Going to Hell in a handbasket

Remember when I said that after a long day of work, I enjoy plopping down and doing something mindless? Well, this summer my pursuit of mindless activity led me to the series Supernatural. And oh how I have binged!

The show follows two brothers who travel around the country fighting and destroying the evil things that go bump in the night. Werewolves, vampires, spirits, possessed objects, ancient gods, demons, and even angels (who, according to the show, have really horrible people skills). Every episode follows essentially the same pattern: some random person dies in a bizarre and inexplicable way, the brothers read about it in a newspaper or online, they travel to the scene disguised as FBI agents or insurance adjusters, then they spend the rest of the episode figuring out what they're up against and how to kill it, then doing so. Each episode features at least one grotesque and totally inaccurate blood spatter, lots of punching sounds (still trying to figure out how Sam and Dean have retained their beautiful faces and haven't died of excessive concussions), some broken furniture or walls, and ends with someone getting stabbed in the heart, decapitated, or burned alive (though, really, that last one is for ghosts and their remains have to get burned to destroy them so really they're...burned dead?). Occasionally one or the other of the brothers dies and is inevitably resurrected to keep fighting the good fight, and if I've learned anything from the show it's that whenever a person is stabbed to death, they will definitely bleed out of their mouth. Always.

Man, I love this show.

I wouldn't say I'm obsessed with Supernatural, but I am using it as a way to pass time. Lots of time. The supremely sad moments, while touching, have yet to make me cry, and my favorite episode is still the one anomaly that featured slapstick comedy. I am not a squealing fangirl who posts and reposts Supernatural pictures and GIFs on Facebook, nor do I peruse Tumblr in search of every Supernatural tag I can find.  I enjoy the show, I enjoy the references, and I want to see where it goes while I have the time to waste.  

And frankly, it's better than reality sometimes.

I have started to wonder if I should limit my time on Facebook, not because I'm wasting so much of it but because most of the time I spend on the site leaves me depressed and concerned for the future of our world. For months on end it's been nothing but

                                                                                                                                             Word cloud made at Tagxedo.com

At first, I tried to keep up with the news articles, blog posts, op-eds, and reports on the issues. It didn't take long to realize, though, that the vast majority of what I was reading was highly biased, poorly informed, inflammatory, judgmental, or just plain wrong. I started having to weed through my news feed based on who was posting and the source which they were sharing. Was it an impassioned acquaintance who was sharing something with LOTS OF CAPITALIZATION? Was it a Huffpost op-ed written specifically for their readership? Was it a blog post disguised as an article, or an article written like a blog post? I tried to avoid reading only what I agreed with and pushed myself to read the opposing viewpoint until both sides made me so sick that I stopped reading that altogether. Then I made a rule for myself that I would only read published articles by reputable news sources and avoid anything that suggested opinion. The result? I had nothing to read, and a lot more free time.

Adults of my parents' generation sometimes ask me how I can even hope to remain informed without a subscription to a newspaper or a television to watch. I wonder how they can hope to remain informed with those things. I am a frustrated consumer of current events, and much like my distaste for sucralose in my soda, I'm not terribly interested in someone else's opinions dressing up in an article and calling itself news. But because I want to remain informed, I generally have to muddle through at least a few of those sources to find out what's going on. At some point though, it becomes too much to handle, and as the realization of my white, privileged, American middle-class existence sets in I tune out and turn on a show that occupies my brain for an hour or two. (Or five on a Sunday when Tomm is on call.) 

There isn't much I can really do about most of what's going on. My opinions on the Middle East aren't going to change the minds of the ones doing the killing, I don't feel I can affect the police force in Missouri, and the anti-Semites in Europe aren't going to stop harassing Jews and destroying their property because I say so. It's a defeatist attitude, I know. I did make a sizable donation to the ALS Association as part of the Ice Bucket Challenge, so at least that was one good thing to come out of a sad circumstance. Still, unlike Sam and Dean Winchester, we can't summon and destroy the demon in charge and we can't burn the bones of the offending evil spirit responsible for the deaths. As Dean says in one episode when confronted not by monsters but by sick and twisted human killers, "Demons I get. People are crazy." And these are crazy times in which we live.

So, at a time and in a world where I feel so frustrated by the news I hear and so unable to do anything about it, can you really blame me for wanting to see this instead?

Living in the Kingdom

I just read two articles that labeled Brooklyn as the second most expensive U.S. city to live in, with Manhattan as the unsurprising first. Wow. And here I am, a part time music teacher from Wisconsin. Definitely one of those "What am I doing here?" moments.

The articles painted an unsettling picture of an increasingly divided borough with alarming statistics of income, cost of living, and levels of education. A third article gave a number of bizarre statistics (who really cares if a few jars of horseradish cost $74?) which were all designed to prove a point: the cost of living is skyrocketing in Brooklyn and the lower and middle classes aren't even on the shuttle.

For the last few months Tomm and I have been throwing around the idea of leaving our neighborhood and finding an area more closely resembling our...shall we say...demographic. Also something within 3 miles of a shul I cam stomach. But every time I ask Brooklynites about the preferable neighborhoods like Park Slope, Prospect Park, Cobble Hill, and even Crown Heights, they all tell me the same thing: it's expensive and often prohibitively so. I suppose there's a reason they're preferable, though such news makes Boro Park look better and better.

So after being told time and again about how expensive it is to live here, I wasn't entirely surprised by those articles. Still, what was surprising was the disparity which is growing throughout the borough. I suppose, though, that in a world where the 85 wealthiest people have more combined wealth than half of the global population, I should not be shocked that the second most expensive city is also home to massive poverty and exceptionally low reading levels. That seems to be how the world works these days. In fact, I commented to the person who posted the aforementioned articles on Facebook that it's as if Brooklyn is a microcosm of the current global economic trends.

It's scary to know I'm living somewhere where, if I were on my own, I could never survive. It also makes me wonder why someone would ever go to New York to "try and make it big" like all those jazzy musicals about flappers would have you believe. I find it hard to justify spending so much money on rent alone, not to mention food, clothes, and other necessities.  This is probably just me being a Midwesterner, but aren't there more important things in life than spending thousands of dollars a month on a one-bedroom apartment, even if it is only a block away from the coolest bars and a giant park?

Thanks, but I think I'll just take the train.

The Triangle Place

There's a grocery store three blocks away from our apartment that Tomm and I refer to as "The Triangle Place."  It has a name - something about sanguine trees and a farm - but it sounds silly and doesn't make sense so we call it The Triangle Place.  It is situated on its own tiny, triangular island near a six-way intersection, and its entrance is obscured by the stairs leading to the train platform above.  Its lights are always on, illuminating the produce that lines two sides of the building.  Day and night, heaps of potatoes, mounds of onions, various types of peppers and tomatoes, and numerous other mislabeled vegetables glow in florescent pools of light.  There is fruit, too, usually well-priced if not the most fresh, but certainly a better deal than the next closest grocery store whose produce prices are three times as much.  If I'm going to end up throwing it out anyway, better to throw out the less expensive option.

Inside the isles are cramped, and the old linoleum floor bends unevenly and curls at the edges.  Despite its small size, I often forget where everything is because unlike the large, well-lit grocery stores of the Midwest, this store feels more like the basement office in a house.  You know, the one for which the bright eyed new owners had high hopes and envisioned as the perfect work space, but which instead turned into a storage space for holiday decorations, outgrown clothes, and unappreciated birthday gifts.  Still, the shelves are well-stocked, the products make the best use of the space allotted, and its not uncommon to leave with unexpected goodies instead of the few groceries you went looking for but never found.

The establishment is like the United Nations of grocery stores.  Located on the edge of a Jewish shtetl, it is designed to cater to a Hispanic population, if its tortillas, fajita shells, and the aisle devoted to Goya canned goods are any indication.  Still, nestled between the cans of refried beans and corn, and just below the tortilla wraps, are Jewish foods with Hebrew on the labels, and bottles of Kedem grape juice stand alongside Jarritos.  Meanwhile, behind the counter is usually a young Russian woman in her 20s.  One Friday afternoon when the sun, already hidden behind the apartment buildings, edged toward the horizon, I overheard this cashier wish an undeniably Jewish patron a gut Shabbos.  And tonight, a young Jewish girl payed for her Mexican groceries with a Muslim cashier while Arabic music played from behind the counter.

The Triangle Place is a miniature embodiment of Brooklyn - cramped, dingy, but always available, the things you need usually in stock, and bustling with every nationality represented.  There is nothing glamorous about it, but it has its treasures if you look hard enough.

Gainful Employment

After months of searching, resume submissions, cover letters, emails, and the occasional interview, I have finally landed a job!  Before you start getting too excited and congratulatory, I'd like to temper it by saying that this is a part time, after school job which will amount to fewer than 10 hours a week.  Still, it's a job in my field which will allow me to use my specific skill set with almost complete curricular freedom.

I'll be working in a public school in Manhattan which works with an outside organization to provide "extended day" school (a well-attended after-school program which extends the standard school day until 6:00 PM).  I was originally interviewed for the position of Community Educator, an entry-level position which would have placed me and a colleague with a specific classroom to work with them every day after school from 3:00 to 6:00.  After the final round of interviews I received a call from the organizer offering me a choice between the Community Educator position and that of an Activities Specialist: fewer hours a week, but greater pay per hour and would allow me to specifically teach music to students in grades K-2.  After some deliberation I decided that although I would not make as much per week as a specialist it was a far better career opportunity, so I took it.

I'm excited for this position for a variety of reasons.  One wonderful feature of the job is that I can pretty much teach whatever I'd like.  There is no curriculum set out, no specific objectives that the students must achieve, no expectations about concerts or other performances.  This freedom is exhilarating because it means that I can finally focus on musical concepts that I have, up until now, found very challenging to teach within the context of a standard school music program.  Namely composition and improvisation.  Without having a concert to prepare for (at least not one that's already scheduled), I can use this as a learning opportunity for me in addition to an exciting and fun class for the students.  Besides, the students already have a music teacher during the school day, so I want to be sure I'm not stepping on the other teacher's toes and focusing on exactly the same things she is.

The other reasons I'm excited for this position have much more to do with me than with the kids.  Call me selfish, but I'm excited to be getting out of the apartment, using my degree and experience in a productive way, making a little money, and hopefully making some friends.  Apparently there is research to support this kind of need for personal fulfillment, for when I looked up "gainfully employed" to make sure I was, in fact, spelling it correctly, I found a Wikipedia article all about it:

Gainful employment is a positive psychology concept that explores the benefits of work and employment. Second only to personal relationships, work is the most important determinant of quality of life.^[1][2] Over 7,855 articles were published on job satisfaction between the years of 1976-2000.

Turns out I'm not being selfish after all.  Upon reading this article, I learned that gainful employment is not just about making money; it's about job satisfaction, fulfillment, and all the other personal needs that a good occupation addresses.  While being employed might just mean "getting paid to do a job," gainful employment is about the kind of work that makes you want to go to work, the kind of job that makes you happy, and the kind of environment in which you enjoy growth, responsibility, empowerment, and positive relationships.

Thinking about my employment history it's easy for me to separate the jobs from the gainful employment.  Working at a grocery store part time?  A job.  I went, I worked, I got paid.  But every single time I had the opportunity to teach - whether I was making money or not - I felt that I was doing something worthwhile for my students, my colleagues, my superiors, and myself.

The Wikipedia article lists nine components of this particular brand of employment, and they are as follows:

1. Variety in duties performed
2. Safe working environment
3. Income for family and oneself
4. A purpose derived from providing a product or service
5. Happiness and satisfaction
6. Positive engagement and involvement
7. A sense of performing well and meeting goals
8. Friendships at work
9. An environment that respects and appreciates diversity

 I was surprised to read some of the items on this list.  For instance, the fact that the first component listed is "Variety in duties performed" seems odd to me from the perspective of an employee, especially one who has worked a number of jobs that had very few duties to perform.  Yet thinking about my best jobs, especially those in teaching, I realize that all of them included a wide variety of duties to perform, and instead of constantly feeling burdened or overwhelmed by the things I had to do, I was generally happy that going to work meant something a little different every day.  Or what about "Friendships at work"?  No wonder I've hated the summer jobs where I didn't get along well with my coworkers, even if my superiors and the customers were pleasant and enjoyable to work with.

Reading this list makes me consider not just my own employment history and career, but work in general.  In movies, television, media, and sitting at the bar on a Saturday night, people are often quick to complain about their jobs.  In college, my classmates working part-time jobs to pay for rent and tuition regularly groaned about their horrible bosses, the agonizingly mundane tasks they had to perform, the crappy hours, and all the other issues inherent in being at the bottom of the work ladder.  "But at least I have a job," they'd say, and it was true because without the money they made from that job, they couldn't have been studying to get the education necessary to ultimately make them gainfully employed.  Still, I have to wonder: is it worth it?

Is it worth it to work your tail off doing something you dislike as a means to an end?  Is it worth it to spend a third of your waking hours just waiting to leave?  Is it worth it to downright hate what you're doing and allow yourself to be unhappy and frustrated, even if the money made from that minimum wage job is an absolute necessity?

The fact of the matter is, sometimes we can't avoid working a job we don't like, which is rather sad when you consider how much of our lives are spent at our jobs and how desperately many of us need something, anything to pay for the other necessities in life.  So maybe the onus is on the higher ups, the bosses and supervisors and CEOs, to make sure their employees are, in fact, gainfully employed.  I don't know. I certainly can't provide a solution to the quagmire.  All I can do is ask questions.  So I ask...

Are you gainfully employed? 

A Stranger in a Strange Land

Growing up in a small town in Wisconsin which boasted a century-old Jewish community, Shabbat morning services were kind of a big deal.  My relationship with the community was built upon Torah readings, poorly but passionately sung Hebrew melodies, and the smell of herring at kiddush.  The weekly d'var torah (sermon) was our communal learning, and together we thrived in our small but dedicated congregation.  I never thought it odd that my sister and I were the only two kids in shul every week, and my sense of normal was very much shaped by the members who were at least two generations older.  As far as I knew, it was normal to go to shul every week and pray for a minyan (the required quorum of 10 to proceed with the service), normal to make changes to the service in order to suit the needs of our membership (like counting women for the minyan), normal to feel obligated to attend because my absence would be felt by every other congregant.  Spurred by my parents, my education, and my community, I was dedicated to my shul and loved it wholeheartedly.

Outside of the synagogue or my home, normal was being the only Jew around.  Unlike some young Jews in similar situations, I wore my religion like a badge of honor.  I gladly answered my classmates' and teachers' questions about my practices, dutifully did the extra work to make up for missed days of school around the High Holy Days, and enjoyed the respect that accompanied my uniqueness.  In a city overwhelmingly full of Catholics and Protestants, I loved being different.  To me, that was normal.

In college I enjoyed a slightly larger Jewish community, but even then I was still different.  I was nearly the only observant Jew in the music school, and the only consistent college-aged congregant at the shul a block away from campus.  Again I was surrounded by non-Jews in school and an older community at the synagogue (albeit younger on average than at home), and I knew I was right where I belonged.  It didn't bother me that I didn't have a close-knit group of Jewish friends with whom to share a Shabbos dinner or go out on Saturday nights.  In fact, I was markedly more comfortable in non-Jewish circles and preferred the feeling of adding to the diversity of a given group.

When I first moved to campus I was excited to participate in the Hillel (an organization for Jewish students on college campuses).  Surrounding myself once a week with other members of the Tribe was comforting.  Inside jokes passed freely among us, the kinds of jokes that our non-Jewish friends could never really understand.  We played Apples to Apples: Jewish Edition and laughed openly as we juxtaposed gefilte fish, Albert Einstein, and Jewish mothers and debated which one fit better with the adjective "misunderstood."  Yet while I was comfortable there, it was a decidedly atypical part of my sense of Jewish community.

There was, however, one unifying feature of all my Jewish interactions in Wisconsin: we knew we were all part of a much smaller community within the general public and as such, we made a point to include one another.  For what it was worth, many of us stuck together despite the unspoken feuds between various sects or followers of particular traditions.  Together we were part of the larger, global Jewish Community, and many of us honored that, at least among the Jews I knew.

In this neighborhood in Brooklyn, things are different...vastly different.  In fact, in New York City in general it seems easy to take our religion and practices for granted.  I'm still getting used to seeing Jews regularly in the subway, on the street, and in Ikea.  As I get used to this new reality, I also have to come to terms with the fact that being Jewish doesn't automatically grant you access into the Jewish community.  Apparently, when being Jewish is not unique and your existence doesn't threaten and isn't threatened by anyone else in the general public, there is no strong need to stick together just because you had a Bar or Bat Mitzvah in middle school.

Even in my search for a modern Orthodox synagogue in the neighborhood - where modern Orthodoxy has been pushed aside by the much larger and more conspicuous Charedi (ultra Orthodox) population - it's easy for my presence to be overlooked or ignored.  I'm just another Jew; nothing special about that, right?  Besides, the synagogue isn't the only place around here where you spend time with your Jewish neighbors, so even the importance of participation in the service is diminished.

I have to keep reminding myself that what I am witnessing and experiencing is more-than-likely specific to my neighborhood.  In fact, I spoke with a man (modern Orthodox) who works in the neighborhood but lives in a different one altogether, and he described this area as being uniquely unfriendly at times.  People have their own lives, their own personal bubbles, and according to him it's not unusual for them to be standoffish even to those they see daily as they run their errands and go about their lives.  Additionally, I may find that in synagogues with younger membership I will be more immediately accepted.  Who knows?  My experience is exceptionally limited for the time being and I can't let my current opinions define my entire outlook.

The hard part is that in order to find those synagogues where I will feel more comfortable, I might have to travel into the the neighboring areas or even into Manhattan.  This brings up a whole slew of issues to take into consideration, a discussion which I will reserve for another blog post altogether.  In the meantime, I'll use the upcoming Jewish New Year and the Days of Awe to think more deeply about what my Judaism means to me in my new environment, and perhaps to redefine my concept of "normal."