This Pretty Much Sums Me Up

Years ago, when I was a little girl, my mother made some comment about me going to Israel some day. We're jewish, and jews are supposed to want to go to Israel.

I confessed to my parents that I wasn't really interested in Israel. No, what passionately fascinated me was Russia. That's where I wanted to go.

My mother didn't understand. Why? Why would I want to go there? My parents tried to explain how miserable it was there. The long lines, the weather, the lack of privacy and freedom. All of it.

But I was intrigued by all that. Convinced. That's where I wanted to go. Dark and depressing? Sign. Me. Up.

Today I spoke with someone visiting Israel. Are you going to float in the Dead Sea*? Are you going to the Wall?

It's only because of hebrew school that I know of these places. I still have no interest, no desire, in going there. And I'm still intrigued by Russia.

*I think I may have accidentally called the Dead Sea the Red Sea.

Covered

Very early tomorrow morning, 9am is leaving to go to Southern California for a few days. Less early tomorrow morning I am leaving for several days as well for some house-sitting. On the first of each month, the entire rent for the apartment is deducted from my checking account. In the olden days it was never a big deal if a roommate was a day or two late in getting a check to me.

These are not the olden days though, and I scramble to pull together enough rent each month - there's no way I can cover a roommate's portion of rent. I felt awkward and nervous asking 9am if he could give me a check today, before he sets off on his trip. Even though in the past he's often suggested this very arrangement to me. Even though, despite my rants, he's a most reasonable roommate.

It's just scary asking someone for money, even when they (sort of) owe it to you. Of course I waited all day to ask, and of course 9am said sure like I knew he would. Before I leave tomorrow morning I will run to the closest ATM to deposit 9am's check, and I'll be able to leave, confident there'll be enough money to pay rent for one more month.

Go North, Blog Friends

Will you guys send vibes to someone for me? I think I found this blog because the guy commented on mine, but I'm not sure. I've been reading his blog for several months? Half a year? I don't know. We have nothing in common at all.

But I like him, this calm married dude in Canada who has a teenage son. Who got sick one day and when he was better he was all better except he'd lost his hearing. Who has had cochlear implants surgically implanted, one by one. One of which doesn't work. Who just went back to work after over a year of being out. Whose wife is now struggling excruciatingly with leukemia.

They have just had the roughest couple of years, and he seems like the nicest person. If I lived nearby I would be sneaking over and leaving meals on his front stoop.

He needs more vibes than I have to give, and much more than just vibes. So much more. This guy - his wife, especially needs a miracle.

Waiting

Everyone is so busy with holidays, but not me. I am basically killing time until the holidays are over and people go back to their regular lives. For now, everyone is away on vacation, entertaining guests who are visiting them on their vacations, keeping an eye on the storms, rushing around making pies, delivering said pies as presents, all that stuff.

Yesterday I donated some books to the library. Made a great dinner. I read a book today. Went to get milk. Wrote a couple of thank you notes. Looked for jobs.

9am is going to visit his parents for a week or so. Me? I'm just waiting. I'll be relieved when it's all over. That's the hard thing about being jewish in a society that celebrates Christmas. There's so much build-up to Christmas. You can't avoid it. The decorations, the sales, the random bits of conversation you overhear. The consumerism is beyond rampant. Even the people who like to say they're making all their presents still have to buy the yarn to knit or buy the chocolate to make the brownies.

I'm sitting it all out. Most years I buy presents well before Hanukah (except for that year that I couldn't pull it together in time and my brother and I agreed to postpone the holiday until March, which I highly recommend, by the way), and take advantage of all the sales. Not this year. Not last week, but the week before I bought a hot chocolate. Each time I want to buy something I remind myself of that hot chocolate. That was it for this month. Good thing it was a tasty hot chocolate, huh?

So all the signs are around that Christmas is coming. The lights. The commercials urging you to run out and buy, reminding you how many more days you have. Then Christmas comes but nothing happens, because you're jewish. There's build-up, but no climax before the let-down.

Give the jew girl toys.

Is It Rubber-Necking If There Are No Cars Involved?

Today I was in the Financial District and walked through the Embarcadero Center. I was going past the ice skating rink when I heard shouting. I barely registered two boys about fifty feet away who seemed to be play-fighting, complete with shouting. Kept walking. Heard them screaming. And then ...

There was a different kind of scream. The kind that alerts you it's not just fun and games. That everyone isn't going to walk away smiling. The kind that makes you look. So I looked. And saw four police officers surrounding the boys, pulling them apart.

I don't know if one or either of those boys were being arrested, but if they were, one of them was definitely doing what would be considered resisting arrest. Which must have been why it took three grown men to wrestle what looked to me like a 12 year old boy to his stomach with his hands behind his back.

Which was why there was only one officer available to get the other boy, who must have thought his frenemy had the right idea, since he struggled, and kept wrestling away, almost to the point of twisting out of his own sweatshirt. Almost to the point of kicking the police officer.

Eventually the first boy had handcuffs on him, and one of the three officers turned to help with the second boy. This was when I noticed a woman standing very close by. At first I thought she must be the mother of one of the boys, or maybe they were brothers, and both belonged to her. It would have explained why her body language told me she was arguing with the officers.

Then I saw her hands - she was sticking a camera as close to the second boy as possible, and one of the police officers was holding his hand out, trying to block her camera's view. At this point I stopped watching and walked away.

I was once on a stretcher being loaded into an ambulance. Well more than once, but the point is a lot of people were watching, and I could feel their eyes, and feel the questions they had. I never want to be one of those people. Those boys were obviously having a hard time. With life, with each other, with the law. Whatever the reason. Whether or not they're shitty kids who deserve it. Regardless, they didn't need an audience.

After looking around online I can't find any news articles about what was going on with those boys. But it's been on my mind all day. Were they arrested? Were they just cuffed to get their attention? I know that area, and police aren't usually nearby. Were they called in because the boys were fighting? Did the woman think the police were being rougher than necessary? Is that why she was taking pictures? What did she plan to do with those pictures?

I think those boys must not be very well-behaved, to be honest. Good kids are shocked into submission when police tell them to do things. Good kids are intimidated by authority. Those two boys fought being cuffed. I wonder.

And You Know What Else I Hate?

My roommate seems to think that taking care of everything here is my job. If we get a notice in our mailbox that says we have a package, 9am gives that notice to me. Even though the package could be for him.

9am thinks cleaning the kitchen means emptying the garbage. And that's all. He thinks cleaning the living room means vacuuming. And that's all. No dusting. No taking all his mail off the dining room table.

Recently I scrubbed down the microwave oven, which had food splatters all over it. Those food splatters were not from me. Every time I go into the kitchen to prepare food, I first have to clean the counters from 9am's crumbs and stains of undetermined origin. When you come over and admire the kitchen floor, please direct all compliments my way, since I'm always the one who cleaned it.

These things frustrate me to no end, and make me even more determined that the next time I move, it will be to a one bedroom apartment. 9am must be my last roommate.

I have never liked having roommates. Maybe I am too old to put up with it at the old age of 32. Maybe I am just not meant to be a roommate person. Whatever the reason, I can not seem to stop looking at studios and one bedroom places.

In Which I Rage Against the Wrong Kind of Cheap

Each morning I babysit for a friend's daughter. It's too far to walk, so I either take the bus or the train. Taking the train is faster. It means I can sleep late if I want. Taking the train is a nicer experience. The seats are softer. The other passengers are more pleasant.

However. When you take the train you have to pay for each time you ride on it. There and back. If I take the bus yes it takes a lot longer, and I have to sit on a very crowded bus in close contact with homeless people who smell, but you get a transfer when you get on the bus, and it's good for a certain amount of time. Which means I can use it when babysitting is over and it's time to come home.

So if I take the train it costs $3, but if I take the bus it only costs $1.50. I am cheap enough that I deal with the bus to save that money. Even if I were working (never mind that if I were working I wouldn't be able to babysit each morning) I'd still probably take the bus if I had the time. I always like saving money.

I feel it's acceptable to be cheap in certain ways. Nothing wrong with walking into a clothing store and immediately going straight to the clearance or sale racks first. Nothing wrong with being upset if you don't get enough coupons in the Sunday newspaper to justify the cost of the newspaper.

However (oh yes, here we go)! There is most definitely a line that should not be crossed when it comes to cheapness. I saw that crossing this past Sunday. Here's the story.

I went to meet a friend at the local skating rink. We sat in the bleachers while her daughter took an ice skating lesson and participated in the "free skate" session. We chatted and watched the kid. Okay and I laughed at the people who fell. Because you know, it's me, and that's what I do.

We were sitting on these bleachers with bags and umbrellas all around us. A man kept picking things up and asking if they were ours. He and his people kept banging into me, standing in front of us (blocking our view of the ice). Then we figured out what was going on. The guy's son was having a birthday party at the ice skating rink. But instead of going to the office and scheduling a birthday party through the rink, they just had all the kids do the free skate, and then light candles on cupcakes and open birthday presents right there in the bleachers.

They did not pay to rent out the birthday room. This seems to take cheap to a whole new level. An unacceptable level. My friend and I did not tell on these birthday people, but I am sure if the ice rink knew what was going on, they would not have been pleased at all. And I say this as someone who worked at a sports place that hosted birthday parties on weekends.

I hope that kid enjoyed his party. No I don't. That's a lie. That little fucker stepped on my foot multiple times and he was like ten, old enough to know better.

Look, I know firsthand that times are tough right now. Money is tight all over, and I understand parents still want their children to be able to have fun things, like birthday parties. I get that. Really. But this. Takes cheap to an unacceptable level.

Times Are Tough

People are making all kinds of sacrifices. From flying coach instead of first class, to driving instead of flying, to holing up at home instead of traveling.

It makes you depressed. Not at first - at first it's fun, it's a challenge, you're impressed with how much you can save when you put a little effort into it. But then reality sets in. The reality is that cutting coupons and shopping sales helped you to avoid blowing your food budget rather than saving $40 to put towards a new pair of shoes.

Then after that another feeling creeps in. The feeling that it's been a while, the challenge was fun, interesting, but now you're ready to treat yourself. Partially from depriving yourself for so long, and partially as a reward for all the work you've done. That's when the depression slams into you. This hasn't been a game, there is no reward and the end is not in sight. Well, that blows.

I mean sure, it's great to not be homeless. Those people smell. People give them dirty looks, and tourists take pictures of them. But still.

So when you stumble across a way to eat bacon on the cheap, your heart soars. And when you think about how close you live to Whole Foods, you notice a spring in your step, and that you're smiling at the homeless people. Though you won't be giving away any of your bacon!

Resurfacing

There were two middle schools in my town, and then just one high school. Richie came from the other middle school, not mine, and he hadn't been popular. He hadn't been unpopular, but he hadn't been one of the popular kids. When he arrived in ninth grade, everyone from my middle school thought he was outrageously cute and funny and nice, and we all promptly got a crush on Richie. When the girls from the other middle school realized what a diamond they'd had, they immediately all developed crushes on Richie too. He got voted school treasurer. Richie became popular overnight. For his birthday, my friend took him into the woods behind the school to give him a birthday blowjob.

Richie had two secrets though. He began working at the supermarket where I worked and that's how we became friends. One day my father drove me to work to pick up my check and Richie was there for the same reason. As he pretended to put money into the candy box he winked at me as he took a handful of candy. Exiting the office, paycheck in hand, we headed out of the supermarket together. It was pouring, and it came out that Richie was about to walk home. He lived in the opposite direction from my house.

But somehow, knowing it would be okay, I breezily said, "Oh, my dad will drive you home," and Richie followed me to the car. Leaning in, I introduced my father to him, explained he lived down near McDonalds, and asked if we could take him home so he wouldn't have to walk.

It was less than a five minute drive, and I don't remember what was talked about, except that Richie called my father sir, and I giggled (hey, I was 14, these things were funny then).

One day when we were working, I asked Richie if I could call him Dick. "Only once," he responded. I promised him I'd save the honor for a special occasion in that case.

In tenth grade I worked at Haagen Dazs. A kid named Michael also worked there, and he'd gone to Richie's middle school. He told me Richie's first secret, that his family was very poor. I never would have guessed. Partially because we lived in this upper-middle class area and barely anyone was poor, and partially because Richie and his older sister never gave any indication of being poor.

As Michael and I worked together longer, he told me Richie's second secret, which I found much more fascinating than the first - that Richie was a dancer. At some point when Richie and I were alone, I made some joke that involved some ballet words, and he laughed, but then looked at me like, "how did you know I'd know what that meant?"

Richie was actually popular enough that he could have told people he danced and not had his stock go down, but as far as I know he never did. Towards the end of 10th grade I left the high school, never to see Richie again.

About two years after graduating, I was in a composition course at a local college and ran into a boy named Andy from high school. Andy and I caught up during breaks and he told me Richie's life had gone downhill since we'd last been in touch. He'd developed a drug problem. A pretty severe one, that caused him to wind up in jail, in rehab, in a world of trouble.

Sadly, Andy showed up to class one day and told me he'd gone to the dentist for a routine checkup to be told he had a huge tumor in his jaw, and after that day I never saw him again.

Then I was working as a teacher's aide in the same high school I'd left in 10th grade, and who pops up in one of my classes, but Richie's little sister? When she walked in and told me her name I asked if Richie was her brother, and a horrible look came over her face as she confirmed. What Andy had told me came rushing back and I never brought up Richie to her again.

A few months ago, a girl I grew up with posted a photo on Facebook (where else?) that included Richie and I sent her a message, asking after him. She knew nothing. Two days ago, Richie's big sister commented on that photo. I followed her link, and there's Richie, alive and in his 30's.

There's a weird pallor to his skin now, and the light I remember being in his eyes is gone, even in pictures with family where he's clearly trying to present as happy. He just looks ... not like the same boy in ninth grade. The boy who was overwhelmed and flattered to have his own Sally Field moment, and totally ran with it and rocked it.

Blurp (Domo Arigato)

If you would be so kind as to take a look at the left sidebar, you will see I've changed around the lists of blogs and websites I read regularly. Also, I have updated the Playa List.

Thank Yous To Those I Don't Know

Shit you guys, way to make a person's jaw drop. Thank you to the Oaklander (Oaklandnite? Oaklandnette?) who sent this. I don't know where to send the thank you so I'm posting it here in the hopes you'll see and know it's for you.

In less than one month three members of my family have died. Since a few days ago when rent got paid, I have had less than $100 in my bank account. It's the least amount of money I've ever had since opening a bank account. To say I am scared would be an understatement.

However. Things are slowly and cautiously looking up. There's this picture. There's my friend who hired me to watch her baby for a couple of hours each day for the next week or so. There are some interviews coming up. There's email and real mail and comments and encouragement and intuitive healing and as of today's trip to the library there's now the dvd for My So-Called Life (until the 11th, when I will return it).

So I am feeling hopeful. If everything goes well, there will be a lot of paying it forward I'll be doing in 2009.