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A quick note about tonight's dinner: we went to a restaurant called Crave.

Go there.

I mean, now.

I mean drop everything, buy tickets to Israel, hop a cab and eat there. Sure, you might have to wait an hour in the rain and wind for a table. Sure, you will eventually be seated at a small table, on a stool. Sure, it will be noisy, parking will be impossible and the music will make it tough to hear yourself exist. But do it.

The waitstaff is really friendly. The service is incredibly quick and the food is wonderful. I had a Ruben with extra meat and lamb bacon. There was a slight antiseptic taste (I wish I could explain it better, sort of like a clean hospital, but I get the feeling that this is a sensory issue of mine in the way I perceive the smokiness of a Laphroig -- same thing), but the food was great. The Vodka Collins was delicious, an the blaring music was from the catalog of bands Dan likes. Other diners in our party (Eli, Maddie and Slaughter-dale) had things like the Primal, the brisket sandwich and something else I don't even recall. The wings were crispy and juicy, the nachos with fake cheese were delicious (I even ate a few pieces of hot pepper) and the onion rings were as good as any I have had in Israel (and better than many I have had elsewhere). The beer selection seemed nice and, based on reports from those who had, the desserts were killer. We got a ride back from Steve and I'm sitting here still full and savoring the memory of my sammich.

So go. Don't tell them Dan sent you because they don't care.

January Surprise

Morning started cooler and rainy. A gusty wind pushed the thick cloud cover away and left us with a mostly clear sky and cold air, punctuated by clouds and more wind. We took the light rail to the center of town and hoofed to the tailor. Maddie dropped off most of her stuff but we have to go back to get her uniform tailored. Then to grab some food. Rebar had no food she wanted (she was planning on getting a bowl of oatmeal with berries and coconut but they had no oatmeal, berries or coconut so the guy was willing to make a bowl of kiwi, pineapple and cardboard -- she demured) so we headed to Cafe Hillel. She got a white hot chocolate (made with white chocolate tablets which never quite melted) and a croissant and I got a double espresso. Mine was yummy and who cares about anything else?

We made it to the Mamilla mall and stopped at TopShop, a mid to higher end clothing store. Maybe. Who knows. Taking your kid dress shopping sucks in any language and on any continent. Only three sentences get spoken to a dad : 1. Here, hold this. 2. What do you think of this 3. I'm ready - get out the credit card.

The appropriate responses are 1. Yes dear 2. That's a little um, little 3. Shouldn't we check with your mo- whatever, ok.

In my head the answer to all 3 is "get bent" but I resisted the urge.

Next we went shopping for dresses at Zara. Zara is the Hebrew word for "strange" as in, "strange, I didn't think you needed anymore dresses". Next, Mango, as in "man, go away until your daughter needs you to pay." Hebrew is a magical language like that.

6 dress, 1 sunglasses and 2 shoe stores later we had not purchased anything else but I had the chance to be bored in a wide variety of settings. Also, my back. Ouch.

We made if to the Hadaya store where I surprised Maddie with the piece her mom had bought for Maddie's 21st birthday. She really likes it and was really confused and surprised. To celebrate, we stopped at Mr. Pretzel where Maddie bought fresh pieces of pretzel. I suspect that the guy's name is not actually Mr. Pretzel. He is probably an immigrant and his name was changed when he moved to Israel. Also, he might have been born a woman. I really don't know.

Back up from the old city in search of food and a bathroom. On the way, we made sure to run into two more sunglasses stores and see the rest of the world. Hugs and selfies and other things that give me hives. We grabbed a couple of slices at Big
Apple pizza and then, refreshed, headed to more dress shopping and then back to the tailor. A stop at a sunglasses store or three, hardware stores and more dresses.

Max Stock for a lint roller and hangers, Tambour for a sewing kit and double sided foam tape. Zol Stock for a bath mat, foil wrap, electrical tape and foil pans, then the light rail for a couple of stops (as the wind kicked up and temperature plummeted), to Turim. We figured to walk home from there but decided to stop in Mayan 2000 for some supermarket necessities -- toilet paper, paper towel, orange spray cleaner, laundry detergent and, of course, Wacky Mac. Suitably laden, we trudged back to the apartment so I could properly clean the bathroom. The kid keeps it pretty tidy but sometimes it just needs a daddy to get it truly clean. Next up, dinner plans because we haven't eaten in a couple of hours.

Crack Square Dancing

Saturday night in the city of Jerusalem is a trip. The transition from Shabbat to regular life is very quick in certain ways and incredibly slow in others. The streets instantly become a mix of the young ravers with the music pounding, and the very orthodox slowly walking through, still resplendent in their Shabbat finery.

Maddie and I headed out to the light rail to meet my brother and his kids. We stopped off at SuperPharm because Maddie needed deodorant (not on my recommendation...she decided this on her own). From there we walked over to Black Burger. This place is a serious burger bar. I know because we ate burgers, seriously. I had a "Lord Black" which is a burger, while my brother had a Spinacha which is a burger. Much the same story rang out around the table. Maddie had a purple cocktail of some sort while I had a Stella and the babies drank water explaining that they have work tomorrow. Babies. Sheesh.

The food was, in a word, meh. Burgers taste like cow and have plenty of stuff on them and sides, but I just don't get the allure. I can get burgers in lots of places, and I intend to. So chalk this up to another one and done on the food front.

We headed back from Black Burger n Shlom Tziyon Hamalka and started walking up Ben Yehuda. We wended our way through "Crack Square" which is called that for completely non-offensive reasons so no one should worry...really...Part of that walk required navigating the stroller through a rave. Emmy wanted to dance. Bitz asked for hookah. It was a blast. We ran into so many people -- former students of mine, army friends of Maddies, people Tasha, Zevi, Eli or Josie knew. We started our walk having eaten fleishigs but by the time we got to the top we were practically dairy. Ira and his brood kept walking, heading to the bus and home. Maddie and I turned around and headed back down into the fray. In between awkward small talk with all the various people, we connected with two of Maddie's friends, sat for a while in the cold (getting colder) outside of an ice cream place (Katzefet) watching foolish people not wear enough clothes and talk too loud, and then decided to go for a drink. The young people directed me to a little market called "Goah" which is a hole in the wall candy-and-soda place which also happened to pour drinks in the back. I saw a whole bunch of former student and they bought me a drink. This is how I know I was a successful mentor and good influence -- they paid. They bought me this stuff called Tubi which is some sort of wheatgrass alcohol and tasted like lemon juice and vinegar mixed with iodine and ground tires. Another one and done. I made sure to wash it down with vodka. So there I was, in the back of a bodega, drinking mini shots (called "chasers" they are half of a real shot and about an eighth of a reasonable drink) with my kid until we decided it was time to take the light rail back.

On a side note, shout out to Maddie's friends who tried to freak me out. Like that can happen. So, Nash and all the others whom you told I was your father, super to you.

Add double sided foam tape to our extensive shopping list for tomorrow. Vacation, all I ever wanted.

and it was good

We started Friday with a walk to the Lone Soldier Center on Yaffo. This organization provides a network, a set of companions and, as you will read, a lot of beer to the soldiers who have no family in Israel as they serve the country. Maddie had been asked to speak to girls currently learning in various seminaries who are considering serving in the army. I had been asked to sit down and shut up. I did it happily. And ate a bagel with some sort of cheese on it while I watched a bunch of twenty year-olds socialize while carrying guns bigger than Sparky. No offense Sparky. Just saying.

The LSC is, by nature of its focus on army people, run by 24 year-olds for the benefit of 20 year-olds. And I'm sitting here, mostly asleep, as a 48 year old. No one else is near my age but their parents are. Way to fit in. It is both heartening and harrowing to see such young people try to run such an organization (and, for that matter, the IDF, itself). With thoughts swirling around me to this effect I dozed while chewing said bagel. A soldier came in at 9:30 and grabbed a beer while 5 current (or recent) soldier women explained to 20 seminary girls how the process of testing, drafting, testing, complaining, testing, serving and ultimately, drinking beer will go. Maddie mingled and I was introduced to another set of parents because in my stupor, what more could I want to do than make awkward small talk with someone named "Stan." No offense Stan. Just saying.

Off to the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf for a quick cuppa on the way to the kotel. You can get coffee everywhere but there are so many fancy types. I just want a big cup of black coffee. That's the challenge. I had to settle for a medium sized cup of Turkish coffee which ended up being pretty good but now I feel beholden to Turkey and that's just not right in this current political climate.

We walked through the outdoor Mamilla mall. Fancy stores, places to eat and, eventually a chasid busking, singing and playing an acoustic version of As Tears Go By. I gave him a few shekalim because, well, I guess because it was so unexpected and, in a way, welcome to hear the Rolling Stones on a Friday morning in the Jerusalem sun.

We stopped by the Hadaya store but it was closed. Maddie spoke with someone raising money for the group Lechi without knowing much about Israel. They seemed rather radical so the ignorance was even more frightening. He didn't even know what Lechi stood for. Look it up. I'm not working today. I watched out for cats because they can get rather feisty and I didn't want a repeat of the last trip. We made it to the kotel and Maddie flashed her army ID so she went through the metal detector etc with little checking. All that time in the army finally paid off as she saved 13 seconds and I, as her guest, didn't have to put my wallet through an x-ray machine which just means that the emergency crackers I keep folded in there have not been irradiated. Huzzah.

I only stayed at the wall for a few minutes but in that time I really did feel spiritually recharged. I know -- it is just a wall. But something about it makes everything I believe very real. It helps me focus and feel, connect and understand. It is something I need to keep me going until the next time. If you want to relate, try reading Tintern Abbey. Same thing. I won't explain it. Remember, I'm not working. I said tehillim and asked the big guy to protect everyone I love and some people I just tolerate. As it was getting closer to Shabbat, we hopped a cab back to Ben Yehuda and King George and ducked into a Yemenite restaurant that Maddie likes so we could get take-out for Shabbat lunch. The food was all out in pans (apparently the army calls these "gastronomim" but I think that that's a bit like calling a bowl of dog food "victuals") and we filled up some small tins with chicken, beef, crunchy filled things and (as Maddie is watching me write this, I will remind her) A PIECE OF FISH WHICH IN THE FRIDGE. We walked back with our bags and saw the whole world waiting by the light rail outside Machane Yehuda. Small talk with former students, friends and people who wanted money for their too large families. We stopped at a small makolet and got Prigat (Lemonana and Banana-Strawberry if you must pry). Then we got back to the apartment to prepare for the long wail of the Shabbat horn.

We walked back to the LSC for dinner. Fifty or so soldiers (some with a plus one) mingled and eventually held a raucous dinner in which I learned that seven treatments of potatoes along with rice and challah is still delicious, soldiers are a rowdy bunch on weekends and the army travels on its well-trodden liver. Beer (Stella), various wines and liquor were served. (The shots were reserved for those people who, in the last two weeks, had reached a milestone in their service -- enlisting, going from training to full service, finishing, breathing air, or being the father of Maddie). By 8:30 we had had enough and we walked back (we, being Maddie and her friends Adi and Gabi). Lights out was 4+ hours earlier so we were asleep by 9PM.

Shabbat day was a stay-in affair. I was up at 2AM and read til 4, then slept until 9. I davened and read more -- Ready Player One, which I finished...and I have much to say on that topic, some other time, but in brief, HEY, Ernest Cline, stop mining my life for your book! Lunch with Maddie's roommate Leah at about 11:30 during which we spoke about the difficulties of keeping kosher when not everyone is exactly on board in an apartment (someone used a parve pot for chicken soup and then soaked it in the dairy sink...). We chatted until about 2 when we all fell back asleep until 4. Shabbat wound down and now we are preparing to go out and grab some dinner because, as Goldberg says, "Dinner? I haven't had that since yesterday."

Tomorrow, back to the old city and some simple shopping:

aluminum foil
a new shower rod/curtain
sunglasses
nice dresses (for Maddie)
back to the Hadayah store

Sundries, abut not various.

It had its up and down

Now it can be told.

I have been planning this trip to Israel for a few months now, but have been keeping it a secret to avoid the throngs of fans awaiting me at the airport when I land, and also because I was hoping to surprise my sister by showing up unexpected.

Hillel drove me to the airport and my nervous neuroses were in full swing. For a 1:15 flight, we arrived at 9:45 in the morning. Found my way inside to discover that there was already a sizable line (50-75 people) for security and check in. I had already checked in online so I wasn’t sure what to do vis-à-vis this line so I asked and was told that they were part of a group trip so should walk over to the “first class” line and check in there. So I wandered and when I got there, I asked what to do. I was told I was in the wrong line because I was not in business or first class. I explained that the nice man in the tie said I should come over. A few shouted words back and forth and I was told I was in the right place. Huzzah. Next up was the “keep waiting for 15 minutes because we are just getting set up, our Windows XP isn’t working, our printer isn’t printing and there are already 4 people ahead of you in this line and they really ARE first class passengers.”

I got to the front of the line and the El Al security person started asking the important questions about why I was going to Israel and if I packed all my own bags. I kept the nervous laughter to a minimum and Shira (if that is her real name) let me through. On to passport control where my passport was suitably controlled. I disrobed to the extent demanded by the law (and maybe a little more just to spice things up), put all my stuff into a series of bins and stepped into the magical machine that spins around and decides if I am a good person. Then, out to the burly guard who patted me down to see if I had any additional evil upon my person. My backpack had to go through the x-ray type machine twice but I aced it which shows that I am superior to a backpack in terms of goodnessitude. Win.

Then, on to the gate where I waited until Hudson News (no doubt a project of Hudson University) opened so I could buy a NY Times. I only read it for the crossword puzzle. Also, there was an excellent article about a recipe for a boiled and roasted whole head of cauliflower. Look it up and make it for me. 10:30 and all’s well. Time to wait at the gate. I got some reading done between the newspaper and a book and bought a water bottle to wash down the ibuprofen for the I-haven't-slept headache.

I saw people going to daven mincha. No one asked me. I felt left out again but tagged along. There was minor controversy over exactly when was the right time to daven 12.34 or 12.27 and how many seconds. What annoyed me was that my ticket was tagged group B so I was to board early but we were still davening while they started calling for boarding. The one chance I have had to be a “have” instead of a “have-not” and it was going to be destroyed. But I still got on early enough to snag overhead space with no fighting. The 787-9 (3 sets of 3 seats across – 2 aisles) is a nice plane but the seat material is thinner and flatter than in other planes and the angle of the seats puts the video screen too close to my face. First world problems.

A young woman on the Birthright trip which was the group I saw when I first arrived at the airport sat next to me. I looked at the seating chart recently and that seat was empty so I had gotten my hopes up. No luck, I guess. I was very happily not making conversation and was settled in when a friend of hers came over and asked if I would switch seats. He, too, had an aisle seat so I wouldn’t lose anything in the switch…he said… I graciously and stupidly said yes. It turned out he was on the aisle in row 59. The last row of the plane. Next to the bathroom – like RIGHT next to the bathroom. Amongst the Birthright masses. And this row actually had no overhead space allowed. Things just went south fast.

The 787 has no air blowing vent thing but the in-flight entertainment is substantial with many games, movies and TV shows, plus entire albums of good music, games, maps and dafyomi.

An observation: why do people bring so much stuff as carry on? Suits that they then ask about hanging up? Hats and mannequin heads with wigs? Three or four bags which they expect to find space for even if it means displacing someone else’s single bag?

The Birthright guy in the middle seat next to me asked me for the aisle seat. I said no. I refuse to feel bad about that. I said I needed it for my knees. He claimed the same thing. I said no. I refuse to feel bad about that. So he went on to set a new world record for man-spreading in his seat. He took more than both arm rests and then some. Then I started hearing a baby crying before we even taxied and man boy spreader has his knees pressed against mine which are well within the bounds of my seat.

Just as a side note and you might have heard me say this before: I really want an airplane bathroom, just with a toilet that isn’t quite as loud, but still as effective and violent as the one in the 787.

I watched Dark Tower (not especially good) and ate carbs (not especially bad) carbs and listened to half of Revolver. Take a guess: how many people use the bathroom. During a 10 hour flight? Approximately everyone. Twice. I even think some people who weren’t on the flight showed up to use the bathroom while I dozed, fitfully.

There was precious little room, in the row, in the seat, in the aisle. I started getting nauseated. Compared to other planes, there is no real space on the 787 9 to daven and the population, service staff included were not jazzed about it.

I carbed out at dinner ("meatballs" rice, hummus, some sort of bland cake) but it didn’t knocked me out yet. Troubling. The plan was to fall into a proper carb coma about 3 hours into the flight. That didn’t really happen. I dozed mostly in the very uncomfortable seat and the spreader made it worse. As did the “chop.” Chop is pilot jargon for turbulence or, as I call it, death air. There was a lot. Proximity to the bathroom has proven integral. Often. On the positive side, those calories don’t count.

I continued to be very tired but sleep eluded me.

I listened to the rest of the remastered Revolver. 14 songs none over 3 minutes but all musically gold. Then some of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.

Breakfast. I had a bagel and cream cheese. I gave away the omelet to the Spreading-Evil next to me in the hopes that he would reward my largesse by staying within the limits of his own seat. Didn’t happen. I also skipped yogurt and the little balls of mozzarella with olives and grape tomatoes because they are clearly gross. If you don’t agree then you are wrong. I didn't think I was hungry but if I didn’t eaten how could I be sure there would be more turbulence? And we all love more vomit air (please don’t confuse this use of vomit-air with any references to a sickly Michael Jordan. So breakfast didn’t stay breakfast for too long.

The stewards are brusque or even downright rude, and the people are difficult but I somehow feel comfortable around that. It feels right. Gonna have coffee. OK, tea I guess as the coffee server walked right past me. Next up for a listen, selections from After the Gold Rush. And most of Rumors, all of Dark Side and a crossword puzzle

We landed only 5 minutes late and I, being in the last row, didn’t get up. I knew that almost 60 rows of people had to deplane before me so I didn’t rush. Eventually I got out – on to passports, customs and baggage claim. I had been in contact with Maddie to let her know of my schedule and which bus I would take but when I moved towards the exit, THERE SHE WAS!! She had come to escort me back which was useful because I had completely misunderstood the directions as to where to wait for the bus, and though she had to wake up early, because she was in uniform, the trip was free. We caught the 8AM bus #485 to Jerusalem. It continued to batter my stomach the way the flight had but after an hour and lots of traffic, we got to our stop – the construction site that is at Binyanei Ha’umah. Up to Maddie’s apartment for the opening of the suitcase and for shacharit and a prayer that my stomach would settle down eventually. We contacted Ira and met up with him at Café Aroma for a morning coffee. Then we walked around running little errands (Maddie needed hangers) and, an hour or two later, some food. While walking around we saw a commotion and some blocked off streets. Apparently there was a suspicious item somewhere so the bomb squad had to blow it up. Five times. It as very loud, but it wouldn't have been out of place in Manhattan. I forced myself to eat Moshikos because some things are important. Maddie went to get her nails done. I felt that my nails were already finished to Ira and I walked through the shuk a little. We got to Nomi’s and presented the big surprise. She did seem shocked and not really dismayed so I will take this as a win. We hung out there and I started falling asleep on a bed. We knew it was time to walk some more so back to the shuk and I pickd up a diet Coke which I hoped would help carry me over to dinner. Ira introduced me to his friend at the restaurant “Hatch” and we chatted about transliterated names. He stopped for some fresh squeezed pomegranate juice which was fantastic. We met up with two of his kids and Maddie and went back to Nomi and David’s to spend some time with them.

Then off to dinner. We went with the Weisingers and Ira and 2 of his kids to Ish-Tabach which makes meat bourekas and shepherds pies. They also have what they call a "potato salad" which is fried potato wedges. This is salad? Had I known that I would ave been encouraging salad consumption from way back. Afterwards Maddie and I walked back to her apartment and I fought the tendency of the world to move ad spin uncontrollably as sleep hints that it would be amenable to my invoking it. She wants to go out with friends tonight, but we have to watch Shiriyah at 2 in the morning and then she has to go to speak at a Lone Soldiers’ Center in the morning, so this should be interesting. In fact, we are eating at the LSC for Friday night.

More tomorrow or after Shabbat.

What makes the internet go

The other day I had an idea. It was a goofy thought, the kind I get often. For whatever reason the mash-up of the names "Orlando Bloom" and "Lando Calrissian" popped into my head. So I checked. All that came up for Orlando Calrissian was an IMDB page for a director of adult videos. I had to find two separate pictures and, using the Paint program, transfer Orlando's head onto Calrissian's body, then save it and upload it. It didn't look very good.

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10156291819921686&set=a.494305051685.262547.501891685&type=3 if you are curious.

Out of all the people in the world, only a porn director and I thought of the same thing. That's troubling enough, but it isn't what I wanted to write about tonight. When I googled the name I didn't find anything else.

Separate story -- I wanted to congratulate my kid on getting accepted to a particular college so I looked for animated gifs of "Congratulations." I found a whole bunch so I swiped one and posted it on her Facebook page. It struck me a couple of days later: somehow, that gif had to come into existence. And there were loads of them, just like there are huge numbers of of stupid mash-up pictures. Some guy had to upload a scene of The Fairly Odd Parents, watch it, isolate a particular 2 second portion, type in a caption and turn it into a gif. These things don't just happen by accident. That holds true for EVERY animated gif, and every silly meme and picture. Someone has to take the time to create it just like someone has to collect, tag and organize these all.

Who is doing this? Whose job is it to make all this stuff? This surely isn't the work of a single person who decided to find a specific scene from an old kids' show and upload it just to take out that snippet. I have done it and it isn't easy (I was obsessed with a song from the Muppet show so I had to find what episode it was on, find that episode, wire the playback device to my computer to catch the video, then record and edit the whole thing). Is it possible that there are computer programs that know what to look for and are scouring all the television that has ever existed to turn content into bite-sized animated gifs, but my sense is that we haven't harnessed artificial intelligence in that way just yet.

The internet is growing at a huge rate. New pages are being created and populated at every second. New videos are being uploaded constantly as more people have events, play music or fall off of skateboards and will never have children. But these aren't the people who are turning my memories into cycling mini-movies or putting funny captions onto crazy pictures with professional quality work. That stuff is appearing by magic, sometimes dark magic.

You have been warned.

A funny thing happened on the way to the funeral

Sadly, I had the opportunity to speak the praises of a good man recently. Another good man about whom all the right (and true) things are said. And while this does put focus on the life of another of God's creations, I can't help but turn the lens on my own eventual demise, mostly because I'm a selfish narcissist.

Along with my Walter Mitty-esque existence during which I envision myself in heroic scenarios one after (if not during) the next, I also have made plenty of plans for my funeral. Long time readers (and I don't know who you are) might have read my death wishes and similar posts. But I also spend time imagining something called guerilla comedy, in which people act and do the most bizarre things, all for the laugh. I am inspired by Roger Rabbit who, as I'm sure you all remember, was handcuffed to Eddie Valiant (the great Bob Hoskins). Hilarity ensued. In one pivotal moment, Eddie is sawing the handcuffs in an effort to extricate himself from Roger's presnece but the angle was made difficult by the rabbit's arm. Roger slipped his hand out of the cuffs and asked "would this help?" Eddie grunted in assent. Pause. Eddie sees what has happened so Roger quickly sticks his hand back into the handcuff. Valiant, fuming, asks "are you telling me that you could have taken your hand out at any time?" (I'm paraphrasing…apologies to the perfectionists). Roger responds, "not at any time -- only when it was funny." That's what I'm going for.

Back to the point -- I picture the scene at my own funeral. Tears, wailing, possibly gnashing of teeth though I hope TMJ will have been cured by then. A man stands up and ascends the podium. He speaks the following speech.

"When one man dies, others begin to consider the frailty of their lives -- they consider their choices and how they have lived their time on this planet. Our thoughts invariably go to our own morality and how it is as subject to the vicissitudes of time and tide as anything. The morality of every person here is at the whim of God and nature and when we stop to think about our morality, it is generally too late to make any important changes. Whom have we touched during our time on earth, and when we lie view of others, what will they think of us? The young man ignores his morality, living life to its fullest unaware of consequence and effect. Only the old man, feeble and decrepit, whose passions no longer burn as his days run out reconsiders his morality and knows that he has little time to mend his ways."

He continues this way for a while until someone climbs to his side, and whispers something in his ear. He stops, turns and says "are you sure?" The second looks at him and nods.

The speaker refocuses on the audience and says clearly, "Ladies and gentlemen, I have just been alerted to the fact that the word I intended was 'mortality'. Mortality. Yes, that sounds better. So, yeah…that."

-------

and then he sits down in his seat. Fin.