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Sunday, April 29, 2007

 

Got Two Left Feet?


Do you avoid, refrain and deprive yourself from dancing, exclaiming you have two left feet?

Well, watch this, and reconsider your excuse. . .

Sent to me by David - Thanks!!



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Thursday, April 26, 2007

 

Rude Awakening


Two weeks ago was my birthday, right?.

Now, one of The JohnnyB's charming traits is his ability to find the most unique ideas. He doesn't just go to a store and gets his lovely wife a nice jewelry or perfume.


Nooooooooooooo.

The man hates, loathes and fears stores.

So, he goes online, for days and weeks (maybe even months?), gathering ideas, and manages to surprise me each and every time.


This year, he handed me a big box, and in the box, a very sweet greeting card (which he created himself on the computer), with a typed page.
"Gift certificate to CheapJoes!!!", I thought, imagining a brand new fancy sable brush dipped into purple paint.

No.

It was a bunch of ideas for a new table/storage/thingy for my studio, as he thought I need something nicer and better, which was very, truly sweet.

Right now, I am quite happy with the arrangement I have (a folding table on top of our former-coffee table, and in between them a couple tiny drawer-units we got at IKEA. Plus, the top of those storage thingies might not be deep enough to serve as a painting surface. And yet, some of the ideas he found are soooooooooooo tempting, that we might head for IKEA one of these days.

But until then, like, where is my tangible birthday gift?!?

Two days later, a package has arrived. The JohnnyB, the master of presentation, threw it at my lap as is, saying "and here's the small present that did not arrive in time for your birthday".


And there, in the box, was sitting ClockyB (*)

"Oh, an alarm clock", I said, somewhat disappointed.

"Yes", joyoused The JohnnyB.

"Ahm... thank you", I said politely with utter wonder.

"Try it", said The JohnnyB.

So I did.

Gheeze... this is one alarm clock!

First, it doesn't just speak the regular alarmclockish language.
It chirps and beeps and rings and rattles and squeaks and comes up with a variety of noises that annoy
the hell out of you.

Not only that, the little creep also flashes its screen.

Not only that - once it starts its irritating concert, and you hit the 'snooze' button, the little idiot, after a while, shows - yet again - its vast vocal ability, then goes forward on its wheels - - - and then starts rotating and running like a two-year old on candy, and you have to start chasing it all over the room.
It moves on any surface, including carpets (even ugly carpets!), and it can jump from up to 3 feet (haven't tried that yet - my heart is too weak for such adventures!)

'How cool!!!', I see your eyes lit.

Hmm... is it!?

Well, take into account that when you just wake up from a deep, sweet sleep (and this little bugger is so damn loud!!!), it's really alarming. Even if you do manage to fall back asleep, you then get the full monty, and then, as you fall off the bed trying to catch this annoying piece of plastic, all you wanna do is choke the bastard. Once you got a hold of this retarded dreidel, you are so fully awake and agitated, that you just make your way to the kitchen, trying to relax with a first coffee.

So, yes, it is working - even for non-morning people like yours truly.

Now, The JohnnyB spent too much time, in my opinion, walking around very proud of himself for this cool gift (and yes, it is very cool, and Thank You!!!).

And so, he just had to be taught a lesson.

On Sunday afternoon, as he was tucked nicely under the covers, all happy and elated that it's time for his sacred nap, he asked me to wake him at 5:30.

"No", I said with my sweetest voice and cutest smile, "why don't I let ClockyB wake you? After all, it is such a wonderful gift".

"OK", he agreed with the sweet innocence that is reserved for those who are not yet acquainted with this freakish toy.

Now, The JohnnyB's state of being after a nap is usually dreamy, kindhearted and pink-cheeked.

Well, not this time. . .

. . . At 5:30 and 2 seconds, he shot out of the bedroom like a cannon ball on steroids.

"This thing!", he said, fully alert, but unable to show his crankiness, as it's HIS gift,
"this thing, y'know, it REALLY wakes you up!!!".

R E A L L Y ? ! ?

And, mind you, just because I am such a considerate lovely wife. I only set the alarm, without all the commotion of ClockyB running around.

Next time, I'll set the snooze to '0', which will cause ClockyB to go crazy right from the beginning. I'll just need to get a video camera and keep a safe distance as The JohnnyB breaks a new record in high-jump.

Payback? Moi?? Naaaaaaaaaaaa.
Just sharing the love...


(*) Believe it or not, the official name of this little guy is actually Clocky, but we accepted him to our family with open arms, and thus he became ClockyB, the younger brother of LumiB.

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Tuesday, April 24, 2007

 

To Whom It May Concern...


As several of you have shown concern: No birds were harmed during the writing of this blogpost.

Just some rough moments.

- - - Well, hours . . .

- - - - - - - - . . . uhm, more like days . . .

- - - - - - - - - - - - . . . OK - couple of weeks, when everything seemed too much to bear.



I was quite concerned, as I was obviously overreacting to every tiny stupid thing, until it suddenly hit me: I was probably reliving this exact time, a year ago!

And then, it all made sense.

It was a big "Duh!" revelation moment, which made me feel so much better; a
lmost relieved; not at all happier, but I realized that feeling so low was very OK.

As, there was - and there still is - a reason.


This week, exactly one year ago (going by the Hebrew calendar - which I don't usually do), I was visiting my home land, watching my mom die in a surreal fast-slow motion, feeling, well, a whole variety of emotions, as you can imagine. Helplessness, weakness, orphan-ness, heartbreak, stupid silly hope, anger, regret, helplessness, missing, helplessness...


Five excruciating days of suffering and agony (well, I witnessed only five. My sister was there for many more).

And then - after an endless terrible night that will forever stay with me, she was gone.
Two days after the Independence Day of Israel (which is today).

And I only figured it out on Sunday morning, as I was starting to prepare for our choral group's performance at the Israel Memorial Day ceremony.

Apparently, it was all subconscious. Herds of emotions running underneath the surface, without even one of them bothering to stop for a second, and inform me what is going on, clue me in, y'know, out of courtesy.

But emotions never do. It's part of their charm.

One year - went by so quickly, and yet, sometimes feels like it happened yesterday.


So, no birds were harmed.

Just one mother.

Mine.

A year ago.


- - -

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Sunday, April 22, 2007

 

ArtPact #15


So, the long feared class took place on Saturday.
WackieM has warned us since this advanced portrait workshop has begun, but we kept denying it, choosing to not think about it, concentrating on other things instead. Some of us, even dyeing countless tissue papers. . .

And yet - the moment of truth has come.
The dreaded lesson of all: Self-Portrait.

S E L F - P O R T R A I T ! ! !

And not from a good flattering photo that we carefully chose, mind you...

No - we were going for the real thing. A self portrait done the good old way, drawn and painted from life, sitting in front of a mirror. And no just any mirror; a Mary Kay mirror, which WackieM has brought to class. (Never heard of Mary Kay, but I know her name makes American women very excited, pink Cadillac and all).

Before we even started, I did a quick one, just to see what I can come up with without getting any education on the subject. Just scribbled with a pen on paper, and went in with some color.


Hmm... as you can tell, I was still in the pissed-off mood.


Then WackieM had us approach capturing ourselves in stages.

First, we did blind contour drawing - which was truly fun! You look at the mirror, imagine that your hand is an extension of your eye, and trace your face as if you were a tiny ant crawling around. No peeping at the paper, no lifting the pen. It was hilarious to look around and see everyone gazing intensly into the mirror with complete silence and somber expressions.
The first blind drawing I did was not only very blind, but also transparent. After 5 minutes of deep concentration and devoted drawing, I decided that I was done, and looked at the result - just to discover that I was using a dried-out ink pen... How typical, Eh?

So, I quickly did 3 additional ones in the remaining 5 minutes.


Still pissed . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and somewhat Picassoish, I'd say.

Then we moved on to what's called a modified contour drawing, where you get the gracious permission to look at the drawing from time to time and even lift the pen now and then, to make necessary adjustments.

That was somehow less fun, as you no longer have an excuse for the creepy results that are produced...

I did like the last of the modified drawings, though.



It was a more interesting pose (well, as interesting as you can get when you have to stare at yourself in the mirror and use one hand for drawing) and I did get some likeness.

Plus, for a change, I wasn't looking so cranky. I guess I was starting to truly enjoy the class.

WackiM recommended that I take that one further, towards a painting.
And, I actually came up with two paintings.


This first one took a long time, with lots of going back with color and glazes and endless changes in the background.

"Self-Portrait #1", Watercolor on W/N CP Paper, 8"x8"


While the second was a very loose 'n quick line work, purely fun.



"Self-Portrait #2", Watercolor on W/N CP Paper, 9"x9"

Y'know, I actually like them both.

The JohnnyB claimed the first one generally looks like me. "More than kinda", was his exact eloquently technical term.
The second one is lovely, he agreed, but then added with his typical excruciating honesty:
"but you look sooooooooooooooo much younger in it than you really are".
Indeed, daily ego boost and constant support and assurance, that's what I married him for (in case you were wondering).


And I've got to admit: it was a great experience. Most of us bought the mirrors so we can use them for this purpose at home (luckily, not all of them were pink. . . ), and I do believe I'll do more of that self-examining.

RabkieM dared me to put one of these on my blog.

"And I don't just mean post it", she clarified.
"I mean put it as your blog image, instead of the photo you have there".

OK, RabkieM - done.

Ah, I wish we'd made a bet :-)


previous ArtPact... ...next ArtPact

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Saturday, April 21, 2007

 

(Another) Sentence of The Month: April


Got an wonderfully supportive Email this morning. The sender, one of the more unique people I got to know recently, wrote about being fraught with a certain emotion.

Fraught - a new word for me, and a very good one.

So, wanting to use it cleverly in my reply, I asked The JohnnyB about the noun from which this word stems.

"There is no noun", exclaimed the JohnnyB. "You just say 'fraught with fear'". (*)


"And you keep complaining that Hebrew is a weird language?!?", I reprimanded.

"Well", came the quick answer, "Y'see, WE do not have that many words for fear!!".

Eh . . .

(*)
I know, it doesn't have to be fear. I do not account to The JohnnyB's English..


previous Sentence of The Month... ...next Sentence of The Month

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Tuesday, April 17, 2007

 

On The Edge!


Somehow, in the past week, I wake up with a heavy terrible feeling, hating the world and its occupants. Mostly its occupants.
As the day goes by, I get edgy and cranky, and the heavy feeling just accumulates and snowballs.

I can't really do much during the day, and as the evening comes, I surrender to the TV and Internet Backgammon, kicking asses of anonymous players . Like a mind-numbing drug, I just get swept towards it, until it's time to go to bed, hoping that tomorrow will bring a new me. But - comes the next morning, and it's the same, only worse, as it's getting more and more frustrating.

I can't even bring myself to paint, which increases the vicious circle, as painting might be the only way to get out of this loop of gloom. Today I made up my mind, forced myself to march into my studio, and decorated some of those collage papers that made me so happy on my birthday. I ended up loathing the results, and about to throw them all into the garbage bin, and then give the wall some serious kicks. (of course it's the wall's fault! what d'ya mean how would it help!?).
Luckily, I decided to not make any hasty decisions as long as I am in this mood.

And I cannot even point out a single valid reason.

It could be just one of these weeks that I have lost my rose-colored glasses, which makes everything seem bleak and pointless.

Or maybe it's the fact that everything is piling up on me, and I am so damn sick and tired of doing so much for others (and having it taken for granted), which does not leave me time and energy to do things for myself and my loved ones.

Or, could it be that my birthday did not just go by, and actually did get me into the mood of looking back, and thinking? As we all know, too much thinking can be quite unhealthy at times.

I only hope that whatever it is, it will go away soon, so I can go back to my content happyish self.

'cause I hate being like that, and I don't really like myself when I'm in that morose state of being!

And thus, I give you this delightfully lovely poem, that truly captures how I am feeling these days.
I don't know who wrote it, but it's brilliant!

I woke early one morning,
The earth lay cool and still
When suddenly a tiny bird
Perched on my window sill.

He sang a song so lovely
So carefree and so gay,
That slowly all my troubles
Began to slip away.

He sang of far off places
Of laughter and of fun
It seemed his very trilling,
Brought up the morning sun.

I stirred beneath the covers
Crept slowly out of bed,
Then gently shut the window
And crushed his fuckin' head.

I'm not a morning person.

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Monday, April 16, 2007

 

Close Encounters of the Fourth Kind


Got pulled over today, by a cop!

For the very first time!!

I am here for just over 5 years, been here on several business trips before moving here, and - being the honorable truthful person that I am - I cannot quite attest that I've always kept the speed limit.

And yet - this is my very first encounter with the law.
(well, actually, it's the second.
The first time was when I called 911 by mistake, without even knowing I did, and 20 minuets later, three cops with drawn pistols and two police cars in the background were at the door... but that's another story...).


There I was, today, on a gorgeous shiny afternoon, driving back from my trip to the art store, with additional paint and brayers in the trunk.

I was speeding.

Not outrageously, mind you! Pretty much like anyone else.

I cheerfully sped along, as I caught a glimpse of a motorcycle in my rearview mirror, about 3 cars behind me. And the motorcyclist, y'know, seemed a big official.

To be on the safe side, I switched to the right lane, and slowed down, as he switched to the left lane, slowing down himself.

I kept driving at a decent speed, with the most innocent face I could dig out of my repertoire, awaiting him to start the audio visual show of lights and siren.

Nothing.

"Cool", I thought, "He was not after me, after all!".

Wrong!!!

I looked to my left, and noticed that he has slowed down even more, and was saying something, in addition to waving his hands in a weird way.

I was very tempted to cheerfully wave back, but I pulled over, rolled down my window, and looked at him curiously. Hey, these cops really do look like on TV: nice and friendly and cordial and all.

He stopped near me, almost smiled, and said
"You slowed down just in a nick of time, didn't you?".

Now, in such cases, the best thing is to just surrender. No use arguing, Eh? Especially when I knew I was sinful.
Plus, he didn't even call me 'Ma'am'. I was starting to like him a lot!


I smiled a guilty smile and said, "Yes, I did. I am sorry", feeling my face lighting up in a graceful hue of vermilion.

"You were this close to getting a ticket", he pantomimed with two fingers, and added, "Slow down".

"Thank you", I said
('Thank you'!? 'THANK YOU'!??! what a dumb response!!).


"You see", he continued to mused, ignoring the fact that he is creating a serious traffic hazard with the two of us chatting like that on the shoulder of the quite narrow road, "When I see a car doing zigzags like you did, I go after it and give a ticket".

The Queen of Zigzags apologized, yet again.

"Slow down", he repeated with a lawful voice yet in a very benevolent fatherly manner.

"I will", I promised with doe eyes, and we parted as friends.

No ticket.

He took off, continuing his quest for other dangerous speed delinquents, and, after a surprisingly short while of waiting for someone to let me get back into traffic, I continued to drive.

The cop was out of sight - - -

- - -

- - - - - -


- - - - - - - - - - - -and yet, I drove just at speed limit all the way back home.


'cause he was so nice.


Damn, it's slow to be a good law-abider!!!



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Saturday, April 14, 2007

 

ArtPact #14


Well, kinda.

As planned, I spent most of my birthday doing what I like.


My grand sleeping-in idea did not work well, as The JohnnyB felt obliged to wake me before leaving to work, and then some early birds from the holy land decided to call me and disrupt that plan of mine.
Still, one of them was my incredible niece,
Lilush, whom you've kinda met through her portraits, who chatted for a while and then put the monosyllable Nitzku on the phone, for a fascinating conversation.

This cheeky kid (2 years old in May) is fluently composing full logical sentences. Only thing, he is limiting himself (and his audience) to one syllable of each word (on rare occasions, he's upgrading to two). Talking to him is serious left-brain challenge, as it's all about deciphering, and it's hysterically funny.

It was the first time for me to talk to him, and I did pretty well, despite my uncontrollable laughter.

He monosyllabled me (in Hebrew, of course) about the pigeon he saw that day, then abbreviated a Lilush-guided "Happy Birthday", then informed me that he did not give the Anguses any hay, and then, on a complete tangent which is so typical to our family, suddenly cheered: "Tafta!!!!" (his version to 'grandma' in Hebrew). His mom and myself transatlantically corrected him that it's not Grandma, but Nava, which he repeated with sheer disappointment, grunted "No Grandma, Nava?!", then assured me - yet again - that he did not give hay to the Anguses, and retired to his business
(which - at the time - was dancing in front of the television while wearing a green bowl on his head. Yup, definitely belongs to our family!).

Anyway, once this fun discussion was over, and the non-Tafta-Nava was left to lick my wounded ego, I got up and spent several hours painting tissue paper.

"Why would you do that on your birthday, of all days???? ".

'cause this week,
WackieM has demoed how to prepare your own collage paper, and two days later, ShinyR brought an incredible collage which she created with her self-prepared papers - and that was it.

I got hooked.

Went to the art store, spent $50 on liquid acrylics and white tissue paper, and spent 3 hours dyeing 20 sheets of that.

And so, on my birthday, I continued this obsessive quest, and dyed 20 additional sheets, with some more daring colors and some texturing.

It was so much fun, someone should illegalize it.

And, the results:


- One big stain of phthalo blue (one of the most staining pigments) on our backyard cement, which shall forever remain there

- Two shamefully dirty hands and fingernails (as I discovered, those fluid acrylics don't come off easily, despite all the scrubbing).


- Three colorful purplish drips on the carpet in my studio (I hate this carpet anyway)

- Forty sheets of some stunning papers (which this image does not even begin to show in their real glory).

And also, one very, very exhausted - but extremely ecstatic - Nava.



So, that is my ArtPact for today.

Preparing my own pallette of papers, about to start texturing and stamping some of them, and then start using them to assemble paintings.

After I was done cleaning my studio and the backyard and the trail of splashes all over the neighborhood, I did my best to look civil and neat (worked pretty well, as long as I kept my hands hidden...) and went to the reception of our show.

The JohnnyB came later, straight from work.

And - yet again - you didn't come!!

See, I sent an Email invitation to about 40 people, and the only one who bothered to come was DaskieM. She even brought her son, ToughyD, an emerging art critique, who announced the painting by ShinyR to be the best of show, and informed me that he liked one of my paintings there ("April Moon"). As I was basking in the positive feedback of a cynical 8-years old macho dude, he quickly added that he really, totally and utterly didn't like my other painting.
Y'know, I appreciate honesty, but at that moment, between him and The JohnnyB (who joyously exclaimed he doesn't like that painting either), well... I was almost longing for some phony enthusiasm :-)

To our dismay, we were mostly artists at the cafe, hanging around by the fingerfood for 2 hours, waiting for more guests to show up. At least I wasn't the only one gazing at the door with disbelief.

For those of you who did receive an invitation and didn't bother to do anything about it, what can I say (actually, I can say a lot!)... It's a great show, and - come to think of it, it's your miss. Big time. And don't worry, I won't be bothering you again with invitations.

As for DaskieM, you truly made me happy by coming!!! (even if you, too, don't like my second painting in that show :-)

And so, at 7pm, we all left the place, The JohnnyB and I had dinner at
Shalimar, a restaurant that always brings tears to my eyes with its excruciatingly spicy yet amazingly tasty food, and I crashed to bed, tired beyond belief.

I did say I wasn't planning on a fancy birthday, Eh?


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Friday, April 13, 2007

 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY - - -



To me.


Last year, I got an Email from an artist friend, an incredible woman who is looking life in the face, despite the struggles she has been going through since she was born,
And in that mail, she informed us all that it is her birthday, and what she plans to do on that day.

And I just loved the way she did it: so naturally straightforward.
Instead of waiting for people to remember and then get disappointed by those who didn't know or didn't remember or didn't bother, she was just announcing to the world that this is her day. Period.

And, come to think of it: why not?

And so: today is my birthday.

April 13th.

Yup - Friday the 13th.

In Jewish tradition, 13 is considered to be a good number (yeah, we are a bunch of weirdoes).

So, what's gonna be special about today?
Not quite sure, and no big plans.
As the years pass (Ah, I sound so ancient), I am realizing more and more that the best days are those in which I simply do the small things that I love.
And so, no major shopping spree in boutiques (on a second thought, perhaps I'll buy myself one of my dream sable brushes? or an outrageously redundant yet stunning paint tube?), no fancy lunches (although DaskieM has graciously offered, but I really wanna paint!), no dramatic looking-back and big resolutions.


None of that.

I am simply planning to enjoy a relaxing day.


Maybe sleep in, hopefully paint (I have this photo I took on our last vacation, that's haunting me for a couple of weeks now, and is pleading to be given birth onto paper, and I just started to prepare my own collage paper, which is beyond exciting, so I really want to give it a go!), and tonight is the reception for our group show at a real nice cafe, which is always a fun event.

Two of my closest friends have already called to congratulate me on getting older, and I also got a cheery Email from Yev (whose birthday is tomorrow!), so I am already birthdaying along.

And The JohnnyB seemed suspiciously calm today and is now serenely snoring, even though no package has arrived at the house.
So I am very, very curious...

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Sunday, April 08, 2007

 

Meanwhile, At The Framing Table...


Been framing again.


Only this time, without last-moment hysteria.

My two paintings are hanging in our new group show (reception April 13th, and y'all are welcome to attend), nicely matted and framed and looking good.

Now I am on the roll. About to be done framing three other paintings, in order to get juried-in as an exhibiting member at another art association, which is much smaller than the one I'm active in for the last two years. They go for all kinds of media, not just watercolors, which opens a door for photography and drawing and pretty much any form of visual art.

It's quite tedious, to frame your own paintings.

Actually, the framing bit is extremely easy, if you're using metal frames: just assemble 3 sides, insert the sandwich (made of Plexiglas, foam core backing, and in-between the painting which is hinged to the mat), add the fourth side, garnish with a hanging wire attached to D-rings, tape the ends of the wires, and - voila!


But the matting!!!

The matting takes forever.

First, I need to decide on the size of the opening (as in, exactly how much of the painting do I want showing?), the color of the mat, whether or not I want a colored inset (and if I do - what color? and how wide should the inset be?).

Then come the mind-boggling calculations of sixteenth of an inch and forty-seventh of an ounce, which commences the edgy stage of speaking fidgety Inchish to myself and to the miraculously-patient The JohnnyB. I can't quite explain it, but once I need to add and subtract in the diaspora of the non-metric system, my left brain goes numb and I become a complete idiot, while The JohnnyB watches in awe. This transformation never ceases to thoroughly amuse him.

Once all the numbers have been checked three times and audited by the somehwhat-less-patient The JohnnyB, it's time to mark the lines on the back of the mat (in the good case that I remember to do it on the back).

And then, finally, cometh the moment of truth, done with awesome reverence: the cutting of the mat.

This stage involves a lot of debates between me (yes, me!) to make sure the crucial cut is correct, and plenty of theological and existential questions arise:

Is the mat cutter aligned?

Am I aligned?

Will I remember to put the production-stopping thingies at the right place, or will I screw up (yet again) a perfectly good piece of matboard?

Will I leave an inked fingerprint on the clean mat after I am done cutting it? (yep, of course it happened. Yes, I had to cut a new mat from scratch. Yes, I screamed my lungs off).


This time, by sheer grace, the mat cutting went just fine. I actually enjoyed it.

And yet, that grace was limited and temporary.

As today I found out that I am talented enough to screw-up things even at the very last second.

There I was, about to complete the framing of one of The JohnnyB's favorites paintings (he even made a
beer label using part of it), meticulously hinged to a beautifully cut double-mat with a glorious inset, the foamcore in the back, the clean Plexiglas in the front. I held the sandswich with confident hands, and carefully inserted it into the frame with one swift motion.

It felt so good I almost needed a cigarette. (only we don't have dem 'tings in the house anymore)...

But - - -

Something was a bit odd.

Something did not look quite right.

In my eternal wisdom, I have inserted it so that the Plexiglas was facing the back, with the foamcore gazing at the front of the frame, blinking its foamy eyes with confusion. Of course, nothing wrong with doing it this way, but it's not highly recommended, if you actually want the painting to be seen.

Muttering to myself some constructive criticism about my diminishing IQ, I shamefully took the sandwich out of the reprimanding frame (after a short pause for some passionate multi-lingual cussing) and redid it the right way.

Not a big deal, Eh?


It's not like The JohnnyB witnessed it and will be on my case from now on.

Looking with sheer pride at the framed art, I . . . suddenly . . . saw . . that the Plexiglas got decorated with two perfectly straight, parallel scratches along the sides, reminiscent of the previous misinsertion.


If you look closely, you can see it, so please don't.

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Saturday, April 07, 2007

 

Chimp Bloggin'

The blogosphere seems to be all about chimpanzees today, all performing very inspiring and tasteful acts of Ape-wisdom (as can be seen on Silly Humans and Texas Oasis)..

So, my 10 cents:

Which reminds me: The JohnnyB is smoke-free for 55 days now, with no signs of wanting to go back.

He hasn't even gained weight (which is annoying, as I have!!).

The only side effect is this stupid Civ IV game has a serious spell over him, but hopefully, that shall pass too.

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Friday, April 06, 2007

 

How Do You Say Hooters in Hebrew?


Once and for all, I decided to see what Hooters is all about, after reading about it - yet again - on CherkyB's recent post.

So I went to their website, smiled at their slogan, that honestly claims they are "Delightfully Tacky, Yet Unrefined",, and was about to get back to more cultural stuff, when my breath came to a halt, as I read the following:

"Franchise Agreement Signed for Introducing Popular Restaurant Concept in Israel".

Indeed, they are planning to open the first Hooters Restaurant this year in Israel, as excitedly reported here.

I have so much to say, mostly about who you should follow as a role model when it comes to good taste.

And yet, I shall remain silent.
(and this is a very, Very, VERY rare state of being thing for me... ask the long-suffering The JohnnyB).

Mind you, in my quest to give an unbiased report, I asked The JohnnyB about Hooters.

He replied, "I dunno. I've never been there".

"How come??", I asked, a bit astonished, as I thought it's the temple of all men here (Well, y'know, I used to watch "Married With Children" quite a bit).

"It's boring", said my beloved, with a 'Duh' intonation to his voice.

"But how is the food there?", I tried in a desperate attempt to be even more unbiased and accepting of other cultures.

"Nobody has ever mentioned the food there", he replied.

Again, I remain silent.
There's some Zen here - do not disturb.

I can, however, even from thousands of miles away, see the tears of gratitude in the eyes of so many Israeli men I know.
WolfieB, WealthyG - here's to you!

I now wonder how they are going to name it in the holy land:

ציצים

??

?

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Thursday, April 05, 2007

 

The Bare Truth 'bout The Bare Hands

On Monday, The JohnnyB and I were invited to do the Passover Seder at MembieM's.

Being my very first Seder in English, it was a novel experience. I was the only Israeli at the table, everyone else being American Jews (actually, there were two non-Jews, so The JohnnyB had someone to commiserate with).

It was a truly nice and friendly group of people, great food and not-too-long a ceremony, during which The JohnnyB showed that he can read Hebrew far better than the other guests could read their alliterated Haggada (which was sooooooo cool!).

The JohnnyB also thoroughly enjoyed having a captivated audience for his beer-wine-traveling tales.

I, however, was sitting at a different spot...

Alas, if only I knew!

Being from Israel, I guess I should start getting used to the fact that some people here expect me to provide answers to every question they have about the land of milk and honey, starting with "So, what is going to happen with the Hammas?", through "Why do they keep Ariel Sharon alive?", to the ultimate one: "Have you served in the army?".

Usually, I do not have answers to these questions.

It's like one of you Americans visiting Europe, and being asked "So, what is going to happen with Iraq?".
I mean, it's not like you are the one who personally started this peculiar mess, Eh?
(Well... unless you voted for Bush... then it's a whole different story).

Anyway, I was asked these three questions by one of the guests, a very keen man with piercing eyes.

As usual, I stuttered in response to the first two.

The fact is that most of those who ask these questions, do not really want to hear my opinion. They want to tell me theirs, and how they have the solution, and how it is so simple, and how they really want to go visit Israel, but they-are-waiting-until-it's-more-quiet-"there"-maybe-next-year-in-god's-will - - - and I always find myself holding back and not saying "Well, why don't you go live in Israel then, if you have all the answers and you care so much?". (Who knows, perhaps one day I will actually say that out loud. Better have my camera ready, to capture the expression).

Itchy (well, she got rid of her weird allergy attack, but I like the name, and so shall she remain to the blogoshpere) gave me a good advice: "Just say you do not wish to discuss politics".
As simple as that!
OK, next time.

But - when I am asked the third question, "Have you served in the army?", I proudly say, "Yes!".

That's because I have.

For two years.

Two incredible years, that - apart from making me refuse to wear green ever again - were full of experiences and new people (and many cute exciting guys), that opened my eyes to so many things.

So, as I was getting all nostalgic and doe-eyed, the inquirer added, "So, you know how to kill a man!".

"Excuse me!?",
I asked - quite surprised, mind you.

"They taught you how to kill a man, Ha?", he added with a fervent look in his eyes.

"No", I declined.

"Of course they did!", he educated me.

"No, they didn't",
I started to get annoyed. (and who the hell are "they", anyway!?).

"I think what he is trying to say is that you learned to use a rifle",
interfered a sweet woman who sat opposite me, trying to help me out.

"No!!", corrected her the blood-thirsty man impatiently, "they taught you to kill a man!".

He then added with passion, "Not just with a gun!! Also with your hands!!!".

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

- - - - - - - - - - -

O K - - -

How do you respond to that?

No, seriously!

My spontaneous reply (after a quick deep breath) was: "No, I was NOT taught any of this. I will be very happy to try it right now, but I was not a combat soldier, therefore I only know how to use a gun just 'cause every soldier does".

"Yes, you were taught", he assured me with a knowing look.

At which point, I got up and went to get dessert. (wishing for a second that they would have taught me that...)

Like, WTF?

And only today I recalled that someone else
is certain that I have this feminine charming trait.

OK now, what is wrong with you, American men?

What on earth makes you think that Israeli women can kill with our bare hands?
Is it some unexplainable fantasy you have?
You into Asphyxophilia?
W H A T??

Sorry to be a party pooper to y'all, but let me officially declare, here and now, that NO, I can not kill with my bare hands.

I only kill with my tongue.

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Wednesday, April 04, 2007

 

The Bi-Weekly e-SPAM #1


With all the amounts of SPAM that I receive, via my personal Email as well as our organization-related Email addresses I am on, I figured I might as well have some fun with it, rather than just do the catatonic 'delete'.


Here's one I received today, from the impressively-named Mr. Rodrigo de Rato Figaredo:

International Monetary Fund.(IMF)
Kadel Finance & Security Inc
United Kingdom
From: Managing Director

Attn: Beneficiary,

From the records of outstanding foreign payments due for release with banks in France,UK,Canada,South Africa,USA,Dublin and Nigeria, your name and contact was discovered as next on the list of the outstanding foreigners' payment which are stil pending on release.

I wish to inform you that your payment is being processed and will be released to you as soon as you reconfirm your payment details so that we can authenticate the claim legally with the IMF.

Note that from our record the IMF Board Of Directors has maped out your equivilent to the sum of US$6,000,000.00 (Six Million United States Dollars) to be paid to you in cash.

Also note that there is a lot of junks mail flying over the internet and some people are using the advantage to collect payment information from
beneficiaries to defraud them and divert there payment to another account,that is why your payment will come through Diplomatic means or through a direct telegarphic transfer to any of your norminated account.

Kindly re-confirm to us the followings:

1) Your full name and mailing address.
2) Telephone, Fax and mobile #.
3) Occupation
4) Age .
5) Any Bank account of your Choice.

In receipt of the above information, your payment will be approved and released to you.

You are therefore advised to get back to me immediately for more clarifications. Once again, I apologize to you on behalf Of IMF Board Of Directors (International Monetary Fund) for not contacting you as to paying your funds on time, which according to records in the system had been long overdue.

Please reply through my official Email.

Yours Sincerely,

Mr. Rodrigo de Rato Figaredo
Managing Director, IMF


It's boring and lengthy, promising me a fortune that will be paid to me once I give them all my personal info, y'know, the usual crap.

But what I liked about it is their kind warning:
"Also note that there is a lot of junks mail flying over the internet and some people are using the advantage to collect payment information from beneficiaries to defraud them and divert there payment to another account,that is why your payment will come through Diplomatic means or through a direct telegarphic transfer to any of your norminated account".

Oh, wait a second!

Iff they are warning me, it means they actually are not SPAM, right?
They can't be.
I mean, they are warning against SPAM, so they are the good guys.

I shall go ahead and send them everything they want. Maybe add my SSN, just in case they forgot to ask for it, in their haste to take care of my well-being.
After all, it's not every day you are offered Six Million USD in cash.
Strange number, by the way, S
ix Million, considering that next week is the Holocaust Memorial Day. Interesting coincidence.

If only they took the time to run a spell-checker on their lame attempt, it might have looked a bit more convincing...

But hey - I am rich!!! Yay!!


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Monday, April 02, 2007

 

Sentence of The Month: April


Got a winning response to my Passover post from 'RIK (who, being the introvert type, chooses to reply via email rather than comment on the blog itself; which deprives the blogoshpere from some very enjoyable comments).

He checked with me that the
Seder is indeed tonight, and I reprimanded him that even The JohnnyB is a better Jew than he is.

Why's that funny? 'cause The JohnnyB is anything but.

To which 'RIK responded immediately, without even blinking:


"I think that The JohnnyB must have been abandoned by his real, Jewish parents and set adrift down the Rochester River in a basket made of reeds...
Of course, I don't know what my excuse is!!"

And why's that funny? 'cause it's the traditional story of Moses, who was set adrift on the Nile river in a basket and found by Pharaoh's daughter.
Pfffffffffffffrrrrrrrrrrrr, it sucks having to explain everything to y'all.
But then again, I am all about blog education.

Anyway, 'RIK's version of The JohnnyB's origins is quite intriguing, and might shed a new light on the lack of birth certificate that the INS was so upset about, as reported here.

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HAPPY PASSOVER!!!

Starting tonight, we (as in Jewish peoples) are supposed to eat Matzot for seven days, and get all bloated and constipated.

Why?

'cause Moses did not bother to plan ahead, and rushed the people of Israel to leave Egypt before the dough could leaven. Moses, mind you, being a typical man, never bothered asking for directions, and then they all got lost in the desert for 40 years before arriving at the promised land.

And that is why we eat Matzot.

Well, kinda.

If you want the more formal interpretation of Passover, you can read about it here.

Now, being the chosen People is not easy, Eh... as a matter of fact, it's quite a burden, but that is another matter. Much more fun to be Pastafarians, if you ask me; but then again, pasta is not kosher for Passover.

Anyway, a Matza is actually quite tasty, but can be challenging to handle. Since we are not allowed to eat bread, we have to use this treacherous surface for sandwiches and stuff. And so, here's a spoof about those creative Japanese movies, that reveals how to break a Matza in two.

Now, that is what I call a true miracle of Passover, if you ask me!!

!!!חג אביב שמח

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