A whiff of the Med

Somewhat belated, but ...

2008-10-03T06:24:00.000-07:00

The totally coolest Shana Tova Greeting I've seen yet, and a pretty fun tribute to Tel Aviv as well, though I find the Exodus Theme Music just a tad too cheesy.

Shana Tova!!

Electronic Device Identity Crisis

2008-09-23T02:35:00.000-07:00

My supposedly advanced Microsoft wireless (bluetooth) keyboard and mouse both gave up the ghost last night in mid-sentence, suddenly deciding instead that they were my cellphone, and trying, against all odds, to download the contents of my phone's address book to my computer.

And there was no convincing them that they weren't.

To add insult to injury, my keyboard and mouse both firmly resisted any attempts to reinstall them, including the old "turn the computer off and turn it back on again" method. I even tried leaving the house and walking the dog. That didn't help the computer, though the dog was somewhat relieved.

Fortunately, I happened to have another (older) keyboard and mouse available - of the wireful variety - which saved me from a painful computerectomy and ensured that I would be able to continue to work.

But now I am in the market for a new keyboard / mouse.

My preferences are for something wireless, however, I note that my experience with these, apart from battery guzzling, is that they are not terribly reliable. Leaving aside the tendency of the bluetooth key thingy to mistake the various devices that are connected to it for each other, it used to take my wireless mouse a good 30 seconds to 'wake up' if I let it go untouched for more than a minute. The keyboard was the same. The reaction times were very frustratingly slow.

So I am happy for the opportunity to change, but the question is - change to what?

If anyone has a recommendation for a good wireless keyboard + mouse combo that will actually respond when I touch them and that won't suddenly decide that they are a telephone, I'd be very grateful.

And if anyone thinks that the wired versions are preferable, then please point me to a mouse with a VERY long cord. These mouse cords are not made for people who click with their right hand, but have their computer by their left leg (which was pretty much the reason I opted for the wireless version in the first place) ...

Paris

2008-09-18T01:36:00.001-07:00

Earlier this year, I traveled to Paris for a week-long drawing course during which we drew models and visited museums, among other things. It was incredibly fulfilling and this is my own little homage to this visit - and my second foray into oils.

Enjoy!

20 years

2008-08-30T02:58:00.001-07:00

It is 20 years since I left highschool ... how scary.

My class had a reunion, in my absence of course, on August 16th, and although I thought nothing of it at the time, since I was on the invitation mailing list, I have been flooded this weekend by emails from those who attended, including one email with photographs of the actual event.

Naturally, despite the fact that I probably would not have gone to the thing even if I had been in the same country that it was being held in at the time, my curiosity got the better of me, and I went to look at the pics of the event.

My first reaction was - who the hell are these people? It took me a long time to recognize most of them, although one or two still look the same. Fortunately, they were wearing name tags, otherwise I would have been totally lost.

One of my former classmates has set up a facebook group for the Class of 88, and I debated long and hard before joining, but finally I realised that there were actually people in the group who I'd missed being in touch with.

There were around 1200 people at my highschool, divided into six years, each year having around 7 classes, and although in the first year we pretty much stuck to our classes, once we started taking elective courses and getting involved in other activities, we mingled more and I guess I would have been social with more than half of the 200 in my year.

But after highschool, I lost contact with most of them, since much of what we had in common had simply been six years of schooling in a shared environment. The school was not a Jewish school, and I found myself gravitating to a more Jewish social circle at university. Later on, I moved to Israel which of course effectively severed any ties that were not strong enough to withstand the distance. Now, however, I'm feeling awash with nostalgia and I've found myself searching for former classmates with reckless abandon. I'm not even sure why, but something in me wants to know, I guess, that they're doing ok. I know of one former classmate who passed away, and I guess I just want to check that the rest of them are still alive.

I'm not even sure why I'm blogging about this, given the absolute paucity of entries on this blog this year. Perhaps this is just my way of slipping back into the swing of the whole bloggitude of it all.

Wow, has it been a long time, or what?

2008-08-04T00:30:00.000-07:00

Hello faithful reader!

Yes, I know, it's been ages and it's all my fault, but I needed a break from typing - a rather silly excuse given that my livelihood is earned entirely from typing, but I present it as my excuse nonetheless for you to do with as you will.

Actually, the primary reason for my not posting was that I felt I had nothing to post about, but when I look back at the past few months, I see that they were actually filled with the stuff posts are made of, and yet I deprived you, dear reader, of any insight into them. Not fair, I know. Not fair at all.

So the posts will come, most likely in stops and starts, because I really am incredibly busy with work and other stuff (mostly work actually), but they will come. I promise. Well, I hope, anyway.

Thanks for bearing with me. For some reason, even though it's been fully six months since I last posted (I think), I still have visitors to my blog, which is gratifying. Thank you, oh ye of eternal hope - I will try to make your visits more worthwhile in the future :)

In the meantime, bear with me. It might take a little time to crank this thing up again.

Ciao for now!

NC

The Ferryman

2008-01-13T04:11:00.000-08:00

You will forgive me, I hope, for not writing lengthy posts at this stage.

Here is my first artistic offering for 2008:

Shells

2007-12-14T04:33:00.000-08:00

Ok, it's been ages since I last posted. I know that I didn't write a Channukah post, despite the fact that I probably should have. And I know I've been very lax about posting in general all year - it's been a busy year, and last month I was away, so that's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it :)

This is possibly my last art post. The reason is, I want to put my art onto a proper dedicated website. So I'm looking for website constructors or other people who might be able to point me in the right direction in that regard. I am hopelessly ignorant of how to go about this, so any advice would be most welcome.

In the meantime, I give you - shells:

As usual, comments are most welcome :)

NC

Hot off the easel

2007-11-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

Orchideus

2007-10-30T06:36:00.001-07:00

Charcoal

2007-10-07T01:57:00.000-07:00

After a break of about three years, yesterday I went back to working with charcoal. What an amazingly versatile medium it is.

This is the result. I might do some more. What do you think?

For want of anything better to write

2007-09-25T04:58:00.000-07:00

Having spent the High Holidays high, as I believe one is supposed to do, I come now to the realization that I have deprived you, my fair and extremely intelligent reader(s), of a post or two over the past few, well, months. To attempt to rectify that, and apropos of absolutely nothing, I shall now post a short snippet of something that I wrote a few years ago, in the hope that it may amuse some.

It might not amuse others.

You have been warned ...

*****

There is an inherent problem in putting one’s thoughts on paper, and that is the problem of speed. Somewhat like the asynchronicity of light and sound, thought and writing just do not move at the same velocity. I mean, what I’m writing now, I thought of at least five minutes ago (given the time it took to turn on the light, realize what time it was, find a pen, find my little exercise book, review the basics of letter formation etc.) leaving absolutely no time to write whatever it might be that I am thinking right now. Not to mention, of course, the fact that what the reader will finally (if at all) read will have been edited, compiled, churned up, spewed out and (horror!) word processed to the extent that it is extremely unlikely that it will even remotely resemble the original thought (do you remember what that was? I certainly don’t).

M once said to me that I have a lot to say and that I should write it down somewhere. I guess that that was to stop me from saying it all out loud, which no doubt disturbed her, preventing her from doing her all-important job of producing a journal that nobody read. Not that I am belittling M or her job. Heck, it was my job as well. But the awful truth is that no-one read that journal. Everyone agreed that it was very important – especially, of course, the authors, all of whom had something extremely important to say, and did go on for pages and pages saying it. The editor in chief was also convinced of the journal’s importance, but then, it was his job to be convinced of its importance. And, as he pointed out to me more than once, it was the only journal of its kind. We – M and I – joined in the chorus, actively perpetuating the myth, and assisting in turning it into a semi-reality, which affected no-one (there being no readers to affect) but ourselves (it helped put the cornflakes on the dinner table after all), and presumably causing a bemused scratching of heads at budget meetings.

I remember sitting in the “office” of the “Journal” pretending to work on editing an "article", when the phone rang.

“Hello,” I said.
“Hello,” came a voice from the other end. Well, where else would it come from? “Is this the Journal of Historiographical Ichthyology?”

I was astonished. Someone knew about us and had even pronounced the name properly. But, I wasn’t going to be phased ...

“No.” I retorted, not entirely truthfully. That oughta fool them, I thought.
“Are you sure?” the voice persisted, “I got the number from the telephone directory.”

We’re in the telephone directory? I couldn’t really believe that, but maybe it was true. Though I was puzzled as to why. This journal was so entirely self-perpetuating that I couldn’t see why anyone would think to call. I made a mental note to have the number taken out of the telephone directory at the first available convenience.

However, the snippet of information that the journal appeared as an entry in the telephone directory threw me.

“O.K.” I gave in. “Yes, you’re right. This is the Journal of Historiographical Ichthyology. How can I be of assistance?”
“I’d like to inquire about a subscription, please.”

I really hadn’t been prepared for that question. I was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable. I mean, we were a journal with no known readership. Who could possibly want to subscribe?

“You have got to be kidding,” I countered.
“Please. If you could just tell me how much a subscription costs.”

I honestly had no idea.

“I’m sorry,” I said, honestly. “I honestly have no idea. There isn’t a great demand for our journal, as you might appreciate, and I’m afraid that I can’t quite put my hands on the price list at this very moment.” There was no price list, so this was hardly surprising.

Yet, something in me hated the thought of letting down this first-ever potential customer. I had to find the subscription price. I couldn’t abide the knowledge that I was unable to provide such a simple service. I stalled, deciding to make small-talk.

“So,” I said, “are you an historiographical ichthyologist then?”
“No,” he said, quite decisively.
“Oh. An ichthyological historiographer then?”
“No,” the voice said again. I thought that I detected impatience in the tone this time.

I was puzzled, all the while busily flicking through back issues of our excruciatingly important journal.

“Ah.” I said. It seemed like the right thing to say.
“Ah.” I said again, because I had liked the way it sounded the first time.

The second time seemed, in retrospect, superfluous. Still, I was very curious, and I had to ask:

“So why do you wish to take out a subscription to a quarterly journal whose extremely important, exhaustingly well-written, exactingly researched and oh-so-expertly edited articles deal entirely with historical writings on the study of fish?”

I was certain that this question would be triumphant. Yet again, I was dumbfounded by the answer.

“I don’t.”
“Pardon?” I was beginning to get confused now. “You don’t what, exactly?”
“I don’t want to take out a subscription.”
“Oh.” – hmm – “then why did you ask me about it?”
“I just want to know how much it costs to subscribe. If I’d have known it would be this difficult to extract the answer from you, I’d have skipped you. But I thought: ‘the Journal of Historiographical Ichthyology probably has so few readers you can count them on one hand, so they must know the prices off by heart.’ Apparently, I was mistaken.”

I felt wronged, I began to plan a defensive reply, but in the end, I figured that he was right about the readership part anyway, so I simply said: “Actually, to the best of my knowledge, no-one at all reads this journal. We just print it because it’s got to be done. Furtherance of knowledge and all that. One day someone might actually find a need to look at the damn thing. Probably a researcher from a future century trying to find out what went wrong with the world in the last years of the twentieth century. I can see his opening paragraph now: ‘It is a little-known fact that, towards the end of the second millennium, whilst this world was teetering on the brink of social and economic collapse, a small yet influential group of people was busy churning out a quarterly journal comparing historical writings on the topic of the study of fish as a life-form. This probably diverted their attention from the world’s impending implosion – and quite possibly contributed to it as well.’”

“Interesting,” said the voice. He didn’t sound like he meant it. “But actually, I’m just doing a pricing survey. Your journal appears in the telephone directory between Journal of Historical Review and Journal of Historiography.”
“Apt,” I said.
“Indeed,” he agreed. “But apparently you can’t help me, so, if you don’t mind, I will leave you to your undoubtedly important work.”
“Wait!” I said. “I’ve found it!” I had, in fact, found an insert setting out pricing information, stuck into a back-issue. I announced triumphantly, “In 1969, an annual subscription cost $4.50. Does that help?”
“Not really, but I’ll tell my pet guppy. Maybe he’ll be interested.”

With that, he hung up, and the closest contact I ever had with a potential reader was severed eternally.

*** edited for spelling mistakes (ouch) 30/10/07 ***

Watsu

2007-08-28T00:21:00.000-07:00

There is really only one word to explain the experience I had yesterday evening. That word is

Wow.

Watsu combines movement in water with massage and I can honestly say I have never felt anything quite like it. You lie, eyes closed, in a pool of very warm water, floating, supported by the therapist, and in this weightless state, the therapist - Kfir Keinan - moves you around the pool in all sorts of ways, so that at times you feel like you are whooshing through the water, and at other times, you are absolutely still.

And the feeling is indescribable.

It felt like I was a dolphin. It felt like I was a jellyfish floating freely in the middle of the ocean. And it felt, at least once, like I was a baby again, and totally protected. It felt like all sorts of other things too, but you'll have to discover those yourselves ...

I don't often do this, as my avid readers (all 4.3 of you) are aware, but I'm going to give Kfir and his treatment a plug, because, well, it was just so good.

So if you feel like treating yourself, and you're looking for something different, which will probably leave you speechless (as it left me, and I'm blessed with verbal diarrhoea), then check out Kfir's website (in Hebrew only at this stage, sorry, though it looks like he's planning to add an English translation sometime).

And happy relaxing!

Sold!

2007-08-23T01:44:00.000-07:00

Soon to be residing in Paris :) (The paintings, that is. Not me ...)

These are relatively small canvases (40cm x 60cm) which I painted in 2005, and they were purchased yesterday. Needless to say, I'm very excited!

Eh bien

2007-08-04T01:12:00.000-07:00

I have decided that I want to do a brief course in drawing or painting (or both) in Paris (or some other fabulous city in Europe) this autumn. Probably for a week, or maximum two weeks. So I'm looking for ideas.

If any of my faithful 3.45 readers has any ideas or has done something similar and can perhaps tell me where to look, I'd be grateful. My searches so far have revealed full academic semesters, or classes on a drop-in basis. I'm looking for something structured, yet brief.

It just strikes me that there must be something of this sort in Paris - after all, isn't that what Paris is for?

Hope someone out there has more of a clue than I do ... :)

Thanks!

Reason for not posting

2007-07-17T06:25:00.001-07:00

It's summer and my brain has gone to mush.

Bear with me.

Yours

NC

A poem (of sorts)

2007-07-04T01:50:00.000-07:00

Despite the inconvenience

I take some comfort in knowing

That at least my livelihood does not depend

Upon the retail value of a stolen mobile telephone

Fact-Finding Mission

2007-06-25T00:56:00.000-07:00

Nizo is on a fact-finding mission, 10 facts at a time. And now I find myself tagged, for the second time in less than 6 months, with the 10 fact meme.

So here goes - 10 facts about me which you couldn't possibly have lived without:

1. I knew how to sing before I could talk. According to my parents, I would hum the tune of This Old Man to the highly improvised lyrics "dit dot dit".

2. I still sing songs before knowing, or even bothering to get to know, the words. Sometimes, I am very surprised (and often quite disappointed) when I find out what the real words are. My imaginary ones are usually much, much better :)

3. That is one of the reasons I never do karaoke. I've been known to stop singing in the middle, while staring at the words running along the bottom of the screen, and suddenly exclaim through the microphone "so that's what they're singing!??", to the general chagrin of the reluctant audience.

4. And yet despite all of that (or perhaps because of it), I prefer to work in silence. I almost never play music while I'm working. I find it distracting, because I like to sing along with it.

5. I didn't start painting until after the age of 30. In fact, it had never even occurred to me that I might be able to draw. I was never good at, or even inclined towards, art at school.

6. My least favorite (and least successful) subject at High School was English. I could not write an essay to save my life. My second least favorite subject was History. This is interesting, because I now make my living by translating into English, and history has become an absolute passion.

7. I like cleanliness, but I'm hopeless at actually cleaning. I'll start with one part of the apartment and get distracted and go and do another part somewhere else. The end result is that I would always have clean "bits", but never a clean apartment. For the past seven years, therefore, I have employed a cleaner. In fact, I've employed several cleaners, because the State keeps deporting my cleaners.

8. I would employ a cook too, except that for some reason, that seems utterly decadent.

9. I don't have a kitchen or dining table. I eat in front of the computer, in front of the television (rarely) or outside on the balcony, on my newly renovated furniture.

10. I am a technophobe. I'm quite good with mechanical things, but hopeless with electronics. My general solution for any computer failure, for instance, is the famous Microsoft workaround - shut the thing down and restart it. Failing that, I find that leaving the apartment, walking around the block and coming back has a similar effect.

So there you go, Nizo and others. 10 more little facts about me which you couldn't possibly have lived without.

For some inexplicable reason, I'm inclined to tag Nobody. I know this is not his blogging style, but I'm doing it anyway :) Feel free not to accept the meme, ya NB, but just know that I felt that if there was someone out there in the blogsphere about whom I wished to know 10 facts, it's apparently you.

Update:

NB has already answered this meme, so I guess I'll once again use the honor system. You wanna take up the challenge, go for it, and let me know :) (the problem is - I think everyone I read has done this meme already at least once, and I don't like to impose ... so if you haven't done it, and you want to do it, you know what to do)

Altneu Post

2007-06-21T08:02:00.001-07:00

This, for some reason, ended up being posted under the month of May, even though I just posted it today.

Read it at your leisure :)

Haredi Pride Parade 2007

2007-06-21T07:29:00.000-07:00

Yes, the Haredim are at it again, burning garbage bins and generally being very campy about today's Pride Parade in Jerusalem.

And again, I am simply tempted into thinking that they do protest too much ...

In the meantime, can someone please bitch-slap Nissim Zeev?

Or at least give him a lecture in modern psychology, psychiatry and whatever else it takes to drag his rather slow brain kicking and screaming into the 21st century?

Thanks in advance,

NC

And now, the rocks

2007-05-31T09:10:00.001-07:00

Well, they're sort of rocky anyway. But you might see other things in them. I'd be interested to hear (or read) your reactions.

This one's pretty rocky, I think.

This might be considered less rocky

Ditto this one

These are my current favorites :)

Please feel free to comment on these or the previous ones. I'd really love to hear what people see in them, if anything.

Artistic Interlude

2007-05-31T08:58:00.000-07:00

It's been some time since I posted photos of my art, so in the spirit of shameless self-promotion, I thought I'd rectify that. I have quite a few newish pieces which essentially break down into two series: the first series is a harlequin series, the second is - well - rocks. First, the harlequins:

Harlequin 1

Harlequin 2

Harlequin 3

Harlequin 4

In a surprising turn of events

2007-05-29T02:22:00.000-07:00

Syria's foremost candidate for a charisma transplant, Bashar Assad, has apparently won a referendum in which he was re-elected for another seven-year term.

In a political battle strategically juxtaposed with the concurrent struggle for leadership of the Israeli Labor Party, Assad showed everyone how it's done, by running against himself.

At won 97.62% of the vote.

Against himself.

97.62%

Not 100%. 97.62%.

Against, I repeat, himself.

Call me naive, but it seems to me that when you have no opposition, and the people only have one option, 97.62% is not really as close to 100% as it sounds.

One can only wonder whom the remaining 2.38% voted for.

Anyway, as Interior Minister Bassam Abdel-Majid noted, sagely: "The wide consensus showcases Syria's political maturity and our multi-party politics."

Quite.

The Great Global Warming ...

2007-05-27T05:34:00.000-07:00

... Swindle?

Decide for yourselves.

(Warning - 1 hr 15 min long ... so make that cup of tea before you settle in to watch this).

(Hat tip - The wickedly wicked Danu)

P.S. - I'll reserve my position on this for the comments section, so as not to prejudice your viewing pleasure in any way :)

Don't blink or you might miss it

2007-05-22T03:49:00.000-07:00

Shavuot, or the "Feast of Weeks", is possibly one of the least appropriately named festivals in the Jewish calendar. Rather than lasting for weeks, as its name suggests, this pilgrim festival, arriving hot on the heels of the last one, is all over within 24 (ok, 25) hours. That's it. Not weeks then, but rather one day, give or take a few minutes on either side. That is, unless you live in the Diaspora (TM), in which case, you get to have two days, because that fits in much better with non-Jewish people's impressions of what Jewish holidays are supposed to be.

Shavuot occurs seven weeks (ah ... that's a hint) after Pesach (or "Passover", for the Hebraicly disinclined), being roughly the time it takes to count out the 49 days of the Omer, which is an ancient Hebrew word meaning 'the 49 days between Pesach and Shavuot which must be counted so that you count seven full weeks, of seven days each, from 1, yea even unto 49." (I say 'roughly', by the way, because there's usually a lag somewhere in the middle of the Omer where people who have never before held a bow or an arrow start trying their hand at archery, while the more pyromaniacal tend to attempt to light anything that doesn't move away fast enough. The lag in the Omer is generally considered a good time for firefighters to demand a raise. Fortunately, the lag doesn't last too long.)

Anyway, seven weeks is also, roughly, the time it takes to get from the Red Sea (or the Sea of Reeds, or that bit of lake that was there before they built the Suez Canal) to Mount Sinai, when following a pillar of smoke during the day and a pillar of fire at night (thought not a pillar of salt at any time, since that can lead to hypertension and heart disease). This is apparently the only way to find Mount Sinai, since no-one seems to have found it since. (The mountain on the Sinai Peninsula popularly called Mount Sinai cannot in fact be Mount Sinai since it is crowned by a Catholic Monatery - St. Catherine's. It wouldn't make sense for St. Catherines to be Mount Sinai since even the Catholics agree that Moses was not a Catholic, so why would he have gone to a monastery? As you may have noticed, this is a story full of mystery and intrigue.)

And so, it came to pass, for this would not be a Biblical story if it didn't, that the offspring of Israel had left their bondage equipment, and Miriam's cacophonous timbrel playing, in Egypt, and after holding hands and singing Ashira Ashira Ashira!! in American accents by the Red Sea whilst Pharaoh and his legions drowned in the no-longer-quite-so-parted waters, turned their collective back on the land of the Pyramids, and headed off for a much better future in either the Promised Land, or an inhospitable desert, whichever came first.

After counting 49 days, and complaining for about 48 of them, and having traipsed variously through the wildernesses of Paran, Kadesh, Sin, Transgression and Minor Traffic Violation, they arrived at the eponymous Mount Sinai. No sooner had someone shouted "50! Coming ready or not!" that Moses - by this stage at once both Charlton Heston and Mel Brooks - started to climb the mountain in order to receive The Law.

Now, the people weren't too happy about this law thing, apparently. They were saying things like - "hang on, we've just come out of bondage, anarchy rules!" and, "pass the fermented manna", and "has this tent got cable, dad?" Really, after 49 days of traipsing, and having been promised a holiday, they just wanted some time to rest.

And rest they may have, had not the mountain, and the deity who had chosen to call it home, had other ideas. For the mountain started to shake, with colors that could be heard and sounds that could be seen. Trees and flowers sprouted on the mountain, and there were thunder, lightning and all kinds of pyrotechnics. And all of the offspring of Israel stood and gaped at the spectacle and did cry out "wow!", and a single voice did say: "ok, this is better than cable".

And then did the Lord spake the ten speaking things of spakingness - otherwise known as the Ten Commandments (not the movie) - and the power of the spakingnesses engraved the words, in a fetching sans-serif font, into two tablets of stone (which is really a bit of a misnomer for a couple of whopping great slabs of granite), which Moses then had to lug back down the mountain, since Amazon.com didn't deliver to wildernesses at that time.

But by the time he got down there, the offspring of Israel had gotten bored again. They'd discovered that the remote didn't work, there was no other entertainment to be had, they were stuck in a desert and no-one was due to invent a jacuzzi for around 3,000 years. Therefore, they decided to hold an orgy - an extremely logical decision for a people who had just personally heard their omnipresent deity actually say that orgies were not a good thing, but there you go.

In order to give their orgy some desperately needed style, they collected all of the gold that they had (which was apparently quite a lot, despite their having been slaves in Egypt and all that) and gave it to Moses' brother Aaron who was, you might note, the Chief Priest and told him to melt it down and make it into a golden statue of a young bull, which they might worship. Aaron had apparently already forgotten the injunction - mentioned only moments previously - not to make graven images, not to mention the one about not coveting your neighbor's ass, for instead of saying "hang on, people. Moses'll be down soon. Go home and eat some more blintzes," he decided to have a go at abstract sculpture, and made them a golden calf, which they then went on to worship, the ingrates!

Well, Moses was furious when he saw this, and cast the tablets of stone to the ground smashing them at the feet of the frolickers, who, it should be said, were not expecting such dramatics. He then put all the people responsible for this sin to death, except for (or including) those whom the earth promptly swallowed up, oh, and except for Aaron, who apparently claimed that he had been acting under duress. Not one of the people's finer moments.

Fuming, Moses sat the remaining people down and made them watch reruns of question time in parliament, whilst he went back up the hill. In this way, they learnt all sorts of other laws, including the entire book of Leviticus - a significant punishment. Moses meanwhile trudged back up the mountain, only to be mooned by god and told that he too would be punished, and would now have to write the ten commandments out by hand. In stone. With a feather. (ok, not really with a feather, but he wasn't allowed to use any magical or god-given powers and he'd left his chisel down at the base of the mountain).

Finally, after rewriting the ten commandments, sending them for editing, receiving them back with revision markings, making the appropriate corrections and lodging them with the various authorities, and noting that the one-day festival of Shavuot had ended months earlier, Moses returned to the people and spake thusly: "Ok, you lot. On your feet. We've got 40 years to make a couple of weeks' journey, so we'd better get started."

And the rest, as they say, is history.

Since then, Judaism commemorates the giving of the Torah (and the smashing of it, and the regiving of it, etc.) on Shavuot. It is customary, in certain Jewish traditions, to eat milk products on Shavuot. The usual explanation for this is that the offspring of Israel, wandering through the desert as they were, were told that when they reached the mountain, they would be given a copious set of laws. They knew, it is claimed, that some of the laws would be dietary (apparently, even God, and not just the State Comptroller, had problems with information leaks), but they did not know what the dietary laws would be. The tradition has it that since one of the laws would be dietary (though not, in fact, one of the Ten Commandments that were actually said to have been given on this day, but rather, one - or several - of the other commandments given at some other time), they would abstain from eating anything that might be problematic, and would limit their food intake on Shavuot to milk products only. This is presumably because they were traipsing through the desert with herds of milk-giving ruminants at their disposal - just the sorts of animals that your average grass-free wilderness can support in large numbers, as evidenced by the existence of the reclusive, though prevalent species of the common, or desert, cow (bos esuriens).

The story of Ruth, the Moabite women who went on to become the grandmother of King David, as told in the aptly named "Book of Ruth", is read on Shavuot, by those who are that way inclined. This is despite the fact that there are no Moabite women in the entire Shavuot story. It is presumably to make up for that unfortunate lapse, that this tradition came about.

Shavuot is also a harvest festival. It is the time of bringing of the first fruits. It is a time for Israeli children to dress in white and put leaves in their hair, for some inexplicable reason. It is a time to rediscover why you should only put guavas in your fridge if they are in airtight containers. It is a time to eat lots of icecream and to hope that the summer won't be too hot.

And it is a time to keep an all-night vigil, presumably because, with so many things to commemorate and eat and do, and so little time to do it all in, if you blink, you might miss it.

"We know the answer"

2007-05-20T07:25:00.000-07:00

So I was making use of some very well-earned time off a while back, by going into a bookstore to look for a book that had been recommended to me, and while I didn't find the book that I was looking for, I did see Richard Friedman's Who Wrote the Bible?

Well - I thought to myself - there's a question that's always interested me, so dog-on-leash in one hand, book in other, I made my way to the check out desk, in order to make my purchase.

The sales assistant looked at me, looked at my dog, smiled, looked at the book, smiled some more and said to me "well, we know the answer to that".

I looked at her quizzically - "Excuse me?"

"We know the answer to that," she repeated, this time pointing to the book I was attempting to buy from her. "We remember it, because we were there," she concluded.

"I don't remember being there," I replied. It's true. I don't.

"No, well, of course we weren't there personally," she clarified, helpfully I might add, "but we have a collective memory of the events."

"Ok," I said. I didn't really know how I was supposed to respond to that. On the one hand, I am very interested in this topic, but on the other hand, I didn't really see any need to start debating it with the shop assistant who was supposed to be selling me the book in question. Added to that was the fact that my dog had cottoned on to the fact that I was paying for something, which is always his cue to start doing the whole 'can we go, already!' whine that he is so infuriatingly good at. I just wanted my book.

She smiled, as she rang the sale up.

"You know," she said, "there's a Rabbi who gives classes just down the road [yes, she managed to say it in italics]. He teaches all sorts of people from all sorts of backgrounds, including from the field of Biblical criticism," she nodded knowingly, and somewhat disdainfully in the general direction of the book. "I used to go and it was fascinating. He presented a very convincing case. You should go and hear him."

"I'm always interested in hearing and learning new ideas," I replied through a smile, trying to extricate myself and my dog from the bookstore politely, having managed finally to pay for the book.

"Then really, you should go and hear him, if you want to hear new ideas," she was relentless.

"Actually," I replied, "I'm buying this book in order to learn new ideas."

She looked confused.

"I come from a religious background," I announced, somewhat reluctantly, not having really wanted to wave my past in her face.

"Oh," she said. Apparently, that surprised her.

"This," I said, indicating the book, "represents the new ideas that I'm hoping to learn about. When I want to hear the old ideas again, I'll go and listen to the Rabbi."

She looked almost apologetic as I left.

Paradise Lost

2007-05-17T01:44:00.000-07:00

Much has been sung, especially off-key in karaoke bars, about horrid people having paved paradise to put up a parking lot. Which is an appropriate sentiment, one imagines, until one needs to find a spot to park one's car, at which point, one probably starts declaiming platitudes about the great march forward of progress, etcetera etcetera.

However, no-one has yet endeavored (to the best of my knowledge) to write a song bemoaning the loss of the local asphalt-paved, 15-shekel a day parking lot to make way for a 40-storey residential and office block, theoretical (at least) work on which has commenced on the parking lot adjacent to my building, which has been the source of many a happy 'tootling' (Noorster, please provide the reference for that word) over the last three and a half years of my inhabitation of this particular abode.

But alas, the congested meeting place of future scrap metal is soon to be no more. For yesterday, they came and started to cut the branches off the three large and extremely messy tress that grace said parking lot, in preparation to dig them out of the ground and carry them off to a better place, while construction of the symbol of progress takes place. They are presumably to be returned and replanted once all the dust has settled.

And so I believe that I am about to become neighbor to a rather large hole in the ground. Actually, if the noise and dust don't bother me, I might stay around to watch the spectacle. But the problem is that construction workers have this antisocial habit of starting work as soon as it is light, whilst I have the far more civilized habit of waking up at the crack of noon, as my faithful readers will recall. This could quickly become a conflict of interests.

And so my own little frangipani-filled paradise looks likely to be lost, in the very near future.

The flowers that bloom in the Spring

2007-05-14T03:53:00.000-07:00

Inspired by both Lirun down in Yafo and Wicked Danu over in Dubai, I am proud to present my first frangipani flowers of the year. Woo hoo!

Feel free to applaud at your leisure :)

Not an optimal way to learn a language

2007-05-09T13:44:00.000-07:00

Warning: This post may be in questionable taste!!

I'm one of those people for whom a visit to the throne room is incomplete without a good book. Seriously, if there's nothing worth reading, I'd rather not even go in there. I have even been known to have two or three books piled up alongside the porcelain receptacle, just in case I get bored of one of them, as the time - for want of a better word - passes.

Not that I am unaware of the inadvisability (lots of 'I's in that word) of this particular habit. One of my mother's favorite admonitions to me as a child, in this particular context, was: "it'll give you hemorrhoids!" That, it must be said, usually as she herself made her way to the zone of contemplation, a large tome tucked under one arm.

This afternoon, as I was about to enter into a parlay with nature, I noticed that the chamber was bookless! I had finished a masterpiece yesterday and had not yet had the chance to replace it with anything suitable. So, I went to my bookshelf to see what the literary world might have to offer.

Having already read all of the novels and other assorted fiction on my bookshelf, several times, including several of them at the same time (see above), I really didn't feel like "going there" again. I mean, how many times can a person read the six-part Hitchhikers' trilogy? (Ok, lots. I admit. But after lots ...?) And although he still makes me giggle every time I reread his books, I am in desperate need of a new Terry Pratchett novel - after all, it's Spring. He must have written something new by now, right?

But if he has, it was not to be found on my shelves.

So, scrounging around the nether reaches of my own little corner of L-Space, and putting nature on hold for a short while as I did so (but being certain to hum to her, so she wouldn't think I'd hung up), I stumbled across "Mastering Arabic" - a teach-yourself-Arabic book that I bought years ago when I had thought, erroneously I suppose, that Arabic should be an easy language to learn. Noting that the book contained exercises, I armed myself with a retractable mechanical pencil (truly the only kind worth using), and skipped happily off to do what, by then, really had to be done.

Now, "Mastering Arabic" is not a novel - strange as that may sound to some. It is in fact quite a complex book of exercises which starts off with learning some of the letters, making words with those, and so on, and ends, I presume, when one is ready to read A Thousand And One Nights in the original, and then go and debate it on Al-Jazeera. I'm a fair way from that, but I've managed to work out that Jihan is the wife of Ahmad, which is probably a good thing, seeing that Ahmad is the husband (according to the book, that is) of Jihan. I had thought that Jihan was the wife of Anwar, but perhaps that is another book.

However, as fast as I seemed to be plowing through the exercises, practising the twirls and squiggles and dots that are the maze of the Arabic language, and mildly pleased with the fact that I could actually read the names Ahmad and Jihan (and several others), albeit slowly, I was horrified to realize that I had reached page 38, but was still, well, you know - there!

As I extricated myself from the plastic furnishing that was fast threatening to become a part of me, I realized, with some dismay, that "Mastering Arabic" is clearly meant for other kinds of rooms, with seats that perform a different function.

Reluctantly, therefore, I have abandoned my plan of learning Arabic during my "quality time". I shall have to try and find some actual free time for that particular pursuit. And perhaps, a teacher.

I shall also have to find a slightly lighter kind of read for those special moments.

Otherwise, my quest to learn Arabic might indeed give me hemorrhoids.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the desert ...

2007-05-08T05:37:00.000-07:00

Archaeologists from the Hebrew University in Jerusalem appear to have discovered the tomb of King Herod. Or at least something that looks to them as though that's what it is. It was found at the site of the Herodion, Herod's winter palace, in the Judean hills, which is where Flavius Josephus claimed that it was.

This discovery will most likely leave us no wiser as to Herod himself - even his bones were not in the tomb, since the tomb was apparently desecrated by grave robbers a short time after his death. So it is unlikely that we will even know whether he died of a mysterious illness, as is sometimes suggested by scholars, based on his behavior prior to his death.

Nevertheless, even if we learn nothing more than the fact that his tomb was lavish (as is to be expected), in terms of archaeology at least, this is an important find.

Debate

2007-05-05T03:07:00.000-07:00

I know it's been ages since I've posted (more than a month, in fact ...). What can I say in my defense? Just that I've had too much work, and not enough thinking time.

Anyway, here is an interesting (and extremely civil) debate I came across, on the topic of whether historical and archaeological scholarship affects faith.

It's just interesting, is all.

By Popular Demand

2007-04-01T10:38:00.000-07:00

Having been cajoled, urged, regaled, encouraged, harrassed, prodded and physically threatened (ok, not quite, but you'll allow me some dramatic license, right?), I now humbly present the long-awaited sequel to my Purim post, viz.

The Pesach Post!

(Drumroll, please)

Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr TING!

(Thank you).

(Pause for dramatic effect. The lights are dimmed. Chords are struck. Somewhere, someone coughs)

And it came to pass, as it so often tends to do in this genre, that the Book of Genesis ended and the Book of Exodus began. Those of you who've done your reading for this class will know that at the end of the Book of Genesis (nothing to do with Phil Collins), the Children of Israel (who at the time were the actual children of a guy called Israel), had left Israel (the place) together with Israel (the person) to escape famine, and had gone to Egypt (the place, there was no person called Egypt) since their collective brother Joseph (and half brother for some, and whatever it is when you're the son of your brother's mother's concubine for several of the others) had made it big in Egypt, having been, variously:

* sold into slavery by selfsame aforesaid brothers;
* dragged down to Egypt the hard way;
* bought;
* hit-on aggressively by his master Potiphar's wife (which should not have been as much of a shock to him as is generally reported, Potiphar being a eunuch) - whom he politely refused, not being into that kind of thing;
* thrown into prison for not being into that kind of thing;
* forced to share a cell with such hardened criminals as the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker;
* urged to successfully interpret their dreams, essentially sending the baker to his death and reminding the butcher and the candlestick maker that they hadn't really dreamt at all, thanks all the same, it was more of a sort of recollection really, and they'd rather not go into the details, if he didn't mind terribly;
and finally
* dragged before the king himself (who was not actually called "Egypt"[1], per se, but who was Egypt with a Capital E, in the words of Saint Andrew Lloyd Webber), there to interpret a strange dream about livestock and grain. Joseph's interpretation so pleased the king, that he immediately put him in charge of the local breakfast cereal industry.

The stuff soap opera writers wouldn't even dream of making up.

And so the Book of Genesis ends on a happy note. Joseph, and the brothers who would have sold him on e-bay had it been around at the time, lived happily ever after, subsisting on cornflakes.

***

At least, that is, until the Book of Exodus (nothing to do with Paul Newman).

For, as the Book of Exodus tells us, a new king arose in Egypt "who knew not Joseph" (something he had in common with Potiphar's wife, it would seem). This was unfortunate for the descendants of the Children of Israel who had, in the meantime, become a bit of a multitude.

This second king was also, somewhat inconveniently, called "Pharaoh"[2]. This Pharaoh did not like multitudes. They gave him the willies. And so, as soon as he discovered that there was a multitude doing horrible multitudinous things out on his land, he decided to make their lives unpleasant with unpleasantness. He commanded them to build him store cities for him to store things in[3]. This was certainly unpleasant, but the Guild of Evil People got wind of it and emailed Pharaoh, telling him that this wasn't a punishment that entitled him to use a demonic laugh, particularly since the Children of Israel were not really expert stone masons (that particular conspiracy theory was to come much, much later in time), and as evidence, they pointed to the fact that the Children of Israel were using mashed nuts and raisins as mortar[4]. Presumably, they pointed out, not unreasonably, it would have been more efficient to use knaydlach, which has the culinary quality of being able to stop almost anything.

So Pharaoh, being a paid-up member of the Guild of Evil People and not wanting to be laughed at at the next meeting, came up with more and more dastardly plans until finally, he ordered that all of the first born male children of the Children of Israel (the grandchildren of Israel, perhaps?) would be thrown into the river! (This punishment will resonate at the end of the story, so you might want to highlight it for later). At this point, the anonymous Pharaoh sat down and gave a hearty Bwaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahaha as is the wont of heinous villains the world over.

But one woman, whose name was Yocheved (which was horribly mispronounced Joshabel by the Cecil B. DeMille crowd, for some inexplicable reason), managed to get her son to freedom where, by a twist of narrative imperative, he grew up as if he were the son of the very same wicked and evil king.

(Insert ominous music here)

***

Now, the old Pharaoh died (this is a recurring theme, you will note), and his son took over as the new Pharaoh. In a break from tradition and as a slap in the face of his ancestors, this Pharaoh did have a name, and it was: Yulbrynner. Pharaoh Yulbrynner was topless, somewhat dashing, appropriately brooding, and just a tad camp in his Egyptian style skirt thing, and was, in fact, moonlighting as the King of Siam at the time. He was lucky, though, since neither position required terribly much of a time investment on his part, and though Egypt and Thailand were, in that era, connected by a land bridge known, in the ancient tongue, as "Asia", they were sufficiently far apart for the peoples to have never noticed, even though (and this is important and will be in the end of term test) both movies were made in 1956! Coincidence? I think not.

Now Moses (the name of the boy who'd been saved by his mother by being sent upriver in a little basket where he was picked up by Princess Left-Titty and raised as a son of royalty) had grown up to become Charlton Heston, and therefore typecast, which really wasn't his fault. Upon discovering this sad fact, Moses understandably grew very upset and rather righteous, and decided that he would go out and seek his roots. What he found did not please him, to say the least.

For he found that his people were being oppressed with oppression, forced to make bricks without using straw, and build buildings without using charoset; the Egyptians had them in bondage, and they weren't really into that either.

Moses, being the Charlton Heston that he was, was duly enraged, and smote an Egyptian taskmaster with smiteness. Despite the fact that he was equal to the king, and obviously superior to the taskmaster, who was essentially no more than a slave himself, Moses decided to flee to the wilderness and grow a really long white beard. Just in case.

Upon his return to Egypt after a good deal of time talking to trees and studying at a local ashram (and marrying one of the Guru's daughters), Moses founded a gospel choir with his brother Aaron on vocals and his sister Miriam on the timbrel (whatever that is), and went to perform for Pharaoh. After trying a few magic tricks which he'd learned in the wilderness, to little effect, they broke out into the Spirituals. They had finished "Let My People Go" and were about to start "Michael Row The Boat Ashore" when Pharaoh Yulbrynner (who had just finished a musical number with Deborah Kerr and was not in the mood for this sort of thing) shouted: "Moses!! I understand that you're trying to find yourself and all that, but what's with the infernal spirituals? You went to Midian, not Kenya. Your harmonies are all Arabian. Let your people go? Only if you're going to go and rehearse that act properly! In the meantime, someone go and bring me some real music. Do we have Jesus Christ Superstar on DVD?"

Dejected, Moses went away to the horrible sight of his people in bondage gear, and still just not really getting into it.

Enter, at this point, Deus Ex Machina; who looked theologically at Moses and said: "Be-est thou not dejected, Moses, for though thy music is really not terribly good, even for a fusion experiment, I have on purpose hardened Pharaoh's heart and have made him send you away rather than letting you go. And I have a plan. You're going to keep going to him, and I'm going to keep on making him send you away, until I am forced to send down upon him 10 plagues!! (the last of which will resonate interestingly with an earlier theme, for those who are on the ball)"

"But why?" Asked Moses.

"Because the story would be pretty pointless if you said to him 'let us go!' and he said 'oh, alright then.' Narrative imperative requires it, Moses. Gotta have something to keep the children interested ..."

"Ah, but how can you harden his heart if he doesn't actually believe in you?"

"You didn't understand what I just said about narrative imperative, did you?"

"But, if you harden his heart all the time, then it's not really him making the decisions, is it? It's you. He's not really a bad person at all, then, is he? And then you're going to send plagues down upon him?"

"Go back and read footnote 1 again. Especially the last few words. Now, I have deific things to be getting on with. And you have songs to rehearse!"

Moses was a bit dejected, but he had read his script, and had to play his part accordingly. And of course, God being God, the story went his way (did it have a choice?): Moses going to Pharaoh, Pharaoh refusing his wishes, and eventually 10 sometimes colorful but mostly rather nasty and disturbing plagues (boils, anyone?) being rained down upon Egypt, though not upon the Children and Grandchildren of Israel.

Finally, God sent the biggie. Even though, nine times previously, the plagues had missed the Children of Israel, this time, the Children would have to take action in order to ensure that this plague - the killing of first born children (remember the resonance? Remember??) - would pass over the Children of Israel (pun intended). They were to slaughter a lamb, and smear its blood on the lintels of their doors (on the outside, thankfully) so that the angel of death would know not to stop by there for a game of chess or some such (the angel of death being, apparently, a little more clueless than, say, the angel of noxious beasts, or the angel of frogs, or the angel of lice, or the angel of darkness, all of which, according to the story, knew exactly where not to be at their appointed time).

And so, it came to pass (see above), at midnight, that the angel of death did come, and did smite the firstborn of the Egyptians with smiteness, from the first born of the king to the first born of the lowliests of the servants, but the Children of Israel he did not smite, for so it was written into his contract. But over their houses he did pass, thus giving a name to the festival of passover. Which might otherwise have been called something quite different.

And from the houses of the Egyptians, there arose a wail and a great gnashing of teeth. Which is to be expected, under the circumstances, given that most of the Egyptians had had nothing to do with the bickering between Charlton Heston and Pharaoh Yulbrynner, who himself had been a mere plaything for the Deus Ex Machina ...

In the midst of this, Pharaoh Yulbrynner arose and spake thusly - Get out, Moses!! Take your people with you!! You can't sing for shyte and your god is playing silly-buggers. Go away! And take your omniscient, omnipresent deity with you[5]!

Which they did, as the absolutely not-anthropomorphic-in-any-way Deus Ex Machina lead them out of Egypt with a strong hand and an outstretched arm (and one can only hope, a very good deodorant). Stopping only to drown the pursuing (and one might add, rather slow to catch on) Pharaoh in the Red Sea, for good measure.

And despite all this, we are told, the Children of Israel were in such a hurry leaving Egypt (what with all the changed deadlines, they didn't know whether it was really going to happen or not), they tried baking bread which didn't have time to rise, and so they were stuck with a sort of cardboard like substance with holes in it, which you simply cannot spread honey on without it dripping everywhere. This is, of course, Matza (erroneously spelled Matzo for some inexplicable reason), which is not to be confused with digestible food.

Once on the other side of the Red Sea (which is strangely enough no-where near where they would have actually been, or should have actually been, and quite a detour to take just for the purpose of another, rather unnecessary miracle), Miriam broke out the timbrel again and the Children of Israel celebrated musical freedom once again, doffing the yokes of bondage (and various other leather items) and munched down on their unleavened bread, declaring "Ah, this is the life!".

Since then, and to this very day, descendents of the Children of Israel have celebrated the festival of Passover on Seder night, by asking four questions; getting one answer so long you have to take a break for dinner in the middle of it; drinking four cups one wine (ensuring that many people never get to the end of the story anyway); dipping something twice into something else (or two somethings into two something elses)[6]; eating bitter herbs[7]; generally debating the truly important questions about the Exodus[8]; eating charoset with matza in commemoration of the bricks and mortar; eating a hard boiled egg in commemoration of the previous morning's breakfast; and other such rituals. And, of course, singing lots of songs, generally in a variety of different tunes, mostly all at the same time, but without the aid of timbrels, since the art of playing the timbrel has been sadly lost over time (although this could be a good thing).

***

Chag sameach, everyone!

_______
1. Rather, he was called "Pharaoh", although in truth, that was just a title. He actually had a name. All of the Pharaohs did. But the Bible does not wish to bother us with the trivial details of just which Pharaoh it was. It was just Pharaoh, alright? Look, no I don't know which Pharaoh it was. Don't try to confuse me with arguments of there being no Egyptian records of plages, exodus, Moses, or anything! Look, stop asking already or you'll go to hell for all eternity ...

Right. Any more questions?

2. Yes, alright. We don't know which one. See footnote 1. Especially the last bit of it ...

3. It is often, erroneously, argued that it was the Children of Israel who built the pyramids. We know that this is wrong for several reasons. One is that there is no archaeological evidence of the store cities, but the pyramids themselves are quite evident, and not merely archaeologically. This would seem to suggest that whoever built the one, could not possibly have built the other. The second is, that as every Jewish child knows, we eat charoset on Seder night in order to commemorate the mortar used by the Children of Israel in building their storage cities. This is probably one of the reasons why these buildings did not remain standing for posterity. They may not, in fact, have remained standing for more than a week. It is probably unnecessary to note that no charoset has been found between the stones of the pyramids.

4. If you didn't get that one, see footnote 3 again. And read it carefully this time.

5. Which of course begs the question, but if you're still in doubt, go back and read that last bit of footnote 1 again.

6. There is some confusion on this point. Do the two dippings refer to the parsley in salt-water? The egg in salt-water? The bitter herb in charoset? The nachos in guacamole? The jury is still out on this one.

7. Romain lettuce and/or horseradish and/or both and/or ... For some reason the traditional Seder Plate has two dishes for this particular part of the ritual. One for "bitter herbs" (maror) and one for, well, horseradish (which is a particularly bitter herb as well) (chazeret).

8. Were there ten plagues, 50 plagues or 250 plagues? Did Rabbi Akiva and his friends end up making it to morning prayers in time? Why is Rabban Gamliel the only Rabbi called "Rabban"? Was he French? Why was one of the guys in the Haggadah called Ben Zoma? Is that really a nice thing to say about his mother? What is the proper action for "Who Knows 8?" and are we allowed to do it at the table in front of the children? Or in front of the candles? And, could someone please pass the charoset?

Michelangelo for a day ...

2007-03-25T08:20:00.000-07:00

I really haven't got time to post today, but I'm going to anyway.

The reason I haven't got time to post is that I have a pile of work on my desk, and the reason I have a pile of work on my desk is that I spent this morning pretending to be Michelangelo.

Well, sort of.

I was not painting the ceiling of a chapel adjacent to the Vatican. I was, however, painting a ceiling in a suburban villa belonging to people who clearly have far too much money. Fortunately, perhaps, I was not painting the ceiling lying on my back on the top of some scaffold, as Michelangelo had done. This ceiling has yet to be installed, and was therefore simply leaning against a wall. This was convenient.

On the other hand, unlike in Michelangelo's case, there were nowhere nearly enough naked models wandering around to be painted. In fact, there was not a single one. One can only presume that in order to arrange that, you have to be on really good terms with the Pope. Neither I, nor the homeowners, despite their copious pecuniosity, have that particular claim to fame.

What there was, however, was a statue of the homeowners' daughter (a woman in her 30s, it should be added) rising nymph-like (and nymph-clad) out of the blue waters of a rather large wading pool in the neo-drek style, cast in bronze.

And one is left truly wondering why it is that money so seldom buys taste ...

The unveiling ...

2007-03-19T16:30:00.000-07:00

No, haven't made a decision on the name change yet, so keep the suggestions coming!!

Rather, this post is to unveil ...

THIS!

Yes! The table and chair project is finally finished!!

The seats are made of clear perspex. I'm going to get cushions for them, so that some of the more sensitive tushies won't be too uncomfortable, but I sat on them all this evening and they are not at all uncomfortable. This is exactly the look that I wanted, and I finally found someone who would do it for me. So there you have it - just in time for summer - my outdoor furniture!

Those who wish to compare before and after shots without flicking backwards and forwards, can see this post, and this post.

:-)

Name Nominally Challenged!

2007-03-13T06:49:00.000-07:00

The unfortunate result of this is that my body has finally caught up with me and is now punishing me for doing too much work in too short a period of time. In my malaise, then (and its colleague, boredom), as I sit here in bed watching Eddie Izzard clips on YouTube and attempting to teach my dog that "fetch" implies "and bring back to me" rather than simply "go to object, bark and look cute", I have decided that a small competition is in order.

The competition is as follows.

Way back in the mists of time, in fact, in around January 2005, a matter of days after commencing this blog, I wrote the following:

And I fully intend to run a serious name competition - entitled (oddly enough)
"Name Nominally Challenged!". But, before I do that, I need to make sure that
you could even give a damn, so I shall keep on typing, and hope that something
that I write strikes a chord somewhere, with someone. Someday. Some - well, you
get the idea.

That was because, then as now, the name "Nominally Challenged" is, well, not a very good name, although I admit that it has sort of stuck. The problematic nature of this name really hit home a few days ago when ze vonderful Lisa, in referring to a post I'd written, called me (and I quote), "Nomchy" (scroll down, you'll come to it). While I was dutifully endeared, I realized that there was something wrong with this.

Now, I will be so bold as to say that apparently, some of the things that I write seem to strike chords in some places, and some persons may care to offer suggestions as to what my Blogging Name should be. Note, I am not proposing to change the actual name of my blog. I think that "A Whiff of the Med" is a good name which says many things, some of which I may even agree with. However, "Nominally Challenged" has done its dash and I think it's time for a makeover.

I think that the name should be pertinent to the blog and its contents and I invite your suggestions accordingly. Please make it creative, people, and not too offensive - remember, my grandmother doesn't read this blog, but yours might. Finally, just in case anyone was considering this - variations on my actual given name are, by definition almost, not creative.

Oh. P.S. - I haven't come up with a prize yet, so suggestions for prizes will be welcome as well. I don't promise to accept any of the proposed names or prizes, but it will be fun to see what you people can come up with.

Hamsin Haiku

2007-03-11T05:39:00.001-07:00

First day of heat

A winter full of food

Nothing to wear.

Free at last!

2007-03-11T03:24:00.000-07:00

Well, sort of ...

The Project From Hell (TM) is OVER! And the fun part - billing it - is yet to come. Yay!

However, there is no real rest for the wicked, as today is a work day yet again ...

Still, it was incredibly refreshing to know that when I woke up this morning ('morning' being a very loose term indeed, I might add), it wasn't simply to more of the same.

Anyway, the salt mines call, so I must away. I just thought I would share my false sense of freedom with you all :)

Procrastination for Experts

2007-03-06T01:35:00.000-08:00

Although the Project From Hell (TM) is showing no signs of being over, as I find myself carreening through its third week like a ten-car pile-up waiting to happen, in a situation where I have absolutely no willingness to do the work involved, and the work apparently has absolutely no willingness to do itself (and, frankly, who can blame it?), ze vonderful Noorster has come to the rescue, with this!

Yes, I have founded the Most Serene Republic of Frissonia Bananique. Although it doesn't say so yet, our aspiration is to become a nation of hair stylists who use banana-scented shampoo.

The idea is that you set up your own little nation state and get to play governments. You feed in a few minor details such as the type of government, the name (of course), the name of your currency and the national animal, and the game begins. So far, I have received offers from all sorts of big world powers to join their agglomerations extraordinaires, but we are declining in the interim, since, as you will note, we are a "Most Serene Republic" and we wish to remain serene.

I have also received issues that my government needs to deal with such as - should voting be compulsory (being a former Australian, I, of course, said yes!) and should we keep marijuana legalized despite the fact that the pizza delivery boys (on whose services we partially subsist) have very red eyes by this stage (once again, yes!). I now must wait until tomorrow until I receive a new issue, but the veritable multitude of countries already playing the game makes this a certified timewaster. For expert procrastinators only! :)

I invite you to play also! And do let me know what your countries names are :)

Let the games begin!

Purim!

2007-03-03T15:42:00.000-08:00

So Purim's arrived and I'm sure you're all wondering what I did with those 4 meters of red glittery cloth and the corset. Well, the truth be told, I didn't really have time to do terribly much with it at all, unfortunately. I was working all week on The Project From Hell (TM) (which has so far removed two weeks of my life and aged me at least as many years - and still has a week's worth of damage to inflict yet ...), and that meant that I was totally unable to sew. I made a valiant start, but was unable to get even close to making any sort of finish. So I have a half-made costume for next year :) As a result, I recycled a costume from six years ago. Luckily for me, I went to a party where absolutely no-one has known me for six years, so I was able to get away with it (what a relief that was)! The back-up costume was that of a court jester, which meant I got to wear chequered tights and a hat with bells on, which is always good for a laugh.

For those of you who weren't wondering, well, you probably should have skipped that first paragraph ...

Now, someone asked me to explain Purim.

Essentially, it's a sort of Jewish Halloween, except, of course, in all the ways that it isn't. Firstly, it's in late winter (the Gregorian date varies because, like all Jewish festivals, it is based on the lunar calendar) and this is patently not like Halloween, which is in late autumn (yeah, ok, fall ...). Secondly, you don't go around bugging people for tricks or treats, but you are supposed to send gifts of food to people, and to give alms to the poor. Thirdly, well, in fact, it's nothing like Halloween at all, except that you get to dress up.

Which is interesting, really, because there's very little in the actual Purim story that has anything to do with dressing up, per se.

The Purim story is based entirely on the Biblical book of Esther. In the Jewish cannon, Esther sits in the third section of the Bible, the section known as the Writings or, in Greek, the Hagiographia. In Hebrew these are known as the ktuvim - כתובים. These include the books of Proverbs and Chronicles, and Ezra and Nehemia, and also what are known as the five scrolls - or megillot - Ecclesiastes, Ruth, Lamentations, Song of Songs and Esther - each of which is read by Jewish communities at particular times of the year. Esther is the book which Martin Luther is apparently reported as having said that he "could have done without". It is perhaps fortunate for Esther that no-one was asking Luther at the time. Esther is also, by coincidence, the name of my aunt (but I think that everyone has an Aunt Esther, don't they? If you don't, you should do something about that).

Esther is not a Hebrew name - not originally anyway. The book itself tells us that Esther's Hebrew name was Hadassah - which is a derivation of the word hadas which means 'myrtle'. Those of you who don't have an Aunt Esther, possibly have an Aunt Myrtle, so you people are covered also.

Esther was Hadassah's Persian name. It was convenient that she had a Persian name, because the entire story took place in Persia. The story might not have worked as well, had her name been, say, Doris. The name Esther is, of course, nothing at all like the name of the Babylonian goddess Ishtar. Well, maybe a bit. And nothing at all like the name of the Canaanite goddess Ashtoret. Ok, maybe just a little bit. And nothing ... well, I might have to stop laboring that point.

"And it came to pass in the days of Ahasuerus" - so the book starts. "Who?" I hear you ask. "Ahasuerus," the book says, and because it doesn't really expect you to know who that was, it goes on, "that same Ahasuerus who ruled over Persia and Media from India to Ethiopia (or, at least, from Hodu unto Kush - wherever they may be), in fact, over 127 provinces (yep, we counted them) ..." and so on.

"Wait!" I hear you ask. "What sort of a name, apart from a horribly unpronounceable one, is 'Ahasuerus'?" Well, it's the English version of the Latin version of the Greek version of the Hebrew name "Achashverosh" which, simply put, doesn't transliterate very well into any of the above languages.

But I see the scholarly amongst you still aren't at ease. I can see you flicking through wikipedia as we speak, looking through the list of Persian kings - the Achaemenids being the appropriate dynasty: Cyrus, Cambyses, Darius, Xerxes, Artaxerxes, Xerxes (again), Darius (again), three more Artaxerxes (let's face it, if you can pull it off, and if you've got the beard for it, it's a great name, and imagine it on a triple word score!). Not a single Achashverosh in sight!

Ah, but none of these names are actually Persian - they're all, in fact, Greek. Which is the reason for all the X's really. The Greeks loved a good game of scrabble.

The Persian names of these kings are somewhat different (and much harder to transliterate into Greek, Latin, English ...). Let's see. Cyrus: Kurush - not too much trouble there. Cambyses: Kambujiya (like a place in South East Asia - but not). Darius: Darayava'ush - getting tricky ... Xerxes: Khasharyasha - say WHAT? Artaxerxes: Artakhshathra ... Well, you can see why the Greeks just put in all those X's.

In fact, the name that comes closest to the Hebrew Achashverosh is Khasharyasha - or Xerxes. The reasons why are complex, but it is in fact not a bad match. It's certainly closer to the original than all those X's.

But I digress.

So, the big A is king of all the known world (or at least, the good bits of it, as far as he's concerned) and, as king of all the known world, he has a biyuuuuuuuuuuuuutiful wife called Vashti (so says the book. You won't find her name anywhere outside the Bible, but then again, women had a hard time breaking the headlines in those days at the best of times, so I'm not saying she didn't exist ... merely implying it ...). Vashti was so beautiful, that big A thought it would be a great idea if he showed her off to all his mates. So he arranged to hold a party and instructed Vashti that she would dance for his guests, wearing only her crown! (Shock! Horror!). The Queen was less than amused. In the first recorded act of feminism, she refused. But this was a world that wanted no truck with feminism, and she promptly lost her head for her troubles. Beautiful one day, dead the next.

But now the King was without a wife (unlikely, of course, given that he probably had a harem, but we shall not let the facts get in the way of the story, shall we) so he needed a new one! He put ads out everywhere. He sent messengers to all the corners of his realm. He called in Tyra Banks. Persia needed a new Top Model!

Now's the time to mention that this story falls exactly into the middle of the Babylonian exile. You remember? 586 BCE. Nebuchadnezzar comes to Jerusalem. Sacks the Temple. Sacks the Temple's staff. Carries away the king. And the Jews go and hang their harps on the trees by the Euphrates, providing inspiration for Bony M. Some time later, Nebuchadnezzar goes nuts and tries to eat the ground. Cyrus of Susa turns up in Babylon and claims it in the name of Persia. And the Jews who had, until then, been a little carried away, and quite upset for the most part, are suddenly subjects of the Persians with rights and everything.

So, remember Esther? She's the one the book's named after. She has an uncle called Mordechai who thinks his niece is a bit of a looker, and he sends her off to the talent quest in the Capital. The story doesn't specify what he tells her to do if she's asked to dance wearing only a crown in front of the king's friends - since apparently the king's a bit of a randy bastard who's likely to pull the same trick twice - one can only presume that she is encouraged to keep her wits about her, and her clothes on.

She wins, of course. It would be a pointless story if she didn't. And yey, now we have a Jewish Queen over Persia - EXCEPT that the king doesn't know she's Jewish. Her uncle, as well as telling her to keep her clothes on, tells her not to give away the fact that she's Jewish. Why? Well, we don't really know. Narrative imperative most likely. The rest of the story doesn't make sense unless she withholds this small, and probably at the time quite irrelevant, piece of information.

Now, the King had a vizier - as they always do. And as is the way with viziers, this one was EVIL! Not just evil. Not even Evil. This guy was really EVIL. So evil that his name is supposed to be drowned out at its mere mention. However, we can write it - it was Haman. If you feel the need, you may drown it out now by making whatever noises you find to be appropriate.

Now Haman's (boo hiss roar shatter thud) evilitude was not merely due to his having been cast as the campy villain. He in fact had a truly dastardly plan! One day, when he had the king's ear, at a time that it was fortunately attached to the king's head, he said to him something along the lines of "I know what'll cure what ails ya!". The king, who was trying to work out just where Hodu and Kush were, and exactly when Ethiopia had become part of the Persian Empire, was not paying terribly much attention, so his vizier went on: "Kill all the Jews!" the vizier cried. The king apparently looked at his vizier blankly, stared off into the middle distance, scratched himself, and said: "oh, ok then. Have a lottery to find out when we should do it. Now, where did we say that Kush place is again?"

The point of the lottery is sort of important, because that's where the name of the festival Purim comes from. Pur, we are told, is the Persian word for "lot" - as in "casting of". Purim is the plural. Lots. As in a lottery. But not for money this time, but rather, for the fate of an entire people. The lottery was held, the date was chosen - the 14th day of Adar - the twelfth month of the year ...

Haman (can you see why we're booing him?) rubbed his hands together with glee - as is the wont of dastardly fiends everywhere - and skipped off to scheme and plot, in accordance with the requirements of his employment contract. This time, his plot was truly dastardly! (Is he too camp? Should I tone down the camp? But it seems soooo appropriate ...)

Word of the plot reached Mordechai who was, to say the least, rather unhappy about the whole idea. But fortunately, as they say in good cooking shows everywhere, he had prepared in advance by putting his lovely niece Esther onto the throne.

He goes to visit her. "Esther!" he says, "you've gotta stop this verdict or we're all gonna die!!" Esther says - "But how can I? This is a king who chopped of his former wife's head!"
Mordechai says - "You've got to tell him that you're Jewish and that he'll be in effect killing you"
She replies - "But you said ..."
He says - "Never mind what I said!"
She says - "But - he chopped off his last wife's head!!"
He says - "You're our only hope Estherrrrrrrrrrrrrr!"

So, she goes and fasts for three days (though probably not for three nights as well), at the end of which she comes to the king, looking slightly ravenous, one can only assume.

He looks at her and says - "Oh, you're the Persian Idol - cool! Is it your turn tonight? Gosh you're slim!"
She looks sad and says to him - "I have a request"
He says to her - "Tell me your wish and I'll grant it - up to half the kingdom!"
She looks at him - "Half the kingdom?"
He nods - "Half the kingdom!"
She scrutinizes him - "Which half?"
He thinks for a moment - "Well, you can take your choice - if you can find out where Hodu and Kush are, you can have those. Otherwise, take the Medes - if you can deal with all the frankincense and myrrh that is."
She turns to him - "My king, my request is greater than that. Cancel the edict to kill the Jews!"
He looked at her and said - "But, it's already been signed and sealed and - oh my Persian deities, can you imagine the bureaucracy involved in cancelling that? And, well, why??"
She looks at the ground and says - "Because I am Jewish, and your edict will be killing me and my people".
"Damn," said the king. "That puts me in a bit of a bind really, because I kind of like you. Tell you what. We'll reverse the edict, punish Haman for being a particularly EVIL vizier (even though it's in his contract and it's surprising that he didn't try to poison me, or perhaps he did but that part of the story would take way too long to write in what has become too long a blog entry anyway), and make you and your uncle the heroes of the story for posterity, what do you think?"

And that is indeed what the story records as having happened.

The scroll then gets a bit manic. There is, in my view, a little too much gloating over the revenge part, but there you have it.

Of course, there are no records in Persian history of any of this. Not of Vashti. Not of Esther. Not of the plot - although the story itself actually mentions the fact of the plot being written into the king's annals. Not of the overturning of the plot. Not of the revenge against the plotters, nor of a mass conversion to Judaism which is supposed to have followed the whole story. But narrative imperative prevails, and it is, after all, a pretty good story.

And so, we dress up. Why? Because of mistaken identities, perhaps, but most likely, because Purim is a happy holiday, embodied in the age-old Jewish saying "they tried to kill us. They didn't succeed. Let's eat".

And we drink! We are instructed, in fact, to drink until we cannot tell the difference between "cursed is Haman" and "blessed is Mordechai". That's a lot of drink!

That, in the nutshell of what must have been a rather large nut, is the Purim story a la nominally challenged. Anyone who wants to read the full version can read it here (in English) or here (in Hebrew). You can make up your own minds as to whether my version is better or not!

Happy Purim!

Tagged!!

2007-02-21T00:47:00.000-08:00

Ouch!! I've been tagged by Drima!

Ok, so if I understand this particular game, I'm supposed to tell you stuff you don't otherwise know about about me, and presumably want to know. Of course, that's a bit silly, because if I had wanted you to know secret stuff about me, it wouldn't be secret ... but anyway, here goes:

1. I was a choirboy for much longer than is advisable, health-wise.

2. I have moved apartments 8 times in 10 years.

3. I don't watch television (though I have one).

4. Most of my CDs are classical, and vocal classical at that.

5. I once sang in a huge Gothic cathedral in Northern Germany, overshadowed by an enormous replica of the Menora from the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem.

6. I have spent a total of 48 hours in Japan.

7. I love doing home improvement projects but tend to get stuck at vital stages (remember the outdoor furniture? Well, the chairs are still seat-less, which is becoming less and less convenient as the weather gets better).

8. I recently consigned an old heater to the scrap-heap as it was emitting a bad smell. I went to the trouble of ordering and receiving a new heater, and when I noticed that it was emitting the same bad smell, I realized that the problem had not been the heater, but the fact that it was too close to a potted plant, which I was slowly, but surely, burning.

9. I can subsist on cornflakes.

10. I cannot eat onions (in almost any form), kiwifruit, persimmons or eggplant.

Ok, I hope 10 vital facts is sufficient. Personally, I'm not sure how you've all survived so far without knowing these.

I am used to tagging by the honor system, but I can see that last time, that was not a great success. So I'm afraid I'm going to have to keep you all in at recess today, and I'm going to have to tag actual people. Therefore, I tag: Noorster, Idan and the Bullfighter. ha-HA!

Purim in my sights ...

2007-02-18T07:30:00.000-08:00

I know it's been ages since I've written anything substantial, but ...

I've just returned home with four meters (or metres) of glittery red, slightly see-through (!)material and a corset.

I have only a vague idea of what it's going to be, but one thing's for sure. It's going to be fabulous. Oh, and red.

Gotta love Purim!

It's been way too long

2007-01-31T06:14:00.000-08:00

I know ... and I'm not even really able to properly blog now either. But I'd been missing you people, and so, this is yet another short post, for only two small purposes:

Firstly, I wanted to post this photo. I don't know who took it, but I got it from Idan (thanks, Idan!), and I loved it. For those who don't recognize what's in it, that's the Tel Aviv skyline on a day of heavy fog (three days ago). The buildings in the foreground are the Azrieli Center. I think it's a pretty magical shot, myself.

The second reason I wanted to blog, is to send you people straight over to this new blog by John and Matt (way to go, guys!). I think that if we are to achieve peace (or piece) in the Middle East, then this is definitely the right way to go about it ;-) (oh, and make sure you check out their mission statement ...)

LOL

2007-01-15T00:14:00.000-08:00

This requires no further commentary.

:)

Gah ...

2007-01-14T03:41:00.000-08:00

My parents came all the way from Australia ...

and all they brought me was this lousy FLU VIRUS!

Thanks guys ...

:)

** Regular programming will continue just as soon as we have worked out what 'regular' is. **

My excuse for everything right now ...

2007-01-11T13:03:00.000-08:00

... is that my parents are in town. It's surprisingly fun, but incredibly tiring at the same time. And certainly leaves precious little time for blogging.

Apologies to anyone who's gotten used to reading me. Prior to this I was in work-overload for about a month, so I really haven't been blogging nearly enough ...

I promise to get back into it soon ...

Ok, promise is a big word with two syllables, I'll go for something humbler: I hope to get back into it soon.

In the meantime, hum something tuneful while you wait ... :)

Winter is here ...

2006-12-28T06:00:00.000-08:00

And personally, I'm freezing.

That was going to be my entire blog, but blogger decided that it couldn't process it, for some reason, so I'm writing more, just to fill in time.

Anyway, did I mention that I'm freezing yet?

Idan has a succinct post that sums it up, really.

Today I went out and bought sweaters. Three. And a new pair of jeans. And some undershirts. And a button down shirt (because, well, you've got to). Oh, and a pair of shoes.

Later on this evening I discovered that things are so often not what they seem. Even when they seem it really, really clearly, they are still, sometimes, just not what they seem. And even more cryptically, perhaps, sometimes (or so it would appear) ping pong is just, well, ping pong.

More's the pity perhaps, but there you have it.

Freezing? Did I mention that yet?

...

Commenting

2006-12-14T01:22:00.000-08:00

Ok, I can't seem to comment for now on blogger blogs that have gone beta, apparently because beta is going alpha (or gamma) (or whichever way these things work - I have no idea which it is) and so in the meantime, my blog (which uses a format best described as 'sug zayin'*) is, apparently, incompatible. That is the only logical reason I can think of for this particular fault - and blogger's help page (the blogger buzz) doesn't even mention this as a possible problem. All it says is that sometime in the indeterminate future, all blogs will be new version (alpha or gamma or epsilon or whatever), including sug zayin blogs like mine.

I wonder whether blogger beta users can post comments here? And I wonder how I will know if they can't ... :)

In cyberspace, no one can hear you scream ...

____________________
* sug zayin is a pun on sug bet which in Hebrew means 'second class', bet being the second letter of the Hebrew alphabet. zayin is the seventh letter of the alphabet, but is also, essentially the word for 'dick' (of the phallic variety), so sug zayin is basically used to describe something that's really been fucked over (pardon my Latin).

On Recapturing Rapists ...

2006-12-09T00:54:00.000-08:00

Yudit, over in Yafo, wrote an interesting post about her views on the capture of escaped serial rapist, Benny Sela. I was going to comment on her post, but my comment got too long, so I decided to post it here instead (apologies, Yudit!).

One of the things I found distasteful about the whole affair was the way in which it sort of absolved everyone else. All of a sudden, the country is full of angels looking for that ultimate evil: Benny Sela - unkempt, unshaven and looking menacingly at us from billboards around the country. So long as he was a fugitive, no-one was safe. Now that he has been recaptured, everything is dandy.

I heard about the recapture by word-of-mouth. I saw the police congratulating themselves for finding someone who should never have gotten lost in the first place, late last night on tv.

So the police who caught him did a good job. You can't argue against that. Certainly, they did a much better job than the police who lost him two weeks ago to the day.

However, his recapture is nothing more than the rectification of a huge blunder. It is nothing short of simply what should have been done. There should be no parties involved, and there should be no self-congratulation. World order has not been restored.

And what is more, he's only one rapist. Yes, he had many victims, but he's hardly alone. There are, unfortunately, countless others - many of whom even operate within their own families, and many who will possibly never be caught.

In a country where the President is under serious investigation for rape, and the Justice Minister for sexual assault, we should not be so naive as to think that by recaputring one serial rapist, we have, in any way, solved a problem.

Ack, I've been tagged!

2006-12-07T10:55:00.000-08:00

Who knew that blogging would be all about these meme thingies.

The vonderful Noorster has tagged me, and it would be amiss of me not to play along. So along I play ...

1. Grab the book closest to you.
2. Open to page 123, scroll down to the 5th sentence
3. Post the text of next 3 sentences on your blog
4. Name of the book and the author
5. Tag 3 People

Ah.

1. The book closest to me is in fact the Etymological Dictionary of the Hebrew Language, by Klein. Not exactly a novel, and not exactly written, as it were, in sentences. So, instead I turn to the book that is next to my bed (which is not quite next to me, but is next to where I would prefer to be most of the time, so it almost counts).

2. P. 123. 5th sentence:

3.

'Tell me what you think I'm thinking.'
'I think you're thinking it's time we got off this ship.'
'I think you're right,' said Zaphod.

4. Yes, all you clever people out there who guessed, I'm reading (once again) The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, by Douglas Adams, having just finished reading (once again) The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. There was a time when I would read the entire H2G2 series at least once a year, to the point where I could actually recite most of them. That was the period of time that I now like to call When I Didn't Have A Life. Fortunately, though, even though I do now have a life (at least, demonstrably) (I do, really ...), I still find Douglas Adams amusing, although I am less inclined, these days, to laugh out loud - it tends to frighten the dog.

5. Tagging will once again be by the honor system, as is my wont, however, there is a catch this time: I would like you to tag yourselves alphabetically. I'm trusting you to get this right. Now, who's handle begins with an A ... ?

Shortbus

2006-11-30T01:48:00.000-08:00

Go see it

(Tel Aviv Cinematheque, daily at 22:15)

Hava Nagilla in Coconut Milk

2006-11-27T06:17:00.000-08:00

Totally cool! Who cares if they don't know the words ... :)

Serving Suggestion

2006-11-26T04:35:00.000-08:00

(Firstly, an apology to my faithful readers for last week's very low blogging effort. My work week last week was 9 days long, and finished every morning at around 3:00 am. In that time, though, I managed to translate a total of almost 70,000 words (the translation word-count, not the original document word-count), which is a pretty royal effort, even for yours truly, so I hope that that explains my absence a little. )

Now, onto my post :)

I grew up, for all intents and purposes, on Kellogg's Corn Flakes. Every morning for almost as long as I can remember, I would wake up to yellow flakes of toasted corn floating in a sea of white milk, and often dusted with a sprinkling of some form or other of chocolate. I am not too proud to say that to this very day, I still indulge, as can be seen from answer no. 23 in this post.

As a result, one of my earliest memories of breakfast, is of struggling to read (and eventually, of course, managing to read) what was written on the back of the box. And on the front. And down the sides. I could spell Thiamine, Riboflavin, Niacin and (The Mineral) Iron long before I think it was advisable to be able to do so; and certainly long before I had any idea what any of these were for (except of course, for the fact that they were Essential Vitamins And Minerals!). And I would constantly wait for new boxes, to see what pieces of trivia would be written on them, or what little plastic useless toys might be contained within (not forgetting, of course, the two important principles: "Net Weight 500g - Contents Might Settle In Transit", and "Keeps Fresh And Crisp In The Polythene Bag").

And despite the fact that, as time passed on, I had a full grasp of what the writing on the Corn Flakes box all meant, one pair of words continued to elude me.

Down on the bottom right-hand corner of the front of the box, apparently unconnected to anything else, were the code words "serving suggestion". Sometimes they were written with capitals too.

Now, everything else about the box was totally comprehensible, but "serving suggestion" could have been Greek for all I could understand it. I didn't even understand how the words were being used together. 'What sort of a sentence is "serving suggestion"?' I used to ask myself. Of course, I didn't ask the adults, because they might laugh at my ignorance. Instead, I would sit there, contemplating the picture of the blue and white bowl filled with cornflakes, milk being shown splashing into it, slices of banana or strawberry bouncing off enticingly, and wondering, what the bloody hell the words 'serving suggestion' were supposed to mean.

It was an embarrassingly long period of time later, when I finally realized that the 'serving suggestion' actually referred to that picture of the cornflake-filled bowl. An embarrassingly long period. So embarrassing, I'm not even going to mention how long it was. But when I finally got it, I had to laugh.

I mean, I guess that it is bad enough that I hadn't realized that they were trying to suggest that I should eat my cornflakes with milk out of a bowl, but, to my defense, I just had to cry out in protest: "but that's stupid! Who is this serving suggestion aimed at? How many other ways are there of eating this? Are there people who can't work this out for themselves? Do they really need your suggestions of how to serve cornflakes? Or are you simply trying to protect yourselves and say - 'ok, you don't have to do it this way, this is just our suggestion. We don't care. You can use other fruit. You can eat it with a fork. You can pour grapefruit juice on it or individually spread each flake with sour cream for all we care. This is just a suggestion.'? What's it all about?"

Are there people who might otherwise stare at piles of cereal and think - 'hmm, I wonder what you're supposed to do with this?' Did others once try to pour the cereal and milk onto a plate rather than into a bowl, subsequently suing Kellogg's for milk spillage and for not warning them of the dangers of not using a concave receptacle? Or perhaps there are groups of people who, having successfully navigated their cereal into a bowl, and having added not-too-much milk and assorted bouncy fruit-of-their-choice to it, congratulate each other saying: 'Well, thank anonymous-deity-of-choice for the serving suggestion on the box, otherwise we'd never have known what to do with the stuff. We were going to try building houses out of it - after all, it's filled with (The Mineral) Iron, apparently. We thought it might be magnetic. Though we think we could probably do without that Riboflavin next time - whatever it may be.'

The mind boggles.

Nonetheless, cornflakes are probably my favorite food. But I can take or leave the 'serving suggestion'.

One word meme ...

2006-11-19T07:56:00.000-08:00

I am currently way too busy to post as I am in the throes of what can only be described as My Busiest Work Month Evah! However, I just caught this meme at Udge's, Savtadotty's and Noorster's places, and I had to have a go too.

So here goes:

1. Yourself: diligent
2. Your spouse: who?
3. Your hair: retreating
4. Your mother: distant
5. Your father: cute
6. Your favorite item: bed
7. Your dream last night: safari
8. Your favorite drink: campari
9. Your dream car: none
10. The room you are in: salon
11. Your ex: confused
12. Your fear: confusion
13. What you want to be in 10 years: eighteen
14. Who you hung out with last night: dog
15. What you're not: millionaire
16. Muffins: buns
17: One of your wish list items: orchid
18: Time: illusion
19. The last thing you did: ate
20. What you are wearing: jeans
21. Your favorite weather: summer
22. Your favorite book: H2G2
23. The last thing you ate: cornflakes
24. Your life: awesome
25. Your mood: ditto
26. Your best friend: ditto
27. What you're thinking about right now: buns
28. Your car: none
29. What you are doing at the moment: typing
30. Your summer: short
31. Your relationship status: single
32. What is on your TV: aerial
33. What is the weather like: cool
34. When was the last time you laughed: today

Tagging, as usual, is by the honor system.

:)

Showing off their asses

2006-11-09T10:41:00.000-08:00

Don't you just hate it when people parade their sexual preferences so blatantly in public?

And not a woman in sight ...

Just saying ...

Step 1 - the table ...

2006-11-06T07:52:00.000-08:00

Some of you might remember this project (and its inherent misspelling), which I announced a few weeks ago. Well, it is slowly coming to fruition. After painting the chairs and the table, this evening the table top was added. Personally, I think it looks great. Now all I need is something water-proof (and preferably transparent) for the seats of the chairs, otherwise, we'll all be able to look at the beautiful table, but no-one will be able to sit at it ...

You can see, from the left-hand chair, that I'm playing with an idea there, but it turns out that in order to fully implement it, it will be very expensive, so I'm looking for slightly cheaper options ...

Ideas, anyone?

:)

Much ado about ... ?

2006-11-05T01:42:00.000-08:00

Well, the Haredi Pride Parade continues.

In its fifth installment last night, YNET reports that the "Haredim set fire to Jerusalem".

This might sound strange for foreign readers, or for new immigrants, but for anyone who's been living in this country for a moderate period of time, this sort of thing is fairly commonplace. The Haredi community has been known to violently protest an autopsy, the arrest of a man accused of beating his son to death, or the opening of a major Jerusalem thoroughfare on Shabbat (I can't seem to find an actual article about the 1996 riots regarding Bar Ilan Street, only commentary - apologies).

Frankly, methinks they do protest too much. And the extent and vehemence of these latest protests certainly begs the question, in my humble opinion ...

Proud to be Haredi?

2006-11-01T14:36:00.000-08:00

This is starting to get insane.

Not to mention this!!

Just in case anyone thought that Islam had some sort of monopoly on religious violence ...

Friday Haiku

2006-10-27T02:36:00.000-07:00

Bleary-eyed
I wake up in a foreign bed.
Bad hair day.

The mirror crack'd ...

2006-10-23T01:58:00.000-07:00

Mirror, originally uploaded by nominally_challenged.

Well, actually, sort of shattered.

This one is currently under negotiation for sale. I'm pretty excited about that, if the truth be known ...

An Unexpected Visit

2006-10-20T02:50:00.000-07:00

My statcounter tells me that I just had a visitor from, of all places, Iran! And this on a day when the clown posing as the President of that country is predicting that Israel is going to disappear. I know I shouldn't be too excited, but I've never had an Iranian visitor on my blog before, and even though I can tell that he / she reached my blog only because they clicked on the "next blog" option on the blogger navbar, and spent a total of zero seconds reading my blog, I still think it's pretty cool.

If, on the other hand, the reader was Mr. Clown himself (who, I'm told, actually has his own blog), then, Mr. Clown, I point my sculpted smooth Zionist tushy at you, sir, and not in a gesture of invitation.

the Birth of Venus

2006-10-20T02:39:00.000-07:00

Egg, originally uploaded by nominally_challenged.

Or at least, my personal take on it ...

Go figure ...

Autumn brings out the handiman in me ...

2006-10-20T02:09:00.000-07:00

table chairs, originally uploaded by nominally_challenged.

This is one of my projects for autumn (or "fall", if you must).

I have decided to renovate my outdoor furniture. When I say "outdoor furniture", all I really mean is "indoor furniture which, due to space constraints inside this apartment, has been rotting outside for about 3 years". As you can see, though, it's not in such bad shape, all things considered.

I took the table top off, and the wicker seat covers, because they were in bad shape, and now I need to work on what's left. I have already ordered a round glass table top, which should look quite eclectic, and I have paint to touch up (and protect) the wood, but I now need some way of upholstering the chairs so that they are (a) comfortable to sit on; (b) weather proof; (c) objectively attractive (and not necessarily in that order).

What I think would be best would be to get some of that mesh like synthetic stuff that they use for beach chairs, preferably in either a similar color green to the color of the stain, or in cream, but I'm not sure where you get that from.

Any ideas?

Friday Finding

2006-10-20T01:50:00.000-07:00

Savtadotty just drew my attention to this blog. Apart from being totally cute (as per photograph), Lawrence is also the anthologizer of Kosher Meat, a collection of short stories about being gay and Jewish, which, due to issues of size and my cleaner's apparent sense of humor, sits happily on my bookshelf next to The Binding of Isaac, Religious Murders & Kabbalah - Seeds of Jewish Extremism and Alienation?, itself a collection of essays, albeit on a somewhat different topic, by Lippman Bodoff.

Lawrence also freelances as a translator, which, those of you who know me know that I do too (and those of you who don't know me, and who didn't know this little snippet of info up till now, now do), and has some insightful comments to make on the issue of painful clients, here.

Unfortunately, I don't know how to rss him (or many others, for that matter. Help!), so I'm going to have to just keep checking his blog for updates the old way ...

It takes two to ...

2006-10-19T03:16:00.000-07:00

Tango. And also to cha-cha, waltz and rhumba, as these guys prove. Be sure to check out their hippy hippy shakes on this page (which includes their underwear-clad interview and performance on the Naked News - not for the faint at heart, young children or the terminally homophobic).

I'm so proud of these guys. Firstly, they're the first and so far only gay couple to represent Israel in dancesport (which is what the ballroom dancing event is known as at the Out Games); secondly, they were outstanding ambassadors of our country at a time when we really needed all the good press we could get, during the latest war; and thirdly (and perhaps most importantly, for them), they actually won the gold medal in their event! (apologies, that link is in Hebrew) Which, for a couple who had only been dancing for about 6 months, is no mean feat.

By the way, Gur also has a blog.

You go, boys!

More fiddling ...

2006-10-11T02:44:00.000-07:00

Following up on yesterday's post, I have spent an (unproductive?) morning looking for the Japanese translation of "Tradition". Although I haven't been able to find the lyrics themselves, I did manage to settle the question I asked yesterday (which no-one else answered). The word they are singing is "shikitari" which means 'a tradition'. It actually does appear in my Japanese-English dictionary, but not in my English-Japanese one. Which just goes to show that sometimes, in order to find something, you have to know what you're looking for first. I'm not sure what that proves, but it proves something, I'm sure.

Anyway, the source of this answer was what proved to be an interesting article on Fiddler, that provides an interesting look at the musical itself, and its place in the folk-lore of American Jewry. (Particularly loved her "gay beats goy" comment, referring to Harvey Fierstein taking over as Tevye from Alfred Molina).

For what it's worth, the reactions I received (on- and offline) to this post were almost as interesting as the video itself, ranging from "F*^&%ing Brill" from the wonderful Stephanie, through chuckles and giggles, to things like "ohhh! I've got to see Fiddler again!", and finally, to the somewhat bemusing (and dare I say, condescending) "why would they bother?".

Personally, the video continues to enchant me. I was in an amateur production of Fiddler as a teenager (I was one of the sons, doing, by the way, the very same moves that the sons are doing in the Japanese rehearsal - even the original Jerome Robbins choreography is apparently a matter of unalterable tradition, it would seem), and it has had a special place in my heart ever since. So every time I watch this Japanese version (and I have watched it many times since first seeing it yesterday), I get a small shiver of delight - it brings back so many memories, even though none of them are Japanese. That's probably because the video is of a rehearsal and I can remember our own rehearsal pianist tinkering away on some plunky upright in a church hall somewhere as we plodded through those very same steps.

And as for the gay man's inexplicable attraction to musical theater, well, some things are apparently a matter of ...

Shikitari!!

There is something sublime about this

2006-10-10T00:29:00.000-07:00

Tradition!!!!!

Enjoy!

Update: If any of my readers in Japan (you know who you are) can tell me what word they are singing where the word "Tradition" appears in the English version of the song, I'd be most grateful. It sounds like shikaji or something to me, but I can't find anything like that in any of my (several) Japanese dictionaries ...

Bridges

2006-10-05T01:10:00.000-07:00

Shoe, originally uploaded by nominally_challenged.

Continuing the somewhat narcissistic theme of displaying some of my paintings (which is also a convenient way of blogging without actually writing terribly much, today's offering is called "Bridges", for reasons which are self-evident to me, but may not be quite as obvious to the beholder.

And for those of you who are wondering - yes, I actually own that shoe (and the one for the left foot as well :) ); and yes, I have actually worn them. Both. At the same time. For far too many hours in a row.

But that is quite another story ...

In the beginning ...

2006-09-30T03:58:00.000-07:00

Crystal Ball, originally uploaded by nominally_challenged.

In the spirit of my decision to share some of my paintings with the blogosphere, here is my first offering.

I've called this "Creation", though it needn't be called that, and in using that name, I am not necessarily making any theological points. It's just that the background scene seemed very idyllic and Eden-like, and there's something 'creationary' to it, in my mind.

I could, of course, be wrong.

It's up to the beholder(s) (i.e., you people) to decide.

Or not to decide.

Or just to say: "that's a fat load of dingo's kidneys".

Beta

2006-09-30T02:34:00.000-07:00

Is there any point going beta on Blogger?

I keep reading about it, but I'm a bit of technological disaster really and I don't much understand it.

Can anyone who's done it and survived tell me whether it will make much of a difference to the life (and blog) of a person who is a mere common or garden geek rather than a certified computer geek? Does it contain really cool stuff that I will instantly enjoy using? Or will it prove to be a giant step backwards in the evolution of my own personal corner of the blogosphere?

In short, are there any useful layperson's reviews out there?

TIAs everyone!

NC

Comments Policy

2006-09-29T10:31:00.000-07:00

It was pointed out to me yesterday (although considering the circumstances in which this was done, it is a marvel that I actually remembered), that my comments section was restricted only to be people who have a blogger account. I had not been aware of this (I thought it was open to basically anyone who had a blog), so I have decided to open up the comments section to everyone.

PLEASE NOTE!

I will not, at this stage, be moderating comments, but I do reserve the right to delete things that are tasteless, offensive or just really badly written. I'm more than happy to hear what you have to say, but this little virtual space is like my home - please don't make me have to start moderating, and please stay civil to each other.

Having had my little rant and said my little bit, I now pronounce this blog open to general commenting.

Let the Games Begin!

The reason for my absence

2006-09-28T05:49:00.000-07:00

Part of the reason that I was away from the blogosphere for so long is that I was in this city:

Mostly at this particular part of it:

Where I spent quite a bit of time staring at this wall in semi-disbelief:

... semi-disbelief that it had all finally arrived in one piece (ok, five pieces) and was actually hanging on a wall.

People, I give you: nominally-challenged's first ever commissioned painting.

Additional, and arguably better photos can be found on Flickr, but are restricted at the moment to friends only. If you wanna see them, you've gotta get a flickr account and tell me in 25 words or less why I want to be your friend (or, of course, wait until I decide to make them public) ... :)

With sufficient encouragement, I might post some other paintings ...

I hope this is an acceptable reason for a prolonged absence from blogging :)

Gee has it been that long?

2006-09-26T16:14:00.001-07:00

I just checked and my last post was on the 2nd of September - almost an entire month ago!

Well, the war ended, so I pretty much stopped blogging about the fact that I was ignoring the war. But apart from that, I've been a tad busy and I really do have (what I think are) very good reasons for not having blogged in the interim. I will post about some of those reasons soon-ish, I hope.

In any event, just thought I'd ping the blogosphere and check that someone's still out there reading me ... every so often ... perhaps?

Hello??

Anyone ... ???

(damn)

Shredding

2006-09-02T16:27:00.000-07:00

This weekend I shredded.

I had a huge pile of documents that couldn't simply be put in the garbage, due to all kinds of NDAs and things, so I shredded them. One page at a time.

I ended up with 18 (eighteen!) large green garbage bags full of shredded paper, and the realization that there is no paper recycling that I know of in Tel Aviv ...

Oh No! I've been memed!!

2006-08-29T16:37:00.000-07:00

I don't even really know what the word means, but I've been tagged for a meme, which looks to be something like a chain letter, minus the threat that if I don't send it to ten people within ten minutes of reading, my spleen will spontaneously combust, my dog will commit a major-league white-collar crime and a good friend's grandmother will stub her toe.

Anyway, here goes. The 'meme' (definition, anyone?) is about books:

1. Name one book that changed your life:
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

2. One book you've read more than once:
The Last Continent, Terry Pratchett

3. One book you'd want on a desert island:
Whatever Terry Pratchett's latest is at that stage, with a standing order for each time he publishes a new one (which is at a rate of knots anyway)

4. One book that made you laugh:
When I was a child we had a book containing scripts of the BBC's 1950s Goon Show (Spike Milligan, Peter Sellars and Harry Secombe). I was giggling at those guys from a very early age.

5. One book that made you cry:
Exodus, (the Leon Uris one, not the God one), but I was 13 at the time.

6. One book you wish you'd written:
Ok, it's not a book, it's a play - Arcadia by Tom Stoppard. The first play that I saw that so impressed me that I went out and bought the script afterwards, just so that I could read it again (and I have, several times since).

7. One book you wish had never been written:
Lord Jim by Joseph Konrad. 400-odd pages of guilt that I had to read for my final exams in year 12 - and which, I'm proud to say, I didn't even open. I mean, common, I have a Jewish mother - as if Joseph Konrad could teach me about guilt??

8. One book you're currently reading:
Well, in the bathroom I have Vol. 2 of the Monty Python's Flying Circus - All the Words (why does it look as though all I read are film, tv or theater scripts?), and by my bed, I have essays by Yeshayahu Liebovitz (in Hebrew) (and no, I can't remember what the book's called, and I'm in the salon now, and I couldn't be bothered going to get it to find out).

9. One book you've been meaning to read:
I don't think there is one right now - that's why I've got Liebovitz by my bed and Monty Python in the bathroom. Any suggestions for something compelling or funny or both?

10. Tag five people:
Well, Yael tagged all my people and then suggested that I tag them again.
I'm not going to do that, because, well, that's just not the sort of thing that I'd do.
So instead, we're going to do this using the honor system:

If you like this meme (or even if you hated it), I invite you to consider yourself tagged, and answer the points in it accordingly.

To make it slightly more interesting, please let me know in the comments section if you decided to do that :)

Dining out at Chez Barmitzvah

2006-08-27T02:22:00.000-07:00

My dear friend Noorster has blogged before about her place of work, and I guess I just had to see it for myself. I'd walked past it often enough, but had never ventured in. It's the sort of place you don't really go into unless you have a reason, such as your friend Noorster happening to be waitering there.

So in I glided, my bevvy of beauties in tow (+ our canine harem), to take our seats at Noorster's one available table - which just happens to be fabulously placed - right next to the band. Yes folks, this is a restaurant with a band. Well, not quite a band. More like one guy, posing as a singer, whose level of sobriety is inversely proportionate to the lateness of the hour, and his sidekick, posing as 'the guy who plays the keyboards', providing the back-up for the first guy, and occasionally (though probably unintentionally) even playing chords in the same key as the first guy is singing in. They regaled us with such unforgettable numbers as 'No Woman No Cry' (I kid you not), 'Sweat A La Long' (ditto; and when he positively shouted 'push it, push it some more', I thought I was going to spray my drink all over the table), and others. The decibels were set at 'ballistic', presumably because any lower and people might be able to talk about the quality of the music and come to the conclusion that they really weren't enjoying it. At this level of sound, all people can do is grin at each other, and wonder why everyone else is grinning when it really is so utterly painful to listen to.

During the band's break, when the singer went to fortify himself with half a bottle of Johnny Walker Red Label, the helm was commandeered by an Elvis impersonator. Well, an Elvis impersonator by name at least. The resemblance ended there, although there were sideburns and a very silly white suit involved as well. We played the game of "guess what Elvis song this is" - If we managed to guess it before it was over, he was doing well. The worst part of the Elvis performance was the realization that he had probably rehearsed ...

Noorster expertly took our orders, which was followed, a rather incredibly short time later, by her ushering in platters the size of, well, platters, absolutely heaped with food. And good food too. I guess something had to be drawing the crowd (the place was packed) and I was hoping that it wasn't the band.

And it was then, as I sat and ate my ktitsot keves and watched the people on the dance floor moving not quite to the beat, the extended families at their long tables, and the children pouring salt and pepper into their drinks, that I realized what this restaurant reminded me of. I suddenly realized why this all felt so familiar. This place was Chez Barmitzvah! It truly felt as though we were at the barmitzvah of someone we didn't know, whose guests we had never (thankfully) met - the sort of function you get invited to because your mother's a friend of someone whose daughter once babysat for someone whose next door neighbor just happens to be ... well, you get the picture. Having come to that realization, I think we were then able to relax and enjoy it, because we knew the genre and were able to appreciate it for what it was. This wasn't a restaurant pretending to be a restaurant. This was a restaurant pretending to be a barmitzvah; or a wedding; or both. The customers were variously at the function of their choice - without, of course, actually being at a function, meaning that they didn't have to bring presents or (as is more common over here) a check.

Of course, we were not on either the Bride or the Groom's side, or the barmitzvah boy's side - we were there for the waitress.

Finally, it was time to say goodbye. We had had our fill (and left our leftovers - the food was good, but in true barmitzvah style, was piled so high it would have taken a week to get through). The band was getting less and less coherent, though louder, and the guy playing the back-up vocals on the keyboard had started slouching. The dancers were paying less attention to the beat and to each other, and, of course, the barmitzvah boy was no-where to be seen. So we just paid our bill, left our tip, and, escorted by our charming waitress, exited stage left.

And as if to rubber-stamp the theme of the evening, a few minutes after we left, I got an SMS from Noorster: "Some woman is eating your leftovers" ...

Yet more from the Adnan Hajj school of investigative journalism

2006-08-22T12:35:00.000-07:00

Apparently, wherever you look, if you're Hezbollah, there's a potential story.

Like this one.

The funny part being, they didn't even try to doctor the picture and superimpose an Israeli flag on it, or put in any token Hezbollah figures.

They just took the photo, of the sinking of the Royal Australian Navy's HMAS Torrens, and put 'moqavemat.ir" on it. Yes, guys, that is certainly enough to show that the ship, which was decommissioned and sunk by the RAN itself, in 1998 (a mere 8 years ago!), was in fact an Israeli ship hit by a Hezbollah missile in August 2006.

Absolute geniuses.

Hat Tip: Peter, commenting at no. 7 on Big Pharaoh's blog, here. Thanks Pete.

Tick Tock

2006-08-20T03:58:00.000-07:00

Found a tick on my dog at 3:00 am last night!

Was in total shock, didn't know what to do about it ... ended up burning it (the tick, not the dog) in a tissue in an ashtray and almost setting fire to the kitchen ...

Dog is unscathed ...

Owner is relieved ...

Tick was unavailable for comment.

The 'posting cos I didn't post yet' post

2006-08-15T23:43:00.000-07:00

Hello people,

Just checking in, cos it's been a few days since I've posted and people are wondering if I'm dead. So no, I'm not dead, just - like Monty Python's parrot - resting (and possibly pining for the fjords ...).

Birthday came and went but I had a bit of a virus thingy, so the celebrations have been postponed for the moment.

Last night I went on absolutely the world's most boring date. I'd blog about it, but that would be giving the guy way too much credit. Suffice it to say that sometimes, accents speak louder than words.

Well, have heaps of work, so I'd better get back to it.

Ciao for now!

*** Update ***

It occurs to me that I ought to have mentioned that Mr. Boring Date spoke with a French accent. That may have made the whole "accents speak louder than words" punchline thing actually work.

Buttocks.

siba lemesiba

2006-08-12T16:10:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday to me
Happy birthday to me
Happy birthday dear Nominally Challenged!
Happy birthday to meeeeeeeeeeee

:)

Blogging question - technical

2006-08-12T05:51:00.000-07:00

Ok, I wrote a blog with a spelling mistake, and published it before I noticed the mistake.
Then I went back and edited the mistake out, and republished.
Now, the mistake appears on the main page (the one with all the recent blogs), but not when you click on the actual blog entry itself.
Why is this?
Can anyone tell me how I get the mistake out of the main page as well?

TIAs

Oh yes, the country is bound to agree to that ...

2006-08-12T05:05:00.000-07:00

Amir Peretz, military genius and compulsive proponent of industrial action, has decided, in his wisdom, that the way to pay for the war that is apparently to end in the next two days without any specific resolution, is to impose a special tax on the people in the center and south of the country.

Like that's going to work.

I think, Mr. Peretz, you're going to have to prove to us that you actually achieved something with your little war, other than strengthening the image of Hezballah in Lebanon and enabling them to rain katyushas down on the North of the country for a month and destroying whatever image Israel had in the public prior to all this, before we are likely to agree to pay your tax.

You have never really been in touch with the real people in this country - your strikes always benefited those trade unions that were strong anyway, and never really benefited the people who actually needed them the most - and here you are now, asking soldiers, whom you called up from the center and south (and north of course) of the country, to pay a special tax for the privilege? Apart from that particular inequity, where exactly are we supposed to get the extra money for this tax? Remember, even disregarding the death toll of your little war, it has gutted internal and foreign tourism during high season and is probably going to leave substantial parts of the economy in ruins.

Pay for it yourself.

Absolutely Justified

2006-08-11T02:51:00.000-07:00

I have come to the conclusion that it was absolutely justified.

The past month has shown me this, as have several of the months that preceded it.

It was absolutely justified.

And if the opportunity were to arise once again tomorrow, it would be absolutely justified tomorrow as well.

Yes, if the elections in this country were to take place again tomorrow, I would, once again, vote for the Green Leaf party. I was absolutely justified in doing so last time, and I would be absolutely justified in doing so again. Even though they didn't manage to rake together enough votes for a single seat (their voters apparently either being stoned at the time, or erroneously convinced that by voting for the geriatric party, they were in fact voting for their own dear old grandparents), I still think they deserve to be in parliament.

Heck, they couldn't possibly be worse than any of the other clowns that are in there now ...

So go the Green Leaf party! At least if they were to get drawn into a pointless war, there'd be something good to smoke ...

Just a rant

2006-08-08T04:59:00.000-07:00

Bugger.

I wrote a really funny (in my view) comment on someone's post yesterday, and today I can't find the blog I commented on, in order to see whether anyone else thinks I'm really funny as well. How frustrating. Literally thousands of people could, by now, have read my comment, and commented on it, and I don't know about it. I could be famous, for all I know. And yet, I don't know about it. And probably never will. And all because I have the memory span of a guppie.

Bugger.

And in equally distressing news (can you tell that I'm in denial about the WAR that I am not writing about?), today, I went to post a comment on someone's blog, went to all the trouble of limiting it to 1,000 characters (what's that about?), only to find that when I pressed send, I got that horrid window that says "page cannot load" or something similar. And clicking "back" didn't take me back. I was in internet twilight zone. With the wind totally blown out of my sails. (How's that for a mixed metaphor?)

Bugger.

Heightened alert

2006-08-05T08:43:00.000-07:00

Walked past my friendly local bomb shelter today. Nonchalantly, of course. Not that I'm panicking, of course. I mean, Hadera is a whole 40 minutes drive away (which is at least 5 minutes in rocket time, right?)

Damn place is still locked. And oh so convincingly so.

I think I'll buy a shovel tomorrow and start digging one in the junk heap that purports to be the garden of my building ... If nothing else, it will get me out in the fresh air and stop me from reading news sites and blogs all day. That's got to be a good thing.

Qana - the plot thickens

2006-08-01T14:51:00.000-07:00

I have tried hard to steer clear of political postings about the war, however, the whole Qana thing is making it somewhat difficult to ignore. So, being forced out of my bubble (and to show that I am not totally unaware of what's going on), I wish to share this article with you.

As it is in French, here is my rough translation:

"Massacre in Qana, Lebanese-Israel Negotiations Reported

30 July 2006

Lebanon woke up to a new massacre of the innocents, the victims being
handicapped children who were refugees in a building attacked by the Israeli
airforce. Qana, once again a symbol. "Grapes of Wrath" in 1996 failed
because of this smudge. 40 or maybe 50 dead today in the South Lebanese
village of Qana. The Horror of it.

But why a similar smudge? An error? A premeditated massacre? A generally
well-informed source tell us his version: "Hezbollah, caught in a jam by the 7
points proposed by Prime Minister Fouad Siniora, who has outlined a plan to
deply the Lebanese army in the entire territory, and essentially in South
Lebanon, thereby achieving the disarming of the Party of God's militias, wanted
to make those negotiations fail. It put into place a Machiavellian scheme,
creating an event which would allow it to cancel this project. Knowing
full well that Israel would not have the soul to bomb civilian targets, some
Hezbollah militants put a rocket launching base on the roof of a building in
Qana, and crammed it up with disabled children, with the full intention of
engaging a reply by the Israeli airforce, and then creating a new situation,
using the massacre of the innocents in order to take back the initiative in the
negotiations."

He adds: "They used Qana, which was already a symbol of a massacre of the
innocencts, and have stirred up a Qana 2".

..."

I may have made a mistake in my translation, as my French is a little rusty. But the gist of it seems to be that Hezbollah purposely filled the building with disabled children, and then saw to it that they were killed, enabling them to blame Israel and thereby secure a cease-fire, in order to regroup and redeploy.

The site, by the way, is Lebanese.

There are many other questions about Qana. Yael poses some here.

On a slightly greener note

2006-07-29T04:30:00.000-07:00

And just to show that things aren't entirely bad, my balcony is in full bloom (almost) ...

Welcome to Israel ...

2006-07-29T04:16:00.000-07:00

[start rant]

My friend Alexander (whom I wrote about here) has just called to tell me that his landlady, the very same, friendly, let-me-cook-for-you-and-sew-your-curtains-how-wonderful-that-you've-come-to-live-in-my-country landlady who, only last week, was threatening to become his best friend, has decided to put the apartment that he has just moved into - from overseas - up for sale.

And to add insult to injury, she is now complaining that he and his partner's objection to this is a sign of their failure to be flexible, "not like us Israelis," she adds haughtily.

To which I say, dear Mrs. Landlady, that sort of behavior is excremental. If you rent out an apartment for a year, then you rent it out for a year, especially to someone who arrives in the country, from overseas, to live, in the middle of a war!

[satisfying scream that wakes up neighbors having afternoon sleep]

[end rant]

New Look Blog

2006-07-29T04:06:00.000-07:00

My old profile looked a bit to stuffy in my opinion, so here I am again with a brighter, whiter blog!

And, well, it seems a lot more mediterranean than the old profile (except for that strange Cape Cod looking contraption in the top left-hand corner ... anyone know what that's supposed to be?)

My own little milestone ...

2006-07-28T02:47:00.000-07:00

10 years today since I made Aliyah.

And even more impressively (perhaps), 3 years in the same apartment.

I guess that means I'm here to stay ... ;-)

The word on the Street is ... 'baaa'

2006-07-25T00:15:00.000-07:00

My doggie is a white miniature poodle.

I am used to people stopping to pat him, and totally ignoring me - after all, he is a dashingly cute, fluffy white poodle. I can see the attraction in stopping to pat him. I myself do it every so often.

I am also used to children pointing at him from their strollers and saying things like "WOOF"!

That is cute.

What I was not prepared for, however, was the child who, two days ago, yelled out from his stroller as he was being pushed along Sheinkin Street - "Look Mum! It's a sheep!!"

I guess it's time to take him to get his hair cut again ...

Life Goes On

2006-07-22T15:38:00.000-07:00

This week, I had a rather unique, and exciting opportunity to make a difference to someone. And I wasn't really even aware that I was doing it (which makes it all the better, doesn't it?).

I have a virtual acquaintance from Greece whom I met via the internet last winter. Let's call him Alexander, as an illustration of his Greekness. We immediately hit it off, finding all sorts of common subjects of interest - particularly comparative religion, mythology, and (of all things) plants. But what pervaded most of our conversations was his excitement leading up to his move, this summer, to Israel, with his Israeli boyfriend of 5 years - whose name, for the purpose of this narrative, shall be Guy (I have no idea why ... it just sounds right).

As the months rolled on, I became a virtual answerer of questions for Alexander (where can we find a roof-top apartment? Where can I buy lots of nice Israeli natives (of the plant variety, in case any of you need that kind of clarification) for my roof-top balcony garden-to-be? Will they make my life hell at the airport when I arrive? - those sorts of things ...). I was more than happy to help this guy out, as it seemed to me that he was really looking forward to this move, and his enthusiasm to come and be part of this mad country, stirred something possibly long-lost in my own motivations to come here almost 10 years ago.

About a week before he was due to leave Greece, Alexander informed me that he'd sold his computer now, and wouldn't be logging on again until he arrived in Israel, and bought a new computer. I gave him my cell number, and told him to SMS me when he arrived.

And then the war broke out.

On the day the war broke out, he SMS'd me, still full of joy - he hadn't seen any news yet, and by this time he had no internet connection. I wrote back to him saying that I wasn't going to tell him what's going on, because it might all be over before he got here, but that he should probably watch the news.

I didn't hear from him for a few days, and I knew that they were busy packing everything up to get ready, so I hadn't really been expecting to hear anything. Nevertheless, something in me told me that I should write him a message. So I wrote the following:

"Just wanted to tell you that whatever you might be seeing in the news there, life here goes on. The situation is not ideal but don't be afraid. You have to take the good with the bad sometimes. Looking forward to seeing you!"

I left it at that.

Two days ago, I received a phone call from a Greek phone number.

"Hi," the voice said, "It's Guy, Alexander's boyfriend. You don't know me, but I owe you so much."
I said "What did I do?"
He said "Everyone was putting terrible pressure on him not to come to Israel now. He was threatening to cancel, you know. And I told him that I was going back anyway, with or without him. Even though I didn't want to come back without him, but we had been planning this for so long, and I wasn't going to let some war get in the way. We almost broke up over it. And then you sent your sms, and suddenly he said to me 'this was my idea in the first place. This is what I want to do and I want to do it with you'. You saved my relationship, and I have to thank you for that."
"Wait," I said. "Are you in Israel?"
"Yes," he replied. "We arrived yesterday."

So we met on Friday. Alexander is suffering a little from culture shock, but he told me he's not at all concerned about the war. He's more concerned about the fact that Israeli yoghurt is not Greek yoghurt (well, it isn't, he's right). And he's worried that his landlady is going to want to become their best friend (she's already been around with cakes and offers to make them curtains). But he's not concerned about the war.

Because, he said to me, life goes on, and you've got to take the good with the bad ...

Judging by the way she's dressed ...

2006-07-21T12:55:00.000-07:00

Judging by the way she's dressed, it looks like she was definitely planning to hit one of the night clubs in the new port area.

Shudder.

Why?

2006-07-21T01:02:00.000-07:00

Why oh why oh why do people get to the tops of escalators, and just stop?

Have they, in the long journey from one floor to the next, forgotten where they wanted to go?

Or are they simply bewildered by the technology and disoriented by the fact that the stairs, for some reason, have stopped moving?

People! When you step off an escalator, you've got to keep moving forward! There are other people behind you ...

In which I became a taxi company for a few hours

2006-07-19T23:15:00.000-07:00

I didn't want to be a taxi company. Truly. I don't even own a car.

However, this did not stop me from receiving dozens of calls this morning, from about 6:00 am, all of whom wanted me to send them a taxi.

Now, I want to preface my rant with a sub-rant. I used to turn the ringer of my phone off at nights, in order to prevent myself being woken up by unsolicited callers (like my mother, for instance) at ungodly hours of the morning (say, 10:00 am). But now, I have a new-fangled Bezeq digital hands-free flashy silver-looking space-age telephone, with all sorts of whizz-bang features. You might be forgiven for thinking that one of these features is "turn the ringer off". You might be misled into thinking this by the actual existence of such an option on the phone's menu. You would be wrong. On this phone, 'turn the ringer off' actually means 'turn the ringer down a little'. This is a phone that simply doesn't want you to miss a call. I have a feeling that Bezeq has an entire laboratory full of Jewish mothers, designing phones that are guaranteed to wake their sons up at all acceptable kvetching hours.

However, my mother, it should be noted, has gotten the hang of things, and these days never calls me before 10:00 am anyway.

[End of sub-rant. Begin main rant]

So imagine my surprise when I hear the phone ringing this morning at 6:00 am ...

It's in another room (because, as I might have mentioned, I can't shut it up, so it can at least be as far away as possible), and by the time I got to it (and don't forget, I had to go and try and answer - after all, we're in a war here), it had stopped, but when I looked at the number that had called (what a great feature that is), it wasn't one that I recognized.

I shrugged at my dog who had come to have a look as well, turned around, and went back to bed.

As Murphy would have it, no sooner had I fallen asleep than - you guessed it - it started ringing again. I missed it again, but still didn't recognize the number.

Finally, at about 8:00 am, I managed to get to it before it stopped ringing. And on the other end was a very angry woman shouting that she'd been trying to get hold of me for two hours and could I please send her a taxi. A taxi?

I told her that I am many things, but I can't help her with taxis, and that she'd be better off phoning a taxi company for that. She didn't sound convinced. "You don't have any taxis?" She asked me. "Not now, and not ever," I replied. "Not possible," she said. "I called the _____ taxi company". "But you got me," I said, "and I am not, and have no desire to be, a taxi company".

Since she wasn't sure, she tried ringing again. Of course, she got me. I explained to her that I still wasn't a taxi company.

I was about to phone Bezeq and see why they had me listed as a taxi company, when the phone rang - a different number this time - but still, asking me to send them a taxi. Once again, I explained that I was not a taxi company, only to be told by the guy on the other end that that doesn't make sense, because the number that he'd called was the number of the taxi company. But the number he'd called was not my number. This was getting weird. I told him that I'm going to phone Bezeq and find out what's going on. He suggested I do that, indeed.

Then he called again and asked me why I hadn't called Bezeq yet. I told him that I was trying to, and if he'd get off my phone line, I might even manage.

The woman at Bezeq was helpful - in her own special way. She explained to me that most likely, someone at the taxi company had forwarded their phone line to my number, instead of to some other number of their own. The problem was that we weren't sure which number had been forwarded to mine, since the taxi company in question has several numbers, and Ms Bezeq couldn't find which one had been forwarded to me. "Perhaps," she suggested, "you can just wait and see if it resolves itself."

Yes, that's exactly what I should do.

In the meantime, I think I'd better invest in a few taxis. There seems to be a demand ...

Bombs and Black Outs

2006-07-19T00:45:00.000-07:00

Having checked where my friendly local bomb-shelter is (just in case, not that I'm panicking or anything ...), I decided to take a look at it yesterday while walking my doggie (it is on our normal pooping round). And yep - it's there. And there's a lovely shiny padlock on it, keeping it very firmly and convincingly closed. Good to know. We have a minute to get there if a siren goes off. I just hope that the 'Gingi' with the keys - whoever he may be - doesn't chose that minute to take his Yediot Ahronot to the toilet with him ...

In other news, we had an electricity black-out this morning. I was sure that something big had been hit. And apparently the black-out was almost country-wide. But rather than it being the result of someone targetting our electricity supplies, the Electricity Company explains that (as quoted in Ynet in Hebrew) some sort of switch blew, causing the Ashdod Power Station to simply crash.

Now, I don't know about you people, but I know that in my place, if I have the aircon on in one room, and the hot water boiler on as well, I can't for instance, turn on the kettle, because it will short out my entire apartment. This was, I thought, a given when living in Israel. So I can just imagine the look on the face of the little guy in the Ashdod Power Station who plugged that kettle into that socket that's falling out of the wall (you know the one, right? with the five extension cords attached to it?), and then let out a little "oops!" before running off to pretend that he was really in the bathroom when it happened.

Once again, I am forced to think, that the people in the Electricity Company are simply being paid too much ...

Club Med?

2006-07-18T01:23:00.000-07:00

From today's New York Times online edition (the one what I get in my inbox, like).

Bombings Bring Season of Fear to Seaside Resort
By HASSAN M. FATTAH
The Hezbollah stronghold of Tyre, Lebanon, has become a
target of Israel’s bombing campaign.

I can just imagine the conversation in the tourist bureau:

Travel Agent: "Well, we do have an opening in Tyre, which is in Southern Lebanon"
Prospective Tourist: "Ooh, that sounds exotic"
TA: "Yes, very exotic. It's an ancient Phoenecian city, you know ..."
PT: "Ooh, Phoenecian eh? Lots of ruins then, I guess."
TA: "Oh yes, lots of ruins. Beautiful seaside really ... um, there is a bit of a catch though."
PT: "Oh, what's that then?"
TA: "Well, a militant Islamic group are using it as a stronghold ..."
PT: "Oh" [thoughtful pause] "pretty cheap in the off-season then is it?"

No pain, no gain

2006-07-17T14:10:00.000-07:00

Following, as always, in Savtadotty's ingenious footsteps, I decided that I need to have a plan to see me through this war. This is not because I fear that Tel Aviv might soon be a target. Apart from the fact that I am, as ever, alert, it is also my personal (and therefore completely unfounded) opinion (read 'desperate hope') that if Nasrallah had been going to hit Tel Aviv, he would have done so by now.

No, the reason I need a survival plan is that I need to have something that's going to actually physically pull me away from the television / internet / other medium of choice and stop me from turning into part of the furniture.

Therefore, I have just returned from the gym, which I have just joined.

Yes, once again, I have parted with a not-inconsiderable amount of well-earned money, in the hopefully not entirely vain hope that this time, as opposed to countless other times, I might in fact make use of my gym membership.

I have two reasons for thinking that:

1. The gym has a pool
2. There's a war on

I figure that at the very least, if I end up looking like this then it can't have been all bad, and if I don't, then I can always blame the Hizbollah.

I celebrated by swimming a whole kilometer (with breaks of course!). And I'm now a little achy ...

Dan Gillerman at the UN

2006-07-17T00:48:00.000-07:00

It's a little long (10 mins) and requires RealPlayer (... no comment ...), but if you go here you will find a link to Israeli Ambassador to the UN, Dan Gillerman's informal comments to the media, after yesterday's security council meeting. There's a nice bit at the end about Mother Theresa.

Friends in the Blogosphere

2006-07-16T10:16:00.000-07:00

Just because she did it to me, I'm doing it to her ... LOL.

My friend Noorster's blog.

Now, all I need to do is work out how to blogroll and I'll be ready for anything Nasrallah wants to send my way (except, perhaps, his bombs ...).

Panic? or just Getting Ready?

2006-07-16T04:07:00.000-07:00

Not sure if this is a sign of panic, but I've just noticed three things about myself:

1. I went out and bought a six-pack of mineral water - and I never buy mineral water.

2. I have the radio on - and I never have the radio on.

3. I actually called the municipality to find out where my local bomb shelter is, and checked that I can take my doggie there (and yes, I can).

Now the only problem is - I haven't got a thing to wear!

Be Alert!

2006-07-16T02:08:00.000-07:00

I just woke up, once again at the crack of noon, to read that Ynet, here, (sorry it's in Hebrew, the English version of this page hasn't come out yet) is reporting that our Rearguard Forces are warning residents of Tel Aviv to (and I quote) 'Be Alert'.

The article quotes military sources as saying that they've reassessed the Hizbollah threat and based on their reassessments, places as south as Tel Aviv might be a target (this means, of course, that they always knew Tel Aviv was a target, they just weren't going to tell us).

This comes after the renewed attacks on Haifa, killing 8 people this morning.

So they got it wrong before, they changed their minds, and now they want me to be alert. I can't help thinking just what that means. I mean, the delapidated building I live in has no common bomb shelter, and my own apartment hasn't got one either, nor do I have a "secure living space" as required under modern building codes, as this place was built before there were such requirements. I don't know where the local bomb shelter is, or if they'll let my dog in there (they probably will, he's totally cute).

But the important thing is, they want me to be alert. Alert for what? Bombs? I think it's going to be a little late to be alert if I can see the bombs already dropping. What am I supposed to do? Point at them? Shout: "there they are!!"? I'm supposed to be alert.

Reminds me of a joke my father tells: 'Be alert, the world needs more lerts' ...