Saturday, June 12, 2004

Shabbat Shalom

Last Friday night I went to a Shabbat dinner. For those of you who aren’t constantly immersed in “Jewishness” as I am, here’s a couple versions.

For those more seriously into The Sabbath (or Shabbat, as it is called in Hebrew) is one of the best known and least understood of all Jewish observances. People who do not observe Shabbat think of it as a day filled with stifling restrictions, or as a day of prayer like the Christian Sabbath. But to those who observe Shabbat, it is a precious gift from G-d, a day of great joy eagerly awaited throughout the week, a time when we can set aside all of our weekday concerns and devote ourselves to higher pursuits. In Jewish literature, poetry and music, Shabbat is described as a bride or queen, as in the popular Shabbat hymn Lecha Dodi Likrat Kallah (come, my beloved, to meet the [Sabbath] bride). It is said "more than Israel has kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept Israel." (from Judaism 101)

But basically, it’s a dinner, a typical religious ritual with candle lighting, chanting/singing, prayer, a little folklore, and of course, bread and wine! How I came to this dinner at a co-worker’s home, is a bit screwed up. As follows…

About a month before the dinner, a man here at work, quite a bit older, and rather…gruff by reputation…came over to my desk, leaned over, and asked if I would like to come to a Shabbat dinner at his home with him and his wife. He was also inviting some international “scholars” from a local organization who are here for a short time. Since the invitees included a Thai woman (and they all know here I was in Thailand for three years), he thought the connection might be fun for the both of us. Also, I was delighted to hear a man from the Philippines would also be there, as I have spent time (and a lot of study) on the country. The older man (let’s call him Joseph), was happy to hear that I also had a Philippines connection, said he’d send me an email with more information on time and place, and trudged off. I got the email and mentally noted the day and time (the day Harry Potter 3 came out).

As the weeks rolled by, Joseph never mentioned the dinner again, but I didn’t think too much of it. A day before the dinner, I started to think maybe he should have followed up at least once, said something. He wasn’t a warm and fuzzy guy, but… So, finally, on that Friday, as I passed him in the hallway, I stopped and said, “So, about your Shabbat dinner tonight…” hoping to prompt him into recognition/conversation. His eyebrows furrowed and he stared intently into my face (he’s a pretty intimidating guy). I backed up a step and tried to continue, “With the Thai woman…and the Filipino man….that’s tonight?” His eyebrows furrowed more still, and he said, “Yes…with the visiting scholars….” My mouth just hung open. He didn’t exactly say, “And not you!” but there was a feeling like he didn’t know what the hell I was getting at.

Back at my desk, I felt perplexed. I finally informed my co-workers of the situation. Reading my mind, they suggested I wander over to his office and ask if I could bring something. I felt intimidated, but knew it was the best plan. After a wait, I stood in his doorway, he in his chair, and asked. He turned slowly and looked at me. There was a pause. A loooooooooong pause. A very uncomfortable pause as he looked at me with such intensity, I began to feel extremely uncomfortable. Finally, not being able to take it any longer, I blurted out, “WHAT?” He leaned forward, holding onto the doorknob and leaning forward ‘til his forehead rested against the door, as if in deep sorrow. “WHAT?” I said again. In….a…..very……slow…..manner, he began to tell me that he totally forgot about me, doesn’t think he ever told his wife (who is preparing the meal) that I’m coming, doesn’t think there’s enough spaces at the table, etc.).

Needless, to say, I was horrified and a little humiliated. I think the whole drama of the situation made it a lot worse. If it was like “Oh my gosh, oops, let me call my wife, I might have overbooked the dinner…” it still would have been awkward, but less so. Anyway, he calls his wife, and from my desk, I can HEAR him saying into the phone, “Oh, and she asked me what to bring, and I totally forgot…” just furthering my humiliation. Apparently though, after hanging up with his wife, who told him he was an idiot and that she did know all along I was coming, he came over and told me I could bring flowers.

Hrmph.

I have to admit, I was really looking forward to going to this dinner. I like to try out new things, especially if they are of a country/culture I’m not entirely familiar with. I have gained some knowledge of Jewish culture in the past (due to a long-term relationship with a Jewish man), but I had never been to a Shabbat meal.

Yet, after this incident, I found my exuberance dramatically deflated. And since I also had tickets for Harry Potter that night (opening night), and was going to be cutting it close anyway, I kind of wished the whole dinner could just go away. Naturally, it didn’t, I went home and showered, and then showed up.

The dinner itself was lovely. The house, though smaller, reminded me of all the professors’ homes I saw in my past life, with their walls of books and “exotic” artifacts on walls and shelves. I got to meet some very interesting people who were doing good, grassroots work on HIV/AIDS in Brooklyn/Bronx, Thailand, and the Philippines as well as this fantastic woman who headed an Adolescent health program in New York.

Joseph’s wife was a very nice lady who explained each step of the dinner as it went along, including covering her head, covering her eyes (with her hands), covering the bread (so it won’t be jealous of the wine we drunk), the explanation of the wine and bread prayers, the translation (from Hebrew) of the song they sang, etc. as well as an interesting tale of angels outside the window peeking in….

As the story goes…(paraphrasing) a “good angel” and a “bad angel” will come to the window at sunset, during the Shabbat dinner. If the family is together and harmonious and having their special dinner, the good angel will turn to the bad angel and say, “May Shabbat always be like this” and the bad angel is then forced to say, “Amen” (and so in a sense, letting it be so). On the other hand, if the family is NOT having their dinner, fighting, not around, etc., then the bad angel will say, “May Shabbat always be like this,” and the good angel will grudgingly have to reply, “Amen.”

I like that story.

After an enjoyable meal and a very long, but very interesting discussion on the work they were all doing, I found myself stealing furtive glances at my watch. Opening night in the giant Astor Theater meant standing in line about an hour early. Lucky for me, I had a friend to stand in line for me, but I also didn’t want to be late for the movie itself! The dinner continued, and continued to be interesting, though I felt myself growing fidgety. And, there was one problem – I had come in a floor-length floral dress and heels. I really didn’t want to sit for three hours in a theater with that thing on. I had brought jeans and a shirt in my bag, but didn’t know how inappropriate it may be to change in their bathroom so I could “go out” that night. Finally, after about 2 ½ hours at the dinner, and still no one looking like they were going to leave, I got up and whispered in the hostess’ ear that I was sorry but I had plans for later in the evening and would have to go, could I use her bathroom, etc. “You’re leaving already?” she exclaimed. *gulp* She was gracious enough though and I scampered to the bathroom, which, I am NOT joking, was the size of an airplane bathroom, and performed acrobatics as I got undressed/dressed. I think everyone was a bit surprised when I came out like that. I apologized again and left.

After that it got pretty simple, I was hurrying down the street while talking to my friend on the phone, and then I got to the subway, so the phone cut out. He said they would be letting him in soon (along with my ticket), so I was a bit nervous. After an endless train ride, I made it to Times Square where I was literally sprinting down the street while trying to talk on the phone. I got there and it all worked out (though it took me quite awhile to cool down and I wasn’t so cute when I got there).

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban – Quickie Review, sort of (spoiler alert)

The movie was great, a nice twist in the way it was made, darker and more real. And of course, Lupin being my favorite Harry Potter character, I was anxious and excited to see him. David Thewlis was fantastic as the tragic character, great casting (as is the entire movie, save maybe for the guy who plays Peter Peddigrew). Now that the books are longer and we already are invested in other great characters (like Snape), it’s hard to not get everything you want in it. My only complaint of the third film is that it didn’t explain enough. The whole deal with Harry’s father and three friends (Peddigrew, Lupin, Black) is probably the most important part of the third book and yet was mysteriously omitted from the film. You learn that Lupin is a werewolf, but you don’t hear the whole background between the “Animagus” of the other three characters nor of why Harry is conjuring up a stag to protect himself, or, a little less importantly, the origin of the sneaky map. But I really like the style of the new director (Cuaron) and am excited for the next movie. Maybe I’ll see this one again.


Tortured Lupin Posted by Hello

Oh Mangosteen, Oh Mangosteen


My ode to the Mangosteen. Posted by Hello

This is my Ode to the Mangosteen (perhaps I'll write a short accompanying poem later). I like to oil paint, though I suck at it. I've decided to do a themed series -- Foods of Fantasy. I am a great GREAT lover of food in all forms (from fresh fruits/vegetables to the most processed, sugary, salty crap you can put in your body). I have already painted an artichoke, which I am kind of proud of. I'm not as proud of this mangosteen, but I'm posting it anyway, because just the fact that I can FINISH a painting is kind of a big deal. I think I have more unfinished than finished. The reasons behind that stem from laziness, to a need for a perfection that will never come, to boredom, to not having the cash for the ridiculously RIDICULOUSLY expensive art supplies.

I haven't written here for awhile. As I've said before, I tend to write in bursts. I also have another submission due in a week to my writing class and I haven't even started it. Hopefully today, since work is pretty slow and dead, I can sneak on a blog. In the meantime, I better go work.

Man, I have this overwhelming need to get bombed. It's only 10:30 in the morning.

Sunday, May 30, 2004

Introducing the New Love Interest: A-MOT (not be confused with A-Rod)

Well, so I left private banking, finally, and got a new job. Surprisingly, I miss my banking job, or really, I miss the people there so much. They were so fun, so great to talk to.

But, I did get a new job, HOORAY! *throws confetti* It only took me *counts on fingers* FIVE months to get a decent job that matched my interests/qualifications. It's funny, I'm absolutely livid that I wasn't able to secure a suitable job before this, and I've already had three people say, "Five months? That's it? Wow, you're lucky! I know someone it took nine months/one year/18 months, etc."


Like everything though, it was probably all for the best. I am now working for a non-profit organization that does work in developing countries ("third world"). It feels good to work for a place that is doing the kinds of things you always want to be a part of. I also get to do administrative work, which I love. It has its tedious parts, but don't all jobs?

But do you really care about that? Probably not. Maybe you'll care a little bit more about my new object of lust -- I call him, for the purposes of this blog, A-MOT. Why? Well, one of the first questions a friend of mine asked was, "Is he a MOT?"
"What's a MOT?" I asked
My friend and roommate laughed. "Where have you been?" he asked.
"MOT. 'Member of the Tribe.' A Jew!" said my friend
(Both my friend and roommate are Jews).

Ohhhhhh, okay. Well, actually, he does happen to be a MOT, after all, or as they used to say about my other ex from Long Island, "He's got the map of Israel on his face."

So, now we have A-MOT. You know what the MOT is, but what's the "A"? I'll let you fill in that one.

Unlike the Hot Mailroom Boy, this guy appears to be somewhere closer to my age, my education, and my height. But unfortunately like the HMB who passed right by me several times a day, A-MOT is hidden in a side room, squeezed in with a half dozen others. We are in different departments, and there's not much of a chance to talk to him.

GRRRR! More scheming and plotting! I hate this!

So, I did what any self-respecting woman would do. I Google'd him. And well, I found a young man, with his same exact name. No photos to confirm it though, so I remain confuzzled. BUT, if if IF the guy I googled is the SAME guy at work...I LOVE HIM! I thought this was a young man in his mid-20's who was relatively intelligent, maybe a degree in Poli Sci or something. Well, the guy online was fantastically intelligent, had traveled around the world doing "good deeds" (and written thoughtful articulate analysis of philanthropy/wealthy people/public service), had gone to great schools (yes, we're talking higher higher education), likes hammocks (I LOVE hammocks) and even dabbled into creative writing. Well, could this be any more perfect? Or pukey?

The only drawback is something that is also one of the few drawbacks at work. I don't know, maybe it's because it's a place of well-intentioned, development workers who are very serious and very sincere about what they do. Maybe it's all the hardship they have to see, how little of it they can actually help, and the sadness it can bring (for instance, we do a lot of work on AIDS in Africa, and it is so much more horrible there than I ever imagined). But my point is, unlike my last job where I laughed and was silly (and still worked hard, of course!), and where on several occasions I hung around hours 'after hours' to talk with co-workers I'd really come to adore in a short time. The people at my new job are all very nice, very hospitable. People talk with me (I just cannot remember their names), and seemed geninely concerned with my happiness at work. I've been told several times just how happy they are that I was finally hired and working there, and that I have been happily expected.

But...(here we go with the glass half-empty crap)...

They are very politically-correct, very serious about their work and working in general. I like a place that likes to work. I get angry and nervous in an environment where work is disrespected. But...I must be in a place that has that release...those moments of hanging around each other for a couple of minutes to laugh. Teasing and joking each other, sometimes crossing that line just enough to be exciting. Always being good to each other, and always honest (and all that comes with that). My new job, everyone is very nice, but no one is particularly fun or funny. I see a few glimmers and I feel embarrassed because I seem to latch onto it, and dive in, with a bit TOO much gusto.

Perhaps it's because I'm too new in a tight-knit group. I've been in atmospheres like that before. You just have to be kind to everyone and wait it out. Sooner or later, they come around. Just ask all of my Scandinavian buddies. Though I was only at the bank for a couple of months and I was close with many by the time I left.

One of my points about this is that my co-workers are not the kind where I can go up to them and whisper, "Hey, that A-MOT guy, how old is he? Does he have a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Does he like shiksas? Is he psycho?"

--------

The other day I finally got a chance to be 'alone' with A-MOT (by the fax machine); it was a rare moment. I tried to take advantage of it by talking to him, though we didn't get very far. He was friendly enough, but I wasn't getting any big signals. He did seem to have a sense of humor though! Thank God!

Here's hoping, FOR ONCE, the guy I like moves fast and moves first. I hate always being the one.

-------------

Oooooh! M*A*S*H is on! Hope it's an early one. Gotta go!

Monday, May 24, 2004

Exploring New York City, Part XVI

Due to circumstance, I have been spending an inordinate amount of time OUTSIDE of my apartment. The positive side of this is that I am getting a LOT of exercise and finally starting to shed some pounds. Not only have I been a frequent visitor to my expensive, though lovely New York Sports Club, I have also spent a great deal of time walking, walking, walking, which has allowed me to happily explore this city, which sometimes I love, sometimes I hate.

Yesterday I made my way to Central Park, a place that will probably take me years to get to know. I entered at 96th street, on the west side (or "Central Park West" as they like to say), and as you can see from my classy map here, made my way down...down...down. It was quite a walk made a bit harder by the idiot in me that brought a very sizeable backpack along (it had all my workout clothes including my tennis shoes, bottle of water, etc.). By the time I reached Central Park South, I was red-faced, soaked in sweat, and exhausted. (I know, sexy image, eh?). I even considered walking down to the 40's after that, but quickly discovered that was stupid and got on the subway at 57th street.

But let's take a moment to re-visit that journey of mine, since it was so nice, shall we? It was really a beautiful day! A little warm, but the park offers plenty grassy knolls and shady trees. I got off the subway at 96th and had to walk a few avenues east until I reached the park. 96th street was kind of nice, and as I have been prone to lately, my eyes scoured every doorway on the off-chance that there is a sign advertising a vacant apartment (this has actually happened twice now, including one viewing for me). No such luck.

My path through the park Posted by Hello

I entered the park and began trying to make my way east. I saw the sign for the giant reservoir and headed toward that. I like large bodies of water. Okay, maybe this wasn't "large," but it sure wasn't a duck pond! I stared at the water for a bit, headphones in, thinking DEEEEEEEP thoughts. I then settled on the grass to read my book, Taking Lives, and take occasional glances at the lake and the hundreds of joggers huffing and puffing by. And when I say hundreds, I do not joke. If I had one of those people clickers that fat guards hold as you enter the museum, I'd be clickety-clacketing away. I was amazed. There were so many I felt some sort of societal pressure to jump up from my sluggish roost and join them with gusto.

Yeah, I just read my book, and ate green grapes, and stared at the water, and felt good. I go to the gym enough.

I also watched or rather, looked at those giant, gloroius apartment buildings that make up the famous "Central Park West" or "Central Park South" where the super rich live. They make such an interesting backdrop to the park, which seems like a bubble world, especially that one with the two towers.

That's not the greatest picture, it kind of takes away from the image I had, but it'll do for now.
This picture's a little bit better:


I want to be rich. I know, it sounds disgusting to say it, and I'm not sure that anyone can be really rich without really hurting others or forcing others into poverty themselves. I guess what I really mean is, I want to not have to struggle so much. Living in Bangkok, for the first time in my life, money wasn't SUCH an issue. When you don't have money, it's like this constant, dark cloud over your head. It affects your happiness, your stress levels. Does it mean you can't be poor and happy? No, of course not, but it sure as hell affects your happiness! And money CAN buy happiness! It can buy enjoyment, ease, comfort, and peace of mind. In Bangkok, if I needed something, or wanted something (within reason), it was possible. It wasn't crazy, but there wasn't this constant denial of oneself. Constant "wait 'til the next check to Once again I'd like to take this moment to bitch and moan about parents, and the ones in NYC are NO better than the Stepford Wives ones of the suburbs. HEY! You with KIDS! You are no better, no more privileged, no more special, no more deserving than the rest of us non-breeders. Having a child does not entitle you to push people out of the way, take over the entire sidewalk - forcing people into the street, cut in line, demand attention/service, or have the moral high ground in any situation. And if your child is yelling/screaming/throwing a tantrum, LEAVE (this especially applies to movie theaters). PLEASE listen to George Carlin's stand-up about "Children" and gain some perspective. I was a teacher and LOVED my students. Adored them. But I wasn't an idiot about them. Children are not little gods. They are just little people who need to be cared for.

ANYWAY!

I walked on toward Central Park South where the playground is. I had been there before, where I had spent a very nice few minutes on the swings. I'm an adult and still love the swings, though now I have a fear of breaking the whole swingset. The place was filled with kids though, and I do like kids enough to not want to take over a swing when there's plenty of children vying for one. I thought I'd use the bathroom which I had been pleasantly surprised with on my last visit.

YUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!

It was absolutely, totally disgusting. The bathroom was flooded with watery excrement that covered the floor in a vomitous flood. I was very happy to be wearing my 'water'-proof, foot-covering shoes. I found one bathroom that had a) toilet paper, b) a working lock, and c) the least amount of flood waters on the ground. We can stop the story there.

I walked to the main sidewalk where all the horse, or is it 'hansom' cabs were. The smell of horse manure was a bit overwhelming. I don’t mind the smell so much, since I was around horses occasionally as a kid (especially with those memorable trips to “Rawhide!” out in the desert, but it was pretty pungent stuff.

I passed by all the vendors with their touristy stuff. When I have lived abroad (particulary in Europe, since this is rather hard in Bangkok), I would make some effort to blend in. Wearing black shoes, my hair up, not bouncing too much when I walked or not smiling too easily. Sheesh, it makes Europe sound depressing, doesn't it?

I never wanted to be seen as a tourist and always felt a little embarrassed by others, especially the American (or other nationalities) who were obnoxious, loud, and totally out of touch with their surroundings and the people in it, or worse, the hippies who thought they really WERE. Yet, my one weakness was tourist crap. I love it. I loved my Eiffel Tower keychain (now gone, *sniff*), my Gothenberg sweatshirt, my Kiwi necklace, etc. I totally go for that stuff. I love postcards (and sending them), and find great joy in taking many photos of something that everyone else has seen a thousand times on other postcards or books or tv or movies. The NYC stuff is of course, a bit less interesting, but I still slow down a bit when passing.

How do you blend in in NYC? You wear dark colors, you dress relatively well (not in the Midwestern sweatpant/big t-shirt uniform I'm used to), if you're a girl, you don't wear masculine shoes (I like to wear fake doc martens, stomp stomp, oh well), you walk very fast, you look pissed off, you have little patience, and you don't look up. Ever.



Geocities Boo!

Okay, I just figured out why I've been having all this trouble posting pictures DESPITE the fact that I thought I was following all instructions carefully...

It seems that Geocities where I have happily kept my webpage for YEARS does not allow you to link a photo from there onto your blogger. Well, isn't that sweet? GODDAMNIT! What the fuck? I can't use my own website in conjunction with my own blog????? It's not like I'm using my website to store information for evil terrorists. I'm just linking a photo from one to the other!

The only other option is the "Hello" or Picassa that I have been using, which is fine, except that it doesn't allow for much manipulation.

Boooo fucking boooo to you Geocities.

Shrek 2

Okay, I saw Shrek 2 this weekend and enjoyed it. Though I didn't have HUGE expectations for the film, it was nice to NOT be disappointed at the movies for once. The movie was funny, and touching, and has a good underlying message about racism and our obsession with a certain kind of beauty (very white, very thin, very big, blue eyes). Don't worry, I'm not going to turn Shrek 2 into something it's not, but that message is there.

And the big scene stealer was by far, Antonio Banderas as Puss in Boots, who turned Eddie Murphy's babbling donkey into an annoyance. Puss stole every scene and got the biggest theater "AWwwwww!" I've ever heard with this <
Awwww! Posted by Hello

Saturday, May 22, 2004

Blip on American Idol

Yes, I watch it. I love it. Though I'm still pissed about the whole Jasmine thing.

Chain chain chainnnnnnnn..... Posted by Hello
Fantasia, you kick some serious ass! If you don't win this thing, I will have lost all faith in the show. I came pretty close when weepy-eyed, "Vote for me Hawaii!" Jasmine SOMEHOW ousted LaToya, whom I thought would win the whole thing.

I still miss George Huff though! He just made me smile everytime he was on. George you were great and the only one with a personality besides Fantasia! I hope you get something worthwhile out of this besides face recognition on the street.

Style, personality, walk, personality, talk... Posted by Hello