Double Oh Dilbeck

Ketchup

2009-08-06T15:37:00.000-07:00

So, I guess nine days before I move out of my place is probably not the best time to familiarize you, my adoring readership, with the place I have inhabited for the last seven months but this is what we have to work with, people. The last seven months have basically been so cram packed with crap I did not want to do that even the minute escape from reality that is blogging seemed to be an extra burden on my psyche. At least I got to do it in a cute little cabin situated on Pico and Cloverfield.

With just enough space between the bush and the walkway for this beast, my trusty steed, and my beach basket.

In the last seven months, I took a winter intensive and the Spring semester for a total of 19 units, took and passed the Multistate Professional Responsibility Exam, graduated from law school, rolled right on into Bar prep, and then the three day fiasco of the Bar itself. I finished one week ago today and am still having to remind myself to breathe and let my shoulders recoil from their semi-permanent position right next to my ears. When these nine days are finished, I move to the Rancho. Here's a shot from the hill above overlooking the glory that is Papa's collection.

And, the view from my soon-to-be front porch. No beach cruiser to be seen, but plenty of room for my ideal garden.

If you want to come visit and shoot guns, come move junk, pet horses that are more like big dogs, or ride around on a tractor, let me know. Me? I'll just be waiting the next for months for my Bar results to come and trying to drop the trailer.

Home for the Holidays

2008-12-24T07:33:00.000-08:00

I made it home safe, sound and in time for some much needed sleep on Sunday. Since then, I've been watching the "Law and Order" Marathon on television which makes so much more sense now that I've taken the Federal Rules of Evidence and understand the Attorney-Client Privilege, the standard for expert testimony, and hearsay.

We've got family stuff going on for the next few days -- and this will be the first year in 18 or so that we celebrate Christmas day at somewhere other than the Ranch. Last year, I used the good will and pity I amassed by breaking my femur in half to coax my sister, second sister, and cousin onto the quad and race them at full break neck speed up and down the quarter mile driveway. If there's one thing that I learned from being sick, it's the best time to get people to do things they don't want to.

That's Cas on the front of the quad, cushioned by an old mattress. That's me, driving and Ash and Jenny are holding on for dear life off the back.

Fly Away

2008-12-12T15:05:00.000-08:00

I've been interrupted three times recently.

The first was on Monday. I was leaving from my house after three days of furious studying for Federal Tax to actually attend the exam. I opened the outer door of my flat and found myself in the busy, smoky scene of a fire four doors down, but all up in my space. Three fire trucks, ambulances, people scurrying. It felt strange, like I had stepped into another world. I couldn't imagine how I missed it all happening. I mean, I can usually hear a flea fart through the single paned windows in my room. How did I miss it? I wasn't sure, but I was a bit annoyed at the commotion.

The second time was yesterday afternoon. Taking a break from my furious study habits, I was just out of the bath. The doorbell rang and it was a fireman offering free home inspections because a man had died in that fire, and they wanted to check my smoke alarms.

The third was that same night -- last night. This time, it was drum beats. Loud and more furious than my studying. Long, wailing singing. A crowd of people on the street, making one noise:

"Fly away. Fly away, home."

This time, I could hear it through my windows. I wanted to run down and make sure it was what I thought, but I thought better of interrupting such a procession.

So, I just listened. And, thought.

"Fly away. Fly away, home."

Somehow, the furious studying didn't seem so important.

The View from My Computer

2008-12-12T06:21:00.000-08:00

Me (looking forlorn), lots of big books (feeling quite foreboding), some very British window tapestries (required in libraries.)

It's Finals time. One down, four to go, finished on Friday next. And 4/5 of the way through with law school.

Hopefully my personality remembers how to work when I get the chance to use it again cause my jokes seem to be lost on these books.

Margaret Thatcher wears Ferrgamos

2008-12-03T13:09:00.000-08:00

I mean, I guess if you are a former British Prime Minister, the first women to lead a Western Country, and BFF with Ronald Reagan during the Cold War years, you deserve some expensive Italian navy blue flats.

She stopped by the Pepperdine house tonight, on her way back from Parliament's opening ceremony where she still sits on the House of Lords, and spent an hour greeting students and letting us take photos.

She asked questions, and listened intently. When asked if we were studying British law, Ben replied that we weren't and stuttered a bit. He stuttered because his European Union Law teacher had only just warned him NOT to mention that he was taking EU Law because Margaret Thatcher hates the EU and would freak out that people were not only using, but also teaching EU law.

She was gracious, and funny. Old, but still beautiful and impeccably dressed. One student remarked that she is "still rocking a wicked perm." About half way through, Professor Popovich had to run up to his flat to grab her a glass of scotch and water so apparently she is still rocking in general.

She Shall Remain Nameless

2008-11-25T01:09:00.000-08:00

The stage: Dinner at the National Portrait Gallery, overlooking the well-lit London cityscape. A lovely prefix dinner, accompanied by four well-educated friends, chattering away about life, love and other mysteries. The conversation is animated and punctuated by the surrounding crowd of twenty-somethings with after work drinks, and fifty-somethings with after museum meals.

Friend One: "I would really love to get back to the Tate Modern to see their new exhibits. The Dali exhibit last year was fantastic. Expensive, but fantastic."

Friend Two: "The Tate had a Dolly Parton Exhibit?! .... Oh wait, you must mean Salvador Dali. .... Please don't tell anyone I just said that."

Friends One through Four laugh hysterically because Salvador Dali and Dolly Parton exist in such different worlds that it's hard to imagine that they have ever, in the history of the world, been confused before. (However, someone might want to call Trebek and tell him it would make for a good Jeopardy answer where they combine two phrases, like Salvador Dali Parton.)

Friend One: "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about it, but I do have to put it on my blog."

And, scene.

I Guess It's Cool in France

2008-11-24T09:29:00.001-08:00

Friends, your eyes do not deceive you: This is, indeed, a Durex Premium Condom Dispenser in the middle of the main drag in Bordeaux.

Or, more accurately, Blaye, the little town outside Bordeaux where we stayed. A town where you struggle to find more than 6 people under 50 in a restaurant on a Friday night. I can't imagine that this little gem gets much good use, but apparently someone thought this was a good enough idea to spend the money implementing it.

I can imagine very few situations in life that would make this transaction worthwhile, but cie la vie. French is the language of love, so who I am to argue with their birth control choices?

The Other Brother is Pretty Dope

2008-11-21T07:30:00.000-08:00

Cas' Jeff quit his ill-fitting job earlier this year to start his own label/website/art/eventualworlddominationstation.

You should check out his site for two reasons:

One, it's cool, has an insightful blog, new music, and fun clothes that will make great Christmas gifts.

Two, the more money he makes off of my friends, the closer I am to securing the title of Best Sister-in-Law EVER.

So, go check out Solid Gold Hubcaps Clothing, listen to Jeff's song (complete with a retelling of the Disney classic, Robin Hood) and buy some crap cause you know you'll like it and you care about my future.

Bordeaux Si Beau

2008-11-19T03:40:00.000-08:00

You know you are getting older when weekend trips start looking less and less like collegiate Spring Break Celebrations and more and more like fake Honeymoons.

Catie somehow found this amazing little villa online. Beyond the beautifully redone rooms, oozing with character, was a small kitchen stocked to the gills with artisan salts, local peppers, and all kinds of interesting spices. We canvased the local market and made our purposely French-styled dinners of sauted shrimp, cheese, bread, veggies and some of the best wine you can find in the world for ten euro.

We rented a car, and I got to be the driver again. Look friends! You should be proud that I have finally learned to keep my eyes on the road. I have many fond (?) memories of Cristie and Heather in the back of my CRV telling me that I didn't need to make eye contact with them when I was driving.

Apparently, a villa is a house, and a chateau is a house where they have vineyards. We visited this one, got a tour from Maryse, the owner, and got lots of terra (French speak for mud) on my boots.

The people were so gracious and let us stop at their homes, taste their wine, pet their dogs, and ask silly questions. Pretty perfect.

Rembering Warmer Times

2008-10-29T04:27:00.000-07:00

It snowed last night. It's not even November. I was asleep when it all happened, and all that was left of it this morning on the walk to school was ice bunched up on the windshield wipers or parked cars, and a chill in the air.

Last night on the way home it was dark and dreary, but not snowy yet. It's that time of year, I guess. I stopped by for the necessities: eggs, yogurt, bread and toilet paper. My bag was full of the days accessories, so the toilet paper had to be carried out in the open. I stuck it under my arm, like a important package -- which, I guess, it was. I don't think I will ever get old enough not to be embarrassed by carrying toilet paper in public. I actually kept cracking a smile in a private joke with myself about it which must have looked even more strange. A bundled up lady, carrying a bag and a bunch of toilet paper, laughing to herself.

The last warm day here looked like this. At least from Primrose Park, overlooking the city.

Ali, Frederik the Swede, and I bought lunches and picniced.

I couldn't get enough of his socks...

In fact, I followed him undercover for a couple minutes trying to get a walking shot with the right amount of peeping sock.

There wasn't much wind, but this little one tried anyway.

I guess I'll have to wait until December in California to get some summertime skin again.

London brings on Bouts of Rockstardom

2008-10-27T10:24:00.000-07:00

Or, just crazy, asymetrical haircuts. I can even do a fauxhawk. Let the hair experimentation begin!

Buda Buda Buda Buda Rockin' all the Way

2008-10-27T03:30:00.000-07:00

It's not so much that smiling isn't allowed in Hungary, it's just that it isn't really encouraged either. So, Ali and I had a rule during our 4 days in Budapest ... No smiling in photos. No smiling in windswept, bedraggled, end of the day desperate attempts to save some warmth by using your scarf as a babushka moments.

No smiling while posing, America's Next Top Model style, in the falling Fall leaves and sleeping branches.

No smiling on a bus tour. Especially not when the earphones they provided you look like they were recycled from the free ones they used to give you on flights in the 90's.

And, no smiling when you realize that you spent 40 bucks to go to a classical concert because that's the kind of thing "adults do" to experience the culture of another country, and realize that no matter how many times you try to be an adult, you just spent 40 bucks to be bored and uncomfortable.

Oh, oh! Except for the part of the concert where one woman right in front of Ali and I fainted and slid out of her chair. Those around her reacted silently and immediately, disturbing almost noone. Ali and I just watched. To our amazement, one woman in front of the Fainter had ACTUAL smelling salts in her purse. After a few moments of laying down (you can see her laying down in the video, right before Ali and I, and on the other side of the woman in the purple shirt) she was back to normal which led Ali and I to determine that the reason for the whole thing was the careless wearing of too-tight pants. Said pants cut off her circulation while sitting, and thus the faint. Let that be a lesson to all of us... It's not just the muffin-top you risk by squeezing into pants that don't fit.

We did have a couple of lucky, beautiful nights. We stumbled into this panoramic view of Parliment, the Danube River and a full moon through the precipice of Buda Castle on the other side of the river. We were the only people there, enjoying the violin and base guitar music of a couple gypsies posted up near by.

The view from the bridge at our hotel, across the river to Gellert Hill in Buda. We also went to a bathhouse close to here for some truly classic naked, rear-slapping, Eastern Euro massages.

From Buda Castle, over Buda. 80 percent of the city was actually destroyed in WWII, so most of the construction is relatively new, but made to look like it was old.

And, finally, condiments. Daddy, the Majonez is for you.

Self-Indulgence

2008-10-22T09:44:00.000-07:00

I've started taking photos of things I like, simply because I like them. It's a nice sort of freedom really. Instead of buying something in order to enjoy it, I simply snap a copyright-infringing photo and post it on my blog and I've satiated my need for new. Uh, kind of.

These houses on my street are painted in Easter eggshell colors. In the morning, when it's still clear and cold, they look especially pretty.

Big bowls at a little cafe in Chelsea hold large peeled grapefruits and oranges, celery, carrots and many other juice-able items ready for the juicing.

Alice and Astrid is about 150 yards from my house. Astrud was there last time I was perusing and upsold me on this charming pink number below, and the little lavender filled bird on the hanger. Astrud designs her own fabrics and aspires to three core elements: cosy, glamorous and beach. She was calling my name.

I haven't worn this little silk thing yet cause it's 50 fricken degrees outside, so I've just left it out and hanging in hopes of a warming future, or at least one where I don't have to wear wool or feathers to keep warm.

And finally, this chair made of a tree truck. It looks cosy, like a bean bag. In my mind I see myself curled up in it, looking fabulous and drinking tea. Then, I remember it's wood, and is closer kin to an aggressive church pew than a bean bag. Whatever. A girl's gotta have a dream.

The Queens Face is on the Money (literally, and in this picture)

2008-10-09T02:05:00.000-07:00

I generally think internet forwards are not worth the time or energy, but given my current study of all things British, I thought that this showed a distinctly "real" side of the Royal Family. And, it's actually funny even though it does reference bathroom humor.

The heading of this particular email was, "Did Phillip Fart?"

This progression kills me.

Harry reminds me of Brother Bear here. However, if this was actually BB, he would undoubtedly be the culprit and would simply be blaming it on someone else.

The Owl at High Street Kensington

2008-09-28T14:41:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry. I know there's been a lot of storytelling lately, but I can't let the best night on the Underground, ever, go without being told.

On my way home tonight, between Earls Court and High Street Kensington, the overhead crackled and the fumbling voice of the driver started . This is not unusual. Drivers get on the mike every now and again to tell you about a line closure, a delay, or any number of other things.

It usually starts and stops quickly, and gets straight to the point. Well, not tonight.

The driver started his 5 minute monotone presentation by telling us that there was an owl on duty at the High Street Kensington station. This owl, said he, was under contract for 5 mice a night. Tonight, he was 3 mice short, so would be looking for bags, trash and such to meet his quota. The Driver finished by reminding us that if anyone was an animal lover, they shouldn't leave their bags or umbrellas on the train or the owl might get to them.

This mid-twenties something, ipod-encrusted, boat-shoe-wearing Posh next to me kept making exasperated faces as the Driver explained his plea, and saying things like "F*@# me" and "this guy is extraordinary" (which, when said properly, kind of rhymes with Strawberry.)

I watched in amazement, and slight fear. If this guy was bored, it was hilarious. If he was drunk, it was quite frightening.

I got off at the next stop, Notting Hill Gate, and decided I had to see this Driver for myself. As quickly as I could, I made my way to the front of the train to see if I could get a glimpse of him through the window. I reached the edge of the platform, leaned a bit over the fence, and sure enough, there he was.

Grey headed, and a bit snaggle toothed, but not definitively drunk. Whew.

He caught me looking and I gave him a thumbs up. He opened the door, and slightly stuck for words I said, "I just wanted to thank you for your entertaining narrative."

He chuckled, closed the door, and took the train away and I walked home chuckling, too.

Happy Clappys

2008-09-26T06:36:00.000-07:00

Last night I met my great friends Dan and Alisha Sanvicens at St. Mary's church in London for a smashing non-churchy church dinner of red curry salmon and spicy conversation.

I took the 27 bus towards Edgeware Road, got off at the appropriate place and then, as should be expected, walked around in circles trying to look nonchalant and not lost. Where, oh where, was York Road!?

So, I stopped an early sixty-something grey-hair and asked if he knew where St. Mary's was.

He replied in a rolling of the "R," high brow type of English, " Oh! The Happy Clappys!? That used to be my parish church until some other people took it over and made it all just a bunch of noise!" Directions followed and I made it there in good time.

Unfortunately, there was no clapping that night. I suspect I'll get my fill in the near future, at least if we want to live up to our neighborhood reputation.

MINI Mania

2008-09-23T04:04:00.000-07:00

I think I have turned into a Roadway Adventurer like the Papa Joe of my youth.

Vacations as a kid took two forms:

1. Trips to the beach in the motorhome with Nana.

2. Driving around in the Volkswagon Bus with the rainbow on the sides, trying to get Cas to leave me alone, and stopping at random plaques on the side of the road so my Daddy could read about Historic Route 66, Lewis and Clarke's groudbreaking trek across the new world, or Juniperro Serra and the California Missions.

Oh, the California Missions. One such trip ended when Daddy asked me if I wanted to stop by a mission we were going to pass, and I replied with, "I don't want to see any more old, dead Indians." I was six. My, how I have changed.

This weekend, my friend Devra flew in from CA and we rented a MINI and ran for the hills with nothing planned but driving around, stopping at the pubs and churches and little towns that dot the English countryside above Oxford.

The only thing they had left was a stick. The last time I really drove a stick I was with Eric Blackshear in his topless jeep wrangler in 1997. He taught me the basics in the Vons parking lot, and practiced on the way to Ojai to get icecream. But, Devra prodded me through the nervousness with, "You can do anything. You beat cancer." You can't really say no to that. So, within 20 minutes of picking up the car, I was bumper to bumper in Notting Hill, and on my way to the M4.

We stopped for tea and sweets.

And, to check out the Nerd-a-licious site at this church in Stow-on-the-Wold (the actual city name, next to Bourne-on-the-Water, and Chipping Camden) where Tolkien hiked around and spent lots of time writing and sketching. The back door is storied as the inspiration for the Gates of Moria -- with it's two ancient Yews.

And, at at Englands Oldest Inn (947 ad) and Eighth Best ( read the small print.)

I stuttered and stalled our way home to London. We are, thankfully, still alive.

I think I might just have to get a MINI of my own when money allows.

Double Oh Dublin?

2008-09-12T07:49:00.000-07:00

I have mixed feelings about Ryanair, the low cost European flight provider. For one, it's cheap. I mean dirt cheap. 50 bucks, including taxes, for a trip from London to Dublin kind of cheap. But, you get what you pay for. It's the only airline I've ever been on where you can actually pay 4 euro to board BEFORE woman, children, and the elderly. If there is a balance between the inconvenience and personal values you will deny in order to get a good fare and cost, Ryanair has just about perfected it. For 100 bucks, I would have said, "Up yours." But for 50? Give me my ticket, Bloke and move over, Granny.

At any rate, they got me to Dublin safe and soundly in time to meet Steve, for a bit of crack (uh, good conversation, for those not familiar with Irish colloquialisms...) in a pub in Temple Bar.
Steve and I have a bit of a funny history. He tells me we were introduced 4 times, over a ten year period, before I remembered who he was. Maybe that's because we were young, and I had no time for boys my own age in high school. Or, because he was always changing his hair.

Nevertheless, he didn't hold it against me and we had a lovely time hanging out at the Dublin Fringe Fest, the aformentioned erotic circus and with his many and varied friends in pubs across town where I made my signature face, featured below.

Dublin is a cool little town. Walkable, take-in-able, and beautiful, if somewhat rainy. I haven't perfected my Irish accent yet, but maybe that means I'll have to go back. Even if, at least according to Steve, all the time in England has only gotten me a bad stage version of an English accent.

"Get me one of them green jobbers, and baptize it."

2008-09-10T04:01:00.000-07:00

If you know me very well, you have probably heard me tell Papa stories. If you've never met the man himself, most people think I exaggerate the slight southern drawl and hitched cadence I take on when I relay his stories. But, if you have, you know it's actually pretty accurate. Now, Brother Bear and Nick Blake are really the one's who know every minute Papa quirk, but I get a few good laughs on my own, too.

I took these photos at the Rancho before I left for London when I went out to feed the horses with Papa. I hadn't seen this concoction yet, but apparently he welded this beach umbrella to his Holland tractor to stay out of the sun whilst working.

The man himself with Midnight, and a Healthy Choice Chocolate Icecream Bar, a Nana and Papa favorite.

The "golf cart on steroids" and one of the shops littered with scrap metal, metal working machines, jigsaws, alfalfa hay and old washing machine parts. That "little" pup is Daisy, a Bull Mastiff puppy Nana and Papa picked up at the pound a couple of weeks ago only to find out, when googled, that Bull Mastiffs get HUGE. I mean, St. Bernard huge.

(** WARNING!! Potentially offensive political opinion shortly ensuing!!**)

Recently, at a dinner party, Nana was explaining that, through Google, they learned that Daisy would always be sort of lethargic and good natured due to her impending size.

To this, Papa added, "I knew that dawg was a Democrat the moment I laid eyes on her, cause she's lazy, and all she wants to do is eat my food."

A friend at the table retorted, "That's funny, Buddy. I didn't know dogs picked political parties."

To which Papa replied, "Well, then look at Hilary."

... Don't kill the messenger, just laugh at her jokes.

Mi Casa Bonita in Londontown

2008-09-10T03:39:00.001-07:00

I've finally settled in London, after a few days on the couch at Dan and Alisha's and ten thousand frantic phone calls to anyone seemingly normal with a flat for rent in the London area. Finding housing always SEEMS like it's going to be a snap, but turns out to be more of a one-handed clap (read: next to impossible, unless you are double jointed like the guy at the erotic circus I went to this weekend... But, that's another story.)

This is my house, that window in the first floor on the right is my room. From it, I can see a little park and swing set across the road by day, and hear the sloppy voices of British gents returning from the pubs by night. It would be perfect, if only I could get enough water pressure to actually wash the shampoo from my hair.

This is my room. It's big and bright which makes me happy, but it also includes sleeping on a futon which stretches my sleeping character and makes me uncommonly cranky in the mornings. Well, uncommon might not be the exact right term, but cranky all the same.

I'm about two blocks from Portobello Road and a ten minute walk from the Notting Hill Gate tube station so I can be well dressed, and well traveled within walking distance.

Good Old Golda Meir

2008-09-02T01:25:00.000-07:00

Almost forgot my favorite one...

New School Taggers sited in Tel Aviv

2008-09-02T01:07:00.001-07:00

The last night in Tel Aviv, I took my camera, walked through the streets and took photos of the urban art. I must confess, I enjoyed this different style of viewing the city, but I still couldn't stop thinking of my middle school boyfriend who used to tag on the weekends. Somehow, I don't think he tagged smiley faces like this.

It took me a while to get the right light and angle to make this one visible... It' s high on a wall, between two buildings and I've only had a camera for about two months (with a ten year hiatus in betwixt my last camera.) Anyway, I like that there was "Know Hope" underlined by "broken hears recollect themselves while distracted."

This guy was hidden behind a big pile of trash.

I didn't "mean" to get the reflection, but it looks pretty good to me.

That monkey is listening to an ipod!

The Big Show

2008-08-17T09:51:00.000-07:00

The most iconic pictures of Israel certainly come from the disputed Holy City of Jerusalem. I went, twice. I won't belabor the details, since a city like Jerusalem, with all of it's history and uncertainty, is really a city best walked through and discovered for oneself. And, I don't think I have really thought through the implications -- spiritual or otherwise -- of being there.

I will tell you that being in Jerusalem is a bit surreal. When I got off of the bus at the Mount of Olives walked down into the Garden of Gethsemane, and looked across the valley to the walled old city with the Dome of the Rock above the Western Wall -- surrounded by so many places with extreme significance for so many -- it's hard to know quite how to feel.

In that moment, it was easier to think that I was already hot and tired and it was only 10 in the morning. Now, I wish I could have spent more time there (and, taken better pictures... I couldn't quite figure out how to maximize this one...) Sometimes moments like that are experienced more in the remembering later than in the actual being there now. That's a bit how Jerusalem was for me.

One of the best things I got to do was spend the Sabbath in Jerusalem with a friend from the trip, Talia, who graciously included me in her fam's celebration. From sun down on Friday, to sun down Saturday, we rested, ate, read and went to Temple. We said the traditional prayers, I got to read a poem during one part(!) and didn't drive, turn on a light switch or the oven. I think I could get into that part of practice, since eating, resting and reading are basically my favorite things in life.

A view of the newer city, clad in white Jerusalem stone as the building code requires of every structure, from Yad Vashem -- the Jewish Holocaust Museum.

The security wall being built between Western (Jewish) and Eastern (Arab) Jerusalem. There security walls like this planned, or in the works, in many parts of Israel.

Are they Holy because they taste so good, or because they're made in the Holy Land? In any case, I wish I could have had one but I only caught the delivery truck.

Crocodile Don't

2008-08-08T06:28:00.000-07:00

One of my Israeli friends, Billie, just graduated from an Israeli art school. One of her photos is an especially pointed take on Israeli's fascination with the indomitable Croc line of shoes. You know the ones: puffy, plastic in bright clown colors...Israelis LOVE Crocs. Nearly EVERYONE wears them. Cute surfer boys in surf shops wear the camo ones, and old ladies sport orange and pink to the market. While Crocs have made their way to America, and even begrudgingly into the homes of some hold outs when they introduced their modern, more streamlined looks ( See: Jenny Gough, Nicole Wolf and, alas, I) I can't say they have had the same market saturation as in Israel.

Thus, Billie's commentary. I'm not quite sure if she wants Crocs to die, or if she thinks you should be killed for wearing them, but I think I agree with either statement.

At least until I am able to, one and for all, denounce fashion for function. And, I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon. I am too in love with my new Jill Stuart snakeskin pumps to do THAT quite yet.

See, it's just like home...

2008-07-27T11:32:00.000-07:00

Stomach Flu Strikes at the Home of Jesus

2008-07-27T09:27:00.000-07:00

It all started off so well. One of the dudes on the trip, Justin (Preemptive Mother Strike: No, I am not interested in Justin, we are only friends, you are no closer to grandbabies...) and I rented a car for a two day extravaganza to the North and then back to Galilee to see some more of the Jesus stuff.

First stop, Caesarea, Herod the Great's manmade harbor and city during the Roman times -- the aqueduct is still a standing.

An hour farther, about ten miles from the Lebanon border, the fortified city of Akko. It's crazy. People are literally still living in small rooms and parts of the castle that has been home, over the centuries, to Greeks, Romans, Crusaders, Arabs, Ottomans, British and finally the Israelis. A few years ago, a woman was complaining about a clog in her plumbing, and when the city investigated they found that the real problem was a forgotten underground escape tunnel built by the Knights during the Crusades and running about 150 yards from one part of the castle to the other.

Manhole covers in Akko.

Sparkly dinners in Haifa, a large Arab and Jew port city.

Big breakfast and big plans the next day beginning with the Mount of Beatitudes where Jesus gave the Sermon on the Mount. I was only feeling partially queasy at this point, like I'd had too much coffee or broken one of the many rules of the Mount, like no martinis or handguns.

Fortunately, the view was a beaut. Over the hills, and onto the Sea of Galilee.

But when we got to Capernaum, that' s when I realized this was more than funky coffee. When you can't help but to leave your breakfast on the side of the road next to Jesus' place, at the McDonalds and two gas stations on the way home, something is definitely wrong.

We were able to make it to one more site, probably not THE site, but a dusty path that led to the Jordan river before an altogether too long a drive home and two days in bed.

I've since recovered, but I'd still like a bit of sympathy.

A Girl walks into a Bar

2008-07-25T00:10:00.000-07:00

It sounds like the start of a (usually mediocre) joke, but it's actually the beginning of last weekend. I wanted to travel, but most of the kids on my program booked trips that included far too much time on overpriced buses, on someone else's time schedule, at spots where a local wouldn't be caught dead. So, I respectfully declined in order to save my sanity and resolved that I would rent a car and travel alone if I had to.

Instead, I met an Israeli girl named Flame (Shalhevit in Hebrew, which means Flame in English) while out with friends and by the end of our ten minute conversation we decided that we would head to Galilee together. As I have said to my Mama on many occasions, "Your baby knows how to make friends." It was a risky proposition, I admit. In fact, when Flame and her friend Billie picked me up at the hotel to start our adventure, the first question they asked was, "Why don't any of your friends want to travel with you? Is there something wrong with you that we should know about... ?" I wasn't quite sure how to respond.

We stopped in Nazareth for dinner, at this 120 year old Arabic home that had been restored and made into a restaurant. We dined on the patio, in the warm air and low lighting with a Muslim call to prayer in the background.

The next day, we found a quiet beach at Galilee and sunned and soaked most of the day. I kept trying to remind myself of the importance of this site -- the walking on water, the fish and the loaves, the baptism of Jesus -- but it still felt a bit like a lake, any lake, a regular lake -- except for these beautifully intricate white shells that littered the beach. The Galilee is lower than it's "ever" been at the moment, about 300 feet from the old shoreline, so lots of what was under is now uncovered.

Lunch was at an old kibbutz turned tourist trap. I was especially impressed that even this duck was wearing a yarmulke for the tourists.
And, they don't skimp when you order St. Peter's Fish.

On the way home, we got a bit lost, and it was the first time in Israel I have actually come in contact with what we see on CNN. I snapped this cave through the window on the drive, and understood how the Dead Sea Scrolls could have gone undiscovered for so long. Would you choose to go into a cave like that !?

Bar Ilan and Boney Rears

2008-07-18T08:20:00.000-07:00

I haven't sat in a wooden seat like this since, well, I don't think I have ever sat in a wooden seat quite like this. And, though my back half is well cushioned, it still hasn't saved me from discomfort. Maybe it's the Israeli way of keeping you awake in your seat.

School is held Sunday (the first day of the Israeli work week) through Wednesday at Bar Ilan University, and half day on Thursdays at the hotel conference room. The bus to Bar Ilan can take anywhere from 26 -106 minutes, depending on the navigational astuteness of the bus driver. Since bus rides are my personal Pergatory where I await motion sickness, I try and weasel a seat in the front whenever possible. I am one of the Easily Queasy.

The school days are long and exhausting. Two four-hour classes a day, and then a guest speaker almost every day last week. Good stuff, but it's hard to listen for that much of your day. Thankfully, the sun doesn't set until about 8:30 or 9, so there is still lots of time for beach after class.

I'll take you to the Candy Shop

2008-07-13T12:27:00.000-07:00

One of the things I think I like most about other cultures is noticing the strange juxtaposition of American culture that invariably weasels itself into all, including the sometimes inappropriate, parts of life.

Example: We have this lovely breakfast at the hotel that's included in the rate. Every morning, I try and get up and get started early and there are a few of us who show up around the same time and have begun a breakfast comraderie of sorts. We bonded first over the fresh baked croissants ( or, butt enhancers:) and lack of meat products due to the Kosher nature of our hotel. Getting to the dining room involves getting off the elevator at the second floor, and then descending in plain view of the patrons down a flight of stairs to the first. Yesterday, I was the last of our posse into the dining room, so all eyes were on me as I waved to to our table from the top of the stair case. It was then that I realized that 50 Cent's "Candy Shop" was playing on the radio, shortly followed by Tom Jones' "Sex Bomb." I am not sure if anyone else in the place knew what the words to these songs were, but we sure did and they didn't seem like breakfast music. However, they did lend themselves to an agressive booty shake and some arm flailing on my part.

Booty shaking music and Breakfast. Juxtaposition in action.

We took a short field trip last week to Jaffa -- the port at the southern end of Tel Aviv and the oldest part of the city. From the small hill, you could see across the city.

Apparently, Jaffa is also the port from which Jonah tried to get a boat away from God, and eventually ended up in the belly of the whale. They are also licensed to sell ancient history, so I'm not sure if that story still belongs to God, or if someone already bought it.

We kind of ran through the city, so I want to get back up there sometime again. They have a massive flea market that I want to peruse for things I can bring home and reply nonchalantly to a compliment with, "Oh thanks, it's from Israel."

Sheckels

2008-07-08T12:44:00.000-07:00

Someone asked me right before I left what kind of currency people in Israel use and I off handedly joked, "Sheckels. Sounds biblical." And, I was actually right (which, on a related note, is a reminder of why you should always go with your first instinct, appropriately stated in the form of a question, when watching Jeopardy.) Sheckels it is.

Unfortunately, a sheckel today won't get you what it got Jesus. Tonight, 55 sheckels (about 18 bucks) got me babagaboush (eggplant mush, basically), meat crouquettes, white beans with spices and a nice conversation with some Israelis down the street.

The street I "live" on, Ben Yehuda, is about two small blocks from the beach. There are tons of small coffee shops and bohemians riding bikes on my block. The city is big, and rundown by American standards, but has a life about it that belies it's appearance. The view from my hotel window is of the caved in roof of a neighboring building and the outlines of others which wouldn't lead you to believe that I feel safe here, but I do. It's far more Mediterranean and metropolitan than I imagined.

At the beach, there are lots of old people in small bathing suits and jellyfish. The water is so warm, you just want to lie in it all day. Even early in the morning, there are people out running, swimming and sunning. The air is warm and wet. When you walk, you sweat. But, when you sit, it's perfect. So, I do a lot of sitting.

People are out, in the water, at the clubs, eating dinner at ALL hours of the day. The first day I got here, I was up at 6 am and walked past people just back from the Club and eating "dinner."

Oh, and if anyone was wondering where Air Supply's next show was, it's here. In Israel. I called the number on the poster, and it was just a Dude answering his personal phone, with the equivillent of "Yeah?" It was too far away to catch a bus too, but it happened all the same.

My Body Clock likes to Boss me Around

2008-07-03T08:29:00.000-07:00

I disembarked flight 163 from London Heathrow to Tel Aviv (where my business class luck unfortunately didn't follow me) to a long line of customs, and then a quick walking cab driver who taught me some key hebrew phrases and told me I looked 25 on our drive into the city.

My room wasn't ready, but a great breakfast was and then the beach. When I finally got into my room, 30 hours after taking off in LA, I slept for 4 hours and woke up looking like this, which should seem familiar to many of you.
Yikes. I think I already have more freckles.

The best thing to happen to me today, you ask? Well, I was strolling around the open market checking out the scene when I was approached by a middle-aged balding Israeli man tugging along a red Radio Flyer wagon filled with dismembered chicken parts he had obviously just finished butchering. He asked me where I was from, how long I was staying and where I wanted to go. Then, he said, "You should give me your phone number. I will call you."

Tonight, I've got plans for a good dinner, and an early bedtime. And then some clubbin. Seriously.

An Explanation

2008-07-02T10:26:00.000-07:00

Brother Bear always calls me OODilbeck (Double Oh Dilbeck) when I tell him where I am going and what I am doing. I think it's mostly because he thinks I am ridiculous, and partly because he's going to miss me. But, he says it's because he never knows exactly where to find me.

At any rate, I think the name has stuck since Nance's been calling me it, too. And I kinda like it. It's got mystery and intrigue and martinis. You know, a lot like me. Right? So, this blog is dedicated to keeping Brother informed of my whereabouts.

This adventure really began yesterday at the Third Street Promenade (the situation was desperate, I needed walking shoes before my flight left and we only had three hours or we would have went somewhere, anywhere, else...) Cas and I were asked TWICE if we were TWINS and took this photo shot before our double wheat grass and double matcha shots at Jamba. Gotta boost the immune system before a big flight!
My flight from LAX to London was providential. I was STOKED and got a free upgrade to Business Class on British Airways (what they are calling Club World now) with a fully reclining 6 foot bed and personalized service. I know what you're thinking... But I didn't even say ONE word to anyone about an upgrade. It just happened cause God likes me.

Now, trying to get though a sleepy seven hour layover in Terminal Four, home to many, many things I should not even think about buying. (PS. Cristie and Holly B, the Marc Jacobs purse has followed me here!!!)

Take off for Tel Aviv in a couple of hours... I'll post when I get settled!