GUM is to the left, and waxy yellow lenin (before they cleaned him up) is to the right. piglet is front and centre.
i don't know ... it doesn't seem right to say anything at the moment when the horrors that so many far away face regularly are now snarling at us where we live.
or, to be more accurate, i haven't a clue what to say.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
katrina
extensive list of web sites to follow the news and support relief efforts here.
i do not have television access and thus, perhaps, have missed the full impact of the pictures that have been shown. nevertheless, i am lost for words ... except for saying the misheberach for healing for all the victims and those who are working to save and help them. from our mouths to god's ears.
i do not have television access and thus, perhaps, have missed the full impact of the pictures that have been shown. nevertheless, i am lost for words ... except for saying the misheberach for healing for all the victims and those who are working to save and help them. from our mouths to god's ears.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
unlucky in love
rather than wallow (any more) in an acute state of singledom, here is an account of the number one most humiliating moment in my sort-of-dating life so far:
when i was small, my mother told us that if we missed her when she went out to dinner, we should go to the coat cupboard, and sniff her perfume on the clothes in there, and then she wouldn't seem so far away.
when i was not small at all, yet blithely unaware of, well, anything much really, i was in tel aviv airport waiting on standby to get a flight home for rosh hashanah. although i'd only said goodbye to dbl a couple of hours ago, i was feeling an intense sense of loss rather beyond what was appropriate for a new best friend. anyway, i had an idea! dbl had a thing about drakkar noir aftershave. i would go into the duty-free shop, and squirt myself with a bit of drakkar noir from a tester, and then she wouldn't seem so far away.
when i entered the duty-free shop, a snooty woman looked down on me from behind the counter. 'may i help you?' she said snootily. ok i didn't look my best - 6 months without a haircut, black denim shorts, black basketball shirt, sneakers and baseball cap - but still i was a customer. once in the hilton hotel in manhattan, dressed much the same but with dark glasses on as well, i was sitting on a lovely sofa waiting to collect a plane ticket from the continental desk when an officious hotel security man said 'hey, ya bum, get offa that couch!'. i looked over the top of my shades and said in my best english accent, 'i beg your pardon?' 'gee, lady, i'm sorry!' he said, and left me alone, no longer a bum but now an eccentric englishwoman. israelis do not, of course, have the same reverence for an english accent. but i digress ...
'may i help you?' she said. 'no, thank you,' i replied, 'i'm just looking.' so i looked around, keeping an eye for the moment when she turned around so i could grab the tester and squirt myself. she, of course, was keeping an eye on me because i was a bum. we danced this dance for a while, and then my moment suddenly appeared: she turned away! quickly i grabbed the drakkar noir bottle, and squirted it on my face and neck. the trouble was - i got the shaving cream by mistake. the kind that expanded. and then, the saleslady turned back.
what did i do? what could i do? i wiped my face off with my hand, and walked out of the shop. *sigh*
when i was small, my mother told us that if we missed her when she went out to dinner, we should go to the coat cupboard, and sniff her perfume on the clothes in there, and then she wouldn't seem so far away.
when i was not small at all, yet blithely unaware of, well, anything much really, i was in tel aviv airport waiting on standby to get a flight home for rosh hashanah. although i'd only said goodbye to dbl a couple of hours ago, i was feeling an intense sense of loss rather beyond what was appropriate for a new best friend. anyway, i had an idea! dbl had a thing about drakkar noir aftershave. i would go into the duty-free shop, and squirt myself with a bit of drakkar noir from a tester, and then she wouldn't seem so far away.
when i entered the duty-free shop, a snooty woman looked down on me from behind the counter. 'may i help you?' she said snootily. ok i didn't look my best - 6 months without a haircut, black denim shorts, black basketball shirt, sneakers and baseball cap - but still i was a customer. once in the hilton hotel in manhattan, dressed much the same but with dark glasses on as well, i was sitting on a lovely sofa waiting to collect a plane ticket from the continental desk when an officious hotel security man said 'hey, ya bum, get offa that couch!'. i looked over the top of my shades and said in my best english accent, 'i beg your pardon?' 'gee, lady, i'm sorry!' he said, and left me alone, no longer a bum but now an eccentric englishwoman. israelis do not, of course, have the same reverence for an english accent. but i digress ...
'may i help you?' she said. 'no, thank you,' i replied, 'i'm just looking.' so i looked around, keeping an eye for the moment when she turned around so i could grab the tester and squirt myself. she, of course, was keeping an eye on me because i was a bum. we danced this dance for a while, and then my moment suddenly appeared: she turned away! quickly i grabbed the drakkar noir bottle, and squirted it on my face and neck. the trouble was - i got the shaving cream by mistake. the kind that expanded. and then, the saleslady turned back.
what did i do? what could i do? i wiped my face off with my hand, and walked out of the shop. *sigh*
Sunday, August 07, 2005
coming home
can it be? the football season has begun again. qpr did not lose, although the scum did win the charity shield, sorry the community shield as it is now called. the hull "fans" are lucky qpr are not millwall, for their chants of "town full of bombers, you're just a town full of bombers" were horrific.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
good morrow mistress ravaj
was somewhat disconcerted today after torah study. came out of the building and walked over to my car. there was a native american woman sitting on the kerb next to it. when she saw me she jumped up with the face of a kid caught out of bounds. i smiled at her and said something like "no no, sit down". she said, "no, i have to go to work," and trudged off in her flip-flops towards the garbage truck that had just pulled in behind me. as she passed me she said, "thank you, miss."
was i really that patronising? utterly not my intention. utterly the opposite intention. maybe that was what was so patronising?
was i really that patronising? utterly not my intention. utterly the opposite intention. maybe that was what was so patronising?
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
piglet pays homage
ferncliff cemetery in white plains, n.y., has a lot of famous people buried in it. from aaliyah to judy garland, thelonious monk to malcolm x (although his plaque is not where they say it is). piglet and i went for a walk there one sunny day before i left westchester county.
the lemoncake lady
last week was the first yahrzeit for my darling father. it is strange, because that is the marker in jewish tradition of the end of the mourning period, and the full return to life. in contrast to that, i feel like perhaps soon my mourning may really begin. the actual day was friday, and i took advantage of my position at the synagogue by using the drash time to acknowledge daddy. i told them i wanted to tell a story about my father, but that most were not suitable for this particular moment. i decided on the story about the lemoncake lady, which might appear to be about me, or about her; but was really about albert, or perhaps themselves.
i was standing in line outside the chapel after the funeral service. it was a bit like a large party, where all the people i'd known since i was a child were passing before me, and once i'd adjusted my vision for their being taller or shorter, thinner or fatter ... and darkened their hair, i recognised them all. a strange woman stood before me. "it's such a pity your father died," she said, " we were due to study together. never mind," she continued, "i'll have a word with him next week and we'll figure something out." a bit woo-woo, i thought to myself, smiled bravely and on she moved.
in the week that followed, my main memory is just of people all the time. e-mails and letters and flowers arriving constantly, and people everywhere. i drifted in and out, wearing jeans and my a-rod yankees t-shirt. i would go into the front room, talk a little, then return to the couch in daddy's study and go back to sleep. meanwhile, noam was running interference for mummy. so many wanted to visit, it ended up that they had to make appointments, so mummy could have some time to rest.
i am called from my repose. the crazy lady is here - you have to keep her away from mummy. she is in the hall, and has a long, narrow cake tin with her. we take it to the kitchen, and i taste what is in the tin. it will never make it into the public domain. for the next hour we all stop by the kitchen and take just another tiny slice. it doesn't last long. it is the most delicious lemon cake we have ever tasted. later, i decide to call her the lemoncake lady because i don't want to remember her as one of the crazies.
we go into the dining room, and sit away from the others, and she begins to tell me her story. she is very jumpy, and ready to flee at any hint. she is well-groomed, well-spoken, clearly intelligent. she also speaks in a way that one would usually say this person is utterly bonkers. i listen to her story. a lot of it makes sense to me. i begin to think to myself that if i change the literal way she speaks into metaphor, she doesn't sound so mad. i read a book written by the rambam - she sits at a table with him and he talks to her and teaches her. different descriptions of a similar process, perhaps. my family keeps trying to rescue me, and the lemoncake lady twitches in her chair. i tell them i'll be back in a minute, and ask her to continue. it occurs to me that the reason she is here is because daddy listened to her. he took her seriously. it occurs to me that i should do the same. i do.
eventually she does leave. and i want to remember the lemoncake lady, because i want a way to remember how to be with someone where they are, and not always make them have to be where i am.
this is not, of course, exactly how i spoke on shabbat. i did note that this was a way my father continues to be with me and to teach me after his physical death. i did suggest that each of us has stories and people that may do the same for us. nice and rabbinical. and of course, after services, several people asked for the recipe.
i was standing in line outside the chapel after the funeral service. it was a bit like a large party, where all the people i'd known since i was a child were passing before me, and once i'd adjusted my vision for their being taller or shorter, thinner or fatter ... and darkened their hair, i recognised them all. a strange woman stood before me. "it's such a pity your father died," she said, " we were due to study together. never mind," she continued, "i'll have a word with him next week and we'll figure something out." a bit woo-woo, i thought to myself, smiled bravely and on she moved.
in the week that followed, my main memory is just of people all the time. e-mails and letters and flowers arriving constantly, and people everywhere. i drifted in and out, wearing jeans and my a-rod yankees t-shirt. i would go into the front room, talk a little, then return to the couch in daddy's study and go back to sleep. meanwhile, noam was running interference for mummy. so many wanted to visit, it ended up that they had to make appointments, so mummy could have some time to rest.
i am called from my repose. the crazy lady is here - you have to keep her away from mummy. she is in the hall, and has a long, narrow cake tin with her. we take it to the kitchen, and i taste what is in the tin. it will never make it into the public domain. for the next hour we all stop by the kitchen and take just another tiny slice. it doesn't last long. it is the most delicious lemon cake we have ever tasted. later, i decide to call her the lemoncake lady because i don't want to remember her as one of the crazies.
we go into the dining room, and sit away from the others, and she begins to tell me her story. she is very jumpy, and ready to flee at any hint. she is well-groomed, well-spoken, clearly intelligent. she also speaks in a way that one would usually say this person is utterly bonkers. i listen to her story. a lot of it makes sense to me. i begin to think to myself that if i change the literal way she speaks into metaphor, she doesn't sound so mad. i read a book written by the rambam - she sits at a table with him and he talks to her and teaches her. different descriptions of a similar process, perhaps. my family keeps trying to rescue me, and the lemoncake lady twitches in her chair. i tell them i'll be back in a minute, and ask her to continue. it occurs to me that the reason she is here is because daddy listened to her. he took her seriously. it occurs to me that i should do the same. i do.
eventually she does leave. and i want to remember the lemoncake lady, because i want a way to remember how to be with someone where they are, and not always make them have to be where i am.
this is not, of course, exactly how i spoke on shabbat. i did note that this was a way my father continues to be with me and to teach me after his physical death. i did suggest that each of us has stories and people that may do the same for us. nice and rabbinical. and of course, after services, several people asked for the recipe.
Monday, July 04, 2005
happy bye bye to the brits day
culturally torn here because i am, of course, a u.s. citizen; but i am also daughter of a loyal brit and one who grew up there. add to this the fact that my father grew up in vicksburg where the 4th of july was not celebrated at all, and you may see how my mixed heritage might ravage my soul. meanwhile, my fear of loud explosive noises has me jumping around my flat as my neighbours demonstrate their independent spirit by making lots of loud explosive noises in a state where fireworks are illegal. since i do not eat anything that had eyes except potatoes, the scent of grilling animal flesh brings tears to my own eyes, and saliva to a mouth that responds to impulses more primeval than pc vegetarianism.
on the other hand, i did enjoy seeing 'bewitched' yesterday, although i think the cinema lost the reel with the last ten minutes on it. either that, or the producers just said "time's up!" and they stopped filming and began to run the credits. would like to see 'war of the worlds' except that tom cruise is being such an arse at the moment that i think it would be difficult to watch the character rather than seeing the face of the actor and thinking about his imo ridiculous public statements of recent weeks. i say that as someone who considers her life to have been saved a couple of times by anti-depressant meds. even rosie blogged her disagreement.
would it not be a blessing if people stopped waving the red white and blue ego, and peace broke out all over? that is something i can pray for:
god bless america, my home sweet home!
on the other hand, i did enjoy seeing 'bewitched' yesterday, although i think the cinema lost the reel with the last ten minutes on it. either that, or the producers just said "time's up!" and they stopped filming and began to run the credits. would like to see 'war of the worlds' except that tom cruise is being such an arse at the moment that i think it would be difficult to watch the character rather than seeing the face of the actor and thinking about his imo ridiculous public statements of recent weeks. i say that as someone who considers her life to have been saved a couple of times by anti-depressant meds. even rosie blogged her disagreement.
would it not be a blessing if people stopped waving the red white and blue ego, and peace broke out all over? that is something i can pray for:
god bless america, my home sweet home!
Sunday, June 19, 2005
jolly green piglet
driving west on interstate 90, a 50 ft high statue of the jolly green giant is visible from the road. blue earth, minnesota, looked like a ghost town; but there was a hut near the statue and inside was a little old lady selling postcards and souvenirs. note - she is not the best person to ask to take a picture of yourself with the giant. question: why is the giant wearing a black plastic garment over his normal clothing?
avodah zarah
just listening to some big band music on wmnr (when, of course, i should be preparing for the movers tomorrow). i was wishing i could play my clarinet like benny goodman or artie shaw. i heard the announcer highlight a number of other greats, mostly when they were just starting out as band members with a featured piece. then i started thinking about the other guys in the bands, who never got named, but were still part of the sound.
most of us don't do more than a couple of things to a high standard - it takes all the time and energy we already devote just to be competent, whether at something artistic, or scientific, or work-related, or life-related. it is all important, yet we don't seem to give ourselves credit for doing a job to the best of our ability. ok, glaringly obvious ... or is it? the talent/appeal of, the attention given to a louis armstrong, an angelina jolie, a mickey mantle ... sometimes i wonder where the line between appreciation and idolatry falls.
ok, not so preachy - let me just speak for myself. things like the clarinet - i know that if i spend more time on it i shall get better, and i derive great pleasure from listening to others who are the best in their field. the same with sport - even if i am not really into it like, say, basketball; i can still enjoy and appreciate someone like michael jordan in his prime. neither of these areas have much of an impact on my self-esteem. movie-stars, however, are another thing completely! great acting is one thing, like other talent, and i appreciate being made to think and being emotionally touched and being entertained. when i look, however, at ms. jolie, or catherine zeta-jones, or michelle pfeiffer (or halle berry) as catwoman, alongside the lust that their screen personae may evoke in me comes a strong sense of my own inadequacy. i would like a real person to feel like that about me, preferably someone to whom i am also attracted. but it doesn't end there. follow that thread and i seem to have attached to it all my relationship wishes and ideals. do many of us do that?
for me the key seems so bloody obvious - not a terribly good self image. i'll save the psychobabble for another time ... tonight i wonder what i get out of all the images of gorgeous women that may do me good, and what i should avoid! will have to think about that for a bit.
i feel there is something to be pursued re the concept of idolatry. find the empty space this worship is filling, and do sth else with it. also sth to do with an aspect of faith - no need to judge the value of my particular version of being made in the image of god, but trusting it has its place, and learning to feel good about my part of the whole. sounds good, eh?
a counsellor i saw in virginia gave me a mantra. she wrote it on a post-it note:
"i love and respect myself completely exactly as i am"
chris told me that no matter what i actually think, if i repeat this enough times for a very long time it will become a tape that runs in my head louder than some of the "i am fat and fat is ugly" types. lovely idea. the problem with this was that after i had put the post-it on my windscreen so i could read it in the car, i discovered that it scanned exactly to "blister in the sun" by the violent femmes. o well.
bored now.
most of us don't do more than a couple of things to a high standard - it takes all the time and energy we already devote just to be competent, whether at something artistic, or scientific, or work-related, or life-related. it is all important, yet we don't seem to give ourselves credit for doing a job to the best of our ability. ok, glaringly obvious ... or is it? the talent/appeal of, the attention given to a louis armstrong, an angelina jolie, a mickey mantle ... sometimes i wonder where the line between appreciation and idolatry falls.
ok, not so preachy - let me just speak for myself. things like the clarinet - i know that if i spend more time on it i shall get better, and i derive great pleasure from listening to others who are the best in their field. the same with sport - even if i am not really into it like, say, basketball; i can still enjoy and appreciate someone like michael jordan in his prime. neither of these areas have much of an impact on my self-esteem. movie-stars, however, are another thing completely! great acting is one thing, like other talent, and i appreciate being made to think and being emotionally touched and being entertained. when i look, however, at ms. jolie, or catherine zeta-jones, or michelle pfeiffer (or halle berry) as catwoman, alongside the lust that their screen personae may evoke in me comes a strong sense of my own inadequacy. i would like a real person to feel like that about me, preferably someone to whom i am also attracted. but it doesn't end there. follow that thread and i seem to have attached to it all my relationship wishes and ideals. do many of us do that?
for me the key seems so bloody obvious - not a terribly good self image. i'll save the psychobabble for another time ... tonight i wonder what i get out of all the images of gorgeous women that may do me good, and what i should avoid! will have to think about that for a bit.
i feel there is something to be pursued re the concept of idolatry. find the empty space this worship is filling, and do sth else with it. also sth to do with an aspect of faith - no need to judge the value of my particular version of being made in the image of god, but trusting it has its place, and learning to feel good about my part of the whole. sounds good, eh?
a counsellor i saw in virginia gave me a mantra. she wrote it on a post-it note:
"i love and respect myself completely exactly as i am"
chris told me that no matter what i actually think, if i repeat this enough times for a very long time it will become a tape that runs in my head louder than some of the "i am fat and fat is ugly" types. lovely idea. the problem with this was that after i had put the post-it on my windscreen so i could read it in the car, i discovered that it scanned exactly to "blister in the sun" by the violent femmes. o well.
bored now.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
anne bancroft z"l
Most people will think first of the graduate and then of the miracle worker. love those films. and for me, the one bright spot of the travesty that was mel brooks' remake of my all-time favourite film 'to be or not to be' was at the beginning when ms. bancroft sings 'sweet georgia brown' in polish. my favourite film of hers, however, is 'garbo talks', where she plays a dying mother who idolises greta garbo & whose adult son tries to arrange a meeting in his version of make-a-wish foundation.
my anne bancroft story is a bit embarrassing. please note that at one time her hair was very very similar to that of my middle sister. nu - after a bit of a fight at home when our mother suggested my friend michael and i invite my sister to join us at the theatre that evening and said sister got somewhat hoity toity and flounced off, at the end of 'lettice & lovage' (we got amazing front stalls seats from the leicester square ticket office) we turned towards the exit and lo there was my sister standing in the aisle. i duly flounced up to her, grabbed her arm, and said "what the **** do you think you are doing here?!" anne bancroft turned to me with sort of a surprised look. 'o sorry, i thought you were my sister' i said lamely and ran away.
may she rest in peace.
my anne bancroft story is a bit embarrassing. please note that at one time her hair was very very similar to that of my middle sister. nu - after a bit of a fight at home when our mother suggested my friend michael and i invite my sister to join us at the theatre that evening and said sister got somewhat hoity toity and flounced off, at the end of 'lettice & lovage' (we got amazing front stalls seats from the leicester square ticket office) we turned towards the exit and lo there was my sister standing in the aisle. i duly flounced up to her, grabbed her arm, and said "what the **** do you think you are doing here?!" anne bancroft turned to me with sort of a surprised look. 'o sorry, i thought you were my sister' i said lamely and ran away.
may she rest in peace.
piglet corn palace
am heading out to the mid-west to celebrate a landmark birthday for my favourite aunt (i absolutely adore her, but she does like me to note that she is my only aunt).
the thing about the mitchell corn palace is that the designs are made entirely from corncobs. the day we took this, however, there was a polka festival inside, and i rued the facts that i'd left my tape recorder in the car and that i could not find a polka skirt to suit my peasant frame.
the thing about the mitchell corn palace is that the designs are made entirely from corncobs. the day we took this, however, there was a polka festival inside, and i rued the facts that i'd left my tape recorder in the car and that i could not find a polka skirt to suit my peasant frame.
Saturday, May 28, 2005
um, a bit of a dilemma
so off i went to the supermarket this afternoon ... hang on, just noticed a rainbow outside ... sorry, but i had to go out and look at it.
o yes ... the supermarket. outside the exit (which i had to pass to get to the entrance), two young women in matching sweatshirts were collecting for something. they saw me trying to read their sign (am trying hard not to accept that it may already be time for a new pair of glasses. what kind of life is this where chocolate, good english milk chocolate, can make you go blind?!). we began to chat, and as i listened to a story of rehabilitation from cocaine and alcohol abuse, i reached into my pocket thinking i should drop a dollar in the glass jar and go buy my hummus. as i am hearing about the 80k job and the lexus she used to have, i am realising that these are the edge-of-recycling jeans that are nicely frayed, not quite indecent, and have holes in all the pockets. as i am hearing that finding jesus christ has filled the emptiness in her heart i reach into my back pocket and discover that my wallet is still at home in the back pocket of the black jeans i just threw into the laundry basket. i apologise to the women and drive home to get money for groceries.
while i drove i thought about what i'd heard. on the one hand, a programme to get women off drugs that worked - what could be wrong with that? on the other hand, if that programme also promoted such things as the importance of persuading others who already had a religious allegiance that the love of christ is superior ... and/or intolerance of other diversity such as sexual orientation - then why should i give it any kind of financial support?
i returned with my wallet, and returned to the conversation. as the woman spoke, i felt like she had replaced one addiction with another. i decided to ask her my questions from the car. she told me that god loves everyone no matter what choices they have made. i asked her if she was comparing homosexuality to a cocaine habit and she said oh no, and her cousin is a lesbian and she adores her. as we spoke, i began to feel that her avowed tolerance was sincere. she told me she is now going to bible college to become a minister. i asked her if she had considered the possibility that others in her programme might not be as tolerant as she is, and she replied that she is very new at it all.
long story short - i asked for more to read about the programme, and was given a book written by its founder. i sat in the car park for about 30 minutes reading it. homosexuality is referred to as perverse and a sin. when i got to the bit where the author is praising god for saving a ftm transexual and turning her into a good xian woman i put the book down.
so i didn't give them any money. but i have been thinking this afternoon about what feels to me like a dilemma. is it simply a question of do the ends justify the means? is an addiction to religion any healthier than any other? ok, of course it doesn't lead you into the criminal activities of the world of drugs ... but why should damage to the soul be any less heinous than damage to the body? good luck to her that she turned her life around, but do i want her on a college campus targetting the questioning and the insecure (and the questioning and insecure jews)?
o yes ... the supermarket. outside the exit (which i had to pass to get to the entrance), two young women in matching sweatshirts were collecting for something. they saw me trying to read their sign (am trying hard not to accept that it may already be time for a new pair of glasses. what kind of life is this where chocolate, good english milk chocolate, can make you go blind?!). we began to chat, and as i listened to a story of rehabilitation from cocaine and alcohol abuse, i reached into my pocket thinking i should drop a dollar in the glass jar and go buy my hummus. as i am hearing about the 80k job and the lexus she used to have, i am realising that these are the edge-of-recycling jeans that are nicely frayed, not quite indecent, and have holes in all the pockets. as i am hearing that finding jesus christ has filled the emptiness in her heart i reach into my back pocket and discover that my wallet is still at home in the back pocket of the black jeans i just threw into the laundry basket. i apologise to the women and drive home to get money for groceries.
while i drove i thought about what i'd heard. on the one hand, a programme to get women off drugs that worked - what could be wrong with that? on the other hand, if that programme also promoted such things as the importance of persuading others who already had a religious allegiance that the love of christ is superior ... and/or intolerance of other diversity such as sexual orientation - then why should i give it any kind of financial support?
i returned with my wallet, and returned to the conversation. as the woman spoke, i felt like she had replaced one addiction with another. i decided to ask her my questions from the car. she told me that god loves everyone no matter what choices they have made. i asked her if she was comparing homosexuality to a cocaine habit and she said oh no, and her cousin is a lesbian and she adores her. as we spoke, i began to feel that her avowed tolerance was sincere. she told me she is now going to bible college to become a minister. i asked her if she had considered the possibility that others in her programme might not be as tolerant as she is, and she replied that she is very new at it all.
long story short - i asked for more to read about the programme, and was given a book written by its founder. i sat in the car park for about 30 minutes reading it. homosexuality is referred to as perverse and a sin. when i got to the bit where the author is praising god for saving a ftm transexual and turning her into a good xian woman i put the book down.
so i didn't give them any money. but i have been thinking this afternoon about what feels to me like a dilemma. is it simply a question of do the ends justify the means? is an addiction to religion any healthier than any other? ok, of course it doesn't lead you into the criminal activities of the world of drugs ... but why should damage to the soul be any less heinous than damage to the body? good luck to her that she turned her life around, but do i want her on a college campus targetting the questioning and the insecure (and the questioning and insecure jews)?
Thursday, May 26, 2005
piglet at the plaza
i cannot remember if i have ever been inside the plaza hotel. i think i may have walked through it once, just to say i had been there. this piglet picture was from a day in new york when i decided i could only take pictures if i asked people first. not only that, but i had to ask them to hold the pig too. o it was hard to do. the hardest was the man on stilts outside fao schwarz - but that was more to do with trying to hand piglet to him. this is my favourite. as is the rote grutze the 2nd link notes will be served in the hotel at the end of the summer. mmmmm.
Monday, May 23, 2005
pyramid piglet
this is one of the few pix not taken by me. it exists courtesy of my sister m., who is the one who's been to egypt. i tried to go to egypt once, but it was the week israel was giving back the sinai and some right-wing extremist students had cemented themselves into a bunker in the desert protesting the handover so the border guards wouldn't let us in despite our hippy looks and smell.
NB piglet is sitting on top of the camel
NB piglet is sitting on top of the camel
10 things i've never done
apostablog tells us this is the blogging game of the week, and i'd rather have a go than get dressed and drive to white plains, so here are my first ten thoughts:
1. owned a pair of birkenstocks
2. paid to get into stamford bridge
3. eaten lobster
4. finished reading moby dick
5. slept outdoors overnight in a tent
6. voted republican
7. made a meringue from scratch
8. worn anything the colour mauve
9. changed a flat tyre
10. been in a mosh pit
alas, time to get dressed and drive to white plains.
1. owned a pair of birkenstocks
2. paid to get into stamford bridge
3. eaten lobster
4. finished reading moby dick
5. slept outdoors overnight in a tent
6. voted republican
7. made a meringue from scratch
8. worn anything the colour mauve
9. changed a flat tyre
10. been in a mosh pit
alas, time to get dressed and drive to white plains.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
delphine marcus z"l
cannot believe it - i was so excited to hear her again on the radio on wednesday evening. here is the obituary from wmnr:
Delphine Marcus, one of WMNR's most well-known and beloved broadcasters, died on Wednesday, May 18, 2005, after a long illness.
Remembering Delphine Marcus
Some of us knew her as a friend, some of us knew her as the soft, English-accented voice that came over the air waves on Wednesday and Friday evenings; but all of us felt her zest for life and her joy in bringing the music to her listeners. She was indeed a beautiful, vibrant, warm, funny, candid, and courageous woman, who fought long and hard against the awful disease that finally took her, and her spirit never wavered.
"We now have 14 minutes before 8 o'clock, and I do have tickets to give away." Delphine Marcus was a broadcaster at WMNR for more than 20 years. Her programs were heard every week, beginning with the inception of the classical format on Fine Arts Radio, and over the years she became very dear to her many admirers. So intimate and so personal were her style and presentation that many people felt a deep kinship with her, and her mailbox was always stuffed with fan letters.
With a highly diverse background that included having been raised among the gentry in England, and educated in France, Germany, and the Middle East, Delphine brought to her programming a unique variety of musical styles. But her adventurous and exotic life experiences add up to what many people only dream of doing.
At a very young age, Delphine Costelloe Scott-Young began dancing lessons that eventually led to an engagement with a ballet company in her native England. Acting was also an early pursuit which resulted in some minor roles in movies, and an exciting trip to Rome to act as stand-in for Elizabeth Taylor in the barge scene in Cleopatra.
Then it was on to study at the Sorbonne and at Heidelberg University, and eventually to Iran where she received a degree in Islamic art. While she was in the Middle East, there was an opportunity to spend a brief time living and traveling with the band of nomadic Arab tribespeople called Bedou. But this was only the beginning! Amid many other unusual and exciting adventures, Delphine took a glamorous job as an emissary for a large Western oil company in Libya. When the company offered her a sabbatical to America, she ended up settling here and marrying cartoonist Jerry Marcus, with whom she had two children. There are now three grandchildren who were indeed the center of her world.
Among the musical memories that Delphine Marcus shared with us, there are many worth sharing again:
"My first real musical memory was when I was about 5 years old--it was Christmas Day in England--a grey, sullen winter's day with a weak sun struggling unsuccessfully to shine. I was gazing out the window at the leafless trees and listening to my grandfather's recording of Beethoven's 7th Symphony (we always listened to music after dinner). Wagner called this symphony the 'Apotheosis of the dance.' I loved its joyfulness and as a child I would dance to it."
"It was my grandmother who introduced me to the movies. She was an ardent fan and would take me with her on different occasions. Her favorites were Bette Davis, Vivien Leigh, and Clark Gable. I remember seeing Jeannette Macdonald and Nelson Eddy in Maytime with her and loving the music. My grandfather always said that if the film made my grandmother cry, then he was certain she had enjoyed it! It was my mother who took me to see Dangerous Moonlight, and I remember that day in London every time I hear Richard Addinsell's "Warsaw Concerto" (which was part of the score for the film), because when we came out of the cinema the air raid siren wailed its warning and we had to seek shelter from the bombs."
"I have the great luxury of being able to share my musical loves with you, the listener here at WMNR. What pleasure it brings me when you tell me how much you enjoyed a certain piece of music that you have just heard. I think we all can remember some event when music has played an important role in our lives. What would life be without music, and, of course, WMNR!"
Well-known and deeply admired by her listeners, Delphine presented programs that were always spontaneous, done without script or notes, and peppered with many of the recordings from her personal collection. Because she was such a world traveler, her fascination with music of all cultures permeated her programs and made them exciting and interesting. Many people looked forward to the mystery voice quiz and other special features that made her broadcasts so much more than just concerts.
Delphine Marcus will be greatly missed by those of us who knew her and those who knew only her voice, and although that voice is silent now, it won't be forgotten.
Delphine Marcus, one of WMNR's most well-known and beloved broadcasters, died on Wednesday, May 18, 2005, after a long illness.
Remembering Delphine Marcus
Some of us knew her as a friend, some of us knew her as the soft, English-accented voice that came over the air waves on Wednesday and Friday evenings; but all of us felt her zest for life and her joy in bringing the music to her listeners. She was indeed a beautiful, vibrant, warm, funny, candid, and courageous woman, who fought long and hard against the awful disease that finally took her, and her spirit never wavered.
"We now have 14 minutes before 8 o'clock, and I do have tickets to give away." Delphine Marcus was a broadcaster at WMNR for more than 20 years. Her programs were heard every week, beginning with the inception of the classical format on Fine Arts Radio, and over the years she became very dear to her many admirers. So intimate and so personal were her style and presentation that many people felt a deep kinship with her, and her mailbox was always stuffed with fan letters.
With a highly diverse background that included having been raised among the gentry in England, and educated in France, Germany, and the Middle East, Delphine brought to her programming a unique variety of musical styles. But her adventurous and exotic life experiences add up to what many people only dream of doing.
At a very young age, Delphine Costelloe Scott-Young began dancing lessons that eventually led to an engagement with a ballet company in her native England. Acting was also an early pursuit which resulted in some minor roles in movies, and an exciting trip to Rome to act as stand-in for Elizabeth Taylor in the barge scene in Cleopatra.
Then it was on to study at the Sorbonne and at Heidelberg University, and eventually to Iran where she received a degree in Islamic art. While she was in the Middle East, there was an opportunity to spend a brief time living and traveling with the band of nomadic Arab tribespeople called Bedou. But this was only the beginning! Amid many other unusual and exciting adventures, Delphine took a glamorous job as an emissary for a large Western oil company in Libya. When the company offered her a sabbatical to America, she ended up settling here and marrying cartoonist Jerry Marcus, with whom she had two children. There are now three grandchildren who were indeed the center of her world.
Among the musical memories that Delphine Marcus shared with us, there are many worth sharing again:
"My first real musical memory was when I was about 5 years old--it was Christmas Day in England--a grey, sullen winter's day with a weak sun struggling unsuccessfully to shine. I was gazing out the window at the leafless trees and listening to my grandfather's recording of Beethoven's 7th Symphony (we always listened to music after dinner). Wagner called this symphony the 'Apotheosis of the dance.' I loved its joyfulness and as a child I would dance to it."
"It was my grandmother who introduced me to the movies. She was an ardent fan and would take me with her on different occasions. Her favorites were Bette Davis, Vivien Leigh, and Clark Gable. I remember seeing Jeannette Macdonald and Nelson Eddy in Maytime with her and loving the music. My grandfather always said that if the film made my grandmother cry, then he was certain she had enjoyed it! It was my mother who took me to see Dangerous Moonlight, and I remember that day in London every time I hear Richard Addinsell's "Warsaw Concerto" (which was part of the score for the film), because when we came out of the cinema the air raid siren wailed its warning and we had to seek shelter from the bombs."
"I have the great luxury of being able to share my musical loves with you, the listener here at WMNR. What pleasure it brings me when you tell me how much you enjoyed a certain piece of music that you have just heard. I think we all can remember some event when music has played an important role in our lives. What would life be without music, and, of course, WMNR!"
Well-known and deeply admired by her listeners, Delphine presented programs that were always spontaneous, done without script or notes, and peppered with many of the recordings from her personal collection. Because she was such a world traveler, her fascination with music of all cultures permeated her programs and made them exciting and interesting. Many people looked forward to the mystery voice quiz and other special features that made her broadcasts so much more than just concerts.
Delphine Marcus will be greatly missed by those of us who knew her and those who knew only her voice, and although that voice is silent now, it won't be forgotten.
Friday, May 20, 2005
w.c. whimsy
i don't know what you read when you're on the toilet. i cannot assume that you do read at those times. for those of us who do, however, there are the things we are already reading that we may bring in with us, e.g., a newspaper, a book we can't put down, something that must be studied for work or a test. there are also reading materials that stay in the bathroom for a while. i'm not so interested in the old magazines, although what they are may give new insight about one's host. i'm wondering what you think are good books to leave in there on purpose - for one's guests, and for oneself.
my current offerings:
Poems on the Underground
(a selection of the poems posted in london underground trains amid the ads in the carriages)
The Rough Guide to the Da Vinci Code
Tragically I was an Only Twin
(a collection of sketches from the career of peter cook. gut-wrenchingly funny, which seems kind of appropriate ... )
somebody left The Dance of Anger in there, but i think i should put it back on a shelf asap :-)
a favourite story about my father: one year for my birthday treat the whole family went to see victoria wood live, at the aldwych theatre. there were five of us - the four women, and my father, who was also possibly the only heterosexual male in the auditorium. the first-half monologue was a story wound around a tampon, and at the interval my little sister said, "poor daddy - i bet you didn't understand a word of that." "nonsense!" he replied stoutly, "when i am in the bathroom, I read everything!"
my current offerings:
Poems on the Underground
(a selection of the poems posted in london underground trains amid the ads in the carriages)
The Rough Guide to the Da Vinci Code
Tragically I was an Only Twin
(a collection of sketches from the career of peter cook. gut-wrenchingly funny, which seems kind of appropriate ... )
somebody left The Dance of Anger in there, but i think i should put it back on a shelf asap :-)
a favourite story about my father: one year for my birthday treat the whole family went to see victoria wood live, at the aldwych theatre. there were five of us - the four women, and my father, who was also possibly the only heterosexual male in the auditorium. the first-half monologue was a story wound around a tampon, and at the interval my little sister said, "poor daddy - i bet you didn't understand a word of that." "nonsense!" he replied stoutly, "when i am in the bathroom, I read everything!"
graceland piglet
piglet fits right in here, doesn't he?! after taking this picture, i picked him up, put him back in my pocket, and headed back to the place where the bus picked people up to take them back to the car park. i was chased down the road by a security guard, who thought i had stolen piglet from the group at the grave. i had to show some of the pics in my digicam to prove i'd possessed him previously. her favourite was piglet rushmore.
back in the ussa
it's been a while, but i no longer have the excuse of jet-lag to stop me writing again. the visit to london ended as it began, with a memorial service. the second one was at the german embassy. my first time as a guest in an embassy. i was coming down with a cold, and when we got there my mother mentioned it to someone. a few minutes later, a butler appeared with a silver tray, upon which was a glass of hot (skimmed) milk, and a lovely china pot full of honey with a matching china spoon. it was delicious, and when i had finished, i put the glass down on a side table, whence it vanished not long afterwards. it's good to be a guest in an embassy.
now i am back, and need to find a new home to go with the new job. i have, therefore, been procrastinating magnificently. my genealogy research is coming along nicely, i have been scaring myself by reading political blogs and listening to air america radio, and i've bought the new su doko book put out by the london times. it is taboo for me to write in a book, even a paperback, but the lure of the logic is breaking me down. i tell myself it is important to exercise my brain, that mental fitness is as much of an antibody to aging as is physical fitness. now if someone will just invent a su doko equivalent for my heart ...
now i am back, and need to find a new home to go with the new job. i have, therefore, been procrastinating magnificently. my genealogy research is coming along nicely, i have been scaring myself by reading political blogs and listening to air america radio, and i've bought the new su doko book put out by the london times. it is taboo for me to write in a book, even a paperback, but the lure of the logic is breaking me down. i tell myself it is important to exercise my brain, that mental fitness is as much of an antibody to aging as is physical fitness. now if someone will just invent a su doko equivalent for my heart ...
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