Some Jewish kid on a flight from LaGuardia caused all kinds of security problems when he was putting on Tefillin, a Jewish leather thingy that goes around the arm seven times and has a squarish boxy wooden thingy that goes on the head. To the casual goyim, it looks like a mini bomb large enough to take down the kid and maybe singe the face of the guy sitting next to him. But in this age of fear and paranoia, well, it looks like a bomb with the type of high grade explosive that could take down Mount Fujii. In any case, why the hell do people have the need to pray in public places in public ways? I see people reading religious books on the train, moving their lips so god can know what they're saying (god's mom was a mute, I suspect), and we have to accept this because it's religion. This may be why we can't catch bin Laden--he's in a burqa and we think he's just a very tall woman. Since religion is a personal choice, made for us mostly by our parents, we should follow it in a personal, as opposed to public, way. Of course, we don't really want to do that, for if we did, we wouldn't dress funny or wear our hair in funny ways to tell our neighbors what we believe.

Haiti

I believe we wait for devastating disasters to react with our inborn humanity, to help those people affected by the horrors of nature. We react because of our understanding of our need to feel empowered to do something for those who underwent the wrath of living on this planet with the natural forces that can snuff out life in an instant. The irony is, we tend to be the snuffers.

Stardate 2010xlmpt

Another year is upon us and we celebrated the night before by drinking too much, laughing disproportionally to the amount of happiness there is in the world, and throwing up on our shoes and the shoes of our neighbor. Some lit off fireworks to emulate the sounds of war and the inspiration of our National Anthem. Some felt it necessary to engage in private activities to start the new year off "right." Others, like Thasneem and me, went to sleep at 10:00 pm and woke up early enough to get to the gym and have a nice workout. I think it's important that we make resolutions, but not necessarily on a particular day of the year where it becomes a sacred duty to break the promises we made to ourselves. If we resolve in earnest, not to allow our body to deteriorate, to exercise, to quit smoking, drinking, partying, etc., then perhaps we have a good chance in fulfilling this self-promise. If we do it on New Year's Day, we're tricking ourselves that we will make incredible change, like we trick ourselves that this new year will be wonderful--the wars will end, the hunger will cease, and we will all join hands and sing fucking Kumbayah. I don't think so. First we need to be nicer to each other, then just do it, dammit.

crismiss

So the crismass season has passed and we count our blessings, or, in most cases, we count who sent us crismiss cards and who didn't, vowing to send to those who did and screw the bastards who didn't. i was one of the bastards this year because i was too schizoed out to believe that there really was a holiday here. i bought thas gold earrings but she didn't particularly like them so we exchanged them for really cool bangles. i'm really happy for her because she loves the gift. i noticed the crismiss reminders began even before thanksforthefoodpigout day. used to be they'd wait until after that high holy day. now it's sell sell sell and buy this buy that. the christians have lost the meaning of crismiss but they aren't the only religion to lose the deeper meaning. at least the muslims haven't forgot how to jihad their butts off. almost got an entire airline this time. oops--forgot to mention it's a religion of peace--maybe they meant pieces of bodyparts. anyway, merry crismiss to all and to all a happy new year. may it not suck as much as these past several years did with the lack of mutual caring and love for the simple fact that we are humans and no religion should come in the way of that, nor piece of land.
peace out

ems

Two EMS workers were having lunch in Manhattan yesterday when a young woman, who worked in the restaurant they were eating in, had a medical event. The two EMS workers went on eating and did not intervene to help the young woman who subsequently died. How unconscionable is that? How do people get into professions like the helping professions and do nothing to help someone who obviously needed it. She died--a young, vital woman who could have very possibly been saved. These jerks were suspended--a lot of good that does her and her family.

writing

So the story is initially finished, but is it really? I know that I still have a lot to do in order to make it palatable to anyone reading it. I lack a strong plot, although there's a plot. I have a theme, but I need to express it stronger than I have already expressed it. And there are a lot of expletives in it that may cause people to think that I can only write a fucked up story with dirty dirty words. But seriously, I hope I can fix it in time--that is, in time before I'm too old to remember what the story is about. My characters are good, I think, but I want to make them gooder. Writing is tough.

Ellen Bellen Watermelon

I am at work, just having met with my manager, who says I need to bring in more money for the company. In the middle of this, I realized that today is Ellen's birthday. She would have been 66 years old if she hadn't died of breast cancer when she was only 46. Wow, that was twenty years ago and it seems like it was only a few years ago at best. Ellen was my older sister. She was a psychiatric nurse, so she knew that the lymphoma was going to kill her. I still remember her anger and disbelief--Kubler-Ross was right when she described the stages of dying. My mother had to take a Valium at the cemetery to hold herself together. Now even she is gone--dying on her 90th birthday this past January. As children, Ellen and I would tease each other. I used to call her Ellen Bellen Watermelon.

It's a good thing computer type doesn't run.

The Most Bumped Into New Yorker by other New Yorkers

Why is it whenever I walk down the street, no matter how much I stay over to my right, someone invariably bumps into me? I am the "Most bumped into New Yorker by other New Yorkers" I know. I walk to the right, I don't weave, I give up room when necessary, and still, somebody bumps me more than just a glancing blow. Perhaps it's a territorial thing for people--they don't want to give up an inch to anyone. They're high chargers; go-getters; 'get the flock out of my way, David' kinds of people. And here am I, just wanting to go from point A to point Z and the rest of the fucking alphabet is filled with bumps and bruises.