kiss of light

The love affair with Hoboken continues. The kiss of sun on the tip of the Empire State building while the city is muted in a shade of gray. Like a violin with the muter- what is that piece called? It makes you take a step closer and lean your ear in- feel someone is whispering in your ear, a secret, an intimate exchange.

Walking home today I stopped at Les Dames for coffee- the owner remembered that I had been looking for an apartment near there a year ago- literally a year ago when it was still her (almost said 'their' because of Les Dames) first week in business. Still the best coffee. And delicious chocolate croissant- the Friday summer hour treat. I heard a bit about Hoboken politics- if you don't know people who can do you favors (very mafioso), it's tougher to have a business.





And the local bakeries. First I've never heard a bakery refer to itself as 'antique'. Secondly, couldn't this scene be from a whole list of different countries and from a whole range of decades?



And this little place. It looks like someone put up a sign outside of the door to the kitchen.

Then the local doctor's visit. But the doctor doesn't live in Hoboken- too expensive!

And bought a cute ruffly summery dress.

Ahhhhh..... Let the weekend begin.

michael jackson

Surprisingly, I'm touched. Troubled soul. Genius is a heavy load to bear, apparently.

birthday blues

A coworker who is getting married next weekend said, after planning her wedding for two years (!), that she was a little sad that her wedding would soon be over. And after someone mentioned the phenomenon of the wedding day blues, I realized that I should be allowed to freely experss birthday blues.

Don't get me wrong- I had a great birthday complete with a nice dinner out (at the best restaurant in town), extravagant flowers, friends with whom to share the occasion, friends sending me nice thoughts from afar, and good health. Oh and nice presents! Nothing lacking.

But I admit freely there were still some birthday blues after the fact.

birthdays

I don't feel my age. And that's either a good thing or at some point I'll wake up to reality and realize I'm suddenly 10 years older. A mega-birthday.

In many ways I've always felt like someone in her early-30s. I was maybe a bit out of place when I was younger. Maybe when I'm past that age, I'll return to feeling out of place. Maybe feeling out of place is just an inherent characteristic.

A day of reflection. And resolutions. (Thankfully?) I'm too busy for that this year. But this will require a good cup of coffee and some blank paper very, very soon.

ever since the literature of exile

I was going through my old papers (academic papers) last night and came across one of my favorites from one of my favorite classes: Voices of the Third World- Literature of Exile. It was a personal response to Edward Said's After the Last Sky, which was his personal account of Palestine and being Palestinian.

All those years ago I had apparently made the same comment- Israelis are stripping Palestinians of the culture and identity by incorporating Palestinian food (and I had also remarked on handicrafts) into the Israeli culture. The political mission has been to deny the Palestinian culture, and through this, the Palestinian claim on the land they had cultivated, loved, and ultimately been buried in.

So the same fire still burns in me, obviously.

My professor then, who was a writer and visiting professor at Hamilton, sent the paper to Edward Said. It meant a lot- I was deeply honored.

political statements

I did something I'm not entirely proud of. A note left at a "Moroccan" restaurant selling all sorts of "Israeli" food. Thanks for the good Arabic food, it read.

The politics behind "Israeli food" is subtle, but still cutting. Lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumber salad is now Israeli? But more importantly Arabic hummus and tahini and grape leaves and all of it.

Pretending, maybe even convincing themselves, that the Arabic food they found when occupying the homes of Palestinians (literally- houses left as they were, perhaps only gold and valuables taken or buried) or brought with the Jewish Arabs somehow come from their culture. Which culture? The Russian? European? The Jewish culture? Am I (and the world) expected to believe that the Jews of Israel created this culture? A claim not made by Arabs or South Americans or even people from the United States, ie a collective culture?

This culture was molded, in support of making a claim on land that was not theirs but actually and truly belonged- in that day, that hour- to the Palestinians. To support this claim that Israel belonged to the Jews thousands of years ago. When does that argument ever carry any weight? The story that it belonged to them (Semites- and who do you think we are?) and they have been trying to reclaim it all this time. History is rewritten.

And now they are claiming our food.

yawn

Sleep... Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

That's what I was thinking ALL day today. Yummy sleep. Like falling asleep on the futon mid-day in the sleeping bag. Things you shouldn't necessarily do regularly. Those sleeps are even more satisfying than normal night sleeps.

So late in the day at this point I'm hoping I stay sleepy right into bed tonight.