another list: things i hate

* uncertainty / ambiguity

* the need to categorize love into yes/no questions.

* people being angry with me

* having to apologize for trying to save the cake, when it’s clear that you can’t have it and eat it too.

* being misunderstood

* this feeling i have right now: it smells like rot, feels like sandpaper, tastes like medicine, and sounds like sirens clinging.  oh. and everything looks so gray.

 

 

Lists

I love making lists. They make me feel adult, organized, responsible, and I also like looking at my handwriting and remembering I can count beyond 10.

Here’s my latest list:

Things I absolutely HAVE TO learn before I die: (in random order)

*how to juggle three balls

*how to dice onions without tearing up

*how to burp on demand

*how to rollerblade

*some simple phrases in Russian and German

*the Greek alphabet by heart

*the names of Shakespeare’s 36 plays in chronological order

*how to light a fart

*the capitals of all the countries in the world

*the difference between Beethoven and Brahms

*on that note, the difference between Warhol and Lichtenstein

*what the hell confit is

*how to carve little figures out of wood

*how to make a decent bonfire

*how to build a kite

*how to end a list

 

The awards ceremony, my imaginary friend

One of the things about being friendless as a child, and having only imaginary playmates (this is pure conjecture, of course it never happened to me), is that when you’re playing imaginary sports (see? I told you it wasn’t me. I never did sports) you have to pick teammates out of an imaginary group of, oh, say, two. You end up picking the same people for both teams, and having them play all sports, on all sides. On the one hand, if you’re an eternal optimist, it’s win win situation, but on the other, it’s a complete waste of time, especially for those watching from the sidelines (even when you don’t have friends, the critics abound).

I don’t know about the childhood woes of Assi Cohen, Muli Segev, or Assaf Harel (though I have suspicions re the latter), but their performance at the TV “Academy Awards” (typing this with a straight face is a challenge) reminded me of those small imaginary teams. They were virtually on stage all evening, and even when they weren’t, well, they were. Although the award cemerony was produced by D’s cousin (which is why I even deigned to peek), and I rather like this second cousin, it sucked big time. Like its older siblings the American Emmy awards, the Oscars, and the like, it was incredibly drawn out and too lengthy. Sadly, all similarity ends there. When you have three decent shows on TV, and three hours of air time to fill, you find yourself investing all your creative efforts in jumbling them all together (since when are morning talk shows considered entertainment magazines?) and voila! You have the team of three on stage virtually all night.

Bored kids can play “6 degrees”: the guy on stage, who stood in the back when Eretz Nehederet got their award (what a shocker, couldn’t see that one coming), is also the guy who plays the nerd in another of Keshet’s shows, written by the bald guy who also used to host a late night show for another channel, whose news shows comprised four out of five candidates for a certain category, and let’s not forget that all of these also gave out awards. Nothing’s better than giving your imaginary friend an award, and then trading places and letting him give you one. It’s like playing doctor. You know your turn will come eventually.  Our TV industry is too small and too lacking in variety for these shows. We don’t have enough “original drama series” to nominate actors for the “Best actor in original drama series”, so we mix it up with miniseries and movies. The whole deal was another way for Keshet to pat itself on the back, and get all the stars on TV to generate ratings without paying a shekel.

I watched the same people climb up and down, bleary eyed, and swore to myself, as I do now to anyone reading: if the little TV series I am trying to write now ever makes it to one of these award ceremonies (and it will, not for lack of modesty but for lack of other content on TV), I will never, ever, play with my imaginary friends again.  

*****

   

have you been unfaithful?

Technology is astounding. Having recently come back from a second screening (an ultrasound held between weeks 22-26 of pregnancy to rule out visible birth defects and anomalies), I am overwhelmed at the three-dimensional imaging, the accuracy and precision, and the fact that the lubricant gel never fails to be freezing. I mean, as recently as the 1970’s, when I was born, you couldn’t find out the gender of the child in advance, let alone see them in 3D as they shove one underdeveloped finger in their nose.

Nose being the primary issue, this kiddo has an upturned nose that can be seen clearly in the scans.  

for those of you without that degree in radiology, here is a more detailed view:

What’s with that nose? I don’t have an upturned nose. Donor is not supposed to have an upturned nose, at least not going by our son Lior, who doesn’t have one though his other mommie does. I’m starting to think our sperm has cheated on us. It simply got up, thawed out, walked over to someone else’s sperm, had a fling for the night, and lay there chilling out, while we will be the ones to deal with this indiscretion. An upturned nose indeed! Hmph! What is left in this world when you can’t trust the sperm you’ve bought and paid for with your own money?

That aside, the Americans call an upturned nose a pug nose. how offensive.

If my kid has to look like a dog, can’t she at least be a nice one?