End of Summer

My First "Time of My Life"

I will never forget the first time I saw 'Dirty Dancing'. Or at least a part of it. It was in the late 80’, I was in fifth grade or sixth. I walked in, late at night (must have been past 8 pm) to our next door neighbors’ apartment. We lived in Neve- Amirim, in Hertzelia and a new couple just moved across us. South-African woman, Israeli guy and a blond curly baby, named guy.

I only remember I loved hanging out at their place, can't really tell why. They were cool and showing affection. I came to their apartment that night, probably with my mom, just for a few minutes, I think they had friends over. It was dark and they were watching a movie.

The next moment I am looking at the screen and seeing baby walking on a long tree log bridging a huge river. Or was it a lake? a puddle? And after the log, they were in the water, with their cloths and Johnny catches her in the air, like the prince in a classical ballet fairytale. That was all I saw. I wanted to stay longer but we had to leave. I will never forget the darkness, and the excitement, and the lift in the lake.

A few years later I would see the whole movie. Over and over again.

Another hero, another classic is gone, but these memories are as vivid as ever.

Brooklyn Follies

Traveling across seas and land, brought me closer than ever to my ancestors.
I didn't ask for it
Not sure I would ask for it - had I known the possibility exists. I am very clueless these days.

It turns out, I will be covering this semester Borough Park, Brooklyn. The largest Jewish community living outside of Israel.
...

Completely by chance.
Or is it?
Mysterious are Jah's ways.

Happy New Year to all of us.


September 09, Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

serendipity

Is it the beginning of the end or the end of the beginning?
Another weather report. It's becoming my most dominant theme so far.
But yes, as mentioned in one of the first posts written here, I now live in a four-season world.
That, on top of living in an ever changing climate era, that none of us, season or seasonless people know what tomorrow will bring.
(changes, weather changes, make me dramatic)

After the Holidays.
The holidays, Jewish new-year's etc., appropriately are in that exact timing, of changing, examining and resolution making.

omitting the 'future' from the 'future grad student' title
September
converting
to Mac
socks
...

Every year it's the same thing, only different.
As someone who never gets as much summer as she needs, I have no choice than to embracing this change. After all - fall - is better than winter.

Celebrity Apprentice

The king of rating is dead.
The entertainment world is going through one crazy weird phase.
Like a clinical trial that started somewhere in the mid 90's, revealing its outcomes all at once. A medical research that only now beginning to show its side effects.

The deaths of two pop(culture) kings are not necessarily related. Obviously. They didn't have a lot in common but they both needed more love than they got. Both their life (and death) stories are stronger and nuttier than any movie we could have scripted.

The (still examined) dysfunction of the CCTV in Topaz's cell, despite the specific notice and past attempts, he was not watched. Not even by the security guards.
Of course it's not cameras or news papers that kill people. This was suicide, he killed himself.
The position for the new king is still open, but you should probably give it a second thought before you apply.

For the first time; a picture that was taken by a real photographer, a guest on the blog. photogandanist.

A year in retrospect

"New York New York. The city so nice they named it twice". Michel Scott.


Every Once in a while, moving away, catching some distance, can be very beneficial.
Looking at the same world, from a different perspective does wonders, even if it's only a seven minute ferry ride.
Re-discovering can be a very exciting discovery.

Ultimately, you go back to living your micro, day-to-day life, but with a few more new images and insights, for colder days to come.

Please let it be summer just a little longer than it is supposed to be. Not forever, an extra 30 days would be fine. Not necessarily consecutive - only sunny.

I, Fashion Icon.

Last Saturday I met Gil at 13th and 3rd Ave, for a Cosmic Burrito. It was 7pm and 70ish on my first trip out of the Borough that weekend.
I was still wearing my Mediterranean glow from my recent vacation, so accessorizing was unnecessary. By sun set, I had my Zen energies and a burrito in my belly. I didn’t think the evening could get any better. When he suggested I join their boy’s night out at The Jane Hotel, I turned down the offer instinctively;
A. I was dressed for Williamsburg/Tel Aviv, maybe East village, definitely not Meat Packing.
B. I don't do serious stuff like that. I'm not that committed to partying. Sleeping was tempting.
Somehow I ended up at the Jane. Underdressed and curious but self-confident the way I always am on a warm night. I think it was Jim Carry's "Yes Man" I saw earlier that made me just say yes. That - and the proximity of the fancy bar to the L train.

Twins

So we did get in. It was early. I was the only girl without a cocktail-dress or a modeling contract. I was having fun though. After all, not everyday one gets a chance to perform an anthropological research. Not even in Manhattan.
As the evening progressed, I trying harder to make the best out of being The girl with the cutoff jeans and a white oxford shirt. Knowing I have, for a change, a cute dress waiting to be worn at home made it more difficult.
An hour of drinking and outfits inspection later, I spotted my savior. A girl with the same items- my long lost fashion twin in this unfamiliar planet. She was wearing neither heels nor blings. Very low key. Like me.
Her jeans were shorter and her shirt way less buttoned, but it was still overall a casual shorts-and- white shirt look.
Luckily, she set on the couch facing us so I could point her to my friends. It was then that I recognized, being the hard core "Full House" fan that I am, Mary-Kate Olsen.

I rest my case and head back to the burg. Two beliefs were reinforced; Jim Carry is still awesome, and, I don't have to upgrade my styling, especially not as long as it's summer.

Toying with Geopolitics

Some of you may have already heard me talk
about this before. If you've been to my room, you
must have noticed this map and heard me voluntarily elaborate about my special interest in this ordinary image.

I have always used this as an example of how BIG a differences lays between my two nationalities; Of why size actually does matter. Although Israel is practically the 51st state, there’s still a world of difference.

Be There or Be Square
I was putting together a jigsaw puzzle for ages 3 and up, of "The map of the United States" when the realization struck me. It made me laugh and not because I was successfully completing an infantile cardboard game. I was looking at
Wyoming, Colorado and New Mexico. All perfectly cut squares states. Are these actual states? geometrically shaped countries were a strange concept to me in more than one way. aren't there mountains or rivers or population to determine borders? ; it seemed big, spacious and very contemporary. As if the founding mothers had said: Hey, how do we want to divide our new place?... let's just cut it in squares! As if talking about Lasagna.

Meanwhile, in Europe, squares were being beaten and eaten or drawn by a very drunk shaky hand. A much more complicated puzzle for sure. For Hundreds of years Europe has continued to dissect - and didn't say the last word yet. Every year, in the Eurovision song contest, there are more new formed countries and the contest goes on longer and becomes more bizarre, but that's for a different post.
So is the bigger the better? does extra space make people crazier, more violent or insanely polite?
Not only does the big fat boxes states demonstrate the imaginable frontier Americans grew up with, it also makes you think of how new, recent, this great state is. How lovely. No fighting, no bloody wars and so much room for everyone. Wait, was it really big and roomy when the first 'Coloradoins' got there?

On that note, without being petty, it is funny that the 51st state is just a 1/30 the size of Texas.

So here I was, with my foreign thoughts, at 9 am on a Monday morning, while a woman's hair was in my face, some boy's loud bad ipod music in the background, ice coffees dripping and newspapers filling the limited air remaining on the train. I smelled a dash of irony, remembering how, when my mom asked me on my recent visit, what I miss the most in New York. She actually knew before I answered.
"The space".

abnormal post

I was going to write about myself again. About summer in New York, about going back to school and about the Container Store. Something happened though, and changed my plans. While realizing it's not in the best interest of the blog, writing about something sad, serious and "local", I cannot write about anything else and I really feel like writing tonight.

Something very unusual happened to me an hour ago. I was crying from reading the news.
I can’t remember how long it's been since news had made me that sad. I have developed, like all of us really, a very thick epidermis and cynical gaze for the current events. Regardless of what side of the news I am, writing or reading; I never get too emotionally attached anymore.
However

An hour ago, I read about two young people, Liz and Nir, who were murdered in the heart of Tel Aviv yesterday, simply because they were gay.
I'm trying to think, since I read about their funerals, what made me weeping.
2 is not such a dramatic number. Not when you grow up in the Middle East. Disasters happen all the time. Planes crash, Tsunamis occur. It's not the scope of the tragedy.
It's not because it's Israel, not even because it happened a few blocks from my old apartment. Unfortunately we’ve experienced suicide bombers everywhere all through the 90’s.
It's not because they’re two beautiful, smart or innocent people. I didn't cry when young beautiful bright 20 year old boys died in the war. They're innocent as well.

I guess i'm thrown by how evil stupidity can get. In that sense, living in New York or Tel Aviv, makes no difference at all. I’m scared and I know it could have happened here just as easily. Today I’m not happier I’m here; I don’t feel more blessed or safer like I did after Israel’s elections as oppose to America’s. America is more religious, conservative and ignorant than Israel. Electing a black president was huge - but even he, the amazing Obama can’t formally support gay rights.
I am scared when people are killed because of idiocy and hypocrisy. For god’s sake. Alek*.

I hope that someone in power will act now. First to educate and then to grant people with the right to equally live their lives as peacefully as they can in the 21^st century, in a democratic country of their choice.

* yea right.

Nostalgia. Pro's and Con's.
Joel and I, in unintentionally coordinated stripy swimsuits were catching last rays of sun. Surrounded by the Maccabiah's US Rugby team (the Jewish Olympics recently marketed as the largest J-date annual function).
Jewish Rugby Team: this may just be the biggest oxymoron. We wished them good luck and pointed in the direction of the nearest Kosher meat buffet. And we were back to the silent sands.

It has to be the childhood memories, smells of summer and sounds of language. It's unlikely to be titled Zionism.

I am going to miss swimming with plastic bags.

"Remember when..." is the lowest form of conversation. The great Tony Soprano once said.

Location, Location, Location

Since the blog is on vacation, words are unavailable at the moment. Images - however - are produced in abundance.

Jellyfish Season

As I was watching the cotton-balls clouds, floating away in my thoughts, I was re-appreciating a very important 21st century invention. The one invention even more important than the cellular mobile phone, is the silence feature.

A postcard from a visit to Obamaland

This as close as I got to Mr. and Mrs. President this week in the nation's capital, but I must say, it did feel different. Being in the revived DC, where every little girl can be Malia, is a lot more pink and glittery than I remembered it, four years ago.

Happy Independence Day

11 months and 349 days in. A few self reflecting, notes.

- Elina said "make it personal - not private" (or was it the other way around?), but "Into the Wild", was just too relevant for me to brush off. If it was as interesting as it was for me, perhaps one more person out there could also relate to it.

- Anyone who ever left home, relocated, traveled, immigrated - knows the life in the wild. Watching the Sean (the smartest thing Madonna ever did) Penn film last night, got me thinking about New York and me. The setting is somewhat different, but the rest is very much the same.

Extreme weather conditions, wild micro airborne creatures and the solitude. The bitter-sweet quality time with yourself, is what we've come here for, and is what follows us around whether we like it or not.

- I never thought I would fall in love with a skyline. Until one taxi drive from Brooklyn to the Island. It's not even the landscape, though. Coming back from anywhere to New York feels more safe and secure and mine than it felt eleven months ago.
The past year was wild, but despite how much was gained from solitary confrontation with an unfamiliar world, ascendancy was never my thing.

- Just before he collapses, at the very end of the movie, he scribbles in he's notebook that happiness is unreal unless shared.

This is probably why I decided after all to write this post, as private or personal as it may be.

The day Michael Jackson died I got to speak to my ballet teacher for the first time. we usually nod or smile but yesterday when I came to the studio the word about MJ's mysterious/ surprising death was just out and we happened to be in the same spot. At this historic moment, everyone, fan or no fan, needs to share, or ask something. These are the moments when human connection triumphs over the ordinary manners and boundaries tend to evaporate.

People got out of class, they have been perspiring for the last 90 minutes in a closed studio and mixed messages have started to drip in. "Farrah Fawcett died!!", "No! Michael Jackson just died". "What? No way!...Farrah AND Michael?", "Is that related?" Odd.
And then I heard the sentence "Michael Jackson is dead" in Japanese, Korean, Chinese and Italian over and over again.

Two hours later, I was back in the outside world. I couldn't really decide how I feel about this, but I knew something big occurred. It smelled like a moment of "where were you when". Especially if you're an 80's kid. Good day for News Papers.
Passing by 19th St. between Broadway and 5th, I hear an unfamiliar song playing. I think it's coming from a store but when I look closer I see an old bulky tape recorder, no one near it, just a few bags of empty tin-cans, trash, some newspapers covering the half stair. I couldn't tell what song it was, but it was easy identifying the singer. There was no doubt - it was a classic 90's tune.

Fabric Softner

There was a football game on the flat screen TV. Mexico - Venezuela*.

The two girls must have been four-five years apart. The younger, maybe 10 or 8 or 12, had that tired sloppy walk of a young mom. Her pajama pants moping the floor as she crosses the public laundromat. A big pile on top of little arms, carrying cloths from a washing machine to a drier. She was sitting patiently on the yellow chairs next to me.
Big sister storms in, wearing basketball shorts and a spaghetti strap top. She says something in Spanish, bumping her leg against the younger one's and causes her cellphone to fall on the floor. I think I heard her say "you're fat", although that would make absolutely no sense at all.

I was reading a book and calculating the remaining washing time but I wasn't really doing either. All I could think about, was universal sisterhood. About siblings dynamics and how we, the firstborn, get nasty sometimes, drunk with power only because we were here first.

I was cool, hiding my interest in the most interesting laundry program available. Or maybe it depends where your dryer is. I'm sure there were a couple more short cycle or delicate dramas going around in the 24/7 florescent space.

Mexico won 4-0. I put my legs on the cart, and she puts her legs up too. lying on the other chairs.
16 minutes later , older girl pops and asks in the sweetest voice, if little girl wants to go up. She doesn't. Wise little girl, she wasn't going to let her be the bigger person now.
when I picked my dry warm items, I passed by the girls. All of a sudden I hear a small voice: "Byyeee".
I answer with a surprised bye, smiling (unintentionally) at the older one. All I could walk away with, besides an Ikea bag full of cleaner stuff, was the hope she thought her little sister was really awesome, making older friends in the Giant laundromat.


*I am still thinking in Celsius, Meters and Football, but yes - I realize soccer is the more appropriate name in this part of the planet.

The Holy Tripod

There's a saying. In New York, even the non-Jewish are Jewish. Today in B&H, aka 'Dosiland' (ultra orthodox amusement park), I felt as non-Jewish as one can possibly feel ,among the nicest, sweetest religious people. Noticing my not so subtle Hebrew accent, I got treated like queen Ester. Then, the warm hospitality turned a little sour, when young Shlomo had to share another famous saying. "Any Jew, even the bum outside the subway, is more important than the most important goy... Yes, even from President Obama" he assured. Well, Shlomo, I am sorry to be the one that says that, but someone there lied to you. You are not more important than Obama, and maybe it's better this way. I know he meant well, and the last thing he wanted was to upset me by repeating a sentence that goes back hundreds of years, but it just doesn't work this way, and it really shouldn't. President Obama is more important then you and me, my good Jewish cameras and camera accessories expert.

Coming up next on the blog; "The Countdown; getting ready for Tel Aviv, summer 09"

Global Colding

My socks are not happy today. Well, that makes the three of us.
I was trying to avoid the weather topic but I failed. It's pouring. On the ten day forecast, there might only be one flip-flops-weather day - a weekday! It is starting to feel like little Britain.
Sometimes I get this feeling that I live in "The Truman Show", this morning was one of those moments. I'm starting to believe that this whole shitty weather shpil was created especially for me. I actually wonder whether the minute I am underground or asleep, the sun comes out , the clouds dissolve and people walk around in their standard June clothing.
Are we getting an extra month of summer instead of June? Is October negotiable? What if Summer just doesn't come???

But enough about the weather. More important or exciting things are brewing in the world.










Union Square, yesterday: Because we all had our vote
stolen at some point

If we're not going to be destroyed by another Ice-Age there's still the good old nuclear bomb scenario.
This is the first time in the 11 months that I've been here, that international news makes front pages for a few consecutive days. The economy and swine flu expended and reached the CNN interactive world-map media circus, but this time, it looks like it's too big a story for the Americans to ignore. Yesterday, on my way from work, I saw some people who even took it to the streets. That's how much they care (not sure if it's they or we?).
Today, however, is not a day for political activism.
I think that Mr. Weather will have the final word over Mr. Ahmadinejad's. So who am I to play it tough?

Local Patriotism

I didn't get to say goodbye to Alice. Not fully dressed anyways. It was my last session and I think despite of how good Alice was at hiding her feelings, she enjoyed our time together. She told Kelly, her assistant, to let me know I should call to make another appointment, in case I feel it is necessary. I don't think it will happen though.

I'm gladly returning to the low-maintenance girl I used to be, giving up my newly found appeal to China Town (that probably originates in the appeal I find to Jack Nicholson). Although it's raining I'm walking slowly, happy to be heading to the ultimate East at the end of the day. Not the Middle one, not the Upper but two stops on the L east to the Island - Brooklyn 11211.

China Town

It's been two weeks since my back ache incident, or as I prefer to call it: my ballet injury. I have fully recovered from a surprisingly sore experience with a stupid spasm. Now that the pain is gone, I can note that this occurrence– as unpleasant as it was – brought some wonderful new encounters along with it. Not only did I rediscover the wonders of western sedation (god bless America for the Valium they throw at you); but I got to go to China Town on a twice a week basis. I got to meet Dr. Alice.
While Alice stuck needles in my body, I would fall asleep to the soft vague tunes of 'Elton John's greatest hits' by a Chinese pianist and small little lamps warming my toes. After 35-55 minutes Alice comes in, takes her needles out, while I am trying to get myself together. Before she sends me home, I take a little milk and honey candy from a heart shaped glass bowl. The tiny, round, innocent treat injects just enough energy, for me to get back out to Canal Street, to a sea of clocks and belts and many, many rushing people.