tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84683716980050846892023-11-15T11:49:16.586-05:00Res Ipsa LoquiturDinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-39601860112006356472009-09-03T13:04:00.005-04:002009-09-03T13:32:03.920-04:00My Husband and I Talk About MusicHusband: What is this? It sounds like a cat being disemboweled and strangled with its own intestines!<br />(Query: How does he know this? Surely even the most sordid moments of a doctor's training... )<br />Me: Actually, it is Messiaen's <span style="font-style: italic;">Quartet for the End of Time</span> - what, you don't like it?<br />Husband (somewhat bug-eyed): No, I don't like it; I don't like it at all.<br />Me: Really? But it's such a work of genius! And he composed it when he was a POW during WWII - he was in the French Resistance, you know - and they said he had to do a concert for Christmas, and he composed this specifically for the four instruments that they gave them in the camp!<br />Husband: Well, <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> explains it - clearly an act of passive aggression against the Nazis. But what did <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> do that you make me suffer so?<br />Me *heaves long-suffering sigh* : Alright. *Puts on Velvet Underground*<br />Husband (plaintively): What's wrong with Eric Clapton, or Elton John, for heaven's sake? Don't you like Sting? Why don't you like Sting?<br />Me: Listen, this could be the Misfits now. Do you <span style="font-style: italic;">want</span> it to be the Misfits?<br /><br />At this point, the omelet in the pan and the scones in the oven are simultaneously Done, necessitating a burst of graceless scrambling and juggling on my part. When dinner is plated and Calm restored, my ipod has shuffled over to Mozart's <span style="font-style: italic;">Requiem</span>; as this is something we can both enjoy, I leave it on to as background music for family dinner. Infant hums along to the <span style="font-style: italic;">Dies Irae</span>, which pleases us both and is telephonically reported to Husband's father, who proclaims Infant "a second Rachmaninov" - an improvement on the usual "A second Lenin!" that greets any and all discovery of Infant's genius super-powers.Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-69713256543047012972009-08-05T18:18:00.003-04:002009-08-05T18:39:50.786-04:00My Life According to Black SabbathSaw this on <a href="http://myinkstainedhands.blogspot.com/">inkstained hands</a> and <a href="http://materialmaidel.blogspot.com/">Material Maidel</a> and thought it would be more fun than anything I'm actually supposed to be doing.<br /><br />Answer these questions using song titles from only one artist, try not to repeat titles.<br /><br />Disclaimer (for the easily unnerved, if any such be present): I don't have to tell you this isn't exactly serious, do I?<br /><br /><br />Pick your Artist:<br /><em>Black Sabbath</em><br /><em></em><br />Are you a male or female:<br /><em>Lady Evil</em><br /><em></em><br />Describe yourself:<br /><em>Master of Insanity</em><br /><em></em><br />How do you feel:<br /><em></em> <span style="font-style: italic;">Paranoid</span><br /><em><br /></em>Describe where you currently live:<br /><em>Heaven and Hell</em><br /><em></em><br />If you could go anywhere, where would you go?:<br /><em>Children of the Sea</em><br /><em><br /></em>Your favorite form of transportation:<br /><em></em><span style="font-style: italic;">Time Machine</span><br /><em><br /></em>Your best friend?<br /><em>Country Girl</em><br /><em><br /></em>You and your friends are:<br /><em></em><span style="font-style: italic;">Too Late</span><br /><em><br /></em>What's the weather like:<br /><em>Snowblind</em><br /><em><br /></em>Favorite time of day: <em><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Turn Up the Night</span><br /></em><em></em><br />If your life was a TV show, what would it be called:<br /><em></em> <span style="font-style: italic;">TV Crimes</span><br /><em><br /></em>What is life to you:<br /><em>Born Again</em><br /><em></em><br />Your relationship:<br /><em></em><span style="font-style: italic;">No Stranger to Love</span><br /><br />Your fear:<br /><em>Falling Off the Edge of the World</em><br /><em></em><br />What is the best advice you have to give:<br /><em>Keep It Warm</em><br /><em></em><br />Thought for the Day:<br /><em></em><span style="font-style: italic;">Walk Away</span><br /><em><br /></em>How I would like to die:<br /><em>Die Young</em><br /><em></em><br />My soul's present condition:<br /><em></em><span style="font-style: italic;">Selling My Soul</span><br /><em></em><br />My motto:<em><br />Fairies Wear Boots<br /></em>Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-4174922798754715512009-08-04T18:00:00.002-04:002009-08-04T18:17:46.211-04:007 more-or-less random things I loveTagged by <a href="http://myinkstainedhands.blogspot.com/">inkstained hands</a>:<br /><br />1. My work; especially those times when I can feel I am doing something of real significance - at least to a give person.<br /><br />2. People agreeing with me - it happens so, so rarely.<br /><br />3. James Merrill. He was a poet of whom none of you have heard (if I'm wrong, let me know - I'll actually be thrilled) and I fangirl him with the fire of a thousand suns. Seriously.<br /><br />4. Music. This means most opera, anything by Mozart, Bach, or Messiaen. Also Metallica, the Ramones, the Cruxshadows, Flogging Molly. &c, &c.<br /><br />5. Commenting during movies. It is a horrible, atrocious, deeply annoying (to others) habit - I know.<br /><br />6. Should books even be on here? To me, reading is more like breathing - I don't think I could stop if I wanted to.<br /><br />7. Learning new things.Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-68541637275408372282009-06-10T10:07:00.005-04:002009-06-10T11:06:32.001-04:00I Visit the DentistLast week, finally emerged from stupor of procrastination and made Appointment for Extraction of Last Wisdom Tooth and Cleaning.<br /><br />Arrive at Dentist's office only twenty minutes Late and am shown to Room with customary posters depicting the grotesque Fates of people who Fail to Floss. Spend the next twenty minutes listening to Nick Cave on my i-pod and avoiding the gaze of what seems to be a gangrenous Skull on the closest poster.<br /><br />Hygienist enters and turns on Some Jewish Music; sole word am able to distinguish is "oy." After the obligatory small talk, Hygienist directly proceeds to prod my gums with a hook. It occurs to me that she is Forgetting Something, but no: she pauses and brightly says that We will not be needing any pain relief here. Shallow Pockets, she says. Had my mouth been unimpeded by assorted rubber and metal paraphernalia, should have rejoined that Though <span style="font-style: italic;">she</span> may not need it, I would actually prefer general anesthesia. Like so many others, this Thought remains unvoiced, and I close my eyes and listen to the entirety of "London Calling" while Hygienist Does her Stuff, in the process poking my tongue and almost taking my eye out with her hook. Finally, she instructs me to Rinse; does not appear perturbed by the clots of Blood I spit out.<br /><br />Am transferred to Room papered with Dentists' Certificates and Diplomas, where x-rays are taken and dentist who looks like Hercule Poirot says complimentary things about my Gums. Cannot think why on earth I feel flattered by this.<br /><br />Am led to yet third room, where have no time to notice the Decor, as Hercule Poirot instantly proceeds to shine bright light in my face and insert what feels like, but probably isn't, handheld vise into my mouth. He then moves away and shuffles through some papers. To my relief, Older Dentist enters the room and turns off the light, remarking that there is no Need for it, is there.<br /><br />Tooth Extraction ensues; sound effects are unpleasant and put me in mind of James Herriot's tales of veterinary practice in 1930's Yorkshire. Assistant turns up Jewish Song, where the refrain is now "oy vey vey." Finally, HP tells me I can open my eyes now and shows me the Tooth lying in state on a pad of gauze. He asks me if I want to Keep it, but am disinclined to be sentimental.<br /><br />Leave office with prescription for Motrin 600 and amoxicillin; about halfway home begin to wish I had asked for Something Stronger.<br /><br />Rest at home for about an hour before leaving to attend employment discrimination seminar, where, against all reasonable expectation, am alert and even Participate in Discussion. Call home during break at 8:00 and speak to Mother, who says that Everything is Alright, but the Toilet is a little broken. Ask her whether she has tried the Plunger; she says Is that the black stick and What do you do, you just stick it in? Tell her to call Upstairs Neighbor in case of further Trouble and return to seminar. <br /><br />Arrive at home around 10:00 to find children Asleep and Mother reading. For reasons unfathomable to myself, proceed to log on to Facebook and scroll through my friends' photo albums until suitably sleepy.Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-66667250853117837722009-05-05T11:34:00.003-04:002009-05-05T12:09:40.883-04:00Some Of My Best Friends Are Conservative...therefore it sometimes disturbs me when they announce online that They are Right and Everyone else is an Idiot. This clearly untrue, as I am the one who is Right; in more sorrow than anger, can only express bemusement at the fact that not Everyone seems to have grasped this. Yet.<br /><br />Have also noticed that, invariably, it is sensation-mongering talk-show hosts whose iron-clad logic is brought to bear on the issues. Should like to see someone quote, for instance, Stephen Carter-- a conservative thinker who seems to prefer boring and reasonable arguments to Exciting past-times such as name-calling and asking people to pry things out of his Cold, Dead Hands.<br /><br />As to myself, I find it very hard to respond rationally to rants. Am instead almost irresistibly impelled to to wave Red Flag (or suitable substitute thereto available to hand, such as the recently arrived Netflix envelope) and recite Communist poetry, though am not able to remember any. Am aware, however, that this solves no problems; am further unaware of any way to accomplish what so many call for with much rhetorical (and perhaps even literal - who knows?) Foot-stomping and Arm-waving: namely, the elimination of Human Stupidity. Not even the abrogation of all Civil Rights except the Right to Bear Arms will accomplish that. No, really.<br /><br />Have noticed that Political Discourse has induced excessive alliteration. Shall henceforth try to avoid this: next, expect the riveting Tale of the Raccoon in My Tree which will not give my kids rabies because the tree is too far from our window for the Raccoon to accomplish the Death-Defying Leap that would enable it to actually come into contact with any of us. Your expressions of Concern are thus Noted, Appreciated, and Dismissed.Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-84620235189407738892009-04-23T14:27:00.003-04:002009-04-23T14:59:16.860-04:00April Is the Cruelest MonthAm pleased to inform the Public of my continuing presence on this Earthly Plane.<br /><br />Am, however, much less pleased to be informed by Daughter's school that I am expected to appear and sign in at yet another gathering concerning the Dangers of the Internet; am also informed via Green Note that I should not consider myself off the hook if I have attended similar gathering at Son's school, as Girls face considerably Different challenges than Boys. Concur with the last, as problems of sexism and misogyny do present Considerable challenges, but highly doubt that any undertaking by aforementioned school likely to ameliorate this.<br /><br />Also wish closer venue than Boro Park had been found; however, discover that question is moot as shall have no one to watch the kids Sunday night. The School can, nevertheless, rest assured that I shall not allow 7-year-old daughter internet access, cell phones, or video games - all this without being shouted at and told horror stories about how Bruchie got a Cell Phone, then a Boyfriend, and then Went Off the Derech and Now Lives Under a Bridge and Does Drugs (or was that a song by the Red Hot Chili Peppers?) Perhaps such stories more Effective if told in darkened room with flashlight held under speaker's face? And we could light a fire and toast some Marshmallows?<br /><br />In other news, have moved into new apartment on 5th floor a week before Pesach; having entire kitchen uncovered throughout Pesach was oddly satisfactory. Still not completely unpacked, and, last week, I horrified Husband by referring to our Second Bedroom as the Storage Room. Process of unpacking Books and Clothes (not that they were packed, exactly, but that discussion far too Embarassing to be undertaken publicly) equally fascinating, as both pursuits turn up Items I had lost all awareness of owning. This especially nice, since live in constant Fear of becoming like the man in <span style="font-style: italic;">Candide</span> who had read everything worth reading and lost all interest in Life.Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-82598588217965992752009-02-22T21:39:00.004-05:002009-02-22T22:17:15.011-05:00What I Did this WeekendAt eleven this morning, am disturbed by bathrobe-clad Neighbor ringing bell. Upon my opening the door, he informs me that my Children were banging on the Wall early this morning. Look him up and down and pointedly ask whether, by Early, he means Just Now. His Mother cracks open the door and whispers to him that it was Around Six. It was around Six, he says to me. Tell him that it could not have been earlier than Seven. Should also like to give him to understand that Drinking Less would Help and, inexplicably, to bring up the incident a few months earlier, wherein police officers were rather loudly Asking Questions concerning some of his associates. Moreover, the topic of Smoking in the Stairwell rises to mind. Repress all such <span style="font-style: italic;">ad hominem</span> rejoinders and apologize - though am afraid apology rather lacking in proper Feeling. Really, does he think <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> enjoy being woken up at seven on a Sunday Morning?<br /><br />Morning is spent in taking all three Children to Birthday Party at Kids in Action via bus and subway and subsequent desperate Crawl through colorful padded labyrinth in hot pursuit of Infant, who seems intent on sampling every slide, but is eventually persuaded to adjourn to the ball pit, where he proceeds to throw balls at unknown little girl. Journey home is further complicated by three helium balloons, which threaten to enmesh fellow-Passengers, as well as loudly-expressed desire of all three Children to sit next to the Window, on my lap. Can only be thankful that the last, at least, is not physically possible.<br /><br />At home, receive call from Husband (who is on Call tonight), urgently enquiring Who was the First Pope? After some thought, dredge up memory of reference to Peter's Chair and venture that It was Probably Peter, which turns out to be Correct. Husband informs me that this question was posed by Nurse, who was disappointed that none of the Catholic staff knew this; whereupon my loving helpmeet bet them that I would know. Am certain this way of spousely showing-off is preferable to that described in Remarque's <span style="font-style: italic;">Black Obelisk</span> (the only part of the book am able to recall is a man asking his wife to come downstairs and pull large Nails out of the wall with her posterior, to the admiration and astonishment of his Friends).Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-41081634320047408102009-01-29T09:27:00.002-05:002009-01-29T09:58:29.381-05:00The Perilous Prosthesis; Or, I (Yet Again) Put Myself In a Ridiculuous SituationSeveral years ago, I was walking near Kings Highway and Ocean Avenue, past the little triangle with the benches and the greenery, when I heard a man shouting at the top of his lungs in Russian and using what a teacher of mine used to call Language.<br /><br />As he sounded quite abusive, I stopped and tried to understand the situation. The man and his friend, both of whom seemed to be in their sixties, were screaming at a woman, who looked about ninety. She had been feeding the pigeons - which, admittedly, she should not have been doing. However, instead of telling her so respectfully, these two gentlemen had already made her cry, thrown her bag on the ground, and seemed to be having themselves quite a merry time thinking up obscenities to shout at someone who was obviously not a contender.<br /><br />This sort of thing never fails to instantly provoke me to rage, overriding any instincts of rationality or self-preservation. Thus, I marched up to these folks and quietly but rather trenchantly (I thought) informed them exactly what I thought of their sorry conduct. They replied, using Language. Unlike the old lady -who had by then removed herself from the scene of conflict - I was not impressed and answered in kind, adding that a criminal past and an alcohol-soaked present was No Excuse. For anything.<br /><br />It was at this juncture, as I recall, that one of the gentlemen proceeded to unstrap his prosthetic leg, and wave it at me, with curses and threats. I informed him of the relevant criminal statutes and produced my cell phone. This served to render them somewhat quieter, almost contemplative. On my part, I saw no need to linger and thus departed, saying that If I caught them At It again, I would call the Police right away.<br /><br />Am not sure what Conclusion, if any, can be drawn from all this.Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-8051849949498220472008-12-29T22:05:00.003-05:002008-12-29T23:19:37.737-05:00Aren't You Glad You Asked<b>Book Meme:</b><br /><u>The Rules:</u> Grab the nearest book. Open the book to page 56. Find the fifth sentence. Post the text of the next two to five sentences in your journal/blog along with these instructions. Don’t dig for your favorite book, the cool book, or the intellectual one: pick the CLOSEST. Tag five other people to do the same.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The diagnosis of abruption may be confirmed by inspection of the placenta at delivery. The presence of a retroplacental clot </span>w<span style="font-style: italic;">ith overlying placental destruction confirms the diagnosis.</span><br /><br />- from <span style="font-style: italic;">Blueprints - Obstetrics & Gynecology</span>, Callahan, Caughey & Heffner<br /><br />What can I say - my husband keeps his review books on the desk next to the computer. <span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /><br /><b>Seven Facts About Me:</b><br /><u>The Rules:</u><br />1. Link to your blogger and list these rules on your blog.<br />2. Share 7 facts about yourself, some random, some weird.<br />3. Tag 7 people (if possible) at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.<br />4. Let them know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blogs.<br /><br /><br />1. While in college, I belonged to the Connecticut Valley Mycological Society. We collected mushrooms; there were also, I believe, slide shows.<br /><br />2. Sometimes, I still put on clothing that I wore in high school.<br /><br />3. I like cats very much, but am highly allergic to them.<br /><br />4. I read <span style="font-style: italic;">Jane Eyre</span> when I was 9. I loved Jane, especially in the beginning when she mouthed off to her relatives; but my favorite character was the mad wife in the attic. I even wrote some fanfic about her. More recently, I read <span style="font-style: italic;">Wide Sargasso Sea</span> (by Jean Rhys - <span style="font-style: italic;">Jane Eyre</span> from the point of view of the mad wife) and was disappointed.<br /><br />5. My favorite color is red.<br /><br />6. I had to wear bifocals for a year when I was 8.<br /><br />7. Once, an old man threatened to beat me with his prosthetic leg. He actually took it off and waved it around - it was rather a surreal sight. (Long story here.)Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-92165459564431975612008-12-18T00:30:00.004-05:002008-12-25T13:20:19.772-05:00The Translation: Not Literal, But Rhymes and Mostly Scans<span style="font-style: italic;">Wings</span> by <span style="font-style: italic;">Nautilus Pompilius</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">translated from Russian<br /><span style=";font-family:";" ></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:";" >You slip off your evening gown standing with your face to the wall<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:";" >I see the fresh scars on your back, and I want to fall<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Asleep and forget, cry in pain, and forget it, forget it all.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Where, where are your wings, your wings that I loved so much?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br /><span style=";font-family:";" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:";" >We used to have time, but all we have now is things to do:<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Like proving the strong eat the weak, soot is white, and lies true. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:";" >There are things that we all have lost in this insane war – now, you:<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Where, where are your wings, your wings that I loved so much?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br /><span style=";font-family:";" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:";" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:";" >I don’t ask about your men or your money; I never ask why.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:";" >I see you fear open windows and staircases rising too high.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:";" >But if tomorrow the building goes up in flames, we’ll all die<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Without these wings, oh these wings that I loved so much.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-11202180558348269482008-12-17T23:46:00.005-05:002008-12-18T00:16:09.308-05:00A Meeting and a Literary EffortSon's parent-teacher conference last night. Arrive to be confronted with sign-up list; upon signing, sit down and observe that all women present appear to have better <span style="font-style: italic;">sheitlach</span> than I. Resolve not to let this observation lead to inferiority complex, as fall down resulting slippery slope likely to end in bankruptcy and/or psychiatric condition. Instead focus on completing translation of <span style="font-style: italic;">Nautilus Pompilius</span> song begun earlier that day while waiting for court case to be called. Other parents talk about <span style="font-style: italic;">sheitlach</span> and upcoming <span style="font-style: italic;">sheva brochos</span> of couple unknown to me.<br /><br />Finally, my turn arrives and I enter classroom. Rebbe looks up at me and smiles weakly; I take this as cue to introduce myself, whereupon he nods and remains silent. I sit down and look at him expectantly, as do not quite like to ask What Trouble has Son been Getting Into? Rebbe appears to pull self together and tells me that Reading is very Good, but can be Wild at Playtime, neither of which surprises me. Inquire as to What he thinks should be Done, more to appear Caring Parent than because I think anything can be done to significantly modify Son's Behavior. He tells me it has gotten Better (Why?) and inquires whether we are related to a Rav who used to be on the Lower East Side about fifty years ago, because our last name is not common, and Son looks a little like him.<br /><br />Lack of content to this meeting should have been wholly anticipated by self, as particularly Egregious acts by child always precepitate phone calls from concerned educators - such as last year, when Son tried to practice karate moves on the other children. (Query: why, nevertheless, do I feel compelled to attend these Events? Answer: deep-seated and possible irrational conviction that it is necessary in order to be a Good Mother.)<br /><br />Return on foot, with coat open due to broken zipper, and begin to watch <span style="font-style: italic;">Raiders of the Lost Ark</span>. After the first fifteen minutes give up in exasperation, as have recalled ending as well as annoying behavior of female lead, who insists on wearing skimpy white dresses in all kinds of inappropriate locations such as snake-infested pyramids and pirate ships, and screams Too Much.Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-14122340142612110142008-12-11T11:30:00.003-05:002008-12-11T12:12:38.737-05:00I Go to a WeddingAttend wedding on Tuesday night, where run into Mrs. K, whom I see every morning at my son's bus stop. She says (in rather startled tone) that I look Very Nice; considering my usual morning appearance at bus stop, this is not saying Much. <br /><br />At table, am witness to debate concerning desirability or otherwise of a broad education. Mrs. X thinks that Our Children should be sheltered from all Harmful Influences; Mrs. Y, on the other hand, while agreeing that we do not want any Harmful Influences (as, indeed, who does?), considers best way to avoid H.I. is to teach a child to Think for itself. Tear myself away from contemplation of salmon on my plate in order to interject that My parents let me read Anything - in fact, very much liked to read Balzac when I was ten - and I turned out All Right.<br /><br />Mrs. X stares dubiously and says, This may not be for Everyone. Mrs. Y says, There, you see! and we proceed to agree that actual learning in school far preferable to speeches about tznius and future motherhood. Indeed, should have been very depressed to listen to such stuff at age sixteen, as did not particularly like small children and detested conversations about clothing. <br /><br />Suspect that tznius craze is excuse to talk about sex and clothing, and feel quite righteous about doing so.Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-41603723118691144912008-11-20T19:39:00.003-05:002008-11-20T20:02:09.589-05:00My Day in CourtThis morning, had to take Infant to Court with me, due to babysitter's last-minute Cancellation. Infant screamed upon attempt to enter courtroom, and was forced to beat hasty Retreat and produce bag of Pretzels (Infant is almost Two, and thanks to Siblings, perfectly adept at the consumption of pretzels and other, even less desirable Food-Like Substances). <br /><br /> Upon re-entry find that all seats are Taken; Court Officer loudly says, Everybody, Please Find a Seat! Sympathetic female clerk produces office chair from behind filing cabinet and we are Seated. Infant promptly drops pretzels on the Floor and slides down to recover them. Calendar call begins - my case is number 44. Infant picks crushed pretzels off floor and throws them in the Clerk's garbage can, then climbs back on my lap and joyfully says, Mama! Sssh, I say. Court Officer interrupts calendar call to say, Anyone whose Phone rings will Leave the Courtroom and Not Come Back.<br /><br /> Clerk calls number 12. Infant indignantly points out dropped pretzels and goes to pick them up; the attorneys on number 12 forced to mince around him to get to judge. Infant gathered back into lap and proceeds to behave quite well, by his standards.<br /><br /> Clerk calls number 30. Infant has dropped remaining pretzels, deposited a layer of crumbs on my black suit jacket, and tries to flip a switch on the wall, whereupon Court Officer approaches and sternly says, She Can't Be Touching That. <br /><br /> Clerk asks, Which Number Are You? and calls number 44, out of order. Deposit Infant on Chair and approach judge; Motion ends up Postponed for Other Reasons. Scoop up Infant and other sundry accoutrements and Flee courtroom. Proceed upstairs to file various papers; Infant tries to close the double doors, then runs around barking and growling.<br /><br /> On the way home, Infant screams on the subway train, prompting dirty looks and a few inaudible (to me) but clearly unappreciative comments. Eventually, convince Infant to spend rest of trip admiring his reflection in the window, which induces a Meditative state.Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-2792627629936693532008-11-10T23:10:00.004-05:002008-11-10T23:35:38.837-05:00Yes, I Am Quite Happy, Thank You Very MuchThis past Shabbos, finally got myself to Shul (Infant was with my parents) and every single person who ever had a black person be rude to them, came up to tell me about it, with the rider that It Is People Like Me That Ruin This Fine Country, and They Hope I Am Happy; to which my reply was, Quite.<br /><br /> To add insult to injury, Daughter said today that she had wanted "the Pretty Lady" to win, which devolved into exhausting discussion of What Makes A Good President. Qualities proposed included Smart, Does Chesed, and Tznius - Does Not Wear Shorts. This last was proposed by Son, while clad exclusively in pair of pajama pants, which he had stopped halfway through pulling up so as to participate in discussion (is going through very Irritating stage of being completely unable to to anything else while Talking).<br /><br /> Am reading <span style="font-style: italic;">Barbarossa</span> by Alan Clarke, concerning the war on the Eastern Front during WWII. Am inexorably reminded of military descriptions in <span style="font-style: italic;">War and Peace</span>, complete with poor communication, competing interests, lack of competence, and entirely misapplied competence. Detailed accounts and explanations of strategy turn out oddly mesmerizing, to the point where I felt actual suspense, though know quite well what happens next and how it all Ends.Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-18603647322056231432008-11-04T20:23:00.004-05:002008-11-04T20:41:03.634-05:00A Small Matter of EducationWas amazed to discover today that Daughter is being taught by <span style="font-style: italic;">Nevi'im</span>. Daughter reassures me that Even if Obama wins, Something Bad will happen to him and Moshiach will come. Rejoin, somewhat starchily, that should quite like Obama to win, and that Moshiach will come Anyway; to which Daughter replies that Morah knows better, because she is Older. Am confident that the Latter, at least, is not the case. Daughter further alleges that McCain Loves the Jews, and Obama Hates them; is naturally unable to cite any Facts adduced by Morah to support these propositions. Am further dubious concerning the Wisdom of attempting to discuss Politics with seven-year-olds. Upstairs Neighbor, whose daughters attend the same School, says that her eleven-year-old's class was told the exact Opposite (which bodes well for Pluralism, but makes no Sense otherwise) and that Political Discussions with eleven-year-olds are similarly Unedifying. Recall own reading, at age eleven, mostly consisting of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Gulag Archipelago</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">The Cancer Ward</span>, but surmise, and, indeed, Hope, that this is Atypical. Cannot help feeling School may have done better to stick to simple explanation of electoral process and Issues involved.Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-91875402626991441122008-10-24T02:05:00.003-04:002008-10-24T02:24:14.361-04:00Is All This Water Symbolic Somehow?Son: Yonah was a big tzadik, he washed <span style="font-style: italic;">negelwasser</span> all day long.<br /> Am positive Son's rebbe is sane person and would not tell children that Yonah had OCD or that OCD required for <span style="font-style: italic;">tzidkus</span>. (Although quite see how 3-day sojourn in Fish stomach could induce compulsive Washing, not to mention Claustrophobia. Recall no <span style="font-style: italic;">medrash</span> to this effect.)<br /> <br /> Daughter came home today with wild tale of school bathrooms Flooding progressively from first floor to fourth, with subsequent spillover into elevator shaft and classrooms, resulting in Girls standing on their Desks and Screaming. Daughter further alleged that the stairs Broke and when you went Outside, you could see the Water spouting out of the Roof. Am sure I have seen a Movie like this. (Query: <span style="font-style: italic;">Day After Tomorrow</span>? Or, perhaps, one of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Die Hard</span>s?) In any event, have not received phone call from School; thus, must conclude that that Building not entirely demolished and tomorrow's Sessions shall proceed as usual.Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-21414511207151356482008-10-02T23:11:00.004-04:002008-10-02T23:36:54.703-04:00I Get Old, and Other Gloomy ObservationsUpon awaking on Erev Rosh Hashana, found myself afflicted by most unpleasant virus. Shall refrain from providing details, as must keep in mind that not many people find descriptions of Diseases and their symptoms either Interesting or Tasteful. Food preparation conducted in muzzy haze, with heartfelt prayer for getting things Right and avoiding solecisms such as leaving Flour out of Cake (this happened to me when I was Sixteen, which only served to confirm my opinion that there were Better things for me do do).<br /><br />Managed to stay upright and Awake until arrival of Guests; retained a semblance of Coherency through the Simanim, though had to invoke Husband's aid in determining exact composition thereof. Subsequently, retired to couch and slept, regaining consciousness only to tell Husband that There are Potatoes in the Pot and Just Dump the Veal on a Plate. Felt deeply that the less I heard about Food, the better for all present.<br /><br />Spent rest of holiday avoiding food. Ironically, recover in time for today's Fast, which also coincides with my secular birthday. Cannot help seeing this, together with sundry other Occurrences as unauspicious beginning for new year. Forlorn hope is that G-d is getting the nasty stuff out of the way so we can enjoy the rest of year in peace; am, however, not disposed to Count on any such thing, especially as am aware that everything could always be Much Worse. For Instance, already feel Cold coming on.<br /><br />Am now Twenty-Nine. For reasons unfathomable to self, reflection that, were I still single, I would by now be an Old Maid, induces Feeling of Gloom. Am constrained to ask, Does it make me a Better Person that contemplation of others' Woes fails to Cheer me in the slightest, or Does it just make me an Incurable Pessimist? Answer: very much fear, the latter.<br /><br />But, you know, do have a good year, everyone.Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-40932465813505701252008-09-28T07:55:00.002-04:002008-09-28T08:07:31.916-04:00Too Tired for This, ReallyHave been up all night working on assorted projects; as result, head is full of medico-legal jargon and keep thinking things like "collateral estoppel generally ineffective in cases of chorioamniotis" when really need to say, "NO, you may not have chocolate frosting for breakfast." Shall spend rest of day cooking, which usually has soothing effect. Macbeth has murdered sleep; not Macbeth, obviously, but cannot seem to otherwise fix blame on anyone but myself for Leaving things Too Late.Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-5772359630939351292008-09-23T12:40:00.000-04:002008-09-23T13:22:03.363-04:00Finally, a Good ReasonAm informed by various males that I should vote for Palin "because she is Hot and shoots Moose." Discount the second as am not aware of urgent national Need for elimination of rampant Moose Infestation. As to first, cannot think why I should be influenced, given what I should think must be my obvious inclinations. However, am happy to finally produce comprehensible reason for voting Democrat, as Obama undeniably Hotter than McCain. Shall now cut short incisive political commentary and hide under bed, for fear of being mistaken for Moose by unkind Republicans.<br /><br />Husband reports that his hospital is currently harboring Amy Fisher, and that the nurses Do Not Like her. Experience flashback to beginning of 9th grade, when AF 's then-recent exploits provided bulk of conversation fodder. Why? Answer: comes there none.<br /><br />Am due in Immigration Court again this week, with client constitutionally unable to locate own ass with both hands; but the judge is nice. Am also reading biography of Jonathan Swift, interspersed with Angela Carter's <span style="font-style: italic;">Nights at the Circus</span>, which has mental effect of eating fried potatoes dipped in red currant jelly - an intense craving I had during my second pregnancy.Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-27381832003926677862008-09-14T15:41:00.001-04:002008-09-14T16:19:12.829-04:00I Make Sort-of-French-BreadSeized by fit of domesticity, have achieved French bread ("not-exactly-baguettes") and something called Irish Car Bomb Cake, which deserves to be made for the name alone. Obviously, domesticity requiring copious use of Guinness as cake ingredient much preferable to the kind requiring moving all the furniture and scrubbing the corners.<br /><br /> Have been made aware of music ban; occurs to me that appropriate response would be re-working of "Rock the Casbah" with adjustment for correct religion. Am too lazy to attempt.<br /><br /> Husband just called from hospital (where - a reminder - he is a doctor, <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> a patient, and, B"H, doing fine). On being reminded that It is My Mother's Birthday, silence ensues, followed by cautious question: How Old is She? I reply, Sixty-Two; am sharply corrected by Mother that it is Sixty-One. Whereupon Husband proceeds to relate hair-raising tale of 59-year-old patient, whose last period was sometime in 1991, and who is now Pregnant following expensive and tortuous procedures involving hormone injections and other people's eggs, and now must be on Bedrest. As if above were not enough, Husband supplies that she had three pregnancy terminations previously; hanging on to last shred of hope, ask, On Purpose? Answer: yes. Husband concludes by saying He Feels like Hitting her every Time he Walks Past. Regret to find myself in sympathy with this highly unprofessional Attitude.<br /><br /> Reassure Husband that nothing of the sort will be forthcoming from Mother and hang up. Ensuing attempt to imagine arrival of young sibling boggles mind into incoherency. Restore shattered equanimity by resorting to remains of Irish Car Bomb Cake and new-ish Akunin novel brought by Father-in-Law.Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-81725623742309879062008-09-03T13:32:00.001-04:002008-09-03T13:56:25.366-04:00More on Immigration CourtAm back from Immigration Court. Arrived for 9:00 a.m. hearing only to be confronted with news that the judge won't be in until 10:00. Annoying young blighter in blue pinstripe goes around the waiting room trying to establish Who was here First, and Who is Last in Line; everyone humors him, but endeavor proves predictably futile, as upon opening of courtroom, everyone scrambles to it in order of relative proximity to door. I win; thus, am first to listen to judge tell me to do complete opposite of what she told me to do last time, with some gratuitous Advice to a Young Lawyer, which makes me thankful my client speaks little English, winding up with the conclusion that Nothing Can Be Done Today, as DHS attorney Has Not Reviewed the File (why judge appears to think this is my fault, eludes me). Suppress violent urge to tell her, I Know, but I do Not Approve, and I am Not Resigned. (1)<br /><br /> In other news, the Infant is singing a tune which I recognize to be the bandits' song from <span style="font-style: italic;">Bremenskiye Muzykanty</span>. Wonder if 20 months too early to begin musical training? Or, perhaps, too late? Own musical training limited to dim recollection of, at the age of 5, being hauled from under the bed to practice scales on the piano; my parents must have found this activity less than edifying, since piano lessons promptly discontinued.<br /><br />(1) from some poem by Edna St. Vincent MillayDinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-62990280999288665492008-09-02T23:49:00.000-04:002008-09-03T00:17:21.929-04:00And Now For Something Somewhat DifferentHad client's relative petition approved today, after long and annoying process, including Stokes interview consisting mostly of the interviewer asking them (separately) what they had for dinner the night before, for breakfast this morning, for dinner on their first date, which was not very edifying to me on an empty stomach. Apparently, there are people who have roast chicken with a side of cottage cheese for breakfast. You live, you learn.<br /> Am glad of this ego boost, since tomorrow am scheduled for further adventure in the Immigration Court, before a judge who, frankly, scares me a little. Last time, she yelled at some guy for being dressed too nicely, and trying to take advantage of the American system. She tried to pull the same crap on my client, asking Did she work or Just Sit Around trying different ways to get a green card. My client, though, had proof of employment for the past 14 years, so that kind of took the wind out of her sails. And this judge doesn't do this to harass people. She does it For Their Own Good.<br /> Just thinking about it all makes me tired. Have also been reading entries <a href="http://grani.ru/blog/govnomer/">here</a>, which, sadly, only served to confirm my opinions on Russian media and general public. Not, of course, that there has ever been a time in history when the country was <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> going to hell in a handbasket... like watching a thousand-year-long train wreck, really.<span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span><a href="http://grani.ru/blog/govnomer/"></a><a href="http://http://grani.ru/blog/govnomer/"><br /><br /></a>Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-90181096571757078772008-08-28T23:55:00.000-04:002008-08-29T00:32:08.274-04:00Of Very Little Importance in the Grand Scheme of ThingsSon (age 5): Next Purim, I'm going to be Voldemort and I'm going to kill Harry Potter's family, chas v'shalom.<br /><br /> Ensuing train of thought: Am I really such a failure as a parent? I didn't think it would show up so soon. At least he said chas v'shalom; on the other hand, highly doubt he knows what it means. To the good, this shows ability to follow narrative and retain details. Last Chanukah he said he was going to be King Antiochos. Is this normal? Is the term "normal" ever applicable in the context of 5-year-old children? Recall, myself, at this age, ardently yearning to be a detective, in a village, with many cows.<br /><br /> Train of thought abruptly derailed by Daughter's (age 6.5) announcement that She is going to be a Lawyer because they Write and Argue lots.<br /><br /> In the grocery store, am confronted by kids' day camp director in grey robe and tichel, who stares at my business suit and says I Look Nice and Am I going to a Wedding? I say, No, I am returning from Court, whereupon she screams and says, Oh no, what Happened?! I give my usual reply of: Nothing - to <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span>. Am thus reminded of morbidly buzzard-like quality of my profits deriving from the misfortunes of others, but console myself with the mostly accurately thought that, without me, those misfortunes would probably be Much Worse.<br /><br />Upon my return home, pick up ringing telephone, only to hear one of Our Community Members ask for Husband, in rather lowered voice suggesting a wish for Discreet Medical Consultation. Inform him that Husband is in Hospital. He gasps and says, Oh no, what Happened. Wearily reply that Nothing - to <span style="font-style: italic;">him</span>. Wonder why doctors, though similarly situated in respect to morbidness of profession, always come off as so much more noble and altruistic than lawyers.<br /><br />Several eons later, all children firmly ensconced in their beds (so I thought - it was subsequently revealed that one child, in fact, had been firmly ensconced on the floor, lying, naturally, on <span style="font-style: italic;">my </span>pillow - but I digress), derived wholly irrational enjoyment from viewing the third <span style="font-style: italic;">Die Hard</span>. As I told Husband later, I do like a movie featuring a) NYC b) subways c) floods - even really minor ones.Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-36055456010668601852008-08-06T01:07:00.000-04:002008-08-06T01:17:14.347-04:00The 9 DaysHave spent significant portion of evening complaining to M. that lack of music was making my life Hell. Realize this is, indeed, the point, and, in that spirit, experience surge of hope that Moshiach will really arrive tomorrow. Spend rest of evening pondering whether the music I like will still be allowed. (Have concealed from enthusiastic guests of circa 2 Shabbosim ago that home-made challa was produced to the accompaniment of Black Sabbath, as they seem the sort to think I should have been thinking mystical and uplifting thoughts instead.)Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8468371698005084689.post-56739657928776710452008-07-04T01:16:00.000-04:002008-07-04T01:54:45.620-04:00Was apprised, a few weeks ago, by Upstanding Shul Member, that my ability to consume (and hold) hard liquor is apparently regarded as my most noteworthy achievement by (male) shul acquaintances. Was shocked into a few seconds of speechlessness by this, as had hitherto cherished long-held, but no doubt delusional, conviction of having accomplishments of rather more intrinsic worth; conviction fortunately upheld by husband who muttered into my ear that This isn't much of a compliment. Upon further reflection, realization set in that achievements I had in mind (law degree, inordinate consumption of literary and philosophical works, some ability in quoting the Mishna Berura) are not considered impressive by most, with possible exception of achieving Perfect Jelly Roll. Am still baffled as to why consumption of alcohol should so impress.<br /><br /> Had several thoroughly depressing conversations on the topic of Feminism. Apparently, it is quite the thing, in certain circles, to preface any remark on gender relations with a deprecatory "I'm not a <span style="font-style: italic;">feminist</span>, or anything..." (but I <span style="font-style: italic;">do</span> think all men are insensitive morons who ought to be taken out and be shot at dawn). Would like to state for the record that I <span style="font-style: italic;">am</span> a feminist, and as such, am not prepared to make stereotypical, biased statements about people based on their gender. Am very tired of explaining to people that, No, this does not mean I am voting for Hillary Clinton.<br /><br /> On the other hand, am heartened to discover that certain members of Our Shul do believe that it is possible to have <span style="font-style: italic;">too much</span> racism, sexism, homophobia, and generally illiberal attitudes typical of <span style="font-style: italic;">homo sovieticus</span>. (You can say what you like about Stalin, but he Did Keep<br /> Them In Line).<br /><br /> And, on completely different note: Found out at 10 am today that Immigration Court asylum hearing scheduled for today at 1pm adjourned, date TBA. Can only speculate that Immigration Judge realized folly of scheduling 3-hour hearing on July 3, decided to make early departure for beach. Client far from ecstatic, as herself, husband, and witness already made complicated arrangements to be absent from work. Am similarly lacking in ecstasy, as had asked mother to watch kids, necessitating mother's absence from work and 2-hour train-ride to Brooklyn, which was already underway by the time hearing was canceled. Client understandably very nervous and will have to be prepped again, whenever they decide to schedule the next hearing. Kids, however, quite happy to have Baba spend the afternoon.Dinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12731938906343025989noreply@blogger.com2