Shabbat in Jerusalem is like nothing I've ever seen before. Four lane highways are completely deserted. The silence on the streets and absence of people seems like something out of a movie. We started the day late (by "late" I mean that we started around noon instead of 6 a.m. on other days), which meant we got to sleep in. Yay! Even though sleeping in meant more time in the teenist beds in the whole, wide world, it was still awesome.
Before we left, our guide told us that we had an opportunity to go into an ultra-orthodox enclave in the city, but that we needed to be wearing clothes that covered our knees and shoulders, much like when we went to the Wall the day before. We ventured out of the hotel on a walking tour of Jerusalem. We saw a couple of orthodox men on the street and a really heavily populated internet cafe (oooooh, shame!) but otherwise, the streets were pretty silent. We wound our way around the area near our hotel and ended up back at the market we visited on Friday. The difference that 24 hours makes was astounding.
After the market, we put our cameras away (using cameras on Shabbat on the orthodox 'hood isn't kosher, so to speak) and went deeper into the neighborhoods. Kids ran around eating popsicles and staring at us through barred stairways. I pulled on a skirt over my shorts and put a scarf around my shoulders (HOT!) and wandered around with all of my similarly overdressed cohorts. The biggest thing I remember is how quiet it was. We walked by the neighborhood mikvah and into courtyards of apartment buildings. The idea of families of seven, eight, maybe more living in these small apartments -- especially in the heat -- made me feel clausterphobic.
After we emerged from the neighborhood, we walked to a city park. The park was heavily populated with families relaxing and playing. On the field, a group of guys played soccer next to a suited othorodox man playing frisbie with two little girls. We all hunkered down on a slope and found one of the many ice cream trucks that would mark our trips through Israel. Seriously, those trucks are everywhere. On the side of the truck, a picture of Eva Longoria biting into a chocolate Dove bar stared at us seductively. We spent a couple of hours in the park, laying around, tanning and napping. This, I thought, is a great way to spend a Saturday.
Also, the park was the first taste we had of Israeli's general dislike for recycling and/or using proper trash cans. Everywhere in the park were pieces and spots of litter, and cans and bottles were piled high in trash cans. It never felt dirty, but cluttered. We would see this again and again in parks and on trails throughout the country.
When we finally packed everything up, we followed a trail up over a hill and found ourselves at the Knesset, the Israeli parliament. Many of the government buildings are in this area and, as we stood taking our tourist pictures, about six other Birthright trips converged in the same place. We all gave each other the hairy eyeball -- Why are you guys here? This is clearly my tourist spot. And why are all of the 18 year olds dressed up like they're hitting the club scene? -- and promptly ignored each other. For we are all very mature.
After our tour of government buildings, we headed back to the hotel for dinner and for (finally!) our first night out in Jerusalem. We did a quick change and scarfed down dinner before heading to Ben Yehuda street.
Ben Yehuda street, from what I could tell, is a tourist trap disguised as something remotely trendy. The pedestrian street was swarming with tour groups and vendors sold wares at huge markup. Our guide warned us before she unleashed us on the street that we should try to haggle down prices and, after seeing how clearly the vendors would take advantage of oblivious tourists, I embraced this wholeheartedly. Michelle and I wandered up and down the street, trying to find some decent trash and trinkets to bring home. We found some scarves and earrings, and I found a mezuzah for my sister. Overall, I think I knocked the prices down about 40% on each and I'm sure I still paid way more shekels that I should have. Note to self: next time, learn to at least fake the language enough not to get swindled.
In the middle of the street, a group of Korean students sang to the strum of an acoustic guitar. I have no idea why.
We also may have purchased some really awful booze that we smuggled back to the hotel. Brand name alcohol was obscenely expensive and some of the girls found an off-brand vodka that didn't break the bank. It got the job done, but it was not delicious. Yikes.
They gathered all of us up and we took the bus to our final stop of the night. The bus stopped in a back alley in what looked like an industrial area. We all joked uncomfortably that we were going to be kidnapped or otherwise taken hostage by Jerusalem mafioso (watch out for Schlomo!). Instead, we were led into a teeny black box theater for an interactive Comedia Dell'arte show. The whole thing reminded me of improve games with masks, and I slunk low in my chair. I never really liked improv (I know, I know), but the show was fun.
Back to the hotel for our final night in Jerusalem. Again, the 18 year olds were in the hallway and we finally snapped. A group of young, yarmulke wearing boys were smoking pot and drinking heavily (and noisily) in the hallway and in their rooms. Since we were all exhausted and knew we had a big day lined up on Sunday (Yad Vashem included), we napped. Michelle and I stormed down the hallway and, I'm proud to say, totally lost it on these kids. I'm pretty sure we scared the crap out of them. And then? Then one of the little 18 year olds -- seriously, I'm pretty sure I was taller than him -- told me to "Fuck off, bitch."
Well. Ahem. Yes.
Suffice to say that after that, there were a number of phone calls to people with the authority to deal with these brats. I am proud of my old lady status and the three of us girls celebrated in our room as we heard them get ripped a new one by their trip leader. I mean, how stupid do you have to be to smoke pot in your hotel room? There's a patio. Shit.
And that was our third day. Next up: Our last day in Jerusalem, Yad Vashem and traveling to Ein Gedi.
So I am officially in my new (and improved!) apartment. The move itself wasn't nearly as painful as I thought it would be, though writing all the checks associated with said move did hurt the pocketbook and, duh, the increased rent isn't the most fun ever. But the new (and improved!) apartment -- heretofore known as Apartment 2.0 -- is so large and in charge, it's pretty fantastic.
I've been in for about a week and half now, and have already hosted two dinner parties. Why haven't I invited you, you ask? Well, first I needed to have over Patti (and her parents) and Amanda (and her husband) to thank them for all of the fantastic painting-type work they did around here. But now that they've been thanked, planning a house warming is in the works. What does that mean? Why, booze! And... um... food. And booze! Booze stored in my new, huge, giant, pantry (of doom!). C'mon. Who doesn't love pantry booze?
This also means that I will soon get back to my Israel posts. And that eventually I'll post my Flickr pictures of the move/painting/packing/evil that consumed the month of August. But first, first I need to talk politics. Yes, you thought I had given it up when I decided to work for The Man and, you know, have health insurance and not be unemployed every couple of months, as was my campaign life. But I just couldn't. And the last couple of weeks, oh, they have been good.
First, let's talk about the Democratic convention. One word: Glee! I'm a pretty regular convention watcher and never have I been so excited and interested in what's happening. John Kerry, interesting? Joe Biden, endearing? Bill Clinton, humble? Okay, kind of humble. Seriously, people. Someone finally sat them all down in the room and said "People, this is it. I know we have these "come to Jesus" talks a lot, but this is the real deal. Don't fuck this one up. If you do, it's all over. For the love of all that is holy, really. Also, Howard? Go away. No one likes you." AND IT WORKED.
Really. They stepped it up and I was riveted. And Hillary. My dear, sweet, wonderful, fucking smart Hillary. Good for you. You did exactly what we needed you to do and you looked good doing it, which says a lot about that color orange and your fabulous stylist. Really. Thank you. It makes me love you even more.
Barack, needless to say, was fantastic. Biden was great. Bill -- with the simple phrase "lead by the power of our example, not the example of our power" -- made me love him all over again. And Al. Oh, Al. Al who finally learned to make fun of himself and embraced the geek and made me sit in my car instead of walking the 10 feet to my house because I wanted to listen to the rest of his speech (engine off, thankyouverymuch) than miss any part of it. Oh, love.
And then, the next day. Sarah. Palin. People. PEOPLE!
Okay, first: I am insulted. I am insulted because I am a Hillraiser or whatever you want to call all of us who got behind Hillary. I am insulted that John McCain and whoever his white-boy cronies are, think "Well, all those Hillary people like ladies. They'll vote for us if we get a lady." And then they decided to pick a woman who stands for the exact OPPOSITE of everything Hillary stands for. Like I am so STUPID that I would think "I have lady parts. Sarah Palin has lady parts. I should vote for her!" You know, so then Sarah Palin and her Republican cronies can take away my right to decide what happens to my lady parts. OMG, people!
It's so incredibly pandering and embarrassing and... really? There weren't any Republican women with actual national service records? With more experience than some lady from Alaska who's been governor for two years and previous to that, was mayor of a town of 9,000 people? You know what? The company I work for has about 7,500 employees. Does that mean our CEO is qualified to be Vice President of the US? I mean, at least he's not currently under investigation. Good lord!
Ugh. For real. And all of the pundits who are talking about how Joe Biden better watch out because he can't be mean to a lady in the debates because she's a GIRL. A big, booby, vagina having girl. And Americans don't like it when you're mean to girls. Unless the girl is Hillary. Then it's okay.
And don't even get me started about the exploiting both the child with Down syndrome and the pregnant teenage daughter to prove the anti-choice cred.
AJH&hjg%@HGKHG
With that, I will leave you with the funniest thing I've seen all day. This is but the first of many -- watch them all!
When I started recapping my trip, I had the idea of posting a day per week. And yet, that has not happened. You see, some combination of Comcast internet freaking out and my computer being really old has prohibited me from being online for the last couple of weeks. And then this weekend, my weekend to relax, my three day weekend of awesome? Well, it was ruined because on Thursday, I got home from work and found a "hey, your lease is up!" notice on my door. This is pretty standard. What isn't standard is that they're increasing my rent 30% and that if I want to stay in the complex, I have to move to a renovated unit. At my own expense. And by "renovated" I mean that it has new cabinets, but it's the same square footage and has the same layout and everything. And since that is crazy talk, I've been spending the last couple of days trying to find someplace to live. And, oh, did I mention that Joe is out of town and I have Westely and he's sick -- a very sick, sad dog?
Yeah. Updates are going to be few and far between until I figure out this whole moving thing. Stay tuned, y'all.
So before the third day of the trip officially began, we had a run in with some of our Birthright compadres in the hotel. We went to bed the night before around 11 (I think) and promptly passed out... only to be woken up by drunken, pot smoking, yarmulke wearing 18 year olds in the hallway. I popped my head out into the hallway and used my deepest Camp Counselor Voice to tell them that I didn't give a shit what they were doing, but that they needed to move it into their rooms. They slurred their way into the rooms, shut the doors and everything was good.
Until it happened again. And again. And again. Apparently, staying in the room is far too difficult, and the party kept leaking into the hallway. Sleep total: Less than 6 hours.
The morning of our third day, I woke up before my roommates to use the shower. The shower was... interesting. It was clean (thank God) (heh), but odd. It was a tub/shower combo, but instead of a shower curtain or a sliding glass door, it had half a glass wall and... that's it. So when you took a shower, water sprayed all over the bathroom. The bathroom that had no fan. So everything fogged up (including the glass counter). It was very awkward. Oh, and I forgot about the teeny, tiny beds! The beds were so, so narrow and teeny, we all felt like giants.
We meandered downstairs (where we encountered the loud 18 year olds and glared at them a lot) for delicious breakfast of french toast, pancakes, grapefruit and other fantastic things. After breakfast, we headed upstairs to meet Our Soldiers. I say it like that -- Our Soldiers -- because that is how we referred to them the whole trip. Joining us that day -- and for the next four days -- were eight Israeli soldiers (three girls and five boys). I can't say how fantastic and valuable it was to have them with us. Whenever I had a crazy offshoot question or didn't understand something or just wanted to know why the water heaters were on the top of the buildings in Tel Aviv, they could tell us.
After we met the soldiers, we were off to the market to pick up food for shabbat that night. Baklava, challah, chocolate, dates, fresh fruit -- it was like the best farmers market ever, with everyone yelling in Hebrew and no room to breathe, much less move more than two steps at a time. Dor, the soldier who was with our mini-group of six, navigated us through and negotiated for us, something that came in very handy as the market was one of the few places on our trip where signs were exclusively in Hebrew (which I can't read, write or speak, thank you very much)
After the market, we hopped on the bus and headed to the Old City. Standing outside of the archway entrance, I was amazed at how old it really was. I know that sounds cliche, but it really was incredible. The wall in front of us had slats in it (to shoot arrows at intruders!), the archway dated back thousands of years and I kept thinking "It's like 10th grade Western Civ! Only not boring!"
We headed through the entrance and into the Jewish quarter. We visited the Cardo and walked around the city, but I felt distracted since I knew our eventual destination was the Wall. The Wall is pretty much the only holy site in Judaism and, to put it mildly, kind of a big deal. It's the last remaining wall of the old temple, a place where battles were won and fought over hundreds of years (if you believe the bible, that is). As we rounded the corner to see it for the first time, it really did take my breath away. It's massive and intimidating. And crowded. The Wall has two areas -- one for men and one for women. You'll notice from the picture that the section for men is larger, has tables and chairs and, I can't confirm this, has air conditioning (I don't think I believe that one). The women's area is crowded and cramped and you have to wait for a spot at the wall.
Sanding at the Wall was really incredible. Some people were crying around me and praying and clutching it, and some were silent and reflective. All I can say is that it felt really calm, right there, just for that second. Behind me, I heard a woman sobbing. I turned around to find an older woman -- in her 80s or 90s -- struggling to stand. I gave her my spot and found ofne of the many plastic chairs that were laid out to sit and write for a bit.
After we left The Wall, it was time to head back to the hotel. It was shabbat at sunset, which in Jerusalem meant that everything was going to shut down. We hopped back on the bus and back to the hotel, where I met up with my aunt and uncle and my two cousins. They all live in Jerusalem (with their many children and grandchildren) and because of the tour's tight schedule (and rules), this was the only time we could get together. They looked great, but I was so disappointed to not get to see everyone. The last time I saw all the kids, I was 13 and now half of them have kids of their own. Sheryl and Ellen brought pictures, but it's just not the same.
We had dinner, eating all of the fabulous treats we bought at the market earlier that day, and then settled in for the night. Again, the rules were cramping our style, as we were now stuck in the hotel and it was barely 8 o'clock. After many negotiations, we were shut down and were pretty much on lock down for the night. As you can imagine, this didn't really go over well with all of us. The bratty 18 year olds were upstairs in the hallway being loud and drunk, and all of us were hyped with Getting To Know Everyone energy.
All of this led to many card games, reopening the bar in the lobby (much to the chagrin of the manager) and some drunken political conversations that I stayed out of (a first!). When we did finally go to bed, it was a repeat of the night before, with the loud kids and all of us old ladies yelling at them. It would get worse the next night...
Next up: Shabbat in the Holy Land, crazy protesters and the foreign theater
Okay, I've been back in Portland for a full month and have been dreading blogging about my trip to Israel. Not because it wasn't fun, but because 1.) it's going to take a lot of time 2.) I'm really bad about finishing these kinds of projects and 3.) it was a lot of fun and work is really work-y lately and, really, I kind of want to go back.
Alas. I am caving to the pressure (thanks guys!) and I'm going to suck it up.
Day 1 and 2: Portland to LA to Tel Aviv to Jerusalem in 30 Hours or Less!
I got up at 3 a.m. on Wednesday to fly to LAX. Joe was still in Minnesota and I had the dog, so it was a little stressful. Westely had eaten his way through his new kennel the night before, so I had to pack him up in his tiny kennel and leave him until Joe got back at 1 p.m. the same day. Westely was already unhappy with me and the tiny kennel didn't help. Mom picked me up bright and early at 5 o'clock and, boy, that was awesome.
The flight to LA was uneventful and we landed early, which I would usually say is great. Except. Except that I had, per the instructions from the agency I was traveling with, scheduled my flight to arrive in LA four hours before our departing flight. So now I was at LAX five hours before our departing flight. By myself. At 8 a.m. So that was awesome.
I wandered around and asked all kinds of lost-looking strangers "Excuse me, but are you going to Israel?" Um, no. None of them were. And not only were none of them going to Israel, but then all of them started looking at me like I was some sort of moron. I gave up and sat outside for an hour and called into work to relay instructions to my intern. Yes, that's right. I called into work. Day 1 of vacation and I was on the road to success!
After an hour, I went back in to the terminal. People from our group were finally starting to arrive and, as such, I started judging who I would like and who I wouldn't like. Oh, I kid, I kid. But I did spot this girl with curly hair and a Berkeley sweatshirt and I thought "Hmm, we could be roommates. I bet she has good hair products." This ended up working out very well in the end.
The El Al ticketing counter opened up exactly four hours before our flight. There were a ton of employees there in suits and a couple with Secret Service-esque earpieces and, of course, the guys with really big guns. Very James Bond. It reminded me of Logan airport after September 11th. Which was oddly comforting, in a really big gun kind of way.
They made all of us stand in line as the interviewed each of us one by one. And not just the usual "Did you pack your bag? Do you have any knives with you?" kind of thing. But rather "What is the name of your rabbi? Where did you go to college? What denomination are you? Are both your parents Jewish?" kind of thing. Yeah, it was a little intense. I made it through quickly with a mention of being Sephardic and going to Brandeis (whoo! Jew cred!), but some were not so lucky...
One of our fellow travelers had a very large box with him. The interviewer looked at him and asked, "What is this?"
"A box," he replied.
"And what is in it?"
"Stuff."
"Did you pack it?"
"No."
Oh, no. That didn't go so well. He, like many others on our trip, got a little sticker put on his bags that indicated that all of his stuff would be confiscated and searched. Including his carry on. About five or six people on our trip got their carry ons taken away (all men -- El Al knows not to mess with Jewish women, apparently) and some didn't get them back until our second or third day in Jerusalem. Lesson: Don't fuck with El Al.
After checking in, we had time to wander around the international terminal at LAX. Wow, it's super boring there. And the food blows. We gave up and went to sit at the gate, which was a whole different kind of disaster. I've never been to Calcutta, but I imagine it's similar to the international terminal gates. It was crowded. Really crowded. And kind of smelly. And really disorganized. And there were tiny cars that would beep at you and then run over your foot anyway. And no one spoke English except for us and those that did were talking into intercoms that we couldn't hear. (Yes, this is how I envision Calcutta. Though I also imagine cows there and, thankfully, there were no cows in our terminal. At least, none that I could see.) It was so disorganized that our flight ended up leaving close to two hours late.
Not that we knew that when we got on the plane. Yes, that's right. Two hours sitting on the plane. Oh, wait, but I forgot. First you have to take a bus from the international terminal to a special terminal to get on the plane. And the bus has a police escort. And then the plane has a police escort until it leave the ground. Lesson: Don't fuck with El Al, part II.
They shoved most of our trip on the back of the plane -- affectionately dubbed The Back of the Bus -- which was very smart. Having forty twenty-somethings who just met on a plane for a 14 hour flight (and a two hour wait before that) must have made the flight attendants want to bail out somewhere over Italy. But it worked out fairly well for all of us.
The flight itself wasn't bad. There was lots of food -- and most of it good -- and everyone just kind of wandered around and hung out in the kitchen for a lot of the flight, which was great. One of the guys on the trip and I started trying to identify That Guy -- you know, That Guy! -- and made our official predictions for the trip. There were really bad movies and Friends reruns and lots of hot pita bread and nice blankets. The flight attendants were way nicer than most American flight attendants and happily fed you on command (yes!) and refilled your water bottle and gave everyone lots of free booze. Not bad, really, for a really, really long flight.
Eventually, we landed at Ben Gurion. The luggage situation got even better at that point. One of the guys on our trip, Anthony, was waiting with me and Michelle (the curly haired girl with the Berkeley sweatshirt) for his bag. He couldn't find it until, finally, it came off the carousel. Empty. Just a bag. With nothing in it.
And then came the box. A box with all of his stuff in it. That's right. El Al had not only searched his bag, but had unloaded all of his possessions into a box. Somewhere, there are some really great pictures of Anthony and his really sad box. Anthony was not the only one on our trip who met this fate, but he was definitely the most amusing about it. Poor Anthony and his sad box.
We met our guide, exchanged our money, picked up our cell phones and got on our bus that would become our home base for the next 10 days. We were so late, we did some quick rescheduling and went to a park that overlooks Jerusalem. We got there right before sunset and had our first real look at the city. They gave us nasty wine for a kiddush and then we piled back onto the bus to head to our hotel.
At the hotel, we left our luggage in the lobby (safe!) and had dinner first. And that dinner, it was fantastic! The food at our hotel -- plug: The Jerusalem Gold Hotel -- was some of the best on our trip, despite the rooms and beds being very, very tiny (more on that later). As we sat down for dinner, a group of Russians at the other end of the dining hall started singing. Loudly. In Russian. It was like crazy Russian dinner theater just for us.
After dinner, we picked our roommates -- Michelle and I found another curly top, Laura, to bunk with us -- and headed to our aforementioned tiny rooms. It had been 30 + hours since leaving Portland and I was so exhausted. Good night!
Next up: Obnoxious 18 year olds, the Old City, davening in Burberry and much, much more!
So my sister has a blog. Not the sister who lives here and works in the same building as me and makes me take her to the cafeteria where she is amazed by the fashion faux pas, but the other sister. The one who produced The Lucinator, the cutest child to grace the planet since I was little (26 is the year of modesty!).
Anyway. My sister has a blog and you should check it out. It's snarky and bitchy and directs you to good fashion deals and she updates all the time. Way more than I do. What are you waiting for? Check it out!
And another birthday has passed. That's right, last Tuesday I turned 26. Before we discuss the passing of time, etc. etc., can we first say how much a weekday birthday totally blows goats? Because it does. I had to go to work and talk to people and not be drunk. Not being drunk on your birthday just seems so wrong. But alas, I am a grownup now -- allegedly -- so I have to play the part.
Actually, it is probably best that I was not drunk. For, in fact, I drank enough the weekend before during my lovely Nicole's Ghetto Fabulous Rock Your Sweatpants and Be A Hot Ghetto Mess birthday party. What did this awesome party entail? Chipotle, beer, bowling, tequila shots, giant double vodka sodas, more bowling and a whole ton of people, including surprise guests. And it was awesome. It was so awesome that when Joe and I got home, we ran into my Scottish Neighbor (name unknown - long story) and his girlfriend (name known) and invited them over for a couple of glasses bottles of wine and conversation about... something I don't remember. We tried to rope in my Italian neighbor (yes, my apartment building has turned into the UN), but he didn't seem up for it. Alas.
Anyway. So there was this birthday and it was great and very exciting. And now I'm 26. And I got a lot of phone calls and emails from all of my friends (hi friends!) who weren't able to attend said party and I've been super shitty and not returned any of them because I am self absorbed and busy. Mostly busy, but probably also self absorbed. Yes, 26 is the year of honesty.
Aside from my birthday, lots of other things are going on. I worked all weekend, so took Monday and Tuesday off and now I know why so many people have slacker jobs -- not working on weekdays is awesome! The stores are empty and no one pushes you at the shoe rack (tiny Asian grandmother, I'm looking at you!) and the lady at JCrew pays lots of attention to you and tells your boyfriend "she's a keeper!" while you are trying on skinny jeans. Yeah, for real, not working was fantastic. We parked downtown and walked to Chinatown, up to the Pearl and back downtown, hitting most of my favorite stores in between and buying indulgent birthday presents like Buffy comics, giant bulk bags of cashews and the aforementioned skinny jeans. Oh, and we almost stopped to harass Kobe as the Lakers were boarding the bus, but figured that we would probably get tackled if we yelled what we wanted to yell. But man, it was almost worth it.
Alas, today was back to real life, including a 10 hour day pushing paper, drafting articles, interviewing volunteers and all kinds of other shenanigans. And then I logged another hour and half at the gym because 26 is also the year of continuing to fit into the skinny jeans and, of course, traveling to Israel where I must look hot because there will be lots of pictures, so, you know, hotness must abound.
Have I mentioned I'm going to Israel? I am. For 10 days. Which is part of the reason why, as much fun as those hooky days this week were, I won't be taking any more of them for a while -- all vacation time must be saved up for my trip and even then, I have a feeling I am going to run out of the vacation time. I have it calculated out (of course I do) and think I will just make it, but that bars any illness or unforeseen issues. So I'm crossing my fingers there.
Okay, and then I got distracted for the last hour doing committee work, so clearly it's time for me to log off and go to bed. I will leave you with many pictures from my birthday extravaganza. Be jealous.
I am sitting on the couch and everything hurts because, oh, the running. Kramer is asleep in the corner and making tiny dog snoring sounds, which are almost cute enough to make me forget that he puked in the middle of my living room while I was at work. I really need to unload the dishwasher, but that is one of the few chores I really dislike, so I am pretending that I don't have to do it. I'll do it anyway before I got to bed. The Colbert Show rerun has the Bush hot dog joke from last week, which makes me think of the Bush press conference about ribs, which makes me thing of college and Boris'. And how I am kind of sad that on the little snap cup thing we did in the office (though they didn't call a snap cup which, really, such a bad choice), only one person said I was funny and everyone else seemed to be focused on how well I do my job and how I actually do what I say I will and blah blah blah reliablecakes. What does it say about me that I would rather be funny than reliable? Am I in the wrong field?
Also, my spellcheck is now yelling at me because "reliablecakes" isn't a word. Apparently, neither is "spellcheck." How ironic.
I have a dog that needs attention, so a quick update:
The DCCC never called me back. Surprise, surprise. The donation boycott shall continue.
Hillary won Ohio and Texas! I love me some Hillary. Yay!!
Kramer is staying with me (see above note about dog). So far, he slept a lot, we've played fetch, I fed him lots of chicken and he howled the whole time I was in the shower.
Joe is in Seattle for the weekend. There may be camping involved. Poor Joe.
The Container Store is having a tax prep sale or something like that. Of course, this led me to finally using my gift card there to buy storage boxes for my 2005, 2006 and 2007 receipts. Before I start on this project, I need to buy new file folders. But, for real, I am going to have some serious fun soon! Think of all the organizing!
The Bourne Supremacy is on. Mmm. Delicious.
I have been found. Hi Tom!
I worked an ACLU event last night. Like last year, Kristen and I ran registration and talked smack about people and then counted all the money. It was fantastic.
This week at work is looking to be really busy, though I am unclear on how much busier things can get. But somehow, while doing all the other stuff that I have to do, I'm also going to Salem and Medford. The Medford trip is for an hour and a half meeting. It will take all day, because I have to fly there, have a meeting, and then fly back. Dad says Medford has a good steak house. I have a feeling I won't get to visit it on my trip.
I ran on Friday and I still hurt. Probably because of the sprints.But still. Ow.
I will now end with a joke that I heard on NPR and that made Patti laugh and laugh and laugh.
Why don't Episcopalians have orgies?
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Too many thank you notes to write afterwards!
So I just got off the phone with a phone-banker from the DCCC. The DCCC, for those of you who don't know, is the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee.
The phone call started out as any other. He went into this long spiel about saving Congress and I tried to interrupt to ask if it was a fundraising call. Usually, when this happens, they say yes, I say I appreciate their efforts but have already given, they thank me and we both hang up and go on with our lives.
That did not happen.
He said yes, it was a fundraising call and just kept talking. I tried to interrupt again, saying that I appreciated what he was doing since I have done the same, but that I had already given locally and would not make a gift today. He then asked why I wouldn't make a gift. I repeated that I had already given. He then asked again why I wouldn't make a gift -- did I not have enough money?
I said, no, I had given all that I was going to give. He then questioned if I had really given everything I had and launched into a long diatribe where he told me that I was what was wrong with this country, that a democratic president wouldn't be able to get anything through without a democratic congress and that if I didn't give, then it would be my fault. I repeatedly tried to interrupt him, asking over and over again, "Can I please speak?" When that didn't work, I asked for a supervisor. He refused and again told me that there was absolutely no way I had given everything I had to give because I wasn't doing as much as him and that he was the one trying to make real change, not me.
And that is where I started getting mad. "Do you know me?" I asked. "Do you know that I have worked for the DPO, the DCCC, that I was a professional fundraiser and activist? Do you know that I am a four/four registered Democratic? Do you know how much money I have and how much I've given? How dare you say that to me." During this time, he was also talking. He kept saying he was going to send something to me so I could make a gift.
"You're wasting your time and money. I am not going to make a gift. Please do not send me anything." He kept talking, saying he was sending me a packet and would call again in three weeks. "Please do not send me anything. Take me off your list." Again, he told me that I was part of the problem with this country. And then he hung up on me.
I called the DCCC and left them a message. I fear that message was an angry one, though I did mention that it wasn't the fault of whoever had to listen to said message, but whoever is training these phone-bankers really needs to get a handle on this shit. And until then, though I remain an active Dem, though I give money whenever I can, though I believe in the party and would rather not vote than vote for a Republican, though I will continue all of the shit I do to help the party, the DCCC won't see a dime from me.
Thank you and have a nice day.
