Picture Perfect

So today is a Jewish fesitval, where people dress up in funny constumes and have fun. But why? Sure, us Jews do some pretty strange things, and some pretty cool things too, but they are done reaons.

Very quickly, Purim (meaning "raffle") was when an advisor (called Haman) to the king of the Achaemenid Empire (that's Persia to us) decided to give an enourmous sum of money to the ruler, in return for having sole discretion over the fate of the Jews in the empire (which was considerably large). His intention was to kill all the Jews (history repeats itself. It seems Jews have never really been free of this absurd desire people seem to have about obliterating them all the time. Just give us a break, dammit!) 

We celebrate because, obviously, this didn't happen and disaster was averted by the Queen. The events are recorded in the book of Esther in the Hebrew Scriptures. That genocide was averted explains why we celebrate, we dress up as a symbolic reference to the hiddeness of God's actions in saving the Jews - Interestingly, the name of God is not mentioned in the book of Esther once (though he is present if you know how to look). So we dress up and "hide" ourselves behind masks and costumes to symbolise this.

         As such, going to synagogue can be quite an interesting. I try to avoid synagouge members these days and yet here they all are, dressed in bizzare costumes, as devils, sailors, school masters, ladybirds, punks, and anything else you can imagine. It was like living a bizzare dream.

For more information in the medium of song, and to see such costumes in action, why not try this rather bizzare link which is under a minute long and explains it all quite well.

Also, I recently discovered an unspoken and up until now possibly altogether unknown connection between traditional Jewish Purim songs and African-American folk songs which were sung as they picked cotton in the fields. Compare to the Jewish version (not about picking cotton, but oddly the same tune) Mishe Nichnas Adar.

Here's a selection of videos of the same song, all sung in the style of the country of origin (of the people). Please note, anyone singing this song is probably drunk, close to it, or about to be if theyre above the permissable legal age to drink, so forgive the lesser musical abilities where applicable:  

Traditional Middle-Eastern Israeli,
Western/ 'a cappella'

Unfortunately, my mic isn't working otherwise I'd have sung a clearer (and much better) version for you all. Oh well!

It appears the Jewish conspiracy has permiated to previously unknown and astonishingly grass-root levels, right down to the Old Greats of Folk song. We are everywhere. Fear us.

I have finally discovered why I am always late.

NO. It is not because I'm lazy. Rather, it is because I do not believe in linear time, but circular time. For believers in circular time, this means that once time has passed, it is not lost forever as with linear time, but eventually, will fall back on itself in a circular fashion. Think of it as a spiral staircase; as it moves upwards, it spirals back on the parts below it - linear time, obviously, is just a straight line.

 Therefore, for spiraling time, every year passes back on itself. Depending how tight you want the spiral to be, every month. Every week. Or for my purposes, every half hour. See, if ever I'm 31 minutes late, I'm actually on time, because that first minute of the second half hour is spiralled back onto the first part of the hour. Similarly, If I'm one hour late, I'm only half an hour late, because of the spiral effect and so and on and so forth.

Anyhoo, must be off!

I try to be punctual, really I do and for the most part I am. Except when it comes to meeting Helen - for some odd reason I'm always late with her, though I've only met her twice. There is time to improve the record yet.

And speaking of time, I can never have too much of it. In fact, I like to look at it and would point out that most of the lives of the people reading this (yes, you) are conducted by time-keeping devices. Right this second, there could be as many as three clocks within sight.

Right now, I have a watch on my wrist, a clock on the bottom right hand corner of the screen, two Ashurst branded clocks on my desk, an alarm clock/stereo sitting on the other side of the room and a wall clock. Of course, we mustn't forget that we have clocks on our mobile phones, and I have two of those (but thats another story). Even to me, it's surprising there are 8 clocks just in my room (all which have a different time, I might add). Obviously, time is important to me - perhaps because there's so little of it - and thus so are clocks, and it is the story of the Ashurst clocks that I would like to deal with now.

Ashurst is a major company that has offices all over the world, though they're not exactly known for their clock making skills. Instead, they're known for being a major law firm in the UK and the world over, also a law firm to whom I have recently applied. I must say, they're very efficient. Someone in the firm must read the applications within 3 days of its being submitted, if not sooner.

Anyhow. One of the questions on the application was how I came to apply to Ashurst and why. During my explanation, I mentioned that I met and spoke to one of their representatives at the law careers fair in my university, where I was awarded a nifty looking LCD digital clock from the company. Perhaps it was the stress. Perhaps it was the desire to stand out from everyone else. Perhaps it was the tiredness. More likely a combination of the last two. But it was at this point that I saw fit to mention "I am saddened to report that the clock was faulty. Despite this, I still wish to apply..."

I have on my desk now, as I type this, a replacement clock from Ashurst along with a note saying "Daniel, I'm sorry to hear your Ashurst clock was faulty. I hope this one is ok."

Whoever said law firms were all bad? (cat *stare*)
PS. The replacement works fine. I must admit, I didn't know what it was and opened it as if it were a bom. Interestingly, I still opened it, with the completely irrational, confused morning just-got-out-of-bed expectation that acid or nails would be sprung on me. I'm glad that didn't happen though.

One of the most difficult things in my life has just been achieved.

Today, I informed a table full of family that I was doubting the existence of God. It was almost unbearable. It was certainly as hard as I thought it would be, but they took it better than I expected.

Hearing my arguments, my father was quick to call in the cavalry, referring me to this rabbi and that rabbi, this book and the other, as if he were a doctor prescribing me different pills, in the hope that one of them would work and I would somehow be 'cured.' At least now he knows the underlying reason why I haven't attended Saturday services in two months (actually, on second thoughts, the real reason is late-night chatter with Catty, not disbelief).

But suddenly, I found myself the defender of all things not-spiritual; whenever something was seen to be inexplicable, my mother would chime "you see??! How do you explain that?!" and I would give a perfectly reasonable, physical explanation.

I wasn't really comfortable with it all, I'd prefer just not to make a fuss, to be honest. But there we go.

The background to this all is, of course, my mother. Mothers always know everything and always publicise things about you to everyone. That morning, I discussed religion and spirituality with her for two hours. Then, she relayed my questions to my grandfather and father, along with what prompted them: disbelief.

I came into the room, everyone fell silent and looked away quickly. Though I've heard about this happen to many people, this was the first time it happened to me, so it was a strange feeling - but I knew something was up, and asked what it was. My grandfather didn't reply, my mother said 'nothing,' but it was my dad who said 'we're discussing you and your questions' and it all sort of went on from there.

What's been accomplished by this?
Absolutely nothing, apparantly disbelief in God isn't sufficient reason to stop religious activities, especiallialy praying, something my parents still insist I do. And yet every time I'm faced with familiar prayers, they sort of lose its meaning to me. What's being achieved by this? I don't know. Maybe something, probably nothing.

Anyway. I'm tired. I'm hungry. I shall depart from this post. Want to know more? leave a comment.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s63rzfy8FFs

Oh my gawsh. Who let that woman near a video camera? If she didn't have an American accent, I'd think what she was saying was a joke. Also, I like the argument at the end.

Although she says "I don't think the more religious a Christian you are, the more intolerant you are, that's preposterous" the entire interview seems to support that very claim. In her own words in other places, she believes the term "shvaggot" [combination of the German word  for black, shvartze, and english slang faggot, meaning gay. However, it allgedly means  "wimp, wuss" according to Ann Coulter here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mnVMMpcP2gA] should be allowed, amongst other dregotaroy terms for various groups of American society.

In this particular interview, she states she believes everyone in America should be Christian; throw away Buddhism, et. al. The person interviewing her is actually Jewish, to whom she states should be perfected by converting to Christianity. Whilst I realise this is Christian belief, the fact that it is part of that belief doesn't make it any less intolerant or extreme, much like the islamic concept of Jihad isn't any less violent just because it's a religious belief. Indeed, most religious beliefs are inherently violent, it just so happens when society disagrees, that belief is kept under wraps, such as the Christian concept of Holy War, which is hardly touted about now as it was during the middle ages. 

 Check out this funny politically incorrect response: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ye_2a7Lrl80

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Ann Coulter strikes again: Apparantly, the widows of husbands who died in the Iraq and Afghanistan wars are just "cashing in" and should "take their money and shut up." http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CSG7BqK-JIY

The Jewish Chronicle will run the story tomorrow, when they go to the publishers.
The Evening Standard, a national paper, ran the story twice: once in their morning edition of the paper, and once in the final evening edition. In the morning paper, it featured on page 17 with the headline "Israel murdered 800 children, Student Union tells Freshers." In the evening, it was on page 27 and the headline read "Student Union accuses Israel of murdering 800 children."

I was further informed The Jerusalem Post was interested in running the story. I expect The Guardian will run the story some time this week, though that's a bit optimistic.

In terms of media coverage, I and the team I was part of managed to do what last years Jewish Society committee failed miserably in: succeeding. I was the sole spokesperson (and still am) for the J-Soc, speaking on their behalf. My ammendments to the letter we sent to the SU were also included in there, though it was more political spin than things of substance.

There will be a full enquiry as to why the letter got sent out, saying the things it did, in the first place.

At long last, things are settling down.

It's been interesting, spending 5 hours with people who I really don't know. I'm meeting someone who I really don't know this Thursday, to spend another 5 hours like that.

But developments! I went to the flat of girlies today, only to find that red-haired-girl does not in fact inhabit that flat: purple haired girl does. I don't want purple haired girl :'(  She's a right character though and an interesting person to be around. I didn't ask where red-haired girl did live, because I'm not a hardcore stalker (ifI know where you live already, you're not safe from me. If I don't, you are. But then, those who give me their address should expect I'd use it. Of course, I'm not speaking about cat and helen and ant, whose addresses I have; wouldn't bother venturing out of London for them! heh heh).

Who knows if our paths will ever cross again...dun dun dunnnnn!

Anyway, have to go now cos I have lots of stuff to do. 

Adios!
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*Update*
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So there I was, admittedly facebook stalking (I was bored of working, it was late, ok?) and with a bit of blind luck and determination as well as my super-spy powers, found red-haired-girl's facebook profile (I've reached new levels of sadness, I realise, I really do - but I'm pleased to point out my lowest levels of sadness are other people's highest levels of coolness). Sadly (for me) she's listed as having a boyfriend (who I shall not anonymously send abusing messages to). Anyway, I uhh, have some messages to send...to, umm, people...umm, friends. Yeah, friends...heh. Bye bye!

Today I met some old friends, and met some [new?] people I didn't know, but who knew me (I hate it when that happens and it always does. Sometimes I walk down the street and have a whole conversation and not know who it is I'm speaking to), who i'll hopefully be hanging out with tomorrow.

Also, there's this girl I think I may stand a chance with, who's really cute and who has red hair. That last fact isn't really important, but I thought i'd mention it anyway. Hopefully, she's unattached...I don't know her, but she's the flatmate of the person I do know (who I don't know that well. Basically, I don't know anyone in that flat). I've been invited around to their place tomorrow (the art is being invited and letting them think they're the one inviting you. Not even I'm sure how it all works, but it does, evidence of which is I'm going to little more than a strangers flat tomorrow). We'll see what happens, it's a bit risky, 'cos I don't know who'll be there, but even if red hair girl isn't there, I've arranged it as such that it'll still be productive.

If I manage to ensnare this particular girl using my guile and sneakery (I have no wit or charm, so guile and sneakery it is) all is well. Perhaps she's the one i'll take to the ball with me (that's right folks. This isn't about love or anything, it's just about not going to a brilliant party by myself. Of course, when I say "take to the ball with me" I mean get her to shell out £40 for a ticket so that we can go together). I may be getting well ahead of myself, but the speculation was more for comic relief than anything else. I assure you my feet are firm on the ground (if worst comes to worst, I'll go to a bar, get someone [hopefully a girl, but i'm not that fussy] really, really drunk, and then the next day, thank them for agreeing to go to the ball with me and can they please send off their cheque).

I'm also going to be spending less time online - no, really - and i suspect my blog won't be filled in for a long time.

But look! I changed it and stuff! It's all different now!

That's basically all I wanted to say. Anyway, adios.

Anyway.
I was reading the Sunday Times, as is my wont, and was wondering if it is time I moved on without it. I fear it is a paper which is far too conservative in its write-ups, though I agree with many of the views voiced within. It’s just the way they say it. What prompted this uncertainness was the fact that they described the adverts from Bacardi as aimed at “hedonistic youth” and “typically features swim-suited models cavorting on palm-fringed beaches.” Cavorting?! I have seen them sun-bathe, move, walk, stand, dance and swim, but never, never have I seen them cavorting! And anyway, what on earth is wrong with cavorting swim-suited models?! The person writing that needs to be shown what a good time is, I think.

Little to report in real life. I hope to be paid as a "real" journalist shortly. An old friend's (i.e. a friend of old; I don't really know them anymore, last spoke to them 7 years ago) mother passed away. I'm still going to the funeral today, as she kept in touch with my mother, who - understandably - doesnt want to go alone. In matters of the heart, I continue to have little to no interest in anyone. In matters of the soul, I continue to bounce about aimlessly. In matters of the flesh, well. heh heh heh. And lastly, in matters of the work, I continue to not understand that dirty four letter word.

The following post may contain nudity, violence or swearing and is rated 12 in the UK and 13PG in the rest of the world. Viewer discretion is advised. Read on to get to the good stuff.

People are funny.
Often, I'm content to just sit in public places watching people go by, watching them talk to their friends, partners and children. I see what can only be described as the tricks, ploys and bribes used by parents to pacify their wailing children, I notice the way a young couple sit close to each other and say nothing, whilst at the next table or the next chair, a slightly older couple sit apart, perhaps reading seperate books. Familiarity? Nothing new in their relationship? Said it all before? Or is it that the younger couple need the reassurance of their partner's commitment or love, whereas the older couple are already assured of it? 

Perhaps by now an argument between two people disturbs my thoughts, such as the one in Geneva airport, on my way back from France only a short few weeks ago. Ah. This is what I was waiting for...And I wasn't dissapointed.

The scene was entirely comical. I was sitting outside the duty free shop (notice singular, implied specificity by use of "the" - there basically was only one duty free shop) allowing a friend to browse the shop at his whim, whilst I was eating breakfast. To my far left were the gates to the world. On my immediate right, was the gate to France. Aside from that amusing polarity, the argument between husband and wife was brewing nicely. It was taking place in Arabic, between a burqa/niqab/hijab (the last of these terms is generally used incorrectly in this context, but many people understand it to be correct nontheless) clad woman and a greying man. They were speaking an Islamic arabic dialect which I do not speak (indeed, the arabic which I do speak is laughably poor), but I was still able to understand what was being said, for the most part.

The husband and wife, already half a corridor away from each other and now raising their voices nicely couldn't decide which gate to go through, their agitation at their inability to read English was only increased as they were very aware of the fact that they were already running very late. They had to choose one gate and stick with it. There was no room for mistakes, it was either one side or the other of the airport. "This one!" the wife maintained; a stream of Arabic I didn't understand followed, but I could imagine the words: "stop being so obstinate, you old goat!" The man looked kind of helpless, I'm guessing his wife knew more English than he, but it wasn't long before he was swearing by none other than the prohpet mohummed that it was the other way. Meanwhile, the wife disappeared to wherever those stairs led, and the husband went in the opposite direction, whilst indulging in the trademark under-the-breath utterances of Arabic cursing. It's a lovely language to curse in even when cursing under one's breath [that part's almost obligatory], but they're best said loudly and better yet, over the words of the person you're swearing at. Indeed, in Israel, Arabic is the language of curses and swearing - there are no swear words in Hebrew, so perhaps that isn't surprising [what is a shocker, is that no swear words have evolved over thousands of years, much to my delight, in fact]. The dirtiest word [well, two words] is "son/daughter of a strange woman," "strange woman" meaning "prostitute." Really, the language is so clean, there isn't even a word for "toilet." It's "house of the throne" - throne, no less! Someone had a sense of humour, no doubt....This is in contrast to Arabic, which has at least 6 different words for "dick" and 4 different words for "whore." From the traditional Arabian nights insults - "elf gamool mel jemel jawa bartek (may you have 1,000 camel fleas in your armpits) to the funny phrases which are funny regardless of which language they're said in ("how much for a night?" Or, in the words of Borat "very nice. I like. How much?") to really descriptive rude phrases I shan't repeat here.

Of course, throughout this whole episode, I was grinning wildly, much to the amusement of another bystander, opposite me, who caught my eye and had a smaller grin which seemed to say "I know why you're grinning, it's funny, but naughty naughty!" But I love too, the European reaction to such loudness, which in itself only lends to the comedy. People around me acted as if they were completely unaware of what was going on; that is the most typical European response: ignore it. Nothing's happening. Don't look and it doesn't exist. Hold your paper higher. 

Brilliant! The most earth shattering event could be taking place in central London, an earthquake, perhaps, and bankers, lawyers and business people everywhere would march right by, briefcases in hand, pausing only to straighten their ties or hair, once clear of the epicentre.

On another note, for some inexplicable reason, I felt the urge to go downstairs and open the fridge, poke around and see what was doing in there. As I went down the stairs, I saw the postman walking up to my front door and as I reached the bottom stair, a whole load of letters came pouring through. Naturally, I went to pick them up...when I saw a little purple envelope, nestled among the larger assorted envelopes and junk mail. Mindful that Steph was sending me a letter, I picked it up. Right away I saw it was from steph (the shape of your sexy lips - I'll know them anywhere - was enough...) The thing that surprised me wasn't the kiss (pshh, to be expected) but the fact that it was sent to "DJ, Lord of the Universe." I've been telling everyone to call me that for years - finally! Some recognition!

I opened it (careful not to rip the kiss that sealed the envelope) and was delighted to see a card as well as a hello kitty page full of writing. What was written more resembled a soft-core porn novel than anything else and I had great fun reading it. I should also probably mention it was pretty much doused in perfume (was it really toilet freshner? I swear I smelt that same smell on someone today... On a side note, my memory of perfume by scent is limited to coco chanel. You'd be surprised how many people actually wear it - and correctly "guessing" the perfume a girl's wearing never fails to pleasantly surprise and impress ;-) [incorrectly guessing makes a fool out of you]).

Here are some of my favourite lines:
"Ooh, remember that time we lay on that grassy knoll?" That was just so Enid Blyton I had to laugh. Another Blyton moment was the use of the word "frolicked."

"...I love you and want you to be the father of my fertilized eggs." That was just so odd, once again, I had to laugh :P

But anyway, what am I doing, revealing lover's secrets, eh? Steph, I was half tempted to put it in an envelope and send it back addressed to your parents :P
But I shan't....for now.*

Anyway, for now your letter, card and envelope shall live with Arty's card (Hallmark, I'll have you know!) and Cat's postcard...  

But more importantly, your writing provided a nice sample to be analyzed :p *
You (from what little I remember of this stuff and with help from the internetty) are: outgoing, friendly, impulsive, and emotionally open (all'cos of yourright slant), can handle pressure well ('cos of your moderate pressure with the pen), you're easygoing (cos of your letter size), you're logical as well as intuitive ('cos of some of your connecting letters), once again openess is indicated by your open letters (i.e. your's "o," "a" and other letters that should have a closed top, in fact have an open top). Basically, you're confident and open. Nothing new there.

Anyway, I shall go now. I have to do other stuff. So. Uhh. Take care! Until we speak again lovah stephy-poos ;-) 

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*My silence can be bought. Blackmail monies should be sent to the same address. Cash only. No cheques.