Friends or Defriending
Sunday’s New York Times had a well-written story about friendships and how to end them. The real thing we need to think about is who are our friends and when were they our friends?
During the course of one’s lifetime friends come and go. But who are the real friends? I think in Chris Rock’s recent play Motherf**ker With the Hat hit it right on the head. Rock’s character made it clear that your friends are the ones you’ve had since an early age. The people you knew when you were in college and before.
I must say this is very true. But in my case, I am happy to report I’ve been fortunate enough to make a few lifelong friends in my mid-thirties. Both I met through my previous workplace. In one case, our respective companies had a tech partnership. The individual and I worked together on numerous PR announcements. Then spent a few days hanging out in the pressroom at the San Jose Convention Center during the famous VON show. We bonded. I miss those shows.
The other I met through marketing partnership my company did with Yahoo! during the holiday season. She was one of the cool, pretty people working our booth. I got to help her celebrate her birthday.
In the case of both of these people, I talk to them regularly. In one case, I’ve met the person’s family and have been to many family events. I even traveled to Jerusalem to attend her son’s Bar Mitzvah. The other person has visited me when she’s in NYC and we’ve hung out along our travels to Vegas or mine to the City of Angels. I wish they lived in NYC.
Of course, in the case of Rock’s character’s statement, my camp and college friends are a perfect example of what his character expressed. We grew up together. Some have known me since I was 12 and first hiked up the famous Hill, which you can’t beat. Not a day goes by when we don’t chat electronically and relive the years we spent in Chappy. While at the same time we create new memories and bizarre stories.
As for the fraternity crowd, I was with several of my brothers last weekend. Nothing’s changed. Yeah, some of us have grown up. Not sure anyone in the camp crowd has or will ever. But that’s what keeps us so tight. Back to the frat.
We spent that precious end of our teen year’s time to turning 21 together. We graduated and entered the “real” world. But we still remember what it was like on the Tripping Fields, the “delicious” food in the Rat, hangin’ in Thesis and going to classes.
I still chat with some of my elementary school friends on Facebook. But that’s about all we do. They are good people. It’d be neat to see them.
One thing I wonder is if I just met those people today would I befriend them? I think the answer in most cases is clearly yes. I think they are the people I trust and care about most.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Courtesy
Courtesy
There are some very courteous people in this world. Of course there are lots of discourteous people. Some are over courteous. Some are just sleazy.
The other day, I was walking home and came to street corner. The street had two lanes. The driver in the lane closest to me waved me on to cross. He clearly had the right of way. Yeah, he was being nice to me.
But I stood on the corner and did not go. He kept looking at me mouthing go. He was being nice. But the driver in the car next to him was revving her engine and raced right through. There was no way I was going to cross the street. One person was going to let me go. While the other would have made me road kill.
Let’s talk about another topic. Is it courteous or just plain cleanliness? Perhaps both. I’m hopeful we were all taught to wash our hands prior to leaving the bathroom. Sadly far too many people fail to that. I always do.
Let me point to two stories that should shed some light on this topic. About two years ago, a friend was visiting from the mid-Atlantic region. She brought her kids over to my dwelling. Her then three-year-old boy went to the bathroom. He got very nervous and started asking for the step stool so he could reach the faucet to wash his hands. I don’t have one. I can reach the faucet. He asked me to pick him up. I did. He washed his hands.
Same thing happened several months ago at one of my religious institutions. The cutest little three-year-old girl walked out of the bathroom. She asked for someone to pick her up by the ritual sink, so she could wash her hands. She couldn’t reach the faucet in the ladies room. But knew she had to wash her hands.
This same cutie often yells people at her home and in the shul to use forks when they take food out of the serving dishes to put on their plates. Then she’s reminds people not to eat with their hands. I never got yelled at.
The moral of the story is we could all learn a lot from toddlers. In many cases they are far more grown up than many of us.
There are some very courteous people in this world. Of course there are lots of discourteous people. Some are over courteous. Some are just sleazy.
The other day, I was walking home and came to street corner. The street had two lanes. The driver in the lane closest to me waved me on to cross. He clearly had the right of way. Yeah, he was being nice to me.
But I stood on the corner and did not go. He kept looking at me mouthing go. He was being nice. But the driver in the car next to him was revving her engine and raced right through. There was no way I was going to cross the street. One person was going to let me go. While the other would have made me road kill.
Let’s talk about another topic. Is it courteous or just plain cleanliness? Perhaps both. I’m hopeful we were all taught to wash our hands prior to leaving the bathroom. Sadly far too many people fail to that. I always do.
Let me point to two stories that should shed some light on this topic. About two years ago, a friend was visiting from the mid-Atlantic region. She brought her kids over to my dwelling. Her then three-year-old boy went to the bathroom. He got very nervous and started asking for the step stool so he could reach the faucet to wash his hands. I don’t have one. I can reach the faucet. He asked me to pick him up. I did. He washed his hands.
Same thing happened several months ago at one of my religious institutions. The cutest little three-year-old girl walked out of the bathroom. She asked for someone to pick her up by the ritual sink, so she could wash her hands. She couldn’t reach the faucet in the ladies room. But knew she had to wash her hands.
This same cutie often yells people at her home and in the shul to use forks when they take food out of the serving dishes to put on their plates. Then she’s reminds people not to eat with their hands. I never got yelled at.
The moral of the story is we could all learn a lot from toddlers. In many cases they are far more grown up than many of us.
Courtesy
Courtesy
There are some very courteous people in this world. Of course there are lots of discourteous people. Some are over courteous. Some are just sleazy.
The other day, I was walking home and came to street corner. The street had two lanes. The driver in the lane closest to me waved me on to cross. He clearly had the right of way. Yeah, he was being nice to me.
But I stood on the corner and did not go. He kept looking at me mouthing go. He was being nice. But the driver in the car next to him was revving her engine and raced right through. There was no way I was going to cross the street. One person was going to let me go. While the other would have made me road kill.
Let’s talk about another topic. Is it courteous or just plain cleanliness? Perhaps both. I’m hopeful we were all taught to wash our hands prior to leaving the bathroom. Sadly far too many people fail to that. I always do.
Let me point to two stories that should shed some light on this topic. About two years ago, a friend was visiting from the mid-Atlantic region. She brought her kids over to my dwelling. Her then 3 old boy went to the bathroom. He got very nervous and started asking for the step stool so he could reach the faucet to wash his hands. I don’t have one. I can reach the faucet. He asked me to pick him up. I did. He washed his hands.
Same thing happened several months ago at one of my religious institutions. The cutest little three-year-old girl walked out of the bathroom. She asked for someone to pick her up by the ritual sink, so she could wash her hands. She couldn’t reach the faucet in the ladies room. But knew she had to wash her hands.
This same cutie often yells people at her home and in the shul to use forks when they take food out of the serving dishes to put on their plates. Then she’s reminds people not to eat with their hands. I never got yelled at.
The moral of the story is we could all learn a lot from toddlers. In many cases they are far more grown up than many of us.
There are some very courteous people in this world. Of course there are lots of discourteous people. Some are over courteous. Some are just sleazy.
The other day, I was walking home and came to street corner. The street had two lanes. The driver in the lane closest to me waved me on to cross. He clearly had the right of way. Yeah, he was being nice to me.
But I stood on the corner and did not go. He kept looking at me mouthing go. He was being nice. But the driver in the car next to him was revving her engine and raced right through. There was no way I was going to cross the street. One person was going to let me go. While the other would have made me road kill.
Let’s talk about another topic. Is it courteous or just plain cleanliness? Perhaps both. I’m hopeful we were all taught to wash our hands prior to leaving the bathroom. Sadly far too many people fail to that. I always do.
Let me point to two stories that should shed some light on this topic. About two years ago, a friend was visiting from the mid-Atlantic region. She brought her kids over to my dwelling. Her then 3 old boy went to the bathroom. He got very nervous and started asking for the step stool so he could reach the faucet to wash his hands. I don’t have one. I can reach the faucet. He asked me to pick him up. I did. He washed his hands.
Same thing happened several months ago at one of my religious institutions. The cutest little three-year-old girl walked out of the bathroom. She asked for someone to pick her up by the ritual sink, so she could wash her hands. She couldn’t reach the faucet in the ladies room. But knew she had to wash her hands.
This same cutie often yells people at her home and in the shul to use forks when they take food out of the serving dishes to put on their plates. Then she’s reminds people not to eat with their hands. I never got yelled at.
The moral of the story is we could all learn a lot from toddlers. In many cases they are far more grown up than many of us.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Alhaquot's Blog: No Day But Today: The fire's out anyway
Alhaquot's Blog: No Day But Today: The fire's out anyway: No Day But Today Yesterday was the 16th anniversary of the death of Jonathan Larson, the world’s greatest playwright. I found that out at a...
No Day But Today: The fire's out anyway
No Day But Today
Yesterday was the 16th anniversary of the death of Jonathan Larson, the world’s greatest playwright. I found that out at around 5:00 p.m. “I can’t believe his gone. He taught us how to love,” Tom Collins in reference to Angel. Jonathan Larson taught us all so much with his magical writing. I think he gave us hope.
Around 11:00 a.m. I got off the phone with Telecharge and was informed a seat was available at New World Stages to use my pass dated Rent ticket. I’ve seen the show both on and off-Broadway countless times. I own the movie. I’ve met Idina Menzel. I am sure I’ll see it again soon.
Yeah, I’m a Rent head. Every time I listen to or see it I learn something new. Very few things do that to me. Star Wars and Kevin Smith movies featuring, Jay and Silent Bob do. I have a tendency to think about these learned pieces of entertainment quite a bit.
Larson’s Tick Tick Boom so sets the scene. I loved that show, too. It is the the “pre-Rent”. Larson used to perform it himself. I was not lucky enough to see it. I saw it during the summer of 2001. It featured three great actors.
I’ve been lucky enough to sit and drink beer at the table, where Larson wrote the plays at in the Life Café. Yeah, I should have had wine, too. Then I could have had “Wine and Beer… Viva la Vie Boheme”. I’ll do that soon.
The story Rent tells and the family created in show is amazing. I’ve met so many people in my life who resemble someone from Rent. I totally identify with Mark.
“But who Mark are you? Mark is got his work? They say Mark lives for his work And Mark's in love with his work Mark hides in his work,” Roger.
The lines go on to discuss how Mark longs for a community of his own. I’m sure you know the rest.
Well, yeah, I think we all long for a community of our own. I have many communities. All are unique. I love them all. Sometime I’m not sure if I should just stick with one. However, I feel you are so much better off with a wide community. It is much richer learning and life experience. Perhaps, that’s why I’m the one of us to survive.
Yesterday was the 16th anniversary of the death of Jonathan Larson, the world’s greatest playwright. I found that out at around 5:00 p.m. “I can’t believe his gone. He taught us how to love,” Tom Collins in reference to Angel. Jonathan Larson taught us all so much with his magical writing. I think he gave us hope.
Around 11:00 a.m. I got off the phone with Telecharge and was informed a seat was available at New World Stages to use my pass dated Rent ticket. I’ve seen the show both on and off-Broadway countless times. I own the movie. I’ve met Idina Menzel. I am sure I’ll see it again soon.
Yeah, I’m a Rent head. Every time I listen to or see it I learn something new. Very few things do that to me. Star Wars and Kevin Smith movies featuring, Jay and Silent Bob do. I have a tendency to think about these learned pieces of entertainment quite a bit.
Larson’s Tick Tick Boom so sets the scene. I loved that show, too. It is the the “pre-Rent”. Larson used to perform it himself. I was not lucky enough to see it. I saw it during the summer of 2001. It featured three great actors.
I’ve been lucky enough to sit and drink beer at the table, where Larson wrote the plays at in the Life Café. Yeah, I should have had wine, too. Then I could have had “Wine and Beer… Viva la Vie Boheme”. I’ll do that soon.
The story Rent tells and the family created in show is amazing. I’ve met so many people in my life who resemble someone from Rent. I totally identify with Mark.
“But who Mark are you? Mark is got his work? They say Mark lives for his work And Mark's in love with his work Mark hides in his work,” Roger.
The lines go on to discuss how Mark longs for a community of his own. I’m sure you know the rest.
Well, yeah, I think we all long for a community of our own. I have many communities. All are unique. I love them all. Sometime I’m not sure if I should just stick with one. However, I feel you are so much better off with a wide community. It is much richer learning and life experience. Perhaps, that’s why I’m the one of us to survive.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Alhaquot's Blog: Scout Dock Test
Alhaquot's Blog: Scout Dock Test: Dock Test If we wanted to swim in Rock Lake, Camp Kunatah we had to pass a dock test. All of the swimming areas of the waterfront were div...
Alhaquot's Blog: Scout Dock Test
Alhaquot's Blog: Scout Dock Test: Dock Test If we wanted to swim in Rock Lake, Camp Kunatah we had to pass a dock test. All of the swimming areas of the waterfront were div...
Scout Dock Test
Dock Test
If we wanted to swim in Rock Lake, Camp Kunatah we had to pass a dock test. All of the swimming areas of the waterfront were divided up based upon a scout’s ability to swim. We had non-swimmers, beginners and advanced.
On the first day of camp, our Chappy Scoutmaster Rodney would give us a tour of camp. It ended with the dock test. We started going down the muddy steps of the Hill. You can’t beat the Hill. We hiked through camp.
Rodney showed us the nature lodge, we went to the Kunatah Dining Hall, where we might have rocked-n-rolled or discombobulated. We stopped at the trading post for Bon Bons or a Coke.
Eventually, we made it down to Rock Lake. By the way, it rocks.
All of us eager scouts went up to the docks and gave our name to one of the dock guards. One by one we jumped into the lake and we were charged to swim three laps of any stroke. But were forced to conclude with the elementary backstroke. Then we had to tread water for about a minute, while holding the Scout sign and repeating the Scout Oath, Law Motto or some other scouting diatribe. Our dock tester decided what we would do.
Those of us that passed all parts were given a red and blue buddy tag. We needed to check in with it when we went to swim. ‘Ya see you and your buddy would give it to dock guard who was manning the Buddy board. You told him which area of the lake you were jumping into. He attached the tag to the Buddy board’s respective section and you were off for your swim.
Sounds simple and fun, right? Well I was always an advanced swimmer. In fact, the first merit badges I earned as a Chappy scout were Swimming and Rowing. You think I would have an easy time with my dock test.
Well, well, well.
One year, perhaps ’85 or ’86, a man who I call my leader gave me my dock test. He had been a waterfront director in the now closed Kotohke or D-1 section of camp. Sadly, these days Chappy and Kunatah are closed too. During his day he spent a lot of time on the lake and used it for swimming, boating and well? I have nothing more to say.
Back to my dock test, my leader asked me to jump into the lake and begin. I easily did the laps. I do a great elementary backstroke. I learned it as a young Cub Scout in Lake Orbach, Pouch Scout Camp, Staten Island. I figured I was home free. Then came the treading test.
I followed my leader’s orders and held the Scout sign upside down and began repeating the Scout Law no big deal. Oh, I forgot to remind you the esteemed leader is not into it. I will never say what being into it or not into it is.
But for some reason that morning he became into it and made these interesting facial gestures, while I treaded. By the way, he made me tread far longer than it would take to repeat the Scout Law, Oath and Motto. We skipped the OA Obligation. I’m not sure why. Then all of a sudden strange noises stared to emanate from his smiling mouth. I was aghast. Eventually, he said, I could climb out of the lake onto the dock. I speedily did that. He gave me a passing grade.
If we wanted to swim in Rock Lake, Camp Kunatah we had to pass a dock test. All of the swimming areas of the waterfront were divided up based upon a scout’s ability to swim. We had non-swimmers, beginners and advanced.
On the first day of camp, our Chappy Scoutmaster Rodney would give us a tour of camp. It ended with the dock test. We started going down the muddy steps of the Hill. You can’t beat the Hill. We hiked through camp.
Rodney showed us the nature lodge, we went to the Kunatah Dining Hall, where we might have rocked-n-rolled or discombobulated. We stopped at the trading post for Bon Bons or a Coke.
Eventually, we made it down to Rock Lake. By the way, it rocks.
All of us eager scouts went up to the docks and gave our name to one of the dock guards. One by one we jumped into the lake and we were charged to swim three laps of any stroke. But were forced to conclude with the elementary backstroke. Then we had to tread water for about a minute, while holding the Scout sign and repeating the Scout Oath, Law Motto or some other scouting diatribe. Our dock tester decided what we would do.
Those of us that passed all parts were given a red and blue buddy tag. We needed to check in with it when we went to swim. ‘Ya see you and your buddy would give it to dock guard who was manning the Buddy board. You told him which area of the lake you were jumping into. He attached the tag to the Buddy board’s respective section and you were off for your swim.
Sounds simple and fun, right? Well I was always an advanced swimmer. In fact, the first merit badges I earned as a Chappy scout were Swimming and Rowing. You think I would have an easy time with my dock test.
Well, well, well.
One year, perhaps ’85 or ’86, a man who I call my leader gave me my dock test. He had been a waterfront director in the now closed Kotohke or D-1 section of camp. Sadly, these days Chappy and Kunatah are closed too. During his day he spent a lot of time on the lake and used it for swimming, boating and well? I have nothing more to say.
Back to my dock test, my leader asked me to jump into the lake and begin. I easily did the laps. I do a great elementary backstroke. I learned it as a young Cub Scout in Lake Orbach, Pouch Scout Camp, Staten Island. I figured I was home free. Then came the treading test.
I followed my leader’s orders and held the Scout sign upside down and began repeating the Scout Law no big deal. Oh, I forgot to remind you the esteemed leader is not into it. I will never say what being into it or not into it is.
But for some reason that morning he became into it and made these interesting facial gestures, while I treaded. By the way, he made me tread far longer than it would take to repeat the Scout Law, Oath and Motto. We skipped the OA Obligation. I’m not sure why. Then all of a sudden strange noises stared to emanate from his smiling mouth. I was aghast. Eventually, he said, I could climb out of the lake onto the dock. I speedily did that. He gave me a passing grade.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Alhaquot's Blog: Kosher Delis and Subways
Alhaquot's Blog: Kosher Delis and Subways: Kosher Delis and Subways Do they have anything in common? Ok readers, all three of you. Are you wondering what kind of headline this post...
Kosher Delis and Subways
Kosher Delis and Subways
Do they have anything in common?
Ok readers, all three of you. Are you wondering what kind of headline this post has?
So it is heartfelt that Golden’s Kosher Deli, New Springville, Staten Island closed about three weeks ago. Times are tough. They couldn’t handle the rent.
I started going there when it opened 30 years ago. Nothing beat getting hot dogs and knishes or a beef brisket sandwich loaded with gravy on a roll. I hate rye bread. And of course you need a knish with the sandwich.
The best part of Golden’s was the old subway car dead center of the dining room. I loved sitting it. Seating was a bit cramped. But when is it not on a subway. At least in Golden’s you would sit with your friend or family. Not whatever nut job parked their behind next to you. Of course one’s family can be nuts.
Many years ago, I mean like at least 25. My dad, sister and I were seated in the subway car opposite, “Little Dennis”. He was blonde haired boy, around three. He resembled Dennis the Menace. Like any cute three year old he was excited to sit in the subway car. Let me face it, every time I went no matter how old I was I wanted to sit in it. Sadly, my dining companions grew out of it. Therefore, I was forced to sit in the main dining room. Boring.
Anyway, Little Dennis ran around like a crazy boy. He was grabbing the Gulden’s Spicy Brown mustard containers and smiling while he was making a mess. His young parents kept yelling, “Little Dennis sit down”. They did their best to contain him. My family laughed hysterically. It made that night out more fun.
As years went by every time I went into Golden’s I wondered about Little Dennis. Now, I haven’t lived on Staten Island in many years. So I basically forgot about him.
Anyway at this point in time he’s probably married and trying to keep his own kid calm in a restaurant. But when my sister sent me an EM saying Golden’s closed, the first thing I wrote back was, “I wonder where Little Dennis is going to eat”? She laughed.
I must admit several months ago, I was heading to an event at the 92Y. I saw a little boy walking out of the karate school about a block away. A slightly older girl, likely his sister was picking him up. As he walked out the door he had that look in his eye that Little Dennis had. I quickly searched my memory banks and thought of that fun night.
Do they have anything in common?
Ok readers, all three of you. Are you wondering what kind of headline this post has?
So it is heartfelt that Golden’s Kosher Deli, New Springville, Staten Island closed about three weeks ago. Times are tough. They couldn’t handle the rent.
I started going there when it opened 30 years ago. Nothing beat getting hot dogs and knishes or a beef brisket sandwich loaded with gravy on a roll. I hate rye bread. And of course you need a knish with the sandwich.
The best part of Golden’s was the old subway car dead center of the dining room. I loved sitting it. Seating was a bit cramped. But when is it not on a subway. At least in Golden’s you would sit with your friend or family. Not whatever nut job parked their behind next to you. Of course one’s family can be nuts.
Many years ago, I mean like at least 25. My dad, sister and I were seated in the subway car opposite, “Little Dennis”. He was blonde haired boy, around three. He resembled Dennis the Menace. Like any cute three year old he was excited to sit in the subway car. Let me face it, every time I went no matter how old I was I wanted to sit in it. Sadly, my dining companions grew out of it. Therefore, I was forced to sit in the main dining room. Boring.
Anyway, Little Dennis ran around like a crazy boy. He was grabbing the Gulden’s Spicy Brown mustard containers and smiling while he was making a mess. His young parents kept yelling, “Little Dennis sit down”. They did their best to contain him. My family laughed hysterically. It made that night out more fun.
As years went by every time I went into Golden’s I wondered about Little Dennis. Now, I haven’t lived on Staten Island in many years. So I basically forgot about him.
Anyway at this point in time he’s probably married and trying to keep his own kid calm in a restaurant. But when my sister sent me an EM saying Golden’s closed, the first thing I wrote back was, “I wonder where Little Dennis is going to eat”? She laughed.
I must admit several months ago, I was heading to an event at the 92Y. I saw a little boy walking out of the karate school about a block away. A slightly older girl, likely his sister was picking him up. As he walked out the door he had that look in his eye that Little Dennis had. I quickly searched my memory banks and thought of that fun night.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Alhaquot's Blog: Traveling back to Queens from Staten Island
Alhaquot's Blog: Traveling back to Queens from Staten Island: Traveling back to Queens from Staten Island What’s better a free trip on the Ferry or paying $6.75 to take NJ Transit? Today, I visited my...
Traveling back to Queens from Staten Island
Traveling back to Queens from Staten Island
What’s better a free trip on the Ferry or paying $6.75 to take NJ Transit?
Today, I visited my adorable two-year-old nephew. He resides on Staten Island. Getting there was the usual lengthy commute from Queens. I traveled on The R subway, to the Staten Island Ferry to the Staten Island Railroad. The SIR is more like a trolley. Of course, I missed the 10:30 a.m. Ferry. The R had its usual glitches.
I strolled into the Ferry Terminal at just as the vessel set sail. I spent 30 minutes hanging out in the filthy terminal. Thankfully, mobile devices let one check their EM to pass away the time.
Now to get back to Queens, I had the choice of mom taking me to St. George to catch the free Ferry and then using my MetroCard to ride the R home. Or, a ride to the Elizabeth NJ Transit station, pay $6.75 and winding up in Penn Station. Over the years, I’ve done both and often opted the cheap way.
But today, I decided to see what was better. I had my passport. So I was able to leave the U.S. and enter Jersey. Springsteen was playing in my head and of course, as I pen this he’s playing on iTunes.
The N.J. train arrived about five minutes ahead of its scheduled arrival time. I found a seat and was in Penn Station pretty quickly. By sheer luck the E train arrived in about two minutes. It ran local. However, it got me home pretty quickly.
I have come to the conclusion leaving the United States to get from Staten Island to Queens is faster and more civilized than sailing into the City.
The $6.75 price tag of the N.J. train ride, beats waiting in the gross Ferry Terminal and sitting on that filthy boat.
What’s better a free trip on the Ferry or paying $6.75 to take NJ Transit?
Today, I visited my adorable two-year-old nephew. He resides on Staten Island. Getting there was the usual lengthy commute from Queens. I traveled on The R subway, to the Staten Island Ferry to the Staten Island Railroad. The SIR is more like a trolley. Of course, I missed the 10:30 a.m. Ferry. The R had its usual glitches.
I strolled into the Ferry Terminal at just as the vessel set sail. I spent 30 minutes hanging out in the filthy terminal. Thankfully, mobile devices let one check their EM to pass away the time.
Now to get back to Queens, I had the choice of mom taking me to St. George to catch the free Ferry and then using my MetroCard to ride the R home. Or, a ride to the Elizabeth NJ Transit station, pay $6.75 and winding up in Penn Station. Over the years, I’ve done both and often opted the cheap way.
But today, I decided to see what was better. I had my passport. So I was able to leave the U.S. and enter Jersey. Springsteen was playing in my head and of course, as I pen this he’s playing on iTunes.
The N.J. train arrived about five minutes ahead of its scheduled arrival time. I found a seat and was in Penn Station pretty quickly. By sheer luck the E train arrived in about two minutes. It ran local. However, it got me home pretty quickly.
I have come to the conclusion leaving the United States to get from Staten Island to Queens is faster and more civilized than sailing into the City.
The $6.75 price tag of the N.J. train ride, beats waiting in the gross Ferry Terminal and sitting on that filthy boat.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Alhaquot's Blog: Tickets: Broadway, Sports, Lectures, etc.
Alhaquot's Blog: Tickets: Broadway, Sports, Lectures, etc.: Tickets January 20, 2012 I am lucky enough to attend a number of concerts, Yankee games, Broadway shows and lectures year round. Most of ...
Alhaquot's Blog: Purchasing cards
Alhaquot's Blog: Purchasing cards: Cards I’m one of the few people I know that still purchases cards at Hallmark. Let’s face it is easier to send a free card online or just wi...
Purchasing cards
Cards
I’m one of the few people I know that still purchases cards at Hallmark. Let’s face it is easier to send a free card online or just wish a person happy birthday or holiday at no cost on Facebook.
But I think a traditional card adds a special touch. It shows you care. I know my grandmother loves the ones I get her. In fact, she pretty much has every card I’ve sent her for the last 10 years or so hanging on the door that leads you into her kitchen.
I’ve been a Gold Crown Hallmark member for years. I’ve gotten thousands of bonus points and lots of free cards. I joke with my mom and sister I just “got” your card for your upcoming birthday. They know it may have been a bonus one and didn’t cost me a cent.
I have the cutest two-year-old nephew and for his first birthday, I added him to the club. Sadly, there are fewer and fewer Hallmark Gold Crown stores. The other day, I purchased and really paid for several cards. But alas, I got zero points, as this store no longer participates in the program. Months ago, I trekked around midtown on the Westside and found no participating stores.
I emailed Hallmark and asked if they could put the cards on my account. I was told no. I said there are no stores in my area that are Gold Crown. They looked up my zip code and sent me a list of stores within a five-mile radius of my residence.
Ok, so a few stores exist. But I cannot get to them. No train goes near them and they are not easy to walk to. You can be sure the customer service person who sent me the email is likely not in the USA and has no clue about logistics in NYC.
I think I’m done with purchasing cards. But I still want to add that special touch. So, I am going to revert back to the days when I was in elementary school and made cards. I remember being handed out construction paper and magic markers to make cards for mom and dad for Mother’s and Father’s Day.
Yeah, my penmanship is awful and I cannot draw. Just ask an old scout leader who “enjoyed” reading my Citizenship in the Nation merit badge work. I mailed him a dozen or so pages of the answers to the badge’s questions. My merit badge work looked like cave writing. But my answers were correct. Therefore, I got the badge and stayed on the path to Eagle.
So for those of you that I send cards to, be on look out for my artwork. It may be abstract enough to go on display in the MOMA.
I’m off to buy construction paper.
I’m one of the few people I know that still purchases cards at Hallmark. Let’s face it is easier to send a free card online or just wish a person happy birthday or holiday at no cost on Facebook.
But I think a traditional card adds a special touch. It shows you care. I know my grandmother loves the ones I get her. In fact, she pretty much has every card I’ve sent her for the last 10 years or so hanging on the door that leads you into her kitchen.
I’ve been a Gold Crown Hallmark member for years. I’ve gotten thousands of bonus points and lots of free cards. I joke with my mom and sister I just “got” your card for your upcoming birthday. They know it may have been a bonus one and didn’t cost me a cent.
I have the cutest two-year-old nephew and for his first birthday, I added him to the club. Sadly, there are fewer and fewer Hallmark Gold Crown stores. The other day, I purchased and really paid for several cards. But alas, I got zero points, as this store no longer participates in the program. Months ago, I trekked around midtown on the Westside and found no participating stores.
I emailed Hallmark and asked if they could put the cards on my account. I was told no. I said there are no stores in my area that are Gold Crown. They looked up my zip code and sent me a list of stores within a five-mile radius of my residence.
Ok, so a few stores exist. But I cannot get to them. No train goes near them and they are not easy to walk to. You can be sure the customer service person who sent me the email is likely not in the USA and has no clue about logistics in NYC.
I think I’m done with purchasing cards. But I still want to add that special touch. So, I am going to revert back to the days when I was in elementary school and made cards. I remember being handed out construction paper and magic markers to make cards for mom and dad for Mother’s and Father’s Day.
Yeah, my penmanship is awful and I cannot draw. Just ask an old scout leader who “enjoyed” reading my Citizenship in the Nation merit badge work. I mailed him a dozen or so pages of the answers to the badge’s questions. My merit badge work looked like cave writing. But my answers were correct. Therefore, I got the badge and stayed on the path to Eagle.
So for those of you that I send cards to, be on look out for my artwork. It may be abstract enough to go on display in the MOMA.
I’m off to buy construction paper.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Tickets: Broadway, Sports, Lectures, etc.
Tickets
January 20, 2012
I am lucky enough to attend a number of concerts, Yankee games, Broadway shows and lectures year round. Most of these are ticketed events with assigned seating as denoted on the ticket. However, lately, I noticed many people do not understand assigned seating.
You see, I wait on the ticketholders line, let the usher scan my ticket and walk over to my seat and wait for the curtain to rise, the first pitch to be thrown, the opening song. You get the picture.
The other day, I was at the 92nd Street Y for the Terezin Lecture. I was seated in Row J, seat 115. Behind me a cute young couple said, “hmm are these assigned seats? The tickets have seat numbers”. They asked me if I knew the deal. I let them know that seating was assigned. Then they examined their ticket and saw they were several rows up from where there parked themselves.
They got up and moved to their row. For some reason, they had some difficulty figuring how to move up three or four rows. All they needed to do was walk down the Kaufman Concert Hall’s aisle and look for their row. Thankfully, they found their place.
Seated a few seats away from me in Row J was a middle-aged woman. She had the same issue the younger folks had. Me and the friendly elderly gentleman seated next to me explained to her that yes, the tickets had numbers imprinted on then that told you where your seat was. This is not a movie theater. She walked up to her row and wound up being dead center in the third row from the stage.
June 26 was Yankees Old-Timers Day. I was seated in the Stadium and a friend was seated a few sections away from me with his wife and infant. We texted and called each other pre-game. I walked over to their section to say hi and snapped a few pictures of us. Once were done shooting photos and making small talk, I began to walk back to my seat.
He asked me where I was going? I told him back to my seat. He said, “can’t you sit with us”? I said “no the seats are assigned. The seats next to you might be empty now. But you can be sure Yankee fans will be there just as the first pitch is being thrown”. The usher was standing right there and laughing. He still didn’t get it. But I explained it again. We shook hands. I returned to my seat.
Last week, I saw Seminar. Great play. Go see it. Again, people didn’t seem to understand their seat was the denoted by their ticket. The ushers explained this. The theatergoers got into their right seats. Alan Rickman took the stage and made us laugh for the next 90 minutes.
January 20, 2012
I am lucky enough to attend a number of concerts, Yankee games, Broadway shows and lectures year round. Most of these are ticketed events with assigned seating as denoted on the ticket. However, lately, I noticed many people do not understand assigned seating.
You see, I wait on the ticketholders line, let the usher scan my ticket and walk over to my seat and wait for the curtain to rise, the first pitch to be thrown, the opening song. You get the picture.
The other day, I was at the 92nd Street Y for the Terezin Lecture. I was seated in Row J, seat 115. Behind me a cute young couple said, “hmm are these assigned seats? The tickets have seat numbers”. They asked me if I knew the deal. I let them know that seating was assigned. Then they examined their ticket and saw they were several rows up from where there parked themselves.
They got up and moved to their row. For some reason, they had some difficulty figuring how to move up three or four rows. All they needed to do was walk down the Kaufman Concert Hall’s aisle and look for their row. Thankfully, they found their place.
Seated a few seats away from me in Row J was a middle-aged woman. She had the same issue the younger folks had. Me and the friendly elderly gentleman seated next to me explained to her that yes, the tickets had numbers imprinted on then that told you where your seat was. This is not a movie theater. She walked up to her row and wound up being dead center in the third row from the stage.
June 26 was Yankees Old-Timers Day. I was seated in the Stadium and a friend was seated a few sections away from me with his wife and infant. We texted and called each other pre-game. I walked over to their section to say hi and snapped a few pictures of us. Once were done shooting photos and making small talk, I began to walk back to my seat.
He asked me where I was going? I told him back to my seat. He said, “can’t you sit with us”? I said “no the seats are assigned. The seats next to you might be empty now. But you can be sure Yankee fans will be there just as the first pitch is being thrown”. The usher was standing right there and laughing. He still didn’t get it. But I explained it again. We shook hands. I returned to my seat.
Last week, I saw Seminar. Great play. Go see it. Again, people didn’t seem to understand their seat was the denoted by their ticket. The ushers explained this. The theatergoers got into their right seats. Alan Rickman took the stage and made us laugh for the next 90 minutes.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
A Lecture about Terezin
Terezin
January 19, 2012
Last night, I attended the Terezin lecture at the 92nd Street Y. It was a panel hosted by Ruth Franklin, book reviews editor of the New Republic. It featured Terezin survivors, Zbenka Fantlova and Zuzana Justman. Simon Broughton, a BBC correspondent, who had written extensively about the Holocaust and Middle East, also participated on the panel.
I didn’t know what to expect. I was seated next to a NOM (nice old man). My sister and I used to label our elderly as NOMs or MOLs (mean old ladies). It seemed there were more NOMs, than nice old ladies. Maybe another time, I’ll discuss this.
The NOM was born in the Midwest in 1929. Anne Frank was born that same year. At early age he told me he had an interest in poetry and wrote his first poem, about Anne Frank. It got published. He continued his poems and visited many of the camps. I am thinking of taking this trip one day. I know a few people who’ve done it.
The NOM continued to tell me that he has published a few poetry journals about the Holocaust and met a Terezin survivor along the way, whom he befriended. The two of them often speak at shuls and college campuses. About two years ago at the Y’s 80th birthday celebration for Elie Wiesel he got to read from Night and presented his poems to Wiesel.
As our conversation concluded the panel began. In the split second before it started my new friend encouraged me to walk over the Y’s Art gallery to see the artwork prepared by the children who were forced to reside at Terezin.
The panel began. I was unsure what to expect, other than it to be moving. I’ve seen Elie Wiesel speak countless times. He is unbelievable. But I knew this panel would discuss life in Terezin. Wiesel normally takes parshas and other scriptures and analyzes them brilliantly. Sort of like his own Gemora.
Moving it was. Fantlova, who was an aspiring actress before being deported to Terezin spoke of the performances that those imprisoned put on. Justman did similar. An engaging discussion about Brundibar occurred. Justman showed video clips from her film, Voices of the Children. Through the videos, we got to meet several other survivors and see their art work. We learned about their disrupted childhoods. Or lack of a childhood. None of the people had childhoods. Fantlova is now an actress residing in Australia. Justman has written and directed some films based on Terezin and resides in New York.
They discussed how Terezin was the “model” camp. It was not an extermination camp. The majority of the people, who perished there were the elderly. They generally passed due to hard labor and malnutrition. Far too many young people were deported to Birkenau-Auschwitz, Treblinka and other camps.
We learned about the propaganda movie the Nazis produced. Our panelists were among the many that were forced to make the camp look spic and span for the film crew. The people were filmed putting on shows, singing, swimming, playing with friends and doing gymnastics. This was a front put on by the Nazis to make it look like they were treating the Jews well. Sadly, we all know the truth.
The panel ended. I said goodbye to the NOM and got on the line to purchase A Thousand Darknesses: Lies and Truth in Holocaust Fiction, by Franklin and Tin King: How I Cheated Death, by Fantlova. I got on the book signing line and was lucky to spend a few minutes conversing with Fantlova. We shook hands. I walked away and the next person approached to get her signature. Now, I’ve shaken hands with lots of people, including Bill Clinton, the members of Depeche Mode, Idina Menzel, Lou Piniella, Joe Torre, etc. But this was far more meaningful. I can’t explain how it felt. I viewed the art and left the Y. I know will read the two books with great attention.
Shevat 9 or Feb. 2, Ground Hog, day I plan to attend the Farbrengen commemorating the Yazhreit of the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe, Yosef Yitzchok Schneersohn. The guest speaker is an Auschwitz survivor and a distant relative of the rabbi hosting the gathering. The rabbi told us that his relative credits his survival to the blessing he received from the previous Rebbe shortly before he was sent to Auschwitz.
I know I often complain about the most inane things. Just ask my mother or sister. They probably couldn’t fill the Grand Canyon with my goofiness. But what I saw and heard tonight makes me realize how precious is. I know the Farbrengen will heighten this.
B”H
January 19, 2012
Last night, I attended the Terezin lecture at the 92nd Street Y. It was a panel hosted by Ruth Franklin, book reviews editor of the New Republic. It featured Terezin survivors, Zbenka Fantlova and Zuzana Justman. Simon Broughton, a BBC correspondent, who had written extensively about the Holocaust and Middle East, also participated on the panel.
I didn’t know what to expect. I was seated next to a NOM (nice old man). My sister and I used to label our elderly as NOMs or MOLs (mean old ladies). It seemed there were more NOMs, than nice old ladies. Maybe another time, I’ll discuss this.
The NOM was born in the Midwest in 1929. Anne Frank was born that same year. At early age he told me he had an interest in poetry and wrote his first poem, about Anne Frank. It got published. He continued his poems and visited many of the camps. I am thinking of taking this trip one day. I know a few people who’ve done it.
The NOM continued to tell me that he has published a few poetry journals about the Holocaust and met a Terezin survivor along the way, whom he befriended. The two of them often speak at shuls and college campuses. About two years ago at the Y’s 80th birthday celebration for Elie Wiesel he got to read from Night and presented his poems to Wiesel.
As our conversation concluded the panel began. In the split second before it started my new friend encouraged me to walk over the Y’s Art gallery to see the artwork prepared by the children who were forced to reside at Terezin.
The panel began. I was unsure what to expect, other than it to be moving. I’ve seen Elie Wiesel speak countless times. He is unbelievable. But I knew this panel would discuss life in Terezin. Wiesel normally takes parshas and other scriptures and analyzes them brilliantly. Sort of like his own Gemora.
Moving it was. Fantlova, who was an aspiring actress before being deported to Terezin spoke of the performances that those imprisoned put on. Justman did similar. An engaging discussion about Brundibar occurred. Justman showed video clips from her film, Voices of the Children. Through the videos, we got to meet several other survivors and see their art work. We learned about their disrupted childhoods. Or lack of a childhood. None of the people had childhoods. Fantlova is now an actress residing in Australia. Justman has written and directed some films based on Terezin and resides in New York.
They discussed how Terezin was the “model” camp. It was not an extermination camp. The majority of the people, who perished there were the elderly. They generally passed due to hard labor and malnutrition. Far too many young people were deported to Birkenau-Auschwitz, Treblinka and other camps.
We learned about the propaganda movie the Nazis produced. Our panelists were among the many that were forced to make the camp look spic and span for the film crew. The people were filmed putting on shows, singing, swimming, playing with friends and doing gymnastics. This was a front put on by the Nazis to make it look like they were treating the Jews well. Sadly, we all know the truth.
The panel ended. I said goodbye to the NOM and got on the line to purchase A Thousand Darknesses: Lies and Truth in Holocaust Fiction, by Franklin and Tin King: How I Cheated Death, by Fantlova. I got on the book signing line and was lucky to spend a few minutes conversing with Fantlova. We shook hands. I walked away and the next person approached to get her signature. Now, I’ve shaken hands with lots of people, including Bill Clinton, the members of Depeche Mode, Idina Menzel, Lou Piniella, Joe Torre, etc. But this was far more meaningful. I can’t explain how it felt. I viewed the art and left the Y. I know will read the two books with great attention.
Shevat 9 or Feb. 2, Ground Hog, day I plan to attend the Farbrengen commemorating the Yazhreit of the previous Lubavitcher Rebbe, Yosef Yitzchok Schneersohn. The guest speaker is an Auschwitz survivor and a distant relative of the rabbi hosting the gathering. The rabbi told us that his relative credits his survival to the blessing he received from the previous Rebbe shortly before he was sent to Auschwitz.
I know I often complain about the most inane things. Just ask my mother or sister. They probably couldn’t fill the Grand Canyon with my goofiness. But what I saw and heard tonight makes me realize how precious is. I know the Farbrengen will heighten this.
B”H
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Dumpster
Dumpster
November 2, 2003
I finished dinner. Had nothing special or unusual, a pinwheel steak. Something I probably eat three times a week. I began washing dishes and then immediately raced out to the dumpster to throw out the garbage. Most people can wait until the next morning. But not me.
I have an obsession with it. Every morning when I wake up, I take the hangar that held my dress shirt to the Dumpster. Its not like I need to save it. The shirt will be on a new one when I pick it up from the cleaners. More things for me to bring to the dumpster.
I really don’t understand why I am so into going to the Dumpster. Makes no sense to me. Some people keep a bag or garbage can for recyclables and wait till it fills to bring it to the dumpster. Not me. I take the stuff out instantly. There is no waiting.
I do know it runs in the family. My grandfather, an 83 year old man who calls himself Joe Nelson, not his real name. Why he uses this moniker, no one really knows. We can’t say its old age-he’s been doing this for way too many years. Anyway, Joe Nelson spends a great deal of his time at the incinerator in his Sheepshead Bay apartment building.
In his household, the second dinner is complete, grandma scrubs the dishes and gives Joe the orders to take out the garbage. Within minutes the kitchen is immaculate, despite the lack of counter space. But most important, the garbage is out of the apartment.
Where he lives, it’s a nightly ritual for him to go straight to the incinerator. At one point in his building, the lobby floor had a special room for recyclables. It contained a dumpster. Regular trash could also be dumped at that location. He spends quite a bit of time in that room too. He writes notes on the door of the incinerator telling residents to be careful when they dump their trash. Every building has one of those.
I lived for a short time in Queens. Just like Joe, I spent quite a bit of time going to the incinerator and to the basement where there were dumpsters set up for plastics, paper and metals. It was a ritual. Our building also had someone who wrote notes on the door of the incinerator. I do hope I never reach that level. As much as I love the Dumpster and taking out the garbage, I don’t want to be the warden of it. But time will tell.
Often my grandparents come over to mom’s on Sunday afternoons. Mom usually makes burgers and dogs. One time, the second we were finished eating, grandma nudged him with a nod toward the garbage can and said that needs to go out.
“We don’t worship garbage,” mom said.
My sister lives only two buildings away from me and often lets me know when she has things that need to go to the dumpster and I rush over to her apartment. Heaven forbid I miss a chance to go the Dumpster. I am not sure there is a sincere explanation for my love of the Dumpster.
So, what is it about taking out the garbage? I just don’t know.
November 2, 2003
I finished dinner. Had nothing special or unusual, a pinwheel steak. Something I probably eat three times a week. I began washing dishes and then immediately raced out to the dumpster to throw out the garbage. Most people can wait until the next morning. But not me.
I have an obsession with it. Every morning when I wake up, I take the hangar that held my dress shirt to the Dumpster. Its not like I need to save it. The shirt will be on a new one when I pick it up from the cleaners. More things for me to bring to the dumpster.
I really don’t understand why I am so into going to the Dumpster. Makes no sense to me. Some people keep a bag or garbage can for recyclables and wait till it fills to bring it to the dumpster. Not me. I take the stuff out instantly. There is no waiting.
I do know it runs in the family. My grandfather, an 83 year old man who calls himself Joe Nelson, not his real name. Why he uses this moniker, no one really knows. We can’t say its old age-he’s been doing this for way too many years. Anyway, Joe Nelson spends a great deal of his time at the incinerator in his Sheepshead Bay apartment building.
In his household, the second dinner is complete, grandma scrubs the dishes and gives Joe the orders to take out the garbage. Within minutes the kitchen is immaculate, despite the lack of counter space. But most important, the garbage is out of the apartment.
Where he lives, it’s a nightly ritual for him to go straight to the incinerator. At one point in his building, the lobby floor had a special room for recyclables. It contained a dumpster. Regular trash could also be dumped at that location. He spends quite a bit of time in that room too. He writes notes on the door of the incinerator telling residents to be careful when they dump their trash. Every building has one of those.
I lived for a short time in Queens. Just like Joe, I spent quite a bit of time going to the incinerator and to the basement where there were dumpsters set up for plastics, paper and metals. It was a ritual. Our building also had someone who wrote notes on the door of the incinerator. I do hope I never reach that level. As much as I love the Dumpster and taking out the garbage, I don’t want to be the warden of it. But time will tell.
Often my grandparents come over to mom’s on Sunday afternoons. Mom usually makes burgers and dogs. One time, the second we were finished eating, grandma nudged him with a nod toward the garbage can and said that needs to go out.
“We don’t worship garbage,” mom said.
My sister lives only two buildings away from me and often lets me know when she has things that need to go to the dumpster and I rush over to her apartment. Heaven forbid I miss a chance to go the Dumpster. I am not sure there is a sincere explanation for my love of the Dumpster.
So, what is it about taking out the garbage? I just don’t know.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Buying Stamps
Buying Stamps at the Post Office
January 17, 2012
This afternoon, I wandered into the Rock Center Post Office to buy stamps. Yeah, I know who actually still buys stamps? I do. I hear next week postage goes up. What else is new? In the pre-forever stamps days, I once waited on line at the New Paltz USPS to buy one .01 stamp and went back numerous times. I was not going to load up my envelopes with any more postage than required. My mom still makes fun of me.
Today, I was mailing a letter to friend from scouuuuut camp. I know I spelled scout wrong. But we often addressed each other that way.
Anyway, I waltzed up to the stamp machine. I needed like two or three stamps. I bought a .44 stamp and the machine said, “You must buy at least three or an 18 sheet of stamps”. Last week, I went through the same process and bought three stamps. ‘Ya see it said three stamps or an eighteen sheet of holiday baubles. The last thing I wanted. The holiday season is long over and I knew they’d be Christmas stamps.
Now I have nothing against Christmas. I send Christmas cards and buy gifts for family members and friends that celebrate. I just wanted plain old stamps. This week the machine just said, stamps. I clicked on that. Out came an eighteen sheet of stamps with ornaments on them. I immediately went to a postal employee and explained the situation. All I wanted were traditional stamps.
She did not go postal. But understood. She asked if I wanted Chanukah stamps. I said ok. But you know what I really wanted. I filled out a form and was brought up to a postal clerk and we made the exchange. I got my traditional stamps. I affixed them on some birthday cards that will go out in a few days.
Bottom line, I just don’t feel it is appropriate to mail things to business contacts with decorative stamps. And, I certainly do not want to mail my Hasidic and Modern Orthodox friend’s birthday cards with Christmas ornaments. I like that they have a variety of stamps to make people happy. I just wish they’d remember to offer that variety.
I’m off to the mailbox. Oh and readers, after dropping your letter in, please do not forget to wave goodbye to it. Check out an old Flintstones episode for more details on why.
January 17, 2012
This afternoon, I wandered into the Rock Center Post Office to buy stamps. Yeah, I know who actually still buys stamps? I do. I hear next week postage goes up. What else is new? In the pre-forever stamps days, I once waited on line at the New Paltz USPS to buy one .01 stamp and went back numerous times. I was not going to load up my envelopes with any more postage than required. My mom still makes fun of me.
Today, I was mailing a letter to friend from scouuuuut camp. I know I spelled scout wrong. But we often addressed each other that way.
Anyway, I waltzed up to the stamp machine. I needed like two or three stamps. I bought a .44 stamp and the machine said, “You must buy at least three or an 18 sheet of stamps”. Last week, I went through the same process and bought three stamps. ‘Ya see it said three stamps or an eighteen sheet of holiday baubles. The last thing I wanted. The holiday season is long over and I knew they’d be Christmas stamps.
Now I have nothing against Christmas. I send Christmas cards and buy gifts for family members and friends that celebrate. I just wanted plain old stamps. This week the machine just said, stamps. I clicked on that. Out came an eighteen sheet of stamps with ornaments on them. I immediately went to a postal employee and explained the situation. All I wanted were traditional stamps.
She did not go postal. But understood. She asked if I wanted Chanukah stamps. I said ok. But you know what I really wanted. I filled out a form and was brought up to a postal clerk and we made the exchange. I got my traditional stamps. I affixed them on some birthday cards that will go out in a few days.
Bottom line, I just don’t feel it is appropriate to mail things to business contacts with decorative stamps. And, I certainly do not want to mail my Hasidic and Modern Orthodox friend’s birthday cards with Christmas ornaments. I like that they have a variety of stamps to make people happy. I just wish they’d remember to offer that variety.
I’m off to the mailbox. Oh and readers, after dropping your letter in, please do not forget to wave goodbye to it. Check out an old Flintstones episode for more details on why.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Alhaquot's Blog: Damn That Cookout
Alhaquot's Blog: Damn That Cookout: Damn that Cookout January 16, 2012 Back in the day, when were in summer camp, we would have a Dam Cookout. It quickly became the “Damn Tha...
Damn That Cookout
Damn that Cookout
January 16, 2012
Back in the day, when were in summer camp, we would have a Dam Cookout. It quickly became the “Damn That Cookout”.
We would row out to Rock Lake’s dam. It was all the way at the end. It was far from the Kunatah docks. That was the site where many of leapt off of to go swimming every afternoon.
I went back two summers ago and realized it wasn’t really that far. But to us teens it was like paddling down the Amazon and hoping to reach a stopping point. Of course, I’ve never paddled down the Amazon. The only Amazon I’ve visited is amazon.com.
Let us get back to my dam. The staff, which included me, would pack up the burgers, dogs and other stuff for our BBQ. Someone would drive our stuff down to the famous dam. The rest of us would hop into our rowboats. I loved rowing on Rock Lake. Canoeing and kayaking was fun, too. I would even carry trunks. Not on the lake. But that’s a discussion for another time…
We would try and race each other to see who could get there first. We would dock and hang out. I being the camp cook would select a few of my favorites…. They helped me light the fire and grill the dogs and burgers. The food came from the ever-delicious Kunatah Dining Hall. So they were kosher. Not sure once us heathens touched them they remained that way. But all we did was toss them on our grills. So who knows?
The rest of the campers would spend the day swimminK (note the “K”, some of the astute camp leaders allege I changed the ings to inKs. I don’t believe it) at the dam. Eventually, they got out of the lake to dine. I got my swim time, too. So don’t worry that I slaved over the grill all day.
After we finished our meal, we may have swam a little more. Then we got ready to row back to the docks.
But before heading on that long voyage home, we would clean up. As good scouts, we’d police the area quite well. We would load our garbage into the Whomobile or the Truckster. It was taken back to the Hill.
Those scouuuuts who failed to earn merit badges were placed on a “special” list. They would be charged with cleaning up the cookware.
At the ’84 Dam cookout one of our leaders missed getting into a boat and broke his foot. Boy did that create an interesting rest of summer. This of course is why the famous dam cookout became the Damn That Cookout. From that point on when we created the camp’s weekly program, we’d write in Damn That Cookout. Thankfully, no one got hurt at future Damn That Cookouts.
January 16, 2012
Back in the day, when were in summer camp, we would have a Dam Cookout. It quickly became the “Damn That Cookout”.
We would row out to Rock Lake’s dam. It was all the way at the end. It was far from the Kunatah docks. That was the site where many of leapt off of to go swimming every afternoon.
I went back two summers ago and realized it wasn’t really that far. But to us teens it was like paddling down the Amazon and hoping to reach a stopping point. Of course, I’ve never paddled down the Amazon. The only Amazon I’ve visited is amazon.com.
Let us get back to my dam. The staff, which included me, would pack up the burgers, dogs and other stuff for our BBQ. Someone would drive our stuff down to the famous dam. The rest of us would hop into our rowboats. I loved rowing on Rock Lake. Canoeing and kayaking was fun, too. I would even carry trunks. Not on the lake. But that’s a discussion for another time…
We would try and race each other to see who could get there first. We would dock and hang out. I being the camp cook would select a few of my favorites…. They helped me light the fire and grill the dogs and burgers. The food came from the ever-delicious Kunatah Dining Hall. So they were kosher. Not sure once us heathens touched them they remained that way. But all we did was toss them on our grills. So who knows?
The rest of the campers would spend the day swimminK (note the “K”, some of the astute camp leaders allege I changed the ings to inKs. I don’t believe it) at the dam. Eventually, they got out of the lake to dine. I got my swim time, too. So don’t worry that I slaved over the grill all day.
After we finished our meal, we may have swam a little more. Then we got ready to row back to the docks.
But before heading on that long voyage home, we would clean up. As good scouts, we’d police the area quite well. We would load our garbage into the Whomobile or the Truckster. It was taken back to the Hill.
Those scouuuuts who failed to earn merit badges were placed on a “special” list. They would be charged with cleaning up the cookware.
At the ’84 Dam cookout one of our leaders missed getting into a boat and broke his foot. Boy did that create an interesting rest of summer. This of course is why the famous dam cookout became the Damn That Cookout. From that point on when we created the camp’s weekly program, we’d write in Damn That Cookout. Thankfully, no one got hurt at future Damn That Cookouts.
Alhaquot's Blog: The Stadium: My thoughts visiting the new one for ...
Alhaquot's Blog: The Stadium: My thoughts visiting the new one for ...: My thoughts on the new Stadium May 2, 2009 At around 10:00 a.m. I hopped on the R to 59th and Lex. I transferred to the 4 and got o...
The Stadium: My thoughts visiting the new one for the first time
My thoughts on the new Stadium
May 2, 2009
At around 10:00 a.m. I hopped on the R to 59th and Lex. I transferred to the 4 and got off at 161st Street. As we approached 161st, people cheered as the subway pulled into the station and looked out the subway car’s window, at the new stadium. It glittered brighter than gold.
I was looking out the other window and saw the House that Ruth Built. My eyes were teary, as I saw an empty field. Dirt was everywhere. There was no grass, no pitcher’s mound, no bases and no batter’s box.
I exited the station and immediately walked to the old stadium. I was far from the only fan doing this. We all put our hands on it and walked around it. Parts of it were boarded up. I shot many pix. I leaned against the wall and davened (prayed). Yeah, I know I broke the rules today. I am not always good. Yes, I was in Shul last night. But today I was standing in front of a different Shul.
I looked at the wall by the now closed Gate 2 and said the Shema. My mind drifted. I imagined what it must have been like when we had the temple. One day, it will be rebuilt. One day the Stadium will meet a wrecking ball. Right now it is the holiest fully standing structure on the planet.
I crossed the street and walked into the new stadium. It is overwhelming. It feels like you’re walking into Disney World or the Mall of America. The place is super clean and loaded with stores, eateries, bars and pictures of the greats, Gehrig, Ruth, Mantle, Jackson, DiMaggio, Berra, Munson and the list goes on. After all, no team has had better players than the Yanks. Cooperstown was built for them. In fact, 70 years ago today was when the greatest player in the history of baseball and well, in the history of sports took himself out of the line up.
I bought my yearbook and program. I walked over to the store and bought some stuff. Yeah, I need to exchange the shorts tomorrow. No big deal. I need a different size.
I wandered toward Monument Park. For some reason it was closed. I got on the line for the museum. It was super long. So I got off and walked around the stadium. It is beautiful. I looked out at the field and saw all the usual ads, Budweiser, Canon, MasterCard, and MetLife. Of course the MetLife ad had a picture of the greatest shortstop of all time, Snoopy in his uniform.
I went to my seat, which was in the Grandstand section. In other words, super nose bleed seats. It is even higher than the nose bleeds in the ghost across the street. The field looks nice. They played all the same music. If only they could find something different to play than Cotton Eye Joe. That song is so tired. The way the Yankees played today, they should have played Everybody Hurts, by R.E.M. or Boys Don’t Cry, by the Cure. I wanted to cry.
The stadium has a nice feel, but something is missing. I guess what’s missing is the classic feel the empty, but in many ways full structure across the street had. The new stadium is beautiful and feels nice. However, it just doesn’t have the feel of the House that Ruth Built, where I saw Hall of Famers, Reggie “Mr. October” Jackson and Rich “Goose” Gossage play and of course future Hall of Famers, Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera play. Maybe one day it will have a classic feel. Jeter and Rivera will play for a few more years in the new building. Hopefully, when Torre goes into Cooperstown he goes in as a Yankee. I can’t see him going in for any other team.
I am sure we will produce more Hall of Famers in years to come. But ultimately, my heart will always be with the most historic sports stadium in the history of the world.
I exited the stadium and walked across the street and put my head against the wall of the original Stadium. The two people standing there said, “Do you miss it”? I responded,” Yes, the new stadium is nice, but this is where baseball belongs”. They agreed. I walked to the 4 and went home.
I’m sorry if I bored you. I know I will get some nasty comments. Most likely they will come from Rodney and the Douche. Of course, one of those people was the greatest scoutmaster on the planet and best camp leader ever. Of course, I understand he spends most of his time fetching honey. He did help shape my life in too many ways to count. The other, is one of the coolest people I have ever met. A great guy to talk about sports, music, politics with and well, the world we live in and life in general.
Go Yankees!
May 2, 2009
At around 10:00 a.m. I hopped on the R to 59th and Lex. I transferred to the 4 and got off at 161st Street. As we approached 161st, people cheered as the subway pulled into the station and looked out the subway car’s window, at the new stadium. It glittered brighter than gold.
I was looking out the other window and saw the House that Ruth Built. My eyes were teary, as I saw an empty field. Dirt was everywhere. There was no grass, no pitcher’s mound, no bases and no batter’s box.
I exited the station and immediately walked to the old stadium. I was far from the only fan doing this. We all put our hands on it and walked around it. Parts of it were boarded up. I shot many pix. I leaned against the wall and davened (prayed). Yeah, I know I broke the rules today. I am not always good. Yes, I was in Shul last night. But today I was standing in front of a different Shul.
I looked at the wall by the now closed Gate 2 and said the Shema. My mind drifted. I imagined what it must have been like when we had the temple. One day, it will be rebuilt. One day the Stadium will meet a wrecking ball. Right now it is the holiest fully standing structure on the planet.
I crossed the street and walked into the new stadium. It is overwhelming. It feels like you’re walking into Disney World or the Mall of America. The place is super clean and loaded with stores, eateries, bars and pictures of the greats, Gehrig, Ruth, Mantle, Jackson, DiMaggio, Berra, Munson and the list goes on. After all, no team has had better players than the Yanks. Cooperstown was built for them. In fact, 70 years ago today was when the greatest player in the history of baseball and well, in the history of sports took himself out of the line up.
I bought my yearbook and program. I walked over to the store and bought some stuff. Yeah, I need to exchange the shorts tomorrow. No big deal. I need a different size.
I wandered toward Monument Park. For some reason it was closed. I got on the line for the museum. It was super long. So I got off and walked around the stadium. It is beautiful. I looked out at the field and saw all the usual ads, Budweiser, Canon, MasterCard, and MetLife. Of course the MetLife ad had a picture of the greatest shortstop of all time, Snoopy in his uniform.
I went to my seat, which was in the Grandstand section. In other words, super nose bleed seats. It is even higher than the nose bleeds in the ghost across the street. The field looks nice. They played all the same music. If only they could find something different to play than Cotton Eye Joe. That song is so tired. The way the Yankees played today, they should have played Everybody Hurts, by R.E.M. or Boys Don’t Cry, by the Cure. I wanted to cry.
The stadium has a nice feel, but something is missing. I guess what’s missing is the classic feel the empty, but in many ways full structure across the street had. The new stadium is beautiful and feels nice. However, it just doesn’t have the feel of the House that Ruth Built, where I saw Hall of Famers, Reggie “Mr. October” Jackson and Rich “Goose” Gossage play and of course future Hall of Famers, Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera play. Maybe one day it will have a classic feel. Jeter and Rivera will play for a few more years in the new building. Hopefully, when Torre goes into Cooperstown he goes in as a Yankee. I can’t see him going in for any other team.
I am sure we will produce more Hall of Famers in years to come. But ultimately, my heart will always be with the most historic sports stadium in the history of the world.
I exited the stadium and walked across the street and put my head against the wall of the original Stadium. The two people standing there said, “Do you miss it”? I responded,” Yes, the new stadium is nice, but this is where baseball belongs”. They agreed. I walked to the 4 and went home.
I’m sorry if I bored you. I know I will get some nasty comments. Most likely they will come from Rodney and the Douche. Of course, one of those people was the greatest scoutmaster on the planet and best camp leader ever. Of course, I understand he spends most of his time fetching honey. He did help shape my life in too many ways to count. The other, is one of the coolest people I have ever met. A great guy to talk about sports, music, politics with and well, the world we live in and life in general.
Go Yankees!
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Alhaquot's Blog: Dead fish
Alhaquot's Blog: Dead fish: Dead Fish When you hear the words “dead fish”, you are likely thinking about that goldfish you need to flush down the toilet. Maybe you were...
Dead fish
Dead Fish
When you hear the words “dead fish”, you are likely thinking about that goldfish you need to flush down the toilet. Maybe you were thinking of the latest toxic spill off the coast of Alaska.
I bet you weren’t thinking of the world-renowned sport of dead fish fighting. I used to be an active player in this game. Were you?
Let me tell you about it. Years ago in camp we would go on Delaware canoe trips. I loved them. About half way into the trip, our leader, Rodney (not his real name, but his alter ego) would start attacking us with dead fish. You see, from the start of the trip he’d be loading his vessel with dead fish.
Just at the right time he would unleash his arsenal. He would start attacking his fellow canoeists. Rodney would paddle up to his victim and when their eyes would go astray, he’d smack them over the head with several dead fish. Then he’d paddle away.
One trip Bergy and I were doing real well. We were paddling hard and making great time. The next thing I remember was getting smacked in the head with multiple dead fish. Bergy was also attacked. We tried to clean ourselves up. But alas, we could not. Our only choice was to jump out of our canoe and take a swim in the Delaware.
Once we got back into our canoe, Rodney attacked again. These days, I think about dead fish fights way too often. I’m so up for one. Are you?
Last spring, I had numerous lunches and dinners with a wonderful family, whose male children were planning to go to summer camp. I explained the glory of a dead fish fight. I mean you should forget about color wars, hurdles, softball and cookouts. Real men have dead fish fights. They promised they would engage in one.
I anxiously awaited their return from camp. I finally saw them. They told me about all the fun they had in camp. They reported during their rafting trip, all they did was paddle and go for a swim. They left the dead fish in the water.
Oh well.
When you hear the words “dead fish”, you are likely thinking about that goldfish you need to flush down the toilet. Maybe you were thinking of the latest toxic spill off the coast of Alaska.
I bet you weren’t thinking of the world-renowned sport of dead fish fighting. I used to be an active player in this game. Were you?
Let me tell you about it. Years ago in camp we would go on Delaware canoe trips. I loved them. About half way into the trip, our leader, Rodney (not his real name, but his alter ego) would start attacking us with dead fish. You see, from the start of the trip he’d be loading his vessel with dead fish.
Just at the right time he would unleash his arsenal. He would start attacking his fellow canoeists. Rodney would paddle up to his victim and when their eyes would go astray, he’d smack them over the head with several dead fish. Then he’d paddle away.
One trip Bergy and I were doing real well. We were paddling hard and making great time. The next thing I remember was getting smacked in the head with multiple dead fish. Bergy was also attacked. We tried to clean ourselves up. But alas, we could not. Our only choice was to jump out of our canoe and take a swim in the Delaware.
Once we got back into our canoe, Rodney attacked again. These days, I think about dead fish fights way too often. I’m so up for one. Are you?
Last spring, I had numerous lunches and dinners with a wonderful family, whose male children were planning to go to summer camp. I explained the glory of a dead fish fight. I mean you should forget about color wars, hurdles, softball and cookouts. Real men have dead fish fights. They promised they would engage in one.
I anxiously awaited their return from camp. I finally saw them. They told me about all the fun they had in camp. They reported during their rafting trip, all they did was paddle and go for a swim. They left the dead fish in the water.
Oh well.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Alhaquot's Blog: Sneakers
Alhaquot's Blog: Sneakers: Sneakers My Asics have been gym worn for far too long. I have a tendency to fall in love with a pair of sneakers or be too lazy or cheap t...
Alhaquot's Blog: Saving Israeli Youth: One Soul at a Time
Alhaquot's Blog: Saving Israeli Youth: One Soul at a Time: http://elem.org/wordpress/?p=549 click to view ELEM-Entry blog with photos. Saving Israeli Youth: One Soul at a Time Posted on December 9...
Alhaquot's Blog: Sneakers
Alhaquot's Blog: Sneakers: Sneakers My Asics have been gym worn for far too long. I have a tendency to fall in love with a pair of sneakers or be too lazy or cheap t...
Alhaquot's Blog: Saving Israeli Youth: One Soul at a Time
Alhaquot's Blog: Saving Israeli Youth: One Soul at a Time: http://elem.org/wordpress/?p=549 click to view ELEM-Entry blog with photos. Saving Israeli Youth: One Soul at a Time Posted on December 9...
Alhaquot's Blog: My First Ukulele Show: The Squirrels Nutty gig at ...
Alhaquot's Blog: My First Ukulele Show: The Squirrels Nutty gig at ...: My First Ukulele Show: The Squirrels Nutty gig at Maui Tacos I arrived at Maui Tacos for my first ukulele show. The only thing I really k...
Alhaquot's Blog: Quarters
Alhaquot's Blog: Quarters: Quarters November 3, 2003 Wow, I got another quarter. How exciting. It just made my day. What is it about getting quarters? It’s not l...
Alhaquot's Blog: Eating habits
Alhaquot's Blog: Eating habits: Eating habits Do buffets gross you out? They do that to me. Yeah, the food can be great. But did you ever watch people when they approach...
Eating habits
Do buffets gross you out? They do that to me. Yeah, the food can be great.
But did you ever watch people when they approach the buffet table?
I like to go first. This way I can scout it out. First, there must be serving spoons in every dish. Next, the food must look fresh. Third and most important, if you’re first, you avoid the masses.
Years ago, I worked in a really cool place. Everyday we were served great lunches at no cost. Man, I miss those days.
Sounds great doesn’t it? Well, hold your horses. Far too many times both at work and many events at volunteer gatherings and religious institutions, people seem to get too friendly with the food. In other words, they fail to use the servings spoons. Instead, they use their hands.
Some of these slobs taste the food right at the buffet table and what falls out their mouths, often drops back into the food trays.
In my old job, I was one of the people that kept tabs on who failed to wash their hands after they went to the bathroom. It was no surprise that these people were the ones who acted like animals at buffet luncheons.
Recently, I saw a woman pick up a piece of gefilte fish with her hands. Then she ate it without using a fork. Grosser than gross, huh?
Once at a dinner a woman yelled to another woman, “there’s a serving spoon”. The pig smiled and put her hands right back into the food dish. I guess she saved them money. They didn’t need to waste plastic ware on her…...
I have seen this happen in restaurants, too.
Bottom line we need to put health and safety first. People must use silverware and remember to wash when leaving the latrine.
Quarters
Quarters
November 3, 2003
Wow, I got another quarter. How exciting. It just made my day. What is it about getting quarters? It’s not like receiving a million dollars. How many other people get excited when they get a quarter? No, it is not just twenty-five cents, but also a quarter.
Years ago, I parked in a muni-lot and the meters only took quarters. Not dimes, nickels or pennies. What takes those? I used to collect them. Yeah, you could buy a muni-card, but I was much happier using a quarter. I used to take my soda cans to King Kullen and put them into the slimy machine. Every five cans the machine dropped out a quarter. Sheer excitement.
Tonight I did laundry. I live in an apartment complex, so I don’t have my own washer or dryer and I am stuck using the laundry room.
Guess what the machines run on? Yep quarters. Six each. With the amount of clothes I own, I usually need 30 to 36 quarters a week to do my laundry. Every time I go to the store, I pray my change will be in quarters. When I get my change in nickels and dimes, my whole day is ruined. There are some stores and gas stations that virtually always give change in quarters. Those are the places I frequent most of all.
At work we have a soda machine that only gives quarters as change. I rarely drink soda, but when I need quarters I stroll right over to that machine. Our receptionist keeps cups of quarters for people who need change. Often, I exchange dollar bills for well you know what.
This is isn’t something new, but its been going on for well over 10 years. When I go to the gym, I take all the quarters out of my pockets and put them in the cup holder of my car. Heaven forbid, I lose a quarter when I’m changing into my shorts and t-shirt. That would rip my heart out.
When I parked in the muni-lot, I would lay my quarters out the night before I drove off. I had to use 12. Many times I laid out 13 in case I dropped one down a sewer while feeding the meter. Ah, the life of a New York City resident.
November 3, 2003
Wow, I got another quarter. How exciting. It just made my day. What is it about getting quarters? It’s not like receiving a million dollars. How many other people get excited when they get a quarter? No, it is not just twenty-five cents, but also a quarter.
Years ago, I parked in a muni-lot and the meters only took quarters. Not dimes, nickels or pennies. What takes those? I used to collect them. Yeah, you could buy a muni-card, but I was much happier using a quarter. I used to take my soda cans to King Kullen and put them into the slimy machine. Every five cans the machine dropped out a quarter. Sheer excitement.
Tonight I did laundry. I live in an apartment complex, so I don’t have my own washer or dryer and I am stuck using the laundry room.
Guess what the machines run on? Yep quarters. Six each. With the amount of clothes I own, I usually need 30 to 36 quarters a week to do my laundry. Every time I go to the store, I pray my change will be in quarters. When I get my change in nickels and dimes, my whole day is ruined. There are some stores and gas stations that virtually always give change in quarters. Those are the places I frequent most of all.
At work we have a soda machine that only gives quarters as change. I rarely drink soda, but when I need quarters I stroll right over to that machine. Our receptionist keeps cups of quarters for people who need change. Often, I exchange dollar bills for well you know what.
This is isn’t something new, but its been going on for well over 10 years. When I go to the gym, I take all the quarters out of my pockets and put them in the cup holder of my car. Heaven forbid, I lose a quarter when I’m changing into my shorts and t-shirt. That would rip my heart out.
When I parked in the muni-lot, I would lay my quarters out the night before I drove off. I had to use 12. Many times I laid out 13 in case I dropped one down a sewer while feeding the meter. Ah, the life of a New York City resident.
My First Ukulele Show: The Squirrels Nutty gig at Maui Tacos
My First Ukulele Show: The Squirrels Nutty gig at Maui Tacos
I arrived at Maui Tacos for my first ukulele show. The only thing I really knew about ukulele music came from Eddie Vedder’s spring 2011 album, Ukulele Songs. Unfortunately, I was unable to get tickets for his tour.
So, I was clueless about what to expect. But pretty excited about what I was going to hear. I was greeted at the door by my friend Yuval, one of the lead ukulele players for the Squirrels.
This Avant-garde band was one of the show’s headliners. The room was packed full of Squirrels fans. I was lucky to get seat right opposite the stage. I only hope I can GET a similar seat when the Squirrels need to upgrade their venue to the Garden.
First to take the stage were two men, who bantered around and played a few holiday songs. In their own hilarious fashion, they did their best to resemble Cheech and Chong.
Ken, the show host and Brooklyn native, played a few songs. One was a witty tune about Brooklyn in the old days. Well before it cost a million dollars to buy an apartment the size of a shoebox. A few other people played some great tunes. Some covers of 30s and 40s singers / bandleaders and some original material. One of the songs spoke about the singer's upbringing in a trailer park in Arizona.
Then came the moment we were waiting for -- the Squirrels took the stage. And took the stage they did. Audience members got that Vedderesque feeling that this was going to be rockin’ show. They played several songs. But they did so much more than just play. David, Rebecca, Shira and Yuval created a Warholesque musical and dramatic artistic stage performance. Yuval shined on his vocals, clarinet and of course, his real pleasure, the ukulele. After acting out a few songs as they played along, the Squirrels did an amazing sing along encore of Simon & Garfunkel’s Cecilia. All of Maui Tacos was singing.
The Squirrels were followed by some other performers, including Esther Koo, who performed her own version of Croce’s Bad, Bad Leroy Brown. She added some humorous lyrics that prompted the audience to burst out into laughter, while singing along.
The night ended with a free form with several of the evening’s stars, including Yuval, all taking the stage to jam. I know I’m hooked and can’t wait for the next show.
I arrived at Maui Tacos for my first ukulele show. The only thing I really knew about ukulele music came from Eddie Vedder’s spring 2011 album, Ukulele Songs. Unfortunately, I was unable to get tickets for his tour.
So, I was clueless about what to expect. But pretty excited about what I was going to hear. I was greeted at the door by my friend Yuval, one of the lead ukulele players for the Squirrels.
This Avant-garde band was one of the show’s headliners. The room was packed full of Squirrels fans. I was lucky to get seat right opposite the stage. I only hope I can GET a similar seat when the Squirrels need to upgrade their venue to the Garden.
First to take the stage were two men, who bantered around and played a few holiday songs. In their own hilarious fashion, they did their best to resemble Cheech and Chong.
Ken, the show host and Brooklyn native, played a few songs. One was a witty tune about Brooklyn in the old days. Well before it cost a million dollars to buy an apartment the size of a shoebox. A few other people played some great tunes. Some covers of 30s and 40s singers / bandleaders and some original material. One of the songs spoke about the singer's upbringing in a trailer park in Arizona.
Then came the moment we were waiting for -- the Squirrels took the stage. And took the stage they did. Audience members got that Vedderesque feeling that this was going to be rockin’ show. They played several songs. But they did so much more than just play. David, Rebecca, Shira and Yuval created a Warholesque musical and dramatic artistic stage performance. Yuval shined on his vocals, clarinet and of course, his real pleasure, the ukulele. After acting out a few songs as they played along, the Squirrels did an amazing sing along encore of Simon & Garfunkel’s Cecilia. All of Maui Tacos was singing.
The Squirrels were followed by some other performers, including Esther Koo, who performed her own version of Croce’s Bad, Bad Leroy Brown. She added some humorous lyrics that prompted the audience to burst out into laughter, while singing along.
The night ended with a free form with several of the evening’s stars, including Yuval, all taking the stage to jam. I know I’m hooked and can’t wait for the next show.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Saving Israeli Youth: One Soul at a Time
http://elem.org/wordpress/?p=549 click to view ELEM-Entry blog with photos.
Saving Israeli Youth: One Soul at a Time
Posted on December 9, 2011 by ELEM-Entry
On Thanksgiving Day, I arrived at 9 Reshit Chochma Street. At first I was unsure where I was. I was not in the prettiest of neighborhoods. After hanging out on the street for a few minutes, the ELEM van loaded with social workers and volunteers who coordinate the “Someone to Run With” program arrived.
I introduced myself to Natalie, a social worker who has been running this program for the last four years. She and her dedicated volunteers work arduously to improve the lives of adolescent and young adult immigrants (ages 18 to 25) who came to Israel alone or whose families disintegrated after they arrived. These young people are often drug addicted and wander the streets without knowing how to find help.
Natalie and company began setting up tables with food, unloading suitcases filled with clothes, games and musical instruments in a small park across the street from a building that within the next few weeks will be an ELEM therapeutic home.
Pretty soon a handful of adult males walked into the park and were greeted with hugs by the ELEM activists. Most looked clean. Some looked like the average person you’d find hangin’ out in the East Village. But they all walked over to the suitcases to look for clothes. A few women arrived, too. These people live on the street. For many, the only help they get is from ELEM.
ELEM is Israel’s leading non-profit organization dedicated to the treatment and rehabilitation of abused, neglected, and adjudicated Jewish and Arab Israeli youth. While we can’t solve everyone’s problems, a lot of preventive help is provided to the youth. Many of the people in need are drug addicts or prostitutes. Needles and condoms are given out for protective needs.
Those in need gathered around the picnic tables. They started chatting about their lives and what they wanted to change. Some wanted to find employment, stop using drugs or get out of prostitution. Many were sexually abused at home and ran away. But they realized that they could make money in exchange for sex. ELEM activists listened to them. The volunteers were the only people they had to talk to. They played chess and music together. It gave people leading the kind of lifestyle I could never imagine a chance to feel better.
As they were chatting, activists began preparing sandwiches. They asked me to join them. I was really excited when they handed me a turkey and hummus sandwich. So it was hummus and not cranberry sauce. But this was the best way to spend Thanksgiving. Rather than sitting around the table with a football game blasting in the background, I witnessed people in need get help. Yeah, I explained the U.S. Thanksgiving. Not really understood. But they passed me more turkey. I smiled.
Natalie and I jumped into Karen’s car and drove to South Tel Aviv. It kind of reminded me of Times Square in the 70s and 80s. Natalie saw a man ELEM’s been helping. She walked right up and gave him a hug. Yes, he was high. He was alone. Nobody but the ELEM workers acknowledged him. He was given food and water. This was the first real meal he had in sometime.
We then walked over to a vacant lot that formerly served as a bus station. It was the place your mother warned you not to go anywhere near. Thankfully, my mom was 6,000 miles away eating turkey and hadn’t the slightest clue where I was.
Everyone in the lot was high. Natalie started approaching people to see if they needed help, some water or food. Sadly, one of the lot’s residents was a 27-year old woman who had received help from ELEM in the past. As we approached, we found her engaged in an act of prostitution.
She spoke to Karen and Natalie. She said she’d been drug free for over six months. But she was treated so poorly at the coffee shop she worked in, she started using again. She then began trading sex for money or drugs.
Next up was meeting Sarit and Vered on Habanim Street. The ELEM van was parked near a courthouse and art museum. Approximately 30, 14 year-olds were there. They came every Thursday.
Some of these kids either came from poor families where their parents didn’t care about them. Others came from wealthier families. In these cases, their parents were to busy and outsourced raising their kids.
Many of these teens found their escape in beer. Most have poor concentration skills. But every Thursday, the ELEM volunteers are there for them with snacks and support. Vered and Sarit gave each teen personal attention. They also sat in groups and talked about what was going on in their lives.
Most had the common teenage troubles, issues with boyfriends or girlfriends or school. But they all shared neglect from their parents.
One female proudly came with a bottle of Coke and was pouring cups of it. She made sure the ELEM crew knew about this. It was not so long ago she would show up with a six-pack and give out beer. Clearly this was a step in the right direction. I happily sipped a cup of Coke.
Others took solace in the chance to hang out with others sharing similar problems. My sketchy Hebrew and their sketchy English made for interesting conversations. But I understood that these kids have more problems than most at their age and that they really need the work of ELEM.
Around midnight, Sarit, Vered and the other activists hopped into the van and rode around town looking for other kids in need.
This Thanksgiving, I’m thankful that I spent the holiday watching ELEM’s social workers and volunteers helping young adults living on the streets of Tel Aviv, and teens in need in Herzliya.
After witnessing first hand the lives these young people lead, I am also thankful that I have been part of making a positive change in their lives over the last nine months.
There are too many teens and young adults all over the world in similar situations. Groups like ELEM are making a difference and saving these kids one soul at a time. If more people would give their precious time to helping these people, we could change the world.
Saving Israeli Youth: One Soul at a Time
Posted on December 9, 2011 by ELEM-Entry
On Thanksgiving Day, I arrived at 9 Reshit Chochma Street. At first I was unsure where I was. I was not in the prettiest of neighborhoods. After hanging out on the street for a few minutes, the ELEM van loaded with social workers and volunteers who coordinate the “Someone to Run With” program arrived.
I introduced myself to Natalie, a social worker who has been running this program for the last four years. She and her dedicated volunteers work arduously to improve the lives of adolescent and young adult immigrants (ages 18 to 25) who came to Israel alone or whose families disintegrated after they arrived. These young people are often drug addicted and wander the streets without knowing how to find help.
Natalie and company began setting up tables with food, unloading suitcases filled with clothes, games and musical instruments in a small park across the street from a building that within the next few weeks will be an ELEM therapeutic home.
Pretty soon a handful of adult males walked into the park and were greeted with hugs by the ELEM activists. Most looked clean. Some looked like the average person you’d find hangin’ out in the East Village. But they all walked over to the suitcases to look for clothes. A few women arrived, too. These people live on the street. For many, the only help they get is from ELEM.
ELEM is Israel’s leading non-profit organization dedicated to the treatment and rehabilitation of abused, neglected, and adjudicated Jewish and Arab Israeli youth. While we can’t solve everyone’s problems, a lot of preventive help is provided to the youth. Many of the people in need are drug addicts or prostitutes. Needles and condoms are given out for protective needs.
Those in need gathered around the picnic tables. They started chatting about their lives and what they wanted to change. Some wanted to find employment, stop using drugs or get out of prostitution. Many were sexually abused at home and ran away. But they realized that they could make money in exchange for sex. ELEM activists listened to them. The volunteers were the only people they had to talk to. They played chess and music together. It gave people leading the kind of lifestyle I could never imagine a chance to feel better.
As they were chatting, activists began preparing sandwiches. They asked me to join them. I was really excited when they handed me a turkey and hummus sandwich. So it was hummus and not cranberry sauce. But this was the best way to spend Thanksgiving. Rather than sitting around the table with a football game blasting in the background, I witnessed people in need get help. Yeah, I explained the U.S. Thanksgiving. Not really understood. But they passed me more turkey. I smiled.
Natalie and I jumped into Karen’s car and drove to South Tel Aviv. It kind of reminded me of Times Square in the 70s and 80s. Natalie saw a man ELEM’s been helping. She walked right up and gave him a hug. Yes, he was high. He was alone. Nobody but the ELEM workers acknowledged him. He was given food and water. This was the first real meal he had in sometime.
We then walked over to a vacant lot that formerly served as a bus station. It was the place your mother warned you not to go anywhere near. Thankfully, my mom was 6,000 miles away eating turkey and hadn’t the slightest clue where I was.
Everyone in the lot was high. Natalie started approaching people to see if they needed help, some water or food. Sadly, one of the lot’s residents was a 27-year old woman who had received help from ELEM in the past. As we approached, we found her engaged in an act of prostitution.
She spoke to Karen and Natalie. She said she’d been drug free for over six months. But she was treated so poorly at the coffee shop she worked in, she started using again. She then began trading sex for money or drugs.
Next up was meeting Sarit and Vered on Habanim Street. The ELEM van was parked near a courthouse and art museum. Approximately 30, 14 year-olds were there. They came every Thursday.
Some of these kids either came from poor families where their parents didn’t care about them. Others came from wealthier families. In these cases, their parents were to busy and outsourced raising their kids.
Many of these teens found their escape in beer. Most have poor concentration skills. But every Thursday, the ELEM volunteers are there for them with snacks and support. Vered and Sarit gave each teen personal attention. They also sat in groups and talked about what was going on in their lives.
Most had the common teenage troubles, issues with boyfriends or girlfriends or school. But they all shared neglect from their parents.
One female proudly came with a bottle of Coke and was pouring cups of it. She made sure the ELEM crew knew about this. It was not so long ago she would show up with a six-pack and give out beer. Clearly this was a step in the right direction. I happily sipped a cup of Coke.
Others took solace in the chance to hang out with others sharing similar problems. My sketchy Hebrew and their sketchy English made for interesting conversations. But I understood that these kids have more problems than most at their age and that they really need the work of ELEM.
Around midnight, Sarit, Vered and the other activists hopped into the van and rode around town looking for other kids in need.
This Thanksgiving, I’m thankful that I spent the holiday watching ELEM’s social workers and volunteers helping young adults living on the streets of Tel Aviv, and teens in need in Herzliya.
After witnessing first hand the lives these young people lead, I am also thankful that I have been part of making a positive change in their lives over the last nine months.
There are too many teens and young adults all over the world in similar situations. Groups like ELEM are making a difference and saving these kids one soul at a time. If more people would give their precious time to helping these people, we could change the world.
Sneakers
Sneakers
My Asics have been gym worn for far too long. I have a tendency to fall in love with a pair of sneakers or be too lazy or cheap to go to the store and purchase a new pair.
I finally owned up to the fact that I’d get a better workout with new sneakers. I strolled into City Sports and saw the same pair I’ve been wearing for the last two plus years. See how long, I dragged this out?
I wanted more variety. But I knew, I needed Asics. They rock. I walked to the Asics store across the street from Bryant Park. I found a few pairs that I fell in love with. I asked one of the sales associates a few questions. He answered and went to the next customer. I picked out a pair or two. Now keep in mind, I have a rule when it comes to sneakers. There is no need to spend much more than $70. Yeah, some of those $150 pairs are nice. Maybe they’d help me get a better workout. But I’d likely wreck them quickly. I train a lot.
I asked another sales associate if they had them in 6.5 or 7. Her jaw dropped. She said, “no, we start in 8.5”. I looked at a few other pairs with the price range I set for myself. Same deal. She did mention that a pair, which was way up high, is in the size I want. It was quite nice and cost $150. I said no way. She seemed to agree and recommended the Runners Shop, which is down the block. I was pissed. I tried a week ago in Modell’s. Same problem.
I went back to City Sports and asked for the pair I saw moments ago. I looked up on one of the higher shelves and saw another pair of Asics that were really nice and about $10 more than my price range. I said what the hell. I asked the sales associate to bring out both.
She said the pricier ones they only have in 13-14. Are they selling to Bigfoot? I suppose. They searched and searched. Eventually, they found the last pair in a 7. They were shocked they even carried that size. I didn’t need to try them on. But alas, I did. They fit perfectly. I paid and walked out. I now have a new pair of identical sneakers. Both were purchased in City Sports.
But boy was I pissed. I mean why can’t stores carry sizes for all people. I realize the smaller sizes may not sell as well. But can’t they carry some of them?
A year ago, I went to Skechers. Their sneakers’ are great for hanging out. I was looking for that kind of shoe. The ditz in that store said, “These are really nice. But we I don’t think we have 6.5s or 7s. Let me check”. I patiently waited and she came back and said, “Why don’t you try these 8s.” I walked out. Thankfully, skechers.com had the size I needed.
You know, I train almost daily. I can bench around 40-50 pounds above my weight. I run at 7 mph on the treadmill. I feel so discriminated against that these damn stores and shoemakers do nothing to accommodate me.
Anyway, as I walked down Ave. of the Americas with my new Asics, I passed a man carrying a bag full of cans and bottles that he likely got from rummaging through trash cans. I’m sure he only wishes his major piss offs were the failure of footwear companies and their merchants to make sneakers for those of us with small feet.
Yeah, I felt for the guy. Let’s face it if I wanted to buy the $150 Asics I could have. While this man put things into greater perspective, I must admit, I am still pissed that every time I go shoe shopping I encounter this issue.
My Asics have been gym worn for far too long. I have a tendency to fall in love with a pair of sneakers or be too lazy or cheap to go to the store and purchase a new pair.
I finally owned up to the fact that I’d get a better workout with new sneakers. I strolled into City Sports and saw the same pair I’ve been wearing for the last two plus years. See how long, I dragged this out?
I wanted more variety. But I knew, I needed Asics. They rock. I walked to the Asics store across the street from Bryant Park. I found a few pairs that I fell in love with. I asked one of the sales associates a few questions. He answered and went to the next customer. I picked out a pair or two. Now keep in mind, I have a rule when it comes to sneakers. There is no need to spend much more than $70. Yeah, some of those $150 pairs are nice. Maybe they’d help me get a better workout. But I’d likely wreck them quickly. I train a lot.
I asked another sales associate if they had them in 6.5 or 7. Her jaw dropped. She said, “no, we start in 8.5”. I looked at a few other pairs with the price range I set for myself. Same deal. She did mention that a pair, which was way up high, is in the size I want. It was quite nice and cost $150. I said no way. She seemed to agree and recommended the Runners Shop, which is down the block. I was pissed. I tried a week ago in Modell’s. Same problem.
I went back to City Sports and asked for the pair I saw moments ago. I looked up on one of the higher shelves and saw another pair of Asics that were really nice and about $10 more than my price range. I said what the hell. I asked the sales associate to bring out both.
She said the pricier ones they only have in 13-14. Are they selling to Bigfoot? I suppose. They searched and searched. Eventually, they found the last pair in a 7. They were shocked they even carried that size. I didn’t need to try them on. But alas, I did. They fit perfectly. I paid and walked out. I now have a new pair of identical sneakers. Both were purchased in City Sports.
But boy was I pissed. I mean why can’t stores carry sizes for all people. I realize the smaller sizes may not sell as well. But can’t they carry some of them?
A year ago, I went to Skechers. Their sneakers’ are great for hanging out. I was looking for that kind of shoe. The ditz in that store said, “These are really nice. But we I don’t think we have 6.5s or 7s. Let me check”. I patiently waited and she came back and said, “Why don’t you try these 8s.” I walked out. Thankfully, skechers.com had the size I needed.
You know, I train almost daily. I can bench around 40-50 pounds above my weight. I run at 7 mph on the treadmill. I feel so discriminated against that these damn stores and shoemakers do nothing to accommodate me.
Anyway, as I walked down Ave. of the Americas with my new Asics, I passed a man carrying a bag full of cans and bottles that he likely got from rummaging through trash cans. I’m sure he only wishes his major piss offs were the failure of footwear companies and their merchants to make sneakers for those of us with small feet.
Yeah, I felt for the guy. Let’s face it if I wanted to buy the $150 Asics I could have. While this man put things into greater perspective, I must admit, I am still pissed that every time I go shoe shopping I encounter this issue.
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