Y'know, I talk about choice inertia the whole time. Turns out Barry Schwartz has written a book about it The Paradox of Choice: Why More Is Less.

The Economist has a special report today on virtual online worlds - Living a Second Life. ALthough I think it might be subscriber only.

Some very kind reader left this fabulous YouTube video of Stephen Colbert with his Days of Repentance Hotline somewhere deep in my comments.

I love it.

Shalome, 1-800 klay tzaddik, how did you offend me?

And the ringtone is havanagila. Fabulous.

I've only got till Sunday night to do all my teshuva. So have you, if you do that kinda thing.

Haddon Hall courtyard

Haddon Hall courtyard

Haddon Hall in Derbyshire is one of my favourite places on earth.

It's also the setting for the BBC's Jane Eyre, first screened on Wednesday night. And they set it alight (carefully, I'm guessing).

And to top it all, someone's used my domain name to send serious amounts of spam, judging by the bouncebacks I'm getting.

My (local) spies told me there wasn't a parking place to be had in Manchester City Centre this week, due to the Labour Party Conference.

Committed to green issues, then Tony? Gordon, I know about.

Interesting piece from last weekend's Observer about the mystery of Natascha, the recently freed longterm kidnap victim in Austria.

This bit is priceless:

Already the Austrian tabloid that obtained the first interview with the girl has a web and blogging site in which Natascha is routinely attacked.

A web and blogging site? Surely the Observer should know better?

So three people I have talked to in India have secretaries called Loretta. Do you think that can be true?

I have just discovered Language Log.

I know, I know, I should be working. It's already 1230 in Kazakstan. Don't even ask.

And another (technical) thing(s). The sound on my PC is intermittent - if I reboot it sometimes works. Also, my shredder has stopped working, and I have to find the Staples receipt to take it back, which means going through all my receipts.

And I have this stupid outlook problem. I searched for something in the calendar, and now it only shows me search mode, and I can't remember how to get out of it.

My brain is full of other stuff. Can anyone advise me (not about the shredder, obviously).

Can you believe that 34sp.com has EXACTLY THE SAME issue with the disk space allocation on one of the partitions as they had yesterday morning? And I'm guessing they don't get there till like 8.30. And it's the end of the day in Asia... arrrrrggghhhh.

My friend just told me this story. And I should say, while she loves being Jewish, she probably wouldn't in any way describe herself as religious. More of a cultural Jew, with a catering edge.

Her husband's family are pretty Anglo (secular), and she invited them all for Rosh Hashanah. She went to a lot of trouble; made challah, used her gradparents' crockery, dressed the table beautifully, replete with pomegranate, apple and honey, the whole shtick.

Her mother-in-law says to her, "what's this, with the apple and honey?" And my friend replies, "you've never heard of apple and honey? The universal symbol for Rosh Hashanah and a sweet new year?"

Apparently not.

Then, she'd baked challah (round, for yom tov, rather than regular plaited for shabbes). And her sister in law says, "what's this?" And my friend said, "challah", and her sister-in-law looked at her, like, waddya mean?

My friend was aghast. Talking to her husband later, he said in her defence, "well, she'd probably have heard of Jewish bread, maybe not challah."

My friend replied: "you mean, Jewish bread that has the blood of Christian babies in it?"

Because, let's face it, "Jewish bread" does sound like something out of a blood libel, not a phrase many/most Jewish would use that often. If at all.

I know it takes all sorts, and I'm pretty unshockable, now. But, interesting, no?

In case you don't read books anymore (wtf?) - DailyLit will send you a book extract by email. Mmmm.

I'm blogging this now because I know next summer I'll be all, I want to go to one of those Yiddish summer schools, where are they.

So, the JMI run the Ot Azoy Summer School, and I think that Yarnton might do something, and I have a feeling that the LJCC do something, too. Last year, I really wanted to do their course, and then I got too much work. Story of my life. Next year, I think I have to, especially now Auntie Fran isn't here anymore.

So, in the interests of full disclosure, I should say that 34sp.com had my email fixed by 8.40, 90 minutes after I emailed them. Not that bad, then. Although annoying when you're working Asian time and people can't contact you all night. Ah well.

34sp (UK budget hosting - low cost hosting with excellent support) seem to have a fatal error on their email. I have not received any email on my work account, despite sending about 50 yesterday - someone must have replied.

These things always happen when you're busy. Really, really busy. 34sp - not so excellent, in my experience.

I just called someone in Moscow, and his secretary said "he is not here now, call back. Goodbye."

On Monday, a (London based) investment banker called me back at 10.45 in the evening. "Hi, may I speak to Sasha XXXX? XXXX YYYYY returning her call." And I was thinking, it's nearly 11pm. Why aren't you out? Or in bed? Why are you still pretending it's the middle of the day? Meanwhile, I'd been waiting for him to call me back for two weeks, so I took the call, and I too pretended that it was the middle of the day.

I had totally forgotten, till someone trupped through here googling on writing online banner ads, that in 2002 I was doing a lot of online copywriting. So like, whatever it is I do now, is certainly better than finding twelve different (short) ways to say "it's cheap, buy it."

I like Threadless T-Shirts.

Wikipedia's entry on deconstruction. Or is it?

Meral's is closed

Meral's is closed

Out early yesterday morning, Cricklewood's finest (I'm guessing, it's always busy, personally I wouldn't eat there) greasy spoon was closed.

Check out the full set. The menu is quite something.

Fascinating article from today's Guardian about the transfats debate.

This bit, I love:
"'It's like so many things you get in shops - they look great but they are just disappointing. I think that's the problem - that's why people eat so much. If the taste is not there, you just keep on eating. If it's made properly, with pure ingredients, it's satisfying from the inside out. You don't need any more.'"

Because I am number four on google for that (seasonal) search where to buy arba minim london, let me tell you the answer (well, mine, anyhow, ymmv).

Arba minim (lulav and etrog, otherwise known as the four kinds) sukkot (temporary booths) and all manner of other tabernacular wares can be bought at the top of end the Golders Green Road (about ten minutes north of Golders Green tube). Even if you don't want to buy sukkot-ery, it's worth going for the experience. In the run up to yom tov it's a cross between a shuk, the bottom of the Edgware Road, Mea Sharim and a car boot sale. It's loud and pushy and celebratory and amazing. I recommend it to you all.

I am having a really bad day. I might take this down in the morning, so like read it and weep. Or whatever.

I have a lot to do. A lot. Even reviewing my list does not make me feel calm.

I am saying no to a lot of people/things.

It's great that yomtov falls on weekends, but it basically means no weekends for a month. Which is better than three day weeks, but still.

I need to finish my novel. Badly. It's the main thing I want to do. And my other writing project. And the third thing.

My ex-neighbour (B-list celebrity) moved out a year ago, but still gets more post than me. It has sat in the hall, an ever growing pile for months. I have just put it all in the recycling.

My email seems intermittent, for some reason.

There is a (only a moderate amount, mind) some shoutiness. I don't like it.

And there's a lot of things I would blog, if I had the mental space (rosh hashana (good), simcha in the square (didn't go, but have a view), Tony B. Gordon, of course. The planet.

I have some remaining teshuva to do with people, but sometimes... it's just not a good time. But I like to go into Yom Kippur feeling that I've sorted out my person-to-person stuff. But I guess you don't always get what you want.

I need to sell my old laptop before the warranty runs out.

I need to eBay a lot of things. My eBay room is pretty full. I know, I have an eBay room.

I think I would like a holiday. And a lie in. Not a shoe-in (I never understand that). And a lot of vodka. Ideally, Lanique Rose Petal.

I'm a little bit worried about Yom Kippur.

And I need more sleep.

And, possibly, a hug.

All this brought to you by being overtired, overwrought and... unsure. Unsure is never good.

See, I read this, and then I just thought Starbucking across the universe... and now I can't get that stupid song out of my head.

Hands up if you have Multiple Online Persona Disorder (MOPD)?

An Open Letter to Gordon Brown

Dear Gordon,
I'm listening to you chatting with John Humphries on the Today programme, and I thought I'd drop you a quick note.

I have, up until now, been a lifelong Labour party supporter.

I can't believe you spent your entire interview talking about global competition, rights and responsibilities (how Tony, let's face it, shouldn't you get some of your own rhetoric?) and inflation.

Sure, terrorism is important. Security matters. The war in Iraq is, clearly, a problem.

But I can't believe you managed to get through that whole interview without mentioning the number one item on the agenda. I can't believe you haven't mentioned the environment.

Forget foreign policy. Look in your own back yard. Climate change, global warming, Kyoto, these are the things that really matter. When your children are up to their ears in water because the ice cap is melting because we didn't take action on our carbon consumption, then you'll be worried (although, most likely, you'll be dead).

What we need is a reduction in car use, a serious investment in the transport infrastructure, a total review of energy usage, tax on air fuel, carbon usage charging and a national curriculum education programme that really teaches our children how to look after the planet before we're all under water/burned to a cinder.

Also, the phrase "the battle for hearts and minds" does not make me feel involved. It makes me feel like a politician is talking at me, not with me. I don't buy the "involvement and engagement" agenda. It's all talk. I don't want my politicians to be all front, no behind.

It's not about the economy, stupid. It's about the environment. That's it.

What's your weakness, Gordon? I know you're a private person, but your weakness is you just don't get it. Put green stuff at the top of your agenda, or you'll find a whole load of Labour supporters talking to David. Even if he does have a car following his bike.

Here's a phrase I thought about yesterday: broigus-seeking missile.

OMG. Check out the broigus board. You really couldn't make this stuff up. This is... the stuff of dreams.

So it's nearly yomtov and I'm going to shut down my PC in a minute. Frankly, it really needs a break.

I've had a lot of (lovely) correspondence recently about my increased desire to use/speak Yiddish. Except I can't speak - obviously - I can just litter my conversation with snippets and do joke-punchlines. It's all very third/fourth generation.

I was thinking about how his happened. I mean, I grew up surrounded by Yiddish and yiddishisms, but I know the exact moment when it became important to me. Here. I had this really English job (don't even ask how they managed to hire me with my Jewish hair, entrepreneurial (er, some say pushy) ways and not-that-low-key dress sense), and it was all glorious twelfth and oak-panelled shooting and people with country homes and cut-glass accents. People who, if they called people darling, it wasn't with a K.

The whole experience really heightened my otherness. They were not my people. Thy were nice people, sure. Some of them I'm still friends with and it was a while ago. But the context heightened the difference, and it made me want to go back and get the words from my childhood, speak the language of my people. Like a friend said to me last week, acknowledging his limited Yiddish knowledge (though it's better than mine, I suspect, not that I'm competitive), that he felt like those missing words are a tear in the fabric of his narrative.

So some say that I think everything's about community. And it might be true. But knowing the nuanced language of my people, knowing where they came from, how the spoke, it's part of my history, and it's part of me.

Did I mention that I'm thinking of going to Romania/Moldova next year?

I've just had a really... interesting conversation with a client's client. We've been playing telephone tag for like two weeks, and we finally got to talk . Except he had a couple of conference calls, and I have to get into my fairy (yom tov) chariot in a little while. We arranged to talk Monday.

Now, he has a... Jewish(ish) name. It's not your totally-obvious Jewish name, it's kinda-Jewish, with a sefardi edge, and on a points basis (industry he works in, sound of his voice, name etc), I decided he was probably Jewish. I mean, not that these things matter.

So at the end of the conversation, I said to him, "should I say happy new year to you?" He was a little suprised. "Er, sure," although I could hear a smile in his voice, "should I say happy new year to you?"

So we exchanged yom tov greetings, although in a pretty Anglo way. Reminds me of this piece, I wrote years ago, about how to tell if someone's Jewish.

So it's yom tov, Rosh Hashanah (new year) in a few hours time. I'm planning on being in shul at 6.45.

I have (seemingly) fixed my computer (a nice Russian bloke called Eldar changed my RAM), and touch-wood, seems OK. Although the price seemed slightly higher than he'd said on the phone (although I always think mobiles mean most of us only ever get 80% of conversations now anyway), and I couldn't help wondering if the uplift was based on the sight of my expensive kit. Little does he know it's the only expensive stuff I have. Geek that I am.

I am under a lot of work pressure. I am under some teshuva-pressure. I have made yom tov lunch, delivered yom tov gifts, honey cakes, cleaned my flat. Hoovered. I have spoke to quite a few people I don't always get to talk to that often to wish them happy new year. I am ready. Ish.

So - in case I don't come back before yom tov, although I may - I wish you all l'shana tova. A happy, sweet, peaceful, creative new year. And try not to eat too much on yom tov:).

Did you hear Abu Izzadeen (muslim protester, who made the headlines this week by heckling the home secretary John Reid) on the Today programme this morning?

It was a real eye-opener to me. And that there are people who want sharia law in the UK. You can here it again here.

Anyone know anything about Amazon Mechanical Turk?

I am having quite a stressful day.

My desktop, which is like a week out of its warranty is crashing all over the shop, and the system event viewer (after a bit of judicious googling) tells me it's probably a RAM problem. But it could be windows, or the motherboard. And frankly, that's the limit of my knowledge.

Also, it's been a bit shouty, recently, and it gives me a headache.

Also, I have some big (work) deadlines and it's Rosh Hashana tomorrow night (these things always happen when you're busy).

I have called Evesham who recommended I don't pay them. I have called six PC Doctor type people, and I have some bloke coming over with RAM at 2pm. I just hope he can fix it.

And I have a lot to do.

And I'm thinking about yomtov, teshuva, what to wear and other less important things. Also, some more important things.

On the plus side, the Yiddish Purist is correcting my Yiddish (and boy does it need it) - so it's probably freigt nischt (kein??) shaylas.

So two separate Yom Tov fairies bought me a lovely bunch of sunflowers, a pomegranate and some figs. I still haven't worked out who the sunflowers are from, but I'm sure it'll become clear.

Unless they were for my neighbours: they were just sitting by the front door when I got home.

I just heard Libby Purves on Midweek interviewing Tom Reynolds from Random Acts of Reality. He has a nice voice and a sharp wit. But she really shouldn't have talked about his blogs for the whole segment.

Singular, Libby, singular.

Sometimes I think product development goes too far.

So everything's got a "new and improved" label, even though I'm the kinda gal who likes things, largely, old and unimproved. Like, what's the point of pitta bread with herbs? Regular pitta bread is fine, and if you want herbs, sprinkle herbs on it. Or getting a new ipod every season. Or getting an iPod that connects to your trainers.

So there's a lot of stuff out there that just keeps product marketers in jobs, but I have no desire to buy. I think my mission in life is to have less belongings rather than more. So that if they (the Nazis, of course) came to take me away, it wouldn't take too long to pack. And also, I just don't need more stuff. I'm moving from maximalist to minimalist, although it may take a while.

But check this out. An entire website of utterly pointless stuff from Strange New Products. Read it and weep. But don't get those special tissues that have moisuriser in them. They're stupid.

At a party last night - not exactly the Tuesday Night Music Club, but close - someone told me this story.

A couple were together for a while. He was a man, she was a woman. They split up. Shit happens. Some time later, he had a sex change, and she became a lesbian, and they re-met, apparently didn't recognise each other (although how that can happen, as she must at least look fairly similar), and had a relationship for a while before they realised they had already had one in their previous lives.

Aside from the confusion, that's what you call beshert, right?

"Every human being is interested in two kinds of worlds: the primary, everyday world which he knows through his senses, and a secondary world or worlds which he not only can create in his imagination, but which he cannot stop himself creating."
W.H. Auden

Through the mechitzah

Through the mechitzah

The view from here.

Like I've said before, I'm involved in (more than) two shuls. New North London - Masorti (conservative), small-p progressive, egalitarian service if I want one. Shomrei - Federation, frum, ladies' gallery and a mechitza. That's - to me - like a double decker: those women who wear a sheitel and a hat.

I have history with the concept of mechitza. Like, I don't have a problem with separation, and in fact when I go to an egal service, I feel, sometimes, a little uncomfortable sitting with men. I mean, I don't mind; it's just feels, well, odd. That's all.

Maybe everyone's default position (like with toothpaste: colgate) is what they grew up with. And I grew up in place that also had a troubled relationship with mechitza.

Backstory: US (United Synagogue) style shul. Cheadle. The seventies. Maybe, the eighties. We had a mechitza, and then a Dayan (head of the law courts) was coming to shul for something, and someone (I know who, but I'm not saying) took it upon themselves to ask if the mechitza was kosher. On a nisht freg shilah basis, it of course turned out not to be. Show me a Jewish community, and I'll show you (a) someone who asks a silly question, and (b) an argument/broigus/ferribul (sometimes, multiple-broiguses).

I'm biased, because my Dad negotiated the revised mechitza agreement with the Dayan. But the results were great: 5'5 1/2 inches from the men's side (meets the Rav Moshe Feinstein ruling), but raised on a short platform from the women's side. So I could see, feel, participate, be.

I'm biased because in Cheadle, women did their thing. I honestly didn't know till I got to London that there was angst about women being honorary officers or playing big roles in traditional (orthodox) shuls. Auntie Sheila ran the cheder. Eve ran a lot of other things. I was surrounded by strong women role models, and the thought never crossed my mind that the rest of my (Jewish) life might not be like that.

Slight lie: I remember this. Aged ten, eleven, I used to love opening the Ark (men's side). Bang in the thick of it, participating. And then one day, nearing my batmitzvah, my Dad said to me, you better go and sit with Mum, now. And of course, it was nice to sit with my Mum, but I (a) felt slightly banished and (b) had a little nostalgia for the great time I'd had in the middle of the action. But hey.

So in Cheadle, at Yeshurun, things were different. I remember Alan, the Rov, used to do audience participation-style sermons, and would often ask questions across the mechitza. Because he was also my (university) tutor, he liked to keep me on my toes, checking a reference or something with me. I never slept during his sermons (a traditional Anglo-Jewish shluff time, although rarely, if ever, in Cheadle).

And then I came to London. The goldene medina, sure, but I found about the gender divide, and those thick net curtains (I lived in Hendon, the first couple of years) that are quite like having very bad eyesight.

So this picture, this is what it looks like from my side of the mechitza. Actually, it's better than it usually is, because this is downstairs, and usually we're upstairs so it's both obscured with the net curtain and at a very steep angle (they don't call it Radio Shomrei for nothing; you can only see on the front two rows from upstairs).

Don't get me wrong, I'm not militant. I'm not campaigning. I'm just saying. I know there are those (women) who find it more spiritual to be separate, separated, and only hear. Prayer is personal. YMMV. Blah blah blah. I'm just acknowledging what it's like.

And what it's like is like being in a long queue for your cataract operation, and in the meantime, everything's a little hazy. With patterns. Patterns like the sort of tableclothes frum people in Golders Green use on shabbes.

Just like I love my friends and accept their imperfections (and hope they do mine, which are legion), I feel the same about my communiti(es). So I love the warmth, connectedness, genuine friendship and just-got-home feeling I get from Shomrei. But when I'm davening, I feel like a bystander.

Last year, a non-Jewish friend of mine came to shul with me quite a few times. And he said something very interesting. He said, this shul, which you love and care about, I can just walk in, and sit downstairs, and be in the middle of the action. And you're upstairs, watching. It doesn't seem fair.

True. Ish. I guess. I remember in Bnei Akiva they always used to spin us this different-but-equal shtick on gender roles in traditional Judaism. Which is true. Except that, it's the only place in my life that's like that. I'm equal (how retro, to even think about that) at work, play, socially, whatever, but in this one, important place, it feels like I have to watch.

I'm not campaigning for change in orthodoxy. I know there are other orthodox shuls (Jerusalem, New York) who do things differently. But this is my community, my place now, and I accept it how it is. And I also acknowledge the dissonance, frustrations, limitations.

I guess a shul with a mechitza you wouldn't ideally choose is like a friend with a particularly bad habit. You still love them, want to hang out with them, think they'r e great company. But you want to overlook their bad habit. You want to turn a blind eye, and love what's great about them. Because, my friends, I'm totally prepared to give the benefit of the doubt. So I really ought to be able to do the same for my shul.

Shouldn't I?

Through some now long-forgotten google journey, I came across the work of Vivian Gornick.

So currently reading (or should I say deeply immersed in) The Situation and the Story. It's possible I'm a memoirist. It's just that nothing ever happens.

Someone googled on Isola Bella restaurant in Hendon, and reminded me of this, that I wrote two years ago.

Terribly self-referential to link your own stuff, but hey, it's a blog.

Here's what I learned about me two years ago:

• I was still prepared to italicise Yiddish words then
  
• I spelled anti-semitism like this and not like antisemitism, which is my current view
  
• I was very taken with the whole bothness/duality thing, even then
  
• Although in a lot of ways, I've come a long, long way (baby) since then. So far, you wouldn't believe
  
• That night, when we went out for dinner, I was involved in a big project that I loved, but now I have a lot more time. And I mean a lot.
  
• Other things that are personal, and not that clear to the untrained eye.
  

I've been thinking about Sunday all week. OK, it's only Tuesday.

I suddenly feel an overwhelmingly fabulous connection with my community. Better than before (we've had our differences. Tell me a shul that hasn't). And I think we all feel a little bit like that - I've had two or three additional yom tov invitations (although there's a finite number of meals a person can eat in a 48 hour period, thank Gd), and I think maybe we're all feeling warm, cuddly, communal. This can only be a good thing.

Here's a story S told me on Sunday. She was standing by the shul on Burrard Road, waiting to "welcome" the sefer.

As she was waiting, a guy stopped his car, in tennis gear. For some reason, I imagine him driving a topless SLK, although this was not the story the way I heard it. Imagine this as a midrashic version of the story.

Anyway, the tennis-bloke, backed up in traffic, looking over at our procession, says to her "what's the story?"

"Well," she says, thinking to herself, how do you explain this, "there's the Book of the Law - "

He interrupts.

"Oh, I see the sefer torah - " ah, he's Jewish, she thinks to herself "- I just don't get what the chuppah is about. Is it a wedding?"

Of course, being interrupt-driven is often a sure sign.

"Well," she continues, "it's a rededication of a new scroll, for the synagogue."

"There's a synagogue in my street?" he asks, looking a little surprised.

"Sure," she replies, "you probably drive past it every day."

"Waddya mean, I drive past it every shabbes."

Universe/planetary/carbon footprint (carbon footpring) matters aside, I am seriously considering going to State of Play in Singapore.

Look, I'm the only search on the whole of the world-wide-web for bechaint.

Of course, it's most likely that I'm spelling it, er, different from other people.

And no, like lots of yiddish words, I can't exactly translate it (cue idiomatic shoulder shrug). Can you?

I appear to have no water. Neither does my neighbour.

That reminds me.

A couple of years ago, I told a client I couldn't make a meeting on a particular date, because it was Yom Kippur. He said, "what's Yom Kippur?"

And I said, it's a day of reflection about your relationship with your fellow humans and your creator. (Although there's a lot of prayer and mumbling, too. I didn't say that bit).

And he said - he was very committed to the GTD methodology) - what a great idea. We should all do that. I'm going to diarise a day to do that now.

Very interesting conversation with J last night, about Yom Kippur.

The Day of Atonement, a fast day (this year, Monday 2nd October) is probably the most important day in the Jewish year. It's a day of prayer and reflection on your relationship with your fellow human, and your creator. So lots of people who don't "do" anything Jewish, might well take the day off, go to synagogue, fast. Or some might just do Kol Nidrei (the service the night before).

I grew up in a place where everyone did it pretty seriously, to some degree or another. However, I do remember V's dad who, sure, sat in shul all day, but he'd had a book cover made that looked exactly like a machzor, and he'd sit and read some trashy novel.

I remember, aged ten or eleven, getting really frum, and wanting to do everything properly. There are lots of dinim (laws) around Yom Kippur, and I wanted to keep everything. So I had a white dress (customary to wear white) and I wore trainers (customary to not wear leather shoes). I remember the then shul president saying to my dad, "I can't decide if it's anyone-for-tennis or your daughter's a real frummer."

Who knows. Although my backhand is lousy.

Anyway, over the years as my experience of the Jewish world and world in general has expanded, I've come across people who go to work but fast, people who do nothing, people who stay home and read Leon Uris novels, people who go to shul and then have lunch. It takes all sorts.

Working in New York in the early nineties, I sat next to a lovely Brooklyn woman who told me, the next day, "I had such a headache by eleven, me and my friend went out for core-fee." LIke I said, it takes all sorts.

So what was interesting last night is that J grew up pretty secular-Anglo-ish, although is now pretty involved (although, probably, wouldn't describe herself as frum). I grew up pretty traditional/frum. Who knows what I am now (conversation 73).

So J was all "I can't beleive they're going to work on Yom Kippur, it's unforgivable. I told him. There's always an important meeting, you have to choose."

And I was all, "they should do whatever they want. Everyone's a different place on their Jewish journey. Maybe they'll do it another year."

I've been wondering if our reactions are a reaction in themselves against how we grew up, or whether (more likely) we're just different people with different narratives.

Anyway. Interesting. Or not.

No place like Hampstead, apparently

No place like Hampstead, apparently

Although it is, obviously, a sponsored message, so we have no idea if it's true.

Mobile phone protocol - I don't really leave messages, unless they're to say "see you at 8.30" or something specific. I don't really leave "I called, call me back" messages, because my name will be in most of the people who I phone's phone (bad syntax, I suspect), so what's the point. Then they have to waste time getting an empty message. Sometimes I text. Well, fairly frequently.

I think leaving messages is very twentieth century. "I was trying to reach you." Trying? I mean, you can get me online, or email or anything. Messages are kinda... what is the point exactly? You end up in that silly telephone tag game and the only people who gain are the telcos.

"Have nothing in your houses which you do not know to
be useful or believe to be beautiful"


William Morris, founder of the Arts and Crafts Movement

Would it be fair to say that the Pope has no sechel?

I mean, he may think he's just chatting to a few academics and theologians, but he's the Pope, ferchri**akes. Of course people are listening.

Anyway, he's 'deeply sorry'. Always good to do teshuva in Ellul - hot repentance season.

Saturday night, coming back from Chalk Farm on the Northern Line, we overhead a couple getting off at Belsize Park, talking. I love those conversational fragments.

"How do you spell debauchery?"

It's an oft asked question. Right? Except, you can't help wondering why, exactly.

opening of the Golders Green Yeshiva in 1946

opening of the Golders Green Yeshiva in 1946

A photo that was on display this morning, as part of the history of Shomrei Hadath.

Backstory (potted Anglo-Jewish political history): Shomrei is a Federation shul, which is slightly to the right of the United Synagogue. Both are orthodox. In 1961 "the Jacobs Affair" prompted the founding of the first Masorti (conservative) shul. Louis Jacobs (who was friendly with my grandparents when he lived in Manchester) was the man.

So check this out. There's Dayan Abromsky speaking (standing) and to his left, Rabbi Munk and Dayan Lazarus. Far right, Mr Zimmer.

Who's that on his near right? A very young looking Rabbi Louis Jacobs.

crossing the Finchley Road

crossing the Finchley Road

So, not something you do every day - in fact, the first I've ever been to - but this morning I went to a Hachnasat Sefer Torah (welcoming a new Torah scroll) at (one of my many) synagogues.

Yesterday, I was talking to a couple of people who thought it might be "too Jewish." It's fine being Jewish at home, at shul, in Israel, wherever. And, while I didn't personally feel like that, I could understand that people would have a slight nervousness about PDA in relation to the Torah on the Finchley Road.

But this morning, 10.15ish, walking up from West Hampstead to Hampstead to congregate outside S & H's house, where the procession started from, I had a wonderful sense of shtetl-style community.

It was early. The streets were not so busy. But there were quite a few men with beards and black coats, and people dressed in their shul/Sunday best, walking towards S&H's with a sense of purpose.

For me, the celebration was twofold. The sefer torah (Torah Scroll) came from the recently closed Sunderland community, which S&H had been part of for many years, before their move to London. So this sefer had been repaired - renewed - and was a gift from one community to another, in the name of longstanding members.

My paternal great grandfather was the Chazzan (cantor) in Sunderland, a frum community not that far from Gateshead and its yeshiva. Shomrei (synagogue) has lots of Sunderland emigres, and there's something very special about being in a community where people know where you came from. And something also about being friendly with people who knew your great grandparents, even if you didn't.

Like this morning, H told me that Chazzan Warrentz couldn't pronounce his zayins, and he always said "zjhe la zjhe". I can only presume this was some kind of Litvak (lithunian) tradition.

So, we danced the sefer down the Finchley Road to the synagogue, and we had security and policeman, stopped traffic, and quite a lot of bemused bystanders.

I felt really emotional. Partly the connection of two communities I feel very warmly about, partly about the celebratory environment, but mostly because the things I enjoy most about being Jewish are the "living" bits.

So theory, blackletter law, rules and regulations are all well and good. And valid, needed. But the stuff that really gets me is the "living your values" bit. I love building a succah, making honey cake, inviting guests to share fesivals/shabbat, doing acts of gemilut chassadim (loving kindess), treating people well. I realise that I sound scarily, horribly frumy, I suspect, saying that, and that's not how I am.

I just think that being Jewish isn't something you do on the weekend, it's part of who you are. So I'm Jewish when I recycle, and when I participate in community, and when I visit a friend in hospital, help someone across the street who needs a hand. This is not a Pollyanna thing, and you're not not-Jewish if you don't do these things, and obviously you can do them if you're not Jewish too. And they're values that are parts of lots of other traditions, too.

And also, there's a little bit of me that yearns for my fantasy of what the shtetl was like. My brother is always telling me that there was no running water in the shtetl or hair care products, and it just wasn't as great as I imagine. All true, I'm sure. But for a brief moment this morning as we danced over the pelican crossing on Finchley Road we were both in the shtetl, and in the world. We were both.

Our bothness means we're proud to be the people we are, doing the things we do, and we're part of the wide world, too.

That's the kind of Jewish I like to be.

And also, there was food afterwards.


Here's a full set of photos.

In the interests of public information, and because someone just googled on why do jewish people buy fresh bread on Fridays (for which I am apparently on the front page), I'll explain.

It's a Jewish custom to have two loaves of challah, plaited (generally, except on certain festivals) white bread, which replicates the double portion of manna that the Israelites got in the wilderness on a Friday, as they could not do the work of collecting it on shabbat, the day of rest.

So I'm sure I've missed out a million things I should/could say, but that's about it. And I'm sure my regular commentators will add anything required, that's the wonder of the wisdom of crowds/collective intelligence. Also, it means I don't have to remember so many things any more.

Shabbat shalom.

downtown Kilburn

downtown Kilburn

I heard a radio programme during the week about the woman who was the whistleblower at Enron. She said something really interesting about how she grew up in a small place, and it gave her a sense of community and responsibilty. She used the "it takes a village to raise a child" (a phrase much marketed by Hilary Clinton) proverb, and then like the next day, I noticed this store in Kilburn.

Look, they do everything. Grocery, butcher, green grocery (not sure how different), frozen food and fish. Covers a lot of options, right?

That village raising a child thing? Personally, I'm a little careful about it. So I love children, and a lot of my friends have them, and I get to play hairdresser (quite often) and just hang out. But I'm very wary of telling someone else's kid what to do. So if they do something that affects me, say like hit me, I'll say "I don't like that, please don't do it" and ask them to stop. But I won't say what they must always do, because that kinda feels like a parents job, and people have read all different books/do all sorts of different things. What if they're exponents of attachment parenting, and I say the wrong thing? I try and just keep my mouth shut.

A friend's travelling to Tel Aviv on business next week, and asked for restaurant recommendations. Mine are all pretty out of date, although I do specifically remember the felafel/humous bars by the bus station.

Anyone got any recommendations?

So, is there one math or two?

Things in the universe I don't understand:

• Women who overpluck their eyebrows, and then pencil them in, at a slightly surprised angle
  
• How Primark can sell t-shirts for £2
  
• Compound interest. I mean I understand the principle, but I can't do the math(s)
  
• Arguments (of the argumentative kind, not the logical kind) - basically, any shade of broigus
  
• How you can make a non-fat honey cake that doesn't sink to the bottom of everyone's collective stomach (Ukrainian, apparently)
  
• How pressure cookers actually work (although that doesn't stop me using one)
  
• Where spiders come from
  
• Why my Sony Vaio still doesn't work/properly/is fairly tempermental
  
• Why I don't appear to be that bothered about it, anymore
  
• How people change. Even if you notice that they do
  
• Barbelith, a lot of the time
  
• And a bunch of other social networking thangs: Bebo, Myspace, Facebook. It's possible I'm just not.. social? Or networked?
  
• People who have three arrangements in an evening
  
• People who go to bed at 9pm
  
• People who stay up all night
  
• People who can't do quiet/alone time
  
• Anyone who doesn't read
  
• Whether I should keep putting money in my pension, or wether we're all doomed
  
• What'll happen, when The War comes
  
• Whether personal teshuva (repentance, fixing your personal relationships) can really work. It takes two, right?
  
• How I would survive on a chick-pea free diet
  
• If I'll ever get bored of the colour purple (colour, not book. I suspect not)
  
• What to do in an emergency...
  

In case you, too, have that hipster PDA thing.

Crack of dawn this morning, bumped into L on the bus, as he was taking (as he called it) the New North London Line. An ironic reference to my ocassional synagogue choice?

The view from Hampstead

The view from Hampstead

Camphone photo, can you believe? The view from M's stairs in Hampstead towards the City (although you can mostly only see the sky, which has come out an incredible colour).

Wordspy is so zeitgeisty. So now. I do ocassionally news fast, when the world gets too much, and I definitely have feature fatigue. In fact, it even stops me buying things, which is probably good.

Starting Wednesday - no idea if it's booked up or not - Graphic Novels - A new form of Jewish Art? at the LJCC (London Jewish Cultural Centre, not to be confused with the JCC, Jewish Community Centre for London, what, Chelm, here?) taught by Ariel Khan. Looks great.

I used to carry around a little handbag-sized A to Z (this is only relevant to people with a poor sense of direction). But now, with multimap.com and streetmap.co.uk, I find myself printing out yet-another map, to prepare for a meeting.

Sure, I recycle them afterwards and everything, but I think I may have printed out at least two A to Zs in the past few years, and a goodly chunk of the internet.

It can't be good for trees/the planet/us (delete where applicable).

Technically yesterday's news, but I think this 100-person letter to the Telegraph will run and run - modern life leads to more depression among children.

I saw some talking heads show last night, where someone wisely asked, surely the children having extra violin and voice coaching lessons can't also be the kids going down to McDonalds?

Wow. Probably everyone in the whole online universe already knows about this. But I have just discovered Google Spreadsheets, and had an IM conversation where we edited a spreadsheet collectively.

I mean, why would anyone need to go out anymore?

Because one day I will definitely want solar panels on the roof of my house - and apparently soaring energy costs make it increasingly cost-effective. Must talk to my neighbours. Again. It doesn't really work in flats, btw. How do you divide it up? Does everyone want it? Extra cabling etc. I could do the hot water thing, though, I guess, if the others were OK with it.

See, now I've written that, and I'm gripped by an irrational fear that I'll walk out of my house this evening to go to my Alexander Technique lesson and get run over by a bus.

One must never tempt fate, right? I grew up on red bendels and p-p-p and all that stuff, and I think a still small part of me still buys into it, big time.

I realise that this is all very unlikely.

But let it be known that, should I disappear, there's a few things I'd like to happen. If they can. I am 89% of the way through my novel, and I would like my friends who can write to finish it. It's mostly editing. For the avoidance of doubt, these people are J, Y and J (my guest bloggers), Z and B. (This does not mean that none of my other friends can write, of course, although it does mean that, to varying degrees, I have discussed either writing or the themes of the book with you, in the last couple of years). At least one of you has a copy of it (I'm very backup driven) and D knows all my desktop passwords. I suspect that their collective work will probably be better than mine, anyhow. There's a secondary writing project that M knows all about. Maybe you could do something with that, too. But I wouldn't want to ask too much.

This sort of feels a bit like a will, but like a creative-will. Not that I'm currently planning on going anywhere. Also, I would like my shoe-library to go to a good home, ideally a size six one.

I think, what's in my head right now are things I've said before. I think, maybe, in our lives, we keep telling a core set of stories over and over again, each of us telling different stories, the ones that fit with our own lives.

It's 1.30. In about an hour and a half, I know exactly what I was doing five years ago. I guess 9/11 is the Kennedy Moment of our generation. I was creasoting the garden shed, and my neighbour came out and said, "you better go and watch the TV."

The shed is just under my office window, and when I look out and see it, I often think of that moment. Like, in a strange way, that shed to me is mostly a signifier of the day the world changed.

I know it sounds melodramatic. I didn't think at that exact moment, the world has changed forever. And if I knew more about radical Islam, maybe I would know/have known that the world was changing well before it became obvious to people like me, conooned in my nice flat/nice work/nice friends scenario.

All week, I've felt a low level of gnawing sadness. Partly, in a kind of rememberance/mourning for the people I know who died/were affected. Partly because five years just feels a big chunk of time, but in a lot of ways, it's still as scary. Partly because it's - shortly - the time of the month, and I always get a little tearful, but never realise till later. Like, at the weekend, I briefly (like, ten minutes) became convinced someone had performed a terrible social slight towards me. Then I realised I was just at that point in my cycle where that's what I always think.

I talked with J during the week, about how I've simultaneously been drawn to and revulsed by the 9/11 TV stuff.

I saw a little bit of a 9/11 reconstruction. I don't know how I feel about it, except confused. Because the actors who played the survivors didn't look like the survivors. So you went through these terrible, horrible experiences, with slim, attractive people. And then the survivors were interviewed about their experiences, and they were sadder, heavier, just less attractive. And I got confused. I couldn't remember who was real. The attractive people I'd seen walk through the smoke, or the chunky guy sitting against the black mottled backdrop?

How do you know who's real in the action-replay facsimile world?

And, I don't mean this in a drama-drama way, but I really do feel the world is different. I think it's really a matter of time before something else big happens in London, and you don't know who or where. And also, life does just carry on. Statistically, I'm sure, it's much more dangerous crossing the road etc. And I don't go on the underground that often, not because I'm scared but because (a) I have a bus stop outside my house (b) I live in zone two, so buses still work, (c) I quite like walking (d) I might even get on my bike, soon.

And there's all that then-the-terrorists-have-won rhetoric. I mean, if I don't go on the tube, does it mean anything? (apart from it taking longer for me to get places?)

I used to have this conversation with my mum quite often, about if things were beshert (fated). I think my parents, to varying degrees, are fatalists. And I used to say, the CEO never used to ask me if the business plan was beshert or not-beshert: that's not how the world is.

Except, maybe I'm getting older. Or maybe your parents always turn out to be right. Or maybe... when your number's up, your number's really, really up. All you can do is live the best life you can, treat people well, make honey cake (low fat, this year), smile, think, be. There's not a lot else, really.

But I still feel sad. For the innocence that it feels like the world lost (some say we never had it). For the disonnance, anger, war, pain. It's not good for our (collective) skin.

I know it's nearly Succot/Sukkot, because I'm the number two search for sukkah centre, golders green. Although, the place is really called Sukkahmart - your one-stop shop for all your Sukkot requirements. Short season. Wonder what they do the rest of the year?

Did you know that wine buffs, apparently, won't drink red wine out of coloured glasses?

marks and sparks

marks and sparks

There is a display in the Kilburn branch of Marks and Spencers detailing one hundred years of the store on the site.

All very interesting, you think.

See that orange/brown white seventies patterned chopping board, tray and oven gloves? My mum had the exact same set in blue and turquoise. I got such a big shock when I saw it... a small part of my childhood on display on the High Road.

Hey, did you know if you search for something with Jewish in the title on google, you get this explanation of their search results?

special closed room for hejab

special closed room for hejab

This is just near Edgware Road tube. It's great; special closed room for hejab. It reminds me of when I used to go to Holmes Place in Cricklewood, the womens' gym had a staircase from the women's changing room, so if you were modest/snius/wearing the hejab, no men needed to see you.

As you know, I love it when people make up new words. Wordage. Verbiage. So I subcribe (not in a money way, of course) to trendwatching.com, and you should check out their trend database.

Of course, most of their trends are packaged in a marketing way (counter googling, for example), dormandise, early-birding. They sound sort of innovation agency easy-speak, right? Hygienia - it sounds like my parents kitchen in the 1970s (hygena, for those who remember that far back. As if I do. Anyway, it's apparently part of MFI, now).

From the Times - Attacks on Jews soar since Lebanon. Interestingly, they are spelling antisemitism anti-Semitism. I am not convinced.

Thich Nhat Hanh's Five mindfulness trainings, broadly:

• compassion, not killing
  
• loving kindness, social justice
  
• responsible sex
  
• loving speech and deep listening
  
• mindful consumption (food, drink, goods in general)
  

All sounds very sensible. I once heard him speak, a few years back, because he was in London, and I felt like it was a once-ina-lifetime chance. I got kinda freaked out by all the people mindfully walking up the stairs in some Westminster venue. Mindful walking is v-e-r-y slow, and when you have hury-hurry-immediacy (as I do, but a lot less than I did then), you can't really hack it.

He did give off a terribly peaceful vibe. And with hundreds of people sitting silently, mindfully, it was the complete antithesis to most of the Jewish experiences I have had.

The Low-Impact Living Initiative.

Look - I am the number one google search for translate mir in tuches.

Simcha on the Square in Trafalgar Square, Sunday 17 September 2006, 1.00pm–7.00pm, admission free (like, you could really charge people to go to an open square).

'Simcha' - apparently - is a Hebrew and Yiddish word for a party or a wedding - literally meaning ‘joy’.

carshare?

carshare?

Given my current open-and-honest approach to life, I feel I should be honest.

Turns out, I'm not as green as I think.

For the last two months I have been keeping a spreadsheet of my car journeys, to work out how much I actually use it, and to see how much it would cost to join a car club. There's one by the tube, and it's really not that far.

And I've also been rationalising my journeys. I do a whole weekly planning thing, so I don't duplicate travel (partly because it's good for the planet, and partly because I just don't want to spend a lot of time in my car). Like, I have left a t-shirt in a friend's house in Hendon for about six weeks now, as they're never home when I'm passing and I'm not prepared to make a special journey. Silly, perhaps.

Like, on Tuesday, while passing on another errand, I took a bottle of wine to some holy-acre-Finchley friends who having invited me to lunch on Shabbat. They also laughed at my "efficiency" at delivering a gift five days early.

I even talked to my neighbours about having a carclub car in our drive, which I figured for my 10-16 hours a week would definitely swing it, if the carcub car was actually outside my house. It would be like my own car, only ocassionally not there. I talked to the ops manager at CityCarClub - they estimate 25% usage, so it's mostly there when you need, and there are others in Swiss Cottage, Willesden, not so far away. And, of course, there's always the bus.

My neighbours laughed at me. Like I was properly mad. Like I came from another planet where people are worried about the planet. Ready for this, they're not.

And, turns out, I may not be either.

Because, when it comes down to it, the actual giving-up-my-car bit, like selling it and not having the convenience seems remarkably hard. Maybe I will improve. I'm thinking of joining for a month trial, and keeping the car, to see what it's really like.

Sometimes you have to do hard things, right. Right?

up the yazoo

up the yazoo

In what universe is Yazoo, despite its no-additives thang, good for your imagination? ANd what's it got to do with a fake super-power? There are some (many) things in the universe that I don't understand, and advertising is increasingly one of them. Perhaps I'm just out of the demographic.

vocalist (didn't get her name)

vocalist (didn't get her name)

stephen levi

stephen levi

lemez, I'm pretty sure

lemez, I'm pretty sure

Just got back from the Oi Va Voi gig at the Spitz. I've not been east for ... at least three months. Sweet.

Anyway, fabulous gig. They played all the old favourites, as well as stuff from their new album, which I'm really looking forward to, now.

If I didn't have a weblog, I wouldn't know that I last saw them live in Camden two years ago (although, actually, a quick search of my outlook calendar through up the same data. But it was only raw data, and this way I know how I felt.) Also, I should really archive my old outlook data, but this is neither the time nor place...

I don't know why I thought this, but I was kinda thinking, we won't even know anyone there. And then, it was very sociable; the people I saw last weekend, the people I'm seeing this weekend. Other friends. Lots of great hair (and the people attached to it). S was also there - of the gamine leggings - turned-out in another great leggings-based outfit, and there was a brief discussion about her legwear.

It was hot, though. Kinda steamy-hot like a Spike Lee movie.

Open House London is a weekend-but-one away: 16/17 September.

From my mailbox:

I'm wearing leggings today, I thought it looked quite nice (black leggings under a black sundress) and now I feel terribly self-conscious ;)

What is the opposite of trivia? Significa?

I find this quite difficult to believe, but I'm definitely not (whatever is the aural equivalent of) hallucinating.

I have just heard a cow moo, through my open office window.

No, really.

There, they did it again. Really loud.

Participated in a lengthy conversation at the weekend about the wisdom of the return of leggings.

(Doesn't The Return of Leggings sounds like a band?)

Hadley Freeman wrote a fabulous piece in Friday's Guardian and there was a not-quite-so-good copycat piece in the Times. Let's face it: if you're a fashion editor, there's only so much to talk about. Leggings, the wisdom of puffballs, that kind of thing.

So Saturday, we were talking about how really leggings shouldn't even be made bigger than a size 10 or size small. They're totally unflattering. You need very thin ankles. You have to really wear them with flat shoes. If you're going for the gamine/Amelie look, it might be OK, but for everyone else: don't even think about it.

Then S arrived, perfectly turned out in her gamine leggings, and we all had to eat our words. Not literally, of course. There are a few trends that have come back (directional haircuts, lots of black eyeliner, weird long t-shirts that cover your bum) that I might consider. This is not one of them. I am old enough - rarely - to have the wisdom of memory, and I'm using it. They didn't suit me last time, and they won't suit me now.

Albert Road, NW4

Albert Road, NW4

This house is directly opposite the building formerly known as Jews College (now the London School of Jewish Studies, LSJS). I was there on Sunday, and was very taken with this house.

Hendon - which used to be my number one place I wanted to live, but that was a long time ago - is suburban. Mostly. There's lots of streets of nice semis and terraces, pretty uniform, mostly with mezzuzahs on their doors. It's a pretty Jewish area. There are lots of shuls.

So I can't help wondering who these people are. Their house massively stands out, when you walk up the street. They've chosen to live opposite LSJS. They probably don't make up the morning minyan. They're ... alternative? Creative? Do yoga? Into self-epxression?

Just heard on the Today programme: Downing Street says Tony Blair hasn't seen the memo, but it was published in yesterday's Daily Mirror, so everyone else has.

Priceless.

I realise there isn't an election for a while, but I'm worried. At the last (local) election, I called Glenda Jackson to get the labour view on the green things that are important to me. She called me back terribly efficiently, and that was impressive (although, she never actually mailed me their green stuff print-out). But I didn't buy her wishy-washy Kyoto crap.

But with David Cameron? I mean, he cycles to work with a car behind him to carry his books, and he has a wind turbine on his house. Here's a man who lives his values.

Might be a tough choice. I think green issues are the number one election issue (in fact, the British public think it's only issue number four). Because, let's face it: when our kids are under water and growing gills, we just won't care that much about tax or terrorism. I'm guessing.

number of the beast?

number of the beast?

I'll admit it: my email hygiene is poor.

I do use folders (very pre-tagging, pre-gmail, I know), but even so, I often have 400-ish mails in my inbox. But I just noticed - it's gone up to 666. The number of the beast. Do you think it matters?

And also, if you emailed me recently and I didn't reply yet, sorry. My head is full. Fuller, even, than my mailbox.

I keep watching, listening, hearing, reading all this 9/11 memorial stuff. I can't beleive it's five years. And I can't believe I keep watching; feels like a slight car crash mentality. It's terribly, horribly disturbing, even with all this time passed. I'm drawn to it, and yet I don't want to take it in. Except I end up doing it. It's like a binge: you do it, you think you'll feel OK, then you feel lousy afterwards.

Someone said to me - rather controversially, I believe - that for our generation, 9/11 is "our holocaust". It's true we all remember it, remember where we were, what we were doing. Like, I was IMing with a friend who lived in NY at that time, and then totally lost touch with her, and then bizarrely ran into her at a party this weekend (we are having coffee). Is that synchronicity? Coincidence? Just one of those things (joott)?

I guess it does feel life-defining, that moment. Even though worse (natural) things have and do happen. It was somehow the ordinariness of the day, and the people-like-us feeling (two former colleagues were running an event in Windows on the World and, sadly, died). I remember that evening, J and I were supposed to be going to an art opening, a friend who paints skyscrapers, and I got all dressed up, ready to go, thinking, life goes on. And then walking up the High Road, to the tube, I just realised I couldn't go out and drink and be celebratory. I felt like something tragic had happened to my world, and I needed to be at home. Like, on 7/7 S and I ended up at M's house, because people just wanted to be together. Home, friends, family, those are the things you cling to, I guess, when the world seems scary, complicated, fractured.

I'm not depressed, honest. Just thoughtful.

On Sunday morning I went for a long walk on the heath with N. Let's just say conversation covered topics rangin g from creativity, Jewish renewal, Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, recipes, friends, relationships, etc.

Afterwards, I was standing on her doorstep on the Cricklehampstead borders, while we finished off a number of the conversational strands left hanging in the air, and someone rode past on a bike, all done up in their helmet and gear, so I couldn't really see them. They shouted out "hi Sasha," and as soon as they'd said it, they'd gone. And we were chatting.

But I wonder who it was. So on the basis that it appears that everyone I know or have ever met seem to read my weblog (at least, ocassionally), if you were that person, do say hi. And sorry I didn't say hi back.

Speaking of my my superpowers, I was in a shop yesterday, and there was a group of black women, shopping. Clothes shop. They had lilting, west African accents and child-bearing hips. And I swear, every other word was Jewish. Labaliblahblah jewish? Bladali blah blah! Lar-de-dar jewish, blah.

At least, that's how it sounded to me.

They were rifling through the rails, looking at the clothes. I mean, there was no possible context in which the repetition of the word Jewish would/could even fit. Unless they were seeking out a size sixteen skirt while saying "do you know, the world Jewish conspiracy owns this shop?" "Really? Pass me the green trousers. Jewish people are so mean, and the grey ones."

A person can be too sensitive, I know.

And my vices, clearly, are viceot. They're girly. Mostly. Apart from the geekery.

fizzy slush

fizzy slush

Given my myriad vices, one vice I don't have is that fizzy drinks thing (although I did have a little too much diet coke on the weekend).

So it's odd that while I never really think of fizz and fizziness as even attractive, that it's come into my mind twice this week. One, a friend visiting from out of town told me about FizzyFruit (drive safely on the San Fizzando Freeway - they really need some help with their marketing). Then, yesterday in Hendon, I spy this, er, really attractive advert in a bagel bakery. Fizzy slush. I mean, everything about it sounds unattractive, right? And you just know it probably glows in the dark.

Having reconsidered this, I think the plural of greasy spoon is greasy-spoonim. Because it feels - possibly erroneously - slightly more male to have that kind of cooked breakfast.

breakfast, again

breakfast, again

So recently, I have become rather taken with the signs people put up outside greasy spoons advertising their wares. As you can see from my Meral set (Cricklewood's finest).

This looks very interesting. Any idea what buble is?

DSC01188

DSC01188

I walk past this scultpure a few times a week - it has a slightly Pygmalion-esque quality; the worker's looking up to the tall buildings they're going to clean, or something.

I don't entirely know what it's about, and it's not got a plaque, or anything.

Do you know about the Heritage Orchestra? Their website's a little out of date, but the music's fabulous.

While I think it's outrageously self-indulgent to blog your own phrases (although, what is a blog except a collection of things you've thought etc), (a) I have a terrible memory, so my blog kinda fills the gap, and (b) someone reminded me of something tonight that I'd forgotten.

I used to do standup, but I stopped, really when I started writing. I mean, I like an audience, who doesn't, but I was never that great. Although that could be me being self-depreciating.

Anyway, someone reminded me of a line from my (former) act: I have superpowers. I can hear the phrase Jew across a crowded room.

Perhaps I'll stick with the day job, whatever that is.

Interesting peice from Slate Magazine about why Conservative Judaism is ailing.

It's a very US (as in American, rather than United Synagogue perspective), but raises some interesting issues. How good is the middle of the road, truly?

... in 1961, the Conservative movement issued a ruling permitting driving on Shabbat—but only to synagogue. Orthodox Jews, by contrast, observe the prohibition against driving and build their neighborhoods around their synagogues and each other's homes. There is something powerful about this decision: The foundation of the community is a countercultural value that requires some sacrifice in the name of a higher purpose.

Something to ponder on, as I walk to shul. Which shul, you're wondering?

Shabbat shalom. Gut shabbes.

This morning's Independent has published The Good List - which sounds great. Fifty "moral movers and shakers" - only problem is, you can't read it online. Gah. So last century. So old business model. Am I going to go out and buy the paper? Probably. Probably not.

On Yiddish and Yiddishisms

Last night, someone sent me a Yiddish word I didn't totally understand - there's a bunch of people who send me such stuff, even though I'm not a Yiddishist, not really even a linguist. But I love it. I'm more of a ... cultural commentator, I guess. Sounds a bit wanky, didn't mean to.

So, this word didn't immediately mean something to me, but that's not surprising. There's a lot of dialectical stuff; both where your family originally came from (Romania, Poland etc) and where they're from now. Like, in North Manchester and bits of Yorkshire, they put -y on the end of lots of words. Not challah, but chally, that kind of thing.

And I was thinking of what I would usually do. As you get older, there are less people who speak Yiddish (unless you're seriously into klezmer).

My major Yiddish consultants were Auntie Fran, my next door neighbour growing up, and her mother Pearl (pronounced Poil). Auntie Fran was much more than just a Yiddish consultant; she was my mother-in-waiting, executive shadchan, (although more than one of the guys she hooked me up with hadn't yet come out to their parents, but then you know what they say about the order people find out) and friend.

A few years ago, an old college friend, terribly English, and working as an employment lawyer in a South London firm, calls me up.

"Sasha, need your advice."

"Shoot." (I always like to speak in real life like a Coen brothers script).

"I have a dispute, and one party has apparently outrageously insulted the other." There's the rustling of paper. "The phrase used, and this is where we're struggling, is (she reads, haltingly) KISH MERE IN TWO-CHESS. Any idea?"

I laugh. "Well, it's Yiddish, but I guess you know that. It's not that insulting."

My friend persuades me that there's a lot hanging on this, and she needs genuine advice. I call Auntie Fran. I should say that Auntie Fran was older than my mother, although undoubtedly young at heart.

"Auntie Fran, how would you translate kish mir in tuches? Is it insulting?"

"Well," she replies. "to my mother's generation, it was a terrible, terrible insult. But to people like us (I imagine, at that moment, sitting in her front room, and her hand waving, indicating our proximity), young people, it's just kiss my arse. No big deal."

I duly reported back to my lawyer friend - although I don't know the outcome of the case - but what I'm left with is the feeling of... youth, that Auntie Fran had, her whole life. She thought of herself as my age, even though she was 30+ years older than me.

And now she's not here, it feels like there's no-one I can call, for these things.

Here's another Auntie Fran story. Like many mother-daughter relationships peopled by women with strong characters and iron wills, Fran and Pearl had a relationship characterised by deep love and care, tinged with the ocassional difference of opinion.

Pearl had come from Poland to the US (once, I was visiting New York, and she was there, and I thought I'd take a trip to the immigration museum at Ellis Island. I called Pearl, to see if she wanted to come. "I went once already," she said, with typical understatement.) Pearl was a bren - a driven woman, with the most effervescent energy. And boy, could she cook. She was a short ball of energy, bouncing of the walls of whatever kitchen she was in, at that moment.

One of the differences of opinion between Pearl and Fran was that Pearl had had some back problems in the old country, and had been to see a physio who had taught her some exercises. I'm guessing she was seventeenish. And for her whole life, she had made the exercises every day. And let me tell you, she was fit. But despite her insistence, Fran wouldn't make the exercises.

A few years ago, I was at a family wedding in Israel, just after I'd hurt my back. Talking with Pearl, she tells me I should make the exercises. With an immediacy even I found scary, she grabbed my hand, took me up to her bedroom. She stripped off, down to that old lady underwear - bras with straps so thick you could cross a river with them, pants - girdles, really - that held everything in, even if there was nothing to hold in. Frankly, she had abs of steel. There's something very beautiful about seeing older people semi-naked: their bodies are their personal history.

She lay down on the floor and started doing serious sit-ups. When she got to a hundred, I was feeling really tired. I think she was, at this point, in her eighties.

"C'mon, Sasha, make ze exercises," and she pushes me down to the floor, and I too am doing situps.

It's exhausting.

On the way back from her room, I go via the basement lobby, where the hairdresser and beauty salon are located. The wedding's later that day, everyone's getting ready. It's kinda like the whole hotel is a dressing room. As I walk past the hair salon, Auntie Fran waves at me. She was, at this time, in her sixties, I think. "Hi Sasha, where've you been?"

And I tell her that Pearl has taught me to make the exercises. I mention, in passing, that I know she doesn't make the exercises.

"Don't tell my mother," she whispers to me, conspiratorially, "but I make the exercises. Every day." She smiles. "I just don't want to give her the satisfaction."

Went to Toast in Hampstead with F, in from NY for like 24 hours. We couldn't get over how the waitresses looked exactly how we remember people looking in the eighties. It's a little scary. They were very insistent about their Thursday night half-price drinks thing. It's a nice place, even if it is above the station.