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A collection of posts from the previous website
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As I was distractedly ladling bubbling water from side by side it occurred to me that baths are one of the human experiences that do nothing but keep improving.
Judging from my baby pictures, I was not fond of baths at all. Of course, I used to take my baths up until the age of 2 in the sink. This sounds objectively unpleasant and I am not saying this so as to be critical of my mother's callous care of infants, dogs, sisters, husbands etc. it's just that it surely is disagreeable to be washed in a tiny basin with an ominous metal prong hanging over your entire body.
Then, finally old enough to take baths in a tub, I was finally encountered with the immense physical pleasure of having lukewarm water surround your body. Of course, bath was also a game venue. For hours I and the casual friend used to play uninterrupted. Of course, I was never as imaginative as some of my family members, whose privacy I'm not going to compromise, but still this was fun.
When I came to be able to read, my spectrum of bathtub activities grew substantially. Accordingly, so was the time I spend inside the tub.
During a visit to Moku's apartment, I had to opportunity to discover how fun it was to be able to indulge in the use of two towels instead of just one, which eliminated altogether the penalty of freezing on exit of the water, which is something which I always took for granted. Of course, going back home, this became only a distant memory, but still, one to reflect upon as one of the things my future had in store for me.
Then suddenly we became water conscious. Taking baths became morally suspect and sweeter by virtue of that reason alone. Of course, this also meant that baths became rarer and rarer events, all the more reason to experience each bath as a keyhole view of heaven.
And now, thanks to the Grand state of California, taking a bath is also criminal! I closed my eyes and the splutter of water was the sound of the wind in my hair, the rush of blood in my veins, as the Berkeley police was chasing me on their black horses with me on my white pony.
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We are now back from a superb concert in Hertz Hall, yet another gigantic arts hall on campus grounds, (I am sure I have repetitively referred to the fact that UC Berkeley is an uncanny cultural center). The program featured Vadim Repinski and Nikolai Luganski and it was magnificent. (Yael – if you happen to be reading, I keep forgetting to tell you that Simona Dinerstein is broadcaster's favorite in 102.3FM, SF Classical radio station).
At any rate, I am still at awe. And I am at awe about the fact that none of my geriatric fellow audience members made even the slightest gurgle. I am racking my brain trying to figure this out. I was about to chalk it to the weather. It is possible that in Israel there's always the random sore throat, which starts a race to the bottom by way of contagion. But soon I had a chance to test that hypothesis – a tiny clearing of the throat was sounded right after the Andante of the Prokofiev Sonata. And that was that. It started and ended without concurring echoes.
I hate acceding to the explanation from culture for the evolution of a social norm. What's more, I do believe that where I to approach any cougher at an Israeli Philharmonic concert, he would swear up and down that he voiced the respiratory noise only because he was about to choke to death from trying to keep it in. Still, I can't help but owning up to what seems like the flat truth.
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Tonight we went to see the Merce Cunnigham ballet at Zellerbach hall.
While watching the dancers I came up with an idea which I think is a novel one in the realm of choreography. My idea is caducity. I believe that the art form has failed to deal with human frailty. I have seen choreographies in which a dancer is wounded and carried by another. Still, I think that despite a vast spectrum of inspirations for movement, like animals, celestial objects, etc. we are not using what should have been one of our most immediate sources for germination of ideas and that is the movements of human beings.
I suggest old age as the first chapter in the frailty oeuvre. Second can be infancy, and third, invalidism. Old age seems to me to present an inexorable reservoir of movements which will be original ones for choreography. The latter can reward its inspiration pool by presenting resonating the motion of the old, its fragility, rigidity and flimsiness in all its innate beauty.
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I don't know where to start! I am so overwhelmed with so many things that I was almost unable to write, I just can't pick and choose!
There's the election! I am in awe. Really and truly. People are dancing in the streets. I think there isn't a single political leader in the world whose election as well as persona is so inspiring. I am choked up with experiences from last night. I'll spit everything out gradually.
Today has also rendered me speechless. Wednesday is my second scariest day of the week. Monday takes precedence according to my "intestine turbulence" meter, but Wednesdays are up there too. Anyhow, because of the craziness of the last days I spent the 3 hours before my seminar frantically preparing for the discussion about Seyla Ben-Habib tanner's lectures and when I finally came to class something kind of weird was transpiring - the two professors suggested that we skip class because of all the excitement and we ended up going to a bar with the both of them to have beers in celebration of Obama!!(*&#(!*#& - of course, being me, I started off by lamenting the fact that I wasn't allowed to make better use of that time and at the same time being intimidated by having to make the required social effort. However, in the end, it got me truly excited. They were so congenial! Prof. L actually paid for our first round of beers!
Not surprisingly, I have not given up the opportunity to do something that I could obsess about for the days to come – it seems that I still have one or two things to learn about American etiquette (what I'm allowed to say and order).
I then rode my bike home excitedly, thinking exactly how to tell Y about it so that I manage to convey to him the exact details of the experience, and when got there I found that I got my first paycheck from the University! And I haven't even asked for it! Trés cool!
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How come is it that Y and I can't have a say in our country's upcoming election?
We have to vote. We have to. How is it possible that people like us, who continue to pay taxes to the Israeli state wouldn't be able to partake in such a colossally weighty event? I am mindfully self-conscientious about my ranting on in regard to taxes, yet taxes, so I have come to understand are the backbone of demos participation, as strange as it sounds. However, I can't really blame that on capitalism, as the first cry for female suffrage relied upon taxpaying.
Of course, it's not just the tax issue, although I do think that it is a death blow to any counter argument. One could also think of me as a person on a mission, importing knowledge back home, without the slightest intention of using it to benefit US society and to top that, I have the gall of doing it on Scholarship! And I, pirating for Israel over on pacific shores, have to sit idly by while BB becomes prime-minister? It's impossibly undemocratic.
More relevantly perhaps there's the personal angle of all this. I have gone investing vast efforts in my future in Israel, whereas one of the most influential parameters in my future is taken out of my hands.
How is it that this country that I'm currently in, the same place in which it takes 3 to 6 months to get a working permit for a clear cut case, manages to work out the following straight forward directive:
How to Apply for an Absentee Ballot
I can't get to the polls on Election Day. Can I vote?
Yes. You may vote by absentee ballot if you:
• will be absent from your city or town on election day, and/or
• have a physical disability that prevents your voting at the polling place, and/or
• cannot vote at the polls due to religious beliefs.
This is it. Does that sound difficult? Or maybe it's expensive? My entire JSP program had already used their absentee ballot and had already voted Obama. Also, I believe that there are a few more people here than in Israel. I might be wrong about that though, maybe I should research into it.
I might go on to remind everyone that this country is not exactly an emblem for democracy – in most states inmates can't vote! And we all know, they have mmmmmmmaaaaaannny prisoners, around 1% of the population is currently behind bars.
Also, this is far from being equal treatment of all citizens: how is it that people who choose to inhabit territories outside Israel's judicial control can vote, and I cannot, when I am perfectly willing to go and place myself on a queue in the Israeli consulate, or rather send in my vote? I demand a similar legal loophole! (I have already expressed elsewhere, by inspiration from Hillel's prosbal or whatchmecallit, that loopholes are innate parts of a legal system, society endorsement and all)
How is it fair that observant Australian magnates can mobilize an entire public to vote for BB, and thus to affect the election in a substantial way, and all of us here cannot? Maybe one reason is that the thousands of us on US soil for the same purpose can't be bothered to even write a letter to contest this fact.
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Don't get this wrong. I am in a foul mood and had been for about a week.
The reason is that I am terrified that something would go wrong with my degrees coming from TAU and that I will become the main character in a story that will be told for decades on end about this girl who started the JSP PhD program.
This girl, people seem to recall, originated from some type of an indigenous culture, from a tribal society where clitoridectomy is probably the rage. Anyhow, as ill-suited to the more cultivated ways of the world - and of course, this is not meant as criticism, not at all – she believed that she could bring into the US the swindling ways of her own people, who are accustomed to street corner haggling and pirating and all sorts of ungodly ways.
What happened was that she found out she just couldn't and was sent off, with her burqa between her legs, back to her clan where she taught human rights to people who don't have food. (yeah! That's how some of the dissertations I've seen around here sound! How NGO's do the "noble" job of alerting the straving in Sudan of their Human Rights, believe that?)
I figured this out already, this is truly my main concern, that I'd be laughing stock or part of the JSP canon for freakish mishaps. I am genuinely scared. It runs to my dreams, to my mood, to my behavior toward people on the street, to the way I see the world. I am not enjoying planning my future, I am not enjoying any of it. And it's funny, one of the reasons this is scary is that I'm afraid to lose all that that I'm not enjoying right now.
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I am writing so as to alert to the fact that we have a fantastically creative idea; that we are awesome people; cool; unabashed by life; unafraid to grasp it by its neck. And most of all I am writing out of uncertainty, out of doubt that we will in fact come to engage in this activity. Cool as we undoubtedly are, we are also lazy, disorganized, flimsy minded and plain old overworked. But it's ok – these all match with being cool.
It goes like this: every since we got here, I think the roots of this go to the days when we sat, ate and slept on card boards which we nicked off of homeless people which America so abundantly provides, we started thinking about the suitable art to hang on our walls. At first with the extending of our limbs, and then with measurement tape, we figured out the proper size, and our only remaining mission was of choice. Ever since then, we started going to poster exhibition, both physically and abstractly (internet). We found nothing to ignite both of our animas. I must admit that this was a reason for my constant lamentation over what I tend to think of Y's cultural deprivation – most notably when he fails to like what I like. But still, it had the positive effect of helping us to save money that we don't have which we would have gladly spent on a purchase of a large mural.
Then arrived the idea. My idea. It came to me. M-e. I am aware of the subject of the post, but I am checking to see whether Y ever is part of my readership. At any rate, note how lovely it is: that we cooperatively create our own piece. Isn't that beautiful? We can jointly sign it and it can be the exact perfect size. Also, it would underline us as the actively imaginative people that we are, instead of merely passive art consumers, which we are also proud to be.
If not – at least it was a good subject for a post.
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Well, I've been lavishly entertained. Bay area is indeed a Cornu Copiae of culture. I was going to say "the" Cornu Copiae, but I know, one should not forget nyny, so I am using the more modest of propositions.
At any rate, don't think that it is by reason of destitution that I am choosing to write about Addis. Know that I could have easily written about the latest Yoshi's shows in either SF or Oakland, about the SFJazz Festival, about all theatrical events of Berkeley, about reading sessions, and wine, and dance companies and what have you. And it is after careful consideration that I choose to devote all my writing skills (well well) to the much thought of meticulous review of Addis; the summit of pleasure.
Addis is – honest to god – an Ethiopian joint in Oakland. It is spectacular. I write this while constantly having to wipe my keyboard of residue saliva. Surely, I should have gotten myself some form of insurance against mucus, saliva and plain slobber; this would have been a worthy expense. At any rate, for $19.98 you get a brown pita with several different and painfully tiny dishes neatly placed on top of it. Then you have to dig in with all your might, lest Y eats more than his fair share (around 25%). It is beautiful. I want to spend my days there. Our fellow table mates were all Ethiopian. The only intelligible thought that I can extract from that time period is passing rumination in regard to the possibility that King Solomon spoke Amharic. But I'm kind of proud that I had that one rumination which was not of digestive juices.
Run! Run! Or there'd be nothing left!
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I am a gray elephant. I walk around in my grayness through the woods.
I am a giant watermelon with no sweet part in it. I am all peel.
I am untouchable. I don't care about anything or anyone that doesn't have a favorable opinion of me. I shine everything away from me, with the repellent capability only matched by a mirror.
May this post refashion me.
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I kept racking my brain – in one of my tormenting background processes, probably, as I don't remember having a single conscious thought about this matter before – in regard to the question about how the academia is affected by the global crisis.
Well Eureka! Not in the ivory tower after all!
There's a direct and painful implication that's particularly burdensome on scholars (!) one should make sure that don't find the nearest bridge, literally! And here in the bay area we could actually find ourselves in a real state of deficiency. Horrendous thought. We might have to import! Aha! That would be a reason to revise immigration laws.
Surly it has occurred to the best minds that have written about issues that pertain to the booming financial systems of certain systems, the lessons to be taught and the lessons to be learned, that their work appears as complete and utter nonsense! All that meticulous work of citing and then reciting oneself down the drain!
Actually, I think that entire volumes of law reviews, economics journals and public policy bulletins should be torn asunder so that next generations can have the luxury of celebrating their fathers! (I am not going to use "mothers" in the academics lame attempt at affirmative action. This time it is all fathers. The fathers fault. I looked really hard. Didn't see any mothers there)
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I find that in order to write one needs to have one's heart in a twirl. I am now infinitely too calm. Stuff is happening. Yesterday we met Lilac and Omri. We went to a De Niro film. It was great. A great film. I enjoyed it immensely. Funny – I anticipate that the criticism is going to be tepid at best. Still, I really did enjoy it. Today we went outside in the intention to visit Saul's deli for the first time and accidentally encountered a giant fair right under our noses in North Shattuck. This is the greatest town I've ever been to. Then we had a great time at Saul's (criticism: make sure you don't push Patrons out the door once they finish what's on their plate. It sours their experience - makes them forget the most delicious of sauerkrauts).
And most importantly, when we sat at a coffee shop working, I got an email from Prof. Fried asking for something to be done (I haven't even finished with the bureaucracies involved in becoming a university employee) and was able to respond instantaneously which is fantastic.
Moreover, I am now positive that coming to Berkeley was an ingenious decision – and I mean over all other available options.
In the evening I am meeting Zehavit for the first time.
It seems like Obama is going to president.
I am working on important things.
Tomorrow is my least favorite day of the week.
This begins to remind me of the deplorable Bernard Pivot style interview – instead of conducting intelligent conversation, the interviewer imposes upon her guest a list of question in the hopes of eliciting zesty responses.
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I am experiencing self-improvement. Still uneasy at times, still having a tough time with the language, still absolutely terrified, but definitely heading forward. The main thing is that I am less whiney. That is the main thing. I just go where I have to go, do what I have to do, meet who I have to meet without agonizing over it or tormenting my own (=y).
I have many things to tell.
First, worthwhile experiences:
- The 3rd presidential debate – like yoav's comment in regard to Murakami – we never got our money's worth.
- Murakami Talk – indeed I think it's true that we got almost no literary pin pointers. We don't have any insight, not regard to the pick of 1st v. 3rd person, not in regard to music choice and not in regard to translations and the choice of tense across different translations.
- Yoshi's performance of Esperanza Spalding – fantastic. Tiny woman. Great voice. Great bass.
- Learning that there are 3 different types of Tuna, and that the Blue-fin tuna has three parts in different orders of delicacy – nothing to add about that. Being educated in the ways of the world I guess…
- Berkeley Free Culture Conference. It's funny. Every action in Berkeley is being cultivated as a revolutionary did. No wonder why it was once a place of reactionaries. I could see how a group of students that had no idea that it was doing something short of a standard academic activity were suddenly finding themselves leaders of a rebellious movement which seeks to promote free culture in the digital age by changing IP law. I would once find the time to write about why I think none of these have ripened into truly spry movements, despite what seems like a perfect scenario.
- As a prelude to what I write next, I'd like to illuminate one insight from the conference: I am constantly trying to fathom my logging enthusiasm. I have never kept a diary and now I seem to be incapable of resisting publishing my private life under the dimness of the internet. It's an interesting phenomenon. My enjoyment must have to do with the feeling that this is a form of publication, yet I'm writing stuff that had I thought would be read by anyone I would keep private. It's truly an interesting psychological phenomenon. Well, in the conference Prof. Lessig alluded to the conservative notion of a world that has no place for privacy in it. I do believe that the Internet does eliminate the psychological need in complete privacy as it makes you realize that you are not all that special and the exact same post, depicting an identical experience, probably using the same verbiage, is probably rewritten by different people (but who can prove that they are different – inside the net they are identical) is hosted on different servers.
- Reading the great Gatsby for the first time in my life. This book has been key factor in my recent misgivings in regard to mine and Yoav's continuously evolving relationship. All Fitzgerald had to do is write that a person's character is a series of gesticulations. I am truly in awe of the levels of mutual reconnaissance – I know it's not a great word, but I can't think of a better one - that we are reaching. It's easy to see how couples who spend time away from home become completely mutually self-contained. They simply enjoy each other too much. And as positive as this sounds, I loathe to think that we risk becoming incognizant to the world. I am trying, really I am. We are constantly among people, but all of these occasions simply seem like scenarios through which we become even closer – by watching each other interact with other people and then by discussing our experience. Life just seems like a series of exciting plans for our future. Really it's disgusting. :). Bliss must be battled down.
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Yom Kippur in Berkeley.
I am going to fast for the first time in my life. It's funny, MS Word tells me I should be writing "too fast" instead of "to fast" which is what I mean of course. What gluttonous son of a bitch software!
Well, 2 days later and I am well past fasting – actually my stomach has no recollection of that event. Y and I are just back from eating Indian at Café Raj which was excellent. Before that we had the unique experience of watching Battleship Potemkin with live music score. It was magnificent. The film is so powerful. And it is true despite so many constraints for feeling. For instance, the English was given after the Russian text, which meant that it was given together with the picture which made it hard to concentrate. Another experience which took a toll on our ability to grasp every frame was the American habit to laugh out-loud over the most smirk-unmeritorious scenes, like when the doctor tells the soldiers that the meet contains fly eggs and not maggots.
Still, it's an awe-inspiring film in a way that's almost depressing – you see how almost a century of film making has nothing to offer other than an attempt to variate on the seeds already germinated in a 1926 movie.
Anyway, I am pretty excited right now. I just saw an ad on the Boalt Bulletin Board that Prof. Jesse Fried is looking for RAs! I can't resist. Today I had many good news in the category of economics – it was again impressed upon me that people would be very content if I were to consider GSI'ing next semester. Not sure that I want to really, but I can! Nice…
I am going to conclude now – as it's been a week since I've written these lines, and this post is clogging my post stream.
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I wonder how this is offsetting history -
(history?!?? I am so self-important sometimes it's incredible even to myself. History. I should say personal history perhaps. But I should suggest that this can be viewed like a supreme manifestation of modesty: that I really and truly comprehend that I am the only reader of these posts, and thus, it is the natural term to use for something that doesn't transgress my own realm).
- The fact that I don't write for the entire part of the week where I am under incredible pressure, and do, when I'm not. Still, I think I make a pretty good job at describing my emotional experience post-factum, and also that (luckily?) I always carry with my residual pressure.
At any rate, I had a horrible 3 days. On Monday, one day after fall break I couldn't go to environmental law as I spent the entire week on the wrong reading for my Law & Peace class. As Law & Peace was singling out to be my most terrifying bit of the week – due to my debate with Kinch – I absolutely could not afford coming without doing the reading and therefore ended up reading the entire morning.
So you see, my initial experience of the week was being a failure. Then, as usual, everything improved immensely. Class was fine. And then Tuesday was fun, and we watched the debate with friends, and then today I had to lecture on this guy named hale.
Here are my impressions of my performance today:
- Prof. Simon gave me two books in response to my asking him for a mailing list(!)
- On the other hand, he kept calling me NIV which means that I may not have made much of an impression. Still, I always say, better transparent than an ass. So…
- I think maybe 90% of what I had to say simply did not register and I have to figure out what to do about that. It's amazing the gap between my written and spoken English. Well…
- One minor squinch that happened – we were invited to Yoav's relatives for Kol Nidrei dinner (never knew this shindig had a name before, other than get all you can before the deluge, which is virtually like any one of my meals and therefore lacks any festive dimension, at least from where I am concerned). I therefore asked to leave class a little early. When I got up to leave my friends asked where I was going, so I explained that there was this Jewish event I never knew about before Yom Kippur. And then as I was turning to leave Prof. Liebermann was telling me something along the lines of "save your anti-Semitic comments … ". I don't know whether it was serious, or what it meant exactly but it gave me a slight itch, which I am apparently not over, as I am still thinking about it at 00:00 at night after said Kol Nidrei dinner.
- Anyway, god, if I have been anti-Semitic, I'm sorry. This is a relief, I was afraid that again, I will not have anything to be sorry for quite inappropriately.
I came home as productive as usual after such experiences and spent highly effective 5 minutes before we had to leave for dinner.
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I finally caught up with the fact that in my quest to grant artistic efforts which I experience an additional thought I missed one important one: the Biden-Palin debate. I think by now there are only two points which I thought were main ones and that nobody referred to:
- she kept saying Nucular! Nucular! That's like what used to be my top reason for trying to avoid use of this word! I didn't want to sound like an idiot. I'm impressed that no one has said anything about that. It's either that American tolerance has gone overboard – we shouldn't make fun of speech impediments, but, she doesn't have one! She just never said the word out-loud before, or mused on it. She learned it from preparatory work that was done for her campaign. This is amazing. I refuse to think about this as something meaningless or below the belt. She didn't even catch on by listening to Biden's perfect pronunciation of the word. Maybe I should be thankful that Biden didn't mention that he respects her for her folksy version of the word…
- "I guess we both love Israel, at least on that we agree" + "you asked Senator Biden whether he was against Gay marriages and he said yes. If that is so, I agree".
What? This is unbelievable. First, I understand why a presumptive VP could explain that this is not a decision to made in the federal level, but I would still expect him to contest the paraphrasing "… against Gay marriages". Incredible. I really did think that in that particular arena that battle was already won. About Israel, since when is it a love/hate issue. Really. What does that have to do with anything? Love Israel – this sounds like it was taken from a donors' banquet.
I realize the title doesn't match. Again. And now I am going to drop it.
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I am famished. Famished. I would happily devour anything. It's been two hours after I had lunch which was supersized the way I like it and I now find myself in a situation where I am starving. To prove my point: I would be contented with a (large) salad. This is not a chocolate binge. I am really and truly hungry. How awful is that?
I am going to control myself; I already announced that I yearn to eat and therefore eliminated the addict's outlet, which is to grab something under the counter. Having alerted the hawk who is now cognizant of my every motion, it would just be impossible to access any alimentation without being the target of grave social criticism. This means I am in control. But, I think life is just not worth living if I can't afford the only great pleasure life has to offer anyone.
Fully aware of how whiney this probably sounds – god, I hope I don't read this in ten years and think gloomily of my lean young completely unaware self – but, I feel like the machine is operating against me. I mean, I run, I walk, I ride my bike, I try with all my might by concentrating my will power especially in the direction of making myself miserable on a daily basis over overeating, and nothing works. These damn kilograms are always there.
I blame my parents. I really do. I am spoiled. Simply don't know how to choose. And besides, who can stay thin when raised through cheers from ones father for eating 3 portions of Cornflakes and whimpers from ones mother for failing to finish ones Schnitzel? It's impossible.
I blame intelligence. :). Really, I believe it is rare in a young person to have the insight that there's nothing more gratifying than gulping down bread and chocolate in all forms and the shear tragedy of the fact that next best thing is to have strangers think what a knockout you are.
I blame adolescence for putting me in such a psychological strain as to train my intestines to look favourably (yes, favourably, neighbourly, colourfuly, I am a mutineer!) at three consecutive Choclate Magnum, and mind you, this was an age when Magnum justified its own name, before it pitifully shrank into what to me looks like a handsomely rapped Magnum Crumb.
I blame health. Really, it would have been so much easier with a virtually innocuous hyperthyroidism affliction. Of course, had either of my nephews been loving enough to let me in on their stash, or alternatively, had Yoav been loving enough to make the wise career choice of becoming an endocrine expert, I would have been spared my life's sorrow.
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I am writing this in order to give the "corps des artistes" a further moment of reflection as I think that every piece of art deserves. (one counter examples pops to mind: the Korean Eating Show thing which Yoav and I saw in Jerusalem once. And yet again, that was not art.)
What I mean is that this should not be construed as a piece of criticism, just that I'd like to learn how to put my thoughts in regard to thought-evoking events into order. I wonder if I should put them in order before I write, or that I can use the writing for the arrangement. I imagine the former would be the right technique, but it is not mine.
Anyway, I have to tell you how it all started. It started with rage. The tickets we had were actually for Tuesday night, only we were having too much fun and forgot all about it. Also I blame my 13 inch screen! This is the reason this event was hidden. And actually Humboldt County remained obscured just because of this too. Then, the stupid representatives of Berkeley Rep refused to cover up for our mistake and replace our tickets without charge, even though it was Rosh Ha'Shana night on Tuesday and inspite of the Holocaust and all of Jewish suffering.
Anyhow, while I tried to keep all my brain fuses from burning out and drain the entire blood and acid that gathered in my brain, Yoav decided to get an additional pair of tickets for Wednesday. This made me even madder until I resigned myself to the fact that this is a type of a humble donation to the theatre, and I always wanted to think of myself as a docent, yet lacked the necessary funds. And, more importantly, contributions are tax deductible! :) (how funny am I? I'm not even trying!)
At any rate, I think this post is getting too long and there's no room for an actual reference to the play itself. I'll try to be succinct as to not miss the point of it all again.
Firstly, I think it was generally an excellent play. I want to mention one thing in particular. The playwright actually managed to make the person in the audience feel like he was sitting in a classroom. And he did it in a way that was subtle that I kept forgetting my realization that this is what he was trying to do. For example, there is a part where a teacher is speaking and all around you there are people chattering, and you start feeling the familiar annoyance you experience when sitting in a classroom, trying to listen, while having the entire room resonate with muffled sounds. Honestly, I almost leaned back to hush the people behind me.
Secondly, Moses employed the technique of having each of his actors play a dual role. Which was particularly interesting in some instances, less in others. I don't have the energy for this actually. Next time I will concentrate on the goal, which is to actually write about the play. I thought about it a lot for the purposes of this post while walking to the coffee shop today, so I guess the idea of writing this post already had the effect I was aiming for.
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I had a sentence on the tip of my mind before I fainted last night. Believe me, it was a perfect sentence. A sentence to beat all of my previous post sentences. It was illuminating and poignant. I have absolutely no idea what it was are even what it was about. Therefore, I can't even recognize the right tool to dig it up.
It's funny – I get mad in exactly the same fashion on Skype as I did in person. But somehow, it sounds worse. I think it's just an expression of the fact that I don't feel distant. When I tell my mother that I, for instance, broke my leg, and she replies YOFFI, I can't get all googoo eyed just because she is acting herself. Or when she tells me something that implies that Yoav's American relatives are observant Jews (because I told her we were invited to Kol Nidrei dinner) and I retort that I told her a zillion times that they aren't, and she says that she would never think Rachel was, and still, they went through the motions during Rosh Hashana lunch, when she knows full well that it was because Sara was there, and when I said that she replies ULAY! Isn't it natural to go absolutely berserk?!??
But then, after I go naturally (and traditionally) kookoo on the skype, I get this sad look staring at me, when normally I would get a back lash of yelling, cursing and throwing stuff around in accordance with the family custom. Maybe a sad stare is all that is reflected in skype – afterall, the connection isn't perfect. i.e., the actual reaction might be standard, only it fails to reach me here. Maybe I'm just imagining the anguished contortion of the face. Still, it is part of what makes me see that things are not normal after all.
Anyway, this was not the sentence I had in mind. I'm sure of it.
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How scary is that? Truly a calamity. Tomorrow we will all wake up in a financial stone age. Maybe it's not that bad coming to think of it. I wonder who ended up losing the most. Despite the recent reports in regard to the dire losses in the pension funds, perhaps this catastrophe will end up having an equalizing effect. Isn't it reasonable to think that the ones most heavily invested have lost the most? I think it is – especially when it seems that the ordinary American has no money at all, just borrowed property. The poor girl has only the bank's money, the loan sharks' and of course the HOME to lose. No biggy as they say.
From my own private angle, which I feel comfortable getting to, now that I have written the former paragraph from a global angle, I got a federal check yesterday, which I was told upon depositing that requires a further authorization from the government in order for the funds to be released. This fact seemed like a formality yesterday, now no more. Still, I pacify myself by summoning to my psyche the plausible thought that as they aren't going to pay 800 billion they don't really need my money.
Well, I just read all papers. It took me two hours. I don't know what to do about that. It's vitally important, but as you are reading yesterday's news, the world plays out without you. Still, I had huge fun sitting in the sun on our deck, reading, while Yoav was slaving away with shoveling earth in order to plant our bougainvilleas and make the necessary placement changes.
I realize now that we had bought our new plants at exactly the time when the stocks took the plunge yesterday. It's a good thing the nursery didn't have a radio on, or we would have passed on the greenery as well as settled for leftovers for Rosh Ha'shana dinner. Actually leftovers would have been neat – they would have made me feel close to home :) , of course this is not exactly the part of home that I miss, but we'll see what happens in a few months.
Anyway, unable to decide in regard to the rest of our day, Yoav and I are going to head out of the house. Our ways will split at the Jazz school where he will play the Sax and I will go to Peet's(!) for coffee and studying.
Ok. This is what really happened. At the door we figured it was such a beautiful day that it is worth going to see what Lake Meritt is all about. So we drove to Oakland and walked around this giant lake which is probably a puddle in American terms. To us it looked like a water repository that would solve the water trouble of the Middle East. We went into the Botanical Garden on the brim of the lake and saw beautiful trees and butterflies and flowers and a honey sucker! Which reminded us that we forgot discussing the visit from the same type of bird on our deck – Yoav was mesmerized whereas I kept stressing that it might try and suck honey out of my eye, it was that close!
Now Yoav is practicing the Sax whereas I am sizzling peppers and writing this blog!and believe me, the only thing to remind me now of the empoverishment of the entire world is the title for this blog!
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I wake up. I open the door to the deck. I think how fortunate we are. I get on the deck to appropriate to myself a part of the efflorescence of the budding plants, which is I believe part of any parentage – I care, take care and admire and thus they feel secure enough to bud.
I go back in – unlike yesterday, the sun has still not taken over the deck. I go bring both papers after I find out that the Laundromat has been snatched by someone else. On the stairs back to the apartment I am filled with the excitement of reading. I am not sure what I should start with – New Yorker, NYT magazine which I haven't finished yet, today's Chronicle or NYT, or should I simply start of on my reading for class? I remind myself that I wanted to read the entire batch of papers which were submitted to the BTLJ and later that I should get ahead with my Murakami book (Norwegian Wood) if I want to read Running before he comes to give his talk. Sometimes I wish I could just spend my days browsing through texts, only moving to change positions once my muscles start twitching.
Yoav is asleep. He was so tired yesterday and the day before simply because he had made the effort to open his eyes and keep them open when he felt me rise out of bed. Also, I love this sense of having him asleep upstairs while I read the paper (SFC), standing up, in order to save time while drinking my first coffee. I am also feeling contented for remembering to take the kitchen rug into the laundry bag. What can I say? I cannot explain this calm and it is exciting, really. This morning is Erev Rosh Hashana dinner back home, and therefore I am certain of the tumult which is taking place there right now. The difference is really striking. I think I should wake Yoav up now. It's nearly ten! I caught myself asking twice whether he shouldn't be practicing his Sax. I didn't even mean to be pushy, just organize his life like I always do, and yet my words resounded too much like a parent leaning on a child. Strange.
It's funny. I am really writing this confident that no one other than me and quasi-me's are reading. And still, I have never kept a journal in my life. Someone should think up an entire theory for this type of behavior. The mute publication it should be called. Wait. I have to pee. Back. See what I mean? Nobody is reading and I care about documentation. And yet, of course, I would never fashion anything that happens into words had it not been for this medium.
Well, when Yoav wakes, we will start preparing our Rosh Hashana feast. All I have to do, and this is difficult, is make an effort not to eat till dinner, and if I do, go out running at around five. I am waiting for Yoav to decide which task I am being delegated for tonight. I really feel like cooking together and not just the concurrent 2-minute salad preparation. I want to really do something this time. We'll see, as I said, I have a whhooolle lot of reading to do, and plus I have to write a post :).
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