Running: a healthy alternative to lying down.

So I am lonely and miserable and unhappy, and I am on vacation and somehow unable to relax and enjoy myself, and I hate my skin and I need a shower but I can't summon the will to go take one. So I decide to go for a run, to get away from the constant noise in my mother's house, to work up a sweat that I'll have to shower off, to see if I can outrun some of the noise in my head. I set out. It is South Florida September; it is unbelievably hot and muggy and humid, a humid I forgot even existed, living as I now do in the dry dusty South California desert. It starts to drizzle just as I set foot out the door and I am shocked at how welcome the rain is, how I have missed it, how it feels necessary and cleansing and how I am suddenly fervently hoping for a thunderstorm, something we don't get in L.A. even when we do get rain. I set out. I go a few short blocks, I turn a few corners. I start to sweat, start to breathe heavily, start to walk instead. My thoughts haven't changed; nothing is uplifted. As I near a corner, a car turns in front of me and slows, a beautiful black head pokes out and says hi. I say hi. This sexy face turns out to belong to 25-year-old Akio who chats me up and tries to pick me up. I've told him I'm heading back home to Los Angeles on Tuesday and he asks, twice, if he can see me before then. I say no and I finish up the chat and I hit the road again, but I'm not jogging anymore; I am flying. I set out.




(In all honesty, this is literally The. First. Time. any random hot guy has tried to pick me up. I have good dates, I have good boyfriends, I have good long relationships... but I don't get unsolicited attention in public places. Ever. And I am sure this particular hot guy wouldn't have given me the time of day had anyone else been around, had we been in a bar or something with any typical girls-wearing-makeup in the vicinity, had I even been close enough for him to get a good look at before leaning out the window. But still. Thank you, Akio.)

Happy New Year, 5769

Well, here I am, typing into nothingness again.

I'm at LAX, and my flight is delayed one hour so far. I'm feeling uncomfortably bloated in my too-tight jeans; I'm on a diet and failing at it. I'm listening, but not attentively anymore, to the first presidential debate between Obama and McCain; I am struck by how little they can say when they speak so very much. I'm reading Zadie Smith's On Beauty; I am only on page 25 and not fully drawn in yet, having just begun the book this afternoon. I am vaguely aware of slightly cold feet (is it ever a good idea to wear sandals on a flight? Good for security, goodness mitigated by the chill factor), of increasingly frizzy hair (how is it that it seems I can *feel* my hair frizzing? It is an actual physical sensation, my ever-widening halo), of passing exhaust fumes from both upper and lower passageways (I have eaten too much, probably; I have eaten too many fruits and vegetables, definitely). I am sort of content in being about to be on vacation, about to be in the home of the person who unquestionably loves me most in the world; I am sort of inspired, by the reading I've done this week, which reading has reminded me of my sometimes dormant utter love for great prose. Aside from the Zadie Smith, who has just given me this small gift -

...it is never really very cold in England. It is drizzly, and the wind will blow; hail happens, and there is a breed of Tuesday in January in which time creeps and no light comes and the air is full of water and nobody really loves anybody, but still a decent jumper and a waxen jacket lined with wool is sufficient for every weather England's got to give.

- I have also just read David Foster Wallace's essay collection Consider the Lobster. Let's digress a little, please, in good DFW fashion, to Consider the Author. David Foster Wallace is one of my all-time favorite writers. One of my many online networking site profiles[0] reads, in response to the "Who I'd Like To Meet" prompt, "People to hang out with now that I've moved to California (yikes!). And David Foster Wallace." His name appears again, actually, under the variously-named "Favorite Books" prompts as well, and this is true of my profile on each site, not just the one. David Foster Wallace killed himself last week, and a part of my brain and soul and psyche are still reeling from the loss.

Both the usage essay, which essay I've read before, and the families in the Smith book make me wish a little bit that I was a certain kind of person, which kind I am not, with a certain kind of family, which kind I don't have. And then everything gets all mixed up with what I want for my future and what kind of home life / family / parents my own children will have... and that leads us down a long dark hallway to the beat of a loudly ticking clock. Let's talk about that another time.

It is felicitous that I have read this particular collection of essays of his just now, which collection includes "Up, Simba", the long version of DFW's article for Rolling Stone about his days on the campaign trail with John McCain in 2000. I had not realized such an article existed; I was pleasantly surprised to find it at just this moment, mere weeks away from the election. I do not like this man, John McCain. I do not like him at all.

I didn't love the lobster essay itself, all that much, but it was ok; the essay I very nearly refrained from finishing (is that even possible?) is the final one in the book, "Host". It did, however, cause me to listen to the radio station KFI on my way to and from work today, and I kind of enjoyed that experience with all the expository background on the station and conservative talk radio still fresh in my mind. Here's my take on the "Fair and Balanced" Fox News and "Mainstream Media Liberal Bias" thing - mainstream media does present a fair and balanced picture, in actuality, and is also in fact liberal - BECAUSE PRESENTING A FAIR AND BALANCED PICTURE IS A LIBERAL IDEA.

God, get me on this plane quick, before I eat again. How is it that my lips are chapped and my throat is parched? It has been a 100-degree week in late summer in Southern California and I have been drinking and peeing all day. What the hell? Man I hate this diet.

[0] Why many? Isn't it integral to the very word _networking_ that things will be connected to one another? Then why are there all these different sites; moreover, why do I have profiles on so many of them; furthermoreover, why is my profile slightly different on each?

[1] APPlicable, people, not aPLICable. I get to care about this; DFW points out that people are pronouncing satyr as "satter"[*] in his essay on the porn industry.

[*] without explaining how it is properly to be pronounced, of course, unlike the case of applicable and me. I had to go to dictionary.com and listen to the little recording to be convinced that it's properly done "SATE-er". Weird.

OMG, DFW.

RIP.

The shape of your days becomes the shape of your life? Something like that.

The dance party last Monday was great; thanks for asking.

Sorry for not posting; it's been a busy busy time for me.

My facebook status currently reads: RDB does not have even one spare moment this week. She will begin breathing again on Saturday; do not attempt to interact with her before then.

I have a show on Thursday night; if you'd like to come see it, tickets are only $1000 each.


So there's your update and your apology and your post for now. I hope you're doing well.
love,love,love,
RDB, queen of semi-colons.

DANCE PARTY MONDAY NIGHT!!

So, I run this Monday night "mostly-couples" Israeli dance session in Westwood. We dance there every Monday night from 8 to midnight and you should come check it out.

BUT MOST ESPECIALLY, YOU SHOULD COME THIS MONDAY NIGHT BECAUSE WE ARE HAVING A PARTYYYYYYYYY!

Admission is half price (which means $5 instead of $10 general and only $3 for students) and it will be an extra-energetic and fun and wonderful night. Come with a bunch of people and you can all switch off partnering and trying a million fun dances. We're talking catered desserts here, friends. COME DANCE!!!!!

It's at the Liberal Arts Masonic Lodge at 2244 Westwood Blvd, between Olympic and Pico.

Okthanxbye.

Heye Chazak Vetitgaber

I'm kind of having a nervous breakdown. Here are some tidbits from the inside.

I kind of really kind of a little bit want this.

I have not yet started packing for my 4-day weekend dance camp 3,000 miles away, and I am going straight to the airport from work tomorrow. Oh, ha, it's not tomorrow anymore; it's today. Yay me.

It really annoys me that the pilot light on my stove goes out like every 5 minutes. Certainly every time I use the stove, which we all know is not very often (screw you) but it does happen. Like tonight, to boil water to make hot chocolate. That's cooking, right? So what annoys me most is that after I turn off the burner I'm using, I'm tempted to re-light the pilot light at that moment so I won't forget until two days later when my whole house smells like gas. BUT I'VE JUST BEEN USING THE BURNER, SO IT'S HOT. DON'T PICK IT UP TO MOVE IT OUT OF THE WAY TO GET TO THE PILOT LIGHT OR YOU MIGHT BURN YOURSELF. That didn't happen tonight, thanks. But it did happen once. (Apparently, I am still able to learn things.)

It's a good thing I don't do drugs. When I get wacked-out-stressed-out (like right now), I like to go on little self-destructive binges. No, really. The good news (I guess) is that I don't really have any real destructive materials at hand, so a binge for me consists of doing things like *watching four episodes of WEEDS instead of packing* and *eating microwave popcorn AND sugar-free jello AND fat-free yogurt instead of just one of those things*. I might, might, might, have a beer. But not always.

HERE'S THE IMPORTANT BIT:

I really really REALLY need to buy a new sound system, like, right now. Really, like two weeks ago, but my wayback machine isn't working so I'll settle for getting one before Monday. Too bad I go out of town tomorrow and don't get back to L.A. until Monday morning. I need sound advice. On sound. Advice on sound. Sound advice on sound. Get it? Yeah. So, think portable PA system (not Pennsylvania, you dope, public address). I currently have this and I'm trying to decide between something like the Fender Passport, the Peavey Messenger, the Yamaha Stagepass 300, or the JBL Eon System10. I need it to be light enough and small enough that I can carry it up the stairs to my apartment; I need it to be strong enough to play music for a room of 100 dancers for four hours straight every week; I need it to not cost more than I can afford. Do I want powered speakers so I have more power? Or do I just want a powered amp because a) that'll give me more flexibility in speaker positioning, not having to worry about outlets everywhere and b) I already freaking bought 150 feet of speaker cable that carries a charge because my current speakers are not powered.
HOW DO I FIGURE THIS OUT AND GET IT DONE IN THE NEXT TEN SECONDS?

By watching a few more episodes of WEEDS, clearly, and maybe eating (gasp) a granola bar.

So Owl wrote . . . and this is what he wrote:

HIPY PAPY BTHUTHDTH THUTHDA BTHUTHDY.

Pooh looked on admiringly.

"I'm just saying 'A Happy Birthday'," said Owl
carelessly.

"It's a nice long one," said Pooh, very much impressed
by it.

"Well, actually, of course, I'm saying 'A Very Happy
Birthday with love from Pooh.' Naturally it takes a good deal
of pencil to say a long thing like that."

"Oh, I see," said Pooh.

I love you, Alexis.

Things We Might Have Done

Home from camp, summer's over, depression sets in.
And so, a report:

Things I Did:
Hike to Nipple Rock at 5:30am
Hike somewhere else at 5:30am another time
Go for a scary but fantastic horseback ride
Walk 2+ miles each way to Coldstone's
Bike 2+ miles each way to Coldstone's
See Mamma Mia, Wall-e, and Dark Knight
Improve my Hebrew. A lot.
Go to Vegas and 600 other touristy LA things, on breaks
Jog the High Road a few times
Receive lots of fabulous notes and cards and letters and packages from my amazing friends.

Things I Didn't:
Make anything in the art room
Climb the Alpine Tower again or the Wall for the first time
Get into the batting cage or play other random sports
Jog the High Road more than a few times
Sleep, much
Send lots of fabulous notes and cards and letters and packages TO my amazing friends.

And since that accounting is not really so illuminating for you and was more for my own personal use, here's a little something for you... the long-awaited, eagerly-anticipated, critically-acclaimed Princess Story.

So, every session at camp we have a "Camp Mom", a woman who comes and stays at camp, usually with her family, to do the specific job of giving hugs to campers who need them. She also answers calls from parents asking about their kids, she deals with all problems of homesickness, she even, if she's good, bakes the essential Staff Snack on Thursday nights, so she is beloved not just by the campers but by everyone in a 3,000-acre radius.

First session this summer one of the camp moms was a woman who has done the job before and who is a very lovely lady. She has an Israeli firefighter husband and two unbelievably cute kids - one an insanely mischievous and rambunctious 3-year-old boy and the other a little girl of the so-cute-you-kind-of-want-to-eat-them variety. The girl is older, maybe 6 or 7 years old. She says to her mom one day, in their room, "Mommy, I think you should wear your hair curly."

"Why?", asks her mom.

"You know, don't straighten it, make it all curly."

"Ok," says her mom, trying to figure out where this is coming from. "Why do you think I should do that?"

"Then you could be on the microphone and dance around a lot."

"What??" says Mom, now utterly baffled, since this is completely out of context.

"Well, you know that girl with really curly hair who is on the microphone all the time and dances around a lot and IS A PRINCESS? Well, if you wear your hair curly, maybe you could be like her."

OH. MY. GOD. This UNDENIABLY ADORABLE child has summed up my looks and my job at camp by calling me that girl with really curly hair who is on the microphone all the time and dances around a lot and IS A PRINCESS.

I am in love.

You will take my complaints on the chin and think, "It's only Amnon."

I recently read The Genizah at the House of Shepher by Tamar Yellin, another free book sent to me as an early reviewer at Library Thing. It was the second book in two months to employ the expression "chalk and cheese" which I had hitherto never heard. But that's not why I'm mentioning it here. I'm mentioning it here because of this paragraph, from page 32. Aside from the bit about reading at speed, I have to say... well, ouch.

He had his books spread ostentatiously on the table when his guest arrived, to create the impression of a great scholar, though in fact he was nothing of the kind. Raphaelovitch had read a great many books in his time, but was hampered by his inability to remember any of them. All he could recall were the titles, of which he kept a careful list tucked inside his sleeve for emergencies. He read at speed, believing that the mind could retain more that way. Apart from the standard texts he never went over a book twice, since anything of importance must have been stored in his brain the way sedimentary rocks are laid down by time. On the other hand, any book, once read, became his possession, and he could not bear to part with it.

Camp is Camp is Here Again.

Well, the reason I haven't been posting in a while is that I'm back at my summer job, the Dance Director of a sleepaway camp that is obsessed with Israeli dance. I know you wouldn't have thought such a thing existed, but you would have been wrong. I have three assistants working just for me and all four of us are busy non-stop all day every day.

However, it was last summer when I was at camp that this whole blog thing actually got going, so it doesn't seem right to be silent all summer this year. Perhaps more blogging will come soon after my performance next week at the Walt Disney Concert Hall, rehearsals for which are making me extra-double-tired after already being camp-exhausted because I have to leave my dance job to drive 25 miles to dance really hard at rehearsal for 2-5 hours and then drive back to camp. Starting Wednesday everything will be easier, right?? Right.

Um, adding to the tiredness is the fact that after leading dancing last night for 300ish people from 9pm to 2am, approximately, I met some friends at 5:30am to go on a hike up to Nipple Rock, which was gorgeous and wonderful (and completely out of character for RDB, except when she's at camp), and we got back in time to shower and make it to breakfast at 9, so it's been kind of an intense day. In an utterly camp kind of way. I love it.

AAAAAaand, I know it's never a good or interesting idea to do this, but: I owe you the Princess Story. It's fabutastic.