I hardly knew ye

 

My dad meant a lot to me. He taught me much about the world and I do aspire to be like him in many ways. But the thing is, maybe it was the times and how he was raised, or maybe it was just the nature of our relationship – he didn’t teach me what it would feel like to get older.

My dad was always old to me. That may be because at the time, I was young but I don’t recall much changing in him – ever since I can remember, he was not especially athletic and he was mostly bald. He was achy and crotchety and seemed like a quintessential adult. I never got the sense that he was feeling the imposter syndrome of “I’m just a kid in a big old body and have no idea what I’m doing as a grown up.” It always seemed like he had a handle on things. He had political opinions, and civic responsibility. He knew how to make complex decisions and do all the adult stuff, it seemed. He didn't change -- he was a rock, and the same rock the whole time.

I’m a mess. Here it is, 1:34 in the morning and I have forgotten how to fall asleep. I have a sore in my mouth since I keep biting my lip in the same spot because I have, apparently, also forgotten how to not eat myself. I get mystery pains that come and go (transient aches in my toes? Phantom headaches? Clicking in my jaw? Sure, why not. Throw in the knees that sometimes buckle and why not add in constant burping, just to keep things interesting.) Day to day, things change. What I could eat with impunity on a Tuesday upsets me on Wednesday but is fine on Thursday. Yes, I know this means I eat the same thing 3 days in a row. It is a metaphor or something. Just roll with it.

And because I am a digital over-sharer, you all now know this. My dad DID share his thoughts but they were focused on deep philosophical musings on religion or politics, or lists of puns. He rarely shared (at least on his blog) anecdotes about his daily experiences, and somehow I find it significant to write about my lunch at Dunkin Donuts.

My kids, if they are paying attention, will know what to expect when they become old men. Yes, I’m making it all up as I go along and I don’t know if I’m the only one who is, but I feel lost most every day. I can’t figure out my own body let alone my own taxes.

Would things have been easier for me if I knew that at my age, my dad found a mystery bruise on his leg? Would it have been an easier adjustment into this side of 50 if I had been looking out for the change in tolerance for spicy food? Do we owe it to the next generation to catalog every little thing so that they can understand what we went through and what they have on the horizon?

I recall the first time I had a kidney stone. I called my dad and he said “well, it’s genetic – I got one in college also.” I would think that that is the kind of thing one shares before it happens, no? So instead of my freaking out and being convinced that I was in labor, I could have called my dad and had him talk me through it (Lamaze, hypnobirthing, whatever). In the same way that my parents told me to get tested for Tay Sachs (carrier! Take THAT 1950’s society https://comb.io/oQrafR) they could have filled me in on all sorts of stuff. It took my parents’ getting cancer for them to tell me that they had cancer! OK, maybe that last one was too much, but in truth, I only found out about my mom’s having cancer AFTER she had it taken care of. Again, maybe that was their nature, or just the way they were brought up but my kids know my preference in antacids and analgesics; my aches and pains are no secret. I have (somewhere on my computer) a list of what ails me and I write these posts so that they know the inner torment that is being me. No surprises and no secrets.

So is this a better way to connect with my spawn? To let them know my quirks, foibles, fallibility and fears? Will they have a more rounded understanding of me in my dotage because they can trace my path from young guy with hair to older guy with decidedly less hair? Or will this make them more likely to write me off because they have been watching the slow, steady decline for years?

Maybe it is just something about how I view my interaction with the world – I tell my students stories that my teachers never told me about themselves. I talk about my academic difficulties and my personal crises (Sparky the angry, blind dog is legend in my classroom). When I was a boy, we still held on to that notion that teachers disappear when they leave the building (except for the couple that my mom played bridge with – they appeared in the most awkward of times and I was sent to bed, and the one who rode the bus to school and ended up, well, let’s just say he isn’t in the formal educational game anymore). My students see me out and about and we chat about stuff completely non-school related. Did I ever know my English teachers’ favorite sports teams, musical preferences or lunch preferences?

Are we too open or was the generation before us too closed? Is the light of truth too harsh, or is humanizing a good thing?

I don’t know. Remember…I’m making this all up as I go along.

I need a little TLC

Let's talk for a bit about bad decisions and disappointment. No, really, let's.

Each year, when the week of winter break rolls around, I check my diet at the door and promise myself that all bets are off and that I'm going to eat whatever the heck I want, really live it up. I live my life in a self-imposed prison of the low carb variety. I do this because I lack the kind of will power that makes the word "moderation" a useful piece of advice. I like food and if I let myself have some, I'm going to want to eat it all. That's who I am; that's a thing I do. And, at the same time, I'm too cheap to buy new clothes and I have a really horrible body image. Sadly, it is an accurate body image and I just look horrible. What are my options (other than darker sunglasses so I can't see myself)? Diet and exercise.

If you could find a way to have "Hell no, we won't exercise" rhyme, it would be my constant chant.

So I diet to keep myself on the very precipice of presentability and the diet system which I have been using for the last 22 or so years has been a variant (there's that word...Loki or COVID -- your frame of reference will tell me a lot about you) of the Atkins system. The difference is that they say that you start with 3 days of really low carbs and then introduce a little more in the form of healthy foods until you get to a stasis point and then you stay-sis. The only thing approaching "exercise" on my spectrum of "he who shall not be named" is "healthy food." The whole "don't live to eat, eat to live" mantra is a sham, supported by the vegetable makers of America. Conspiracy! I have taste buds and they want them some coddling -- who am I to say "no"? I would need the tongue's help to do that and it is pushing for "yes." Somehow, a cup o' kale isn't going to make my tongue happy. Crazy, right?

My system, my personal adaptation is basically:

3 days of really low carb eating (approaching 0 carbs)

Then 22 years of the same thing punctuated by occasional binges (lost weekends which start with a handful of chips and end up with my making sandwiches of chocolate bars and mashed potatoes on an entire, institutional-sized challah). I also give myself breaks from the diet on religious holidays that last more than 2 days, and mid-year vacation (10 or so days towards the end of January).

Follow up any of these lapses with increased self-loathing and guilt (but not so much remorse) and Finnegan Beginagain.

By the time first semester begins winding down, I am usually planning my attack on all things carb. I start dreaming of actual sugar in my food instead of my constant barrage of fake sweeteners which have files on them in federal agencies (or, as I call them, side-effoods). French fries, bread, cake, pizza, chips and other foods I call "pudding" -- as in, "who cares, I'm pudding it in my mouth."

When I go traveling, I let myself order in restaurants and eat street food. Any food you drop on the street, I get to eat. Gravelicious. But for the most part, I don't travel so I draw up an assault map of the local eateries and count the minutes until I can make some seriously bad decisions.

Historically, the bell, when it tolls, tolls first and foremost for Dunkin Donuts. It is relatively cheap, and I can order it and pay for it on my phone. But everyone who knows me mocks me, saying that, given the opportunity to get anything I somehow always end up getting a couple of tuna sammiches, a couple of Boston Creme donuts and a large cuppa decaf. And last week, ignoring the jeers from the madding crowd, I did just that. Plus an order of hash browns. Take that Bitterman. I won't say I regretted it, but the hash browns were not that exciting and there were so few of them. Anyhoo, I moved on to bigger and worser things.

Fast forward a week. I have had chicken nuggets, pizza, lasagna, fried chicken and bread so far, plus chips and cake and even kishke. I do like me some kishke. Look it up. And for some reason, I haven't been feeling so hot. Coincidence? I think so.

I didn't feel like being human today and/or going out (and therefore got a parking ticket for not moving my car...thanks Rob) so when dinner rolled around, I had to make a decision. I looked at a menu of Chinese food. So expensive. I considered going to the store and getting a deli or other sandwich, or a salad, or some other prepared food that I could just put in the microwave but where would that leave me? I'd have to decide which store to go to, go out, make a choice in a strange place, interact with "people" and then come home and still have to use my own microwave like a sucker. And I'd end up with microwave reheated food, and who wants a reheated salad? That I had to PAY MONEY for. What the hey?

So what wins, by default? Yup. Dunkin Donuts. I try not to repeat my steps (a practice not recommended for minefield-based restaurants) and I didn't want to subject myself to the criticisms of critics (why can't I have the praisicism of praisers?) so I decided to eat outside the whatever it is that tuna sammiches et al are in.

I scrolled through the app, yes I did, and I decided to have some breakfast wraps -- how deviliciously satirical! Breakfast for dinner. So subversive! And instead of donuts, I ordered a mix of donut holes, limiting the mix to

1. Old fashioned

2. Glazed

3. Chocolate glazed

yesiree boy, I was grabbing the ol' brass ring on this one. Tweren't no one gonna tell me I only order one thing, by gum. My goal was to drive over, walk in, grab my complete order which was ready for me and walk out. I could be back home chowing down in 4 minutes if I ignored all the lights.

I drove over. Step one, complete. I walked in. My order wasn't there. My coffee was all tall and happy (yes, decaf coffee because I forgot to ask for iced coffee and anyway I like decaf and shut up...that's why) but alone. I waited, speaking to no one. After about 5 minutes, a woman noticed that my order was on the screen and on 2 separate pieces of printed paper. There was one other customer, already eating, so it isn't like she was overwhelmed or that my order got lost in the rush. She ambled over and started slowly assembling my breakfast wraps. Pre made egg, slice of cheese, sausage/bacon (kosher, vegetarian equivalents...come on, people) on a mini wrap. Stick it in the hottening machine, push a button and viola, it's a symphony of flavors, or so I have been told. She put the food down in front of me and said "there you go."

I paused. She smiled. At least I think she did -- she was wearing a mask. But damn if she wasn't smiling then that's not even nice. So let's hope she smiled. Finally I worked up the social skills to mumble "I also ordered Munchkins" (I didn't say "TM" but I didn't think I had to). She looked at the order which was printed up right in front of her and quickly scooted away. She came back with a box full of, no doubt, delicious cakey treats in my chosen variety of flavors. I grabbed and go'ed.

In the car, I began to unwrap my ill-gotten grains. I broke the hermetic seal on said donut pieces and instantly noticed that there was one that was jelly filled. I hate (with a capital A) jelly filled donuts. I chose another one, and was greeted with an old fashioned, as ordered, but very, very stale. I grabbed another, driving with reckful abandon, a jelly filled! It ended up that I got 3 jelly filled, no plain glazed an old fashioned and a couple of chocolate glazed ones. Very VERY upsetting.

Then I worked on my wraps. Bland but warm (fake sausage was way better than fake bacon) and I ate it, but you know what? I went chasing waterfalls. I followed that impossible dream. I went on a quest and found that when I got to the shrine of St. Thomas Becket I realized that there is no place like home. I should, coulda and woulda been happier with the standard tuna and Boston creme combo that has served me so well.

So my advice, dear reader (assuming you even exist), is not to stray. The devil you know is probably delicious and worth all the gibes and gambols. Clichés became clichés because they are accurate. Trying new stuff is vastly overrated. We only live once (so far) so why should we waste time trying new things when we like what we like? The stomach wants what the stomach wants.

I shall spend the balance of my evening feeling a sense of disappointment over an opportunity missed, telling this with a sigh, some ages hence. I feel disappointment because I tried something new and it let me down. I am disappointed in myself, but more importantly, in everyone else, so let's all keep that in mind, shall we?

Guess again

 Time for a shocking admission and a timely one -- rarely do I focus on current trends or fashion, knowing that the post will turn stale when the world's attention shifts after 15 minutes, but in this case I shall make an exception:

I do not play "wordle" and I do not want to play wordle.

Wordle is (so I gather) an online word game in which the player must guess a 5 letter word after being given hints as to the accuracy of previous guesses (letters correct, location correct...). People ask me if I play and expect that I, as an English teacher, must play religiously and encourage all others to do the same. I do neither.

I never enjoyed Word Master Mind as a child. In that game, one has to guess the word chosen by a competitor by deducing it based on the scoring of previous guesses (letters correct, location correct...). I liked regular MasterMind more though I wasn't a huge fan of that either.

So people want to know why I don't want to play and I'll answer with a quote from Shakespeare (Merchant of Venice, II, i)

If Hercules and Lichas play at dice
Which is the better man, the greater throw
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand:
So is Alcides beaten by his page;
And so may I, blind fortune leading me,
Miss that which one unworthier may attain,
And die with grieving.

The whole game is based on a lucky first guess and then limited by the particular vocabulary and tendency of the player and game creator. Brilliant people can fail to get the right word because they know too many viable options while others can fail to get it because they know too few. A genius who guesses an inapt first word falls behind a fool who stumbles across a better one, and one cannot look at stats from a series of days to see if an average develops because the pool of words and the potential biases make such a statistic invalid (even more than most statistics are invalid, and that's saying something).

So if I want to feel good or bad about myself, I'll stick to tried and true methods, like what I eat and whether my socks match (or to quote the Bard again, "there's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow.  If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come").

The plane truth

So there I am, back in 27H in a narrow body (and I mean the plane, not me...I'm a wide body all the way, baby). The 787 Dreamliner is a 3-3-3 configuration in coach and the only real dreaming is in the name. They called for boarding at 12:05 so I only had about 40 minutes at the gate to type up my thoughts and it was already time to queue up. They started calling for boarding for families with small children, people who need extra help and anyone else. No loudspeaker, just a woman projecting her voice admirably. No one moved to the line so I wandered over and she processed me though. Yes, this means that I will have longer on the plane, but this way I can be assured of a space in the overhead bin.

While settling in, a couple of students approach me and I work on their essays with them. What else am I doing? The women in the row in front of me enjoy watching. One tells me that in college she was a history major. Soon after, I hear her discuss world flags with her friend and she makes a comment about the "white flag of peace." I'm pretty sure that that isn't how that works, not even a little.

The flight does not seem sold out and I watch as people get ready to have empty seats next to them. The prospect makes me happy -- no one has shown up to sit in the two seats next to me and I would love to be able to spread out a bit. There is an announcement that the doors are closing...the air staff is closing all the over head bins and we're...hold up, what's this? Last minute arrivals who end up being, that's right, the exact same couple who sat next to me on the way TO Israel and they have the seats next to me. Again.

Hurray.

I'm jealous of the guy who has 3 all to himself and spends 11 hours fast asleep, lying down. I'm jealous of the people who have an empty seat in the middle and can store extra stuff there while they eat. I know I have no reason to expect the empty space and I didn't pay for extra space but why the heck can't I be the lucky one who gets the extra space? It would have been nice.

An hour in, dinner is served (meatballs, couscous, chummus, a roll, salad and cake). After not having had a chance to eat anything for house, I make the mistake of eating it and then tried to fall asleep sitting in my seat. I did get a little rest but did you know you can wake up horribly nauseous already? You can. I make several trips to the little idiots' room and finally fall back to sleep, sort of. Blanket on my head, body contorted to try and relieve pressure on my every so dainty derriere, sleep came fitfully when at all. At some point I gave up and started watching "Mortal Kombat" which was a muddled mess and I hesitate to call it a movie -- it was more an extended advertisement for low grade crap. I stopped in middle to try and rest. The only movies worth watching were ones I had seen before so after I finished the "movie" I switched to music. They have a bizarre and eclectic collection of songs in a variety of playlists so I worked at picking and choosing songs from here and there and that kept me busy.

I try to sleep again and it doesn't come easily to me. It might be that it is time to accept that I'm a little older and need to accept my own limitations. My next trip might require budgeting for seats that afford me a little more space. I fill out the customs form and we land right on time. There is a slight delay as we taxi and get moved a few meters back to line up with the door. I try to head out quickly and make my way to passport control (which goes really quickly -- I have my papers ready and don't seem the difficult type so I get waved through and hear only the most cursory questions. I'm innocuous! I think they take my picture also. Zoom, zoom.

Then I hear the announcement -- our baggage is coming out on carousel 6, but oversized baggage is in the area behind carousel 1, at the opposite end of the terminal. Time to be in 2 places at once. I opt for over sized and wander over there to wait. A few pieces come out from the mystery elevator, and then the skis. I sling them over my shoulder and trip all over myself getting to the carousel 6 area. I needn't have rushed. My luggage was the second to last piece to come out. Of course. Finally, I balance everything (backpack, carry on that I drag, big luggage and skis (and helmet)) and move slowly tot he taxi line. From there, a drive home and then off to work.

So there you have it. A spiritually and gustatorily fulfilling experience. Family, food and then more of each. Repeat as necessary and this was necessary. Thanks for coming along on the ride.

Airport '21

 The afternoon was all about setting up for the Channukah party. And, for me, repacking because, yeah. I have sublet Yoni as my guide for the walk to the train and booked him in accordance with my neuroses.

Before the party starts, Tali Aronsky (from Flatbush), who is a friend of Nomi's came by to visit. Then Tasha came by with Amalya nd the new baby, Tzofia, who is a baby, all day, every day. So far and successfully. We shall check in at intervals and update you as events warrant.  David and Nomi started cranking out fresh, hot (HOT) donuts. Some were covered in chocolate fudge, others in powdered sugar and all with my greezy fingerprints. Gross, right?

Emmy and Tasha, neither of whom I have seen recently are both wonderous and wonderful. Emmy is fluent in Hebrew, as one would expect, and has a winning personality, which confirms that, somehow, Ira isn't related to her. The baby has no discernable personality and can't hold a conversation. Disappointing. I will check back at intervals etc.

Zevi came by with the boys and seeing them and how big they have gotten was a hoot. I spoke with Zevi for a while about board games, children, and life and stuff. Then I got an extended engagement as a baby holder for the queen baby. I held her while she continued to be a baby and it was awesome. Eventually, I couldn't feel my arm and the familiar back pain returned. Good times.

Next, Violet and her 2 kids came by, and then, after everyone left, Kayla Miodownik whose name I assume Ihave just misspelled visited and entertained the littles. We sat and shmoozed and compared phobias and neuroses. It was so much fun and helped me pass the time til departure. Kudos, thanks and appreciation to the swidlers for hosting me so graciously!

I had had orange soup (color, not flavor) and a couple of donuts but not a real meal, so nothing of size since the Sam's Bagel extravaganza, but I wasn't really hungry. I was expecting to duck out and grab a meal after candle lighting but the butterflies kept that from happening. Nerves. Amirite? For the firt time during the entire trip I wasn't hungry.

The antsy-ness finally drove me to leave at 7:55. Yoni all of 12 years old, walked with me and dragged one of my bags. He set a blistering pace on a mostly uphill course but I'm glad he did. I bought a ticket (NIS 16.50) and descended the 15 escalators into the depths of hill. I walked a long corridor and found more escalator. I figured that by the time I got to platform 2, I was half way to Tel Avib, and a third of the way to earth's molten core. When I finally got on the 8:33 train, it was 8:26, which in my world, is cutting it way too close. I made sure to hold on to my ticket (lesson learned) for the exit -- it actually says to do that on the ticket itwself, but who reads train tickets?

Here's where it all spins out of control. I remembered to hold on to my ticket, but left my entire knapsackbackpack at the x-ray machine by security in the Jeruslaem train station. I realized this as I looked out at the lights of the Judean night and wanted to take a picture with the camer that was in my...oh crap. There was much scrambling but in the end, Rafi was able to get to the train station, speak with the security people, find my bag and hop a later train following me to the airport. Good egg, that boy. In the meanwhile, i connected with Elijah's relative and got the skis to deliver. Up to level 3 and the various lines. The time was in the range of 9:15. Fortunatley, the lines were long and slow so by the time I wa through the first screening, Rafi had arrived with my pack. He, of course, couldn't get home because the train, it seems, was not allowing anyone back on for the return trip. For no real reason other than "because." I recommended the bus and I believe he ended up on a sherut (shared taxi) so I owe him 25 bucks.

The timeline:

8PM ish, leave the house

Make the 8:33 train by 7 minutes.

Arrive at the airport at around 9, and meet up with Elijah's cousin guy

Start first security line at 9:10

Get to front of that line and have someone check my passport by 10 (get pack from Rafi)

Get on baggage check in line and check in baggage by 10:20

Then to over-sized baggage check in for the skis. Done there at 10:40

On the next security line at 10:43

Finished with personal and hand luggage screening by 10:55. At passport control at 10:58

There is a food/shopping area and there was a place with kosher sandwiches but no place to wash so I figured I'd wait because last time, they had the same food at the gate area. That was a bad plan. The kiosk is closed at the gate. The local soda machine has caffeine drinks and 4 regular sodas so that's a no go. So the tension is easing and the adrenaline waning and I haven't eaten much recently. We'll see how this plays out. I have a 12 hour flight, lots of luggage and passport stuff and a cab ride to look forward to. 

Signing out for now.

Super Tremp - breakfast in Jerusalem

 Sitting in the sun on Ben Yehudah recomputing the complex calculus that is my meal allotment. Last night's non-dinner fiasco threw the fragile schedule into a complete disarray! I'm not a big breakfast guy so I don't know how I feel about a big breakfast. Today is my last day in Israel so I want to take advantage of every opportunity; the temperature will rise to 80 later today, that's 80 degrees farenwhatever. That becomes some incalcuable number in centigrus but who caeres? This is America. And even if it isn't, I carry an aura of America around me whereever I go so, despite mR. Bowie's protestations, this IS America. Interestingly, the word "is" is the Spanish word "si" backwards. Not that interesting, but it doesn't have to be. This is America. So there.

Review time:

During my stay, I have walked to some degree (F) in each of the cardinal directions (and blue jay way). Gan Sacher and the old city are in opposite directions, and I have turned both left and right on King George Street so those are opposites. I'm sure that there is a more precise set of terms but I can't keep track. I'm guess I'm just hard wired that way.

 I was up at 5:45AM after going to sleep at midnight (it is nice know that after a week and a half I have settled in to my usual pattern...time to leave!) and I started planning. I checked in online, discovered that I was required to fill in a health declaration for entering the US and filled that in.  I also read some news stories to see if there was to be any change in the various processes. Nothing yet, but people keep me worried about whether there will be any planes here to take me home. They best find a plane. I have students to torture. I folded my laundry, packed, repacked my various bags, made sure I had my documents handy, then unpacked and repacked my bags. I guess I'm just wired.

Eventually the time advanced to a moment when it was less foolish to begin my morning's stroll. I headed towards Ben Yehudah by takiing side streets. I ended up in a tourist souvenir shop. The shopkeepers here are sad and scared. The Omicron variant (curse you, Robert Ludlum) is driving tourists back home and no new ones are allowed to come in and keep thse little stores afloat. Everything is on sale in a last ditch attempt to entice buyers and liquidate stock. I do my part to help.

McDonalds is closed so I can't discover the subtleties of a fast food breakfast. I'm both relieved and disgusted at myself for my curiosity. Also, hungry still. I see the Katz's (from Frisch faculty) and we discuss their day and the issues surrounding all of our getting home. They head off to Yad Vashem and recommend Sam's Bagels for breakfast. While I have been there, this affords me a chance at redemption regarding the untoasted bagel incident. It's a deal! I was about to order the aforesaid bagel with a shmeer when the woman on line in front of me orders an "Israeli Breakfast." How demonstrably native, I think. I must have that as well. So I did and let me just say, this is not anything akin to what any Israeli has ever had for breakfast. This is like the breakfast shown in TV commercials of my youth, hawking sugared cereals as part of a "complete" breakfast. A bagel (yes, toasted) with 2 spreads, an omelet, a green salad of my design, and a cup of (Americano) decaf coffee. Wow and yum.

Eventually, I forklifted myself up and started walking again. Back streets and eventually Yaffo, figuring to get to the Power Station for coffee and a donut I can eat (those are the best kind). I got to the entrance of the shuk and ran into the CC Schwartz's. Hi guys! They were on their way to Brooklyn Bakery in Geula. We chatted and the two daughters who are in my classes stood awkwardly. Awesome. We talked about checking in for flights and I asked if they had done that health declaration. They hadn't heard of it so I walked them through the onine check in to the health form. I hope that we are supposed to fill it in. I also hope that Knesset security doesn't stop me at the airport. I am full of hopes and dreams.

I made it to the Powerpuffgirls coffee place (only one stop on the way, somebody kingdom for some Halva). The coffee place is not only where I can have a dessert item, but also the only place in this country that seems to know how to make a cup of decaf properly. 'Member how I marvelled at the lack of car accidents in this city what with all the hinking and narrow streets? Well, the law of statistics caught up with me. The law of "Dan makes the world go round" was in effect, and there was an accident on Agrippas, right next to me and my coffee. It seems that a guy in a white car screeched his tires and lurched forward, right into the back of a fancy black car. Everyone ran to see if he or she could criticize someone, but I sat there sipping my coffee because I figured that there was probably little need for a high school English teacher. This accident on a 2 lane street causes a large back up behind it and, though cars and buses find ways to squeeze around, it slows everyone down substantially. My feet are unaffected so I kick them into low gear and start walking back to Chez Swidler. I sense that this will be my last report until the airport or until I get home, so you all have that to look forward to.

Which is nice.

Surreal for dinner

 Side thoughts to fill in the time in between posts:

1. With all the traffic and horns and motorcycles/motor scooters, and incredibly narrow  streets I am surprised that there are not more accidents.

2. My comments about being comfortable wearing a kippah are not exhaustive enough. I walk past restaurants with patrons sitting outside and I see people praying and swaying and no one bats an eye. This is comfort. When I go out with my tzitzit fringes untucked, that makes me fit in more (yes, with only certain sub groups but still) than looked at askance. 

I left early for my 7PM coffee meetup  so I could grab a bite to eat on the way. I wanted to give Lika pizza abother chance but when I got there I saw that it was closed. Their loss -- I am a very influential voice in certain circles. Certain very, very, very small circles. Like dots, but still, influential. I looked for other pizza options and saw none that are on Ben Yehudah/Yaffo.  There were signs to ones right off the main street but I hate to make detours. I'm wired like that. No side trips. I did see Pisgat Felafel. So what, you ask. Well, this place advertised itself as being vegetarian, selling no meat. This fascinates me. My previous experience with Israeli felafel places is that they are coupled with schwarma making them meat places (so I can't get felafel pizza which is one of the perfect foods in the world). This affiliation seems to be shifting which is interesting to me. I stopped in for a quick (25 NIS)  felafel figuring a real dinner later. It wasn't bad, so there's that. (note, I kept walking and saw Rony's pizza and one other place farther down, so had I been patient, I would have been rewarded with pizza, but I was not patient).

I wonder how Muslims feel. There are plenty of Muslim citizens of Israel and I'm not aking a question about rights, I'm asking about Channukah. With all the public displays of Channukah material (mostly channukiahs) and the sales and store displays and restaurants with lights etc, it must be off putting. Does it feel excusible making the Muslim feel the way a Jew (gesundheit) does in the US at Christmas time? Does it hurt or is it not noticed? Does it become a reminder of something political, turning even the most Israeli Muslim in some way into something unhappy?

I waited at Aroma and while I waited, I saw R. Pfeifer and the Mrs! I watched kids walk through Mamilla with boxes of jelly donuts, giving them away to celebrate Channukah. They gave them to everyone and anyone who wanted, without asking about religious afifliation or observance. That was nice. I saw black hatted young men march through carrying "Mashiach" flags.

Rachael showed up (she was killing time while her daughter took a Zoom class) and we got coffee and walked up the stairs first to the Jaffa gate, then to the benches at the foot of Yaffo street. We chatted about work, house remodeling, parenting and other boring adult subjects. In Jerusalem. 68 degrees. Very relaxing. The class ended so she had to leave and I wanted a real dinner.

I decided I didn't want the hustle and bustle of the shuk and wanted a proper sit down-waitress serves you kind of place. Two restaurants were next to each other -- Harvey's Steak House and Mike's Place. I'm not judging names. I'm sure that there are plenty of nice Harvey's but based on my internet research of menus and prices, Mike's seemed a better option -- cheaper and a more interesting menu. This is going to be my only "real" dinner so I want it to be the right choice. Mike's had soccer on the TV and classic rock (which I adnit, I miss) blasting through the sound system so, yeah, Mike's. I walked in and saw the woman standing by the door so I asked her for a table for one. She looked confused and then explained to me that she didn't work there. The bartender was downstairs and she was waiting for her food. 

Mistake number 12. I apologized profusely, feeling like an absolute idiot. I apologized again because once didn't make me feel any better,

The bartender returned with her food and I asked for a table. He advised me to sit anywhere (upstairs, downstairs, inside or out) and the waitress would come by to take my order. I picked a table right in front of the bar so I could watch soccer. Exciting. Real Madrid against someone and there was this guy who kicked the ball...it was incredible and stuff. The bartender asked me if I wanted a drink to start so I ordered a beer (a Guinness...go with what you know).

I nursed my beer as people came in and out, including the Schechters (she grduated a bunch of years ago). The music played and there was a live version of Jolene (which I assumed to be Miley Cyrus). A patron who seemed very comfortable with the place started criticizing it and said that it was a male singer. I asked him who and he went to check. 

Yes, mistakes were made.

He came back not knowing but that entree of mine emboldened him to sit at my table. We started talking. I asked him a couple of questions and he told me the story of his life (a series of disturbing events including a minor, controlled substances, a bipolar parent, Chabad mind control and some other stuff). The Tyler family dropped by to say hi (Hi, Tyler family). He also gave me some advice based on his life about how to treat migraines and other maladies. It was, to make a long story short (which he did NOT do) a ridiculously bizarre conversation. I drank my beer slowly but didn't want to leave to use the men's room as, TBH, leaving him alone with my stuff made me uncomfortable. If I knew him better maybe I'd not be so judgmental, but at this point, suffer me my judgmental nature. I just sat and listened wondering if I was being punked, if this was an eccentric millionaire and my interest was guaranteeing me a slice of something big, or if he was just a regular of the restaurant who sits with people and talks about martial arts, Israeli yeshivas and how sunflower seeds can clean up radiation poisoning of the ear caused by cell phones. 

I have his cell phone number if you want to whatsapp him and learn more. I'm gonna take a pause on that decision...

So while this hour plus long "conversation" was happening (he used to be a substitute teacher, a welder, and engineer etc) I noted that no waitress came by to take my order. This kept (not) happening. In fact, the waitress did come by the bar to pick up drinks for other tables and sing along with the music playing, and while I saw other tables get drinks, I didn't see any food delivered to anyone except a basket of fries to a table that the waitress hung out with (and she ate some of the fries). 

Eventually, I found an unnatural break in conversation and did the whole "well...time to hit the ol' highway..." and asked for the check. No, I did not pay for his ginger ale. I wished him well and got out, regretting not finding a bathroom but eager to put distance between me and Mr. Jack Silver of Baltimore and eventually Jerusalem because the temperature is good for his migraines.

I walked back rather quickly, and at one point ducked into a restaurant which appered not to be closed, willing to order anything in order to use the bathroom. But things were closing up so I had to start the race to the finish. I made it to N+D and used the facilities. Now, not having had any dinner I am going to hide out in my room, worried that there will be a knock on the door and Mr. Jack will be wanting me to come out and play.