RELIGION 101

After getting hooked on Youtube, I have decided that both misery and bliss love company, and hooked my favorite gnomes on it too. The funniest part is that some of my favorite pieces became theirs as well.

Mini Me loves Hava Nagilah in all kinds of different interpretations. So, one fine day we were watching one of those; this one contained a collage of different pictures from the Holy Land. Being of the firm believe that the more information you impart on the younger generation, the more they learn and grow, I was giving explanations to the flushing snap shots. Few of them contained Western Wall, and I briefly touched on the destruction of the Temple. "But why did they destroy it, Papi?" Trying again to explain that the destroyers were "bad" people, who hated G-d and us as his representatives (not in so many flowery words). "But why?" Tried again, after which Golden Delicious just finished watching the clip with very serious eyes and an intense expression on her sweet little face.

Apparently, they were having some cursory discussions about the destruction in her play group as well. Now, whenever we are watching this clip, she keeps re-iterating that "Bais Hamikdash is beautiful, was beautiful", that "bad people destroyed it", and that "Mashiach will help us, Hashem will help us, Hashem will send Mashiach to help us build it again!"

Another discussion, unrelated to Youtube, happened one fine evening in the kitchen of my sister's house, where Mini Me was consuming her crackers with cream cheese in her clever attempts to evade her bed as long as possible. While she was thusly occupied, we were also carrying a very intelligent conversation about our mutual everyday concerns. During this conversation, we discussed (among many other things) our booboos. She was extremely concerned about my big ones on my legs (eczema) and urged me to go to the doctor and get cream for it. Eventually, her Mommy finished the basement chores, and yummy gnome agreed to go "upstairs" with Mommy. On the way there, she expressed her concerns about Papi's booboo, the necessity of going to the doctor and getting the cream, and finally pronounced, with unshakable conviction, that Hashem will make Papi better.

I get very emotional every time I recall those episodes. Her innocent faith touches me more than I can express. And I remember our Mom, whispering to us repeatedly not to tell anyone that we are Jews, her trying to host a Pesach Seder, and getting upset when we boiled franks in a little bowl she designated for milk.

Hear this, murdering Communist atheistic butchers? You did not succeed with my family!!!

Thank You, Heavenly Father, for allowing us to escape. Escape that horrible suffocating jail where we grew up, so that now we can freely teach Sh'ma to our little ones.

WORK FUNNIES

Part 3: Identity Crisis

As I mentioned previously, even though our office is in New York, we are actually a regional, and not the main office; for which big favor from Above I thanked Heavens many, many times. Because being regional office means you are insulated, not completely, bus sufficiently enough not to deal with different degrees of idiocy that usually emanate from the main administration. So, not being in close proximity to the exalted top, the first time I heard the phrase "new identity" was last spring, which apparently was about ten months after the mother ship first initiated this beacon.

Naive I was at first stupefied: who is going into a witness protection in order to have a new identity? Clarification proved much less romantic and significantly less dramatic; all we were talking about was a new corporate logo. What a disappointment! Anyway, as weeks passed by, the magic phrase was repeated more and more often, and the excitement finally reached my station too in the form of a reminder not to over-order supplies with the "old identity". OK, no biggie, I can count (I think). The breaking point for me arrived around mid-July when I found out that the person responsible for organizing everything in our neck of woods was none other than my all time fave coworker fondly nicknamed by me Komsomolka. Oh, Mama!

It started with a cake. Yes, you heard right: apparently, there would be a whole interoffice party for the "unveiling of the new identity", and we should have a very specific menu, topped by carrot cake. And not only carrot cake, but it had to be rectangular, and have very precise decorations, a chart of which, completed with precise measurements and color palette (specifying the colors with numbers familiar only to the graphic designers). And all this brouhaha because "the new identity" would be orange on white.

So, yours truly was calling a whole bunch of local bakeries with the hope of ordering the blessed cake only to be informed, again and again, that nobody bakes carrot cake. Meanwhile, my dear friend Komsomolka was throwing mild hissy fits, while wondering what's holding the whole process (her problem is that she looks and acts like the weight of the world rests on her shoulders, and her projects are the most important ones, and have to be attended to right away). Finally, I somehow persuaded her to order "regular" cake with the specified (but modified) decorations on top.

Then mysterious packages from the mother ship began arriving; those were supposed to be opened in secret by Her Highness (at her convenience); in the interim they were supposed to be stored at my area. At this I had finally put my flip flop down and politely demonstrated to her my need to have access to my filing cabinets at all times.

About a week before "the unveiling" she got into another fit of the vapors because the menu for the party had to be just right (because everyone is very picky when eating free food during the work hours). I foolishly let her choose the menu and the caterer; of course, when the big boss saw the final spread, his head shook only about a hundred times.

Then, the day before, her student intern was closeted somewhere in order to assemble everyone's goody bags, and Komsomolka herself was busily huffing and puffing to and fro. Poor Goth girl of an intern; I do not think anyone wanted to be in her shoes that day.

Finally, the big day arrived. Another intern was dispatched to pick up the cake, and got lost only twice: once on the way there, and once on the way back. The food arrived, raising the brows and promoting the above-mentioned head shakes. Unfortunate interns, directed by Komsomolka, hauled the boxed with the mysterious goody bags back to the main conference room, which then was declared off limits to everyone. And since we only have one room that can be called conference room by any stretch of the imagination, that last order produced some more raised brows, head shakes, stomach acid and hypertension.

OK, drum roll!!!! Everyone was told to assemble and help themselves to food. I decided to at least have some fun and started snapping pictures. Everyone got really excited that we will immortalize this blessed event till I informed them that that was my personal camera. Then everyone just continued to load their plates, aside from one part-timer who was working on her masters in film. She kept screaming not to take her picture; that she is being paid to be on camera; and that she gets overwhelmed from the flash. So, I got great shots of her curls and her hand holding a paper plate in front of her face. While everyone was busy stuffing their faces with very carefully selected free food and thrice-damned carrot cake, some dudes and dudesses were warbling from the TV and applauding each other.

At the end of this important ceremony we were finally given our goody bags. Hear another drum roll!!!! The bags contained: one logo T-shirt (which immediately produced a lively exchange for needed sizes), one logo luggage tag, two logo pens (actually usable), two different logo coffee mugs, our new business cards, and little baggies with carefully counted out ten logo paper clips. After which the cake was again complimented, the bakery inquired about, and the usual round of flat jokes uttered. Then I had to clean up the effing conference room, and, aharon aharon haviv, Komsomolka came up with a brilliant idea which she immediately circulated via e-mail. Since the mail drones at the mother ship did not package the mugs properly, about half of them came broken. So, in respect to the mother earth, whose sustainability is sooooo important, she offered people to take those mugs in lieu of pencil cups. And when yours truly actually dared to suggest that that idea is dangerous, since anyone could easily cut him/herself on those broken mugs, she, with the suffering face, collected all the broken crockery and took it out. But not before one of the sustainers took one for his desk.

The sad PS for this silly episode? During the last staff meeting we finally found out the total coast of this wonderful venture, which partially explained our delayed and halved bonuses. But, hey, we got a new orange-on-white, carrot cake hued logo!

Great song

Funnily enough, I only discovered this song here, about ten years after leaving step-mother country; either way, I just happen to love it.

WALL-E

As I mentioned at the beginning of my blogging career, when I kept a paper and pen journal, it was exclusively to record my opinion on the books I read and the movies I have seen. I intended to do this here, in my virtual journal, but, unfortunately, there are some many other things to express my opinion about, and so few hours of mental breaks at work, that I have been consistently lagging behind. I watched "WALL-E" at the beginning of the last Independence Day weekend (back when we still had half-decent President, and not an America-hating crooked bastard), and I have finally decided to pen down few remarks.

Even though I have watched the commercials prior to actually seeing the movie, I still suffered a mildly severe disappointment after being introduced to the actual "work of art". To put it mildly, it was a propaganda fest for the brown-shirt-wearing, red-flag-waiving members of the one of my all time favorite groups - envirowacos. Basically, mother earth became totally unfit for human habitation because it was covered by mountains of garbage produced by our over-crazed consumerism and total disrespect for Gaia. Humanity (somehow exclusively American) escaped Earth (being lied to by corporate goon) on super-luxury space ships that were programmed to cater to their every need, and where they remained for few generations, eventually de-evolving into stupid globs of fat with atrophied legs. Finally, with some help from love-struck WALL-E (a robot), they returned to Earth and started cleaning and re-planting it (in the process somehow resembling evolving cave people).

Animation was fantastic, and the love story between WALL-E and EVA (another robot) very, very touching. A lot of noise was made to the tune that there is practically no dialogue between those two; in my case, funnily enough, it was a fellow moviegoer who pointed that fact out. Whatever the case, the effect was truly, well, effective; the absence of dialogue makes the whole romance that much more touching. But, as a whole, after such funny and heart-warming productions like "Ratatouille", "Monsters, Inc.", and "Incredibles", and such touching, tear jerking masterpiece like "Finding Nemo", "WALL-E" rings hollow with this anti-sustainability, pro-capitalism, jaded and cynical consumer.

YOUR TAX DOLLAR AT WORK

Part 3

Every time I go on vacation, I usually send a whole bunch of post cards to all the friends and relatives (preferably on the first day of my trip). Official disclaimer: if you are reading this, and you did not receive a post card from my last trip, all that means is that I know where your house is, but do not have an exact address, and you were not listed at the time of my packing and departure.

Anyway, my Aruba trip was no different, and on the second night there I was enjoying the balmy weather and the badly received American TV while addressing the post cards. My sister's house was supposed to receive three: one for Mini Me, one for Mini Not Me, and one for my sister and brother-in-law (they are not that enjoyable). Upon my return home I enquired as to whenever my correspondence arrived before us or not. My sibling told me that both cards for the gnomes arrived, albeit separately, but she and spouse did not receive anything. We put it down to the probable efficiency of the tropical laborers, and left it at that.

Then, few days after that, my sister informed me that I have to see something hilarious. Lo and behold, my post card addressed to her and spouse came to them in one of those half-clear postal envelopes with standard caveat that they tried their best, but the correspondence got damaged, and they apologize, blah, blah. They delivered precisely a third of the original post card, with top and bottom torn off, and only a part with the address preserved.

As of today, that fragment of the picture of a tropical paradise is proudly displayed on my sister's fridge.

SOME MORE SHORT TAKES

Everyone who knows me is very familiar with my stance on illegals; but what I really want to put into law pronto is this: anyone who does not bathe, change clothes, and, MOST IMPORTANTLY, does not use deodorant, GETS DEPORTED IMMEDIATELY and mercilessly. I think people who ride the subway (especially during the summer) will sign my petition.

Another pet peeve: I love when people start sharing personal information after a fifteen-minute acquaintance. Case in point: a sales rep who visits our office from time to time once offered me a piece of gum. I politely refused, stating that I do not usually chew gum. "Really?" - was her surprised reply - "Well, I always carry it, with my breath!". Did I really need to know that?

A fellow blogger once dedicated a post, completed with pictures, to the not so bright truck drivers who periodically get stuck under the Q Train tracks, because they do not pay attention to the clearance signs. Well, yours truly once witnessed two trucks, coming from the opposite directions, both getting stuck under the blessed Q train, and subsequently blocking Avenue P on Friday afternoon. Let us just say that was one of the few times when I was duly grateful for the fact that I do not drive.

A triumph of my assertiveness on the subway: putting down my big butt on the bench that was designed for four people, and where three men were comfortably sitting before my arrival.

Ultimate irony: when I bought myself a new prayer book, cashier did not deactivate the anti-theft device properly, and I started beeping by the exit. But here is my question: how can you pray using a stolen prayer book?

Notice on the e-bay action: "After few recent troubles I had with the lost packages, I will no longer ship to Russia". Gratifying to know that very few things changed in step-mother country.

I do not precisely remember what Bridget Jones considered as a "unfortunate laundry crisis outfit", but to me it ended up being a full goth regalia: black top and black skirt (completed with standard for New York winter black shoes).

I do not care about the logic and reasonable explanations: seating on the subway opposite a guy who was studying a diagram of female reproductive organs was just plain yucky.

Another funny bit: I did not get any birthday cards on the actual birthday, but I did get two cards a day before: one was from my Mom, and one was from my dentist.

One fine morning there was a little commotion in our office due to the fact that an entire team was ready to depart to the job site, but the project manager was missing. Long story short, poor guy called his second in command with apologies and a following explanation: "two Polish guys came in this morning, took off my apartment door (for the fridge delivery), and disappeared. I can not leave the house till the door is re-attached."

Few days ago I took fluffies out to an ice cream shop. Mini Not Me just kept trying to sneak candies; ice cream did not really stir him. Mini Me, on the other hand, usually takes very serious approach to her selection. Till recently, it was only a choice between an ice cream you can eat (a cone or a cup) and an ice cream you can drink (a milk shake). This time, she requested to be picked up, so she can view the selection better. I obliged and started rattling off all the flavors; she perused the entire selection very, very carefully, and finally made her choice: "Pink".

A BOOST TO SELF-IMPORTANCE

Two Sundays ago I planned to go to the local Target to get some stuff for my new apartment, into which I did not want to move in the first place (but that is a separate story). And since the weather was not particularly encouraging towards the outdoor activities, it took me till early afternoon to finally collect myself. At which point my sis had put semi-frantic calls on all my communicators because she forgot hers at my new digs. Anyway, to make the long story a bit shorter, I promised to drop by her first, and then we decided to maybe go to Target together and with kiddies.

Due to the strange characters that always roam our charming neighbourhood and ring the door bells at all hours of day and night, munchkins, especially the older one, did not get to nap properly, and by the time of my august arrival were not in the best of dispositions. So, for the reasons known only to the Creator and to these two adorable gnomes, Mini Me, who usually hints to me that it is time for our mutual outing "on choo choo train with a single agla", refused to leave the house and insisted on staying with Mommy. Mini Not Me, on the other hand, reiterated several times that he wanted to "go sto vi Papi". So, he was duly bundled up and placed in "single agla", and off to the Target we went.

On the way to the store he inquired about every half a block as to the whereabouts of Mommy, Efty, and Abba (in that order), but my explanations as to their absence from the immediate vicinity were sufficient. On our arrival to the store, he got a cookie, and a view from a very tall window, and a not so rare opportunity to observe the natives in their natural habitat. All went well till I proceeded to actual shopping; the inquires intensified to about once every minute, and, upon being informed that Mommy and Efty are at home, Mini Not Me expressed the desire to join them.

In between the questions as to the whereabouts of his immediate family, my nephew really enjoyed himself, and even found quite a few things he wanted to purchase for himself, the most prominent amongst them being "Cars" linen set. But very soon he started to demand his return to the bosom of the loving parents quite forcefully and pretty much nonstop. I still held a feeble hope of at least finding a new trash can, and to that end I decided to persuade my little charge. "Listen, sweetie, you are with me," was my reply to his slightly teary demands of Mommy, Efty, and home, "am I that boring?" "Wra" was his immediate reply (which in his present vocabulary means "yes"). Ah, from the mouths of babes...

Book of Calm

A few years ago my roommate wisely pronounced that I happen to have a lot of unexpressed anger, and one of the venues for expressing that anger happens to be the kitchen. All of this happens to be true: yours truly has a tendency of remembering bad things for prolonged periods of time, and a charming habit of banging the pots and pans, swearing at the oven door, kicking the trash can, and engaging the broom in a kick boxing jousts. So, about two months ago, my roomie gave me a copy of the "Book of Calm" with firm assurances that the methods described there were tried and true, and I should really read it. And since I do not read self-help books on principle (Dean Edell being the rare exception), the book just calmly (pun not intended) stayed next to my computer desk.

Fast forward to last night, when I ended up dedicating more than three hours to "straightening up" the kitchen. When I tried to wash the rice pot, the kitchen was greeted with a loud rhetorical question to the tune of would it have killed anybody to soak the pot after they finished consuming the rice. My roomie was interested in clarifying the matter, and explained to me that the pot was emptied only about half an hour before, therefor the soaking would not have been very useful. After informing him that five minutes would have made a difference, I continued grumbling under my nose. In response to which "The Book of Calm" was recommended again.

TOUCH OF MINK

Or Reality Bites

This fine morning those of us fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to go to work had to navigate something that has a very poetic for such a nasty condition thing called wintry mix, otherwise known in New York as wet snow, rain, slush, puddles, extra grumpy people, treacherous sidewalks, clogged drains, and umbrellas sailing half an inch from your eye. Yours truly was one of these fortunate people.

Considering my total lack of proper footwear (another long story), I was very fortunate in a sense that I almost reached my office building without any mishaps; almost, of course, being the operative word. On the corner of my building, waiting for the light to change (I am dorky like that), I was splashed almost literally from head to toe by a passing black Kraut (read fancy) car that seemed to be in extreme hurry. After I regained my equilibrium by denigrating the driver and his ancestry in two languages, all of the sudden I remembered a movie called "That Touch of Mink", after which I dissolved into the uncontrollable giggles.

"Touch of Mink" is an old goofy comedy starring Cary Grant and Doris Day. Its contents are not extremely profound, but quite entertaining, and, considering the subject matter, really clean. The reason I remembered this movie was because Day's character, a clean cut small town girl, gets dowsed with the puddle water in the beginning of the movie by a passing fancy car of the rich businessman played by Grant. What ensues after that is a very entertaining comedy of errors: Day's character gets to spend some time with Grant's, even advise him on important business matter, receives a proposition to be his mistress, gets a wonderful new wardrobe from Bergdorf (completed with mink coat), and gets whisked away to a tropical paradise.

Of course, her small town morals got in the way, and eventually, after some pretty hilarious twists and turns, they got married.

So, for some unexplainable reason, here I am, sitting at my desk in my drying denim skirt, working and contemplating the disparity between Hollywood and reality. As my little friend Goshka said, while sitting on his potty, "Life!"

NOTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN

Or Remembering St. George

It probably would be a complete chutzpah on my part to re-affirm that King Solomon was a very wise man and a great prophet. But, as mentioned before, I am approaching the middle-age marker; and along with this usually come certain weariness and philosophical introspections (not that I did not over-analyze everything to death when I was younger). But, the more I observe my fellow humans and the more I try (albeit meagerly) to self-educate myself in history, the more I realize the beauty of this profound statement from Ecclesiastes.

Nothing is new under the sun. People seem to be changing constantly: food, clothes, customs, languages, borders of the countries, countries themselves; progress here, regress there, freedom, slavery, cannibalism, advance of human rights... Humanity (especially civilized part of it) seems to be constantly in motion, hopefully towards the better things. And then you stop and look a bit beneath the surface of things, and you realize that nothing really changes, and that the time basically goes in circles, like the times of the year or the phases of the moon. Human beings (even the civilized ones) are actually diminishing with each generation removed from the original pair created by G-d. And all the darker parts of the human soul rear their ugly heads again and again.

Believe it or not, the disgustingly idiotic circus of the past few months otherwise known in this country as the last Presidential elections presented a wonderful demonstration. American public had to opportunity to observe, or even to participate in the oldest, and, in a sense, most repugnant rituals of humans: idol worship, black ingratitude, and the mass hysteria of the demented mob. By the last count, the rituals are still in full swing.

Few months ago, I got into another philosophical mode while reading one of Prelutsky's articles. In it, he was mocking the college commencement speeches that are always praising the graduating class as the best of the best. According to him, most of the graduating youngsters are not dreaming of slaying the dragon; they just want to find a job and start paying off their tuition loans. I agree with Burt that graduating classes are rarely the best of the best, especially in the view of their overwhelming participation in this wonderful cult of personality we all are currently witnessing. But what a sad thing to think that the younger generation is not dreaming of heroic actions! When else in your live can you dream of slaying a dragon and saving everyone, if not when you are a teenager or a young adult?

And sadder still is the realization that even if you did daydream of being a hero in your younger days, the older you get, the more you realize that dragon is not the worst you will have to engage in battle if you want to retain your humanity. Dragon lives in you: your lack of faith, moments of despair, hopelessness, and evil inclination in general. But from the outside enemies, dragon, as horrible and vicious as he may be, always attacks head on. The bloodiest, most exhausting, and sometimes seemingly hopeless battles would always be with jackals and snakes.

Finally, on the heels of all the different disjointed thoughts and musings, another realization crystallized in my mind quite some time ago - I have a bad case of a very old Jewish sickness. Which one is it? The desire to stick my stiff Jewish neck in the matters that should not really concern me as a Jew; you see, I know that this country is only a stop on our very long journey back home, to the Holy Land. But I love this country; I love it with every fiber of my being. This country sheltered me, allowed me to discover who I am and to be who I am, and, as I mentioned before, most probably saved my life. Gratitude is in our genetic makeup; and I will not give up on this country. I will resist her enemies (especially the domestic ones) as much as I can; and I will pray to The Heavenly Father to continue to protect and to bless this here US of A.

LIBRARY UPDATE

Just a little update on the library situation (so to speak). As this "goes to print", Regnery has published fifteen books in the PIG series (Politically Incorrect Guides). By the latest (one second ago) check of the NYPL catalog, library has five titles from these series available. And here are the amusing numbers:

PIG to American History - 58 available copies (when I checked it out, there were 95).

PIG to Darwinism and ID - 4 available copies (originally purchased 5).

PIG to English and American Lit - 1 available copy (originally purchased 2).

PIG to Global Warming - 0 available copies (originally purchased 3); one in storage (huh?); one missing and one lost - Al Gore's supporters falling on the sword for this one and stealing these two copies to the monetary detriment of themselves?

PIG to Constitution - 2 copies available (originally purchased 2); both constantly on hold for somebody else.

Burt Prelutsky - latest book just published (non-political, by the way), another book released few years ago - library catalog does not recognize this name.

One the bright side - 85 copies of Jerry Corsi's book and 72 of David Freddoso's still available on the shelf.

Latest Ann Coulter - 115 copies (some still on order); around quarter of them already on hand (my Dad's, among others), and 59 holds.

The general logic still escapes me, but 115 copies of the most denigrated rightie in the heart of New York - rock on, Ann!

Hava Nagila

I am hosting a little contest: please explain this bizzare performance

1000th

My very first teacher of Judaic studies, ZT'B, once told this slightly amusing parable to my Dad. It will loose some in the translation, but, hopefully, you will get the gist of it.

Jews are different from all the other nations. Gentiles have wisdom and stupidity distributed equally: some get more, some get less, but everyone gets some of both. With Jews, it is quite different: nine hundred ninety nine Jews get only wisdom, and the thousandth gets all the stupidity allotted for this group. They are called The Legion of the Thousandth, and all of them can usually be found in the Israeli government.

After receiving the extremely disturbing news this Motzei Shabat about the cease fire in Gaza, the first thing that popped into my mind was this parable. There is no other explanation for this unilateral surrender, aside from extreme stupidity and extreme cowardice. For the second time in two years, treacherous and corrupt Israeli government managed to snatch the defeat from the jaws of victory. They could have put paid to both Hezbollah and HAMAS, but no; something as simple and as straightforward as defending their citizens is "above their pay grade". Rockets are still firing towards the south of Israel, and HAMAS's jackals are doing celebration dances.

My little, slightly tattered note is staying in my prayer book. Please protect us, Heavenly Father! Protect us from all our enemies, especially the ones within; You are our only hope!

INTERESTING WEEKEND

Weekend before last (after the supposed birthday, not the supposed circumcision) turned out to be quite entertaining. First of all, after years of trying to interest yours truly in going to the Hashivenu retreat, my sister finally convinced me to go this year.

Here is a short list of memorable highlights:

Got to babysit an almost empty office (besides me, it contained one harassed marketing coordinator and one rotten intern, who literally fell asleep by his workstation).

Got to travel on Metro North for the first time in my life; the excitement included figuring out how to purchase a ticket, find a train, and navigate without the help of very useful uniformed employees of the above mentioned Metro North. Also, got to carry my Minnie Mouse suitcase.

Took a scenic ride with my brother in law through the charming city of Hartford (on the way back figured out that I could have actually walked from the station, if not for my blessed dyslexia).

Got acquainted with the Hartford's Hilton, which apparently just turned Hilton this year, and was previously Sheraton. According to my sis, I have missed on heavenly bed and bath experience. But hey, to me going to a nice hotel is already a wonderful pastime.

Got to eat a lot (and I mean a lot) of food; some was delicious, some so so; but the presentation was fantastic either way.

Got to use my bathing suit, which was specifically purchased for my Aruba trip, and since then was idling away in my dresser.

Met an amusing couple from Queens; observed their extremely entertaining interactions with the waiters.

Due to the superior organizational skills of one of our dear friends, ended up meeting and sharing a room with a very interesting lady (more on that to come).

Remembered once again why I avoid places where my people congregate in great numbers.

Witnessed my sister's great act of assertiveness; you go, girl!!

Managed to snap some cute pictures of munchkins.

Over all, it was an enjoyable Shabbat.

Which brings me to Sunday.

On Sunday we were supposed to attend our cousin's wedding ceremony. Highlights included the following:

Fluffies, overexcited from our previous trip, decided that they have exhausted their quota of decent behavior, and ended up demanding Mommy exclusively, which prompted some tricky manipulations on our side, resulting in somehow coming home hungry.

I personally could not understand the constant rendition of bad poetry by the guy leading the processions, but hey, I am strange like this.

Likewise, I could not, for the thousandth time, understand why Goth clothes are de rigor for all the occasions, especially weddings.

Met with a passing acquaintance, who was desirous to know how come I was at this particular wedding; maybe I was a friend of the bride? No, cousin of the groom. Cousin of the bride? Can't be! No, cousin of the groom. No way! Apparently, if I do not belong to their circle of young, hip, recently discovered Judaism Jewish professionals, I somehow do not know anyone, or have any friends, never mind family members.

Last, but not least: despite all hope and precedent, could not get drunk after three!!! drinks.

Over all, it was a great weekend. On the side note, I got reaffirmation of my previous plan: if and when I find somebody crazy enough to marry me (and get crazy enough to marry him), we will definitely elope! (Destination to be kept in strict confidence till actually needed).

A LITTLE NOTE

(I have wanted to write this post for a little while, but now, unfortunately, it became current)

As mentioned before, my daily prayers are usually accomplished on my morning commute. To that effect, my trusty and much worn compact Artscroll Siddur had been a permanent resident in the succession of wacky purses I usually carry. Few months ago, while leafing through the usually unused sections of my Siddur, I have stumbled on a little paper stuck there.

The paper, ironically, was torn from one of those standard note pads one usually gets with the requests for donations from strange places one never heard of before. It is a little square made out of cheap recycled paper, and on top of it there is a quote in English from Psalm 23 "Only goodness and kindness follow me all the days of my life". The note itself contained four names, written in standard black ballpoint pen and half faded already: three of those names were the names of the soldiers, whose kidnapping started the last war with Hezbollah; the fourth name was a name of the unknown to me Israeli civilian.

Those were the people we were all praying for back than: kidnapped soldiers and civilians caught in the cross fire and asking their brethren outside of the Holy Land (through the chain of Rabbis) to beseech The Heavens on their behalf. Few days after I have discovered this paper, we all heard "breaking" news about Israel exchanging a whole bunch of Muslim terrorists and murderers for the remains of the two of the soldiers.

Today, a fresh name goes on the other side of this paper: a name of another IDF soldier whom I do not know, and who needs all the prayers we can offer because, while I am here, in the comfort of my office, sipping my tea, he is out there, in the harm's way, defending the Holy Land and our brothers and sisters. Defending them from the vicious thugs who call themselves freedom fighters and the followers of the only true and peaceful religion; baby killers who hide behind their just as vicious and just as murderous wives and daughters; and while this battle is taking place, the almost entire so called international community will shed crocodile tears for the "poor, innocent, homeless, displaced Palestinians". There will be moans and groans about the "humanitarian crisis" in the Gaza, followed by inevitable condemnation of the "Zionist aggressors".

Merciful Heavenly Father, please protect all your children and the Holy Land! Please do not forsake us!

OK, IT IS OFFICIAL!

As mentioned many times before, my favorite niece looks very much like yours truly. It's not just the facial features and the mop of curly hair; she has a lot of my mannerisms, poses, and gestures, which my sibling loves to point out on numerous photographic representations of our Golden Delicious.

But few weeks ago she solidified her status. When she decided to cut short her "vacation" by her grandmother and return home early, the first thing she did was to pack all her stuff. "Oh, that's what Barb used to do when she was little" was a unanimous response from all the family members who remembered me at my tender years.

So, it is now official: Mini Me is in fact Mini Me!

MEME

OK, I have been tagged for two memes (or whatever they are). I am not tagging anyone, because I think all the bloggers I know already got tagged by this, but here goes.

BOOK Meme:

"...You do not need to look like a duchess.'

She accompanied him through the house, thinking she would rather not ride alone in a carriage with him again. She had never entirely recovered from the long journey from Rouen.

The carriage waited in all its splendor. Daniel settled across from her and the wheels rolled. "

OK, I have a whole bunch of romances all other the place at work (I do need to utilize the drawer space, after all). That one was from "The Seducer" by Madeline Hunter (and despite the title, it was really a great love story).

NEXT Meme:

7 facts about me:

1. I do not have a driver's licence, and never finished my driving lessons.

2. I know how to milk cows.

3. My personal library contains about 800 romances.

4. I was able to name all the wives of Henry VIII: their names, their order, what happened to them, and what happened to their offspring. That was long before Cinemax launched it's series about Tudors.

5. I hate putting on make up for purely practical purposes (and not moral, religious, or nonconformist reasons, as people believe). Aside from taking time, I usually feel suffocated if I cake my face with anything even slightly oil based.

6. I am a single girl without kids, but I can hold my own (and even offer informed opinions and advise) in the conversations with parents. I even have my favorite brand of diapers: Huggies, of course:)

7. I am one of the few people who, being born with curly hair, actually enjoy having them curly, and adamantly protest against all the attempts to straighten it (even if one of my former friends claims that straight hair is more elegant).

Happy Birthday, Mini Me!

Here is to my wonderful niece! May Hashem bless you, and may you always be a blessing and a source of joy to us and all the Jews!

Many Happy Returns, little one!

HAPPY HANUKAH!

Of course, I am posting it on the last day, but it is still Hanukah! So, here is to understanding the true meaning of this wonderful Holiday, to our spiritual survival, to remembering our unique and important role in the Universe, and, most importantly, to His Miracles and Blessings!

Let the light of our collective Menorahs show us the true way!

Happy Hanukah!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AND HAPPY THANKSGIVING

When I was a kid in a late, unlamented step-mother country, I always resented the fact that my Birthday was in the end of November, meaning in the middle of nowhere: after the break for the Celebration of the Glorious Revolution, and before the New Years and Mid-Winter break. Basically, I did not like to go to school on my Birthday.

I still do not like to go to school, or worse, to work, on my Birthday, but the appreciation of the timing of my arrival into this world changed dramatically: now it is close to Thanksgiving, so it always puts me at least in a good mood, if not exactly festive. So, here is to another year of my life! As always, this year was filled with things both wonderful, the most notable of which was my first trip to the Caribbean, and the opposite of wonderful, one of which was my friend of nineteen years proposing the break up via e-mail.

As a whole, I was really not in a mood to celebrate this year; but, as always, I did attempt. My attempts consisted of taking the day off, having a relaxed and very enjoyable breakfast out with my sis, and then going on the town and blowing my non-existent money on my favorite things: books and chocolates. My wonderful mom also hosted a family get-together with magnificent and plentiful food, and my siblings threatened me with presents coming in the immediate future. Again, my plan to get drunk was nixed this year, and again due to my being on meds: this time it was not just antibiotics, but a combo of antibiotics and anti-inflammatory. But, thank G-d, the meds worked, and in the process my MD discovered my B12 deficiency, so, hopefully, more energy coming up pretty soon:)

But, honestly, celebratory spirit was really quiet low this year, and mostly it was due to (yes you guessed it) the election results. I know I have already offered my opinion on it, and I know it may sound illogical; I really do not care. To me these results signified only one thing: people who do not appreciate the beauty of this country, or do not realize or appreciate the multitude of blessings that come to us simply by living here, have summarily surrendered USA to people who openly hate it and are proud of it. So, while waiting for Thanksgiving, I could not stop thinking about very familiar, but not the less lamentable for it, human trait of not appreciating the multitude of good things we do have. And then came the Thanksgiving itself, and the horrible murders in Mumbai, the thoughts of which still bring tears to my eyes.

As I mentioned before, I am slowly approaching middle age. So, naturally, a person is expected to gain certain wisdom at this point. So, what did I gain in all those years so far, aside from becoming increasingly sarcastic, jaded, and pessimistic? The cornerstone of wisdom actually came to me when I was twenty two, in that memorable summer of taking statistics and secretarial courses (at the same time, but in different schools), meanwhile battling a strep of a six months duration. Anyway, while studying the bell curve, and especially its application to the matters of human IQ, there is a simple and clear pattern, and remembering it usually saves you from numerous occasions of pre-hypertension blood pressure: 64% of human population (the ones between first standart deviations on each side) has very average intelligence. That's it!

And that is the wisdom for the ages! Majority of population consists of people whose outlook on life is, well, just average. They never ponder the deep meaning of anything, and will swallow any and all lies, providing that the lie will guarantee them quite existence and fatter wallets, to which end they aspire their whole lives anyway. Then add to this the fact that even if people were born with good brains, they were not necessarily taught to expand and exercise those brains; moreover, around half the people with decent brains and educations use those to commit sins against the rest of humanity. This picture, of course, is very rosy, but, once you absorb it, the life becomes that much easier.

What else did I learn? It's wonderful not to conform and live according to logic, and not the opinions of Mr. and Mrs. Jones next door. Unfortunately, the people who will most suffer for your uniqueness, aside, of course, from you, are the ones who are closest to you and love you the most. It is fantastic to be a woman, but it is a man's world, and you will not have an easy lot, no matter which road you will choose. Nobody, and I mean, nobody cares about your level of eruditeness or your college GPA, but everyone will comment on your style of dressing yourself (or the supposed lack of thereof). Your good manners will not impress the scofflaw; moreover, those manners will get you pushed away, pushed around, and stepped on your toes. Very few good deeds are appreciated, and even fewer go unpunished. And commitment to work earns you the opportunity to pick up the slack for all the not so committed co-workers, plus ulcers and the above-mentioned hypertension. Basically, to quote one of my favorite movies: "The world is being FedExed to hell in a hand basket" (and has been for a while, by the way).

And then you remember Stendhal’s quote about the fact that there are many more great people than you think (at least I think it was Stendhal’s). And every morning, on the way to work, you see your old neighbour patiently waiting for Asses-A-Ride, so he can go to his wife in a nursing home. And on the way from work, you see a girl with a crutch giving her seat on the subway to a pregnant woman. And another guy on the subway rides extra four stops, so he can try and pick you up because he was fascinated by you repeatedly laughing out loud while reading a romance. And every 9/11 anniversary, you remember ordinary people like Todd Beamer and Amy Sweeney, who acted with courage and patriotism in the face of horrible odds.

Oh, and the character from the movie? He found out that he is about to be a father right after uttering that wonderful sentence.

So, here is to another year, better things to come, and all the G-d's Blessings! L'Chaim!