spontaneousm

The floodgates are'bout to open...

2010-09-13T00:32:00.000-04:00

try to stay afloat

What is...?

2010-08-30T23:55:00.001-04:00

“A Work of Art
... is not a living thing ...
that walks or runs.
But the making of a life.
That which gives you a reaction.
To some it is the wonder of Man's Fingers.
To some it is the wonder of the Mind.
To some it is the wonder of Technique.
And to some it is how Real it is.
To some, how Transcendent it is.

Like the 5th Symphony
it presents itself with a feeling
that you know it, if you have heard it once.
And you look for it,
and though you know it you must hear it again.
Though you know it you must see it again.
Truly a work of Art is one that tells us,
that Nature cannot make what man can make.”
-Louis Kahn

Kosherbanz.com

2010-08-19T23:20:00.005-04:00

Ok, admit it! As soon as you discovered the Silly Bandz fad, you've known two things... 1) This is the greatest and most logical necessity since sliced bread, and 2) You will wait in suspense until some ingenues designer/importer will come up with......................................................... Jewish Silly Bandz!!!! Of course, of course! They are here! They are available in two themes and three colors, in quantities ranging from 24 to 9,600 pieces! Get them for your Judaica Store, Day Camp, Hebrew School, Chabad House, nephew, students, parents, Bubbies! or start your own business selling bandz in your area... they're really cheap and shipping's free!

What? No I'm not just plugging my brother's site.... I'm offering you some very important advice in my professional, unbiased opinion... Ok? Now go and shop your heart out

Thanks

Breakthrough

2010-08-17T13:09:00.003-04:00

There are days when I pick the guitar and nothing clicks. It is so bad I wonder how I ever convinced myself I could play the darn thing... The strings feel \taught restrained against the neck, unresponsive to my aching fingertips’ attempt to press them to the fingerboard. When the other hand attempts to pluck the strings they feel frozen stiff, the pick feels stiff in my figures as it attacks the strings at a rough angle, the rhythm that ensues sounds clipped and erratic, forced upon the melody. The few chords I know are a lame, of-key sounding excuse for the melody, resulting in a frustrating jumble that exactly like any other half-heated song I’ve ever tried.

Then there are days...
There are days when the guitar fits snug against my body. The strings so responsive, I can actually hear each note of the chord individually, resonating on different register, filling the room. Both hands are moving in sync, guided by the flow, wrists free of restraint or apprehension. I can "hear" the music vibrating inside of the sound hole; instead of aggressively projecting the sound, it seeps towards me, like a steady warmth spreading from the guitar’s body into mine, thorough my thigh, upper arm, and chest upon which the guitar rests. When the music reaches my ears it is has already passed through my brain; it is already comprehensible. (Unlike on previous days when my brain is trying to make sense of the sounds being forced upon my ears from the outside.)

It is on such days when I can pray...

הכן לקראת אלוהיך ישראל....

Signs of the Times

2010-08-10T03:29:00.006-04:00

F.S. I guess I was right. Jewelry is for ever men are not!Josh just broke up with me b/c of a feeling in his heart. If anyone wants to call him and tell him what a mistake he is making feel free. 333 345 6789. Other wise I don't want to talk about it right now.

E.P. aw, so sorry F. you sound really hurt and rightfully so. did you see any signs of commitmentphobia with him? tell me more about what he said...feeling in his heart? for other men? how could he break up with you? if you want to psychoanalyze him email me!

The above is a recent status update of one of my facebook "friends". Although we share a lot of friends and other thing in common (even our birthdays, actually) we've probably never spoken more than five sentences... and now I, along with hundreds of her "friends" are exposed to one of her most personal moments, and her ex's weaknesses are already on the psychoanalytic-operating table (why not?! if everyone's doing it on TV these days, it must be for the good of mankind.) Why does it feels so weird/wrong to re-post this, especially with his phone number, yet can more harm come with re-posting what is already known? There are a million ways for anyone to get anyone's number,, do we still hesitate to give it out?

While videoing the fireworks this past July 4th, I turned my camera to capture the crowd. A woman standing nearby put her hand up in defense, a look of contempt in her eyes. I think she was right, but how was what I was doing invading her privacy any more than the cameraman who was broadcasting our faces world-wide? Did she think I was a perv or that it was more personal because I was in sole possession of the footage? If that's the case then what about the fact that anyone can get anything they want on youtube? Is it just what we don't know don't hurt us?

How would you feel if a classmate walked in on the second day of class, stood three inches from your nose and began taking pictures of you listening to the lecture? What if a journalist did it? What if that classmate was a self-proclaimed journalist? Would it matter if she was going to put in the community paper, the New York Times, or on Facebook?

I think this will be a great debate that will help define the next century. How do we define privacy, and is there any point in fighting for it?

What Happens Now?!

2010-05-10T23:57:00.003-04:00

Dream Deferred (Originally titled Harlem)

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?

-Langston Hughes

love this man

2010-03-17T00:02:00.002-04:00

and everything he stands for

Moshesmusic.com

Inter mission

2010-02-18T23:27:00.004-05:00

Chinese, Italian, its all the same when you can't understand it...

Couple of months ago, our class went to see the Aida dress rehearsal at the Metropolitan Opera (that's when they rehearse in costume, not rehearse the costumes.. just sayin cause i had no idea myself prior...) I think I may have enjoyed it somewhat if not for the skyhigh expectations that preceded.
Anyway, looking around at intermission, I noticed that I was not the only one feeling out of place in 18th century Italia. One guy caught my ear when he said to his friend "...when I found myself asking what the hell am I doing here, I told myself, there are people all over the world that would want nothing more than to be right here in my seat.."

Now havent you heard that line at a farbregen before?

The Crown Heights Picture Blog

2010-02-04T00:41:00.004-05:00

In recent years, our community has been blessed with a tremendous influx of photographic talent from the Holy Land. In general, the amount of talent that comes from such a small country is astounding, but israeli photographers are really something. Chabad is no different. I don't know what it is, but when they come to Crown Heights they seem to see everything in a different light. Our nuances are always obvious to them, even when they can't speak a word of our language. It never ceases to amaze how so many young photographers can make a "living" out of shooting ordinary life stills in a community in which so many people unfortunately find the redundancy and predictable lifestyle so stifling (SO not true btw... join our writing group for more info, cough, cough). Yet, through their lens, every street corner has it's own story... every black hatter wears it differently, every snowfall is a milestone, every farbrengen is historic, every rabbi is an influence, every child is unique.

One such talented individual started the Crown Heights Picture Blog I particularly enjoy his "ventures" past the green line, AKA the "Jewish border", or the grid we relied on as kids as "the safe zone". Many local photographers have focused on these and other parts of crown heights, bringing to life the dynamic dichotomy that the Heights is famous for. (One such guy is Hanan Ohayon, he's absolutely brilliant, look him up on facebook). The picture blog focuses on a lot on the architecture in the area. One of Brooklyn's best kept secrets is North Crown Heights and towards Clinton Hill and what survived of BedStuy. Its a very interesting place to explore. although it can get real sketchy in places, there's some interesting gentrification going on, where you'll see projects neighboring new hipster havens. The old homes are beautiful and unique. One can only imagine what a magnificent place this used to be.
Here are two links to the pictures:

http://chpictures.blogspot.com/2010/01/friday-220110.html

http://chpictures.blogspot.com/2010/02/tuesday-020210.html

A Bachelor's Prayer

2010-02-03T00:27:00.002-05:00

In my life, G-d
let me not
forget you
what I meant to you,
you to me,
together we completed
what the world was meant to be

And
In my final days
let me not
look back in remorse
wondering
what would have been
for joy was lost
in fantasies
of irreversibles
and people I envied

But
most of all
In my final days
Let me not
see the writings of my youth
My dreams and quests, my truths,
and laugh
at the innocence
of an idealistic life
of hopes
destined to fade
as my father
from my mind

Registration Day

2010-02-02T23:37:00.005-05:00

"Kingsborough: School by the sea"
the poster (sails billowing and all) declares.
Old and fading
A novelty for too long?

"Please enter your Social"
She commands with care
Another semester, another year
She's seen us come and gone.
Ghetto Prodigies, bashful drop-outs
a revolving door of hope and promise
never staying
never lingering
Community College 101:
Get in, get out, get smart
Just get going

Someone mentions the weather.
I think,
I can think of worse rooms to work in
The view is the endless blue of the bay
not the eternal brick wall
Her work is simple
albeit methodical
Yet isn't all work, so?

So how bad can it be
to smile at people and say
"Please enter your social young boy"
"Would you care to dream
in the school by the sea
about becoming a man
of the world
with knowledge to power
a journey
That is yours
all yours?"

I don't know how
we got to talking about how once back then
way back when
Oh perhaps it was the seventies
yet she talks as if 'twhere yesterday
One year the school had sailing
and oh how nice it was
to look out the window
for just that one year

What a shame they discontinued
She says
a bit mournfully,
and I realize
that in 30 years
nothing had changed in the room
nor the scenery
Could it have been
the last significant event since?

And I think
how sad must it be
to stand here every day
and smile at people
and say
"Enter your social young man
and pray you grow
to dream outside of this school
on the sea"

Snowetry Slam Night

2009-12-20T02:13:00.005-05:00

This one’s dedicated to Cheerio (not in a MotOG-friendly kindof way of course) and to all who tolerate/love/can't live without winter

I don’t care.

My legs are soaking wet from running around in the snow
rolling around in it
chasing and tackling my friends
a bunch of twenty five year olds refusing to grow up
howling at the moon behind the clouds
pretending not to know where we are
for a few timeless moments

I don’t care
Because tonight is Winter
and i’m sitting in my room flanked by three windows which are half covered
with two-dimensional mounds of snow plastered against the bottom half of the panes
as if some great Winter God had miraculously thwacked it against my window
while in truth it had collected there one minuscule flake at a time
I don’t care because tonight is magic
and I am free to roll in it, laugh at it, eat it
to be free as a child, nostalgic as a spinster

My snow framed windows
put my desk in perspective
littered with unopened library books renewed 11 times stacked upon unread bought books
And overdue reminders that I can’t remember where to stick them so that I may remember them
Im writing this poem
on the back of a medical insurance form
i was supposed to send in a long time ago
Soon it will join many other forms and lost ambitions
In a dark stuffy drawer
But i don’t care

I don’t care
because tonight is Winter
and the world is coated in guilt free powder
pure as a child
like a protective coating
against the harsh reminders of reality
The burning sidewalks of New York
normally snapping with the sound of heels
pounding lost dreams and identities into the pavement
are eerily silent, muffled by a God-given tranquility
And the cars sweep by slowly
as if transfixed by the serenity that holds the air
So fresh and full you can eat it for dinner

Today I spent Shabbos (interesting grammar?)
with a family who lost two children in one year
And it seems as if every day younger people are getting cancer
And almost everyone knows someone
who died with some unexplainable turn of fate
But tonight I don’t care, tonight the slate is clean and we can dream
and mushy songs on the radio hit the spot

So let it effin snow
because tonight is winter
Because tonight I remembered that I can remember what it means to be alive

Hub a Freilichen

2009-12-14T23:52:00.002-05:00

http://www.lionetwork.net/images/Hanuka-LH.swf

All you have to know to survive college

2009-11-26T02:10:00.003-05:00

The secret to writing essays lies within the segues. A line that properly connects two paragraphs, ideas, or bubbeh mysses (mostly the latter for me) is the difference between a 5 page essay that reads as a 2 paged one (i.e. an A) and a 2 paged one that reads as a 10 pager (i.e. an F)!

Silent Night

2009-11-23T22:09:00.002-05:00

He stood at the podium
his faced full of blood
from the heat of the body-filled room
and the pressure of the eyes all turned to him

The heavy room was silent
a pin dropped would be heard
Except for by him
for he heard nothing

At last he spoke
from a determination he did not know he possessed
Words, nervously chasing each other
A landslide of emotion
a toppling verbal fort
gaining momentum
as did his courage

He spoke of beauty,
isolation, peace, sadness and strength
He spoke of the sounds of things
the language of the cosmos, our thoughts turned action
Turned speech

The sounds of life
sweet and sour
Comforting as waves breaking
As simple as a single bird chirping
The sounds we often take for granted
until we hear it no more

Nostalgic and regretful
he pined for the life that was
When the world was full of sound,
resonated with life
He yearned for a simple tune
Oh just to hear a baby laugh
one more time!

He concludes
his soul bare
his breath spent
The audience erupts
He can feel the room vibrating with applause
and the light in their ecstatic faces
He is glad, relieved
As he returns to his seat
a stranger claps him on the back and whispers something
A word of encouragement
Perhaps
But he will never know
for he is deaf

Just another poet
alone in his words
Alone in our world

mi héroe Super Jew Moshe

2009-11-18T23:18:00.000-05:00

In Memory of Rochie ע"ה

2009-08-02T23:04:00.003-04:00

Tonight, the 13th of Av, is the first Yahrzeit (anniversary) of my sister's passing. Rochie was one of the most beautiful people I have known, inside and out. Perhaps it is cliche to say that God takes the best, but I can't think of another way to put it. Rochie was a model Jew, person, wife, mother, sister, daughter, friend, and for being a straight out Mentch. She had this special gift of being able to see past frivolity and self interest. She believed in doing the right thing plain and simple, whether or not it gave her more popularity or status did not even occur to her. She lived not for herself, but for her loved ones. Our lives now will never be complete without her love, her unforgettable smile, and a million moments, strengths and selfless gifts that we once took for granted, and now will never be.

On the morning following Shavuos last year, Rochie (who had no serious health issues prior) failed to wake up, possibly due to an aneurysm, causing her heart to go into cardiac arrest. On the way to hospital and in ER the paramedics struggled to keep her heart beating. Eventually they managed to "stabilize" her enough to move her to the CCU, where she remained in coma. The doctors said she needed a miracle, and hundreds of friends and strangers alike prayed for it. For seven weeks we Davened, cried, sang by her side. Hundreds of amazing people blogged and prayed, gathered and prayed, visited and prayed. Many took on resolutions to better themselves to merit her recovery; following in her example to excel in Ahavas Yisrael and to speak favorably of others. Even as she lay in her hospital bed, seemingly powerless, she managed to turn the world upside down. Even when we could no longer hear her reassuring voice, she continued to bring out the best in us, bring us together, helping us see the world through that special scope she had, that special gift.

On the 13th of Av, four days after her son's first birthday, 26 years and 7 months days after God blessed this earth with her presence, she was taken back to His holy abode. The void is overwhelming, her legacy beyond description.

Dozens of people sent in their stories of how Rochie had inconspicuously touched their lives. How she had reached out to them when others would not have thought of it. Rochie was the friend who gave you her all, the one who remembered your birthday, the one who could be there for you when else failed. No one knew she had made so had so many friends and admirers; she never made a deal of it. If she managed to affect the world so much in such a short lifetime, imagine if she was still here, imagine if she was able to continue raise her family and care for others. Without her, the world feels darker, lonelier.

Please do something that would make Rochie happy today. Call someone you've been meaning to call... Offer a smile to someone who can use it... Think twice before giving your opinion on others; Rochie's approach to constructive criticism was so uniquely sensitive; even when it came to shidduchim she couldn't bring herself to speak negatively about others, you had to read in between the lines...

Rochie, we know you are there, listening, as always, forever. Give us the strength, as always, to continue in your example, to reunite us again, with Moshiach. As you believed and waited, so will we… together.

אשת חיל מי ימצא....
בטח בה לב בעלה ושלל לא יחסר
גמלתהו טוב ולא רע כל ימי חייה

פיה פתחה בחכמה ותורת חסד על לשונה
צופיה הליכות ביתה
ולחם עצלות לא תאכל

{><}

תהא נפשה צרורה בצרור החיים

LandArch in the Park with Yossi

2009-05-18T02:37:00.001-04:00

2009-05-18T02:35:00.000-04:00

2009-05-18T02:28:00.000-04:00

Spring, Euphoria

2009-04-30T20:25:00.005-04:00

Thank you dear friend
for sharing as much
on this most glorious of days
A poem, like the sun,
that reaches to our touch

Of all the countless gifts
G-d has bestowed
There is nothing quite like Spring
The world awakens!
Behold!

On a day like today
(still) having radio is a gift
albeit near antiquated,
for it lets your eyes, mind open,
'llows imagination to drift

(A Prairie Home Companion
is just the right muse
Be it with a cozy winter beverage,
a rain-soaked Autumn reflection
Happy days or blues)

As a child I'd lay
on a Spring afternoon
The bedsheets are crisp, the house glimmers,
aromas of Pesach, swiftly approaching;
Soon, soon!

Yet the clatter in the kitchen
seems miles away
My world is my clock radio, the azure blue sky
the voice of the Yankees;
It's opening day!

Through the crack in the window
I can almost smell the game,
as if through the air we share, the scent of Spring
I can almost see the sell-out crowd
shouting for Bernie! Tino! O'Niel!
Soon will come the crack
now comes the swing

R.I.P. Baseball

2009-04-26T21:01:00.006-04:00

Empty luxury seats at the opening series of the new Yankees Stadium

(Blogger's Note: Please excuse the overly bitter tone; it just came out this way and I lack the "hey-scheck" to change it)

http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5gSn19IpdZn7FbgJXU4k5wAqyPhWAD97NQ7VG1

Serves you right, you stupid, stupid people. You built a stadium for millionaires. Forever your approach has been single-minded; revenue, revenue, revenue. Even when you make your B.S. statements about how you’ve made some of the seats more affordable then they were before, it’s all with one thing in mind; keep the little guy happy as well, after all... someone needs to sit in the upper deck.
It’s all very logical, less seats in higher demand equals more dough then the other way around. And of course if you’re paying $2,000 to watch an overpaid, overrated team you shouldn’t have to sit next to a guy who doesn’t quite fit in his seat, doesn’t quite know when to stop buying $8 beers, and doesn’t quite know how to keep his dirty mouth shut. Purely logical. So build them a stadium within a stadium, guarded by ushers who will make sure no one who can’t afford to, won’t even pass in front of you. After all, why pay $2000 for a view just to have it obscured. Purely logical.

You forgot one thing though. You forgot how baseball was built, from the bottom up. The game was where the factory worker could leave his harsh world behind for a few hours of entertainment, excitement and a hope for victory. Where the kid who slaved all week hawking newspapers to buy a ticket for a buck twenty five came to dream. Why did he come? Because no matter how destitute the reality at home was, he could leave it behind at the majestic gates. Gazing upon the green field of his dreams, it was just him and his heroes. True, he wished he could afford a better seat, but it was still worth it. He may be too far away to see who was up to bat, but there was one thing he and the guy sitting in the box seat had in common, they both shared the same fence. Together they shared the joy, the sighs, the cheers, the tears, laughter, heartache. Together they prayed, hoped, swore, and knew that this year, this year would be different.

Baseball didn’t survive the depression because they raised the prices on the luxury boxes; it survived because everyone knew they were always welcome; at home. Where any kid could feel like a million bucks because he got The Mick’s autograph. (Today you can still get an autograph, if your parents are rich enough to buy The Mick so you can get close enough to the field) The field was a haven, an escape. But even baseball can’t escape greed. We loved the game so much, we allowed it to outgrow itself; greed feeding it like a drug. Like an artificially ballooned 70 home run hitter, the sport has spun out of control.

It's no wonder all across America baseball playing fields sit vacant, while the game prospers in third world countries. For a passionate player you need passionate fans who dream of becoming that player. And to attract those fans you need passionate players, not millionaires of whom you spend most of your time worrying about whether they will get injured or not.

R.I.P. baseball, I’ll miss you so much.

p.s. On a lighter note:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p7VJjpeBnrs

Why Do We Eat?

2009-04-26T00:22:00.000-04:00

Cute, very well done

How Jews Eat from MyJewishLearning.com on Vimeo.

Nigun ShVY"T (AKA "Tatenyu") ~ Cello

2009-04-12T18:31:00.007-04:00

Chabad niggunim on the cello... why didn't anyone think of this before??

The haunting sound of the cello so perfectly captures the mood and character of the old-country niggun. Yet, the manner in which it has been recorded would have offended it's composers.

Perhaps it is symbolic of how the the movement has evolved. Although we pride ourselves in practices that Chabad'a founders may have considered sacreligious, it is still nice to know that the more things change, certain thing stay the same; just like the eternal purity of a niggun.

What do you think?

Ach... So Simple...

2009-04-03T01:16:00.001-04:00

Signs of the Times

2009-04-03T01:00:00.000-04:00

The only music I pay for these days is in the subway, go figure

Metropolitan Diary: You Coulda Fooled Me

2009-04-03T00:57:00.001-04:00

Dear Diary:

My husband, Daniel, works on the 41st floor of an office building in Times Square, overlooking the Hudson River.

When US Airways Flight 1549 made an emergency landing in the water in January, Daniel and some of his colleagues gathered by his window. A co-worker walked by and asked, “What’s everyone looking at?”

“A plane just landed in the river,” Daniel answered.

“Oh, I saw that a few minutes ago,” said the co-worker, who had just moved to New York from California. “I thought it looked a bit weird, but then I told myself, ‘This is New York,’ and I just went back to work.”

-Rebecca Wolf

Metropolitan Diary: Uptown, Downtown

2009-04-03T00:52:00.000-04:00

DEAR DIARY:

Recently I was standing on the corner of Prince and Mercer Streets in SoHo, not far from where I work, enjoying the lunchtime ambience. A gentleman came up to me and asked me if we were in TriBeCa. “No, this is SoHo,” I responded. “TriBeCa is south and west of here,” pointing in that direction.

He thanked me and asked which way it would be to Greenwich Village. I pointed north and showed him where he could find the East and West Village neighborhoods. Lastly, he asked me which way he would have to go to find Chinatown. I pointed south and east of where we were standing. I was happy to be able to offer a little help to a visitor.

“I’m not from around here,” he explained. “I’m from the Upper East Side.”

-Steve Cytryn

Metropolitan Diary; Wow

2009-02-24T12:07:00.000-05:00

Dear Diary:

I’m standing on the northeast corner of 57th Street and Avenue of the Americas, waiting for the uptown No. 7 bus, when an agitated woman in a brown coat rushes up the street beside me, holding a small black purse open in her hands and calling, “Laura! Laura! Laura!”

She accosts every woman. “Are you Laura?” she asks them, the desperation in her voice increasing as she progresses, luckless, up the avenue.

At the corner of 58th, out of earshot but still within sight, a tall young woman in a black coat does a 180 in obvious response to the 15th call of “Laura!” Her hands fly up to her face in excitement, and then reach out to take the proffered purse. There is some animated conversation between them, culminating with brown coat holding up her hands in refusal of something offered by black coat.

Brown coat then hurries back down the avenue, hesitating at our bus stop only long enough to say: “That was Laura. She’s getting married in an hour. She had thousands of dollars in there to pay the caterer.”

With that, brown coat rushes off, no doubt in search of other good deeds to do.

Thomas Mowrey

Metropolitan Diary; I Heart NY

2009-02-24T12:03:00.001-05:00

Dear Diary:

My 4-year-old son, Micah, and I have the following morning routine:

We take the F train to Seventh Avenue. Micah gets his “morning paper” from the AM New York guy standing at the subway entrance and we walk to the bus stop. At the bus stop, Micah begs me to let him hold my MetroCard and I say no.

One day in January, I was tired, it was cold, we were late. I relented and gave Micah my MetroCard to hold. The bus came, and it was crowded. As we were getting on, I noticed Micah taking off his gloves, and no MetroCard. He had dropped it somewhere. We rode illicitly to school.

The next morning, same routine. We get up the stairs from the subway and Micah goes to get his morning paper. But this time, the AM New York guy stops him and says: “My man, I have been waiting for you all morning. I have something that you dropped yesterday,” and indeed pulls out of his wallet my MetroCard, which he found on the curb after the bus pulled away.

(Of course, then Micah asked to hold it again, because now Mommy has two.)

-Amy Sandgrund

Metropolitan Diary: Hmmmm

2009-02-24T11:55:00.003-05:00

Dear Diary:
At a memorial service for my mother, who died recently at 98, her granddaughter Leslie recalled a walk they took on the Upper West Side.
Passing a sign that said “Staples,” her grandmother asked, “How can they make a living selling such a small item?”
-Vicki Schott

Dear Diary:
Scene on the D train heading downtown during the holidays: vagabond in filthy, tattered clothes, wearing every germ known to man and orating forcefully from the Bible.
At 14th Street, a woman kissed him on the cheek, then exited the train.
-Gena Raps

Metropolitan Diary: A Shoe to the Face

2009-02-24T11:50:00.002-05:00

Dear Diary

While walking past a shoe store on Madison Avenue on a cold December morning, I decided to buy a pair of Clarks desert boots. They have not changed from their original design that I, along with millions of other college students from the 1960s, wore as we marched in protest of the war that raged in Southeast Asia.

Upon arriving home I noticed one significant difference. Instead of noting that the boots are made in England, the inside tongue now clearly reads “Made in Vietnam.”

-Bob Fisher

Metropolitan Diary; I Am G-d, Your Blackberry

2009-02-24T11:40:00.003-05:00

ON THE L.I.R.R.

Their fingers clack away on tiny keys,

fretting, as if counting rosaries,

heads bowed in homage to the deity

to whom all praise is due, the BlackBerry.

To iPods wired, into their brains infuse

music that eclipses any muse.

Time and space around them they invade

as phone talk scars my quiet, makes me trade

reading and thinking to hear of what they spent

or ate or who said what — my ears are bent!

No quiet stillness can they seem to hold;

to small machines their restless souls they’ve sold.

One might have the makings of a poet,

but plugged in thus, will probably never know it.

-Sheri Lindner

Lifesavers

2009-02-20T11:36:00.000-05:00

allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344">

Amazing work. Kol hakavod

lol

2009-02-11T19:38:00.001-05:00

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

Homeless Skater Rapper/Preacher

2009-02-09T22:34:00.000-05:00

Metropolitan Diary; Rose Is Rose

2009-02-09T22:18:00.003-05:00

Dear Diary:

My mother was placing an order for a pizza delivery. When the clerk asked her name, she said, “Rosenfeld,” and started to spell it: “R-O- —”

The clerk stopped her and said: “You don’t need to spell it. I’m Birnbaum.”

-Amy Shaffer Crawley

*****

Dear Diary:

On my way home on Christmas Day from Pennsylvania Station via Amtrak, I left the station not by the usual exit, but by one in a little-used area.

A homeless man who appeared to be inebriated was reclining midway up the steps. As I passed him, he muttered: “Nice haircut. You didn’t get that in New Jersey.” Allie Tabak

wow

2009-02-04T23:19:00.002-05:00

Josh of the Week

2009-01-03T18:44:00.001-05:00

"It's just that I am the way I am.. 'thas nothing to do with who I am"

"Let us pray children, let us pray because you are all pure like snow, as clear running water..."

2009-01-02T12:56:00.003-05:00

You'd never believe the context of that quote...

Click here to see the video

Thank G-d For Research! (NPI;)

2008-12-30T22:41:00.005-05:00

Under a column called "Findings" in today's New York Times' science section a reporter confirms that two Psychologists "have reviewed eight decades of research and concluded that religious belief and piety promote self-control!

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/30/science/30tier.html?scp=1&sq=self%20control&st=cse

He asks some interesting questions, such as: What came first? Observance or self discipline? What does prayer and meditation do to you brain? And why belief in G-d is imperative to self control. (i.e. Why the world must accept the first of the 7 Mitzvos in order to live by the rest of 'em)

Today on the Toob

2008-12-29T22:30:00.001-05:00

If you must waste a few minutes...

watch these

Amazing how G-d runs his world

2008-12-28T10:20:00.002-05:00

בימים שלפני ליל הסדר מסתובב גבי ותולה מודעות בבתי המלון וב"גסט-האוס"-ים בעיר מומבאי, המזמינות את ציבור היהודים לליל סדר כהלכתו בבית חב"ד.
בערב ליל הסדר, כמה שעות לפני כניסת החג, בעיצומן של ההכנות לליל הסדר, רבקי אומרת לגבי "לך תסתובב ותראה אם לא שכחנו מלון או גסט-האוס".
גבי אומר לה "אבל אני הסתובבתי אישית ותליתי בכל המקומות".
רבקי מתעקשת וגבי יותא לרחוב כמצוות רעייתו היקרה.
תוך כדי סיורים הרחובות, גבי מגלה גסט-האוס שמשום מה הוא פסח עליו בסיבוב הקודם ולא תלת בו מודעה.
הוא נכנס פנימה ומבקש מהפקידה לראות את ספר האורחים, הוא מעלעל בו ומגלה שם שנשמע ישראלי.
הוא עולה במדרגות, דופק בדלת שוב ושוב, ומשלא נשמעת תשובה הוא עוזב ומתחיל לרדת במדרגות.
כאשר הוא מגיע למדרגה התחתונה, הדלת מאחריו נפתחת ובחור עם מגבת סביב חלציו נוטף מים מסתכל עליו בהלם.
"מי שלח אותך" שואל הבחור, "הקדוש-ברוך-הוא" עונה גבי.
הבחור בהלם מוחלט קורא לו לבוא, גבי נכנס והבחור מתלבש ואומר לו:
"תשמע סיפור, אני מגיע עכשיו מדרום הודו בדרכי לצפון, כלל לא תכננתי לעצור בעיר, באתי ברכבת והייתי צריך להחליף רכבות.
כשאני יורד בתחנה ובא לקנות כרטיס, אני מגלה לחרדתי שכייסו אותי.
אני יושב על אבן ומתחיל להכנס לדיכאון, לפתע ניגש אלי זוג צעיר, הבחור מדבר אלי במבטא צרפתי ושואל אותי מאיפה אני.
כשאני אומר שאני מישראל, הבחור אומר לי -גם אני יהודי, מצרפת-נותן לי סכום כסף.
הבחור אומר לי -תיסע לעיר ותשכור חדר, אחרי החג תתקשר הביתה ותגיד להורים שיפקידו כסף בבנק הדואר, ואז תמשוך את הכסף באמצעות 'ווסטרן יוניון"-
אני עושה כמו שנציע הבחור, מגיע לעיר, שוכר חדר ב"גסט-האוס" הראשון שאני רואה, נכנס לחדר ונשכב על המיטה.
אני מסתכל כלפי מעלה ומתחיל "לדבר" עם א-לוקים - א-לוקים, מה קורה? מה יהיה? מה אני עושה כאן במצב ביש שכזה?-
אתה קולט? אני, הקיבוצניק? שמעולם לא היה לי שום קשר עם ההוא מלמעלה, מדבר אליו...
פתאום אני קולט שהיום בערב זה ליל הסדר, והמונולוג שלי מתחדש -אני יודע שהקשר בינינו לא מי יודע מה, אבל א-לוקים, אם אתה אוהב אותי, תן לי סימן, אל תתן לי להיות לבד הלילה, תן לי להיות בליל סדר אמיתי עם עוד יהודים...-
סיימתי את המונולוג, נכנסתי למקלחת, פתחתי את המים ופתאום - דפיקות בדלת, חשבתי שאני מדמיין, אבל לא, הדפיקות חזרו שוב ושוב.
סגרתי את המים, שמתי מגבת עלי בלי להתנגב וניגשתי לפתוח את הדלת.
אני פותח את הדלת ורואה מישהו שנראה כמו רב יהודי בקצה המדרגות, וכשאני שואל אותך מי שלח אותך? אתה עונה לי "הקדוש-ברוך-הוא"..."

מיותר לציין שגם הקיבוצניק הנ"ל, כמו מאות ואלפי יהודים אחרים זכו לאירוח קסום בבית חב"ד בעיר.

יהי זכרם של הרב גבריאל והרבנית רבקה הולברג ברוך יחד עם כל שאר הנרצחים, ה' ייקום דמם

Mumbai Massacre

2008-12-01T10:14:00.002-05:00

Graphic by yossigraphicdesign.com

One day
one day I shall write again
remember you and cry
but not today
no not today

One day
Someday I'll feel again live again
be inspired by tragedy
moved by pain
'though not today
not today

For today
today the heart is bare
devoid of pain/life
almost as if
it would not care

for today has seen enough
Sorrow, anguish, war

but today
just today
if we could live for something more

G-DCAST: Parshat Chayei Sarah

2008-11-19T14:27:00.002-05:00

G-DCAST: Parshat Chayei Sarah

Posted using ShareThis

Daniel Zamir has a new Album out this year

2008-11-12T13:23:00.003-05:00

With music it's usually the novelty that impresses you the most. There are lots of albums that will come out and you'll be impressed when you hear it the first time, or even LOVE it. Yet, the second time around you'll be like ok this guy is decent, but not as good as i thought he was. By the third time you're asking yourself why did i buy this in the first place? To me, this is what is so special about Daniel's work; it's the opposite. Even after you've heard and loved his music before, when listening to his latest album, you can still find yourself asking "what does this guy think he's doing? Why can't he just play something 'normal'??" Then the second time you listen to it, it's like, ok maybe i'm starting to get the idea... The third time around? The third time around, you're speechless.

Many great lessons and analogies can be drawn from this thought.

Another wonderful thing about it is that for the first time in my short life of following musicians, I'm hearing a musician who's work has actually become more spiritual and less self serving with time. As apposed to the other way around.

Metropolitan Diary; Lost by Translation

2008-11-12T13:20:00.001-05:00

A few years ago my husband was waiting at the West Fourth Street station for a Queens-bound E train. The E and C trains both stop on the same track.

The C train pulled in and, at the last minute, a man ran up to my husband and asked if this was the E train. My husband quickly replied, “C.”

The man then said, “Gracias!” and ran onto the train. The doors closed and the train left the station.

-Dorothy M. Grusky

Where are you now

2008-10-05T20:18:00.001-04:00

Why
did you have to go
now, when more then ever
when i need to know
You'd be there for me
thick and thin
strong as ever
by my side
your eyes that said
never mind
it'll be alright
whichever way

Now what
where to turn
when i no longer have
what i never knew i had
why
did you have to go
just so i'd know
what i never knew

photoshopping

2008-08-07T11:13:00.001-04:00

2008-07-14T13:08:00.000-04:00

just in case you were wonderin...

2008-07-14T12:59:00.000-04:00

Where Heaven And Earth Were United

2008-07-03T16:59:00.005-04:00

Gimmel Tammuz is a day that sends us all scrambling for words. Definitions, catch-phrases, expressions: What is a Rebbe? What was the Rebbe? What is the Rebbe? There was a time when words weren’t necessary; you don’t have to define something that you can see with your eyes. This important fact is especially helpful when you’re trying to define something that pretty darn hard to define. Defining what a Rebbe is just isn’t a happening situation. As many of us know from our studies, when you have something that is incomparable and yet you try to compare it nonetheless, you are automatically diminishing its true value.

Yet, we search for the words by which we would like to describe our beloved Rebbe. Why? because we have no other choice. Words are the only medium we still have by which we can attempt to convey to others the unexplainable feeling we had. But how can they relate to something of such nature? I haven’t the slightest clue, yet amazingly enough, it does happen; the hundreds of “Post Gimmel” Baaleu Tshuvos serve as proof. Still, I really struggle with this idea that a Rebbe- Chossid relationship of such nature could exist without the most powerful, if not vital aspect that being relating through sight. (I mean who can attest to having a real relationship without ever seeing the other person?!)

Recently I was reminded of what my grandfather used to say about the Rebbe. For me, it’s one of the strongest examples of what a Rabbe can do; what no one but a Rebbe can. He said: “Before I met the Rebbe, I was a believer and a poet. The Rebbe managed to do what no else could, that is to join those two.”

The more I read his poems, the more it seems evident from his works that he never accepted Hashem judgment and what had befallen his generation. This amazed me, being that countless pages of his work are dedicated to counting Hshems praises.

The Rebbe was able to show the place in our world, in our lives, where heaven and earth converge. He was the living proof that G-d was Nimna Hanimnaos; leaving no contradiction between G-dly life, and our own self interest.

It's nice to think...

2008-06-26T00:15:00.002-04:00

It's nice to think, that one day, what we know through tragedy, will be obvious without.

The captive fish

2008-06-25T13:04:00.001-04:00

So... is there hope in hoping for hope when you know there is none??

2008-06-24T01:18:00.000-04:00

Please pray for Yocheved Chaya Rochel bas Esther Malka

2008-06-15T01:30:00.002-04:00

To quote from today's reading
אנא אל נא רפא נא לה בהראות לה נואם זיוך. אז תתחזק ותתרפא והיתה לה שמחת עולם

My sister is in critical condition. Wednesday morning she failed to wake up, when Hatzalah arrived she went into cardiac arrest. Baruch Hashem they revived her but she is now in a coma and on life support and although her heart is thank G-d beating on its own, the doctors say she needs a miracle. Her name is Yocheved Chaya Rochel bas Esther Malka. We do not know what caused this, she is 26 years old with no previous medical problems. May Hashem help her, she is still nursing her firstborn. Please pray for her.

Thank you and may Hashem bless you

Metropolitan Diary; It's All in the Wrist

2008-06-04T11:49:00.002-04:00

Dear Diary:

I’m not a New Yorker, but I know I met one.

When I was at the Times Square subway station I was struggling with the entry pass. I tried it several times and each time it would tell me to “swipe again.”

A fellow working on the platform saw my frustration, came over and took the pass, gave it one big swipe, and, Presto! The gate opened.

With a smile, he handed the pass back to me and said, “You got to have attitude!

-Laura Burchard

+++++++++

Dear Diary:

Scene: Zabar’s, recent afternoon.

Counterman, calling out numbers: “21, 22?”

Fortyish woman, waving her number: “Here!”

Counterman: “Are you 21?”

Woman: “I was, once...”

-Ira Feuerlicht

=====

Dear Diary:

As I was walking down Second Avenue from 57th Street in mid-April, I noticed a young woman, early 20s, standing on the corner and talking on her cellphone while her toy-size dog squatted and took care of its business.

As the dog completed its task, and not missing a beat, the young woman — still talking on the cellphone — bent down and scooped up her dog’s poop with a dollar bill and dropped it into a nearby trash can.

No wonder the Europeans are flocking to United States shores!

-John K. Friedman

You gotta give it to those Aish peopple, they sure know how to present it!

2008-05-28T17:32:00.001-04:00

Very, very impressive

בחשמלית- On The Street Car

2008-05-26T19:44:00.000-04:00

Souls on Fire

2008-05-23T15:24:00.009-04:00

This is a post for th efuture, I'd like to be able to look back at
this year's Lag Bomer and remember how it was the most enjoyable I'd
had in recent memory. Truth be told, Lag b'O was always something to remember as a kid, but ever since, it's never been anything really. Last year however, was straight up sad. It just seemed to be wherever i went to try and celebrate this beautiful holiday of ours, all i heard and experienced was how it was in the good ole days and how back then there was really something to celebrate. Whatever... maybe more in that topic another time.

First stop was in East Norwich L.I. where we heard Merkavah play and made a last-minute medurah out of the rabbi's sukkah. The wood had been left out all winter (brilliant!)so it took two three tries before the thing would catch. So i turned the guys place up side down looking for paper. Nothing. Not a single newspaper, supermarket handout, nothing that wasn't Torah. brilliant. I ended up burning a few Mishpacha magazines (may the holy one, eliyashav, forgive my sin) some soda can boxes, and whatever else i could get my hands on.(i aint saying what else..) In any event, it was the most beautiful fire i'd seen in a looooongtime. Everyone loved it, it made the evening.

Arriving in The Schuneh at 12, im ready to crash n burn (haha npi)when turning in to my alleyway i see that theres a medurah by Nooch's house. Everyone's there, i mean just EVERYone. Current friends, past friends, future friends. Friends who you've wanted to catch up with for ages but you never had a good enough reason to talk (makes sense?) Fiends who used to be friends and with time became drift-away-out-of-touch-but-ih'd-be-really-nice-to-become-friends-again-typa-friends. This guy Nooch is the man. He has a real koiyach (that rhymes with noiyach) to draw people in. An interesting thought occurred then, there are so many of us here living in '770' (interesting that you could live in a category, but true) yet you remain isolated from most of the others.(one of the strangest unwritten rules i've ever seen) everyone sticks to the ones they knew from before. Yet, put them in a friendly, schmoozy, environment, and suddenly you realize that yah, there actually is plenty you have in common, and what to talk about. Funny thing is, most of the day you're involved in social activity; be it learning with friends, talking (when your supposed to be learning) with friends, even mealtime is centered around conversation. Not to mention all the L'chaims (keinehoora) we attend. And what do you do when you have nothing better to do? Cellphones, texting, email, IM, blogging, facebook (facebooking to see if you got my voice message asking if you got my email about the instant message i sent you)...
Yet, the guy sitting next to you all frigging day long, him, NAH... why would he ant to speak to me?! We've got nothing in common. Anyway, he comes from THAT yeshivah.....lol
Strange, people are strange.

Anyhow, back to the present (or wherever we were) the farbregen was really nice, then the kumzitz started, awesome awesome kumzitz, 'specially the end (when isn't it?) Baruch A with the bongo and i jammed out to nyet nyet. good stuff.

In the meantime, we were burning everything and anything to keep the fire going, (takes alot when it goes for that long) i was using my car to bring wood from a construction site at the end of the alley, when two thoughts occurred to me. a) this is probably the only time in my life that i'm driving while U the I (i hope!) and b) it's interesting how certain thing have so little value to us at times, so little in fact, that we'll try and try in frustration to get rid of it. Yet the very same things, can have so much value, that we'll search high and low for it. Lag B'omer is such a time, when 'useless' discarded furniture, construction waste and anything that burns, has so much value, when usually, it's useless, an unwanted expenses, and if anything, dangerous.

Sometime in the night, i meet Chaim Herschel, (no last name, just Chaim Herschel, he's one of those, if you know what i mean) a wondering jew. Very geshmack. We farbreng, jam till 5:30. one crazy night.

Many reasons why this night was so special cannot be described easily in writing. Hopefully the pictures will remind me. Here are a few lines that passed through my head to remind me of what was so unique 'bout the whole experience

The chords are the same, yet seem to contain so much more when read by
the firelight.

It's a cool night, getting colder, we inch closer. With your front to the fire and back to the wind, you could feel both the cold and the warmth at once. The warmth entering, you can disregard the cold, albeit a reality, it matters not...

""""
New words in this post: ih'd, Lag b'O. everyone (that's for when you want to stress the 'every' in one, but not the whole word.) schmoozy.

Metropolitan Diary; Disciplinary Gadgets

2008-05-19T20:44:00.004-04:00

Dear Diary:

Observed and overheard on a Sunday afternoon in April:

A man pulled up in a car on Eighth Avenue in Midtown, and shouted to a woman sitting in the doorway of a fortune-telling parlor, “Will I get a ticket if I park here?”

She replied with a shrug, “I don’t know.”

-Jim Norman

""""""""""""""

SEASONAL RITUAL

The sparrows spring into

action as Spring begins.

Each small coterie has

its favorite cafe, and they

wait patiently for signs

of metal chairs and tables

to spring up like silver

daffodils along the sides

of walls and windows.

Their ups and downs from

awning to pavement and back

catch the eyes of patrons

still not brave enough to venture

into the still-chilly air, who

sip their lattes behind

glass.

-Iris Lee

""""""""

Dear Diary:

It was the end of intermission at the Sunday matinee of “Gypsy,” and as I returned to my seat, I overheard a man arguing with the usher who was patrolling the area.

Although I didn’t catch the subject of the conversation, I heard her say to him politely, “Perhaps you should talk to the manager about it.”

As he stalked away, he muttered over his shoulder: “No thanks. I’d rather be angry.”

-Kathy Kleeman

"""""""

Dear Diary:

I was walking toward Home Depot on West 23rd Street in Manhattan when I encountered a very noisy kid sitting in the middle of the sidewalk. People were forced to walk around her, and they kept looking back to see how this situation was unfolding. The more her father pulled the kid’s hand to get her to move, the more this child screamed and resisted.

But instead of the old-fashioned threat, “I’m going to tell Mommy,” this father was a lot more tech-savvy.

Obviously frustrated, he took out his cellphone and aimed it at the little girl. Warning her, he said: “If you don’t get up in the next minute, I’m going to take your picture and e-mail it directly to Mommy at work!”

The child got up!

-Dennis Wunderlin

One of my faves

2008-05-15T09:35:00.004-04:00

One of my grandfather's poems which i tried (blah!) to translate from Hebrew

Oh what fun
to ride on the subway
as I read biographies
etched upon their faces

Dear fellow rider
please don't be mad
You think it a bit queer
Do I find it polite to stare?

But you see
I am but reading
just as you are
right now
It's just so happens to be
the book of my choice
Is your face

Metropolitan Diary; Say What?

2008-05-14T09:53:00.005-04:00

SOME REALLY GOOD ONES THIS WEEK!

Dear Diary:

On a recent Sunday afternoon on the northern edge of Central Park , my daughter Dalya, age 6, and son Shachar, age 3, were enjoying the early days of spring, running around the playground and admiring the first daffodils of the season.

While Dalya settled into the tire swing, Shachar found himself playing with an older girl (age 7), and the two went sliding side by side.

Several hours later, presumably while reviewing the events of the day in his mind, and after 20 minutes of silence, Shachar turned to his big sister and, unprovoked, said to her: “Dalya, I love you. But in the playground I played with another girl.”

-Shira Hecht-Koller

""""""""

Dear Diary:

File this under “Starting to feel old.”

Place: A recent evening performance, just before curtain, at the Off Broadway musical “Adding Machine,” based on Elmer Rice’s 1920s play.

Dramatis Personae: Me, my 17-year-old daughter and, seated next to us, a 20-something couple.

Twenty-something woman to her date: “What’s an adding machine?”

-David Tane

"""""""

Dear Diary:

One afternoon a few years ago I found myself at the checkout counter of my local Duane Reade. The middle-aged woman working the cash register rang up my purchase.

“That’ll be $32.97,” she announced.

I took two $20 bills out of my wallet and handed them to her.

“Do you have 97 cents?” she asked.

-David Wertheimer

"""""

Metropolitan Diary; Sometimes I wonder

2008-05-14T09:42:00.003-04:00

DEAR DIARY:

A parking space on my block! So rare an occurrence that I smile inside when drivers slow down and cast inquiring glances in my direction, hoping I’m leaving.

Exiting my car, I murmur thanks to the parking gods, when suddenly a familiar voice comes from somewhere amid the 30 or so black plastic garbage bags piled high on the sidewalk nearby.

Being a New Yorker, I walk briskly on, pretending not to hear; but being a New Yorker, I can’t help returning to the spot to have another listen. Wafting over the smelly pile, Brian Lehrer of WNYC is exit-polling the Tuesday primary. Inside one bag is a discarded radio.

-Patricia Lobosco

"""""""""""""""""""""""

HOME SWEET HOME

Sometimes I wonder

Why I reside in this artificial kingdom,

Betrothed to the dangle of a dollar

Stuck on the heel of my dirty shoe.

When the din of my own meandering mind

Is too loud to bear,

I’ll stumble to a mirror

And spy the city breathing in my ear.

If I were to fly away to a rolling land,

Where dogs aren’t carried in bags,

Where the earth is soft if I should fall,

I guess I would long to see pinstripes

And pizza dough whirling through the air.

-Sascha Radetsky

""""""""""""

Dear Diary:

I boarded the A train at Columbus Circle on a recent morning, groggy with sleep and trying to tune out the tinny cacophony of numerous “personal” music systems. On taking my seat I was greeted by a rather unusual announcement:

“This is the ‘A’ experience to Lefferts Boulevard. Stand clear of the closing doors and have an interesting morning.”

I’m not sure if the conductor had been listening to too much Jimi Hendrix the night before, or if this is just the latest in an evolutionary line of valedictions that started with “Have a nice day.”

-John Hull

"""""""""""""""""

Dear Diary:

It took a split second. There I was standing over one of those intimidating subway grates, horrified that my beautiful watch had fallen off my wrist and — kerplunk! — was lying 20 feet below me among dirt and cigarette butts. I could see it, but how could I get it?

This happened last month on Broadway near 19th Street. The grate seemed to be cemented into the sidewalk, and the only way down there would be through the locked subway tracks. First I called 311 to file a report, then the M.T.A., and finally I called my parents.

Never fear, said Super Dad, and he ran off to corral a patrol car. The officers turned out to be everything good you’re taught as a kid to expect of the men in blue. As one officer kept his ear to the radio (“If we get a call, we’ve got to go”), the other fished and fished with a makeshift hook and a yellow police-line tape. What ingenuity! What patience! What chivalry! But no watch.

Dad ran off to a nearby sports store to buy a fishing rod. As he returned, the M.T.A. arrived. With a crowbar they could lift the grate, but they needed the right ladder. Whiz! Bam!

The ladder arrived, and before I knew it, the watch was back in my hands (and safely in my purse).

My father tried to reward the workers who saved the day, but they all refused with the same refrain: “We’re just doing our job.”

Jessica Sigelbaum

Sorry for all these inspirational videos $-/

2008-05-14T09:28:00.004-04:00

Probably the two most overused phrases of our generation are; "Amazing video" and "Must see". However, i can't think of any other way to describe this video, it's so powerful. They really did quite a job on the editing.

The comment by his son is just mind blowing

Please watch, please remember

2008-05-07T14:34:00.005-04:00

the ending is unreal

Who is truly happy....

2008-05-04T22:35:00.006-04:00

Erik Bedard

Erik Bedard is considered one of the most gifted athletes in our country. In the off season he joins his family in Navan, Ont. (pop. 1,450) a village 18 miles east of Ottawa, where he sleeps in his parents basement...
For pitching practice, he teams up with his brother at their cousin's nearby poultry farm, in an empty barn that for much of the year houses 40,000 chickens and has an ammoniac stink that lingers in your sinuses for hours after a visit....

This guy is a truly unique person. Great story here by S.I. written a couple months ago right before he was traded

ויאמר השם אל משה מה תצעק אלי דבר אל בני ישראל ויסעו

2008-05-02T14:29:00.009-04:00

Yossi Harel, who renamed the rickety ship he commanded Exodus 1947 and sailed it to legend as a symbol of the righteousness of the mission by Jews to settle Palestine in the face of British opposition, died Saturday at his home in Tel Aviv. He was 90.
MORE...

From this week's "Diary"

2008-04-29T12:41:00.007-04:00

so the first one is a bit over the top, but it's kinda touching in a way, i think.

Dear Diary:

I was coming out of a “Can this marriage be saved?” weekend in early March, when I headed downtown to report for jury duty at Federal District Court. As I walked into a courtroom for my first voir dire with roughly 30 other prospective jurors, I noticed the judge’s name on the door: Leonard Sand.

I remembered him as a legendary guy my then boyfriend, now husband, had covered in his days as an Associated Press reporter, back when he and I drove each other wild in a very different way than we had over the weekend.

Judge Sand looks like a legend: the demeanor of Moses, with a Santa Claus beard cut like that of an Amish farmer.

Courteous and occasionally downright charming, he asked us for basic details, like our occupations and those of our spouses or significant others. One young man replied, happily, “I’m not married — but I will be in three months.”

Judge Sand stopped writing on his legal pad, looked up from beneath his white eyebrows, paused, and with exquisite delivery, said, in a voice resonant with meaning that carried throughout the courtroom:

“Good luck.”

The whole courtroom burst into laughter.

That night, I said to my husband, “Given our current state of marital bliss, you might enjoy this,” and told the story.

He eyed me suspiciously, but I could see cracks in his icy demeanor.

Later that evening, after story time and tucking kids into bed, I punched him lightly on the shoulder.

“Hey,” I said. “Good luck.”

The ice broke. Big time.

Thank you, Judge Sand.

And to that optimistic young man: Good luck.

-Kate Rice

============

aight, if you're looking for the entry of the week, this is definitely it..

Dear Diary:

After having been in exile for a while, I relished being back in the city. I waited for that serendipitous moment that would prove to me I was back in New York, the place that jumps to a different drummer.

Now, the Roosevelt tram had passed directly over me, I had seen Trisha Brown dancing with robots, I had seen Kathleen Turner and Jon Stewart on the street (not together), but still...not quite there.

The moment came in my local Johnny Rockets diner. I was eating a late breakfast when Aretha Franklin’s “Respect” came through the jukebox. As one, the white-hatted waiters formed a line in the center aisle and danced to the song, to my delight.

I thought that was the moment. But it wasn’t. The real moment came when I looked around the room to share it with my fellow New Yorkers.

No one was paying the slightest attention.

-Paul Peacock

a priceless moment (one of countless)

2008-04-29T12:34:00.007-04:00

(Note to world: going to Israel and not keeping a diary is a sin)

... i'm trying to reach Rehov Ememk Refaim but there's the old train station and an industrial area l'hakkif, so i try cutting through an empty lot behind the Doar and i discover that the lot is not so empty after all, there are two very trendy restaurants in the middle of nowhere, very interesting spot for a restaurant... Anyway, i finally get to Derech Beit Lechem and it still looks like you're in the middle of nowhere, but there are plenty of people walking up and down.

so i stop and ask a couple for directions and (with a heavy European? accent) they reply just s'molah and you're there. So i'm about to do just that onto a street that used to be train tracks, it doesn't look unsafe in any way, and i can see Emek Refaim not more then say, 50 yards away, but the guy shouts and calls me back

Adif shetamshich ad hapniyah habaah, v'az s'molah

Lamah?

Kacha! Shaaltah eich l'hagia? ken? Az amarti.

Ok

Quote of the Year

2008-04-16T09:57:00.003-04:00

We pick politicians by how they look on TV and Miss America on where they stand on the issues. Isn't that a little backwards?

-Jay Leno

This Week's Metro Diary. Which's Your Fave?

2008-04-15T10:26:00.005-04:00

Dear Diary:

Time: 10:30 p.m., weeknight.

Place: No. 1 uptown train, from Sheridan Square.

Date: Twenty years ago today (more or less).

A large group of people enter the No. 1, heading home from the theater. The subway car is packed as if it were a rush-hour morning. Moving along, then suddenly the train halts. The lights go out, pitch black. The engine stops. We all smell smoke.

The seconds tick on. Anxiety heightens. Although probably only a minute passes, of course it feels like 10. The smoke is smelling more intense. Everyone is close to panic.

My dear friend Steve (long since departed this world and never forgotten) leans over to me and, in his best stage whisper, declares, “We really should have had dessert!”

The car erupts in laughter. With that, the lights come on. The engine restarts, and on we go, as though it had all been a dream. Can one’s attitude change one’s reality?

-Linda Maryanov

Dear Diary:

Arriving at work in Midtown a few months ago just before 9 a.m., I glimpsed a man walking uptown on Fifth Avenue. He was neatly dressed in a business suit, walking briskly, carrying a large cup from Starbucks in his left hand. Nothing special about this.

But under his right arm? A huge live, clucking rooster. No one gave him a second look. Only in New York. (Perhaps that was the breakfast special of the day?)
-Beth G. Kneller

Dear Diary:

For those of us old enough to remember the opening scene from “A Thousand Clowns” with Jason Robards: Fifth Avenue and 42nd Street in front of the library. Mr. Robards’s character tells his 12-year-old nephew that he is about to see a horrible, horrible thing: people going to work.

I grew up in New York and now live in California. Every time I come back to the city, I stay in a Midtown hotel and get up at 6:30 or 7 and go stand on the same corner. Almost 50 years later it is still the same: New Yorkers marching off to work by the thousands. We all have our private memories of New York and what it means to each of us. This scene is my New York.
-Charles Slesinger

Dear Diary:

I was in line waiting to buy a BART ticket (for our Bay Area subway system in California) when this lady started to push herself ahead of me. I promptly told her, “Don’t pull a New York on me.”

She replied that she was from New York.

I quickly replied that my wife is from New York also.

The lady says, “Tell her I said hi.”

New Yorkers, go figure.

-Charles H. Greene Jr.

Dear Diary:

Overheard outside a florist’s shop on Third Avenue near 71st Street in Manhattan:

Potential customer, older man: “Got any doyt?”

Clerk: “What’s doyt?”

P.C.: “Ya know ... ya dig it ... outa da oyt.”

-Conrad Eberstein

More Metro Diary (4)

2008-04-13T22:31:00.003-04:00

Nothing really noteworthy this week, a nice picture though.

Dear Diary:

Following is an incident that happened a couple of months ago.

I was driving down the West Side Highway, and as usual, had on WQXR. They were playing a Brahms symphony. I was enjoying the trip and, as a former librarian for the Metropolitan Opera, the music as well.

The driver of the car in front of me kept waving his arm out the window. As I kept watching, I realized he was keeping beat with the Brahms symphony.

He was good. Pickups, cutoffs, silent moments all picked up by this “conductor.”

As he approached 79th Street he put on his directional signal to exit. I had to go on. As he left, I picked up the beat.

John Grande

More Metropolitan Diary (3)

2008-04-01T23:14:00.006-04:00

DEAR DIARY

My wife and I often spend our vacations in New York City. We love the serendipitous mix of cultures, neighborhoods and people, but we have difficulty explaining to friends who’ve never been there what makes the city so fascinating.

On our last visit, we joined the runners in Central Park one clear, crisp morning for a jog around the reservoir. After completing one circuit of our route, I took a seat on a bench, while my wife continued for another lap.

As I watched the usual parade of joggers, cyclists, and pets on leashes, I spotted what struck me as a uniquely New York sight. Approaching me along the running path and headed in the general direction of Lincoln Center was a young woman pushing a harp on a small wheeled platform.

“Only in New York,” I tell my friends. They still don’t get it.

-Scott Hunsicker

----

SPRING IN THE PARK

A lark entertains those who pass by the band shell

As young lovers populate the benches

Sharing their lunch with a squirrel

The elderly walk hand in hand

Soaking up the lengthening rays of the sun

Only a few in this tableau will notice

Some drops of ice

Giving them a sly wink

From the top of one

Extremely sleepy bud.

-Ellen Fuchs

-----

DEAR DIARY:

One sunny day last fall I was in the playground with my 3-year-old son. Ezra, as usual, was wearing his hot pink sandals. A boy, slightly older, came over with a curious look.

“Why is he wearing pink sandals?” the boy asked.

“Well,” I said, “pink is his favorite color.”

“But pink is for girls,” the boy replied.

“If he’s a boy and he likes pink, pink must be for boys and girls,” I said.

The boy hesitated and leaned in closer. Quietly, he said “Pink is my favorite color, too.” And off he went.

-Corinne Schiff

-----

DEAR DIARY:

My 11-year-old son, Simon, had agreed to call me during his school lunch and let me know if he was coming home by himself or with a friend.

Much to my surprise, he wrote me from his computer class at school while I was working at my desk computer.

It perfectly represents where we are in our relationship at his age, when “cool rules” and parents embarrass. Below is the actual exchange:

Simon: I am taking the bus.

Simon: dad?

Ahvi: ok

Simon: k

Simon: bye

Ahvi: bye

Simon: bye

Ahvi: love ya

Simon: DADDDDDDDD

-Ahvi Spindell

Are We Losing Our Vocabulary?

2008-04-01T23:00:00.003-04:00

My friend asked me to send a link to my "favorites" on YouTube. i decided to also send him another link saying "This video is one of my favorites" but then it dawned on me, how will he know what I mean by "favorite"? They are all under the "Favorites" category! So instead I wrote "one of my all time favorites".
I wonder if it's the technology age that is forcing us to add more and more adjectives (haha 'more and more' get it?) to validate our claims. Wasn't the term "good" good enough once upon a time? Because today, if your response is "I'm good" that can be taken as a lie. You have to say "I'm REALLY good (really!!)". How'bout if you asked me about someone and i said "He's nice." Hmmm that doesn't sound to good does it? "No he's really like crazy nice! like for real! unbelievably amazingly nice!" Ok, thats better....
I'm just thinking of the day when we will be forced to elucidate when talking about friends; "Well s/he is my REAL friend, not a Facebook one!"

אין מילים

2008-03-26T11:08:00.005-04:00

It's amazing the talent Hashem gives people

gut in himmel! How in the world does he do it?! I mean to just take an idea and make it in to a song... not just put it into words and put those words to a tune, no, he makes a whole freekin song that expresses the idea entirely! in every note of the song
אין עליך דני
אין

I officially confess - I'm in love with this guy!

2008-03-25T14:30:00.007-04:00

I've been listening to Daniel Zamir for a year now. Just today i decided to youtube him, (It's amazing how one could spend eons on youtube watching nothing, all the while there's so much there that you'd REALLY like to see but you just don't think of it! Anyway..) i find this song i had no idea existed. i'm so grateful i found it, there's no way to describe it. i won't even try to explain, there are no words.

It's a long story... 'bout as long as the story of my life

Here he is playing it on TV. This video explains a bit more of what i was talking about.

another thing i love about this video is the part where the interviewers are talking/joking about "Hitchabrut" (Bringing the nation together) which is the theme and goal of the song, and the guy (interviewer) says "When you talk about Jews being able to come together, you're talking about (only) the Rebbe here!"

Goodness Love

Metropolitan Diary (i.e. Why I Love NY) part 2

2008-03-24T21:22:00.005-04:00

Dear Diary

My husband is a more aggressive driver than I, so I often cringe at the thought of traveling into the city with him from Connecticut. And this occasion was no exception.

We had just returned our daughter to her N.Y.U. dorm after a long holiday weekend. After saying our goodbyes, we hopped into the car and my husband quickly pulled out into traffic.

“Oh my,” I said to him, “I believe we just cut someone off!” Ignoring my back-seat-driver comment, my husband proceeded to the end of the block, where we stopped at a traffic light.

The man we had cut off was signaling to my husband to roll his window down. I pleaded with my husband to not create an altercation, as my anxiety level was rising.

The man rolled down his passenger-side window, and my husband rolled down his driver-side window.

“Dude, you’d get a lot more love if you would just put on your blinker,” he called out from inside his car.

My husband was speechless.

I smiled all the way home.

-Keli Solomon

======

Dear Diary:

Fifty years ago, I was a buyer at Abraham & Straus (sadly, it closed years ago) in Brooklyn.

One day, I got on an elevator where a small boy, about 3 years old, and his mother were looking down at his new sneakers. The mother asked if he was happy.

The 3-year-old replied, “All my life I wanted a pair.”

-Miriam Landsman

====

Dear Diary:

I was taking the No. 2 train uptown from 42nd Street on a recent afternoon, and a man in a wheelchair boarded with a guide dog. As the train started to move, the man stood up from the wheelchair, removed his coat, lay down on the subway car floor and began doing push-ups. On the other side of the car, a man announced that it was “gospel time” and started singing.

As the train pulled into 72nd Street, the gospel singer walked through the car asking for tips, and the man doing push-ups stood up and handed him a dollar. He then picked up his dog, put him in the wheelchair, lay back on the floor and proceeded with sit-ups until 96th Street.

-Rebecca Weinstock

=======

Dear Diary:

Scene: A jewelry store in Brooklyn with loud rap music blasting out of three speakers.

Dramatis personae: Teenage salesgirl and me, a senior citizen.

Me: “How much is this necklace?”

Salesgirl: “Thirty-five dollars.”

Me: “Do you really like that music?”

Salesgirl: “Yes.”

Me: “Could you make it a little lower?”

Salesgirl: “O.K. Thirty dollars.”

Me: “I’ll take it.”

-Jane Feder

Finding the positive

2008-02-13T05:24:00.004-05:00

The video i posted is very obviously a scam. with absolutely no good intentions other then to make money. (and most definitely not the o-my-gosh-i-can-really-save-the-world message that it tries to portray)

But.

It has a point. Regardless of it's commercial intention, it still somehow is able to relate a message. and that message, many of us happen to know, is true.

So why do i care? How do these ridiculously delusional scammers solidify what i was already taught? It doesn't. But it taught me something else.

This combination of power-seeking falsity with a lesser amount of truth and genuine care for another mixed in, is something we encounter all the time when we live with the people of the world. (Aside for certain times, when a tragedy of significant enough magnitude will bring out our better of natures.) Especially if you find yourself in a "Western" society. (-in the atlas of 2008- Everywhere) People will usually block out their caring-for-others conscious for the sake of pursuing their American dream without bother: Wealth, Power and status. If we choose to see everyone for their active priorities, then there is no reason why not be cynical. Of course the world is going to shat; why would anyone care enough for it not to?!
We can however see it how it is. (or how it was) before selfishness covered it, obscured it. If we work at it, we can appreciate it more.

Think about this if you're discouraged by the elections, by the situations of the Israeli government, or by your next door neighbor.

Also, look out for those moments, on the Subway,in the park, in 770... (ok, i won't push it..) Those moments when we get to witness great things. when you see the good shine through.

Amen

What can i say man, the YAMjam is definitely IN these days

2008-01-30T12:03:00.002-05:00

oyyoyoy!

2008-01-16T12:06:00.001-05:00

Holy.......!

2007-12-28T13:18:00.002-05:00

For whoever's in da mood

2007-12-21T02:01:00.001-05:00

im not exactly sure why im posting this, other that it 2in the am and there few more beautiful sounds in this world more beautiful then the flute

g'shabbos
love you all

Very interesting idea

2007-12-17T18:36:00.001-05:00

http://www.israelnationalnews.com/TV/?act=one&id=2155

my favorite song in "Jewish" music today

2007-11-27T19:05:00.002-05:00

The recorded version soounds better

ohmyGAHDDD!

2007-11-22T01:07:00.001-05:00

Just thought some of you could use a good laugh=-)

Ya know... somethings never change

2007-11-13T22:23:00.001-05:00

I'm glad that somethings never change. it's a kind of comfort i guess.

Like having a late night craving for some ice cream. (In the winter yet!) i can't say its the habit which makes me most proud, but why be ashamed of it? it'll always come back every now and then. somethings just never change.

Like Ice cream ya know. Ever since they invented this magical stuff all those years ago, it's basically the same idea. Sure they've come up with a coupla new flavors since, but a good ole' scoop of vanilla still hasn't gone outa style.

Anyway, back to the present. I walk into the ice cream store and this guy's behind the counter. It blows my mind to think who long this guy's been working in the same store. As I look around the store, I realize that not much has changed in the store either. Just a little grayer perhaps, like Charlie (I don't even actually know his real name)
This guy's seen my whole life evolve (my WHOLE life. I've been there so often at every stage of it). He's been there as long as I can remember. How can I describe him? If he wasn't black I'd say he looks like the guy who looks like everybody's uncle.
As I hand him a five dollar bill I say "Ya know, I remember you here when i couldn't reach the counter.." He smiles and sighs as he hands me my change "yeah I know... I know.."
I glance at my change, two dollars! TWO DOLLARS!! I guess some things do change..

Hmmm...

2007-11-04T18:54:00.001-05:00

!

i like the ending ('question is,who's coverin' for us in CH?)

Extreme Zovoyim!

2007-11-01T20:48:00.001-04:00

What's wrong with this picture?

notin' comes close to non-fiction. you just can't make this stuff up!

2007-10-29T20:45:00.001-04:00

THIS WEEK'S METROPOLITAN DIARY SELECTIONS

As I was riding the Q recently to meet a friend, I idly pulled my ponytail out and ran my fingers through my hair.

A man behind me leaned around and said, “Your hair looks just fine. It looks good.”

I laughed and said, “Thank you; your hair looks good, too.”

We chatted a bit and he eventually asked me very politely, “Are you married?” I said no.

“How is that? A fine lady like you?”

“It just happens that way sometimes.”

“No man got lucky enough, huh?” I laughed again.

“So would I be able to get hold of you?” He had been polite, so I politely answered, “I’m not interested in being gotten hold of just now.”

“You’re not interested in a relationship at this point in your life?”

“Nope.”

He seemed to understand and turned back around.

After a minute he turned to me again: “Well, can I have a dollar?”
-Kim Hewitt

===

This Daylight Saving

This hour gained, but empty, hushed

No one told the birds

-L. Fred Ayvazian

love it

2007-10-28T23:02:00.001-04:00

Groyse Metsie Video Clip - "You Set My Soul Free - Ki Hilazta"

Add to My Profile | More Videos

love the way they manage to get a niggun in there every time!

I think I should go to jail

2007-10-28T22:43:00.000-04:00

(Quick note: After the Columbine High shooting, we sadly learnt that the tragedy “Could have been prevented” if only the boys’ diaries and essays would have been taken more seriously. So I just hope that writing this doesn’t make me a suspect. :)
So why would I want to go to jail?
Well it all started about a year ago. I was in South Carolina and I went to jail. Well not literally, I was visiting Jewish inmates for the High Holidays. Being inside of a jail for the first time was quite a jarring experience. You walk the halls and think “look at these people, for years this is all they’ll ever see.” Just these walls… and for part of the day when they’re lucky enough, they can go outside and see a few more walls. You leave the building and suddenly its literally a whole new world out there. Suddenly you’re seeing everything you take for granted through the eyes of the inmate. Things along the road that you’d never give a thought when you were driving by on the way there. Just a gas station, just a store where you can buy ANYTHING you need, a beautiful bird flying overhead, a peaceful shady park with a beautiful arrangement of flowers growing. And you can’t help but think “and those guys won’t be able to see this for another ten, twenty YEARS!”.
Do we realize how many things we take for granted every day? What would that inmate give to be able to watch the sun set into a million reflections on the water, to hear the sound of the waves, to see a child smile….. And we are lucky enough to witness these blessings every day.
So what can I do? What is the secret to appreciating what you DO have when you HAVE it? Any suggestions anyone?
Should I go to jail? Probably not a very good idea, I hear the food’s not too good there… What about Amish town?

help!

2007-10-28T22:41:00.000-04:00

The scary thing is... people actually still look at this blog!
Yipes!
You shoulda warned me:*)

Poem Inspierd by photo #613

2007-10-28T22:30:00.000-04:00

Post to follow (" 'Neider" obviously)

o how i love this time of year=-)

2007-10-28T22:02:00.000-04:00

Shirts tucked in, white, still fresh smelling of their mama’s fabric softener. Clean black pants, as crisp as the new autumn wind over white white socks poking out from snappy real sandals. Their hair and face are so uncharacteristically clean and neat and perfumed with the newfound delights of Americana (What they have Headenshoulders here?!) Their bright faces reflect their idealistic spirit. Fresh, strong and unbreakable by the uncertainty of what lies ahead. Optimism, a new challenge, It’s always such a welcoming sight. I just love this time of year. Actually, they’re so ambitious, they might even shock you with an occasional “Slicha” when they kick over your coffee splat onto your new pants…

Yessir.
The new K’vutzeh is definitely in session:-)

mah atem choshvim?

2007-09-30T10:38:00.000-04:00

http://www.groyse.com/VideoEng.htm

shivers

2007-08-22T05:45:00.001-04:00

I get them every time

deeam

Must see

2007-07-24T15:16:00.000-04:00

http://www.obsessionthemovie.com/

Ya just gotta love...

2007-07-09T21:17:00.000-04:00

G-d bless my Yankees =-(

2007-06-28T01:27:00.000-04:00

A word of wisdom to all my fellow precious Yankee fans out there

There are many things money can't buy... but most importantly... Heart!