ALMOST BY THE WATERCOOLER

Closer to the conclusion to one of the slower/end of the year workdays, I overheard two of my co-workers (one young and American born, another not so young and recently naturalized, being born in one of the South American countries famous for its drug cartels) laughing madly and droning something to the tunes of Americans being stupid. Yours truly, being her usual strange self, could not let the insult to her people pass, hence decided to join in this exchange of ideas.

So, I politely inquired as to the source of this levity and was informed that the above source is general American stupidity. I tried to explain to them that Americans are by far not stupid – just the victims of a broken educational system, for which we can profusely thank Jimmy Carter, among many others. In response I was asked if I watch “are you smarter than a fifth grader”; I usually watch only stuff on Channel 38 and even that when it usually appears on hulu. But I do have a passing acquaintance with this show, which only proves my point – there is a difference between the absence of a working grey matter and the absence of decent, well-rounded general knowledge.

Alas, the levity did not stop, my arguments fell on deaf ears, and the stupidity of the general American public was firmly established in the eyes of those two. Somehow, I did not feel to just politely agreeing to disagree, and I hit them with this parting volley: “You know – you are right. If 64 million Americans could vote Barak Obama into Presidency, Americans are indeed stupid.”

The resulting general effect was simply priceless.

THANKSGIVING/MEME

As always, very belated, but most sincere

Back in the summer, Moshe tugged me for a “7 things I love” meme. Since that was the “dry period” for my blog due to the necessity of actually working during work hours, I never got to do it (even though meme’s are harmless fun in general, and that looked like enjoyable task in particular). Then, on Thanksgiving, I just wanted to post a list of things I am grateful for. Since I am very late for both entries, I am going to combine them and post things I love (which incidentally I am grateful for).


Fun list:

1. Books.
2. Great works of art by dead white males and females and great books by (hopefully) very much alive white females.
3. Delicious food and drink – especially fruits, anything with real whipped cream, and coffee.
4. Beautiful nature – especially when it is highlighted by warm sun and gentle breezes.
5. Vacations, vacations, vacations – that includes Disney (my first and enduring love), doing all idiotic tourist-y things, exploring strange places, and soaking in the turquoise waters of the magnificent ocean.
6. Comfortable clothes (especially night shirts) and the ability to stay in them as long as possible.
7. Gorgeous smells, especially flowers and perfume (hey, the sense of smell is the only one not affected by “original sin”).


Serious list:


1. My parents, my siblings (even when they are being a pain in the gluteus maximums - hopefully, I can always return the favor), and my nieces and nephew
2. My friends
3. My health (you can guess my age by that one)
4. Being a Jewess
5. Being a woman
6. My freedom
7. USA


Needless to say, all of those are the gifts from The Heavenly Father, and I know that He loves me even when I grouch and grumble (I am human, after all).

VALIDATION OF MY “MADNESS”

There are many things that I do in performance of my everyday boring activities that garner raised eyebrows from the passers-by, good natured jokes from my friends, and snide comments from my so-called well-wishers. One prime example is my choice of footwear.


Anyone who knows me personally can vouch that I wear flip-flops around nine months out of twelve – lately around eight months (due to the results of catastrophic man-made global warming). Surprise of surprises – I actually do that for purely practical reasons, and not to reinforce my nonsensical non-conformism.


Anyway, a few weeks ago I forced myself to go to podiatrist – this time due to my innate klutziness that results in my frequent walking into walls and assorted furniture. While making an appointment, I was asked to make sure and prepare a list of all different kinds of footwear I use for different purposes. “Oh, brother,” – was my mental exclamation – “another lecture by a medical professional coming my way”. To further the irony, it rained cats and dogs on the morning of my appointment, so, instead of wearing my derided flip-flops, I borrowed a pair of sneakers from my baby brother and trotted off.


The doctor was punctual and friendly, and he reassured me that my klutziness produced no lasting damage. He was also duly impressed with the general condition of my feet; and then the conversation turned to the dreaded topic – the footwear. He asked me if I were sneakers as a matter of course; I explained to him the reason for the Nikes and my obsession with the “beach shoes”. “So, you wear flip-flips most of the time?” “Yes; even when it gets cold outside, I keep a pair at work to change into.” “And at home?” “Then I just go barefoot”. Guess what his response was to my dreadful confession? “That’s very impressive! I wish all my patients did this – it’s healthy for the feet to be exposed to sun and air for most of the time.”


The second episode occurred about three weeks later when I went for my infrequent hair-cut. To hair salon which I frequent is pretty friendly and informal, which suits me just fine. So, while my hairdresser began on my head, she continued chatting with her previous client. In the middle of this chat, the other lady complimented my hair, telling me that it looks very healthy. The hairdresser got really excited and confirmed that my tresses were very silky to touch (thanks, ladies, you are making me blush). “You know why?” – She continued – “It’s because Barb does not put anything in her hair. All she does is shampoo, condition, and get them cut; no chemicals, no dies, no blow-drying – zip!” The other client was duly surprised and impressed at the same time.


Now I have a slight dilemma – should I submit this story to Glamour, Vogue, In Style, Lucky, and a few other choice publications offering beauty advice to women? Nah, just kidding.

SOME MORE WISDOM FROM BELOVED NEPHEW

As previously mentioned, MBS and MNM know me as Papi. MBS, being a big girl, understands that her cool aunt also goes by another name; for MNM it is a bit of a different story.


So, a few days ago, a family friend, who, in the best traditions of our community, also happens to be the mother of MBS’s favorite classmate, came to Beloved Sibling’s house to pick up her progeny. In the process of doing this, she also informed Blondie that she knows his aunt Barb – which information was completely indigestible to our big boy. After being informed of this amusing incident, I asked him if he knows who Barb is – blank stare. “It’s I, SiM”. With a superior, I-do-not-have-patience-for-this-nonsense-young-lady-look, Beloved Nephew very firmly told me “you Papi!”; case closed.


A little while before that, he was playing with my wallet and came upon my NRA membership card. “Ducky” –was his exited observation. “No, sweetie, that’s an eagle.” “No, ducky!” “No, big boy, that birdie does not look like a ducky at all”. “Ducky!” Now I just have to inform NRA that apparently their seal was changed.


And, in slightly related news, a love seat in the living room received a serious kicking yesterday after Golden Delicious bumped herself on it. “You no hurt Eh, you bad boy!” – were the admonishing words that accompanied the kicks.

WHY I CAN NOT BE A RELIABLE WITNESS IN COURT

The following story also took place shortly after MMM made her glorious entrance into this world.

Yours truly was walking back to the office after a satisfying meal when she got a phone call from Beloved Sibling. The Very Important Matter of Shopping for Mini Mini Me was discussed. All of the sudden, in the middle of the conversation, I saw a familiar face attached to a familiar hairdo that was approaching me from the opposite direction. The hand attached to the body with the familiar face waved at me and the mouth on the familiar face cracked a smile.

I got really excited. “Nechama – I thought – so happy to see her since she moved to New Jersey a donkey’s age ago!” :”Uh, uh, uh, guess whom I just met on the street!” – was my happy squeal into the receiver. Of course, my poor sister was at sea, so I just wished her well and hang up. Nechama stopped, but did not hang up on her phone call. I just stood there, smiling like an idiot – I really was that happy to see her. She continued chatting and after a first polite smile did not really pay attention to me.

OK, she did not see me or hear from me in a long while, but she was my sister’s friend, for goodness sake! What happened to her? Finally, she reluctantly finished her call and decided to waste some rudimentary conversation on yours truly. And, boy oh boy, it was way beyond rudimentary; it was stifled and cold. We wished each other Shana Tova, of course, and then I, in very exuberant tones, told her about the MMM’ arrival; very un-exited reception. Then I asked her if she was working in the area; she just looked at me with a slight disdain before confirming the fact. I offered to exchange phone numbers (so we could stay in touch somewhat); again some kind of very cold and put-down compliance.

Finally, after about two minutes of this nonsense (and her offer of meeting for lunch one day, which I knew would never materialize), we wished each other the best for the remainder of Sukkot and the coming year, and I returned to the office. Her behavior continued to baffle me, though; again, granted, I did not see her for a very long time; but such drastic change? What the heck happened to a warm, exuberant, down to earth, wonderful Nechama? Needless to say, I did not say anything to my sister; she, of course, did not ask, being busy with the new baby and all.

I, on the other hand, while relegating this dumb incident to the back of my mind, could not give it a complete and proper rest. Another disappointment, in a long line of disappointments; well, people do change, and usually not for the better. And only after about two or three weeks of those musings the condemned by enviro-wacos invention of Thomas Edison flickered to bright light in my head. OMG (as the modern generation likes to summarize it), it was not Nechama at all! It was Odette, or Violette, or whatever Frenchified nonsense name her parents gave her! The girl who was introduced to me by my friend Ellie; and which friendship left me nonplussed, since Ellie is a very warm and sweet person, and Odette is so clearly not! If my fried brain would have recognized her as Odette, it would have steered my body to the opposite side of the street, and only then commended to one of my hands to wave in a non-committal greeting! At that point I did share the story with my sister – and man, did we laugh!

And that is why, Boys and Girls, Ladies and Things, your humble servant would never make a reliable eye-witness in court!

8 DAYS OF HANUKKAH - Senator ORIN HATCH

G-d bless this country!

Happy Chanukah!

To all my Jewish brothers and sisters, regardless of your religious affiliation (or the lack of such) I wish a happy and joyous Chanukah (however you would like to spell it)!


Here is to remembering the true meaning of this wonderful holiday, to miracles, to our spiritual survival, to the peaceful light of the Menorot, and to the fantastic taste of sufganiyot and anything fried in olive oil!

Mozart - Symphony No 25 (Remix)

Another dabble with the classics that I found enjoyable (picture including)

Karl Jenkins conducts Palladio

Have been crazily listening to this for the past four days; gorgeous!

INTERESTING RESULTS OF ANTI-SEMITISM

I had the supreme privilege of growing up in one of the worst anti-Semitic countries in the world under one of the most anti-Semitic regimes in recorded history: Communist Russia. Most of my childhood memories associated with those privileges are not very pleasant; but some things were so illogical as to border on the bizarrely hilarious. This is one of them.

Like any Jewish parents worth their salt, so to speak, my parents wanted to give their children, especially girls, musical education. In the high hopes of that happening, a piano was purchased when yours truly (an oldest child) reached the age of five. As a side note, a memo to all the parents out there – I am all for broadening your child’s horizons and giving him or her music lessons; but, unless there are prodigies on the scale of Mozart, signing up a five-year old for serious music lessons is a serious waste of your time and money. But hey, according to one of my psych professors, every parent by default experiments on the first child – due to the lack of experience. So, my poor parents learned their lesson after few months, and the piano was relegated to the status of just plain big piece of furniture for the time being.

Fast forward a few years; I think at that time the hopes for my brother to become a musician were dashed, but in my case they were still strong; plus, my younger sister was about to be engaged as well. This time, because there were two of us, hiring a tutor was not feasible, and our parents decided to enroll us in the music school. So, our poor Mom was forced to haul us from one school to another to another to another – only to be told, again and again, that her daughters have very little or no talent what so ever and will not be enrolled.

That statement may be true in my case (my musical talents are rather mediocre); but in the case of my sister it was nothing more than a bold-faced lie. Beloved Sibling is graced by The Heavenly Father with many talents, and being a great musician is one of them. So, what gave? Well, apparently, the latest directive in Moscow at that time was not to enroll “blackies”, especially of the dreaded Jewish variety ones, in the music schools, especially – GASP – in the capital.

Finally, a music school was found outside of the city boundaries (at that point we did live on the outskirts), and they were more than glad to take us (even me with my mediocre abilities). However, due the unfortunate circumstances of us wasting all this time inside the city boundaries, all the piano classes were full. Our Mom was given a choice of enrolling one daughter in the violin group and another one for the cello. My memories are hazy as to why precisely we ended up with what we ended up (I think it was due to size), but in the end, my sis went for the violin lessons and I went for the cello ones.

And so it came to pass that, due to the bizarre idiocies of the Russian comrades, we both ended up learning how to play not just one (because eventually both of us took piano lessons), but two musical instruments.

MISPLACED OPTIMISM

One very fine day during Chol Hamoed Sukkot, when MMM was a teeny tiny newborn; yours truly, overly excited by becoming an aunt yet again, went shopping. Remembering the copious salivating three months before at Daffy’s upon discovering that these fine retailers carry Absorba and Vitamins, my feet automatically carried me four blocks in that direction.

I was extremely successful – both in acquiring outfits in record time and preventing myself from buying half the store. So, off to the cashiers I trotted. Right in front of me there was an Israeli lady; and when it was her turn, she decided to inquire from the saleslady and the neighboring manager as to the absence of a Jewish child from the humongous billboards hanging right above the cash registers – the said billboards containing the prerequisite black, “Latino”, “Asian/Pacific Islander”, and a token “white” child (at least two of those were “females”). I just burst out laughing – I enjoyed this so much! She was asking two women whose male relatives, I can bet my last savings, were participating in the Crown Heights riots back in 91!

Upon exiting that fine establishment I was stopped at the traffic light by yells and screams – what the heck? At first I could only hear “Stay down! Stay down” from somewhere in the middle of a hefty throng of people. Before the light changed, the picture became crystal clear. Remember our senile Mayor’s idiotic decision of closing the car traffic at the busiest part of Broadway and making it a pedestrian only zone, completed with tables, chairs, and umbrellas? Well, one of those idiotic umbrellas was knocked down by a strong gust of October wind, in the process knocking off a pedestrian as well. At first, the poor woman was just trying to get up (and probably just shake off the whole sorry episode), but, given the overpopulation of ambulance chasers and the attached mentality, people were suggesting to her to stay down. As I was crossing, I saw a police car approaching to investigate: here goes few million out of busted city treasury! Car drivers, watch out for "brownies"!

HAPPY WHATEVER!

Or What Are We Celebrating Again?
You always know far in advance when any holiday, even a “minor one”, is coming: there are sales coming up! Then you get the grumbles if your office is open, and few office weasels who would try and get off regardless; after that, UPS and FedEx would call up to make sure you are open; and, finally, on the day itself, you just wake up, perform your auto-pilot morning routine, and then wonder for a few minutes as to why the subway is so pleasantly empty from the yelling and spitting little and medium-sized animals, uh, I mean inner city school kids. AND then the forbidden invention of Thomas Edison goes on in your head: it’s Veteran’s Day!

This year Veteran’s Day celebrations were especially lively, due, of course, to the reign of our illustrious Chairman, erm, President. The terrorist attack at Ft. Hood, I mean “man-made disaster”, I mean “alleged man-made disaster”, as we can not jump to conclusions so prematurely. The Sun King, I mean, Barak Hussein (Sun King should please forgive me for such insult to his memory), and his lady fair could not find time in their extremely busy schedules to visit till the actual Memorial Service, at which point they presented a wonderful pictures of grief; plus, Partei Genosse, I mean, the President, delivered a very appropriate and almost fantastic speech. Meanwhile, George and Laura Bush paid a visit to Ft. Hood right away – but did it quietly (and without cameras).

The saddest conclusion of Ft. Hood massacre, aside, of course, from horrible loss of life, was the horrific picture of our almost total vulnerability due to the cancerous miasma of so-called multiculturalism and political correctness – especially when it comes to the practitioners of the religion of peace.

Fast-forward to the day itself. Of course, our office was open – our company is pretty stingy with time off. I actually remembered what day it was, and was extremely happy that my dawdling did not go all wrong, and I got my “Home of the free because of the brave” T-shirt before lunch.

Lunch time; your truly is in the elevator together with a usual assortment of representatives of other offices. There were two ladies from a French company who kept yammering about what the heck today is, and why there were no e-mails from France, and why nobody is calling today, and why there is no mail, and then came the masterpiece! “Today is an Armistice anniversary, right?” “Right.” “So, wait, Americans are celebrating our holiday?” “Who knows?” Meanwhile, there was a whole bunch of other people in that elevator, who, judging by their looks, could not care less what we are celebrating and how; only that they were forced to work when the mail and banks are closed. I just could not listen to this idiocy, never mind travesty, and probably had a murderous expression on my mug. Finally, when we were approaching the lobby, and the American employee could not clarify to her French colleague as to the Veterans of which war are we saluting exactly, I exploded and barked “all of them”; nearly adding “ungrateful ignoramuses, all of you!”
And then I left the building and saw few people with flags who were obviously just leaving the parade; and then I saw the soldiers themselves. I dearly wanted to approach them and just shake their hands and thank them – but my idiotic shyness stopped me. I hope some of them saw my T-shirt.

So, belated, but most sincere, cyber salute to all of you, Ladies and Gentlemen, Veterans of all the wars defending ours and other ungrateful jerks’ freedom! From one (but not lonely in this) very grateful and appreciative of her freedom American! May Heavenly Father watch other you and your families and grant you the victory over all our enemies, foreign and domestic!

Reagan at Brandenburg Gate - "tear down this wall"

In honor of the 20th anniversary of the fall of this wall (which our esteemed so-called President will not be attending). We need somebody channeling Reagan - now more than ever...

HEART-WARMING

This short story took place one fine evening few months ago.


During the elaborate ceremony otherwise known as Mini Beloved Sibling’s Preparations For The Night we were watching a clip of Barney’s show in Radio City. They were singing something about loving special people in our lives; in the middle of this MBS turned to me with the sweetest smile on her face and told me in no uncertain terms “You are special, Papi!”


Later in the night, while I was decompressing in my humble abode, Beloved Sibling informed me via telephone conversation that Mini Not Me, who sometimes speaks during sleep, was mumbling something about “pak” and other enjoyable things; and in the middle of this slumber monologue he very clearly said “Papi”.


To use the old overused expression, my cup have truly runneth over.

MILESTONES?

Anyone who knows me personally can attest to the fact that I am a firm believer in the old-fashioned paper and pen missives. As a result, I have a whole collection of stationary, post cards, greeting cards, ect., etc., etc.; and shopping for those things is second in pleasure only to shopping for books (especially when everything is housed in one place). But sometimes the experience turns out to be bitter-sweet.

For one, I still get a little sad when I see something addressed to grandmother – because I will never buy it again. I also get strangely contemplative when I see something for either husband or wife – and no, it is not because I am not married.

You see, aside from getting my parents Birthdays and Anniversaries cards from myself (and my siblings), I used to be my parents’ (especially my Dad’s) secretary and get all this stuff for both of them as well, because my Dad is a typical guy when it comes to these matters, and my Mom was always afraid to due to the lack of English comprehension she would get something not necessarily appropriate.

As a result, a little while ago, while shopping for Birthday card for a friend born in August is suddenly dawned on me that had my parents stayed together, that August would have been their 40th Wedding Anniversary; and that led to the contemplation of what the celebration would have been like. I also remembered the 25th Anniversary I have put together for them almost single-handedly (my siblings were in camp), and how happy I was while doing it. And I also remembered the 30th, and how I decided to not throw a party because things were a bit iffy at the times.

What can I tell you – life does give you strange-shaped lemons once in a while; and this time I had no desire to make lemonade.

A POLITE REMINDER…

I found this last week while cleaning out old documents. I do not even remember how old this little piece is, but none-the-less, the message is timeless. Apparently, Pollyanna did have the right outlook on life.

"The Right Perspective

As you might know, the head of a company survived 9/11 because his son started kindergarten.

Another fellow was alive because it was his turn to bring donuts.

One woman was late because her alarm clock didn't go off in time.

One was late because of being stuck on the NJ Turnpike because of an auto accident.

One of them missed his bus.

One spilled food on her clothes and had to take time to change.

One's car wouldn't start.

One went back to answer the telephone.

One had a child that dawdled and didn't get ready as soon as he should have.

One couldn't get a taxi.

The one that struck me was the man who put on a new pair of shoes that morning, took the various means to get to work but before he got there, he developed a blister on his foot. He stopped at a drugstore! to buy a Band-Aid. That is why he is alive today.

Now when I am stuck in traffic, miss an elevator, turn back to answer a ringing telephone - all the little things that annoy me - I think to myself, this is exactly where G-d wants me to be at this very moment. Next time your morning seems to be going wrong; the children are slow getting dressed; you can't seem to find the car keys; you hit every traffic light; don’t get mad or frustrated; G-d is at work watching over you. May G-d continue to bless you with all those annoying little things and may you remember their possible purpose."

THE IRREFUTABLE LOGIC OF THE YOUNG

Due to the recent festivities in the Beloved Sibling’s household, both MBS and MNM were exposed to sugar cubes in an attractive packaging. The said attractive packaging produced a strong desire in both munchkins to consume the said sugar cubes. So, Papi was given an official request to obtain the objects lately in vogue.


Papi agreed and promptly forgot – the disadvantages of the middle age coupled with the unfulfilled need for the visit to the local supermarket.


Lo and behold, few nights ago MNM asked me again for the dratted sugar cubes. I apologized for not getting them before and added (truthfully) that I have not been to the grocery since the official request was issued. The apology was graciously accepted, and the request not only repeated, but clarified. Apparently, I am now dispatched to obtain Spiderman sugar cubes for the neffie pooh and Hello Kitty sugar cubes for his older sister!

"Belle" :)

Surprisingly enjoyable

YOM KIPPUR

Fashion/On The Lighter Side Edition

Everyone who knows our family knows that we are very punctual people and hate being late to anything. Hence, yours truly was the first to arrive on Kol Nidre Night (and even had the dubious honor of entering through the men’s entrance and opening up women’s).

After I finished Mincha, there was not much to do but wait and observe the new arrivals. And it struck me once again, not with a vengeance, but strongly enough: how come ladies in this community look like they have been taking wardrobe tips from Beau Brummell? Inasmuch as I know for a fact that there is very little interest in history amongst them in general and practically none for the English history, especially the Regency Period in particular, who is channeling the late unlamented dandy? Because about ninety seven percent of ladies attending (including the younger generation) were wearing stark, unrelieved black; about two or three of them wore pure white; and yet about seven more were in black and white. Only about six other people (including yours truly) were wearing some other colors (mainly grey, olive, and brown). And, of course, the next morning it continued in the same venue, aside from two very refreshing-looking young ladies, one of which was wearing a leather suit.

In a momentary flight of fancy I got a strong urge to inform the assembled honorable matrons that Brummell was credited by historians with simplifying the male mode of dress, not female; and then I realized something else. Apparently, there is a new rage to wear plumages in one’s hair (mainly made from feathers of small birds, but faux flowers or fruit are also popular). I suppose those fanciful hair ornaments were meant to counteract the black/male simplicity.

On the personal note, a la Cher Horowitz, I am happy to report that I broke in my off-white Vera Wang flip-flops.

I also managed, once again, without fail, to fall asleep during the Rabbi’s speeches, and during the chazzan’s repetitions, so, when Birkat Kohanim came along, the reference to dreams was very fresh.

On a serious note, it was a very uplifting day, and I profoundly hope that The Heavenly Father accepted all our prayers and sealed all of us in the Book of Life.

AND SHE IS HERE!!!!!

I have a brand new niece, thank G-d! She is the most amazing baby in the world right now – that is my unbiased opinion, I am sticking to it.


Aside from being around a pound bigger than her older sister, and therefore having more cheeks, she bears a striking resemblance to Mini Me at that age. Mini Me, on the other hand, graduated to striking resemblance to Beloved Sibling.


In light of these developments, the editor of this blog (yours truly) is thereby changing the given designations. Mini Me is to be called Mini Beloved Sibling, or MBS; Mini Not Me is to be abbreviated as MNM (to save typing efforts), and the newest addition is to be called Mini Mini Me, or MMM.


PS: Both parents are doing fine, mother being (understandably) on the tired side, and father busy playing with new toys (like assembling bassinets and getting excited over candy trays). Newly minted older (and more responsible) siblings are undecided, but very happy to have Mommy back.