Shtusim: for your entertainment

Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Talking to Yourself

The other night, at around 11.30pm, when all were asleep, I sat at my dining room table. The lights were off and the dim street lamps from the apparent calm outside was my only source of illumination - that and the blue fluro from our electric bug zapper. I had just consumed a particularly welcome glass of RC Cola, laced with a drop of Montpelier (I don't know what it is, but it's a poor substitute for scotch). The alcohol went straight to my head.

I leaned against the back of my chair, my head resting against the cold wall behind me. I closed my eyes. Breathing deeply, I was certain to fall asleep right then and there, in the bliss of my tipsiness.

And then a voice spoke.

It was me.

For some inexplicable reason I began a conversation with myself. I spoke about what was on my mind. Things that I have been thinking but never voiced. It was a strange experience. I opened one eye and glanced around the room, sort of expecting to see another version of me sitting there speaking with me. All I saw was a moth flying at full velocity towards the bug zapper, inexorably to its death. Zap.

I admit, it was weird. It was strange. It was, well, both a dialogue and a monologue rolled into one. But it was also therapeutic. And the experience prompted me to do a bit of research. A quick Google search brought me to a self-therapy website, which has a section about speaking to yourself. If you take a look, you will see that they justify talking to yourself as "a hallmark of being human and proof that we are a higher species". I think it's a sign that we can't afford real therapy.

But sometimes, during the normal course of the day, I find that speaking out loud can help. It sort of gets things in order, "Right, first I'll do this, then I'll do that - no wait, I'd better do the other first and then do that. Right".

But what bugs me is that when I am holding a mental conversation with myself (ie: inside my head), then I think of things before I think of them. For instance, I'm debating an issue - should I do something or not. And when I present an argument for one side, I already know what the counter argument is going to be - and then I am compelled to use that argument as the counter argument, knowing that the first side already has a counter-counter argument because, after all, it's the one brain arguing against itself. So I'm thinking things before I think them. Follow? Put simply, it's almost like being self-psychic, "I knew I was going to say that!"

What particularly cracks me up is when I make jokes to myself. Sometimes when I'm alone, I'm rather funny - but then there's that pre-thinking thing that ruins the punchline. I think of the joke or the witticism and then I voice it. But I already know the punchline because I just thought it through in my head. It sort of kills the whole point of the joke. But I laugh anyway.

I think it's good to talk to yourself. I wouldn't go so far as to call myself on the phone, "Hello? Oh, it's you! So tell me, what's news?". What I mean is, you have to live your whole life with yourself so you may as well learn to carry on a decent conversation with yourself. At least I know that when I talk with myself, I'm assured of holding a conversation with someone at least as intelligent as me.

Monday, February 27, 2006

It's Not Rocket Science

There is a very interesting article called "Growing Up in Electronics: A Wonderful Hobby on a Shoestring" on a website by Nathan Zeldes. Nathan talks about how in his youth he built all sorts of electronic devices from scavenged parts and surplus components. It is quite amazing that the phrase, "necessity is the mother of invention" is actually true - when you don't have first-quality parts readily available, you figure out ways to make things work with the parts that you do have.

I admire the soldiers of the early days of Israel whose innovative spirit was their most valuable weapon. Figuring out how to succeed when you have only sub-standard or minimal equipment is a big challenge - and something to be proud of, I suppose. And that's what makes the underdog so attractive. After all, David slew the mighty Goliath with only a pebble.

For years the (so called) Palestinian Arabs have been viewed as the underdog - the poor Arab proudly standing up to the mighty and bullish Israel - rocks versus tanks. And, surprise, what do I read on the Israel National News (Arutz 7) Website? The poor Palestinians have developed a sophisticated rocket industry in Gaza. Not only do the Palestinians have Kassam rockets, but they have developed numerous flavours of rockets including the Shihab-3, Saria-2, Nasser-3, Aksa-3 the Najam-3 and, not to forget the anti-tank missile called the Al-Batar.

Look what an impoverished, uneducated and isolated group of refugees has managed to create. Not only have they been able to make-do with whatever limited resources they have at their disposal, but they have managed to build their own rockets. Did this happen overnight, since Hamas came to power? Or perhaps they needed a little more time to perfect these weapons, say since the death of Arafat? I posit that the Pals have been developing their rocket technology for many years, perhaps since or before Oslo. What have they been doing with your money, Mr EU? Where have all those funds been going, Mr UN?

Now they have an arsenal of rockets of all different designs and capabilities pointed at Sderot, Ashkelon and the populations of the Western Negev. Rockets, no less. That's a far cry from a slingshot. To date, the miracle is that the rockets mostly cause damage rather than deaths (although they certainly have found their mark and killed before). But all it takes is one direct hit on a kindergarten, G-d forbid.

By the Arabs using rockets, they have upped the ante. Since when does a country sit back and watch the enemy launch deadly rockets into its territory and not do more than shrug it's shoulders? This is a real war. The enemy is at the gates. War has been declared. It's time to wake up, Israel. It's time to protect your own people, your own borders, your own lives. The answer is staring you in the face.

It's not rocket science.

Sunday, February 26, 2006

Brand Names

Most of us have received the famous email (or variation thereof) listing funny instructions in English which were obviously not written by a native English speaker. Like this sign in a Scandinavian airport which is fabled to read, "We take your bags and send them in all directions" or this gem from a Japanese car rental brochure "When passenger of foot heave in sight, tootle the horn. Trumpet him melodiously at first, but if he still obstacles your passage then tootle him with vigor."

But today let's talk about brand names - bad brand names. Some brand names are funny (like "Snapple"). Some are cute (like "Osh Kosh B'Gosh" - a kids clothing brand). Some are clever (like someone I know who wants to open a factory in Nazareth called "Cheeses of Nazareth" - say it slow...)

The best brand names are the ones that are easy to remember. Unfortunately, sometimes they are easy to remember for the wrong reasons.

Some brand names "flunk" because the marketing guys don't do their homework. They import brand names to a new country where they don't realise that there, the name has a different meaning or a sinister connotation. For example, a car manufactured by Chevy, branded "Nova", was imported into Mexico. Unfortunately, "Nova" in Spanish means "No Go".

Other brand names are just plain terrible, as if no thought has been put into the marketing aspects of the name at all. Here are a few examples:

  • Hyundai markets a car in Israel called the "Hyundai Trajet" - how tragic;
  • There's a brand of baby-bottles called "Infanti" - instantly reminding me of the word "infanticide";
  • How about "Urnie", an unfortunately named electric urn made by Kambrook; and
  • R.C. Cola - in Hebrew, "arsi" (with the emphasis on "si") means poison, or (with the emphasis on "ar") means redneck.

If you can think of more, post them as comments to this blog.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Things I Thought I'd Never Do Again

I often look back over the last 32 years or so and wonder what I would do over again if I had the chance. One thing that springs to mind is that I would probably do better at school (especially if I can take with me what I know now). Another interesting question that I sometimes ask myself is: what did I think I would never do again that I did end up doing again?

As I left my Year 12 Hebrew exam, I turned towards the closing doorway to the exam room and sighed, "Well, that's it. No more Hebrew" - and then I went on to study Hebrew for another three years at university. After my final university Hebrew exam I turned towards the closing doorway to the exam room and sighed, "Well, that's it. No more Hebrew" - and then I made Aliyah.

When I was 18 I took my last driving class and passed my test. Leaving the instructor's car for the last time I thought to myself, "Well, I'm now a fully licensed driver. No more driving school. No more driving tests. That's it." - then I took 3 or 4 driving classes before my driving test to convert my Australian license to an Israeli one.

I wonder what things I am doing now that I thought I will never do again, I will actually do again.

I wonder what things I am doing now that I thought I will never do again, I will actually do again.

(That was a joke).

What things did you end up doing again that you thought you never would?

Monday, February 20, 2006

Quest for the Indestructible Mobile Phone Case

The first mobile phone I ever saw was during high-school. I was traveling to school on the bus when we rounded a corner. There I saw a man standing by the side of the road with a telephone in his hand. The telephone was connected by a curly-cord to a large box, about the size of a briefcase, which was resting by his feet. That was about 10 on the wow-factor in the late '80s.

Back in 1990-something a friend sent me on an errand and gave me his mobile phone to take with me, just in case I needed to contact him while I was gone. His phone was one of those brick phones. The thing weighed a tonne and was uncomfortable to hold. But I felt a million bucks walking down the street, flashing this phone around as if to say, "Look at me!"

Alas, the brick phone has gone the way of the typewriter and the 51/4 inch floppy disk.

I think I got my first mobile phone in 1998. It was a Philips Diga.



It was also heavy, but more stylish than the brick. And since then I have had the pleasure of carrying around mobiles that came in all shapes and sizes. I've had the traditional-style phone, I've had the clamshell-style phone, I've had a long phone and I've had a short phone. I even once had a fat phone.

At first I would happily carry my phone in my hand. It made me feel cool and important. But as phones became ubiquitous, carrying the phone around just became burdensome. So I got a cover and belt-clip for the phone and I felt even more important - walking around with the phone strapped to my side, like a holstered pistol. But because the phone case I was using was also the cover for the phone, I had to remove the entire apparatus from my belt to answer it when it rang. I once lost a potential customer while shopping for printer ink in Officeworks because I couldn't get the blasted thing off my belt in time to answer it.

Since then I have been in search for the perfect mobile phone case. You see, that experience in Officeworks was the beginning of my mobile-phone-case jinx.

Let me explain.

There are some things with which people are just plain unlucky, no matter how hard they try. For some inexplicable reason I have had constant problems with my mobile-phone-cases. They always seem to break, or fall off, or tear, or rip. Once my mobile phone case fell off as I was leaving a taxi in central Jerusalem. Thank G-d the person who found the phone made every effort to locate me. Finally my phone and I were reunited in a dimly lit back street of Mea Shearim.

I have had all sorts of mobile-phone-cases: ones that fit horizontally, ones that fit vertically, ones where the belt slides through the loop, ones with belt clips, ones made from leather and also synthetic ones.

I recently bought for myself a new mobile phone case. I thought that it would last at least a few months. After all, it has "Nokia" written on it. Well, two weeks later and the stitching is coming apart. Ergh.

What could be the reason? Is it a conspiracy by the mobile-phone-case manufacturers? Did I offend some mobile-phone-case salesman once so that he put a curse on me?

I've given up. The phone will have to go in the pocket from now on. I just thank my lucky stars I'm not still carrying around that brick, otherwise I would look completely ridiculous.

Comments

Leaving comments on this blog is easy. At the end of each blog is a comments link preceded by the number of comments. For instance 450 comments Simply click the link and add your comment. Choose the "Anonymous" option if you want to remain mysterious.

Sunday, February 19, 2006

Eating

It is interesting to watch other people eat. I have noticed a few categories of eaters and it fascinates me to watch them consume their food. Here are some examples:

The Hunchback
He sits on the edge of his chair, leaning over his plate, which is close to the edge of the table. His back is hunched and his spoon works feverishly between the plate and his mouth. Usually his eyes stare dead-ahead, intermittently looking down at his plate. Sometimes he stops in mid-feed, spoon suspended in the air between his plate and his mouth, to survey the room. In this state, The Hunchback remainins hunched and only moves his eyeballs, never his head. Then the feeding continues.

The Tongue
His fully laden spoon rises slowly from his plate. Some food may fall so he steadies his hand. With the precision of a highly complicated medical procedure, he maneuvers the spoon deliberately towards his face. Then, while the spoon is at least two spoon-lengths away from his mouth (but no less) he opens his mouth wide to receive the food. In doing so, he exposes all of his teeth, his tonsils and his tongue. At this stage, his tongue invariably slides out of his mouth to create a sort of landing pad for the spoon. The tongue curls around the under-side of the spoon, drawing it inside the cavity. Once the spoon has been emptied it is then released so that the procedure can be repeated.

The Surveyor
The Surveyor never fails to miss what is happening around him when he eats for perhaps someone is watching him. He takes a cautious mouthful. Then puts down his spoon and wipes his mouth with a serviette, replacing it by the plate as if it hadn't been touched. As he does so, The Surveyor scans the room to see if anyone saw what he just did. The process is slow, except for the quick, short mouthfuls of food, which sometimes gets stuck in his throat. If that happens, there is a succession of throat movements to try and dislodge whatever food is stuck there, all the while maintaining a blank facial expression. Satisfied that nobody saw him, he proceeds with the next bite.

The Laugher
This is possibly one of the most dangerous of all eaters. They suck you in to sitting with them with their lively personality and jovial nature. But beware The Laugher. As the conversation develops, the seemingly good humoured Laugher will suddenly strike, causing untold discomfort to his companion by opening his food-filled mouth wide and laughing raucously. The Laugher's companion can do naught but try to look away. The Laugher will do this repeatedly, laughing openly with a full mouth, exposing the half chewed food and the remnants of the last mouthful which has become lodged between his teeth. However, there are times when The Laugher tries, but has difficulty, in keeping the food inside his mouth. Bits and pieces of food and saliva spurt out mid-laugh. He will try to cover up by taking a quick sip of drink, but this will only make things worse when the next laughing fit hits before the sip has been swallowed. Once you identify him, try to avoid The Laugher at all costs. But remember, The Laugher never eats alone.

What sort of eater are you?

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Flags

I followed the events surrounding the Danish cartoon riots with some interest. Denmark is (or was) a relatively quiet nation in the current international political scene. However, when the riots broke out, there they were - Muslims burning Danish flags in the streets. Question: where did they get all the flags? I mean, who knew that Denmark, of all countries, would be the focus of Muslim rage? How could they be so prepared? OK, some flags were home-made, but others looked too good to be home-made. So I asked myself: do the Muslim communities have warehouses where they stock-pile flags, just in case they will need to burn them?

Imagine marketing your flags to the Muslim world: "We specialise in high-quality flammable flags. Give your violent demonstration that extra oomph. No self-respecting vitriolic extremist should be without one."

And what about the home-made flags? Some of them looked pretty good, too. Serious effort went into making those flags. And then they burnt them. It sort of reminds me of cigarettes. Have you ever looked at a cigarette from an artistic point of view? A fresh cigarette, straight out of the packet is so completely cylindrical, rounded to perfection. Notice the uniformity of shape, the exact edges. Hold it up and slowly turn the cigarette in your fingers, viewing it from various angles - so smooth, so faultless, so precise. And then you burn it.

I'd like to take a look at one of those flag warehouses because it probably gives a good indication of who they plan to riot against next. I bet there are many dozens of Israeli flags, folded neatly on a large industrial shelf, right next to the tall stack of US flags. I wonder how many flags of Liechtenstein they have in stock? I suppose it depends on how good their cartoonists are.

Snow II

Looks like the no-snowers won out - no snow...yet.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Snow

It's the most popular topic of conversation - will there, or won't there, be snow? The country is waiting with baited breath. Will the skies bring forth the white stuff? I kid you not, snow is on the national collective-mind at the moment. The days are cold. The winds are fierce. The rains are persistant (thank G-d). And we wait.

Coming from Melbourne, snow isn't exactly a part of my background. It has never snowed in Melbourne during all my years there - excepting for one cold morning on the way to school when there was evidence on the ground of something resembling a very light overnight snow fall. That aside, we never built snowmen in our front yard or threw snowballs at each other or had "snow days" at home when we couldn't get to school. The only weather-related time off was when we got to go home early from school when the temperature reached over 38 degrees.

A friend at work told me of the "snow dance" which one does to bring snow - much like a rain dance. When the weather looks promising, you gotta do the snow dance. "But wait", he said, "I have nightmares of the roads icing over before we have a chance to get home and I'll be stuck here! Better that we do the slow-snow-dance: the snow-waltz." Well, if you want it that bad...

Each week for the last few weeks the weather reports have promised snow and everyone got all excited - but they were wrong. No snow. This week, the weather predictions sound much more confident - SNOW IS GOING TO FALL! I know it will fall because the country wills it - and this is a democracy, remember?

But there are those who don't wish the snow to come. Those who grew up in snow areas recall the constant shovelling of snow, the way your car gets iced over and how the snow gets everywhere. "No to snow", they say. They are in the no-snow camp. I am firmly in the yes-snow camp "Yes snow!" (sounds a bit indecisive, doesn't it).

So let's hope for snow. The no-snowers have the rest of the year, all I want is one or two days. But, hey, if it doesn't snow this year, it's only a sign that I'd better brush up on my dancing skills before next winter. Waltz, anyone?

Monday, February 13, 2006

Israeli Drivers

Israeli drivers have a bad reputation. Sometimes it isn't justified, often it is. I travel between Ramat Beit Shemesh and Jerusalem at least five days a week and I am invariably witness to some rather creative driving.

My brother and his wife recently traveled to Israel for a holiday. Before they left I sent them an email with a list of things to look out for when driving on the roads. They were going to hire a car and I just wanted to get them "up to speed" (pun intended) on the Israeli driving culture. The basic theme of the email was: just pretend that everyone around you is suddenly going to do something stupid and be prepared for it.

Here's an example: busses drive super fast - sometimes I wonder how those huge boxes manage to not topple over. Cars drive even faster. But bus drivers THINK they can outrun the cars. So there you have bus drivers gunning it down the highway, car drivers being insulted that they are getting overtaken by a bus and the both of them exceeding whatever the speed limit is supposed to be. Then, in the middle of all this, you have the motorcycles weaving in and out between the busses and the cars. It's right out of a car-chase computer game. What fun.

I like it when taxi drivers lecture me on safe driving (while they are exceeding the speed limit, weaving between lanes and talking on the mobile phone). The irony is simply entertaining.

But driving in Israel is actually fun. It's a great way to see the country - and there is so much to see. You just have to keep your distance. Quite a number of cars have bumper stickers that say "Keep Your Distance" (in Hebrew) sometimes I think the drivers who are tail-gating them are just trying to read what the bumper sticker says.

One of my favourite jokes tells of a woman who calls up her husband on his cell phone, "Morty, I know you are driving home now. I just wanted to tell you to be careful on the roads. I heard on the radio that there is a maniac driving the wrong way on a highway." Morty replies, "Esther, It's not just one maniac, it's hundreds of them!"

Atom Feed

This blog is also published as an Atom feed so you can now add this blog to your feed-reader (most RSS readers can also read Atom feeds). I work mainly on Firefox and use the Fizzle reader. It is not a bad little program.

The Atom Feed address for this blog is: http://www.ploni.net/blog/atom.xml.

This link will also be available from the links menu to the right.

Sunday, February 12, 2006

Sleep

I had an incredible dream last night. It was a movie-length dream and was so intricate and detailed that when I woke up, I felt like I had really been through it, but without the popcorn. The funny thing was that as I was waking up I could both hear and see the dream as well as hear what was going on in the real world - wierd. I felt like I had one foot in reality and one foot in dream-land.

I know people who seem like that generally.

After an operation on my nose and throat in January 2003, I stayed with my parents for a week of recovery. I was astounded that I was able to get up and learn Gemorrah at midnight. But then, again, I slept a lot during the day and I didn't have the kids to worry about. But it was a wonderful feeling to be totally relaxed - despite the severely crippling shooting pains in my throat.

I think that some people are constantly asleep although they look like they are awake - like some politicians I know of who seem to live in a different universe to the rest of us. I don't know exactly who they were talking about (enlighten me if you know), but there was an article in last week's edition of Hamodia that said something like: there was a President of the United States who slept only 4 hours a night. When asked why he slept so little, he replied that he wasn't the President when he was asleep. The author of the article went on to say that it would have been better for the world if this President would have slept more.

I heard about medical interns who are on-call 24 hours a day. Yep. I'd really like a sleep-deprived medical student prescribing drugs for me. Sounds like a plan.

Have you ever wanted to be an insomniac? I am toying with the idea of attempting not to sleep for three days straight just to see what happens. I wonder how productive I would be. I suppose my mind would be constantly worrying about staying awake to actually do anything useful, like, say, think.

Sometimes I wish that sleep wasn't necessary - it seems like such a waste of time, unless, of course, you get to see a free movie.

Friday, February 10, 2006

Random Acts of Kindness

On Shabbos lunch after the fish and before the cholent each person in my family (and any guests who want to participate) mention at least one act of kindness that they did during the week. After a few weeks, the kids (and the adults, too) find themselves thinking about what act of kindness they can do so that they have something to say at the table - and they start recognising an act of kindness when they do one so they can talk about it at the table. This awareness of doing kindness for other people soon becomes second nature.

Here's a challenge: do one spontaneous random act of kindness in the next hour. Let me know how you go.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Chicken

I am quietly, single-handedly decimating the chicken population of Israel. I calculate that on a good week I might eat about three or four chickens. I count turkey as chicken because, in my book, they are almost the same thing, just bigger.

There are some things about chicken, and meat in general, which I find rather intriguing. Like, if a live chicken is shaped like so, how do we get cold-cuts that are round in shape? It's sort of like the question about wood - if a tree is cylindrical, then how do we get sheets of wood that are big, flat and square? The mysteries of the world abound.

Read this fascinating list of chicken facts here: http://www.vfr.net/~tbruce/facts.html you will learn that chickens can travel up to 9 miles an hour. Amazing. And that there are about 450 million chickens in the United States - that sounds like a lot, but not compared to China's three billion chickens. That's three billion chickens who aren't allowed to surf the internet.

Some people squirm when they realise that the succulent bone they are chewing on used to hold up some fowl's body-part. But once it's on my plate, the food is food and becomes completely divorced from what it was before. Therefore, to eat chicken is only to eat chicken, and not to eat a chicken. It is much more civilised to think of it that way. I must say that I have no compunction eating dead animals. As they say, if G-d wanted us to be vegetarians, why did he make cows out of meat?