Choose Your Own Adventure

The Lost City

2011-07-08T13:45:00.000-04:00

So, I can't quite put my finger on it, but there is something to the last NASA shuttle being named Atlantis.

Something about how after this boat leaves, space will become something of a lost city.

To the Americans, anyway.

A place we can visit through tour guides from other places, but no longer any kind of domestic endeavor.

PoMo: An Intellectual Condom

2011-07-05T23:10:00.000-04:00

"Fronting any subject with the knowing wink of postmodern metadiscussion is an easy way to avoid any real connection. Writer's don't have to worry about failing to get the work across, and readers don't have to worry about being moved by an experience that touches them somewhere other than the brain. It's an intellectual condom."

-Colin Frangos, "Colin on Colin"

Fucking Daphne

Haiku: July 4th, in our nation's capital

2011-07-05T22:48:00.000-04:00

Children dragged along
Swarm the monuments, Perform
American pride

Hub of the Universe

2011-01-08T00:41:00.000-05:00

Dear Boston,

Your charms beckon.

I will be back in two weeks. Call the 21st and tell them to have plenty of potato soup on hand/in bowl.

Love,
Halley

A Love Letter to TV

2011-01-07T23:04:00.000-05:00

Dear TV,
I love you.

Right now I am watching the local weather report for the town I grew up in because WGN has a national channel. Right now I am remembering all that snow that I'm not in.

I switched from BBC America with the British Law and Order, which has Jamie Bamber, whom I every time I see, I call out "Cylon!" even though he wasn't a cylon on that show, but I do it for everyone on that show because it seems like the right thing to do, to help out in anyway I can, and really, when I see those who actually were cylons, I call it out much louder; it's more of a greeting for everyone else.

It should worry me that I greet the TV people. But it doesn't.

Now for some Adult Swim on my hip and happening Friday night.

"There's no law against poor people being on Boards of Trustees."

2010-09-25T12:27:00.001-04:00

(Cross-posted from Musings on Arts Management)

A professor of mine posted this delightful Pinky Show video and asked readers (ostensibly, arts managers):

"Who creates value? How? What is the role of the arts manager (perhaps more than you might think?) in creating value and in deciding what we want to remember and what we want to forget?"

In all areas of the arts, I think the most responsive organizations are changing the subtle indictments charged in the video. Just because we want alternatives to the behemoths, does not mean the behemoths shouldn't exist. (Though, when they show they value these alternatives, it does bestow added value to them, for better or worse.) Still, whatever one is curating (museums, a concert, a literary festival), the thing is only going to be as good as the goals and chosen aesthetic of the person behind it. (And the artists whose schedules you can wrangle to coincide with one's own. But that's another story.)

On one hand, with the democratizing influence of the Internet, of course more people can reach more people, on every subject. On the other hand, arts funding often sucks. This is not news. Organizations with funding have more options than a person with neither a sheltering organization nor funding.

When Kim (in the video) talks about education teaching one what to think and what to value, of course there is some truth to that. But before one can change the system, one should be well-versed in it. (Duh.)

I am encouraged by the variety of art and artists who are showing up in DC these days. Some of it is weird and great. Some of it is weird and crap. These are my judgments. Support what you love.

Of course we create value when we stick a microphone in front of someone, or put them under a spotlight. That's why the more people get involved in creating that value, the better. I will likely never be able to open a wing of museum or donate a million dollars, but I can - from my own specific, culturally-situated perspective - choose which voices I want others to hear.

Which is the gay one?

2010-09-22T22:32:00.000-04:00

science lesson

2010-09-22T21:02:00.000-04:00

Heard on my walk home:

"That's why tornadoes rarely rip through the middle of cities, but just kind of bounce around them."

I have no idea what the "why" is. So this is less of a lesson than an opportunity to make up science.

I imagined the city like a mountain, and the tornado bouncing off of it as some immovable bit of topography, like the Appalachians, and the tornado spun off in another direction.

Maybe the tornadoes bounce around the cities because all our collective energy, concentrated in this concrete pocket, is more than any tornado wants to deal with.

Feed Shelter Dogs in 125 words

2010-09-18T23:50:00.024-04:00

(Thanks, Stephanie, for sending this along. And thanks for being such a pal to pups.)

Mention the Pedigree Adoption Drive in a blog post (by 9/19), and Pedigree will donate a bag of food to shelter dogs. Just for this they'll give 20 lbs of food to a shelter. (Wish I'd known sooner.)

Also, become a fan of Pedigree on Facebook, and they'll donate a bowl of food (and you'll hear about new cool things they're doing to help dogs).

Dogs rule.

Is this why writers shouldn't date outside the writer species?

2010-09-16T22:48:00.001-04:00

(cross-posted from: here)

offended by rank OBJECTIFICATION of writers

There is this thing currently going around tumblr about why dating a writer is good. I think it’s nice that this thing is going around, because I like writers, and lots of us could use more dates. As a writer who has dated people, though — including other writers — I would like to offer some correctives to this list.
The items in bold are the alleged reasons to date a writer. I have replaced the original commentary with my bleak corrective, in lightface.

Writers will romance you with words. We probably won’t. We write for ourselves or for money and by the time we’re done we’re sick of it. If we have to write you something there’s a good chance it’ll take us two days and we’ll be really snippy and grumpy about the process.
Writers will write about you. You don’t want this. Trust me.
Writers will take you to interesting events. No. We will not. We are busy writing. Leave us alone about these “interesting events.” I know one person who dates a terrific writer. He goes out alone. She is busy writing.
Writers will remind you that money doesn’t matter so much. Yes. We will do this by borrowing money from you. Constantly.
Writers will acknowledge you and dedicate things to you. A better way to ensure this would be to become an agent. That way you’d actually make money off of talking people through their neuroses.
Writers will offer you an interesting perspective on things. Yes. Constantly. While you’re trying to watch TV or take a shower. You will have to listen to observations all day long, in addition to being asked to read the observations we wrote about when you were at work and unavailable for bothering. It will be almost as annoying as dating a stand-up comedian, except if you don’t find these observations scintillating we will think you’re dumb, instead of uptight.
Writers are smart. The moment you realize this is not true, your relationship with a writer will develop a significant problem.
Writers are really passionate. About writing. Not necessarily about you. Are you writing?
Writers can think through their feelings. So don’t start an argument unless you’re ready for a very, very lengthy explication of our position, our feelings about your position, and what scenes from our recent fiction the whole thing is reminding us of.
Writers enjoy their solitude. So get lost, will you?
Writers are creative. This is why we have such good reasons why you should lend us $300 and/or leave us alone, we’re writing.
Writers wear their hearts on their sleeves. Serious advice: if you meet a writer who’s actually demonstrative, be careful.
Writers will teach you cool new words. This is possibly true! We may also expect you to remember them, correct your grammar, and look pained after reading mundane notes you’ve left for us.
Writers may be able to adjust their schedules for you. Writers may be able to adjust their schedules for writing. Are you writing? Get in line, then.
Writers can find 1000 ways to tell you why they like you. By the 108th you’ll be pretty sure we’re just making them up for fun.
Writers communicate in a bunch of different ways. But mostly writing. Hope you don’t like talking on the phone — that shit is rough.
Writers can work from anywhere. So you might want to pass on that tandem bike rental when you’re on vacation.
Writers are surrounded by interesting people. Every last one of whom is imaginary.
Writers are easy to buy gifts for. This is true. Keep it in mind when your birthday rolls around, okay?
Writers are sexy. No argument. Some people think this about heroin addicts, too.

Alternate solution: it will be pretty much like dating anyone else who likes to do a particular thing, you know?

In DC Drag

2010-09-16T02:03:00.000-04:00

I saw my people today.
Lots of them, milling around the lobby of the Center.
I smiled, but they did not recognize me as one of theirs.
I was confused and then I remembered what I was wearing, what I generally looked like today. Most days.
It made more sense, but still.
Fuck DC.

Or maybe they were just bitches.

The "where were you" post

2010-09-11T23:57:00.002-04:00

Note: I don't think my story is particularly special, but there's something to be valued in having many experiences of the day entering into a collected, public mass of stories. A group story.

When the second plane hits at 9:03 am, I am still in my apartment in Hyde Park, at 51st and Dorchester.
8:03 am Central Standard Time.
I am up early (for me) because it is the second day of my first grad program.
(I had turned on the TV to help wake up.)
I watch the second plane hit, live. It is not surreal.
I call the school to see if it is still open.
The Pentagon has not yet been hit.
The woman gives me attitude, as if I'm some whiny freshman trying to get out of class. "Of course we're still open." "But the planes." "We're open."
Either she hasn't heard yet or the whole thing is still just some freak accident in New York.
I go to school.
We sit in a lecture hall and are told if we need to leave, it's okay.
A new friend without a TV hadn't heard anything.
I hear myself say, "Two planes crashed into the Twin Towers in New York." "Oh my god." "I know."
Our conversation is quiet and sounds idiotic to me.
I feel generally safe where I am because, who would attack the south side of Chicago?
Unless they were aiming for the Sears Tower and missed.

The next night, watching the endlessly-looping news, I see Diane Sawyer in a rumpled white dress shirt. Her hair is a small mess.
I think how attractive she looks.
I think I am a terrible person for having dirty thoughts about Diane Sawyer right now.
I stop watching television, or only put on children's shows because everything else is news.
All alternative images are welcome.
I don't remember calling anyone to talk about it, and definitely not anyone one from my program because we hardly know each other and I am feeling shy, though most of us live nearby.
In the month between the attack and the start of war, it seems everyone here signs petitions to stop it, knowing our signatures will do no good.

Truth on torture

2010-09-11T23:43:00.000-04:00

(marriedtothesea)

Where everybody knows your name

2010-09-11T22:08:00.000-04:00

One of the "uses" of the new year (if we're going to look at it as a thing, and as a thing who we measure by its functions) is as a time of self-reflection. What we have done. Who we have wronged. What challenges have been met. How we can serve ourselves, our families, our communities better.

Go inside and seek our unspoken thoughts.

I am not someone who has to be told to go inside. I could be accused (by myself) of often living inside. I am such a regular guest inside my own head, they have a cocktail waiting for me in front of my bar stool when I arrive.

If you have prayers that float your boat, great. Everyone's relationship to all those things that could be labeled "faith" is, of course, different. What is most useful and resonant to me is mindfulness. Take a law and use it for what it reminds me to be aware of: kindness, justice, peace for all other living beings - all in practical ways that sound significantly less floaty and foofy when one stops eating animals and pretending not to see homeless people. It is not about divine pronouncements, as written by men. I think traditions can be equally functional on multiple levels.

So in these days where I spend hours in services with family, not particularly paying attention though still participating, it seems wrong to follow the advice of taking these days to go inside. If this time is supposed to be different or special, going inside does not make it so. I could use those days to stay out of my head by being further engaged in the service for those few hours. That seems like a false solution, though.

Perfect practice (of any kind) isn't my goal.
But.
If I'm going to maintain that I celebrate these holidays, something more functional has to emerge. Or else, it's just one more moment to press the "reset" button - something we can do at any time, anyway.

Happy new year - may you all figure out what you want to use it for.

The WTF file: Politics & Prose and Market Day

2010-09-02T23:08:00.000-04:00

I loved Market Day.

It is a beautiful and moving graphic novel. I wanted to bring it to the LitFest, but it just didn't fit, ultimately, for the available slots.

So when I saw Politics & Prose, local independent bookstore extraordinaire, was bringing the author and his book to do a reading, I was chuffed. If we can't have him, I'm glad someone else appreciated the book as much as I did and wants to showcase it.

The story centers around an Eastern European craftsman, Jewish, who provides for his family as a weaver of beautiful rugs. His vision of the world, even in the shtetl, is through that lens.

Life turned to patterns turned to rugs.

He struggles; the Industrial Revolution looms large, so to speak. What to do when what one values doesn't feed one's family?

But WTF, Politics & Prose?! You schedule this book on Rosh Hashana?! (It's after the second day of services, technically after sundown, but still.) You don't even have the excuse of not being Jewish to say you didn't know.

First of all, that's just dumb planning. Plenty of your audience will be at big, family dinners.

Second, you're jerks. I'm a bit crushed.

Unless...

Unless this is some kind of commentary on how other, contemporary kinds of lifestyles are also no longer observed or adhered to or are hard to maintain. The assimilation of American Jews. Who would therefore now be free to come to a bookstore reading on Rosh Hashana.

I tend to doubt it, though.

The evolution of what I wanted to be when I grew up

2010-09-02T21:42:00.002-04:00

1. Butterfly - There is a photo of little me on Halloween, arms out, drawing the attached streamers into the wind. Chicago Halloweens almost always mean thick, winter coats, but at least my streamers matched the extra layers. A winter butterfly in yellow and red and green.

2. Ballerina - Except I couldn't say my 'l's, so I'd tell people, my name is Haddey and I wanna be a badderina.

3. International Animal Rights/Women's Rights Lawyer - I'm sure this shocks no one. I first became vegetarian at age three when I refused to eat anything made of animal. And I got sent to 'time out' in preschool for arguing back to the teacher that you can't say boys have to be one thing in make believe and girls something else. And I kept arguing from the time-out table.

Turns out, I'm none of these things. Though if made to choose, I'd probably pick butterfly lawyer.

(Me and Ruth Bader, we go way back.)

Shocked! Shocked, I say!

2010-08-14T14:43:00.000-04:00

Enjoy the comedy stylings of Married to the Sea with me, won't you?

tinker toys and universality

2010-08-14T14:19:00.001-04:00

As I try to compose my thoughts on a previous "adventure," every other city pops its head in.
These other cities peek around, find reflections of themselves and tell me, "Me, too! I know that, too."
Every place is different, except for where it isn't.

Overheard in the elevator

2010-08-09T19:10:00.003-04:00

[Doors close.]
Ohmigod, I can't believe I did that.
That was so dumb.
Why are you talking to yourself?
Out loud.
You should stop.
Because you're still doing it.
Even though you know you're doing it.
Okay.
No more.
Wow. I'm nuts.
[BING! Doors open.]

(Photo: Robert Frank)

I was the one talking to myself, out loud, and commenting on the fact that I was doing it. Out loud. Life gets a little meta sometimes 'round these here parts. Or perhaps the word is just crazy.
I would say I worry about my sanity, but I've been doing this for years and the fact that it hasn't gotten any worse probably means that I have just as many filters in place as I did when I would do this, say, ten years ago. Hopefully, I also have slightly better judgment, too, but I wouldn't put too much money on that.

Useless secret of the day

2010-08-07T21:54:00.000-04:00

I can name all the wives of Henry VIII, in order, and tell you their fates.

Three Catherines, two Annes, and a Jane.

Catherine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, Jane Seymour, Anne of Cleves, Kathryn Howard, Katherine Parr.

Divorced, beheaded, died. Divorced, beheaded, lived.

Tah-dah!

The embarrassing part of this secret: My refresher course on the subject comes from watching The Tudors. Which I think is awesome.

(I mean, horrible, of course, but awesome.)

Useless secret of the day

2010-08-05T19:01:00.005-04:00

Bring me a pack of big, honkin' grape gum and you will have my heart.

PS- And if afterward you still want to be around me and my obnoxious gum chewing, I must have yours.

An open letter

2010-08-04T23:34:00.000-04:00

Dear Prop 8 supporters,

Suck it.

Love,
Halley

Recent scenery

2010-08-03T23:59:00.000-04:00

Sagamore Beach, Cape Cod, July 2010

I love peas! And maps!

2010-08-02T22:38:00.000-04:00

(via somuchpun.com)

Useless secret of the day

2010-08-02T19:11:00.001-04:00

Given the option, I will always choose black cherry soda.

Pot? This is the kettle calling.

2010-08-01T18:32:00.005-04:00

My sister claims I take too many days to celebrate my birthday. In fact, I think it's fair to claim birthday privileges the week before and the week after my birthday. I think it's fair others do so, as well.

For benefits, take the following scenario:

MEAN PERSON: Eat something healthy for lunch!
ME: No! It's my birthday!
MEAN PERSON: Your birthday isn't until Tuesday.
ME: It's my birthday! Now get away from my lunch cake.

Or this likely event:

MEAN PERSON: Pajama pants are not an appropriate wardrobe choice!
ME: It's my birthday!
MEAN PERSON: No, it's not, but you've been in your pajamas since your birthday three days ago!
ME: TTTHHHHBBBT!

Two things you may notice - first, that Mean Person loooves exclamation points. (As do I!) Second, that while birthday rules are always allowed, they may not always be advised. Third, apparently I turn into a six-year-old around by birthday. Fourth, I never know how many points I'm about to make.

As it happened, my sister managed to stretch her birthday this year TEN days past the actual date - Ten! - to her party yesterday. But because she is old and probably has trouble remembering how to count, I will let it slide. And because she's awesome.

But I never want to hear how I take too long on birthday privileges ever again.

Happy birthday, Lisa!

Have you helped a pup today? aka There's nothing wrong with being a soft-hearted liberal.

2010-08-01T17:55:00.001-04:00

Feed shelter animals. For free.

Click it. Click it good:

And while you're at it, help to close this loophole that allows puppy mills to go without inspection or licensing if they sell online.

Sign the petition from the ASPCA here.

Happy Father's Day, Dad!

2010-06-20T14:35:00.002-04:00

"Do You Know What Your State Just Did?!" episode 2: Virgi-zona

2010-06-20T11:40:00.059-04:00

In this second episode of the occasional series, "Do You Know What Your State Just Did?!", we get to marvel at how Virginians thought what Arizona was doing was so awesome, they wanted to do it, too. They saw another state beating them in racism and thought, that's not right.

Prince William county passed a law that requires police to question anyone they think is an undocumented immigrant. Actually, they say that police should stop and question all illegals.

A person can't be illegal. Her/his status in a place can be illegal. An action can be illegal.
But a person?
A person cannot be illegal.

When we use language like that, it dehumanizes people, which makes it easier for those with any kind of power (in position, in national status, in ability to speak out) to get away with worse and worse actions against those not in power.

Virginia, you don't even have Arizona's excuse of being on the Mexico border.

And please, stop trying to disguise your racism against Hispanics and black people with claims of national security, and citing 9/11. It's tacky.
(Oh, and it's also not accurate. But I think we already know you aren't all that interested in facts, anyway.)

Excuses, excuses

2010-06-15T23:05:00.000-04:00

As I recover from an extra 56 hours of work (above and beyond the usual 40) last week, I consider one of life's most important lessons:

Wear good shoes. Supportive shoes. Comfortable shoes.

Learn from my mistakes. Don't keep yourself awake at night with your own pained wailing.

Because if it's too late to moan to anyone else, then you'll have to listen to it yourself.

(Photo via http://www.footopedics.com/)

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

2010-05-09T15:43:00.000-04:00

You just bought yourself another Saturday.

2010-05-08T12:52:00.001-04:00

Congratulations to my friends graduating this fine spring. No one but you can know what it took to get you here.
Sometimes it was probably easier than people thought, and then there were other things that likely did you in. But you finished.

I've finished in a stroll and I've finished hobbling. All of 'em count.

It's been a year and half since I finished my last degree, and I've had no urge to go back.

There are plenty of wise words to pass along, but I'm sure you have lots of people being serious with you. May I humbly submit some high school wisdom from the '80s, via Brian, Andrew, Allison, Claire, and John:

"Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. What we did *was* wrong. But we think you're crazy to make an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us... In the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain... and an athlete... and a basket case... and a princess... and a criminal. Does that answer your question?... Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club"

And in other news:

2010-05-07T23:52:00.000-04:00

I bought this lovely item:

1) I love maps. I have them all over my apt. A world map. Multiple city maps from places I've lived. If left to my own devices, I will stare for hours.

2) This is not so much a map to navigate by, as one by which to mark place. "You are here." I am here. Between two small 'a's and a large 'u'. Between three large bookshelves and a small kitchen.

3) The last single dwelling I lived in as long as I've been in this apartment: my parents' house, before college.

No, I am not fully unpacked.

Privilege

2010-04-27T14:14:00.000-04:00

"Imagine if the Tea Party Was Black" - Tim Wise

"Imagine that hundreds of black protesters were to descend upon Washington DC and Northern Virginia, just a few miles from the Capitol and White House, armed with AK-47s, assorted handguns, and ammunition. And imagine that some of these protesters —the black protesters — spoke of the need for political revolution, and possibly even armed conflict in the event that laws they didn’t like were enforced by the government? Would these protester — these black protesters with guns — be seen as brave defenders of the Second Amendment, or would they be viewed by most whites as a danger to the republic? What if they were Arab-Americans? Because, after all, that’s what happened recently when white gun enthusiasts descended upon the nation’s capital, arms in hand, and verbally announced their readiness to make war on the country’s political leaders if the need arose."

Read the whole thing here: http://ephphatha-poetry.blogspot.com/2010/04/imagine-if-tea-party-was-black-tim-wise.html It's worth the extra three minutes.

"And this, my friends, is what white privilege is all about. The ability to threaten others, to engage in violent and incendiary rhetoric without consequence, to be viewed as patriotic and normal no matter what you do, and never to be feared and despised as people of color would be, if they tried to get away with half the shit we do, on a daily basis."

(Photo via huffingtonpost.com)

"Dr. Dorothy Height, A Sister Whose Shoulders We Stand On"

2010-04-27T00:46:00.001-04:00

"I join the nation in mourning the passing of Dr. Dorothy Height, one of our iconic feminist leaders. She was one of a legion of women who did not get the fame and recognition of their more famous male counterparts, but whose impact on the struggle for human rights leaves footprints so large they may never be filled. Much will be written about her legacy, but few know of the leadership she provided in advancing reproductive justice for all women."

from: http://msmagazine.com/blog/blog/2010/04/21/dr-dorothy-height-a-sister-whose-shoulders-we-stand-on/

"If she was the Queen Mother of the Civil Rights movement, as she has been called, then for me she was Voice of Race in the Women’s movement, always calling attention to the importance of fighting racism as part of the feminist agenda."

Click through and read a great article, by Loretta Ross. It's upsetting that I didn't know about her after all the amazing work she did, and for so long. 'Amazing' is a word that is thrown around casually now, but it is appropriate in her case.

"'Loretta, my generation was the one that opened the door so that your generation could get a seat at the table. The generation after you may turn the table over, but each generation has its own role in the struggle.'"

(Photo credit at link.)

First-world problems

2010-04-23T16:34:00.000-04:00

It is one of the minor annoyances of my life when the automatic faucets either won't turn on or won't turn off.

It's like the faucet knows something about me existentially, how much I'm there or not there on any given day.

In praise of TV - or - Support your local PBS station

2010-04-18T00:29:00.002-04:00

One of my favorite things about DC is that we get a bunch of different PBS stations from around the region. And I watch it because it has stuff I like. And that's it.

I pretty much watch all its types of programs, minus children's programming. Some of my more recent favorites? History Detectives and Nova Science Now, with Neil deGrasse Tyson, and I'm watching more Independent Lens, too.

When people rail against TV, I always think we need to define our terms. TV, in and of itself, is neither good nor bad. Anything in gluttonous proportions is probably not great for you. Anything that you abuse to the point of affecting the rest of your life is probably not great for you. But TV, in and of itself, isn't bad.

And all content isn't the same.

I wouldn't argue that the only thing good on TV is PBS or all bad things are on MTV. I mean, I really do love PBS - the music stuff, the documentaries, local DC arts stuff, the history stuff, the BritComs, the home improvement shows. But I also love some crap found elsewhere. And good stuff found elsewhere. And everything in between.

Saying you don't like TV is like saying you don't like food: you have to be more specific than just the general category for the statement to actually mean anything.

I come up with lots of random facts. People ask fairly regularly, "How do you know that?!" Usually? It's because I watch a lot of TV.

A guide to the crazy

2010-04-16T16:20:00.000-04:00

The Illustrated Tea Party Dictionary - A Field Guide

Fascism: Any decision that does not agree with a right-wing perspective, approved by democratically elected lawmakers in various arms of Government and signed into law by the democratically elected President, is Fascism. Obama is thus Hitler. Both men were apparently known for their moderate views and hosting of seders.

Freedom: Is defined as the rights of any individual to do anything, without government interference, as long as those things do not include falling in love with a member of one's own gender, or deciding to get an abortion.

ObamaCare: Is the evil tool by which Government, the Mainstream Media and ACORN will take over the country and turn it into a filthy, foreign place like Europe where people have access to medical care even if they cannot afford it and are almost never pushed into abject poverty by the misfortune of getting sick.

Patriotic: Any American, preferably a Real American, who supports all wars, decries all foreigners and attempts to help the poor, even if poor themselves, is patriotic.

Read 'em all at the above link, with some amazing signs. And by "amazing" I mean that I am amazed that people are really this hateful and rabidly insane.

Someone send these people a dictionary - both for the actual meanings of words (which they very clearly have just made up) and for spelling purposes (which they very clearly need). Then maybe someone will take you seriously.

(Photo via gawker.com.)

Idiot conversation of the day

2010-04-15T21:02:00.000-04:00

NONNY: So then you're leaving a week from yesterday?
ME: No, a week from Wednesday. Two days ago.
NONNY: But today is Thursday.
ME: No, today is Friday.
NONNY: Halley, it's Thursday.
ME: It's Friday!
(Insert a few more rounds of this back and forth and the reasons why it must be a certain day.)
ME: Omigod! It's Thursday!

I've been thinking it was Friday. All day long.
It is so nice to have an extra day.

This is why I should wear a watch - the kind that tells time and place and day and date and air pressure and friendly reminders. This is also the reason I meticulously keep a day planner in book form, so I can see whole weeks out in front of me. Usually, it's helpful. Usually.

Do unto others... as they have already done to you and you should really return the favor in order not to be an asshole

2010-04-14T01:30:00.006-04:00

Meet Paul.

Much of the time, Paul lives on boats. Big ones.
He likes these big boats.
And the sea (where you find the big boats).

Paul is now yelling at the screen, "They're called 'ships'!"

Read Paul's blog for all sortsa neato sailor-y things, and some astute personal reflections on the state of New England fishing/lobstering.

Like Paul mentioned, we are pretty opposite in a lot of ways.
In a lot of ways that drive my little (feminist, vegetarian, liberal) soul crazy, and make my big (feminist, vegetarian, liberal) mouth scream. But Paul reminds me that we can all disagree without being disagreeable, and that just because the policy with which the other may agree seems stupid, it doesn't make the person (inherently) stupid. (He also reminds me that some conservatives actually do know how to spell and are familiar with rules of grammar.)

And his wife is totally hot.

Among the Righteous

2010-04-13T16:52:00.016-04:00

PBS is showing a great documentary right now: Among the Righteous - Lost Stories from the Holocaust in Arab Lands.

You can watch the whole thing on the PBS website right now: here. It's 55 minutes and worth it. Interesting and enlightening. (There's also a bunch of interesting stories/info on that page, if you are in a "scrolling down" mood.)

I had no idea that there were over 100 concentration camps* in North Africa during WWII. Those sent there were either the Jews of North Africa (yes, there were African Jews), or European Jews who escaped to North Africa, but were sent to the camps upon arrival on the continent.

One of the items they open with is the fact that there are no Arabs mentioned in the "Righteous Among the Nations" garden of Yad Vashem, which lists those non-Jews who saved Jews during the Holocaust. There are Muslims, but none of them Arab. This absence is not because none existed.

I think everyone would "enjoy" (appreciate?) this documentary. It does not come across as partisan. There is little editorializing. It basically just explores a history that has rarely been told and is hardly known. (Yes, I know history is always political in the manner of its retelling.) Personally, I know I've never heard of any of this (the camps, etc.), much less Righteous Arabs in the surrounding areas who rescued Jews.

Part of the reason? Then as now, those rescuers often didn't want people to know what they did because many didn't like the idea of helping Jews.

I am happy to hear of it. I only hope, in some small way, this can help people unclench their fists a bit and bring a little more peace.

I disagree with a statement they make at the end (which was something approximately): "By acknowledging him [a known Arab rescuer], they are acknowledging the names of all the unknown Arab rescuers." I agree that it breaks the silence on acknowledging a group that had previously been unrecognized - and that is wonderful - but it is not enough. Acknowledging him is a start, but it sounds like an invitation to slack off in finding other names and a kind of dismissal. Had one of these people rescued my family, I would not be content with simply "leaving it at that."

Still, a very worthwhile film. Now go watch.

(*The film is not graphic, if that was a concern.)

Photo credits: United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. Please see the film's website for details, these images, and others: http://digitalassets.ushmm.org/photoarchives/result.aspx?search=north%20africa&page=1

Quote of the Day

2010-04-11T18:48:00.002-04:00

"Nobody expects you to go get a job as Ruth Bader Ginsburg."

-Christine

Call for happy-thought sending

2010-04-11T14:37:00.001-04:00

Everyone send out some happy thoughts (or your version thereof) to Sierra, a sweet puppyface of my friend Stephanie.

Sierra has been diagnosed with lymphoma, but is being treated and is progressing positively. Stephanie is obviously a huge part of that.

A hero to so many animals (and to people who care about animals), Stephanie has been in animal rescue and fostering and advocacy for eons. Personally and professionally.

Her mix-and-match pack at home is awesome.

She has a great post up right now about canine chemotherapy, a subject I knew little about. Read it. (And add her blog to your roll; she's a great writer, too.)

So send those happy thoughts.

Happy birthday, Baubie

2010-04-10T14:04:00.000-04:00

Happy birthday, Baubie!

We miss you.

And don't worry- I'm eating, I'm eating.

Back in the good ol' days

2010-04-10T13:57:00.000-04:00

'Justice John Paul Stevens, who announced his resignation from the Supreme Court on Friday after 34 years, may be the last justice from a time when ability and independence, rather than perceived ideology, were viewed as the crucial qualifications for a seat on the court. He was nominated in 1975 by President Gerald R. Ford, who said all he wanted was “the finest legal mind I could find."' (emphasis mine)

read me:
Th e End of an Era, for Court and Nation (from NYT)

"In an interview last week, he said that every one of the dozen justices appointed to the court since 1971, including himself, was more conservative than his or her predecessor."

Let's hope Obama reverses this trend.

It should seem odd to all of us that if we went back several decades on the Court, we'd see a far more liberal collection of justices. Not that they were so wacky and radical, but that it's easier to nominate a conservative now.

Conservatives often talk about the good ol' days. At least in this case, I might agree, nomination-wise.
So let's give 'em what they're asking for- a liberal justice.

Nope, this looks nothing like my lists... nope

2010-04-09T22:27:00.000-04:00

(Thanks to Liza and her finding stuff.)

I hear snarling and maniacal laughter...

2010-04-09T22:08:00.002-04:00

(Wherein I rant a little and then make a point or two:)

Is it just me, or are the Republicans seeming like the Lion King's nasty pack of hyenas, lately?

To say that they will filibuster Obama's nomination - a nominee who DOESN'T EVEN EXIST yet - is insane. That just doesn't happen for Supreme Court Justices. There are other ways of interrogating them and challenging them and their qualifications. These tantrums are getting old.

The Republicans can't say that they will just vote "no" on the nominee because the Obama administration won't put up a candidate who isn't qualified. The Republicans could only vote against the nominee if they could prove s/he wasn't qualified. That would probably be hard to prove, given the thorough extent to which Obama's team is likely to vet her/him.

During the Bush years, the Repubs could run wild with all the mean-spirited and illegal activities they wanted, because these activities were lead by W. And now they are cranky because no one is kowtowing to their sense of entitlement. Seriously, guys, you may be upset, but just take whatever meds you've gone off of, and start acting like moderately-rational adults! I'd even accept acting like Congressmen and Senators. But you aren't even close to reaching that level lately.

When Stevens joined the court, he was certainly considered a moderate conservative. And the court has drifted to the right around him - he's been there that long - to the point where he is now the Court's leading liberal.

If Obama didn't pick a nominee just as liberal (and hopefully someone relatively young), he would be a fool. It would be foolish to think that the Republicans would "appreciate" or be in any way happy about anyone other than another Roberts-type or Thomas-type. I know it's impossible to get Stevens's type of shepherding and influence over the other justices for important, tight votes as soon as the new justice arrived. But that could come with time, with the right candidate.

I don't think Obama is a fool - quite the opposite; that's what's frustrating here. While optimism and idealism are wonderful qualities to bring to any leadership position, naivete is not. Especially naivete that one hangs onto past its usefulness.

Come on, Mr. President. You have the political capital from the Health Care win. If you don't spend it now, it's gone. Truly replace Justice Stevens to the extent that you can - with someone who is a liberal. Don't go for the easy confirmation; go for the right one, even if it's hard.

Yakko's Nations of the World

2010-04-09T12:32:00.001-04:00

I had this running through my head.
And now, so can you.

We could probably pin down the year this was made by the countries that no longer exist named here.
We could also just look it up, the date.
But I prefer the harder way.
(Shocking, I know.)

"Do You Know What Your State Just Did?!" episode 1: The Rebel Yell... about taxes, not slavery

2010-04-08T14:43:00.007-04:00

My sister and brother-in-law live in Virginia.

They will make the distinction that it's Alexandria they live in - "NORTHERN Virginia, Halley!" - also known as the less-frightening, really-we-used-to-be-part-of-DC* Virginia. And they will also make the distinction that they voted for the other guy and would have nothing to do with the reactionary, racist, misogynist slug currently running the place and trying to bring it back a few centuries.

But still.

Until Northern Virginia becomes a state (not a terrible idea), I still get to hold up examples of its regular "No way, they didn't really just do that, did they?" actions, and sit smugly across the river in DC, with our gay marriages and our ... you know, lack of federal representation.

In what I expect to be an ongoing (if occasional) series, may I present the inaugural episode of "Do You Know What Your State Just Did?!"

By now, you've probably heard of the Governor's plan to bring back the Celebrate Confederate History initiative, and make April Confederate History Month. And you've probably heard how he didn't include slavery in his first proclamation, because he wanted to only include "significant" historical elements. He just wanted to focus more on history, he said.

Right, because slavery had nothing to do with the Civil War.

For details and insightful commentary, see of course Rachel Maddow, in conversation with Melissa Harris Lacewell. Start around the 4:30 mark: Bob McDonnell's "History"

Seriously, do yourself a favor and watch this.

What was shocking to me was that on a friend's Facebook wall (a nice woman I only somewhat know after meeting in an Arts Mgmt class), I got backlash for suggesting that there was any kind of problem with celebrating Confederate history, especially in the way it was being presented. (To be fair, many people just disagreed, perfectly respectfully.) And then, as these things always go, the tone eventually turned.

Everything was going along fine (some agreeing with the original poster's sentiment, "Really, Virginia? Confederate History Month?", but many other ideas, too), until some dude start screaming about how "this girl" (aka - me) thinks all southerners are bigots and racists, and how he thinks you should just celebrate the men and women who died, and the Civil War wasn't about slavery, but that's what the Northerners always say it is. The South just didn't want to be taxed.

Riiiight.

("But it is a significant part": it = slavery)

I was shocked that in this day and age, I was in the minority on this discussion thread (of a dozen people). Most of them thought the initiative was a fine idea.

I'll end with an exchange between my friend and the nasty guy.

GUY: (...) Everyone is so busy trying to be politically correct and have actually forgotten there is more to it than just slavery.

FRIEND: I'm really not trying to pick a fight at all and I'm asking this with legitimate curiosity: What else is there that you are referring to? Honestly, I used to defend Confederate history with this same language...I suppose this was related to growing up in the area we did...but then I could never really figure out what else there was to it all.

The RNC is now doing damage control.

And almost as bad as this whole business of "celebrating" the history (and not just learning it, in whatever mangled form it comes in), is the fact that McDonnell is just doing this to rally support from the Republican base. He is using it more as a tool to manipulate people more than anything else.

Though I wouldn't be surprised to find a Confederate flag in his office. You know, just as a symbol of history.

*While Alexandria and Arlington did indeed used to be part of the District, they went back to VA for the Civil War in order to keep their slaves, which at the very least makes their background a bit... murkier.

Happy AWPing

2010-04-06T12:26:00.004-04:00

To all my little AWPers, have a fabulous time in Denver.

The last (and only) time I was there, it was on a train stop of a cross-country rail trip. (Fine, we got off in Salt Lake City, so technically not fully across the country. It was the middle of night and the twelve of us wandered the streets looking for lodging, watching for roving gangs of Mormons.)

After packing too much in Boston (this was pre-InterFuture, okay?), I was miserable with my awkward assemblage of bags - a duffel bag with wheels and a useless handle, a sleeping bag, and a food bag (all required items, but in too large a scale). In Chicago there were no little wheelie luggage carts to be found anywhere in or around our Union Station stop. I would've paid a small fortune for one. But alas, no. [Insert tears here.]

Denver will always have a special place in my heart for its Office Max that carried luggage carts and was within a twenty minute walk of the train station. The love I felt for this town, measured in suitcases, would've broken that little cart, which neatly carried all my crap for the remainder of the two-week trip. When the cart broke a few years later, after helping me with countless apartment moves, I said a little prayer of gratitude for it (and for Denver) before tossing the mangled, metal carcass into the trash.

By the way, there was nothing else in downtown Denver. Seriously. It was about 6p when we rolled into town and everything else had closed. Try not to get knocked up out of boredom.

What Happened at Constance McMillen's Prom

2010-04-05T13:01:00.005-04:00

(Reposted from http://nmisscommentor.com/2010/04/04/what-happened-at-constance-mcmillans-prom/. EDIT: That site is back up, but I'll leave this here.)

What Happened At Constance McMillen’s Prom

Here’s the news, from a source I view as extremely reliable. The prom
the school district promised at the country club in Fulton was a ruse.
Only seven kids, Constance, and her date showed, and at the same time,
everyone else held a “real” prom at a secret location out in the
county.

This is all after the school district had represented to Judge Davidson
that Constance was invited to a parent-sponsored prom to be held at
Tupelo Furniture Market. The school represented that Constance was
invited in court filings, testimony, and representations by the school
district and its lawyers. In reality, Constance had not been invited,
but, based on the representations by the district and its counsel, Judge
Davidson denied Constance’s request for a preliminary injunction that
she could go to the prom.

The school reneged, or possibly didn’t ever intend to follow through on
its representations to the court. The parents didn’t want Constance at
the prom and didn’t want to be sued (as they told the Clarion Ledger),
and so on Tuesday announced the cancellation of the prom.

But what they’d done was secretly relocated it.

Shortly thereafter, the school’s attorney announced (on Wednesday) that
“the prom” was to be held at the Fulton Country Club on Friday. But
yet only seven kids showed up.

Meanwhile, there’s a rumor that school officials were directly involved
in setting up the “fake” prom.

I have several distinct reactions here. First, there’s a cowardice and
dishonesty to this that I would hope even folks who don’t accept
Constance McMillan’s right to be herself would find reprehensible.
Second, at times it’s crossed my mind that there were some folks out
there working in school systems who really loved the kind of petty crap
that went on in high school and get far too much pleasure out of
reliving it (this is not a comment on school professionals generally!).
At second hand, I’m sensing that in the folks making the decisions for
the school in Itawamba County. Third, at the back of my mind this
whole time has been my experience of being a ninth grader when the
Fifth Circuit decided they’d had it, and that it was time for complete
(rather than token) integration of public education in Mississippi.
One outcome was an immediate cancellation of school-sponsored proms,
leading in turn to private proms that, in the white community, became
sort of junior auxiliaries for the Ole Miss (or the like) greek system,
with all the exclusion and related snottiness that could imply.

I do have this recall of Kent Moorhead (to his credit) as president of
the student council a year ahead of me at Oxford High, making a large
thing out of trying to bring back school sponsored buses to out-of-town
football games (I think he won on that one) and school proms (he lost
that one). I’d hope for some student leader to join Constance in
telling the grownups how to behave, but I’m not holding my breath.

The prevailing winds of corporate interests...

2010-03-22T15:55:00.004-04:00

"But it is a national shame that a Democratic President who pledged the repeal of the Hyde Amendment would proudly issue an executive order affirming it. How far we’ve come since 2007, when Barack Obama swore that his first act in office would be to sign the Freedom of Choice Act."

http://fdlaction.firedoglake.com/2010/03/22/fdl-statement-on-the-passage-of-the-health-care-bill/

But it's a start?

"There are many good and praise-worthy things in this health care bill: help for those with pre-existing conditions, guaranteed coverage for children, money for community health centers, and expansion of Medicaid and SCHIP. But there is also cause for serious concern. Never before has the government mandated that its citizens pay directly to private corporations almost as much as they do in federal taxes, especially when those corporations have been granted unregulated monopolies."

And this is why we need a public option.

Mineminemine!

2010-03-20T14:46:00.002-04:00

And! I'm annoyed that when I work on this project it's just going to be seen as part of this whole genealogy trend.

Yes, I know genealogy has been an interest of many people since people began. (Wars have been fought over it, marriages set and dissolved over it... blah blah)

But still, when there's a show on it, broadcast in primetime on network TV, it's a trend.*

Yes, I know you can only do what you do and screw the rest. And yes, good work will always be good work (and bad work, bad) no matter the subject area. And yes, I know encouraging this interest only creates a broader market for the work.

But still.

For some reason, the related series on PBS with Henry Louis Gates, Jr. did not bring out the same reaction in me. Let's just chalk it up as part of my snobbish side.

*Okay, I very much enjoyed the one episode of this show I saw, and will likely watch the others.

In fact, I even expected to like the show on NBC. It's just another reminder of all all the work on my own project that I'm not finished with yet.

Hookd on fonicks werked fer mee.

2010-03-20T13:14:00.002-04:00

On Who Do You Think You Are, Lisa Kudrow travels to Belarus, to her grandmother's hometown to find out what happened there to her great-grandmother during WWII. (Of course, they killed all the Jews. Duh. Only here it seems their was more involvement by German soldiers, rather than leaving it up to the locals.)

She flies into Minsk, which they describe as "now part of Belarus." Most of the region was old Lithuania. In fact, much Jewish life of old Lithuania happened in places that are now technically part of Belarus.

I think we can only claim towns now, and not countries. Official borders are tricky things.

While there, her guide who runs a Jewish museum takes her around. I am jealous that she has everything - every conversation - on tape.

Her guide is able to translate what she finds in the archives immediately and follow up on the leads. I am jealous of this immediate translation. I have data from the archives, but because I couldn't speak any of the languages in which it was written (only identifying names when I saw them and take a photo of it for later), I couldn't follow up on anything. Not that there was anything to follow up on, necessarily, but maybe...

I remember cursing myself for not knowing Russian and not knowing Yiddish as I sat with the documents. "Why don't I speak Russian???" Yes, I'm prone to drama, but I'm also someone who understands the world primarily through language and text. I am someone who interacts with the world through language and text.

To be foiled by language and a lack of basic literacy is more frustrating and hurtful to me than any other kind of roadblock.

"Guaranteed Swahili!"

2010-03-19T21:13:00.003-04:00

It's time to learn Russian. And Yiddish.

Or, it's time to corral my Russian- and Yiddish-speaking friends and relatives, and use their translating abilities.

I still want to learn the languages. A dozen times in my life it would've been helpful to speak Yiddish.

If you're Jewish and you travel and you want to know things or read things or talk to people who not many others can speak with, learn the effing language.

And by that, I mean: "Halley, learn the effing language."

For those of us in DC, needing to learn new snow-time skills

2010-02-15T00:32:00.006-05:00

xkcd.com

Waiting for the intermissions in this one mass snow storm we're calling "Winter"

2010-02-12T02:25:00.005-05:00

A friend inquired if I'd been out to see that the roads were passable again after all the snow. I responded, I know. It's crazy.

The world is new again.
Or at least it will be after all this damn snow melts.
And then all the mud and pebbles and general smoosh are washed away by a good rain.
And then we get small winter heat wave so that water doesn't freeze into ice.
Then, the world will be new.
Until it snows again.

Granted, I've only been to the lobby of my building to see out the front doors, from behind their glass. (My windows are on the side of the building, giving me an angled view of the building next door and the building behind us. All in all, a skewed view.) I was out two days ago before this last storm, and I'll go out again tomorrow... before the next storm hits this weekend.

Because of Rob, who asked for a blog post today about something unexpected

2010-02-10T21:02:00.005-05:00

I just watched Henry Louis Gates, Jr's new series on PBS, Faces of America. It's a geneology project taking twelve well-known Americans as its subjects. (It's good; you should watch it.)

Mike Nichols said something interesting tonight. He found out that certain Russian great-uncles of his were killed (one was tried and shot the same day) and he didn't know anything about them, that they'd ever existed. They talked about guilt and Mike said basically that it was no different than the guilt over all the rest of it - the not knowing and everyone being killed. "But the only thing you can do with guilt, other than bury it, is to do something worthwhile, make something good from it." (quote approximate) He called himself a putz for ever complaining about anything because he is just so lucky to be here, to have survived, when so many people didn't. It is so unlikely to have all possible events allow him to make it here and live that he should never have complained about anything.

And it's true - it is so unlikely that all of my great-grandparents (and their parents, etc) were able to survive, and then make it out of Europe around the turn of last century. For me to be here now is just lucky.

NaNoWriMo

2009-10-28T19:29:00.004-04:00

I'm doing it. NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month, taking place during the month of November. (details: http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/whatisnano)

It's a minimum of 50,000 words in a month - doable if you've ever been a grad student; in fact, you've probably been right on track to do this if you've ever done the classic "write-a-million-pages-right-before-the-deadline" move.

Though meant for fiction, I'm using it to bang out something on the grand Lithuania project, and so it will probably remain nonfiction - specifically, creative nonfiction.

Before you ask one of my least favorite questions ("So, hahahah, 'creative nonfiction' - does that mean you get to make stuff up? You get to lie?! Hahahahah"), let me explain that creative nonfiction is still nonfiction, as in, you don't present anything as truth that is not truth/what happened. It is simply a creative, story-telling way of presenting the true story. It often reads like a novel, yet happens to be true.

Yes, memory is a faulty thing. Yes, people have different versions of the truth. The point is that you write what you believe to be authentic, with the knowledge that someone else my write it differently and the knowledge that you will shape the story that you want to tell. But you can't make stuff up (without saying so).

Could be a memoir, could be the story of a historical event, among other things. It is different from "straight" journalism. (Although, literary journalism - a la Joan Didion - is creative nonfiction, but again, that's different from straight journalism. And you likely know it when you're reading it.)

So, as promised lo those many months ago, I will be filling in more details about my time in Lithuania and some historical details I find fascinating. (Don't worry - I won't be using words like "lo.")

No, really. It'll happen this time.

My favorite sign in Vilnius

2009-09-11T20:49:00.004-04:00

My guess is that it means not to leave your house with your hockey stick lying outside, while your small child kicks a ball.

Home again, home again

2009-08-23T16:24:00.004-04:00

I wasn't sure why I've been balking so much at the idea of writing up what I know:
Because I have relatively few journalistic sensibilities. I chafe at those moments when I'm supposed to employ them. Like keeping a journal. Or a blog. (As I've said before, I am a terrible journal keeper.)

While I am a fan of nonfiction (reading it, writing it), journalism wants the whole story, all of the details, every questioning W answered. That inclination seems oppressive to me. The glut of it all. The sliver of the story I want, mixed into the soup of the rest of it.

I have notes and photos and documents gathered from my time in Lithuania, both from the fascinating class time and from the trips to the current towns that used to be the old family shtetls of Linkuva, Shilal, and Gorzd. I will share what I know. But it is taking me longer than I thought. (No, I don't need it to be "perfect," but I can only do this the way I do it.)

It's been said that when foreign writers come to Lithuania, Vilnius particularly, either they write quite a bit, or they can't write at all and aren't able to put it all down (whatever "it all" happens to be) until they get home (wherever "home" happens to be). As it turns out, I'm part of the second group.

I am just beginning to regain my sense of time, casual though it's always been. (I have started waking up in the sevens versus the sixes. When we get to the elevens, consider me un-jet-lagged.) I am still surprised at how much English I hear spoken around me in DC, and I'm somewhat less surprised at my difficultly in finding words (which tends to happen when I'm out of sorts). But I appear to be writing a bit. (Hey, look, it's a blog post!)

I meant this blog to be far more regularly updated and updated with the actualities of what was happening. Sometimes that happened, but usually, it was other stuff that got posted.

Eventually all these notes and photos and documents will be sorted and I'll figure out what I want to say about it. But before then, there will be blog posts with the glut of information.

Shalal, Gorzd, and moving forward

2009-08-11T02:35:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was a good day, and we found some neat stuff.

("Why, Halley, that was an opaque statement that tells us very little."
"Yes, straw man, it was intended to be.")

After a few weeks of work, especially this last week, I am off to spend four days at a spa in Druskininkai. When I'm not in a massage or a mud bath or a mineral dip or accupressure session, I plan on writing, so there is more to come soon.

And yes, I too was a bit nervous at first when I heard "Eastern European spa," but the place I am going to appears to be modern and lovely, from all accounts. And they had a package deal where I get all sorts of fun treatments and other stuff each day plus accommodation in their four star hotel for about the price of a night's stay somewhere.

So pardon me while I pack and prepare. I have to get to my consultation with my wellness coach. After the two-hour bus ride south, of course.

(The final bit of awesome here is that I can store my big backpack at the guest house here in Vilnius and pick it up on my way out in a week or so, so I don't have to schlep it. If you're happy and you know it clap your hands...)

New photos

2009-08-09T17:57:00.002-04:00

Two new albums are up at halley.shutterfly.com .
As always, no labels yet.

But you can probably figure out some of the archive files.
Especially if you read Cyrillic or Yiddish.
I do not.

Otherwise, there are some just regular 'ol photos, too, which have no associated paperwork.

Linkuva

2009-08-09T08:50:00.005-04:00

I'm writing something up on my trip to Linkuva yesterday. Or rather, I'm trying to. I'm now sitting at the little kitchen table in my room, because sitting in the bed and trying to motivate myself to get going wasn't working so well. I hold out no great hopes for today, but we at least have a better shot over here.

Linkuva is the shtetl where my father's mother's mother came from, before coming to the US around 1900. At that time, the town was already about 400 years old.

View Larger Map

Here, have a quickie video of us driving into town.
Yes, I know it's shaky. We are coming in a sort of back way, on a bumpy dirt road. I am driving. And shooting the video at the same time on my regular digital camera. Not looking at what I'm filming very much, because, y'know, I'm driving and watching the road.
So yes, I know it's shaky.

And a photo in town (click to embiggen):

And the next one is of houses on the square:

And one more town shot, for now:

Bob Herbert

2009-08-09T03:25:00.001-04:00

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/08/opinion/08herbert.html?em

"I wrote, at the time, that there would have been thunderous outrage if someone had separated potential victims by race or religion and then shot, say, only the blacks, or only the whites, or only the Jews. But if you shoot only the girls or only the women — not so much of an uproar."

"We profess to being shocked at one or another of these outlandish crimes, but the shock wears off quickly in an environment in which the rape, murder and humiliation of females is not only a staple of the news, but an important cornerstone of the nation’s entertainment."

On the road again...

2009-08-06T04:42:00.002-04:00

Guess who has a car booked for the weekend? This gal.

Because (I think) he didn't want to bother coming in on Saturday (for me to return it) and again on Sunday (for me to pick it up again for Monday), he gave me a discount to just keep it for the whole time.

And yes, I made sure it was an automatic.

Napoj Jablkowy

2009-08-05T08:35:00.003-04:00

I drank all my Polish juice boxes.

And now they are all gone.
Life's a bitch.

File under: Rant

2009-08-05T07:37:00.005-04:00

List of today's horribleness, off the top of my head:

Got an email from the car rental place that they have no car for me for my trip on Saturday with my guide. They took three days to tell me this. So now I have to find another car, quickly. My guide offered the name of a place, but I thought I already had it settled, so I said no, thanks. And so I emailed her back to ask for her rental place, but haven't heard back. And the closer it gets to the weekend, the less likely it is I won't have to spend a million dollars on a car rental.
Realized I hadn't edited a paper I was supposed to send back a few days ago. Did that, while I was supposed to be at the archive.
Still had to go back to archive, but never quite made it for reasons that will become apparent (possibly; if they do not, I recommend you don't say so).
Haven't heard back from anyone here that could possibly help me at the archive.
Really did not want to go back to archive (though I tried anyway) because this feels stupid to expend the energy to get all the way over to the building on the other side of town, where I feel unwelcome, only to pour over documents, which are unlikely to have any info in them for me because I can only guess at years for the one town they do have records for, and are written in two languages that I cannot read. And even if I could read them, they are written in that old, loopy, swirly handwriting that is hard to decipher anyway.
Stressed about it getting late and still had stuff to do before I left for the archive.
It was already late enough by the time I would've gotten there, that I would only have had a few hours anyway.
Hadn't had breakfast or anything and was in such a 'screw it' mood that I stopped at the coffee shop for a croissant and cup of tea, and got shoved by the impatient woman behind me. I didn't move and just stared at her.
Finished and resigned myself to going to the archive. Found out I didn't have any minutes on my phone to call a cab (because the archive is so far away I have to take a cab).
Had to go to a kiosk to buy more minutes for my phone and deal with the cranky lady who stands in that small box of a shop, trying to communicate what I wanted through hand gestures, pointing, and props.
Tried to add the minutes to my phone, but the piece o' crap wasn't working. Sometimes it just doesn't work on the first try, or second, etc. because the service provider seems to be on crack and has a monkey who pulls out the wires at their central office, so sometimes the phone calls work and sometimes they don't.
So I had to walk back to my room to get the paper that helps with adding credit to the phone. Which of course they charge you for the help. Even though it's their fault. And I can't argue in Lithuanian.
Got stared at on the walk back to the house. Because Lithuanians stare a lot. And I stared back. I wanted to punch, like, seven people.
Finally added the minutes to my phone so that I could call a taxi to get over to the archive. But decided not to because I was so fuming by this point because of everything not working.
I know that I can't give up on the archive because if I leave saying that the archive was there and I didn't try something (never mind my functional illiteracy for reading the files, in this case), people would be like, "You didn't try the archive?!?!?!? You were there and you didn't use it?!?!?" So I have to go back tomorrow. And that makes me angry and frustrated and feeling trapped. (And this is supposed to be my freaking vacation?!)
Still haven't heard back from the woman at the Kaunas archive to see if there is anything in their files for me to search.
I have to call the student loan people and credit card people who are incompetent and have all screwed up various things that I took care of before I left. Most of them are asking for documents that I already sent a month ago. And ignoring my questions, but still asking me for money that I do not owe them.
And because I'm doing this, I haven't set up the "fun part" of my trip yet, which keeps dwindling in days because I keep getting stuck here for longer and longer. So who knows if the places I want to visit will have availability by then.

I'm sure once I actually look at my list of what has to get done, I'll find more things....

Are we having fun yet?

PS - I currently want no "helpful tips" about how I can have a super time at the archive anyway. I will go back and try again because I am too stupid not to, but it's not going to be good, fun, or productive in any way, unless you count "exercises in futility" as productive.

EDIT: So the outcome, in case you were curious, was that I came home for the phone thing and never left again, and watched tv online and ate a piece of chocolate. I probably could've gone to the archive and had almost three hours there (and they may be refiling away my requested books as we speak), but I decided that I was just a big quitter and that I quit for the day. Except for all the other things I should be doing. Stupid, fucking vacation.

Yup

2009-08-04T19:28:00.005-04:00

New photos are up: halley.shutterfly.com

Like this one:

View from the Upper Castle, over Old Town, Vilnius

Postcard from Gorzhd

2009-08-04T17:23:00.002-04:00

I found these images online of Gorzhd (Zayde Lang's shtetl), from a postcard that was mailed in 1908.

Since he left for the US in 1907, this scene was probably pretty familiar to him. He would've known this market.

http://www.shtetlinks.jewishgen.org/Gargzdai/grussausgarsden.htm
(There are links on the page to enlarge the images.)

I'm guessing when I go there next week, it may look different...

Vilnius Archives, part II - or - Basking in the warm glow of the microfilm machine

2009-08-04T14:40:00.002-04:00

I returned from lunch and was not quite ready to go inside and be overwhelmed by all the languages I could not read. So I stood outside and called my parents' house at 7am their time. My mother picked up the phone and told my sister to get on. Mom sounded awake already; Lisa did not. I told them of my woes and my wooos! For the second time on this trip, I was warned not to end up in a Lithuanian jail, by doing something stupid (like taking photos of state documents in a place with a 'no camera' policy; I think maybe it's okay, though). To be fair, the first time I was warned about not getting stuck in a Russian prison. Or in Russia itself.

Inside, I pick up my little basket of microfilm boxes and a woman in the office shows me how to use the machine. I work for an hour before the archive is going to close.

On the first roll of microfilm (of those born in Linkuva in 1859, a year in a wide approximation of possible birth dates for Isaac/Itzhak Yaffe), I find that the categories on each form is written in Russian. On each facing page, the left side is filled in in Russian script (which looks like English at first glance, like I should be able to read it, but can't), and the right side is in Yiddish script. I scroll through pages, looking at each of the male births, sounding out the Yiddish in the old-time swirly script, looking for something that looks like it might be the right name.

I ask the young woman in the office to translate the cateogories that run across the top of each page.
Columns 1&2: a running total of which number boy or girl this is being born in the town that year
Column 3: which "priest" did the birth (naming?) ceremony
Columns 4&5: Birth day according to the Russian calendar and the Hebrew calendar
Column 6: Place the baby was born
Column 7: Father's name and mother's name (and something else the woman can't translate)
Column 8: If it was a son or daughter, and the baby's name

I find a name that could possibly be Itzhak and possibly Yaffe under parents' names (but very possibly not). I am so unconvinced that I'm not that excited to find it. Still, I take a photo and then move on. I finish the roll with nothing else that seems close.

For a moment, as each new roll begins, I am relieved because the set up pages are all in English, made by the Geneological Society of Utah, in Salt Lake City. The title of the record is listed as: Vilnius Jewish Rabbinate. Galina has set me up with the appropriate records without even needing to ask me any questions beyond the town names. Perhaps my saying the Yiddish versions of the names was a give away...

And then, we are back to handwritten Russian and Yiddish records. While other records from other towns on each roll have scribbled handwriting, notes kept by people who just wrote all over the form, it is clear that the same person who kept the file in 1859 for Linkuva was still keeping it in 1862 because the handwriting is the same. It is careful and fully answers each box, within the box, and I am grateful for such a detailed and neat record keeper. I am only sorry I can't read better.

I realize I am not the person best suited for this job. However, I am the only one here.

I will return to the archive tomorrow and spend the day with the books of bound original records and the microfilm that I scroll through.

At least they drive on the right

2009-08-04T11:09:00.002-04:00

I just booked a card for my day trips out to the shtetls.
It's significantly cheaper if I just rent a car and drive, versus hiring a driver.

So I will schlep out to the airport the night before each trip, figure out the way back to my guest house, and then take off with my guide the next morning.

Vilnius drivers are insane and only take road rules as suggestions... and they don't take kindly to suggestion. But once we're out of the city, it should be better.

And just because I haven't driven since the last time I was back in Chicago for a few days...

I'm not worried. I drive defensively and I have kept up my swearing so I'd be fully practiced for the next time I got behind the wheel and needed to inform the other drivers what they are doing wrong.

Vilnius Archives, part I – or – Reasons for Learning Russian

2009-08-04T10:26:00.000-04:00

Before going on the trip out to the shtetls, one of the guides I talked to mentioned going to the archives to see what family records I could track down. I had planned on going at some general point, but given the impending trip dates, today, I went.

I found the archives on a map, determined that it was far away from the city center and from my usual bus routes and settled on a taxi, rather than figuring it all out. Especially since taxis are cheap (it ended up costing seven bucks) and I don’t need to worry about navigation when I’m busy worrying about dealing with the archives.

The building is quite plain and I only recognize it by the small sign above the door with a name that I had read online the day before, “Lietuvos Valstybinis Istoijos Archyvas.” Lithuanian State Historical Archives. I am not sure they are going to let me in. I have heard stories about letters and appointments and I have none of these things. I have the name of a woman, Galina Baranova, who is the go-to person for all those American Jews looking for old family records.

There is a paper on the front door which has different hours listed for various items, all written in Lithuanian. The top hours seem to indicate something closing from 12:00 until 12:45. It is now 12:07. Since I can’t read the sign anyway, I just try the door handle. It is unlocked and I go in.

I give the woman at the desk, who does not speak English, Galina’s name. She leaves, comes back and then points me down a long hall with a dozen doors. I ask/mime, which one? She points me down the hall again, pointing to the left side. So that narrows it down. I wander and find “G. Baranova” outside one door.

G. Baranova is polite (and English-speaking), but I’m sure I’ve disturbed her because I’ve made no appointment (though I tried; phone issues). I tell her my business. She quickly explains how there will be nothing for Gorzd and Shalel here because those records have disappeared, except for one volume of something for Shalel for 1922. (I will contact the Kaunas Archive because I was told that what Vilnius has, the other doesn’t and vice versa.)

She asks if I speak Russian. I do not. She says all the records are in Russian and sometimes in “Jewish,” too, occasionally only in Russian. Again, “no Russian?” “No Russian.” She says for Linkuva there are some records.

All the records are organized in books by year, for each location. For Gorzd and especially for Shalel, I know many years, written in my own records. For Linkuva, I have no known years.

I don’t share this (lack of) information with Galina and she takes me to the reading room. On the way, we stop at lockers because I cannot have bags or anything big. Only paper and pen. And just hold your valuables. “Don’t leave your money.” I am given the key to the locker. I must look a little shocked by all this “get rid of all your belongings” shpiel and as soon as she stops talking, she says, “You must hurry, I am very busy.” Okay, okay, I was waiting for you to finish. I grab my documents, my wallet, camera, and phone, and a notebook. I lock the locker and drop the small key (only slightly more complicated than a diary key) into my pocket.

I follow her into another office connected to the reading room and start filling out a form that will grant me access to the archives. Galina seems annoyed that she has to help me with the form (in Lithuanian), and with my questions (my phone here or at home? Address here or at home?). They ask for the number on my ID. It is my IL driver’s license and I’m not sure how that number will help them track me down for whatever reason, but I put it down because I don’t want to keep annoying her, and everyone seems satisfied with the information I provide. When she asks if I am I student, I say yes, because that seems to be the easiest answer.

She hands the form to a woman at the desk and they talk back and forth in Lithuanian. All I catch is zydu, and other forms of the word, meaning Jew or Jewish. She opens some index books, asks me for the shtetl names again. “So you speak no Russian?” Yup, still no Russian. Haven’t learned any since we walked down the hall.

The entire index is in Russian with numbers. She explains quickly that the four columns across the top of each page read: Birth, Marriage, Divorce, Death. I write this down. Down each column is (hopefully) a list of years, with a corresponding book number, which I would request on a form they gave me, should I want that year of births (or marriages/divorces/deaths) from that town.

Galina finds the pages for Linkuva in two volumes. I mark them with yellow legal pad paper, torn from my pad quickly as she flips through the indexes. There is one page for Shalel, with one year, listed under births. 1936. I am told I can’t see it, though. “Why?” “The Lithuanian War.” That is all I’m told. End of story. When I sit down, I will request it on my sheet anyway, just in case someone forgets and hands it over…

I ask again, just to make sure that there is nothing for Gorzd and nothing else for Shalel. Nope. That’s it. Just those two different pages for Linkuva. Because I don’t speak Russian, I have to trust that the names on the top of the page say what I hope they do.

Galina leaves and I am grateful that she has been so willing to guide me through all these steps.

I am given a little Archives ID card, stamped with their seal in blue. I take my two indexes, marked with torn yellow paper, and go into the reading room. The room is mostly full – silent, with people at desk stations pouring over volumes – and I find a table at the front and sit down. I hear someone’s digital camera snapping photos somewhere behind me. I wonder for the eighteenth time in five minutes, what the hell am I going to do; I don’t speak Russian. How will I find anything?

The glass is reflective that separates the reading room and the little office I was just in. I look up and I’m staring at myself and the open indexes piled in front of me, questioning this endeavor. I don’t know Russian. The books are in Russian. And now I’m supposed to go through these indexes and find which records I want? Why would I know Russian? How come I don’t know Russian?

I enjoy my pity party for a moment, then laugh and think, I can have this pity party or I can just start figuring it out. (What should I do, leave?) So I start reading the lists, one column at a time.

Still, I have no dates for Linkuva. So I work out approximates on a piece of paper. I have Baubie’s (Sally’s) birth date. That’s all. I know she was born in the US. I know her mother Alice, whose family was from Linkuva, met her father after they were both already in the US. So going backwards, I start approximating birth dates and marriage dates all the way back to Alice’s parents. These were my great-great grandparents.

In the midst of going through the Russian lists and making my approximations for siblings birthdays, I stop and stare at myself and the ridiculousness of this situation. Then, back into it.

One of the Linkuva lists is quite short and I request three out of the four volumes listed. The other page for Linkuva is quite full, with dozens of years, but only a half dozen that might possibly be somewhere in my range of years. The page seems quite noisy, and I feel like I have many voices talking excitedly in my head. I wish one of them would tell me which year to pick. In one of the volumes there must be something relevant, but all that I can do is only slightly better than the equivalent of throwing darts at the page to choose.

I bring my finished request form back into the little office and the woman inside is an English speaker and blessedly friendly. (I’m not sure how much more I could’ve taken of the not-smiling and rushing…) She says many of the volumes are on microfilm. I wonder to myself if I remember how to use the microfilm machines; a little. She takes me to the microfilm room (Mikrofilmu skaitykla) and gives my list to another woman, tells me to come back in two hours when they will have what I’ve asked for. She is patient and explains their hours when I ask and suggests I come back early the next morning, they open at 8:30, because there will be more microfilm machines free then. I make my way to the front door, indicate to the front desk lady that I’m taking my locker key because I will be back. We smile, happy to be understood and relieved to not have to speak further.

I worry that my best bet for finding anything here is my ability to sound out the Yiddish that may or may not be on the records. Because at least, I can read that alphabet. Again, knowing Cyrillic would’ve been helpful.

I have an acquaintance here in Vilnius who I met through my Jewish Lithuania program. She was also talking about coming to the Archives, and she speaks all these languages, but we keep missing each other. Perhaps it is wise to come back together… (You think, Halley? Just maybe?) I have only a few days before I leave for the towns, so hopefully we can meet before then. And if not, after.

I left the building, looking for something that said Kavine (coffee shop; kava is coffee) somewhere in this unknown other part of the city where tourists almost never venture (unless coming to the Archives, I would guess). I found a spot, ordered arbata (tea) and cold borscht (pronounced Shal-TEE bar-shay) because I know how to say it in Lithuanian and know it will fill me and likely be good. I couldn’t read the menu anyway, even if I wanted to. The radio station is playing “Sweet Child of Mine,” and the song is the longest stretch of English I’ve heard since I left the guest house this morning.

I have my laptop out and I type and eat, waiting for 3:00 when I can go back to the Archives around the corner to see what the archivists have turned up.

So much walking...

2009-08-03T13:47:00.002-04:00

I think I may be giving myself shin splints.

Update on the DVD

2009-08-03T08:39:00.003-04:00

I just got an email from Ruta at the Vilnius Yiddish Institute.
She does not have the Shalel DVD. She is going to check with her colleague who ran the excursion.

So basically, someone somewhere may have some tape on this...

because who doesn't love the bus?

2009-08-02T01:51:00.002-04:00

Off to Kaunas/Kovno for the day, then back home tonight for the last reading of the program.

Nothing like your alarm going off at 8:15 after not getting to bed til after 2, post-party.

Quote of the day (the day being two days ago)

2009-07-31T02:16:00.001-04:00

"You know of course how to make a Molotov Cocktail..."

-survivor of the Vilna ghetto and partisan

Blergh

2009-07-31T02:09:00.002-04:00

The guides are expensive.

I should hit the archives in Vilnius (Vilna) and Kaunas (Kovno) before I go to the shtetls and look for documents.

It will all happen, but right now it's overwhelming.

So for the moment, I will just get ready and go to class.

Timing is everything

2009-07-31T02:06:00.002-04:00

Our professor invited us to a party at his place on Saturday night at 9p.

I couldn't figure out why it was starting so late. (Not late-late, but late to start a party for someone older...)

And then I figured out, because then it's almost after Havdalah. Those who aren't shomer shabbes can come at 9ish (when it's still definitely light out), and those who are can come a little after and the party will still be happening.

Lithuania for Everyone

2009-07-30T18:51:00.005-04:00

Things I enjoy about Lithuania that I've seen here in Vilnius:

All the crazy dye jobs on the old ladies. The colors are like third cousins-once removed to natural tones.
All the crazy dye jobs on younger women. Perhaps it is a commentary on the fact that dyeing one's hair is artificial anyway, so let's just stop pretending and trying to look natural. Lots of combos of light and dark on the same head. It's not punk, it's just...um... contrasting?
That the word for chocolate sounds very similar in Lithuanian and is easily picked up. Pronounced: sho-ko-lah-d.
Good pastries.
Cheap bus fare. A student single-ride ticket is 1 Lita. That's about 40 cents.
The little old wooden houses tucked in the midst of city blocks beautiful restored buildings.
Sour cream.
Pear cider, on tap.
A cafe culture.
The inability of anyone to be able to predict the weather here. Just look outside, prepare appropriately, and then put supplies for all other eventualities in your bag. Because they will happen later.
Friendly people, even if they don't smile.
The sense of a society in transition.
That there are more open-minded, fair-minded people here than not.

Things that are annoying:

That traffic only stops in the rotary after you march into the street. You have to walk into traffic to make it stop.
Cobblestone streets. Yes, they can be charming, but after a while, they are just bumpy.
All the graffiti all over the city.
So many ugly areas of the city, brimming with Communist charm, beyond the certain popular central neighborhoods.
Greasy, greasy, soggy, soggy potato pancakes.
A lack of direct routes anywhere. Sometimes wandering is good. Sometimes you just want to go.
Having a Museum of the Genocide completely leave out that whole Jews-Holocaust thing, except for a little (skewed-numbers) poster next to the bathroom, and focusing on the Communist era. (But more on that and the amended definition of "genocide" another time.)
Having one key to our room so that Arielle and I have to coordinate our schedules everyday to meet up. (Luckily, we bought cheapie cell phones to communicate. The ring tone I chose has frogs ribbit-ing.)
Ants.

At this closed movie theatre, a graffiti war is happening. Right now, the line says, "Lithuania for Everyone." Soon, it will be rewritten by the other side to say, "Lithuania for Lithuanians." And it just keeps going back and forth like that.

(insert mushy song title/lyric about people needing each other)

2009-07-30T17:31:00.003-04:00

Today's notable activity: contacting tour guides to take me to the shtetls.

I tend to be independent. I want to do things for myself. As in, "I'm capable, why shouldn't I? Are you saying I can't do it?" and/or "Other people just slow me down." These not-always-useful characteristics are magnified during solo travel, which is most of my travel. So I was a bit reticent when the guides were first mentioned to me.

At the opening of my "Jewish Lithuania" program, there was a large reception at which I met a woman named Sara and we started chatting. I mentioned wanting to travel to these family places and she mentioned being taken by a tour guide.

Mentally, one eyebrow goes up; me? take a tour guide? A *tour* guide? I don't go on tours. Okay, occasionally, but not as my usual posture. Not as my way of getting to know a less touristy side of the place I'm in.

But I listen to what she is saying and respond that it sounds like it was a really good experience for her. And she mentions that she has the name of a guy and summer is the busy season so a lot of guides are booked. I say that even if I can't get someone, at least I can go and see the places on my own.

Long story slightly shorter, I am convinced that I'd be a moron to not go with a guide. Sara tells me a story of some guy who didn't want to come with her and her couple friends with the guide, did it on his own, and saw nothing. The reason is that without these guides, I would go there and be that guy, and not understand anything I was looking at.

First, I wouldn't know where to look. So many things are hidden or outside where town is now or are just the spaces where things used to be. Second, even when I was looking at something, I probably wouldn't be able to read its significance.

When looking at hidden cities, it's best to bring someone with the decoder ring. Many of these places only exist insofar as these experts know how to see them and reveal them to others.

So this morning, I followed up on some names I had been given of good guides. All who do independent tours, specifically tailored to one's personal map. You can bring friends to split the cost or go alone. I'll probably end up going alone because no one has availability in the next couple of days and after that, friends in this program who would otherwise come with, will have left town. I'll get prices and details and then, I'll choose one.

I will spend two days because the towns are spread out. Gorzd (Lang-land) and Shalel (Leibowitz-land) on one day and Linkeva (Yaffe-land) on the other, with a stop in another big town on the way there.

I have been promised sites of massacres (fun!) and some gravestones, among other sites. More surprisingly, in Linkeva, because it was so small and out of the way, it also has an intact synagogue and Jewish cemetery. Either of those things are rare to find post-WWII (especially when the smaller towns didn't have as many synagogues to be destroyed so that some would remain, and the gravestones were used in building projects), but to have both is kinda crazy.

It's unlikely that any words will still be legible on stones from before WWI, but it's possible. It's also unlikely that in a huge intact cemetary I would be able to even find the right stones, but again, possible. Either way, I know I can at the very least get to the cemetary, which is likely where Baubie's (Sally's) mother's family is buried.

On the Mom's-side front, there happens to be a man in town (Vilnius) here who is from Shalel. I was talking to my professor here and when the names of the shtetls came up, he mentioned this man, who is probably in his 70s, at least. (I say 'at least' because I am a terrible judge of age and tend to guess too young.) He doesn't speak English, but there are others around who speak Yiddish and so we'll be fine.

He goes to the Choral Synagogue regularly, a synagogue which is the only pre-war shul still in use and used for its original purpose. Unconfirmed: It's possible that people are paid for regular attendance because if Jews aren't using it, the city can take the building, or something like that (but that is another topic). So there is a regular group. He is part of it.

Even better, there is a DVD of an expedition that took him and another congregant of another nearby shtetl, back to Shalel (and the other place). I am trying to get a copy. The only issue is that the soundtrack will likely be in Yiddish. So I propose that we gather all those fabulous family members with an understanding of Yiddish in someone's living room, and watch the DVD there all together, pausing for translation, to see Shalel and what he has to say. (He was likely there in the prewar period, after Anna Leibowitz's family left, but still, neato.)

And I am able to follow up on all these details because of the help of my family. (Cue audience: Awwww.) Which brings us full circle, now doesn't it? Only because of the help and information I've gotten from you guys have I been able to do this. Thanks to everyone who has passed along a found record or document over the years. And thanks Uncle David for all the assembling of bits and pieces in your work. And Aunt Rose. And Nonny for every call where I had just one more thing to ask you because you know about everyone. And thanks Nonny, Uncle Danny, and Uncle Herbie for dealing with the list of all my questions. And thanks Aunt Linda for asking that list to them for me when they were all together and filling me in with all the other info you have! And thanks Mom and Dad for sending me your records!

Oh, the records.

If you don't know, Mom has a hugehuge file of collected records and so many detailed notes taken over the years, asking extended relatives who pass through questions about parents and grandparents and back and back. And without her pressing Baubie a number of years ago, the chart from the Cohen/Becker/Yaffe side would be significantly smaller. And Dad filled in holes in the chart when I kept getting confused about who goes where from when...

But because of all that, I have three shtetls that I'll visit sometime in the next couple weeks, and a broader family context in which to put it all.

This is in no way an independent project.

First things first, or at least 24th

2009-07-30T17:23:00.003-04:00

First, my apologies for not posting everything that has been going on. I've been writing them all in my head, but somehow that does not magically translate to the blog. (I will be working on acquiring that telepathy capability in the future.) It's just all *so much* that it's a bit overwhelming to try to put it all together and write it out without feeling like I'm leaving out the character of it, and so instead, I've just left out almost everything. Woops.

On to excuse #2: I have been exhausted at night. I've been going all day, everyday, basically, and the first free time is usually in bed at night and the thought of trying to be coherent at that point makes me giggle.

So, bibbity-bobbity-boo, in we go.

More to come on what has passed.

Ants in my pants

2009-07-27T16:13:00.002-04:00

I wake up this morning at 7:30 to Arielle half-whispering, "Halley? Um, Halley? We are infested with ants." You have never seen me shoot up out of bed faster.

Overnight, they had come in and were in everything. All over the floor, but especially in the corners. And in my big, open backpack on the floor. With all my clothes. Especially my clothes. Pick up the bag, thousands of ants underneath. The little, black kind. And because they didn't go near the food, I am convinced they are also the stupid kind.

I went to shake out a bra and thousands of ants poured out and onto the ground, scattering.
So, so gross.

We call the office immediately and they rush over and give us a new room and are very apologetic and so nice. I am just trying to get my stuff out of there. My ant-infested stuff.

I separate it into two piles: clean and infested (mostly clothes). The backpack stays in the hall, with stuff to be washed. The rest goes into the new room.

The woman offers to do our laundry, for free of course. I say, I can do it. After a few trips of my hand into the backpack of ants, getting grossed out, she motions and says I should let her do it. I do. I get over the fact that a stranger has my underwear. I am just happy to be away from all the ewww.

But now, the only clothes Arielle and I have are the clothes on our backs, what we slept in. So we spend the day in pajamas because we have no other clothes. Because they are being washed. Because they are infested with ants.

We both happen to have cardigans which were away from the rest of the stuff. I also have an olive scarf. She has shorts on and luckily, I slept in black yoga pants. (It could have been the pink pear pajama pants.) We can't go to class because we have no clothes. (We send word to our professors, and I got a very nice email back from mine, so that was taken care of.) But still, we're hungry.

So we go to the corner bakery for coffee, tea, and pastries. We pass classmates and laughingly explain the whole thing. Why we're walking through town in our pajamas. In fact, we spend the whole day retelling versions of this story, often laughing. Always in disbelief.

Later, around 4:30, we must eat again and go to a nearby restaurant. Where we run into more people. I am wearing the black yoga pants, my 1987 Max Headroom - Coke t-shirt, a black cardigan, and the olvie scarf tied around my neck. Luckily, I grabbed a bra, too, somehow, before everything went kersplooey. But that was all. (Nobody wants underpants full of ants.) Arielle is wearing small purple shorts, a nature shirt, and a long grey cardigan. We are fooling no one. But we pretend.

We come home to find large racks of drying clothes in the front driveway. As in, I can see my undies from the next house over. On our busy street. Awesome. I go inside and ignore it. (One day ask me to tell you about the Great Nottingham Underwear Debacle of 2000...)

It was a great moment when the woman came in, around 9:30p with all my clothes, clean and folded, smelling fresh, including the backpack, which had been cleaned and scoured. This woman is a hero. (Yes, it was their place that gave us the ants, but whatever.)

The new room is clean, comfortable, and has our clean clothes in it. We are basically all set.

I've opened a tube of Pringles and we're going to watch a movie.

PS - It has not passed my notice that on a trip that has to do with going home, in some sense of that word, it has been impossible for me to get settled. First in the dorm, I switched beds. Twice. Then we left the dorm for the guest house. And then the ants and we had to change rooms. Within a little over a week. Just a couple of wandering Jews.

Trakai Castle

2009-07-25T18:08:00.001-04:00

Why I love the internet III

2009-07-25T18:05:00.003-04:00

Unlike at the dorm, Arielle and I have internet at the guest house where we are staying now.
And internet means I can take as long as I need to upload a bazillion photos. Okay, possibly fewer.

Photos are up.
Unlabeled.
(I'll fix that soon.)
But here ya go:

http://halley.shutterfly.com/

There's actually a phrase.

2009-07-25T16:17:00.002-04:00

"What do you want? It's Lithuania, it rains here."

And the Lithuanian word for the name of the country? Derived from the word for rain.

It rains, then it stops. Then it rains. Then there's sun. Then it thinks about raining. Then it gets hot and bright.
Luckily, today was just nice.

I give you the weather report because when I looked online, it said it was cold and rainy in Vilnius today. It was actually warm and sunny.

But I figure that they just wanted to save some time and at the beginning of the month they just programmed in the weather for the next few weeks, forecasting rain. Odds were in their favor.

You say potato...

2009-07-25T15:22:00.003-04:00

...I say, wow, they eat a ton of potatoes here, showing up in many, many forms.

Yes, including potato pancakes. Large ones, crazy greasy. All folded over. With sour cream. Some with fillings, sweet and savory.

But I would still say the main ingredient is grease. And then potatoes.

Line of the day (for last Friday)

2009-07-21T14:25:00.008-04:00

In Riga, Latvia.

I wonder about not being able to understand the tram driver's announcements as we head towards the bus station.

My Belorussian friend reassures me, "Don't worry, they will also repeat in Russian."

Yay

2009-07-21T14:06:00.002-04:00

This morning, Arielle and I moved from the dorm of eww into the guest house of woo! and have been giggling all day to one another because it is just that much nicer. I believe the phrase "shit-eating grin" would apply.

And it's only 8 bucks more per night. We are lucky, lucky people.
Heheheheh....

A picture's worth... a few more days before I have to get the full Stockholm post finished.

2009-07-19T07:32:00.010-04:00

Yes, yes, the full low-down on my fabulous time in Stockholm with all the fabulous people there will come shortly, but in the mean time, have a few photos:

On the day cruise in the archipelago off Stockholm

Ashley and I, taking a break from playing boules down by the water

Chris and I dancing at Ashley and Moa's wedding on the Borgila.

And last but certainly not least, Majbritt and I at our first meet up, after dinner at the neato Sturehof.

If only I could find the Great Plains…

2009-07-19T07:07:00.001-04:00

Warning: This post contains lots of complaining. If you don’t want to hear it, I suggest you skip this one.

Ohmigawd, what a craphole.

The dorm we are staying in (or rather, I have elected to stay in over a pricier hotel option) is connected to a music school. Currently, there is one violinist who appears not to have gone home for the summer.

I tried to think what worse bathrooms I’ve experienced. I’ve come up with individual examples – disgusting gas station bathrooms, rainforest bathrooms in Australia where bugs dropped from the ceilings – but I think these bathrooms win for overall effect.

The women’s bathrooms are down a long hall from my room. You enter a sort of foyer with three satellite rooms: a toilet room, a sink room, and a shower room. In the toilet room, there are four stalls – two are locked shut from the inside for unknown reasons, the third stall has nothing in it, and the last, filled with all manner of rotting and flaking pipes, has the toilet. Everything in here is cracked, mismatched or missing, except for a few tiles covered with splotches of paint, though what has been painted in here in the past few years, I cannot tell.

For anyone who has ever thought I spend too much time in the shower, here is your revenge. The shower curtain is a blue and white checkerboard pattern, with brown splotches. All over. No, it’s not someone rinsing out hair dye everyday over the course of a year, but instead, mold. I performed intricate choreography trying to get into the stream of water while not touching the shower curtain. It’s fun trying not to catch the plague while getting clean.

Because there’s no drainage in the floor and someone else flooded the room, I got dressed holding everything a few inches above the ground. A relaxing bathing experience.

Actually, that’s all on the second floor bathroom, while my room is on the third. I’ve gone down to the second because it’s the one with the western toilet(s). The bathroom on the third floor actually seems to be cleaner, so maybe I’ll start using this one, with its squatters (a stall with a hole in the ground). I mean, we were given a roll of toilet paper upon check in, so at least I know I’ll have paper whichever one I choose.

And at night, it’s all dark. Long dark hallways and no lights on. If you can find the lights, great. They will stay on for a minute. But you probably can’t find the light switch anyway.

Comparatively, my room is fine. The seven flies that came in here this morning from the open window have dwindled to one, who keeps flying in stupid circles near the (turned off) light in the middle of the room. But at least the flies keep out of the way – there is no avoiding the “mattress,” which maybe used to be a mattress, but is now a “mattress.” It’s like sleeping on a topographical map. The Mariana Trench is where the padding has completely disappeared and I hit the board underneath. Most of the time, it’s just a bright and airy basic room. Fine. Whatever.

And there’s no internet. Apparently music students don’t ever need to go online. (Though we’re told there is free wifi all around the city and in every café and at the language center.) I mean, why would one need internet at a school?

On the other hand, we are only paying $12 per night.

Going into town because it's there

2009-07-19T07:02:00.002-04:00

After I got in last night, it was still reasonably early and I walked into Old Town, which is only about 10 minutes from the dorm. My guide book mentioned a vegetarian restaurant whose name translates to White Elephants.

(For those of you who would ask: why, yes, it was up a bit of a hill.) Got lost on my way, but kept wandering the right way into the right streets. I think I only had a problem because everyone kept saying, “Don’t worry, you can’t get lost.”

Walked past what looked like a solid building, but the front gate was open and a big rock concert was going on in the courtyard with hundreds of people, it seemed. Found my place, also a (covered) courtyard. Ate some fun tofu thing. Got a lovely pear cider from on tap, served in an enormous glass mug. You know I’m sold on any place that has cider on tap.

Old Town, as you’d expect, is prettier than a lot of other areas. Neat buildings. Relaxed vibe. Cheap food and drink (which only gets less expensive outside the cities).

And now, I’m going to get some crepes. And some internet.

(Later edit: I got neither crepes nor internet. But there’s so much patio eating that I had no trouble finding food and ate at a shaded sidewalk table and listened to some street musicians who weren’t terrible. At the end of the day, the bottoms of my feet are the color of splotchy burnt toast.)

Lithuanian word of the day

2009-07-19T07:01:00.000-04:00

Aciu, pronounced AH-choo. (Thank you)

No, really. Ah-choo. That’s the word.

Tee hee.

First light

2009-07-19T06:51:00.001-04:00

I was on the first plane before sunrise.

Still dark when Lisa dropped me off. The sun threatening the back of the Capitol as I waited at the gate. By the time I was in my seat for the six a.m. shuttle up to New York, the first reflections hit the loading ramp, traffic-cone orange.

Apparently our friends at Heathrow could sense that I’m not usually the first one anywhere and helped me to take forever to get off the plane, to get my passport stamped, and to get my bag. My bag was the last off. Of a fairly full trans-Atlantic flight. But I was rewarded with a fabulous welcome committee of fabulous Jo, who presented me with a (My Lil Pony) balloon at the arrival gate, chocolates at the car, and pink pad and pen on my bed. But best of all: Jo, Phil, and puppy Bentley.

Shameless plug: You must go to the best tearoom in Canterbury, possibly all England, Tiny Tim’s Tearoom. Yummy, yummy food. Yummy, yummy tea. (I had the Lady Somethingrather tea, among other things...) I also have it on good authority that the full tea is amazing, as are the proprietors. After a too short visit involving much flora and fauna and talking, I was sent on my way with scones and Plump Pilgrims.

The flight to Stockholm was fine. To my left, a Japanese man drinking beer and red wine at the same time. Over Oslo, a bright pink moon.

Madame Romantika* answers a few questions

2009-07-16T17:51:00.004-04:00

Yes, there will be photos posted soon. The network on board here can't handle it, though.

Yes, I will fill you in on my time up to this point shortly.

No, not right now. It's now 12:53am Latvian time and I should probably sleep at some point.

Yes, I do think it's pretty funny to hear drunk Scandinavians sing karoake. "I love you, baby! And if it's quite alright, I need you baby! To warm de lonely nights!"

No, not funny enough to move into the bar. I can hear just fine from here.
Halfway down the boat.

*the name of the ship. And if you find golden accents on anything that could be accented romantic, then do I have the boat for you.

You can't get there from here

2009-07-16T17:43:00.001-04:00

There are no ships that go from Stockholm to

Lithuania

. Nope. They go all points north and south, but not to

Lithuania

. I’m beginning to wonder if there isn’t a reason… Who knew that

Latvia

was the place to go?

The ship is called Romantika and all announcements are made in Swedish, English (sort of), and Latvian. All of a sudden, signs are in Cyrillic and Roman characters and in about five languages. Want to know how to tell the difference between the Swedes and the Latvians? Ask them. Want to know another way? The Swedes (at least the women) are usually in black leggings, or jeans that are basically leggings. And everyone else is Latvian.

Except for my roommates. One is Lithuanian, and was surprised that I would be going there, too. (Again, what the hell? Why is going there so unusual? Should I grab a switchblade? Or will I just be spending a lot of time twiddling my thumbs and staring at trees?) And the other roommate is something Russian-ish, but not anything that the other one speaks. The rare sentences we’ve spoken to each other have all been in English.

It’s possible that I am one of only four non-blonds on the ship. And one of the others is the six-foot dog(?) mascot of the Tallink Silja Lines who is running around in a blue skirt, curtseying and taking photos with people against their will.

The sign on the back of the door has a safety diagram and we are assigned to assembly station D. The map is labeled with the following areas: 1, B, C, and 4. Awesome.

I love that I’m taking the boat over to Lithuania (via Latvia). I will be very literally, just off the boat. Not that this is similar to any boat my relatives took to get to the States because there is a casino and bars and dance clubs. And even with my cheapest possible ticket, I am allowed to go to all these places.

Still, when I’m down in my room on the lowest level people can go, I can sense some echoes. First, it smells. (Okay, it smells like feet and not like waste or vomit.) Second, there are no windows and it’s a small space. (But there are only three of us in the room, a room with beds and linens. And a TV. And my laptop is plugged in. By the mirror. Though we do suffer from a lack wireless internet down here.) So like I said, it’s totally similar.

But then there’s the rumbling. The engines are a loud bass and add an extra rumbling vibration to the swaying of the ship, which intensifies as you descend the decks. I won’t say the T word, but the sound is familiar from that film with Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet. Still, there’s no Irish dancing down here, so I think we’re okay.

It took a couple hours to get out of the archipelago off Stockholm. Yesterday, I earned some nice tan lines from my V-neck t-shirt on a day trip around the archipelago of islands on the S/S Stockholm from 1903, retrofitted with a snack bar and formal restaurant, because god forbid we take a three-hour tour without full refreshments. Okay, go ahead, sing it with me: “A three hour tour… a three hour tour…”

The (Swedish) guide on the tour lectured in Swedish and then repeated in English, in the kind of sing-songy, over-enunciated way people speak when they’ve said the same shpiel a number of times and they suspect those listening may not speak the language. Imagine the Swedish chef as an English-language tour guide. The best was when she would forget to repeat in English. For example, we passed the Island of Denmark (next to the Island of Sweden, the old boundary to where Sweden’s territory began), and she said, “Now, you would probably think that the island got its name from the time that Denmark and Sweden were at war, fighting over territory and claiming land.” The end. She explained in Swedish, and then moved on.

So I’ve made up the rest of the story myself: The Swedish must’ve been huge fans of Hamlet. They were such huge fans of Shakespeare’s story that they wanted to stage a version of it. However, so great was their admiration that a theatre wouldn’t do. Neither would an outdoor amphitheatre. The scope of their production couldn’t be contained by one small island. If they were going to have a Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, then their prince needed a Denmark. And that’s how the island was named. Before then, it was just called Archie.

But the low down on the area and the history (the real history) of the islands was great. And necessary – because after a while, all the islands start looking alike. They all have lots of trees, mostly pine. Beautiful summer houses spot the landscapes, different sizes, carved Swedish folk designs on the porches. Docks nearby. All very charming and pretty. And then there are lots more islands… with lots more rocks and trees.

And people stood with video cameras rolling. I feel sorry for the people back home who will be made to watch these boring, boring videos of endless water and trees. The same view, seemingly on a loop. Again, on the deck of this ship, there were people (okay, it’s really always men) shooting endless streams of the same (different, but the same) view on our ship’s way out to the Baltic Sea. Finally, after two hours of the same, the islands became small, low and almost bare for a few minutes, and then there was nothing but water on all sides.

I caught the change (a sea change, if you will) from the window of the café I sat in, glutting myself on free internet after having almost no access in Stockholm. What’s that you ask? Do I think it’s strange that I have easier access to the internet in the middle of the Baltic Sea than I did in Stockholm? Why no, I don’t think that’s strange at all. What I do think is strange was the Latvian man who walked by me wearing pleated denim shorts and a white t-shirt. The shirt had a pick-up truck waving the Dixie flag and the words, “Truck is Better.”

We arrive at eleven tomorrow morning. And then, the bus to Vilnius.

and a third

2009-07-06T19:46:00.003-04:00

Just found a town from my dad's side, near the Latvian border. Leckava.

Because the whole country of Lithuania is only slightly larger than the size of West Virginia, it's really possible to get to all these places... even though these places don't exist anymore in any way resembling the old.

lingo

2009-07-05T23:39:00.001-04:00

How do you say 'vegetarian' in Lithuanian?

Oh, no. (or not)

2009-07-05T18:34:00.005-04:00

The moral of this story is:
Maps are hard.

Wait, no, it's:
Check the scale on a map.

But why should I do that, Halley?
Because otherwise you jump to conclusions about how there seem to be two towns named the same thing on opposite sides of the country and you start muttering to yourself.

Just me? Okay, that was just me.

In conclusion (yes, this moral has a conclusion), Shalel is where it should be and maps are our friends.
Sometimes.

Uses of the Internet -part 2

2009-07-05T17:52:00.005-04:00

I just found a town I'm looking for, basically.

Online there was a map of Lithuania 1867-1914, during a time of Russian rule.
Kovno Guberna (Kovno Province), was the northern half of modern Lithuania, and was broken down into seven districts (uyezds).
Each district had a chart of the towns within that district. One of the towns was Šilalė, which was the Lithuanian name for the town of Shalel.

Shalel is the town I'm looking for.

Šilalė was in the district of Šiauliai (district name in Yiddish, Shavl).
Šiauliai is a city on the modern Lithuanian map.

It's on the map, so I can get there.
Pretty directly, too, it looks like.

And Gorzd? Also in the Kovno province, but in the southwest part of the Telšiai district. In Lithuanian it is Gargždai, a city that happens to be about 10 miles from Klaipeda, on the coast with it beaches and spas...

(click to enlarge map)