Talking to Yourself

This morning Momo pointed out something interesting.  If you just walk down the street talking to yourself, everyone thinks you're crazy.  However, if you walk down the street talking to your dog, everyone thinks that's normal.

It's true.  I try not to talk to myself when other people are around.  Mostly because people will think I'm crazier than usual.  But if you think of it, saying something out loud kind of anchors it in your mind.  It somehow gives it a form that it didn't have when it was just bouncing around in your head.  Maybe it's a good idea.  And if you're wearing earbuds, people just assume that you are on the phone.  So go ahead, put in your earbuds and talk all you want.

What We'll Do Today

Back to the Drawing Board

Well... the earth didn't end on Friday, so among other things, I still need to clean the fridge.

My dad is 87 years old.  I told him that some people thought the world was going to end on the 21st and if it did then he wins... he made it all the way to the end.  Now he needs to figure out a different way to win.

My understanding is, that even if we are still here, there is some great planetary alignment going on.  I wanted  to show you a cool photo of the sun in the middle of the hole in Milky Way.  I didn't find anything like that.  However, I found this visually pleasing image that I don't really understand.  If you want to explain it, come by and we'll have a cuppa tea.

Projects

Sorry I haven't been posting lately.  I've been trying to get a bunch of projects organized and it sucks up all my brain power.  What I need is to be more disciplined but that's a constant struggle.

Mom's Yahrzeit

Today is my mother's yahrzeit (anniversary of her death).  We calculate the date using the Jewish calendar, so it actually began last night at sunset.  Each year on the anniversary of her death, we gather a minyan so we can say the mourners' kaddish for her.  It's a way to honor and celebrate her life, and it elevates her soul to be remembered and honored.

This year's minyan for mom...

Many of these young men were with us the night that she died and were part of the minyan before her body was taken away.  There are a couple of new faces who have joined us over the past two years.  The nice thing about gathering a minyan last night, was that even after we had finished, a steady stream of young Jewish men kept showing up to make sure that we had had enough to say kaddish.

You may notice that this minyan is all male.  I know this is going to earn me flak from my Reform friends.  (A minyan is 10 adult male Jews; however, Reform Jews count women towards a minyan as well.)  I'm okay with the all male thing.  When I need their support, these guys have always been there for me.  They should be aware that I depend on them, not only for physical support, but for spiritual support as well.

Here they are trying to emulate that one painting of a bunch of Jewish guys.  DaVinci it's not, but at least they have a big arms guy.

A Dogg By Any Name

The story going around is that Snoop Dogg, the famous Long Beach rapper, is now called "Snoop Lion".  He went to Jamaica and an old rasta man asked him his name.  When he said "Snoop Dogg", the old guy looked at him and said, "You aren't a dog, you are a lion."  Hence the name change.

It kind of makes people giggle to call him Snoop Lion.  "Dogg" is a LB nickname.  Even our parakeet Fitzwilliam is called "Bird Dogg."  The kid across the street calls his little sister "Bone Dogg," if their mother is out of earshot.

When Jacob wrestled with the angel/man/Esau/G-d (depending which version you ascribe to), he was told that his name was no longer Jacob, but Israel- which means "wrestles with G-d."  I think we can see a parallel here with Snoop's story.  Snoop started out as a very angry young man but as he has aged he has mellowed.  He has paid his dues and wrestled with his demons.  The rasta man was right: Snoop's no one's dog, he has earned recognition as a lion.  However, just as we still refer to Jacob as Jacob, we will probably continue to call the lion Snoop Dogg.

Hasid Gangnam

The Hasids have all the fun:

For those of you worrying about the absence of women... they are just dancing together somewhere where they don't have to worry about the men.

Life During War Time

I admit that I'm no closer to being able to figure out people and war than I was when I was a little kid.  With that in mind, let's have a look at what is going on in the world.

Is democracy a universally good idea?  There seems to be only one correct American response: yes.  I'm not real sure that it's working that well for us, and we all had to sit through jr. high social studies, so (theoretically) we're pretty well versed in how it's supposed to work.  Each of us has a responsibility to make sure that things work the way we think they should.  Not that any of us can agree on how things should work.

The United States is going to recognize the rebel forces in Syria if/when Assad falls.  We did a spectacular job of this in Libya.  Now those Libyans are free to hunt each other down.  At least the guy we disliked the most is out of it.  The LA Times points out this morning that we won't be recognizing all of the Syrian rebels, only the ones we think will impose a government that likes us.  Good thinking.

This is so not going to work.  What did we learn from Egypt?  Revolutions are exciting.  Americans love to see them happening elsewhere.  Was it Bertolt Brecht who said that fire is an intermission for the masses?  Maybe we could look at revolutions as a very loud kind of democracy.  For example: we voted to not have George III be our king.  Revolution is a strange thing.  You really can't decide if it worked well until it's been over for awhile and you can see the quality of life of it's people.  In Egypt, they have obviously decided that they need to vote again because they don't like the direction that Morsi is taking.

In Judaism we have a saying: two Jews, three opinions.  This saying could just as easily be applied to our Muslim cousins.  If someone sent me to Syria right now, and asked me to figure out which rebels will be able to form a cohesive government that has parallel values to the US, I would probably go (because I'm a sucker for trying to figure things out) but I probably couldn't find a single battalion of fighters who all agreed about everything.  Our alliances are formed by more than ideology.  If I'm going to go fight a war, I'm going to use my natural allies... people in my family or people I grew up with.  But if you followed us home at night, we'd be sitting around arguing as much as ever.

Remember... when I was a kid in America, we called the Taliban "freedom fighters".  Apparently who the enemy is is very fluid.  
 

X-ing People Out

In the olden days, like when I was a teenager, people still wrote letters.  It was fun.  You could write them on all sorts of things... glossy ads from magazines, paper napkins in restaurants, fancy paper from the stationary shop.  Then you put it in an envelope and viola! a few days later, whomever you  had written had the message in their hand.  The same message you had been in physical contact with before.  If the person you wrote to was in a far off land, there was somehow a physical connection established.

One of the interesting things about letter writing was that it was usually done in ink.  If you miswrote, or changed your mind about something you had written, you either had to start again, or cross things out.  Guess which method was more popular?  No delete buttons on pens.  Reading through crossed out lines was something of an art form.  You can imagine why... did he tell me that he loved me but then decide it was too early in our relationship to write that?  Was this misspelling really a Freudian slip?  My cousins and I spent a lot of time trying to read under the crossed out stuff.

Perhaps this is why it bothers me a little that we refer to a real person as our "ex".  What does that mean?  That we miss acted when we got married and had children?  That the person no longer exists?  A giant Freudian slip?

I was on an airplane once distractedly watching my seat mate do her homework.  When I glanced at the report she was writing, I burst out laughing.  She was writing a report on Malcolm Ex.  She was annoyed to have me laugh at her.  I told her that I thought she should write about the religious epiphany he had experienced in Mecca, that it was probably one of the most important spiritual awakenings of the 20th century.  I'm pretty sure that she had no idea what I was talking about.

But I digress (actually everything in this blog could technically be called a digression).  Malcolm X changed his name because white slave owners had obliterated his identity.  The X was a reminder that he was his own person and of the fight to become his own person.  The African American name that I really like is Morgan Freeman, nobody is getting ex-ed but nobody is confused about ownership.  He is his own man.

I wonder if there is a more respectful term for someone who was once central in some way to our lives.

Jelly Filled Donuts

It's that time of year again.  Eight crazy nights and whatever we want to do in the days.  This morning, I walked over to the shul to pick up the jelly filled donuts we ordered.  I got home with most of them.  Momo was not impressed.  You ate four jelly filled donuts between here and the synagogue?!  I'll bet he couldn't walk a block with two dozen donuts on the first day of Hanukkah and gotten home with any more than I did.  He is much more of a pushover than I am.  Besides, one of the guys standing outside of the temple told everyone that it's a mitzvah to eat jelly filled donuts on Hanukkah, and I couldn't prevent them from fulfilling a mitzvah.

Faith versus Works

In Christianity there is a saying: Faith without works is dead.  We Jews have a very different understanding of the whole faith and works thing.  Judaism is a religion of deeds not faith.  This is very confusing to non-Jews for some reason.  Let me try to explain it and if you still don't get it, please ask questions in the comment section.

A few years ago, when I had first moved to Long Beach, I was quite ill.  I was so ill that if I got too tired I would vomit and feel like I was going to pass out.  One day, in the Christmas season, I was in Target.  Unfortunately they build stores that are difficult to leave easily if you aren't right by the front entrance.  I got really sick and couldn't make it out in time.  I was sitting on the floor, vomiting into a plastic bag, and wondering how I was going to get home.  Christmas music was playing, reminding people that this is the season of giving.  Nobody stopped to help me.  One woman said, "Are you all right," to which I replied, "No," before she walked on.  Thanks.  I'm making an assumption that most of the Christmas shoppers in Target that day were Christian.  I am sure that many of them have a lot of faith.  That really didn't do me any good.  I think that the "reason for the season" may have given them explicit instructions on what to do when someone, even someone you don't know, needs help.

Later people pointed out that, since I was vomiting, it was obvious that I was ill and they probably didn't want to catch anything.  Like leprosy or something.

See, Judaism doesn't let us off that easy.  We are expected to do the right thing if we feel all warm and tingly or not.  I know Jews who don't believe in G-d at all.  That doesn't make them bad Jews.  It would be nice if they were in touch with their mystical side, but the bottom line is that that is kind of like frosting on the cake.  We're okay if we just have a nice solid brown bread instead.

The ninja who lives here was raised in a strictly Orthodox family.  Ergo, he doesn't consider himself a "religious Jew" with his current lifestyle.  If you ask him for help... if anyone asks him for help, he does his best to help them.  Omanis who need a fridge moved... the ninja is there.  The hitchhiker going the other way gets to his destination via the ninja.  People on the street who need money... the ninja usually has some.  I don't know what he believes, I can only see the things that he does.  That's what counts with Jews.

Seasons

We have seasons in Long Beach.  Just not that nasty one.  Here are some photos from my afternoon walk.

I really don't miss the snow and cold at all.

Homeless Boyfriends

The boys always like to tease me about my homeless boyfriends.  The only men who seem to have any interest in me at all, all seem to be homeless.  There's Johnny on 2nd Street who played me a song on his guitar and asked me out.  There's Carlo at the pier, who is handsome and quite pleasant.  There was the paraplegic guy from outside of Trader Joe's.  Momo says it's the perfect setup... they don't have a home and I do.  In the olden days men were attracted to me based on more than I look like I have regular showers.

This morning on my walk down to the beach, a homeless guy called out, "Ola, bonita muchacha."  I think that literally this translates into something like, "Hello, little beauty a lot."  Come to think of it, the muchacha may have been an afterthought, kind of to negate the "little" part.  Figuratively translated, I think it means, "Hey Mama," but not the way the boys at the house mean it.  The standing on the street corner fishing kind of hey mama.

When I was a teenager, I was getting hey mama-ed by a small group of cholos and decided to go over and see if they ever catch anyone that way.  They admitted that it wasn't working very well/at all.

Ah men.  They're everywhere.

Skyfall Is Brilliant

Yes, I just called the new James Bond movie "brilliant".  It is one of the most masterful pieces of propaganda (not in a bad way... there is good propaganda, you know, all that white hat stuff) that I have seen in my life time.  Remember how most of our perception about the movie was linked with the Queen of England months before the movie came out?  She parachuted into the Olympics with that blond guy, thereby totally connecting herself with the Dame Judi Densch character.

The Dame Judi character is an old woman who is still as sharp as a tack.  She's also brave, protective, and fierce.  She and the old blond guy can save the world without all sorts of computer trickery.  They can save the world with a cheap radio and old junk they find.

There's also a graphic that rather pointedly equates the Dame and the Queen in sort of a negative way using the V For Vendetta style.  Which is also brilliant, because it allows you to take a negative image (the G-d Save the Queen poster from V) and make you feel a bit protective of her having been attacked.

Also, Skyfall is just fun.  I had to laugh in the theater when James shows off his fancy car and an audible male moan of lust rose from the audience.

Hijab as a Fashion Item

Yesterday I sent my Island Boy to the grocery store to get some stuff so we could have sandwiches for lunch.  He and OG (not for "old gangster" but for "only goy" since he is the only non-Jew to hang out here) set out.  An hour later they came home with sandwich stuff and a girl.  Island Boy can't help it.  Sometimes he'll bring various girls home on the same day.  His problem is that, for some reason, when he asks a girl for something, they almost always agree.  I think this means he never has to eat his sandwiches alone.

This young woman walks in the door and I instantly think that she is a Muslim, since she is wearing a head scarf in the Muslim style.  On second look, I realize this is a mistake.  If her mother wouldn't let her out of the house without a hijab, she certainly would have made her change into less revealing clothes.  But this is great!  If this is a fashion that catches on, orthodox Muslims and Jews will be able to cover their hair without having to take flak from the larger community.  Now we just need big beards to come into fashion and we've got it made.

A Lot of Money

I think people probably noticed that there was a really big Powerball prize last night.  Over a half a billion dollars.  I didn't win.  Mom and I started playing the lottery years ago so we could play the what if game.  So far, I still appear to be saving my luck for something good.  Hope is such a fun thing though.  Think of people all over America last night, thinking about how generous they would be if they won.  I think that all of those good thoughts at the same time was probably a good thing.  People started wondering how to save the world.  Since most of us did not win, I guess we need to come up with a Plan B to save the world.  I'm fairly sure we can do it.

Aha Moments

I'm going to tell you right up front that I'm no Oprah when it comes to "aha moments".  I've lived in Long Beach for three years now and frequently driven by a place on Naples called "Waterskis".  I have frequently wondered what the Waterskis were selling.  (The ninja who lives here favors perogies.)  The other day I had an aha moment when I realized that they sell water skis.

I had an aha moment last night.  Remember when I wrote about the security guard at McDonalds?  Remember when I wrote about the gangs assembling outside the RiteAid?  I don't remember if I ever wrote about that McDonald's having signs up forbidding high school students from coming in.  I thought that was pretty strange.  After all, it's high school students who are most likely to live off that stuff.  Aha!  The RiteAid that I go to all the time is not in a good neighborhood!  I think that's what they mean when they talk about bad neighborhoods.  The edge of what I think of as my neighborhood isn't a good one.  Huh.

Am I less likely to frequent that RiteAid or McDonalds now that I've had this epiphany?  Ha.  Not likely.  I've always been a bit of an idiot when it comes to fearing people because of....  well, mostly for almost any reason.  The only people I really fear are the people whom I have loved and trusted that have then gone on to hurt me.  (Emotionally, kids.  Have you seen my posse lately?)

Once I was telling Momo about this OG (old gangster) I had come across when I was in the hospital once.  I was telling him how it was nice that even though his face was tattooed with a stream of tear drops (I think you get to put one on for each person you have killed), everyone was being respectful of him as a person.  Momo started to laugh and then explained to his clueless mother that the other people were afraid of him.  My politically incorrect feeling was, "Well, good for him.  Taking a position of weakness and turning it into one of respect."  That takes a true warrior mentality.  [Disclaimer: I am not condoning gang violence, or killing people to improve your tattoos.  Just making an observation.]  

Perhaps I live in this happy (and possibly false) bubble of feeling safe because of the half a dozen young men who seem to live on my porch playing a never ending card game.  They aren't gang affiliated, but it wouldn't hurt their feelings one bit to defend their home and mom to the death.

Security at McDonalds

I was out running errands today (okay... I was really just messing around avoiding my life) and I stopped by McDonalds to pick up some lunch for Momo and the old man.  A while ago they started having the girl who takes your order stand out by the menu so you don't have to yell into the little box.  Today they have a new addition.  They've added an armed security guard standing next to her.  I asked her if I ordered the wrong thing if he'd shoot me in the head.  She giggled and said no, but I was extra careful anyway.

As Easy As Pie

I've been baking pies for most of my life.  I know this because, when I was in first grade, we were assigned to write down a recipe for a cookbook that our teachers would assemble.  I had to think of something that I could make without asking mom for measurements.  I finally remembered that I could do Cook's Treat all by myself.  So I wrote the instructions for making a pie crust dotted with butter and cinnamon sugar.  (Hey... that was probably my first technical writing job.)  I didn't do a pie, because I couldn't remember off hand how measurements for filling.  Pie crust did involve fractions, which they didn't teach in first grade at Enchanted Lakes Elementary.  Anyway, my recipe did not make it into the book.  I didn't feel bad when I saw what did make it.  There was a recipe for roast goose which involved wringing a goose's neck and popping it into the oven.  "Aha," I realized, "the teachers didn't want to know how to cook, they just wanted a good laugh at the expense of six year olds."  Teachers are weird that way.  We do grow up and become technical writers.

There are years when I've made upwards of thirty pies for Thanksgiving.  (Not my favorite holiday by the way.)  There is nothing easier than a perfect pie crust, which is why it is the first thing you teach little kids to cook.  This year though, it was not easy.  I ordered Thanksgiving dinner from the Claim Jumper (delicious, as it turns out) and I had bought some pie with the common frozen food industrial pie crust.  However, I knew that pumpkin pie really deserves a light and flaky crust.  Unfortunately, I have fibromyalgia and I was far too tired and in pain to make the pie.  I tried to slough that duty onto my son, who also learned pie making skills early from my mother, but he was busy killing imaginary people on the X Box.  After a tearful Wednesday night (mostly about how useless I have become) I decided that no matter what, I was going to get up and make the damn pie first thing in the morning.  There were more tears and a lot of shaking brought on my exhaustion, but we did end up with a delicious pie.  The industrial pies were good for what they were, but the crust on the pumpkin was so perfect that my teachers surely missed the boat by not publishing the recipe.

How Many Shopping Days Do We Need?

I went to the grocery store this morning and I took a few extra minutes to think about anything that we might need for tomorrow too.  I did this because A) when I was a kid all the stores were closed on Thanksgiving, and B) because who wants to go shopping on Thanksgiving?

Unfortunately, those of us who think it's okay to close a business for a day so everyone can hang out with their families, seem to be in the minority.  When I asked the clerk about it this morning she said, "It's all about instant gratification."  I asked her about her gratification and, not surprisingly, she'd be gratified not to have to work on Thanksgiving.

Remember people, with a little planning, we can go days at a time without buying anything.

Harry and Zombies and Words, Oh My

It will be created as spoken.  That's what abracadabra means in Hebrew.  Of course, this is how the Holy One created the universe.  "What?" you may be thinking.  And G-d said, "Let there be light."  People have been trying to replicate this ever since.  Usually people have to cheat.  But not as much as you think.

JK Rowling had a story (we're all about stories because they are made of words and words are... well, magic) in her mind.  She says she just knew how to play quidich (Google can't spell it either) because she could see it in her mind.  Now, she could've just thought about it over her cup of tea and had a nice giggle.  Or she could've just told her kids and they could share her imagination about it.  But nooooooo, she wrote it down, thus giving it power.

Now JK can go to Florida to a village that is built from the ideas in her head.  She can have a glass of butter beer.  I think this is the perfect example to give kids when/if they question that G-d brought the world into being by talking about it.  It's a good idea to think about when we're sitting around talking.  So think about what you are saying, and realize that you give ideas more power by writing them down.  I'm pretty sure that during our next large war (you know, the kind that happens where we are) people will refer to the enemies as zombies.  We've already talked this out, so we know that we can ruthlessly kill them without too much guilt.

Speaking of which (pun intended), why is it okay to kill zombies?  Shouldn't we view zombies as people who are suffering a terrible illness?  Did they choose to be zombies?  Let's say your mom is a zombie, can you still double tap her?  Does her zombiness out weigh her momness?  What if zombies is just a euphemism for enemy?  Can you kill her now?  My mom is already dead, but I'll bet she'd be madder than hell if I double tapped her for any reason.

Synagogue Tagging

I wrote about the swastika that someone tagged the synagogue, so I feel like I need to let you know the follow up.  A piece about the incident appeared in the local Long Beach paper.  Then Rabbi Moskowitz spent days responding to overwhelming support from the broader community.  Several Christian churches volunteered to come to our aid as well as two Islamic groups.  The people from these groups asked if we would like them to surround our synagogue as a show of support and protection.

So from the act of one hater, we were blessed with the love and support of hundreds.  It's nice to realize that people aren't going to leave us out there to hang.  Thanks to all who sent their love and support. 

Graffiti

There are different types of graffiti.  I think I mentioned before that while our synagogue was being remodeled, someone had tagged the sign outside with  "Kill the Rich".  Fortunately, it was in an elaborate script that most of our congregants didn't seem to be able to read.

Yesterday, however, someone tagged the newly remodeled building with a swastika.  The Ninja saw it on his way to work and so after work we walked over to have a look.  It was painted over by the time we got there.  Unfortunately, our entire congregation can read a swastika.

The Ninja and I agreed that we were okay with, "Kill the Rich" because it is egalitarian.  We're not okay with swastikas.

In Utah our religious school was often tagged, but it was usually just gang signs.  We just painted over them. But when the swastika appeared, it was really hard for me to face my first graders.  How do you explain to little kids, that even though they are very nice, there are people who hate them?  You don't want them to be afraid, but at the same time, they see what's going on.

It's fairly easy to terrorize little kids.  What the haters need to remember is that those little kids are going to grow up, and the haters have already taught them to be vigilant.

Input Requested

Hi Dear Readers,

As you may or may not have noticed, this blog is all over the place.  One day it may be about surviving a giant solar flare, or zombies or whatever and the next day it may be a reflection on some mystical aspect of all the frat boys who live at my house.

I have a white board next to my computer (I know... weird huh?  Sometimes I write stuff down) and it has a list of possible topics.  I have this list because some mornings I'm not sure what I want to write about.  I can glance at this list and that usually reminds me of something that isn't on the list, so I can end up being just as random as ever.

However, if there is something idea that you want to kick around, let me know (either in the comment section, or by giving me a call) and I will put it on the white board along with the other topics I never get around too.  Currently on the list is:

• warrior class -as in social class, not as in a class to become a warrior
• desalinization - I know, you thought I was done with that one
• truth versus fact - a very important distinction
• a new anchor - probably I will never get around to this one
• and a couple of things that I can't actually read-  my white board writing isn't very legible.  

If I don't hear from any of you, and you still read the blog anyway, you're going to have to take what you get.

Love,

Auntie Helsie

Early Hanukkah

Hanukkah starts on December 8th this year.  That means that I can't wait until after Thanksgiving to start getting ready.  I went to the local Target yesterday and bought some wrapping paper and small gifts for people.  When I got to the checkout, the young clerk said, "If you got a Target card, when you come back to do your Christmas shopping, you will save five percent."

I said, "Look at the things I am buying and tell me that again."

She looked over all the Happy Hanukkah stuff in my cart and then said, "If you got a Target card, when you come back to do your Christmas shopping, you will save five percent."  Technically, she did exactly as I had asked her.  I had to chuckle.  She still didn't get it until I explained.

I'm Sorry Dad

My father is a veteran from WWII.  He served in the European theater with a group that did surveying and maps.  When I was a kid he never ever talked about the war.  Mom said that he never spoke to her about it either.  In his old age, he's loosened up a bit.  Now he will talk about it if you ask.  However, one day after  my mom had died he told me some absolutely horrible stories, he finished with a tear in his eye and said, "People really don't understand that war is hell."  I thought about the hero's homecoming that awaited the soldiers returning from that war.  I thought about all those years that he kept so much pain inside to protect us and protect mom.  I told him that I was sorry.  I was sorry that he had seen those things and I was sorry that he had had to go in the first place.  He relaxed after that.  All these years and what he really needed was an apology.

He was just a kid.  Thanks, and we're sorry.

Still Not the Queen

Last week's Torah portion was Chayei Sarah (Life of Sarah), which begins with her death.  (If I were clever, I would be telling you something about this weeks portion, but I'm still thinking of last week's.)

In Torah study yesterday, we were discussing that even though the Holy One had promised Abraham A) property "All the land you can see, I will give you and your offspring" and B) and "descendants as numerous as the stars" (both quotes from Genesis), in this portion he is near the end of his life and he doesn't even own a place to bury his wife and Isaac still hasn't married yet.  In this portion Abraham tries to remedy these problems.

The discussion very much reminded me of Friday's post about ten strong sons.  We think a lot about potential.  We start testing our kids early to try to somehow divine who they will turn out to be.  And, of course, we wonder who we are supposed to be and how we can fulfill our potential.  Father Abraham obviously thought we were going to turn out okay.  What I haven't really thought much about is how I am supposed to fulfill the potential of my ancestors.  What is it that collectively we desire?  And this includes who we were, and what we wanted then, as well as the communities that we belong to now.

My Uncle Don used to tell me that I was born in the wrong century.  Perhaps he was right.  My values are not necessarily the values of society around me.  Yesterday the conversation turn to whether Rebecca wanted to marry Isaac.  Excuse me?  We should base our alliances on the emotions of a teenage girl?

It reminds me of Princess Di.  Everyone seemed so upset that Prince Charles didn't really love her and they excused her bad behavior because she was in a "loveless" marriage.  You should NEVER marry a crown prince because you think it's going to be romantic.  It's a job.  You do it in the service of your people.  If he likes you, then all the better for you both.  It's not a job requirement.  As part of his job, he should have his people foremost in his mind, not the whims of a pretty wife.  People should be more concerned with having a queen who is good queen... cue Queen Elizabeth and the Queen Mum before her.

Despite this post, I am quite sentimental.  Luckily, I am not the queen.

Ten Strong Sons

My maternal grandmother had the gift of second sight, much to my grandfather's annoyance.  My mother says that she would wake up and say, "George, the cows are on the train tracks."  He would groan and tell her that she was crazy, that he had latched the gate and that she couldn't really expect him to go wandering around in the middle of the night.  Nonetheless, the whole time he was complaining, he would be putting his pants and boots on and then he would head out to go move the cows before the next train came.  He had to go because he knew that she had never been wrong about it.

The strange thing was that my grandmother always wished for ten strong sons.  Instead, she had one son who had some very physically trying times in this life.  It has seemed odd to me, that someone who could see so much, would have this desire for something that wasn't in her cards.

I also thought I would have many children.  It has been a great surprise in my life that I was only blessed to bear one child.  However, I quickly learned that if your only child is a son, your house will be filled with boys.  They run in packs.  Happily, my son has always chosen his friends wisely and they have filled my home with joy.

As he has grown into a fine man, his circle of brothers becomes larger and larger.  He is very close to the men he was raised with, he is very close to his father's sons who were born to his dear step mother, and he has a fraternity of brothers in Long Beach who are in our home daily.

The real test of a good son is not how much you care for him, but who he cares for as an adult.  In my times of need, my sons many brothers have stood by me as true sons.

Perhaps my grandmother saw my/our ten strong sons as they came together around my mother's death bed and recited Kaddish for her to elevate her soul, before her body was ever taken from this house.  It's a powerful sight to see ten strong men coming together in the service of one of their mothers.  Perhaps it was my grandmother's strong wish that brought them to me.

Animals and People

My niece Katherine (not to be confused with Kate) was here last weekend.  She works with homeless people in Salt Lake.  We were comparing notes on how the homeless and poor in general are treated.  Most people will go to great lengths not to make eye contact with street people.  I can understand that, if you actually see someone, it's more difficult to ignore them.  What I don't understand is why, if a mangy old homeless dog is on the street why people go to such lengths to get it into a home and fed.  We decided that it's because people are less lovable.  Yes, we don't really like each other.  People who are adamant animal lovers don't seem to have a problem with hungry children in our own communities.  I understand that people are much more difficult.  They can be smelly and crazy and mean, but so can dogs.  Maybe we need a Humane Society for people.  Right now it's just messed up.

Thank You America

I have to admit that I lost all faith in the American people when they re-elected W for a second term.  It was even fair and square the second time.  So I didn't have much hope for this election.

I feel like I should say a few words to the Romney supporters who read this blog, but be realistic... Romney supporters don't pay attention to me.

Go Vote... Unless...

The problem with living in a Democracy is that government is our fault.  If you don't like it, it's your moral responsibility to go change it.  Sigh.  That's a lot of work.

People die all the time fighting for the right to vote.  People fight revolutions.  We fought one... remember taxation without representation?

Unfortunately, we have had a recent history of slashing education, so I'm not real sure that we deserve to be a Democracy.  We have young adults now who couldn't find Afghanistan on a map to save their lives.  Does the free world need a leader elected by a nation with a fifteen minute attention span?  If it does or not, that's what we have, and therefore the responsibility rests on each of us.  If you can read this, go vote. Do NOT randomly vote on things that you don't understand, or didn't prepare for.  It's okay to leave blank answers.  You are not going to increase your score by guessing.

Tongans are NOT Samoans

I lost my medical marijuana letter the other day.  Since I only take some brownie before I go to bed to relieve  pain so I can go to sleep, I stupidly didn't think about it until night... for three nights in a row.  Which means that when I did finally go to sleep on those nights, it was at about five in the morning.  So yesterday my niece Kate took me to the doctor to get another letter, and then we went to the dispensary.  The dispensary is closed.  They had a sign on the door that said they only do deliveries now.  Actually, that's nice, because there are times when I feel too sick to go down there.  Anyway, I called in an order for my brownies (I don't smoke... that wouldn't be healthy).  Kate and I had to go run some errands, so I asked if I could just leave my ID and letter with my son and have him receive the meds.  "No problem," I was told.

If you have been reading this blog for any length of time, you will know that my household can always turn things into a problem.

Despite my having told Momo that they had two new Tongan security guards that are easily 6'6" and 350 lbs., he greets the grumpy one at the door with, "Hey sole!"  Which means "hey boy" in Samoan.  This could've been a natural mistake because Momo has a Samoan uncle and cousins, except that I had already told him these bruisers were Tongan.  I had even warned him that you could tell the uncle and nephew security guards apart because the nephew is nice and the uncle is grumpy.

So Uncle Tonga gives Momo a look that clearly says, "I am thinking about ripping off your arms and shoving them down your throat," but settles instead for telling Momo that he's Tongan.   Do you think that Momo gracefully gets out of this?  What my son lacks in bulk, he makes up for in chutzpah.  He looks Uncle Tonga in the eye and asks, "You know what you call a good looking Tongan?... Lucky."

Amazingly, when Kate and I returned home, Momo was uninjured and had the brownies.

Hasid or Hipster or What do I know from...

There's this site called Hasid or Hipster where you can go and try to guess if the pictures are of the Hasadim or if the photo is just of a hipster.  Before I make a fool of myself, please note that these are pictures taken in New York.

I was playing this game one morning instead of doing anything constructive, and I thought it was pretty amusing, so I called Momo in to play it with me.  This is the photo that was on the screen at the time...

I explained the concept to Momo and he looked at the photo and then he looked at me.  He looked back at the photo and looked back at me.  He had a very confused look on his face.  He finally said, "You want me to tell you if Rabbi Shmuly is a Hasid or hipster?"  Oh... yeah.  We actually know that guy.  Come to think of it, the guy on the far side of the bench is also in Eighth Day.  (Here's a link to the "official" Lalili video.  Here's a link to the Mickey Mouse version.)

The New York mention doesn't really mean anything.  Chabadniks are constantly traveling everywhere, but especially to New York and Israel.

I tell my son, "Okay, okay... that was a bad example," and then we set off through the photos.  I quit playing with him after a few minutes when he said, "That guy is Chiam's brother."  It's no fun to play if you actually know the guys.  It's okay for me to play alone, because I never recognize anybody.

Enough With the Yelling

When did it become okay to yell at strangers?  In my Kill the Rich post I mentioned an angry man yelling at the volunteer collecting donations for the homeless.  Last night I went to Ralph's and a young woman was standing outside with a petition to keep marijuana dispensaries in Long Beach.  I gladly stopped to sign.  While I was filling out the form, two different men walked by and yelled at the woman.  One yelled, "Aren't you too young to smoke dope?"  To which the puzzled girl answered, "I'm 23."

The second guy just shouted his opposing position without bothering to even slow down as he walked past.

If I see someone doing something that I disagree with, I will sometimes stop to civilly voice my opinion, but I cannot recall ever yelling at a complete stranger.  Why do people think that's an okay way of weighing in, or for that matter, changing minds?

Danger in the Hood

We live in Long Beach.  I have been told that the reason we don't see more gang violence is because Long Beach is totally and completely in the control of the Crips.

Now, here is a map of the gangs in the area just to our north.

You will notice that the areas in blue are Crips.  See the lower wall of blue on the map?  That's the north end of Long Beach.  A regular buffer zone if you will.

Last Friday I went to Rite Aid to pick up some more Ensure for the old guy.  I was at the cash register and could hear men yelling outside.  Suddenly the clerk quit ringing up the Ensure because she said she needed to see if it was safe for me to leave the store.  (And, I suspect, she wanted to know what was up.)  Someone else rang up my purchase and after a few minutes the first clerk came back in to announce that it was a fight between guys from two gangs.  She told me the coast was clear, because one of the guys had left.

On the way to my car, I saw another car full of young black men who looked like they were coming in as reinforcements.  So I felt lucky that I got out of the store before they could call a lock down or something.

Typically I am not afraid of gangs.  They very rarely target middle aged women.  I don't know, it might just seem unmanly.  Mostly I feel guilty about gangs.  What kind of society do we live in that young men can't earn respect without a gun?  Maybe we should stop thinking about having a "gang" problem and realize that it's a social problem that we collectively need to solve.

Enough With the Heat Already

While the rest of the nation was baking in brutal heat this summer, we were having a perfectly pleasant time in Long Beach.  Until September and October when we got our own heat wave.  It's been brutal.  We've probably had a whole week combined of miserable heat.

Here is a picture to demonstrate how hot it's been...

Yes, that little thingee that holds the strings down on Momo's guitar came undone when the glue melted.  Now, that's hot.

Here is a photo of him with an Ud (I don't know how to spell it), which is like an Arabian mandolin.

I guess that if you live in Arabia, you make sure to use materials that don't mind if it gets too hot.  

So even though we are musically prepared for global warming, I'm ready for it to cool off.  Not like an ice age cool off... you know, not to hot and not too cold.  Is there going to be any place like that?  Maybe we should move there now.

Are You In The Mood...

Are you in the mood to vote?  Apparently democracy in the first world basically works by how the crowd is feeling at the time.  It becomes more and more clear that people choose almost everything based on emotion.    I think it's a fine system for buying sweaters or even cars, but it seems like kind of a lousy way to choose the leader of a nation.  Unless, of course, you think the political system is doomed, in which case who smiled more or who seemed to "want" to be leader most would be a perfectly fine way to vote.

A common refrain from this election cycle seems to be something about does the candidate understand me?  Are we picking a spouse?  A psychologist?  I don't even understand me, I certainly don't expect anyone else to.  There are 311 million of us.

How about people who are like me?  (Heaven help us if that number is very large.)  Frankly, I'm okay right now financially (see the posting about killing the rich) but I do worry about the people living on the street.  I do worry about all those people we keep throwing in prison.  I worry about who I could be, if the circumstances were only slightly different.

There is also literally a whole world of other issues that matter too.  When an American votes, it can mean life or death for people in other countries.  I care about that.  Also when we vote, we carry on our coattails people who don't or cannot vote for themselves.

Electing a leader has become (or maybe it was always this way) a monstrously expensive show.  Do you know how much freaking money goes into an election cycle?  Do you know what superior educations we could give our kids with that money?  Enough education that they could vote based on issues instead of personalities.

Remember to vote.  Remember to vote intelligently.  You live in a democracy, it's your job.

What to Do?

When dad broke his hip in June, I refocused on his health instead of mine.  So, while he has had clean laundry and a lot of pampering, I had quit doing my daily exercises.  Of course, this was not a good idea.  So this morning I decided that I have to get back to my walking routine.

As soon as I left the house, I came to the proverbial "fork in the road."

I knew I was supposed to do something, but all I could remember was Yogi Berra's advice that when you get to a fork in the road you should take it.  I decided against that, mainly because it doesn't match my cutlery (thank goodness).

Perhaps you should remember this day as the day when Auntie came to the fork and did nothing because she couldn't remember a better quote.  Let this be a learning experience for you all.  Figure out now what to do with the fork in the road, so when it appears for you, you will know what to do.

Kill the Rich

I don't know if I've mentioned that my synagogue is being remodeled.  Yes, the synagogue that I live by so I don't have to drive on Shabbat, has been under construction all year so I've had to drive to the JCC for Shabbat.  Helsie's best laid plans.  Oh well.

The remodel is approaching completion and I noticed the other day that some one had tagged the sign out front with "Kill the Rich".  I was with the Queen of Trope when we saw this message.  I asked her if we needed to dig out our Marie Antoinette wigs.  (Would those be with Purim costumes or somewhere with hats?)

Mostly what I wonder about this sign is if I'm included with "the rich".  Certainly from a world perspective I am.  The only times I miss meals are when I do it intentionally, like on fast days.  I suppose that if they actually do kill the rich, I may be included.  It seems a bit harsh, but I'm counting on the short American attention span.  Ohhh look... a zombie!

I was coming out of Target the other day and there was an elderly black man sitting with a box for donations for the homeless.  When he went into his spiel, I stopped him and said, "You know you always get all my change."  That made him laugh and we started to talk.  He's not homeless.  He's retired but this is his volunteer job.  Then we started talking about how, in an instant, your life can change and you can be the one in need of help.  While we were discussing this, an old white guy with a crew cut came up behind him and started screaming (not an exaggeration), "You just take other people's money!"  He screamed this several times until he realized that we were happily continuing our discussion despite him and went to traumatize someone else.

 Yes.  He's taking other people's money.  If he hadn't been screaming I would've been inclined to pat him on the hand and tell him, "Yes, you get it.  He takes money from other people and gives it to people who need it more."  It's the basic part of tzaddakah.  Christians translate this word as "charity", the correct translation is closer to "justice".  

My guess is that if a community is truly practicing tzaddakah, that nobody decides that it's a good idea to kill the rich.

In the mean time, I think I'd better get a wig.  If I'm going out, I want to do it in style.

Oh Jonah, He Lived in a Whale

I like the Jonah story.  I can relate to the guy.  Not because I have been in the belly of the leviathan, but because I don't want to be the responsible adult. I don't really feel qualified to be the responsible adult, but I can't find anyone else to do the job.  And that's nothing compared to what G-d was telling him do.  Think about how poor Jonah felt.  And he just couldn't wiggle out of it.

It always seems to me that being a prophet is a really lousy job.  Everyone tries to squirm out of it one way or another.  And we learn from the story of Jonah, that there is no escape.  I appreciate, on a not mom level, Jonah being crabby about it right up to the end.

So let's break it down.  Jonah has the honor of being a prophet of G-d.  That's good.  Now everyone he talks to is going to think he's crazy.  Not good.  Then... G-d says that he will save the people whom He just had Jonah condemn to death.   Great.  He didn't want the job anyway, and now G-d totally leaves him hanging as far as the people go.  So he's a prophet who called it totally wrong.  Great.  Thanks.  This never would hold up on reality TV.  He comes off looking like the guy who kidnapped Elizabeth Smart.

Which brings us to an excellent point... what if some of the crazy guys are really just lesser prophets?  How can you tell?  I like the selection process for the Dali Lama.  When he dies, everyone scrambles around looking for him in his next incarnation.  They can usually spot him when he's still a small child.  This is good because he's too little to act all Jonah about it.

Which brings us to another point (it isn't called "Random Musings" for nothing).  I have heard that the Dali Lama isn't coming back.  Actually, I just started poking around the web so I could give you the definative resignation of the big DL and all I could find were articles stating that he might not come back.  I like to think that he might have something a little Indiana Jones up his sleeve, but what do I know?

I would also like you to notice that I didn't steal any squirrel pictures for this entry.

In the end was G-d satisfied with Jonah?  I've been asking Momo for days to take down the sukkah.  At this point, even when he does take it down, I'm still going to be annoyed that it took so long.  So maybe even though he finally gave in and did what G-d told him, he may be on the list of people who are annoying to the holy one.  In the Zohar we learn that in the world to come the righteous will feast on the pickled flesh of the leviathan.  In the end does the whale end up in the belly of  Jonah?

Squirrel Escalation

My son's arch nemesis, the squirrel, is dead.  Animal lovers take a deep breath... Momo did not kill the squirrel.  It was an act of nature that killed the little fur ball.  One of the 50' palm trees in our yard shed some debris and the squirrel was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  He ended his life being just more palm tree debris.  

You would think that the war would be over now that one of the main players is dead.  If you thought this, you probably hang out with much more sane people than I do.  Last night, as the boys were outside smoking and playing cards, Zach's car alarm went off for no reason.  Of course the conclusion they jumped to was that it was because of Ghost Squirrel.  The squirrel has entered the realm of myth now.  

I thought I would steal another squirrel graphic off the web to illustrate this story.  So I typed "squirrel ghost" into the computer (I couldn't bring myself to type in "dead squirrel"... I was afraid it would be too graphic for me).  Among the many many images listed (go ahead... try it yourself...) I found this:

In my mind this brings Ghost Squirrel to a whole new level.  One day my grandchildren will climb up on my knee and ask me if it's true that I saw Ghost Squirrel when he was still alive.  I wonder what I will tell them.  

Oops...

The other day I was in Costco, doing my shopping, thinking my thoughts.  At the checkout line the clerk asked me if some item was mine and I said, "Yes ma'am."  My reply was met by total silence.  I looked up to see what was wrong and realized  that the clerk was a large black man.  All of the men in my family are tall, so when I say large, I mean he really was very big.  And apparently not amused.  So I smiled (in what I thought was a sweet manner) and said, "Oh, you probably don't get that mistake very often."  He glared at me and said, "Never."  The rest of the items were scanned without discussion.  The fact that he was so annoyed, even after I admitted my mistake, made me think that the whole thing was that much funnier.  I tried to look serious as I left, but there may have been a shadow of a smirk.  I think the only reason I was allowed to live was that I'm a plump little old lady.  Do you realize how much fun I can have now that I've reached this point in my life.  I can say freaking anything.  Not that I wasn't already.

It really wasn't his fault.  He was standing around being as manly as possible while wearing an apron.  The problem is that when I'm thinking my thoughts, I pretty much don't recognize anyone.  And if what I'm doing doesn't require concentration, I usually wander away in my mind.  I have a brother who thinks it's really funny to keep walking by me in airports until I recognize him.  Sometimes he has to walk by a lot.  It has made me kind of paranoid when I go to airports now.  I try really hard to focus on who I am picking up and hoping I can remember what they look like. The anxiety disappears as soon as I see the person and they look the same as usual.  So if I ignore you, please realize that I ignore everyone.

Now I just need to figure out where the second nearest Costco is.

Political Assissinations

When I was a little kid growing up in Hawaii I had tons of Asian school friends.  They were from all over Asia, but mostly China or Japan.  We also had a television.  We watched Neil Armstrong take his first step as we drank our Tang (tasty) and ate our chocolate space sticks (really gross).  We also got to watch the Vietnam War every evening.  There wasn't much coverage on the Cultural Revolution, although that gave me nightmares for years.

The idea of bringing the war into our living rooms was new.  TV wasn't that very old and so this was something that we could do.  Frankly, it's a really bad idea.  You may think that it's odd that these days the newscaster gives you a heads up if they are going to show something questionable, so you have time to tell the kids to go in the kitchen and make some popcorn.  When they have really gross footage, they don't even show it.  What they learned was that watching a man having his brains blown out on TV really upset people.

There were lots of things in the news in those days that I didn't understand, but I didn't know enough to know how to ask about it.  How can people be so against youth in Asia?  What did youth in Asia ever do to them?  Also, who came up with the brilliant idea of giving guns to gorillas?  It seemed highly unlikely that those big gorilla fingers could even fire a gun.

One evening's news made a huge impact on me.  There were some soldiers rounding up little kids and taking from their families to I don't know where.  One of the crying girls looked exactly like one of my friends at school.  I panicked.  I was desperate for answers... Where are they taking them?  What will happen to them?  Where are their mothers?  No one in my family knew.  My father, who went to Viet Nam for work fairly regularly set me down for a talk.  (Similar, I'm sure, with zillion of family talks after 9/11.)

So the girls hadn't done anything wrong?  No.  Their mom's hadn't done anything wrong? No.  But our leaders disagree with their leaders and hence we have a war.  And why are children being napalmed, or having vaccinated limbs chopped off?  Well... because it isn't legal to single out a single person for assassination, it wouldn't be right.  It's okay to kill lots and lots of people who had nothing to do with it, but it's not okay to just kill the guy we have beef with.  Wow.

President Obama catches flak for sending drones to just kill the guys he has a beef with.  The six year old in me can tell you that that is a much better policy.  Yes, it's true that sometimes the people right around the target also gets killed.  That's tragic.  It isn't as tragic as if the whole country gets punished.  There are complex problems about due process etc.  If you cut off the head off the leader of our enemies, another will appear.  (Hey, some of my best jobs were caused by power vacuums.)  Cut off as many snake heads as you want but LEAVE THE LITTLE GIRLS OUT OF IT!

Big Brother & a Secret Weapon

Now that it's fairly easy to spy on people, since they publish everything about themselves on the internet anyway, it seems unlikely that anyone still has mail duty.  Possibly nobody ever had mail duty, but in my youth I had plenty of friends who suspected that their letters were steamed open an read.  (Come to think of it, somebody probably should've been reading their mail.)  There was also a theory that the letters were carefully extracted with a disposable wooden chopstick. Even though the chopstick method was shown to me, by a conspiracy theorist who frequently ate dinner at our house, I still had a little doubt about people in some basement office somewhere using this time consuming method to spy on me.

But now.... now we can get somewhere with this.  I'm pretty sure that spies just use computers now (I don't know if this is true for my Russian readers...  thanks by the way for being the #1 nationality that reads my blog... what's wrong with my fellow countrymen?).  We can totally get around this.  If you were to plot something nefarious, but do it the old school way, I think you could do it under the radar.  So here are some tips:

• Talk to people in person.  I realize that you can't get the same huge audience that Twitter can, but it really makes an impression to have a little face time with a person.  Also, you can deny everything later.
• Write letters.  Yes, we can save the Post Office and be sneaky at the same time.

A bonus that comes with writing letters was pointed out by my cousin Bruce:  In the days of letter writing, if you got drunk one night and wrote letters to people, you still had to mail them in the morning when you were sober and could think better of it.  Now, you just hit "send" while you're still drunk and the recipient reads it the next morning when you are sober.  You can see the advantage of a waiting period.  

War of the Squirrels

The other day I walked out of the house to see my son waving his fist at a palm tree.  The Ninja was sitting on the porch and by way of explanation said, "The squirrel is winning."

I have replaced the porch chairs that were shredded for squirrel nesting materials.  I think the new ones are safe until the next batch of babies.

The immediate problem (at least for me) is that the fig tree, which is separated from my head as I slumber by a single pane glass, has ripe figs on it.  The squirrels seem to have set up a sports league that centers on the figs.  Usually around two in the morning, the squirrels grab a fig or two (I can't actually see them... I'm guessing on all of this based on what it sounds like) and scamper up on the roof.  Hockey seems to be the sport of choice.  There is a lot of scrambling and crashing, but I hope it's playful, not in a death sport kind of way.

Luckily I have ear plugs that I bought because Zachary likes to come over in the middle of the night too, and is that boy loud.  The Ninja has tried to teach him how to walk and speak quietly, but Zach's kind of like a squirrel in that he just naturally is loud.  Yes.  I just said that squirrels are naturally loud.

I thought it might be nice to have a visual for this story so I googled "squirrel wars" and was amazed at how many images there were.  Go ahead... try it.  I don't know who Daniel is, but I shamelessly stole this image that was prepared for him by someone who went out of their way to spell like a cat.  (Yes, squirrels are noisy and cats are bad spellers.)

Natural Pools

Last week the LA Times did a piece about natural swimming pools.  There has been a move away from chlorine, because people don't like the smell or soaking in chemicals, and the big thing in California seems to be salt water pools.  They are supposed to be less damaging to your skin.  But here's an idea that I really like: having a fresh water pool system that cleans itself.

I love this plan.  Especially if the pool uses collected rain water for refilling.  It's kind of like a backyard reservoir.  And how cool is it to have a water garden and fish pond as part of your water complex?  Very cool. I hope it catches on in a big way.    

Days of Awe

On the first morning of Rosh Hashannah, I was sitting in services and I realized that in the Ukraine, tens of thousands of male Jews were dancing and praying and blowing shofars at the lake in Uman.  This is where Reb Nachman told his followers to go.  Reb Nachman is from Bratislav, not Uman.  He chose to be buried there because it was the grave site of a horrible massacre of Jews by the Ukrainians.  After he was buried there, it became the site of a horrible massacre of Jews by the Germans.  But now... each year at Rosh Hashannah (the Jewish new year) all these devout men converge and sing out the ten Psalms that Reb Nachman asked them to sing at his grave.  You can see the trailer for a documentary about it called Yippee! I highly recommend that you click on that link and watch it.

Amazing.  But also think about the fact that in the Ukraine they have been hard at work to remove traces of Yiddishkeit because that also erases their collective guilt.  What Jews?  There weren't any Jews in our village.  (For more on this subject I recommend reading Omer Bartov's book Erased: Vanishing Traces of Jewish Galacia in modern day Ukraine. (Yes, this is the kind of stuff I read in my spare time.))

But the whole point is that as I sat in services and started thinking of the singing and dancing and praising of G-d going on at a place that should strike terror in our hearts.  We win.  We kept our soul.

Weird America

It seems strange to me that a country that was built on war and manages to get involved in the conflicts of others pretty much constantly, has produced a society with zero tolerance for violence.

As fall approaches and football season is greeted with delight, there is a debate about NFL football not being good for the players.  Let's lay it out in it's most simple form... We take the nation's freakishly large men and we have them play, for our entertainment, a game that consists of them slamming into each other over and over.  Who was the genius that decided it probably wasn't good for the players?  But why are we always surprised?  What part of Michael Vick's violent dog fights seems out of character for an NFL player?

The whole idea of hate crimes seems odd to me too.  Is it a more serious crime because someone hates the group you are with than if they randomly attack you?  (I can visualize a defending attorney's questions leading up to a lesser sentence... "So you didn't actually hate the victim?"  "Oh no, I like him fine, I just felt like shooting someone in the head.")

Let's throw zero tolerance for bullying in there too.  We don't allow that in any case, however, when you turn 18 we would like you to join the military and kill some people for us.  Just remember that when you come back, we really don't want to hear about it.

Next thing you know, they'll be saying that hockey is dangerous.

This Karma Thing Better Work

This morning our copy of the LA Times was soaking wet.  I don't have the patience to call and wait for them to bring us a dry one, so I walked over to Lee's grocery store to get one.  I don't know if I've ever mentioned that Lee's is directly across the street from my synagogue.  That's important to this story.  When I walked into the store there was a large man at the counter.  He was playing the lottery.  He was covered in Neo-Nazi tattoos.  I thought about having a chat with him about his tat's but I adore Lee and didn't want to start trouble in her store.

I just think there's something wrong with a skin head going into a Cambodian run grocery store, right across the street from a synagogue, and playing a game that involves luck.  If he wins the $105,000,000 jackpot, I am going to have to totally rethink this karma stuff.

Desalination With a Grain of Salt

A couple of posts ago I mentioned that I would write about a desalination theory that may or may not give us a clue about an elegant way to convert ocean water into potable water.

First of all, let me tell you from whence this theory came.  An old man from Southern Utah explained this theory to my brother Dave.  So we need to keep in mind that A) for some reason people like to tell my brother weird stuff and B) southern Utah is a mecca for crazy people.  Remember the harmonic convergence?  Those guys were waiting for aliens to pick them up at four corners (one corner is in southern Utah).  My mom had a cousin who shaved and tattooed her head before she went down so the aliens would recognize her as one of their own.  Come to think of it, she could've been one of their own.  Also southern Utah has produced a whole slew of Polygamists... Warren Jeffs for example. (If you want a fun outing for the kids, you can take them to see the polygamists shopping at Walmart in St. George.  It's kind of like going to see a hostile version of the Amish.) There are people down in the desert there who are living in bunkers and stock piling weapons just in case the Feds come after them.  Oddly enough, people from any of those groups, love explaining stuff to my brother Dave.  Dave usually argues with them, but in a respectful way, which I guess is why they single him out.  I just try to avoid them.

Anyway, here's what the old guy (who may or may not be crazy) told my brother.  He said that when he was younger and working as a scientist, he became impressed with the "fact" that water at different levels in the ocean, had varying levels of salt in them.  The top level was the saltiest (which actually makes sense to me when you think about evaporation occurring at that level).  If this is true, than the deeper you go, the saltier it would get.  But no... this guy said that the water actually had layers of salinity that were measurable.   I don't remember the numbers but the idea was like this: the top foot would be saltiest but would be least salty 25 feet down, but then at 26 feet, it got salty again.  So this guy's idea was that if you built a series of tanks and kept drawing the water from the 25' mark, and then putting it in another tank so it could reach it's equilibrium again, you could just keep doing this until the water was desalinated.

I do not know if it's actually true that water at different levels naturally hold different amounts of salt.  But it's an idea to be put out there and kicked around.  With that in mind, keep in mind who came up with the theory.

Cheeky Beasts

On Friday as we were getting ready for Shabbat, a raccoon opened the screen door to the dining room and started to walk in.  This, despite the fact that Momo was standing by the table.  I heard Momo yell, "You cheeky beast!"  So the raccoon, sensing that he was not welcome, took his leave.  (I suspect that Momo's arch nemesis the squirrel, told him that Momo is an easy mark.)

We changed the lock on the garage door so we can lock it at night.  Lately when I go in there to do the laundry, things have been a bit more of a mess than usual.  The one thing that I have not been able to figure out is why Momo or the Ninja Who Lives Here keep getting the cooler chests out and opening them and leaving them in the middle of the floor.

Is nature reasserting itself and thinks it can find a foothold in our house?  Is the animal population simply following the lead of the feral men who come and go at will?  Is the fall of civilization getting a toe hold in my seemingly domestic house?

It reminds me of the song that I thought the Boomtown Rats sang, but apparently not since I can't find it on the web.  The lyrics were something about, "they're living off nuts and berries/they're making a fool of us".

Alas, even if I falsely remember that song as theirs, you should click on the link above to hear their most famous song.  Notice what the pianist is wearing.  Yes, Johnny Fingers was my teenage hero.  He went to school one day in his jammies (this is looooooooooong before fat women thought it was okay to go grocery shopping in PJ's).  He was told to go home and change and when he declined they told him that he couldn't go to school if he was going to wear his jammies.  It may be apocryphal, but it is said that he only wore jammies from that day on.  Although I suppose he wears trousers now to prevent people from confusing him with a fat woman doing grocery shopping.  Cheeky little beast.

I'm Baaaaaack

Sorry about the lack of postings for the last little while.  It's hot.  Maybe not as hot where you are, but for me, too hot.  Even Lee, who is from Cambodia, it's been too hot.  Lee wears a wet towel... I just lay around and moan about how hot it is.

Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about desalinization and I will be back on that subject in the near future.

Water Water Everywhere

And not a drop to drink.

Although there are other high ranking problems about the planet right now, it seems like two of the really big ones are:

• The oceans are rising, which means there is too much water in the oceans.
• There is too much drought around the world, which means that there's not enough water on the land.

Hmmm.  Too much water in the ocean...not enough water on the land.  It seems if we could figure out an elegant solution to water desalination, we could work our way out of a couple of the major problems facing humanity.

Of course there are brilliant minds working on that very project.  Actually, I think the Romans tried but they finally gave up.  There are methods for desalinization (in Australia and the Middle East for example) already in existence.  The problem is that so far we have only come up with very expensive complicated ways for this to happen.  

It seems to me that with seven billion people, we can probably figure out a better solution.  I have a hunch that there's a better way.  It seems like if you have access to the ocean, you should also have access to potable water.  Think of how it would change the world if we could come up with something that is so elegant that even poor communities could benefit.  

Tomorrow I will give you an example of the kind of thing I'm thinking of, but that probably doesn't really work.  I would be happy to have a guest post with any desalinization ideas.

I just have a hunch that we can do it.  Think about it.  Tell other people to think about it.  

Thanks.

Bait and Switch

This is what my son asked me last week, "Mom, would it be okay if Dov and some guys came by for Torah study on Thursday?"

This is what he told Dov and the guys last week, "Thursday ferbroingin at my house!"

I have no idea how to spell ferbroingin, but it is basically a drinking party/Torah study combined.  It was great.  My son had gone to some at a Yeshiva, but since I'm female, they didn't exactly invite me.  It's a very festive kind of study.

Before we began the meat of our study, the boys sang a wonderful niggun (tune,melody) that had come from Russia.  It was great.  Now if I can just get the study group at my temple to switch from tea to beer....

21st Century

This whole global connectedness kind of bugs me.  People are constantly talking about how the world is so different now because we are all connected via the internet.  There is a huge problem with this idea that we're all so connected.  Part of that has to do with how we view life on the planet at this time.

Not too long ago my niece Sina and her family made a road trip from sunny Utah to sunny Long Beach.  Here are the things that her kids had on the summer road trip that we didn't have on road trips when I was a kid:

• Air Conditioning  (this is huge in the summer because to get from Utah to Long Beach you have to drive across a big very hot desert)
• Dual DVR players in the van so that the kids can watch the movie they want to without fighting about it.
• Hand held Nintendo games
• Seat belts

When I was a kid we were hot, tired and fought all across the desert.  My parents must've been crazy to think we should go on long road trips.  Not only that, we camped... in tents... there were no swimming pools or room service.  

So here is the perfect example of how life is better now than it was in the last century. 

Now let's think about the 7,000,000,000 people on the earth today.   I read several months ago that to be in the 1% of the wealthiest people in the world, you only need an income of $30,000 a year.  I think that just about everyone I know is in that group.  I wonder what your income has to be to enable you to be globally connected?  I wonder what percentage of people on the planet right now are even literate.  My guess is that for the majority of people on the planet right now, in the 21st century, life isn't that much better than it was 1,000 years ago.  

New Study Group

We are starting a new Torah study group tonight.  It might be interesting.  It started out with Momo's friend Dov coming over to study Torah.  Now the subject has changed to a discussion on ritual.  Dov is a Chabadnik, so it's a bit transparent that he's here to raise the Rebbe's cause of Jews doing more mitzvot (commandments) so the Messiah can come.  Fair enough... you invite a Chabadnik and you get a Chabad agenda.  However, now another Chabadnik informed me that he's coming to watch me bust Dov's chops (albeit in a friendly manner).  He might be surprised.  I'm okay with most ritual.  But I'd rather just be studying this weeks portion.  Maybe next week.

Genius and Air Conditioning

We live very near the beach.  It is probably less than a half a mile away from our house.  Because of our proximity, it isn't unusual for houses (and even some businesses) to not have any air conditioning.  We usually have a nice cool breeze off the ocean in the summer.  We were still wearing sweaters into July.  However, in August and September, we sometimes have really hot days.  Every year I put off buying a portable air conditioner until we need it, at which point there are none left.

Here's where my genius comes in.  In June of this year I bought an AC and stashed it in the garage until the time would come when we needed it.  My sister visited in July and on the afternoon she arrived it was kind of hot.  She fussed about it until I mentioned that we actually had an AC in a box in the garage.  She and Momo brought it in the house and unpacked it, by which time the breeze had come back up and we didn't need it, so they quit their installation project.  So it's been sitting in the kitchen for several weeks.

This week we had a heat wave.  Never fear... we have an AC.  So I asked the Ninja to set it up.  He pointed out that we were having a flex alert and weren't supposed to turn on the AC.  I pointed out that you do NOT want to argue with a menopausal woman during a heat wave about air conditioning.  He set it up.  We ran it until it got really hot.  Then this surge protector thing went crazy and we had to shut it down to stop the beeping.  The hotter it got, the fewer things we could use.  I couldn't use my computer.  The toaster set off the alarm.  The microwave set off the alarm.  Apparently we can only use the AC on days when it's not too hot.  Great.

Ya'alili

Click here to see my favorite pick me up music video.  The cashier at the beginning is Rabbi Shmuly Marcus who is in the band 8th Day.  He's a good man and it's a good video/song.  But remember... don't play it on Shabbat.

Bring Out Your Dead

I've been reminded of the Monty Python bit about trying to collect the guy who isn't dead yet during the last few days.  The tumor board didn't really know what to do about dad.  Since his fall, he's too frail for the surgery that we first had in mind.  The tumor is in a place that chemo isn't going to get to, and he's already had radiation so that's off the table.  Since they couldn't figure out what else to do with him, they put him on Hospice.  This is great for me and Hamad since someone else comes in to bathe him now and the nurse comes here instead of us schlepping him around.  The problem  is that all of these nice helpers have it in mind that he's at death's door.  It's true that he's probably dying, however he doesn't think so.  He's actually feeling pretty good thanks.

The nurse has been especially adamant that he'll be gone soon.  She had morphine delivered to the house at 11:30 the other night.  He hasn't used any yet.  Today she panicked because the pharmacy didn't send enough Atavan.  Apparently that's for the agitation that starts when someone is dying.  I asked dad if he felt agitated.  He didn't, although he was a little disappointed that there wasn't going to be a Dodger game tonight.  Unfortunately, they have not come up with a pill for disappointment yet.

Truth and Gorillas

Many years ago, there was a story in the local paper in Utah about a shootout at a motel.  Some gunman had burst in and started shooting.  At least one person was killed before he left.  The police were happy that an eyewitness survived.  When the door had burst open, she had taken a dive behind the bed, and escaped the shooting.  

Now put yourself in the position of the "eye witness".  I know that if I had been that woman, I wouldn't have been able to tell the police anything.  The door burst open and shooting started and now I know what the carpet behind the bed looks like.  

Sometimes eye witnesses are really good.  Like when Richard's mom Bernice was held at gun point.  She assessed the height of the gunman by standing by him and judging from her height.  She also got a good look at the gun because she knew the police would ask about that.  Ever pragmatic, she also handed over all the drugs that were about to expire so she wouldn't have to do the paperwork on them later to send them back to the company.  Nobody got shot and there was no paperwork later.  It was a win win situation.

When my son was still in high school, I chaperoned a field trip to San Francisco. (I know... what was I thinking?)  We went to the Exploritorium and they had a display about vision and perception.  My cluster of students and I went up to a television that had a video running.  The instructions were that, even if the film had been spliced, you should count how many times a basketball that they were dribbling actually touched the floor.  So my group and I were determined to find the correct answer.  We knew that there were going to be abnormalities in the film since it was spliced, so we had to be very careful to actually see when the bounces occurred.  We were really concentrating on what was happening, so it seemed odd to us that people were looking over our shoulders and giggling at us.  We did count all the bounces.  What we had failed to notice was the guy in the gorilla suit who kept walking in and out of the picture.  Yes, if I'm busy counting, I do not see the guy in the gorilla suit.  People who weren't counting and only giggling, couldn't really believe that none of us had noticed the gorilla.  If police had interrogated us before the gigglers explained, I'm pretty sure that we all could've testified that there was no gorilla on the scene.  Would we have been telling the truth?  

In Hebrew the word for "truth" is "emet".  In Hebrew it is spelled aleph, mem, tav.  Aleph is the first letter of the alephbet, mem is the middle letter and tav is the final letter.  Because all truth is contained within the letters of the alephbet.  But apparently so are gorillas.

Long Lost Son

My son and I took dad to the "tumor board" today.  It was a bunch of doctors who examined him and then decided what to do with him.  After the exam, we were asked to sit in a waiting room for an hour and a half. Since we had gotten up at six (instead of ten) dad and Hamad were exhausted and fell sound asleep.  A large African American man came in and indicated that he needed to get by me.  I thought he was just looking for a seat, so I hoped up and took the seat by Hamad.  That stopped the man in his tracks.  He wasn't looking for a seat, he though Hamad was his son who had run away two years ago.  He was about to give Hamad the biggest hug of his life.  Hamad says that he learned today that if you fall asleep in public, you may end up in the arms of a large black man.

A Delicate Situation

Several years ago when my dad broke his first hip, the doctors said that he had to go to a rehab unit in a nursing home.  My dad has mild Alzheimer and a good case of grumpy old man syndrome.  The month he spent in that nursing home, which was not a bad place as far as that goes, was absolute torture for him.  This is a man who put his own grandmother in a nursing home and had always told us that when the time came, he wouldn't mind.  Well, when the time came, he did mind.  Very much in fact.  He wouldn't eat the food they served, so I was running over constantly with home cooked food.  He was so lonely that my son set up a DVR player so the two of them could sit all day watching epic movies together.  He wanted to go home so badly and it broke our hearts not to have him at home.  So we promised him that we'd never do that again.

This time when he broke his hip, some nice ladies came to see which facility we wanted him transferred to.  We told them that we'd just take him home.  Oh, they did not like that idea.  They all told us what a horrible idea that was.  Nonetheless, it's what we did.

Ironically, all of his doctors thought it was a great idea.  They thought that it would be much better for dad to be in his own surroundings.

On the day we were to take him home from the hospital, Hamad commented to a nurse that maybe he should quick get married so we'd have help taking care of dad.  The nurse was from the Philippines.  She told him to marry a Philippina because in their culture they never send their old people away.

Well, we sure as hell do in our culture.  My 22 year old son has put his life on hold until we get dad back up on his feet.  It's slow.  There are lots of other things he'd rather be doing, but he takes his promise to dad seriously.  I get two responses to this.  Occasionally, someone realizes that he gets it.  He understands what truly matters in life.  Overwhelmingly, I hear that it's unfair for me to expect him to spend time taking care of his grandfather because he should be able to go out and live his own life.  This is his own life.  This is his only grandparent left alive and when he's gone Hamad will "get on with his own life".

The problem is that when I explain what we are doing in life right now, I have to couch it very carefully because so many people do have their elders in nursing homes and they don't want to feel guilty.  I realize that there are cases where there is no other choice.  I have very dear friends who have had to resort to that.  However, many people are in nursing homes today because it is "inconvenient" to have them at home.  So I have to watch myself if I don't want people to tell me what an idiot I am.  In our case, it is better for us to have dad at home.  After he dies, Hamad and I will not have to live with the regret about what we should have done.