Notes from the Block

Everywhere I have lived "out of town", I have been able to at least visually identify my neighbours, if not also know their names and other pertinent details.

Not so on my block. Save the:

• neighbours one door down
• Chinese family three doors down
  
• elderly Russian lady four doors down (who inexplicably started speaking to me last week after refraining from interacting these past 3.5+ years. [we now wave to each other])
  
• young thug who walks his dog while chain smoking
  
• two Chassidishe boys who gawk as they ride by on their bikes
• block yenta

I have no clue who lives on my block. FYI, all of the identified parties live on my side of the street. That means the other side is an utter mystery.

So it came as not such a surprise this last layl Shabbos when I meet a young lady (Canadian no less!) who lives across the street and only 5 doors down from me. I had NEVER seen her before. That's almost as hilarious as how much she reminded me of myself at that age, down to the style of her skirt. A CANADIAN on my block and I was unaware. What a disgrace!

On a separate but related note, to all my male goyishe neighbours, young and old, the following is for you:

Please, please, please stop exiting your houses without your shirts. That behaviour is just gross. Same goes for shorts. I don't care how fabulous you feel you look (and I suppose, in turn, consider such displays to be a gift to the female population), I'm here to burst your bubble and inform you that the sight thereof is downright gag-worthy. In short, just put a shirt on already, and if you could throw on trousers as well, so much the better! Thought I would get that in before the heat wave this week.

Outlet

Once upon a time, a verrrrry long time ago, I used to be a singer. And by that I mean my choir toured the world, made recordings, and performed with world-renowned symphonies. We were arguably one of the top choirs in the world, if competing against the Manchester Boy's Choir and Vienna Boy's Choir is any indication.

The choir was all my mother the Music Teacher's idea. Because as much as I loved singing, she's the one who decided to "channel" my enthusiasm in the appropriate direction. At least my singing endeavours proved more fruitful than my piano lessons. (Sorry Mom). And like the piano lessons, when I became older, the singing in public went away. You have to do what's tznius after all.

Years of yelling "Sound Speed" in my film production days, not to mention teaching, have left their mark on my current singing ability. My voice is no longer pure as crystal, and my range has shrunk by a few octaves. No longer would anyone be able to proclaim as they used to that I could sing anything. Heck, one recent Shabbos, I even managed to croak when I initially began a song (it was women-only, of course). Yet I still carry my love of music, and go around my house most days singing to myself (quietly, lest the neighbours hear). And I'll admit, I have at least one album of songs in me, if not more. Granted, I wonder how original they might be; they could wind up just being a hodge podge of all the songs I've listened to throughout the years. From time to time, I contemplate recording. At this point, the recording would be to simply give pleasure to my mother, aka my one and only fan. But it would be fun to do.

Then last night, while researching music resources online to make that recording for my mom, I stumbled upon the online karaoke community. I must admit, the thought of karaoke sends me into fits of laughter. I remember when I was lived in Korea how it was a major pastime, along with drinking soju. Let's be honest, for most people, karaoke is equivalent to a bunch of drunkards singing loudly and tonelessly through song after song, unaware of their complete lack of musicality. The whole point of karaoke is not to sing well but to show that you can follow the song in question.

Yet on these online sites, you find quite a few good singers. And given that some of the women post audio-only, versus video, it raises any interesting question about whether recording yourself and putting it up on such sites would be considered tznius. You even have a comment for each recording you upload, so I would think that if a woman wrote "For women only", that might be deemed "kosher".

Now, I am NOT planning on becoming Queen of the Online Karaoke community. Even if I wanted to, my singing just isn't up to snuff to do so. Still, it raised an interesting question for any frummies out there who love to sing and seek an outlet. Maybe the internet isn't so bad after all? :)

Vera Wang Knock Offs!

When I saw Barb Chansky on Shavous, at one point in our conversation the topic turned to her footwear. You see, on that occasion, she was sporting a fabulous pair of pink, bejeweled, Vera Wang "flip flops". Then, on a later occasion, I saw Barb in identical flip flops, but this time in brown/gold. Since earth-toned clothing/accessories are my current obsession, to say that I was dazzled by the latter pair would not be an exaggeration. (Barb, keep up the good shopping!)

Well, Hashem must have decided to throw me a bone. Last night, I was given a present, and it was none other than a pair of knock-offs, in bronze/gold no less, of those Vera Wang flippies. (I believe the party from whom I received the gift purchased them at ShopRite, if you're interested in procuring some yourself). The remarkable part of that story is that I never mentioned Barb's footwear to the person from whom I received the present. I guess the gift was truly bashert.

Alas, I now have a bit of a problem. Since I wear stockings outside the house, does anyone have tips of wearing knee-highs, etc. with flip-flops? I would looooovvve to wear these outside the house. After all, something so pretty should be shared with the outside world. :)

What to do?

It couldn't last, of course.

Tonight I come home to find a young guy in beanie and white shirt parking his minivan outside the building. No biggie. As I'm going up the stairs schlepping my books, etc., the guy asks "Are you __?". To my chagrin, he uses my English name, which immediately frames him a bad light. So I turn around and ask him why.

He says he's my landlord's cousin, and he wants to buy the building. Can he come take a look? I told him I didn't understand his question- was he actually asking to see my apartment? He said yes. I then replied in the negative, and turned to continue back up the stairs. He asked if I wanted to speak to the landlord. I told him no, I didn't.

I'm upstairs putting my stuff away, just waiting for it. Sure enough, first the front apartment bell rings, then mine. I say "Yes", and he tells me he has the code for the basement, can I open the downstairs door for him? Since the stated door is for entrance to the upstairs apartments, not the basement, and since the stated code grants him access to the basement without my assistance, I told him no, why should I, who is he, and leave me alone.

The really infuriating part of the saga is that a part of me has been suspecting for months that the landlord was planning to sell. And given that this guy shows up, who I don't know from Adam, and asks for entrance to my apartment- that really got my goat. Why the heck do I care if he sees the building or not? In the end, the only place it'll get me is a rent increase.

So now I don't know how to proceed. What are my rights? How can I be preemptive about documenting the lack of maintenance in the building without creating a situation that gives them grounds for an increase? Any advice/hot line numbers would be most appreciated.

Pure Embarrassment

I had been meaning for a while to bake something and bring it over to one of my frequent Shabbos haunts. This Sunday I decided to just grab the bull by the horns and make the time to do so.

I figured a cake was more presentable as a gift than cookies, so I quickly baked one of my vegan marble cakes. I was short on time though, and when I grabbed the cake to deliver it on foot to its destination, it was still literally scalding to the touch. Suffice it to say that by the time I arrived at my friend's house 10 minutes later, it was a sad sight indeed. The cake had deflated and caved in on itself; It had literally melted in the summer heat.

I was positively mortified. My baking skills have always been my ego safety net. Sure, I may suck at everything else, but I can bake! So when I looked at that cake, I just didn't know what to do. And I mentally castigated myself for not keeping to a more tried and true format, like cookies. I mean, cookies you can't mess up, and they transport well. What had I been thinking?

I called my friend later in the evening and apologized. I promised to bake something else if it wound up being unpalatable. She told me she was sure it was edible and told me that she planned to have it the next morning for breakfast (she was fleischig, and my oven is dairy). Unconvinced, I called her yesterday to see if she needed me to bake anything else. NO ANSWER, and she generally returns calls promptly.

I'm at a loss as to what to do next. Let it go and bow my head in shame? Bake something else and drop it off? HELP!!! One thing is for sure: if ever there was a case of haste makes waste, this is it. :(

Chalav Conundrum

If you think about it, frumkeit in NYC is an anomaly. By that I mean that the experience of being frum here is unlike anywhere else in the world. Where else do they have comparable resources available? Not even Israel, from what I hear. Case in point: when I was dating the last time, one NY guy, when I asked where he was holding, decided to list all his dietary chumrahs. I refrained to pointing out that I hoped he planned to remain in NY for the rest of his life, because no way could he perpetuate that list outside of the Greater NYC area.

Which leads me to the point of this post. Until I lived in NY, I didn't bother with chalav Yisroel. To be honest, it was for the most part unavailable, and when it was, it was easily double, if not triple, the price of regular milk. Since I had never kept that chumrah growing up, I didn't feel the need to deviate from my stance. As one of my rebbetzins pointed out, all milk in North America is kosher!

And then I moved to NYC, where to keep chalav stam is scorned. True, given the ease with which one can procure chalav Yisroel and generally tolerable pricing thereof, why wouldn't you buy it? To be fair, I never took the chumrah upon myself- I just love Hershey's Special Dark too much. But I have refrained from buying a litre of chalav stam.

Yet last night I was in ShopRite, and given that I had been unable to find the brand of chalav Yisroel I like in the local shops, decided to peruse the dairy aisle for once. And I made two discoveries. First, while chalav Yisroel comes in skim, 1% or whole milk, chalav stam offers 2% as well. And my taste preference has always been 2%. Secondly, the chalav stam was a full 30% or more cheaper than the chalav Yisroel.

So I'm faced with a conundrum. Do I cave and get the 2% going forward. Or do I suck it up and keep paying more for my less fave yet supposedly "holier" 1% chalav Yisroel? Comments, please!

Ban It!

Tonight, while listening to music via YouTube (I've been searching for cover songs), I came across the following video. To say that I'm now scarred for life is an understatement. As someone who believes in the pet-owner bond, I found this video positively shocking. I'm still mopping up the puddle I left on the floor- although the sobbing did seem to alleviate my allergy symptoms...

Consider yourselves forewarned.