I Don't Know Whether to Laugh or Scream

So I'm sitting here feeling disoriented and blue, and reading blogs to take me away from work I'm actually supposed to be doing, when I stumbled on Friar Yid's latest. And discovered this. And this.

A note about the Wiki article for the non-Hebrew-reader. It becomes easier to understand what's going on in the Biblical quotes when you realize that the word they are transliterating as qashath or qoshath, and identifying as an unarmed form of combat is the word for 'bow', as in 'the thing one shoots arrows with'.

This may be the funniest thing I've seen in months. I suppose it could be seen simply as a total rip-off, but there is such a long tradition in Jewish history of people claiming to be from far-off Jewish communities, descended from important people and carrying special ancient secrets, that I see the whole set of his claims as sort of an authentically Jewish scam, even if the origins of the martial art are clearly bogus.

And the outfits are way cool. I would like to point out, though, in the tradition of Jewish feminist midrash, that the claim is made that Abir allowed Jacob's sons to plow through the men of Shechem. You know, if Jacob had trained his daughter in the ancient Native Israelite unarmed art of combat, it's possible that none of this would have happened at all. I'm just saying.

We Got The License

The Balabusta and the fella made their way to the county clerk-recorder's office in Oakland, and got a marriage license.

It started out a little awkwardly, since we got off at 12th and Broadway, had no idea where we were going, and had to walk for a ways, but it wasn't hard to find, and wasn't terribly crowded.

When you present yourself to the man behind the counter and say you want a marriage license, he leads you to a computer terminal in the next room, where you are requested to fill out a worksheet with information about yourself, your parents, and dates and places of everyone's birth. Then you hit 'send', and it gives you a four-digit number to take back to the man behind the the counter.

The man behind the counter then gives you a different number, and you wait for your number to show on the overhead screen and lead you to a window.

While we waited, we admired the very modern artwork on the walls. There was a thing made out of buttons and clock faces that looked vaguely like a man's face. I thought it was Dr. King. The fella thought it was Bruce Willis. Turned out that it was the artist's father. The card next to the art did not mention if he looked like either Martin Luther King Jr. or Bruce Willis.

The lady at window six filled out our paperwork, had us sign, and took our $84. Painless.

We also received a booklet formerly entitled "If There Are Children In Your Future". We read this dramatically aloud to one another on the BART ride back.

A successful trip.

"Hatred of immigrants is sinful"

A good column from Father Andrew Greeley.

Hard news...

It turns out that we lost her Friday night, around the same time I was blogging, I suppose.

With apologies to the blogosphere, I don't want to get too deeply into what I'm feeling and what the family is up to, at least right now. I just wanted you to know. Which may be insane, but I know that this kind of thing matters to me when I read other people's blogs--anyway.

I Love Lucy Saves The World

I mentioned going to Southern California to see my grandmother a couple of months ago. Since then, she relocated to a Catholic assisted living/nursing facility, where she became the roommate of a hundred-year-old Irish nun who, quite properly, restored the "Mary" to my grandmother's name (she hasn't used the "Mary" regularly since she was at school being taught by Irish nuns herself, seventy years ago and more.)

My grandmother is a tough lady, with a will of steel. Since moving into "Bethlehem House", she has claimed to be a vegetarian (she's not, but they stopped trying to make her eat the chicken broth), tried to bail out of her wheelchair to go exploring...oh, you name it, she's made life a little more interesting for them. Mr. Bluejeans made friends with the nurses in his broken Russian.

He got a call yesterday that she's not doing well, and that he should go down now. So that's where he is. We're now at the point where we're talking openly about funeral plans (we should only be made to look like fools for this), and the sacrament one of my students once called 'annoying of the sick' has been given.

I am sad. I'm worried about my father and his sister. My grandmother is apparently being made as comfortable as she can be, they have someone holding her hand and talking to her. She is being taken care of in this world, and she will be taken care of in the next. The rest of us I don't know about.

And I come home to find my wedding invitations have been delivered.

I wish I could express the full scope and humor and grace of my grandmother on this blog. She should have a movie about her in which Lucille Ball plays a sort of Zorro-esque character who travels the world in a motor home, finding the oppressed and standing up for them. I got lucky in grandmothers. So incredibly lucky.

What is the religious value of 'ick'?

I've been over at Joe Settler's place, makin' a nuisance of myself, and I'm left with some questions from our conversation, namely, what is the religious (or political, for that matter) value of the 'ick' factor?



Apparently the Israeli Tourist Board folks ran some campaign to bring gay travelers to Israel. They included some pictures of gay couples doin' gay couple stuff around Jerusalem. Per Joe, and some other things I've seen on the web, religious MKs and some other people went berserk. These photos seem to include:



This one, featuring two young men in yarmulkes gazing deeply into one another's eyes in a familiar honeymoon-photo location. Joe comments that they 'slapped' yarmulkes on gay models for this, and I have to say, that given the fact the guy with his back to the camera doesn't seem to have bothered to pin his, and may be about to lose it altogether in the passion of the moment, this could be the case. (Also, how does his mother feel about him walking around Jerusalem with a tattoo showing.) (It's also possible that these two models are straight, in which case we have an altogether different kind of deception going on.) Joe tells me that that this photo is the equivalent to a picture of a priest and a nun making out, and asks me to consider how I would feel if I were a devout Christian and saw that.





Unfortunately, I spent a while living in Ireland, a deeply Catholic nation where hiring kissing telegram people dressed as clergy is considered rollicking fun. And equally unfortunately, I think that what Joe is implying is that people like this--boys in kippot who go to Jerusalem for the Jewishness and kiss because they're in love--don't exist--and I know a bunch. Although most of them (I'm thinking of one notable exception, Mrs. Bluejeans knows who he is), they're not that conventionally pretty.

Do I care if the religious MKs were offended? Well, yes, I do. I don't want them to feel bad, but this is the face of Judaism too, and, uh, to modify, they're here, they're gay, they wanna see Eretz Yisrael and they're willing to pay. I'm entirely aware that some people are not comfortable with the existence of religious gay Jews, but they're part of us, (and an incredibly good and strong part too, editorializes the Balabusta). Live, says I, and says the tourist board too.

But apparently some of the lady MKs were not so happy about this picture, which was sent out by the Israeli Consulate in NYC, to interest straight men of a certain age in Israel. The young lady in the photo, as you can see, is stretched out on a wall, in a bikini and high heels, in a bluntly sexual pose. Apparently Dahlia Itzik and Zahava Gal-On were not so amused.



I'm not so amused either. I'm used to this kind of thing, everything is sold with women's mostly naked bodies, but this is, by me, offensive in a way that the other is not. Why? Couple of things. First, the couple in the gay tourism photos are a couple, being sexual together. This woman is being a virtual stripper. Secondly, this apparently is meant to promote a piece Maxim did on 'Women of the IDF'. Please imagine male soldiers being sexualized like this, and then their consulate happily promoting it, and you get the real-world equivalent to this ad.

Joe feels that the reaction is hypocritical--if Dahlia and Zahava weren't willing to support the religious MKs, their outrage now is worthless. I dunno. Where is the outrage of the religious MKs now? Are they OK with this? Is the sexual exploitation of women something they take for granted, or can't be bothered with?

Joe says that the Maxim ad does not bother him, while he is offended as a religious Jew by the gay couple one. He also sees hypocrisy in MKs objecting to one but not the other. I say that the gay couple ad does not bother me, while I am irritated as both a woman and religious Jew by the Maxim one. So, here's my question. Does the 'ick' factor actually have a religious nature to it, or are Joe and I both responding to our socialization and opinions around homosexuality, tznius, and Judaism, and trying to put some spin on it?

The Caterer Says

Well, the caterer says that I should give up on my thoughts of possibly moving the chuppah out into the courtyard of the shul, since she's done six weddings (four Russian, two Anglophone) there, and it's a wind tunnel.

The caterer likes Rabbi Bruriah, and approves of my plans for the alcohol (two cases of two-buck Chuck, champagne for toasts, a bottle of Scotch for the men over fifty).

The caterer says that I should source the cake myself, that we can have a delicious poached salmon and nice roast beef sandwiches, and that the lima bean hummus is to die for.

The caterer also says that I should be prepared to start carrying my cell phone with me at all times as the date of the wedding draws nigh.

I met the caterer for coffee today. (Just in case you couldn't tell.) It went well.

In other news, I am still wedding dress hunting, and job hunting. Have just received my weirdest response to a resume, the principal writing back and asking if I was aware that today's paper shows that the route from my house to his school is the worst commute in the region.

The caterer says I don't need this kind of tsuris.

Noach goes to the County Clerk-Recorder's Office

Sometime this week, the Balabusta and Groomra will be going to get a marriage license.

We have to appear, in person, at the County Clerk-Recorder's office in Oakland, with ID demonstrating that we are over eighteen, and are male and female (1 each, created he them).

Ethically, I have issues with the fact that we still need to be male and female (I mean, WE are, and I'm happy with that, but that everyone needs to be...oy. I mean that it annoys me that the state of California will not issue a marriage license for a same-sex couple,) but at the same time, it makes me smile that we need to show up in a pair like a couple of creatures about to get on the ark.

I explained this to the fella, and then added "And we give them our $84, and they give us a marriage license."

"Oh," said the fella. "I thought you were going to say that we give them $84 and they give us two of every animal."

In an apartment this size, maybe not the best idea.

Registering boredom

OK. I am doing my register and cum folders now.

For those of you not in the know, doing one's register is, possibly, the most boring occupation known to humankind, except, maybe, the graveyard shift at at a Dunkin' Donuts in rural South Dakota. Worse. At Dunkin' Donuts you can fantasize that a rock star will come in.

Basically, I am creating a handwritten document showing the attendence of my homeroom class for the past year, which needs to confirm in each detail all the information found in the attendence file I compiled for the school over the course of the year. In pencil. Then I need to ink it in, in ink.

It's the kind of thing you want not to take seriously, except that it is, in fact, a subpoenable document, and teachers have found their attendence registers playing a key role in, say, murder trials.

Oh, I am bored.

School's Out!

And the teacher is left wondering if she is the fool...

I still have one more week to serve, but the students aren't coming in. It's a time to do paperwork and clean up the room, etc.

The last day was long, but it came to an end, finally, with a cute little prayer service, awards, and we pushed them all out the door. What made it both nice and hard right at the end was that several parents showed up to say nice things to me. In particular, the moms of Noam and Daniel surrounded me and got very upset and emotional that I wouldn't be back next year. Both of them have boys who are sweet, but struggle academically and sometimes get in trouble, and I've done a lot with them this year. The moms hugged me and told me they had been looking forward to having me as Noam and Daniel's homeroom teacher next year--and I really would have loved to have been, not only for the boys' sake, but because it is a very nice class--and demanded to know why I was leaving.

That was difficult, because how do you say "I'm leaving because the new principal thinks I'm pond scum, and the diocese agrees with her."? I muttered something about working on my thesis. "I'll type for you, just stay here!" Noam's mom said.

The Top Twelve Reasons I Don't Live In Israel

Apparently Nefesh b'Nefesh is hosting some sort of event where people list great reasons to make aliyah. Jameel even made this neat book cover to go with his list.


Unfortunately, this sort of thing inspires the Balabusta to flip out. I'm not sure why. On the face of it, I don't plan to make aliyah--OK, nu, so I don't plan to make aliyah. People who have done seem awfully happy, and I'm happy for them (the Balabusta is a hard-core theoretical Zionist), and maybe I really should make aliyah--but herewith are some of the major reasons I don't.

1. Throughout the past couple thousand years, the Diaspora has produced vibrant, glorious, kickass Jewish cultures. I am still part of one. I believe that it is important. I belong to an old and constantly evolving Jewish community, one that has demonstrated its ability to thrive without being rooted in the auld sod. Jews are like tumbleweeds. We pull up roots easily, but each plant carries with it the potential to create a whole new world of tumbleweeds. (Also, we push over people's fences, and...OK, I am not going any farther with the tumbleweed analogy.)

2. Also, I don't speak much Hebrew, at least not modern-type Hebrew. Tanach I can manage. I realized the flexibility and the limitations of my Chumash-based vocabulary the day I realized I did not know the Hebrew word for 'car' (although 'tank' I could manage), but when one of my father's oddball Lutheran friends asked how to say 'How many camels to make that little girl my wife?' I could answer with ease.

3. I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m freeeeee,
And I won't forget the men who died, who gave that right to me.
And I gladly stand up, next to you, and defend her still today.
‘Cause there ain’t no doubt I love this land, God bless the USA.

This reason loses something on the screen, since you cannot hear the Balabusta's gleeful offkey singing in an assumed Southern accent, and you also lose out on her final yell of "PROUD to be an 'Murkin". It is, nevertheless, true. I am so absolutely gone on this country it boggles the mind.

4. I'm not rich enough to make aliyah. Please note Jameel's little jab about 'leaving wealth and luxury', well, as I already whinged at Jameel's site, I don't have enough wealth and luxury to leave it behind.

As I also whinged at Jameel's site, I think I was scarred for life by a column in the JPost a couple of years ago. It was written as a welcome letter to two typical new American olim, and I kind of freaked out badly about it. It burbled on quite a bit about cleaning ladies and 'good' schools.

5. I am not smart enough for Israeli politics. I cannot deal with all these teeny-tiny political parties, and shifting loyalties, and the way Sharon is a big hero to the settlers one day and a big villain the next, and the weird British-inspired thing where you have elections any time a bunch of people get a bug up their nether bits. It's too confusing. I am proud to be an 'Murkin, where at least I remember the name of the two important parties, and when the next election is.

6. I enjoy the intense frustration on new employer's faces when they realize they can't get out of giving me the High Holidays off. I would miss that, if we ALL had yontiff off, and they didn't even think about it.

7. I have an addictive personality. If I give in to the pressure to go live in Israel where the action is, soon I will get pressured into living in the West Bank. And then I will get pressured into moving into a not-quite-legal settlement. And then a not-quite-legal settlement without running water. And then (and all this could happen in just a couple of weeks) I will be living up a hill smack-dab in the middle of Ramallah, in a shelter made out of a couple of shopping carts. Or sleeping on Jameel's couch.

8. If I were a convert, the Israeli rabbinate wouldn't recognize my conversion, and if I married in Israel they wouldn't recognize my marriage, and frankly, I'm just not in the mood for all of that. And if my Conservative shul is to come under attack, frankly, I'd just a soon that Gentiles be behind it.

9. Do you have any idea how long a flight that is to be back in San Francisco for the chagim? I would be a WRECK.

10. When is the last time two ######## whales unexpectedly took a wrong turn into the Gulf of Aqaba? Thought so. Also, the Jerusalem Pride Parade seems to be having trouble getting off the ground, while in San Francisco we line downtown with rainbow flags for weeks in advance.

11. If I leave now, the terrorists win.

12. I do not believe there is a single Trader Joe's in all of Israel. And if you think I am driving to frickin' Amman for my kosher chicken, my Tuscan Italian salad dressing, my organic tomato sauce or my really cheap palm hearts, you have got another think coming.

"That's Just the Beginnings of Synergy"

OK. If you have not seen Mad TV's iRack episode, you need to.

Live, from the world of the seventh grade

Saudi Arabia comes to New Hampshire.

Now, please note that this is courtesy of Little Green Footballs, hence the hysterical language about the coming caliphate and 'dhimmitude' (this is not a real word in English, people). But there have been enough of these 'pretend to be an Arab' events reported on from middle schools that I am beginning to get rather curious.

There aren't a lot of them. I have been teaching seventh grade for the last three years in the dark blue heart of the liberal-left heartland, and I have never had anyone suggest one of these shindigs to me. The closest I ever came was a discussion with a seventh grade social studies teacher about whether he should dress as Mohammed for the day (he routinely dresses as key figures from the seventh grade history curriculum. And being Jewish, I figure he probably looks more like Mohammed than he does King Sundiata--who he has appeared as. Or Ghengis Khan.) We decided against the impersonation for reasons of not offending the little Afghan girls in his class. (The ones who used their hijabs to provide cover for their Ipod earphones.) I thought maybe he could be a pagan Arab offering reports on what he's heard about this new religious leader, but we finally decided to drop the whole idea.)

But these events. There seem to be some key elements that show up with all these things--the dressing up and the taking Arab names--but this one seems particularly offbeat in that it recreates life in, of all places, modern Saudi. Why not Egypt? Why not, say Pakistan? Why not medieval Arabia, which is what the kids study, and could have offered a slough of impressive people (women included) for the kids to impersonate as they lead folks around?

So, on the one hand, this was clearly a pretty odd idea, on the other hand, I have to deny the LGFers contention that this has become normative in U.S. education. Trust me. It ain't.

Kohenet?

So, comments? I'm having gut reactions, not thoughts, here.

http://www.kohenet.org/

The class of 2007

Done graduated.

So Friday went a little something like this...

Up at 6, out the door at 6:35. Wear long flowered skirt, coordinating sweater, cute slide sandals.

Catch two buses and the BART train to school.

Realize too late that the bus is not stopping at the school, the bus is going to do a loooong loop around a couple of adjoining blocks and drop me off three blocks away from school.

Dash through the doors just as the whole school has started to wonder where I am.

Tend worked up overexcited kids until 12:30 when we dismiss for graduation day. Go have lunch, buy nylons, realize that nylons cannot be worn with outfit I have on, as cute slide sandals slide right off them, endangering my life and limb.

Take two buses--two long, loooong buses--to a job interview in Berkeley. Interview with a whole panel of people, who have a checklist of questions. Feel as thought not doing a very good job of answering the questions. Feel very blue. Catch two more loooong buses. See a really frightening looking accident scene on the way back. Feet starting to hurt from the cute slide sandals.

Arrive back in school neighborhood. Grab slice of pizza, orange juice. Report to school.

As soon as arrive in schoolyard, attacked by excited eighth-grade girls in graduation robes. Their eyeliner is in the building, and they do not have keys, can I let them in? Let them in. Then am found by Mrs. Crazy Teacher, now in state of high tension about graduation. I have, she tells me, stuff to sign. Mrs. Principal is "in the back of the church" with it.

I tour around for a while, looking for the 'back of the church'. Finally discover she meant the rooms behind the altar itself, where the priest and altar servers do their prep. I hang around there until Mrs. Principal notices me. "Can I help you?" she asks, a bit too crisply.

I explain. Mrs. Crazy Teacher bustles in, says she has stuff for me to sign, and then gets into an emotional 'thing' with Mrs. Principal because Mrs. Principal has carefully put the diplomas in alphabetical order, and they're not supposed to go in alpha order, but in GRADUATION order. They deal with this for a while. I wander off to put my coat and portfolio behind the piano, and say hello to Mrs. Science Teacher's wife who is playing the flute for us at the graduation, but Mrs. Crazy Teacher grabs me. "Where are you GOING?" she hisses. I explain. She freaks. She HAS the stuff for me to sign.

I sign.

The graduation itself was actually very nice. Leis, mylar balloons, very high grown-up heels on the girls, screaming relatives, smiling grandmothers, and flowers all over the place.

I felt pretty lousy. I won't be teaching there next year. I won't be watching my homeroom class graduate in that church. I don't belong, I'm just being kept on sufferance until they can get the kids out of there (end of NEXT WEEK!) and clean the place up, and give the language arts position to someone else.

I've seen the someone else, although I was not consulted about who it should be. She's younger than I am, taller, thinner, and is apparently a protege of the consultant woman who decided I couldn't teach for beans. She is also, according to some sources, the girlfriend of the stepson of the consultant. The stepson of the consultant has been hired to be next year's sixth grade teacher. He has no teaching experience. This is going to be fun, fun fun, but I won't be there. I will be somewhere else. Doing something else.

Got home at ten-fifteen. Feh!

Counting on Moshiach

I have a date to go look at wedding dresses. Thank heavens.

Oh, and also,

Balabusta Bluejeans
daughter of
Mr. and Mrs. Bluejeans

and

Fella Groomra
son of
ISG and TSG

Invite you to rejoice with us and our families at our wedding
To be held a Big Reform Shul
In a Large West Coast City

On a date that appears in both the secular and Jewish calendars

Lunch reception to follow.

RSVP

I considered the whole 'to be held in Jerusalem unless circumstances work against us' wording, but decided against it for a variety of reasons:

1. If Moshiach shows up, I actually think we might postpone the wedding until everyone calms down a little. You know, the whole not mixing rejoicing with rejoicing thing, and, well, the whole thing is just going to become more complicated.

2. We're going to have to find a place to have the wedding in Jerusalem, and I suspect there may be something of a rush on for good spots. And if it's me trying to marry Groomra at the King David Hotel, or KING DAVID, trying to marry his ninth (tenth?) wife at the King David Hotel, you can sort of see who's going to win. Except that I have a Mastercard, and he probably does not...anyway, you can see the issue.

3. So given all of this, maybe giving specific directions for the event of Moshiach's arrival on the invites is not such a good idea. In the event, we can just call everyone and say we're making other plans. Or they will assume.

4. Seriously, I figured it might scare my in-laws, gentile relatives, Jewish relatives--lots of people who will be getting invites it might scare. I would need to write a letter explaining the custom to include with each invite--and then spend a lot of time on the phone assuring people that we really are having the wedding at Large Reform Shul, and they don't need to book flights to Israel. I remember an evening when a family friend told us, over dinner, with no prelude, that he and his wife were 'moving to Paradise'. We thought he had joined some cult until he explained that he was talking about Paradise California, near Chico. I don't need to put my machatenim through a similar moment.

Am ordering invites this evening. Wish me luck.

The Lutheran Street

In other news, Iowahawk has gone and done another of his Lutheran Street pieces; Midwest Lutherans Largely Reject Violence. I often do not understand anything Iowahawk puts on his website, but he has two series I adore. One was a series of guest posts from al-Zarqawi (now, clearly, defunct). The other is a series of wacked-out news reports on the world of Lutheran radical extremism, done in the style of mainstream-media magazine reporting.

If you ever wondered--why do only Arabs have a 'street'? If you ever wondered--how do Lutherans really feel about world domination? If you ever wondered--why do Lutherans hate Presbyterians? Or maybe even if you didn't...it's just insanely funny to watch one man parody Time Magazine, while making fun of his own people in a gentle, loving way. ("God is pretty great, you betcha," declares one midwestern extremist early on in the series.)

"Taken as a whole, the results show that Midwest Lutherans emphatically support a moderate, mainstream path to world domination," said Kohut. "These folks are well-assimilated into the broad fabric of American society, and unless you are Presbyterian, there is probably very little here to cause concern."

I so don't want

To be depressed. I don't have enough TIME to be depressed, and being depressed will lead to me having less time.

But I can feel it now, the sudden chemical tip into sadness, and the inability to turn it off, and I guess the adult thing to do is try to do something about it. WHY did my stupid doctor cut off my Paxil supply? Coming off the stuff is not the most fun I have ever had, you know.

So, call the doctor, and in the meantime realize what's probably wrong and keep moving my feet.

On the bright side, I FOUND THE KEYS this morning. As predicted by my mother, they were in a pocket. A weird side pocket of my coat on the wrong side of the coat--I have no idea how. Well, I have some idea how.

Did I mention that the school I have an interview with is forty minutes away from my house? As opposed to an hour and a half minimum?

I pried all the impacted bills and advertisements out of the mailbox, and brought them in.

And I have coffee.

Just keep swimming.

Getting through

Explosion coming up. Please stand by.

Slept through Shabbos again. Seriously--I got up at ten, went back to bed at 1, and then slept until five. That might have been nice--three day weekend and all--but it's not. I dream endlessly, and unpleasantly, try to surface and can't. I get up feeling lousy.

Got a call from a local middle school that wants me to interview. That should be nice, but right now it's not. They won't want me. Or they will want me, and it'll turn out to be another school that wants me because they're so screwed up they can't get any better. (Please don't try to reassure me about this, it's not up for debate in my current emotional state. As far as I'm concerned right this moment I will never get another job. I can't teach, and I can't do anything else. This will not stop me from getting into a nice outfit and selling myself with a big smile. It's just that feeling any optimism feels entirely too dangerous right now. It's a nice school near my house. It could be a very nice thing. If I could get it. But it could also be awful if I don't.)

Wedding planning is making me sad because no matter how much I do, there's always a long, long, long list of things I should have done and haven't, and this is for a small wedding with almost no pomp or circumstance. Sooner or later, someone asks me "So, did you confirm the (appointment, cost, time, etc.) and I usually haven't, and it makes me feel small and frustrated.

I'm out of the house for twelve hours a day, and I'm horrible and stressed at work, angry at the kids, and angry at my coworkers. I had a prescription for my hip pain prescribed which I never picked up because I can't get to a phone at work, and I can't get anywhere after work without getting home past seven thirty, and it's less painful to have hip pain. I lost my keys early this week, I let myself in on Monday night, but now I cannot find them, and now my mother in law-to-be is calling to see if a check she sent arrived, and I DON'T KNOW because I can't get my damn mailbox open, on account of I don't have the keys. My check card was stolen by some unknown person during parent conferences, and I cancelled it, but forgot that my Jazzercise bills were being billed to it, and I haven't got the time or the energy to deal with that, or with the DVDs from the rental place that I left in a tacqueria when I went to get the damn hip prescription.

My ankles hurt. My allergies, which I normally do not have, are acting up. And my keys are still missing. Stories in Newsweek about missing soldiers in Iraq are making me cry. Most everything is making me cry.

I've been off the Paxil for a couple of weeks now, it's entirely out of my system, and, well, maybe that was not the world's best idea. Ya think?

Tonight I will watch Mad TV, and unload the dishes I managed to put in the washer before dinner.

Tomorrow:

Confirm date w/wedding dress lady.
E-mail wedding song ideas to incredibly kind singing friend.
Call middle school, tell them I will come in for interview.
Write invitation text. I get an hour for this. Period.
E-mail invite list to my mom.
Call doctor, ask to make appt to talk about depression meds.
Do some laundry.
Try to find keys. Make copy of Groomra's key if all else fails. Figure out how to get the mail.
Read Anita Diamant for rabbi.
Nothing else. Rest. Try to moisturize my poor heels, which are all messed up.

This is not a good place I'm in. Working on swimming.

Meanwhile, on p. A17

All hell is breaking loose in Lebanon.

Now, I would like to state for the record that I really have no idea what is going on in Nahr-el-Bared at the moment. One man was quoted as saying that his house inside the 'refugee camp' was taken over by four foreign Fatah Islam fighters, one from Saudi, one from Yemen, and one from Sudan...for all I know, this is perfectly factual and the whole place really is crawling with terrorist fighters from all over the Muslim world, or for all I know, this guy's accent recognition is a little off, and this is just more neighborhood infighting, or possibly... I just don't know.

But what seems clear is that the whole damn place is in serious trouble, there's shooting in the streets, some unknown number of Palestinian civilians is dead, at least fifteen thousand people have been displaced (or displaced 'again', as they see it), from a place that they called home, even if it is in a country that denies them citizenship, or the right to practice middle-class professions. And the world seems pretty OK with this, at least to judge by the tucking of the whole story back in the latter pages of the newspaper's world news section, and the fact that none of the leftish media sites usually obsessed with Palestinian suffering seem to feel any need to cover the situation at all.

I am not even being snarky about this--well, yes I am. If Israel were doing as Lebanon is doing, we would have bells, whistles, and a parade down Market Street about it. But it's pretty shabby of the anti-Semites of the world to so obviously lose interest in their stalking goats when they're being shot at by other Arabs, who obviously must have a really good reason, like national survival, or a terrorist threat or something. I mean, the U.S. is even giving the Lebanese military equipment! You'd think this would count for something, at least with the hard-core left.

(Well, no, you wouldn't. I note that at A.N.S.W.E.R.'s site, they're upset that people are demanding U.S. intervention in Darfur when the U.S. is still collaborating with Israel to destroy the Palestinian people. I have an idea. Can we send some Israeli troops to Darfur to move around refugees and set up checkpoints? I mean, they could just set up checkpoints, and maybe do some humanitarian aid, but as soon as it happened, all my neighborhood nutjobs would demand that something be done RIGHT away. Maybe this would be a good job for conscientious objectors or something.)

Sheesh.

Soaked

The sixth-grade teacher is doing a prayer service with her homeroom, so they can bless the rosaries they made with her, and yesterday they practiced sprinkling with holy water.

At the end, one little boy, who is very pious, a lively eleven year old, and also ADHD, picked up the bowl, said, "Bless you!", and dumped it over the teacher's head.

We speculate, based on his horror when he soaked her hair and shirt that he didn't realize how much liquid was left.

This is life with middle schoolers.

Just Keep Swimming

You know what you gotta do when life gets you down?
Just keep swimming
Just keep swimming
Just keep swimming swimming swimming
What do we do we swim, swim, swim

I'm spending a lot of time humming "Just keep swimming" these days. Dory (the fish played by Ellen DeGeneres in Finding Nemo) is something of a personal hero of mine.

(Apropos of nothing, Ellen is reported to have told an interviewer after the movie that she loved doing the voice of a talking fish, and was now unable to eat fish because she felt such a strong connection to them. She also commented that in her next movie she wanted to play a pint of Haagen-Dazs.)

My grandmother has apparently mistaken a tube of manicure glue for her eyedrops. This, you would think would be a HUGE medical problem, but apparently has only cost her her eyelashes, which, I guess, like the lion's mane in Dragnet will grow back. ("Kids! It'll grow back!" "Yaaaaaaaaayyyyyy!") This has also justified my lifetime choice to bite my nails and do very little to groom them. Clearly, manicure supplies are dangerous.

Also, (lehavdil, or from the agonizing to the stupid) my House rerun has been cancelled in favor of stupid 24. (Sorry, RenReb, but nothing beats House. And 24 is too angsty for me.)

On the plus side, we've chosen a ketubah, and will order invites later this week.

And I got to hear the fella read aloud the Interfaith Ketubah Text #1 in the manner of a Southern preacher.

Boteach, Falwell and Me, the Balabusta

Don't read this unless you're willing to plow through lots of quotes and me being snarky.

First, some disclaimers. The Balabusta does not like Shmuley Boteach. This is not totally because I'm still slightly unclear on how he pronounces his name. He annoys me. He seems like a lighweight thinker who thinks he's doing everyone else a huge favor, especially women, by sharing his great insights into human sexuality, and whatever else he decides to know about.

The Balabusta, however, is mildly annoyed by Rabbi Boteach. She actively despises Jerry Falwell, a situation that has not lessened with his death. Hence, this rant on Boteach's strange 'more in sorrow than in anger' eulogy/apologia for Falwell's twisted philosophy of paranoia and hatred.

Yes, I had more important things to do this morning, but heck, it's Sunday. The Boteach quotes are in purple. Jerry would have wanted it like that.

Falwell, right and wrong

By SHMULEY BOTEACH


The Reverend Jerry Falwell justly deserves credit as one of the key individuals who brought the values of religion to contemporary American politics. Prior to Falwell, spiritual values were best thought confined to the church or synagogue, not the political party convention or the halls of Congress.

After Falwell, of course, things got much better in American politics.

...Falwell ensured that the voice of religion was heard. People of faith like myself are indebted to Rev. Falwell for making sure that religion in America carries real influence.

Yeah, religion always had a hard time in America before Jerry Falwell.

But perhaps Falwell can also be criticized for dividing America.

Possibly. Just possibly. Huh. Falwell?

He fought the religious wars which he felt were necessary against the secularists. Falwell built a religious barricade against the atheist barbarians at the gate. The religious-secular wars that have become so prevalent in modern America can be said to be one of Falwell's enduring legacies. Disunity was the price of creating a more moral America. It was no accident that Falwell called the organization he founded in 1979 The Moral Majority, implying that he would stand up to the immoral minority which was poisoning the country.

BUT COULD not a universal morality have been promulgated that even secularists could have signed on to? Don't non-religious people also believe in ethics?

Well, you see, Shmuley, while it's nice of you to suggest that now, the answer to Falwell and the brethren was and is NO. And since any 'universal morality' Falwell could have come up with would have been disgusting and immoral by the standards of not only secularists but many religious people, myself most emphatically included, I'm having a little trouble imagining this working. Falwell was, emphatically, a divider, not a uniter. If you imagine something else happening you're imagining SOMEONE else. (Maybe a man whose initials are SB?)

Falwell's main error, and that of many of my Christian evangelical brethren, was to so narrowly define morality that it came to mean principally opposition to abortion and gay marriage. He could easily have given morality a far more universal definition that would have had much broader appeal.

First, Falwell and the brethren did not define morality to oppose gay marriage. He defined morality to oppose gay people everywhere. Saying 'gay marriage', a concept that gained no common support until long after the height of Falwell's reign makes it sound as though this was a refined opposition to changing the common social understanding of marriage. Falwell just hated all gays everywhere, and saw them lurking under every bed. He didn't want them to be allowed to own property or vote, much less get married.

And I quote: "AIDS is not just God's punishment for homosexuals; it is God's punishment for the society that tolerates homosexuals." That was Jerry for ya.

Second, no, he couldn't, Shmuley. Falwell would have rejected that concept, because it would have been giving in to the atheist hordes, speaking not the truth, but the watered down truth that would keep the evil ones in power while things got worse and worse. So basically, this is your idea, not Falwell's idea. You are able to have it because you, like me, are sane. So we can talk about 'universal' morality, but Falwell didn't believe in such an animal.

For example, rather than speak of abortion, he could have spoken of the modern culture of male womanizing which is the principle cause of abortion, men selfishly and irresponsibly using women for their own pleasure and abandoning them when they get pregnant. Even left-wing radical feminists agree that a society that portrays women as the libidinous man's plaything has seriously lost its way.

Even? Even left-wing radical feminists? This one is special. Shmuley, slowly, and from the top here. The second wave of feminism responded, in large part, to a society that "portrays women as the libidinous man's plaything". There were other issues as well, lots of them, but all tied back to the definition of women as sexual and reproductive objects common to American (and world) society prior to the early nineteen-seventies. Falwell did not give a damn about women abandoned by men with pregnancies (and I'm not sure your statistics on the primary cause of abortion are correct, actually), he would have blamed those women for being immoral enough to get in such a fix.

Abortion is the direct product of the misogyny in our culture which encourages young men to use women to indulge their hormonal urges without the commitment of marriage.

I note that young women are assumed here to have no hormonal urges to indulge, and not enough guts to tell the young men to shove it. No, wait, if girls were taught that they didn't have to negotiate sexually for a man's love, they might turn into FEMINISTS!....bwahaha!

Falwell could have reasoned with secularists and told them that even if we can't agree on a woman's right to choose, we can surely agree that a woman shouldn't be put into a situation where she is forced to choose. Women need to be educated to value themselves and demand commitment from a man whose claim to love them is all words and no action.

First, you can't reason with secularists, you should know that, Shmuley. Second, I'm thrilled to find out what women need to be educated to do, by you and Jerry Falwell. Third...oh, never mind. I sort of agree, but my agreement comes out of, among other things, my feminism, and I know how little you and Jerry like the part where I say "And if you do decide to sleep with him, after you know him really well, and both of you understand the possiblities of the relationship, here's your condom supply. Planned Parenthood will give you more."

THE SAME is true of gay marriage. Falwell and other evangelical leaders argued that this is the defining moral issue of our time and, if allowed, would destroy the institution of marriage. But with a 50-percent divorce rate in nearly every Western country, how much of marriage is there left to destroy anyway?

No, once again, get this straight (so to speak) gay marriage was late to the party. Jerry and the brethren believed that homosexuality, a perverse choice to him, was going to destroy civilization as we know it.

Lemme give you Pat Robertson on this: “The concept, the word for homosexual behavior is sodomy. That is what is used in the official documents. It is sodomy. It is repugnant. It has been prohibited and proscribed by sane society throughout countless millennia, centuries. People have understood that it is wrong. Now in America, not only is it happening, it is getting civil rights protection in the law, and these people are invading churches.”

Heterosexuals need no help from gays in eviscerating marriage. We have done a fine job on our own. If the intention was to save the American family, Falwell could have created a broader and more meaningful tent by making the enemy divorce rather than gays; and in the process he would have united both religious and secular to strengthen families rather than divide a nation.

Oh, God, Shmuley, you don't want to see what Jerry would have done with a war on divorce. Here's Pat again, on divorce:

"Why are so many marriages falling apart? Why is the divorce rate so high? ...Why is there such a tragedy in marriage?...Now the basic answer to the basic [problem of marriages today is a question of leadership. The wife actually makes the husband the head of the household and she looks to him and she says 'now you pray, and I'm going to pray for you that the Lord will speak to you."

Shmuley, I am begging you, don't even go there.

I understand how passionately opponents of abortion and gay marriage feel. When it comes to abortion, they believe lives are being destroyed, and they are. But then why don't we see the same adamant religious outcry over Darfur?

From the people we're talking about here, the wacka-wacka religious right? Same reason we hear about Israel but not Darfur from the wacka-wacka religious left. Improving the world is not the actual agenda here.

...NOW, IT'S one thing when politicians drive a wedge in society. But when religion uses the same tactics, it's sacrilege. God, above all else, desires love and unity among this earthly children. America needs unity and who better than religious leaders to provide it?

Cool. Who gets to choose the religious leaders?

Rather than choosing the most divisive moral issues to tear our country asunder, what is needed are religious leaders who use logic, persuasion, and inspiration to argue for a universal morality that even secularists promote. That moral code is the Ten Commandments.

Ohh, ow, my head. Shmuley, gimme a break.

"I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery; you shall have no other gods before me.

"You shall not make for yourself an image, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I the Lord your God am a jealous God, punishing children for the iniquity of parents, to the third and the fourth generation of those who reject me, but showing steadfast love to the thousandth generation of those who love me and keep my commandments.

"You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the Lord your God, for the Lord will not acquit anyone who misuses his name.

Shmuley, atheists are not going to get on board that, neither are agnostic secularists, neither are polytheists of any variety, neither will religious Americans who believe that you don't try to impose a national religious belief (we like to call that the "Establishment Clause")...and that's before we start arguing about my grandma's statue of the Virgin, or whether yelling "Jesus!" when you stub your toe is wrongful use of the name, or even IS the name.

Most of the rest of the ten are now enshrined in law in some form. (Including Shabbos, although that had to be fought for against union-busting goons who were doing God's work by supporting the bosses against the atheist leftists who were trying to destroy America.) All you're talking about is trying to promote a bunch of workshops where you preach to the choir

Don't religious and secular both agree that respect for parents and elders creates order in a chaotic society? Do we not also agree that living in jealousy for another's possessions or success is the quickest way to destroy one's life? That society is becoming too consumer-oriented and money has become a currency by which people purchase self-esteem?

Sure, but we also agree that in America you can pursue happiness, and even self-esteem more or less how you want to. I agree, to an extent, about consumerism. I just disagree with the whole underpinnings of this argument.

And if so, should we not create one day a week - a Sabbath - devoted to family and community rather than shopping malls and impulse purchases?

Most Americans actually do this. Some go to church, others to soccer games, some to the mall, yes, but we do actually devote our weekends overwhelmingly to family and community. Just as a point of interest, Rabbi, were we gonna use our Shabbos or theirs for this national escapade?

The Ten Commandments' demands for sexual faithfulness means respect for women, the desexualization of children, teenagers, and other vulnerables.

OK, there's coded messages and dripping condescension here, but also a core message I can respect. It's just that I don't want it in the damn courthouse.

The code demands love of truth, a commitment to family, a respect for other's property, and a devotion to a cause higher than ourselves. Why we ever needed to create an alternate code is beyond me.

Uh, is that the legal code of the United States of America we're talking about here? Please refer to "Massachusetts theocracy", assaults on Quakers, and the Constitution of the United States of America.

America needs unity, now more than ever, and religion should lead the way by creating a universal morality which guarantees shared values.We religious people have seen the enemy and it is not the secular. Often, it is ourselves. And when we fail at motivating people to lead moral lives we should not blame their sinfulness, but our own lack of persuasiveness.

Good argument, and I agree, again to a point. And then...

Shmuley, I don't think there's such an animal out there as a 'universal morality'. Falwell got that, to some extent. I believe, with all my heart, and all my soul, and all my strength, and all my being, that gay couples should be allowed to live openly and freely, and that their love should be honored with the title of marriage, and their children told that their parents are pure and holy people just like Susie's mommy and daddy. That is my religious belief. I also believe, just as strongly, that Jerry Falwell had a right to run around the country talking about the coming of judgement day on account of these folks. That is my political belief. We could not be reconciled religiously, but we coexisted in a secular political structure that made it possible for us both to live and thrive. That is the treasure of America, and that is what I will not give up to the likes of you and Michael Lerner, burbling around and talking about national values and the like, and what I would not give up to the likes of Falwell, who wanted to bring his religion into the halls of government.

One last quote from Jerry for the day: Christians, like slaves and soldiers, ask no questions.

That's his true legacy. I was raised, taught and inspired by Christians who do not agree.

TGIS

It's a little past noon, the fella is napping, I'm making coffee, and...

(that and was the Balabusta realizing that she should have heard the little teapot whistling from the stove some time back, and going to check it out, only to find that she had turned on the wrong burner on the stove. Ah well. Fixed now.)

...and the universe has momentarily stopped. Happy for it to be Shabbos.

I'm still job hunting, and I am hating it, hating it, hating it. I did this last summer, and then two summers before that, and I am tired. I am stressed. I know that as soon as I find something, the angst will go away, but until then I am angsty. And the angst is not helped by the fact that this is the year of work that emphatically got it through to me that teaching middle school in a disfunctional school environment is not for me. And I am ashamed--I should have been perfect, damn it!--and also resentful, and, well, it's not so great.

Interlude: Yesterday, I am standing on the yard doing my recess duty, when Mrs. Ukrainian Teacher, who has my angels for Social Studies, comes up to me and says "So, do you want to hear a story about Dovidl?"

Stories about Dovidl are never good news, but of course I nod, and she tells me that Dovidl, in her class, took off his shoes, then his socks, and then trimmed the nail on his big toe with his teeth.

This kid is in the seventh grade.

I am, of course, trying not scream with laughter, and failing. "What did you do?" I asked.

"I picked up the toenail in a kleenex," says Mrs. Ukrainian Teacher, "and I sent him out of my class."

Well, what else COULD a person have done at that point?

Well, according to our good-for-nothing administration, she should have dealt with it herself by calling his mother. What did she expect the principal to do about this?

The office lady and I are worried about hoof and mouth disease, or athlete's foot of the tongue, or something.

In English, Dovidl took off his shoes again. "No way, Dovid," I said. "I heard about what you did to poor Mrs. Ukrainian Teacher. You're not pulling that here."

In a classroom management book, that would have been that, but this ain't a classroom management book. His eyes glaze over, and he begins to do the fake street slang patter he does when he's being disrespectful. "Hey, hey, hey bro, yeah, uh-huh..." blah blah blah...but eventually the shoes go back on.

Note: I have had to tell more boys this year that I am not their 'bro', their 'bre-bre', their 'homie'...

Anyway, I'm glad it's the weekend.

This job was a serious mistake. The job before it was worse, technically speaking, but I was actually doing a pretty good job there, and would have gotten better, it was just that the administration didn't care for me, and refused to back up teachers with disciplinary problems. (At the VP's insistence, I had this goddamn poster up saying that the first offense was a verbal warning, second, name on board, third, lunch detention, 4th, something else, and fifth you go to the office. The problem was that going to the office meant that you promised the principal you'd behave better in dumb Ms. Bluejeans' class, and then you were released with no consequences. Whoo-hoo!)

But this one was Mission Impossible. I am teaching: seventh grade religion, seventh grade homeroom, which includes PE and all kinds of personalized classroom stuff like you get in elementary school, which I can't do because I'm a zombie, and grades 5 through 8 of English/Literature. No prep period.

I am beating myself up a lot for how badly it turned out.

The second grade teacher tells me that she thinks that the big thing in education is finding your niche. She told me about a friend of hers who taught everything--all the elementary grades, high school, middle school--and finally discovered that kindergarten was the way to go for her.

I'm trying to believe this. I'm thinking that high school might work--or even a middle school setting where I could teach one or two grades, not three in one room, or four through the day.

I'm also thinking about going back to office work for a couple of years, and going after a credential in school counseling.

All this sounds fine, except that I'm broke as hell, tired, and feel like a failure. Also, I'm turning thirty-four in a couple of months, and would like to be getting into some kind of stable position that might allow me to raise a family and put some money in the bank. And for those of you who are about to tell me that thirty-four is an absolute toddler--shut up. I don't mean to be rude, but shut your traps and don't go there. Thirty-four is old enough that I would like some kind of stability, some kind of professional reputation, and enough money to have a baby and start socking away for retirement. Smile a kindly "Oh, you'll know how stupid this sounds when you're fifty-six" smile at me, and I will go RABID.

On the plus sides--I get out of this rat trap. Mrs. Ukrainian Teacher is stuck in place for now, and not too happy about it. Also, I have a bunch of half-written novels, and maybe if I'm in a less horrible job I'll have time to write--and I think I might be a really good school counselor. Or maybe an MFT. We'll see.

I am so glad the week is over.

Matters of Precedence

OK, here's an etiquette issue:

My wedding officiant, Rabbi Bruriah, is of an age I will hazily place as early to mid forties. In attendence at the wedding, hopefully, will be the rabbi of my old synagogue, who is a charming eightysomething Yeky with a cute accent, and his lovely wife, also the darlin' priest from my father's parish, who is in his late fifties.

Given the roughly equal religious ranks of these person, who gets introduced to whom? I assume that, between the men, age indicates the order of precedence, so Father gets introduced to Rabbi Sr., and to his wife, whom I am forbidden to call 'Rebbetzin'.

Between rabbis, and between Rabbi B. and Father, who gets presented to whom? Rabbi Sr. is, after all, a rabbi of great authority, and twice Rabbi B.'s age, but according to Emily Post, a gentleman is ALWAYS presented to a lady, regardless of seniority. However, some sites I've looked at seem to indicate that deference is not based on gender in a business setting. This is my wedding, not a business setting, but they have a collegial relationship.

Is this important? This is not important. But inquiring minds want to know. Is there anything in Gemara about who gets presented to whom when a Catholic priest meets a somewhat younger lady rabbi?

Oh, Good Grief--Roseanne?

You know, I sometimes think that the world is populated by two different kinds of people. Those who have said some dumb-ass thing about Israel that antagonizes me, and those who haven't yet.

Normally, I deeply resent this situation. It hinders me. It has made it impossible in the past for me to become an intense left-wing activist like I wanted to when I was in my early twenties, and it prevented me from buying the cool hot-pink sweatshop-labor-free Converse sneakers I wanted a couple years ago (because it was a fundraiser for Code Pink). It has made it impossible for me to publicly protest the war in Iraq surrounded by thousands of other wrought-up sign-wavers, and it has tainted my previous general appreciation of Jimmy Carter. It places my local tabloid weeklies off-limits--I now pick up the SF Weekly, read _Savage Love_, and ditch the rest.

Apparently, Roseanne Barr has now blogged:

...I could never host...any network show, because I have opinions that are not sanctioned by the powers that be who refuse to allow even one dissenting voice over the airwaves of television(in this a "free" country).

I truly believe that millions of jews are not zionists, and that even if they are, they do not support Israeli occupation. I believe that Jews all over this planet choose peace in the middle east over the never ending death machine of hatred and division and terror that exists there now.

I am a kabbalist, as was Jesus Christ...(the one whom I follow). He tells me to seek first the Kingdom inside of my soul, and leave the rest to Him. I must in good conscience speak out against injustice especially when the agents of that injustice invoke God. Some blogger calls me a religious bigot for saying these things, and for saying that it takes lots of ritual abuse of children to turn out a "believer". Guilty as charged, and ready to burn at the stake if called to.

Well, I was never that attached to Roseanne. I'm intrigued to learn that Jesus was a kabbalist--I expect that Jesus would also be intrigued to learn that he was a kabbalist--and, um...

Thank God for Julie Burchill. That's all I've got to say.

I HATE AC Transit

OK, so this morning, noon, I had an appointment with a high school for an English teaching position. 11: 10 I left the house.

12:10 the 11:21 bus came.

The lady was gone by the time I arrived.

I hate AC transit.

Wedding Progress

A few notes. These are a touch out of date, but I thought I'd post them anyhow...

1. It is an interesting challenge to incorporate an Irish theme into a Jewish wedding. I am considering,after this experience, opening a Cafepress storecalled JudeoCeltia. I have found a pretty chuppah in a knotwork pattern on one site, and have sent the picture on to Groomra for consideration.

2. I'm trying to start to work on the wedding itself. What about the God language? “Is Groomra going to ‘now kiss the bride’”, asks my mother, “or will you be frum?”Do we use any of the language from the Book of CommonPrayer? To have and to hold? In sickness and in health? Love, honor and cherish? I do? (Groomra ’s call. If it’s significant to him...)

3. “Have you considered,” asks my ever-prepared mother, “what you’ll do if Rabbi Bruriah (the new nom de guerre of our officiant) can’t make it to the wedding? God forbid it should be an emergency, butwhat if Rabbi Bruriah gets a flat tire on the morningof the wedding and can’t make it? What if the bridge is closed?” I also need to check with Rabbi Bruriah as regards our ketubah. To some degree, this is a real formality,since the wedding has absolutely no halachic significance. Some of the headaches caused by feminism, feuding texts, concerns about a possible future get, etc., are totally bypassed by marrying a gentile. This frees me up to worry about things like finding a printer that will do both Hebrew and knotwork, and what we will do if the rabbi gets trapped in an elevator.

4. The issue of what the mothers will wear at the wedding is going to be an interesting one. Groomra’smother called to ask what she should wear. “Wear whatever you like,” I answered. I’m not dressing my bridesmaids in matching pastel outfits, and I’m sure not going to dictate to my future mother-in-law what she should wear. I’ve been amazed by the venom that gets spilled in the brides-online world about thewhole issue of who wears what, and who pays for the outfits...aaagh. Not going there.

So: “Wear whatever you want,” I say. “Don’t tell me that!” says Ima shel Grooma. All right, this is a rather casual lady, and I guess“whatever you want” would be sweats, which would be OKby me, but she sounds doubtful, so I reassess.“Wear whatever Tante shel Groomra tells you to,” I say, referring to her partner, and Groomra’s other mom, a more conservative individual, with a greater sense of conventional propriety. So that’s taken care of--I hope they don’t get the idea they need to put ISG into pantyhose or something, but it’s up to them, or rather, to TSG.

We also need to get something for my mother to wear, and this is a closer-to-home headache. Mrs. Bluejeans does not like to shop. Mrs. Bluejeans REALLY does notlike to shop. The prospect of choosing amother-of-the-bride outfit is already affecting her,and we have several months to go. God willing, one ofthe couple of clothing stores she likes will produce an elegant ensemble in purple in the next couple of months and we’ll be done.

5. My father, who likes to shop, is carefully planning his clothes. He is also reading up on the duties of the father of the bride, which I think have mostly traditionally been to pay for everything--and apparently staying sober is also considered important.He is also now the self-appointed attache on shul security matters to the Bluejeans-Fella wedding.

In addition, I now have another lead on a wedding dress, have been turned down by two caterers and am making contact with another, and, oh, every bloody thing. Wish me well.

Dancing At My Wedding

I was bat mitzvah in 1986, and my grandparents--both my grandmothers and my grandpa--came to the ceremony and the party, and they were all in their sixties, and they drove themselves, and they danced. My Catholic grandma accidentally genuflected while she was getting into her seat. (This embarassed her no end, as she was convinced the rabbi would be mortally offended, but the faux pas, if faux pas it was, was wiped out a second later, as my Aunt Yocheved announced at top volume "My! What a YOUNG rabbi!")

Twenty years later, we're going back for my wedding, and my grandparents aren't in their sixties any more. (I guess I thought they'd be spry and salt-and-pepper forever.) My grandpa died three years ago. My mother's mother suffered a stroke not long after that, and is in a long, slow recovery, thank God. My father's mother is fragile, and had been increasingly suffering from dementia.

Late last week we got a series of calls that seemed to indicate that things were really wrong with my dad's mother. She called in hysterics saying that my aunt and uncle, who she lives with, had kidnapped her, and asking my father to send the San Francisco PD to save her. (They live in San Diego. In the background of her SOS call, the kidnappers could be heard offering cardigans, and asking if she wanted to sit down somewhere more comfortable with the phone). Shortly after, we got news that her doctor has found a number of almost-certainly-cancerous growths in several places, and that the dementia was kicking up. My aunt told us that if we wanted to see her, we had better come quickly.

My father and I took off, and spent the weekend and most of Monday in San Diego. We're going to go back over Mother's Day weekend.

I'm really glad that we went. She actually was doing better by the time we got there, and we talked for quite a long time. She's frail, tiny--she's never liked to eat, and has always been slight, and now she's like a little bird. Ankles I could put my fist around. And her short-term memory is shot, and her long-term memory fades in and out randomly, and sometimes when we're talking I'm me, and sometimes I'm my mother, and sometimes I'm a total stranger and she looks confused when people call me by my name, because it was also her mother's name. But her sense of herself is still strong, and her unmistakable personality is intact. And I'm dealing.

"We can't plan as far ahead as August," my uncle told me. "We're living day to day right now." "Look," I told him. "If she's well enough to travel in August, and wants to come, it will be a huge blessing, and if not, we'll still be all right." And I told my aunt on the other side of the family something similar when I wrote about the wedding. My mother's mother is going in for cataract surgery and is still fragile. I don't know if travel is in the cards. But I'm dealing. My three grandparents between them have given me so much. I would love for them to dance at my wedding, or at least be there. (And typing this is making me cry.) But we'll have to see, and I will have them all in my heart, (and the grandmas on the phone), if that's what we can manage.

Forgive Me Father, I'm In The Second Grade

Tonight, the St. Colmcille kids and the kids from the local Spanish-language catechism classes fuse together into one big mob of 66 kids, and proceed to St. Colmcille Church for First Reconciliation (that's the Sacrament Formerly Known As Confession for those of you who have not been paying attention in catechism class). The kids are going to be reconciled with God and their own consciences. The St. Colmcille community is having to be reconciled with the fact that we didn't know that the kids from the Spanish-language classes were going to be there too. It's going to be a long ceremony, and thank goodness I'm skipping it.

Everyone will be reconciled in the end, but I'm worried about the priests. There are going to be two of them. Two priests. Sixty-six kids making their first confession. Can you imagine listening to the confession of and absolving thirty-three second graders in a row?

ForgivemeFatherforIhavesinnedthisismyfirstconfession. I hit my little sister. I was mean to my brother. I took my mom's lipstick and made a hopscotch on the sidewalk. I called my mom a bad name. I hit my little brother. I took my dad's keys and dropped them down the garbage disposal, and then I forgot I did it, and my mom turned the disposal on. I yelled at my best friend. I took another cupcake at a birthday part and lied and said it was my first cupcake. I broke my friend's pencil. I was really mad at my dad and talked back to him. I hit my cousin. I took a cookie without asking. I lost three jackets already this year, and my aunt says she's not made out of money. I called my teacher a bad name and stuck my tongue out. I accidentally told my grandmother that my father took out a second mortgage on our house, and now everyone is mad at me. I was mean to my sister. I talked back to my grandma. I accidentally killed my goldfish. I didn't do my homework. I hit my best friend. I wouldn't go to sleep when my babysitter said. I hit my sister. I lied about my homework. I said I hated the principal. I stole a condom from my uncle and unrolled it and put it in my teacher's desk because she made me stay in for lunch. I hit my big sister. I am very sorry for these and all my other sins that I can't remember, and you're hurting my feelings by giggling, Father, I worked hard on this confession with Mrs. Tierney.

I don't know how long it takes to confess thirty-three kids, but I know that they would have to take me to a locked ward afterward. Perhaps they train you for this in seminary, making you watch endless looped kid confessions in some kind of VR helmet?

Columbine, Virginia Tech, and Mrs. Crazy Teacher and Me

OK, all you people in the blogging world, give me some advice, 'cause Lord knows I need it right now. Yesterday, along with seventh grade girl drama, we had some weirdness I cannot quite get out of my head, or figure out what to do with.

This week, at morning prayer at school, we have been praying for those affected by the Virginia Tech shootings. It gives some weight to end of the Our Father---'and deliver us from evil'.

Yesterday, there was apparently some national drive to have a 9 AM moment of silence both in honor of those who died in Virginia, and to mark the anniversary of the Columbine shootings. Our principal asked that we mark this in our classrooms. Since the seventh grade could no more maintain a moment of silence than they could sprout wings, I had the kids offer some thoughts and comments, and then we said an Our Father and a Hail Mary.

They've been following the VT situation in the news, kind of. They've come away with a fixed idea that the shooter was dating a girl who he killed because she was dating a black guy...attempts to tell them that this does not actually seem to be what happened got me nowhere. They told me kindly that I needed to start watching TV, because the newspapers don't tell you what's going on. But, well, you do what you can with tweens.

Columbine was sort of a different deal. My students were four and five in 1999. They have no real memory of the coverage of the story. And I'm not sure that to them it's significant, or should be, particularly. At any rate, I gave them a few details, and they went on to their other classes.

Specifically, math class. For math they have Mrs. Crazy Teacher. Mrs. Crazy Teacher is not my favorite person for a number of reasons, and one of the reasons that I am happy I'm leaving the school at the end of the year is that Mrs. Crazy Teacher has been tapped to be the new principal of the school. (This year she has served as VP.) Mrs. Crazy Teacher is organized, efficient, self-confident, well-spoken, has BRILLIANT classroom management skills, and absolutely no rachmones or humility that I can detect. She also has, I think, sort of a screw loose, but she is very well thought of by those who have authority over our school. (And I'm not, so my ability to take her on is zip.) This is the woman who when I ran into her one afternoon recently and told her she looked wrecked, snapped "Well, do you want my job?"

Mrs. Crazy Teacher has said a lot of things to students in the past that I have not approved of. No one asked me. She rules by fear. She bitches about the other teachers on the floor messing up the schedule, but feels free to keep my classes waiting for five or ten minutes every day while she 'wraps up' class with no apology. If one of us does it, we get complained about. She talks trash about the parents. She gets under my skin.

Anyway, apparently she decided that math class was a great time to have a 'discussion' about VTech and Columbine. She has these discussions a lot. She told the kids about Columbine in graphic detail, and told them that she would screen the video footage from the massacre if their parents signed permission slips. And she told them a story about her own college days where, apparently, a frat boy told his friends that he was going to rape a girl at one of their parties. They thought he was just being stupid, it turned out he was not. His victim was very badly hurt, and Mrs. Crazy Teacher decided to get a little graphic with the kids about that. Then she turned 'em back to me.

The girls were scared and grossed out. The boys were grossed out and disturbed. I am also grossed out and disturbed.

Does this seem like a step too far? This woman has also told the eighth graders when she's mad at them that all the girls will get pregnant before they get into high school, and that the boys will 'impregnate' a bunch of girls and then leave the state. Now she wants to show twelve-year-olds footage from Columbine and talk to them about internal damage from sexual assault? I'm not one for protecting kids overmuch from the realities of the world they live in, but what use is this to them? What's the message? Live in fear of your classmates?

Should I try to talk to the principal about this? The principal is a nice person, but she's a good and old friend of Mrs. Crazy Teacher's, and I assume supported her promotion to principal. What would you do?

Seventh Grade Girl Drama

I swear, I could submit the whole thing to Dei'ah ve Dibur as something like "The Power of Lashon Ha-Ra". Seriously. I don't think I ever quite understood the warnings about how you shouldn't even pay compliments, for fear feelings might be hurt before. Not like this.

Oy. Oy. Oy. Drama At St. Colmcille Elementary School. (Please note, for newcomers to the blog, in order to protect my student's identities, I have not only changed the name of the school, I have changed their names, and refer to these mostly black and Latino Catholic school kids by Hebrew names that I assign them. The names have some significance, or none, being related by sound, meaning, or inside joke, to the names their parents gave them. Don't worry about it.)

It seems to have started a little something like this. (I present this edited version, sorted out of several interviews, for your convenience.) The students who helped at a school concert last night, including most of them in my class, were rewarded with a free dress pass, meaning that they can wear their civilian clothes, instead of their uniforms. Brachi told Sarina that she looked nice today. Sarina, who does not speak English as a first language, said, "Thank you, you do too."

Between adults, the whole thing might have stopped there. But Brachi, who desperately wants to be the center of attention at all times, decided to go on. She said, "Just between you and me, do you think we are the two prettiest-looking girls in the seventh and eighth grade today? Just tell me." Sarina shrugged, and said, "OK, I guess so."

After this the trail of evidence becomes disputed, and fairly murky, but what we can be sure of is that Sarina repeated this conversation to Margalit, and perhaps others. (Brachi says several others, Sarina says ONLY Margalit. But tell Margalit, tell the New York Times, except Margalit is faster, and not bound by journalistic principals.)

As a result, some short time later, Shoshi comes up to Brachi and says "Did you tell Sarina that you and her were the cutest girls in the seventh and eighth grades? Because that's really conceited." "I did not say that!" Brachi exclaims. Brachi then goes off and tells the entire story to Aviva, just to clear her head, she claims, (tell Aviva, tell Fox News Network) and then confronts Sarina, who, when told that Shoshi said she said, bursts into tears and runs off to confront Shoshi. Na'amah is also involved in this, I think, but I'm not sure exactly how...

At this point, dumb ole Ms. Bluejeans is only aware that there is some conflict developing between some of the girls in the class, but is not aware how much, or that it will blossom into something worse than the hurt feelings they inflict on each other routinely. At lunch, Ms. Bluejeans has her usual Erev Shabbos classroom lunch for a small group of students who like to talk about their problems and concerns, but most of the time is spent trying to enforce a shomer negiah policy, or perhaps a restraining order, between Tzippi and Reuven, who are in love, in a seventh grade way, and express this by hitting each other a lot, and arguing constantly. Even the other kids tell them they sound like an old married couple. I'm just afraid that someone will suffer a concussion before they're old enough to just admit that they like each other.

There was one reference to the brewing storm, as Reuven commented "I just don't get why girls have to tell each other things that are supposed to be secrets and then get all mad when it turns out other people know about it." I told him "Reuven, hon, you will be wondering that until you are an old man with a long white beard, so you may as well start now." "You're weird, Ms. Bluejeans," he commented.

Anyway, by the end of lunch, Mrs. Baum the lunch supervisor has had to send both parties to the principal, because the drama has gotten unbearable. I spent much of the PE period talking to all parties and trying to sort out exactly what's going on here.

Best moment:

Ms. Bluejeans: "Brachi, do you think that some of this might have happened because Sarina's English isn't perfect?"

Brachi: "Nooooo...she knew what she was doing!"

Ms. Bluejeans: "Brachi, I'm not so sure, because English is my first language, and I barely understand what you just told me. If you told me in Spanish, I don't think I would have the slightest idea what the problem was."

Brachi: Shrug. "But she lied to me when I asked her about it!"

I am never again telling the social studies teacher that I like her skirt. Never.

The complications of the interfaith family

Erev Shabbos I was over to my folks' place for dinner. It's Pesach. It's also a Friday during Lent. We had fish and potatoes with salad. It was good--but it was also, more or less, the only option available. This is what happens when pious people of different faiths get married to each other.

The fella is not pious--he's almost piously not pious--but he will still expect a chocolate bunny and some form of nice treyf dinner for Easter. I suppose I will have an artichoke. (If some rabbi with too much time on, I'm sure his, hands has discovered that artichokes are not kosher l'Pesach, don't tell me, okay?)

Wedding plans are coming along, although I have to say that I am feeling like a slug when I look at the progress that AidelMaidel is making on hers. We have a rabbi, and also, almost certainly, a place to have the wedding. We now need a caterer, music, and I need to get the two of us dressed. We also need to choose a ring, get a chuppah, uh, flowers...

One thing I've decided I DO want for the wedding, or rather after, is that I really want to do the thing where you save the bits from the glass the groom breaks and have them embedded in a nice Lucite cube suitable for displaying on your mantelpiece. I don't know why this has such a deep appeal--OK, I do, it seems like the epitome of slightly schticky grown-up middle-class settled-down-ness, and I WANT it. Does anyone have a Lucite cube company to recommend?

Wedding customs are strange things. A few weeks ago I was getting a lift with a coworker and her wife, who teaches at another school in our area. These ladies, you need to understand, are both very opinionated individuals, and they were both married once before. The subject of freezing one's wedding cake for the first year came up. (Clearly this cannot be a very old custom.) Coworker (CW) had not done this for her first marriage. Coworker's Wife (CWW) had something to say:

CWW: "You didn't freeze the top layer of your wedding cake? No WONDER your marriage failed!"

CW: "It's stupid! And look who's talking!"

CWW: "Hey, I was married for ten years, and not all of it was bad, only the last three or four. Because I froze the cake!"

CW: (Bronx cheer)

Balabusta: "Ladies, please, shlom bayit, shlom bayit, CW, the traffic, the traffic is merging..."

But still, I'm going to risk it. We're going to EAT the cake, and assume that we'll bake more during our marriage...

Like Axel Foley...

I am on vacation.

Great moment from an otherwise difficult day...we did a gameshow style contest on Biblical knowledge. One of the earliest questions asked whether the animals had boarded the ark a. on tiptoe, b. two by two, c. in crates, or d. on motorcycles. Avinoam, one of my seventh graders, answered correctly, and then exclaimed with evident seriousness, "Motorcycles! They wouldn't even be able to SHIFT!"

The class lost it.

Green Matzo Balls

Flylady, bless her, has started posting Pesach cleaning tips, and has included this cautionary tale from real life. Do not cook matzo balls in a cast-iron pot. The copper will turn your matzo balls green. GREEN I TELL YOU !!!

Kitchen knives

The Balabusta is tentatively starting to think about wedding present registries. (Tentatively, because she is thirty-three, and it seems insane to ask people for presents just because she's finally getting married...oh well. I lack a sense of entitlement, people.)

Anyway, one of the things we really do need, and I would like, is nice kitchen knives, since I'm sick of hacking vegetables with stainless steel cut-outs. Problem is, most of the quality ones seem to be made in Germany, and I got issues. (Do the issues make sense? I've been known to buy German products over ones made in China, since I figure it's better to patronize a country that used to use slave labor rather than one that is documentably using slave labor NOW. But knives...knives is different. Somehow.)

Can anyone recommend to me a nice range of fairly good (not necessarily super-good) quality kitchen knives made in some nice place like Canada or Denmark, or somewhere like that? Where do frum gourmets buy their knives?

Recovering

I hear that Pesach is starting tomorrow night. I even have seder tickets. Otherwise, couldn't prove it by me.

I was sick all week, sicker and sicker, and not getting better. Finally, on Thursday, I think my body realized it wasn't going to get what it wanted by simply having a cold, so my eyes turned red and started to gunk up. Pinkeye-shy coworkers insisted I go home.

Doctor says it's not pinkeye. Gave me drugs. I slept through Shabbos almost completely, and am now feeling slightly better.

In Transit

I am so tired of having a cold--and here we go for round umpteengazillion. I need to talk to my doctor about this, also about the pain in my left hip and disc. Not too long ago, while talking to one of my classes, I described myself as an "old lady". This is not uncommon. I have been known to tell classes that when I was their age, dinosaurs roamed the earth, and that Charlemagne and I went to high school together back before he became Holy Roman Emperor. For the most part, they accept this.

But one of the kids came up to me after class on this particular day, and said "Ms. Bluejeans, you're not really old. You're just kind of middle-aged."

Awwwwwww. (I repeated this story to a colleague a couple of years younger than I, who was NOT amused.)

Anyway, I'm too young to be falling apart like this. I've joined the Jazzercise place down the street from me; maybe getting some exercise will help.

I mostly hate getting sick because I feel as though I'm just barely keeping things pinned together with chicken wire and safety pins as it is, and when I'm sick, things fall apart, I mean things REALLY fall apart. I didn't go in to work to do my grades this weekend, and oh, I'll pay for that.

And I'm trying to job hunt.

Have I mentioned how much I hate job hunting? And how much I hate job hunting while trying to put together a wedding, finish a school year, and get all the other bits of my life running smoothly? Aaaagh.

Oh, and Pesach is happening again, even though I told them last year that I didn't have the energy to deal with it again so soon.

Why do they do this to me?

Anyway, about the job hunting: on Monday I went into my principal's office to talk to her, having written her a letter about concerns I was having about my job, and we decided that I shouldn't come back. I think I might have been able to keep the job, but it would have been really hard to sell myself to all the people who didn't want me back, and also the principal is leaving, and the new principal is a woman I can't work with. So there we are.

I was incredibly mature about the whole thing. Now I sort of wish I had thrown something, or at least bad-mouthed the new principal. But probably better I didn't.

Oh well.

This is just to let you all know

That I have not fallen off the face of the earth.

I do have some other problems, but none of them are that major.

The key problem keeping me away from the blog was that I couldn't change over to the new Blogger on my old Mac, and then our internet access went down for a while...anyway....

The other problems, in order:

1. I am hunting for a wedding officiant (yes, all of you who offered help, I know, and may be in touch), because I thought it would be nice to have the wedding at a certain location, and the certain location is not letting me give them a down payment until I come up with a wedding officiant who can vouch that I am having a Jewish wedding, and not, say, one at which Pastor Bob, or Pastor Bob and Rabbi Julie, or Rabbi Yeshua from the Messianic Shul will preside. (Never mind that the fella and I CANNOT have a Jewish wedding, by any sort of technical definition...) Working on it.

2. I'm looking for a new job. (Long story, and I'm still teaching until the summer, but will not be returning in the fall.)

3. One of my students has become a hunted man. Apparently he went to a party and was lo shomer negiah with a young woman and either did or said something to her which caused twenty-five of her closest friends and relations to show up at the school this afternoon to kick his butt/commit mayhem/kill him/something like that. We're concerned that they're coming back tomorrow. Life at St. Colmcille is nothin' but laughs.

4. My future mother-in-law would REALLY like a solid date for the wedding.

5. The fella is sick. He's not so much fun when he's sick, he just eats soup and coughs.

6. My favorite coworker is out with diverticulitis. How fun is that?

On the bright side:

1. I have a DISHWASHER! This is truly, truly, truly cool. It arrived on St. Patrick's Day, and is therefore Patricia, or sometimes Tricia the Disher.

2. I got a last little bit of money from the schoolteacher's retirement fund I closed out.

3. I'm recovering from my own cold.

4. Most importantly, I can blog again...

What's Going On

We've been having an exciting week here in the San Francisco Bay Area. This was the week that a fifty-something second-grade teacher from right here in El Cerrito was removed from her classroom by the cops, in front of her weeping students, either because (the school claims) she was put on administrative leave for being an erratic loony or (as she, and a large number of the parents claim), she was punished for challenging the school about their indifference to violent bullying. Over in San Francisco, we're having a sex scandal involving the mayor. Oh, and also, a local columnist referred to said mayor as 'middle aged', which panicked the Balabusta, since the mayor is six years older than her. Fun, fun, fun.

The Superbowl is tomorrow. The Balabusta does not know who is playing, nor does she care, but she is going to make guacamole anyway, because she likes guacamole, and avocados are on sale. Groomra will be watching, as will his parents. (He doesn't eat guacamole, so I get it all to myself. Bonus!)

My career...well it's been an interesting week-or-so at my school as well. Last week, I was formally observed by my principal, who wrote a truly lovely evaluation complimenting my abilities and accurately identifying my challenges.

Three days later, two things happened. First the Balabusta had a bad encounter with a diocese consultant, who told the principal that the Balabusta was incapable of running a classroom effectively. Second, a parent dropped in, at two PM, on a Friday, on report card day, on the day when two students had been caught with liquor on campus and suspensions were flying, and left in a state of foaming fury because the study hall was loud, and the kids were gossiping with each other.

As they say in Catholic school, mea maxima culpa.

Now, unless my classroom management undergoes an AMAZING boost, it seems that my job may be in some peril.

This week was Catholic Schools Week, which is not much fun if you are a teacher. There are a lot of theme activities, and the kids get very angry if you think you're going to teach, rather than let them play around. Also, we had a student make a suicide gesture on campus, and a crazy guy wandered in off the street to complain about our priest and scare the hell out of the math teacher.

And to cap it all off, yesterday the schedule got messed up because of an emergency meeting one of the teacher-administrators had to go to, meaning that I got one of my English classes coming in to me with TWENTY MINUTES left in the period. At this EXACT moment, the consultant who thinks I can't manage a classroom enters to observe, with a laptop, followed by another diocese official who apparently just happened by and started dropping into classrooms to see what we were up to. Oh, and this class is sort of worked up, because two of their classmates left the school without warning in the last two days, so they're skitzed out, and worried, and sad.

Holy Mary, mother of God...pray for this poor sinner, now, and for however long it takes...

So, as you might imagine, I'm REAL glad it's Shabbos. Sometimes when it's been rough for a while, when we light for Shabbos, the Balabusta's mother will say, cheerfully, 'bye-bye week!'. Yeah. Like that.

But on the plus side, I don't know if it's the Paxil, or approaching maturity, or just that the last year burned out my ability to stress a lot about school jobs, but I feel fine. I've told my principal, honestly, that I will follow her guidelines, stay in touch with her, and do everything that I can to bring my performance up to her standard. I will go on working very very hard, as I have been, and she acknowledges I have been.

If I succeed, tov. I like St. Colmcille. If I don't, I will get another job, in teaching, or education, or answering phones at a law firm. But I'm not afraid. I'm not embarassed. I am not doing anything wrong, and I am working as hard and smart as I can.

I am not going to let the consultant make me feel bad. I care intensely that my principal know I work hard and try to do everything needed. I want my students to know that I care about them, and want them to learn. I want my students' parents to know that too. But the consultant--she's a road block. I think she's mostly ego, and while I will try to use her expertise to help me, I do not care what she thinks or says about me, good or bad.

And this isn't bravado, it's just how I feel. It's pretty cool. I hope it lasts.

A good Shabbos to those of you who are online today, and a good week to those who pick this up after this evening.