Krappy Karma

A few years back I spent the summer of 2004 in Jerusalem. At the time I was interning with Yad b'Yad Center for Jewish Arab Education and the West Jerusalem YMCA in their kindergarten. I didn't have any friends living there at the time and I ended up arranging to live in a room of a three bedroom apartment with two other young women. To sum it all up nicely, I didn't care living with the girls. One, specifically, who we shall refer to as R was actually proud of seeming unapproachable and rude. They brought their own friends over and invaded my privacy, but treated my friends so badly that they began refusing to come over. When I left Israel, it ended badly. The only good part about them is that through their friend Weiner who stayed over (and who I hung out with because they abandoned her) I met Kareem.

At any rate, both girls were complete history to me, until...
Last Sunday, while eating bagels with my friends, R. walked past me and into the restaurant. I know I saw her, and acted as though I hadn't, and I'm not sure if she saw me, but if she did she acted as though she hadn't. So awkward, but I figured, it is the Upper West Side, Jews are around here. I couldn't remember if she was from NY, but it's easy enough to just pass someone by, especially if they are also willing to ignore you. But today, on my way back from classes, she was sitting across the street from my dorm in front of another education school's dorm. OH DEAR GOD, PLEASE DON'T LET HER BE LIVING HERE! What did I do to deserve her presence once again in my life?

Of course I believe in karma, in a weak way. When it gets close to tests I'm definitely nicer than usual. I tend to counter really evil thoughts about someone with penance and promises to work harder on those same aspects in myself. So I'll have to dig deep and figure out how to fix this!

Two Parties, Too Little Time

We are going to jump into the past for a little bit and look at two parties held during March that I didn't discuss earlier because 1) I was so incredibly busy, 2) I had not yet received good pictures, and 3) I have a major paper to be writing at this exact moment and I really don't want to.

The first was a Goodbye Party for Julia Rehmet, a German friend who was interning with the UN. She is also good friends with my neighbor Susan, and sometimes the three of us would sit around in Susan's room, drinking wine and talking trash. No, it's not true, usually we would drink wine and talked about the Holocaust or Judaism, which passes for casual conversation with my German friends. (Pictured: Me eating the cheesecake with my hands, American-style!)

Julia would also share with us stories of the UN and helped introduce me to a lot of other nice UN people at the I-House, like Arnav and Franceska, both of whom have also moved out in the past month. At any rate, Julia is a very sweet girl and I-House has been much quieter without her presence. Susan had held the party and invited a mix of Julia's work friends, I-House friends, and random people that I'm not quite sure how she knows them. We ordered in pizza and salad, a pretty American last meal, and drank quite a bit of wine. (Pictured: Julia with her American meal)

Pictured: Susan, Kinneret, and Julia

The next party was held by Leann and Marion, two neighbors a few floors down. Both Leann and her roommate Marion are opera singers, and they perform regularly for I-House events.It was a small affair, they've had at least two much bigger parties that I was invited to before, but because this one was focused on good food and not just good friends and drinking, it was kept a bit smaller. Leann has recently landed a wonderful job and felt like celebrating with fish tacos, baja style. I would never had ever dreamt of attempting such a culinary feat, but for Leann it's just another good meal. I got to help bread and fry the fish and prepare a sauce, but it was the eating I was really helpful at. It was just us three girls and Derek and Imre. We started a game which had the following rules: Imre would have to dance every time he said "Oh my God" or "I'm so full", which he was saying a lot. The rest of the meal was broken up with periodic bouts of dancing. It finally ended with surprise birthday cupcakes for me! They were coconut and oh-so-good. It was some of the best food I have had in months! (Pictured: Marion with the homemade cupcakes)

(Pictured: Imre, Kinneret, Leann, and Marion)

Freegan Friends

What to do when old friendships just don't seem to be that.. friendly.

In the past week I have had a few visitors from my past. People that I really enjoy, people I've shared a lot with, people I seem to have nothing in common with now.

First, there was Liat. I have mentioned her before; she runs a vagina-oriented website. She came in to town just after my birthday. It was sweet because we had met up in Jerusalem for an afternoon last year around my birthday, and it felt like the beginning of a tradition. I met her down in Greenwhich Village, she and her friend (who's name escapes me, so lets call her Jill because she struck me as a Jill) were sitting around. After 15 minutes of catching up, we had truly nothing to say to each other. Nothing. I was hungry, and it was daunting trying to find a place where I could eat and they could potentially get a snack. Not only are Liat and her friend vegans (no meat, no milk, no eggs) but they are also freegans. These are people who protest overconsumption by finishing other people's food found in the trash. No, really. Usually with friends who visit I take them down to SOHO and show off Sabon and a few other places and window shop. This was incredibly unexciting for them. Our conversations would go like this:
Me: So.... what are you up to in life?
Liat: Shrug
Jill: Incredibly wide grin
Me: ...Uhuh

Barely after getting over that afternoon, I received a phone call from Kiva. Kiva and I were best friends back from when I was 14-16 or so spending out summers together at Jew-camp. Kiva and I have not seen each other in at least three years. She's currently an artist living in a loft in Philadelphia, having moved after graduating from art school in Chicago. She's fun and quirky, but so unlike me. The last time we hung out in Chicago I stayed over at her apartment and had the worst night of my life. People were doing drugs in her bathroom and freaking out about their sellers coming to beat them up for not having paid. In an apartment with at least 4 residents, none of whom cleaned, there were an equal number of cats. One of the cats peed in my bed. Once I finally got to sleep on clean sheets Kiva and her roommates broke out in a huge fight of screaming that went on for hours. At some point Kiva's sketchy Russian boyfriend came over and told me proudly about how he cheated his customers where he valeted. Ugh. On the way out Kiva chased down a thug and challenged him to a fight while I hid and cried. So I asked her to please not invite any friends over while we hung out.

We might have had time alone, but her bus came in two hours late. That was two hours I spent in the bus terminal of NY. I saw so many transvestites I forgot what real women look like. When she arrived we had to go over and meet up with her friends; Mark, Dan, and Beth. She had warned me that Mark and Dan liked to make up their own language because words were not expressive enough. Becky, she said, gave excellent hugs (not normally how I determine my friendships), but may not be as huggy since she had recently changed her medication. Uhuh. Without consulting me, they had decided on a place for dinner, 40 blocks away which we had to walk. On the long stroll her friends periodically screamed, tried to fake out cars, took objects from the garbage and placed them on parked bikes. She said they "had a lot of energy" I said they needed "a lot of attention." At the restaurant they smeared their faces with condiments. (Pictured: Kiva, Mark, Becky, Dan, and flowers from the trash)

I was happy to run out of there and join the I-House people for a cultural hour. Kiva seemed so surprised that me and her friends didn't click, which really makes me wonder what she thinks of me. Moooo. I will do my danrdest to enjoy the rest of my weekend.

Imagini: Visual DNA

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Nightmare, darn you midterms

I had the most awful nightmare last night, obviously stress induced. I've finished my two smaller papers, and now I need to do my big one, so I'm watching lots of television. But, back to the nightmare...

Have you seen Silence of the Lambs? I think I was Clarice, not being a great detective or tracking anyone down, but I'm fairly sure I was her and I definitely had her hair. So the parts I remember are sort of mid-way through it all; I'm being held hostage in some sort of underground dungeon along with a lot of other women and I know we are being held by the maniac killer who has already killed all our husbands and children, and I'm very aware that he has already killed my own husband and kids. And he's going to murder all of us in terrible ways, I know that too. I only remember one method, but involved sticking a pin in a woman's stomach and allowing it to get infected. Sounds silly, but it was really frightening. At one point, he has us all write our goodbye notes, and I realize that I'm writing on top of my husband's goodbye note, and I am so angry that my husband was in this same position that I am now and that I have no hope and that the murderer is just playing with me. I feel like I need to escape, I know I'll die anyway and that I might as well die trying to be free, but I'm just too scared to even try to run. All of the women are. And then I consider, if I get the chance to escape, will I tell the other women, or just take it myself. Trying to stampede 30 women out a little door seemed unlikely. I also thought about trying to become his favorite, the most reasonable and cooperative to live longer, but I knew it wouldn't make a difference in the end.

At some point I'm away from the other women. And then there are two of me, and I'm both of them simultaneously. Both of me search for a weapon to attack him with, I finally feel ready to go on the offensive. All I can find are two wooden hangars with metal hooks, and both of me grab one, and at the same time I'm thinking that if I am going to kill a man with this hangar, it's going to be really gross and gorey. Both of me sneak around his house, and I find him under his couch, like with his legs sticking out like he's under a car fixing something. And just when I decide to attack him, I can't find the other me, I'm pretty sure I'm checking out another room. So I have to go it alone. When I pull him out form under the couch, he has the same kind of hangar in his hands!

And that's when I wake up.

23rd Birthday!

I have had a really wonderful birthday. And this is truly a testament to my friends, who are wonderful, because I have been sick and feeling mildly awful between coughs and sneezes and stuffed up nights for days. Michael and Manu took time off of their busy schedule to search for "Tylenol Maximum Strength Cold/Flu PM" which proved elusive. Shira, sister to the rescue, came over and dropped off some very powerful meds. My parents sent me beautiful flowers, which I wish I could smell.

Friday night Rachel arrived and Emily shortly followed. It felt like Israel was brought to New York! They each brought my incredibly sweet gifts; a necklace hand-strung by Mama-Buxbaum, NY history cards (a game I know my family will love to play), a cute little replacement book, Starbucks card (soooo necessary from on grad student to another), and more... We got ourselves all dressed up and went for dinner at Max SOHA just around the corner from my dorm. It was a nice meal of good food, sangria and discussions of our current lives and fond memories. For dessert we headed down to Greenwich Village to the Bourgeois Pig, a tiny itsby bitsy little wine and fondue bar. We sipped on not so great hot chocolates and ate incredible fondue all served to us by a Johnny Depp look-alike from his Benny and Joon period. Rachel buttered him up as only she can and he ended up sitting with us, eating our fondue while we all tried to figure out if the Swedish men at the table next to us were gay, or just Swedish.

We slept in the next morning before putting together an incredible breakfast. Of course, Emily was in charge of the cooking, just like back in the Jerusalem apartment. We made pancakes with real maple syrup and chicken sausage, and some good old chai tea. One we were all showered and had sat around for another few hours we got in Rachel's car and went to Brooklyn. Meghan had come in from Israel for her mother's play and had stopped in at Russel and Sam's with a few friends from when she had been living in NY. Shockingly, Eitan Marciano also showed up, and brought us all gifts of baseball cards. I brought up a cake for all of us to celebrate with a novel message that hopefully covered everything. Sam played us his new song, which was dark to say the least, about a spurned lover who after getting out of prison kills his girlfriend. Not exactly a pop tune.

Emily and I left the others there and went back into Manhattan. It was hard to figure out what to do for dinner, so we decided to go to a restaurant that was a bit off the beaten track. It's called the Ayurveda Cafe, and is a vegetarian restaurant with a set menu that changes daily. Emily's friend Elizabeth joined us and we each got a delicious mango lassi and delved into the 7 little dishes that ranged from spicy to pungent. For a relatively little amount of food, we were all stuffed beyond belief and none of us had finished. Pretty impressive. I was feeling pretty sick, so we went back to my apartment and hung out there. Emily and I got into bed and it felt like New Years eve, trying to stay up until midnight when I'd turn 23.

The morning of being 23 has been pretty nice. It's daylight savings time, so having woken up I've not only gained a year, but also lost an hour of my life. My mom and dad each gave me wake-up/ happy birthday calls just a bit too early. I called Yohoshua and forced him to say happy birthday to me too. Emily went out in the morning to go visit her friend in the Bronx, and on the way out she found a gift for me outside the door. It was from Michael and Manu, the most incredible gift. Michael had downloaded pictures of my time in NY, send them to Manu in Germany who then sent the on to a company that makes games and puzzles from them. So now I have my very own Memory game of my NY memories? Have you ever heard of anything sweeter? Plus the card was one of my favorite pictures from Michael's travels, a strange snake carved into solid rock over thousands of years by a little pebble and a lot of water. I told you, great friends.

Emily went out to the Bronx to see Elizabeth's apartment, and I took a much needed morning nap. We met up in the afternoon at Zabar's so Emily could pick up a cinnamon babka for her mom and step-dad (Yummy). We then went down to SOHO to visit what we shall forever after know as Little Israel. There was Rosebud, a Kohn tradition now, where I picked out a very bizarre Israeli-shirt that takes me an hour to put on, but I feel Israeli, so it's worth it. Then to Sabon for Emily and I to wash our hands and try on different scents, and of course talk to Israelis. After hitting a few more stores and Emily buying a few pairs of saucy earrings from street vendors, we were freezing and hungry. Just the right mood for Aroma! We sat surrounded by Israelis eating wonderful food and sipping delicious cafe aromas. Emily and I used to travel an hour out of Arad to sit in the nearest Aroma in Beersheva for the afternoon.

And home we went. We hit up the pub and jazz night and had a few drinks before tucking ourselves in for the night. Emily left early Monday morning, and my weekend is officially over. And so is my birthday. And I'm feeling way less sick. Hurrah for it all!

Devachan

I am sick. Sickety sick sick. Technically it's a cold, but I'm not sure this isn't some deadly mutant strain of influenza-cholera-tuberculosis.

Somehow I got myself together this morning and went to get my hair cut at curly hair salon Devachan. That's right, curly hair only. When I booked the appointment they asked for the curliness level of my tresses, and I found myself disappointingly admitting that they are merely wavy curly and not tight ringlets. So down from SOHA to SOHO I went. Once I got in they gave me a mini silky kimono to put on in exchange for my shirt and jacket. Looking around at the range of women who were there, I have to say the kimono was a flattering choice for all. I was also pretty astonished by the diversity of curl and styles. I was downright jealous of a number of women with hair that seemed straight out of a romance novel (if only they were in the arms of Fabio... the model not the security guard at my high school). While waiting to start my cut Roman came over and brought me some tea, which I desperately needed.

The came Kiyoko, my hair stylist. She directed me back to a chair that faced a mirror embedded in frosted glass that changed colors. She asked me a few questions about what I wanted (shorter, cute, no bangs or crazy-short layers) and she did a dry cut. She separated each curl into its curl family and then gave each a little snip. We talked about travel, mostly Israel and Japan (where she's from) and the Israeli campaign to get Japanese tourists. After the long cut was over, she took me to Arturo for my hair washing. Rather than sit in a chair that awkwardly leaned back, there hair washing stations each had a black bed with a special raised leg rest. Incredibly comfortable. For simulated privacy there were mosquito nets that wrapped around each bed. While massaging (and I truly mean massaging) No-Poo into my scalp, Arturo explained the evils of normal shampoos and the beauty of the Devachan cleansing system. The pungent smells, tingly feeling, and deep message all together hypnotized me and I knew I had to have all their products. He left a bit of conditioner in my hair and then walked me back to Kiyoko and fresh hot tea.

Kiyoko had me lean over as she scrunched my hair with paper towels (regular towels promote frizz) but as a Peace Educator who must have some concern for the environment, I'm not sure I can commit to that step daily. She then put a healthy amount of gel on her palms and tapped it into my hair before scrunching from the tips to the roots. This entire time she's teaching me about the process and telling me the salon's philosophy. I have to say, as far as theoretical approaches, Devachon's seem as strong as those of International Education Development I'm getting at school. After continuing scrunching in a number of positions, Kiyoko pinned up a few of the top strands to hide my natural part, and tossed me under a dryer. She dropped of the salon's book "Curly Girl" and a fresh cup of tea. Quite a bit later she came back and unpinned me and had me shake out my hair. She topped it off with a few last cuts. I had curls I hadn't seen before, but sadly it was a windy day and the faded pretty fast. I did get to share them with Shira over a late lunch at Aroma (oh Aroma) before I had to run to Peace Ed.

Not too shabby for a sick day.

Alex's Yarzheit

There once was a magical young man. He wore a large plaid flannel jacket that made him look smaller than he was. Every day he jumped rope in the hallway and girls would lean out their doors to watch as he swished away, dressed in red sweat pants and leaving the smell of man-sweat behind him. His hair was softer than a baby's, his smile sweeter than anything. His eyes crinkled and his nose was freckled. He moved like a cat but dreamt of flying. His smallest sentences lasted hours ....as he...... yes........ considered what you.......... meant.

He believed his curly hair was weighing down his soul. He wrote poetry. He would give you anything you wanted and would offer you more, especially liquorice tasting powder. He liked bad British comedies. He could combine tuna, honey and cucumbers in a salad and it would be delicious. He never talked of the past. Allegedly he once picked his nose, and when caught, he shrugged, well it is natural isn't it? And while he watched others laugh and joke on playgrounds and in parks and classrooms, he was somehow hurting. He broke every one's hearts, and naivete.

The last few months I haven't been able to stop thinking of him. I've been writing all of it down. The times I saw him exercising, borrowed things from him, talked about poetry with him, or just watched because he was so beautiful. The last time I saw him, our short talks that weekend and watching him get his hair cut by Yael, on the playground. And remembering everything about the night we found out he'd died, and our huddle in the living room and the calls I made and I kept repeating "it's so bad" because there are no words for your idea or the world crashing apart. And the ride to Arad and being received with open arms once I passed the gate. And the meals and songs and hugs. And the tears and memorial. And seeing a picture of Alex and Naomi and me on the playground just a few weeks before. He was smiling wasn't he, weren't we?

A year later. I wish I was with people from WUJS, so desperately. Soon Rachel and Emily will come for my birthday. But now it's not enough. I went out tonight and bought a yarzheit candle. At the store they only had one, dusty and a little misshapen. The man asked if I wanted him to order more, God Forbid I answered. This time last year was one of the most intense of my life; intensely sad, intensely passionate, and my connections with others felt stronger and more intimate than ever before or since.

www.alexanderdebeer.com