Well, just when I thought life had calmed down a bit, G-d snickers and Moisha the Hip-Hop Hebe has made a new friend.
Well, I say friend, mostly because "equally guilty party and co-conspiritor" is too much of a mouthful. If Moishe is the guy wearing the yarmulke with the propeller on top, D-man is the goy next to him- the one in the Viking helmet.... with horns.
Why me?
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
Moisha and I have bought a house.
What kind of house? the sensible among you ask. Surely a nice ranch with fireplace and hardwood floors. Or perhaps a delightful Cape Cod, with cozy nooks and...
You do know us, right?
130 years isn't old for a house? Right?
Guys?
It really isn't as bad as you think.
It's worse. Much much worse.
I should have known we were in trouble when our lovely realtor, carrying the briefcase he made during arts and crafts at a local mental institution, got out of his car with a grin.
He was warm; he was personable; he was friendly. I didn't ask why his case contained a bid offer, two sets of handcuffs, a gold pocket watch and those syringes of sodium pentathol. I'm sure there was a reason, really.
I'm getting very sleepy.
Now where was I again?
Anyway, I'm sure I believe him when he says we spontaneously signed the papers while dancing with glee. I was doubtful about the glee at first, but he was quite firm on that point. He is such a nice man, but he does have a rather odd medical condition- he apparently is overcome with fits of maniacal laughter at absolutely random intervals.
The suffering some people have to endure.
Anyway, the house.
2FB, 4BR, galley kitchen, mud room, spare kitchen, shutters nailed to the bathtub....
Shutters?
Oy vey.
What kind of house? the sensible among you ask. Surely a nice ranch with fireplace and hardwood floors. Or perhaps a delightful Cape Cod, with cozy nooks and...
You do know us, right?
130 years isn't old for a house? Right?
Guys?
It really isn't as bad as you think.
It's worse. Much much worse.
I should have known we were in trouble when our lovely realtor, carrying the briefcase he made during arts and crafts at a local mental institution, got out of his car with a grin.
He was warm; he was personable; he was friendly. I didn't ask why his case contained a bid offer, two sets of handcuffs, a gold pocket watch and those syringes of sodium pentathol. I'm sure there was a reason, really.
I'm getting very sleepy.
Now where was I again?
Anyway, I'm sure I believe him when he says we spontaneously signed the papers while dancing with glee. I was doubtful about the glee at first, but he was quite firm on that point. He is such a nice man, but he does have a rather odd medical condition- he apparently is overcome with fits of maniacal laughter at absolutely random intervals.
The suffering some people have to endure.
Anyway, the house.
2FB, 4BR, galley kitchen, mud room, spare kitchen, shutters nailed to the bathtub....
Shutters?
Oy vey.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
I have lost my flipping mind.
Along with Moisha, whose real name is Hebrew for "Does that look crooked to you?", I bought a house.
Of course, it's not just any house.
It's a 130 year old farmhouse, in a town where if ya see four Jews it's me and Moish and a big big mirror.
My friends are a bit divided on this move.
Some think we're nuts, others lean toward dumb and nuts. A few real rebels are going for "insane"... and dumb.
One of my dearest friends actually wrote a small skit detailing her worries about the move- she took the part of "Best Friend Wearing Body Armor and Microbraids." In a moving scene BFWBAAM attempts to get directions to my new home from a local gentleman. As I recall the dialogue was as follows:
"Excuse me Mister, can you tell me where them Jews went?"
"Yeah, sure Missy. First you take three lefts and then a zig zag at the place where the farm used to be. No, wait. It's easier if you turn right where that cow got hit, then... Aw, forget it. Just grab a'holt of this white robe and follow me- when you see the burning cross you found it."
I told her to shut up and bring marshmallows.
Along with Moisha, whose real name is Hebrew for "Does that look crooked to you?", I bought a house.
Of course, it's not just any house.
It's a 130 year old farmhouse, in a town where if ya see four Jews it's me and Moish and a big big mirror.
My friends are a bit divided on this move.
Some think we're nuts, others lean toward dumb and nuts. A few real rebels are going for "insane"... and dumb.
One of my dearest friends actually wrote a small skit detailing her worries about the move- she took the part of "Best Friend Wearing Body Armor and Microbraids." In a moving scene BFWBAAM attempts to get directions to my new home from a local gentleman. As I recall the dialogue was as follows:
"Excuse me Mister, can you tell me where them Jews went?"
"Yeah, sure Missy. First you take three lefts and then a zig zag at the place where the farm used to be. No, wait. It's easier if you turn right where that cow got hit, then... Aw, forget it. Just grab a'holt of this white robe and follow me- when you see the burning cross you found it."
I told her to shut up and bring marshmallows.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
If I Had Been Along For the Exodus...
Secret Diary Year 39 Wandering in Desert:
Day 35:
Sand. Wandering. Yusef found a dry leaf. Tribe stopped for 5 hours to admire dead leaf- first thing we have seen in 6 years that wasn't beige. Food- rain of manna; again.
Day 37
More freaking sand. Wandering. Tribe walked backwards for 3 hours to "improve team building." Moses is a weirdo. Food- guess what- iittttt's manna.
Day 39
Slightly darker sand. Tried marching in straight line. Found footprints after 8 hours- great excitement. 2 hours later, found Schlomo's sandal and the leftover's from last night's manna. Are back at starting point. Crud. Returned to wandering. Food- built temprary houses out of manna- ate rocks. Rocks tastier.
Day 40
Lighter sand. Wandering with occassional falling over. No water. Moses smacked rock with stick- rock gave water- tasted like wee. Noted small ocean crawling with lobsters, shrimp, clams, and catfish. Gentile tribe camped on shore- wearing linen and wool clothing and eating bacon cheeseburgers and wine. Going to make friends...
Day 40, 2 hours later
Have gotten ropes untied and made Yusef put me down. Moses is a bastard.
Day 35:
Sand. Wandering. Yusef found a dry leaf. Tribe stopped for 5 hours to admire dead leaf- first thing we have seen in 6 years that wasn't beige. Food- rain of manna; again.
Day 37
More freaking sand. Wandering. Tribe walked backwards for 3 hours to "improve team building." Moses is a weirdo. Food- guess what- iittttt's manna.
Day 39
Slightly darker sand. Tried marching in straight line. Found footprints after 8 hours- great excitement. 2 hours later, found Schlomo's sandal and the leftover's from last night's manna. Are back at starting point. Crud. Returned to wandering. Food- built temprary houses out of manna- ate rocks. Rocks tastier.
Day 40
Lighter sand. Wandering with occassional falling over. No water. Moses smacked rock with stick- rock gave water- tasted like wee. Noted small ocean crawling with lobsters, shrimp, clams, and catfish. Gentile tribe camped on shore- wearing linen and wool clothing and eating bacon cheeseburgers and wine. Going to make friends...
Day 40, 2 hours later
Have gotten ropes untied and made Yusef put me down. Moses is a bastard.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Don't Drop the Baby Down the Muskrat Hole: Parenting Tips From My Father
My parents have been married for 45 years- they must be doing something right...
That, or Mom is afraid that if left alone my father would simply wander out into traffic.
It's a tossup.
The man is either an unsung genius, or a cousin to Forrest Gump.
At work, he was brilliant. A design engineer for a multinational company.
At home, well, he could find his sock if it was on his foot.
I don't think Mom suspected that she was marrying the possibly impaired at first, though when he went scuba diving in their apartment pool she may have suspected.
It takes children to really reveal a man's character- and eventually there we were.
I first suspected Dad was a few eggs short of a carton when Mom asked him to see if my then diaper-wearing baby sister was "dirty".
The engineer, the man who exactingly designed bits that made big dangerous machines run without inconvenient fires and explosions, STUCK HIS HAND DOWN THE BACK OF THE BABY'S DIAPER TO CHECK.
He brought his hand back out, covered in baby throughput.
For a minute I thought a new dance craze had overtaken him as he deftly deposited the baby in her basket, and ran screaming straight up one wall. I believe I actually applauded at he did a half twist off the ceiling.
Granted near-Messianic abilities in the presence of poo, he then dashed across the top of the open fish tank, bounced off the couch, and did a one-rail slalom down the basement steps to the work sink.
Due to the speed at which he was moving, this part is a blur, but I think in the haze I saw Lava soap, Mom's washing bleach, and a pad of steel wool. My mother managed to wrestle him to the ground when he pulled out the hacksaw.
In just a few short months he was ready to return to the parenting fray. He had even begun to approach my sister wearing nothing more than a welding mask, hip waders, and flack jacket. The barbecue tongs and leather gloves were slowly put away.
Mom decided it was time. He was ready to move on to the big leagues.
He was going to take the kid fishing.
As I was the kid, and the pond was next door, how much trouble could he get in?
Need you ask?
Armed with cane pole, worm can, and packed lunch, I happily set out.
Unfortunately, Dad had not yet learned the First and Great Commandment known to all mothers, everywhere- if the little booger can outrun you, slow em down. Large rocks and chain can often be employed for this purpose, if no dog, wagon, or smaller sibling is available.
No one told Dad.
Mannerly to a fault, he took my can, bag, and pole so that I might proceed unencumbered to the pond. He stopped to adjust his new red fishing hat.
He realized his mistake in the 1.2 seconds it took me to climb the barbed wire fence, reach the bank, ... and disappear.
Into a muskrat hole.
From Dad's perspective the situation was startling, to say the least:
"Well, one minute I had a kid, and then next I had a head, sticking out of a mud bank. All the screaming and crying was pretty bad too- glad no one was around to see me. Wouldn't have been so bad if the muskrat hadn't actually been in the hole."
The next few minutes got a little confused, as all three of us fought to re-establish our proper places in the natural order of things. I stood on the muskrat and Dad pulled. Dad stood on the muskrat and I pulled. I stood on Dad and the muskrat took a few casts with my cane pole.
Eventually order was restored, and Dad and I stood on the bank. Muttering something about "Geez, what a couple of weirdos" and still munching on my chicken sandwich, the muskrat wandered off.
Hosing off the mud in the back yard, we plotted out a cover story. Hush money was obtained, and pocketed with glee (hey, a buck was a lot for an hours work back then!).
We would have gotten away with it, but that woman has interogation instincts that would make the KGB proud. She pointed out the window, towards the pond.
Who else would have noticed a smirking muskrat, wearing a red fishing hat? Some of his casts weren't even that good.
I think he had inside help.
Dad agrees.
That, or Mom is afraid that if left alone my father would simply wander out into traffic.
It's a tossup.
The man is either an unsung genius, or a cousin to Forrest Gump.
At work, he was brilliant. A design engineer for a multinational company.
At home, well, he could find his sock if it was on his foot.
I don't think Mom suspected that she was marrying the possibly impaired at first, though when he went scuba diving in their apartment pool she may have suspected.
It takes children to really reveal a man's character- and eventually there we were.
I first suspected Dad was a few eggs short of a carton when Mom asked him to see if my then diaper-wearing baby sister was "dirty".
The engineer, the man who exactingly designed bits that made big dangerous machines run without inconvenient fires and explosions, STUCK HIS HAND DOWN THE BACK OF THE BABY'S DIAPER TO CHECK.
He brought his hand back out, covered in baby throughput.
For a minute I thought a new dance craze had overtaken him as he deftly deposited the baby in her basket, and ran screaming straight up one wall. I believe I actually applauded at he did a half twist off the ceiling.
Granted near-Messianic abilities in the presence of poo, he then dashed across the top of the open fish tank, bounced off the couch, and did a one-rail slalom down the basement steps to the work sink.
Due to the speed at which he was moving, this part is a blur, but I think in the haze I saw Lava soap, Mom's washing bleach, and a pad of steel wool. My mother managed to wrestle him to the ground when he pulled out the hacksaw.
In just a few short months he was ready to return to the parenting fray. He had even begun to approach my sister wearing nothing more than a welding mask, hip waders, and flack jacket. The barbecue tongs and leather gloves were slowly put away.
Mom decided it was time. He was ready to move on to the big leagues.
He was going to take the kid fishing.
As I was the kid, and the pond was next door, how much trouble could he get in?
Need you ask?
Armed with cane pole, worm can, and packed lunch, I happily set out.
Unfortunately, Dad had not yet learned the First and Great Commandment known to all mothers, everywhere- if the little booger can outrun you, slow em down. Large rocks and chain can often be employed for this purpose, if no dog, wagon, or smaller sibling is available.
No one told Dad.
Mannerly to a fault, he took my can, bag, and pole so that I might proceed unencumbered to the pond. He stopped to adjust his new red fishing hat.
He realized his mistake in the 1.2 seconds it took me to climb the barbed wire fence, reach the bank, ... and disappear.
Into a muskrat hole.
From Dad's perspective the situation was startling, to say the least:
"Well, one minute I had a kid, and then next I had a head, sticking out of a mud bank. All the screaming and crying was pretty bad too- glad no one was around to see me. Wouldn't have been so bad if the muskrat hadn't actually been in the hole."
The next few minutes got a little confused, as all three of us fought to re-establish our proper places in the natural order of things. I stood on the muskrat and Dad pulled. Dad stood on the muskrat and I pulled. I stood on Dad and the muskrat took a few casts with my cane pole.
Eventually order was restored, and Dad and I stood on the bank. Muttering something about "Geez, what a couple of weirdos" and still munching on my chicken sandwich, the muskrat wandered off.
Hosing off the mud in the back yard, we plotted out a cover story. Hush money was obtained, and pocketed with glee (hey, a buck was a lot for an hours work back then!).
We would have gotten away with it, but that woman has interogation instincts that would make the KGB proud. She pointed out the window, towards the pond.
Who else would have noticed a smirking muskrat, wearing a red fishing hat? Some of his casts weren't even that good.
I think he had inside help.
Dad agrees.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Things to Do Before I Die...
What do you want to do before you die?
I'm part of a blogroll where this is the week's subject, based on a girl's lifelist left unfinished when she perished in a car accident.
I spent about ten minutes trying to think of some noble and exciting things I want to do, and places I want to see... Spots to park my feet and stand with my chin outthrust in American defience of death...
Aw, screw it.
It's not gonna happen.
Why? My honest, serious answer?
Because I'm not waiting.
I've already done most of any list I might make, and I'm damned lucky not to have died in the freaking process. Noble my tuchas.
Let's see...
I've:
Australian rappelled down the majestic cliffs of the Red River Gorge, and vomited in terror at the bottom.
Gone cave diving in Kentucky, and concussed myself on a stalagtite
Tried parasailing in the Bahamas and discovered I'm afraid of both heights and falls.
Waterskied down the Mississippi, and gotten a turbo wedgie.
Stood on the edge of a majestic mountain peak in Canada, and realized both that I had to pee and that there were no trees in sight.
Swum in the glorious Gulf of Mexico, and made friends with the jellyfish in my drawers.
Eaten the glorious native foods of exotic foreign lands, and been treated for food poisoning and dehydration in places where no one spoke English, French, Hebrew, or obscene gesture.
I've taught children and adults, and I've packed gunshot wounds. I've helped to bring a child into the world, and I've cleaned a body after death. I've written a book and I've eaten a snake. I've hunted and fished, and I've learned how to prepare what I killed. I've made clothing out of buckskin, and I've sewed silk prom dresses. I've been in a fistfight, and I've stepped between two people before anyone got hurt.
I have left partners and I have been left. Fallen in love and been loved in return. Roasted meat over fires, and prepared 5 star dinners. Ridden a skateboard and tried bodysurfing.
I've gone rollerskating and tried Minnesota ice fishing. Ridden some coasters and avoided hang gliding. I've cross-stiched some samplers, and built a big dollhouse.
I've married for love, and I've married without it. I've ridden a Harley and driven a Hummer. I've been in a limo, and on a small airplane.
I've danced and I've sung, even if people were watching. I play the guitar, dulcimer, and bowed psaltry.
I got a tattoo and I've shaved my head (once). I've marched for a cause and I've spoken in Washington.
I've seen friends die too soon, and I've helped others live.
I've seen men off to war, and thanked G-d they came home.
I buried my sister, and I met my birth Mom.
If I died today, right now, it would be without regret at things undone. No moments wasted, or years spent wishing that the time was right. No list left to do.
I have lived, and loved, and fought, and played, every day of my life. And when it comes time to lay it down, it will be with sadness that I could not have one more day, but also with joy. A tired kid coming home to bed at the end of a long day. And I will be able to say honestly, "Wasn't it all marvelous!"
I'm part of a blogroll where this is the week's subject, based on a girl's lifelist left unfinished when she perished in a car accident.
I spent about ten minutes trying to think of some noble and exciting things I want to do, and places I want to see... Spots to park my feet and stand with my chin outthrust in American defience of death...
Aw, screw it.
It's not gonna happen.
Why? My honest, serious answer?
Because I'm not waiting.
I've already done most of any list I might make, and I'm damned lucky not to have died in the freaking process. Noble my tuchas.
Let's see...
I've:
Australian rappelled down the majestic cliffs of the Red River Gorge, and vomited in terror at the bottom.
Gone cave diving in Kentucky, and concussed myself on a stalagtite
Tried parasailing in the Bahamas and discovered I'm afraid of both heights and falls.
Waterskied down the Mississippi, and gotten a turbo wedgie.
Stood on the edge of a majestic mountain peak in Canada, and realized both that I had to pee and that there were no trees in sight.
Swum in the glorious Gulf of Mexico, and made friends with the jellyfish in my drawers.
Eaten the glorious native foods of exotic foreign lands, and been treated for food poisoning and dehydration in places where no one spoke English, French, Hebrew, or obscene gesture.
I've taught children and adults, and I've packed gunshot wounds. I've helped to bring a child into the world, and I've cleaned a body after death. I've written a book and I've eaten a snake. I've hunted and fished, and I've learned how to prepare what I killed. I've made clothing out of buckskin, and I've sewed silk prom dresses. I've been in a fistfight, and I've stepped between two people before anyone got hurt.
I have left partners and I have been left. Fallen in love and been loved in return. Roasted meat over fires, and prepared 5 star dinners. Ridden a skateboard and tried bodysurfing.
I've gone rollerskating and tried Minnesota ice fishing. Ridden some coasters and avoided hang gliding. I've cross-stiched some samplers, and built a big dollhouse.
I've married for love, and I've married without it. I've ridden a Harley and driven a Hummer. I've been in a limo, and on a small airplane.
I've danced and I've sung, even if people were watching. I play the guitar, dulcimer, and bowed psaltry.
I got a tattoo and I've shaved my head (once). I've marched for a cause and I've spoken in Washington.
I've seen friends die too soon, and I've helped others live.
I've seen men off to war, and thanked G-d they came home.
I buried my sister, and I met my birth Mom.
If I died today, right now, it would be without regret at things undone. No moments wasted, or years spent wishing that the time was right. No list left to do.
I have lived, and loved, and fought, and played, every day of my life. And when it comes time to lay it down, it will be with sadness that I could not have one more day, but also with joy. A tired kid coming home to bed at the end of a long day. And I will be able to say honestly, "Wasn't it all marvelous!"
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