Monday, September 28, 2009

Yom Kippur in Jerusalem

Yom Kippur in Israel. There is nothing like it in the world. Walking in white, riding bikes, and flooding into the streets without a car in sight. We spent the last couple weeks anticipating the fast. Preparing ourselves in our minds, asking forgiveness from those who we need it from and making amends with those who we care enough to contact. These actions are there to wash and cleanse our spiritual slate- to make it shiny and new for the new year. My dreams are so full the night of Yom Kippur, as if my brain and soul are together sorting and purging all my issues and all of my memories into special pockets for the new year.
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We spent hours in Shul (synagogue) there were points where I thought the fast would get the best of me, where I would have to sit down because the words in my prayer book were running together, but slowly and surely, the sections became smaller and soon the sun was setting and we completed another successful fast. Our spirits heightened to a level they have not reached all year.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

First time on the jtown bridge



Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Mazal tov!


Greeny part 3

Monday, September 21, 2009

My Frienemy

I have a confession to make. I have a Frienemy. You know. The Friend Enemy. My Frienemy is different.
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She has a tooth growing out of her forehead. Perhaps if she didn't have this tooth growing out of her head she would be my enemy. Or perhaps she is my friend because of this birth defect. Her tooth is always well polished and on Thursday nights, when we get all dolled up in hot pink eye shadow and bracelets, she'll stick a fake diamond sticker smack dab in the middle of her forehead tooth all while chewing a fat piece of hubba bubba watermelon.
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no lie.
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My huzzy (that's Ginrod talk for husband) says she's sparkling and a little bit odd. He can't trust her because the tooth is so distracting. How would YOU feel if you had a TOOTH growing out of YOUR forehead!!? I scream at him.
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He said he wouldn't like it one bit. I nod sarcastically.
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My Frienemy has a variety of special things about her. She likes to take pieces of watermelon for instance, and smear it all over the tiles before serving it to her friends. This is why she is a Frienemy. Real friends just would never do that.
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I once walked in on my Frienemy polishing the tooth on her forehead with my top shelf dead sea scrub. I got it as a gift from my the secretaries 2nd cousin and the line has been dropped from all major stores in the western hemisphere.
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When I am angry with my Frienemy, I often think of holding her down with my knees and taking a pair of open-stock pliers to her forehead. In many ways, I feel like removing her tooth from her forehead would benefit all of us. She would have more success in her karaoke circuit and I would stop thinking she had enemy capabilities.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Thoughts on my way to London

Airports. In every movie and every book there is always a blurb about the beauty of them. To be invisible, a stranger among strangers. Staring at each passerby creating a unique story for each and every character you come across. Feeding the imagination in your mind about where they are coming from and where they plan on going.

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The woman over there, I nod my chin to myself, she had a love affair with an artist when she was young. She was 17 and she was studying French Architecture in Paris as an exchange student. She was originally from a medium city in Nebraska and her dad died when she was eight. Her mother married a pastor named Arthur who had a squeaky voice and a passion for growing cactus in their L-shaped backyard. She fell in love with the captain of the football team and after he impregnated her first cousin on homecoming night, she left that small Nebraska town and never looked back, She went to a state school and lived in a state dormitory and filled the last spot for the second semester study abroad in Paris. Obviously, her French was shit, but it was far away from Nebraska winters and football season.

It sounds romantic that she fell in love with an artist but it was a bit dirty. Literally. He was a filthy creature. Hot water was absent in their Parisian love affair and he often smelt like sauerkraut and a cheap cabernet. His hair was oily from his lack of grooming although he often enjoyed grooming every other woman but her. At age twenty and a broken heart later, she went to a Dr to make her crooked nose straight. As if that would mend her Midwest heart. No nose can ever be straight enough for a crooked man she learned and she found a much more simple sort of love in a latin realtor named Jesus. They bought their first home on her 23rd birthday and Jesus's charming ways earned them a silver Cadillac by the time they were thirty.

Nowadays, she spends her free time combing Jesus's rich Latin hair in the middle of airports, her straight nose shining in the airy lobbies.

Often is seems that travelers wear a costume when they travel. If you’re traveling to Eastern Europe it is of great importance you dress your neck with a politic statement. Any textile from an “occupied” territory will do and it’s good to mix it with a non-traditional color. Black and white? Pink shoes will go great. Converse preferably. If you are an exceptional traveler, you will begin wearing your cargo pants months a head of time, usually when camping- so you can wear them in for the “rugged” look by the time you hit south east Asia during the “wet season.”

Pappa Saul is sitting two rows in front of me. He’s decided to give his common law wife a weekend break from their only child and has him unhappily bouncing on his right knee. His aging parents are waiting for them in London; salmon sandwiches are already on the 30 year old faded china in the tearoom. There is a batch of chocolate chip muffins in the oven, which will still be warm when they arrive home. His son, Henry is miserable and is verbally expressing that fact to the cabin audience. We take it like warriors and I can’t help but wonder if the child has a mental disorder. The miracle of the sky is that eventually, the cabin pressure changes and the child passes out in a mild stupor.

There is a rather full man in the aisle across from me. When he paid for his plane ticket he was under the impression that he also paid for the common aisle for foot space. He has successfully fit his full figured body sideways onto the seat. I respect Santa, he has managed to find comfort in any space big or small. I want to tickle his fingertips with a feather while I pretend to type. But I do not have a feather with me.

Friday, September 04, 2009

I love reading good Crap.

My aim is to beat this level of creative and lightly disturbing writing:

Click HERE.

Tuesday, September 01, 2009

R.I.P

Life is a feather, blowing in the wind. At one moment we're holding on to it and the next moment it blows away, caught by the air around it. Death becomes a feeling, a symptom almost, we react to it individually and uniquely, an incident that is not to be reckoned with. We tip toe and take the information in, we process it and what comes out in the language we speak is a far cry from the palpitations our heart is trying to convey.
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Tonight I think of Tulsa and I think of the crowd I grew up with. I am reminded of Tulsa because a friend has passed, and although he was a bear of a man, his life was a feather that was caught in the wind and blew away. It seemed unexpected and the only reason I found out when I did was because of social networking and once again, I am reminded of how complex and quick our lives can be.
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I can only think of the mother of his unborn child and what she must be going through right now. I think of his sister I was in University with and his cousins who I spent Oklahoma summers with. I think of them because I know how hard they are hurting right now. I think of them because I know what their confusion is and how painful this time must be, i think of them and I am channeling my thoughts to them during this hard time.
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I am reminded of Tulsa tonight and her hot summers and the innocence that once plagued us.

Dinner in jerusalem