Hey, That's Cool!

I generally listen to something on my way to and from work: when traffic is normal, I spend over an hour in the car each day, and that gets boring. When traffic is terrible, I need to focus on listening to words instead of tracking such nifty statistics as "time spent pushing the gas pedal vs. time spent with foot on the brake/in park" and "amount of space various drivers allow to develop in front of them before they FINALLY pull up already". I've been listening to Terry Pratchett's Discworld series, but after 25 books or so (averaging about 10 hours each), I needed a change of pace.

So I went to yutorah.org and downloaded some shiurim (Torah classes). My search criteria (language=Hebrew, topic=something related to whatever Jewish Event was coming up) were nice and vague while still narrowing my results to a manageable selection. I quickly settled on a particular rabbi, who happily not only gave classes that fit my search criteria, but whose actual content happened to dovetail beautifully with my interests. I'd never heard of the guy before (and still knew almost nothing about him, other than that he's clearly a native Hebrew speaker), but I love his classes, and that's what counts. (Seriously. It's gotten to the point where I've caught myself hoping for at least some traffic... Enough to listen to an entire class, let's say.)

Then B2 sent me a video of Purim at his Rebbe's house, and I see a guy dancing who looks just like the stock photo next to the classes given by the rabbi I like so much. Yup. Turns out that the made-for-me classes that I stumbled across are given by none other than my brother's Rebbe.

Microsoft Publisher

How have I been missing out on Publisher for all of these years??? I just went to update our mishloach manos labels, and as I opened the PowerPoint file (at least I had the sense not to try using Word), it occurred to me that using Publisher might be a bit easier. Oh. My. Gosh. That was unbelievably fast, and they came out perfectly!

Yikes

A bit of background: I'm writing a white paper for work about the way ads are currently sold in the television advertising industry as opposed to the way they can (should!) be sold using our New Time-Saving, Cost-Cutting, Revenue-Enhancing, Lose-15-lbs-and-get-a-sports-car Best-of-Breed Product. One of my arguments is that using a combination of phone, email, fax, and snail mail is not how business is or should be done in the 21st century industrialized world.

I am getting very worked up about this argument, too. It occurred to me that I might be getting more worked up than, say, someone over 35 would. Which means this is a generational thing. And oh dear, this is the sort of things that Millenials whine about. But while Millenials are close to my age, they are definitely younger. Definitely more immature. I must have missed that crucial cut-off by a good ten years. Right? Wrong.

Holy Smokes. No matter which definition you choose, I'm a Millenial. Save me.

Sad

As I pulled off the highway, I saw a man in pain. He had a shoe on his left foot, but was holding his right shoe in his hand: that foot was in a cast. His face was set in a grimace, and each time he gingerly put down his right toes, I could see him wince and suck in air between his teeth. He needed crutches; he needed a wheelchair; he needed a ride.

I didn't offer him a ride, though; I didn't help that nearly helpless man stranded over a mile from the nearest buildings. You see, Jews don't generally walk around that part of town, so he was probably an Arab, so offering him a ride would be dangerous.

I'm sad that I didn't offer that man a ride, and I'm even sadder that if I saw him there again tomorrow I still wouldn't offer him a ride. What makes me the most sad, though, is how quickly this particular sadness dissipates, being replaced by the pragmatic knowledge that it is what it is; even as I see a particular pain that I have the ability to alleviate, there is nothing I should do to help. Sad.

Way Too Many Emotions

I'll tell this in the order in which I experienced it, with the caveat that we're fine: I just feel like I've been through the wringer, and I want to kvetch and moan, some. For this, my friends, a blog is ideal.

1. Lose my phone some time between parking and exiting the elevator. Spend the rest of my day stopping to look for it and feeling a little lonely: at least when I remember (see next point).
2. Unusually busy day at work. Stress of meeting with everyone I'm supposed to meet, learning everything I'm supposed to learn. Fun, though. Interesting. Even a little exciting. Some time in the middle of all this, find phone. (It had not fallen under the seat of the car; it was on top of the dashboard.) Relief. 
3. Leave work 20 minutes later than usual (see above).
4. Be amazed and awed and relived and hopeful about how little traffic there is. Perhaps this is due to leaving later. Perhaps I can always leave 20 minutes late and only arrive home 5 minutes later. This could be very useful and wonderful and less traffic-ful.
5. Mind wanders on ride home (while I continue to pay careful attention to the driving, IT'S FINE). Happy, relaxed. Good day at work, awesome commute home. Wow and smiles.
6. Hit the first slowdown in traffic when I'm 80% done with my commute. This is frustrating, but I'm still totally going to come out ahead in the commuting game. Right? I stay calm. Mostly.
7. Sit 4 cars away from the last traffic circle in Jerusalem (that's generally slow but moving, for crying out loud) for  a solid 5 minutes without moving an inch. Remain (almost) calm, because as soon as I get to that traffic circle, I am hanging a right and looping around and not re-joining the traffic on the main road until it's mostly over. 
8. Debate whether or not to climb the curb with my two right wheels so I can get around the truck (which is now the only thing between me and the traffic circle). Remain patient.
9. FINALLY turn right, drive at a normal speed... and miss the left turn I have to take. See that traffic the other way on this side-street is already backed up and I will have to sit without moving AGAIN after I make my U-turn. Ascertain that I have no alternative but to make a U-y and wait to turn. Do. Not. Scream.
10. Make my U-y. Sit it traffic. I crack, and do some yelling.
11. Finally turn. Sit in traffic again, but I knew it was coming. Yell at Waze for telling me to turn around and go back to the main road at the point where I left it for this little short-cut (which, even with missing my left, is still shorter than sitting on the main road). Fume. Cry a little. Scream some more.
12. Do a little cognitive stuff, realize that the worst-case scenario is sitting here all night, which won't happen. Two hours is entirely possible, though. I probably shouldn't idle the car for that long. Begin to calm down, really.
13. Turn off the car. Realize that's what the guy in front of me has done, which is why he let a whole car-length develop in front of him rather than inching forward a few minutes ago when traffic pretended to move.
14. Turn the car on just enough to roll down the windows. It's a beautiful night.
15. Try to call my local government council (which usually sends texts when traffic in this area gets this bad) to ask what's going on and how long it will continue. I have no reception. Of course I don't. Sigh, but I'm done being angry and cry-y for now. 
16. Realize that I can sit here in the cool early spring and read the book on my phone that I'm in the middle of. (Thanks, B2, by the way.) Relax further, smile, reach for my phone.
17. Get a text from my local government council that the entrance/exit to Jerusalem (which is my immediate goal, and about a five-minute walk from where I am now parked) has been closed due to a "security incident" in Jerusalem, and that there is no estimate of when it will re-open.
18. Consider actually parking the car and walking up the hill to the mall.
19. Enjoy the spring breeze while I very actively don't care what I do next.
20. Disappointedly see that cars are moving a little... in fact, they're moving enough that I'll have to move, too. Turn on the car.
21. Hear at least three other cars in the line of traffic turn on. Laugh.
22. Inch forward, creep forward, turn onto the main road, and leave Jerusalem. Huh. That was fast.
23. FINALLY get home. All-in-all, the commute only took about 40 minutes longer than I thought it would, honestly. Holy everything. 
24. Go inside. Hear Husbinator bathing BSM, bless him.
25. Rinse BSM's hair, read to him, PJ him, get most of the way through Shema.
26. BSM (who is potty trained as of two or three weeks ago, by-the-by) informs me he has to poop. I wonder if this is a stall tactic, but what am I going to tell him? "No"?
27. BSM sits on the toilet. We have a bit of a debate about whether or not he really has to poop, whether or not I am going to stay with him in the bathroom right now, whether or not he needs to put up or shut up already.
28. BSM poops (I raise my eyebrows at that one: at the end there, I was really sure he was just stalling).
29. As soon as BSM climbs down from the toilet, I tell him not to take his PJ's all the way off.
30. BSM takes his PJ's all the way off. Of course he does. 
31. We close the door, re-PJ, turn off the lights, finish Shema, get him in bed. I leave.
32. I check the Internet and learn that the "security incident" was one of many today. Not good news. I have no right to be irritated with traffic. Things are worse than traffic for too many people.
33. Life goes on. I discuss a shopping list with Husbinator.
34. We hear happy noises, so check on BSM via the spy-cam we have in his room. 
35. BSM is naked, and happily kicking at his bed railing.
36. BSM continues to be naked and happy for the next hour.
37. BSM ceases to be happy. It's been an hour-and-a-half since bedtime was "finalized". Leaving him to soothe himself back to sleep is clearly not an option. Deal with that.
38. Just holy moly, folks. That's all. Thanks for letting me complain at you. Now I'm going to stop complaining and actually relax. Maybe read that book, after all.

What Crime?

I took our car in for an oil change this morning, and since there were so many cars in front of the garage, I parked 30 seconds away in different parking lot. When I walked with the mechanic to collect the car, he asked me if it has a code. (This is much more common in Israel than I recall it being in the US: most, if not all, cars built after sometime in the '90s require both a physical key and a four-digit PIN to start.) I told him the car has no PIN, and as he reached toward the door handle with the key to get in and drive the car to his garage, I told him it was also unlocked. (Whoops.)

"You know how it is," I said, scrambling, "No code, unlocked... No one's going to steal my car."

"That's right: no one steals cars in Israel," the mechanic answered, "...They just borrow them for a little while!"