When I went away to college I was leaving the only home I had known for the first 18 years of my life. It was a frightening and exhilarating new chapter for me that held the responsibilities and freedoms of adulthood. Leaving the comfort of the bedroom I lived in for almost two decades was difficult, but I did bring many cherished items along as reminders of where I came from. One of the best items I brought with me to college was a quilt that my mother made for me. Sleeping under it made me feel safe and loved.
It wasn’t an ordinary quilt, but one made in my favorite color combination of turquoise and orange. Being made in a traditional quilt pattern it incorporated many different hues and variations on this color them with the end result assaulting your eyes in brilliant crashing shades. I loved displaying this blanket in my studio apartment at school. Fellow students, neighbors and friends would comment on the choice of combining cool and warm tones. Most people had a strong reaction to the mixture containing bold stripes, muted ginghams, solids, and floral patterns.
It wasn’t soft when I first used it on my bed. The cotton was a little scratchy, not worn in with love and time. I still have the quilt, it's needs some repairs, but then again what well loved item doesn't? Over the years the quilt has grown raggedy, popping its stitches, sustaining a horrible rip down the middle that has been repaired repetitiously, but the dye has not faded. I’m so pleased that my mother did not play it safe and just make something in one color or choose something more fashionable that was not “me”.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Saturday, January 21, 2006
New Year's Resolution
Ever since Hanukkah I have been reading like a mad woman. Part of this is due to the gifts I received from my boyfriend’s Mother and her boyfriend. They sent me 8 books, one for each night of Hanukkah and they were all books that I wanted to read which is probably why I have already finished 3 of them and am working on a forth right now. Also, the fact that I was on vacation for a week spending most meals by myself (since Jedi was working), I would read of listen to books on tape while watching passers-by. Since New Year’s I have already completed 2 books on tape. However, you may all have noticed that I have been incredibly remiss in writing about any of them or writing about anything at all lately. I’d say that I made a New Year’s resolution to write a bit each week, but that wouldn’t happen. I did make a resolution though. I want to try and travel outside the United States this calendar year, even if it means Canada or Mexico.
I also made a promise to myself to try and stop one of my myriad of bad habits. During work meetings and serious conversations and…well, a lot of time when I am concentrating I put my fingers in my hair and twirl it around and around and around. My boss has commented on it several times and so has Jedi. I really need to work on getting my hands out of my hair. Not only is it distracting to people, but it leaves my curly frizzy hair in Rastafarian-like dreadlocks. Gotta work on cutting this out of my repertoire of moves.
I also made a promise to myself to try and stop one of my myriad of bad habits. During work meetings and serious conversations and…well, a lot of time when I am concentrating I put my fingers in my hair and twirl it around and around and around. My boss has commented on it several times and so has Jedi. I really need to work on getting my hands out of my hair. Not only is it distracting to people, but it leaves my curly frizzy hair in Rastafarian-like dreadlocks. Gotta work on cutting this out of my repertoire of moves.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Hawaii
This past week I joined my boyfriend for a business trip to O'ahu, Hawaii. Dream job huh, getting to actually travel on expense account to tropical paradise? You might think so, but alas, I beg to differ. Jedi ended up working such wild hours we barely had any time together. Not that I'm complaining, because I do well exploring on my own, but this was not an ideal vacation experience. It was both an adventure and extremely restful for me.
O'ahu is an incredibley beautiful island with soft, white sand and translucent green-blue water. It is also a melting pot of cultures, religions, and lifestyles, I was surprised to see so much diversity in such a small place. Los Angeles used to strike me as being very diverse and accepting, but I think Hawaii beats us hands down.
Just to give you an idea of the mix, I interacted people from Vietnam, the Phillipines, Korea, China, Japan, Cambodia, Australian, New Zealand, England, and United States Mainland. Plus most of these people are represented in Hawaii with their culture's food. I ate ramen, tacos, sushi, BBQ (both Hawaiian and Texas style), and macadamian pancakes with coconut syrup. Does anyone know what the fascination serving macaroni salad and white rice with everything??? And the macaroni salad is nothing more then elbow shaped pasta and mayo...hello? What is up with that?
Speaking of food, the airline actually served meals at no additional cost and they were sort of tasty too. I played it safe and had pasta on the flights to and from Honolulu. I have to say I enjoyed Hawaiian Airlines service quite a bit. They were unceasingly kind and punctual too (which is saying a lot when it comes to traveling). Since childhood I have been a notoriously bad traveler, but I am improving with age (I'm uncertain if my boyfriend would agree).
O'ahu is an incredibley beautiful island with soft, white sand and translucent green-blue water. It is also a melting pot of cultures, religions, and lifestyles, I was surprised to see so much diversity in such a small place. Los Angeles used to strike me as being very diverse and accepting, but I think Hawaii beats us hands down.
Just to give you an idea of the mix, I interacted people from Vietnam, the Phillipines, Korea, China, Japan, Cambodia, Australian, New Zealand, England, and United States Mainland. Plus most of these people are represented in Hawaii with their culture's food. I ate ramen, tacos, sushi, BBQ (both Hawaiian and Texas style), and macadamian pancakes with coconut syrup. Does anyone know what the fascination serving macaroni salad and white rice with everything??? And the macaroni salad is nothing more then elbow shaped pasta and mayo...hello? What is up with that?
Speaking of food, the airline actually served meals at no additional cost and they were sort of tasty too. I played it safe and had pasta on the flights to and from Honolulu. I have to say I enjoyed Hawaiian Airlines service quite a bit. They were unceasingly kind and punctual too (which is saying a lot when it comes to traveling). Since childhood I have been a notoriously bad traveler, but I am improving with age (I'm uncertain if my boyfriend would agree).
Overcoming Diet Coke Dependency
At my job there is an ongoing joke that diet coke should be illegal. My co-workers and I crave it with something akin to a chemical depencency. It is easier on the stomache then coffee, readily available in vending machines, gas stations, and grocery stores (except Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s, they know better).
I’m not sure how many of you out there can identify with me on this, but I crave specific foods like smokers crave nicotine. Sometimes these longings are so acute that they take on a life of there own. Some recent comestibles that I have been seeking, found, or otherwise consumed have included Vlasic dill pickles, Nathan’s Fat Free All-beef hot dogs (with tons of ketchup and relish), diet root beer, beets, thousand island dressing (had it yesterday, but sadly it was not up to par), dark chocolate, and garbanzo beans (not together). Mostly I crave pickled items, anything that has brined is sweet music to my tastebuds. I have a sweet tooth as well, but it is more opportunistic then purposeful. My workplace is teeming with chocolates, cakes, lollipops, taffy, and hard candies. Anything that someone did not think their family would eat or wants to keep themselves from consuming ends up in the company kitchen for collegues to devour while kvetching about calorie content.
Someone even brought in a tinned fruitcake this morning and by 10AM it was just crumbs! I mean come on people, have some standards!
I’m not sure how many of you out there can identify with me on this, but I crave specific foods like smokers crave nicotine. Sometimes these longings are so acute that they take on a life of there own. Some recent comestibles that I have been seeking, found, or otherwise consumed have included Vlasic dill pickles, Nathan’s Fat Free All-beef hot dogs (with tons of ketchup and relish), diet root beer, beets, thousand island dressing (had it yesterday, but sadly it was not up to par), dark chocolate, and garbanzo beans (not together). Mostly I crave pickled items, anything that has brined is sweet music to my tastebuds. I have a sweet tooth as well, but it is more opportunistic then purposeful. My workplace is teeming with chocolates, cakes, lollipops, taffy, and hard candies. Anything that someone did not think their family would eat or wants to keep themselves from consuming ends up in the company kitchen for collegues to devour while kvetching about calorie content.
Someone even brought in a tinned fruitcake this morning and by 10AM it was just crumbs! I mean come on people, have some standards!
Quote
This one is from my a friend in Washington's e-mail signature and I thought it was rather funny.
"Don't miss opportunity. It dresses in overalls and looks like work." - Tune
Tech auto sign (Spokane, 12/04)
"Don't miss opportunity. It dresses in overalls and looks like work." - Tune
Tech auto sign (Spokane, 12/04)
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Pasta Night
A dear friend of mine made an incredible feast of homemade pasta for me and ten friends last Thursday night. Let me say that having tried my hand at making pasta from scratch, this was an eye-opening revelatory experience. Where my pasta dumplings (calling them ravioli would be far too kind) were ill-formed, thick, and chewy, his fettuccine was light, soft and smooth, practically silky in texture. I cannot extol the virtues of at-home preparation more then with this wonderful meal. It was a testament to patience and skill.
My friend, we’ll call him Chef Hightower for his height and cooking prowess, used to make all his pasta using a hand cranked roller. We arrived in his kitchen last night to see that he had the modern convenience of a motor attached to his pasta maker. It’s impossible to blame him for taking advantage of this amenity since the quantity of pasta he was creating was enormous, enough for each of us eleven to indulge more then once.
Jedi, my boyfriend, made both pumpkin pie and pumpkin cream cheese roll with the pumpkin leftover from the holidays. They were incredibly moist and delicious, they were accompanied by freshly whipped heavy cream (far better then the canned stuff). The only element missing for me was a rich dark cup of Brazilian coffee. Perhaps next time.
My friend, we’ll call him Chef Hightower for his height and cooking prowess, used to make all his pasta using a hand cranked roller. We arrived in his kitchen last night to see that he had the modern convenience of a motor attached to his pasta maker. It’s impossible to blame him for taking advantage of this amenity since the quantity of pasta he was creating was enormous, enough for each of us eleven to indulge more then once.
Jedi, my boyfriend, made both pumpkin pie and pumpkin cream cheese roll with the pumpkin leftover from the holidays. They were incredibly moist and delicious, they were accompanied by freshly whipped heavy cream (far better then the canned stuff). The only element missing for me was a rich dark cup of Brazilian coffee. Perhaps next time.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Working: Part 2
On with the story…where was I? Oh, yes, I had decided to join the tech crew since I was not selected to appear in the fall play of my freshman year (our school had a fall play and a spring musical). That autumn the play was Miracle Worker. What part I thought I was fit to play I cannot say, but there was no way that Helen Keller was going to be portrayed by a teenager with the chest that I have. Suspending disbelief would be damn near impossible. And I was far too young to take on the character of Annie Sullivan with any semblance of veracity. So, I was billed in the program as the sound operator, a title that suited me, strangely enough, very well.
Miracle Worker was a difficult play to do sound for. There were 4 microphones on the two story set. Two overhead to handle scenes on the second floor of the set (Helen’s bedroom) and any action taking place from the middle to the back of the stage. There were also two floor mics for scenes down on the stages apron and proscenium area. Over a decade later, I am loathe to tell you how useless those floor mics were in a play with all the banging, brawling, and hand slapping that our Miracle Worker contained.
Second semester found me auditioning yet again, this time for the musical, Anything Goes. I was confident that with my dance background (I had ballet and gymnastics as a youth) I would be a perfect choice for the chorus since there were several phenomenal song and dance numbers in the show. How wrong I was. Sadly, my hopes and dreams were crushed when the cast list was posted and my name was nowhere on it. Soldiering on, I once again volunteered to join the tech crew and run the sound board.
Suffice it to say I was not the most popular kid in school, I was a quickly turning into a total drama dork, but I did have something the other kids did not, a Mackie 12 channel console. With it, I could control performers’ vocal volume over the pit orchestra. Yes, we were a well enough off school district that our High School had a beautiful theater complete with orchestra pit, downstairs dressing rooms, and a messy room piled high with props, costumes, and sets from show’s past that we called lovingly, the green room (although if memory serves, it was actually a light blue color with various paint samples from numerous sets).
The theater was not a space one could easily fill with just your speaking voice. It was bigger then a 99 seat theater, but not by much. The balcony was difficult to see from due a design flaw that required a wood railing directly in the sight line to the stage. The musical brought me more responsibility and really sparked my interest in audio as a career. I had 3 small radio frequency microphones that I mapped out between the actors so each would wear it during their big singing numbers. I felt so important handing out those battery powered mics to the students starring in the show. The mics transmitted their voices to my console where I could affect the pitch and volume…oh the heady power trip I embarked on with this duty.
Throughout rehearsals I grew more adept at hitting the proper level with the faders on the mix board. My confidence grew as did my fascination with sound. There were two men who came to school to set up the microphones, speakers, and give me a crash course in handling all of it. For this blog, I will call them C and J. These guys were kind enough to volunteer their time and experience to our High School even though their kids were not in the productions (they did have children my home town’s school district, just not in High School at that time).
Man, did I admire these guys! They were knowledgeable and what-more; they treated me like an intelligent adult capable of handling any situation that arose with their audio equipment. In retrospect, I now understand that most of the gear was rented, but it bolstered my confidence to feel their confidence in my abilities. Two years ago J even contacted me on one of his trips to the LA area and we had a lovely reunion. I thanked him for changing my life and sparking my ambition and interest in audio, a passion that inspired and lead me through an exciting decade of learning and working.
To be continued
Miracle Worker was a difficult play to do sound for. There were 4 microphones on the two story set. Two overhead to handle scenes on the second floor of the set (Helen’s bedroom) and any action taking place from the middle to the back of the stage. There were also two floor mics for scenes down on the stages apron and proscenium area. Over a decade later, I am loathe to tell you how useless those floor mics were in a play with all the banging, brawling, and hand slapping that our Miracle Worker contained.
Second semester found me auditioning yet again, this time for the musical, Anything Goes. I was confident that with my dance background (I had ballet and gymnastics as a youth) I would be a perfect choice for the chorus since there were several phenomenal song and dance numbers in the show. How wrong I was. Sadly, my hopes and dreams were crushed when the cast list was posted and my name was nowhere on it. Soldiering on, I once again volunteered to join the tech crew and run the sound board.
Suffice it to say I was not the most popular kid in school, I was a quickly turning into a total drama dork, but I did have something the other kids did not, a Mackie 12 channel console. With it, I could control performers’ vocal volume over the pit orchestra. Yes, we were a well enough off school district that our High School had a beautiful theater complete with orchestra pit, downstairs dressing rooms, and a messy room piled high with props, costumes, and sets from show’s past that we called lovingly, the green room (although if memory serves, it was actually a light blue color with various paint samples from numerous sets).
The theater was not a space one could easily fill with just your speaking voice. It was bigger then a 99 seat theater, but not by much. The balcony was difficult to see from due a design flaw that required a wood railing directly in the sight line to the stage. The musical brought me more responsibility and really sparked my interest in audio as a career. I had 3 small radio frequency microphones that I mapped out between the actors so each would wear it during their big singing numbers. I felt so important handing out those battery powered mics to the students starring in the show. The mics transmitted their voices to my console where I could affect the pitch and volume…oh the heady power trip I embarked on with this duty.
Throughout rehearsals I grew more adept at hitting the proper level with the faders on the mix board. My confidence grew as did my fascination with sound. There were two men who came to school to set up the microphones, speakers, and give me a crash course in handling all of it. For this blog, I will call them C and J. These guys were kind enough to volunteer their time and experience to our High School even though their kids were not in the productions (they did have children my home town’s school district, just not in High School at that time).
Man, did I admire these guys! They were knowledgeable and what-more; they treated me like an intelligent adult capable of handling any situation that arose with their audio equipment. In retrospect, I now understand that most of the gear was rented, but it bolstered my confidence to feel their confidence in my abilities. Two years ago J even contacted me on one of his trips to the LA area and we had a lovely reunion. I thanked him for changing my life and sparking my ambition and interest in audio, a passion that inspired and lead me through an exciting decade of learning and working.
To be continued
Friday, December 23, 2005
Working: Part 1
When I was 16 and had my driver’s license it became apparent that I could also take on the responsibility of having a job. Thankfully, I had the trust and encouragement from my parents to pursue a rather odd profession, that of a theatrical sound designer.
At 16 I had been running the sound board for my High School’s various plays, musicals, music recitals, and other odds and end productions for 2 years. It was an interest I sort of fell into during the first semester of my freshman year. Upon entry into high school I had the dream, as many of us do, that I would audition for the school play and wow the director into offering me the lead role. This was not to be…not even close for many reasons.
To start, exiting seniors are chosen as leads in plays and musical, sort of their final grand “hurrah” before heading out into the world. Second, my looks are not what anyone thinks of when you say, “Leading lady”. Short, curly haired, big busted Jewish girls are not what Cole Porter had in mind for Anything Goes. Now, we get to the true crux of why I was not chosen…my acting, my singing, and my dancing. As a child and even early adulthood I took private singing lessons and was also fairly active in gymnastics and dancing. It would be a stretch of the imagination to say that I was remarkable at either. I was mediocre, but I insisted on believing it was favoritism that led to my career in technical theater rather then being in the spotlight.
So when the callbacks were posted for the Fall play, it was with great disappointment that I did not see my name on the list. What I did see was a flyer requesting people for backstage help. My daydreams took flight once again. I would be backstage for opening night. The show’s young female lead would suddenly be gripped by stage fright at the last moment temporarily throwing the future of the show into chaos. Based on this irrational, I gladly signed up for backstage duty.
Long story short, 3 people were selected from the tech crew (as we were called) to work the sound board and the 2 spot lights (the lighting board was operated by a professional). I presume that the people the drama teacher chose were special in some way, perhaps more intelligent then the other people teching the show. Hindsight being 20/20, I now see that she just wanted the big burly young men to push the set pieces around and deal with props while the weaker sex was relegated to lights and sound. Harsh of me to surmise, yet wholly accurate.
This story is to be continued….
At 16 I had been running the sound board for my High School’s various plays, musicals, music recitals, and other odds and end productions for 2 years. It was an interest I sort of fell into during the first semester of my freshman year. Upon entry into high school I had the dream, as many of us do, that I would audition for the school play and wow the director into offering me the lead role. This was not to be…not even close for many reasons.
To start, exiting seniors are chosen as leads in plays and musical, sort of their final grand “hurrah” before heading out into the world. Second, my looks are not what anyone thinks of when you say, “Leading lady”. Short, curly haired, big busted Jewish girls are not what Cole Porter had in mind for Anything Goes. Now, we get to the true crux of why I was not chosen…my acting, my singing, and my dancing. As a child and even early adulthood I took private singing lessons and was also fairly active in gymnastics and dancing. It would be a stretch of the imagination to say that I was remarkable at either. I was mediocre, but I insisted on believing it was favoritism that led to my career in technical theater rather then being in the spotlight.
So when the callbacks were posted for the Fall play, it was with great disappointment that I did not see my name on the list. What I did see was a flyer requesting people for backstage help. My daydreams took flight once again. I would be backstage for opening night. The show’s young female lead would suddenly be gripped by stage fright at the last moment temporarily throwing the future of the show into chaos. Based on this irrational, I gladly signed up for backstage duty.
Long story short, 3 people were selected from the tech crew (as we were called) to work the sound board and the 2 spot lights (the lighting board was operated by a professional). I presume that the people the drama teacher chose were special in some way, perhaps more intelligent then the other people teching the show. Hindsight being 20/20, I now see that she just wanted the big burly young men to push the set pieces around and deal with props while the weaker sex was relegated to lights and sound. Harsh of me to surmise, yet wholly accurate.
This story is to be continued….
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
A Tale of Two Stories
As some of you may know I am currently in the process of moving. I will be going from a one bedroom apartment where I have resided for the past 7 years to half of a duplex. Now, there is something, I must confess that has been weighting on my mind about this particular residence. It is 2 stories high. Not a big deal to many, and I did indeed live on the upper floor of a condo one summer in Northridge, but in this case, the second level fills me with dread. This is all rooted in my childhood, as many neuroses are.
Our family lived (and my parents still live) in a ranch style home, we did not have to climb stairs on a daily basis, never huffing and puffing up and down to get this, that, or the other thing. Our delicate constitutions never bothered by lifting our knees to waist level to rest in an upstairs bedroom.
So where did this utter phobia of stairs develop?
I give you the two story house.
My best friend’s family lived in a two story house, the source of my angst. If we were upstairs we needed to be down, if we were downstairs we needed to be up. We were the equvilent of cats, always on the wrong side of every door. And Heaven forbid if we needed to go anywhere because there was always something left behind in the dreaded “UPSTAIRS”. Little kids racing from the car, to the house, and up those miserable stairs then snatching the missing item and doing the race in reverse. Heart pounding, lungs bursting, ready to pass out…that is what I associate those DAMN stairs with.
Not to mention the dubious habit the boys in the family had of leaving a multitude of sharp edged or hard cornered doodads on one or two steps so that when you were in a hurry you would smash your foot on one or land right on top of it either breaking it or injuring yourself.
Anyone who has lived with me, and there are few and far between in that category, know that I’m the sort of gal who likes neat piles of stuff, close at hand. Easily accessible items to entertain myself, none of this upstairs/downstairs nonsense. Plus everything you ever want to use downstairs is inevitably upstairs so once you use it you have to then haul it back up. I tell you, people were not created to climb stairs on a regular basis.
Perhaps my archnemisis....the stairs will become my friendly advocate by helping tone and tighten my miniscual glut muscle and then again, perhaps I will camp out in the living room with the dog when I feel too lazy to travel to my bedroom...
Our family lived (and my parents still live) in a ranch style home, we did not have to climb stairs on a daily basis, never huffing and puffing up and down to get this, that, or the other thing. Our delicate constitutions never bothered by lifting our knees to waist level to rest in an upstairs bedroom.
So where did this utter phobia of stairs develop?
I give you the two story house.
My best friend’s family lived in a two story house, the source of my angst. If we were upstairs we needed to be down, if we were downstairs we needed to be up. We were the equvilent of cats, always on the wrong side of every door. And Heaven forbid if we needed to go anywhere because there was always something left behind in the dreaded “UPSTAIRS”. Little kids racing from the car, to the house, and up those miserable stairs then snatching the missing item and doing the race in reverse. Heart pounding, lungs bursting, ready to pass out…that is what I associate those DAMN stairs with.
Not to mention the dubious habit the boys in the family had of leaving a multitude of sharp edged or hard cornered doodads on one or two steps so that when you were in a hurry you would smash your foot on one or land right on top of it either breaking it or injuring yourself.
Anyone who has lived with me, and there are few and far between in that category, know that I’m the sort of gal who likes neat piles of stuff, close at hand. Easily accessible items to entertain myself, none of this upstairs/downstairs nonsense. Plus everything you ever want to use downstairs is inevitably upstairs so once you use it you have to then haul it back up. I tell you, people were not created to climb stairs on a regular basis.
Perhaps my archnemisis....the stairs will become my friendly advocate by helping tone and tighten my miniscual glut muscle and then again, perhaps I will camp out in the living room with the dog when I feel too lazy to travel to my bedroom...
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Secrets in a Foreign Tongue
Today a co-worker of mine moved to the office outside my cube. The thing is, she speaks Hebrew. ALL THE TIME. I understand weird snatches of her conversations. I feel like I should know more. I took Hebrew in college and also in my early teens for the perpous of being Bat Mitzvah. Most, if not all, people know what a Bar Mitzvah is, but a startling number of people have no clue that there is the female counterpart known as the Bat Mitzvah. Weird, but true.
And now I reveal to you, dear reader one of my most embarassing revelations. My parents were not strict about Hebrew school. In fact they very liberally sought my advice on whether I wanted a Bat Mitzvah. Feeling competitive as many younger siblings do, I figured if my brother did, then I should too. Besides there was delicious food, new clothes, a band, and most important of all to a child, gifts. Also, in my youth, I was a bit of a show-off, a performer, a ham (some would say that I have yet to grow out of this annoying trait).
Now, on to my great secret. Which ironically, is no secret at all to the Rabbi, my father, and many of the participants on that fateful day one month before my 13th birthday. I faked my Haftorah Portion, this is the selection from the Prophets, not from the actual Torah, but it often relates to the Torah portion in some manner. Now, this would not be a big deal except A. I was entering Jewish adulthood on a pretense, B. the Rabbi surely knew that I was faking it, and C. the 2 pages of Hebrew that I never learned still haunts me to this day.
Some might say that I am trying to find things to feel guilty about, but that is not it at all. I am merely chagrined that no one ever spoke with me about this rather evident faux pas. Did no one notice? Were people so polite that they did not want to spoil my day? Were they so taken with my incredible guitar playing and singing (yes, I had a captive audience, so I took advantage of that fact) that they didn't see the evident look of demonic concentration on my face up at the bima (the Jewish equivalent of a holy platform on which the ark that holds the Torah is kept and by ark, I mean cabinet).
So, here I am almost 2 decades later exposing my own fradulence. Why? Because that day meant more to me then just the Haftarah Portion. It meant my whole extended family coming to see ME and it made me feel important and loved. I look back on it with joy and happiness because no one said anything bad, they loved me and that feeling has not been mitigated by anything. It's a good feeling, and it's funny to me how much I worried about it beforehand.
And now I reveal to you, dear reader one of my most embarassing revelations. My parents were not strict about Hebrew school. In fact they very liberally sought my advice on whether I wanted a Bat Mitzvah. Feeling competitive as many younger siblings do, I figured if my brother did, then I should too. Besides there was delicious food, new clothes, a band, and most important of all to a child, gifts. Also, in my youth, I was a bit of a show-off, a performer, a ham (some would say that I have yet to grow out of this annoying trait).
Now, on to my great secret. Which ironically, is no secret at all to the Rabbi, my father, and many of the participants on that fateful day one month before my 13th birthday. I faked my Haftorah Portion, this is the selection from the Prophets, not from the actual Torah, but it often relates to the Torah portion in some manner. Now, this would not be a big deal except A. I was entering Jewish adulthood on a pretense, B. the Rabbi surely knew that I was faking it, and C. the 2 pages of Hebrew that I never learned still haunts me to this day.
Some might say that I am trying to find things to feel guilty about, but that is not it at all. I am merely chagrined that no one ever spoke with me about this rather evident faux pas. Did no one notice? Were people so polite that they did not want to spoil my day? Were they so taken with my incredible guitar playing and singing (yes, I had a captive audience, so I took advantage of that fact) that they didn't see the evident look of demonic concentration on my face up at the bima (the Jewish equivalent of a holy platform on which the ark that holds the Torah is kept and by ark, I mean cabinet).
So, here I am almost 2 decades later exposing my own fradulence. Why? Because that day meant more to me then just the Haftarah Portion. It meant my whole extended family coming to see ME and it made me feel important and loved. I look back on it with joy and happiness because no one said anything bad, they loved me and that feeling has not been mitigated by anything. It's a good feeling, and it's funny to me how much I worried about it beforehand.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Equus 11/20/05 East-West Players
On Sunday I attended a performance of the critically acclaimed play, Equus by Peter Shaffer. This performance starred George Takei or the Original Star Trek series. For those of you unlike myself, who do not gobble up science fiction television, writings, and blogs, Mr. Takei played Mr. Sulu on Star Trek. Reluctantly I admit to a fascination with asian culture and found out about the show from Mr. Takei's blog (as I am fascinated by celebrity blogs too,. my favorites being Margaret Cho and Kevin Smith for their insights and conversational tone).
Also, when I was a theater student at USC, before switching to Cinema-Television, I had read and discused Equus in a class there. It's interwoven dialog style did not make sense to me when I was reading it so I wanted to see how it came together onstage. To give you a sense of the extremities of this play, I make mention of the sign on the theater's box office, "This show contains graphic nudity, loud noises, and coarse language." This is paraphased, but you get the point. To further drive it home, my friend sitting next to me looked over at me at intermission and said, "You're weird", as if somehow I was responsible for the playwrite's words and director's actions. I laughed heartily.
George's performance as psychiatrist Martin Dysart was at turns represssively British, breathtakingly frustrating, and rapturously jealous. He displayed such a range of emotions while treating his fragile, distraught patient, an adolescent, named Alan who possesses a unorthodox obsession with horses. Mr. Takei's voice is distinct and captivating. His words with their bass resonance and slight accent transport me to the office where he does his psychiatric work. I was in heaven closing my eyes and listening to him.
The nudity in the play was less shocking then I expected. It was far less shocking then the scenes with men as horses interacting with Alan in his devotion and defilement. The horse costumes and men playing them were beautiful. They showed the splendor and majesty of the animals with proud tosses of their heads. A great piece of theater for adults to enjoy.
Also, when I was a theater student at USC, before switching to Cinema-Television, I had read and discused Equus in a class there. It's interwoven dialog style did not make sense to me when I was reading it so I wanted to see how it came together onstage. To give you a sense of the extremities of this play, I make mention of the sign on the theater's box office, "This show contains graphic nudity, loud noises, and coarse language." This is paraphased, but you get the point. To further drive it home, my friend sitting next to me looked over at me at intermission and said, "You're weird", as if somehow I was responsible for the playwrite's words and director's actions. I laughed heartily.
George's performance as psychiatrist Martin Dysart was at turns represssively British, breathtakingly frustrating, and rapturously jealous. He displayed such a range of emotions while treating his fragile, distraught patient, an adolescent, named Alan who possesses a unorthodox obsession with horses. Mr. Takei's voice is distinct and captivating. His words with their bass resonance and slight accent transport me to the office where he does his psychiatric work. I was in heaven closing my eyes and listening to him.
The nudity in the play was less shocking then I expected. It was far less shocking then the scenes with men as horses interacting with Alan in his devotion and defilement. The horse costumes and men playing them were beautiful. They showed the splendor and majesty of the animals with proud tosses of their heads. A great piece of theater for adults to enjoy.
Bitter, Party of One
Last week I was in Target looking around for some necessity items, cat litter, cat food, dryer sheets, underwear and the like. It was a normal shopping trip until I noticed the aisles upon aisle stocked full of Christmas geegaws.
There were stockings, fake trees, ornaments of all shapes, sizes, and themes, wrapping paper, cards, lights, and various household knicknacks to decorate with. So, getting into the spirit of this early holiday ambush I decided that I should find some Hanukkah items to take home (since all the ones at my local party store looked cheap and garrish screaming "Happy Hanukkah" in canary yellow and basic blue). I was hoping to find some classy silver and blue tinsel, maybe some lights, wrapping paper with the Star of David, and some card with a generic seasonal greeting.
Boy, was I outta luck. At first I inquired gently to one of the red vest wearing teens unloading tinsel from boxes in front of a plastic Santa Claus. "Excuse me, where are your Hanukkah decorations?" She looked up, shrugged her shoulders and said, "They might be downstairs?" and went back to her task. At this point there was only mild annoyance at poor customer service amidst the festive atmosphere.
Since I had more regular shopping to do, I chalked this interaction up to age and inexperience. Next I tried a gentle men passing by pushing a palette of toilet paper. He was little more help and instructed me to try Customer Service. Ah-ha, I thought, this will be perfect, they will point me in the right direction and I'll just throw some stuff in my cart and be on my way.
Sadly, things often do not work out the way you imagine. Customer Service was not very customer friendly and pointed me back upstairs with the comment that, "All holiday materials are upstairs and (I) must've missed something."
Coming off the escalator on the second floor my spirits were low and my anger beginning to boil. I was starting to feel marginalized and unimportant to one of the US's gigantic retailers. Silly I know, but this sums up my feelings for so many years about the December Dilemma. It is unclear to me when my "bah humbug" menatality started. Whether it was fostered doing Christmas themed art projects in Elementary School or if it was feeling disappointed that my parents wouldn't put lights on our house (although we did have an electric menorah in the window).
Whatever the reason, the epiphany I experience in that Target last week was the realization that I did not accept who I was and am. It is a deepseated self-loathing of this difference that I am a Jew in an American Culture that has taken Christmas and turned it into a hugely commercial holiday. Basically, I suffer from feeling left out. Pity party, table for one?
Standing, staring up at the flocked and decorated trees the department manager simply stated, "We don't have any Hanukkah stuff, but you might try Party City." My feelings were depressed and introspective as I checked out with my small pile and trudged to my car. In the safety of my drivers seat a wave of guilt and shame overcame me and I cried for all the children that love Santa. Wow, I thought, I am being selfish and small, what a horrible irony that during this season, a time of year for peace, love, joy, and family should cause me such angst.
Change can be inspired by many circumstances and this was one of them. It is time to work on my attitude, to be more accepting of myself, and enjoy the holidays with my friends and family instead of sitting in judgement on the trappings of those same holidays, be they trees, lights, or snowmen. These elements only have the power that we imbue them with and I am not going to let myself be manipulated by these negative emotions anymore. Happy Holidays to all whatever you may celebrate!
There were stockings, fake trees, ornaments of all shapes, sizes, and themes, wrapping paper, cards, lights, and various household knicknacks to decorate with. So, getting into the spirit of this early holiday ambush I decided that I should find some Hanukkah items to take home (since all the ones at my local party store looked cheap and garrish screaming "Happy Hanukkah" in canary yellow and basic blue). I was hoping to find some classy silver and blue tinsel, maybe some lights, wrapping paper with the Star of David, and some card with a generic seasonal greeting.
Boy, was I outta luck. At first I inquired gently to one of the red vest wearing teens unloading tinsel from boxes in front of a plastic Santa Claus. "Excuse me, where are your Hanukkah decorations?" She looked up, shrugged her shoulders and said, "They might be downstairs?" and went back to her task. At this point there was only mild annoyance at poor customer service amidst the festive atmosphere.
Since I had more regular shopping to do, I chalked this interaction up to age and inexperience. Next I tried a gentle men passing by pushing a palette of toilet paper. He was little more help and instructed me to try Customer Service. Ah-ha, I thought, this will be perfect, they will point me in the right direction and I'll just throw some stuff in my cart and be on my way.
Sadly, things often do not work out the way you imagine. Customer Service was not very customer friendly and pointed me back upstairs with the comment that, "All holiday materials are upstairs and (I) must've missed something."
Coming off the escalator on the second floor my spirits were low and my anger beginning to boil. I was starting to feel marginalized and unimportant to one of the US's gigantic retailers. Silly I know, but this sums up my feelings for so many years about the December Dilemma. It is unclear to me when my "bah humbug" menatality started. Whether it was fostered doing Christmas themed art projects in Elementary School or if it was feeling disappointed that my parents wouldn't put lights on our house (although we did have an electric menorah in the window).
Whatever the reason, the epiphany I experience in that Target last week was the realization that I did not accept who I was and am. It is a deepseated self-loathing of this difference that I am a Jew in an American Culture that has taken Christmas and turned it into a hugely commercial holiday. Basically, I suffer from feeling left out. Pity party, table for one?
Standing, staring up at the flocked and decorated trees the department manager simply stated, "We don't have any Hanukkah stuff, but you might try Party City." My feelings were depressed and introspective as I checked out with my small pile and trudged to my car. In the safety of my drivers seat a wave of guilt and shame overcame me and I cried for all the children that love Santa. Wow, I thought, I am being selfish and small, what a horrible irony that during this season, a time of year for peace, love, joy, and family should cause me such angst.
Change can be inspired by many circumstances and this was one of them. It is time to work on my attitude, to be more accepting of myself, and enjoy the holidays with my friends and family instead of sitting in judgement on the trappings of those same holidays, be they trees, lights, or snowmen. These elements only have the power that we imbue them with and I am not going to let myself be manipulated by these negative emotions anymore. Happy Holidays to all whatever you may celebrate!
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Fight Night
Tonight I had a fantastic time releiving the stress and pressure of everyday life by beating the crap out of a guy dressed in head to toe protective gear. I attended an Impact Personal Safety Fight Night. Three hours of whatever kinds of fights the participants want to practice to feel more confident about their verbal and physical abilities to defend themselves.
Looking back it's incredible to me that I actually completed 3 self defense classes. I mean I am astonished that I was able to accomplish something that I set my mind to. When I first learned about Impact the class that truly appealed to me was the Weapons class. It teaches the students to defend themselves against an assailant who is armed with a knife, club, or gun. It took a full year to go through Basic and complete Advanced and finally move on and do weapons.
Some of the amazing aspects of these classes are the people who teach them. Our instructor tonight teaches self defense at two all girl high schools. This is a valuable resource that I feel should be available to all teenage girls. A friend of mine used to be a kids class instructor. What a tremendous honor it must be to instill confidence and protection in children.
Looking back it's incredible to me that I actually completed 3 self defense classes. I mean I am astonished that I was able to accomplish something that I set my mind to. When I first learned about Impact the class that truly appealed to me was the Weapons class. It teaches the students to defend themselves against an assailant who is armed with a knife, club, or gun. It took a full year to go through Basic and complete Advanced and finally move on and do weapons.
Some of the amazing aspects of these classes are the people who teach them. Our instructor tonight teaches self defense at two all girl high schools. This is a valuable resource that I feel should be available to all teenage girls. A friend of mine used to be a kids class instructor. What a tremendous honor it must be to instill confidence and protection in children.
Friday, October 28, 2005
Halloween
10/23/05 I always thought that the girl’s bathroom in the bottom of the music building in our high school was haunted. For some odd reason I believed that one day I would go in there and there would be a person hanging from the rafters. Perhaps it was the dank, cloying odor of must and mildrew that had accumulated over the many years the building had stood through hard rains and the pathetic ventilation that the bottom level received. It just always gave me the creeps going down there to change into our choral outfits for a nighttime performance or to quickly use the bathroom (since choir was right after lunch). That's really all of the scary thoughts I have, no wonder I gooble up books by Dean Koontz and Stephen King so much. No, my first book would NOT be part of the horror genre.
I'm thinking that for next years Halloween costume I am going to be either an Iron Chef (preferrably Chef Masaharu Morimoto since he's the only chef that has been in both the Japanese and the American versions of the show). It would be fun to just run around wearing silver and carrying around a fake butcher knife and rubber chicken. It's either that or I'm dressing up as Diana (played by Jane Badler) from the 80s show "V". I could put a little scrape in my "skin" and put on some fake snakeskin to make it look like I'm a lizard underneath. Plus who wouldn't look fabulous in a bright red jumpsuit with a gigantic black vinyl "V" in a standup collar around their neck extending to their crotch rather suggestively.
I was uber-lazy this year and didn't even bother with a costume...of course, since I wasn't going anywhere for the holiday, it didn't really matter.
Yep, that's right, I opted out of celebrating the one holiday that you can pretty much get away with anything that you want...weather it be looking or acting unlike yourself. Sadly, ever since those rosy days of old when my mother spent hours on Saturday sewing my costume and my siblings costumes have I felt that magically transformed.
Music Review
10/27 Danger Doom: The Mask and the Mouse
For those of you who know me, this will come as no surprise; I am a rampant fan of Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim block of cartoons. My favorite shows feature old Hanna Barbara cartoons that have been revamped with new shots, characters, and voices to create animated entertainment that is absurd in nature and inappropriate for children. There are many different shows on during this time period, usually only asking 9 -15 minutes attention from their audience of adolescents that have fulltime jobs, mortgaqges, car payments, and kids fast asleep. The best three series in my opinion feature old Hanna Barbera cartoon characters revamped and thrust into new and exciting adventures. The fact that these adventures usually consist of very unsavory situations that frequently make no sense at all is beside the point. Even their titles suggest absurdism; Harvey Birdman: Attorney at Law, Aqua Team Hunger Force, and Sealab 2027. Not exactly your Penelope Pitstop or Snaglepuss kinda show.
But enough about my adoration of FCC challenging cartoons, this new release uniting MF Doom and Dangermouse is a not to be missed collaboration. It is equally nutty and non-senseical as the shows that it integrates into the dozen plus tracks. I cannot chose which is my favorite, since each song is so different , but I admit that the one that sticks in my head the most (maybe more due to the lyrics then the actualy music)is Sofa King.
Below is a list of the song title, for your enjoyment of their tongue-in-cheek humor.
01 El Chupa libre
02 Sofa King
03 The Mask (feat. Ghostface)
04 Perfect Hair
05 Bizzy Box (feat. Cee-Lo)
06 Old School (feat. Talib Kweli)
07 A.T.H.F.
08 Basket Case
09 No Names (Black Debbi)
10 Crosshairs
11 Mince Meat
12 Vats of Urine
13 Space Ho's
14 Bada Bing
Thursday, October 27, 2005
A Tale of Charles Dickens – A Radio Play by The Antaeus Company (L.A.s Classical Theater Ensemble)
The Los Angeles theater scene never fails to amaze and excite me. Especially in a genere that has sadly faltered since the advent of television, the radio play. My friend, the Brown One, invited me to accompany her to the Skirball Cultural Center to see A Tale of Charles Dickens presented by the award winning Antaeus Company. Let me steal from the program to tell you what this evening’s performance entailed, “16 actors portraying more than 50 characters. London in the 1830’s—the most colorful and chaotic city in the world—and young journalist Charles Dickens is uncovering a dark conspiracy of arson and murder. A fanciful look at the man before he became the iconic author we know today.”
What a treat this was! Murder most foul, burgeoning romance, a courtroom drama, bawdy drinking songs, and a cast of talented actors capable of populating all of England. So, basically, I am saying that I enjoyed the show immensely. It was a creative take on the early life of Charles Dickens with foreshadowing of how he would become the acclaimed writer that everyone knows today. Apparently this show is based on a script that runs 6 hours. I would be most intrigued to find out the other components of his writings that are alluded to in that missing 4 hours.
While out in the lobby at intermission I purchased several of the company’s previously performed plays that were available on CD and cassette. I bought Neil Simon’s great story, The Prisoner of Second Avenue which won a Grammy for Best Spoken Word Comedy Album in 2000. Agnes of G-d was another casette I picked up, since I did scenes from it back in college (that very short time when I was a theater major), but never actually read the entire piece. I’m looking forward to listening to all of them in my car since I do a lot of driving and the stories keep me from getting irritated at traffic. In fact, last nights performance was recorded and can be heard this weekend on public radio and satellite.
May I take this opportunity to again speak to you, my dear readers about being a good audience? One of my friends, we’ll call him Mr. Know-it-all (I chose this name with affection of course, for those of you who are horrified that I would call a friend this-afterall, it is a fact, he simply knows everything) actually left because the person behind him was laughing uproariously whenever the players said anything remotely amusing. Now I don’t blame Mr. Know-it-all since I was also sitting in front of said rude person. I’m certainly not suggesting that it is not okay to enjoy the show with laugther and tears where appropriate, but this was out of proportions to what was actually going on onstage. It was distracting and what-more you could not hear the actor’s lines over these gigantic guffaws. In the future, if we were all just a little more aware of those around us…you get the point.
What a treat this was! Murder most foul, burgeoning romance, a courtroom drama, bawdy drinking songs, and a cast of talented actors capable of populating all of England. So, basically, I am saying that I enjoyed the show immensely. It was a creative take on the early life of Charles Dickens with foreshadowing of how he would become the acclaimed writer that everyone knows today. Apparently this show is based on a script that runs 6 hours. I would be most intrigued to find out the other components of his writings that are alluded to in that missing 4 hours.
While out in the lobby at intermission I purchased several of the company’s previously performed plays that were available on CD and cassette. I bought Neil Simon’s great story, The Prisoner of Second Avenue which won a Grammy for Best Spoken Word Comedy Album in 2000. Agnes of G-d was another casette I picked up, since I did scenes from it back in college (that very short time when I was a theater major), but never actually read the entire piece. I’m looking forward to listening to all of them in my car since I do a lot of driving and the stories keep me from getting irritated at traffic. In fact, last nights performance was recorded and can be heard this weekend on public radio and satellite.
May I take this opportunity to again speak to you, my dear readers about being a good audience? One of my friends, we’ll call him Mr. Know-it-all (I chose this name with affection of course, for those of you who are horrified that I would call a friend this-afterall, it is a fact, he simply knows everything) actually left because the person behind him was laughing uproariously whenever the players said anything remotely amusing. Now I don’t blame Mr. Know-it-all since I was also sitting in front of said rude person. I’m certainly not suggesting that it is not okay to enjoy the show with laugther and tears where appropriate, but this was out of proportions to what was actually going on onstage. It was distracting and what-more you could not hear the actor’s lines over these gigantic guffaws. In the future, if we were all just a little more aware of those around us…you get the point.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Great Party and Musings on Parenthood
This weekend I attended a tea and dress-up birthday party for 2 sets of 3-year-old twins. Both sets of twins are little girls, one fraternal, and one identical (well mostly). What a blast this party was, cute kids, great food, cool clothing to dress in, and an incredible homemade cake that tasted good and looked fantastic. The children were the biggest joy to me. Their delight in wearing play jewelry, oversized hats, feather boas, and fancy high heels was magical to experience.
Plus, they were all so helpful to eachother, it was like a happy mini-utopian soceity. No sex or violence to complicate things. I’m certain that I am simplifying here, since I am wont to do that, especially when writing. I’m certain I over-romanticize parenthood since I want children very much. The older I get the more I appreciate the many sacrfices my parents made to give me a good childhood and the choices the continue to make so I have a good life.
When you are young I think you have this idea that everyones family is just like yours. At some point you realize that other kids have more or less then you do. Whether it is money, family, or standard of living, it is a difficult realization to assimilate. Some of my friends lived in apartments, some kids I knew lived in the “projects” of our town. We all wore hand-me-downs at some point. Me, I just loved “borrowing” my brother’s clothes because I wanted to look like a “skater” chick. Other kids had tvs, videogames, and phones in their room. I never did, I guess I felt that with the cordless phone I could get as much privacy as I needed in my own bedroom.
There always seemed to be more then enough in our house. Food and beds were in ample supply to any kids from the neighborhood who needed to crash at our house. My father cooked enough food for an army and with my brother’s quickly growing teenage friends, it was necessary. My parents never minded the extra kids hanging around. I guess they must have figured it was better we were all close by then getting in trouble roaming the town. It was a cool house to grow up in, one where you never felt alone.
Plus, they were all so helpful to eachother, it was like a happy mini-utopian soceity. No sex or violence to complicate things. I’m certain that I am simplifying here, since I am wont to do that, especially when writing. I’m certain I over-romanticize parenthood since I want children very much. The older I get the more I appreciate the many sacrfices my parents made to give me a good childhood and the choices the continue to make so I have a good life.
When you are young I think you have this idea that everyones family is just like yours. At some point you realize that other kids have more or less then you do. Whether it is money, family, or standard of living, it is a difficult realization to assimilate. Some of my friends lived in apartments, some kids I knew lived in the “projects” of our town. We all wore hand-me-downs at some point. Me, I just loved “borrowing” my brother’s clothes because I wanted to look like a “skater” chick. Other kids had tvs, videogames, and phones in their room. I never did, I guess I felt that with the cordless phone I could get as much privacy as I needed in my own bedroom.
There always seemed to be more then enough in our house. Food and beds were in ample supply to any kids from the neighborhood who needed to crash at our house. My father cooked enough food for an army and with my brother’s quickly growing teenage friends, it was necessary. My parents never minded the extra kids hanging around. I guess they must have figured it was better we were all close by then getting in trouble roaming the town. It was a cool house to grow up in, one where you never felt alone.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Underratted
Free or cheap things that are severely underrated:
The Public Library: I adore the library. It’s a surefire good time for me whenever I go there because I know that not only do they trust me with books, audio books (both CD and cassette), DVDs, and VHS tapes of a wide variety, but they are filled with some of the nicest people you will ever meet. Since I work in customer service, it is a pet peeve of mine to encounter people who are surly, crass, or unhelpful in their interactions with people who use their services. The library branch that I frequent is staffed by kind, patient, generous people who look like they really enjoy what they are doing. My mom used to work for the public library in our home town and her co-workers were intelligent, articulate people who really loved their jobs and the beneficial effects that their place of work had on their community was heartening.
So many people come together at the library. Young, old, rich, poor, there is no criteria that you have to meet to be a member. That’s my kinda club. Plus they let you take home all sorts of movies and books that would cost you precious money at Blockbuster or Barnes and Noble. That’s right, there is still is a place that people can go to get something for nothing (as long as you return it on time, of course). In my opinion that sort of thing is a mini-miracle that I appreciate every time I walk through the doors of that magical place called the library.
Thrift Shops:
Wow, are these terrific stores to browse in and find all sorts of hidden treasures. Thrift Stores combine the random kitsch of garage sales with the excitement of products from eras past all at discount prices. About a month ago I purchased 2 books (almost brand new condition, popular titles) and a cool T-shirt at my local Good Will for less the $4. It’s not just the shopping that is so neat about these stores, but the premise behind them. The idea that when you are finished using something, it can still be useful to others.
They provide a central location to donate household goods, furniture, clothing, books, and various other articles of daily life that are in good condition. Tzedakah or the concept of Jewish giving is a large part of my affection for Thrift Stores since they are convenient locations for me to take items that are in good condition for donation. Many times I have found myself no longer fitting in skirts or tops that are still in fine condition, but I do not have a sister or friend to hand them down to, so giving them to an organization that provides them to people in need or sells them to raise money is a solution that satisfies the commandement to give perfectly.
The Public Library: I adore the library. It’s a surefire good time for me whenever I go there because I know that not only do they trust me with books, audio books (both CD and cassette), DVDs, and VHS tapes of a wide variety, but they are filled with some of the nicest people you will ever meet. Since I work in customer service, it is a pet peeve of mine to encounter people who are surly, crass, or unhelpful in their interactions with people who use their services. The library branch that I frequent is staffed by kind, patient, generous people who look like they really enjoy what they are doing. My mom used to work for the public library in our home town and her co-workers were intelligent, articulate people who really loved their jobs and the beneficial effects that their place of work had on their community was heartening.
So many people come together at the library. Young, old, rich, poor, there is no criteria that you have to meet to be a member. That’s my kinda club. Plus they let you take home all sorts of movies and books that would cost you precious money at Blockbuster or Barnes and Noble. That’s right, there is still is a place that people can go to get something for nothing (as long as you return it on time, of course). In my opinion that sort of thing is a mini-miracle that I appreciate every time I walk through the doors of that magical place called the library.
Thrift Shops:
Wow, are these terrific stores to browse in and find all sorts of hidden treasures. Thrift Stores combine the random kitsch of garage sales with the excitement of products from eras past all at discount prices. About a month ago I purchased 2 books (almost brand new condition, popular titles) and a cool T-shirt at my local Good Will for less the $4. It’s not just the shopping that is so neat about these stores, but the premise behind them. The idea that when you are finished using something, it can still be useful to others.
They provide a central location to donate household goods, furniture, clothing, books, and various other articles of daily life that are in good condition. Tzedakah or the concept of Jewish giving is a large part of my affection for Thrift Stores since they are convenient locations for me to take items that are in good condition for donation. Many times I have found myself no longer fitting in skirts or tops that are still in fine condition, but I do not have a sister or friend to hand them down to, so giving them to an organization that provides them to people in need or sells them to raise money is a solution that satisfies the commandement to give perfectly.
Crash, A film by Paul Haggis
If you have not seen the groundbreaking film, I urge you to add it to your Netflicks account or pick it up some night at Blockbuster. Better yet, go out and buy it since after seeing it once you will want to see it again to glean some new aspect of its multi-layered, complex story. Many reviews have already been written, most, by author’s much more adept at film analysis then I am, especially with such a difficult topic as a film that covers racial stereotypes and interconnecting character arcs.
Many aspects of the film both horrified and fascinated me since seeing human nature in varying shades of grey is not all that common for US Cinema. It was shockingly ordinary how the verbal slurs and stereotypical assumptions were used so offhandedly. I have to say, it made me question my own use of language and my behaviors around people in every circumstance, be it in a brief interaction at the gas station to the times I am with friends who are different colors, religions, and gender preferences then mine. I remain convinced that morality and ethics are far more important then any of the differences that can be seen or acted on. Being a compassionate person has so little to do with others, yet can have a far reaching impact on them.
Take the recent disasters that have happened the world over, from tsunamis, to hurricaines, to earthquakes, people and nations have put aside diversity to lend a helping hand. I know that this has not always happened in a timely manner and I am not going to defend or dispute it, but so much good has been seen from those near the devastated areas and those who live half a world away. My company has matched donations with their employees, they are having clothes, food, and various hygeine product drives, they are sending children books and movies to help them cope with losing so much. It is an honor to be a part of so much good.
The Plot Against America by Phillip Roth – Audio Book
Since I did not enjoy my first time reading Phillip Roth's The Human Stain, I can honestly say that I had no expectations whatsoever for my second outing with this author. That is why The Plot Against America proved to be such a delightful surprise. In this novel, Roth imagines an alternate history for America during World War II. In this frightening imagining, Republican, Isolationist candidate Charles A. Lindbergh defeats Franklin Roosevelt in the bid for the presidency. Under Lindbergh's administration, America is kept out of WWII and anti-semitism flourishes from coast to coast with Roth's family caught in the middle. Phillip Roth the author write about Phillip Roth the young boy which makes me wonder how many of the occurrences and characters are based on Roth's real life. This is an effective plot device that really involves the reader in the very dire circumstances that the main character is put in.
Ron Silver reads this audio book and although his differentiation between character voices is fair, he excels at the many soliloquies and political speeches Roth writes with such panache. This is one of the many reasons why I am such a rampant fan of audio books. They remind me of my parents reading to me at bedtime or my 6th grade teacher reading out loud to us such masterpieces as The Phantom Tollbooth and The Year of the Boar and Jackie Robinson. There is a connection made during the reading that conveys what the author’s meaning is for the book. I urge you to read out loud and see for yourself how it changes your reading experience. In my life I have had the pleasure of co-reading books with several friends where we take turns reading to each other. It broadens the experience of the book. I believe this is also the reason that book clubs are so popular.
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