The Best Motto

Gd, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannon change
Courage to change the things I can
And the wisdom to know the difference.

All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.

You woke up this morning - Congratulations! You got another chance!

Thursday, March 27, 2008

bond allegretto

Just because I love this piece!

Wednesday, March 26, 2008


On the Rules of Engagement

A little while ago, when I remembered the strange reconnection I had with one of my former friends, Subwife asked how come it's all right, in my opinion, when conservatives call liberals stupid, but not all right when the situation is reversed; doesn't that smack of double standard? Posed like this, it is a very interesting topic for discussion, so, here goes.

First of all, let us identify the players. On one hand, we have the group that calls themselves liberals, and so, by default, everyone else started calling them liberals also. That definition, of course, could not be further from the truth, because that particular group represents the most malevolent and freedom-suppressing force ever to arise on American political scene. Overwhelming amount of these people possesses a very interesting set of morals and a firm believe that all the personal liberties enumerated in American Constitution apply to them exclusively; and, as the irony of fate would have it, since the majority of media is controlled by them, our conscious and subconscious minds are constantly being bombarded with direct and subliminal messages to the tune that only that peculiar set of morals is "true morals" and these people are true defenders of our Constitutional rights and freedoms.

On the other hand we have an opposing bunch, whose members are, again by default, identified as conservatives; and, again, that is not precisely so. As I mentioned before, they are pretty diverse crew by themselves, coming from all kinds of political thought and political school; the only thing that unites them is the opposition to the so called liberals, but that does not necessarily make them conservatives, and a lot of them are not: just look at Tammy Bruce. So, what we have in a nutshell are basically people on the left and all the rest, who are usually on the right and sometimes in the center. Out of consideration for my fingers I will simply call them lefties and righties in this here composition.

Now, in the normal, civilized course of political argument nobody, obviously, calls their opponents names and nobody raises his or her voice. You present your opinion, your opposition presents theirs, and hopefully, both of you have substantiating evidence. At a certain point you realize that both of you feel too strongly about the topic discussed and you will not convince each other to switch opinions. So, you politely agree to disagree, smile, and either wish each other good evening or switch the discussion to flighty New York weather, or Yankees, or latest movie, or Agatha Cristie, or ballet, or Paris Hilton (hopefully, you and your opponent have some other interests aside from latest development on the political scene). That scenario, again, works perfectly well if you are dealing with civilized people who, at a certain point in their development, were taught at least a modicum of proper manners. Unfortunately, when you are dealing with lefties, that is usually not the case.

These people, both the leaders and the followers, are firmly convinced that they took over Pope's ability to be infallible, and that they, and they alone, possess all the right answers and all the secrets of the universe. Freedom of speech belongs exclusively to them; all the members of the opposition are reactionaries, members of the right-wing conspiracy, racists, etc, and, as such, are not entitled to express their opinion in any shape or form. Moreover, your belonging to the opposition (again, in any shape or form) automatically makes you stupid, or, at the very least, uneducated and uninformed. Here are some snippets from my personal experience.

Holiday lunch at a friend's house. Usual (for her) motley assembly. Conversation zigzags around strange topics, and yours truly pipes something in defense of McCarthy, followed by immediate and predictable outrage from another guest. "You really should read up on the topic" goes her superior advice down her nose. "I just did it few months ago". "Really?" with disbelieve.

Election day. I am chatting with one of my friendlier co-workers. He is totally confused as for whom to vote and asking my advice. I confess that I vote down the party line exclusively for Republicans, so, I am not necessarily an unbiased adviser. Another woman from a different department is passing by. "You vote for Republicans? How dare you! You would not be allowed into my house!"

Another friendly co-worker sets me up with a blind date. The guy has a promising political career working as an underflunkie to some kind of councilman (Democrat, of course). As irony would have, that was around February of another Presidential election year, and, of course, he wanted to find out what candidate appealed to me. The moment I mentioned my party affiliation, he became extremely condescending and downright nasty, mocking every single opinion I had on any subject and leaching on to every single little scrap of information that I did not know and he did. Let's just say it was a most memorable date.

So, basically, lefties usually view righties as stupid by default; righties usually call lefties stupid (and some other choice names) after thorough study, interesting evidence and long experience (like happened in my case). Unfortunately, the battle lines are much deeper than that. Saul Alinksy, whom some biographers of our dear Hilary Rodham Clinton call her spiritual mentor, basically taught his followers to use the bourgeois mentality of their opponents and make a complete mockery of it. Here is a charming example I found in one of Barbara Olsen's books: Alinsky instructed his goons to eat beans and then go protest some kind of meeting (do not remember which one, but it was inside a closed room) and basically distract the said meeting with excessive flatulence. How, may I ask you, are you supposed to remain civilized when dealing with such opponents?

Just think about it: in a few decades since the sixties (which is a very short period of time, historically speaking), lefties have taken over tremendous chunks of American life, education being the most crucial of them. Freedom of speech belongs exclusively to them; political correctness is chocking everyone else. From the leftie's point of view, there is no respect for the enemy: he has to be yelled at, yelled down, deprived of his ability to express the said opinion, and hopefully deprived of his livelihood. Meanwhile, we are supposed to remain civilised and bleat at all and sundry that these people do not adhere to the rules of civilized behavior and gentleman's fighting code? In my humble opinion, one of the reasons lefties have such virulent hatred towards Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter particularly is because these two engaged them at their own battlefield and emerged triumphant, never mind very popular.

In my long association with lefties there was only one person with whom I could speak about politics and not loose my cool. She was also a former co-worker, by the way. When she felt that the discussion was entering dangerous waters , she would just propose to agree to disagree and jokingly add that that is why we have vanilla ice cream and chocolate ice cream. The taste that was left in my mouth after discussions with all the other lefties I have either known on a personal level or just encountered in strange situations usually did not resemble ice cream, either vanilla or chocolate. The saddest part of all? Time for discussions has past long time ago. We are in the middle of a very serious fight. Our freedom, the future of our children, and the future of this country are at stake, never mind the the decline and almost total non-existence of polite behavior.


Compliments of my brother

Monday, March 24, 2008


Part 1

The firm at which I hold my current employment has a decent amount of contracts with various government controlled agencies, which, in turn, allows me a brief glimpse into the inner workings of these wonderful bastions of mockery on Constitution. So, I decided to start a new line of installments titled "Your Tax Dollar at Work". Here is part one.

I had to get one of our architects a Connecticut registration, and for that you have to contact the Connecticut Department of Consumer Protection (lofty name, ain't it) located in a fair city of Hartford. Now, I am not going to bore you with the details of the entire process: that would take at least a pamphlet. The most noteworthy from that entire process was the following little vignette.

Yours truly and a worthy individual back in Hartford who was charged with an important role of protecting Connecticut consumers exchanged a whole bunch of e-mails and lively phone conversations. The last exchange went as follows: Could you please apprise me as to the status of her application? I still did not receive her___ file (some stuff that was supposed to have been send to him from Washington, DC). Well, I have an e-mail confirmation from FedEx that this file was delivered to your office last Thursday (mind you, this conversation is taking place on Tuesday). Well, it takes time for packages to get to our offices from our mail room.

Now, I have never visited the fair city of Hartford, so, I can not vouch for the exact measurements, but how big is the building housing the Department of Consumer Protection if it takes more than three business days for the package that is marked "urgent" to travel from the mail room of that building to the actual destination?

Thursday, March 20, 2008


The spring is in the air for me when I visit one of the many bargain hunter's stores and peruse a fresh crop of flip flops. By the same token, sandals or flip flops in August are sold on clearance because the season is over; it is over for everyone but yours truly that is, for whom August is just a second beginning for sandal season (end usually comes mid October).

A glass or can of Diet Coke is a true staple in Modern American cuisine. I rediscovered it this Spring when my date decided to dare the fare in an Indian restaurant, agonized for almost half an hour about his order, finally ordered, and completed his order with, you guessed it, a can of Diet Coke.

This past February my body performed its usual winter routine and succumbed to some kind of vile bug which necessitated my taking antibiotics and, consequently, being quarantined from my yummy gnomes. I decided to use my "time off" wisely and do the usually unthinkable for me stuff, mainly: beautify myself a bit. As part of that routine I got a hair cut in Manhattan. Even though I lucked out and ended up paying about six dollars more than I would have paid had I gone to my usual half dump next to my house, the excellent service I received felt like I overpaid at least a twenty. The poor hairdresser, though, got the shock of her life when she asked me what products I usually use for my hair. "Shampoo and conditioner" was my reply. Ah, the priceless look on her face and the exclamation "that's all?"

This past Sunday I was able, to use a Yiddish expression, shep nachas. My sister's kids apparently absorbed the profound lessons I have been giving them: for about five minutes they were busy sticking their tongues and blowing raspberries at one another, smiling all the time.

Even the most expensive neighbourhood in our fair city, otherwise known as Upper East Side, is not protected from two things that plague the entire New York City: the constant drilling of the rodes and side walks, and the dog poop.

Apparently, poor Bard scares more people than just the professors at Teachers College. I remember when in my second to last semester at college the head of our English Department went around asking people if anyone would be interested in a class on Victorian literature, one girl looked at her with scared eyes and timidly asked "Would we have to read Shakespeare?"

My slightly elevated body temperature is, like almost everything in life, both a blessing and a curse. The biggies appreciation, though, came two Sundays ago, when my nephew took an unheard of before three hour nap in my warm embrace.

Dentists scare everyone bar none. I rediscovered it a while ago when I was walking home one fine evening and was accosted by a self-proclaimed psychic who wanted to tell me about great love waiting for me in the near future. To that wonderful news I replied that I was just returning from a dentists' office and could not really pay her much attention at the time. This defense worked like a charm, and I was allowed to continue on my way without further forays into my non-existing love live.

The concept of wine with six percent alcohol content exists exclusively on the Kosher market. Poor friends of my brother's have discovered this interesting fact last New Year. He naively recommended to them getting the above mentioned six percent champagne for the festivities. Poor wine store clerks and poor NYU students, both wasting about half an hour in total confusion!

Desperation brings forth talents that you otherwise would have never suspected you had. A couple of months ago my niece was stuck with a poorer substitute for her usual bather (Mama), namely me. Understandably, she protested the injustice of the situation. So, in desperation, I handed her an extra wash cloth and tried to show that it produces bubbles on its own. When that tactic was meet with a lukewarm success, I boldly continued. I took another washcloth and told the poor child that we are going to play a game and sing a song, and then I proceed to sing a song of my own composition that went something like this: "scrub, scrub, scrubity scrub. Scruby little Eh, scrub, scrub. Scrub a left hand, scrub a right hand, scrub, scrub, scrubity scrub, scrub, scrub". The melody was also of my own invention and went along the lines of an exercise for the right hand for the beginning piano students. Anyway, imagine my surprise, when a few weeks after that episode the big gnome was stuck with me at bath time again. She smiled, run to the bathroom, opened the cabinet, found a pack of those disposable wash clothes, took one out, and started rubbing her little hand with it, smiling at me and saying "scwub, scwub".

Found on one of the many, many accessories I got from the Disney store: "Laughter is timeless. Imagination has no age. And dreams are forever."

Sunday, March 09, 2008


All who know me personally can vouch for the fact that not only am I a bit of a history buff, but I always get extremely annoyed when people try to tell me that studying history is a bore and a waste of time. I can consent to bore, because most of historians can not convey their knowledge, in either written or spoken form, without putting their audience to sleep in about five minutes flat; but a waste of time it definitely is not. You see, as far as cliches go, history most certainly repeats itself because people never bother to learn at least the rudiments of it, and, as such, always bound to repeat the mistakes of previous generations ad infinitum. Case in point: my people vs. the rest of the world.

Anyone with a modicum of historical knowledge, if, in fact, he or she possessed that knowledge, would most certainly and a long time ago come to a conclusion that is does not pay to tangle with Jews. Even if you consider yourself an atheist or an agnostic, and think that the Old Testament was written by a man and is filled with a bunch of nonsense, somehow "I will curse the ones who curse you, and bless the ones that bless you" always comes true. Blame it on anything you want: Elders of Zion, worldwide Jewish conspiracy, untold riches that every Jew is supposed to posses no matter his station in life; whatever it is, it is impossible to actually figure out, but, non the less, it always comes true. Think of great empires and all kinds of tyrants we have survived and outlived; boggles the mind!

Since, as already proven, people do not learn history and its lessons, in every generation, heck, almost every day, there always comes some brave individual or individuals, usually accompanied by a whole crowd of highly peaceful, moral and educated followers, who thinks the he will finally get rid of of this small bunch of weirdos who manage to always control the world and in the process bake the blood of innocent children in their weird holiday breads and pastries. The noble efforts are usually successful for a while (sometimes a long while), but, inevitably, the noble organizer himself goes to his just desserts, and then his country follows suit. The whole process may take more than one generation, but the circle is always completed. My question is: can't people just wise up and forget the heroics? I mean, as long as these blankety blank blank Jews do not touch you personally, can you forget about saving the world from the danger of Jewish World domination and enjoy life? The answer, of course, is always "no".

For about two generations and counting that noble role was undertaken not so much by a particular individual; more by a particular religion. Of course, they have been very active on this worthy path before; it is just that their efforts redoubled lately, and, for whatever reason, the civilized world is very accepting of these efforts contrary to any kind of applicable logic.

This week we (meaning the blankety blank blank Jews) will celebrate Purim. Whenever somebody asks me explain the meaning of this holiday in one sentence or less, all I can say is: we faced total and complete extermination, and, by the combination of very peculiar circumstances, not only survived, but emerged victorious. It is possibly the happiest holiday in our calendar, full of food, drink, revelry, and excited children in costumes (adults too, actually). Of course, life's circumstances being what they are, not everyone's level of happiness will be the same; but this year all of us know of eight families for whom Purim will come on the hills of emerging from the Shiva for their murdered children.

They were murdered in cold blood by a fanatical killer; most of them were just high school kids. Their murder was loudly celebrated by the members of that fanatical religion, and the most of the rest of the world either ignored it or proclaimed it as just another chain in the circle of violence in the Middle East and bemoaned the fact of that little incident derailing the peace process.

Like the vast majority of humankind, I can not see G-d's plan, nore do I profess the ability to do so. I will never know why it was His plan to allow the killer into the place of holy learning, why these kids were killed, and why it happened as the month of Adar, the month of Purim celebration, was approaching. These boys and their classmates were preparing to do just that: welcome the new month and celebrate Purim; instead they ended up lying in the pool of blood amongst the debris of the destroyed holy books. The murderers cheered on , and the so-called defenders of human rights did not even bother to honestly report "the incident".

Again, even if you consider the Book of Esther just a product of human imagination, do yourselves a favor and read it; after all, once upon a time it was a mark of an educated person to be familiar with the Old Testament. Then, try to familiarize your minds with at least bare bones of the history of Spain. With me still? Good. Now, explain to me, pretty please, the logic and moral justification of calling a religion "religion of peace" when the so called radical members of this religion dance on the streets at the prospect of Jewish parents burying their murdered children, and non-radical members just stay mum (at the very least). Not too tired yet? Wonderful, just a tiny bit more. Sit down, make yourselves comfortable, and try, at least try to comprehend this: we will never quietly disappear into the night, never! Muslims can murder our children in the places of holy learning or shoot them (along with their pregnant mothers) execution style on the lonely rodes, and you can condone all of it as part of their fight for freedom and self-determination; it does not matter. We will grieve, because when you strike one of us, you strike us all. Then we will dry our tears and go on living, while you can contemplate the moral ramifications of condoning genocide or just standing by and letting it happen.

May G-d comfort our bereaved, especially the parents of those poor boys, and may He protect our children! This Friday we, once again, will celebrate His miracles and our survival. We will remember the story, help the poor, eat, drink, and enjoy life. L'Chaim!

Wednesday, March 05, 2008


As much as I love living in New York, there are definitely certain downsides to it. One of the most annoying to me is the overabundance of the lefties with all their anti-American tripe all over their attire and accessories. I plan to combat that as much as I can; unfortunately, it is a very slow process.

Anyway, to make the long story short, I recently got a few magnets with "I heart America". Since I do not drive a car, I am trying to figure out the best way to display it overwise; meanwhile, it seats on my fridge. My dad was overjoyed at this offering, and immediately affixed it to his vehicle.

Last Sunday, as we were coming together from a grocery store, I just commented that the magnet looks bigger than I imagined, even on his SUV. "Yes, replied my Dad, I absolutely love it! Plus, now it is much easier for me to look for my car."

For the men who hate classical music

One of the best renditions of Vivaldi, in my opinion. Enjoy:)