Thursdays are for me. On Thursday I put my head back together, put my room in order, put all of the bits of my life back in the places where they belong.
Now Thursday is drawing to a close, and I am ready to face the world again. A brief list of my entirely self-involved activities today:
1. Donated a pile of clothings to Out of the Closet, both mine and 'Nald's.
2. Bought fresh (local, organic) produce at the Century City farmers' market. Sadly, there was a shocking dearth of garlic. Happily, strawberries are in season again. It is still January, right?
3. Reorganized my closet so that only half of it is a hedgehog habitat. The other half is now usable as...a closet! Shocking!
4. Tried, once again, to input student grades into the online gradebook. Got a few more in before it failed to load. We'll see if they last.
5. Went through all of the papers that had piled up on and around my desk since 4 November 2008. Recycled most of them. Saved some, including the chocolate wrapper bearing the inscription "You make getting political--HOT," with name and phone number appended. I like that particular piece of paper.
6. Washed my face five or so times. Still can't seem to get rid of the mysterious eruption all over my chin. Sigh. Another day of subtly thick makeup tomorrow, I guess.
7. Called the apartment manager about the inexplicably leaking kitchen sink. This was the longest stretch I'd gone without calling her about a plumbing problem since...moving in?
8. Watched DS9 while reading Christopher Small for section tomorrow.
9. Posted on the class discussion board about original cast albums and Danny Kaye.
10. Stir-fried some of that fresh produce. Ate it in front of more DS9.
Altogether, a pleasant day. I always feel better when my ducks are in a row, and they now are. Time for bed, as I need to be up at 6:00 tomorrow. Not all days can be Thursdays...
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Weblog voting
A post on a lighter topic. PLEASE vote today for BitchPhD in the Very Large Blog category of the Weblog Awards. Right now the only blog that is beating my beloved bitches' is a creepy racist conservative religious nutjob blog called Jesus' General. This really shouldn't happen.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
I've reframed and rewritten this post in my head many times, but it never comes out quite right. I don't know how to say it eloquently or properly. Others have tried.
Before, there was this interesting article. I read it today, finally having gotten around to The Nation from ages ago. It made no sense anymore, in context.
Where should I start? Should I start with the discomfort of being a Jew in a world that contains Israel, of having my allegiance claimed by a reprehensible theocracy, which I have never visited or been inclined to visit, simply because my parents' parents supposedly believed in a scary old boogieman in the sky? Is that too far back to go, too irrelevant to today?
Should I skip the background and jump right into the fury I experienced yesterday when I overheard two obviously Jewish undergraduates strolling the campus of our illustrious University and pronouncing moral judgments on, of all people, the children in Palestine? I can give them the benefit of some doubt or other, and assume that they were using the word metaphorically, not actually accusing the children currently dying in agony of unethical acts. Even with that benefit, though, these boys were spewing enough racist filth to turn me into a 5'6" tower of righteous anger. I couldn't actually calm down enough to say anything to them, and that made me burn with an added layer of shame on top of the anger.
I think I need to start somewhere in between those poles. Maybe I'll start on 5 November 2008, when the nation of Israel decided to break the latest ceasefire agreement with the shell of Palestine that they have allowed (barely) to survive.
Or I could start further back, in 2006, when the people of Gaza democratically elected Hamas, and Israel began the siege.
Or I could start just under two weeks ago, when the current slaughter began. I think that's where I'll start.
I'll begin with the stunning numbers, constantly updated and republished even in the New York Times. Two days ago, they stood thus: Dead Israelis, 8. Dead Palestinians, 550.
8.
550.
Can I make that more unbelievable for you? 3 of the dead Israelis were killed by Israeli forces by accident. That makes for some simple math: for every Israeli killed by Palestinian rocket fire, the Israeli army has killed 110 Palestinians. Can you comprehend that sickening arithmetic? In less than two weeks.
This is beyond unconscionable. This is beyond disgusting. This is beyond terrifying, overwhelming, and stupefying. Beyond words. And it's just a continuation of a sustained policy employed by one of the only theocracies (the only theocracy?) acknowledged by the supposedly-secular democracies of the "Western" world.
I am a Jew. That's not something I choose to change, though it is within my power to do so. I refuse to let the racist, xenophobic, imperialist, homicidal actions of a nation thousands of miles from me take that identity for its own, stake a claim on the Jewish soul. We are not all Zionists. We are not all going to sit by quietly and let this band of war criminals pretend that they and we share a "birthright."
So, Jews out there, here's my challenge to you. We may disagree on Israel-related issues. I'm sure many of you do believe in the inherent right of a Jewish state to exist, while I do not. Let's put that aside, because that's not what it's about right now. Right now, it's about hundreds of people being killed horribly and not being able to get away from it. It's about children and other non-combatants being randomly slaughtered first from the air and now from the ground.
DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. Be a good, guilt-ridden, bourgeois American and donate some money to relief efforts. Show your sense of civic involvement and call your elected representative. Take advantage of the mystic link between you and Israel and badger the consulate, the embassy, the various organs of that nation in this one. Protest. Shout. Pray. Cry. Blog, even. They won't be enough. They won't fix it. But can you honestly just stand around and watch the unspeakable horror unfold in front of you?
I must admit, I haven't donated money yet. I haven't been to a protest. I am not living up to my own challenge. Yet. But I will, as soon as this post is published. I can't donate a ton of money, but I can donate some. I can and will write angry letters to Henry Waxman, Barbara Boxer, Diane Feinstein, the Governator, The One. They won't stop the US from blindly backing Israel in all situations, but if you all do it too, maybe they'll start us on the right path.
I can't end this on a hopeful note. I can't say, "Gee, it'll all turn out fine if we just call our congressmen and -women!" It won't. People are dead. Twice as many people have died in Palestine in two weeks as graduated with me from my high school. We cannot fix this massacre, but no more can we let it pass unmentioned.
Had I a God or Gods, I would pray. Atheists have it harder; we have to place our faith, if we place it anywhere, in people. Human people. The same people who are killing, who are dying, who are on every side of this morass of death and destruction. Somehow these battered (and battering), beleaguered (and beleaguering) people must be the vessel of my faith. Let's hope it holds water.
I have rambled, and I know it. There isn't a narrative structure to this post. I refuse to marshal my thoughts into any sort of order; it wouldn't be fitting. There is no order here, no logic, no structure other than the cold efficiency of the abattoir, once again treating people like cattle to be slaughtered.
Before, there was this interesting article. I read it today, finally having gotten around to The Nation from ages ago. It made no sense anymore, in context.
Where should I start? Should I start with the discomfort of being a Jew in a world that contains Israel, of having my allegiance claimed by a reprehensible theocracy, which I have never visited or been inclined to visit, simply because my parents' parents supposedly believed in a scary old boogieman in the sky? Is that too far back to go, too irrelevant to today?
Should I skip the background and jump right into the fury I experienced yesterday when I overheard two obviously Jewish undergraduates strolling the campus of our illustrious University and pronouncing moral judgments on, of all people, the children in Palestine? I can give them the benefit of some doubt or other, and assume that they were using the word metaphorically, not actually accusing the children currently dying in agony of unethical acts. Even with that benefit, though, these boys were spewing enough racist filth to turn me into a 5'6" tower of righteous anger. I couldn't actually calm down enough to say anything to them, and that made me burn with an added layer of shame on top of the anger.
I think I need to start somewhere in between those poles. Maybe I'll start on 5 November 2008, when the nation of Israel decided to break the latest ceasefire agreement with the shell of Palestine that they have allowed (barely) to survive.
Or I could start further back, in 2006, when the people of Gaza democratically elected Hamas, and Israel began the siege.
Or I could start just under two weeks ago, when the current slaughter began. I think that's where I'll start.
I'll begin with the stunning numbers, constantly updated and republished even in the New York Times. Two days ago, they stood thus: Dead Israelis, 8. Dead Palestinians, 550.
8.
550.
Can I make that more unbelievable for you? 3 of the dead Israelis were killed by Israeli forces by accident. That makes for some simple math: for every Israeli killed by Palestinian rocket fire, the Israeli army has killed 110 Palestinians. Can you comprehend that sickening arithmetic? In less than two weeks.
This is beyond unconscionable. This is beyond disgusting. This is beyond terrifying, overwhelming, and stupefying. Beyond words. And it's just a continuation of a sustained policy employed by one of the only theocracies (the only theocracy?) acknowledged by the supposedly-secular democracies of the "Western" world.
I am a Jew. That's not something I choose to change, though it is within my power to do so. I refuse to let the racist, xenophobic, imperialist, homicidal actions of a nation thousands of miles from me take that identity for its own, stake a claim on the Jewish soul. We are not all Zionists. We are not all going to sit by quietly and let this band of war criminals pretend that they and we share a "birthright."
So, Jews out there, here's my challenge to you. We may disagree on Israel-related issues. I'm sure many of you do believe in the inherent right of a Jewish state to exist, while I do not. Let's put that aside, because that's not what it's about right now. Right now, it's about hundreds of people being killed horribly and not being able to get away from it. It's about children and other non-combatants being randomly slaughtered first from the air and now from the ground.
DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. Be a good, guilt-ridden, bourgeois American and donate some money to relief efforts. Show your sense of civic involvement and call your elected representative. Take advantage of the mystic link between you and Israel and badger the consulate, the embassy, the various organs of that nation in this one. Protest. Shout. Pray. Cry. Blog, even. They won't be enough. They won't fix it. But can you honestly just stand around and watch the unspeakable horror unfold in front of you?
I must admit, I haven't donated money yet. I haven't been to a protest. I am not living up to my own challenge. Yet. But I will, as soon as this post is published. I can't donate a ton of money, but I can donate some. I can and will write angry letters to Henry Waxman, Barbara Boxer, Diane Feinstein, the Governator, The One. They won't stop the US from blindly backing Israel in all situations, but if you all do it too, maybe they'll start us on the right path.
I can't end this on a hopeful note. I can't say, "Gee, it'll all turn out fine if we just call our congressmen and -women!" It won't. People are dead. Twice as many people have died in Palestine in two weeks as graduated with me from my high school. We cannot fix this massacre, but no more can we let it pass unmentioned.
Had I a God or Gods, I would pray. Atheists have it harder; we have to place our faith, if we place it anywhere, in people. Human people. The same people who are killing, who are dying, who are on every side of this morass of death and destruction. Somehow these battered (and battering), beleaguered (and beleaguering) people must be the vessel of my faith. Let's hope it holds water.
I have rambled, and I know it. There isn't a narrative structure to this post. I refuse to marshal my thoughts into any sort of order; it wouldn't be fitting. There is no order here, no logic, no structure other than the cold efficiency of the abattoir, once again treating people like cattle to be slaughtered.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Episode IV
Well, the new year has officially begun. It is January 4th in most of this country by now, even in that sun-kissed paradise known as Los Angeles. I have returned from my New York journey largely undamaged, though not as whole as I would have liked--I did not live healthily during my trip. I stayed up until 5:00 AM most nights, then slept until past 11:00 and woke up sore and unrested. I ate enormous quantities of food even when I wasn't hungry, just to fill the time. I spent almost half of my trip living with or visiting cats. All in all, not a physiologically beneficial trip.
Nevertheless, things are better. Hope is in the air. I have resolutions, relating to physical, mental, and emotional health. For almost two days now, I have successfully avoided that fleeting despair that so often ambushes me. And not by being too busy to pay attention to emotions; that route has been attempted and long ago rejected.
So, some interesting moments of the vacation:
-The Las Vegas airport. I spent at least four hours there between my outbound and return trips. Most of those hours were on the runway, waiting for various circumstances to clear. In case you were curious, using an airplane lavatory while said plane has no power is an extremely bad idea.
-Pseudo-bars. On two consecutive nights, I visited a gay-club-wannabe in Huntington and a hipster-bar-wannabe in Amityville. The patrons were adorable, in that cheek-pinching, condescending way (the bartender at the former was adorable, in that I-would-sleep-with-you-right-now way). Long Island tries awfully hard to be New York City, and it is often unaware of the enormous margin by which it misses.
-Weather. Snow and rain and below-freezing temperatures and also balmy spring weather. All in two weeks. Wondrous variety, and all delicious to experience. Note the lack of numerical quantifiers on the temperatures; I aim to please my Canadian following. All one of it.
-Many friends and family. Mostly it was good to see them all. Especially the friends. Notable exceptions included my mother's oblivious attempt to foist an unwanted, unfashionable, cruel to animals and humans, sweatshop-made coat off on me (it was on sale!), and my father's intimation that I should see a therapist because of my inability to ever have a relationship. "There must be something you're doing..." Thanks, Dad!
-Things. Good God, things. My parents' house is full of things. Everywhere. I cannot abide it any more. The omnipresence of objects drove me nearly frantic and surely did nothing to help my suddenly-resurgent allergies, as they were all coated with dust. Why anyone would want to own as many for-display-purposes-only dishes as they do is beyond my comprehension.
-Desmond Tutu. As I shared with a friend (what is his code name? Something about bagpipes, I presume) one evening, I have often wondered whether or not Archbishop Desmond Tutu is a homophobe. I didn't want, however, to find out. I have too much respect for The Most Reverend to learn that he despises me. I mentioned this idle curiosity while wandering the streets of Queens before dinner. A few hours later, after dinner, we were wandering the streets of Manhattan and saw a billboard with a big portrait of none other than Archbishop Tutu, alongside the phrase, "His Moral Compass Points to Equality." Thanks, Rev.
There were many more moments of the trip worth commemorating, but I have a slight headache and am in need of rest. Perhaps I will post more of it later, but I feel a need to let it slip into the past with the dregs of 2008, and to begin anew with 2009.
Nevertheless, things are better. Hope is in the air. I have resolutions, relating to physical, mental, and emotional health. For almost two days now, I have successfully avoided that fleeting despair that so often ambushes me. And not by being too busy to pay attention to emotions; that route has been attempted and long ago rejected.
So, some interesting moments of the vacation:
-The Las Vegas airport. I spent at least four hours there between my outbound and return trips. Most of those hours were on the runway, waiting for various circumstances to clear. In case you were curious, using an airplane lavatory while said plane has no power is an extremely bad idea.
-Pseudo-bars. On two consecutive nights, I visited a gay-club-wannabe in Huntington and a hipster-bar-wannabe in Amityville. The patrons were adorable, in that cheek-pinching, condescending way (the bartender at the former was adorable, in that I-would-sleep-with-you-right-now way). Long Island tries awfully hard to be New York City, and it is often unaware of the enormous margin by which it misses.
-Weather. Snow and rain and below-freezing temperatures and also balmy spring weather. All in two weeks. Wondrous variety, and all delicious to experience. Note the lack of numerical quantifiers on the temperatures; I aim to please my Canadian following. All one of it.
-Many friends and family. Mostly it was good to see them all. Especially the friends. Notable exceptions included my mother's oblivious attempt to foist an unwanted, unfashionable, cruel to animals and humans, sweatshop-made coat off on me (it was on sale!), and my father's intimation that I should see a therapist because of my inability to ever have a relationship. "There must be something you're doing..." Thanks, Dad!
-Things. Good God, things. My parents' house is full of things. Everywhere. I cannot abide it any more. The omnipresence of objects drove me nearly frantic and surely did nothing to help my suddenly-resurgent allergies, as they were all coated with dust. Why anyone would want to own as many for-display-purposes-only dishes as they do is beyond my comprehension.
-Desmond Tutu. As I shared with a friend (what is his code name? Something about bagpipes, I presume) one evening, I have often wondered whether or not Archbishop Desmond Tutu is a homophobe. I didn't want, however, to find out. I have too much respect for The Most Reverend to learn that he despises me. I mentioned this idle curiosity while wandering the streets of Queens before dinner. A few hours later, after dinner, we were wandering the streets of Manhattan and saw a billboard with a big portrait of none other than Archbishop Tutu, alongside the phrase, "His Moral Compass Points to Equality." Thanks, Rev.
There were many more moments of the trip worth commemorating, but I have a slight headache and am in need of rest. Perhaps I will post more of it later, but I feel a need to let it slip into the past with the dregs of 2008, and to begin anew with 2009.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Holiday=eat
Happy Mom's Birthday, everybody. Hope yours was as foodful as mine. Here's a menu:
Spiced Christmas tea with Walker's shortbread
Delicacy Three Vegetables and rice with green tea, crunchy noodles, fortune cookie (hold the pineapple)
Spanakopita
Curried apple bisque with minted yogurt
Orange ginger bok choy
Stir-fried wild rice
REAL apple cider
Cointreau chocolate mousse cake with custard sauce
Homemade caramels
I think that's all, but my angry stomach is telling me that there was more that I crammed into it against its better judgment. Whatever, stomach; my tongue and I agree that it was worth it.
Sad to see you go, Eartha.
Spiced Christmas tea with Walker's shortbread
Delicacy Three Vegetables and rice with green tea, crunchy noodles, fortune cookie (hold the pineapple)
Spanakopita
Curried apple bisque with minted yogurt
Orange ginger bok choy
Stir-fried wild rice
REAL apple cider
Cointreau chocolate mousse cake with custard sauce
Homemade caramels
I think that's all, but my angry stomach is telling me that there was more that I crammed into it against its better judgment. Whatever, stomach; my tongue and I agree that it was worth it.
Sad to see you go, Eartha.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
FINIS
5:00 PM on 15 December 2008.
The paper is turned in. The student grades are finalized. The plane ticket is printed. The birthday present for my mother is wrapped. All the remaining tasks are simple and pleasant: eat dinner, watch Star Trek: TNG with Z2 and the Mysterious X (and possibly the She God, if her grading allows), pack a few clothes, wash a few sheets, maybe make some muffins, maybe drink some whisky.
Head pressure is letting up. Shoulder tension remains. Hopefully the vacation will fix these things without adding too many other stresses. I have high hopes. I know for a fact that the people in NY whom I want to see are people who also want to see me. That makes all the difference.
The paper is turned in. The student grades are finalized. The plane ticket is printed. The birthday present for my mother is wrapped. All the remaining tasks are simple and pleasant: eat dinner, watch Star Trek: TNG with Z2 and the Mysterious X (and possibly the She God, if her grading allows), pack a few clothes, wash a few sheets, maybe make some muffins, maybe drink some whisky.
Head pressure is letting up. Shoulder tension remains. Hopefully the vacation will fix these things without adding too many other stresses. I have high hopes. I know for a fact that the people in NY whom I want to see are people who also want to see me. That makes all the difference.
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