Obsessed

My day was spent about 50% on work and 50% on Paris research. Yet, I only have work to show for it and no Paris apartment. How's that obsession working out for me? Well, it sure makes the day go faster....

(Unanswered questions: should I apply for a long-stay visa? Should I try for a year sabbatical instead of six months? Should I try to take a language class at the Sorbonne instead of a commercial language school? Semi-answered questions: I know where to get travel medical insurance. Whoop-dee-doo!)

Got in touch with Spesh and told him that our semi-plan to meet on the West Coast for Passover was off (the timing conflicts with my Paris reconnoiter). He was thrilled at the prospect of me moving to Paris! It was great to get that reaction from him. Then he immediately made a connection for me with a woman he knows who lives in Paris who needs to sublet her place. Odds are it won't work out but it's a great idea.

Last and totally (mostly) unrelated, my blog-friend, Billy, at Living the Romantic Comedy had a good post the other day where he talks about this project where people write their life stories in six words. I couldn't resist trying it out in Billy's comments:

First try: Too much school, still not married.

Ugh!

Second try: Great boring job, moving to Paris!

That's more like it.

Please share your six-word life stories in the comments! I'll post some of your stories later this week.

Grateful for: distraction and Spesh.

Ideal

Ways in which last week wasn't ideal:

• Someone close to my family died.
• I had to write a condolence card.
• The camper didn't pass inspection (non-functioning back-up lights).
• Spesh slept on the floor in my room for two nights, ensuring I did not sleep well.
• As soon as Spesh left, my father arrived, meaning that I won't be alone in my own house for almost a week.
• My revisions to a report were met by hostility from the contractor who originally wrote it (details: they turned in unpublishable work, I made it publishable, they didn't like my changes, they sent a "nasty" letter to my boss's boss (my old boss!), everyone here took my "side").
• My old boss and new boss thought I'd freak out about the contractor. Annoying.
• I was calm but it was troubling and it made me question my work, just a little.
• My new boss, TR, did my performance evaluation—which was fine.
• But he marked one item (out of eight) as less than perfect.
• When I went to talk to him about it, with the door open, he asked me to close the door.
• Instead of doing that, I said, "I'm too tired for this!" And walked out.
• Whoops.

Ways in which this week will be better:

• Soccer was canceled on Saturday, which meant I could sleep in, knit and get the house ready for Dad. I also did a monstrous amount of laundry. I feel good about the house, which makes it easier to have a guest.
• TR isn't mad at me and asked me to be on a stupid but potentially important committee.
• I've only snapped at Dad once and I get to spend the whole day at work "alone."
• Mostly I am getting along with Dad.
• Dad and I are meeting Pele for a nice dinner tonight.
• I'm finalizing the disputed report and the higher ups are dealing with the annoying contractor.
• I'm still tired but I'm sleeping fine.

Grateful for: time with Dad and my colleagues.

Early riser

I couldn't write yesterday because I had to work at work—all day! I know, shocking.

I'm distracted by thinking of all the chores I have to do at home in anticipation of a visit by Spesh (he's back for one night—arrives tonight at midnight) followed by a visit by my dad on Saturday. For Spesh, I could shirk on the cleaning, but not for Dad. I may not actually be on the run, but I'm on the run in my mind.

I still want to post a few words about my cross-country drive, but that seems like too much work—it certainly is for today. And given that my weekend is 100% non-stop, I'm not sure when it'll happen. Annoying.

Also, I'm sad, because one of my dad's oldest friends, Ron, just died. They were in the army together, we used to have thanksgiving at their house (when we still lived on the East Coast), and my mom and Ron tried to set me up with one of his sons. Ron and his family are like my family and I know my dad must be hurting. It also makes it not the best time for Dad to visit, but we had no idea. (Dad's reason for visiting? His wife is out of town and he needed to use up some frequent flyer miles. Nice.)

---

Most of you don't know this (because I haven't told you), but I don't use an alarm clock. I'm also chronically late to work. I should get in no later than 9:30, but, more often than not, I straggle in around 9:40 and sometimes not until 10. There is no excuse for this because, even without an alarm clock, I wake up at 6:30am as long as I'm in bed by midnight. The built-in-cat alarm helps too.

Usually, I get out of bed, take the cat food out of the fridge (she pukes if it's not room temperature and microwaving doesn't help), pee and then go back to bed. This is a bad idea because I don't wake up again until 8 or 8:30 and if I leave the house any later than 9, I'm late.

Yesterday, when I woke up at 6:30am I decided to stay up. So, what happens when I get up at 6:30am instead of 8:30am? Am I two hours early for work? No, not at all. Instead, I spend two hours cleaning the house and barely make it in by 9:30, per usual. But, hey, at least I was productive.

Last night, I did some closet-clearing, which was a complete distraction from the sofa-vacuuming that is the highest thing on the chore list. Argh. I hate vacuuming more than anything other chore but even with the advent of the robot vacuum cleaner (did I mention that I got one?), I still have to use the regular vacuum for some jobs. It must be done TONIGHT. And it will. I might have to leave work early, though, so I have enough time to relax and clean.

Tomorrow might even be a sick day. I'd take a real day off but I don't have enough leave for that. Sigh.

I feel like apologizing for the lameness of this post. Bear with me and we'll get back to the regularly scheduled dating angst soon enough. Oh, and the good news is that I haven't heard from SL again…so keep your fingers crossed that he stays away for good. That is drama I do not need.

Grateful for: a clean house (soon).

Long time

I'm sorry for not writing sooner.

Remember the days when we wrote letters on paper? (Of course you do!) Remember how many times we started a letter with those words?

I'm sorry for not writing. I enjoy writing and I miss it when I don't. I hope you are still reading and thanks for your patience.

It's been an eventful weekend, what with Spesh staying with me. He has tons friends here and not enough time to see them all. I'm a little jealous of all these friendships and I wish Spesh were here to bolster my social life. Then again, I'm picky about who I spend my time…so maybe I'm not jealous of the reality, but rather the idea of having lots of friend. I like that idea!

Spesh and I are a good time together, not getting on each other nerves (thanks to lack of constant cell phone talking), and generally enjoying the hanging out that we've done. One moment of our visit stuck out, though, so that's the story I'm going to tell.

We had breakfast with Diego on Sunday. I was telling them about SL and they were making fun of me (in a nice way). Then, one of them asked, "Did you have sex with him?"

I was shocked! "No! Of course not!"

"Why 'of course not'?" Spesh said. Diego echoed him.

"I don't like him enough, that's why! Isn't it obvious?"

They laughed at me and we moved on to other topics.

I didn't mind the question but it was funny since, if I were sleeping with the guy, I would have had much kinder things to say about him. I hope.

Being with those two guys reminded me of a conversation I had with two other guys years ago.

In college, I had two very good friends, Mike and Shawn. We hung out all the time, spent New Year's Eves together and are still friends. These guys loved to tease me about sex because I was the least experienced of all our friends. Shawn used to call me a prude and encourage me to have (more) sex because it was fun and I would enjoy it. Mike encouraged me to have sex (with him) too. They knew me before I had sex for the first time and I think we all sort of expected things to stay like that forever. But they didn't. And, after my "first time" I had to figure out a way to tell them about it.

We were having pizza one day at the Hungry U (not sure if it still exists). Shawn was teasing Mike about a girl. I was telling Shawn not to tease him. I said, "You can't just ask him if he had sex with her! That's rude!" (Guess I haven't changed very much.)

Mike said it was fine. I said, "Would you ask me that?"

"Sure I would."

"Ok, ask then." And he asked. And I answered, "Yes."

The whole mood changed. They stopped smiling and laughing and teasing. In a low, quiet voice, Mike said, "Really? How was it? Was it ok?" But what he meant was, 'Are you ok?'

"It was fine. We went to breakfast."

"You went to breakfast? That's good. Good. So, he's…you like him."

"Yes, I like him. I like him a lot."

I love that Mike and Shawn cared that much about me. It's clear that if I'd said a bad word about the guy, they would have…well, not beaten him up, but yelled at him or, at the very least, taken my side. They were looking out for me. That's a really good feeling.

It's good to know that I still have guys like that in my life. I'm lucky.

Grateful for: my best guy friends.

Enough

Enough venting! Or maybe not enough.

The interactions with SL have reached a point of high absurdity. After our ridiculous conversation on Monday, I knew I hadn't heard the last of him. I didn't come out and say "I'm not going out with you again" and that's my bad. It left the door open a crack and a guy like SL is going to take full advantage of that. Yikes. It was not surprising to get email from him on Tuesday. In the message he said he respected and admired me and did not hate me.

My reaction? I know you don't hate me. You love me! Ok, I know he doesn't love me, but still. When he criticized me in our talk and tried to tell me how I needed to change, I told him I wasn't going to change and he needed to consider that. He had a lot of good information about me and he could do with that as he saw fit. I tried to "unsell" him on me. Not a good strategy. But would you want to go out with someone who did that? Wouldn't you think she was crazy? I certainly felt crazy doing it. But, no, instead, I got that email. I wrote back today, just saying I wasn't upset and that I didn't like to argue. (And he wrote back and asked me out for tonight so see his band! I said no thank you.)

He found that surprising. I'm good at arguing. I like to win (at everything). But arguing makes me deeply unhappy and very comfortable. Arguing is like coming home. But I've consciously worked hard, very hard, to make a different kind of home for myself. One where easy going joviality and open communication is the norm rather than arguing and withholding.

That's the main reason I can't date SL. He says things that bother me, I feel the need to call him on them and then we argue. And then that's all we do. And that won't do.

Besides, on our date, he wore the tightest jeans I've ever seen on anyone. It was embarrassing. I couldn't look. I can't date someone I can't bring around my friends because of his tight pants! Yeesh.

What else? I got another email from "Love to!" My favorite line, "I have been thinking about our first meeting a lot...perhaps over-thinking it and want it to go just right...without any time constraints so as to let the conversation flow naturally without any worry of needing to be somewhere or having to rush home..."

Good gravy, what is wrong with him? We haven't even talked on the phone nor has he asked for my number and he's been thinking about our first meeting a lot? Yes, I have to agree with him, he's over-thinking it. A lot.

Again, flattering and perplexing.

Oh, and Spesh is coming for a visit on Saturday! And staying for...well, I'm not sure how long, maybe a week? It will be nice to have him hanging around the house, making me go out all week and arguing in a comfortable way. Hey, I admit, that is part of what we like to do--but it's way, way more fun than arguing with anyone else I know. Actually, it may be the only fun arguing I do with anyone.

Grateful for: flattery.

Good news

I've broken my informal rule about no politics on the blog a few times and I'm going to break it again today. In the past, I've mentioned my friend, Spesh, and the work he does in Israel for "the cause." Those are his words and I know what he means but sometimes people ask, "What cause?" I'm never quite sure how to answer but usually I'll say "peace" and other times I'll say, "to end the occupation." I also think the answer is to end the oppression and disenfranchisement of the Palestinians.

The group that Spesh works with is called Anarchists Against the Wall. They work with Palestinian villages and engage in direct action against the wall being built by the Israeli government in the West Bank. A lot of this wall is already built and it furthers the social and economic isolation of the Palestinians.

Recently, they've won a high court decision to re-route part of the wall around the village of Bil'in:

A victory for the anarchists
By Meron Rapoport
Last Update: 07/09/2007 11:57

"I remember the moment I marched among a crowd of Palestinians," said one of the Israeli activists who participated in the ongoing demonstrations near the village of Bil'in, this week. Those demonstrations led to a High Court decision a few days ago ordering the rerouting of the separation fence near the village. "I served in the army, and my first instinct was to look for the signal operator and to check if we were marching properly spaced. The Palestinians shouted 'Allahu Akbar,' which is supposed to be the nightmare of every Israeli soldier, but I suddenly realized that I was with them, that they weren't my enemies."

Click here for the full story.

If this is an issue you care about, please take a look at the full story and the AAW website. If you care to donate, it would be much appreciated. If you want to debate, we can do that in the comments.

Thanks for your patience. I'll return to the regularly scheduled content tomorrow.

Grateful for: those working for the cause.

Homeward

I woke, as planned, at 5am. Around ten after five, Spesh said, "J?" I answered, "I'm up!" I brushed my teeth, washed my face and put on the outfit I laid out the night before. I closed the suitcase and was ready to go by 5:20. Spesh said, "Do you have your passport?"

"Yes."

"Ticket? You have an e-ticket, right?"

"Yes--but I have my itinerary."

"Did you pack everything?"

I said, "Pack? Hmm. Good idea."

"I mean, is everything in the suitcase?"

"Yes! You're as bad as my father."

When Spesh carried my bag down to the taxi, I said, "Do you have the key?"

"Yes."

I said, "I'm as bad as my father!"

We couldn't get the car, so Spesh called a cab for me on Wednesday evening. The driver was early and got me to the airport by 5:45am for my 8:05am flight. The driver was friendly and attempted conversation in broken English. He said, "The food here is very good--you like? Falafel?"

"Yes, it's very good!"

Last year, Spesh came to the airport and stood in the first security line with me. This year, I was on my own and the first screening was faster.

Security lady: Why did you come to Israel?
Jamy: For my niece's wedding.
SL: You've been to Israel before?
J: Yes.
SL: Always to visit family?
J: Yes.
SL: Speak or read any Hebrew?
J: Um, I can sight read and I know a few words.
SL: You learn this where?
J: In Sunday school.
SL: Ah, you are a member of a congregation?
J: Not now, but I was…my parents were.
SL: And the name of that congregation?
J: Temple Beth Am.
SL: Ok, thank you. You can take your bag to be x-rayed there…

And that was it. I was asked more questions last year--including all of the questions I was asked this year. Was it simpler this year because I didn't have to explain Spesh's presence?

The next step was to check in for the flight. After that, I went through another security check where my carry on bag was x-rayed. I said, "I have a computer in here, should I take it out?"

"Yes, please. It's so small! I have to get one like that."

I smiled. "That's the point!"

Next, I went through passport control, where I was asked nothing. Finally, a young woman looked at my boarding pass before I went into the duty-free shopping/waiting area.

I got a coffee and helped myself to the free wifi. Then I decided I should bring some presents home--at least something to say thank you to DrJ for watching the cat. I stopped in a bookstore and got a couple of maps and a Hebrew phrase book. It's long overdue, and possibly humorous to buy on the way out of the country, but given that I'll be back, why not? I bought a couple of other things for DrJ and Alicia (who's meeting me at Heathrow). Nothing too special, just tokens. (I'm not saying what, since I don't want to scoop myself with DrJ.)

The first leg of the flight was uneventful, but I had an annoying seatmate. She was an older woman and she kept talking to me, even after I put my headphones in. Normally, I like to make conversation with my seatmate, if they're amenable. But all this woman did was grumble and sigh and I wasn't in the mood to hear her complain. Plus, on this leg, I could stop and start any number of movies and tv shows at will--very cool!

After the flight landed the lady said, again, that this was her last hurrah, probably the last time she'd make the trip. I thought, "You should ask her if she was visiting family. It would be a kindness." I took a deep breath and asked. We had a brief conversation, where I mostly listened. She was more pleasant but still on the gloomy side. It's hard getting old. Still, I was glad I was not going to sit next to her on the next leg.

This was my eight-hour layover in London. My college friend, Alicia, lives near London and she'd offered to pick me up and drive me somewhere for the afternoon. I was looking forward to seeing her because I knew it would be a great way to end the trip.

The guy at passport control discouraged me from leaving the airport, but when I told him how long the layover was, he agreed it was reasonable. Also, since I had a boarding pass, I'd get to skip one of the lines and go straight to security.

Alicia was waiting for me and whisked me off in her minivan to nearby Windsor. First, she bought me lunch and then she paid for our entrance to the castle. She said it would be too expensive for me to pay, given the ridiculous exchange rate. Since all I had were shekels and dollars, I didn't argue.

Lunch was good and the castle was impressive, but the sights were mostly a haze. I talked Alicia's ear off with tales of the Israeli family and Spesh. I tried to pause and listen to what she had to say too. We had about four and half hours together, but it just flew by. It's been at least four years since the last time we saw each other. This was not nearly enough time to catch up, but it was well worth it. It did make a sweet ending to the trip.

The next leg of the flight was also uneventful. I was sad that I did not have the movie-on-demand service, but I did see something that hasn't even been released in the states yet. Cool! (Becoming Jane--don't bother.)

I also had another unpleasant encounter with a fellow passenger. It was the woman sitting in the seat in front of me--we were both on the aisle. I first spotted her when she had a mild argument with a young woman trying to get into her row. I could only make out the last line, "No, it's my assigned seat!" Finally, the woman got up to let the other woman in to her seat. I noticed her face--she had a mouth permanently pursued from a life spent showing disapproval of people.

About halfway through the flight, after dinner, everyone fell asleep. I did too, even though I was determined to stay awake. As I woke up and got back to watching a movie, the lady in front of me reclined her seat as far as possible. I can't blame her, but she put me in an awkward position. If I stirred at all, I'd bump her seat. I needed to stir quite a bit because my knee was bothering me. A few minutes after her big recline, she turned to me and said, "You keep bumping my seat! You must stop." Her accent was heavy and possibly Russian.

I said, "I'm sorry, but you're practically in my lap and I can't move without bumping you."

"It's not normal! He is too!" She gestured to the man in front of her who was also fully reclined.

"I'm sorry, I'm doing my best not to bump you. But there's no room."

She said, "Everyone is in same place!"

"Sorry."

A few minutes later, the guy in the window seat in my row needed to get out. With the seats so far reclined, it's impossible to exit the row without hanging on to the seatbacks for balance. I wondered how she would handle it. I did my best to ease out without touching her seat, but I wasn't completely successful. The exiting man did an even worse job. As I stood in the aisle, the lady started fussing at me again. "Why do you keep bumping me?"

"I tried to explain to you that I'm doing my best not to bump you. I said I was sorry."

"It's not normal!"

"I can't help it when you're in my lap."

"Ok, fine! Not normal!" And when she sat down, she moved her seat up, just a little. Geez lousie, what a loon! She didn't yell at me again but I was bracing for another onslaught when I pulled my book out of the pocket in the back of the seat.

We landed safely, I got home by 12:30 and I was asleep by 1:30am. Whew. Long, long, long day. It' s good to be back.

Grateful for: home.

Washington DC: 8/3/2007

Last day in Israel

On Tuesday, I'd told Spesh that I was ready to participate in some kind of action. The one he'd mentioned was canceled so he suggested we go visit a Palestinian town in the West Bank where his group, "Anarchists Against the Wall" is trying to stop the bulldozing of a Palestinian's land.

First thing in the morning, Spesh went to meet a student. I went to buy him some soap. The soap buying was a special kind that Spesh likes and I decided I'd get it for him as a thank you. (A meager one, but still.) It was a bit of an adventure since I only knew the name of the soap, not how to say "soap" or "do you have" in Hebrew. But, I managed. On my way home, I picked up a couple of pastries and a coffee. The pastry was so rich I only ate one. I didn't expect it to taste so good. Most of the pastry I've had in Israel is "parve" and tastes awful. Spesh arrived home later than I expected, but that was ok since I'd used the time to write.

The plan was to pick up the car around noon and drive to the West Bank. We decided to have lunch first and Spesh took me to a place with great hummus right around the corner. The thing is, I don't like hummus enough to eat a whole plate of it. Spesh seems to do this all the time. I don't get it. He ordered for me and I tried my best to eat it all. I barely got halfway through and I fussed a bit about it not tasting so great. Spesh said I was mistaken, that it was very good. I made a face.

I changed into long pants before we left--I will go that far to dress appropriately. I was wearing a t-shirt with a printed picture (of an elephant) and I asked Spesh if it was appropriate. He said, "Raise your arms." I did. "Ok." Why did he ask me to raise my arms? To make sure my shirt wouldn't rise up and expose my midriff or underpants. It didn't.

The fellow loaning us the car saved us a trip by picking us up at Spesh's place. We dropped him off and picked up another guy (a surprise to me) who is a photographer. He actually used a video camera on this outing--and I think that's what Spesh meant. I brought my camera and Spesh asked me to take a couple of pictures.

The cause of our trip was to help a Palestinian man, Sal, whose land in being encroached on by a settlement. Sal lives in a village adjacent to the settlement, but his olive tree grove is dead in the center of the industrial part of the settlement. Sal actually won a Supreme Court case to protect his land over twenty years ago. However, bulldozers have recently moved in the remainder of his parcel and Spesh's group has come to his aid by placing themselves, physically, on the land, though not usually directly in front of the bulldozer.

It was about an hour drive to the village, where we picked up Sal. He directed us to the site and point out a rock with red spray-painted markings.

They supposedly signified the border and work was clearly being undertaken beyond it. Spesh asked me to take a pictures of the rock. Down a hill from the road, there were two Danes sitting on a big rock ledge, symbolically protecting the land. Just off the road, on top of the hill, was a machine (probably an excavator) with a pile driving attachment, breaking up rocks.

Spesh and Sal walked past the bulldozer, down the hill, and Sal yelled at the machine operator and threw a stick at the machine.

Um, whoops. Spesh put his hands on Sal's shoulders but he continued to yell at the operator. The operator yelled back, stopped the machine and got out. I stood back by the road and observed. The video guy came up to me and said, "Ah, he's Palestinian too--and he's driving the machine!" The video guy managed to piss off a couple of supervisor-types while Spesh and I were looking at the marked rock. The supervisors swore at him and told him to stop filming (all caught on tape). One guy drove off and the other called the police.


I went down the hill to where Spesh and the Danes were.

The dirt was unstable and Spesh held out his hand to help me down. Spesh had advised the landowner to make himself scarce. We stood around for a while, then decided it was time to go.

This was supposed to be a safe, non-confrontational action, but things were a little hairy. We beat it back to the car and the video guy waited behind while we picked up the landowner (hiding out in a warehouse nearby) and drove him back to the village. We dropped the landowner and the Danes off and went back for the video guy. When we entered the settlement, the gate was down--it had been opened when we first entered. However, it was opened for us without any questioning. We picked up the video guy and noticed a police van behind us. We headed back to the gate but the police van didn't follow us, rather it continued in the direction of the bulldozer.

We drove back to the village, loaded everyone in the car and drove to Sal's house. He set up a table and his older son brought out cups and bottles of water (not bottled water, but bottles filled with water that had been refrigerated). I wasn't sure of the etiquette so I sat and watched what others did. The video guy poured himself water but no one else did, so I refrained. The son then brought out a bottle of orange-colored water--something like kool-aid--filled cups to the brim and passed them around--first to the video guy, then me, then Spesh, then the male Dane and then the female Dane, and last his father.

Spesh, Sal, and to a lesser extent, the video guy talked for a long time in Hebrew about the border issue.

Sal brought out a packet of papers and, later, a small briefcase with more papers, documenting his court battle. He had several maps of the land and other documents in Hebrew and Arabic. Eventually, Sal's wife brought us coffee flavored with cardamom. Usually, I don't like to drink coffee at three in the afternoon, but I was falling asleep in my chair, and it would have been impolite not to drink. I drank happily--the coffee was strong and quite good.

After sitting and talking (or, in my case, sitting and sweating), we finally left. The landowner gave us some papers to take to a lawyer. We dropped the Danes off on the way there. We drove on to a town north of Tel Aviv and met the lawyer. More talking in Hebrew. I took the opportunity to pace up and down the sidewalk and take an auto-timer picture of myself covered in dirt from our adventures.


After that meeting was over, we stopped for some food on the way to Tel Aviv. It was good but I was almost too hot and tired to eat. My only request was no hummus. Spesh even ordered fries for me, since he knew I'd been craving them.

We dropped off the video guy then Spesh dropped me off at his place and took the car to its next user. That meant he would have to walk back alone. I assumed I'd go with him, but since we were already a couple of blocks from his place when I noticed what was going on, I just accepted the kindness.

I used my time alone to check email and take a shower. After the shower, I listened to music and did some writing. I expected Spesh home by 7:30 but he arrived nearer to 8pm. Our plan was to watch a movie. Spesh doesn't have a tv, but he has a computer--and movies can be watched.

Spesh walked in talking on the phone and continued talking while he took a shower. Unbelievable. When he came back out and started on the computer, I said, "When are we going to watch the movie?"

"Soon, soon."

"Fine."

By 9:30, he settled down and said, "Ok, if you can stop delaying, we can finally watch the movies."

I laughed and then I said, "What's going to happen when your phone rings?"

He picked up the phone and turned it off. "That's how much I love you, J."

I smiled. I enjoyed the relaxing nothing of watching a movie after our long, tedious, stressful day. I think Spesh did too. When the movie ended, I picked up Spesh's phone and turned it back on, "That's how much I love you!" To my shock, he had only one text message. Turning off the phone was good.

You think that since I had to get up at 5am to get in a taxi at 5:30am so I could be at the airport by 6am to catch an 8am flight, I'd want to get some sleep and Spesh would let me. But that's not what happened. We turned off the movie around midnight and he paced around the apartment looking for something I could bring back as a present for C-money. Earlier, I asked to see a map of where we'd been that day--12:30 seemed like a good time to show me. I spent some time studying the map, which had the locations of roadblocks, watchtowers, the wall and the "greenline." It's not like the other maps of Israel that I've seen. Spesh kept wandering around and talking to me. His place is big, but there's no real privacy since the bedroom has windows (which are always open for ventilation) and a glass door. After 1am, he settled down to the computer and asked me if the typing would bother me. I said no and went to sleep for a few hours.

Though brief, it might have been my best sleep of the trip. Of course, it came on my last night there. Typical.

Grateful for: thoughtful friends.

Washington DC: 8/3/2007

On the move

• Early rising at the Kibbutz.
• Breakfast with Spesh's Mom. She made coffee poorly. I drank it gratefully.
• Train to Tel Aviv. I got a second coffee at the station.
• Met by car. Drop off driver.
• Drive from Tel Aviv towards Jerusalem to activist summer camp.
• Spesh gives spiel, in Hebrew. I sit some distance away and read. Later, I nap.
• Drive to the university. Sit in Spesh's office and wait for students who don't arrive.
• Notice the sign for the tiny crowded office reads, "Post Doc Room." I point this out to Spesh. He says, "They won't dare call it an 'office'."
• Lunch. Schnitzel for me, veggies for Spesh.
• Snap at Spesh for being on the phone all the fucking time. "If you don't have time for me, set me free. I'm with you but you're not here. And I can't even tell what you're talking about." (98% of his phone conversations are in Hebrew.)
• He apologizes and says it's out of his control.
• I say, "There's a lot of things I could say…but, I just don't enjoy it."
• He says, "I can understand that."
• Things are actually better after that.
• We drop off the car. Take a taxi home.
• I'm hot and exhausted. Spesh uses the computer. I start to read then fall semi-asleep.
• I tell Spesh, "I want to take a shower."
• "You know, we have a water shortage, this isn't Canada!"
• I stare, silent.
• "Why are you asking to take a shower, like you need permission?"
• "I'm asking because I need a towel! That's the polite way to ask!"
• "Ok, fine, I'll get you a towel!"
• And he did. I took a shower and felt much better.
• I did some writing, he did some calling.
• We were invited to dinner at Gal's. The call came at 6pm, we left around 7:45 and walked about half an hour to her place.
• I was coated in sweat when we arrived. Other than that, I didn't mind the walk.
• Dinner was good--another vegetarian special.
• She had a friend staying there who I mistook for her boyfriend.
• I had quite a pleasant conversation with him.
• Wonder what he thought of Spesh and me.
• Spesh practically fell asleep after dinner.
• I tell him, "We're taking a taxi home." He didn't argue.
• We got home and went to sleep right away.
• I still woke up earlier than necessary. What can you do?

Grateful for: good friends.

Tel Aviv, Ben Gurion Airport: 8/2/2007

Travels with Spesh

On Sunday night, Dad and Susan stayed at a guest house next door to where we had dinner. The town was halfway to the airport. B1 and I got a ride part way back to Jerusalem with the rest of the family in a big van. They dropped us off when we hit the city limits and we took a taxi the rest of the way. We didn't get back until 2am, which was unfortunate since we needed to leave the house by 8:30am.

B1 was also leaving on Monday, but not until the afternoon. He planned to meet B2 at the Central Bus Station and go from there to a cemetery to visit their mother's grave. Spesh had gone to stay with his parents at the kibbutz and I was supposed to catch a 9am bus to their part of the world. B1 and got in a taxi together around 8:3am to get to the bus station.

We said goodbye there and I had to go through security to enter the station. When I entered, I didn't see anything that looked like a ticket window--just shops and restaurants. I figured out that I had to go upstairs to find the buses. The night before, Spesh had given me the schedule, bus number and platform number. I managed to buy a ticket and make it onto the 9:00am bus. It left about 15 minutes late but arrived 5 minutes early.

The ride was uneventful. I wanted to fall asleep but I didn't want to miss the stop either--it was an express bus and I'd get off at the first stop, "Megiddo Junction." The trip took over an hour, but I was worried that if I fell asleep, I wouldn't wake up. I sat next to a young soldier and he slept the entire trip.

After about an hour an a half, we approached the stop. One of the of Yeshiva boys across the aisle asked where I was getting off (I assume). I said, "Megiddo." He said, "Ma?" (which means "what"). I said, "Megiddo." He said, "Ma?" I said, "Megiddo!" His friend socked him and I got off the bus.

Spesh was waiting for me at the bus stop, which was literally at the junction of two major roads, but not an actual town. I told him about the boy and Spesh said I'd been saying "Megiddo" correctly.

We didn't discuss it, but the plan was to go to Haifa and look around. On the way, we stopped by Spesh's landlady's house. I was dying for coffee since I didn't have time for breakfast in Jerusalem. Spesh said the landlady might offer me coffee. He might have been joking, but when we got to her place she offered coffee and I accepted. It was possibly a faux pas, but the coffee was very good.

Haifa was another twenty minutes down the road. Both of us were beat--Spesh was fighting a cold and I was exhausted, but that didn't deter us. We drove around the campus where Spesh will have a post doc next year. It's an impressive place, with a lot of shiny new buildings. We got hungry so Spesh called some friends to get suggestions for lunch places. We took the suggestions and drove to an interesting neighborhood. We parked and immediately I spotted a place with sign out front, in English, which read "hot spot." I said, "Do you think they have wifi? Do you want to use the computer?"

"Sure, let's bring it in."

I pulled the computer out of the suitcase and we set ourselves up in the tiny café. The one person working there spoke English and gave us menus in English, which made life much easier--even for Spesh, since he didn't have to translate. First we got drinks, then food. The food took a long time to come out but we made use of that time by reading an article about Spesh's activist group on the internet. He was also on the phone almost continuously, which started to grate.

After we ate lunch, we decided to do some exploring on foot. We walked down the block and ran into Haifa's underground cable car system, which consists of one line. Speesh thought it would be fun to take a ride, so we did. We went down the hill to the old city, "Paris Square." The area was grungy, like any old port, and full of Russians--I heard my first (and only) "spaseeba" there.

Spesh didn't like it, but I thought it was great. I like looking at the dirty, falling apart parts of town. It was hot day so we stopped for a cold drink, which we brought back on the train. Speesh said, "You can't do that in DC!" We rode all the way back to the top of the hill, which was two stops past our starting point. Spesh had some doubt as to our ability to find the car again, but I was confident.

Haifa is a beautiful city; green and lush with spectacular views. It's also one of the hilliest places I've ever been. We found step-paths down the hill that were more direct than the winding streets. We walked down several hundred steps, which made my knee unhappy. I didn't mind so much, but the pain wasn't fun. I may have annoyed Spesh by moving so slowing, but walking down steps is one of the worst things for my knee. We also got more drinks along the way. It was a good way to see the city for sure.

We'd already decided to spend the night at the Kibbutz. I actually would have been happy to spend the whole day there, relaxing. Maybe sneak a little vacation into my vacation, but it was not to be. The next day, we had to go back to Tel Aviv so Spesh could run many errands. Oh well.

I would have fallen asleep on the drive from Haifa to the Kibbutz, but Spesh was tired too so I stayed awake and tried to talk to him. When we got back, I washed my tired feet and sat on the couch. Spesh's mom brought us watermelon and his dad asked incongruous questions. His sister was friendly and we had a long talk about politics. I like Spesh's family a lot and it's relaxing to be with them. The parents invited me to some event on the kibbutz, but Spesh declined for me, "Jamy is too tired." It was funny but true.

Dinner was good. Spesh's mom and dad had asked several times if I were a vegetarian but didn't quite seem to believe me when I said "no." They did believe it when they saw me eat the meatballs they served. Yum. Plus, there was cheese to put on them! Civilization indeed.

After dinner, the rest of the family left. Spesh and I hung around and watched a movie. Ah, how I love satellite tv on vacation! I slept ok but woke too early. This whole trip has been a sleep disaster. Oh well.

Grateful for: family.

Tel Aviv: 8/1/2007

Promotion

This morning as I was doing my usual "get ready NOW or you'll be late" routine, Spesh called me via the computer. I haven't talked to him in ages but in a way it makes sense that he'd call now when I'm coming for a visit in a little over a month...or at least I understand the impulse. (Spesh is my very good friend who lives in Israel.) It was hard to hear each other over the computer but we shouted out a brief conversation. Then I realized that not only was I going to be late (arriving after 9:30am) but that I actually had a meeting to make at 10am.

I shouted at Spesh, "I have to go! I have a meeting at 10 to talk to TR about my career trajectory. He's the new boss. And he doesn't like it when I'm late!"

"I thought TR was always your boss!"

I said, "No! No, no, no. Larry was my boss but he got promoted and TR got promoted and now TR's my boss. Before he was the deputy."

"Oh. So, are you the deputy now?"

"No."

"Why not? You should be." Spesh is my champion, apparently.

I said, "Well, that's not how it works and I don't know if we're going to have a new deputy."

Spesh said, "I don't like that TR got promoted before you, but since he did, you should be promoted to deputy."

"Ok. I'm going to be late. Do you want me to tell him that?"

"Yes, you can tell TR that you're late because you had to have a talk about your career trajectory with me. And tell him you should be deputy."

"Ok. Wait, do you realize that if I move into a supervisory position, I won't be in the union anymore. Do you still want me to be deputy?"

Spesh hesitated before answering, "You mean you'd be The Man?"

"I'm sort of The Man now, but then I'd REALLY be The Man."

"It's ok. Once you're promoted, you can do away with the hierarchy. Just say it's because of feminism."

"You mean, like have an anarchist cell? You know, once I told TR I was an anarcho-syndicalist and he didn't know what I was talking about."

"Just say it's for feminism and then do what you want."

"Hilarious!"

"Ok, go, you're going to be late!"

And I left. I was in time for the meeting but TR postponed it to the afternoon. I told him Spesh's plans for me but I'm not sure TR was convinced.

Grateful for: my champion.

Three things

I have three annoying and/or perplexing things to write about today, but none of them merits its own post. Think of it as three-for-one day.

Certified mail
My buddy, Spesh, who lives in Israel, uses my place his US address. That's all well and good except when UMD decides to send me the final exams for his online course or when I get a certified mail delivery for him. Last week, I got one of those little pink notices the mail carrier leaves when they can't deliver a package. I decided it would be faster to go to the Post Office than to ask for redelivery. At Post Office, the lady informed me that since I'm not Spesh, I can't pick up his certified mail. BUT, if I'm home when they deliver it, I CAN sign for it. Again: I can't pick up the mail at the post office. BUT, if I'm home when they redeliver, I can sign for it and receive it.  The problem is, I'll never be home when they deliver the mail. The lady said, "Will you be home on Saturday?" Um, well, probably. But really, I'm supposed to wait home Saturday so I can sign for Spesh's package--instead of signing for it RIGHT NOW when I am standing in front of you at the post office? Craaazy.

Stomach test
I had occasion to go to the doctor on Monday for a rather unpleasant test. It involved lots of x-rays/scans while I was perched in several awkward positions--sometimes lying down, sometimes standing--on my back, on my belly, on my side, half-propped on my left side and half-propped up on my right side . All while dressed in a flimsy blue paper robe that initially covered my ass, but, after all that twisting around, revealed my not-quite-appropriate for public viewing black underpants. Whoops. At least there were no holes. The reason for this test is that I've been burping excessively (by my previous burping standards) for about a month. The test examined my upper g.i. tract and I had to swallow a lot of a mildly unpleasant tasting and nauseatingly thick substance called barium. Ironically, it caused my stomach to be upset for the rest of the day. Or maybe my stomach upset was caused by the ruthlessly sharp poking the radiologist gave my belly while doing the last set of scans. I was supposed lie on my back, lean slightly to my left and swallow water while he poked me. The pain was so intense, I couldn't drink and instead gasped, "ouch."  He did not apologize or explain what he was doing. I know it's your job, but when you're hurting someone you should 1) warn them, 2) apologize and 3) explain why it's necessary to hurt them (maybe in reverse order). And I wasn't imagining it--I woke up this morning with a tender spot just below my ribs that feels like a bruise. Hopefully, I'll get my test results this week and they will find something very mildly wrong that is easily fixed. No more tests, please.

FWB
Last week, I met a young woman who whipped out a piece of paper with the text from one of those "I saw you" adverts in the City Paper. She proclaimed, "This is me!" I read the copy, which described her from the perspective of a man who'd seen her walking through a metro station on her way to work. The last line was something like, "I hope your husband/boyfriend/FWB knows what a catch he has--he's one lucky guy!" While the bulk of the text was a very flattering description of the woman in question, what struck me was the inclusion of "FWB" as a category of man who would be lucky to have her in his life. Has it really come to this? Are we now, upon first meeting (or first sighting) wondering if the object of our affection is engaged in a "friends with benefits" relationship? If a guy approaches me with intent to date, should I now expect him to ask, "So, um, do you have a boyfriend...or a friend with benefits?" Good lord. I thought FWBs were supposed to be quickly disposed of when boyfriend prospects entered the picture and, thus, would not merit an inquiry. If people, in general, are less apt to make time for long-term relationships than in the past (merely a hypothesis), we'll be seeing a lot more FWB relationships. Maybe we're just naming something that's been around for a great while, which people probably didn't expect to persist. I wonder.

Grateful for: patience.

Drop me a line.

Our routine

Spesh is back in the area for at least the next few months. He is living a vagabond life, spending most nights with a friend in MD. However, he spends the night at my house when he has a late night DC, which he did on Thursday. On Friday morning I said I needed to take my pills and he said, "I read that your back was hurting."

"You read the blog?"

"I got up early and had some extra time."

"I can't believe you read it at all."

"It wasn't that interesting. There was nothing about me."

"Hey! Lots of people read it and think it's interesting--even when I never write about them. The Animal reads it."

"Have you ever mentioned him?"

"No--maybe once. Some people don't want you to write about them. But, I know what you mean, it's not as interesting if there's nothing about you."

In honor of Spesh's return to DC-ish area, here's a bit I wrote about him the last time he was here that never made it to the blog (Spesh--I hope you're reading):

Intro: Spesh was born in Israel and grew up on a radical Zionist, non-religious Kibbutz.
Jamy: Do you want to go to the Holocaust museum? [I have a pair of free tickets.]
Spesh: I live in a Holocaust museum.


Intro: We were discussing Spesh's ex-girlfriend's band.
Spesh: I was in a band...
Jamy: Really? What did you play?
Spesh: Guitar.
Jamy: What was the name of your band?
Spesh: Die Strella. [Or something like that.]
Jamy: Wait...that's not Hebrew. That's German!
Spesh: (Big smile.) Yes!!
Jamy: You're bad.
Spesh: We were fascinated by Nazis. My buddy, in high school, grew this Hitler moustache...
Jamy: No! What did people say?
Spesh: The old people would come up to him and say (Spesh waves his finger), "Ah, Charlie Chaplin!"
Jamy: (Laughing out loud.) That's terrible!

Intro: I was telling Spesh about my trip to Atlanta back in July.
Jamy: I invented an imaginary boyfriend so my friend Mike's wife wouldn't be jealous. She's not crazy to be jealous, but he was never my boyfriend. And we never slept together.
Spesh: But he wanted to do it with you?
Jamy: Yes. For years he was after me. We kissed a couple of times.
Spesh: How could you kiss and not do it? I never understood that.
Jamy: What--I should sleep with every guy I've kissed? How can you not see the distinction?
Spesh shrugs his shoulders.
Jamy: When I first kissed Mike I was only 17. I was still a virgin and he didn't even want to be my boyfriend! I at least wanted the first guy I slept with to be my boyfriend!
Spesh: I didn't even hold hands with anyone before the first time I did it.
Jamy: Mike and I never held hands.
Spesh: You could still have the imaginary boyfriend.
Jamy: Who says I don't?

Grateful for: banter.