Jews at rest

Last night, I beat Riva 2-1 in a Rummy Kub tournament up in Woodstock.


Chaya (like my own sister) has gone vegan since I last saw her.


The Chabad made it up to Woodstock.


Menorah hugger.


We made a splash on our return to Manhattan at my favorite cheap restaurant, 16 Handles.


A perfect day with my bff.

Movies and Chinese food: that's how we do it.

It's a tradition, one night of the year, for the members of my tribe to join forces with Chinese cuisine. Tonight was my first time ever at Taste of China, which is on the corner of my street. I can't honestly say that I'll be rushing back for seconds, but if I'm still in Astoria next Christmas, they will probably see me again.

Typically, I celebrate Jesus' arrival on Earth with a movie marathon. Because of the recession, this year I cut back to two movies. First, I saw Wendy and Lucy, which bored me. Then I happened upon the French movie, The Secret of the Grain, which was beautiful and smart. Neither was as addictive as the television show, Friday Night Lights, which has consumed me for the past couple of days.

The best part of my day was my train ride home. A woman sitting near me watched as I scribbled some notes in my journal:
Woman on the train: Are you a writer of something?
Me: Trying to be.
Woman: Because you write so small.
Me: Yeah, I guess it's kind of compulsive.
Woman: You should write a book, a novel; make some money.
Me: I don't think there's much money in books.
Woman: Well, it's an investment.

I'm still not sure what she meant by "an investment" (besides time); I didn't ask. When I got off the train at my stop, I thanked her and told her to have a nice night. I'll take any encouragement I can get, even from strangers on the train.

Hanukah observed

In the beginning,

G-D created

an unhealthy Hanukah treat

made with sugar, flour, butter, salt, eggs, preserves, and

LOTS of hot oil

known as

Sufganiyot.

Happy Hanukah!

My name is not Bagels.

This is the story about the ways in which UPS does not care about me, or perhaps the Jews as a people.

Almost two weeks ago, I had the idea to send my darling friend, Sandra a dozen Ess-a-Bagels for a surprise Christmas present. I wanted her to get the delivery while the bagels were still fresh and with plenty of time to enjoy them before she left Cambridge for Winter Break. I hand-selected a dozen of Essa's finest, and then walked south to the East Village UPS store to overnight the gift.

The charming and attractive woman at UPS took care of my order with ease. Nothing to worry about, I told myself. The bagels were estimated to arrive by the following afternoon.

I took the train back to Queens, checked "send Sandra bagels" off my to-do list, and patiently waited for the thank-you text which would clearly appear on my phone within twenty-four hours. Nothing happened.

The next evening, I checked UPS' site, and found that the package had been marked "Delivered." But no text from Sandra? It didn't take long to discover the bagels were missing.

Sandra scoured her apartment building and her neighbors' homes. I called UPS, and was sent through a series of phone calls, holds, more phone calls, and more holds with a random apology here and there. I was met with some assurance that the good people of UPS were concerned and had an investigative team on the job, searching for my bagels, everyday in the wild growing a little bit staler.

As time moved forward, I would call UPS and as soon as they heard my voice, they would ask, "Is this the bagels?" Sadly, I would answer, "Yes." This point of recognition evolved. When UPS picked up, I would say, "Hi, this is the bagels." Not "This is Gili, calling about the bagels." To them, I became a doughy treat with a hole in the middle.

This Friday, after being given the run-around about my refund all week, I received a phone call from Sandra. Her neighbors across the street were holding a mysterious package from a "Gili Warsett." Ten days had passed.

Sandra finally had a dozen mostly stale, but still edible bagels.

Our strategy is to not tell UPS that the bagels have been found. Instead, I will go in to the store this week and demand my shipping.

Bagels wants her money back!

a-muse-ment

Gossip never changes from my old workplace. It's strange to leave a job and then continue to drink with my old coworkers. Not so secretly, they talk quite a bit about the main inspiration for one of the characters in my latest story, so there's some greater motive for me to socialize. Luckily, they know that I'm stealing information from them.

So far, my goals for the last two weeks of the year are going much slower than anticipated. (I know, it's only been a day.) Today my calendar is cleared.

Plans for the rest of the year

Back in Queens, hanging out with my dear friend, Veronica. She helped me create a list of goals for the remaining two weeks of 2008:

1. Write fifty pages of fiction (preferably of some quality).
2. Apply to twenty jobs. Hopefully most of these positions will be desirable.
3. Submit to four contests or lit mags.
4. Research (and consider applying to) two summer writing residencies.

Here I go...

Just as I suspected

Matt and Connie are my suburban-couple-friends. I wouldn't know what to do if they decided to get divorced, I mean if they broke up. No matter how much things change, life remains calm and consistent in their home.

I like knowing what's around the corner.

Ah, stability.

Brunch at Soundbites. Matt and Connie, wise old friends.


And of course, Riva.




Sandra and little Chippy!







I've never seen Sandra so stressed. Here she is, double-fisting at Ben & Jerry's in order to make it through finals and winter.

I just can't stay away.

Two weeks later, I return for another round with the Cambridge cast of characters.

pump and scallion

This bagel's for you, Jen H. I ate every bite.

I hope you enjoyed your spaghetti.

Congratulations for creating a perfect list!

Oh, Astoria. How could I forsake you?

More reasons to love Astoria: BINGO Tuesdays at Blackbird's.


As soon as we arrived at Blackbird's, I confessed that I am an amazing BINGO player. And yet, and yet! I lost every round. Not just a little, but cremated.


My very unlucky BINGO board.


On the other hand, Alexis rocked the BINGO. She won a t-shirt and a round of shots for us.


Here she is, confirming her stroke of genius/luck with BINGO Bob. Verified: winner.

Victory is ours! Well, hers, but mine by default.

Side note: best film of the month (maybe longer) is Wild Combination: A Portrait of Arthur Russell. Watch it. Cry your eyes out, etc.

The sweet sound of Muzak/victory

Back when I lived in the Bay Area—no, don’t stop reading, this will be good!— I used to stop by Rite Aid on my lunch break from Good Vibrations in order to decompress from all the stress of working in a collective. My favorite part of roaming the aisles was not assessing the packaging of all the products or touching the displays. No, what I enjoyed most was the Muzak. There is nothing more soothing than a little smooth jazz to put me in my quiet place.

For my anxiety, I tried Rescue Remedy. I tried all sorts of things that will remain unmentioned. Nothing worked like Muzak.

After leaving the Bay Area, I read an article in the New Yorker about a woman who worked at Muzak. Immediately, I knew that this was the company for me. The power! The opportunity to control the minds of consumers through music was too great. Unfortunately, Muzak does not have headquarters in New York.

Last month while attending a party, I happened to mention to my old friend, Beth how much I loved Muzak, how one of my dream jobs would be to work for the company. She not only refused to understand my passion for Muzak, she seemed to despise piped-in music altogether.

One note about Beth is that we have very similar musical tastes. Today in Astoria, as I waited for my passport photos to be printed at Rite Aid, I listened to the soothing sounds of Dolly Parton and Bill Withers piped-in (like the voices of angels) from above. Now, I happen to know that Beth is a HUGE fan of Dolly Parton and I can only hope that she loves Bill Withers.

I ran home to find her on gchat and tell her the news.

I did a little research, and it turns out: "Rite Aid's music and message delivery is served by Muzak, a leading music, messaging and sound systems provider. Muzak is POP Radio's key strategic partner and primary messaging delivery platform."

After Beth became privy to the facts, she insisted that she never hated Muzak, she hated muzac based on this quote, “Muzak, the company, no longer programs muzac, the 'gentle instrumental arrangements of popular music designed for playing in shopping malls, grocery stores, department stores, public toilets, telephone systems (while the caller is on hold), cruise ships, airports, on television shows, doctors' and dentists' offices, and elevators.'

Her conclusion: “So if you want to work for Muzak, go ahead. As you discovered in Rite Aid, they program good music.”

Sometimes, it's okay to just come out and say, "I'm sorry, Gili. I was wrong. I'm a fool."



This week's culture check:

Movie- Milk (really sloppy. Maybe Gus Van Sant’s worst) A much better movie about the politician is The Times of Harvey Milk
Book- In Pharaoh’s Army (a Tobias Wolff book I’ve never been able to read all the way through because of my instant lack of interest in war stories)
Food- Joe and I celebrated my interview, his play, and our reuniting post-Thanksgiving at my childhood favorite, Olive Garden in Chelsea, which was amazing (though pricey), proving you can indeed go home again, especially when home equals an endless salad and bread sticks.

Only 189.90 miles apart

I gather from being around other families that my family spends more than the average amount of time processing. Lucky enough for Riva, sometimes she gets to sit in on our soul-searching discussions. At least she had a decent helping of chocolate to tide her over during tonight's honesty session.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: everybody needs a Riva. Thanks for lying down in the aisle of the bookstore with me. And thanks for warning me about the puddle, even if you couldn't get the words out in time.

last day in Boston (for now)

Sandra's back in Cambridge, pouting about having to leave the Bay and go back to school.


I practiced my photography during brunch.


I hadn't noticed Sandra's cheekbones before this morning's photo shoot.


And I said goodbye to my favorite pup, Chip.