Tuesday, September 22, 2009
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY
Happy Anniversary to our family! It has been exactly twenty one years since we landed on American soil. Thank you, our beautiful country, for giving us your shelter, your citizenship, and the ability to live as free human beings! G-d bless you and keep you safe!
Friday, September 11, 2009
IN MEMORIAM
In memory of:
All the emergency workers: police officers, fire fighters, and EMTS.
People who perished at the World Trade Center
People who perished at the Pentagon
Passengers and crew of:
American Airlines Flight 11
United Airlines Flight 175
American Airlines Flight 77
United Airlines Flight 93
In memory of all US soldiers killed in Afghanistan and Iraq; may The Heavenly Father grant their families a measure of peace.
May the full might of G-d’s wrath descend on the enemy of my people and my adopted country – the murderous jackals and snakes who lost their humanity and have no ability to respect and cherish human life as G-d’s creation!
May Heavenly Father never turn away from us; may He always protect us and watch over us!
G-d bless America!
All the emergency workers: police officers, fire fighters, and EMTS.
People who perished at the World Trade Center
People who perished at the Pentagon
Passengers and crew of:
American Airlines Flight 11
United Airlines Flight 175
American Airlines Flight 77
United Airlines Flight 93
In memory of all US soldiers killed in Afghanistan and Iraq; may The Heavenly Father grant their families a measure of peace.
May the full might of G-d’s wrath descend on the enemy of my people and my adopted country – the murderous jackals and snakes who lost their humanity and have no ability to respect and cherish human life as G-d’s creation!
May Heavenly Father never turn away from us; may He always protect us and watch over us!
G-d bless America!
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
MY FAN CLUB
I have a fun club; it consists of two members: Curly and Blondie.
They do not care about my hair do, unless it is to play with my hair while sitting on my shoulders. They do not care about the lack of makeup on my face - they just love to play with the contents of my makeup case. They do not care that I am fat - they just know that it is hard to push the swing if I am in it. They do not care about my unfashionable wardrobe - they just like the pictures on my T-shirts, and love when we are wearing matching colors. They never criticize me for wearing flip-flops - but they always know which shoes by the door belong to me (and they love to wear them). They do not criticize my taste in music - they just love to sing and dance with me, and I even taught Curly how to twirl. They do not criticize my taste in books - they just love when I read to them while we cuddle on the couch. They do not care about my poor career choices - they just know that I go to work most of the time, but visit them in the evenings, on Shabat, and on Sundays. They do not care about my lack of money - they love the little presents I buy for them, and they are perfectly content to just play with the stuff I cannot afford while in the store and just ask me to come and buy it for them another time (whenever I have money). They do not criticize me for my messy apartment - they just love to visit and explore. They do not care about my haphazard cooking skills - they just love my pasta.
In their eyes I am Papi - the height of cool! The person who takes them on the most adventurous journeys to places with huge windows that serve ice tea and cookies, three-stories candy stores, toy stores, and park with sand by the water; and the only person who takes them to all these on the mysterious and noisy choo-choo train!
I will tell you a little secret, my yummy and delicious gnomes - you are my absolutely favorite people too. May Hashem bless your fluffy Jewish heads!
They do not care about my hair do, unless it is to play with my hair while sitting on my shoulders. They do not care about the lack of makeup on my face - they just love to play with the contents of my makeup case. They do not care that I am fat - they just know that it is hard to push the swing if I am in it. They do not care about my unfashionable wardrobe - they just like the pictures on my T-shirts, and love when we are wearing matching colors. They never criticize me for wearing flip-flops - but they always know which shoes by the door belong to me (and they love to wear them). They do not criticize my taste in music - they just love to sing and dance with me, and I even taught Curly how to twirl. They do not criticize my taste in books - they just love when I read to them while we cuddle on the couch. They do not care about my poor career choices - they just know that I go to work most of the time, but visit them in the evenings, on Shabat, and on Sundays. They do not care about my lack of money - they love the little presents I buy for them, and they are perfectly content to just play with the stuff I cannot afford while in the store and just ask me to come and buy it for them another time (whenever I have money). They do not criticize me for my messy apartment - they just love to visit and explore. They do not care about my haphazard cooking skills - they just love my pasta.
In their eyes I am Papi - the height of cool! The person who takes them on the most adventurous journeys to places with huge windows that serve ice tea and cookies, three-stories candy stores, toy stores, and park with sand by the water; and the only person who takes them to all these on the mysterious and noisy choo-choo train!
I will tell you a little secret, my yummy and delicious gnomes - you are my absolutely favorite people too. May Hashem bless your fluffy Jewish heads!
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
INDEPENDENCE DAY
This is going to be the two-hundredth post (another mouthful) to my blog. Again, another little milestone, and this time I would like to dedicate it to my adopted home, United States of America.
All my well-learned and well-versed friends can scoff at what I am about to say and proclaim me an ignoramus and a heretic; so be it. But there are some eerie similarities between USA and my people (meaning the Jews). Twenty one years ago (heck, I am getting old), when I first started studying Judaism in a hot and dusty little Italian town of Ladispoli, my first teacher, may he rest in peace, brought to our attention the glaring difference between USA and all the countries south of our border.
The first settlers to what is now my home came here mainly to worship Heavenly Father in the best manner they saw fit; the rest just came for easy riches. The ones who came here to serve Him prospered, became an independent country, prospered even more, and eventually became the super-power and the world's richest country. All ones who came for the riches did not prosper and ended up in the "third world countries" category.
Before the Pilgrims, there was only one precedent in history where people settled in a specific place in order to serve G-d and prospered beyond belief. That was when the descendents of Jacob came to the Holy Land. True, Jews followed a direct order from G-d conveyed by the greatest profit that ever lived, and English Protestants followed nothing more than the calling in their hearts, but there is nothing else in history even closely approaching this! When else did a group of people come to settle in a new place so that they can properly worship Him?
Both Jews and Americans are hated practically by everyone else in the world; they are called Little Satan and Big Satan respectively by the leaders of the most brutal and murderous cult in the history of the world (yes, I mean the members of the religion of peace).
Another interesting lesson, this time from my seminary arsenal: when we were discussing the lamentable tendency of the ancients towards idol worship, our teacher delivered a fascinating statement - Christianity is idol worship for us, but not for the rest of the world. That concept was smoldering for a while in the back of my mind till I had a chance to acquaint myself in certain fashion with American Christians.
Only American Christian politician would go to Israel to express solidarity even if the so-called President is openly anti-Israel and anti-Jews. Only an American Christian journalist would post her New Year’s resolution with number one being "to pray for Israel". Only an American Christian would write an open letter to PM Netanyahu telling him that he is not alone and that millions of Americans are praying for peace in undivided Jerusalem.
"Nation under G-d", "all men...are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights" - these are the words on which this country was build. I remember reading a comment of an Aussie blogger, asking an American blogger as to the meaning of Thanksgiving - "is it like a special family get-together? and if so, why so close to X-mus?" Only in America do we have a special holiday where we have a family get-together in order to give thanks to the Creator for all the blessings bestowed on us (very Jewish concept).
And one of the biggest historic ironies and episodes of poetic justice, in my eyes, was when Ferdinand and Isabella, may they burn for eternity, gave their blessings to the expedition of Christopher Columbus while they were busy expelling the Jews.
These ramblings bring me to this year's Independence Day. The celebratory spirit was pretty thin in my heart - from the fact that I no longer lived in the house with wonderful firework observation roof to the disgusting shenanigans of the malignant narcissists in the White House and Capitol - what was there to celebrate?
But there is always hope, the power of prayer, and the kindness of The Heavenly Father. G-d bless America!
All my well-learned and well-versed friends can scoff at what I am about to say and proclaim me an ignoramus and a heretic; so be it. But there are some eerie similarities between USA and my people (meaning the Jews). Twenty one years ago (heck, I am getting old), when I first started studying Judaism in a hot and dusty little Italian town of Ladispoli, my first teacher, may he rest in peace, brought to our attention the glaring difference between USA and all the countries south of our border.
The first settlers to what is now my home came here mainly to worship Heavenly Father in the best manner they saw fit; the rest just came for easy riches. The ones who came here to serve Him prospered, became an independent country, prospered even more, and eventually became the super-power and the world's richest country. All ones who came for the riches did not prosper and ended up in the "third world countries" category.
Before the Pilgrims, there was only one precedent in history where people settled in a specific place in order to serve G-d and prospered beyond belief. That was when the descendents of Jacob came to the Holy Land. True, Jews followed a direct order from G-d conveyed by the greatest profit that ever lived, and English Protestants followed nothing more than the calling in their hearts, but there is nothing else in history even closely approaching this! When else did a group of people come to settle in a new place so that they can properly worship Him?
Both Jews and Americans are hated practically by everyone else in the world; they are called Little Satan and Big Satan respectively by the leaders of the most brutal and murderous cult in the history of the world (yes, I mean the members of the religion of peace).
Another interesting lesson, this time from my seminary arsenal: when we were discussing the lamentable tendency of the ancients towards idol worship, our teacher delivered a fascinating statement - Christianity is idol worship for us, but not for the rest of the world. That concept was smoldering for a while in the back of my mind till I had a chance to acquaint myself in certain fashion with American Christians.
Only American Christian politician would go to Israel to express solidarity even if the so-called President is openly anti-Israel and anti-Jews. Only an American Christian journalist would post her New Year’s resolution with number one being "to pray for Israel". Only an American Christian would write an open letter to PM Netanyahu telling him that he is not alone and that millions of Americans are praying for peace in undivided Jerusalem.
"Nation under G-d", "all men...are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights" - these are the words on which this country was build. I remember reading a comment of an Aussie blogger, asking an American blogger as to the meaning of Thanksgiving - "is it like a special family get-together? and if so, why so close to X-mus?" Only in America do we have a special holiday where we have a family get-together in order to give thanks to the Creator for all the blessings bestowed on us (very Jewish concept).
And one of the biggest historic ironies and episodes of poetic justice, in my eyes, was when Ferdinand and Isabella, may they burn for eternity, gave their blessings to the expedition of Christopher Columbus while they were busy expelling the Jews.
These ramblings bring me to this year's Independence Day. The celebratory spirit was pretty thin in my heart - from the fact that I no longer lived in the house with wonderful firework observation roof to the disgusting shenanigans of the malignant narcissists in the White House and Capitol - what was there to celebrate?
But there is always hope, the power of prayer, and the kindness of The Heavenly Father. G-d bless America!
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
SUNDAY AFTER SHAVUOT
Sunday after Shavuot came out with a mixed promise of rain and sunshine, and the unbeatable desire to sleep. But the labor of love called, and I took out Mini Me on the outing to our favorite "pak".
It proved out to be another adventure filled Sunday with my favorite niece. As usual, her stubborn delicious fluffy Jewish head succumbed to Morpheus on the way there, which gave me few minutes to read my book and surreptitiously collect the disapproving stares - where are the envirowacos when you need them? Yes, her Maclaren (plus she in it) occupies around half the space of one of those fruitcakes with a bicycle, but earns waaaay more dirty stares. What gives? After all, we are traveling according to the "green" guidelines (sarcasm intended).
She awoke few minutes after we disembarked. Upon observing the ever thickening and darkening clouds, I asked her if she wanted to go to the park or the book store. "Pak" was her resolute answer. So, off to the park we went - right into a little skirmish.
There was a whole bunch of young activists positioned at most of the corners and by all the major entrances on the block. Somehow I knew they did not collect signatures to support troops or hand out invitations to the next tea party. Upon closer inspection I spied "DNC" clearly stamped across their uniform t-shirts. Approaching closer, I heard something about "healthcare reform". And then I reached one of them, who approached me with an opening salvo of "you supported Obama..."; it was a statement of fact, and not a question. That was the clichéd final straw: “I? Support Obama? I wish he would drop dead!" Thus shocking the poor, wide-eyed product of systematic brainwashing by the likes of Lee Bollinger and Ward Churchill, we proceeded to the park; and yours truly could feel few pairs of eyes drilling holes in her retreating back and sending her death rays. OK, Barb, note to self: next time just tell them to buzz off if you have one of your young charges with you. After all, you never know when it would escalate to more than death ray looks; and for the record, I do not want him dead (why should he become a martyr?); but that is a separate discussion.
After we arrived at the park, we had a grand time snaking in the grass, running around, and swinging. I also had fun by surreptitiously photographing Curly, who was not in the mood to be thusly immortalized, so I also got a few great shots of trees and sky.
Shortly after, the said sky started producing moisture otherwise known as rain, and I finally persuaded Mini Me to go to the book store. Of course, she decided to balk at her plastic rain cover, so I had to really run, which is really a fun activity when you try to run in the rain in flip-flops while pushing a stroller.
In the book store (B and N, of course), I was entertained by a wonderful spectacle of polite gentleman also running, this time in front of the woman with the stroller (yours truly), so he can get the last table at the cafe, so the above-mentioned woman with the stroller should scramble in order to find a place where she can feed the child in the stroller - who said that chivalry was dead?
After the snack and the fascinating visit to the ladies, where Mini Me always points out at the changing table with "this is where you changed me when I was a teeny tiny baby, Papi" (all of half a year ago), we made our way into the children's department. Once there, we started by reading her beloved "Olivia". Unfortunately, that did not last long. She started running around and exploring the "pricier" parts of the department. Long story short, we left the store laden with a magnetic doll with an interchangeable wardrobe, plush panda (which was declared Mini Me's new best friend), and a plush chipmunk for Mini Not Me. In between horsing around and trying to lighten my wallet, she also tried to play with other kids there. Unfortunately, the couple that she tried to engage (and their parents) proved to be on the snobby side. Their loss - Curly is a fantastic company (never mind her favorite auntie).
On the way back she kept hugging her new panda - maybe it really is her new best friend? She also kept insisting that we were on the wrong choo choo, and should get off immediately; I think she got overwhelmed by the amount of people on the said choo choo, but interesting diversionary tactic none the less. When Mini Not Me was presented with a chipmunk, another adult proclaimed him to be a hamster. Only the next morning, when I was doing my neurotic routine by cleaning my bag and incidentally discovered the ticket belonging to that animal did I find out that is was guinea pig! Go figure! As of press time, this animal has a permanent living space in Blondie’s bed, and goes by the name of chipmunk anyway.
It proved out to be another adventure filled Sunday with my favorite niece. As usual, her stubborn delicious fluffy Jewish head succumbed to Morpheus on the way there, which gave me few minutes to read my book and surreptitiously collect the disapproving stares - where are the envirowacos when you need them? Yes, her Maclaren (plus she in it) occupies around half the space of one of those fruitcakes with a bicycle, but earns waaaay more dirty stares. What gives? After all, we are traveling according to the "green" guidelines (sarcasm intended).
She awoke few minutes after we disembarked. Upon observing the ever thickening and darkening clouds, I asked her if she wanted to go to the park or the book store. "Pak" was her resolute answer. So, off to the park we went - right into a little skirmish.
There was a whole bunch of young activists positioned at most of the corners and by all the major entrances on the block. Somehow I knew they did not collect signatures to support troops or hand out invitations to the next tea party. Upon closer inspection I spied "DNC" clearly stamped across their uniform t-shirts. Approaching closer, I heard something about "healthcare reform". And then I reached one of them, who approached me with an opening salvo of "you supported Obama..."; it was a statement of fact, and not a question. That was the clichéd final straw: “I? Support Obama? I wish he would drop dead!" Thus shocking the poor, wide-eyed product of systematic brainwashing by the likes of Lee Bollinger and Ward Churchill, we proceeded to the park; and yours truly could feel few pairs of eyes drilling holes in her retreating back and sending her death rays. OK, Barb, note to self: next time just tell them to buzz off if you have one of your young charges with you. After all, you never know when it would escalate to more than death ray looks; and for the record, I do not want him dead (why should he become a martyr?); but that is a separate discussion.
After we arrived at the park, we had a grand time snaking in the grass, running around, and swinging. I also had fun by surreptitiously photographing Curly, who was not in the mood to be thusly immortalized, so I also got a few great shots of trees and sky.
Shortly after, the said sky started producing moisture otherwise known as rain, and I finally persuaded Mini Me to go to the book store. Of course, she decided to balk at her plastic rain cover, so I had to really run, which is really a fun activity when you try to run in the rain in flip-flops while pushing a stroller.
In the book store (B and N, of course), I was entertained by a wonderful spectacle of polite gentleman also running, this time in front of the woman with the stroller (yours truly), so he can get the last table at the cafe, so the above-mentioned woman with the stroller should scramble in order to find a place where she can feed the child in the stroller - who said that chivalry was dead?
After the snack and the fascinating visit to the ladies, where Mini Me always points out at the changing table with "this is where you changed me when I was a teeny tiny baby, Papi" (all of half a year ago), we made our way into the children's department. Once there, we started by reading her beloved "Olivia". Unfortunately, that did not last long. She started running around and exploring the "pricier" parts of the department. Long story short, we left the store laden with a magnetic doll with an interchangeable wardrobe, plush panda (which was declared Mini Me's new best friend), and a plush chipmunk for Mini Not Me. In between horsing around and trying to lighten my wallet, she also tried to play with other kids there. Unfortunately, the couple that she tried to engage (and their parents) proved to be on the snobby side. Their loss - Curly is a fantastic company (never mind her favorite auntie).
On the way back she kept hugging her new panda - maybe it really is her new best friend? She also kept insisting that we were on the wrong choo choo, and should get off immediately; I think she got overwhelmed by the amount of people on the said choo choo, but interesting diversionary tactic none the less. When Mini Not Me was presented with a chipmunk, another adult proclaimed him to be a hamster. Only the next morning, when I was doing my neurotic routine by cleaning my bag and incidentally discovered the ticket belonging to that animal did I find out that is was guinea pig! Go figure! As of press time, this animal has a permanent living space in Blondie’s bed, and goes by the name of chipmunk anyway.
Monday, July 06, 2009
MY BED BY ANY OTHER NAME…
On Monday night, I was babysitting for the beloved sibling. Since both munchkins completed their nightly ritual with the parent of their choice, I somehow assumed that I would have a quite couple of hours. Ha!
Around five minutes after the departure of beloved sibling and sibling-in-law, in the middle of a leisurely dinner, I heard the dreaded "Mommy"! The soft tones of that call pointed at Mini Not Me. Yours truly ran upstairs to discover Beloved Nephew in total distress. "No, Mommy! Uh (want) Mommy!" Mortally afraid that his bellows would wake up older sister, I evacuated Blondie downstairs (against his initial vehement protests).
Upon arrival into the living room, Mini Not Me perked up right away, demanded to be released, and proceeded to the bookshelf, from which he plucked a book and asked me to read it. On each page of this book (which was about the life on the farm, by the way) he found something that he wanted Papi to purchase for him. In between trying to explain that those purchases require a farm, or at least a much larger property than the one presently occupied, I was trying to coax him to return upstairs. The main theme was: "let's go to Mommy's bed and watch cakes (cooking channel)". No dice; finally we were able to reach the middle ground, and Mini Not Me agreed to go upstairs and watch something on the computer. OK, Papi, baby steps (pun intended).
So, I fired up YouTube and showed Blondie some kind of cartoon clip. In the middle of the presentation he visibly lost interest and was trying to request something else; after removing his pacifier I realized, to my pleasant amazement, that he wanted to go to Mommy's bed and watch cakes! Pursuant to this request, I took him to the bedroom, put him on Mommy's bed, and was about to look for remote control when he politely asked to be put down into his bed! Then, it was business as usual: blankey, bear, penguin, chipmunk (don't ask); after which he just requested my presence in the room, rolled on his side, and went to sleep! Ah, the logic of the young!
Around five minutes after the departure of beloved sibling and sibling-in-law, in the middle of a leisurely dinner, I heard the dreaded "Mommy"! The soft tones of that call pointed at Mini Not Me. Yours truly ran upstairs to discover Beloved Nephew in total distress. "No, Mommy! Uh (want) Mommy!" Mortally afraid that his bellows would wake up older sister, I evacuated Blondie downstairs (against his initial vehement protests).
Upon arrival into the living room, Mini Not Me perked up right away, demanded to be released, and proceeded to the bookshelf, from which he plucked a book and asked me to read it. On each page of this book (which was about the life on the farm, by the way) he found something that he wanted Papi to purchase for him. In between trying to explain that those purchases require a farm, or at least a much larger property than the one presently occupied, I was trying to coax him to return upstairs. The main theme was: "let's go to Mommy's bed and watch cakes (cooking channel)". No dice; finally we were able to reach the middle ground, and Mini Not Me agreed to go upstairs and watch something on the computer. OK, Papi, baby steps (pun intended).
So, I fired up YouTube and showed Blondie some kind of cartoon clip. In the middle of the presentation he visibly lost interest and was trying to request something else; after removing his pacifier I realized, to my pleasant amazement, that he wanted to go to Mommy's bed and watch cakes! Pursuant to this request, I took him to the bedroom, put him on Mommy's bed, and was about to look for remote control when he politely asked to be put down into his bed! Then, it was business as usual: blankey, bear, penguin, chipmunk (don't ask); after which he just requested my presence in the room, rolled on his side, and went to sleep! Ah, the logic of the young!
Thursday, June 25, 2009
FEW INTERESTING TIDBITS ABOUT MUNCHKINS
When they were babies, they were both on the baldish side, especially Mini Not Me, whose head had almost as much hair as his knees. Now they both have beautiful heads of hair, representing, among many things, interesting genetic mix. Mini Me's hair is light brown, with golden highlights and crazy curls, which (if she lets) can become beautiful ringlets. Mini Not Me, on the other hand, is dark blond, also with golden highlights, but pretty straight (with occasional curl thrown in for fun). As a result, they are both called Fluffies, but only Mini Me is called Curly; Mini Not Me, on the other hand, is called Blondie.
Like any decent American kids, they spent a decent amount of time traveling in cars. For Mini Me, it is Aba's car and Mommy's car; for Mini Not Me, it is Aba's car and our car.
Mini Not Me has very interesting color recognition system: he knows black; everything else is either orange or purple. "What color is Mommy's car?" "Our car is orange (or purple, depending on his mood)". In mundane reality, the said car is white.
My purse is considered by both of them something of the equivalent of the Aladdin’s cave; therefore, as soon as I show up, they usually proceed to turn it upside down and start hunting for treasures. Sometimes they get a surprise - something they did not see before; but usually those are the same items over and over again. That does not really deter them, as those items are usually the coveted prizes (it may also have something to do the fact that I have a “Princess Belle” wallet and “Play With Your Food” Calendar); but anything, even without obvious pictures, is fun and fair game. One time Mini Me got a hold of my wallet, emptied it of all contents (and believe me, it was quite full), and arranged everything into the known only to her sub-categories. Another time, when we were on the subway coming home, and she was getting a bit cranky, I, in a fit of desperation, took out my key chain and explained to her the meaning of every single discount card attached to it (again, I have a pretty decent number of those). She perceived it as a game of recognition, and now periodically likes to take that blessed key chain (which in itself is a Hogwarts crest) and name all the cards. On another subway trip, in the similar circumstances, I took out my calendar and just went over the pictures, explaining what was on it and how fruits and veggies were arranged to resemble the subject. She again perceived it as a legitimate reading material, and few times I spotted her filching that effing calendar out of my bag and reading it. Mini Not Me, on the other hand, once filched out my Politically Incorrect Guide to Constitution and attempted to read that one.
On our last outing, I noticed an interesting thing about Mini Not Me: he sits in his stroller with one leg bent at an angle and its ankle on the opposite knee. The first time I perceived somebody sitting like this was back in Moscow, when they were interviewing some English speaking foreigner. I have no blessed idea who that dude was or what the interview was all about, but that relaxed posture was burnt in my mind as an example of a free Westerner. And now Beloved Nephew, all of two years old, is sitting exactly like this in his stroller! All I can say is “thank G-d” – for many, many things.
Mine Me, as noted on many previous occasions, is a great member of our club (the club of oldest sisters, that is). She takes her responsibilities very seriously. So, one time, when I was giving both of them a bath, I saw her performing our "scrubby" song and routine on her brother - she was bathing him, using the song I composed for her, again in a fit of desperation, when she was less than eighteen months old. Let me tell you something - moments like this are more precious than rubies.
Like any decent American kids, they spent a decent amount of time traveling in cars. For Mini Me, it is Aba's car and Mommy's car; for Mini Not Me, it is Aba's car and our car.
Mini Not Me has very interesting color recognition system: he knows black; everything else is either orange or purple. "What color is Mommy's car?" "Our car is orange (or purple, depending on his mood)". In mundane reality, the said car is white.
My purse is considered by both of them something of the equivalent of the Aladdin’s cave; therefore, as soon as I show up, they usually proceed to turn it upside down and start hunting for treasures. Sometimes they get a surprise - something they did not see before; but usually those are the same items over and over again. That does not really deter them, as those items are usually the coveted prizes (it may also have something to do the fact that I have a “Princess Belle” wallet and “Play With Your Food” Calendar); but anything, even without obvious pictures, is fun and fair game. One time Mini Me got a hold of my wallet, emptied it of all contents (and believe me, it was quite full), and arranged everything into the known only to her sub-categories. Another time, when we were on the subway coming home, and she was getting a bit cranky, I, in a fit of desperation, took out my key chain and explained to her the meaning of every single discount card attached to it (again, I have a pretty decent number of those). She perceived it as a game of recognition, and now periodically likes to take that blessed key chain (which in itself is a Hogwarts crest) and name all the cards. On another subway trip, in the similar circumstances, I took out my calendar and just went over the pictures, explaining what was on it and how fruits and veggies were arranged to resemble the subject. She again perceived it as a legitimate reading material, and few times I spotted her filching that effing calendar out of my bag and reading it. Mini Not Me, on the other hand, once filched out my Politically Incorrect Guide to Constitution and attempted to read that one.
On our last outing, I noticed an interesting thing about Mini Not Me: he sits in his stroller with one leg bent at an angle and its ankle on the opposite knee. The first time I perceived somebody sitting like this was back in Moscow, when they were interviewing some English speaking foreigner. I have no blessed idea who that dude was or what the interview was all about, but that relaxed posture was burnt in my mind as an example of a free Westerner. And now Beloved Nephew, all of two years old, is sitting exactly like this in his stroller! All I can say is “thank G-d” – for many, many things.
Mine Me, as noted on many previous occasions, is a great member of our club (the club of oldest sisters, that is). She takes her responsibilities very seriously. So, one time, when I was giving both of them a bath, I saw her performing our "scrubby" song and routine on her brother - she was bathing him, using the song I composed for her, again in a fit of desperation, when she was less than eighteen months old. Let me tell you something - moments like this are more precious than rubies.
Monday, June 22, 2009
SHAVOUT
Thank G-d, this year we had an improvement in weather over the last three ones, the first rainy night non-withstanding (another hint?)
Personally, I had a very enjoyable Holiday, highlights of which include:
A very enjoyable first meal with great friends, where I met another couple who, of course, knew my sister. It's amazing, but usually when I introduce myself as "Sally's sister", it works about ninety five percent of the time, and everyone knows what I am talking about and immediately claims to see the resemblance. We started an evening with champagne, which turned out to be a little mistake, as overtired ladies became slightly sleepy, but it did not really diminish our enjoyment at all. Aside from great food, there was a great conversation and a lot of jokes. Plus, ladies got a chance to entertain themselves by observing the gentlemen, who, after being politely begged not to discuss politics, switched to wine and steaks, which they discussed with great enthusiasm for about an hour; after which they switched to matters concerning human anatomy and physiology.
First morning brought a chance for an extra bonding experience with Mini Not Me. I came in early (for a Yom Tov) to assist the beloved sibling in taking her beloved progeny for Birkat Kohanim. Mini Me was not in the best of moods; and finally I was dispatched to the place of worship with Mini Not Me (in case they would actually do everything according to schedule). Sure enough, beloved nephew and yours truly walked in just as Kohanim were saying "Baruch Ata..". We made it by the skins of our teeth. In the absence of the older sister, Fluffy behaved admirably, and answered "Amen" very sweetly (and when he was supposed to). On the way back we took a little detour in order to walk around our glorious neighborhood and look at the "beautiful flowers". It was also an opportunity for Mini Me to have a little bonding time with Mommy (who was obliged to take her to a different place of worship).
Then it was a great lunch with different friends. The food was also fantastic, and the company delightful and blessedly devoid of annoying people. Plus, LPC was there, and we were very glad to see one another. The general conversation was very pleasant in general due to the above mentioned absence of idiots.
The rest of the meals were spent with family and accompanied by usual family scene.
The recurring amusement of the hour was connected to my shoes. In case I did not mention it before, I am an epicurean when it comes to clothes and shoes, as in they need to be comfortable first and foremost; all the other considerations come after. In lieu of this, I usually wear flip-flops for about eight months out of twelve. High degree of comfort is paramount when purchase is contemplated. Price usually comes as a second consideration - necessary evil. Cuteness comes third (but still important). So, thanks to e-bay, I was in possession of a very comfortable and extremely cute pair of Vera Wang flip-flops (and I swear, the fact that they were Vera Wang had nothing to do with my acquisition). They looked quite ordinary if not for one important detail: they were decorated with fair imitation of the De Beers diamond. The amount of stares I got! Apparently, not only is it pass nicht to wear flip-flops in the Heilige Flatbush, those jewels basically slaughtered everyone I have encountered on the streets.
And, just to add additional excitement to the Holiday, George went after my Shavout bouquets - poor kitty was nutritionally deprived and decided to supplement his diet with fresh vegetation.
On the serious and sober note, I kept thinking about true meaning of this Holiday, how we perceive it, and there are we really on the spiritual level. That thought actually entered my mind few days before; it was supplanted for a little while with the usual excitement and a sense of peace that always comes with finishing all the preparations and lighting the candles; but then it came back. We are chosen by The Creator for a very special and unique mission; and on Shavout we re-experience the time when we were given "tools" to fulfill that mission. But where are we today?
Most of our brothers and sisters are non-observant; moreover, have little desire or inclination of even exploring the rich and unique treasures for observance and preservation of which their ancestors were brutally slaughtered by tyrants and angry mobs again and again. Our communities are full of, not to put too fine a point on it, shettel mentality. The situation in Israel brings tears whenever you try to dwell on it, and most of it is the result of Jewish actions, not our enemies’. Our religious educational system is thoroughly corrupt and rotten to the core; and the latest pedophile scandals are just one of the bitter examples. Our youngsters, imitating their arrogant, uneducated, and narrow-minded parents, themselves are narrow-minded, uneducated, and full of chutzpah. There are way too many single people and way too many divorces - and this time, you cannot blame feminists for it; the blame lies squarely on the shoulders of the so-called community leaders, who turned a seemingly natural process into a circus of monumental proportions. There is constant strife between different religious factions other the matters of absolutely supreme importance - like who wears a hat and how. The communities and individuals who are supposed to educate and lead the next generations to Torah are, again to put it mildly, not up to the task. And, the most painful of all, we are plagued by the curse that landed us in this exile to begin with - there is too much baseless hatred. Maybe we are supposed to fall to the 49th level of tumah again, like we did in Egypt, before the ultimate redemption comes? May Our Heavenly Father show us the way! L'Shana Ha'Baa be Yerushalaim!
Personally, I had a very enjoyable Holiday, highlights of which include:
A very enjoyable first meal with great friends, where I met another couple who, of course, knew my sister. It's amazing, but usually when I introduce myself as "Sally's sister", it works about ninety five percent of the time, and everyone knows what I am talking about and immediately claims to see the resemblance. We started an evening with champagne, which turned out to be a little mistake, as overtired ladies became slightly sleepy, but it did not really diminish our enjoyment at all. Aside from great food, there was a great conversation and a lot of jokes. Plus, ladies got a chance to entertain themselves by observing the gentlemen, who, after being politely begged not to discuss politics, switched to wine and steaks, which they discussed with great enthusiasm for about an hour; after which they switched to matters concerning human anatomy and physiology.
First morning brought a chance for an extra bonding experience with Mini Not Me. I came in early (for a Yom Tov) to assist the beloved sibling in taking her beloved progeny for Birkat Kohanim. Mini Me was not in the best of moods; and finally I was dispatched to the place of worship with Mini Not Me (in case they would actually do everything according to schedule). Sure enough, beloved nephew and yours truly walked in just as Kohanim were saying "Baruch Ata..". We made it by the skins of our teeth. In the absence of the older sister, Fluffy behaved admirably, and answered "Amen" very sweetly (and when he was supposed to). On the way back we took a little detour in order to walk around our glorious neighborhood and look at the "beautiful flowers". It was also an opportunity for Mini Me to have a little bonding time with Mommy (who was obliged to take her to a different place of worship).
Then it was a great lunch with different friends. The food was also fantastic, and the company delightful and blessedly devoid of annoying people. Plus, LPC was there, and we were very glad to see one another. The general conversation was very pleasant in general due to the above mentioned absence of idiots.
The rest of the meals were spent with family and accompanied by usual family scene.
The recurring amusement of the hour was connected to my shoes. In case I did not mention it before, I am an epicurean when it comes to clothes and shoes, as in they need to be comfortable first and foremost; all the other considerations come after. In lieu of this, I usually wear flip-flops for about eight months out of twelve. High degree of comfort is paramount when purchase is contemplated. Price usually comes as a second consideration - necessary evil. Cuteness comes third (but still important). So, thanks to e-bay, I was in possession of a very comfortable and extremely cute pair of Vera Wang flip-flops (and I swear, the fact that they were Vera Wang had nothing to do with my acquisition). They looked quite ordinary if not for one important detail: they were decorated with fair imitation of the De Beers diamond. The amount of stares I got! Apparently, not only is it pass nicht to wear flip-flops in the Heilige Flatbush, those jewels basically slaughtered everyone I have encountered on the streets.
And, just to add additional excitement to the Holiday, George went after my Shavout bouquets - poor kitty was nutritionally deprived and decided to supplement his diet with fresh vegetation.
On the serious and sober note, I kept thinking about true meaning of this Holiday, how we perceive it, and there are we really on the spiritual level. That thought actually entered my mind few days before; it was supplanted for a little while with the usual excitement and a sense of peace that always comes with finishing all the preparations and lighting the candles; but then it came back. We are chosen by The Creator for a very special and unique mission; and on Shavout we re-experience the time when we were given "tools" to fulfill that mission. But where are we today?
Most of our brothers and sisters are non-observant; moreover, have little desire or inclination of even exploring the rich and unique treasures for observance and preservation of which their ancestors were brutally slaughtered by tyrants and angry mobs again and again. Our communities are full of, not to put too fine a point on it, shettel mentality. The situation in Israel brings tears whenever you try to dwell on it, and most of it is the result of Jewish actions, not our enemies’. Our religious educational system is thoroughly corrupt and rotten to the core; and the latest pedophile scandals are just one of the bitter examples. Our youngsters, imitating their arrogant, uneducated, and narrow-minded parents, themselves are narrow-minded, uneducated, and full of chutzpah. There are way too many single people and way too many divorces - and this time, you cannot blame feminists for it; the blame lies squarely on the shoulders of the so-called community leaders, who turned a seemingly natural process into a circus of monumental proportions. There is constant strife between different religious factions other the matters of absolutely supreme importance - like who wears a hat and how. The communities and individuals who are supposed to educate and lead the next generations to Torah are, again to put it mildly, not up to the task. And, the most painful of all, we are plagued by the curse that landed us in this exile to begin with - there is too much baseless hatred. Maybe we are supposed to fall to the 49th level of tumah again, like we did in Egypt, before the ultimate redemption comes? May Our Heavenly Father show us the way! L'Shana Ha'Baa be Yerushalaim!
Friday, June 19, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
LIBRARY TALES
Part 5
Today, despite the severely inclement weather (OK, torrential rain definitely qualifies as that in New York), I was determined to go out during my lunch break. Of course, I had to take into account the proximity of the destination; for which I had two choices - library of coffee shop. For reasons known only to The Creator, I decided on the first.
So, here I come, slightly resembling a drowned rat, holding my dripping Muggle umbrella in one hand and a book I wanted to return in the other. I approach The High Priestess, I mean the clerk, greet her, offer her my book and my apologies for it (the book) being slightly on the damp side. She Of The Supreme Power Does Not Great a Mere Mortal or Smile in Return. Instead, she looks at me with a straight face and intones the following: "Ma'am, I have to warn you, if you will bring books that are Too Wet, you will be charged for damaged books."
Yours truly, slightly taken aback by this display of Supreme Logic, automatically reaches for the self-defensive humor: "So, now I will be charged for the natural disasters and acts of G-d?"
The High Priestess, aka the clerk, does not appreciate or, for that matter, understand the mere mortal humor. She looks at me unblinkingly and repeats with the same intonations: "Well, Ma'am, I wanted to warn you that this time is OK, but next time you will be charged for a damaged book."
I just collected my receipt, thanked her (again with a smile), and departed for the reserve shelves. But here is my question: how did she know that I am a right wing Jew face? Because, let's face it, right wingers are always blamed for the results of the natural disasters, and Jews are always blamed for the results and for causing those disasters to begin with. Again, to quote Goshka, "Life!"
Today, despite the severely inclement weather (OK, torrential rain definitely qualifies as that in New York), I was determined to go out during my lunch break. Of course, I had to take into account the proximity of the destination; for which I had two choices - library of coffee shop. For reasons known only to The Creator, I decided on the first.
So, here I come, slightly resembling a drowned rat, holding my dripping Muggle umbrella in one hand and a book I wanted to return in the other. I approach The High Priestess, I mean the clerk, greet her, offer her my book and my apologies for it (the book) being slightly on the damp side. She Of The Supreme Power Does Not Great a Mere Mortal or Smile in Return. Instead, she looks at me with a straight face and intones the following: "Ma'am, I have to warn you, if you will bring books that are Too Wet, you will be charged for damaged books."
Yours truly, slightly taken aback by this display of Supreme Logic, automatically reaches for the self-defensive humor: "So, now I will be charged for the natural disasters and acts of G-d?"
The High Priestess, aka the clerk, does not appreciate or, for that matter, understand the mere mortal humor. She looks at me unblinkingly and repeats with the same intonations: "Well, Ma'am, I wanted to warn you that this time is OK, but next time you will be charged for a damaged book."
I just collected my receipt, thanked her (again with a smile), and departed for the reserve shelves. But here is my question: how did she know that I am a right wing Jew face? Because, let's face it, right wingers are always blamed for the results of the natural disasters, and Jews are always blamed for the results and for causing those disasters to begin with. Again, to quote Goshka, "Life!"
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Любовь
“Love is something you can only find in a movie for the adults” – our Dad used to kill me with that phrase every time he vetoed a late movie:)
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
ONE (FAIRLY TYPICAL) EVENING IN NEW YORK
One pretty fine Thursday afternoon, I left work and boarded the Lexington express (one of the “best” lines in MTA) with the intention of visiting Fluffys after work (yea, my sis too). Unfortunately, judging by the early signs, i. e. more than usually crowded platform, I got the feeling that this subway ride is going to be even more fun than usual.
Unfortunately, my predictions ended up being true; the only bright spot in the whole debacle being a seat I had wrestled. Finally, at Bowling Green, we were informed that the train was not going into Brooklyn, but turning back. A huge wave of disgruntled humanity exited the train, carrying yours truly along. By now it was over an hour after my departure from work, and I realized that I will not see Munchkins that evening. So, after arranging with my sister for a rain check (or is it "MTA is run by morons" check?), I decided to try and enjoy the evening.
First on the list was, of course, food. So, I trekked to the one of the two kosher establishments in the area. Imagine my disappointment when I realized that it closed down since my last visit downtown. Then imagine the unpleasant feeling when I realized that it was closed down by the Department of Health. Needless to say, the hunger pangs disappeared.
Further examination of the sky revealed more than few clouds (a good chance of torrential rain), so the excursion to our favorite "pak" was scrapped as well. Disappointed, but not deterred, I went to the bookstore.
Upon arrival at that fine establishment, I decided to visit the least pleasant part of it - the ladies room - before visiting more pleasant ones. As my luck would have it, that coveted place was being cleaned. For some unfathomable reason I decided to hang around and wait for the cleaning lady to finish. That turned out to be a slight miscalculation on my part.
So, here I am, just perusing the cookbooks and not-too-surreptitiously observing the progress of the cleaning. Meanwhile, the other ladies ignore the sign and barrel on. They were stopped and directed to the men's room by the enterprising cleaning personnel. At this point I decided to ignore the cookbook and observed the fun.
Sure enough, first adventures female soul knocked on the door, ascertained that the men's room was empty, and went in. Immediately after this, a man wanted to use the facilities. I warned him just in time. While he was waiting, another guy showed up, and they had to wait together. The second arrival even complimented the first one on his being a gentleman (the rest of this conversation would be better off to remain unpublished).
Finally, the adventures female exited, and the waiting males entered. Meanwhile, the cleaning lady was still busy cleaning the ladies' and directing everyone to the men’s. Yours truly continued to peruse the cookbooks, direct the hapless of both sexes, and generally observe the entertaining tableau.
The last female - non-adventurous, but desperately in need, since she was pregnant - beseechingly looked at me before I had a chance to open my mouth and offer my guard services. I assured her that I will not allow anyone of the male persuasion to enter the coveted facilities, and she disappeared there with a grateful smile. About three more males were stopped in their tracks to the bathroom till the pregnant woman emerged. She was profusely grateful, and even offered to do the same services for me; she also warned me that the men's room was really in a disgusting shape.
Since I accidently walked into three different men's bathrooms prior to that memorable evening, I did not need any additional warnings. I just thanked her with a big smile and returned to my observations and my cookbooks.
Finally, the cleaning woman finished her job, at which point she decided that she is going to preserve the integrity of the said job and not allow anyone into the ladies room for another half an hour. Few more brave female souls wanted to visit the coveted place and were also directed to the men's! At which point my capacity for entertaining oneself (and my patience) ran out, and I point blank asked her why I cannot go into the ladies’ is she was done. To which she replied to me in Spanish and again pointed to the men's! Wrong language, hon!
For those of you who know my political pet peeves, English as a national language is one of them; and I refuse to acknowledge the legitimacy of Spanish here in any shape or form. So, when she compounded her nonsensical behavior by speaking to me in Spanish that was the end of Ms. Nice Girl. I told her that I do not speak Spanish, but I can see that she is done with the ladies', and I am going there, sign or no sign. She added some more annoyed phrases (I am sure also very complimentary to yours truly), and huffily removed the sign, after which she proceed to finally clean the men's. To give her credit, the bathroom was thoroughly cleaned.
After that adventure, the rest was a bit anticlimactic. I visited all the favorite sections of the store; found one book which I wanted to acquire as a present, and of which, of course, they only had one bedraggled copy; got some cards, most of which I did not need; refrained from getting a coffee in view of the recent events, and finally decided that MTA probably sorted out their mess, and I can go home.
The last was too optimistic: I ended up waiting for the train for about twenty minutes, after which it arrived stuffed like a sardine can. Needless to say, I came home late and hungry (thanks, sis, for feeding me).
To summarize this pretty typical for New York evening:
I have spent more than four hours in total in order to reach my humble abode; was treated to 9,667th demonstration of MTA's incompetence and stupidity since our arrival to this fair city; spend about six dollars for absolutely no logical reason; realized for the 666th time that eating at home is better than in a typical kosher establishment; appreciated again the idiocy of Mayor Bloomberg in his refusing to build public bathrooms in New York; was treated to the 1000th demonstration of general human idiocy in performance of the queen of the hill routine; and, finally, while perusing the cookbooks, I came to the realization that I am a fairly decent cook myself and can have my own cookbook - at least on the level of the ones I was perusing. So, in the future, my blog would feature the additional segment of recipes.
Unfortunately, my predictions ended up being true; the only bright spot in the whole debacle being a seat I had wrestled. Finally, at Bowling Green, we were informed that the train was not going into Brooklyn, but turning back. A huge wave of disgruntled humanity exited the train, carrying yours truly along. By now it was over an hour after my departure from work, and I realized that I will not see Munchkins that evening. So, after arranging with my sister for a rain check (or is it "MTA is run by morons" check?), I decided to try and enjoy the evening.
First on the list was, of course, food. So, I trekked to the one of the two kosher establishments in the area. Imagine my disappointment when I realized that it closed down since my last visit downtown. Then imagine the unpleasant feeling when I realized that it was closed down by the Department of Health. Needless to say, the hunger pangs disappeared.
Further examination of the sky revealed more than few clouds (a good chance of torrential rain), so the excursion to our favorite "pak" was scrapped as well. Disappointed, but not deterred, I went to the bookstore.
Upon arrival at that fine establishment, I decided to visit the least pleasant part of it - the ladies room - before visiting more pleasant ones. As my luck would have it, that coveted place was being cleaned. For some unfathomable reason I decided to hang around and wait for the cleaning lady to finish. That turned out to be a slight miscalculation on my part.
So, here I am, just perusing the cookbooks and not-too-surreptitiously observing the progress of the cleaning. Meanwhile, the other ladies ignore the sign and barrel on. They were stopped and directed to the men's room by the enterprising cleaning personnel. At this point I decided to ignore the cookbook and observed the fun.
Sure enough, first adventures female soul knocked on the door, ascertained that the men's room was empty, and went in. Immediately after this, a man wanted to use the facilities. I warned him just in time. While he was waiting, another guy showed up, and they had to wait together. The second arrival even complimented the first one on his being a gentleman (the rest of this conversation would be better off to remain unpublished).
Finally, the adventures female exited, and the waiting males entered. Meanwhile, the cleaning lady was still busy cleaning the ladies' and directing everyone to the men’s. Yours truly continued to peruse the cookbooks, direct the hapless of both sexes, and generally observe the entertaining tableau.
The last female - non-adventurous, but desperately in need, since she was pregnant - beseechingly looked at me before I had a chance to open my mouth and offer my guard services. I assured her that I will not allow anyone of the male persuasion to enter the coveted facilities, and she disappeared there with a grateful smile. About three more males were stopped in their tracks to the bathroom till the pregnant woman emerged. She was profusely grateful, and even offered to do the same services for me; she also warned me that the men's room was really in a disgusting shape.
Since I accidently walked into three different men's bathrooms prior to that memorable evening, I did not need any additional warnings. I just thanked her with a big smile and returned to my observations and my cookbooks.
Finally, the cleaning woman finished her job, at which point she decided that she is going to preserve the integrity of the said job and not allow anyone into the ladies room for another half an hour. Few more brave female souls wanted to visit the coveted place and were also directed to the men's! At which point my capacity for entertaining oneself (and my patience) ran out, and I point blank asked her why I cannot go into the ladies’ is she was done. To which she replied to me in Spanish and again pointed to the men's! Wrong language, hon!
For those of you who know my political pet peeves, English as a national language is one of them; and I refuse to acknowledge the legitimacy of Spanish here in any shape or form. So, when she compounded her nonsensical behavior by speaking to me in Spanish that was the end of Ms. Nice Girl. I told her that I do not speak Spanish, but I can see that she is done with the ladies', and I am going there, sign or no sign. She added some more annoyed phrases (I am sure also very complimentary to yours truly), and huffily removed the sign, after which she proceed to finally clean the men's. To give her credit, the bathroom was thoroughly cleaned.
After that adventure, the rest was a bit anticlimactic. I visited all the favorite sections of the store; found one book which I wanted to acquire as a present, and of which, of course, they only had one bedraggled copy; got some cards, most of which I did not need; refrained from getting a coffee in view of the recent events, and finally decided that MTA probably sorted out their mess, and I can go home.
The last was too optimistic: I ended up waiting for the train for about twenty minutes, after which it arrived stuffed like a sardine can. Needless to say, I came home late and hungry (thanks, sis, for feeding me).
To summarize this pretty typical for New York evening:
I have spent more than four hours in total in order to reach my humble abode; was treated to 9,667th demonstration of MTA's incompetence and stupidity since our arrival to this fair city; spend about six dollars for absolutely no logical reason; realized for the 666th time that eating at home is better than in a typical kosher establishment; appreciated again the idiocy of Mayor Bloomberg in his refusing to build public bathrooms in New York; was treated to the 1000th demonstration of general human idiocy in performance of the queen of the hill routine; and, finally, while perusing the cookbooks, I came to the realization that I am a fairly decent cook myself and can have my own cookbook - at least on the level of the ones I was perusing. So, in the future, my blog would feature the additional segment of recipes.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
AN EVENING OF HOME ENTERTAINMENT
Or My Short Response to Barack Obama
Tuesday night, arriving home at the un-G-dly hour of ten forty eight pm, after a relatively uneventful day at work and a very enjoyable evening spent with beloved sibling and munchkins, I came to a strange conclusion: the night is young, and going to sleep just to be refreshed for the next workday is passé.
So, in accordance with this plan, I spent about half an hour playing America's favorite sport: flipping the channels on my TV remote. On the thirty fourth minute I realized that I will probably not see anything even remotely worthwhile, so I decided to finish my latest Netflix arrival. That was "Music and Lyrics", and I highly recommend it as a very sweet, light-hearted, feel-good with happy ending romantic comedy; plus, it had very enjoyable musical numbers in the style of the 80s music (OK, I am getting on in years).
After finishing the movie, I decided to play a bit on the Youtube; another very pleasant and time consuming activity, during which I found a music video of Sara Brightman singing "Harem". Sue me, but, despite the objectionable words due to the objectionable subject matter of this song, I actually enjoy the music and the beat (hey, nobody said that I was sane).
Next morning, while trying to wake up in the shower after half the night spent on those home entertainments, I was suddenly struck by this freaky connection: the movie and the song represented something diametrically opposed.
Now, a lot of people more gifted than yours truly already wrote brilliant summaries and responses to Obama's latest round of Muslim bootlicking, excuse me, attempts at diplomacy. But here is my short and not humble two cents worth of personal opinion.
Despite the fact that our non-esteemed supposed President went to Ivy League schools, and yours truly went to "Dura" college, I am firmly convinced that I am more knowledgeable in history than he is, even though I majored in psychology. All his claims to Muslim achievements are in error; whatever they supposed to have brought to civilization was brought by other nations and other religions. And even though thousand years ago they were better at medicine than the Europeans, come on! Even I am better at medical knowledge than the people who were convinced that you can heal wounds by the means of a fried field mouse. And they, by the way, made significant advancements since then; as apposes to the supposed beacons of civilization who only know how to torture and kill practically with their bare hands, but not to heal.
But Muslims always were, are, and will be famous (or infamous) for their elaborate harems and the entire culture attached to it (although that also was invented before their time).
Americans, on the other hand, are famous for their constant and almost unwavering hope for a better tomorrow. The Kenyan bastard stole that concept, trivialized and cheapened it in his campaign. But the concept is alive and well.
Other countries also make movies that have a happy ending, and that extol the healing power of love, friendship, art, and hope; but somehow, American movies are still the best and mostly unique in that regard.
And that, my friends, is the ironic connection that my head made when it was trying to wake up while being shampooed.
Tuesday night, arriving home at the un-G-dly hour of ten forty eight pm, after a relatively uneventful day at work and a very enjoyable evening spent with beloved sibling and munchkins, I came to a strange conclusion: the night is young, and going to sleep just to be refreshed for the next workday is passé.
So, in accordance with this plan, I spent about half an hour playing America's favorite sport: flipping the channels on my TV remote. On the thirty fourth minute I realized that I will probably not see anything even remotely worthwhile, so I decided to finish my latest Netflix arrival. That was "Music and Lyrics", and I highly recommend it as a very sweet, light-hearted, feel-good with happy ending romantic comedy; plus, it had very enjoyable musical numbers in the style of the 80s music (OK, I am getting on in years).
After finishing the movie, I decided to play a bit on the Youtube; another very pleasant and time consuming activity, during which I found a music video of Sara Brightman singing "Harem". Sue me, but, despite the objectionable words due to the objectionable subject matter of this song, I actually enjoy the music and the beat (hey, nobody said that I was sane).
Next morning, while trying to wake up in the shower after half the night spent on those home entertainments, I was suddenly struck by this freaky connection: the movie and the song represented something diametrically opposed.
Now, a lot of people more gifted than yours truly already wrote brilliant summaries and responses to Obama's latest round of Muslim bootlicking, excuse me, attempts at diplomacy. But here is my short and not humble two cents worth of personal opinion.
Despite the fact that our non-esteemed supposed President went to Ivy League schools, and yours truly went to "Dura" college, I am firmly convinced that I am more knowledgeable in history than he is, even though I majored in psychology. All his claims to Muslim achievements are in error; whatever they supposed to have brought to civilization was brought by other nations and other religions. And even though thousand years ago they were better at medicine than the Europeans, come on! Even I am better at medical knowledge than the people who were convinced that you can heal wounds by the means of a fried field mouse. And they, by the way, made significant advancements since then; as apposes to the supposed beacons of civilization who only know how to torture and kill practically with their bare hands, but not to heal.
But Muslims always were, are, and will be famous (or infamous) for their elaborate harems and the entire culture attached to it (although that also was invented before their time).
Americans, on the other hand, are famous for their constant and almost unwavering hope for a better tomorrow. The Kenyan bastard stole that concept, trivialized and cheapened it in his campaign. But the concept is alive and well.
Other countries also make movies that have a happy ending, and that extol the healing power of love, friendship, art, and hope; but somehow, American movies are still the best and mostly unique in that regard.
And that, my friends, is the ironic connection that my head made when it was trying to wake up while being shampooed.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
TALES FROM THE LIBRARY
Part 4
Today, I decided to visit the little stinking (literally and figuratively) library branch next to my office. And since I have a "reader's crisis" for about a month now, I thought I would just peruse the paperback section, especially mystery and romance, to see if anything would inspire me, or at least call my name.
Few years ago Signet reprinted almost the entire Agatha Christie collection, and there is a fair to certain chance that you can find at least one or two of them on the shelf - library pages did not have a chance to destroy all of them, and half of them were not stolen yet. Sure enough, the mystery section did not disappoint, and I found a good number of Christie books there.
Of course, as Murthy's law would have it, the one I really wanted was damaged (it started on page 43); so, being my usual idiotic self, I decided to take it to the clerk, so that she could "depreciate" this book.
My turn came pretty quickly. I plopped my selection on the counter and gave her a damaged book first with a short explanation. By her facial expression I quickly realized that she thought I was returning it damaged; I explained the situation again. She checked it, confirmed that it did, indeed, start on page 43, and then politely asked me if I wanted it. I just replied with "no, thank you." "Ah, I understand, it is damaged, so you do not really want it". And she put it aside, on the pile of freshly returned books.
Oy, gevalt!
Today, I decided to visit the little stinking (literally and figuratively) library branch next to my office. And since I have a "reader's crisis" for about a month now, I thought I would just peruse the paperback section, especially mystery and romance, to see if anything would inspire me, or at least call my name.
Few years ago Signet reprinted almost the entire Agatha Christie collection, and there is a fair to certain chance that you can find at least one or two of them on the shelf - library pages did not have a chance to destroy all of them, and half of them were not stolen yet. Sure enough, the mystery section did not disappoint, and I found a good number of Christie books there.
Of course, as Murthy's law would have it, the one I really wanted was damaged (it started on page 43); so, being my usual idiotic self, I decided to take it to the clerk, so that she could "depreciate" this book.
My turn came pretty quickly. I plopped my selection on the counter and gave her a damaged book first with a short explanation. By her facial expression I quickly realized that she thought I was returning it damaged; I explained the situation again. She checked it, confirmed that it did, indeed, start on page 43, and then politely asked me if I wanted it. I just replied with "no, thank you." "Ah, I understand, it is damaged, so you do not really want it". And she put it aside, on the pile of freshly returned books.
Oy, gevalt!
Monday, June 08, 2009
HAPPY SECOND BIRTHDAY, MINI NOT ME!
Editor's note: Due to the usual circumstances beyond my control, this post appears today, as opposed to yesterday.
Happy Birthday to my delicious nephew! May Hashem bless you, with your smart eyes, professor's head, pinchable checks, huggable everything, and mischievous smile!
Love you much!
Hugs and kisses,
Your Papi
Happy Birthday to my delicious nephew! May Hashem bless you, with your smart eyes, professor's head, pinchable checks, huggable everything, and mischievous smile!
Love you much!
Hugs and kisses,
Your Papi
Friday, June 05, 2009
HAPPY DOUGHNUT DAY!
Today is National Doughnut Day!
Happy Holiday to our brave police forces and all the doughnut lovers across the country!
Happy Holiday to our brave police forces and all the doughnut lovers across the country!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
MY MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND
My Memorial Day weekend was basically uneventful.
Aside from the fact that meteorologists miscalculated for a change, and instead of cool and breezy we had warm and pretty muggy weekend, I had a nice Shabat, spruced up by another visit from Mini Me and her Mommy.
On Sunday we finally made it to "pak" on "tchu tchu" train. To Papi's everlasting delight, it turns out that now the newly renovated "pak" station is fully accessible. Hurray! Maybe I will try and persuade Mini Not Me to come with us as well (or rather, hope that he will last without Mommy for more than half an hour). Either way, G-d help me!; even though I am really looking forward to it. Our time in the "pak" was delightful as usual, but unfortunately cut a bit short by the rain. Also, since our last visit, Mini Me seemed to adopt one of her parents' idiosyncrasies, and refused to go on the grass barefoot. Pity! On top of that, she almost lost her Tigger from her adorable yellow croc; to which I suggested relocating Tigger to my bag, and solemnly promised her to watch for him till we get home. She kept checking to make sure I actually do have him, but forgot to claim Tigger at home. So, I still got him in my bag; and I just gaze at him with a warm fuzzy feeling in my heart.
Then, on Monday, it was the beginning of a long and torturous process of cleaning my apartment (punctuated by some dopey TV re-runs). As I said, pretty uneventful.
There were ad for sales everywhere I turned my head. I even got an e-mail from some kind of adult toy company about their special for Memorial Day. A lot of people were enjoying barbeques, long weekends, extra sale opportunities, and fine weather. Memorial Day is also an official start of the air-conditioning season. What travesty!
My neighborhood is noted for precious few flags displayed on private houses. Is it because it is mainly populated by minorities, immigrants, illegals, and "extra religious" people? Mind you, all of them enjoy the blessings offered by this country (legally or not), but none of them are willing to acknowledge it. At best, they are oblivious; at worst, they are disgustingly hostile and hateful. My favorite expression "ungrateful swine" readily comes to mind.
I wanted to get a T-shirt that reads "Home of the Free because of the Brave"; naturally, with my organizational skills, it will materialize on Veteran's day. But the sentiment is in my heart.
So, here is to all the American brave who have fallen in the fight for freedom; for them the antiquated notions of bravery, honor and patriotism were not just empty and meaningless words. This survivor of Communist hell and grateful American patriot salutes you!
Aside from the fact that meteorologists miscalculated for a change, and instead of cool and breezy we had warm and pretty muggy weekend, I had a nice Shabat, spruced up by another visit from Mini Me and her Mommy.
On Sunday we finally made it to "pak" on "tchu tchu" train. To Papi's everlasting delight, it turns out that now the newly renovated "pak" station is fully accessible. Hurray! Maybe I will try and persuade Mini Not Me to come with us as well (or rather, hope that he will last without Mommy for more than half an hour). Either way, G-d help me!; even though I am really looking forward to it. Our time in the "pak" was delightful as usual, but unfortunately cut a bit short by the rain. Also, since our last visit, Mini Me seemed to adopt one of her parents' idiosyncrasies, and refused to go on the grass barefoot. Pity! On top of that, she almost lost her Tigger from her adorable yellow croc; to which I suggested relocating Tigger to my bag, and solemnly promised her to watch for him till we get home. She kept checking to make sure I actually do have him, but forgot to claim Tigger at home. So, I still got him in my bag; and I just gaze at him with a warm fuzzy feeling in my heart.
Then, on Monday, it was the beginning of a long and torturous process of cleaning my apartment (punctuated by some dopey TV re-runs). As I said, pretty uneventful.
There were ad for sales everywhere I turned my head. I even got an e-mail from some kind of adult toy company about their special for Memorial Day. A lot of people were enjoying barbeques, long weekends, extra sale opportunities, and fine weather. Memorial Day is also an official start of the air-conditioning season. What travesty!
My neighborhood is noted for precious few flags displayed on private houses. Is it because it is mainly populated by minorities, immigrants, illegals, and "extra religious" people? Mind you, all of them enjoy the blessings offered by this country (legally or not), but none of them are willing to acknowledge it. At best, they are oblivious; at worst, they are disgustingly hostile and hateful. My favorite expression "ungrateful swine" readily comes to mind.
I wanted to get a T-shirt that reads "Home of the Free because of the Brave"; naturally, with my organizational skills, it will materialize on Veteran's day. But the sentiment is in my heart.
So, here is to all the American brave who have fallen in the fight for freedom; for them the antiquated notions of bravery, honor and patriotism were not just empty and meaningless words. This survivor of Communist hell and grateful American patriot salutes you!
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
WEEKEND UPDATE
Editor's note: this post was originally slated to appear on May 18. Due to the circumstances beyond my control (as in I actually had to work) it appears today instead.
OK, here is another weekend update.
My weekend tale started Friday night at the house of the friend where I usually get into "discussions". This time she had over "family friends" whom I met before, and who got themselves imprinted on my memory due to the extreme chutzpah displayed by their "baby". Anyway, I was determined to keep my tongue firmly behind my teeth or occupied with food only.
That resolution lasted till the conversation topic veered in the general direction of education, at which point the matriarch of the family uttered the brilliant phrase about math not being necessary for the general education since "you hardly use it anyway"; and about two minutes later history was relegated to the same pile. At which point my tongue could not taste the soup in peace and decided to speak in defense of math (forget about history) to the tune of it being beneficial to the occasional exercise of your brains. Yea, right! That opinion, though seconded by our hostess, still remained in minority. Few minutes later Pater familias enquired about my present occupation; upon hearing that I work as an office manager in an architectural firm, his wife promptly proclaimed that that is the reason why I think math is necessary! I just clarified that my job is purely administrative, and has nothing to do with architecture, but that did not really deter her; few minutes later the conversation progressed to makeup. Oy, gevalt! Who was it that claimed that we are the smartest nation?
Next day, Mini Me was full of anticipation: she had a play date with one of her friends from playgroup. She was feeling very grown up, and even expressed the desire to have cholent (in her mind it was: have meal=eat cholent, then go to her friend). The let down came way before dessert: friend's father knocked on the door with the deflating news that the friend had fever, and could not possibly receive guests. Poor Mini Me! So, as a consolation, I offered her visit to George. The said invitation was graciously accepted, and Golden Delicious spent a part of the afternoon in my humble abode visiting with George and exploring the fascinating world of my strange possessions.
On Sunday, plans to have an outing on "chu chu train with single stroller" somehow ended up cancelled, partly due to the inclement weather, and partly due to Mini Not Me being extra cranky. So, both sets of delicious checks and their owners were packed up into the double stroller and we departed on an exciting expedition to a wonderful place called Dunkin Donuts.
On the way there we spotted a lot of trees, cars, beautiful flowers in different patterns, and different birdies. Once there, I was obliged to buy them their favorite donuts: chocolate frosted with sprinkles (blech). Mini Me, for reasons known only to her, decided that on that particular day she wanted pink, not chocolate, frosted with sprinkles; the arrival of a large group of new costumers deflected her from that particular thought, thank G-d.
Anyway, after about fifteen minutes at DD, the combined influences of consumed sugar and some forced inactivity on the way there produced extra lively behavior on the part of the Gnomes. Of course, the one person in the entire store to give them repeated dirty looks had to be another religious Jewish woman. What gives?
After exiting the store, I offered an excursion of the exiting South Brooklyn; which offer was met with very enthusiastic approval. So, up the Flatbush Avenue we went. On the way we saw couple of very "interesting" stores (oh, to be young again); one store, however, was interesting to me: it advertised itself as psychic shop, but was definitely a voodoo store. The stuff you find in your neighborhood!
Finally, we came to a big shiny store (known to adults at Target). Munchkins immediately spotted the soda fountain, so I had to deflect their attention somehow, and offered them iced tea. "Are you guys OK with one cup and two straws?" "Yes, Papi; yes, Papi; we want two cups and two straws." So, two cups it was. Of course, while I was waiting for them, Mini Not Me succumbed to Morpheus. Mini Me, after having two sips from her cup and observing for a bit through the floor to ceiling glass the fauna of the neighborhood, graciously agreed to take a tour of the store.
The said tour began with a "toilet that was flushing by itself!” Then we progressed to ladies accessories, where Golden Delicious had a blast trying on hats and sunglasses, and checking out handbags and wallets.
After a considerable chunk of time spent of those exercises, we went to the next level. There, Mini Me selected two sets of dishes (for her and her little brother), after which she had a great time trying on all different kinds of kid furniture for size. She even wanted to check out a dresser, at which point I had to disappoint her by pointing out that I cannot possibly plunk it down from the top shelf. She took it in stride, and decided to borrow my camera instead. Later, while I was reviewing the shots she took, I realized that she actually put some artistic thought into it. She took pictures of: her sleeping brother, her empty place in the stroller occupied by her set of dishes, the chair she was eyeing with intent to buy it with her brother's set of dishes in it, and Papi (the most flattering part of her).
During these activities Mini Not Me woke up. So, the final part of the tour was conducted for the benefit of both of the Gnomes, with the end purchase of: a Princess Coloring book with paints, Elmo sticker book, a cute set for baking cupcakes, and I honestly do not recall what else. Mini Not Me was not being extremely discriminating and basically expressed a desire to acquire about half of the toy department. Mini Me, on the other hand, had her heart set on a beautiful doll house, completed with dolls and furniture. I had to solemnly swear that as soon as I get a better paying job, I am coming back and buying her that doll house. She promptly agreed to that, and then refused to budge anyway. So, the cupcake set was actually her graciously accepted consolation prize.
After returning home, she proudly showed Mama all the purchases, after which she made her royal decision to dedicate the new dishes to "burgers and hot dogs" meals as opposed to "cheese" meals. And after that she proceeded to make cupcakes for all the known to her members of the family, present of absent.
OK, here is another weekend update.
My weekend tale started Friday night at the house of the friend where I usually get into "discussions". This time she had over "family friends" whom I met before, and who got themselves imprinted on my memory due to the extreme chutzpah displayed by their "baby". Anyway, I was determined to keep my tongue firmly behind my teeth or occupied with food only.
That resolution lasted till the conversation topic veered in the general direction of education, at which point the matriarch of the family uttered the brilliant phrase about math not being necessary for the general education since "you hardly use it anyway"; and about two minutes later history was relegated to the same pile. At which point my tongue could not taste the soup in peace and decided to speak in defense of math (forget about history) to the tune of it being beneficial to the occasional exercise of your brains. Yea, right! That opinion, though seconded by our hostess, still remained in minority. Few minutes later Pater familias enquired about my present occupation; upon hearing that I work as an office manager in an architectural firm, his wife promptly proclaimed that that is the reason why I think math is necessary! I just clarified that my job is purely administrative, and has nothing to do with architecture, but that did not really deter her; few minutes later the conversation progressed to makeup. Oy, gevalt! Who was it that claimed that we are the smartest nation?
Next day, Mini Me was full of anticipation: she had a play date with one of her friends from playgroup. She was feeling very grown up, and even expressed the desire to have cholent (in her mind it was: have meal=eat cholent, then go to her friend). The let down came way before dessert: friend's father knocked on the door with the deflating news that the friend had fever, and could not possibly receive guests. Poor Mini Me! So, as a consolation, I offered her visit to George. The said invitation was graciously accepted, and Golden Delicious spent a part of the afternoon in my humble abode visiting with George and exploring the fascinating world of my strange possessions.
On Sunday, plans to have an outing on "chu chu train with single stroller" somehow ended up cancelled, partly due to the inclement weather, and partly due to Mini Not Me being extra cranky. So, both sets of delicious checks and their owners were packed up into the double stroller and we departed on an exciting expedition to a wonderful place called Dunkin Donuts.
On the way there we spotted a lot of trees, cars, beautiful flowers in different patterns, and different birdies. Once there, I was obliged to buy them their favorite donuts: chocolate frosted with sprinkles (blech). Mini Me, for reasons known only to her, decided that on that particular day she wanted pink, not chocolate, frosted with sprinkles; the arrival of a large group of new costumers deflected her from that particular thought, thank G-d.
Anyway, after about fifteen minutes at DD, the combined influences of consumed sugar and some forced inactivity on the way there produced extra lively behavior on the part of the Gnomes. Of course, the one person in the entire store to give them repeated dirty looks had to be another religious Jewish woman. What gives?
After exiting the store, I offered an excursion of the exiting South Brooklyn; which offer was met with very enthusiastic approval. So, up the Flatbush Avenue we went. On the way we saw couple of very "interesting" stores (oh, to be young again); one store, however, was interesting to me: it advertised itself as psychic shop, but was definitely a voodoo store. The stuff you find in your neighborhood!
Finally, we came to a big shiny store (known to adults at Target). Munchkins immediately spotted the soda fountain, so I had to deflect their attention somehow, and offered them iced tea. "Are you guys OK with one cup and two straws?" "Yes, Papi; yes, Papi; we want two cups and two straws." So, two cups it was. Of course, while I was waiting for them, Mini Not Me succumbed to Morpheus. Mini Me, after having two sips from her cup and observing for a bit through the floor to ceiling glass the fauna of the neighborhood, graciously agreed to take a tour of the store.
The said tour began with a "toilet that was flushing by itself!” Then we progressed to ladies accessories, where Golden Delicious had a blast trying on hats and sunglasses, and checking out handbags and wallets.
After a considerable chunk of time spent of those exercises, we went to the next level. There, Mini Me selected two sets of dishes (for her and her little brother), after which she had a great time trying on all different kinds of kid furniture for size. She even wanted to check out a dresser, at which point I had to disappoint her by pointing out that I cannot possibly plunk it down from the top shelf. She took it in stride, and decided to borrow my camera instead. Later, while I was reviewing the shots she took, I realized that she actually put some artistic thought into it. She took pictures of: her sleeping brother, her empty place in the stroller occupied by her set of dishes, the chair she was eyeing with intent to buy it with her brother's set of dishes in it, and Papi (the most flattering part of her).
During these activities Mini Not Me woke up. So, the final part of the tour was conducted for the benefit of both of the Gnomes, with the end purchase of: a Princess Coloring book with paints, Elmo sticker book, a cute set for baking cupcakes, and I honestly do not recall what else. Mini Not Me was not being extremely discriminating and basically expressed a desire to acquire about half of the toy department. Mini Me, on the other hand, had her heart set on a beautiful doll house, completed with dolls and furniture. I had to solemnly swear that as soon as I get a better paying job, I am coming back and buying her that doll house. She promptly agreed to that, and then refused to budge anyway. So, the cupcake set was actually her graciously accepted consolation prize.
After returning home, she proudly showed Mama all the purchases, after which she made her royal decision to dedicate the new dishes to "burgers and hot dogs" meals as opposed to "cheese" meals. And after that she proceeded to make cupcakes for all the known to her members of the family, present of absent.
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