Jerusalem Syndrome

Yesterday we headed over to Jerusalem to walk through the market and check out the Wailing Wall and some Very Important Church and to be told we weren't even allowed to think about getting near the big mosque seeing as we're Jews (or in my case, a Jew-by-proxy). Warren's dad told me about this affliction called Jerusalem Syndrome, which is a real thing. Apparently more than a few people, upon arriving in the city, become psychotic and suffer delusions that they, personally, are being spoken to by god.

I personally became afflicted with a number of feelings, the predominant of which was a mashup of disbelief/fascination/freaked-outed-ness about how many people make a pilgrimage here to pay homage to their one true god who is not the one true god of all the other pilgrims. It reminded me of a U2 concert where Bono (who apparently also believes he is god) gets all under everyone's skin and has every audience member thinking that if s/he could just get a five minute audience with the guy, they'd be bestest friends forever. Then you look around at the other audience members and think, "Ugh, I could NEVER relate to THAT person," and yet, there you all are, thinking the very same thought.

It's really interesting how irritable and impatient a lot of these pilgrims seem, all in a hurry to touch a wall or a stone or light a candle. Everyone wants everyone else to get out of the way. When I got to the Wailing Wall, some security chick told me I needed to do a better job covering my boobs-- and to think I actually put on a TUNIC yesterday with the intent of being more covered than usual. I also needed to cover my head and the only spare hanky we had came from Warren's dad's pocket and was imprinted with the Western Union logo. I couldn't do much about the cleavage situation and wanted to point out that my top shelf was a gift from god and Oy, Can I help it if god chose to give me such a big gift? And I did note, with curiosity and confusion, that immediately after telling me to cover up or else, the guard WINKED at me. No really. She WINKED.

The marketplace, where money is the focus of worship, is a textile whore's dream. I mean I never so saw much beautiful fabric in one place before. Of course a whole lot of it is offered to provide head coverings for women who seem to have a lot more rules to follow. I didn't spot too many wigs, but noting one woman wearing one sort of called to mind vegetarian "meat."

This all sounds judgmental-- and before I let myself get too far into thinking about how ridiculous I find religion, I reminded myself that I did attend a Buddhist retreat a few years ago and that was very moving for me. And in Tel Aviv there was an astrology bridge where you could find your "sign" and touch it and make a wish and, hey, that was sort of appealing. So I guess we're all looking for something to believe in. But in Jerusalem, the sheer concentration of so many devout people swooning is so intense that even if you don't feel the hand of god reach down and chuck you under the chin, you cannot escape the feeling of all that human energy in one place.

Which all calls to mind Dan Bern's excellent song Jerusalem, in particular these lyrics:

Everybody's waiting for the Messiah
The Jews are waiting
The Christians are waiting
Oh so are the Muslims
It's like everybody's waiting
They been waiting a long time
I know how I hate to wait
Like even for a bus or something
An important phone call
So I can imagine how darned impatient
Everyone must be getting

Oh, and then there are all the uzis. You pass lots of young soldiers casually strolling around with their guns hanging off their shoulders-- in the grocery store, on the streets. I saw a gaggle of young women soldiers in sandals and loaded for bear, heading for the Wailing Wall.

One other thing before we get to today's photos-- I could never live here because it would hurt my feelings way too much. The direct-- nay, confrontational-- way a lot of people address you is (even with my NJ upbringing) forever startling. Maybe if I stayed a few months or years I'd grow desensitized. But really, if one more person yells at me to put my camera away (in a public place) I'm either going to burst out crying or yell back. On a lighter note, there is also this constant, low-level pissing contest going on. For example, when we first arrived in Jerusalem, somebody said something to me in English and I jokingly asked Warren how they knew I was American (I mean, come on-- it's obvious). A passing Orthodox dude turns and says how very American we look. Which was all Warren's mom needed to let him know in no uncertain terms that HER SON was BORN IN JERUSALEM so there. Alrighty then.

I think I might go back to the beach today where the fashion crimes remain abundant, the water warm, and the plunk, plunk, plunk of paddle ball lends a nice secular rhythm to the day.

Warren bought us one of these bread things-- Jerusalem's answer to the soft pretzel. After paying ten shekels, he overhears the vendor try to get that much from the next customer who responds, in Hebrew, "I'm from Jerusalem, don't fuck with me," and thus pays far less.
I really think it's time for Vibram to sponsor me-- everywhere I go people get freaked out by my monkey shoes.


I found Baby Jesus hiding out in the marketplace.

Forget the golden arches-- Jerusalem put the arch in architecture.

It's a trap-- a trash can planted in front of a sign warning you that if you throw anything out you will be in BIG TROUBLE.

The lemonade is served with fresh mint-- very nice.

When traveling, it's always fun to look for typos and translation gaffes. I have no idea what the Mutable Salad is, but it sounds quite adaptable.

I made friends with a soldier who did not ask me to cover my boobs.

My Western Union head scarf.

The Wailing Wall.

Warren captures a nearly full moon for me.

Caca Tov & Yam Yom

When we went to France in December, the first few days were a little rough. I know, I know,poor Spike, cranky on the Riviera. But flying a gazillion miles does take it's toll and I remember being really frustrated. We'd heard over and over you can't get a bad meal in France, or at least that doing so was a particularly hard task. But the jet lag had us waking up at weird hours which, combined with the fact that restaurants close for a few hours in the middle of the day, left us with limited options. The lack of real food and the sleep deprivation left me wanting to scream and, as Warren was the only person I knew, I found myself venting in his general direction.

I sent a note home to a friend then, bemoaning my circumstances, including (especially) my own shitty attitude. He sent me back a note reminding me that one should never, everunderestimate the power of jet lag to wreak havoc. I kept that in mind this time around and the advice has served me well. When I feel myself getting a little edgy, I contemplate the realities of traveling far, far away and having an upside down internal clock and not speaking the language or knowing how to get around. Really, I think it's a lot like being a little kid strapped into a stroller, at the mercy of adults. On the one hand, you get a sense of wonder-- everything is new and interesting. On the other hand, you must relinquish any sense (real, or more likely false) of control you rely on in your day-to-day life in more familiar surroundings.

So okay, good, all that knowledge helps. But one thing that cannot be gotten around, at least not for me, is the GD constipation that comes with flying halfway around the world. Happens every time. David Sedaris has a great essay about a trip to summer camp in Greece, about not shitting for an entire summer, and about winding up with his intestines "packed like a musket." About three days into my own musket experience, I was seeking a good remedy, preferably one that did not involve Ex-Lax. And I found it-- FIGS my friends. Lots and lots of figs. I bought about four pounds at the market and ate about three pounds that very night. Let's just say I'm clean as a whistle now. Thank you figs.

To celebrate my victory over the musket, I created a new holiday, which we are referring to asCaca Tov-- which translates roughly to Good Poop. This holiday, or at least the name of it, has gone over very well with Warren's niece, as we continue to work on teaching one another words in English and Hebrew. I'm up to about seven words now and figure if I stay here for another thirty years I should be able to ask where the bathroom is and be able to order my own falafel sandwiches.

I also learned that "yom" is day and "yam" (sp?) is sea. So when we were in the Mediterranean, it was our Yom Yam. Or maybe it was our Yam Yom. Or, as Warren explained, when you put both words together it means, "Delicious!" (So funny, Warren.)

Here are some more pictures:

Eat Pray Love? How about Eat Eat Eat.

Shalom from Israel, Y'all.

Warren's niece is attempting to teach me Hebrew and I'm trying to teach her English. I'm "winning" in the sense that I have such a hard time with that ccchhhhhhh sound, and such an inability to grasp new languages that she, in desperation, is coming up with ways to communicate with me. Today, after a good long frolic in the Mediterranean, she gestured at me and then said, after searching for it, "Beautiful!" And I got all choked up and told Warren that his niece told me I was beautiful. And he said, "You are!" And while I was busy getting stillmore choked up, Warren asked his niece, in Hebrew, what she'd actually said to me. Apparently she was trying to tell me my TOENAIL POLISH IS BEAUTIFUL. Okay, I can accept that.

We are having a great time. I said, before heading over, that growing up in NJ prepared me as much as anyone can be prepared for a full-immersion Israeli experience. After 17 hours of flying, broken up by 8 hours of layovers in Atlanta and Paris, I got stuck in the passport line in Tel Aviv behind a group of Russians that were having a very difficult time getting their paperwork in order. Finally it was my turn, and the young passport stamper guy tells me two things:

1) Never get stuck behind Russians. They're the worst to deal with.

2) (After noting I was born in NJ) "Oh, from Jersey? It's a lot like that here."

Boy I'll say. From the fashion crimes to the pushy lifeguards, to not understanding a goddamn word anyone is saying, I feel almost like I simply took an extra-extra long flight to South Jersey. Although the water is prettier (apologies my beloved Atlantic) and the food, oh god theFOOD. Anyway, I'm not going to post too many words while I'm on vacation but I am hoping to put some pictures up as I go. And so, today, images from the open market and the beach. I should be a professional vacationer. I'm really quite good at it.

So It Looks Like I Could Use a Little Help

Dear All Six of You,

On this, the eve of my trip to the Holy Land, I figured it would be a good time to throw a little secular prayer out there. Or maybe we should call it a wish list. I've got a couple of things going on over here that could potentially throw me for a bit of a financial loop. And no, this isn't a request for donations. I have a hunch, going into this note, that it's going to take the long, meandering route, so do forgive the ramble.

For those of you who enjoy it when the chase is cut to, the two big things going on are these:

1. I think I might be unemployed.

2. Well, crap, I need more surgery and as you might recall I have been unable to get insurance that actually covers anything I need covered.

Let's begin with the unemployment, shall we? Last year around this time, my kick ass friend Jim sent me a Craigslist ad for a writer job. Usually such ads amount to "offers" that basically have you writing for 2c a word or less. But this job was a fluke and a miracle. After much competition, I got word that I was hired to write content for a blog for JetBlue Airways that was dedicated to how great Austin is. Pinch me, right? For the past ten months, I have cranked out about fifty (sometimes more) posts per month. A big workload but thoroughly enjoyable. I ate in some of Austin's best restaurants, got tickets to great shows, and profiled lots of terrific Austinites. I knew this job was an experiment and very temporary. When the contract was renewed, I exhaled and shrieked with joy. I mean, my only complaint about this job was that, frankly, there wasn't anything to complain about.

Now it's time for them to decide about renewing the contract again. I was supposed to hear almost a month ago but no word. I just finished my last round of posts for them and they haven't asked me for a list of the next round. This is not a terribly good sign. It is possible that they'll make an eleventh hour decision to renew, which would kick such serious ass I don't even know how to describe it. In the meantime, I've been in a weird place where I didn't want to go after any other big jobs but I also knew I should keep my eyes peeled. Not that there's a hell of a lot of work in this economy, but I remind myself I've been on my own since I was 18 and so far, so good, something always comes through.

In fact, I've actually got any number of side projects going on-- writing workshops, speaking gigs, and many, many weddings-- that will keep me comfortably afloat for a couple of months. But I have got to start looking toward November now. Toward that end, I have come up with a list of things I'm able to do and ways that you, perhaps, can help me. We'll get to that in a minute. First, I want to tell you about this latest kooky surgery thing.

So my health has always been a curious thing. I can go years without catching a cold, have more energy than a power plant, and am blessed with some pretty amazing genes. That said, on a number of occasions I've had some pretty big physical breakdowns. There was the foot restructuring in 2005, the hysterectomy in 2008, and the bursitis crap in 2009. The latter two were taken care of by Warren's insurance, courtesy of the fact we are gay married. But now he's unemployed (and also uninsurable) so we're pretty screwed when it comes to big medical expenses. My foot was generously operated on by a surgeon in Chicago who waived his fees and my friends here in Austin threw a big party to cover related expenses (travel, recovery time, etc.)

Not that I needed any more testaments to how great my friends are but man, that foot thing was off the charts. Thank you all for helping out. And I know if I asked for similar help this time, I'd receive it. But honestly, I am perfectly capable of working, I've got lots and lots of things I can do. All I need this time is help connecting with people who need this work done.

So what's wrong this time you ask? Well, being an over achiever, it seems that I have, about twenty years ahead of schedule, developed a cataract in my right eye. I noticed the problem on a trip to the mountains in Mexico in June and using my handy research assistant, Google, I misdiagnosed the problem as a High Altitude Retinal Hemorrhage. That made sense, given that I was at nearly 10,000 feet and the symptoms were all there, the main one being that the world, as viewed through just my right eye, looks like an impressionistic painting. It could be worse, right? I mean, who doesn't like impressionistic paintings? Plus, I have this perfectly excellent left eye that is working double time, and that helps.

It is not imperative that I have surgery immediately-- the cataract will wait. It will get more problematic but apparently this is a fairly slow process. On the other hand, I am hoping to get it taken care of by, perhaps, the end of the year. And so, in addition to seeking work to keep the monthly nut covered, I've got to pick up some extra work so I can go under the knife again.

And now we get to the part where I ask you to help if you can. I think I'll use subheadings here so you can skim through and see if any of this stuff pertains to you.

WEDDINGS:

If you are getting married, or know someone who is getting married, perhaps you can let them know that I am the absolute best wedding officiant in Austin. Humble, too. I have loads of experience and there are plenty of testimonials over at my wedding website. I am delighted to do straight weddings, gay/lesbian commitment ceremonies, traditional, non-traditional, religious, secular, you name it. If I already performed your wedding, perhaps you could take a moment and pop over to YELP and put in a good word under Austin Wedding Officiants and/or Gay Wedding Officiants.

WRITING WORKSHOPS:

Actually, my Thursday workshops for Sept - Nov are full. However, My Tuesday workshops have openings. The topic is grief/healing. There are details here. If you know anyone who might be interested, or have ideas for groups with newsletters who might post the info (divorce support groups. grieving support groups) please let me know. There is more info about the workshops here.

WRITING:

Oh gosh, I can help with lots of stuff. I've ghost written books, offer one-on-one writing coaching, and have single-handedly created content for roughly 67% of all Internet pages. From writing white papers for Google to reviewing restaurants, I got it going on. So if you need help with a writing (or editing) project, well, here I am. Drop me a line.

TEACHING/PUBLIC SPEAKING:

I sometimes teach one-off or weeks-long writing workshops for kids and adults. Most often these take place in schools or libraries. If your kid's school hires outside speakers, or if your branch library might be interested in having me teach, please let me know. I also speak to Quilt Guilds with some regularity, so if you or your mom or your grandmom or whoever is in a guild, maybe you can connect me.

MY NEW BOOK:

Like every other author that sends a manuscript to an agent, I recently sent my new book out thinking, "Wouldn't it be great if I got a six-figure contract for this?" I try not to be delusional. I've had a lot of books published, yes. But I've had some rejected, too. So I can't count on this manuscript to haul in a big advance from a publisher. I hope to hear back in a few weeks. In the meanwhile, I'm thinking if a big house doesn't want it, I might go ahead and publish it on my own, which is becoming a more and more viable way for writers to do business. If this comes to pass, I was wondering if I might convince some of you to commit to buying an advance copy.

Before I move on to my final topic: MERCHANDISE, let me say something about both trying to peddle you the new book and, in a moment, trying to peddle you previous books. On the one hand, I'm pretty damn good at marketing. I do lots of marketing work for others. I have, to a certain extent, pushed my books when they first came out. However, I don't like to push too hard. This is not due to fear of success or feelings of inadequacy. It's more like Girl Scout Cookies. I really hate being hounded and guilted into buying anything-- cookies, magazines, cars. Along those lines, I don't like to be assertive/aggressive with my books. Writing them is the real pleasure for me. Getting them published is a thrill beyond thrill. And hearing back from folks who found a copy of this or that, and read it, and related to it-- well that is just the bee's knees. Call me an old hippie, but I prefer it when my books sort of just find their way into the hands of people who appreciate them.

That said, I suppose one could argue it's sort of stupid for me to have all these books floating around, a perfectly excellent potential for income, and not take advantage of that. So for this post, I am going to go ahead and push myself to remind you that I have several books out. I'll list them below. If you want a copy, and want to buy it from me, just let me know and we'll make that happen. I also have those very fun t-shirts (which I'll write about below, also) which will soon be available at Hill Country Weavers and which you can also order from me. This is a funny time for me to ask you to order stuff, since I'm leaving the country for two weeks. But if you are interested, you can email me at spikegillespie@gmail.com and I promise as soon as I get back I'll respond to you. So, here we go:

MERCHANDISE

All the Wrong Men and One Perfect Boy

1999, Simon and Schuster

My first book. It's out of print so if you order a copy from me, it will be gently used. This is a memoir about my life as a single mom.

Surrender (But Don't Give Yourself Away): Old Cars, Found Hope, and Other Cheap Tricks

2003, UT Press

My second book. An essay collection that includes a lot of my columns from the Dallas Morning News.

Pissed Off: Finding Forgiveness on the Other Side of the Finger

2005, Seal Press

This often gets classified as self-help but I think of it as a memoir. I did the bulk of the writing but there are also around 20 vignettes on anger by other women writers.

Quilty as Charged: Undercover in a Material World

2007, UT Press

Further proof that I prefer my books to include puns in the title. This book recounts my accidental immersion into the wide and wacky world of quilting. It includes interviews with rock stars of the quilting world and passionate everyday quilters.

Stricken: The 5,000 Stages of Grief

2009, Dalton Press

I conceived of, co-edited, and contributed an essay to this book about dealing with grief. It also features the work of many other writers. Yeah, it's a sad book, but it helps-- really.

Quilting Art

2009, Voyageur Press

This is a GORGEOUS book with many of the photos taken by Warren. It features the work of nearly two-dozen contemporary quilt artists who really push the envelope.

Quilting Around the World

2010, Voyageur Press

This is a history of quilts from around the world. It's not out yet but will be soon. You can advance order it from Amazon. I will have just a few copies myself, but if anyone wants to order directly from me let me know. First come first serve. I can send these out in October-- as soon as I get them.

Altar Ego

TBA

This is the novel that I'm currently shopping around. If you think you might be interested in an advance copy-- and it could take months (at least) for that to happen, will you let me know?

The T Shirt

I don't have a lot of these left, so I might not have your size. But I've got some-- black with white print and white with black print. They read: Take Me Back to Austin Texas (Right Now)-- an expression my son coined when he got tired of me dragging him all over the country in an old car. You can read more about the shirts here.

Thanks so much y'all,

Spike

Review: METAMORPHOSES -- Waiter, Waiter! There's a Vortex in My Zach!

[image (c) Kirk R. Tuck, 2010]

Allow me to begin this review with an apology-- alas I do not have time for one of my 5,000 word discourses on the play, METAMORPHOSES, now showing at ZACH. That is because, poor me, in about 48 hours I'm hopping on a plane to Tel Aviv and good lord you should see my To-Do-Before-Leaving List. On the other hand, letting y'all know about the show is part of that list, so I'm making time to share what I can.

First, if you're wondering, "Should I See It?" Oh yes! It's a wonderful show and I'm telling you, ZACH is on a super duper roll this year. Hell, so is Hyde Park Theatre. So are a number of other production companies. You might get sick of hearing me go on and on about how lucky we are to live here, but that won't stop me. My fellow theater fanatics are already aware of what an abundance of great stage shows we have. For the rest of you who keep putting off live theater, knock-knock? Time to rectify that.

Now, about METAMORPHOSES. It was written by Mary Zimmerman back in 1996 but what catapulted it to Tony Award status likely was, at least in part, its unfortunate "good timing." That is, the show made its off-Broadway debut in October 2001, just weeks after 9/11. I thought about this a lot as I watched the ZACH production, which stands strong even without knowing the context of the NY run. But knowing it adds that much more to experiencing it, as the play, based on Ovid's work, is, as the title suggests, all about transformation. There's a lot of death in there, and plenty of grief. The NYT reported that you could hear people openly sobbing throughout and it doesn't surprise me one bit. I don't think I could've handled seeing it back then.

Seeing it now though? I'm glad I did. Dave Steakley directs this one and the man loves visual spectacle. Boy is there plenty of it. If you've never seen Blue Lapis Light performing vertical, mid-air dances on long silk fabric, prepare to have your mind blown. Throughout the acts there are many times when these silks drop down from the ceiling and actors perform elaborate physical feats that most of us couldn't do standing on the ground and assisted by a team of Cirque de Soleil performers.

But wait, there's more. The theatre, which is in the round, has a set made up of a swimming pool. That's right, a pool. And much of the acting takes place in this pool, which time and again is used to tremendous effect. It also invites, on numerous occasions, an opportunity to trot out some super buff actors in super tiny bathing suits. We're not talking pot-bellied fashion criminals at Barton Springs, people. We're talking... well, go see for yourself and my apologies for objectifying the well-buttocked lads sporting the itty-bitties but, you know, I call it like I see it.

I did recall, as I watched, another water-themed show-- Oceana-- put on by Vortex a year or so ago. And I might be mistaken but I think I saw some crossover in the cast here. In fact, I wouldn't have been surprised to see this show at the Vortex, which often presents works based on myths and imbued with a fantastical feel.

The play moves from one ancient tale to another-- King Midas, Alycone and Cyx, Orpheus and Eurydice, and on and on. I try not to read the program ahead of time because I like to be surprised. This time I cheated and noted with curiosity that the voice of John Aielli was going to be involved in Act II. So when Act II kicked off with a scene about Narcissus, I was pretty sure it was time for JA's disembodied cameo. Alas, I was wrong. This comes later, during a scene portraying Eros and Psyche, in which his offstage voice discusses with the offstage voice of a little child the meaning of love, with a bit about sex thrown in, all this while a totally naked-- well, okay, save for his wings-- Eros floats in the pool. I admit the Aielli thing was a bit disconcerting, but probably due to some very personal tastes and opinions I hold about the man.

As scene after magnificent scene unfolded, I found myself thinking this would be a terrific show to take the kids to. Forget about modern day action heroes, of pumped up good guys vs. bad guys. Long before our current renderings of such tales there were the mythical heroes of old and characters making big missteps and paying terrible consequences. Really exciting stuff. Though I would caution there is that one scene that involves attempted suicide and incest so you might want to exercise caution unless you're open to discussion on the drive home.

METAMORPHOSES plays through September 26, 2010 and you can find out more about buying tickets here.

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for Cake Balls

Sometimes my job is sooooooooo rough. I receive regular invitations to review plays, concerts, products, and food around town and, you know, there are only so many hours in a day. Recently I was offered a chance to test out some treats from Austin Cake Ball. They twisted my arm, people, I swear.

Actually, I'd already sampled some Cake Balls awhile back when my friend Alisa Weldon over at L Style G Style offered me some. They were fabulous so I jumped at the chance to "test out" some more. I was hosting Knit Knight last week and figured my fellow crafters would be down with lending me an assist.

That morning, the door knocked before I was out of bed. I leapt up and eagerly greeted the delivery guy, hoping he wouldn't notice that in my haste I failed to wrestle my ample bosom into an appropriate foundation garment. If he did spot my unintended demonstration of the reality of gravity, he was polite enough not to say anything. I thanked him profusely then stashed the balls in the fridge, trying to pretend all day long they weren't in there, lest I eat the entire box before my guests arrived.

Amazingly, I maintained my restraint. Then, at long last, we busted out the balls. My oh my. I think I ate (at least) five, though I don't recommend you attempt to break this record. Better to savor them one or two at a time. As if...

So what exactly is a Cake Ball? It's like a cross between a little cake and a truffle. They come in a bunch of different flavors -- too hard to pick a favorite but I will say I fell pretty hard for the Red Velvet. They're coated in frosting and decorated with gorgeous details. One good thing about not eating them all the minute they arrived was that I had several hours to just sneak peeks in at the box. Total eye candy. My fellow knit-knuts and I pretty much demolished a couple of dozen of them in an hour or so. And even though I have no plans to ever again marry, if you've got a wedding in your future you might want to consider a Cake Ball Wedding Cake. Check it out: