FINSBURY PARK

First, I'd just like to say right off that I had nothing to do with the alarm. There's no way I could have set it off from where I was. It had nothing whatsoever to do with me.

Anyway, so I left here to go to the synagogue--I'd tried calling, but there was no answer, and their answering machine ("answerphone") was full. So I decided to just show up and see if anyone was there.

I left here and caught the Eastbound Picadilly Line Tube to the Manor House station. The little digital readout on the subway said, "This train is for COCKFOSTERS." Now, I must say that I have no idea what a cockfoster is, but I think I can say with a fair amount of certainty that I am not one. I was offended.

At any rate, I did eventually get to the correct station without further insult.

The synagogue is tiny, and kind of sad. I mean, not that it would make much difference if people had painted swastikas on the scrolls at a rich church, but something about this tiny little synagogue that is obviously not a rich congregation was just so sad. They'd cleaned up most of the glass from the broken windows and such, but there was still graffiti on the doors, and the front and back yards were full of all kinds of trash.

Nobody was anywhere to be found, so I thought maybe I should just leave. But there was a big dumpster-thingy in the front yard, and the yard was so full of trash...so I ended up going to the corner store, picking up a roll of trash bags ("refuse bags" according to the label) and a pair of gloves, and spending the afternoon cleaning up the yard.

At about 1:30, I heard a noise as I was approaching one of the doors, but it seemed too quiet for an alarm, so I thought it just must be some kind of very noisy air conditioner.

At about 2:30, two very serious-looking men in suits arrived and wandered around looking at things, and then eventually came over, showed me their police badges, and started asking me questions about how long the alarm had been going off. I said that I didn't know, but I'd been hearing it since 1:30, and that I wasn't actually a member of the congregation, but had just been picking up trash. Then I had a panicked moment where I actually thought they might arrest me for saying "trash" instead of "rubbish," but evidently they were feeling magnanimous and let me off the hook. I said "trash" three more times in the course of the conversation, and each time mentally kicked myself.

I did discover not one but two tiny little frogs, and being Jewish frogs, I named them Schlomo and Moishe. I briefly considered taking them home, but eventually realized that it might not be such a good idea.

Later in the afternoon, I scratched my arm on this sticky plant, and thought, "Wow, that really stings." It continued to bother me, and I thought I must have somehow gotten a splinter in my arm or something. Then I noticed the hives.

So I called my friend, Sarah, and we had the following conversation:

Me: Sarah, are there any poisonous plants here?

Sarah: Well, not really all that poisonous.

Me: I mean, like Poison Ivy or something.

Sarah: Well, not Poison Ivy...I mean, there are Stinging Nettles, for example....

Me: Well, I just scratched myself on this plant, and it really stings,

Sarah: That would be why they call them "Stinging Nettles."

So yes, I also discovered Stinging Nettles, which was not nearly so fun a discovery, and frankly, one I could have done without.

Nothing particularly exciting happened after that. Er, well, I met this nice man from North Wales who told me I absolutely had to visit there in November, and I also met this very odd Jewish guy who initiated a conversation with me trying to prove that he was more Jewish than I was, a conversation which I didn't take part in, mostly because I didn't like him much. It was sort of one of those things where he was posturing and trying to make out like he had more right to be upset about things because he is *from* Israel. I don't know why Jewish men sometimes do this--it's really dumb. I mean, I could use the "Oh yeah, my dad's a concentration camp survivor" trump card, but why? It's stupid.

Stephen used to do this to me. He hadn't seen the inside of a synagogue since he was a kid, and I went to a Messianic Jewish congregation once a week. And every Jewish holiday, I'd wish him a happy whatever or a solemn whatever or whatever the appropriate greeting was, and I'd get the "Judaism Lite" comments from him. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Oh. Note to Self: Next time you decide to spend the afternoon bending over and picking things up off of the ground, DO NOT wear a v-necked t-shirt, or anything similarly low-cut.

Anyway.

So I managed to clean all of the trash out of the front and side yards, and by then I was utterly exhausted and realized that the back yard would probably take an entire day all by itself, so I quit.

And left the frogs.

All right, so part of me actually thought that if I took the frogs, I'd be stealing frogs from a synagogue, and that was a major factor. Also, although these frogs were really cute, I thought that they might not like being moved, and that would be a kind of cruel thing to do to frogs just because I liked them so much.

At any rate, now I am utterly utterly exhausted. I probably shouldn't have worked out on Peter's rowing machine this morning, but I sort of feel like I have all this time, and the least I can do is get into some semblance of shape.

I need to somehow get up the energy to go to congregation tonight, but all I really want to do is collapse on a couch and watch awful television and have someone bring me a cup of tea.

I have half an hour to make up my mind for sure.

I'll keep you posted.

Look at me! Look at how energetic I am! Look how fast I am moving!

No, really.

MY PLANS

Well, last night I didn't do much, mainly because I left here at about 7:00, and it took me almost three hours to get home because of broken-down trains. So I don't have much of an update on anything new, other than I suppose telling you what my plans are for the next two days.

I'm about to take off from here and visit a synagogue that was desecrated/vandalized last Saturday, to see if they need any help with the clean-up efforts. I didn't realize that they had volunteers coming by to help until last night, but now that I know I'm going to see if there's anything I can do.

Then tonight I'm going to check out Messianic Jewish Congregation #2 to see if I can find a place to go that doesn't describe all non-Jewish Semitic Peoples as "The Wicked." Wish me luck.

Tomorrow morning I am probably going to watch a football/soccer match. Please don't bug me about this. It looks interesting. Heaven help me.

Then tomorrow night I'm going to be meeting up with Possibly Laurence and then seeing this band, which should be fun.

I seem to recall making plans with someone for Sunday, but I don't remember what they are. I think I'm going to have to start keeping a calendar.

Anyway, that's it. If something terribly exciting happens, I'll let you know.

NO, REALLY, I MEAN IT. THE MOST BORING WOMAN IN LONDON

Do you know what amuses me? This is pathetic. I giggle every day over job listings that I run across for things like "Penetration Specialist" or, today's favorite, "Domino Developer." What do you figure that last one does? Paint the little white dots?

I KNOW THIS IS NOT FUNNY. And yet this is how I amuse myself every day. I cannot help but think these things when I look at these job sites.

Somebody save me.

Help me, Obi Wan.

THE MOST BORING WOMAN IN LONDON

I'm conscious of the fact that when I say something, either here or in person, it comes off as a general statement about life instead of the way I feel right at that second. For example, if I say that I'm terribly bored here, it might just be at that moment, or maybe I've been bored off and on for the last week, but it's not like I spend every moment of every day bored. I'm just conscious of bored moments.

I've had quite a few lately. I like running around and seeing things, but some days I just feel like, geez, I get up in the morning, try not to worry about things (that's generally my first thought in the morning), I go and look for work, riding the same trains I rode yesterday, then after I've done as much of that as I can, I either wander around sort-of sightseeing, or I go home to those same four walls and read a book, and then eventually I go home and do nothing until it's time to go to bed again.

Occasionally I get out and see friends, or make new friends at a pub, but it's all very boring. Part of this is because I don't have money and I don't have my own house. Not having money means that I can't go to movies or buy new CDs (mind you, the only CD player I have is a walkman thing, and I'm at the point where having these little earphone things in is just annoying more than anything else, so I do most of my CD-listening when I'm over at Matthew's.) or take classes in things or anything else that isn't free.

If I see one more painting or one more mighty tower, I might shoot myself.

Of course, some of this, too, is that these experiences are much better shared, and I'm spending a lot of time by myself. I don't have a group of coworkers that I joke with during the day, for example.

I feel boring. I have nothing interesting to say. There's only so much amusement I can get out of looking at the same things on the same train rides, although this morning there was this guy who I thought was going to kill me because he was yelling the whole time to nobody in particular. But tell someone about that, and that's the end of your story.

But most of the time, I'm actually quite happy. I enjoy my walks, I enjoy the wind in my hair, and I enjoy spending time with my friends. I especially enjoy spending time with Matthew, but I'm also conscious of the fact that extended exposure to me is probably driving him crazy, especially since I HAVE NOTHING INTERESTING TO SAY.

Have I mentioned that I am turning into a boring person?

Worse--I'm turning into one of those socially inept genius types, as evidenced by the fact that I had to *ask* the guy I'm seeing what exactly one does when one screws up, because I *didn't know*.

I don't get it. I have friends. No, really, I do. How is it possible that I have managed to maintain friendships?

None of this makes any sense.

I think at some point in my life I must have been at least moderately interesting.

Of course, in all of this, I don't really want to have a job. I would like to be independently wealthy. Then I could do things that require money, but I wouldn't have to work a zillion hours a day.

So basically what I'm saying is that my main activity of every day is looking for a job--yes, I spend the majority of my time striving for something that I don't want anyway.

I've developed a distressing taste for watching football, in the "soccer" sense of the word. I've only seen it with other people so far, so I'm not sure if I would actually enjoy it on my own, but sitting in a pub with Matthew, eating a greasy hamburger and watching football, was one of the best things ever. Sitting at his house last night, this time with pizza, was another of the best things ever.

Maybe it's just Matthew that's the best thing ever.

Sigh.

And I don't think he likes me.

This sucks.

You'd never guess from reading this that most of the time I'm actually quite happy. See what I mean?

I have discovered the Jaffa Cake, by the way. It's a little piece of sort-of-cake-sort-of-cookie that has a blob of orange goo on it, and then a top coating of chocolate. They aren't bad, but not the Food of the Gods that people here claim.

I think I'm going to need to come up with some perfectly bizarre thing to do.

Mind you, it's Thursday, and I'm meeting up with this guy on Saturday to chat and see a band and stuff, as I've mentioned, so it's not like it's the end of the world to have two days without evening plans. At least, I don't think I have plans. I keep making plans and then forgetting them.

As you can see, I have nothing amusing to say, so I'm going to sign off now.

I swear, tomorrow I'll have something funny to say.

Really.

You just watch if I don't.

INADEQUATE

You know, lately there are times when I'm just struck by the inadequacy of everything--mostly of myself, but it's more than just what is usually meant by feeling inadequate.

It's true that I feel like I've been screwing up more lately than I ever have in my life. Of course, maybe what's really happening is that I'm just being less self-righteous than ever before, and so I'm actually aware of all of my screw-ups. But I have to say that the one good thing about dating complete jerks is that nothing is ever your fault. I never really thought of this as a perq before.

Anyway, it's like this: say you really really want something. You might pray about it, you might work for it, you might to any number of things, and there are still things in this life that you can do nothing about. None of your words or actions are necessarily efficacious, and there's not a darned thing you can do about it sometimes.

Or what if someone does something really nice and makes you really happy? This has happened to me in the recent past, and I just sit there and think that saying "thank you" seems so insufficient. If this were my sister, I'd make her a sandwich and a cup of tea, and she knows me well enough to know that everything I have is in that sandwich and cup of tea, but normal people would probably just look at me like I was insane if I went around offering them sandwiches.

The worst thing, though, is when you screw up. This is why I suddenly appreciate the jerks I've dated in the past. I never screwed up--there wasn't time. I was too busy worrying about all of the screwing up they were doing.

But I've screwed up. And now what? Saying "I'm sorry" seems so insufficient. I hurt someone's feelings. I had the nicest three days ever, because Matthew was the nicest person ever, and then I said something to hurt his feelings.

I am a cow.

Now what? I mean, I've looked around, and there aren't any dragons left in England to slay. I've checked. But I screwed up, and it was all me, and there wasn't any part of this that I could even blame on something or someone else, and it's not the first time, which is something I didn't even know.

I'm such an idiot sometimes. It's amazing that I can handle the task of tying my own shoes.

This last thing was so dumb, and I just said all of the wrong things. I can't tell you exactly what happened, but I'll give an example of something similar.

Analogy: It was like we had just had a fantastic party, and during the party Matthew had paid attention to me the whole time, and then after everyone left he suddenly turned away and started ignoring me. And I felt terribly bereft, and ended up telling him that he was lousy and I'd had a horrible evening, when actually in a bizarre way what was really wrong was that I'd had a wonderful evening.

So then, here I am saying almost the opposite of what I really mean, and saying it in the worst of all possible ways, and making him feel like this party which was a smashing success and which I had loads of fun at was this horrible thing, and basically *I* have just ruined absolutely everything.

And now I feel like I can't explain any more without just making things worse.

I apologized and I asked Matthew what it is that I should do when I screw up, because I've come to the devastating conclusion--really devastating--that I'm going to screw up again sometime in the future. I want to fix something. I want to go back and undo something.

Matthew said that the best thing to do when you screw up is to just apologize and drop it, because if you keep apologizing (which I do to the point of--strike that--which I do *beyond* the point of annoyance), then it's like poking at a wound and saying, "does that still hurt? how about now? now?" which is an extremely valid point and I think he's right. He was very nice about answering that particular question, by the way.

I've never felt like such an inept person in my life. It's like I can program a computer, I can balance a chemical equation, I can exceed at higher math, and I have no clue how to be a human being.

It just feels like if you go on after you've screwed something up and you just act like it never happened, that's so callous. And insufficient. Like here I am, and I'm going to have a nice day even though I just ruined yours.

I don't know how to do this.

So anyway, I've mentioned things that Matthew's done that hurt my feelings or that I didn't understand or whatever, so now I guess it's time for me to mention some of the things that he's had to put up with.

Firstly, it never occurred to me that he really even *had* feelings in a bizarre way. There was some point after he visited me where he acted like he felt like I wasn't worth dating. I won't tell you what happened or what he said, because it isn't important. But somewhere in there, I started saying, with my actions, "What do you mean, I'm not worth dating? Look at this horrible thing you've just done," and basically started pointing out everything he did that was less-than-stellar. I didn't even realize I was doing it. But it was mean, I think. Not deliberately mean, but...well, it didn't occur to me that it might hurt his feelings ever.

When someone tells you that they don't care about you, you just assume that they're not going to have hurt feelings.

It's stuff like that. I've inadvertently screwed up, repeatedly, and I didn't even know I was doing it, and now I'm stuck here in this place where, over just the last three days, something happened, and I realized that he's actually a human being under all of the defensive posturing that's at least half my fault. I'm such an idiot.

And somewhere in there, when I realized that he had feelings, I realized that...again, words are inadequate. Anything I say just sounds silly. I would give anything in the world to never hurt his feelings again. That sounds dumb. I want to say that I'll stick around and protect them and make sure he's never hurt again, but then I know that *I* just hurt him, even if it was only in a small way, and what kind of a horrible person am I? Maybe he really is better off without me.

When did I become this person who hurts people's feelings?

How do people do this stuff? I don't get it.

Anyway, I guess there's nothing for it but to try harder, and to take his advice and just drop it now that I've apologized.

And make him a sandwich.

Or maybe cookies.

THE 100 CLUB AND THE OSBOURNES

The other day, I visited Matthew in the afternoon because he had this new piece of furniture, and I wanted to see it, because I'm a girl and that's what girls do. Sorry, I know, I'm a feminist, but it was basically a new toy, and I wanted to see it.

After that, we went to the 100 Club to see Matthew's dad's band. It was fantastic! It's (the band is) called The Big Swing, and the club has swing dancing every Tuesday, I think (I'm going to take Michael there when he comes to visit, because he would *love* it).

I'm considering taking dance classes again, because I did enjoy it when I took them back in San Francisco, but I think I left my dance shoes in a box that is at a friend's house, and it would take loads of money to ship it over here. But the dance classes are only £4, and I might be able to swing that.

When I say things were fantastic, I mean both the club and the band. The club has a fabulous history, and has this family tree sort of thing on one of the walls that Matthew showed me, full of people who had played there, and there are photos of all of the bands on the walls, which included everyone from Siouxie and the Banshees to the Rolling Stones to, of course, the Sex Pistols. No Psychic TV, though, which is just plain wrong.

The band was really good. I mean, they were pretty much dead-on, and I got this sincere kick out of seeing this oldish guy playing the drums (the drum solos were a thing of wonder) with his mouth open and a slightly dazed look on his face the whole time. The band members looked to be from 30-ish to maybe 70-ish. Really tight. High energy. "Interesting" sax solo at one point, but I won't go into that. I was surprised at how good the band was, which is probably bad of me.

Matthew's dad plays the bari sax, and I won't pretend that I could pick him out of the band, but that itself indicates that he has to be at least somewhat good. I was a little surprised when Matthew asked me if I wanted to go see the band--meeting one of his parents was a sort of...well, it's not like you can just meet someone's dad without having some kind of reaction to the idea of it, not to mention the act. At any rate, his dad seems really nice, although the music was so loud that it's not like we could chat or anything. He had a camera, and wanted us to take some photos of the band, which was fun. He took a photo of Matthew and I first, which was a very dad thing to do, but was also one of those things that I couldn't quite figure out how to react to--you know, this is the first photo that's ever been taken of the two of us, other than this one I got in this photo booth, and it was being taken by his dad, and I just had to quit thinking about it after a few seconds, because it was quite obvious that I should just not think about it.

Anyway. The thing that was great about trying to take photos of the band is that there were people swing dancing everywhere, and it was hilarious watching people carrying beverages try to make it across the club. You can imagine what it was like trying to maneuver through this writhing crowd with a camera. People were very nice, and I only really got elbowed once. (That's one of the things I love about swing dancing--in my experience, everyone is really nice, and they all make sure that nobody feels like a wallflower that doesn't get asked to dance.)

Matthew has played at this club in the past. I teased him about the fact that now he was going to see his *dad* play at a club that he probably couldn't get a gig at right now. Is that mean? I didn't mean it that way. It's not like I could get a gig there either. But it seemed funny to me at the time.

Eventually I left, and I caught the tube, but missed the last train (I have to take one of each to get home) so I had to hail a cab for the last leg of the trip, which ended up costing £20, which means that I absolutely positively have to make sure that I never ever ever miss the last train again. This, and the fact that I have this mortal fear of hailing cabs (I don't know why, I just do; the very thought terrifies me) should ensure that I am careful in the future.

Incidentally, there is this really weird thing that I've been doing since I started 'dating' (I hate that word, but what else do you call it?) Matthew. When we hang up the phone, or when it's time for me to leave this house, I have this intense reluctance. I don't understand it, and I've tried to figure out what my problem is, but it's like...I don't know, I have this feeling like I somehow haven't done enough of something. I don't know what this thing is, but whatever it is, I just feel like I should have done it, and like I shouldn't leave without doing whatever this thing is. It's driving me crazy.

It's hard to mention things like that without making them sound worse than they are. That didn't in any way ruin the evening. I had a fantastic day, and a fantastic time, and it wasn't diminished in any way by this weird leaving thing that I've been doing. I just wish I could figure it out.

At any rate, I'd only intended to go over to Matthew's house to look at this piece of furniture, but it turned into an entire afternoon and evening, and it was such a lovely, lovely day.

On to the Osbournes.

As you may be aware, Matthew works for MTV, and so he got a copy of the first five episodes of The Osbournes, which doesn't start over here until May 21. He decided to have a Osbournes party, and invited over a bunch of our mutual friends. Of course, having these videos early made him even more of the Coolest Kid on the Block than he just is naturally.

Not that I'm biased or anything.

Anyway. The day of the party arrived, and I came over early to see if I could be useful. Of course he already had everything in order, but was nice and pretended that I was being helpful, because he is sweet. It was a really pleasant afternoon--I was puttering around in the kitchen, and he started playing Tom Waits, who he knows I really like. Then he put in a live CD of Elvis Costello, which was absolutely fantastic, and it has Alison on it, and, well, you can imagine that it was just really nice and I was just really happy. I think he actually played two different live EC CDs, and sometime when he's not looking, I'm going to peruse his collection and see if I can figure out which ones they are, and someday I'll get my own copies. (Maybe a present to myself when I get a proper job.)

Eventually people started showing up, and Matthew asked me if I would have some wine, since he thought it would be much more fun with wine, and he looked so cute when he asked, that I decided to. I was a little worried, because I guess lately I've felt like I keep screwing everything up, and if you're trying really hard not to screw everything up, it's probably a good idea to remain in full possession of your faculties at all times.

Anyway, we drank wine and ate bread and cheese and chocolate biscuits and strawberries, and had a *fabulous* time. Matthew is a great host. The program is the best thing I think MTV has ever done, and we spent the whole evening laughing.

Er, I was very drunk. I mean, I don't think I was terribly sloppy, but that's because I was making a supreme effort to not be sloppy. It took a *lot* of concentration. I remember spending an eternity staring at my friend Mark's face just thinking about not looking drunken. I have no idea what he said. I have no idea whether or not I responded appropriately.

Matthew, as I mentioned, is a great host. He got up and started playing music for us after a while, which was mostly things like Pat Boone singing heavy metal.

After everyone left, of course, I no longer felt the need to act sober, and that's when I realized just how far gone I was. I spilled half a glass of water on Matthew. I have many reasons to be embarrassed today.

It was such a good evening. I just feel like I've had two and a half of the best days ever.

Today, of course, I'm suffering the after-effects of only sleeping for three hours, and then there's a bit of weirdness going on because it's May Day. There have been protests around the city. We went to one, which was not bad, but then this woman who was giving the speech said, "Victory to the Intifada!" and I had to leave. It really freaked me out.

Lovely. Yet another time Matthew's seen me freaked out. Feh!

Mostly, I'm just feeling a little bit fragile or something, and I said something bad to Matthew this morning that I shouldn't have said, and yet again I know I've screwed something up. I just wish I could make it through one day without screwing something up.

The protests have, for the most part, been entirely peaceful, and you can tell that the news media is so disappointed that they could all just cry. There are *supposed* to be broken windows and stuff. They were *counting* on it. On this big news day. And everyone's being nice. They keep rushing around and taking close-ups every time someone coughs near a policeman, but then nothing happens. And they look sad.

Anyway, later in the afternoon, we ended up going out to the record shop, and Matthew bought me a new CD, which is quite good. It was such a nice thing to do, and it's such a nice CD.

And now I suppose I should go home soon (I'm typing this on his computer) and yet again I'm sitting here thinking, "What is it that's bothering me? What is it that I feel like I should have done?" I don't know.

If you have any clue at all, please let me in on it.

Well, that's enough of an update for now.

THE SECOND-BEST NIGHT EVER, PART II

P.S. There is something very, very wrong about hearing someone comment, after a country band has just finished a set, "That was jolly good, wasn't it?"

THE SECOND-BEST NIGHT EVER

Last night, Peter invited me to this pub somewhere in this part of the city called Islington, I think, where he was going to be doing the PA system for a band. I didn't really want to go especially because it promised to be "Country" music, and to paraphrase, there are only two types of music that I really hate; Country *and* Western.

He had to be there really early, so we decided to arrive separately. I had a little map, and it was a cold and awful day, so at about 8:00 I got out my long black jacket and my silk scarf and my gloves and my umbrella and headed off to the train station with my little map in my hand.

I just missed the train, so I had to wait around for half an hour for the next one. At one point, I looked up and noticed that there were about 8 other people waiting for the next train, and I was just about the only person on the platform *not* talking on a cellular phone.

Eventually the train arrived, and I got on with a whole bunch of women in various lengths of little black dresses and skirts, and realized that it was Saturday night.

I ended up at the Angel tube station, and from there walked for a very long time looking for this pub.

And that's when I fell in love.

I was walking in my little grey gloves and little grey scarf and clutching an umbrella and a map, and the streets were wet and the rain was falling and the streetlamps were shining through the branches, and I expected Audrey Hepburn any moment to come walking out of the park, or maybe I was Audrey Hepburn; I'm not sure. But I completely fell in love and realized that I felt so happy.

I think I might stay here for a while.

The streets got more windy, and I passed these two men speaking French and trying to find some address or other, and just then I looked down and had to avoid stepping on this huge snail, and I briefly considered stopping one of these French men and pointing at it excitedly, but then thought that might be considered culturally insensitive.

This pub was fantastic--it's absolutely impossible to find. There is this little area with this complex maze of little alleys and streets, and the pub is dead center in the middle of it all, with a door off to the side. You'd never just run into it in a million years, and it struck me that if I lived anywhere nearby, this would be my favorite place in the world and I'd be in there all of the time.

All right, so the *pub* was fantastic.

Anyway, I got in, and Peter walked me over to this table of his friends, and introduced me to two of his friends, who I shall call Faye and Nigel. Nigel stood up and shook my hand and asked me to join them, and Faye greeted me, and then Peter said he needed to rush off, but would Faye please introduce me to the rest of the table? So Peter rushed off and Faye said, "What's your name again?" and for some reason she obviously didn't like something about the way I was introduced to Nigel, I've no idea what, and then I pointed to an empty chair and said, "Is anyone sitting here?" and Nigel said, "No, please do go ahead," and Faye said, "Yes, actually someone is, and those seats at the other end of the table are all taken as well," and then she sort of pointedly neglected to introduce me to the other people at the table, so I ended up getting another chair (approved of by Nigel) and taking it over to the sound board quite some ways away, and sitting next to Peter.

It was weird. I've no idea what that was all about.

So eventually the band started, and let me tell you, there is something distinctly wrong about hearing people with British accents sing "Take me home, country roads to...West Virginia...." They got several of the words wrong, the meter was completely off, and just in general, well, it was awful. They were an awful band. They were singing The Music of Satan.

They had a tambourine.

Eventually, of course, I decided that they were too bad not to share (Peter doesn't count, because he clearly loved them and kept remarking at what a particularly fine singer this one woman was and I had to smile desperately) and so I walked outside and phoned Matthew up at work and forced him to listen to a few bars.

The music eventually ended. Peter was getting more and more squiffy, and we were having a fantastic time. After the end, he guided me back over to Faye and Nigel, and some of the people had left and others were still there, and I ended up spending most of the next hour or so talking to this fabulous man whose name, I think, is Laurence. I am basing this assumption on a drunken scrawl on a piece of paper in my purse that appears to read:



Laurence

020 720969

7209 49**

oddball

sure

tarrot read



I'm not completely certain about any of that. I do remember that as he was scrawling it, he was saying things like, "Oh, what should I write so you remember who I am? Let's see, I'm an oddball, but I'm certainly a nice guy, really fabulous, actually, and...." but what this has to do with the scrawling, I'm not sure.

Anyway, we (Possibly Laurence and I) are going to go see a band next Saturday night in Greenwich, and I'm certain that it isn't country music this time, so I'm quite excited.

By the end of the evening, Faye had come around and decided that we were great friends after all. She asked to see me naked. (Well, to be fair, one of the men at the table asked to see me naked first, and Faye stressed that she thought it was a fabulous plan and she would like to see me naked as well.)

Another guy that I met is an IT Director at a local software company, and he asked me to please send him my CV so that he can see if they are doing any hiring at all. Which would be fabulous! It turns out that they actually do exactly what I'm trained at, so I'm hoping.

Anyway, Faye and her boyfriend and Possibly Laurence and a few other people were going to go continue the party somewhere up in Camden, and they begged me to come along, but the last train had already left and I needed to rely on Peter to get home, so I called it an evening ("It's an evening!" I shouted) and rode home with Peter, who dropped Nigel off first, and then spent the rest of the trip extolling the virtues of Nigel ("He's handsome! He's rich! He's a Super Nice Guy!") and then eventually I ended up home and went to bed.

In case I haven't mentioned it, I had a fantastic time. And I feel really happy that I met some new friends and we're going to get together again.

I overheard Peter this morning talking on the telephone, and the only thing I overheard was, "Well, she's here right now, so I can't really talk." I'm wondering what that was all about, but there's this part of me that, based on a couple of other things that happened, suspects that the purpose of last night was to attempt to set me up with Nigel, which makes no sense at all, since the last time I checked I was not shopping around for a new boyfriend.

I slept all night, without nightmares, for the first time in a while. And I woke up happy, and not feeling sick. And I'm going to try to keep feeling this way for a long time.

ON TURNING INTO MY FATHER

So anyway, I called around until I found a couple of numbers for Messianic Jewish congregations. Most of the information I found was outdated, and most of the telephone numbers had strange messages, but I finally contacted one that meets fortnightly, and arranged to meet the rabbi and a couple of other people for coffee prior to an Erev Shabbat service, and then to go on to the service.

(A short time later I got a call from one that meets weekly, and I will probably go there next week. But I digress. Like that's something new.)

Friday afternoon came along, and it was a miserable day with rain and horribleness.
(Digression #2: I went over to Matthew's to pick up a box to take home, and ended up having tea instead and asking Matthew if he'd just hug me and tell me everything would be okay while I cried, and he did, and you know, somehow that made all of the horribleness go away. In case I haven't mentioned it lately, Matthew is the Very Best Ever. I have tried not to talk too much about him because people get irritated when you wax poetic about people you love. But I know that the hard times we've had aren't any more his fault than they are mine, and he has made so many things more bearable, and I love him a lot.

Oh, wait--I keep getting accused of engaging in hyperbole. Matthew is the Second Best Ever.)

So I left Matthew's and caught a train way out to the middle of nowhere, and met this rabbi at the station. He is an Irish rugby fan, and he was holding a jersey, and I swear he looked just like a little leprechaun.

His wife and a few students (in addition to being a rabbi, he's a theology professor at the University of London) showed up, and we wandered over to the coffee shop, and it was a very strange time because one of the students was sort of a goyish tourist who kept saying things that were a hair's-breadth away from "I've never seen a Jew before. What's it like? You know, being a Jew?"

The rest of the time was taken up in the kind of talk I haven't really heard in a long time--a really superficial kind of ChristianSpeak that seemed so foreign to me, and yet something that I remember.

Anyway, we walked to the place where the congregation meets, and it was an absolutely beautiful walk. At one point, we turned into a narrow alley, and after a while this alley opened into an incredibly beautiful kind of courtyard which had a garden and an old church and benches, and the petals from the blooming trees were falling like a pink and white snow, and the wind was blowing just enough, and it was incredible.

Eventually we got to the meeting place (I keep wanting to type 'synagogue,' but they actually meet in this old church called The Vineyard) and I was greeted by a couple of very nice-seeming people, including some little old ladies.

The Goyish Tourist sat next to me and asked what it was that I usually look for in a congregation. She said that when she is looking for a new church, there is a list of things that she looks for--she wants them to sing a couple of these particular songs, and she wants them to allow people who suddenly have something they want to share to be able to interrupt the service and do so, and a few other things. I told her that I was mostly concerned about the teaching--that I wanted the rabbi to expand on something from the Torah and not just get up and talk about a few anecdotal things and mention that we should all be happy or something. Can't remember how I phrased it.

Anyway, the service started, and there was the candle-lighting, and things were a little strange right at first. I am used to people in Messianic congregations believing in Jesus, but I'm used to them calling him either Y'shua or Messiah, and generally kind of incorporating it into the Jewish liturgy. This was more like...a sort of Christianity Lite service in the beginning. We sang a couple of Easy Listening tunes. It was very odd.

The congregation was probably 50% older people, and then a representation of most other generations. Total of maybe 50 people.

They had a guest speaker that night, and so after the singing and a short prayer, he got up to talk. The man in question is some kind of Christian missionary-type person in Ethiopia. He talked about how Ethiopia is a primarily Christian nation, and how it's just assumed that everyone will grow up Christian. So my first bit of confusion was regarding why a nation that's primarily Christian would need Christian missionaries. I still don't quite understand it, but he did have many pictures of little black children and he talked about what a blessing it had been to take them aside and pray with them.

He told a bunch of anecdotes

It was horrible. I have never in my life been exposed to so much hate speech, and especially not disguised as a sermon.

His anecdotes included one about a bunch of men who were imprisoned in Saudi Arabia for printing and distributing bibles. He said that they were imprisoned and tortured, and they were told that if they denounced their faith, they would be freed, and they would be given $1 million. He said, "Muslims do that, you know."

He actually said that. He actually said "Muslims do that, you know."

And all around me were these people nodding and "Mmmm hmmm"ing and the occasional "yes, Lord"ing.

I was absolutely horrified.

Whenever he would talk about an Arab person, or a Palestinian, he would refer to them as "The Wicked."

I'm not talking about referring to the political leaders of some nation or other as wicked men. I would totally agree with him on that if he did. He was talking about everyone--every last person in those nations. He was talking about the women of RAWA who risk their lives fighting for women's rights in Afghanistan. He was talking about the random Palestinian on the street who just wants to walk to the grocery store and pick up milk and come back to his house and eat his breakfast in peace.

The thing that was so weird is that this guy isn't even Jewish. And he kept talking about what a blessing it was to one day see an Arab believer washing the feet of a Jewish one.

It was so warped. It was so awful.

He spent a lot of time talking about the current Israeli/Palestinian situation. A lot of time. Evidently he doesn't believe in the laws that call for the separation of religion and politics.

The bad thing was, (oh, what am I saying, it was all bad) this guy didn't sit down and outline any reasons that he believed anyone was wrong, or why what they were doing was bad. It was assumed. It was assumed that any Israeli action at all, under any circumstance, was good, because it was performed by Jews, and that any act of anyone else was bad.

He said that if Palestinians had any homeland at all, any peace would be temporary because Palestinians would force Israelis out. He didn't imply at all that this had something to do with the current Palestinian leadership--he referred to the Palestinians, as a group, NOT the PLO or the PA, but the whole lot of every Palestinian in the world--as The Wicked.

I sat there horrified, trying to figure out what to do. I figured if I stood up and walked out, that was the least I could do. But then, maybe I should wait around and see if there was an opportunity to speak. So I hung around, and eventually, after inviting us all to participate in a pro-Israeli-actions rally on May 6 in Trafalgar Square (I fear--I really fear that there will be bloodshed, and it will not be good) there was a time for prayer, in which everyone was supposed to take turns and they could pray or not pray as they so chose.

So after a quick consultation with God and an apology if what I was doing was wrong, it came my turn to pray, and I will print basically what I said here, even though I don't remember it word for word, but I was shaking and talking pretty quietly at the time.

I prayed, "Baruch ata Adonai Eloheinu, Father God, please let us remember that even though it was your will for your son to die, those who were responsible for his death were responsible for murder, and you said that they would be punished for it. Even so, let us remember that even if the ends of what we do are your will, if we act contrary to your laws, or if we act out of hatred and prejudice, we are held responsible for going against your will. That there is no such thing as doing your will with hatred. There is no such thing as doing your will with prejudice. And if the innocent are injured, and their blood is on our hands, then we will be punished.

Let our actions be characterized by love. I know that there are no easy answers in the Middle East right now, but help us to look to you for guidance and to act in accordance with your laws, and without hatred, and without violence. Help us to remember that we will never save anyone at the end of a gun, but can only reach them if we talk to them. Ha shem Y'shua Ha Mashiach, etc. Amein."

These people were ready to stone me. At least five people prayed after me and asked for God to give sight to the blind fools who believed the media bias. After a while, I got up quietly and walked out.

The thing is, I don't think that Arafat is such a nice guy. I don't like him or trust him any more than anyone else does. I fully believe that the Palestinian Authority is untrustworthy, mostly because I find it appalling that the funds that have been handed to them for distribution to those in need have ended up going toward weaponry and fancy cars for leaders in the PA. Yes, it's well-documented, and I wouldn't have a problem with someone pointing that out as a reason to not trust the PA.

But bulldozing residential neighborhoods? With tanks?

Look, everyone knows in the US a lot of the drive-by gang shootings are done by people who live in the Projects, and I don't think the way to stop drive-bys is to bulldoze the Projects with tanks. I rather imagine there would be an uproar.

So maybe there isn't an easy solution, but I happen to disagree with the actions of Israel right now, the same way I disagree with the actions of the United States right now. I don't think that the US is acting righteously against terrorists, and neither is Israel. And I don't think that they're justified because the people living in those houses are The Wicked. Maybe there's a PA gang member in there somewhere, but this is appalling.

Yeah, there's anti-Israeli media bias. I'm aware of it. I'm aware of concrete examples of it. But the fact remains that in this particular case, houses have been bulldozed with tanks.

This guy had the nerve to bring up the Holocaust. He said that he had talked to a couple of people who had been in Christian churches in Germany just prior to the Holocaust, and they said that the current environment in the UK is exactly like it was then.

What utter nonsense. Utter, utter nonsense.

Firstly, if they were in churches in Germany during the Holocaust, and they survived, then obviously they didn't choose to do much about it, now did they? I'm supposed to take some kind of spiritual advice from someone who watched the Holocaust happening and chose to save their own skin?

Secondly, I think growing up as the daughter of a concentration camp survivor is a sure-fire way to learn a lot about the environment in Germany just prior to the Holocaust.

I have been exposed to little incidents of anti-Semitism here. Tiny ones. And that's it.

Anyway, it was so weird. I don't want to be some kind of fiery person who runs around protesting this sort of thing or confronting rabbis and pastors and explaining to them where they went astray.

I don't want to be my dad.

I've lost my temper twice since I got here. Twice. I never lose my temper, and I've lost it twice since I got here. That's so Dad. And I had to say something at this meeting--I couldn't not say something. I couldn't. I couldn't sit there any more than I could listen to someone tell a racist joke.

I know Dad would have said something. Granted, he would have probably done so a lot more bombastically than I did, but he would have said something.

And I started to wonder what kind of horrible life I would be exposing Matthew to. You know, what if I lose my temper again? And what would it be like for him to have to be with me? What if we're at dinner some night and someone says something racist and I get up and walk out?

How can I ask him to live with that?

I can't. But although I'm going to do my level best to never lose my temper again as long as I live, I will never be someone who doesn't defend other people. And, you know, if something like the Holocaust really did start to happen again, where I was living, I'd probably do something to fight it, and I'd probably get myself killed, and how could I expose someone else to that kind of a life?

I don't know. I don't think I could have done anything differently than I did the other night, but I figured I'd better tell Matthew, because he was there for the temper-loss, so he should probably be warned so he can decide for himself.

He didn't seem unduly upset.

Anyway, I've decided for a change not to worry about it.

I sure wish Jacob Mandelsberg had been with me on Friday.