Cell phones, rice and a little tinkle of water

We’ve all heard about someone spilling a glass of water over their cell phone, then fixing the problem by dropping the phone into a box filled with rice. Turns out it’s a solution that really works; just ask my friend Debbie.

No, don't toss out any unused rice you have

at home. You never know when you might

need a bowl of it to fix your phone.

 

She got her lovely new smart phone all wet recently and discovered that a little rice is exactly what the doctor ordered. The much more fascinating story, however, is how she managed to find herself with a dripping communication device.

Accidents do happen and there are all sorts of ways a person might manage to damage their phone. For instance, you might be hustling from your car and drop your phone in a rain puddle; perhaps you’re sitting next to a pool, reach for your phone and fumble it a bit and, oops, now it’s soaked. You could leave it out on your patio and a storm passes your way, or in your convertible when some prankster tosses a water balloon in your direction. None of those things happened to Debbie. But they could have, right?

I’m thinking she wishes her little accident was so simple and straight forward. But, no, Debbie was out and about last week when she needed to, ah, find a restroom. Her problem first began when she found a convenient place that, unfortunately, didn’t have any sort of hook about to hold her pocketbook.

It’s what she did next that has me scratching my noggin. Perhaps Debbie was in a hurry – you know, nature will only wait so long. So she, well, smartly decided to rest her pocketbook in a nearby sink while she dashed into the closest stall.

All seemed good, at least for the moment. Then Debbie heard the quiet little tinkle of water. Oh-so unfortunately, the tinkling was coming from outside the stall. When she finished up her, ah, business and made it back to the sink, water was pouring from the faucet and nicely filling up her pocketbook. You can guess where her cell phone was resting!

It turns out that Debbie had managed to stick her pocketbook into one of those high-tech sinks, one with an electronic eye that automatically activates the faucet. Yikes!

As I mentioned earlier, the rice thing really works. Just Ask Debbie. You might also consider giving her a portable hook with one of those rubber suction thingies on it. I’m thinking it’ll cut down all sorts of problems for her in the future.

I’m thinking she’s not worried about muggers

My friend Malka snapped this photo recently of a teenager getting some cash at an ATM in Jerusalem. Truth to tell, the assault weapon is just about as common here as the ubiquitous jeans and camisole she’s wearing, just a little accessory that brings out the highlights in her hair!

Most Americans visiting Israel for the first time are caught a bit off guard by all the weapons carted about by IDF troops, many like this oh-so young woman in civilian clothes. It all seems so alien to the way we live our lives in the land of the free and the home of the brave. In the Jewish homeland it’s part of everyday life!

Soldiers are responsible for their weapons, even when off-duty, and often have nowhere to stash them. So they carry them on errands, when visiting friends or out for a casual drink. It’s not at all uncommon to spot a guy or girl in a bathing suit, strolling along the Mediterranean with friends, an M-14 slung casually over their shoulders.

If you happen to be at one of the central bus stations in Jerusalem, Tel Aviv or Haifa on a Sunday morning – the beginning of the work week in Israel – then you’ll have a chance to see just how much weaponry is actually in circulation in this tiny nation. I wasn’t around in the 1940s, but I’m thinking the coming and going of youngish troops, armed and smartly decked out in an array of colorful uniforms, is a mirror image of what the U.S. probably looked like during the dark days of World War II.

In Israel, troops returning to their duty bases can be spotted with Dror light machine guns, Uzi pistols and submachine guns; Galil assault rifles and the occasional high-powered sniper rifle; a wide range of handguns and, of course, the ubiquitous M-14s.

At first glance it might seem like the wild and wooly west has been reborn in the Middle East. And yet, after a moment or so, the weapons and soldiers seem a natural part of this place, just another interesting ingredient – along with Sabra wit, falafel, serpentine streets and mystical secrets – that makes Israel special.

So snap away at the teens and their assault rifles. You’ll find them most everywhere. They don’t seem to mind the candid camera hijinks of tourists and, truth to tell, all those weapons make Israel one of the safest countries in the world for visitors.

A final note: Here’s hoping that one day soon the weapons will disappear, along with all the reasons that make them necessary!

Staying really busy and doing absolutely nothing

I had dinner with the minyon group last Thursday. Irwin, praying pal extraordinaire and longtime friend, asked me what I’ve been up to lately. It’s a fair question, but one that often leaves me puzzled.

Since leaving that place with the printing press over, gulp, three years ago, I’ve stayed busy doing all manner of stuff – traveling, volunteering, writing, reading, walking, jogging, painting (both of the house and fine arts variety), yard work and drinking; in short, nothing much.

Mostly, I’ve learned that there’s a talent to doing nothing and that just about anyone can do it by doing, ah, nothing. But over time I’ve actually figured out how to do nothing in much more interesting and creative ways.

In the last year or two I’ve done nothing while watching TV, movies and plays; done nothing at film and book festivals, workshops and seminars; also stayed busy doing nothing working in my yard and cleaning the house and done a whopping amount of nothing sitting in front of my computer.

I’ve done nothing on trains, planes and cars; done nothing in Alaska, Washington, California, Arizona, New York, New Jersey, Georgia and Florida. I’ve also managed to do a whole lot of nothing in Israel – twice!

Of course nothing, for some people, is something. I’m thinking this philosophical notion is buried somewhere in that whole half-glass full or empty concept. So, given my mood on any given day, it actually turns out I’ve been awfully busy! Almost makes me want to take a nap!

The really good news is that’s an option, perhaps one of the very best things I’ve learned over the last three years.  Turns out I’m a natural at doing nothing while napping.

How I spent a lifetime at JFK’s Terminal 3

A trip is often about the journey and not the des- tination, and sometimes the journey is just plain awful. That certainly sums up at least part of my getting from here to there and back during my most recent journey to Israel.

Finding a pigeon resting inside an airport terminal isn't

all that usual; that is of course unless you're travelling

through JFK in New York.

As often as not, the entire traveling experience is an adventure for me. Truth to tell, there’s no question that air travel has become onerous in recent years. But with the proper attitude and the right drugs the lines and delays, security checkpoints and pat downs all become, ah, fun and funny, part of some sort of cosmic joke.

But the joke this time around was pretty much on me after I managed to pull together a travel itinerary that had me spending close to 16 hours – eight hours going and eight hours on my return – at New York’s JFK International, one of the worst airports in the country.

Not that long ago I could have flown directly from my little corner of the world to Israel. For some yet unexplainable reason Delta, my hometown airline that sloganizes it’ll always be ready when I am, canceled its one daily flight from the Land of Cotton to Tel Aviv. Go figure!

So to get from here to way over there I had to travel through at least one other airport. New York seemed the logical choice. Unfortunately, the two flights offered up on Delta’s website when I started finalizing my plans came with challenges.

One flight only allowed me 90 minutes to make my connection. The other fell at the opposite end of the waiting spectrum, offering up a whopping eight hour delay in the Big Apple. Making my way back home came with pretty much the same challenges – dash and pray or cool my heels at JFK; say that just right and it sort of rhymes. That said, there was nothing pretty or poetic about my decision!

I came down on the side of caution, worrying that if there was any kind of delay – bad weather, bald tires, drunken pilots or deranged flight attendants – I’d miss my connecting flight and then have to wait, ahhh, many extra hours in New York. Okay, I know I ended up waiting many extra hours. But at least that was part of my plan!

And it would have been okay if JFK wasn’t a seedy little rat hole, filled with the devil’s spawn who work as ticket agents, baggage handlers, security guards and fast food clerks and cashiers. Apparently I’m not the only passenger in the last year who has taken note of the disaster called Terminal 3.

A little background and context might be helpful. JFK began life in the early 1940s when the city of New York began filling in the marshy tidelands of Idlewild Golf Course. Initial plans were to create a modest airport of about 1,000 acres. But by the time construction was complete, Idlewild Airport had grown to five times the original size.

Commercial flights began in 1948. Today, John F. Kennedy International Airport – it was renamed in memory of the nation’s thirty-fifth president in 1963, a little over a year after JFK was assassinated – is the nation’s leading international gateway, with more than 80 airlines operating from its gates.  

Unfortunately, city and airport officials have paid little attention to the mega-airport in recent years and apparently haven’t noticed that the world is moving at warp speed now that we’ve entered the twenty-first Century. JFK is difficult to fly into; it’s a jarring blend of terminals, pieced together with dismal walkways and miles of sidewalks. Buses, mini-vans and light rail will move you about from place to place; but service is often slow and sporadic.

Most of the terminals are suffering from neglect, real fixer-uppers with holes in the roofs, water stains spilling across the walls, broken tiles, ratty carpeting and birds flying about. The folks at Frommers.com have taken note. They ranked JFK’s Terminal 3 as the worst in the world.

"Terminal 3 is known for endless immigration lines in a dank basement, an utter lack of food and shopping options and three crowded and confusing entry points,” Frommers.com said. "There's also a sense that the cleaning crew gave up in despair a while ago."

I’m thinking Frommers got it right. Oh, did I mention that it was Terminal 3 where I spent 15 of the 16 hours waiting at JFK? In short, a lifetime!

Mickey D’s gets fresh, modern McMakeover

Zipping about recently, doing a few errands and in search of a hot cup of Joe, I spotted what I thought was a new fast food restaurant taking shape in my little corner of the world. After a second glance at the construction site, I realized it was a very old burger joint simply getting a massive face lift!

Once upon a time the place with the golden arches in my neighborhood had sold a billion burgers – give or take a few million. McDonald’s was located on a happening spot, the perfect intersection to draw in families, teens and business types jonesing for two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun! In recent years the joint has started showing its age and its customers have started finding other fast food alternatives.

I’m thinking the burger bosses decided the best fix was simply to go back to square one and start over – again! So in late spring they leveled the existing arches and the building it soared above on Sandy Plains Road and started from scratch. And now, they’re back!

The new site has an oh-so modern vibe about it. It’s a lovely blend of brick, glass and stone; an open and clean design that has the feel of something pulled from the archives of Frank Lloyd Wright. Even the iconic arches have been updated and pulled into the 21^st Century, soaring mightily above the new structure.

Now all the corporate toads need to figure out is how best to update and modernize both its menu and its service. In a report released last week by the American Consumer Satisfaction Index (ACSI), McDonald’s found itself at the butt end of the pack, easily bested by Papa John’s, Subway and Taco Bell.

Unfortunately, the ranking isn’t new territory for McDonald’s.  Except for 2009, when the burger giant edged ahead of KFC and Burger King by a percentage point, McDonald’s has consistently placed last in the ranking since 1995.

Despite such dismal ratings, there’s still a bit of magic in the Golden Arches. I’m thinking with its spiffy new look and efforts to cut out much of the fat, oil and sugar from its products that Mickey D’s will yet again have patrons lovin’ its stuff!  

Dawgs, Gators and quadruple bypass surgery

My brother Larry had quadruple bypass surgery earlier this week. I’m happy to report that he’s up and about; not yet dancing but well on the road to recovery.

Doctors discovered the problem late last week. The really good news is this is the sort of health issue that, despite its seriousness, is very fixable. Once upon a time blocked coronary arteries were difficult, if impossible, for surgeons to repair. In recent years bypass surgery has become a procedure best filed away under the heading of medical miracle.

The truth is that the procedure has been perfected over the last few decades thanks to the intellect, rigorous training and passion of curious medical researchers and skilled surgeons. And let us all say Amen!

The question, of course, remains why Larry’s arteries clogged up in the first place? Some will say it’s the weekly dose of Big Macs and fries, all washed down with chocolate milkshakes. I have another theory. My brother is a loyal and true Dawg fan, who bleeds red and black and worships each fall “between the hedges.” He made the mistake of leaving the Land of Cotton several decades ago, moving south into the land of Gators. Need I say more?

Now he’s really in a pickle! I’m thinking that many of the doctors, surgeons, physician assistants and nurses who have been tinkering around with his innards this week are loyal Gators who bleed blue and orange. Those of you living outside the U.S., and have no clue about the seriousness of college football, simply need to take my word that this is not a good thing!

So I guess on some sort of cosmic playing field he’ll now have mixed loyalties. Gators or not, his physicians did make him whole again. That said, there really isn’t much of a conflict. After all, Physicians and medicine are all about science. And everyone knows that college football is a religious experience.

Here’s hoping that this little episode will be a fading memory in a month or so and that Larry will be suited up and ready to play completely in the game of life very soon. And since I’m just about out of sports clichés, I’ll simply finish with that well known Georgia prayer, “Go you hairy Dawgs!”

Shabbat in Jerusalem with friends, strangers

Sometimes a little creativity works out much better than tossing loads of money at a problem. That’s exactly what the energetic staff at Jerusalem’s Abraham Hostel have done when figuring out how best to pull together Shabbat dinner for their guests each week.

To understand the problem, you probably need to know that Jerusalem, both the capital and spiritual center of Israel, is one of the few places in the world that takes Shabbat seriously. The city essentially shuts down for the Jewish Sabbath, a period that stretches from Friday afternoon until three stars appear in the sky on Saturday evening.

That means if you’re a tourist you’ll have plenty of time to rest and relax; it also means that you’d better plan ahead if you want to eat on Friday night and throughout the day on Saturday. Just about everything in the city closes – retail stores, public transport, museums and theaters; restaurants, cafes, fast-food joints, mega-supermarkets and mom-and-pop groceries.

If you’re staying at one of Jerusalem’s luxury hotels you don’t need to worry. Generally along with the high-cost of your room, you’ll be wined and dined in fine style over the Sabbath. Most 5-star hotels offer up a smorgasbord of delights – soups, salads and fishy appetizers; beef, chicken and fish; veggies and baked goods; vintage wines and dessert! Needless to say, you won’t go hungry.

That’s not the case if you’re staying in a 3-star hotel or hostel. Most of these places provide a hearty – if limited – breakfast. Otherwise, plan ahead or fast; unless you’re booked into the Abraham Hostel. I stumbled across it online when planning my most recent trip to Israel. It looked interesting and the reviews were mostly good.

The price was certainly right – $20 for a bed in a dorm and $60 for a private room and bath. Once I figured out the location was just about perfect – it’s on Jaffa Street in the heart of the city, a block or so from the Jewish Market and the pedestrian mall on Ben Yehudah Street and an easy 10 minute walk from the central bus station – I decided to try it out.

Turns out you get what you pay for! When traveling solo I don’t mind roughing it a bit. I’ve stayed in 3-star hotels and the occasional hostel. The hotels, without exception, have always been fine – clean and neat, safe and affordable. The hostels have also been safe and very affordable; unfortunately, they’re generally a little seedy around the edges.

The Abraham Hostel was light, bright and filled with second-hand everything – furniture and floor coverings; dishes, glasses and plates; beds and bedding; towels and bathroom fixtures. The building was ancient and needed work. My room was tiny and featured a jarring blend of school dorm simplicity and jail-house practicality – two single beds (really cots) pushed together, harsh neon lighting and cheap wooden cabinets nailed to the walls; a small and shaky desk, nightstand and chair. There were two additional smallish rooms, one for the toilet and another for a shower. Functional is about the best I can say about the place.

There was a bright spot. The main gathering area – sort of the hostel’s ballroom – was on the second floor. It was expansive and included colorful sofas, chairs, bean bags and hammocks; a fully stocked bar and huge entertainment system; a dining area and public kitchen. It was here that everyone willing to pay out 35 shekels (about $9) came together for Shabbat dinner.

Lacking the funds to wine and dine their guests, the hostel’s management came up with the novel idea of pulling everyone together like a family. The staff would go out and purchase the food for dinner, but it would be the guests who, with a little help from the staff, would do most of the prep work and cooking.

So it was that a trickle of tourists from around the world began gathering in the kitchen area as Jerusalem started shutting down for Shabbat. We stood around, gazing about, waiting for instructions. Fresh veggies were spread across several tables and a few staffers handed out knives, bowls and other such stuff.

Before you could shout shalom, we were all slicing and dicing, sharing a bit about our background and chatting with one another about our latest adventures. The ice had been broken. The people at my work station were typical of the guests at the hostel – a guy from Canada, traveling through Israel as part of his college course work; a couple from Japan on holiday and a middle-aged woman from California visiting relatives. Well, you get the idea.

The prep work took about 30 minutes; then we had another hour or so to talk and meet up with friends. Did I mention there was drinking? As the sky turned dark and the first stars of Shabbat winked and twinkled across Jerusalem, we settled down for the evening meal. There were about 50 of us spread about the room – friends and strangers, young and not-so-young; Jews and Christians.

A youngish woman took a few minutes to detail the importance of Shabbat, offered some religious background and historical context, then lit the Sabbath candles. Another staffer said Kiddush, a traditional blessing thanking God for the “fruit of the vine,” and finished with a blessing over a loaf of challah.

Our work and the work of the staff had pulled together a feast – fresh veggies and fruit; rice, pasta and potatoes; chips, dips, bread and chicken! I’ve already mentioned there was drinking, right?

It was Shabbat and we were family, at least for the moment, sharing a special meal in a very special city. As I said at the start, sometimes the best way to deal with a problem is to hold onto your money and use a little creativity. The evening worked for me, something I’ll be remembering in coming months. Now I’m thinking the hostel’s bosses might want to capture some of their staff’s creativity and figure out how to use it to freshen up their property.