Friday, February 27, 2015

Friday Links

And you thought Jewish singles had it tough. 30,000 possibilities at a singles event? Hoo-ee. 

Did you do your good deed for the day?

Thursday, February 26, 2015

Sleep, the Magic Drug

I'm serious about sleep. I need it the way an infant does, and I cry if I don't get it, the way an infant does. Every evening, I slowly power down like an obsolete computer, complete with checklist. No liquids past 7:30. TV off at 9. 15-30 minutes of reading, in dim, non-stimulating lighting. 

I can then reboot to greet the new day early and cheerfully.
Ergo, I am always a tad baffled when conversing with those who sleep in short, casual sequences: typically, guys. Many, many a date has told me these exact words: "Sleep? Five hours, that's all I need." Uh-huuuuuh. 

I couldn't help but think of these fellows when perusing an interview of Arianna Huffington and Kobe Bryant.

Philip Galenes (interviewer): Next up: Sleep. How much do you get?

KB: I’ve grown. I used to get by on three or four hours a night. I have a hard time shutting off my brain. But I’ve evolved. I’m up to six to eight hours now.

PG: What changed?

KB: Growing up and understanding the importance of shutting down and unwinding.

AH: Which is huge in a culture where people brag about how little sleep they get, like a macho thing: “Oh, I only need four hours.” And it coincides with the new science about the connections between sleep and health, cleaning out the toxins of the day, the connection between sleep deprivation and Alzheimer’s.

PG: Sounds like a miracle drug.

AH: But I was one of the delusional ones. It wasn’t until my wake-up call of collapsing from exhaustion in 2007 that I started prioritizing sleep.

PG: Any sleep rituals?

AH: My transition is a hot bath and absolutely no devices. All phones and computers are escorted out of my bedroom at least an hour before bed. And real books that have nothing to do with work.

Getting too little sleep results in . . . well, death, new studies are showing. Our bodies and minds need it. Claiming to be above sleep is just macho posturing. Macho posturing rarely ends well. 

I've heard from a number of people how they suffer from insomnia and are simply bad sleepers, but when I ask them what their sleep ritual is, they have none. Makeup doesn't just happen, healthy diets doesn't just happen, being fit doesn't just happen, and sleep doesn't just happen. There's even a term for it: sleep hygiene. If there is a nightly protocol, it works, studies also show.
Now how attractive is that?
Pack away anything with a screen, read or meditate to clear the mind, 3 mg of melatonin prior can also help, and go to bed and get up the same time.

It's okay. You can still be cool and sleep seven hours a night. 

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

It's Not You, It's Not Me



"But why?"





"Eeeeeh. Just 'eeeeeh.'"


"But why?" 


B'H, I got wise. Eventually.






Which is what I want to do.       

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Friend-ship, Not Friend-ing

The word "friend" seems to have lost its meaning. The title's potency has diminished over the centuries, and getting verbed by Facebook was the final nail on the coffin. When I looked it up in the dictionary, the definition was rather dispassionate.
Is it just me, or should "friendship" evoke a great attachment, a sincere mutuality of love and caring? A friend is not merely someone with whom to go shopping and a movie. A friend is not the poor sucker you call up and kvetch to after an unpleasant annoyance, then don't contact when something good happens or when the other could use an empathetic ear. A friend is not someone who has a place in another's life only when it's convenient.
Friendship is not a one-sided state of being. It shouldn't serve only half. It should bring out the best in both parties, not the worst. It should mean fierce loyalty and deep compassion.

David Brooks' "Startling Adult Friendships" lists the benefits of friendships (better decisions, freedom to be oneself, improved character). I tried to think of those examples in real life, not just in terms of my own relationships, but of others. I couldn't really come up with any couple that I have observed in its natural habitat that truly represented selfless, transcendent friendship. 
You know how many times I read in frum forums: "I met this great girl/guy. I'm so happy. My friend, though, says I'm making a mistake, but doesn't give me any reasons why." 

Are those "friends" really looking out for their swooning pal, or are they simply jealous and fear being alone after their chum prances off into the sunset? 

Brooks' solution—if he was magically granted millions, mind you—would be to built a friendship retreat, mixing up a diverse group of individuals and allowing them to get to know each other. 

While friendship does need time and joint activities to form, just because twenty people are thrown together doesn't necessarily guarantee a relationship. "See you soon, keep in touch" is uttered often, but rarely the promise is practiced. Friendships cannot be forced. There is an element of bashert, there, too. 

Monday, February 23, 2015

The Cheater's Way

Giada de Laurentiis, Ina Garten ("The Barefoot Contessa"), and Rachael Ray were cooking together on a talk show. Each of them topped their dishes with copious fistfuls of parmesan cheese.
Besides for my annoyance at this traifening of potentially kosher meat dishes, I consider parmesan cheese to be the cheater's way out of cooking. Let's be honest: Shredded cardboard would taste fabulous if flavored with that much cheese.

When watching true chefs, like Jacques Pépin (Fast Food My Way, Essential Pépin) and my newly discovered runner-up, Michael Smith (Chef at Home), parmesan rarely gets any screen time. They concoct supreme deliciousness without relying on—in my opinion—the cheater's way out by adding unnecessary sodium and calories.

I am equally unwelcoming to soy sauce, in which one tablespoon contains at least one-third of the daily value of sodium. The reduced version brings it down to one-quarter.
Food does not have to be salty, fatty, or cheesy in order to dance upon the tip of the tongue. It does require a little technique, an awareness of what general flavors work well together, a willingness to learn, and a dash of patience. Sometimes one even discovers an easier, yet tastier, way of doing things.

Example: For years, Ma would mince onions before sautéing, which can be a hassle. But from Laura Calder (French Food at Home), not even one of her usual quotable television chefs, she learned that simply slicing the onions thinly—into half-moons—results in a different, yet heavenly result.
She also found out that by mixing a serious spoonful of paprika (regular and smoked) into the oil gives her staple paprikás fabulous flavor.
Ma is a fan of shortcuts; it could be said, even, that she often cheats. But her cheats results in succulent, yet nourishing, meals.   

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Baba Ganoush

Eggplant has been an under-appreciated vegetable in my house. Ma's lecho/ratatoullie always featured zucchini alone. Until recently, it never even crossed the threshold.

It was at my sister's house that Ma was introduced to baba ganoush, albeit store-bought. She frankly admitted that it was the mayonnaise content, but she was taken. 

Well, why couldn't we make our own? 

It was a gradual process, pinpointing the seasoning we like for our tame Ashkenazi palates. After some experimenting, we concocted a version that suits us quite well. 

Like the happy-accidental incorporation of roasted orange pepper. After cleaning out Mrs. H's supply on a visit to her house, it became clear we dig roasted orange pepper, which is now a Shabbos staple. Since the eggplant and the pepper are in the oven at the same time, why not chuck some into the baba ghanoush?

For those not familiar with nutritional yeast, allow me to acquaint the two of you. Nutritional yeast is a deactivated yeast that is chock full of nutrients while being a complete protein. "Nooch" has a cheesy, salty flavor while conveniently pareve and devoid of actual sodium. (I've heard it's great on popcorn.)
Most baba ganoush recipes call for tahini, but hey, we're Hungarians. I used mayo instead, obviously much less than the store-bought version. But after a sisterly visit, a container of tahini was left behind (her kids dig dips), much to Ta's delight. I purchased a jar online to compare the flavors.

Apple cider vinegar is one of those miraculous entities that supposedly cure everything. I use it on my hair and my face, and in my food. I've been using it to pickle my cucumber salad, to flavor cooked beets, and now, for baba ganoush.

Tool of choice: I hate using a blender for this—actually, I hate blenders altogether—although if you don't have an immersion blender, get two.
Cleanup is much, much easier than with blenders.  (Chef Michael Smith whips up his smoothies, marinades, dressings, everything with a ball jar with and an immersion blender.)      

Baba Ganoush

2 medium eggplants
1 or 2 orange peppers
1 head of garlic
Squirt of Sriracha sauce (or hot sauce, chili sauce)
Hefty shakes of nutritional yeast
Dollop of mayo or tahini
Splash of apple cider vinegar 
Black pepper, just a touch

Cut eggplant any which way, stab all over with a fork, and place in pan to roast in the oven. Cut off the top of the garlic head, exposing the cloves within, drizzle in oil, and wrap in foil. Chop up the orange pepper, toss in oil, black pepper, and garlic powder (that way it tastes awesome in and out of the baba ganoush). 

After an hour or so, if everything looks nice and roasted, take everything out. (I would recommend waiting for it to cool but who actually waits?) Scrape the flesh off the eggplant skin, although if any clings on that's fine. The flavor is pretty awesome in the skin, too.

Blend together. Tastes better after chillin' in the fridge for a bit. 

Tuesday, February 17, 2015


The Ebola sourge has, b'H, passed. Not so many months ago Ebola was decimating Africa, inspiring Americans to go bonkers.
There were a number of articles about the misapplied terror over a possible U.S. Ebola outbreak. The ones that I noted were "Scarier Than Ebola" by Frank Bruni; "The Quality of Fear" by David Brooks; and "What Are You So Afraid Of?" by Akiko Busch. 

Bruni dryly lists the more common dangers to Americans that appear to be unnoticed: flu mortality rates (which could be rectified by actually getting the flu shot), car crash victims (more than 50% die unbuckled), and the top cancer, skin (have you been on a summer beach lately? They splay themselves on the sand and roast). And what the hell is it with people not vaccinating their kids?!

Brooks attempts to explain the Ebola frenzy by delving into the current cultural mindset: our "segmented society"; those who are averse to globalization; instant news; and our fear of the inevitable, death. All those factors, Brooks writes, festered into a perfect storm of fear.

Busch utilizes the Ebola reaction to write about the concept of fear itself. Fear originates in the biological drive to survive, flight-or-fight. But it seems completely arbitrary in how it grips; childhood experiences can cripple adults, who ignore more frightening matters that require immediate damage control. 
We have clear directives about what is really worth our fear. Participants in the real parade of horrors include radical changes in the carbon cycle, the rate of species extinction, extreme weather, genetically modified food, institutional financial misconduct that puts our security at risk. The archive of very real menaces threatening us now is so full, it would seem we hardly know how to choose what to be scared of.
Except that we do choose, and what we choose are generally the ordinary fears such as heights, public speaking, insects, reptiles. They are all things that have about as much chance of harming us as the characters behind some of this season’s top trending scary costumes: zombies, werewolves and cast members from “Duck Dynasty.”
Confession: I hate the dark. I require it to sleep, but being out at night really gets to me. I'm ecstatic when the daytime is extended, when I can arrive home from work with a touch of sunlight illuminating my path. 

I know (now) that there are no such thing as spontaneously generating monsters under my bed. But my feet remained fully protected, every night. If they protrude from the blanket, I frantically cover them again. It's insane and ridiculous and pointless, but glancing at my family tree, I shall forever shield my toes from nightly exposure.
We all have our own skeletons of horror rattling in our heads. But we shouldn't allow them to distract us from the really important matters that must be tackled. Additionally, we shouldn't allow ourselves to become unduly absorbed in the un-important. (Yes, I'm talking about you, "shidduch crisis.")
I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.
— "The Litany Against Fear," Dune by Frank Herbert.       

Monday, February 16, 2015

Where Art Thou

I had arrived home from the date rather fakoched. I already knew I didn't want to see him again, but was calculating if I could set him up with a family friend. 

I lay in bed, as the clock ticked past midnight, all too awake. I had been yawning vociferously on the tail end of the evening, so I was frustrated by this sleep-depriving tension. The disappointment of yet another failed outing had tensed my muscles and raised my blood pressure.

That evil little voice that pops up at the most inconvenient of moments was chirping: "So, another date gone, and nothing to show for it. When will this be over, huh? When will this second-guessing, hair-pulling, time be put to rest? What will become of you? Will anything change?"
I tried using my methods I learned to sleep-relax; deep, rhythmic breathing, the repetition of a name or mantra (currently "Andrew Weil"). While it usually worked for me before, my body was still stiff and unwilling to release. 

Suddenly, an unbidden, yet welcome thought pinged: The Eibishter isn't against me. He is with me.

Like a popped balloon, the anxiety drained out, allowing me to sink cozily into the bedding. I was finally drowsy, and repeated to myself only three more times before I drifted off: 

"The Eibishter is with me."  

Thursday, February 12, 2015

Facebook Feeding Frenzy

When I first joined Facebook at a shadchan's suggestion—the woman never set me up, by the way—it was a new, sparkling world. I eagerly friended any poor soul that had ever crossed my path. I posted pictures of family occasions that no one cared about. I tried to come up with witty, steady updates. (Now I occupy my time with trying to come with witty, steady blog posts.) 

But after a few years, the gleam began to fade. Perhaps it felt like too much work, but I think what eventually got to me was the inauthenticity: I don't really know any of these people. And the people that I do know never login anyway.

Why I am I spending so much time with all these strangers? 

I am not the only one to have FB Fatigue; Richard Morgan wrote about his experience in "Kicking the Facebook Habit." He was a master ninja at facebooking, then he deactivated his account. He realized how much of his recorded life was strictly for social media, and began to live it instead. 
I caught myself watching folks in parks and subways looking at Facebook, so many blue-lit zombie stares. I guess that works for them, I told myself with my jealous-ex snark. It reminded me of my sister, who once eschewed meat and began calling it “carcass.” I wanted to scream, “Soylent Green”-style, “Facebook is made of people! Peeeeeople!”
I do look back on my younger self with some embarrassment, for her oversharing and confusing friending with friendship. I have scraped away a good chunk of the extraneous material from my profile, such as "friends," all photos (except the shidduch friendly one, I did activate the damn thing for that reason, right?), removed TV shows "likes" since I won't do their advertising for them, and only post if I desperately need some information that the remaining few could possibly help me with.
But then, ah, but then, there are all those luscious FB groups and pages where 1 out of 10 memes are mildly entertaining . . . well, maybe I'm not done with it completely, yet. Ideally, I would "like" to be.       

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Choose to be Happy

It would seem, based on the research, that frummie prevalence of dating strictly for marriage scores us points. 

As Tara Parker-Pope reports in "The Decisive Marriage," relationships that came into being through decision-making, as opposed to "just happened" couples, are better off. 

Nearly every sitcom I watch now has some sort of the awkward "Is this a date?" premise. Those situations mimic reality, as the article mentions that specific unsureness. Thank goodness, we shidduch-system gals always know that it's a date. (Our opinion on the guy that shows up at the door is another matter.)
Additionally, those who had cluttered romantic pasts did not score as high in marital quality. It had always been believed that the more experience one has (in everything), the better off one is; not so when it comes to romantic relationships. The experience gained leads to comparisons. Conclusion: Ignorance is bliss.

Another thing in frummie favor: Big weddings tend to equal happy marriages. The reason for that is still unknown; one theory is that big weddings involve a lot of planning, and the couple that plans together, stays together.
Since our wedding sizes usually make gentiles gasp (most halls around here have insane minimums), the bigger, the better?  

Monday, February 9, 2015

Favorite Authoress: Colleen McCullough




Talk about a day job.        

Friday, February 6, 2015

Best. Captain. EVA.

Ah, nothing like the claustrophobia of a subway car resembling a sardine can. 

The woman squashed next to me was working on a crossword puzzle on her phone. I idly read the clues over her shoulder, then my head snapped up when I saw: "Captain Jean-_____ Picard, Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise." She had flicked past to the next clue, apparently ignorant of the answer.

"It's 'Luc'!" I exclaimed. 

"L-U-C?" she casually replied. 

"Yes! Yes!" 

She languidly typed it in.
Good deed for the day? Done.  

Thursday, February 5, 2015

You Shall Not PASS!

In crime shows, it's fun to see the computer mastermind exposed. Usually the perpetrator is a lonely youngster, ignored by the popular girls, and he can pretend to be whatever he wants as he slouches over the keyboard.
Trolls. I am happy to report that my comment feed has been violated only rarely by such sad, sad people. For that is how I see them: Sad, sad people. 

It is simply cowardice. While trolling, there is no accountability. If admired peers were present, trolls wouldn't type like that. It's a cheap attempt to boost oneself by bringing others down. 

But even as they mindlessly fling out insults to alleviate their own feelings of misery and powerlessness, those off-the-cuff remarks can do damage.

Stephanie Rosenbloom's "Dealing With Digital Cruelty" cites professional advice for how to navigate internet nastiness.
One way to become proactive is to ask yourself if those barbs you can’t seem to shrug off have an element of truth. (Glaringly malicious posts can be dismissed.) If the answer is yes, Professor Suler has some advice:
Let your critics be your gurus.
“You can treat them as an opportunity,” he said. Ask yourself why you’re ruminating on a comment. “Why does it bother you?” Professor Suler said. “What insecurities are being activated in you?”
I was not particularly taken with this counsel, since I would be spending way more time agonizing than the few seconds it took for a complete stranger to post an insult. Then I would dwell more on my perceived failings than actually progressing. 
Yet even when a person is alone, humor can be effective. Try reading nasty comments aloud in a goofy voice, Professor Pawelski advised, so that when your mind automatically plays back the comment it sounds absurd, or at the very least loses a bit of its bite.
Ah, Daffy Duck voice. Or Yoda voice! "Suck, you do."
In the quest to quell the cruel, we often fail to savor the good. And there is, despite the meanies, much good whirring around cyberspace. Some 70 percent of Internet users said they “had been treated kindly or generously by others online,” according to a Pew report early this year.
Rather than scrolling past a dozen positive comments and lingering on the sole exception, what if you did the opposite? And what if you shared a couple of the good ones with friends instead of sharing the one that hurt you? Research shows that it takes more time for positive experiences to become lodged in our long-term memory, so it’s not just pleasurable to dwell on a compliment — it’s shrewd.
In general, we focus more on the bad than the good. Being grateful doesn't just happen; one has to be aware. 

That reminded me of a story I heard from Rabbi Dr. Abraham Twersky; he was being evaluated, and received scores of positive feedback, except for one in the negative. That single bad review amongst all that glowing compliments really got to him.
Don't let the gremlins get you.       

Wednesday, February 4, 2015

Only So Much


















But my date was not promising. 

Next time, maybe.      

Tuesday, February 3, 2015

"Excellent Sheep"



But colleges today no longer provide that experience. 
The system pressures them to be excellent, but excellent sheep.
Doesn't that sound an awful lot like the current dating scene? 



Monday, February 2, 2015

It's Not About You




"But I understand perfectly," I swiftly commiserated. 

I can guess where her worried disclaimer came from. 


Let's break this down: 

Item 1: A widow. 


Item 2: Compassion.






Touchable Hands

She grasped my hand while making a point

"Your hands are so soft!" she gasped, momentarily distracted. 

Yup, also part of the regimen

Every night, I rub lotion thoroughly on my hands, then place on gloves that are meant to keep the moisture in.
My hands don't chap in winter anymore, even after washing dishes on Friday night, when I can't re-moisturize. 

However, due to a circulation issue, while my hands may be soft, the skin itself looks freakish in cold weather. They take on a blotchy, reddened/empurpled hue. The only time they look good is first thing in the morning, nice and warm from under the covers.

Anywho, in the winter, my moisturizer of choice is Nourish Organic Raw Shea Butter. It's 100% shea butter. It's firm, so I scrape it off with a nail, but it melts deliciously into skin.