A day of fine wine, exceptionally hot heat, a stubborn sick cat, and of course, exhaustion.
Wine in the summer?
The tasting I led to today was at a very nice wine shop in a very posh neighborhood right next to where my cousins live. Unfortunately, the store was pretty small, and they asked me to set up shop, (wine buckets, ice, crystal glasses, wine menus, the works) outside. I wasn’t happy, but there didn’t seem to be another option. I could have left early. I could have called my manager. I could have been a bitch. But I was good. I may have heat stroke, but I’m good. And again, wrong shoe choice! I never want to stand up again!
My cat who I thought was on the mend is most decidedly not. Folks, if your vet asks you for a stool sample, provide him with one, tout de suite! The bad bowels stopped. So I thought he was fine. Then my sister and I noticed he wasn’t quite himself, took to sleeping in the bathtub, not eating as much. Then, I took in the sample. Turns out, he might have had a fever all week. Two kinds of bacteria or parasites or something icky like that! I feel like a bad pet owner. And the antibiotic pills are a nightmare. He hates them more than you can hate anything, I think. We’re talking scratches all over the arms all week long. We deserve it though.
Blog Monetizing
So, I’ve been giving some thought to creating a new blog, a good blog, a professional blog, all for the new year, my new age, my new decade…and monetize it. My views regarding sales have always been rather negative. I don’t want to sell things to people who have no interest in them. No way, no how. Online though, everything is so passive. Many sites have ads, and we never notice them. I mean, you buy a newspaper, and there are ads there. Doesn’t mean you don’t read the news, enjoy the funnies, and dive into the crossword. Sometimes ads are helpful. And if I can choose the ads. If I believe in the product. Then, why not?
My Strengths
It’s really hard to make money in Israel. Ha! It’s hard to make money anywhere these days. And I am trying, as always, to get a good sense of my strengths, realistically speaking. Sure, I was a good pianist, sang wonderfully in choir, and I can write a great press release. But what do I realistically devote time to? Writing about myself, my views, things that interest me. And that kind of journalism/novel writing doesn’t exist on a real “bankable” plane. My novel is largely autobiographical. The journalism I have done was all human interest. The few essays, short stories, etc, that I have completed, and completed well, were spin offs of what I knew.
You write who you are
Is it wrong? No. I think it makes sense. All writers write best when they write what they know. And the person we know best is ourselves. It explains common themes and characters in the works of the same author. It explains a journalistic subdivision (a finance writer doesn’t stop and occasionally write theatre reviews). We write who we are.
And I love to blog.
So, if you have any advice out there, please bring it on. I’ve found a ton of articles on how to monetize and tips and blogs on blogging, etc. But a helping hand to weed out the crud would be wonderful.
Great weekend folks! Wish me luck with editing the book…or rather…battling the demons…as I now understand this task to be.
Yes! I had a good day. It was the day and it was done! I made lots of phone calls and ran errands and went all over town and applied for jobs and even, yes, even worked on editing my manuscript! Glory Hallelujah!
And guess what. Tomorrow will be the day again. All over again. But better. Hooray!
But now onto some hilarious news and stuff I’ve dug up from the web.
The security of the new head of MI6, Sir John Sawers, has been compromised. How? His wife posted all sorts of family photos, vacation photos, and pics of their friends, revealed the location of their home, their kids’ whereabouts, etc, etc, etc…on Facebook! With no privacy settings in place! Hardy, har, har. Way embarrassing. Read on…
My male cat, the one who somehow “fell out” of a 4th floor window, got checked out at the vet’s today. He seems normal, maybe a little bit more fussy than usual except…he’s got anal leakage. Yeah. Nasty. You don’t need the long story…he’s gonna be fine, for sure. But I learned today what his real weight is. And it’s scary. I thought, sure, he’s over 5 kilos, maybe close to 6… My big fat cat weights 7.6 kilos. On an empty stomach in the morning. That’s 16.72 lbs!!! As soon as he’s healthy, he’s going on a strict vet-prescribed diet. Period. No diabetic cats will be created under my roof, no sirree bob!
I’m always interested in the bizarre ways people find my odd anonymous personal blog. One of the big search triggers is “Pompeii,” seeing as I wrote a decent post with lots of raunchy photos from my visit there. Often people search for sex in Pompeii or Pompeii brothels. Well, today, I found something so hilarious, it’s almost touching. Real graffiti from Pompeii. Not kidding. People never change. Seriously. A couple thousand years, and it’s all the same. A few choice samples:
Restitutus says: “Restituta, take off your tunic, please, and show us your hairy privates”
Amplicatus, I know that Icarus is buggering you. Salvius wrote this
The one who buggers a fire burns his penis
Lesbianus, you defecate and you write, ‘Hello, everyone!’
Floronius, privileged soldier of the 7th legion, was here. The women did not know of his presence. Only six women came to know, too few for such a stallion.
Theophilus, don’t perform oral sex on girls against the city wall like a dog
Defecator, may everything turn out okay so that you can leave this place
I have buggered men
It took 640 paces to walk back and forth between here and there ten times
I don’t want to sell my husband, not for all the gold in the world
So…do go read all of them, will you? I’m not pulling your leg. They’re all real. Archaeologically documented and everything. Dirty macho bragging graffiti as science, art, and a piece of history. Fits, doesn’t it? The best place an archaeologist can find info on a long-gone society is in its trash heap.
38 days…this last stretch is really here. And I’m doing OK. Really I am. I’m getting really excited to turn 30. I’ve had a premonition since I was a kid that life would be good at 30. Sure, I thought I’d be a scientist or published great or something and people would finally “take me seriously” because of my age. Still. There are a ridiculous amount of good things ahead.
First – the news:
My cat survived the 4th floor fall. Without a scratch. Without batting an eyelash. I had to do some research and discovered cats turn into parachutes when they are falling, and they tend to survive 9 times out of 10. Gives some statistical credence to cats having nine lives, doesn’t it. Read more here.
My father turned the corner and is doing much better. I’ve not blogged for a couple days partially because of this. We’ve been worried sick. Trying to figure out if and how to get home to Chicago immediately. Two days of an “ice blanket” and finding an antibiotic that finally worked. And last night he ordered a generous dinner from the hospital menu. Thank God.
Gay Jewish weddings on the beach in Tel Aviv - a great article in Ha’aretz newspaper summarizing this pivotal event. Domestic policy, especially stuff like gay rights, abortion, racism, has never been huge on a daily basis in the Israeli radar. Why? Well, it’s obvious. When you live amidst terrorism, when you’re surrounded by enemies, and you have major water shortage issues, stuff like abortion and gay rights is small potatoes. It would be a luxury to be able to focus on them. For people on both sides of the arguments. I’m a die hard liberal. In the US, you would have no problem guessing who I vote for, who I contribute money to, etc. In Israel, it’s bizarre and lopsided. Because if you want to vote for the communists, seeing economical and social common ground, you’re actually voting for the same ticket as a lot of Palestinian hard-liners…and that might be against your foreign agenda. Anyway, anyway. Enough about that. The point I’m trying to make is this - we have a lot of really liberal gay rights achievements here in Israel. It’s just difficult to see them. And we’re moving in a good direction, I hope…
And for your surpreme entertainment – check out this wonderful short film written and directed by, and starring Matthew Modine (no embedding possible – but do watch it):
So…long hot nights…yup. It’s hot here. Really hot. And July and August are worse. Or better. Whatever your perspective. Like any extreme weather situation, it’s love-hate. Because it’s fun when it’s sunny. There’s the beach and ice cream and beautiful sleeveless dresses and flip flops and icy beers and cocktails to cool off with. On the downside, it’s thighs-sticking-to-your-seat weather, so humid your hair frizzes beyond recognition, you’re always sporting a sweat mustache, and don’t think about going out between 10 am and 3 pm if you don’t want to get heat stroke/burn your shoulders to a crisp/faint in the street kinda weather. And I’ve got to get moving on this book. And I’m becoming an insomniac. The nights are the shortest in the year. But they seem way too long to me. And I have to figure out how to be productive. At least I’ve got some wine-tasting gigs this week.
There you have it. Good stuff. And I’ll have more news tomorrow…because I interviewed for a job yesterday that may change my life…if I get it…
My cat may or may not have plummeted four storeys last night and cannot be found, my father is very ill in hospital with a freak infection, I was eaten alive by mosquitos last night, I’m quite nauseated and sore in the mouth from having my teeth cleaned and flourided an hour ago, and it’s already something like 35 degrees (100 F) at 9:30 am.
How is it I am surprisingly calm? Have I somehow acheived a Zen-like state of being able to open and close and compartmentalize emotions like a pro? Not a chance. Exhaustion? Perhaps. I’ve either not entirely gotten over jet-lag or I require so little sleep I’ll soon become a superhero or I’m just a nocturnal semi-insomniac. I suspect it’s a combination of the three. And in addition, I’m taking Cymbalta. I’m afraid this may be the real culprit. Some genuine panic wouldn’t hurt around now. But somehow, all I want is a nap before starting the day’s tasks…seeing as I got 3 hours sleep or less having had to wake early for an 8:00 am dental cleaning.
The day’s tasks you ask? Appling for jobs. Editing my novel. Preparing for an interview I have tomorrow (on Skype, that’s a first). Seeing my therapist (praying I’ll be able to keep seeing/paying her). And going out for drinks with an acquaintance that I hope will become a good friend. A good day’s work, no? I think so. If I’m able to perform even some of it, it will be a miracle. My mother is still in Israel, the cat(s) are living downtown at “her” new place into which I’ll be moving into and paying dearly for next month, there’s my father about whom I may be on the phone all day (they think he’s got e. coli from a simple biopsy procedure, antibiotics are not working, and they’re calling the CDC…and all of his immediate family are hundreds if not thousands of miles away), I may need to place “lost cat” posters around the neighborhood, and who knows…I have no problem finding any number of stupid things to worry about.
So ya wanna hear about the jobs I’m going to apply for…do ya, do ya, do ha? I know you do! Here’s a quick rundown: several content writing jobs (in plain English – getting paid well above average salaries for writing stuff on websites in excellent English grammar…as well as “blogging” and forum hosting and other silly easy stuff like that); a very part time job (like every other weekend) at an art gallery; some freelance writing (fake journalism at its very worst); potentially some secretarial, etc. Dull as dogsh*t. Luckily I am still leading wine tastings with my lovely precious wonderful winery a few times a week. I’m hoping I can piece-meal this all together. I need another very regular decently paying part-time job or a a full-time job that doesn’t bore me or bother me too much ethically. Or a couple of part-time gigs that together make life interesting enough and allow me to eat. It will be OK. It will be. I hope.
So, since I’ve been back, I’ve not been too productive. I have located some jobs but haven’t applied yet. I really need to start editing the book for several hours a day, starting now, but have been too busy (aka I haven’t made the time because lord knows, I have found the time to watch The Office until 4 am on a couple occasions). And my dear, dear mother is driving me up the wall. And I need to make nice. She leaves Thursday. I need to find a way to make some peace. Even if I don’t entirely mean it. Because I love her. I just really dislike her a lot of the time. And I hate that I do. But I cannot change the fact that I cringe around her. That I often find myself wanting to scream or in fact screaming at her in her presence. That looking at her makes my blood boil. Only sometimes. Only sometimes. Like last night when we were on the phone to the hospital and she showed no emotion, not much concern, chatted to her friends (who were at my father’s bedside instead of her) about the party she just had, how changing her travel plans will be difficult and that she wanted to wait to see what the verdict was. And I’m sitting there about to cry. If it were my husband, I’d be on the next plane. Bitch.
OK. I’ll stop. Because I’ve just been informed that I need to make “lost cat” posters. Damn. I wish I had an emotional response to this. Perhaps this is my mother’s normal state. But he is just a cat. Oh dear. Poor kitty. He was such a character. Was? Goodness I’m morbid. Poor kitty. Now I’m feeling it. How could my sister leave the windows open on a fourth storey apartment with cats in it all night long?
Wish me luck. Poor kitty.
My kitties when they were babies...the missing one is the male, the one on the right
I have to blog. I just have to. I just spent a fortune to connect to the internet, and twelve minutes in, I get disconnected. It then takes me the better part of a half hour to reconnect. And now I have to board the plane. ARGH!
LAX isn’t a swanky modern airport. I waited a half an hour to get through security. That said, I LOVED the online check in United provided that got me through the baggage check and whisked away into the security line in about 30 seconds.
So, just for fun, here are some things I’ve been reading:
A feral girl was discovered in Siberia. Yup, she was raised like a cat or a dog. Poor thing. Five years old and completely neglected by her parents and grandparents.
Tips on overcoming writers block. Good stuff. I know a writer who has a sign over her desk, “Write Stoned, Edit Sober.” Another bit of good advice right there.
And now I really really really have to board the plane. I’m sitting on the floor by the only outlet plug I could find. Good grief! At least I have Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy to watch on the plane…as long as my miniscule battery supply will last.
I had to. I just had to. It’s so ridiculous. And at the same time, that cat looks absolutely fabulous. Better hair than mine. Surfing the Kitty Wigs! website, I learned that these wigs have been featured in numerous magazines and television programs, and of course, all over the web. But lord knows, I would not spend $50 plus shipping on this for my cats. They would kill me, and I’d be out $50. I can’t believe this strange and highly successful business!!!? Who knew there would be a demand???
Under 200 days until 30. Not sure how I feel about that. It has been an eventful 5.5 months, however. Best not to dwell. I’m doing OK today.
Fischer and Cassie-O
My male cat, Fischer, broke a really big heavy glass mirror this morning. He did it by somehow ricocheting off of my leg as he sort of sped, a la Tom and Jerry, through the apartment on a craze of some sort. So, I’m wondering if I’m partially responsible for it. And although I shouldn’t and don’t believe in luck, you never know, and it’s sort of always hanging there. Not really. But I’ve never broken a mirror or aided and abetted in the breaking of a mirror. I mean, I was the silly girl who in high school kissed the ceiling of her car when she passed through a yellow light and held her breath when driving past a cemetery. We used to say, seven years bad sex for anyone who didn’t. But do we believe it? What are your thoughts about superstition? I mean, even if you don’t believe in this stuff, who goes around breaking huge mirrors, you know?
Anyway, it was a messy cleanup, and as I’m messy anyway, it wasn’t fun. This mirror turned into sparkly fairy dust-like powder in some areas. I mean, the microscopic mirror fragments we’re talking about here will make it impossible to walk around without shoes for months. It mixed in with the random kitty litter which was scattered on the floor, and it got in the cracks in the tiles on the floor…ugh.
Cassie-O, dear sweet Cassie-O (Fischer’s little sister, my nickname for Cassiopeia, and a nice take on “Jackie O,” if I do say so myself) has taken to sitting in the crook of my knees when I’m lying down on my side. She, unlike Fischer, the in-your-face ham, doesn’t like to be confined or held in any way, as affectionate as she can be. She needs to feel she has her escape route. It’s just about the cutest thing you can imagine, as she gets right up in there, making a great legwarmer in our cold winter days and nights.
This week is all about planning this party I’m catering on Saturday night. Amazing to have a task this huge and fun. But a lot of logistics. A f-load of logistics. And I may venture forth in to South Tel Aviv, cheapy-ville, for a cut-price food processor today. Making pate for 40 is not fun if you have to do it by hand, that’s for sure. But for now…I’m tres sleepy, having slept over at my lovely guy’s place (where we dealt with a crisis of no water in his apartment, calling the neighbors, the landlord, threatening the landlord, etc, etc), and I want to take a nap before:
Dealing with finally finishing business cards
Reading the first third of a colleague’s novel and critiquing it for my writing workshop
Creating a very very detailed plan of action for all the shopping and cooking that has to happen in the next 3 days
Going to downtown post office to collect (and pay taxes on) belated Hanukkah gifts one of my sisters sent from the States
That all sounds reasonable, right? Right. Good. Now, let’s snuggle with some cats, now shall I?
I’ve been slightly productive today, writing two/three of the ten needed chapters for my Friday deadline. And the night is young, I suppose. If I can get another two/three done, I’ll be OK for tomorrow.
Tom Jones
On other fronts, I’ve been procrastinating productively, today, doing research on and attempting to design new business cards. For some reason, this used to be much easier…or maybe things are just easier in the States. Or my poor young self doesn’t have the image and design software my parents’ computers seem to naturally have, with all sorts of fun and easy-to-use templates. I found some very basic templates on my Word software on my iMac, but it’s very primive. However, my PC laptop’s Word had no templates on it whatsoever, so it didn’t help me at all. Ugh. Found some websites offering free or very cheap business cards with online design platforms, which kind of helps, when I can steal the image…I feel OK doing it, as they won’t send to Israel anyway, and even if they did it would take too long, and again, even if they did, their platform doesn’t support Hebrew, and I need bilingual cards made up. Sheesh. So, if anyone has recommendations for how to make elegant, simple cards very, very quickly, so I can just save it on Word, or make a really fast jpeg out if it, and take it all to a print shop — let me know, ASAP.
The new lovely man I am seeing is looking for bedframes, so if anyone in the Tel Aviv area is getting rid of one for free or cheap, please also let me know. He seems to have come to the conclusion that sleeping on a mattress on the floor for months on end isn’t a very grown up thing to do. This may be due to the fact that he now may have frequent nocturnal company. I don’t really mind, as the mattress is really comfortable, and I don’t feel strange about it at all. I did take a quick peek at the Ikea Israel site (yes, we have one, and everyone of the generic young-ish age in Israel now also has the same furniture as everyone else in the world of the same age group…ah, Ikea…achieving socially conscious world domination through maddeningly affordable beige Scandinavian design furniture, one young professional at a time), and the prices here are vastly different that back home or in Europe. Vastly. Some of the models are two to three times more expensive. Which sucks, as the prices, for Israel, still seem really good. Which goes to show that Tel Aviv really is expensive and may very well deserve the title of 12th most expensive city in the world…ahead of New York and LA. Bizarre. People actually sell their used Ikea furniture here…for close to new prices…not try to pawn it off any gullible sucker like back Stateside. Sheesh, indeed.
Ikea Bed...going for maybe $350
And Tom Jones, my happy go luck, hip-swinging companion for the evening. My lady cat, Cassiopeia (who has no need for anonymity), was so elegant and cute tonight, I randomly started calling her “Lady.” This turned into me singing her the famous Tom Jones number. Which then turned into me looking it up on Youtube. So, enjoy this clip of a very embarrassingly tight-bell-bottom clad, Afro sporting, gyrating Tom Jones. Not much changes. This one’s for darlin’ Cassie, sweetie that she is, cuddling into me right now, looking annoyed at the loud musack.
In brief, I had a great night last night. A truly great party, nice people, inspired DJs (one of which set up an “old time speakeasy” as his area…old time jazz, amazing). And a date. A wonderful date.
Morning brought about a brief hangover followed by greasy eggs benedict and hash browns and frothy coffee at a local restaurant famous for this kind of grub. A long walk. Hand holding.
And now I’m home feeding pissed off cats (for goodness sake, they’re fat enough as it is and I left them with enough last night!), and running off to Jerusalem to see some friends.
A lovely pleasant comfy start to the new year. Hard work starts tomorrow. And indeed it will be hard.
Hope your 2009s start off as nicely or better than mine. Cheers!
(notice all of yesterday’s negativity wash away…ah, humanity, my own included, baffles me so…)
Weird title, I know. Had a great day, for the most part, walking all over town on a Friday — best day of the week for it. Tel Aviv is most alive on Fridays. Markets are overflowing with people. Restaurants have lines out the door. The streets are full of people rushing around, or enjoying a leisurely stroll, eating ice cream, crepes, falafel, or lafa with labaneh abd za’atar.
But I’m at home now, and I should head out. Why? Invited to a movie. Don’t feel like moving, but I know I should. I think I got into a bit of a funk when I got home. Why? Grandma. Or Savta, in Hebrew, as I shall call her. She had been around. She drops by unexpectedly all the time. It’s not cool. Yes, this is her place. She allows me to live here. But nobody else would be, if not for me. And I really take care of the place. She could call. She could write a note and leave it on the door. She could ring the bell, and if I’m not there, come back later. But no. It’s because of the cats. They are teething, I think, or they’ve recently picked up a bad habit. And because I live with artwork, I am constantly afraid they will chew up a painting. A legitimate fear, believe me. But I have taken measures. Placed extra boards on top of the stacks of watercolors, and I’ve turned the oil paintings paint-size away, and move them around a bit, to make sure there’s no damage. Well, the cats have started eating up the boards. No harm done, I just make sure that they always cover the paintings. How on earth am I to scold a cat when I’m not there when he chews? When I came home, I saw that Savta had placed newspapers and magazines and plastic bags over the boards. She must be livid. She didn’t even leave a note which is customary. She will expect me to call her. And there is a voicemail message, and I’m afraid to check it, because I’m almost certain it’s her.
See, I’m more afraid of my grandmother than of my parents. Funny that I talk of fear? Yes, it’s fear. No matter what, I know she loves me. But that doesn’t change the fact that she is nuts, crazy, psychotic at times, and just a real pain. She has screamed at me countless times throughout my life, told me I am a beast, a horrible human being, and worse. She needs to be medicated. But she teeters within the range of sanity most of the time. It’s just — scary. It’s almost good I’m in her life to keep an eye on her, NOT vice versa. And I haven’t told her I’ve left my job. I haven’t told her about India. Why? She lectured me about two weeks ago about how I have to be responsible, that she doesn’t take rent because she won’t from family, but that she wants to know I’m putting aside money, as if I were paying rent, so that someday sooner rather than later I can have my own home. Sure. Legit. But here’s the thing, there was so much hype leading to this encounter I believed she would kick me out. I came to terms that I might have to in a matter of days. She’s just that unbalanced. And she’s paranoid about having enough money. OK. Fine. But I tell her repeatedly that I’m very unhappy at work, but her line goes — an income before everything.
Why do I care? I don’t know.
And I’ve been thinking about sex. My complete disinterest in it. At the moment, especially, but predominantly over the course of my life. I think I have been very concerned with whether I could get it, whether I was having it, whether someone wanted it from me — than it. Because once the lights are out and the jeans are on the floor, I become stiff as a board. And I’m not a man here, this is not some exciting metaphor. I wonder if there could be a disconnect between my body and my brain. I wonder if it’s possible that my brain cannot tell when my body is aroused. Because if it’s all psychological, I have way more therapy to get through. Or if I was right back in high school and I am in fact gay. I’m pretty certain on the Kinsey scale, I’d be smack dab in the middle. I am pretty certain that for me, at least, dating men has been a choice. It has been exciting. I’ve fallen in love. Glimpsed some intimacy. But as I’m a petrified naive, goodness knows what of a person, I haven’t had a real relationship. And truth be told, I’m much more of a women-person. I like men. I love men. But I am more comfortable around women on a day to day basis. It could be my upbringing and experience, sure. But here’s the thing – in public, who do you notice more, say, when you’re sitting in a cafe for the mere purpose of zoning out and people watching, men or women? I notice women. Infinitely more than men. I think most women would, though. Women are by far more interesting to look at, from a purely aesthetic stance. The clothing, the accessories, the huge variety of body shapes and sizes, the hairstyles, the shoes, the asses, the breasts…women are beautiful. They are the beautiful sex. Sure, there are beautiful men, but most of the time we ask ourselves whether they are gay. So, even though I pay a lot more attention to women, it doesn’t mean I’m swooning after them. In fact, I am not. I’d feel it, right? Arousal is something you can feel. But still… I don’t fell arousal looking at men, either. And the few times I felt tingles, well…I can’t even be certain. For me, it’s about the person. And I have had plenty of crushes on women and men. Thing is, I see myself with a man. It’s a man-woman-child-dog-house-carport-lawn kind of picture. I’ll take a woman if I fall in love her. But I’ve been programmed for the former. And because I feel so little in the groin, I go for the men. Because whether dating men or women, dating is an effort. A huge effort. Dating both gendres would spread me too thin. But I’m considering it. Considering it. Because what if I’m missing something? I’ll take Heather Has Two Mommies, if I’m happy with it. I will. But it’s a matter of looking. And I don’t know if I’m ready to be a lesbian in Israel.
When I get back on January 2nd, I immediately begin a 6-month manuscript workshop with an excellent instructor and small group to get my book beaten into shape enough for me to send to agents and publishers.
Also on January 2nd, I begin my life as a full-time freelance writer/food writer and personal chef. I am already creating a business plan, of sorts, and I at least own the textbook bible how-to of setting up this kind of business (thanks to B).
I am shocked. I am shocked and stunned and awe-struck because I am achieving my goals. I wrote them down. First, here in this blog, and second, on paper this week. And I’m checking off the list. I am nowhere near professional success…but I’m not on square one. And I am much nearer personal success than I had believed. I have accomplished or am about to accomplish the first four items on my list: finish the book; go to India; get a pet; find career/money/happiness balance.
One – I’ve signed up for the manuscript workshop, it’s costing a lot, I have to work hard on the thing even before it starts (in the 2.5 weeks I have!), and I’ll be damned if I don’t make something of it with all of this structure I’m creating.
Two – I got my ticket to India today! I go for a month. I wish it could be for two, but a month is a long trip, still. I am being realistic. I can’t see all of the country in this amount of time. But I can focus on three or four regions, have a good time, and learn something. I’m planning on taking classes on Punjabi and Kerala cuisines, and really try to get an amateur-mastery level before I come back. Plus — I have number three to worry about…
Three – I adopted two cats on August 8 of this year. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. And I don’t think I would have done it otherwise and under different circumstances. My sister asked me. It was her last day on her archaeological dig, and the all kittens the site manager had brought with him from home to be adopted had been — apart from two. I suspect they were the runt and the bad egg. However, Cassiopeia (the runt) and Fischer (the bad egg, aka the tornado) have been wonderful. After I got used to them. The first month or two were very hard. Very hard. I always thought I was a pet person. Instant companionship. I felt invaded. That my life was taken away from me. My only safe haven in Israel destroyed. But apart from keeping them from chewing on precious artwork (I live in my grandfather’s old art studio), and having to empty a litter box, they’re my family now. I don’t love them like I love people. But it’s nice not to be alone.
Four – Figure out the work/life/money/creativity – well, I’m doing it. I quit the job that was horribly for me in many, many ways. And I’m going to put in a real, hard-working, 6-month effort at food and writing and food writing.
So, there you have it. Living my dream. Still, I’m alone on a Thursday night (like Friday night everywhere else in the world). But it’s better. I talked to several friends today, and I have some plans for the weekend. No dating. Kind of. Mr 23 is still loitering in the outside lobby of my social life. But tonight, I have an iMac, two (thankfully) sleepy cats, an apartment to clean, some old movies, a novel to edit, and a trip to India to plan.
Congratulate me, if you will, if you’ve read this far. And let me know if you have suggestions for India. I’m a (nearly) blank slate. You know, you can do it, too. How simple it is. Just write it down, and check the items off as you go.
I voted! Yes, siree Bob, I voted! It was a total off-the-wall chance that I learned about the polling place at all (The Dancing Camel Brewery in an industrial area of Tel Aviv), it took me ages to find it (after I had been sure I knew where I was going…gotta love second-guessing yourself, wearing the worst shoes, and walking about 2 kilometers the wrong way and having to back track). And then I got half-off beer for voting. And, boy, what a beer. A unique, sweet, tangy, lovely pomegranite beer. Ah, moral center, moral center, when I do the right thing, it’s so funny to be so quickly and directly rewarded. Beautiful beer. Dear, dear, Barack Obama, one (unfortunately, pretty solitary) vote coming atcha from all the way in Israel…
Micro Brew from the Holy Land
(Note: The Americans here in Israel are predominantly religious [not ultra-orthodox all, like the ones you picture in movies...no, these are ordinary folks who wear the ordinary little hat, and that's all]…and I find them to be annoyingly closed minded…folks who only vote with Israel in mind and will not sway from their belief that a Republican will always be a better friend and protector to Israel and in opposition to Arabs…how an intelligent Jew can reasonably and conscientiously vote for a ticket with Sarah Palin on it, is completely beyond me…but then again, if you only vote with one issue in mind – lord knows, if the candidate advocated dumping garbage into the oceans, starting wars in every corner of the globe, and slashing civil liberties, but still was a “friend to Israel,” I bet these yahoos would still vote for him or her…)
Iran. A friend in the States asked me for some insight on Iran because she couldn’t quite wrap her head around why it was an important campaign issue for Jews and in relation to Israel. Are they really such a huge threat. Well, she really liked my email response, and she thought I should send it to American blogs in a more developed form. Let me know what you think about this, too. I’m all ears. So, without further ado, a secular American-Israeli’s 2-minute explanation of what she sees as the situation with Iran (taken verbatim from the email):
Today, I saw an article on Yahoo to this effect: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20081027/ap_on_re_mi_ea/ml_iran_arms;_ylt=Ah7GNGG2H3PouYITvC25vqhvaA8F. Iran is widely thought to be one of the biggest threat to Israel right now. They not only provide weapons and funding to the terrorists who reside most closely to us (Hezbollah), but their nuclear program, you can imagine should it come into fruition, would have one very easy, very close target. Their rhetoric is disgusting. Ahmadinijad hosted conferences about denying the holocaust, which brought together revisionist historians and neo-nazis from all over the world, claiming evidence that it never happened. I heard of anti-Israel, anti-holocaust political cartoon contests. The works. It’s scary. It’s a lot of what Israelis think about when it comes to foreign threats. The funny thing, in my view, is that I have nothing against the Iranian people. They are Persians, ethnically. They aren’t Arabs. Yes, the Islam that they practice is Shiite, a much more radical (and mystical) variety. But a huge percentage of the population are secular. And they’ve been suffering for decades under this dictatorial theocratic rule. We know plenty of Persians in the US, and several are close friends of my family. It’s the weirdest thing in the world to me, as the country is so hateful a presence, but I have always found the people to be ridiculously nice and peaceful and welcoming. Another funny thing, Ahmadinijad himself has said he has nothing against the Jews. Only against Israel. Which…sucks…as it pins Jew against Jew in the world. And ultimately, he’s being a sneaky fox indeed. Because tons of Jews come from Persia. Most had to flee in the recent decades because of how hard it is to be a Jew in Muslim countries. After 1948, Jewish communities in Arab countries were ritualistically attacked, thousands murdered, as retribution for Israel having been declared a state. So…they fled to Israel…which is why there are so few Jews in Muslim countries. There used to be. Tons. We have huge Iraqi, Irani, Yemeni, Moroccan, and Egyptian communities here. Jewish communities. Where the first language used to be Arabic.
The new psychiatrist gave me more Xanax to deal with the Lamictal withdrawal. Yipee! What a world, right? Throwing medicine at a problem caused by medicine you are trying to get off of. I try not to think about it too much. I like Xanax. A lot. It helped me quit smoking. How, you ask? When the pain got bad, the jonesing for a cigarette, I took a Xanax, and then drank a glass of wine. An extraordinary feeling. And I’m told extremely dangerous (don’t do that at home…). But lord knows, I’m grateful. I haven’t picked up a cigarette since January 17, 2002. And I’m told they’re not addictive. I’ve only ever been given a small handful for emergencies…so having so many on me is a very weird luxury. I am going to try to take them only when I really need them.
My cat(s), don’t know which one, chewed through an Apple cable. Thankfully not an important one. Actually, the least important one. A spare USB port extension. But geez, I don’t know what to do now…move my computer to the only other room I have, the bedroom? Uh uh. But how do you discipline a cat? And I’m pretty sure it was a sign or else retribution for something. They’re getting picky about having their litter box being ultra clean. I mean, I do clean it. I don’t leave it for more than 2 days. But come on, they wake me up at 5 am, and the only thing I can think that they want is a clean litter box. What else, when they have plenty of food, plenty of clean water, tons of toys, and lots of room to play, and soft areas to sleep? What else? Will my technology survive? Can I hide every single cord and cable? Do I need to?
One of my favorite Disney films… Watch Haley Mills kibbitz with the FBI…
Today is my one-year anniversary. I have been living in Israel for one year. It’s hard to believe. I still feel like a hermit. I still feel green, new, clueless. And I don’t feel like I have any more courage, ingenuity, spirit, pride, or anything more than when I got here. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve had therapy. Lots of therapy. And drugs. And I’ve published something. Something small, yes. But something that has gotten amazing feedback. And I graduated from culinary school. So, besides the job issues that never cease, and never will cease, as making a living has to be done, anywhere in the world, something was accomplished this year. Another certificate. More experience. Some emotional progress. Yet, a great deal of treading water, treading on known, old, not-so-healthy paths. But there is light. There is light. It’s an interesting feeling knowing that we never really grow out of childhood. I will always be stuck at 16. In many ways. We are all adolescents. Faking it.
I thought I would have a party. Instead I’m alone at home. Not altogether bad. Trying to plot the next few turns, make the next plans, straighten myself out. Alas, major exhaustion from Yom Kippur yesterday, and continued recovery from the 2-week Irish visitation, has gotten me plonked down in front of youtube and the like, watching Star Trek Voyager. I am thinking of going out and getting some expensive beer. Then again, I really really need to stop spending money. I have less in my account than I thought. And that’s not good. But it is an important day. Will two Belgian beers and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s really set me back all that much in comparison to the enjoyment it will all bring? Yes, it’s worth it. But in the end, it really is more of an issue of getting up and out of the chair (at least it’s a chair and not a sofa or bed). As it’s Shabbat, I will have to trek 20 minutes to the local AM:PM, the only shop that’s open around here. Gotta love Israel. It is nice, though, to have a real palpable feeling of “otherness” for the weekend. It’s much more quiet, relaxed, even though it’s inconvenient not having buses or shops or stores or restaurants open locally.
The cats are back. They were at my sister’s for the duration of the Irish visit. Not sure I’m glad, as they are a royal pain. The company is OK some of the time.
Another year. Appropriate it came right after Yom Kippur. After the gates of heaven slammed shut for another year. Another chance. I didn’t really pray. Even though I was in synagogue a good deal yesterday. Even though I fasted. I am not sure I believe in prayer. I didn’t feel too spiritual. I felt good, actually. Felt calm. Sleepy. Adult. Slightly nostalgic, but not in a negative, wish-I-were-back-there, kind of way. I awoke on the morning of Yom Kippur having had a very goo night’s sleep. I was in Jerusalem staying with a very good friend of mine, a woman I feel more at home with than almost anyone in my family. She had laid a matress for me on her living room floor and given me perhaps the most comfortable comforter to sleep with. I remember waking several times during the night wondering why it wasn’t yet morning and time to go to services. And when I finally woke for the real morning, the memory of my family’s last vacation to Hawaii was on my mind. It was one of the best trips we’d ever taken. All of us adult. All of us more or less getting along. We were on Kauai where my parents have a time share, a place we’d been several times before. And the vacation was spent on calm beaches, fun small restaurants, cooking meals together in the kitchen, and playing Scrabble. Lots of Scrabble. And mostly me winning, as is the case in my family. It was a good time. And even though the fast was not easy for me this year, I took a nap after we broke the fast on my friends sofa, with that wonderful comforter, and I felt safe. A safety I feel with very few people. A safety I rarely if ever feel with my immediate family. A safety I feel when I’m with people I know will take care of me and always welcome me with open arms, no questions asked, no guilt piled on, no judgment doled out. It was only for 20 minutes or so, but I will remember it for a long time.
I am thankful to her from the core of my being for creating safe, warm, loving spaces in this often cold and confusing world. It’s rare for me to feel comfortable on anyone else’s sofas. There are perhaps three I can think of. So, thank you to the Queen with the most comfortable Jerusalem sofa and comforter.
And will there be another year? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Time will tell, all too well.
I just discovered a tiny echo whilst typing. Interesting. Mac keyboards are far more fun to use, and the pleasant clicking is even more pleasant as a tiny tinkle bouncing off the wall. Funny I never heard it before.
My Irish friend has gone. I now have to go back to life as it was. And I don’t want to. I really have to apply to other jobs. I am so overqualified. I must be able to get a job that either has far less stress and responsibility (that will still pay a decent salary) or find a job that is far more meaningful and interesting (that will still pay a decent salary). There’s something unique about being on vacation vicariously. Within five minutes, I have to be back to myself. Pick the cats back up from my sister’s. Clean the house. Be alone. Be alone. With my fears.
I fit into her jeans. My Irish friend’s. My grandmother came over yesterday, and said she couldn’t leave her clothes where she had put them, and she started to clear them away. Well, when she left, I put them back…but her jeans were right on top. And they were exactly my size! I couldn’t believe it. I suppose it’s always been that way. When we were roommates back in Thailand I borrowed some of her things, and they fit then. But she’s the kind of person that when you see her you see a petite gorgeous thin thing. She has curves, yes, and she is very small on top. But knowing she and I have the same size, that I can fit into her trousers. This is something. It made me feel very happy knowing this. I usually feel so dowdy. And in comparison to her, I feel so ignored in a room. Men just stare at her gorgeous self. I’m far more plain. But I could be more attractive. I have potential. I’m not as fat as I think, if I can fit into her jeans.
Funny, the relativity of productivity. I tried so hard to work today, and despite the fact that I sat in front of a computer for many hours, I just didn’t get much done. Yesterday was similar. But I force myself to accomplish things. Force is the only word, and thankfully the best word, for it. List making, brooding, waiting, procrastinating… I got up yesterday, bought manilla envelopes, wrote on my special stationery with my initials, wrote addresses, and got to the post office right on time to send these packages away. I sent my first magazine article to my parents, my sister, my best friend, and a chef who helped me out here in Tel Aviv. Amazing. And, I paid my phone bill. It was a huge thing for me, this. But it’s not real work for anyone else.
I’m still quite spaced out. It’s probably the drugs. I should go get the cats. But I don’t want to. I want to sleep and watch star trek.
Welcome!
This is my countdown to my 30th birthday. Thanks for stopping by.
This life I’m on often feels like a great adventure, and it is my pleasure to share it with anyone who is interested.
I am a writer and chef. I am an American woman living in Tel Aviv, editing my ... Continue reading »
