Reminders of Jewish Morality

I encountered two incidents in the last week that drove home how many commandments in the Torah protect us from emulating the moral shortcomings of other nations.

First, I was walking down the Avenue, and kept finding myself in shops that a particular non-Jewish woman was also frequenting. I happened to notice her because aside from her loud attire, she was yelling into the phone. As we went up the street after exiting another shop, we passed a fruit stand. She was still on the phone, but grabbed fruit from the stand and kept on walking. One of the owners happened to be outside the shop and told her she had to pay for the fruit. To which she yelled, "So call the police then". Then she continued walking, and for a full 2 blocks kept muttering loudly, "Pay for one cherry. One cherry! Damn fool!". To be honest, I was astonished that she couldn't comprehend that yes, even for one cherry- which are currently $4+ a pound- you do need to pay. If you take anything, even a pea, without paying for it, it's called stealing.

Then today I was on the metro going uptown. I made my connection and was glad to see that there was one seat available if I squeezed my little butt in between the two guys who were sitting, legs wide open, on the given bench. I consequently put my foot between them, pivoted and dropped myself into the space. Because I had put in my foot before pivoting, the men moved their legs and I was able to sit just as the train yanked itself out of the station. I had barely rested my back against the seat when a man and his female companion started in. "She doesn't say 'Excuse me', she just puts her foot there and sits down. No excuse me! Just puts her foot.", etc. etc. For 5 minutes. To be honest, perhaps I should have said "Excuse me". But in my mind, they were the ones being rude by hogging the space! In other cities, saying "Excuse me" gets you somewhere. On the MTA, good luck. Yet the irony was that, like the Cherry woman, this guy had no clue that it is actually very rude to keep your legs wide open when people are entering the train looking for a spot. But even more importantly, he felt that it was acceptable to attempt to publicly humiliate/embarrass me. Not that he succeeded, but the difference between his mindset and the frum mindset (aka that embarrassing someone is tantamount to murder) was apparent.

Let's just say that I'm really glad that I'm a Jew right now.

A Long Time Coming

Since I have become more lenient recently in my frumkeit, I felt it was high time to write a post on the circumstances that lead to my frying out.

As I have highlighted in previous posts ad nauseum, I grew up extremely modern. We kept everything, but I wore t-shirts and jeans, and attended Hebrew school several times a week in tandem to going through public school. We belonged to a Modern Orthodox shul, and whenever I went there (aka Shabbos and Yom Tovim), I felt the glory and splendour of Hashem in both the services and in the respect that people showed to being in shul (read: no kids running amok and total silence during davening). The net result was that while I felt free to be me, I also possessed a profoundly strong, warm, and emotional connection to Hashem.

I first went to a Litvish shteibel as a teenager. The experience was startling; everything struck me as severe and rather cold, from how people dressed to the matter-of-fact drone of the davening. It basically looked like people were simply going through the motions in order to do what was right, what was expected. Granted, when I went to the Rebbetzin during the week wearing pants, she never said a word. And when I helped her in the kitchen preparing the shteibel’s Kiddush every week, she would occasionally smile a broad smile that shocked me with its warmth. Yiddishkeit was suddenly a complex thing.

As a Yekki, I am never going to be the profoundly spiritual, hippie-dippie type. But that lack of *joy* that I felt when keeping Shabbos as per the Litivish shul created a lack, a void within me. In stark contrast to my personal connection to Hashem, which had hereto been a source of wonder and strength for me, the definition of what was proper as per the rebbeim left me cold and unfulfilled.

So by the time I got to university, you could describe my mindset as being that of "frumkeit is the right thing to do". I did not obtain greater fulfillment by attending the Modern Orthodox Machmir shul in my speck of Small Town Canada. Indeed, the general atmosphere at MOMS was of civil tolerance for deviance from their norm. I recall spending one seder where the hostess took me aside after the meal and gave me stockings (from Israel! It’s a mitzvah to support Eretz Yisroel!) so that I could wear a skirt next time. While well-intentioned and certainly understandable given my having worn dress pants to her house, let's be honest: frumkeit began to feel a bit oppressive. Too many negatives, not enough positives. All these machmir stuff was getting in the way of my love of Hashem.

And so, gradually, unexpectedly, I began to find my personal relationship with Hashem, in jeopardy. I consequently took the course of action that I felt would best preserve my relationship with Him- I ditched being frum. A most misguided decision it was.

Yet at least I remained consistent. When did I begin to return to frumkeit? After spending a good week or so truly doubting whether Hashem existed. That scared me straight, as they say, and I began actively seeking out ways to become more anchored community (I attended shul during my frydom, but sporadically). The rest is, of course, history.

So why am I sharing this with you now? Because of late, I have been feeling the same degree of discomfort against all the chumrahs and so forth that disillusioned me to the point of jumping overboard. So you will excuse me if, both now and in future posts, I dwell more on cultivating my relationship with Hashem in a way that is personally meaningful to me. Because I can guarantee you that saying Tehillim and all the other frummie frumstein avenues posited around these parts will fail to net the desired effect for yours truly.

And the alternative is not a road I wish to travel down a second time!

Count with Me

I am now notorious.

I went shopping at my local pharmacy and the cashier that checked out my items said "I know you" with a laugh. Well, I remember her as well. :)

A few weeks ago, I shopped at the said pharmacy with a rain cheque. Actually, since the given shop almost always runs out of sale items by the time I go shopping on Sunday, I typically have rain cheques when they ring up my purchases.

However, the rain cheque that day was unusual. Rather than stating a sale price, the rain cheque was for 40% of the regular price. I had the same cashier as I did today, and she said, "Oh, I'm not good with math". She called the assistant manager. While we were waiting, I said to her, "Look, 10% of $21.99 is $2.19, right? So $2.19 x 4 = $8.76". She said, no that wasn't right.

By then, the assistant manager arrived. I went through my calculations again with her. She said, no, it should be something like $18. When I started doing my calculation yet again, the cashier decided they should call one of the guys from the back. "_____ is good at math", said the cashier; "_____ is real smart", said the assistant manager. They decided to call both guys to the front to assist.

Mr. Good with Math said it should be $7-ish. I started yet again chanting out loud, when Mr. Smart decided to whip out a calculator. He announced that I was right. The assistant manager then said that no, I had been saying $8.76, when the amount was $13.23.

That's when I realised: I had been stating the amount to be deducted from the full price. So I said to her "I'm sorry, I wasn't clear: I meant that we needed to subtract $8.76 from the original price". She then softened and we all made nice. We had both been right. ;)

Now the part of this whole saga that disturbed me is that these were all college-age workers. That they had gone through the New York school system and remained unable to do basic calculations in their head was, well, shocking. Maybe I'm naive, but that it should have taken 4 workers 10 minutes to calculate what to charge me is a complete disgrace. At fifteen, my very first job involved bookkeeping. And you'd better believe there were no digital devices involved: I calculated in my head or by long-hand.

To their credit, the people who work at the pharmacy are really nice. Certainly more cordial than another pharmacy on Kings Highway, which shall remain nameless. So while it's selection may not be on par with yet another pharmacy on Kings Highway, the rain cheque pharmacy remains my preferred shopping location. Why deal with snippy cashiers if you can deal with nice ones?

Still, where the 3 Rs are concerned, I think Mr. Bloomberg might want to reconsider that teacher budget cut he just announced, if my experience that Sunday is any indication. Because do we want another generation of New Yorkers who are handicapped where basic life skills are concerned? I sure hope not...

Laugh Too Much

A tidbit from my weekly shopping expedition.

I was in the pet shop, getting tchatchkis for Ms. Furry Furball. As I was waiting for the cashier to ring up my purchases, there was a boy playing with a dog toy. The toy emitted an obscene and annoying sound, as the boy squeezed the toy at least a dozen times.

Since the sound was so bizarre, I kept laughing. And while the cashier rang up my purchases, he rolled his eyes. I said "That sound could get annoying" and laughed again.

After he finished up with me, a woman came into line behind me. Inexplicably, the cashier walked away with my receipt. So I stood there waiting for him to return. It was during this minute or so that the woman spoke to me:

"You laugh a lot".

I realised that she was offended and I tried to figure out why. Then it occurred to me that perhaps the boy was her son, and she didn't like that I had been laughing. So I said "The toy makes a funny sound" and laughed a bit again. She hadn't taken the bait.

"It's funny to you?"

At which point I had the seichel to just ignore her.

What I found interesting about the entire exchange is that she was so offended. How could she interpret my laughing as an affront to her son? It seemed bizarre. But even more to the point, it was obvious that she is so miserable that she deemed me a nutcase because I could laugh at something so simple as a dog toy.

It occurred to me then that people in New York don't laugh. In my hometown, people laugh a lot. I suppose it's part of our mentality; you laugh off all the absurdities that come at you in life versus getting all tied up in a knot. Evidently Ms. Pet Shop hadn't learned that skill yet. And how sad for her.

Why don't I just address it to Saudi Sheik?

Today, I had the joy of receiving my gas bill.

As mentioned in previous posts, I tend to be rather conservative with my energy use due to growing up in Canada. So I was very surprised to see my bill jump by quite a few dollars this month. Upon inspection of my bill, I became aware of certain details.

First, the several dollars difference over last month was due to my having used just 1 more therm. Well, that didn't seem right. So I re-read the bill. And I was still dissatisfied with the explanation offered therein (albeit annoyed to see that I paid MTA surcharge on my gas delivery. Seriously- at this rate, how can the MTA even be charging fares to New York residents, what with how widespread this "surcharge" is being applied? More like surcharges ad infinitum. Sheesh.). So I called Customer Service.

The CSR was most apologetic and explained all the undocumented reasons why my bill was higher. My favourite was the 10 cents difference this month over last month for the price of oil. Fabulous. Yet another way that yiddin in New York are supporting our friends in Saudi and their compatriots across the Middle East. I hope the sheiks in question enjoy milking me for my extra shekalim.

So, once again, I am amazed and appalled by the state of New York's infrastructure. And I fill the need to repose the question: Why oh why do New Yorkers tolerate it?

Neighbour, Neighbour

I was vacuuming my floors yesterday afternoon when there was knock on my door. It was my downstairs neighbour.

She started off by the conversation by saying "That's why I would never knock (referring to my pre-Rosh Hashanah policy of tapping on the floor when her son was making a racket). This is making a lot of noise; my ceiling is shaking". Interestingly enough, she seemed a bit taken aback by the fact that the noise was caused by a vacuum. So I decided it was an opportune time to educate her about the nature of the building.

I told her also that I tried very hard to be quiet. My point was that I try to be considerate of the fact that what I do may affect them, i.e. I try to be a decent neighbour. But I think she didn't catch that, since she responded that I needn't refrain from doing anything because they're loud.

I think she did take away though how 1. her son's bedroom is below mine, and 2. the floors/walls are paper thin. In short, we live on top of each other, with no privacy. What I found interesting about the "exchange" was that the offense that I committed, in her opinion, was that my knocking was causing her son to feel like he couldn't do whatever he wanted. While I chalked it up to cultural differences, I couldn't help but think "But he can't do whatever he wants. He's a young boy. And he needs structure in his life!".

Anyhow, the incident weighted upon me, as it seemed to me that obviously, despite my lack of knocking since Rosh Hashana, there was lingering resentment on their part. So I figured that the right response was for me to go downstairs and try to clear the air one more time. My first attempt to speak to them en route to shul was unsuccessful - the wife was sleeping. I decided that I would leave shul early to try to speak with her again before heading over to friends for lunch. After all, peace takes precedence over everything, right? B'H', my second attempt was successful: as I came down the stairs, the husband was collecting the mail, and informed me that his wife was up. So ran over to their door and knocked. His wife opened the door, and was thrilled that I had come by. She said that she didn't have anything negative in her heart when she had come by the morning before, and while I wasn't 100% convinced of that had been true at the time, I did think that my coming by rendered that true retroactively.

It was a nice ending to the saga. And, now that we're formally introduced and the air has cleared, I'm hoping that for the duration of our time as neighbours, we'll be able to remain neighbourly and keep the peace, bli ayin hara. :)

The Beat Goes On...

Over Yom Tov, while I was kept up way late by Downstairs Boy (i.e., 1:30 AM and 3 AM, respectively), Front Neighbour and her crew seemed to have vacated the premises for the last days. Phew.

Then, as I was walking down the block Shabbos, I saw Block Yenta. She informed me that our landlord had told FN that either she shapes up or ships out. BY seemed to be of the impression that the current vacancy was permanent. However, as I tend to suspend belief where gossip is concerned, I didn't really give the situation too much thought. Sure, the thought of being spared at least one set of crazy, loud neighbours (who smoke excessively to boot) was pleasant. I just didn't believe that my mazel was on the upswing. :)

Sure enough, tonight around 9:30 post-chag, I hear the oh-so familiar sound of the front door opening, followed by thundering footsteps up the stairs and the next apartment door opening then slamming shut. From the voice that I overheard, I could tell that it was Front Door Israeli Guy, aka He Who Told Me To Keep The Front Door Open last Shabbos. Within seconds, they turned on their water full blast- an event announced by a screeching noise that reaches my ears from the very farthest point in the house. As for what the immediate running water was for, that's any one's guess and none of my business. :) What was my business, however, was my hand washing that was waiting for me in the tub. After the allotted hour soaking time was up, I went to rinse out my things.
That hour happened to elapse about 10 minutes after the said screeching noise commenced.

Now, perhaps I need to pause here and mention that in Canada, we're taught to conserve water. Specifically, we're taught to turn off the water at intervals. For example, when soaping up your dishes, don't leave the water running; turn off the water and then turn it back on when ready to rinse. I practise this conservationist etiquette pretty much exclusively. So I went to rinse out my hand washing, and did my usual routine of running the cold water for 10 seconds, turning it off for a minute or so, then turning the water back on.
It's also worth mentioning that one of the nice features of my building (perhaps the only one at this point, lol), is that when you run the water in your unit, it does not affect the water pressure or temperature in other units. Indeed, I have often been in the shower when FN et al turns on the water full-blast, and I have B'H' suffered no ill effects.

Imagine my horror when FDIG starts banging on my bathroom wall so hard that my shower head (which is an old-school pipe running into the wall) starts to shake. He repeats the pounding, even after I have turned off the water and am simply swishing around my stuff in the basin. I resisted the urge to turn the hot water on full-blast though. It would've served him right.

In short, I was appalled by his behaviour, and given that such is the normal state of things, am planning to have a conversation with my landlord once he is back next week. After all, if this dude isn't a paying tenant... Hopefully the said conversation will remind him that as a guest in the building, some common courtesy is in order. And if he can't manage to be civil (as demonstrated by his behaviour to date), then perhaps he should simply not be allowed on the premises.

At least, here's hoping so! Until I move, natch.

B9 Me!

This evening I took my very first trip on the Brooklyn bus. EVER. I will of course remind everyone that until the car accident, I had a car. And after the accident, I've limited my use of the MTA to commuting work/interviews, aka going to Manhattan. Local shopping I do on foot. In short, why would I take the bus?

But tonight I had a doctor's appointment in Boro Park, so the bus it was. I will admit to being nervous when I started out: Will I hold up the line onto the bus by not finding the card swipe/swiping incorrectly? Would I be able to move down the aisle or would it be packed like sardines? Would the ride be smooth?

I was most relieved to discover that every city on the east coast of North America seems to use the same bus manufacturer. So when I ascended the steps and went to pay, I was grateful to see the familiar Metrocard graphic indicating the Metrocard slot and method for inserting your card. Then, while the front was so crowded I could barely squeeze by after saying "Excuse me" a bazillion times, I got to the centre of the bus and found it quite comfortable while standing. A few blocks later I managed to get a seat. The trip was relatively quick. The bus was much cleaner than the metro and certainly quieter. The bus driver announced the stops clearly yet without that deafening volume they use on the metro. The ride was even even interesting sociologically: the teenagers and their texting/iPod combo were priceless, and I managed to interact with various nationalities that you don't see in Flatbush. So, my first bus ride in Brooklyn was a pleasant experience overall.

Was the ride bumpy? Yes. Were the seats comfortable? No, but given my experience with the MTA's metro, I wasn't expecting them to be. Honestly, the only serious complaint I had was my wait time. Both going to and coming from Borough Park, I had to watch 3 buses service the opposite side of the street while waiting for my bus to arrive. The schedule consequently seemed more like a joke than an actual representation of service.

Still, I took the Brooklyn bus...and am glad I did. Now I have an alternate way to get around locally, and in the winter (if I'm still in NYC) that alternative could prove really handy. Go B9!

On The First Day of Sukkot, Hashem Gave to Me...

The first days were quite eventful. Unfortunately, no communal sukkah was erected (although Front Neighbour Girl invited me to stop by whenever. More on that later.); instead there's a little colony of sukkahs on the property. Imagine one sukkah filled with Israelis, then multiply it. That, my friends, should tip you off to the tenor that my chag has taken thus far.

• All the meals I ate out were fabu, as were the sukkahs in which we ate. The only thing I can't get used to in New York is the sechach rolls people use. I'm used to the pine branches we used back in Canada. Also, I give a hearty "Todah Hashem" for the fact that my outfit lasted until after the last meal- during which the child seated next to me ate a whole bunch of cherry tomatoes. Suffice it to say, I spent Sunday night picking the seeds off my hat and clothing. It was pretty hilarious.
• Shabbos I was unable to sleep due to the enthusiasm of my co-building dwellers in their respective sukkahs. Saturday night, desperate for some sleep, I dragged my mattress into the living room and finally fell asleep. When I awoke in the early morning (4 AM), I dragged the mattress back in- and didn't feel too guilty when the frame thudded against the floor. I considered it karma.
• Shabbos afternoon I was leaving to go visit friends (since I was unable to take my Shabbos nap) when I had a run-in with an Israeli. As I was coming down the stairs, I saw a young man whom I had never seen before with a big ring of keys. He opened the door and as we met in the hallway spoke to me. He asked if I could keep the downstairs door open on Shabbos, because they got locked out for 4 hours and had to call a locksmith. I found the whole thing ridiculous and told him that I have my reasons for keeping the door closed. That's when he went Israeli on me and asked me why. I was like, unbelievable! So I figured I could act Israeli too, and told him straight out that my security is my business and that he should do like me and carry his key with him (aka use a bendel dude!). But seriously, who the heck is he to be telling me to keep the door open???
• Sunday morning, I got up bright and early, eager to get to shul in time to see Hallel. Even though my favourite fall chag is Simchat Torah (aka Shemini Atzeret Part II), I must admit that seeing the whole men's section waving their lulavs and etrogim gets me teary-eyed. It's just a beautiful spectacle. But wouldn't you know it? My stomach is generally unhappy over the chagim, and I was feeling so lousy that I got to shul right after Hallel. I was totally bummed out, and consoled myself by remembering that at least I got there in time for Bircat HaKohanim and Hoshanos.
• Sunday afternoon Downstairs Kid was in good form as I was trying to take a mini-nap. So I did a polite "tap-tap" on the floor. I hear a fist banging my floor. So I figure it's the kid playing, and tap again. Bang-bang again. Repeat. Within 10 seconds my front door is being banged on. HARD. At first I just ignore it, but then I figure I may as well take the wind out of whomever's sails it is. It's Downstairs Guitar Guy, and he's all furious that his kid is quiet, and why don't I go downstairs to ask them to be quiet. I explained that I banged because I wasn't dressed. Like "Hello"- isn't that obvious by virtue of the fact that I'm not opening the door? Anyhow, it was heated conversation (read: Israeli) and I told him that we weren't going to reach an agreement so let's just drop it. I subsequently went downstairs and spoke to him about the situation though, in an attempt to make peace. After all, it is before Hoshana Rabbah. The sad part is that I had tried to call them before Rosh Hashana to wish them a Chag Sameach. Ah well.
• Block Yenta saw me on the street and called out to me "I need to talk to you". Suffice it say that despite my general gratitude to her for filling me in on what's going on with/in the building, I was in no mood for new info. Anyway, the past week, Front Neighbour Girl has had her father visiting from Israel and to say father and daughter don't get along would be an understatement. Then again, my apartment has been smoke-free since Daddy Dearest arrived, so I assume part of the negativity is due to FNG's refraining from smoking. Block Yenta then informed me that there have been a couple of incidents involving FNG and one of her regular guests. Now I certainly don't know what's the truth or not, and I'm avoiding believing any of what Block Yenta told me until what's what becomes evident. However, if what I heard is to be believed, things are indeed in a very bad state in the building. Colour me Not Amused.

Chol HaMoed has pretty much followed suit. I'm hoping that things will be on the upturn by Friday. At least, I sure hope so!

Where's the Heat?

Can someone refresh my memory regarding the heat by-law? Is it when the temperature is below 50 F at night and/or after October 15 that the landlord must provide heat?

All I know is that it's dang freezing in my sad little abode. (And please refrain from the "But you're Canadian" comments!) Back in my fair land (and it is beautiful folks, I should post some pics...), landlords get serious penalties for denying heat. After all, there it's a matter of life or death.

Anyhow, a reminder would be most appreciated. This way I know what to state when I call my landlord's brother, aka my landlord's substitute in lieu of both my landlord and his father being in Israel for Sukkot...Aside from "Just turn the heat on already", that is. :)

Talk About Inappropriate

Note: The following post is not about my situation with my landlord or living condition. Everyone has already chimed in ad nauseum regarding that situation, and I admit that I will need to move in the near future, aka when I am able to start repacking, etc. Therefore, please keep any comments to the noted conversation.

Last Friday, after listening to my fridge making very sad sounds, I called my landlord's father (aka he who told my DEH that I'm a bad wife). As previously noted, the said father is supposed to operate as the stand-in for my dearly departed landlord during the latter's extended absences.

My phone call found him surprisingly agreeable. "Just tell me what time on Tuesday to be there, and I'll take care of everything then". I told him noon, hung up, and hoped that this obvious rash of good cheer was due to chagim- because maybe then it would last.

This morning, at 12 PM sharp, the buzzer rings. I let him in. That's when the charade begins. I had told him on Friday that the fridge makes a sound like the motor will die for several minutes, then click into regular motor sound for a few more minutes, before the whole fridge goes quiet. So I had expected him to at least look at the back of the fridge, right?

Alas, no. He instead thumped the fridge several times while reiterating that the fridge was new, under warranty, and even if it should die, they have another one to replace it with. So just give him a call. He also mentioned something about the electricity, and that motors don't gradually die; they just conk out. Anyway he's going to Israel on Thursday, do I have the rent cheque for him?

You'll note that today is a few days prior to the end of the month. I gave him an incredulous look for a moment, then went to get the cheque, which I had prepared last night in anticipation of him (ahem) fixing the fridge. As for the window that has remained pending for several months, the part the landlord ordered to fix the window a couple of weeks ago still hasn't arrived. Hmmm.

As he was leaving, the unforgivable part of the episode occurred. He took the rent cheque from me then stated that my problem was, quote, "that (you) don't have a man around". That, my friends, was the end.

It's the day after Yom Kippur. So I forgave him for the comment, chalking it up to cultural difference. But the not knowing when the repairs would be done, and what appeared to be an outright lie (saying he'd fix everything Friday when today it seemed like he only showed up to collect the rent)...that got me. So I called him a little while ago. He immediately became defensive when I asked him a question (the usual course of our conversations unfortunately) and started yelling at me. I asked him to please stop yelling, at which point he managed to subdue himself for a few moments. So I again tried to tell him what I didn't understand, at which point he started yelling over me again. The end result was of course him telling me that if I don't like it here I can move.

I told him to have his son in Israel, aka my landlord, to please call me, since the father and I can't seem to communicate. Why, oh why, Hashem must I deal with this man????

Just a Thursday in Brooklyn

Today was an interesting day, Brooklyn-wise.

In the morning, my davening was tested by a motorist who decided he would lean on his horn- for full 2 minutes. Like, HELLO, this is a mixed-zone neighbourhood. Some of us actually live here, and are trying to conduct our lives in peace. As for the rest of the yahoos who conducted the routine honking, I've said enough on them for a lifetime, so I'll leave well enough alone.

This afternoon I ventured off making deliveries: cookies and candy to those I'm visiting on Shabbos, my remaining stash of ginger almond cookies to my friend S (who loves ginger cookies), and my cheque to the Rav as per the gabbai's plea on R'H'. When I made my deliveries, none of the recipients were home. Yet as I made my way about the neighbourhood, I happened to see my host for Fri night, my friend S picking up her kids at the school bus drop-off, and the Rav's wife doing some shopping. I even ran into a friend of my coming home from Avenue J. It really was the first time ever that I felt like I was part of the neighbourhood. I have to admit: it was a nice feeling.

The evening was slightly less warm and fuzzy. I made the moronic decision to scoot into Moisha's to procure some Starlight Mints (since I had just given away my Organic Lollies in my care packages). The entrance aisle was barred by a woman who was reviewing the babka so carefully that she oblivious to the fact that her cart was preventing more than 10 patrons from moving.

This woman was the definition of chutzpah, and not the Brooklyn kind (I'll refrain from identifying her nationality). Figuring that everyone had carts except me, I crammed myself between her cart and the next patrons to get her attention, and asked her if she could please move so that the patron coming from the opposite direction could pass, thereby clearing the aisle for the remaining patrons who were waiting. Her response was sadly predictable. She told me that I could wait a minute. I politely pointed out that several people were waiting to pass, and that's when she unleashed the litany.

Are the Yom Tovim over yet? Because brother, the law of the land here is sure wearing me out!

Random Thoughts

A few thoughts that have been rolling around in the old noggin this week, courtesy of the influx of people returning after the summer.

• Honking: Why, if they see that the roadway is completely blocked so that no cars can negotiate moving, do drivers insist on leaning on the horn? How about a smidgen of patience people? Since last Thursday, the symphony of honking has been a non-stop, all-day/night affair. Give it a rest already!
• Staring: What's with the open-mouthed stare anyway? I was wearing white this past Sunday, and two teenagers gave me the Brooklyn double-take, complete with the over-the-shoulder look. Since when is white assur? I decided to let the Satan win for the moment, and catching their eye over-the-shoulder as well, gave a loud "RUDE!". Seriously...
• Schooling: What's with the half-day on the first day of school? Is the only reason because the teachers need the afternoon to try to garner their outstanding pay from last year? And by the way, school is now officially what the playgroup downstairs is being called. Because yes folks, it is now a year-long affair!

I think it's time I have another peanut butter brownie, eh? Maybe with a little swig of something stronger than tea to take the edge of my nerves. :p For everyone's sake.

Am I Dreaming?

Am I in California? Because the apartment keeps shaking...

Ah, no! It's the Department of Transportation continuing their "repairs" of my street, which they ripped up several weeks ago and then left mainly unfinished until today. I'm sure, given they wrapped things up at 3 PM and the given workers are union, that the street remains unfinished and a repeat visit is in order.

That said, an amusing start to the day...

A Canuck's Take on the 4th of July

This year of all years, I was hoping to make it to the fireworks. In my part of Canada, the summer is filled with weeks of fireworks displays set to music, and the whole city converges at the waterfront to get the full effect. Feeling homesick or nostalgic (or both), I was hoping to finally get to see New York's version of a fireworks display.

Alas, predictably, the show started around motzei Shabbos. So, no fireworks for LPC. Plus, because they moved the venue to the west side this year, I didn't even see a glimmer of lights in the sky. I had to take solace in witnessing the umpteen firecrackers set off by the neighbours. They were in fine form, having started barbecuing Friday night. :p So I mentally tipped the remainder of my beer to them, enjoyed what spectacle I could scrounge, and took the Citizenship test on MSN. Astonishingly, in my 10 years in this country, I seem to have absorbed all kinds of American history/civic tidbits without realizing it; I scored over 80%! How'd you like them apples...Not bad for a makeshift American, eh?

I'm thinking today's a good day to be broiling some veggies and skewering some veggie dogs. Here's hoping that this time next year I'll either be back in Canada or at least able to eat meat and properly join the festivities.

Irregardless, here's wishing everyone a fabulous 4th of July weekend!

Hunting Expedition

Growing up in Canada, everyone had at least a 6-pack of beer in their fridge. It was basically de rigeur, up there with common etiquette, e.g. offering someone a coffee or tea as soon as they entered your house. And you generally socialize over drinks, be it beer, wine, or my favourite as a twenty-something, Canadian whisky.

Yet when I moved to the US, my alcohol consumption came to a slamming halt. The shift was partially due to my moving to the right of the frummie spectrum, but even more so due to the appalling quality of the beverages available. I am no fan of bourbon, vodka is okay but not fabulous according to my taste buds, and well, imported whisky was just plain expensive. As for beer, it was bad enough that all I could find was Miller, Budweiser, or Corona, but it was unfathomable to me that the said beer came in a can, not a bottle. I mean, a can? That's just tacky.

So I've kept my imbibing to some dry wine every once in a while. But the last few weeks I've really been hankering for a beer. Really. The groceries around me though have only offered the usual suspects, with Heineken thrown in for good measure. I decided today to turn things up a notch, and followed the advice of numerous friends to look in the convenience stores around the neighbourhood.

After ambling along for over an hour, I finally found a great spot on Avenue P. Not only did the shop offer mainly imported beer, but the guy also sold a gazillion types of cigarettes, cigars, etc. , aka it was a true beer joint. I even found a new Molson beer. After learning that I could break up a 6-pack if need be, I took my bottle up to the counter. The guy looked at me and said "Only one"? I told him I didn't know if I'd like it. That's when he almost cracked a smile and nodded. He could relate to my sampling. Obviously a beer drinker himself. :)

Since I now had my beer, I figured I needed some type of salty snack. So I bought some type of cheesy crunchie, and home I came. My loot is sitting in the fridge, awaiting the proper moment. All in all, one of the best hours I've spent as of late. There's nothing like discovering more about what's in your neck of the woods, you know?

At Last

(No, the kid downstairs isn't quiet yet. That would constitute a miracle...)

I had two amazing things happen this week. And to be clear, what was amazing about them was that they happened in Brooklyn!

Wave 'Em In
I was walking down Avenue M for some reason, and waited at a corner for the light. Two elementary school-aged boys were waiting on their bikes at the opposite corner, and asked if I would supervise them crossing. I agreed, and when I remarked that they had to dismount and walk their bikes across the street, they did so. That two young children listened to their parents teachings and didn't just dash willy-nilly across the street was heart-warming. That they listened to me was downright astonishing.

The Line That Worked
I was waiting at the Dollar store when a second worker opened up an alternate register. Since there was a gentleman ahead of me also waiting, I asked whether he was tranferring to the other register. As we were conversing, the Russian gentleman behind me made a hasty dash to the newly opened counter. The gentleman ahead of me told me he was sticking with the current line, so I proceeded to the alternate counter. As the cashier was still opening up the counter when I arrived, Mr. Russian had not yet been served. I decided I would speak up, and gave him a polite yet firm "Excuse me". He gave me a "Yeah sure" in a tone that definitely stated b*tch, but I couldn't care less. More to the point, the cashier gave me a sly smile, pleased as punch.

For both instances, I gave Hashem a mental "Thank you" for making my day. :p

Step Away from the Eggplant!

Returning home from the GP yesterday, I thought I would pick up a few items at a different green grocer than my usual one, since it was on my way. I actually used to frequent the one from yesterday, but had stopped when my regular one opened up shop.

Within seconds of entering yesterday, I remembered why I had stopped shopping there. The aisles are narrow beyond belief, the place is always packed, they only have baskets that weigh down quickly with your items, and the line is typically out-the-door.

As I was waiting in the long line to the cashier, the Russian lady behind me decided to chat me up, despite her meager English. She consequently took to touching me to get my attention and otherwise specify what she was trying to convey. However, when she wiped her nose then touched my eggplant and asked why I had only bought one, I almost snapped. It's one thing to infect my eggplant; it's another to question my purchasing habits.

I shrugged then let her go ahead of me so I could be rid of her. I think I'll be staying with my current green grocer from now on...

Inspired

Spurred on by Moshe's comment earlier today, I finally had my rite of passage. Yes, tonight there was some type of party going on at the neighbours behind me (the ones whose children shriek like they're being murdered, chasve shalom, all day long), complete with Israeli band. After an hour of having the windows closed, earplugs in, and fans running, and still feeling like my head was going to implode, enough was enough already.

So I called the local precinct.

They must have stopped by a few minutes ago because, while the noise is still at an uncomfortable level, it is better than it was earlier. I'm interested to see what happens after 10 PM.

I can't wait to get out of Brooklyn. I'm thinking Montana...wide open spaces...nobody around for kilometre after kilometre. Boy, am I ready for it!

The List

The first day of Shavuous, I was treated to a wonderful surprise: Barb Chansky showed up to lunch! I was literally hopping up and down in excitement. Any meal with Barb is a meal worth eating!

While we were sitting on the couch catching up, as is our minhag when we bump into each other at our gracious hostess, Barb dropped a real pearl. She pointed out that I had reached my "boiling point" where Brooklyn was concerned. Barb, as usual, you hit the nail right on the head!

So the past few days I've been thinking that I need to start thinking about remaining in New York on a short-term basis. To that end, I need to decide how long I need to be in New York, where I should go next, and what I need to do in my remaining time between point A and point B. Because as much as New York has so much to offer, let's face it- I never have the simultaneous time, energy AND money required to partake in any of the many exciting things going on here. As much as I love museums, and music, and the parks, I never get around to any of them, because it's too much of schlepp just to get there and back. So instead I live in New York and basically just work, cook, clean, and sometimes sleep. Not much of a life.

So I've begun to really think about what type of lifestyle makes me happy. And I'm making my list of Things To Do Before I Leave New York. If anyone has suggestions for fun stuff to do, feel free to post your comments...or post your comments regardless!