by her to order the cake for this shindig; and, since she can not work or let anyone else work in peace, that process took more time and effort than such undertaking usually warrants. At one point, she asked me how much the final product is going to cost. I replied that I did not find out yet, but it would probably cost a bundle, since the prices on flour have skyrocketed. "Yes, I know", was her reply, "it's because of oil, isn't it?"
Oy, gevalt! "No, it's the ethanol!" I just couldn't contain myself totally; fortunately, I had enough fortitude not to get into lengthy discussion, because with her it would have been not just a moot point, but a major annoyance for me. The most active green in our office has no idea about what causes high food (and for that matter, oil) prices! But she continues to enforce her miasma! What a wonderful illustration on this whole green, which is really red and brown, business!
The one who probably annoys me the most got nicknamed Komsomolka; fortunately, only people who survived communist Russia can get the full appreciation of my private joke. Of course, that worthy individual is very Komsomol like when it comes to all matters green and pro-environment, in light of which the following vignette is even more ironic.
A couple of weeks ago she was put in charge of organizing the party celebrating our new identity (do not ask) for our division. That alone was a huge mistake and oversite, but that is not the point. To make the long story short, I was asked by her to order the cake for this shindig; and, since she can not work or let anyone else work in peace, that process took more time and effort than such undertaking usually warrants. At one point, she asked me how much the final product is going to cost. I replied that I did not find out yet, but it would probably cost a bundle, since the prices on flour have skyrocketed. "Yes, I know", was her reply, "it's because of oil, isn't it?"
Oy, gevalt! "No, it's the ethanol!" I just couldn't contain myself totally; fortunately, I had enough fortitude not to get into lengthy discussion, because with her it would have been not just a moot point, but a major annoyance for me. The most active green in our office has no idea about what causes high food (and for that matter, oil) prices! But she continues to enforce her miasma! What a wonderful illustration on this whole green, which is really red and brown, business!
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
SHAVUOT
For the second year in a row I have a feeling that G-d is a bit annoyed with us. I mean, just think about it: Shavout is the Holiday of celebrating the receiving of Torah (pretty important, isn't it). Last year we had torrential rains for almost the entire duration of the Holiday; this year, after a pretty cold spring and a bunch of really nice, fantastic days, weather wise, we got hit with the first major hit wave right before Shavout; hence, my little deduction.
Never the less, I had a great time, as I always do, even though it was severely tempered by the fact that I did not prepare the way I planned to prepare. I mean, I had grandiose plans of converting my pig sty of an apartment into human habitat, doing laundry, beautifying myself, etc. But, due to the above mentioned heat wave, which always manages to put me into a depressed mood, I did precisely zip; even forgot to buy customary flowers. Thank G-d for friends!
Here are my Holiday highlights, aside from the wonderful food by all my hosts. Got into a little argument about Obama for President, G-d forbid; tempered myself due to the Holiday; was offered a pro-Obama pin with a suggestion to use it for target practice, if I so desire; accidentally forgot this pin (can only imagine the Freudian conclusions of my friend). Got a chance to do some major catching up; heard lots of jokes, anecdotes, and latest news about mutual friends and acquaintances; accidentally learned that water bugs are called Saddam Hussein; got into more political discussions; never made it to services, despite best intentions, but spoke with Him by myself, non the less. The only thing I missed was seeing my Mini Me (third Shavuot, thank G-d) and Mini Not Me (first Shavuot!!!) at Birkat Kohanim, since they went away (my sister and brother in law went together with them).
On a serious note, I again remembered that long ago lecture from seminary. Shavuot is when we got the tools to fulfill our mission for which we were selected on Passover. That brought very sobering realization: how many of us are aware of this mission? How many know what the mission really is? How many know what these tools are? How many are willing to acquire these tools? And, most importantly, how many of us think that we have the perfect handle on these tools, but in reality misuse them every single day of our lives? Maybe that's why we had such disgusting weather?
We have the clarity of purpose. Heavenly Father, please grant us the clarity of vision and the purity of heart and soul to see it! Next year in Jerusalem!
Never the less, I had a great time, as I always do, even though it was severely tempered by the fact that I did not prepare the way I planned to prepare. I mean, I had grandiose plans of converting my pig sty of an apartment into human habitat, doing laundry, beautifying myself, etc. But, due to the above mentioned heat wave, which always manages to put me into a depressed mood, I did precisely zip; even forgot to buy customary flowers. Thank G-d for friends!
Here are my Holiday highlights, aside from the wonderful food by all my hosts. Got into a little argument about Obama for President, G-d forbid; tempered myself due to the Holiday; was offered a pro-Obama pin with a suggestion to use it for target practice, if I so desire; accidentally forgot this pin (can only imagine the Freudian conclusions of my friend). Got a chance to do some major catching up; heard lots of jokes, anecdotes, and latest news about mutual friends and acquaintances; accidentally learned that water bugs are called Saddam Hussein; got into more political discussions; never made it to services, despite best intentions, but spoke with Him by myself, non the less. The only thing I missed was seeing my Mini Me (third Shavuot, thank G-d) and Mini Not Me (first Shavuot!!!) at Birkat Kohanim, since they went away (my sister and brother in law went together with them).
On a serious note, I again remembered that long ago lecture from seminary. Shavuot is when we got the tools to fulfill our mission for which we were selected on Passover. That brought very sobering realization: how many of us are aware of this mission? How many know what the mission really is? How many know what these tools are? How many are willing to acquire these tools? And, most importantly, how many of us think that we have the perfect handle on these tools, but in reality misuse them every single day of our lives? Maybe that's why we had such disgusting weather?
We have the clarity of purpose. Heavenly Father, please grant us the clarity of vision and the purity of heart and soul to see it! Next year in Jerusalem!
Monday, July 07, 2008
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, USA!
Happy Independence Day! Happy Birthday to my beautiful country!
The only country in the world that claims me as it's citizen, even though I was not born here. A country that gave me refuge, gave me the chance to discover my identity and my purpose in life, and where I can pray on public transportation in peace. A country where poor people are fat, have microwave ovens, and drive cars. A country full of G-d's beauty. A country first settled by people who came here with one purpose in mind: to worship the Creator in the best way they saw fit, and whose grandchildren proclaimed that all men "are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."
Happy Birthday, America! G-d bless you!
The only country in the world that claims me as it's citizen, even though I was not born here. A country that gave me refuge, gave me the chance to discover my identity and my purpose in life, and where I can pray on public transportation in peace. A country where poor people are fat, have microwave ovens, and drive cars. A country full of G-d's beauty. A country first settled by people who came here with one purpose in mind: to worship the Creator in the best way they saw fit, and whose grandchildren proclaimed that all men "are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."
Happy Birthday, America! G-d bless you!
Thursday, July 03, 2008
A LESSON FROM JOB
(Even if you think Old Testament is a Work of Fiction)
I do not think there is much need to retell the latest atrocity committed in Jerusalem by another member of the religion of peace. As always, all the facts are evident and available for everyone who wants to know the truth. Also as always, the honest and courageous members of the liberal press did not disappoint in their honest and courageous reporting of this particular "episode".
I know that I am preaching into the thin air, but, since the main purpose of this blog was to get things off my chest, here goes. According to Wikipedia, even though Edmund Burke was credited with the famous quote "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil, is for good men to do nothing", it does not appear in the letter it was supposed to be, so, it's not his. For me, even if it does not appear in that particular letter, I am sure that that worthy individual said it at least once, and definitely felt it. As for origins, I am sure it first appeared in one of our texts, but either got lost in translation, or, most importantly, we were deliberately denied credit somewhere along the line. Anyway, on with my ramblings.
There is another story that appears in our texts. When Pharaoh decided to kill all the newborn Jewish boys, he presented the facts and the possible solution to his advisers. One of them, Job, just said nothing. He did not advise Pharaoh for this particular course of action; he just stood there and said nothing. What happened to him later on is described in something known to general public as Old Testament, and, as I mentioned before, once it was a mark of educated individual to be familiar with that particular text.
So, my dear respected members of the liberal press. I know that for you Old Testament is the work of fiction written by some long forgotten individuals; and, whatever lessons we can learn from it are obsolete, or worse, promote the agenda of the religiously confused dead white males. So be it. Moreover, whatever Burke said, or supposed to have said, is anathema to you, since he is considered the forerunner of the modern conservative movement. Be that as it may, smart people devise lessons from all around them, be it friendly or not. So, just take at least a cursory study of the above mentioned; especially considering the fact that calling you "good men" (or women) is very, very debatable.
I do not think there is much need to retell the latest atrocity committed in Jerusalem by another member of the religion of peace. As always, all the facts are evident and available for everyone who wants to know the truth. Also as always, the honest and courageous members of the liberal press did not disappoint in their honest and courageous reporting of this particular "episode".
I know that I am preaching into the thin air, but, since the main purpose of this blog was to get things off my chest, here goes. According to Wikipedia, even though Edmund Burke was credited with the famous quote "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil, is for good men to do nothing", it does not appear in the letter it was supposed to be, so, it's not his. For me, even if it does not appear in that particular letter, I am sure that that worthy individual said it at least once, and definitely felt it. As for origins, I am sure it first appeared in one of our texts, but either got lost in translation, or, most importantly, we were deliberately denied credit somewhere along the line. Anyway, on with my ramblings.
There is another story that appears in our texts. When Pharaoh decided to kill all the newborn Jewish boys, he presented the facts and the possible solution to his advisers. One of them, Job, just said nothing. He did not advise Pharaoh for this particular course of action; he just stood there and said nothing. What happened to him later on is described in something known to general public as Old Testament, and, as I mentioned before, once it was a mark of educated individual to be familiar with that particular text.
So, my dear respected members of the liberal press. I know that for you Old Testament is the work of fiction written by some long forgotten individuals; and, whatever lessons we can learn from it are obsolete, or worse, promote the agenda of the religiously confused dead white males. So be it. Moreover, whatever Burke said, or supposed to have said, is anathema to you, since he is considered the forerunner of the modern conservative movement. Be that as it may, smart people devise lessons from all around them, be it friendly or not. So, just take at least a cursory study of the above mentioned; especially considering the fact that calling you "good men" (or women) is very, very debatable.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND
Highlights
Again, a little belated, but most sincere recounting of some of the interesting things that happened that weekend.
On Sunday, Golden Delicious was wearing an all-American outfit: denim capris, denim jacket and a cute little white t-shirt with a heart out of American flag (yes, I know, I did not play with dolls enough when I was younger; blame it on my pest of a brother). Anyway, she and I went to our favorite haunt: "pak". On the way there, all of a sudden she demanded to get off the train, and the explanations that this is not the park stop yet did not help. "I want to get off train now!" How can I reason with a two year old and explain to her that getting off in a very unsavory neighbourhood was not an option? Finally, an inspiration struck, and I offered to get off our train and go on another one (basically, transfer from local to express, which would mean that we would have to enter park from south, instead of north). She agreed immediately, and upon boarding an express visibly perked up. It took me a little while to figure out that she had almost no people to observe on the local, hence: "I want to get of train now!"
After she livened up on the train, she demanded the Golden Snitch off my bag. I tried to explain that she already got one from the same source; no effect; then, being a toddler, she immediately switched to something else, and demanded my "Potter/Weasly 08" big button. Oh, this promised to be so much fun! I asked if she wanted to play with it, or pin on on her jacket. Of course, she wanted it on her jacket (and she was proudly sporting that button for the rest of the day). For my enjoyment, I got few dirty looks at Whitehall to the tune of "look at that disgusting woman, using her toddler to promote her political views"!
Later one, Mini Me suffered a terrible disappointment, because her cool and favorite aunt was unable to retrieve a huge blue ball that was happily swimming in the Hudson together with some other trash.
We revisited the pleasure of walking barefoot on the grass, having a little picnic in the fresh air, and observing the tourists and locals alike enjoying the long-overdue spring weather.
On Monday, we ended up in the same favorite place (different outfit, just as cute, "Potter/Weasly" button back on my bag). That day we went on the big girls' swings (by "self" and on my lap both). It was another day of gorgeous weather and outdoor enjoyment (too many people out, but you can't win everything).
Then, later on, yours truly, Mini Me, baby, Yamy (grandma), and Mama (my sis) all had a chance to observe what happens when people cook in their own juice too much and not favour socializing with outsiders (never mind decent manners). There was a whole clan of people from the neighbourhood either next to ours or very close to it (draw your own conclusions). They snubbed Mini Me when she wanted to observe one of the babies in that group. She loves doing that: observing babies, even though she calls it "talk to baby". I was really burning to give them a piece of my mind, but finally just removed my niece with a loud explanation to the tune that we do not need to talk to that baby (which, of course, went totally over the top). Then, this wonderful group appropriated all the bouncing balls that park rangers leave on the lawn for the kids to play. I mean, they were just holding them, just in case their offspring would want to use them. Hurray for Yamy: she appropriated one of these balls at the first opportune moment. Then, they decided to have picnic, and, since the men in that group could not comfortably seat on the grass, that with their beer guts and all, so, they decided to take all the kiddie chars from the nearby table games (again set up by park rangers for kids that come to the park). Again, hurray for Yamy, who tried to explain to these people from the tribe of Mumba Yumba that those chairs were for kids. By the way, when we were leaving the park, we passed one of the younger women from that aristocratic group, who gifted us with long stares and dirty looks. Ah, life!
On the balance, we witnessed another example of the club membership. As we were slowly strolling through WFC towards our parking space, a little girl of about nine politely asked me if she could use my cell phone to call her parents, since she and her brother got separated from them. As I was frantically searching for the phone in my bag, which resembles Mary Poppins's in size, if not in content, I realized that somebody was getting hysterical in the near vicinity. The younger brother of the girl was screaming and jumping in fright; she was trying to pacify him! Just as I located my stupid electronic device, she perked up and told me that she sees her parents. Needless to say, we made sure they really got to their parents. But, goodness, another member!
On a very serious note: unfortunately, like many other things related to our history, Constitution, politics, and so on, a lot of Americans have no clue that Memorial Day is not just a Monday off, which signifies the official beginning of the AC season, barbecue, and another round of sales. It actually used to be a specific day on the calendar, not just a Monday. It supposed to be precisely what it is called: a day of remembering.
Remembering that yes, as cliche as it sounds, freedom is not free. Remembering that our Armed Forces are, and always were, necessary to our protection and survival. Remembering that they consist of American people who willingly entered that service; people who deserve at least our support, never mind gratitude, not constant unfounded accusations and harassment.
According to some of the things I read, Memorial Day used to have a Moment of Silence for the fallen warriors, which was observed by civilians too, not just the military. So, let us just have a private moment of silence and reflection. May G-d protect our soldiers and our country!
Again, a little belated, but most sincere recounting of some of the interesting things that happened that weekend.
On Sunday, Golden Delicious was wearing an all-American outfit: denim capris, denim jacket and a cute little white t-shirt with a heart out of American flag (yes, I know, I did not play with dolls enough when I was younger; blame it on my pest of a brother). Anyway, she and I went to our favorite haunt: "pak". On the way there, all of a sudden she demanded to get off the train, and the explanations that this is not the park stop yet did not help. "I want to get off train now!" How can I reason with a two year old and explain to her that getting off in a very unsavory neighbourhood was not an option? Finally, an inspiration struck, and I offered to get off our train and go on another one (basically, transfer from local to express, which would mean that we would have to enter park from south, instead of north). She agreed immediately, and upon boarding an express visibly perked up. It took me a little while to figure out that she had almost no people to observe on the local, hence: "I want to get of train now!"
After she livened up on the train, she demanded the Golden Snitch off my bag. I tried to explain that she already got one from the same source; no effect; then, being a toddler, she immediately switched to something else, and demanded my "Potter/Weasly 08" big button. Oh, this promised to be so much fun! I asked if she wanted to play with it, or pin on on her jacket. Of course, she wanted it on her jacket (and she was proudly sporting that button for the rest of the day). For my enjoyment, I got few dirty looks at Whitehall to the tune of "look at that disgusting woman, using her toddler to promote her political views"!
Later one, Mini Me suffered a terrible disappointment, because her cool and favorite aunt was unable to retrieve a huge blue ball that was happily swimming in the Hudson together with some other trash.
We revisited the pleasure of walking barefoot on the grass, having a little picnic in the fresh air, and observing the tourists and locals alike enjoying the long-overdue spring weather.
On Monday, we ended up in the same favorite place (different outfit, just as cute, "Potter/Weasly" button back on my bag). That day we went on the big girls' swings (by "self" and on my lap both). It was another day of gorgeous weather and outdoor enjoyment (too many people out, but you can't win everything).
Then, later on, yours truly, Mini Me, baby, Yamy (grandma), and Mama (my sis) all had a chance to observe what happens when people cook in their own juice too much and not favour socializing with outsiders (never mind decent manners). There was a whole clan of people from the neighbourhood either next to ours or very close to it (draw your own conclusions). They snubbed Mini Me when she wanted to observe one of the babies in that group. She loves doing that: observing babies, even though she calls it "talk to baby". I was really burning to give them a piece of my mind, but finally just removed my niece with a loud explanation to the tune that we do not need to talk to that baby (which, of course, went totally over the top). Then, this wonderful group appropriated all the bouncing balls that park rangers leave on the lawn for the kids to play. I mean, they were just holding them, just in case their offspring would want to use them. Hurray for Yamy: she appropriated one of these balls at the first opportune moment. Then, they decided to have picnic, and, since the men in that group could not comfortably seat on the grass, that with their beer guts and all, so, they decided to take all the kiddie chars from the nearby table games (again set up by park rangers for kids that come to the park). Again, hurray for Yamy, who tried to explain to these people from the tribe of Mumba Yumba that those chairs were for kids. By the way, when we were leaving the park, we passed one of the younger women from that aristocratic group, who gifted us with long stares and dirty looks. Ah, life!
On the balance, we witnessed another example of the club membership. As we were slowly strolling through WFC towards our parking space, a little girl of about nine politely asked me if she could use my cell phone to call her parents, since she and her brother got separated from them. As I was frantically searching for the phone in my bag, which resembles Mary Poppins's in size, if not in content, I realized that somebody was getting hysterical in the near vicinity. The younger brother of the girl was screaming and jumping in fright; she was trying to pacify him! Just as I located my stupid electronic device, she perked up and told me that she sees her parents. Needless to say, we made sure they really got to their parents. But, goodness, another member!
On a very serious note: unfortunately, like many other things related to our history, Constitution, politics, and so on, a lot of Americans have no clue that Memorial Day is not just a Monday off, which signifies the official beginning of the AC season, barbecue, and another round of sales. It actually used to be a specific day on the calendar, not just a Monday. It supposed to be precisely what it is called: a day of remembering.
Remembering that yes, as cliche as it sounds, freedom is not free. Remembering that our Armed Forces are, and always were, necessary to our protection and survival. Remembering that they consist of American people who willingly entered that service; people who deserve at least our support, never mind gratitude, not constant unfounded accusations and harassment.
According to some of the things I read, Memorial Day used to have a Moment of Silence for the fallen warriors, which was observed by civilians too, not just the military. So, let us just have a private moment of silence and reflection. May G-d protect our soldiers and our country!
Friday, June 06, 2008
NATIONAL DONUT DAY
This morning, I found out that today is a national donut day. I never knew before that we have such Holiday, never mind that it is today. Never the less, congratulations to Homer Simpson and the entire police force! Enjoy!
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
DIVORCE CELTIC STYLE
Recently discovered antics of our former governor, subsequent media circus, wonderful confessions of our current governor, continued media circus, and all the resurrected widely publicised marital infidelities amongst politicians in recent times sparked some very interesting discussions.
I personally would have loved to see Spitzer's wife apply the old Celtic remedy: cast iron skillet to his head. Of course, as my friend Subwife pointed out, as much as we all would have loved to see this happen, that option was not very feasible. But these musings made me remember a very entertaining book about Celts I have read a while back. The book's author is Aideen Cremin, and the title is simply "The Celts". In that book, there is a great description about their marriage and divorce laws. Especially noteworthy is this amusing paragraph:
"A woman could divorce her husband if he failed to support her, or failed to treat her with respect, if he was impotent, homosexual, sterile, or gossiped about their sex lives. She could even leave him if he was fat, a snorer or just plain repulsive."
I personally would have loved to see Spitzer's wife apply the old Celtic remedy: cast iron skillet to his head. Of course, as my friend Subwife pointed out, as much as we all would have loved to see this happen, that option was not very feasible. But these musings made me remember a very entertaining book about Celts I have read a while back. The book's author is Aideen Cremin, and the title is simply "The Celts". In that book, there is a great description about their marriage and divorce laws. Especially noteworthy is this amusing paragraph:
"A woman could divorce her husband if he failed to support her, or failed to treat her with respect, if he was impotent, homosexual, sterile, or gossiped about their sex lives. She could even leave him if he was fat, a snorer or just plain repulsive."
Monday, May 19, 2008
TALES FROM THE LIBRARY
Part 1
As mentioned many times before, I am a book junkie. I read them by the pound, I collect them as much as my finances allow (sometimes more than that), and a library card was my first "plastic" in this blessed country. To me, library always was, to quote Mr. Bennett from the 80's movie version, a place of peace, tranquility, and leisure. Slowly, but very surely, that changed.
First, there was that infamous law suite when a homeless dude was asked to leave the premises because he was stinking them up; after that, they can stink up any library they want as long as they are quite, and using library's lavatory would usually constitute an act of desperation, since so many homeless use it.
Then, in the interest of public's general welfare, libraries added movies to their loanable collection. Oh, brother! Talk of the lack of better manners! The movie section is usually full of people breathing down each other's necks, pushing, showing, haunting the clerk with the "fresh" supply cart, and demolishing that cart before the poor public servant gets a chance to unload the afore mentioned supply on the shelves. The situation only deteriorated with the addition of DVDs. All the above mentioned behaviors have gotten worse; plus, for whatever reason, there is always at least one "fragrant" patron always making himself at home in that idiotic section, and couple of times somebody was busy passing gas as he was occupying himself with the search for a perfect movie experience.
Next, let us not forget the general air of, well, stupidity that always permeates the general vicinity of the public servants. Apparently, some people who were dropped off the welfare rolls, plus some former juvenile delinquents, plus some senior citizens in search of additional income (all of them usually belonging to the same race) found themselves a perfect sinecure: that of the library security guard. Let me tell you, if, G-d forbid, there is a real emergency, they would be less useful than Clinton's autobiography (at lest that can be used as an assault weapon). In the absence of real emergency, or real usefulness, for that matter, all of them have perfectly adapted to the king or queen of the hill routine, which they perform with amazing talent.
The most glaring example of that would be the cell phone users. I mean, I detest those selfish jerks, but let's be logical. One high school intern with a cart of self-returned books makes way more noise than ten cell phone users combined. Preventing people from using those things on the "main service" floor is simply not practical. But, oh, the feeling of power! Some of the guards go even further: there is an official policy of cell phone usage on the staircase. One of them decided that the sundry conversations were disturbing his mating ritual by one of the exits, and he was trying to explain that this staircase is off limits, cell phones have to be used only on the upper stairs. Sorry, dude, for making your life more difficult, but I refused to submit to this petty tyranny, and finished my conversation in full few of his cooing.
After all this, try to exit the library in peace. No such luck. Surprisingly, Brooklyn library, which is usually inferior to Manhattan's and deficient in many ways, has a perfect "exit strategy" for patrons: when you check out materials, anti-theft device is deactivated as well; if it is not deactivated, you will simply make a lot of noise by the exit. Makes sense, doesn't it? Well, not so in Manhattan.
After everything is scanned, you have to make sure that every single book, CD, and movie has a little piece of paper with the due date attached to it: that is your proof that you actually checked it out. Then you have to make sure not to pack anything, since the above mentioned public servant by the exit has to make sure all the library materials have the above mentioned scrap of paper; and then he or she has to check your bag to make sure you are not taking any contraband with you. After all this, you have to contrive to pack everything in your bag somewhere around the exit. Some of them provide some kind of narrow perches to do just that, and there is inevitably some jerk of a library patron occupying the spot of three people and blocking the exit to boot. Oh, joy!
Here is my humble suggestion: let them have a psychologist on staff by the exit, because anyone who steals something from the library has a serious case of kleptomania and needs immediate treatment. That, at least, would add some flavor to the whole experience, which is overwise frustrating, to say the least.
As mentioned many times before, I am a book junkie. I read them by the pound, I collect them as much as my finances allow (sometimes more than that), and a library card was my first "plastic" in this blessed country. To me, library always was, to quote Mr. Bennett from the 80's movie version, a place of peace, tranquility, and leisure. Slowly, but very surely, that changed.
First, there was that infamous law suite when a homeless dude was asked to leave the premises because he was stinking them up; after that, they can stink up any library they want as long as they are quite, and using library's lavatory would usually constitute an act of desperation, since so many homeless use it.
Then, in the interest of public's general welfare, libraries added movies to their loanable collection. Oh, brother! Talk of the lack of better manners! The movie section is usually full of people breathing down each other's necks, pushing, showing, haunting the clerk with the "fresh" supply cart, and demolishing that cart before the poor public servant gets a chance to unload the afore mentioned supply on the shelves. The situation only deteriorated with the addition of DVDs. All the above mentioned behaviors have gotten worse; plus, for whatever reason, there is always at least one "fragrant" patron always making himself at home in that idiotic section, and couple of times somebody was busy passing gas as he was occupying himself with the search for a perfect movie experience.
Next, let us not forget the general air of, well, stupidity that always permeates the general vicinity of the public servants. Apparently, some people who were dropped off the welfare rolls, plus some former juvenile delinquents, plus some senior citizens in search of additional income (all of them usually belonging to the same race) found themselves a perfect sinecure: that of the library security guard. Let me tell you, if, G-d forbid, there is a real emergency, they would be less useful than Clinton's autobiography (at lest that can be used as an assault weapon). In the absence of real emergency, or real usefulness, for that matter, all of them have perfectly adapted to the king or queen of the hill routine, which they perform with amazing talent.
The most glaring example of that would be the cell phone users. I mean, I detest those selfish jerks, but let's be logical. One high school intern with a cart of self-returned books makes way more noise than ten cell phone users combined. Preventing people from using those things on the "main service" floor is simply not practical. But, oh, the feeling of power! Some of the guards go even further: there is an official policy of cell phone usage on the staircase. One of them decided that the sundry conversations were disturbing his mating ritual by one of the exits, and he was trying to explain that this staircase is off limits, cell phones have to be used only on the upper stairs. Sorry, dude, for making your life more difficult, but I refused to submit to this petty tyranny, and finished my conversation in full few of his cooing.
After all this, try to exit the library in peace. No such luck. Surprisingly, Brooklyn library, which is usually inferior to Manhattan's and deficient in many ways, has a perfect "exit strategy" for patrons: when you check out materials, anti-theft device is deactivated as well; if it is not deactivated, you will simply make a lot of noise by the exit. Makes sense, doesn't it? Well, not so in Manhattan.
After everything is scanned, you have to make sure that every single book, CD, and movie has a little piece of paper with the due date attached to it: that is your proof that you actually checked it out. Then you have to make sure not to pack anything, since the above mentioned public servant by the exit has to make sure all the library materials have the above mentioned scrap of paper; and then he or she has to check your bag to make sure you are not taking any contraband with you. After all this, you have to contrive to pack everything in your bag somewhere around the exit. Some of them provide some kind of narrow perches to do just that, and there is inevitably some jerk of a library patron occupying the spot of three people and blocking the exit to boot. Oh, joy!
Here is my humble suggestion: let them have a psychologist on staff by the exit, because anyone who steals something from the library has a serious case of kleptomania and needs immediate treatment. That, at least, would add some flavor to the whole experience, which is overwise frustrating, to say the least.
MORE ON THE CLUB MEMBERSHIP
The previous Shabbat did not disappoint in the promise of the gorgeous spring weather. So, after our respective afternoon naps, yours truly and Mini Me went to pay a round of social calls. In case you are wondering who Mini Me is, that reference belongs to my niece. You see, her parents agreed long time ago that she definitely looks like our side of the family, and then, few months after that first verdict, the second verdict went out: she looks like her favorite aunt more than she does like her Mama.
Anyway, the outing proved to be an absolute delight. Towards the end of it, she got understandably tired and requested to be carried in my warm embrace, but reluctantly accepted the reminder that it was Shabbat, and I could only hold her hand. In order to distract her more, I kept pointing out interesting sights. One of these pointers proved to be slightly traumatic.
Her "sosy" (pacifier) remains a big part of her life. So, for some idiotic reason (or the lack of it), I have pointed out to her somebody's lost pacifier by the curb. Oy, gevalt! I keep praising her intelligence to all who is willing or unwilling to listen, so, the reason for my own slip up is that much more annoying, especially considering the fact that her brother owns a pair of pacifiers, one orange, one blue, and that one lying in the dirt was a dead ringer for the blue one. Anyway, she recognized the blinking pacifier immediately:"Baby lost his sosy!" "No, cookie, that's somebody's else's." "No, is baby's!" "No, baby's is an orange one." "Is baby's!! Baby has blue!! Is baby's!"
She was getting more and more agitated. She insisted on rescuing the stupid piece of plastic; I told her that it was too dirty for saving; she did not budge. Finally, I persuaded her to go home and check with Mama to make sure that it was not, in fact, baby's sosy. She agreed, but under duress. As soon as we walked into the house, she ran to Mama with distressed screams of "baby lost his sosy!" It took Mama about five minutes of patient explanations and demonstrations to finally satisfy our Golden Delicious. Ah, the burdens of being the oldest sister!
Anyway, the outing proved to be an absolute delight. Towards the end of it, she got understandably tired and requested to be carried in my warm embrace, but reluctantly accepted the reminder that it was Shabbat, and I could only hold her hand. In order to distract her more, I kept pointing out interesting sights. One of these pointers proved to be slightly traumatic.
Her "sosy" (pacifier) remains a big part of her life. So, for some idiotic reason (or the lack of it), I have pointed out to her somebody's lost pacifier by the curb. Oy, gevalt! I keep praising her intelligence to all who is willing or unwilling to listen, so, the reason for my own slip up is that much more annoying, especially considering the fact that her brother owns a pair of pacifiers, one orange, one blue, and that one lying in the dirt was a dead ringer for the blue one. Anyway, she recognized the blinking pacifier immediately:"Baby lost his sosy!" "No, cookie, that's somebody's else's." "No, is baby's!" "No, baby's is an orange one." "Is baby's!! Baby has blue!! Is baby's!"
She was getting more and more agitated. She insisted on rescuing the stupid piece of plastic; I told her that it was too dirty for saving; she did not budge. Finally, I persuaded her to go home and check with Mama to make sure that it was not, in fact, baby's sosy. She agreed, but under duress. As soon as we walked into the house, she ran to Mama with distressed screams of "baby lost his sosy!" It took Mama about five minutes of patient explanations and demonstrations to finally satisfy our Golden Delicious. Ah, the burdens of being the oldest sister!
Thursday, May 15, 2008
JUST WONDERING (AGAIN)
Last night I tried to read the report on the latest atrocity committed by the members of the religion of peace on the Arutz Sheva website. I did not go far: I got chocked up by the time I read that one of the rockets scored a direct hit into the children's clinic; I simply could not go on.
This morning I decided to "google" the media reports on this: partly out of masochistic curiosity, but mostly because, according to my sis, very few news agencies covered it. My search did not disappoint me in a sense that I scored very few hits, most of them, unsurprisingly, Jewish sources. Out of more masochistic curiosity I decided to sample a few non-Jewish ones.
Of course, I was not disappointed again. No mentioning of the fact that the attack originated from a place that was populated by Jews before "disengagement", very sketchy mentioning of the fact that the rocket went into a busy mall, even sketchier mentioning of the clinic, and no mentioning of the fact that it was a children's clinic. Very grudging reports of the injuries; only one site reported that a woman and her daughter were both critically injured in the head, may G-d help them in his infinite Mercy. And, most importantly, this: "militant" group Hamas took responsibility for the attack.
Here is the definition of "militant" I just got off Webster's: "1. Engaged in warfare of combat. 2. Aggressively active (as in a cause)". Mind you, this is the on-line Webster's, not some dog-eared copy from the fifties, so, it is definitely updated for political correctness. So, dear honest, non-biased, politically correct journalists, could you please explain to me: are those poor, abused Palestinians engaged in the "warfare or combat" against Jewish mothers taking their kiddies to the clinic, or are they just "aggressively active" in their cause?
Ah, heck, do not bother. Enjoy your lives free of "almost" daily missile attacks. Just remember one thing: a jackal by any other name is still a jackal; and one day it will be you taking your child to the clinic which will be caught in their "aggressive activity".
Master of the Universe, please protect your children in the Holy Land and grant speedy recovery to all the injured! Amen!.
This morning I decided to "google" the media reports on this: partly out of masochistic curiosity, but mostly because, according to my sis, very few news agencies covered it. My search did not disappoint me in a sense that I scored very few hits, most of them, unsurprisingly, Jewish sources. Out of more masochistic curiosity I decided to sample a few non-Jewish ones.
Of course, I was not disappointed again. No mentioning of the fact that the attack originated from a place that was populated by Jews before "disengagement", very sketchy mentioning of the fact that the rocket went into a busy mall, even sketchier mentioning of the clinic, and no mentioning of the fact that it was a children's clinic. Very grudging reports of the injuries; only one site reported that a woman and her daughter were both critically injured in the head, may G-d help them in his infinite Mercy. And, most importantly, this: "militant" group Hamas took responsibility for the attack.
Here is the definition of "militant" I just got off Webster's: "1. Engaged in warfare of combat. 2. Aggressively active (as in a cause)". Mind you, this is the on-line Webster's, not some dog-eared copy from the fifties, so, it is definitely updated for political correctness. So, dear honest, non-biased, politically correct journalists, could you please explain to me: are those poor, abused Palestinians engaged in the "warfare or combat" against Jewish mothers taking their kiddies to the clinic, or are they just "aggressively active" in their cause?
Ah, heck, do not bother. Enjoy your lives free of "almost" daily missile attacks. Just remember one thing: a jackal by any other name is still a jackal; and one day it will be you taking your child to the clinic which will be caught in their "aggressive activity".
Master of the Universe, please protect your children in the Holy Land and grant speedy recovery to all the injured! Amen!.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Владимир Высоцкий - Баллада о борьбе
Disregard the deficient Russian cinematography (or laugh at it), but listen to the words: one of my all time favorite, and, in my opionion, one of the most profound poems I have ever heard or read.
SUBWAY TALES
Part 6
One pretty dreary (or maybe pretty nice) weekday morning I boarded my favorite "Q" to go to one of my favorite places: work. The reason I remember the morning as being dreary was my everlasting tiredness, which on that particular morning manifested itself with a vengeance. Basically, I wanted to catch a decent snooze on my commute.
So, I got half lucky: I found a seat, but it was in between a skinny oriental-looking high school kid and a regular-size guy, who, in the best tradition of his sex, occupied much more than his allotted spot. Anyway, the snooze was also pretty elusive, but I managed to at least tone out most of my fellow passengers. Till DeKalb Avenue, that is.
On that particular stop, the school kid got off, and the seat became available. Mind you, that seat was right next to the doors, which were both blocked by two hefty ladies who looked like they might be Obama supporters. Around five meters diagonally from that seat stood another healthy looking lady of undetermined origins. As soon as that coveted seat became vacant, she run those five meters in her fashionable high heeled shoes, plopped herself down, took out her cosmetic bag, and, in the best tradition of New York subway riders, proceeded with the full make up application.
The projected Obama supporter who stood closer to that now occupied seat finally realized the folly of just looking proud and dignified. She directed a disdainful glance at my present neighbour and proclaimed very loudly:"look at her: running to that seat and busy with her make up! I have no respect for people like this!"
One pretty dreary (or maybe pretty nice) weekday morning I boarded my favorite "Q" to go to one of my favorite places: work. The reason I remember the morning as being dreary was my everlasting tiredness, which on that particular morning manifested itself with a vengeance. Basically, I wanted to catch a decent snooze on my commute.
So, I got half lucky: I found a seat, but it was in between a skinny oriental-looking high school kid and a regular-size guy, who, in the best tradition of his sex, occupied much more than his allotted spot. Anyway, the snooze was also pretty elusive, but I managed to at least tone out most of my fellow passengers. Till DeKalb Avenue, that is.
On that particular stop, the school kid got off, and the seat became available. Mind you, that seat was right next to the doors, which were both blocked by two hefty ladies who looked like they might be Obama supporters. Around five meters diagonally from that seat stood another healthy looking lady of undetermined origins. As soon as that coveted seat became vacant, she run those five meters in her fashionable high heeled shoes, plopped herself down, took out her cosmetic bag, and, in the best tradition of New York subway riders, proceeded with the full make up application.
The projected Obama supporter who stood closer to that now occupied seat finally realized the folly of just looking proud and dignified. She directed a disdainful glance at my present neighbour and proclaimed very loudly:"look at her: running to that seat and busy with her make up! I have no respect for people like this!"
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
ANOTHER BUNCH OF SHORT TAKES
I love the way computers point out your mistakes! Recently, I was trying to book a flight for my boss to our main office, which is in Columbus. So, at first I tried JFK (which he prefers), then La Guardia. Apparently, at some point I was typing too fast, because the poor, confused Expedia screen warned me that there were no flights between JFK and LGA!
Another one of my pet peeves is the way people mangle language. Apparently, cell phones are now a days called "blackberry". Not only this, but the last time somebody asked me for "blackberry number", he was also, in following with another great tradition, trying to simulate the twiddling of nubs on blackberry, to emphasise his point. Every time I see this, I always remember a great quote: "Do I point at my crotch when I ask for the bathroom?"
My dyslexia, thought slight, is a constant source of exasperation and amusement for me. For example, I love Chinese thick rice noodles, as apposed to thin ones; but for the life of me, I could never remember which ones are "mai fun" and which ones are "chow fun". Every time I think I finally got it, I always end up with thin ones. Ah, food is food anyway.
Another language quirk: for a few weeks now, my niece got into habit of not just saying "no", but saying "nope". I do not know about her parents, but for me, the exasperation is always tempered by the adorable picture. I know, I know, eventually it will pass; but for now, I am enjoying the moment.
An entertaining Manhattan moment: a bike messenger who carries his packages in a huge shopping bag with "Elle McPherson Lingerie" logo.
Guys can never get sick or suffer quietly. The truth of that statement was once again visited on me recently, when one of my co-worker got a kidney stone. Not only was I treated to the whole story of when and how, but, at one point in the saga, he treated me to the fact that, apparently, he did not yet pass the stone, and now he is supposed to go to the john with some kind of sieve to check. Believe me, that was way more when I needed to know, especially considering the fact that, due to quirky design of our office, everyone passes my desk on the way to the bathrooms.
I love the way people always jump on the current fashionable bandwagon. Case in point: Mendy's provides pretty expensive looking napkins, and they are take for yourself kind in the take out session. Recently, a sign went up next to those napkins: "Please be green: one napkin per customer". That's a bit rich from Mendy's, considering that they do not recycle their cans and bottles.
I love the way people are trying to advertise their stuff on e-bay. Sometimes, it borders on the absurd. Recently, somebody was trying to sell a Cinderella-themed watch, claiming it's unisex. I can only imagine any poor boy whose parents or guardians decide that it's OK for him to wear this watch, and the years of therapy he will require as a result!
A terrible confession to my sister: every time I shop for a card, or just find myself in the vicinity of cards, I always eye the ones that congratulate with impending baby, or congratulate with arrived baby.
Speaking of babies: congratulations to my niece! Somewhere between Purim and Pesach she got the first ever dress dry cleaned!
Another Manhattan moment: a young girl (probably tourist) got a potato knish at Mendy's and ended up photographing it with a very expansive-looking Nikon. She took about ten shots from all different angles before consuming it.
The best compliment I have ever got: "For a religious fanatic, you are pretty normal".
Another one of my pet peeves is the way people mangle language. Apparently, cell phones are now a days called "blackberry". Not only this, but the last time somebody asked me for "blackberry number", he was also, in following with another great tradition, trying to simulate the twiddling of nubs on blackberry, to emphasise his point. Every time I see this, I always remember a great quote: "Do I point at my crotch when I ask for the bathroom?"
My dyslexia, thought slight, is a constant source of exasperation and amusement for me. For example, I love Chinese thick rice noodles, as apposed to thin ones; but for the life of me, I could never remember which ones are "mai fun" and which ones are "chow fun". Every time I think I finally got it, I always end up with thin ones. Ah, food is food anyway.
Another language quirk: for a few weeks now, my niece got into habit of not just saying "no", but saying "nope". I do not know about her parents, but for me, the exasperation is always tempered by the adorable picture. I know, I know, eventually it will pass; but for now, I am enjoying the moment.
An entertaining Manhattan moment: a bike messenger who carries his packages in a huge shopping bag with "Elle McPherson Lingerie" logo.
Guys can never get sick or suffer quietly. The truth of that statement was once again visited on me recently, when one of my co-worker got a kidney stone. Not only was I treated to the whole story of when and how, but, at one point in the saga, he treated me to the fact that, apparently, he did not yet pass the stone, and now he is supposed to go to the john with some kind of sieve to check. Believe me, that was way more when I needed to know, especially considering the fact that, due to quirky design of our office, everyone passes my desk on the way to the bathrooms.
I love the way people always jump on the current fashionable bandwagon. Case in point: Mendy's provides pretty expensive looking napkins, and they are take for yourself kind in the take out session. Recently, a sign went up next to those napkins: "Please be green: one napkin per customer". That's a bit rich from Mendy's, considering that they do not recycle their cans and bottles.
I love the way people are trying to advertise their stuff on e-bay. Sometimes, it borders on the absurd. Recently, somebody was trying to sell a Cinderella-themed watch, claiming it's unisex. I can only imagine any poor boy whose parents or guardians decide that it's OK for him to wear this watch, and the years of therapy he will require as a result!
A terrible confession to my sister: every time I shop for a card, or just find myself in the vicinity of cards, I always eye the ones that congratulate with impending baby, or congratulate with arrived baby.
Speaking of babies: congratulations to my niece! Somewhere between Purim and Pesach she got the first ever dress dry cleaned!
Another Manhattan moment: a young girl (probably tourist) got a potato knish at Mendy's and ended up photographing it with a very expansive-looking Nikon. She took about ten shots from all different angles before consuming it.
The best compliment I have ever got: "For a religious fanatic, you are pretty normal".
CONGRATS!
A very belated, but most sincere, congratulations to my friend Moish, who's blog finally got the official adult rating. Now, before entering, you have to affirm that you are eighteen and above.
Gongrats, Man! I know the road was long and thorny, but you got there!
Gongrats, Man! I know the road was long and thorny, but you got there!
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
SUBWAY TALES
Part 5
As mentioned many times before, I, like any New Yorker worth her salt, spent a decent portion of my day riding a subway; and, while riding, try to accomplish as much as I possibly can. To my slight shame, my morning commute is the time for my daily prayers (another staple amongst New Yorkers).
So, one fine morning, I boarded the "Q", found a seat, and proceeded to do just that. Diagonally from me, another Jewish woman was similarly occupied; and at a ninety degree angle to my seat, there were two Russian speaking women, who were occupied with something totally different. They were just discussing their lives. The only reason I couldn't tune out their conversation was that they were pretty vocal; so, willy nilly, in between trying very hard to concentrate on my conversation with G-d, I was subjected to listening to theirs.
To tell you the truth, most of their recitations were pretty sad. The granddaughter of the first one was apparently assaulted by her date, and these two spent about half an hour discussing the consequences: how she refused to talk to him, how sorry he was, and how handsome, and that he comes from a good family, blah, blah. Then they were discussing somebody's Birthday party, and how important it was to find a great present, so they got a Fendi (insert Ukrainian pronunciation here) bag that was very nicely wrapped by the helpful staff at Bloomingdale's. Then the second woman was bemoaning the fact that MTA Employees (her husband amongst them) got such bad rap after the recent strike, and how the media did not properly describe their benefits, which are not so abundant, blah, blah. Then they went on to discuss their circle of mutual friends, and who amongst those people was sleeping with who's wife or husband; after that followed the discussion of a specific hound dog amongst that nice group of people, and the first one recalled a recent episode when he came to her apartment one fine evening all fired up, so she immediately had to call in a neighbour as a reinforcement, so he eventually went home.
In the midst of all those reminiscences, all of a sudden, a silent finger with a smirk went into my direction. "Yes, I know", said the second one, "this moron and that one (the other finger went towards the second Jewish woman); why do these idiots need all this?" ( meaning praying, probably, and all that's attached to it). Then one of them probably realized that such blatant finger pointing might be too much, even if they speak in foreign tongues, nudged the other one in the ribs, and shushed her. The silent conversation went on for a few more minutes, than they continued on with something else.
No, I did not tell them off; I was in the middle of Shmona Esre, the moment was lost, my usual persistence to be polite prevailed, they were close to my Mom's age. Whatever it was, is not important anymore. What's important is the irony and the hilarity of this whole episode (and if you do not see it, I can't help you).
As mentioned many times before, I, like any New Yorker worth her salt, spent a decent portion of my day riding a subway; and, while riding, try to accomplish as much as I possibly can. To my slight shame, my morning commute is the time for my daily prayers (another staple amongst New Yorkers).
So, one fine morning, I boarded the "Q", found a seat, and proceeded to do just that. Diagonally from me, another Jewish woman was similarly occupied; and at a ninety degree angle to my seat, there were two Russian speaking women, who were occupied with something totally different. They were just discussing their lives. The only reason I couldn't tune out their conversation was that they were pretty vocal; so, willy nilly, in between trying very hard to concentrate on my conversation with G-d, I was subjected to listening to theirs.
To tell you the truth, most of their recitations were pretty sad. The granddaughter of the first one was apparently assaulted by her date, and these two spent about half an hour discussing the consequences: how she refused to talk to him, how sorry he was, and how handsome, and that he comes from a good family, blah, blah. Then they were discussing somebody's Birthday party, and how important it was to find a great present, so they got a Fendi (insert Ukrainian pronunciation here) bag that was very nicely wrapped by the helpful staff at Bloomingdale's. Then the second woman was bemoaning the fact that MTA Employees (her husband amongst them) got such bad rap after the recent strike, and how the media did not properly describe their benefits, which are not so abundant, blah, blah. Then they went on to discuss their circle of mutual friends, and who amongst those people was sleeping with who's wife or husband; after that followed the discussion of a specific hound dog amongst that nice group of people, and the first one recalled a recent episode when he came to her apartment one fine evening all fired up, so she immediately had to call in a neighbour as a reinforcement, so he eventually went home.
In the midst of all those reminiscences, all of a sudden, a silent finger with a smirk went into my direction. "Yes, I know", said the second one, "this moron and that one (the other finger went towards the second Jewish woman); why do these idiots need all this?" ( meaning praying, probably, and all that's attached to it). Then one of them probably realized that such blatant finger pointing might be too much, even if they speak in foreign tongues, nudged the other one in the ribs, and shushed her. The silent conversation went on for a few more minutes, than they continued on with something else.
No, I did not tell them off; I was in the middle of Shmona Esre, the moment was lost, my usual persistence to be polite prevailed, they were close to my Mom's age. Whatever it was, is not important anymore. What's important is the irony and the hilarity of this whole episode (and if you do not see it, I can't help you).
A MOMENT OF UNHOLY GLEE
Last week, about half an hour before I left work, I have decided to open the Net for the last minute check up of my e-mails and library account. That was when I experienced the moment of unholy glee when I saw one of the new headlines staring me boldly in the face: "Biofuel is a crime against humanity!" (according to some UN experts and studies).
Oh, really? Now you have realized it? Of course, by themselves both the UN and the entire environmental movement are crimes agings humanity, so, obviously, anything they cook up will follow suit. Unfortunately, united or separated, they will not simply kiss or kill each other, depending on the mood; everyone else is caught in the flying feathers. None the less, savor the moment I definitely did.
Oh, really? Now you have realized it? Of course, by themselves both the UN and the entire environmental movement are crimes agings humanity, so, obviously, anything they cook up will follow suit. Unfortunately, united or separated, they will not simply kiss or kill each other, depending on the mood; everyone else is caught in the flying feathers. None the less, savor the moment I definitely did.
Monday, May 05, 2008
INTERESTING TOURIST ATTRACTION
Few weeks ago I have stopped in one of the local hotels to peruse the latest crop of tourist brochures (yes, I actually do that). Anyway, one of the little brochures not only attracted my attention, but produced tons of laughter. Apparently, now visitors to our fair city can treat themselves to "daily walking tours (Sunday through Friday): your window to authentic Chassidic life (Kosher NY Deli lunch included)".
According to the brochure, "Now everyone can experience 3,300 years of history, heritage and tradition in only 3 hours!" Tour begins "only 35 minutes from Times Square" via #3 train to Kingston Avenue. You get a "friendly, Chassidic Jewish" guide, "learn about Kabbalah and Moshiach", can "see a handmade-matzah bakery (Dec.- Apr.)", and even get the "discounted shopping at finer Crown Heights merchants and eateries with tour participation". According to some kind of Professor from India, that tour was "The highlight of our U.S. experience."
All I can say is: hurray for Jewish ingenuity!
According to the brochure, "Now everyone can experience 3,300 years of history, heritage and tradition in only 3 hours!" Tour begins "only 35 minutes from Times Square" via #3 train to Kingston Avenue. You get a "friendly, Chassidic Jewish" guide, "learn about Kabbalah and Moshiach", can "see a handmade-matzah bakery (Dec.- Apr.)", and even get the "discounted shopping at finer Crown Heights merchants and eateries with tour participation". According to some kind of Professor from India, that tour was "The highlight of our U.S. experience."
All I can say is: hurray for Jewish ingenuity!
HOMELAND SECURITY IS ACTUALLY WORKING!!!!
A couple of weeks ago, something possessed me to take a bus to train instead of walking. Usually, unless the bus comes right away or it's raining buckets, I always end up kicking myself for this exercise, because I invariably end up spending more time in getting to the subway, plus, half the time the bus is usually pretty full. This time would have ended with the usual feeling of self-recrimination, if not for the following amusing story.
The bus was taking its sweet time arriving; by the time it finally graced us with its presence, it was stuffed to the rafters; thankfully, it was not alone. So, I boarded the second bus, which was not so stuffed, and mentally continued to reiterate all the reasons why taking the bus was folly on my part. Somewhere between Park and Madison I was rudely interrupted because the bus braked rather suddenly. The culprit for this violent break job was the armored NYPD vehicle. In the almost seven years after the terrorist attacks New Yorkers have gotten used to the constant presence of the police and the armored police vehicles and their inexplicable behavior, so, all of us, including the driver, just cursed and moved on. Next thing we know, somebody was banging very loudly on the side of the moving bus.
So, the driver stopped and opened the door. Imagine my surprise when I realized that the shmuck who was dying to get on the bus was a policeman in a bulletproof west. "Great", was my first thought, "now I will get home at around nine in the evening". The officer politely wished all of us good evening, and then asked if anyone on the bus had a medical procedure recently. What??? Well, to everyone's everlasting surprise, a yeshivish looking little dude in the back just raised his hand with the official looking paper in it. The policeman checked out the paper, wished the dude the best of health, and then, probably realizing that citizens demanded explanations, explained to all of us the the guy had a procedure done that left some radioactive particles in his body, which a cute-looking little gadget in his hand picked up.
Hurray!!!!! Homeland Security is actually working!!! Next step: racial profiling at our airports (I can dream, can't I?)
The bus was taking its sweet time arriving; by the time it finally graced us with its presence, it was stuffed to the rafters; thankfully, it was not alone. So, I boarded the second bus, which was not so stuffed, and mentally continued to reiterate all the reasons why taking the bus was folly on my part. Somewhere between Park and Madison I was rudely interrupted because the bus braked rather suddenly. The culprit for this violent break job was the armored NYPD vehicle. In the almost seven years after the terrorist attacks New Yorkers have gotten used to the constant presence of the police and the armored police vehicles and their inexplicable behavior, so, all of us, including the driver, just cursed and moved on. Next thing we know, somebody was banging very loudly on the side of the moving bus.
So, the driver stopped and opened the door. Imagine my surprise when I realized that the shmuck who was dying to get on the bus was a policeman in a bulletproof west. "Great", was my first thought, "now I will get home at around nine in the evening". The officer politely wished all of us good evening, and then asked if anyone on the bus had a medical procedure recently. What??? Well, to everyone's everlasting surprise, a yeshivish looking little dude in the back just raised his hand with the official looking paper in it. The policeman checked out the paper, wished the dude the best of health, and then, probably realizing that citizens demanded explanations, explained to all of us the the guy had a procedure done that left some radioactive particles in his body, which a cute-looking little gadget in his hand picked up.
Hurray!!!!! Homeland Security is actually working!!! Next step: racial profiling at our airports (I can dream, can't I?)
Thursday, April 24, 2008
HAPPY PASSOVER!
Happy Passover to all the Jews! Enjoy the Matza!
Nice Holiday Highlights for me: was forced to actually clean my apartment; insisted on my usual (after my seminary days) eight glasses of dry, red wine; as a result, got drunk and tried to refill my hostesses glass without uncorking the bottle; very much enjoyed listening to my kooky friend singing Shvach Hamasho on his balcony to the tune of "Silent Night"; got a very serious and solemn compliment on my new springy skirt from a six-year old; looked at the pictures of my niece and nephew every other hour (since the models very enjoying themselves in Maryland); got stuffed with delicious food (repeatedly); listened to my co-worker's stupid comments (repeatedly), trying to explain to them that no, we do not fast the whole day and eat at night, since we are not muslims and Ramadan is finished for this year.
On the slightly more serious note: in case I did not mention it before, I have gone to seminary to actually learn (that's is probably why I enjoyed it so much), so, I still remember some stuff, even though it has been seventeen years. One of the things I always remember very clearly is one of the connections between Passover, Shavuot and Succot: first we were selected for a mission, then we were given the tools to accomplish it, and finally, we report on the accomplishment. Actually, a profound way to look at the Passover: re-experiencing, once again, not only the freedom from slavery, but remembering all the reasons we were freed.
NEXT YEAR IN JERUSALEM!
PS I realize that , due to unforeseen (or foreseen) circumstances, by the time this piece goes "to print", Passover will be over; the sentiment, however, remains.
Nice Holiday Highlights for me: was forced to actually clean my apartment; insisted on my usual (after my seminary days) eight glasses of dry, red wine; as a result, got drunk and tried to refill my hostesses glass without uncorking the bottle; very much enjoyed listening to my kooky friend singing Shvach Hamasho on his balcony to the tune of "Silent Night"; got a very serious and solemn compliment on my new springy skirt from a six-year old; looked at the pictures of my niece and nephew every other hour (since the models very enjoying themselves in Maryland); got stuffed with delicious food (repeatedly); listened to my co-worker's stupid comments (repeatedly), trying to explain to them that no, we do not fast the whole day and eat at night, since we are not muslims and Ramadan is finished for this year.
On the slightly more serious note: in case I did not mention it before, I have gone to seminary to actually learn (that's is probably why I enjoyed it so much), so, I still remember some stuff, even though it has been seventeen years. One of the things I always remember very clearly is one of the connections between Passover, Shavuot and Succot: first we were selected for a mission, then we were given the tools to accomplish it, and finally, we report on the accomplishment. Actually, a profound way to look at the Passover: re-experiencing, once again, not only the freedom from slavery, but remembering all the reasons we were freed.
NEXT YEAR IN JERUSALEM!
PS I realize that , due to unforeseen (or foreseen) circumstances, by the time this piece goes "to print", Passover will be over; the sentiment, however, remains.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
HAPPY EARTH DAY!
This morning, even after I have opened my Net and saw the disgusting green discoloration of the MSN page, it took me a little while to figure out that today is Earth's day. Now, since I have caught on, I can not pass this opportunity to offer my most profound and sincerest thanks to all the "green" people for the following:
The California wildfires, which are the direct result of tree huggers' activity.
The New Orleans levies, the repair of which the above mentioned tree huggers prevented, since it would have disrupted the local wildlife.
People suffering from malaria because DDT is outlawed.
The skyrocketing food prices, which resulted from the vigorous and unnecessary production of bio fuel.
Our continued dependence on OPEC, since we are prevented from using our own natural resources.
Putting the lives and well-being of human beings on the same, if not lower, level with animals.
Last, and most important, making me hate one of my favorite colors, which in my mind now and forever more is equated with your fascist's dictates.
For this, and many, many more wonderful deeds, thank you, environmentalists! Happy Earth Day!
The California wildfires, which are the direct result of tree huggers' activity.
The New Orleans levies, the repair of which the above mentioned tree huggers prevented, since it would have disrupted the local wildlife.
People suffering from malaria because DDT is outlawed.
The skyrocketing food prices, which resulted from the vigorous and unnecessary production of bio fuel.
Our continued dependence on OPEC, since we are prevented from using our own natural resources.
Putting the lives and well-being of human beings on the same, if not lower, level with animals.
Last, and most important, making me hate one of my favorite colors, which in my mind now and forever more is equated with your fascist's dictates.
For this, and many, many more wonderful deeds, thank you, environmentalists! Happy Earth Day!
Friday, April 11, 2008
GREAT AD
Here is the job ad I have found on Monster. I am posting it verbatim, so you could really enjoy.
Jr Fit Model/Admin Asst
Leading NYC ladies knit & swtr importer seeks full time female fit model to also act as administrative assistant to head juniors designer. Candidates must have the following measurements:
Bust 35"
Waist 27"
Low Hip 37"
Bra Size 34B
Height 5'7"
Jr Fit Model/Admin Asst
Leading NYC ladies knit & swtr importer seeks full time female fit model to also act as administrative assistant to head juniors designer. Candidates must have the following measurements:
Bust 35"
Waist 27"
Low Hip 37"
Bra Size 34B
Height 5'7"
A LITTLE EXPLANATION
To my loyal readers (all four of you): it is a well-known fact that I am not exactly the most computer savvy person there is. Youtube sensed it almost immediately, and, for whatever reason, it takes about 48 hours for the Youtube files to appear on my blog. Meanwhile, I usually start another entry, which I do not necessarily finish right away, so, when it finally appears, it may appear under the Youtube file. Basically, if you feel like reading my ravings, feel free to periodically check the under the music.
Thanks for reading!
Barb
Thanks for reading!
Barb
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
YET ANOTHER LATE RESPONSE
On the Rules of Engagement
A little while ago, when I remembered the strange reconnection I had with one of my former friends, Subwife asked how come it's all right, in my opinion, when conservatives call liberals stupid, but not all right when the situation is reversed; doesn't that smack of double standard? Posed like this, it is a very interesting topic for discussion, so, here goes.
First of all, let us identify the players. On one hand, we have the group that calls themselves liberals, and so, by default, everyone else started calling them liberals also. That definition, of course, could not be further from the truth, because that particular group represents the most malevolent and freedom-suppressing force ever to arise on American political scene. Overwhelming amount of these people possesses a very interesting set of morals and a firm believe that all the personal liberties enumerated in American Constitution apply to them exclusively; and, as the irony of fate would have it, since the majority of media is controlled by them, our conscious and subconscious minds are constantly being bombarded with direct and subliminal messages to the tune that only that peculiar set of morals is "true morals" and these people are true defenders of our Constitutional rights and freedoms.
On the other hand we have an opposing bunch, whose members are, again by default, identified as conservatives; and, again, that is not precisely so. As I mentioned before, they are pretty diverse crew by themselves, coming from all kinds of political thought and political school; the only thing that unites them is the opposition to the so called liberals, but that does not necessarily make them conservatives, and a lot of them are not: just look at Tammy Bruce. So, what we have in a nutshell are basically people on the left and all the rest, who are usually on the right and sometimes in the center. Out of consideration for my fingers I will simply call them lefties and righties in this here composition.
Now, in the normal, civilized course of political argument nobody, obviously, calls their opponents names and nobody raises his or her voice. You present your opinion, your opposition presents theirs, and hopefully, both of you have substantiating evidence. At a certain point you realize that both of you feel too strongly about the topic discussed and you will not convince each other to switch opinions. So, you politely agree to disagree, smile, and either wish each other good evening or switch the discussion to flighty New York weather, or Yankees, or latest movie, or Agatha Cristie, or ballet, or Paris Hilton (hopefully, you and your opponent have some other interests aside from latest development on the political scene). That scenario, again, works perfectly well if you are dealing with civilized people who, at a certain point in their development, were taught at least a modicum of proper manners. Unfortunately, when you are dealing with lefties, that is usually not the case.
These people, both the leaders and the followers, are firmly convinced that they took over Pope's ability to be infallible, and that they, and they alone, possess all the right answers and all the secrets of the universe. Freedom of speech belongs exclusively to them; all the members of the opposition are reactionaries, members of the right-wing conspiracy, racists, etc, and, as such, are not entitled to express their opinion in any shape or form. Moreover, your belonging to the opposition (again, in any shape or form) automatically makes you stupid, or, at the very least, uneducated and uninformed. Here are some snippets from my personal experience.
Holiday lunch at a friend's house. Usual (for her) motley assembly. Conversation zigzags around strange topics, and yours truly pipes something in defense of McCarthy, followed by immediate and predictable outrage from another guest. "You really should read up on the topic" goes her superior advice down her nose. "I just did it few months ago". "Really?" with disbelieve.
Election day. I am chatting with one of my friendlier co-workers. He is totally confused as for whom to vote and asking my advice. I confess that I vote down the party line exclusively for Republicans, so, I am not necessarily an unbiased adviser. Another woman from a different department is passing by. "You vote for Republicans? How dare you! You would not be allowed into my house!"
Another friendly co-worker sets me up with a blind date. The guy has a promising political career working as an underflunkie to some kind of councilman (Democrat, of course). As irony would have, that was around February of another Presidential election year, and, of course, he wanted to find out what candidate appealed to me. The moment I mentioned my party affiliation, he became extremely condescending and downright nasty, mocking every single opinion I had on any subject and leaching on to every single little scrap of information that I did not know and he did. Let's just say it was a most memorable date.
So, basically, lefties usually view righties as stupid by default; righties usually call lefties stupid (and some other choice names) after thorough study, interesting evidence and long experience (like happened in my case). Unfortunately, the battle lines are much deeper than that. Saul Alinksy, whom some biographers of our dear Hilary Rodham Clinton call her spiritual mentor, basically taught his followers to use the bourgeois mentality of their opponents and make a complete mockery of it. Here is a charming example I found in one of Barbara Olsen's books: Alinsky instructed his goons to eat beans and then go protest some kind of meeting (do not remember which one, but it was inside a closed room) and basically distract the said meeting with excessive flatulence. How, may I ask you, are you supposed to remain civilized when dealing with such opponents?
Just think about it: in a few decades since the sixties (which is a very short period of time, historically speaking), lefties have taken over tremendous chunks of American life, education being the most crucial of them. Freedom of speech belongs exclusively to them; political correctness is chocking everyone else. From the leftie's point of view, there is no respect for the enemy: he has to be yelled at, yelled down, deprived of his ability to express the said opinion, and hopefully deprived of his livelihood. Meanwhile, we are supposed to remain civilised and bleat at all and sundry that these people do not adhere to the rules of civilized behavior and gentleman's fighting code? In my humble opinion, one of the reasons lefties have such virulent hatred towards Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter particularly is because these two engaged them at their own battlefield and emerged triumphant, never mind very popular.
In my long association with lefties there was only one person with whom I could speak about politics and not loose my cool. She was also a former co-worker, by the way. When she felt that the discussion was entering dangerous waters , she would just propose to agree to disagree and jokingly add that that is why we have vanilla ice cream and chocolate ice cream. The taste that was left in my mouth after discussions with all the other lefties I have either known on a personal level or just encountered in strange situations usually did not resemble ice cream, either vanilla or chocolate. The saddest part of all? Time for discussions has past long time ago. We are in the middle of a very serious fight. Our freedom, the future of our children, and the future of this country are at stake, never mind the the decline and almost total non-existence of polite behavior.
A little while ago, when I remembered the strange reconnection I had with one of my former friends, Subwife asked how come it's all right, in my opinion, when conservatives call liberals stupid, but not all right when the situation is reversed; doesn't that smack of double standard? Posed like this, it is a very interesting topic for discussion, so, here goes.
First of all, let us identify the players. On one hand, we have the group that calls themselves liberals, and so, by default, everyone else started calling them liberals also. That definition, of course, could not be further from the truth, because that particular group represents the most malevolent and freedom-suppressing force ever to arise on American political scene. Overwhelming amount of these people possesses a very interesting set of morals and a firm believe that all the personal liberties enumerated in American Constitution apply to them exclusively; and, as the irony of fate would have it, since the majority of media is controlled by them, our conscious and subconscious minds are constantly being bombarded with direct and subliminal messages to the tune that only that peculiar set of morals is "true morals" and these people are true defenders of our Constitutional rights and freedoms.
On the other hand we have an opposing bunch, whose members are, again by default, identified as conservatives; and, again, that is not precisely so. As I mentioned before, they are pretty diverse crew by themselves, coming from all kinds of political thought and political school; the only thing that unites them is the opposition to the so called liberals, but that does not necessarily make them conservatives, and a lot of them are not: just look at Tammy Bruce. So, what we have in a nutshell are basically people on the left and all the rest, who are usually on the right and sometimes in the center. Out of consideration for my fingers I will simply call them lefties and righties in this here composition.
Now, in the normal, civilized course of political argument nobody, obviously, calls their opponents names and nobody raises his or her voice. You present your opinion, your opposition presents theirs, and hopefully, both of you have substantiating evidence. At a certain point you realize that both of you feel too strongly about the topic discussed and you will not convince each other to switch opinions. So, you politely agree to disagree, smile, and either wish each other good evening or switch the discussion to flighty New York weather, or Yankees, or latest movie, or Agatha Cristie, or ballet, or Paris Hilton (hopefully, you and your opponent have some other interests aside from latest development on the political scene). That scenario, again, works perfectly well if you are dealing with civilized people who, at a certain point in their development, were taught at least a modicum of proper manners. Unfortunately, when you are dealing with lefties, that is usually not the case.
These people, both the leaders and the followers, are firmly convinced that they took over Pope's ability to be infallible, and that they, and they alone, possess all the right answers and all the secrets of the universe. Freedom of speech belongs exclusively to them; all the members of the opposition are reactionaries, members of the right-wing conspiracy, racists, etc, and, as such, are not entitled to express their opinion in any shape or form. Moreover, your belonging to the opposition (again, in any shape or form) automatically makes you stupid, or, at the very least, uneducated and uninformed. Here are some snippets from my personal experience.
Holiday lunch at a friend's house. Usual (for her) motley assembly. Conversation zigzags around strange topics, and yours truly pipes something in defense of McCarthy, followed by immediate and predictable outrage from another guest. "You really should read up on the topic" goes her superior advice down her nose. "I just did it few months ago". "Really?" with disbelieve.
Election day. I am chatting with one of my friendlier co-workers. He is totally confused as for whom to vote and asking my advice. I confess that I vote down the party line exclusively for Republicans, so, I am not necessarily an unbiased adviser. Another woman from a different department is passing by. "You vote for Republicans? How dare you! You would not be allowed into my house!"
Another friendly co-worker sets me up with a blind date. The guy has a promising political career working as an underflunkie to some kind of councilman (Democrat, of course). As irony would have, that was around February of another Presidential election year, and, of course, he wanted to find out what candidate appealed to me. The moment I mentioned my party affiliation, he became extremely condescending and downright nasty, mocking every single opinion I had on any subject and leaching on to every single little scrap of information that I did not know and he did. Let's just say it was a most memorable date.
So, basically, lefties usually view righties as stupid by default; righties usually call lefties stupid (and some other choice names) after thorough study, interesting evidence and long experience (like happened in my case). Unfortunately, the battle lines are much deeper than that. Saul Alinksy, whom some biographers of our dear Hilary Rodham Clinton call her spiritual mentor, basically taught his followers to use the bourgeois mentality of their opponents and make a complete mockery of it. Here is a charming example I found in one of Barbara Olsen's books: Alinsky instructed his goons to eat beans and then go protest some kind of meeting (do not remember which one, but it was inside a closed room) and basically distract the said meeting with excessive flatulence. How, may I ask you, are you supposed to remain civilized when dealing with such opponents?
Just think about it: in a few decades since the sixties (which is a very short period of time, historically speaking), lefties have taken over tremendous chunks of American life, education being the most crucial of them. Freedom of speech belongs exclusively to them; political correctness is chocking everyone else. From the leftie's point of view, there is no respect for the enemy: he has to be yelled at, yelled down, deprived of his ability to express the said opinion, and hopefully deprived of his livelihood. Meanwhile, we are supposed to remain civilised and bleat at all and sundry that these people do not adhere to the rules of civilized behavior and gentleman's fighting code? In my humble opinion, one of the reasons lefties have such virulent hatred towards Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter particularly is because these two engaged them at their own battlefield and emerged triumphant, never mind very popular.
In my long association with lefties there was only one person with whom I could speak about politics and not loose my cool. She was also a former co-worker, by the way. When she felt that the discussion was entering dangerous waters , she would just propose to agree to disagree and jokingly add that that is why we have vanilla ice cream and chocolate ice cream. The taste that was left in my mouth after discussions with all the other lefties I have either known on a personal level or just encountered in strange situations usually did not resemble ice cream, either vanilla or chocolate. The saddest part of all? Time for discussions has past long time ago. We are in the middle of a very serious fight. Our freedom, the future of our children, and the future of this country are at stake, never mind the the decline and almost total non-existence of polite behavior.
Monday, March 24, 2008
YOUR TAX DOLLAR AT WORK
Part 1
The firm at which I hold my current employment has a decent amount of contracts with various government controlled agencies, which, in turn, allows me a brief glimpse into the inner workings of these wonderful bastions of mockery on Constitution. So, I decided to start a new line of installments titled "Your Tax Dollar at Work". Here is part one.
I had to get one of our architects a Connecticut registration, and for that you have to contact the Connecticut Department of Consumer Protection (lofty name, ain't it) located in a fair city of Hartford. Now, I am not going to bore you with the details of the entire process: that would take at least a pamphlet. The most noteworthy from that entire process was the following little vignette.
Yours truly and a worthy individual back in Hartford who was charged with an important role of protecting Connecticut consumers exchanged a whole bunch of e-mails and lively phone conversations. The last exchange went as follows: Could you please apprise me as to the status of her application? I still did not receive her___ file (some stuff that was supposed to have been send to him from Washington, DC). Well, I have an e-mail confirmation from FedEx that this file was delivered to your office last Thursday (mind you, this conversation is taking place on Tuesday). Well, it takes time for packages to get to our offices from our mail room.
Now, I have never visited the fair city of Hartford, so, I can not vouch for the exact measurements, but how big is the building housing the Department of Consumer Protection if it takes more than three business days for the package that is marked "urgent" to travel from the mail room of that building to the actual destination?
The firm at which I hold my current employment has a decent amount of contracts with various government controlled agencies, which, in turn, allows me a brief glimpse into the inner workings of these wonderful bastions of mockery on Constitution. So, I decided to start a new line of installments titled "Your Tax Dollar at Work". Here is part one.
I had to get one of our architects a Connecticut registration, and for that you have to contact the Connecticut Department of Consumer Protection (lofty name, ain't it) located in a fair city of Hartford. Now, I am not going to bore you with the details of the entire process: that would take at least a pamphlet. The most noteworthy from that entire process was the following little vignette.
Yours truly and a worthy individual back in Hartford who was charged with an important role of protecting Connecticut consumers exchanged a whole bunch of e-mails and lively phone conversations. The last exchange went as follows: Could you please apprise me as to the status of her application? I still did not receive her___ file (some stuff that was supposed to have been send to him from Washington, DC). Well, I have an e-mail confirmation from FedEx that this file was delivered to your office last Thursday (mind you, this conversation is taking place on Tuesday). Well, it takes time for packages to get to our offices from our mail room.
Now, I have never visited the fair city of Hartford, so, I can not vouch for the exact measurements, but how big is the building housing the Department of Consumer Protection if it takes more than three business days for the package that is marked "urgent" to travel from the mail room of that building to the actual destination?
Thursday, March 20, 2008
A BUNCH OF SHORT TAKES
The spring is in the air for me when I visit one of the many bargain hunter's stores and peruse a fresh crop of flip flops. By the same token, sandals or flip flops in August are sold on clearance because the season is over; it is over for everyone but yours truly that is, for whom August is just a second beginning for sandal season (end usually comes mid October).
A glass or can of Diet Coke is a true staple in Modern American cuisine. I rediscovered it this Spring when my date decided to dare the fare in an Indian restaurant, agonized for almost half an hour about his order, finally ordered, and completed his order with, you guessed it, a can of Diet Coke.
This past February my body performed its usual winter routine and succumbed to some kind of vile bug which necessitated my taking antibiotics and, consequently, being quarantined from my yummy gnomes. I decided to use my "time off" wisely and do the usually unthinkable for me stuff, mainly: beautify myself a bit. As part of that routine I got a hair cut in Manhattan. Even though I lucked out and ended up paying about six dollars more than I would have paid had I gone to my usual half dump next to my house, the excellent service I received felt like I overpaid at least a twenty. The poor hairdresser, though, got the shock of her life when she asked me what products I usually use for my hair. "Shampoo and conditioner" was my reply. Ah, the priceless look on her face and the exclamation "that's all?"
This past Sunday I was able, to use a Yiddish expression, shep nachas. My sister's kids apparently absorbed the profound lessons I have been giving them: for about five minutes they were busy sticking their tongues and blowing raspberries at one another, smiling all the time.
Even the most expensive neighbourhood in our fair city, otherwise known as Upper East Side, is not protected from two things that plague the entire New York City: the constant drilling of the rodes and side walks, and the dog poop.
Apparently, poor Bard scares more people than just the professors at Teachers College. I remember when in my second to last semester at college the head of our English Department went around asking people if anyone would be interested in a class on Victorian literature, one girl looked at her with scared eyes and timidly asked "Would we have to read Shakespeare?"
My slightly elevated body temperature is, like almost everything in life, both a blessing and a curse. The biggies appreciation, though, came two Sundays ago, when my nephew took an unheard of before three hour nap in my warm embrace.
Dentists scare everyone bar none. I rediscovered it a while ago when I was walking home one fine evening and was accosted by a self-proclaimed psychic who wanted to tell me about great love waiting for me in the near future. To that wonderful news I replied that I was just returning from a dentists' office and could not really pay her much attention at the time. This defense worked like a charm, and I was allowed to continue on my way without further forays into my non-existing love live.
The concept of wine with six percent alcohol content exists exclusively on the Kosher market. Poor friends of my brother's have discovered this interesting fact last New Year. He naively recommended to them getting the above mentioned six percent champagne for the festivities. Poor wine store clerks and poor NYU students, both wasting about half an hour in total confusion!
Desperation brings forth talents that you otherwise would have never suspected you had. A couple of months ago my niece was stuck with a poorer substitute for her usual bather (Mama), namely me. Understandably, she protested the injustice of the situation. So, in desperation, I handed her an extra wash cloth and tried to show that it produces bubbles on its own. When that tactic was meet with a lukewarm success, I boldly continued. I took another washcloth and told the poor child that we are going to play a game and sing a song, and then I proceed to sing a song of my own composition that went something like this: "scrub, scrub, scrubity scrub. Scruby little Eh, scrub, scrub. Scrub a left hand, scrub a right hand, scrub, scrub, scrubity scrub, scrub, scrub". The melody was also of my own invention and went along the lines of an exercise for the right hand for the beginning piano students. Anyway, imagine my surprise, when a few weeks after that episode the big gnome was stuck with me at bath time again. She smiled, run to the bathroom, opened the cabinet, found a pack of those disposable wash clothes, took one out, and started rubbing her little hand with it, smiling at me and saying "scwub, scwub".
Found on one of the many, many accessories I got from the Disney store: "Laughter is timeless. Imagination has no age. And dreams are forever."
A glass or can of Diet Coke is a true staple in Modern American cuisine. I rediscovered it this Spring when my date decided to dare the fare in an Indian restaurant, agonized for almost half an hour about his order, finally ordered, and completed his order with, you guessed it, a can of Diet Coke.
This past February my body performed its usual winter routine and succumbed to some kind of vile bug which necessitated my taking antibiotics and, consequently, being quarantined from my yummy gnomes. I decided to use my "time off" wisely and do the usually unthinkable for me stuff, mainly: beautify myself a bit. As part of that routine I got a hair cut in Manhattan. Even though I lucked out and ended up paying about six dollars more than I would have paid had I gone to my usual half dump next to my house, the excellent service I received felt like I overpaid at least a twenty. The poor hairdresser, though, got the shock of her life when she asked me what products I usually use for my hair. "Shampoo and conditioner" was my reply. Ah, the priceless look on her face and the exclamation "that's all?"
This past Sunday I was able, to use a Yiddish expression, shep nachas. My sister's kids apparently absorbed the profound lessons I have been giving them: for about five minutes they were busy sticking their tongues and blowing raspberries at one another, smiling all the time.
Even the most expensive neighbourhood in our fair city, otherwise known as Upper East Side, is not protected from two things that plague the entire New York City: the constant drilling of the rodes and side walks, and the dog poop.
Apparently, poor Bard scares more people than just the professors at Teachers College. I remember when in my second to last semester at college the head of our English Department went around asking people if anyone would be interested in a class on Victorian literature, one girl looked at her with scared eyes and timidly asked "Would we have to read Shakespeare?"
My slightly elevated body temperature is, like almost everything in life, both a blessing and a curse. The biggies appreciation, though, came two Sundays ago, when my nephew took an unheard of before three hour nap in my warm embrace.
Dentists scare everyone bar none. I rediscovered it a while ago when I was walking home one fine evening and was accosted by a self-proclaimed psychic who wanted to tell me about great love waiting for me in the near future. To that wonderful news I replied that I was just returning from a dentists' office and could not really pay her much attention at the time. This defense worked like a charm, and I was allowed to continue on my way without further forays into my non-existing love live.
The concept of wine with six percent alcohol content exists exclusively on the Kosher market. Poor friends of my brother's have discovered this interesting fact last New Year. He naively recommended to them getting the above mentioned six percent champagne for the festivities. Poor wine store clerks and poor NYU students, both wasting about half an hour in total confusion!
Desperation brings forth talents that you otherwise would have never suspected you had. A couple of months ago my niece was stuck with a poorer substitute for her usual bather (Mama), namely me. Understandably, she protested the injustice of the situation. So, in desperation, I handed her an extra wash cloth and tried to show that it produces bubbles on its own. When that tactic was meet with a lukewarm success, I boldly continued. I took another washcloth and told the poor child that we are going to play a game and sing a song, and then I proceed to sing a song of my own composition that went something like this: "scrub, scrub, scrubity scrub. Scruby little Eh, scrub, scrub. Scrub a left hand, scrub a right hand, scrub, scrub, scrubity scrub, scrub, scrub". The melody was also of my own invention and went along the lines of an exercise for the right hand for the beginning piano students. Anyway, imagine my surprise, when a few weeks after that episode the big gnome was stuck with me at bath time again. She smiled, run to the bathroom, opened the cabinet, found a pack of those disposable wash clothes, took one out, and started rubbing her little hand with it, smiling at me and saying "scwub, scwub".
Found on one of the many, many accessories I got from the Disney store: "Laughter is timeless. Imagination has no age. And dreams are forever."
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Sunday, March 09, 2008
MUSING BEFORE PURIM
All who know me personally can vouch for the fact that not only am I a bit of a history buff, but I always get extremely annoyed when people try to tell me that studying history is a bore and a waste of time. I can consent to bore, because most of historians can not convey their knowledge, in either written or spoken form, without putting their audience to sleep in about five minutes flat; but a waste of time it definitely is not. You see, as far as cliches go, history most certainly repeats itself because people never bother to learn at least the rudiments of it, and, as such, always bound to repeat the mistakes of previous generations ad infinitum. Case in point: my people vs. the rest of the world.
Anyone with a modicum of historical knowledge, if, in fact, he or she possessed that knowledge, would most certainly and a long time ago come to a conclusion that is does not pay to tangle with Jews. Even if you consider yourself an atheist or an agnostic, and think that the Old Testament was written by a man and is filled with a bunch of nonsense, somehow "I will curse the ones who curse you, and bless the ones that bless you" always comes true. Blame it on anything you want: Elders of Zion, worldwide Jewish conspiracy, untold riches that every Jew is supposed to posses no matter his station in life; whatever it is, it is impossible to actually figure out, but, non the less, it always comes true. Think of great empires and all kinds of tyrants we have survived and outlived; boggles the mind!
Since, as already proven, people do not learn history and its lessons, in every generation, heck, almost every day, there always comes some brave individual or individuals, usually accompanied by a whole crowd of highly peaceful, moral and educated followers, who thinks the he will finally get rid of of this small bunch of weirdos who manage to always control the world and in the process bake the blood of innocent children in their weird holiday breads and pastries. The noble efforts are usually successful for a while (sometimes a long while), but, inevitably, the noble organizer himself goes to his just desserts, and then his country follows suit. The whole process may take more than one generation, but the circle is always completed. My question is: can't people just wise up and forget the heroics? I mean, as long as these blankety blank blank Jews do not touch you personally, can you forget about saving the world from the danger of Jewish World domination and enjoy life? The answer, of course, is always "no".
For about two generations and counting that noble role was undertaken not so much by a particular individual; more by a particular religion. Of course, they have been very active on this worthy path before; it is just that their efforts redoubled lately, and, for whatever reason, the civilized world is very accepting of these efforts contrary to any kind of applicable logic.
This week we (meaning the blankety blank blank Jews) will celebrate Purim. Whenever somebody asks me explain the meaning of this holiday in one sentence or less, all I can say is: we faced total and complete extermination, and, by the combination of very peculiar circumstances, not only survived, but emerged victorious. It is possibly the happiest holiday in our calendar, full of food, drink, revelry, and excited children in costumes (adults too, actually). Of course, life's circumstances being what they are, not everyone's level of happiness will be the same; but this year all of us know of eight families for whom Purim will come on the hills of emerging from the Shiva for their murdered children.
They were murdered in cold blood by a fanatical killer; most of them were just high school kids. Their murder was loudly celebrated by the members of that fanatical religion, and the most of the rest of the world either ignored it or proclaimed it as just another chain in the circle of violence in the Middle East and bemoaned the fact of that little incident derailing the peace process.
Like the vast majority of humankind, I can not see G-d's plan, nore do I profess the ability to do so. I will never know why it was His plan to allow the killer into the place of holy learning, why these kids were killed, and why it happened as the month of Adar, the month of Purim celebration, was approaching. These boys and their classmates were preparing to do just that: welcome the new month and celebrate Purim; instead they ended up lying in the pool of blood amongst the debris of the destroyed holy books. The murderers cheered on , and the so-called defenders of human rights did not even bother to honestly report "the incident".
Again, even if you consider the Book of Esther just a product of human imagination, do yourselves a favor and read it; after all, once upon a time it was a mark of an educated person to be familiar with the Old Testament. Then, try to familiarize your minds with at least bare bones of the history of Spain. With me still? Good. Now, explain to me, pretty please, the logic and moral justification of calling a religion "religion of peace" when the so called radical members of this religion dance on the streets at the prospect of Jewish parents burying their murdered children, and non-radical members just stay mum (at the very least). Not too tired yet? Wonderful, just a tiny bit more. Sit down, make yourselves comfortable, and try, at least try to comprehend this: we will never quietly disappear into the night, never! Muslims can murder our children in the places of holy learning or shoot them (along with their pregnant mothers) execution style on the lonely rodes, and you can condone all of it as part of their fight for freedom and self-determination; it does not matter. We will grieve, because when you strike one of us, you strike us all. Then we will dry our tears and go on living, while you can contemplate the moral ramifications of condoning genocide or just standing by and letting it happen.
May G-d comfort our bereaved, especially the parents of those poor boys, and may He protect our children! This Friday we, once again, will celebrate His miracles and our survival. We will remember the story, help the poor, eat, drink, and enjoy life. L'Chaim!
Anyone with a modicum of historical knowledge, if, in fact, he or she possessed that knowledge, would most certainly and a long time ago come to a conclusion that is does not pay to tangle with Jews. Even if you consider yourself an atheist or an agnostic, and think that the Old Testament was written by a man and is filled with a bunch of nonsense, somehow "I will curse the ones who curse you, and bless the ones that bless you" always comes true. Blame it on anything you want: Elders of Zion, worldwide Jewish conspiracy, untold riches that every Jew is supposed to posses no matter his station in life; whatever it is, it is impossible to actually figure out, but, non the less, it always comes true. Think of great empires and all kinds of tyrants we have survived and outlived; boggles the mind!
Since, as already proven, people do not learn history and its lessons, in every generation, heck, almost every day, there always comes some brave individual or individuals, usually accompanied by a whole crowd of highly peaceful, moral and educated followers, who thinks the he will finally get rid of of this small bunch of weirdos who manage to always control the world and in the process bake the blood of innocent children in their weird holiday breads and pastries. The noble efforts are usually successful for a while (sometimes a long while), but, inevitably, the noble organizer himself goes to his just desserts, and then his country follows suit. The whole process may take more than one generation, but the circle is always completed. My question is: can't people just wise up and forget the heroics? I mean, as long as these blankety blank blank Jews do not touch you personally, can you forget about saving the world from the danger of Jewish World domination and enjoy life? The answer, of course, is always "no".
For about two generations and counting that noble role was undertaken not so much by a particular individual; more by a particular religion. Of course, they have been very active on this worthy path before; it is just that their efforts redoubled lately, and, for whatever reason, the civilized world is very accepting of these efforts contrary to any kind of applicable logic.
This week we (meaning the blankety blank blank Jews) will celebrate Purim. Whenever somebody asks me explain the meaning of this holiday in one sentence or less, all I can say is: we faced total and complete extermination, and, by the combination of very peculiar circumstances, not only survived, but emerged victorious. It is possibly the happiest holiday in our calendar, full of food, drink, revelry, and excited children in costumes (adults too, actually). Of course, life's circumstances being what they are, not everyone's level of happiness will be the same; but this year all of us know of eight families for whom Purim will come on the hills of emerging from the Shiva for their murdered children.
They were murdered in cold blood by a fanatical killer; most of them were just high school kids. Their murder was loudly celebrated by the members of that fanatical religion, and the most of the rest of the world either ignored it or proclaimed it as just another chain in the circle of violence in the Middle East and bemoaned the fact of that little incident derailing the peace process.
Like the vast majority of humankind, I can not see G-d's plan, nore do I profess the ability to do so. I will never know why it was His plan to allow the killer into the place of holy learning, why these kids were killed, and why it happened as the month of Adar, the month of Purim celebration, was approaching. These boys and their classmates were preparing to do just that: welcome the new month and celebrate Purim; instead they ended up lying in the pool of blood amongst the debris of the destroyed holy books. The murderers cheered on , and the so-called defenders of human rights did not even bother to honestly report "the incident".
Again, even if you consider the Book of Esther just a product of human imagination, do yourselves a favor and read it; after all, once upon a time it was a mark of an educated person to be familiar with the Old Testament. Then, try to familiarize your minds with at least bare bones of the history of Spain. With me still? Good. Now, explain to me, pretty please, the logic and moral justification of calling a religion "religion of peace" when the so called radical members of this religion dance on the streets at the prospect of Jewish parents burying their murdered children, and non-radical members just stay mum (at the very least). Not too tired yet? Wonderful, just a tiny bit more. Sit down, make yourselves comfortable, and try, at least try to comprehend this: we will never quietly disappear into the night, never! Muslims can murder our children in the places of holy learning or shoot them (along with their pregnant mothers) execution style on the lonely rodes, and you can condone all of it as part of their fight for freedom and self-determination; it does not matter. We will grieve, because when you strike one of us, you strike us all. Then we will dry our tears and go on living, while you can contemplate the moral ramifications of condoning genocide or just standing by and letting it happen.
May G-d comfort our bereaved, especially the parents of those poor boys, and may He protect our children! This Friday we, once again, will celebrate His miracles and our survival. We will remember the story, help the poor, eat, drink, and enjoy life. L'Chaim!
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
DUAL PURPOSE
As much as I love living in New York, there are definitely certain downsides to it. One of the most annoying to me is the overabundance of the lefties with all their anti-American tripe all over their attire and accessories. I plan to combat that as much as I can; unfortunately, it is a very slow process.
Anyway, to make the long story short, I recently got a few magnets with "I heart America". Since I do not drive a car, I am trying to figure out the best way to display it overwise; meanwhile, it seats on my fridge. My dad was overjoyed at this offering, and immediately affixed it to his vehicle.
Last Sunday, as we were coming together from a grocery store, I just commented that the magnet looks bigger than I imagined, even on his SUV. "Yes, replied my Dad, I absolutely love it! Plus, now it is much easier for me to look for my car."
Anyway, to make the long story short, I recently got a few magnets with "I heart America". Since I do not drive a car, I am trying to figure out the best way to display it overwise; meanwhile, it seats on my fridge. My dad was overjoyed at this offering, and immediately affixed it to his vehicle.
Last Sunday, as we were coming together from a grocery store, I just commented that the magnet looks bigger than I imagined, even on his SUV. "Yes, replied my Dad, I absolutely love it! Plus, now it is much easier for me to look for my car."
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