bits of ink

Aliyah is like a good pop song. It looks silly and trite on paper, until you’re there at the concert. Then, you’re just gaping at it all, with this dumbstruck-lovesick look on your face, as if to say, “oh, now I get it. But no, I can’t explain it.”

I mean, there are no power chords in aliyah. Not always. But still.

At 2AM:
Me: Ooo. The hours are getting too wee.
I think I must meet my Maker for a bit.
Layla tov.
My friend: great, i see you still speak in iambic pentameter

“How is your life?”
“Mine is good.”
“That’s good!”
“Like, surprisingly so. As if ‘good’ just sort of crept up on me, put its hands over my eyes, and said, ‘guess who?’ And I turned, and said, ‘Oh, it’s you. We were just talking about you. Cool, come, sit down. Let’s hang out.’
Hmmm…I think we’re going to end the metaphor here.”

I’m trying to figure out if the triumph I felt upon successfully fixing a difficult paper jam in the printers warrants the emotions that came with it. I stood up, and wanted to raise my arms and yell “Ta-da!” It reminded me of this entry from An Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life:

Children get to say ta-da!, and I guess magicians, but other than that, it’s an underutilized expression. I’m trying to think—an adult might say it as she waltzes in with the turkey, or a homemade cake. But a self-congratulatory ta-da! would certainly be warranted for any number of daily accomplishments. I cleaned out the trunk of my car. Ta-da! I finished filling out the insurance application. Ta-da! I made the bed. Ta-da!

I agree. I think we should be allowed and encouraged to exclaim and proclaim our triumphs. Even little ones.

Interrupting your regularly scheduled blogcasting…

I eating lunch today with a couple of my Israeli co-workers, and one them mentioned Ashkelon, and how nice a place it is.

“How far is Ashkelon from Gaza?” I asked.
“One Kassam.” he replied, without smiling, without missing a beat.
“Oh.”
“We measure distances in Kassams now. Ashkelon is one Kassam, Ashdod – two Kassams, Tel Aviv – three Kassams.”

I laughed. We all laughed. What else can you do?

Funny story. Make of it what you will.

I was just heading out of the cafeteria from lunch and a man, witting with 2 others, called to me in Hebrew, and asked how I was.

“Fine. How are things by you?”
“Fine.”
“Do I know you?”
He grinned and gestured genially. “No, but we’re Israelis!”
I smiled. “Oh, ok. Have a good day.”

And I walked on. The whole exchange was less than a minute long, but I couldn’t help but wonder whether the same would’ve happened in the reverse situation – if I had been an American in an Israeli company with a few other Americans sprinkled in.