HOLIDAY HIGHLIGHTS

Part 1

This past Holiday, just like any other, was a chance to visit as many friends as my feet would allow. In the process, I have accumulated some noteworthy highlights. So, without further ado, here is part one.

There are two "American" families that I usually love to visit. The reasons for this love are manifold, but mainly it is because these people are so "un-Flatbushly" friendly, accepting, and non-judgmental. Also due to their friendliness, there is always a chance that I would see somebody who would grade on my nerves (but I usually try to accept the goodness with a bit of badness attached to it). Unfortunately, during the visits to one of these houses there is usually a fifty percent chance that one of the guests would irritate my nerves to the extent that those same nerves would not be able to keep my yup closed; and the heated debate usually ensues (although my kindhearted friend usually calls it "difference of opinions"). This Passover, unfortunately, was no exception.

One of her married sons, in the best traditions of young marrieds studying in the Holy Land, was visiting for the holidays. And he was not visiting alone. A friend of his youth, a freshly minted attorney at law, also came for a celebratory meal. The boisterous conversation was progressing just swimmingly till something I said produced a half-joking warning not to tangle with yours truly, because, apparently, once I am a member of the NRA, I will shoot anyone and everyone who disagrees with me.

Upon hearing this, young lawyer visibly perked up and asked me if indeed I was a member, and if yes, why. Foolishly, I actually explained. Gosh, when will I ever learn? To summarize our lively and pointless discussion, here are the pertinent points:

He is a Republican (G-d help us).

He hates to admit it, but Obama is doing a great job so far (please see above).

I did not read the text of the Second Amendment; otherwise I would know that there is no such thing as constitutionally guaranteed right to bear arms (his conviction on both points was a joy to behold).

Only because NRA is the most powerful lobby, did we ever get it into our heads that governmental gun control is unconstitutional (later grudgingly agreed with yours truly that enviros are the most powerful lobby, not NRA).

Government has full constitutional right to interfere in the economy (what in blazes did he study again?).

He did not vote, since in New York it does not make a difference anyway (please see numerous previous entries).

Tobacco tax is perfectly fine (even if the majority of smokers are psychiatric patients); because they are harming themselves, and we just tax them in order to pay for their medical expenses (please see number five and number one).

Constitution is “a living, breathing document", and Supreme Court has full right to mangle it any way they want (please see number five).

There were many more interesting points of contention. What really made me laugh was his sage agreement with me when I pointed out that Obama never proved his eligibility for the office as a person born as an American, which is a constitutional requirement.

Among many things, that discussion made me wonder again as to the precise definitions of constitutional law and constitutional lawyer. Aren't all our laws supposed to be constitutional, seeing as we are, well, Constitutional Republic? And aren't all lawyers supposed to be constitutional, meaning know the constitution and strictly adhere to it? Also, using another old cliché, if this dude thinks he hates liberals (while he already bought about half of their bilge), why do I need enemies with friends like this?

Please see number one.

ANOTHER SINCERE THANK YOU

Dear Janet Napolitano and (by association) Barak Hussein Obama,

Thank you to both of you from the bottom of my heart!

According to the latest Homeland Security Report, I am now officially a "right-wing extremist" because I am opposed to any and all government interference when it comes to the individual gun ownership. I also made the grade by being opposed to what you euphemistically call "immigration" and I call illegal invasion. According to that brilliant summation of yours, there are apparently "right-wing extremists" who "stockpiled" guns and ammo with express purposes of shooting "immigrants" crossing borders from Mexico. I am a little hazy on that one: is it not the job of the Border Patrol to shoot those "immigrants from Mexico" due to their blatant violation of our borders? Or, after Ramos and Compean, that job is now relegated to the "fringe elements" of our society?

Last, but not least, even though neither I personally, nor anyone close to me belonged to the Military at any given time; I deeply appreciate the cheap potshot your Report took at the veterans.

Another job well done!

HAPPY PASSOVER

To all my brothers and sisters (regardless of their religious affiliation or the lack of thereof), I wish Chag Kosher V'Sameach!

Here is to another wonderful holiday and all the craziness associated with it! To the poor bread eaten in freedom and to the animals that our masters worshiped and we sacrificed at the G-d's commend! Time to re-experience the miraculous liberation from slavery (mental as well as physical), to remember that we were chosen for a very special mission, and to re-affirm our faith.

Next Year in Jerusalem!

ABBA - Money, Money, Money

When I first heard this song, all it was for me was a very catchy beat with very mysterious words. Ah, the times have changed:)

MORE SHORT TAKES

Thank G-d, I live in this country for a little over twenty years. In this time I have managed to "adapt" to the good life. Sometimes, however, I still find myself in funny situations. One ordinary working day, I was doing "my usual": eating lunch and filing. For the "vegetable component" of my meal, I brought in a can of peas, which I just opened, and then proceeded to consume straight out of the can. Couple of guys stopped by to chat, and both of them were duly horrified by the fact that I was eating cold peas. A moment of mutual amazement: they can't comprehend my consumption of cold canned legumes, and I can't comprehend their astonishment. Ah, chuck it off to my childhood; after all, they will never appreciate the beauty of procuring deficient food items, or the deliciousness of the "Oliv'ye" salad due largely to those cold peas.

As heard on Leno: apparently, there is such a thing as "beady eye vegetarians". Translation: if something has "big, sad, soulful eyes" like a cow, it will not be eaten. If something has tiny beady eyes like salmon, it will be. Leno jokingly added that that sounds very LA: if you do not look just right, you would be eaten!

There are a few people in our office who are a bit on the neurotic bend. But one time somebody went a bit too far. Yours truly had to stay late to put the final touches on the payment requisition to the much respected New York City Department of Design and Construction, which, aside from preparing the said requisition (which is no mean feat), also requires submitting it in four copies. So, I went to the lower level to run those copies, and upon my return discovered that somebody took their evening routine a bit too seriously: they shot the lights, set the alarm, and locked all doors. And here was I, standing on the over side of the glass door, hugging the effing triplicate copies of the payment requisition, and longingly looking on my coat, which was hanging on the other side of the door (and which apparently the neurotic co-worker, busy with regular routine, failed to observe).

One of our junior architects was looking forward to his long weekend for about a month, and he was very vocal about it. On the Friday of his departure he mentioned his early leaving only about six times. Finally, that time arrived; he collected his belongings, and run out the door, barely remembering to say good bye. So, imagine my surprise when he re-appeared about fifteen minutes later. Poor schmuck was so excited; he left all his electronic devices at the office.

The closest book store to our office is Border’s. Unlike earth-sustainers, I do not see any harm in taking a plastic bag when needed, and then saving it for future use (and unlike them, I do not yell about it). Anyway, I had a good accumulation of Border’s bags in my drawer, and I used one of them to put my leftovers in the fridge. Next day, I went to check the fridge for those leftovers, and saw another Border’s bag in there. Ah, I thought, somebody else is doing the exact same thing. But then something about this other bag drew my attention; imagine my amusement when I realized that the second bag was also mine, and contained something else that I brought to the office and forgot about.

It looks like establishments serving kosher burgers have interesting concepts of what constitutes what. If you ask for well-done, you are going to get it burned. If you ask for medium, you are going to get it well-done. Just don’t request medium-rare, if you are not in the vicinity of a grill when you receive your order, because usually it requires additional cooking.

Recently, I had two separate and unrelated discussions with two Obama supporters. Both of them expressed total disbelief and incredulity upon discovering that it looks like our current so-called President’s IQ is only about 127. Speaking of somebody’s brilliance!

As told by one of my co-workers. He has a friend who is a social worker. At her place of employment, they do not get reimbursement for the cell phone usage; instead, they just get twenty five dollars a month towards whatever cell phone expanses they may incur. So, one day, when she realized that her battery was low, she just connected her phone to one of the office outlets, and continued with her work. Her supervisor, upon observing this, accused her of “double-dipping”, since she already receives her twenty five bucks for this. To which she replied that she would love to disconnect her charger, providing that the supervisor would take care of all the clients who would be unable to reach her in the event of the phone dying. Ah, administratium at work; what a thing of beauty!

Another gem from Leno’s monologue: “Recently, Iranian doctors discovered that drinking hot tea may cause throat cancer. This is the first thing they are not blaming on the Jews.”

ON YESTERDAY'S POST

Sorry, everyone

For whatever reason (I do not feel like assigning the blame), this piece works on Youtube, but is disabled on my blog. That was basically the last five minutes from "The Working Girl"; if you already watched it, you should remember it, at least vaguely. If you did not, I strongly recommend it: it is very naive by today's standards, but very uplifting and quintessentially American. Plus, is has the now orphaned New York skyline as a prominent feature. So, hopefully, you will enjoy it.

Working Girl - The End

Here is to wishful thinking and hoping; to punishing for stealing ideas and rewarding hard work and dedication; to fighting for your dream and not getting snobby. Here is to free market economy, Reagan revolution, and the triumph of the American Dream! (And, of course, to shoulder pads and big hair:))

OK, WHATEVER YOU SAY

Here is a little chain of events, seemingly unconnected:

One not so fine morning few weeks ago, I have officially (and sarcastically) thanked (again) all the Obama supporters via Facebook. That outpouring of gratitude followed the blatant demonstration of black supremacy and racism witnessed by me that same morning on the way to work. One of my friends was slightly surprised by the fact that I am still bitter; according to him, by now it was only I and Ann Coulter.

One of my younger co-workers, who usually enjoys impersonating Childe Harold, being in his usual chirpy mood, kept sighing and complaining about the hard life. Upon hearing this, I politely suggested he visits Central Africa to learn about true hardships of life and even offered to purchase him a one-way ticket. His reaction? "I wish I could really go there!"

George, our cat, periodically goes on hunger strikes; the only reason we could detect is this: he would eat the food served to him, and then decide (for reasons known only to him) that it is no longer edible. At which point he would complain till he is literally horse, but will not eat the unpalatable offerings. Which, by the way, reminded me of a very first pet my baby brother had: a little hamster called Monster Ball, who did not usually stuff his check pouches and, unless he was really hungry, would totally ignore his food, even if it was literally landing by his feet.

When Bernard Goldberg's "100 people" came out in paperback, it graduated to "110" people, and only recently was I able to lay my hands on this edition. I did not get a chance to peruse it yet (my Dad is doing it right now), but here is my suggestion to the latest edition of people who "are screwing up America":

Number 3: US Congress and US Senate combined (with very minor exceptions)

Number 2: The current so-called President of the United States

Number 1: 61 million registered voters (minus whatever dead people were included in this number thanks to ACORN) who voted for this boy-wonder currently embarrassing and destroying our country from the 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, plus whatever number of registered voters who deliberately voted for any independent candidate in whatever protest, plus whatever number of registered voters who deliberately did not vote in this election because they continued to sit on their moral outrage. Whatever the actual number, the honor should go to all of them equally.

You see, even though I do not know Ann Coulter, Rush Limbaugh, and the rest of the so-called conservative radio and TV personalities personally, and therefore cannot vouch with precision as to their emotional state, I am not bitter. I am heartbroken. It has been almost five months since that horrible day in November, and every day since then the nightmare just grows in its monstrosity.

In what other country on earth do you have cats that do not eat because they do not like the food, or hamsters that ignore their food?! Better yet, in the immortal words of one of the D'Souza's readers, this is the only country where poor people are fat! And on that note, in what other country do you have that high percentage of ungrateful swine, homegrown or imported (either voluntarily or involuntarily), who do not appreciate the beauty and unique premise of this country and instead go around with sour faces, complaining non-stop and praising any and all bloody dictatorships as the ideal country to live in?

Yes, "we have serious problems and we need serious people to solve those problems"; that does not mean surrendering at the first sign of those serious problems! Blind, deaf, and dumb sissies! Instead of fighting for this country that gave you everything, you surrendered it to its haters who are destroying it even as we speak! And the biggest part of this heartbreak is that amongst those in the first category are my relatives, friends, good acquaintances, and just Jews - people whom I love and respect, or at least like, and whose souls are connected to mine all the way to the Exodus from Egypt and Mount Sinai! But, hey, I am just a bitter right-wing nut job, and you, guys and girls, aside from being more educated and informed, were just exercising your right to chose! I should just relax, take a deep breath, and "give the dude a chance"; or, better yet, get a life, because, apparently, I should just broaden my horizons and acquire some more interests, aside from politics (my favorite being that my interest in politics stems from my being single and childless, ergo having nothing better to do).

Well, enjoy your choices and the freedom to make them! I only pray that when the final tally from those choices comes in, it will not be something on the magnitude of what I had to survive seven and a half years ago, and that still sometimes haunts my dreams (also a result of choices made by the majority of my people). May The Master of The Universe protect us all!

HAPPY (BELATED) PURIM

Editor’s note: due to the usual circumstances beyond my control, this piece appears today, as opposed to the day after Shushan Purim.

I love all our holidays. Each one brings its own beauty and a balm to the sometimes weary soul. Each reinforces its own message, but all of them remind us again of our unique place in the world and our demanding and privileged relationship with The Master of the Universe. But before I progress with sharing my meager knowledge, let us remember the eight Yeshiva students brutally slain last year on Rosh Chodesh Adar, may G-d avenge their blood!

On Purim we celebrate the escape from a total annihilation and a sheer beauty of being alive; we eat, we drink, we wear costumes, we share food, and we make sure to remember the needy. We also remember the "hidden" miracles that The Almighty performed on our behalf - hidden because on the surface they look like a natural chain of events, and only through deeper study and understanding do we realize that there was nothing "natural" about these events and their timing.

We also have an opportunity to remember what happens when we forget to be properly proud of whom we are. After all, Jews did not eat or drink something not Kosher; they just went to the feast that in essence celebrated the fact that the prophecy about Jewish redemption did not come to fruition (supposedly), and they drank from the vessels that were taken out of the destroyed Temple by the people who destroyed it (collectively spitting into their own faces). The results were immediate (although not immediately felt): right after the description of the festivities we hear about Haman and his rise to power - G-d had "hidden" Himself from His people.

Another reminder - our continued well-being usually depends (at least in part) on the few righteous people present in our midst. In this particular story we have Mordechai and Esther. Again, I do not presume to claim to even understand what they were feeling and thinking, because these people existed on the level we would never really achieve or truly comprehend. Still, with our puny understanding, try to imagine this scenario: man's wife is kidnapped and taken to a harem of a lecherous and powerful king. For a couple of years, he continually watches over her, sitting by the palace day after day. In the process, he uncovers a plot against the ruler and saves him; which, by the way, is another lesson of Purim: Esther conveyed the message about the plot in the name of Mordechai, teaching us that we should always give proper credit (no matter what the cannons of modern marketing and PR are telling us).

Then the terrible news about the official plans for the total extermination of all Jews broke out Mordechai tells Esther to go straight to the king and beseech him to spare our people. Esther seemed to be hesitant; why? Because not only would her life be in danger if she would go to the king without summons, but by voluntary going to him she would also be unable to return to her husband. But Mordechai sweeps aside her objections, telling her instead that the only probable reason for her to become a queen was for the sole purpose of saving her people now. So, after informing Mordechai that she would fast and pray for three days, and asking him to urge all the Jews in the city to do the same, Esther cleverly outmaneuvers Haman and begs the king for the life of her people.

Another interesting and very important lesson of Purim: perception and cause. After Haman rose to power, everybody was bowing down and genuflecting to him. Everyone, that is, except Mordechai (who, by the way, did not attend the infamous feast either). So, according to the surface story, Haman got really angry, observing that everyone bows down to him except that Jew Mordechai; and that situation inflamed his Jew-hatred to the point of his hatching the plan of "the final solution to the Jewish problem". It sounds pretty plausible, but it is completely wrong. Mordechai did not genuflect in order not to bow down to the idol that Haman was wearing (thus strictly observing the first and fundamental rule of our faith, never mind truly preserving his Jewish dignity). He was not part of the problem - he was part of the solution; but in order to comprehend this, you need the true clarity of vision, which, unfortunately, was and still is not widely found.

But the most important lesson of Purim is the fact that our Heavenly Father never truly abandons us. He is always watching over us, both as individuals and as a nation. During our biggest transgressions He, even in His Anger, sows the seeds of the solution. And there is always hope for a salvation, even (and especially) in our darkest hour.

So, here is to the continued health and well-being of our nation! May all our enemies be destroyed! And may we always keep our dignity, clarity of vision, and true pride in being Jews! May we always be able to have great feasts, be merry, and help each other! And may we always have love and unity, not just in times of great sorrow, but in times of great joy! L'Chaim!

On the very light note, here are my Purim highlights:

Munchkins (due to the great wisdom of their Mommy) were both Elmos. Of course, the slight scuffle broke out because both wanted "Elmo padzamas" as opposed to "Elmo dzaket".

Both Elmos run into another Elmo, who was accompanied by a Cookie Monster.

I thought of a great costume to myself, but, since this great thought came to me a bit late, ended up just wearing my usual clothes. What costume? Well, I wanted a T-shirt with "member of the NRA" in big letters and a big picture of a gun. That, of course, was my second choice. My first choice would have been too dangerous to wear in the five boroughs.

Did not run into one person I usually try to avoid - yeah!!! On the down side, missed my friend Moish and his leather get up again.

For the first time actually visited somebody in The Bronx (as opposed to just passing through this borough in a car or a train). In the process discovered that Jews are funny everywhere: not only was that Riverdale, but, apparently, Riverdale in the slang of Jews gets split up into few parts (somebody was living specifically in the Mid-Riverdale).

Got fed a fantastic meal by my friends, which included another funny element. My hostess, always being an inventive type, served very cute hors d'oeuvres: chunks of spicy salami with veggies on the barbeque sticks, all stuck in the big bright mug. Every woman present, without fail, recognized it as a food item, and partook in it. Every man present, also without fail, deemed those things decorations and had to be explained what is was.

My hosts had a very cute costume arrangement: father was Tigger, Mother - Rabbit, and their tiny twin son and daughter: Eeyore and Piglet. The Big Brother (being almost three) spoiled the whole scheme by refusing the wear his Pooh outfit.

Yours truly, being herself, had two half-glasses of wine, after which the pleasant mellowness followed (OK, I got slightly drunk).

ANOTHER WEEKEND UPDATE

Editor’s note: due to the circumstances beyond my control (situation continuing from last week), this entry goes to print today, as opposed to Monday morning.

First of all, my news summary for last week: my roomy and I adopted a cat named George, and I became an official card-carrying member of the NRA.

On Sunday I again had to honour of playing host to Mini Not Me, this time accompanied by his older sister. Of course, they really wanted to see George, and then my roommate; yours truly came in the un-illustrious last. Highlights of the visit included:

Mini Me enjoying my roomie's Wii; gosh, I feel old, since I do not even have an IPod, never played, never mind became addicted to, any kind of video games, and yet to figure out what exactly Wii is. Meanwhile, our three year old American Gnome is playing Wii. My only consolation is that she was most interested in the pink TV that comes with that Wii, since she is very much into the color pink right now.

George was alternatively hiding on the bookshelf, between the boxes, and in the closet. The theory is that he was really scared by a bunch of kids before, because he is really scared of our munchkins. But the overtures were made towards the tentative peace treaty, eventually resulting in George not running away from Mini Me and even allowing her to pet him a bit.

Mini Not Me discovered my jewelry pouch, which I was unsuccessfully looking for on Friday night and Shabat morning. My theory is that he hid it somewhere on his last visit, and re-discovered it yesterday.

Mini Me, on the other hand, was seen playing with my key ring, which at the press time is still missing in action.

Royal meals were carefully prepared by two chefs this time: yours truly and the person sharing my humble dwelling. Mini Not Me participated with his usual appreciation. Although he requested a cookie and refused to eat without it, it (the cookie) ended up being just a slightly licked accessory in his delicious little hand. Mini Me, on the other hand, was her usual finicky eater.

We watched more Elmo and Barney on YouTube; the royal permissions were alternating and not always in accord (if he wanted to watch Barney, she wanted Elmo, and vice versa).

I finally connected the dots: Mini Not Me goes around singing "yummy, yummy, yum", and I could not figure out what precisely was he singing. This Sunday finally clarified the issue: it is Elmo and The Singing Pizza.

There were many more delicious hugs and smiles.

Which, of course, brings me to Monday morning, which said morning conveniently forgot that is was the beginning of March, and gifted us with more snow, freezing temperatures and blistery winds. This fact prompted your humble servant to propose the following course of action: Al Gore, all the senior ranking members of IPCC, senior ranking members of the Weather Channel, Leo DiCaprio and his Hollywood chums, and the rest of this cabal (including our so-called President) are to be taken in their skivvies, or better yet, in their altogether, outside of the UN Building and stuck in the freshly fallen snow under a heavily armed guard. They should remain thusly till they admit to their continuous, blatant, and malevolent lies about the anthropogenic global warming. And please to not mention the Geneva accords to me: they are not the prisoners of war; we are.

ONE OF THE MANY REASONS TO HATE MONDAYS

Publisher’s notice: Due to the circumstances beyond my control, this entry is appearing today as opposed to Monday, when it was supposed to appear in the first place.

This past Sunday I had the supreme honour of the august presence of Mini Not Me in my humble abode for most of the day.

The highlights of the visit included:

Royal meals: personally prepared by yours truly macaroni and cheese (not from the box), minced fillet of the finest fish, battered and baked (aka fish sticks), aged Kosher cheese, and the best of seasonal fruit (apple), also prepared to perfection by yours truly (washed, peeled, and cut into the bite-size pieces).

His highness was greatly (and repeatedly) amused by the plentiful, diverse, and colorful array of my fridge magnets.

We watched Elmo, Barney, and Ella Enchanted, washing it down with healthy amounts of "kek" and "dink".

Mini Not Me was also fascinated by my "bankey" with pictures strongly resembling (at least in his eyes) Mommy. In reality it was Ariel the Little Mermaid, but in any case he refused to be covered by it for his nap.

Another interesting object of play was found on my desk in the form of one of the Eucerin samples from my dermatologist. It is a little rectangular box containing body wash, lotion, and cream. So, I explained to him the designations of each strange object, and he had fun for the good part of an hour by taking them out of the box one by one, naming them one by one, and then trying to put them back in the box one by one. Which, by the way, proves again that most of the toys adults buy are for adult entertainment mostly; kids, especially little ones, can amuse themselves with just about anything.

Mommy and Efty were inquired about only at about fifteen minute’s intervals. Abba and his "ca" were mentioned at around every hour. Most of the time, I was able to deflect his highnesses attention by something unrelated to Mommy, Efty, Abba, or his car.

I was treated to lots of delicious hugs.

At the early dinner time, happy reunion of Mini Not Me with Mini Me after a very long absence of about seven hours was punctuated with Indian Chief Style yells, running around, horseplay, and many, many happy, innocent and delicious smiles. At the conclusion of the said reunion the fruits of the shopping expedition of Mommy, Efty, and Abba were displayed and discussed as well, especially Efty's New Dresses and New Accessories.

Basically, it was an event-filled Sunday; which brings my story to Monday.

After the usual subway ride in the car filled with different representatives of the "inner city", and the usual jostling in the coffee shop by the members of the stronger sex and their briefcases, I arrived at my place of gainful employment. In the kitchen, the big boss run into me; by his tone of greeting I figured out that something was amiss. Sure enough, half a minute later he informed me that after I was done in the kitchen, he needed to "have a conversation with me". After being informed that I am available at his leisure, he told that he will call.

I went back to my desk, frantically trying to figure out what the heck I have done now to warrant "a conversation"; the said exercise preventing me from fully enjoying my Bridget Jones style breakfast. After about two hours he finally showed up at my desk, and the glimmer of understanding appeared when I saw what he was holding in his hand. It was a copy of my company Amex statement that all of us lucky enough to have a company Amex got the previous Friday. Still, since I was sure that no charges from Abigail’s stake house, e-bay, Border's books, CafePress, WND store, Regnery Publishing, or Lane Bryant were on that statement, I just plastered a polite expression on my face and mentally steered myself.

The rant was long and boring, but the gist of it was that there were charges from a different department (the fact that technically I assist the whole office, and I am not his personal EA somehow escaped him), that we have to cut costs as much as possible, that the times are tough, and what about all the reimbursable expanses from the other cards? Who is notifying the main office? Who is processing what? Blah, blah, blah, grrrr! (The fact that there is a perfectly logical system in place at the moment was also forgotten). Then he demanded to see my receipts, and then he made rounds with all the other card holders, which was pretty amusing because if yours truly is just a humble laborer, all the other holders are senior associates.

Then I got the e-mail from the NYPL that the last available PIG to US Constitution became unavailable. In a fit of generosity they bought two copies that were constantly in demand; then one copy became unavailable ("missing"), and now another, or "the last available copy". Grrr!

Then the big boss started giving me instructions on opening a separate accounts receivable file, employing a different filing system. When he was informed that that was also in place, he got a bit taken aback; the little demonstration and explanation he gave me in my first week here apparently also evaporated from his memory.

Basically, the entire office was very tense for the whole day. Then I went home (again on "multicultural" train), dropped by the bakery for some fresh bread, came home, put on my "shmate" attire, and dedicated the next three hours to the thankless task of cleaning my kitchen. Please do not ask me at what time I had dinner, because my MD is going to have conniptions when she hears about it.

So, on both days I went to sleep exhausted. But on Sunday, my world was lit with the innocent love of two little kids who think that I am "Papi - The Height of Cool". On Monday, the mundane idiocy sapped my strength. And that is one of the many reasons of why I hate Mondays!

Swan Lake - Act 2, Pas de Quatre

Here is to my strange childhood! This number is forever more stuck in my brain as a song about bananas and their unavailability in Moscow:)

FAMILY VIGNETTES

One evening Mini Me granted me the supreme honor of reading her a story before bed (a privilege usually reserved exclusively for Mommy). We were reading her favorite "Olivia", and that evening her comments went along the lines of whatever Olivia did in the book, our American Gnome does with her Mommy. So when we came to the part where Olivia goes to the museum in the rainy weather, Golden Delicious immediately piped up that she is always going to the museum with Mommy during rain. I love conversing with her as a whole, so I asked her if she remembered our lone trip to the Met. "No, I go to the museum all the time, with Mommy". "No, cookie, you went only once, and it was with me". "No, every day, with Mommy." After that we returned to Olivia's adventures. Later on, while I was reporting to my sister on the accomplished mission (sleeping child), I told her about this conversation, jokingly adding that I am a purist, ergo I wanted to clarify the matter. "And my daughter is a loyalist!" - was my sibling's proud response.

Here are two suggestions from my beloved siblings as it pertains to my career goals: the first one was a PhD in Harry Potter Studies; the second one was a PhD in Modern American Romance Novel Studies.

During one memorable Youtube session with Mini Me and Mini Not Me, we were listening to one lively piece accompanied by a collage of different pictures. One of them was a Botticelli. "Un dat" was my nephew's immediate request. Great taste, my little one! Our school!

My sis and I both started at the same college. She had the good sense not to finish there, but that is a different story. Anyway, since the learning institution at that time was relatively small, we ended up with a few of the same professors. One of them (my favorite, despite being a complete crackpot) made a very interesting connection between us. Now, bear in mind that my sis and I look very much alike (Mini Me is a delicious prove of that). So, during one particular discussion, the prof turned towards my sibling and asked her if she had a sister whom he taught before. She replied in the affirmative, to which he added that he was sure about it, because we both have a very finely developed appreciation of sarcasm. I do not know how she feels about that one now, but I still consider it a compliment.

TWO LITTLE DEMONSTRATIONS

Both of these happened at my place of employment, which, in the best traditions of educated people on both coasts, is almost totally staffed with serious lefties.

One: being a serious Harry Potter devotee, I was impatiently waiting for J.K.'s 800 word composition which she had penned for charity and which was supposed to be from "the prequel she is not working on". Long story short, I missed buying it from the publisher and ended up haunting the e-bay actions. Finally, the coveted transaction was completed, and now I was impatiently waiting for my package to arrive. After a while I was ready to e-mail the seller and politely inquire about the actual shipping date; lo and behold, I get the office mail to sort, and here it is: a hated orange post card with "we attempted to deliver your package". I ran after our rude mailman with the effing card, pointing out that a) the date indicated was a business day, and b) I was right here. No dice; he point blank lied about somebody else sorting the mail that day, and then rudely suggested that I should just go "around the corner" to the post office and claim my package. Since I do not get lunch break during the winter time, for yours truly it meant not only going to deal with another rude and disgusting federal employee, but also staying late after work to make up the time.

Overjoyed about the whole scenario, I called into question the competence, mental capacity, and legitimacy of the above mentioned post people. One of my co-workers happened to pass by my desk at the time and jokingly suggested to me to express my emotions and not battle them up. What he did not know was that my name calling and frustration were not just directed at the federal employees, but at him and his colleagues as well. Because the day it happened was the election day, and I knew that almost all of them made special efforts to vote for the new stinking messiah, who's official campaign promises were to put a whole new army of these incompetent nincompoops, who cannot even read properly and carry a 1.6 pound package to its destination, but somehow would be the only people capable and equipped to fix the economy and healthcare, usher the world peace, and control the climate, just to name a few.

Two: you are all familiar with the old leftie songs about raising taxes "for the rich”, "spreading the wealth around", et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum. The words may change, but the tunes are always the same. Anyway, back to the story. One of our offices had been floundering financially for a while, mainly due to the almost total lack of business acumen of the person in charge. At the periodic staff meetings, we were informed for about three times in a row that that office was performing at a loss. Finally, the powers that be announced that almost everyone at that office was let go (aside, of course, from the head who messed it up in the first place). Guess what happened next? One of my leftie, earth-sustaining, taxes-are-patriotic co-workers told me that he was glad it finally happened because (are you ready for this) this office was dragging the whole company down and it affected our bonuses and 401(K) s! Do not get me wrong, I understand the cold, sometimes brutal laws that govern capitalists-based economy. But for this bleeding heart leftie!!! Of course, he had to make a caveat that he sort of feels bad, he wants to be a team player, blah, blah, blah. All the compassionate, feel good rhetoric went down the drain when he felt the direct results of such wealth-spreading; and the fate of around thirty people who are now unemployed did not really bother him that much.

SOCIAL WHIRLWIND, MIDWOOD STYLE

Social hierarchy, norms, modes of dress, and the general structure overall are much more complex right here, in the midst of "diverse" Jewish community of Brooklyn, than it was amongst the British aristocracy. You just do not perceive it as such till you actually lived in the midst of this very strange tribe for a while; but today's discussion is not about the complexity and my personal opinion about it. This is just to recount a crazy chain of events that happened yesterday.

Partially due to the fact that it just happened to be a Sunday before the national holiday, partially due to the fact that we used to be quite sociable once a while (hence have quite a few friends), and partially due to the gorgeous spring like weather that we had yesterday, our family (almost in total, or just the most important representatives) ended up attending four different social events yesterday. Those were (in chronological order): a circumcision, a second birthday party for a little girl, a third birthday/special first haircut for a little boy, and a long overdue visit to an old friend whom we first met while he was a single student, and who is now blessed with a wife and few kids. Phew, that was exhausting.

Just to summarize a la MasterCard commercial:

Wake up calls to early for Sunday: 1 (your humble servant also had to go to a Medical professional in order to take care of her raging eczema)

Carefully prepared bag of food, snacks, and treats for munchkins: 1 (by Grandma, of course)

Total time spend looking for parking: 40 minutes

Total time spend in a car: 3.5hours

Pizza consumed: about 1 slice total per major player involved

Cake consumed: about 3 slices total per major player involved

Homemade sushi consumed: about 2 rolls per regular and 1/2 roll per vegan consumer

"Packalach": 2

Balloons involved: 3

Adult tempers frayed: 3

Vans borrowed: 1

Overtired toddlers: 2

Happy babies observed: 1

Mischiefs managed: about 50

Few extra pictures and memories of munchkins smiling and playing: priceless

TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE

I had a little chance to complain before about my friend sort of standing me up for the Hashivenu weekend; here is an entry dedicated to the interesting young lady I ended up sharing a room with.

Thankfully, I did not really get a chance to socialize with her till Saturday night, because we both came there for different reasons, with different friends and relatives, and with different plans. Anyway, Saturday night, after enjoying the pool with my sis and the munchkins, I went back to my room and found my roommate watching financial news on MSNBC (which should have given me the first clue). Anyway, we engaged in some small talk, in the course of which she divulged to me that she used to work on Wall Street back in the day, but is now out of this racket, and happier for it. I just kept nodding and uhu-ing politely; and then the Madoff's name was mentioned on TV, and she shook her head and pronounced something to the extent that she cannot believe the gullibility of the people. "If it sounds too good to be true, how can you fall for it?" - was her wise exclamation.

"Why are you so surprised “ - was my answer -” just look at who was elected the President". Oh, Mama, who asked me to open my big yup? "What do you mean?" - was her immediate and aggressive response. I tried to explain my basic objections to the guy, to my detriment. I was treated to a whole lecture. She is a Republican (so what?); she disapproved of the war (what else is new?); Bush was a horrible President (again, what else); it is high time to elect a black President (thanks for repeating the lefty tripe); it is wonderful that so many Jews voted for him (so now HAMAS will withdraw their approval of his candidacy, Sharpton will yell "mea culpa" for the Crown Heights riots and will voluntarily report to the NYS DOC to serve a life sentence for the murder of poor Yankel Rosenbaum, and Jackson will publicly apologize for all his past anti-Semitic rants and completely retire from public life); just look at the wonderful cabinet Obama assembled (to her credit, back in December all we knew about those boys and girls wonders was that they were, to quote Burt, "retreads from Clinton's thrift shop"; now we know what a wonderful collection of honest people they are as well); she was very torn before the elections, and even consulted a Rav, asking him if she would harm our people by voting for Obama, and the Rav did not directly say that she would (to quote "Guys and Dolls", I plead the Fifth Commandment; or, in plain Yiddish, Oy, gevalt). There was more, of course, but my recollections are a bit hazy. Few times I tried, unsuccessfully, to offer to agree to disagree; to no avail; she plowed on.

To conclude: if you vote for a proven demagogue who refuses to even prove his basic eligibility for the office; who's friends, acquaintances, mentors, neighbors, and political allies are all domestic and international terrorists, Marxists, socialists, Mafiosi, crooks, cheats, and liars; who's own lady wife is open America-hater; and who's candidacy was celebrated by every single Jew-hating group here, and was endorsed by HAMAS; and, last but not least, who himself is full of arrogance and hot air that usually comes from the wrong body orifice - to vote this for the President of the United States is a result of hard brain work. But to fall for the clever manipulations of a big time financial schemer - that is, at best, a very naïve decision on your part.

I rest my case (at least for now).

WORK FUNNIES

Part 5: A Case of Disappearing Psychiatrist

To the newcomers to this blog: I work in an architectural firm that basically specializes in two areas: municipal and healthcare projects. The first involves building and renovation of jails (both adult and juvenile), police precincts, schools, homeless shelters, ect.; the second involves the building and renovation of hospitals and laboratories; pretty nifty, actually, till you have to deal with one of my favorite population segment: people described by the oxymoron "public servants". But this story is actually about the other part of the firm.

The "healthcare group" has a few projects with one of the local hospitals; one of them was simply coded "Dr. Q". OK, computer accepts, and I definitely do not care; that is, till somebody actually explained to me what the project implied. Apparently, Dr. Q was some kind of hot shot psychiatrist with celebrity clientele, and the whole project involved converting a place originally designated for seven employees into a place designated for two employees (completed with private shower room), so that those celebrated clients can have privacy.

The project already went into a construction phase, and yesterday the project manager went to the job site, accompanied by a couple of assistants. Upon arrival, however, they were informed by one of the hospital's project managers that an interoffice e-mail was circulated the evening prior, informing the select few amongst the hospital staff that Dr. Q was no longer with the hospital. Our firm, in turn, was advised that the project is officially "on hold", and that was basically all the information we would receive.

My co-workers, being creative people, decided to hold a contest by providing explanations of what actually occurred. The best came from the guy who explained to me the meaning of the project to begin with: Dr. Q was probably the one who supplied ARod (or whoever he is) with steroids!

YOUR TAX DOLLAR AT WORK

Part 4

For some strange reason, I ended up knowing quite a few people in the construction/house renovation business. So, without further ado, here is a charming little story straight from one of my acquaintances.

This past Sunday morning, he was on his way to check on one of the job sites. All of a sudden, one of his workers calls him in a panic: "Inspector is here, and he told us to shut down!" So, the poor guy floors it, arrives at the site in record time, and finds the esteemed employee of the great city of New York issuing the following royal proclamation. Since there is no permit for working on Sunday, he is going to give tickets for every single building (that would have translated into a considerable hunk of lettuce), plus issue a stop order for two weeks (that would have basically left the owner of the project without his next to last under wears).

My acquaintance, being of the somewhat diplomatic bend, at first tried to explain that is was not his project, and he was only a subcontractor - the officer could not care less. Next, the sum of, if I am not mistaken, three hundred dollars was offered, which was met with open incredulity and comparisons to the sum total of tickets. The somewhat lively telephone exchange followed between the contractor and the subcontractor, during which the polite city inspector was making his own phone calls and yelling at his opponent about the "f-king Chinese" (I guess they were his previous or next stop). Finally, the following resolution was reached: the subcontractor paid the fully tax-subsidized city employee fifteen hundred dollars in cash, after which he (the subcontractor) was warned that if somebody else from the city comes and issues more tickets, it was not his (inspector's) problem. On that amiable note he departed.

Gee, I really wish I was able to work like this! Salary and gorgeous benefits for the whole family (willingly or unwillingly provided by the taxpayers); and then you would be able to put in a little overtime and earn some cash for vacation that you would need after such hard labors! I further wish somebody would offer me fifteen hundred dollars in cash and tax free; just imagine: my insurance company would save on my B12 shots, because I would just go to a spa, rest, and "pay up" some of my sleep debt. Everybody would win: my employers would gain better productivity, my insurance would save on payments, and the spa and spa employees would get extra revenue. I guess esteemed half-Kenyan; half-Muslim that managed to slither into the White House has it right, after all: government employees are the best people to stimulate the sluggish economy!

ONE FINE EVENING

One fine (at least I think it was fine) evening yours truly was making her slow way from the place of employment to the place of residence.

On the way home I stopped at the local supermarket. Checked the prices of food and cursed my favorite green people for driving those effing prices through the roof with bio fuel production and other nonsense. While shopping, also marveled at the latest abundant “multiculturalism” of my neighborhood, their universal and extremely unappealing non-Americanism, and cursed everyone responsible for the catastrophic influx of so called "undocumented workers". Finally came to my building; encountered more Russian cannibals (legal or illegal, I really do not care); cursed all responsible for allowing those cannibals to come here. Finished my chores. Went to my room and re-discovered the reason for my not only cursing, but actively fighting as well. Here, on my dresser, in plain view, was a latest picture of my niece that I was planning to frame. Later in the evening, accidently rediscovered another reason by glancing into a mirror that was never hung properly. I am not just fighting for the next generation, which was blessed enough to be born here; I am also fighting for myself and my generation!

G-d bless this country!

WORK FUNNIES

Part 4: Some More Neurotic Tendencies

As mentioned many, many times before, our big boss is quiet neurotic. So, in accordance with this interesting character trade, last Friday afternoon he showed up by my desk, holding something wrapped in parchment paper. "You know, there is this half a sandwich, which was sitting in the fridge door for at least a week. I think something started growing there." And, without further ado, he proceeded to unwrap exhibit A and show it to me. I desperately tried to explain to him that I never held any particular interest in physics, chemistry, or microbiology; all to no avail. He when asked me to warn the populace that in the event of nobody claiming this particular gourmet offering, it will be disposed of. After which, he deposited this marvel on my desk and departed. Hell-o!!

Even when annoyed, I try not to pass an opportunity to enjoy myself at the company's expanse (especially when it is officially authorized). So, after dumping the stinking half a sandwich back in the fridge, I circulated the following e-mail (without any specified subject matter):

"According to my intelligence report, there is half a sandwich in the fridge door that had been seating where for at least a week. It also looks like something is beginning to live and grow in this sandwich. Please claim it, or it is going out.

Thank you,"

Nobody seemed to be a good humor, so I did not get any responses on Friday (and yes, I did dump the farshtukane thing before I left). This morning, while checking my inbox and enjoying my morning cup of java, here is what I got:

Subject: Food Delicious Food

"Your e-mail made me cracking up this morning…
I have to confess now – In the past, when I found something over 2 weeks with mold growing on it, I threw it away without warning. You are actually very kind to remind whoever who probably totally forgot about it.

Thanks for taking care of it!"

INTERESTING SIDE EFFECT

There is one thing my Mom never did and there is another one she almost always never did. She never swore and she almost never took interest in politics. Obama's bid for presidency changed both.

As mentioned many times before, my mother is a very soft spoken person. The biggest "curse" she would ever utter would be to call somebody an idiot or an animal; if she would want to "send" somebody somewhere, it would be to Turkish baths (do not ask me why). All of the sudden, last fall she inquired of me as to how to call somebody a "devil" in English or how to wish them to the warm basement. Upon witnessing my incongruity and quite admiration, she explained that apparently some Obama supporters were behaving with even more grace and class than usually exhibited, and she required some serious verbal ammunition.

I already described how hard she prayed for Obama's defeat. Alas, G-d answered "no". Now, my Mom started listening to Rush!!! As late as last Shabat lunch, she asked me to explain to her some choice phrases, and jokingly added that she is acquiring better proficiency in English expressions. You go, Mommy! May G-d say "yes" to your constant prayers for protection of your children and grandchildren against the socialist miasma that is trying to infiltrate this wonderful country!

RELIGION 101

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WORK FUNNIES

Part 3: Identity Crisis

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great song

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

WALL-E

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

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

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

YOUR TAX DOLLAR AT WORK

Part 3

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

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

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

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

SOME MORE SHORT TAKES

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A BOOST TO SELF-IMPORTANCE

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

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

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

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

Book of Calm

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

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

TOUCH OF MINK

Or Reality Bites

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

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

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

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

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

NOTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN

Or Remembering St. George

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

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

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

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

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

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

LIBRARY UPDATE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hava Nagila

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

1000th

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

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

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

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

INTERESTING WEEKEND

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

Here is a short list of memorable highlights:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Managed to snap some cute pictures of munchkins.

Over all, it was an enjoyable Shabbat.

Which brings me to Sunday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A LITTLE NOTE

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

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

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

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

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

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

OK, IT IS OFFICIAL!

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

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

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

MEME

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

BOOK Meme:

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

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

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

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

NEXT Meme:

7 facts about me:

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

2. I know how to milk cows.

3. My personal library contains about 800 romances.

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

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

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

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

Happy Birthday, Mini Me!

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

Many Happy Returns, little one!