The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is back. On the radio. Tuesday 21 September at 6.30pm. I'm there.

Surreal Evening with (alleged) Jewish Twist

I know, I know, it's like 4am, and I should be asleep. Maybe I am asleep. Maybe I imagined the whole thing.

Just had an amazing evening. It only wound up about 3am, but I'm the person-on-call, hence still awake.

Let's backtrack a little: I'm in a field in Shropshire with about 300 Jewish people. Me and some buddies (I think I may have had a very minor role, it's just my grammar that puts me first) organised the first ever Limmudfest over the Bank Holiday weekend. It's a camping/outdoorsy multi-generational, cross-denominational weekend. We went through a few possible names: Burning Mensch, LimmudStock... but fest it is.

It's kinda exciting seeing something come to fruition: there's been walks, swimming, tennis, writing, singing, mysticism, text study. Something of a smorgasbord of Jewish stuff.

Because I'm on the core team, we've rota'd ourselves to be the responsible person, should Anything Terrible happen (we are Jewish, after all), hence the late hour. I will go to bed in a minute, and set my three mobile phones and walkie-talkie to VERY LOUD.

Tonight, we had a beautiful havdalah in the field next to the marquee (fire hazard, obviously). There's nothing quite like 300 people swaying with candles to make you think you're in a cult. Not, it was lovely, really.

Straight after that, we set up the bar in the back of the marquee, for NightFest. The evening opened with Pey Dalid, three Carlebachian brothers with Bob Marley influences. To follow, was Eitan G, aka The Jewish rapper (you may remember that I saw him at a gig in March). There was something surreal about both acts lyrics (make-a make-a make-a make-a ha'motzi, but rapped), and I ended up on stage with Emma and Benjy doing backing vocals (don't worry Mum, I didn't actually sing) and dancing. It was both fun and crazy; everyone was dancing and getting into it, some with more of a sense of irony than others.

Because our licence only ran till 12, we moved from the marquee into the theatre, and people were jamming and making full use of the complete set of percussion instruments we'd thoughtfully brought with us. Some incredible talents: a couple of great jazz singers, and a guy called Richard, who when he was playing the piano, I overheard the following conversation:
- He's a very talented pianist
- And he's also an oncologist, you know

Most surreal moment? Eitan G rapping with Pey Dalid backing him, and Laoise playing klezmer on the oud, and the kind of Israeli dancing people do at weddings (line dancing with a twist, basically), on stage in the background.

No, really.

I feel like I'm not doing this justice, but it's late, and I wanted to get my thoughts down before I keel over.

I'm in Shropshire. I'm on dial up. It's sunny. M has put up his yurt.

Oh What A Night

I had such a great day yesterday - sorry this is turning into a diary, it is a weblog, I promise - caught up with my hairdresser who has been cutting my hair since I was 17, saw all my nephews and nieces, and had dinner with my Mum, Dad, sister and brother (other halves unavailable, we did invite them), which we figured we hadn't done in a long time.

I made griddled salmon with steamed brocolli and courgettes, and we talked, and laughed, and my Dad opened a lovely bottle of chardonnay, and I bought everyone pedometers because it's my new religion.

I'm off to Shropshire in about half an hour - there's something quite indulgent about driving, and leaving when you want, although the traffic yesterday was crazy, even on the toll road - and I hear we only have dial-up there. It may or may not be good for me, I'll let you know.

I'm in Manchester. It's sunny, I have a tent in my boot, and I'm getting my haircut. Not that I'm camping here, I'm staying in an excellent boutique hotel in Cheadle, but I'm camping (ish) at the weekend.

Why do I still get my haircut in Manchester when I've lived in London since the last millennium? Answers on a postcard...

You take the Toll Road and I'll take the low road, and you'll get to Manchester afore me.

Overheard in John Lewis this morning:

"Nah, you don't buy shorts here, Curtis, it's too expensive. You go to a proper shop, yeah."

I can't help wondering what a proper shop is.

BlogThis! is buggered... when you BlogThat, it adds in loads of extra stuff that refers back to your own home page. Great. MT here I come...

Remind me, is it good or bad when a black cat crosses your path?

Do you know where you can get cute wellies with flowers, but not for fifty squid?

JDate banners feature pictures of porn models.

Finally, some sense from Wired magazine - lower case internet from now on.

And yes, it's 2am. Travel may broaden the mind but it's lousy for your body clock.

Yep, it's 1am. Jetlag sucks.

Famous Rabbis. Because you never know when it might, y'know, come in handy.

Blog in a Box... see, this is where I've been going wrong:
- Write About Virtually Any Topic That Interests You

- Be Successful No Matter What Your Skill Level Is

So it turns out I'm not so much of a blogger as part of some kind of bizarre empty pyramid selling operation. Who knew?

The customer service story from hell: Dan at JeW*SCHooL is having fun and games with the Google AdSense team to beat all others.

You may say that all roads (here, at least) lead to Cheadle, but I couldn't possibly comment. James Middleweek may or may not be a Cheadle boy, but he sure looks like someone in my nursery school class. Only a little older, and wearing a suit.

Online News From The Tribeca Trib - fame - for some - at last.

I'm back. I have the mother of all jetlag incidents. I'm going to have a lie down now.

Last night did that last-night-of-holiday thing and stayed up till 2am. We swayed with the rest of them at the closing gala. One of our number, C, had wisely bought a litre of Teachers at the airport, and because US campuses don't have bars, because of the age limits, I'm guessing, we were suddenly everyone's best friend: C met a guy who left Budapest exactly the same month as her; we heard Victor the security guard's story, worked out the difference between Reform and Liberal Judaism, talked a lot about Limmud, made new friends...

It's all getting a little twee. Sorry.

So I'm off to Manhattan, lunch with M (and, luckily, leaving my bag in her office, as there's no left luggage in the whole of Manhattan, since 9/11), a little shopping, maybe a gallery, maybe go back to JTS and see some more Cairo fragments. He said call anytime.

If I find an internet cafe, you'll be the first to know. What have you been up to?

Things I must remember to check out (from Arthur Kurzweil's publishing session); Regina Jonas, Cynthia Ozick, Faye Kellerman, In Memory's Kitchen, Walt Whitman's self publishing, Jews Who Rock, Rock 'n Roll Jews, Stars of David. Think of this as my notebook.

I had dinner with Rosie Rosenzweig two nights ago. She is very cool and funky (I mean funky in the English sense, aka cool/interesting).

They're not fat. It's a virus. No, really.

Now, either that guy has multiple identical t-shirts, or he's wearing the same shirt two days on the run. No, really. He just came in and sat down in front of me again.

Shopping and F***ing Boring

Once, I was on a stopover at LAX for a couple of hours, and I called an acquaintance and asked her to come and have lunch. She took me to that place in the airport that looks like aliens have landed.

Because of her anorexia, she ordered a salad with everything on the side, even the side. And she talked about all the psycho-pharmacologists she was seeing. Don't get me wrong, she was nice, but, y'know, had issues.

But I noticed something. I thought we were having lunch, refuelling, almost. She regarded the whole setup as an opportunity to review the Service Level Agreement. Our server didn't bring us iced water. She was promised nuts on the salad (which at 50% fat she clearly wasn't going to eat anyway). It was like tag; she was chasing, and our server was losing.

Which is all a roundabout way of saying that in the past I've always though the US is great, because it's about service. But now I feel you can be over-serviced. I don't like the whole "hi, I'm Megan, I'll be looking after you this evening" shtick because she didn't look after us, and I'd rather she wasn't so - frankly - insincere about the whole thing.

And when people in a restaurant come up to you and say "do you have any questions?" I want to ask them the capital of Estonia, or the dollar/yen exchange rate. Or whether her shoes were made by workers paid less than the minimum wage. Because how often do you have genuine questions when you're in a generic chain restaurant?

I'm sure I'm saying nothing new, but I just don't like the faux-sincerity (fauxerity?) of the "have a nice day" world. Because none of these people care if I have a nice day, and I know this because when I worked in Manhattan, people kept saying "we must have lunch" and I naively sat by my desk waiting for them to come and have lunch with me. I have learned my lesson the hard way.

When we went out to dinner last night at 9pm, the mall was still open, and people were shopping and consuming and were still at it when we left at 11. I may have bought two cool t-shirts, but I don't think it makes me a better poiss-un.

The plastic smiles and plastic service of this plastic world make me forget that I'm a real person, and think that I'm a collection of cash and credit-cards and unfulfilled desires.

I think I yearn for the reality-reflecting shoddiness of average service in a rainly London store. Where they may not be very polite, but at least I know they mean it.

Also, I forgot to say, I've made some nice new friends, and don't feel so lonely now. Perhaps, despite all my twentyfirst century global citizen shtick, I'm human, and get a little [what is that word?] with travel. After all, it's not natural, is it?

It's A Numbers Game

American Jews are very numbers oriented. I can't count the number of times this week people have asked me how many Jews there are in the UK, and how disappointed they look with 250-300,000. Yesterday, I overheard this conversation:

A: Rabbi, so how many members are there in your congregation?
B: That's an interesting question. There was some community politics before I left. The new management group shared with the community that they wouldn't be entering into a contract renewal discussion with the Rabbi - that's me -
A: mmm
B: and, so, I called my attorney
[I don't know if I have the order of this right, so I'm not exactly sure at what point they called their attorney. ]
A: mmm
B: And now I think 100 members have resigned
A: So it's a shrinking community?
B: well, my attorney...

Like I say, it's a fragment.

Yesterday, I had a great day. I went on an organised tour from CAJE to JTS (the Jewish Theological Seminary, training ground for Conservative Rabbis), and we had a presentation on their special collection. Then we did a walking tour of Jewish Harlem.

David Wachtel, from the Rare Printed Books section at JTS. Not only have I held a fragment from the Cairo Geniza in my hand, but I've seen Maimonides/The Rambam's signature. For real. I saw a fragment of one of only 180 copies of the Guttenberg Bible (the Noble [must check spelling] fragment of Esther. I learned a new word - incunables (books printed by movable-type before 1501) - and found out that JTS has like 90% of all Hebrew incunables in its library. David is someone who so clearly loves his work, and it was a real pleasure to hear him speak. I'm kinda thinking I might go back for a couple of hours before I hit the airport. And I think I'm down to the British Library special collection as soon as I get home.

We skipped past the exhibit (translation: exhibition) and it was a rare pleasure to be with a collection of 40 or so people (ok, women in comfortable shoes) who loved learning and books and Jewish history as much as I do. It was great to be with kindred spirits, although my shoes were a little uncomfortable.

Small personal aside: walking through the regular library, I see all the magazines and journals on display. And what's standing right in front of me? The current issue of the Jewish Quarterly (that's the passion issue) with my column inside. Looking around the library, I'm thinking "gee - because I am now, of course, American - I'm in illustrious company."

Oscar Israelowitz - who's a maven on NY, synagogues, and the subway system - gave us a fascinating tour that covered the 350 year anniversary of Jews arriving in New York (there's a re-enactment of 23 Jews arriving on September 12th, apparently) and we walked around the Mount Morris Park Historic District which is a conservation area quite a bit more worth than my local.

I felt very at home - it had something of a Kilburnesque feel to it - a mix of people (black, white, brown), a slightly gentrified feel, and an urban buzz, without the high-rise claustraphobia of midtown or even the Upper West Side. I sensed that some people on the tour didn't feel so comfortable.

Jews and real estate, though (translation: property). So we're walking around seeing old nineteenth century shuls that are now churches, and admiring the architecture, and people are saying things like "how much do these houses go for?" "two million?" "they were $60,000 dollars only five years ago."

There's a real Ango/US cultural difference around money/prices. UK-ers are pretty low-key (aka silent) about how much they earn and how much their house cost. US-ers are much more likely to say to a new acquaintance, "how much was your appartment?"

A woman sitting near me on the bus responded to my comment about the city, thus "me, I'm in New Joisey, but my daughter lives in Manhattan. 250 square feet, $1400 dollars a month, but what can do you?"

All in all, a great day, topped by dinner in the cheesecake factory with my buddies. We have bonded. We are leaving tomorrow.

And I can't be the only person who hates what Blogger's done to my weblog with that silly (let's face it, marketing) stripe at the top. What am I, chopped liver?

Last night: heard Richard Joel, the new President of Yeshiva University ("I say to my workaholic colleagues, only my kids will say kaddish for me"), and loads of music: Golem, Seeds of [something, must check], Debbie Friedman, and watched Tova Feldshuh's movie about Golda's Balcony. I really want to see that show. And Tovah was a warm, funny, bechaint kinda gal. Well, woman, really. She had every rolling in the aisles when she couldn't remember the phone number for eductor-discount tickets, and said "and the menopause is really good."

I'm having more fun; I've mellowed to the American sensibility, and met some cool people I can talk to. Last night at dinner, we met up with a fabulous group of people (women: there are a lot of women here) who have been/are coming to Limmud, and they were wonderful.

I think what's hard about big places is creating the opportunity for small connections. So sure, I've been in a room with 1,400 people, but I don't know them.

I'm just off to JTS and Jewish Harlem... Have a nice day, now.

Two things. Sort-kinda-maybe about geneology.

Since I was about fourteen, I've been fascinated by where I came from. I might look'n'feel English, but I knew I was from somewhere else. I remember asking my Grandma about (already deceased) Grandpa's family, and her telling me all the siblings I knew, and then saying "of course there were the two sisters they left behind". I'm just never going to know who those sisters were... they surely married and changed their names, and, it was before the war, and, well, y'know.

What really got me going was sharing an office with a woman in my first job where she spent every weekend going around churches in the UK and doing the detective work that took her back to the tenth century. The tenth century (I don't use exclamation marks very often). I could just about get three generations. I'll admit it: I was jealous.

Another time, at a wedding (friends always seat me with their non-Jewish friends, because I'm - allegedly - good with "non Jews" as we ridiculously call the vast majority of the planet), I was sitting with a couple who'd been at college in Leeds with my friend. They were both from the same Yorkshire village, and their families had been their since the ninth century. That's 1,000 years. Count'em.

Like most things, it's the journey as much as the destination.

I think that was three things. So sue me.

I am your idea. One day you'll look for me, and I'll be gone.

Yesterday, I was rushing to get to the first session I wanted to go to, Arthur Kurtzweil on Jewish Geneology. But I was running around in the rain, and I couldn't find the building, and I gave up.

(It is a little known fact that I am doing my family tree.. I regard it as a lifelong project, and the last couple of years I didn't do so much. Five years ago, I was visiting my Great Uncle Woolfie (may his name be for a blessing) in Tel Aviv, and he had some documents... my great grandparents ketuba (marriage certificate) that I wanted to copy. He wasn't letting them out of his appartment. Eventually, I left him my passport, and went down to the corner store to get a copy. I couldn't believe that I was holding hundred year old documents in my hands. The guy in the store looks at the document, and says "Vaslui, I'm from Vaslui." I was bowled over, so many questions. "What's it like?" I ask. His reply: "It's not big, and it's not small." But I digress.)

After supper, we went to the opening gala, and out of 1400 people, who am I sitting next to? Arthur. That's what my Mum would definitely call beshert. (Hi, Mum, consider this a postcard). We chatted - geneology, Jewish stuff, life in general - and I got up at 8am to get to his session on Adin Steinsaltz's Thirteen Petalled Rose.

Wow, I'm kinda mindblown and still processing it.

(And this bit is just a braindump of references I want to check later: Andy Warhol/The Kiss (movie), Abbie Hoffma/Soon to Be A Major Motion Picture, Steinsaltz/The Candle of G!d/Ben Zoma's who is rich definition/gam zu letova. Because as we all know, a blog is just as much my outboard brain as it is for you to read.)

A Meditation on Loneliness

(Sorry for the poncey title. But I've been thinking about this stuff).

There's 1400 people here at CAJE (a Jewish education conference). At Limmud, we have almost twice as many. I'm not saying that in the traditional - Jewish - numbers-game way, I'm saying it to acknowledge that among 3,00ish people, I kinda feel at home. I know my way around, I know some people (OK, more than some), it's my community, I know the language, I know the deal.

Here, I'm an outsider. Six of us are the Briddish delegation, and I suddenly feel how people who come to Limmud for the first time feel. Overwhelmed. Confused. Disoriented. Don't get me wrong, I feel those things too sometimes, but I know they'll pass, because I'm home.

Here, I'm watching. I'm like a novelty doll in a high-class animation: pull my head, and I do the cutesy accent. Listen: last night, they were giving out ice-cream, so I went to get some for my friends (OK, they sent me), and when I went to the ice-cream guy, there was a woman there, and she looked at my badge and said "gee, London." Then I asked for six ice-creams, but I didn't want to appear glutonous, so I turned to her, and said "they're not all for me, honest, my friends sent me,", and she replied "gee, she's cute."

I feel disconnected. I'm not a professional Jewish educator, although I'm commited to Torah Lishmah (learning for it's own sake). I can't talk about camp, or the sanctuary, or my JCC, or how I've been coming here for twenty years, but I like being here.

Being Jewish has an outsiderness to it, and being Anglo has an added outsider dimension, so being in such an out-and-proud place, despite all my protestations about being a New Jew (which I am, if I wasn't, I wouldn't even be here) this is off my scale.

I've smiled at some people who haven't smiled back. I've talked to some people who are clearly only going through the motions.

Having said that, I've met some wonderful people, too. But the glass is always half empty, right?

(I wrote this in my notebook last night)

So I'm sitting in the Hofstra University Area (replete with flags from other college's sports teams - Old Dominion and William & Mary) and I'm feeling like I'm in some bizarre John Hughes movie with a heavy Jewish theme.

Only in America. Only in America do you see so much Jewish hair, Jews from places (Tucson, Alberqueque) that if they were in Europe they wouldn't have two Jews to rub together, so many women large of hip and full of kaftan, and hear so much earnest Americana. Don't get me wrong, it's good. It's all good in a car-crash kinda way.

Truth is - we're different. American Jews have the confidence of a powerful people. If Anglo-Jews were in this cult, we'd all be wearing branded t-shirts with the names of our synagogues and JCCs on them (if we had any), and we'd be immersed in totally Jewish lives.

Of course, you may say that I'm doing that already, although without the t-shirts. Having said that, my "shayna punim" (pretty face) t-shirt garnered a lot of comment, and I should be getting commission from the Rabbi's Daughters.

* * *

Saw Debbie Friedman, Julie Silver and Joe Black in concert, which was pretty good. There's a lot of swaying, though. I mean, a lot.

I'm in the computer lab at Hofstra, and the guy in front of me is wearing a t-shirt that says in back (see what I did there?):

A Small Friendly Congregation of Neighbours Praying and Celebrating Together.

These are just my impressions of a very strange weekend. So far.

Friday I hung out with F&W in Tribeca, and caught up, had some lunch, talked about geek stuff (and managed to leave my USB key in their apartment, which is a shame, because I brought it so that if I wanted to write something, I would have it with me - didn't bring my laptop - and now I can't. I do however, have two USB keys, and a 512MB is calling to me...)

Met up with the others in C's apartment, midtown, and then got a cab out to Long Island. Our cab driver seemed very angry that we didn't know where we were going, and we thought "he's a cab driver, surely he knows the way. And we've printed off a map". We got to Hofstra about 5ish, and just had time to shower and change before shabbat.

I'm in a dorm with four other people who haven't - yet - showed up. My friends are all sharing with each other. This reminds me of going to a friend's wedding a couple of years back, and I was seated with six couples in their fifties and sixties who kept saying "why aren't you with you friends?"which was what I thought, too. Perhaps this is a message from the universe, although if it is, I don't know what it means.

Shabbat was fun, if a little American, and I have a red ribbon that communicates my first-timer status to other delegates. I have had over-warm hugs from at least three people I don't know.

There are also a lot of women here wearing kaftans.

But that's OK, as people say here.

Friday night, I went to the Reconstructionist service, and we sat in a circle and had musical accompaniament. We said the shema out loud in a meditative way. This is not how things happen in Cheadle. Two people said "gee, your accent."

Shabbat morning I walked past both the Orthodox and Conservatives services and they looked a little...staid, so I went to Storatelling, which was pretty wild. Engaging, real, wild... but not particularly service-like. Perhaps I should think outside the box more.

The weather is steaming.

Last night, the guys from Storatelling did a cabaret-style show, which was fab, although a little Kiki & Herb. Today, there was no programme, so we went to the mall - apparently the largest in Long Island - and had lunch and looked around. It was kinda like being in Brent Cross - lots of frummers, too many shops, and collective purchase inertia (although I did buy a poncho).

When in Rome. As they say.

It's consumerist heaven, here. Everything is about "getting" stuff, and portions are huge, and service is exclusively about selling and tips.

OK, I exaggerate. But the shops are the same, just cheaper. And the people are the same, just a little more obese. And the language is the same, but different (I just had a very strange conversation with a woman about if the water she sold was sparking or still and she looked at me like I don't know what.)

I think I may be talking crap. I can tell this because no-one's commented in ages.

I'm back on Thursday.

When I was queuing to get on the plane, I fell into a conversation with two South Africans I thought were related because of their shared accents. Turned out they were just two South Africans who happened to be standing in the queue together. The guy was my age, maybe a little younger, a doctor, and the woman was in her sixties, and had travelled a lot.

In the few moments we shared, she managed to slip into the conversation about four incidents of near-disaster that had happened to her in her flying career. The doctor kept saying "well, maybe now's not the time to be telling us this..." but she kept on keeping on.

Never was I so glad to be turning left (I travelled premium, which I think is like business, but cheaper. But anyway, you don't have to mix with the disaster-laden hoi-poloi. I only did it because it was 10k extra airmiles, and I thought, why not?), and even more delighted to find that I didn't even have anyone sitting next to me, so I could spread out and not make polite conversation.

I think I'm rambling. Ramble, ramble, ramble.

I might try and get to MOMA tomorrow morning before I leave... or I might just lie in...

Things That Happened Today

After three calls to UPS, my lenses arrived. Yay. Although I'm a little too weary to even say yay, because I had to make seventeen outbound calls to make it all work.

I have my US cellphone. Yay. Except I discovered that all US tarrifs, be they prepay or contract, charge your per minute to receive calls. Can you beleive? No wonder the phone with $10 credit is only thirty earth pounds (US keyboard, sorry).

Did some nice shopping/walking/photo taking in the West Village.

Going to Long Island (or, as Ruby Wax calls it, The Guyland) tomorrow afternoon, for CAJE. OK, that's tomorrow, not technically fitting under this heading. But it's 9pm New York time which is about 2am London time, which means I've been up for nearly 24 hours, so I'm sure you won't mind me cutting you a little slack.

I'm in New York. It's only 4 pm here, but it's bedtime for my body (I got up at 5am), but my friend's kids are cute, and I have contact lenses to track down (no, they haven't arrived. UPS are allegedly on the case, but then they haven't been delivering them since August 6th), and shopping to do. All the shops are the same, of course, just cheaper.

Saw great movies on the plane: 13 to 30 (is that what it's called? teen movie, anyway, fab), and Mona Lisa Smile. Almost finished reading The Perfect Store: Inside Ebay by Adam Cohen, which is fascinating.

It's great just having time.

I'm off the see the wizard...
Well, I'm going to New York, anyway. Soon. This morning.

Updates may be sporadic. But then again, last time I said that I was posting like every day.

Contact Lense Update
I know customer service stories can get boring, but UPS have failed to deliver my contact lenses since last Thursday. Which is nearly a week. They are very sorry for the inconvenience. They have been to the wrong address, the right address and not delivered it (my name's not on the door, because I don't live in downtown New York, I live in urban London), and then they got the name, but have no record of it on their system.

So, it's 50/50. I'm calm. Ish.

Let's face it, Big Brother is just a series of kinky, linked Jerry Springer Moments.

Which have increasinly less value, however oversold the freak show and the freaks are.
I mean, do I care if that couple "did it" or are in love? I don't even know them.

I know we all - apparently - we want to be famous, but doesn't it devalue fame? I think people are only faux-famous now, and fifteen minutes feels like a l-o-o-ng time.

Traces of Memory. Some part of my family came from Galicia, but it was a while ago, now.

I never know if I'm third or fourth generation. If my great-grandparents came here, and my grandparents were born here, which is the first generation? My grandparents? That's makes me third generation.

OK, problem solved. You can relax now.

Because you never know when you want to glow.

What Sasha Did

You could be forgiven for thinking that I don't get out much: I've just been busting a gut to get everything done before I go to NY tomorrow and leave my flatmate to water my plants. There are only three left.

So, for those who think that I don't do much, here's a brief summary of "recently"...

...books
A friend pointed out that from my blog it looks like I never read anything, and when you come round to my house it's heaving with books, I always have three on the go, and I read at least a couple a week. Oh, and I'm writing one. So a lucky-dip of my recent reading:

Save Karyn - a remarkably annoying story about a girl who overshops, and then gets web-charity and a film deal. Great.

Vernon God Little - he's the JD Salinger of his generation. Apparently. And I'm the, er, who am I again?

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Klay - comics, Jewish stuff, what more could a gal ask for?

Lost Tribe - Jewish fiction from the edge, and that's where I am, so that was great

How I Came Into My Inheritance

Marsha Mellow

Cold Water

Notes On A Scandal

The Curious Incident...

A Round-heeled Woman

...movies

Mean Girls

Jersey Girl

The Return

Spiderman

Anything Else

... shows of all sorts

Royal Academy Summer Exhibition

Vivienne Westwood at the V&A

Jerry Springer the Opera

This hot weather is making everything flakey: hotmail; outlook, me, other drivers.

My weekend: sitting in the garden, Lebanese food, wandering around Primrose Hill/Camden, Fruitstock, and a dinner party with a flail.

Went to A's last night... not seen him in like forever. Putney is so chi-chi, it's fabulous. True to my request, A made a great meal of tuna and steamed vegetables, and we all admired his new furniture. Talk turned to C's trip to Iran a couple of years back, and how she bought A a flail, as a gift. He got it out of the cupboard (unused, he tells me), and has given it to me on temporary loan. It's on my dining room table right now. I'm thinking, it's going to be a talking point, right?

I hear there are a lot of flail shops in Iran.

The Vauxhall Pleasure event - times like this, I wish I lived in South London. Or should that be ssarf landan?

And here's a little history on the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens.

Just because I'll be out of town... you should go to this, really:

Eddie Izzard: Sexie II Workshop Gigs

Tuesday 10 - Saturday 14 August at 11pm

Legendary comedian Eddie Izzard will be at Soho Theatre for one week of late night try out gigs of old and new material.

Tickets
£10

To book
0870 429 6883 / www.ticketweb.com

TICKETS GO ON SALE AT 5PM ON FRIDAY 6 AUGUST

Soho Theatre, 21 Dean Street, London, W1D 3NE

Air conditioned + late bar

...tickets will sell out real fast, so call now, and let me know what it's like, if you go. I'm jealous already.

If it were possible for a person to explode through frustration I would be a mass of blood and guts. Honestly.

So I ordered my contact lenses from the US on Monday. Told them my optician is away, so they can't get a copy of the prescription, and in fact, that's why I'm getting them from them, and they said fine, they can get it in a few weeks. I explained the timing delicacy that I'm only in NY for one day next week, and need them then. Fine.

Yesterday morning they email me a form letter saying they can't reach my doctor. I call again, talked to Angela, explain that he's not there, she says they can do it manually, she'll email back and confirm shipping.

When I don't hear from her at 7pm, I call them up, spend an hour on the phone with various un-service people who tell me "it's a miscommunication" and they can't ship my lenses to a US address without my doctors prescription. It's now too late to ship them to the UK before I go away (it takes about three weeks). I have seven pairs of lenses left.

We finally agree that I will get an eye exam this morning, and fax it to them.

I call my optician again, at work and at home, and both his mailboxes are full.

Now, I call another optician, and they can't confirm a lenses prescription for two weeks, because I need to have a sample and wear them.

I have been wearing contact lenses for fifteen years.

So I'm hoping that a regular (spectacles) prescription will do. Otherwise, I don't know what I'll do. Any suggestions?

Subversive cross stitch - because, as we all know, irony is not dead.

[thanks to Z for the link].

Still tickets for Lee Hazlewood plus special guests Morcheeba tonight.

I know levity is inappropriate, but I can't help thinking. So the terrorists were found in Northwest London, Bushey and Luton. They're Jewish, right?

I should be careful what I say - I'm going to New York next Wednesday, and now I'll probably get blown up by the Beth Shalom Martyrs Brigade.

Also, I have a friend who says people are getting in touch with her from the other side, and says something's gonna happen to a large building in a big city (OK, it's a stretch) on August 15th. She's been saying this for a few weeks, not just since the recent news story.

So the chances of my coming back in one piece are slim, right.

Things...

As you know, I am having a de-cluttering, efficient clear-out.

So if you fancy any of these items, send me email/leave a comment, make me a reasonable offer and it'll be winging it's way to you.

scanner - Canon N670U, USB

backlit 2MB Psion 3C, in box and everything (I just found out it's worth £120, apparently)

Sony internal CDRW/DVD, CD 48X24X48, DVD 16X

Iomega zip 100 parallel drive, boxed, with a lot of disks

External CDRW, approx 48X24X48 speed, can't remember spec, mail me if you're interested

Macromedia Freehand v8 for PC

switching box for parallel printers. You may want this for your technology museum

I've just saved about £200 on my contact lenses by ordering them from the States. Last time I did it, I made the mistake of getting them shipped to the UK and they slap on the tax that you didn't know about and then, frankly, it's not such a metziah. This time, I've had the foresight to get them shipped to F's appartment in NY where I'll be visiting in a couple of weeks on my way upstate. So, if it all works, I'm a logistics genius. If not, there'll be six months of contact lenses wandering around the shipping system never quite catching up with me.

So I'm already to buy my USA Pay As You Go Phone, which is $60 dollars including calls (that's £30 compared to the £130 I ended up spending taking my UK phone with me last time)- it's the Kyocera K7 Rave, in case you want to know - when they tell me they can't take credit cards that don't have a US billing address. Bugger. Now what?

I guess I should say that I've been on something of a hiatus for no reason except that I've been (a) busy, (b) distracted, (c) it's hot-hot-hot. I wasn't that sure that anyone noticed. Anyway, I'm kinda back in a not-back still busy way.

Fight for the Right to Dry - Project Laundry List.