#142 – Wasn’t Cool @ School

You could say many things about me, but no one, self included, would have classified me as cool when I was in school. I wasn’t good at sport; my parents weren’t Israel- born or among the founding families of Pardes Hana; we lived in a duplex while the cool ones all lived in a single family homes; and the fact that both my older brother and I skipped a class in the same year didn’t help. It was much more important to skip rope.
There was a time in which I was trying to fit in, to be like everyone else. It failed. Miserably too. Maybe this is when I realized that I wasn’t made for the herd. Years later, I do recognize though that while I wasn’t part of the herd, I was still heard. Enough students voted me to the chair of the school’s paper, I was performing w/the drama class . . . I wasn’t ignored; I was odd, with too many evenings lonelier than I’d liked them to be.
If I learned anything, painful though the learning had been, it was that the cost and effort of fitting in isn’t really worth it in the end. Fitting in does not bring happiness, joy or pride. All it means that instead of being loyal to self, one is loyal to the slimy, jelly like consensus that is brainless yet extremely judgmental. And the herd in one’s head can be such a rigid dictator. I quitted.
“It’s not easy being green” sings Kermit. “It seems you blend in with so many other ordinary things, and people tend to pass you over ’cause you’re not standing out like flashy sparkles in the water or stars in the sky”… [Source: http://lyricsplayground.com/alpha/songs/i/itsnoteasybeinggreen.shtml]
Why this walk down memory lane, you may wonder. Thing is, being home, recuperating, grounded and restricted, with my mind free to wonder does funny things to you. It’s all because of you! The support, visits, calls, SMS’s, emails, Skypes. . . the love and care I was surrounded with, plus my mom’s spoiling nursing made getting better such a good experience – it felt and feels good getting better with all this support. ‘Cause one can take pain killers, but I am not aware of “be my friend” pills.
Thank you guys, each and everyone who supported.

Clipart source:
http://majorcare.org/Cool%20School%20Kids.gif
http://ayyyy.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2008/06/panda8.jpg

#140 – From Goth to Gown

This one is to Martin, Eran and Simon.

A thought

Who could imagine that one Saturday I’ll be shopping for a new Goth pants, wear it on Wednesday, and change to a hospital gown on Thursday???  Not me.  The Goth blog will wait though.

Packing list

I know what to pack for a biz trip, but what do you take to a hospital?  Once it was decided that I’ll be spending the night[s] at the hospital, the Dr. suggested that I’ll first check-in and than go out to get my stuff.  “That way”, he said, “you won’t have to come back here again after you’ve been to the hotel”.  Well spoken.  40 minutes later, with my hospital bracelet, Martin and I were still waiting.  I decided I could use the special bonding, and hunted down the Dr. @ his office.  “I’m sorry, can you please tell us how long it’s going to take?”

“What?!! You are still here?!! Come on, I’ll take you”.  And so I was delivered to the ward by the nice doctor himself, who explained, to the nurses’ surprise, that I’m checking in, but will be leaving shortly.

I was relieved to be in the cab.  Can’t say that I wasn’t tempted to “fall asleep” in my hotel room and wake up in the morning all innocent.  Who cares where I sleep if it’s only sleeping.  But the IV thingy was hurting me and I was finally, getting hungry after 23 hours with no food and the only food/drink I was allowed comes in clear plastic bags.  Martin verified, IN PERSON, that I got in the cab to go back to the hospital.

What did I pack?  A laptop, one charger for phone, MP3 player, USB cable.  The electronics took much more room and were heavier than the necessities like tooth brush & paste, change of cloth…  Geek!

Karolinska University Hospital

11:30 PM

Of course, not using one, I didn’t pack a PJ.  The hospital took care of it.   Too white.  With my mouth dry, after 24 hours with no food, but couple of cups of water, IV was my feeder.

Laptop connected, Wi-Fi is free, Rhapsody is the soundtrack of my night.

First night at the hospital, and I did use the alarm button to call for pain killers.  It was time to give in.

Of course, once the pain killers started working, FaceBook, Twitter and their likes came to life.

05:00 AM

A polite knock at the door woke me up.  A nurse is coming for my blood.  With my eyes closed I stretch my hand, remember to tell her that my veins are narrow, and falls back to sleep.

At 7:40, I’m up again, learning that one cannot undress with IV attached.  A nurse is coming to help, and is sent back to get me towels, and of course, a clean PJ.  I opt for my own cloth.

At 9:30, I get the day’s doctor visit.  No one notes that since my shower, the IV had not been reattached.  I figure they will eventually.  “Turn off the music” is her first sentence.  And than, like they all do, she introduces herself by first name, shakes my hand and tells me how, even with my blood test results, they are still not sure what I have on top of gallstones.  How reassuring.

At 10:30, when my chaperon is coming to take me for my ultra sound, I stop him from moving the bad and demonstrate my ability to walk.  He is not sure what to do, so I start walking out of the room.

An hour later I’m done, and now I know better than to wait for a chaperon.  I walk back to the ward alone.  Still with no water or food, I’m thinking Yom Kippur.

Nu?

Between twitters, I dose off, get another pain killer and blood pressure is measured for the 2^nd or 3^rd time.

@ 14:00 or so, I’m waked up to be told that I am allowed to have my first meal.  39 hours since my last supper.  No one bothers to comment on the music anymore – guess they got used to it.    It’s a hospital; I have low expectations regarding my first meal.  Wrong.  3 crepes stuffed with mushroom and dill with nice mustardy sauce arrive.  And water.  And a horrible coffee that once left alone, I set free down the sink.

Gallbladder however, is inflamed, flight is highly discouraged, and another night of observation is prescribed.  I am down.  The pain is down, but it doesn’t matter, since I can’t find even one doctor [consulted with London and Israel] that will tell me that I should just walk away.

Around 17:00, my new babysitter is in, and everything looks better.  As much as I try to keep work out of here, how can I not feel lucky to work with people I really like?  How can I not smile when Eran, rerouting his ticket, is my new chaperon/body guard?

With some hope offered by the doctor, I get all energized to buy my ticket home for the following day.  Simon is rushing it though the system, while I head to the hotel to pack my stuff and check out.

Given that the hospital declared me fit to eat, we go for a GOOD dinner.  Not only I’m not eating hospital food, I’m eating good, rich [read: fat] meat.  The reasoning?  This is what empirical testing is all about: If my body can handle this, I’m 100% fit to fly.

Grill, Drottninggatan 89 113 60 Stockholm

Let’s just say that the night provided enough evidence to suggest that while I may be OK to fly, I’m not entitled to a clear bill of health.

After unhealthy dinner and desert, back to my “dorm”.  If only the door wasn’t locked.  It takes three Swedes to figure out how to open the hospital doors, and another 15 minutes before I find my ward.  The nurses node.

“We’ll wake you @ 4:20 for your blood” they remind me.  Yes, since I told them I have a 13:35 flight, they asked the lab, the nurse and the doctor to do their things earlier, so I’ll make my flight.  Nice cannot describe it.

More yet to come. . .

#136 – Vacation, again

“Lesson learned” is not what I’d say towards the end of my first vacation day. I’d say that disconnecting from work, office and action items is not easy. Wonder how come Paul Simon never thought of composing “50 ways to leave your computer”. . .

I need only a couple.

The problem is all inside your head She said to me

- I know, so what?!
The answer is easy if you Take it logically

-sure. i’m on vacation and doing emails; how logical is it?
I’d like to help you in your struggle To be free
There must be fifty ways
To leave your ‘puter. . .

Red wine, Steak, friends. . . and hope to avoid emails for the rest of the evening.

Bon appétit.

#135 – My Name is NOT Earl, Gail or Yale

“Lost in translation” is a fact of life. It’s true for jokes, morals, stories. . . and to names. Since my parents were careful not to give any of us horrible, begging for teasing names, I never thought much about it. I knew its meaning, where it comes from, the animal called this name, and that was it. As long as I lived in Israel.

Psalms 104:18 - The high mountains are for the wild goats; the rocks are a refuge for the conies.

Imagine you, a native English speaker, moving to a country that speaks a language that has not “w”. Your name, BTW, is William, nickname Willie. Now everyone calls you Villie or Villiam. Or, further cutting it short, they call you Vill, but to your ears it sounds like Veal. Nice, ha? You are Veal from Vashington. How would you like your steak?

yael, Judean Desert

The English language, rich as it is, has its own limitation too. My name calls out one. “AE” put together are not a common sound, and I end up with listening to creative ways of pronouncing it or even more creative workarounds to avoid saying it. All in good intention, all much appreciated.

It’s important to note however, that a desert goat was not what my parents had on their mind.

And the Torah says:

Judges 4:15-23 (21st Century King James Version)

21st Century King James Version (KJ21)Copyright © 1994 by Deuel Enterprises, Inc.

15And the LORD discomfited Sisera and all his chariots and all his host with the edge of the sword before Barak, so that Sisera alighted down off his chariot and fled away on his feet. 16But Barak pursued after the chariots and after the host unto Harosheth of the Gentiles; and all the host of Sisera fell upon the edge of the sword, and there was not a man left.

17However Sisera fled away on his feet to the tent of Jael the wife of Heber the Kenite, for there was peace between Jabin the king of Hazor and the house of Heber the Kenite. 18And Jael went out to meet Sisera, and said unto him, “Turn in, my lord, turn in to me. Fear not.” And when he had turned in unto her into the tent, she covered him with a mantle. 19And he said unto her, “Give me, I pray thee, a little water to drink; for I am thirsty.” And she opened a bottle of milk, and gave him drink, and covered him. 20Again he said unto her, “Stand in the door of the tent, and it shall be, when any man doth come and inquire of thee and say, `Is there any man here?’ that thou shalt say, `No.’”

Yael, delivering Sisera to a world of Goodness

21Then Jael, Heber’s wife, took a nail of the tent and took a hammer in her hand, and went softly unto him and smote the nail into his temples, and fastened it into the ground; for he was fast asleep and weary. So he died.

22And behold, as Barak pursued Sisera, Jael came out to meet him and said unto him, “Come, and I will show thee the man whom thou seekest.” And when he came into her tent, behold, Sisera lay dead, and the nail was in his temples. 23So God subdued on that day Jabin the king of Canaan before the children of Israel.

A little on the gory side, but those were the days. Don’t know how “yael” became “Jael”; lost in translation, I guess.

My solution? A new ringtone that may help the listener practice. If only I figured out how to load an audio file.

#134 – I Love Rhapsody

Hard to recall life pre-Rhapsody. Watching an old episode of Criminal Minds [Hard to recall life pre-DVR], the finale scene’s soundtrack included a song I liked. Playback, picking up few sentences, Googling, get the song and singer’s name, click Rhapsody, type in, and. . . the song is playing over the speakers without Agent Gideon quoting William Shakespeare over the song.

In previous life: try to memorize the few lines of the song one could pick, try to sing or recite it to a friend who’s taste one thinks is close to that song. . . and hope. If one got lucky the song was played on the radio within the time span of one’s ability to remember the song. . . nothing too promising.

But this is not it. I love Rhapsody for the games it allows us to play. How about the “make a wish” game. Not too long ago, Francine was over. And we tried to bit Rhapsody. “Tell me your favorite song”, I asked. And there is was. This is how I learned that one of the bands I enjoy listening to is Journey, nameless until then.

And this is how Francine learned that one of my favorite songs is a James Brown song. Click below for a surprise performance, with non less than. . . just click, will you?

James Brown and Pavarotti, unbelievable performance. embarrassingly, while watching i was wondering how easy is the drumming for the song compared to, you know. . . i managed to get so far without saying the R word.

There’s more. I love Little Wing. so imagine that 11 clicks on the keyboard got me the list of all version, original and covers. Clapton, SRV and Jimi Hendrix were a given, but what about Ottmar Liebert, The Corrs and Elvis Schoenberg’s Orchestra? All of which are worth listening, BTW.

This experience would have been limited, if it wasn’t for the comfort or spoiling offered by Sonos. I mentioned it before, so what?! Let me just say that having the ability to play the same music in all rooms, control it from one interface [computer or heavy remote], and manage all music on one’s network is a lot. Spoiling indeed. Soon to be categorized under “Hard to recall life pre”.

When you consume music as I do, even if i don’t know the song or singer’s name or biography, this is a great solution. Enjoy.

#133 – Through the Fire and Flames

RockBand

Flame, Fire and Rock [from http://www.gamespot.com/ps3/puzzle/rockband/images.html]

And the fun continues.

Every time I post a “chapter” that gets significantly more comments than usual, I gain an insight. Sometimes about myself; sometimes about us all. #131 was all about us, the hidden and not so hidden singers, the real players, the couch players, the armchair masters of guitars, the RockBand players, the GuitarHeroes and those waiting to come out of the, I guess, living room? The ways we find to express ourselves, openly or behind closed doors and with headsets.

And all the new songs I listen to and learn. Yesterday, over Skype, once we were done with work this and work that, and started talking music, I got this: “TtF&tF is the hardest thing on Guitar Hero 3, so I’m told…” to which I typed “Ha? Raising eyebrows”. So I got the TtF&tF for dummies version: “Through the fire and the flames”. Almost correct. It’s “Through the Fire and Flames” Wikipedia says. MTV, in a compilation they did, added to the song’s name an extra “the”.

That was yesterday.

Since then, I Rhapsody-ed the song, which I’ve never heard of. I’ll praise Rhapsody another time. Right now I’m pressing the [volume up] button and am happy that my apartment is a corner apt. and that the speakers are not next to any wall shared with the neighbors. I let it blast the whole 7:21 min. and then again. and again. and again.

Must see:

Israel, I was told, restricted access to the one above, so this one with subtitles should work with you, as it had been tested earlier today: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DilAASI69Sc

The video, unlike the recorded song, is only 5 minutes long. Not that it should bother you. It’s overwhelming as it is. The things these hands can do. . .

YES / Tormato (1978)

I recall my excitement and joy in high school, when I got my first “Made in the UK” album. It was Tormato, by YES. As far as my dad was concerned, it was “No, No” and then again “NO!!!” When the sounds of Rejoice, the 1st song in the album, started filling the house, joy was not part of the parental behavior demonstrated.

I recall my excitement and joy in high school, when I got my first “Made in the UK” album. It was Tormato, by YES. As far as my dad was concerned, it was “No, No” and then again “NO!!!” When the sounds of Rejoice, the 1st song in the album, started filling the house, joy was not part of the parental behavior demonstrated.

Unfortunately, having the largest of the kids bedrooms in the house, had its price. it was also the bedroom sharing a wall with our dinning room/ open kitchen area. As time went by, my dad learned to recognize the sounds of the album. For someone who insisted that it’s not music, I think he did very well.

Not even “The WALL“, which i played much more often, got so much negative attention. So in our house Tormato was a success. It generated the right teenager-parent conflict of noise. Sadly, Yes didn’t share the same view. They never thought of the album in terms of success.

The only song with some success was “Don’t Kill the Whale”. If they’d only asked me. In a 2nd thought however, I’m kind of happy they didn’t. Almost 30 years later, in a music conversation, I was told that the album that I insisted to call TOMATO, is called, as a matter of fact, Tormato. Another great moment of ignorance.

My apologies, YES.

And how’s the RockBand doing? It’s all about practice. I still suck with the drums. In vocals however, I ventured today into Medium difficulty level. Did I mention it takes practice? But the Drums… dear damn drums…

As I sign off, going for my “witchcraft” book (see #131), here’s a drummer I won’t compete with:

#128 – Year of the Ring

If you haven’t read it yet, please jump to #87 – Weddings Beware. It will put this blog in the right context.

I hate weddings. Have a low opinion of the whole thing. Too much energy, effort and $$ spent on the wrong thing.

Finding the right one is among one’s biggest life challenges. Finding the one for which the compromises required for a solid, happy, long-term partnership are done without a 2^nd thought is, for some, on a scale of a miracle. It’s something that one feels deep inside, at the core of one’s essence, identity and being – if all goes well. Too often, the couples shift from Breaking the Glass to breaking the reunion.

It’s personal. It’s between you and your partner.
And you are so happy. You want to shout it, you want to share it… you want everyone to know.
Great, understood.
But why does it have to be shared and communicated with such extravaganza? The louder the noise, the bigger the venue, the greater your happiness? I don’t think so. The richer the buffet, the richer the future? Not at all. If anything, the richer the buffet, the greater the bills to pay.

And yet, so many do it; often more than once.

Having long experience in finding the wrong ones, I never got as far as doing it myself, and after going through too many as an observer, I realized that I simply don’t like weddings, don’t enjoy wedding; don’t care about weddings. Happy to share your joy, from afar. Don’t send me an invitation; send me the URL to your gift listing, or an account #. I’m happy for you, deeply, and would be happier if you won’t ask me to go through the motions of wow, this is amazing, of course I’d love to have a picture with you… and the food is so unique… your mom looks amazing tonight… And yourself – WOW.

To be honest, I don’t limit my aversion to weddings. Bar Mitzvahs are just as bad. Coming to think about it, since my youngest brother’s Bar mitzvah, I’ve been exactly to one, and there were mitigating reasons.

Sorry, I’m kind of repeating myself, 2.5 years after I wrote #87. Why?

Because for me, this year, the Year of the Rat, is The Year of the Ring.

Not one, not two, THREE weddings I cannot escape. People are creative. The better they know you, the better they know how to manipulate guilt or just make it impossible for you to say NO!!!

Israel, Germany and N YC, all in one year, all requiring my presence, all know me well enough to get me where they want, i.e. in their WEDDINGS.

The Israelis used multi-method “attacks”, spamming all my email addresses, phone numbers and when we met in CA, in person. It’s hard to say “NO” to the people you love, it’s not so fair to use it against me. And it worked.

The Germans had a plan. They nominated me to be the bridesmaid. Yes, that’s right. Call me when you collect yourself from the floor after you are done laughing.

How did they do it? Smartly. I’m the only one, chosen and appealed to by both, and as long as it’s not jeans, there’s no dress code. Out of all the things I could say, “no” didn’t seem like a real option.

That’s two, one more to go. And I will go. To Manhattan in November. Why? Because of my sheer stupidity, and… love for these great friends.

I have these two great friends, sexual orientation does not matter, that when they moved-in together, happy as I were for them, I promised, scout’s honor, that should they ever chose to get married, I’ll make an exception and attend their wedding.

How on earth was I supposed to know that they’ll pick the same year? Didn’t I tell you? It’s my Year of the Ring.

Though my phone have been awfully quiet.

 

ClipArt Credits:

• http://www.webweaver.nu/clipart/img/holidays/weddings/greek-wedding.gif
• http://www.davechidley.ca/assets/images/autogen/a_04Chidley.jpg
• http://www.safetygearhq.com/images/handcuffs-hinged-orange.jpg
• http://www.tickle-me-elmo.co.uk/elmo-images/elmo-laughing.gif
• http://blogs.guardian.co.uk/news/archives/images/brides.jpg
• http://www.tparents.org/Library/Unification/Photos/Bless-Ph/brides&grooms.jpg – the photographer is Kris Cleponis/ Reuter
• http://www.ckmark.com/UserFiles/ProductImage/1148285854tb_m40.jpg

The Links that don’t work [in PDF version]– WHY???

• http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/313726/jewish/The-Breaking-of-the-Glass.htm
• http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rat_(zodiac)

#126 – Man’s job, woman’s job

There are accepted activities that belong in one’s Sunday morning, and there are things I don’t expect to find myself doing on a Sunday morning. To finish reading Monstrous Regiment (by Terry Pratchett) is accepted and fun. To follow their act and do a man’s job? Unexpected, undesired, unwanted.

And if unexpected, how did I find myself on a Sunday morning crawling behind the TV-receiver-DVD player-CD player-Sonos-cluster rewiring speakers. And if one crawls behind that mess, one has to clean up all the dust and whatever accumulated back there among the wires and cables. There are things I simply don’t care to know, don’t want to know, and much less do. However, giving up music is not a real option. So after the Comcast guy ripped the wires of the right speaker on Friday, I found myself @ Frys on Saturday, getting speakers wire, and perspiring on the carpet on Sunday. Striping the wire ends and screwing the ends into their homes, without messing up the + and the – is no fun.

While the women in Monstrous Regiment had to fight for their right to perform and get recognized for their manly military actions, I share no such desire. As far as I’m concerned, equality should mean that men get to do feminine work, and women get to chose what they want to do… Can’t recall any man complaining about having such options for generations. 100% accuracy is not what I’m going for here, in case you wonder about facts and gender PC. All I want is the ability and ease of delegating such projects to those who for years felt it’s their God-given territory. I guess I could blame my dad for recruiting me to wiring projects in one of our never-ending renovations while in elementary school. Or the appeal of painting the gables of our home instead of dusting books or whatever caged-in-the-house task my mom would have me do. True, my progress was dependent on the availability of a manly figure to move the ladder, but if anything, that meant long breaks between one segment to the next. And, unlike dusting, you do it every other year, not every week.

So speakers are working, tools have yet to be put away, and it’s time for some womanly unpacking.

 

 

Credits:

http://img167.imageshack.us/img167/3719/ragmopms9.jpg

 

#125 – It’s not easy being green II

As I wrote before, I learned to appreciate individualism the hard way. Trying to be part of the herd and realizing that for one, I suck at it, and if that wasn’t enough, that the emotional price involved with being not me, is too high for me to pay.
That’s true for cloth, communication, limited ability for hypocrisy, and couple of other traits that got me in trouble before. And will too.

So I never wanted an iPOD. EVERYBODY had one [almost]. Nor [an] MP3 player. “The in-flight music channels”, I insisted, “are more than enough for me. All I need is a good headset”. All was nice until I got to the point that I run out of channels. Sitting on a 10-hours flight when you are sick and tired of the music is a good drive to BYOM to your next flight.
Right away I had my search criteria:
#1 – cannot be an iPOD. iTunes are annoying enough, no need for more.
#2 – sound quality is #1 priority
#3 – movies are low priority. In the days of 38” TV becoming the new standard,who wants to squint for 90-130 minutes?
#4 – find a friendly expert (not to say an audiophile or a geek) to identify a player that obeys #1-3.

And so I did. A full report was generated and emailed, leaving me with too much information, a feature list and the inability to make up my mind. Plan B was needed.

So I went to Fry’s with my own consultant. It worked much better. Now I’m the wondering owner of the Zen (16 GB). My next trip, starting this Saturday, going though February 27^th, will provide the opportunity to find out if the consultant was right.

 

Falling asleep with the music though, won’t be an option. See #124 for a partial list.

And this is not the only gadget that took residence in my life. Have you tried SONOS?

Clipart credits:

http://www.gadgetell.com/images/2007/05/kermit.jpg

http://blogofwishes.com/wp-content/uploads/2006/08/creative_zenw.jpg

 

 

#124 – It’s not easy being green I

There was a time in my life when the fear of being different was much greater than the need to be myself.

The [hindsight pathetic] sentence that my parents heard all too often from me was “everybody has…” and its variations “everyone is…”, “everybody does…”

As you know, it’s been years since I’ve been in that miserable state of mind. Life taught me that the price I pay for trying to be like everyone else is much higher than the rewards of being me. It’s never been easy, and being me does come with a price. However, looking constantly outside, left and right, to figure out who I am, and having to change as I move from there to here, is very consuming, not to say confusing.

So here I am. Some of you take it; others leave.

One of the worst childhood fears I remember vividly, was the fear of getting a nickname that would stick. You know, one that somehow perfectly describes one of your less desirable traits or features. Once, at the early rise of getting one, I got a hair cut so short, that my hair now seems to be as long as Rapunzel’s hair. Hard to believe, but I did. Hair grows, nicknames stay.

Coming to think about it, a good nickname that catches on right away is a demonstration of good copywriting. A nickname that catches is identical to a good brand name. Have you never met Red that the little hair left on his head was all but white and his given name was Patrick? Yes, some of these nicknames should be learned as great branding exercises. I can imagine HBS class “Nicknames- what makes them stick; what makes you tick”.

Why reminiscing now?

No good reason other than coming across one that stuck right away.

On my last trip, the one to Puerto Rico, I had [an] MP3 player with me. [More about MP3 players and iPOD in one of the next chapters]

I had Clapton of course, Mark Knopfler’s Shangri-La, Aaron Nevile’s greatest, Norah JonesX2, few Pink Floyd’s and one Coldplay. Sounds like a fair mix for relaxing flights, right?

Well, as this recent experience taught me, some singers are not made for flying. Shangri-La for example, turned out to be a complete bore. Norah Jones sounded like a sleeping pill that one rolls in one’s mouth, falling asleep before even swallowing. All songs sounded the same, like listening to the same record over and over again.

Being stuck with a player with no shuffle option, it was a nightmare of boredom.

I knew things must be different on the next trip.

I would have forgotten all this if it wasn’t for Dan, who made sure that I’d have the right songs for the next flight. This includes Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Alice in Chains and their likes. The music that won’t make you fall asleep. Rather, it’ll rock you!

As he was deleting the boredom from the mini SD, he referred to Snora Jones. And it stuck with me. It stuck so well that I can’t even think of her as Norah Jones any more.

At home, passing by her CDs as I walk the corridor back and fourth, I am a bit embarrassed. Guess she is good to sleep to. Only that I don’t sleep that much, do I?

Clipart credits:

http://www.cartoonstock.com/lowres/abr1210l.jpg

http://frecklescassie.files.wordpress.com/2007/06/bored-cat.jpg

#123 – This time of the year

I want to have a great year. I’m not being selfish, I want you and yours to have a great one too. Recycling what you may had received via email, here’s your form/check list for a great next year.

Have a Wonderful Great year. If your higher power wants you to be more specific, here you go:

May you

Reach _______________________

Get ________________________

Complete ____________________

Get rid of ___________________

Accomplish ___________________

Learn ______________________

Stop _______________________

Start ______________________

Meet ______________________

Lose _______________________

Gain _______________________

Give _______________________

Leave ______________________

Forgive _____________________

Forget ______________________

Enjoy _______________________

Make _______________________

Find ________________________

Remember ___________________

Share _______________________

Receive _____________________

Listen _______________________

Love ________________________

Be __________________________

Once completed, please print and send to the higher authority of your choice.

Now that we’ve all been blessed, I’m ready to share some thoughts of Christmas.

Years ago, while leaving in Canada, people had campaigned against the establishments wishing Merry Christmas. Christmas, the argument went, is not a holiday shared by all, therefore it’s offensive to me, me and me. Really? Seriously? So if it wasn’t for Christmas, what is the cause for this gift shopping craze? Yes, I’ve spotted Hanukkah gift shoppers here and there, but they are the minority.

As far as i recall, Kwanzaa didn’t yet come to life at that point. The extremists went as far as saying they’ll boycott any store/mall/establishment that its decorations will include “Merry Christmas”. I thought it to be stupid then, and now i think of it as a case of politically correctness going stupid.

I can’t recall anyone saying “this is not a holiday, i should go to work today”. Nor can i recall a non-observer saying “I’m offended by Boxing Day sales, I cannot take advantage of these amazing prices, it’s against my beliefs”. What seasons are we talking about, anyway? Originally it was the celebration of winter. Later, I read, it was the solstice festival. And it kept evolving…the Twelve Days of Christmas are attributed to the Saturnalian traditions of the Romans. You can read more Christmas myths HERE. Rick Shenkman wrote about the Top 5 Myths about Christmas. So weather one likes it or not, it’s Christmas, and the proper greeting is Merry Christmas. To all of us, regardless of religion.

I lost one friend because he perceived my reading of the roots of Catholicism, and worse, my desire to discuss it with him, as disrespectful. Religion can do it to one. So, I don’t want anyone to tell me how I should or shouldn’t celebrate any of my holidays, and I don’t want to be one of those self righteous who want all of us to be alike. Life would be so boring. I love our differences, am happy to be happy with you on Christmas (never refused to attend a good meal), and your Eid, and your Diwali…

True, if I’m a student in a public school, I don’t want to be studying about things that are not part of my own heritage and religion unless we all study about all traditions. Anything else implies that my heritage/religion is not as important. Respect to one’s beliefs should not be proportional to the demographics, so don’t give me the minority BS, or the “this is a Christian country”. Hence, if there’s a Nativity Scene in school, I’d like for Passover to ahve a scene with Moses floating in the basket or crossing the Red Sea. It’s OK to skip the ten plagues. For Sukkot, I want a Sukkah and the school cafeteria should be serving lunch there.

Sounds absurd? to whom? I am still touched by the Hannuka Gelt (Maot or D’mei Hanukkah in Hebrew) a Christian colleague gave me for Hanukkah. we can respect and enjoy from the inside, from the outside… it does not really matter. and it’s CHRISTMAS.

Clarification: The Sukkah pasted here is not a Kosher one. I think the artist referred to it as “SeussSukkah”.

Clipart Credits:

http://mcadams.posc.mu.edu/blog/Merry%20Christmas%20cartoon.jpg

http://www.flowersoncd.com/book/images/Fly-Agarics.gif

http://blog.rabbijason.com/uploaded_images/SeussSukkah-byRabbiJasonMil-753820.jpg

#122 – Back in China (November 2007)

I sit, looking at the browser window as it tries to find its way to this very page – the one you are viewing right now, unless you are in China, which means you have to read the attachment. Thoughts of freedom and free flow of information run through my mind. Like shoes which come in different sizes, freedom comes in different doses. There are places however, where one size fits all is enforced. Walking in too small a shoe can be painful. Binding your feet, as was the tradition for hundreds of years, may break and twist your bones. What does it do to one’s spirit, I wonder. My stomach turns at the thought.

How far can you walk?

I’m trying hard to push out of my mind the images I created after reading numerous stories and visualizing them.

And what if it’s not your foot that is bound, but rather your spirit? how far can your imagination take you if it has been bound tight all your life?

In my first visits to China, I was amazed by the number of students who crowded every bookstore, every shop who sold foreign magazines, art books, anything not Chinese. I looked at them sitting on the floor, on bookshelves for hours, copying paintings from art books, those that you can find in every Borders, B&N or Chapters in the bargains section for $4.99 and up. The books and the magazines looked as if a bulldozer run over them. The people looked hungry for unbinding their mind, imagination, spirit…

Not even a year later, some of my classmates were Chinese. My curiosity to learn and understand more about this fascinating country and culture has no limits. The answers however, do.

One of my closest Chinese friends, intelligent, analytical and with unlimited desire for knowledge has a blind spot. His blind spot is China. Long hours and longer nights I struggled to understand. I no longer try. In no other context I would have suspected that his mind is bound, but when it comes to homeland China, nothing it does can be wrong, a mistake or plain stupid.

I can’t pretend I don’t see some reason behind the actions, decisions, choices made by the leadership and the people. All one had to so is to compare Russia’s route to democracy and

freedom to the one China is taking and think of the good of the people; the majority of the people that is. So as I condemn the despicable, I recognize, at least at times, the inevitability of some of these actions.

So I returned to China after not being here for 2 years or so. Tian-An-Men looked smaller than I remembered, and I couldn’t recognize much.

It wasn’t until we landed in Shanghai that I started to realize how much everything changed. Mostly for the better. XinTianDi was crowded as ever. The restaurant across from Portman is busy as ever. The Brazilian chuseria is still there, and on a Friday night the majority of the patrons is Western. But so many of the Chinese-styles stores are gone; replaced by Western-style ones. it’s cleaner, harder to see jaywalkers, the ticket automates in the subway are much better and there’s the button to shift to an English menu. It seems that many people developed such a button. We are not followed by 5-6 “can I practice my English” students, one here, one there. And instead of the massive “looka, looka, want-a-bag, want-a-watch” intense attacks I grew to hate, it’s one every 50 meters or so.

The knockoff market is gone, banned by Shanghai’s government; but the DVD, CDs are still available in street corners. We never made it to to the land of “reproduced” SW. I’m told it’s still there and busy as ever.

And Face is out. Very much out. How many evening we played pool, only to be beaten by the English who were so much better than us. And there’s room @ the bar.

Cleaner, nicer, and still Shanghai.

On our way to Yu Yuan, we finally find ourselves squeezed in the middle of a tight crowd, mostly Chinese. Fiona, who never lets one down is our tour guide and we follow in step. We push, walk sideways and enter the garden. It didn’t change. And I wish we had the time to sit down and just be. But we have places to see, souvenirs to buy, Shanghai to see. But as I learned long ago, I can count on Fiona to add a special treat or a twist. Our first stop after the garden is not a Chinese souvenir store, but a jewelry heaven, for the silver lovers that is. I leave with a bracelet and two pairs of earrings. Fiona is not far behind, and even Dan found something he could not resist. And with Fiona one never pays the list price. How Israeli I want to say and no better than that. there’s a lot to say about the Chinese art of negotiation so I say nothing, only smile happily with my new purchases.

And now we are entering the mother of “made in China”. Christmas decorations of any shape, size or color take over about 2 aisles. Chinese souvenirs are all over, and so are ribbons, buttons, hair pins, mobile accessories, gift wrapping items, whatever. I go silly, as you may see once I’ll be done unpacking.

And then there’s nature call. Some things don’t change. The public bathroom, hidden in the basement level [0.20 RMB], smells like something I don’t want to name. the biggest challenge, once one gets over the smell and the line, is how to keep one’s cloth and belonging from touching the floor or any other surface. Hooks may be bought upstairs, but none of them made it down.

And still I love it. I love the city, I love the spirit, can’t have enough of it. And our time here was so short we had no time to get lost in the small streets. I’ll be back; just give me some time.

Photo Credits:

Bound fit in shoes – http://a6.vox.com/6a00d4142efb7f685e00d414357e463c7f-200pi

XinTianDi – http://www.spectrumresearchasia.com/image/proj_xintiandi.jpg

All other photos – Daniel Indrigo, http://www.flickr.com/photos/dindrigo/

#120 – I vacation? (Part I)

The 6 stages of I Vacation:

Stage 1- denial

Stage 2 – freaking out

Stage 3 – can’t let go of computer

Stage 4 – Potter by the pool

Stage 5 – I vacation

Stage 6 – I want more

It’s all Eli’s fault. He couldn’t make it. So I got his place. And honestly, how can one refuse an invitation to a Caribbean vacation? Even in workaholic land this is unheard of.

So I accepted Ruti’s invitation and got the plane ticket. Completing a two-week biz trip 48 hours earlier wasn’t about to affect my plans.

And so, I had dinner out on Thursday, upon my return, I had dinner out on Friday. Back from dinner, do you think I started unpacking/packing? That would have been so rational, so “the right thing to do”, so not me. So I didn’t.

I clicked on the DVR’s remote and started scanning the shows recorded while I was gone. By Saturday 4 AM, I was done with the essentials, up-to-date with Grey’s Anatomy, Private Practice, Samantha Who (embarrassing, I know), and Brothers and Sisters. And with enough room to support a week recording.

Time to go to bed.

By noon I was up. 7.5 hours to flight’s departure, and I act as if it’s you who’s going on vacation. A shower got some sense and minor signs of hysteria into me. Bathing suits, where the hell are they? How humid is it? Too humid. Do I need a sweater? No! And where are my fluorescent flip-flops? don’t know. Where’s my collection of sunblocks? don’t know. Which suitcase is not in the process of getting unpacked? S- – - , I didn’t even water the plants that waited for my loving care for the past two weeks. Other than the one that couldn’t wait any longer…

And why am I still doing emails? Skype?

Frantically I type: “I’m freaking out. I can’t remember when was the last time I took a vacation, and trips to Israel don’t count. Do I still remember how to vacation? doesn’t look that way. HELP!!!”

Now I blindly throw stuff into the suitcase. Useless, needed, impractical… who cares. And these flip-flops, where are they?! Looking for them, ignoring two other pairs who can do the job just fine, I waste more time and add to the house mess.

This is most definitely the time to discuss Action Items via Skype, so I do that too.

Solarcaine, where are you? White skin, Caribbean sun and nowhere-to-be-found sunblock is a guarantee to sunburns. I know!

Still doing emails, still Skype-ing, less in denial, more freakish.

Updating out-of-office auto reply, and it’s 5:47. so I call for a cab to show up @ 18:10-18:15. Printing out the boarding pass leads me to believe that the airport and airline will welcome me less than an hour prior to departure.

Considering that I have 3 flights ahead of me, I decide that a 2^nd shower is the best way to use the time left before the taxi’s arrival. It is with physical pain that I turn off computer and router.

10 minutes to cab’s arrival, how many T-shirts do I need? Oh, and a sleep shirt too. Friendship may go a long way, all the way to Virgin Islands, but having to share a room… last time I had to pack a sleep shirt was… WHEN? JavaOne, I remember!

Driver calls. Will be there in couple of minutes, running a bit late.

18:17 I’m outside the building. Cab is nowhere to be seen. “where the F – - – are you?” I almost scream. “here” is the brilliant answer. “I’m here, and you are not, so I ask again, where are you?!”

“near Togos”. Acid is running OTA. “and do I sound to you as if l live in Togos” I ask. “blink your lights”. The guy is 50 meter north of me. “roll forward, keep going, keep going..” speechless I watch the cab passing me and crossing the lights, in a ONE WAY street. Redial and now I sound lethal “maybe you should get glasses, you just passed me”. “i already have glasses” is the stoic answer I get. “turn right, turn right and wait for me @ the corner” I command. The Einstein of cab drivers makes an extra right turn, just for the hack of it.

All fumes I enter. “Go to the airport, San Jose airport, and don’t bother with prolonging the trip via I-280” I command, as I sit down, open the windows to let the wind cool off the frustration surrounding me. I close my eyes. “United to LA” I remember to say.

 

TBC

Photos Credits:

http://linshaolin.files.wordpress.com/2007/03/cropped-show81.jpg

http://images5.squidoo.com/resize.php?filename=lens1530113_suitcase.jpg

http://images.jupiterimages.com/common/detail/72/97/22849772.jpg

http://yellowdogknitting.com/blog_photos/flip%20flops%20002.jpg

http://www.baptistcourier.com/1736.taxi.jpg.image

 

#118 – home thoughts – draft

Leaving California on a long trip, en route to Israel, I tell everybody I’m going home.

Leaving Israel to go back to California, I tell everyone that I’m going back home.

In between I’m in Europe, and when asked “where are you from”, I am no longer sure what is the “correct” answer, if there’s one.

In Israel, in a pretending-to-be-Italian restaurant, DanR is nominating my guilt for not living in Israel as the cause for the things I see and don’t like in Israel. In psychology they call it cognitive dissonance. But it ain’t it. In Israel, I have the home I don’t live in but rent out. In California I rent, and have yet to make it my home, as I keep telling all those who want to come over. Coming back last night, I realized that it’s time to set a deadline. BEFORE my next trip, some may get to enter…

Yesterday, sitting in Pearson, Toronto’s international airport, flying home after more than 3 weeks of intensive travel, I recall few Israeli moments of this trip.

In what is no longer called Kachol, lying back on a rocking bed by the Mediterranean, a long glass of ice cappuccino next to me, thousand splendid suns in my lap, I close my eyes and let the late afternoon sun wash me. there’s a breeze, and at times I’m cold. On the next bed over two Austrian women are trying to order wine. The waiter is struggling to say Gewürztraminer, without much success. Happily I come to the rescue. “oh” they smile with noticeable relief. “Gewürztraminer” they repeat, and all my wine-related pride evaporates as their pronunciation is so not like mine. I get 2 points for the effort, Israel is losing 5 points for the (outrageous) price.

I watch the sunset and let all stress evaporate. Later, friends join me, food is set on the table, and the conversation is about everything but politics, personal safety, or global conflict. I’m home.

On the Friday of the same week, and than again on the following Monday, the meeting place is a restaurant set in an orange grove. Tapuz (orange in Hebrew) is where entrepreneurship meets trees. Making a living out of oranges no longer an option, the orange grove with its cooling factor provides a perfect setting for country style restaurant. Did I say “perfect”? Forget it. On my first visit, getting out of the car, I bung my head on an orange tree. On the second visit, Shelly ended up with a flat tire and I got to help with the changing… initially. Two guys, one an IDF navy officer, the other the father of the owner, came to the rescue. My hands got dirty getting the spare tire out of the trunk nevertheless. The funniest (saddest) story is about the oh so snobbish woman driving a brand new Volvo, who backed it into… well yes, an orange tree. She didn’t even bother to get out of the car, and quickly drove her embarrassment elsewhere.

One thing for sure, she is not going to sue the owners for having put an orange tree on her way.

This is Home, no doubt.

#87 – Weddings, Beware [written in August 2005]

I don’t do weddings, meaning I don’t attend them. Siblings, friends, family, colleagues; it doesn’t matter. I apologize and excuse myself. You may blame the fact that I have never made it to having my own wedding, and it may well be a component of it, but it is in no way the key reason. Have you stopped recently (or ever) to think what is the meaning of a wedding? Quick lexical search suggests the following definitions

• The social event at which the ceremony of marriage is performed
• Marriage: the act of marrying; the nuptial ceremony
• A party of people at a wedding
• A civil or religious ceremony at which the beginning of a marriage is celebrated.
• The ceremony or celebration of a marriage.

Nowhere has it said “the event in which a couple spends tens of thousands of dollars in one night”. Nor does it say “an event in which a couple feed and entertain relatives, friends and parents’ associates who had done the same for them in the past, and are expected to reciprocate in the future”.

Worst of all, as Reggie put it today, it became an impersonal event. Now I understand what I meant when I was saying, “nobody needs me to decorate their wedding”. When such a personal special event turns impersonal, when the flower arrangements, table setting and the menu are the defining factors of the event, your friends and family are just part of the decoration, and I guess I resent it.

What is it all about? Two people are making a very serious commitment to each other; the most serious commitment they will ever make, other than the one to their offspring. They are happy about it (we hope), and want to share it with closed ones, meaningful people in their life. Somehow, along the way, it mutated into this monstrous event. Now we deal with a long stretch of events, starting with the engagement party, ending with the breakfast following the wedding night. The joy, sharing the couples’ happiness is now drawn to death in engagement party, gift, shower, gift, RSVP, picking an outfit, wedding, gift.

One guy got so fad up that he went as far as creating “i_hate_weddings.com site. True, he is a comedian, and still. Check it out. Nothing great, yet the guy bluntly puts it, “If you hate ugly bridesmaid dresses, gift registries, and couples who think they are the center of the world just because their parents are spending a year’s pay on a party…this is the website for you”.

I am happy for every friend, relative and stranger who found happiness and is willing to make the commitment public and official. What I cannot understand is why to you need so many witnesses, and how do the gifts, showers and other headaches make it more significant or meaningful for you? Are you afraid that you’ll go back on your commitment? I understand the desire to share happiness with significant people in one’s life, but the weddings that take place these days are not about sharing the happiness and joy of a special moment. Most weddings are about making a completely different statement, one that has to do with status, acting out your neuroses and lots of $$$ to all involved. You may find it hard to believe that Googling “hate wedding” resulted in “about 1,130,000 for hate weddings. (0.28 seconds)”; 80% of those that I sampled are far from entertaining. Check this one: I Hate Weddings

ClipArt Credits:

• http://www.cartoonchurch.com/blog/images/wedding-cake.gif
• http://bp3.blogger.com/_M0cuxJsSjdU/RzcXAgcgNoI/AAAAAAAABm0/XwVHr2m4LRE/s1600-h/wedding_vows_pic.jpg