Blogelstein!

On why I don't live in New York

Tue, 24 Nov 2009 11:52:34 +0000

New York is great. It is marvelous and funny and astonishing, and every time I come here I walk up and down the well-organised city blocks (goodness knows, London could learn something from New York about organising city blocks) and think that I should move to New York. I sit at slightly dirty tables in famous delis (London could also do with some famous delis) and munch bagels and talk to strangers (I love talking to strangers, and it is practically outlawed in London) and I am charmed. I inadvertently jump in front of someone to get in an empty yellow cab and am congratulated by the driver for my pugnacity and I am delighted. And yesterday I walked the High Line and I was moved and astounded.

And yet, I don’t live in New York. And as I trotted through Soho yesterday it occured to me that maybe it’s because it makes too much sense: New York to me feels familiar and local and comfortable. It feels easily comprehensible. And although London is far from the most exotic place for a half-British person to be living, and although I’ve been there for six years which is long enough for it to be navigable and very familiar, the remaining minor irritants of my slight foreign-ness serve as catalysts to a constant state of mild agitation and curiosity and from being complacent, too much at ease. They’re catalysts that I wouldn’t have in New York. And which, for whatever reason, I am reluctant to surrender.

On the flight to New York

Mon, 23 Nov 2009 03:24:00 +0000

I managed to get my needles past security, so I was knitting at a rapid clip.

What are you making? said the man sitting next to me. We were in the back of the plane. It was loud.

A blanket for a baby, I said. I am going to visit my friend who just had one, but it is going slowly so I will probably give it to him for his sixteenth birthday, I explained.

Is it your first? the man said.

Yes, I said, thinking that it was odd for him to care how many blankets I have knitted.

The man beamed. He looked extremely happy.

I COULD TELL, he said, with the most warm smile, and then I realised that he did not care that it was my first blanket knitting project, but rather that he had misheard me and thought that I was in fact knitting the blanket for my own baby. And, OK, my Long Haul Flight Hoodie is neither form-fitting nor flattering, but that was a bit upsetting.

And worse yet? My habits are now so English that I thought, well, this is awkward and a bit unfortunate, but this man seems so absolutely and profoundly delighted by his ability to detect pregnancy that I am not going to correct him.

And indeed, I did not.

On becoming a vegetarian

Sat, 21 Nov 2009 10:14:00 +0000

I decided to become a vegetarian last month, after watching The Cove. The film’s message about the degredation of the environment as a result of fish consumption was so convincing that I walked out of there, turned to Lauren (whose environmentalism has led to her being a vegetarian for years), and said, I think I am going to be a vegetarian.

Good idea, she said.

But being a vegetarian is not easy. Being disdainful about meat-eating is easy; explaining why I am a vegetarian in a slightly high-handed way is simple; feeling good about myself because now I am a vegetarian and thus doing my part to do a difference in the world is not a challenge.

But I have not yet mastered the part of vegetarianism that involves eating no meat. Every morning I wake up and think, ah, here I am, waking up, a vegetarian! But depending on the mishaps and stresses of the day and the degree to which I am convinced that they are due to me having low iron levels (moot because I have thalassemia minor, and thus my iron levels are always low), more than once I have fallen off the wagon and found myself chewing through a beef sandwich at lunchtime. And then I feel bad, but not too bad, and then I have the somewhat pleasant opportunity to start over again, to say, OK, now I am a vegetarian, as I fold the greasy paper from my meaty sandwich and place it in the bin.

And then I think about how it seems that my favourite part of vegetarianism is the becoming, rather than the being.

"Women can’t rise far enough to suit me,” he said. “I’m a gynocrat –..."

Fri, 20 Nov 2009 16:28:36 +0000

““Women can’t rise far enough to suit me,” he said. “I’m a gynocrat – I’d like rule by women.””

- Martin Amis says new novel will get him ‘in trouble with the feminists’ | Books | guardian.co.uk

Do we really still need to discuss how saying that you really love women does not excuse being a misogynist, just as claiming to really love members of a particular race does not serve as a licence for racist slurs? I guess we do.

On the bright side, however, I feel more confidence than ever in my mildly controversial blog post on Amis v Price.

On being a dog person

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 23:43:17 +0000

Not kidding: today there was an Airedale terrier in the place I went for lunch (Mrs. Marengo’s) and as it (and its owner) were leaving when I did, I followed them down the street in what would have been a totally creepy way if the Airedale was a person, but which seemed totally reasonable - no, in fact necessary - because I just really wanted to pat the adorable dog. And then I did and I have to say, I was very happy, and judging from the tail wagging, the Airedale was also very pleased.

And after I bade the Airedale farewell and headed back to the office (for the dog-following had taken me slightly off course), I realised that I feel kind of sorry for people who are not dog people and who will never know the joy of stalking a dog through Soho in order to give it a brief, life-affirming cuddle.

And then I also realised that I will miss my childhood dog, Maisie, forever.

noraleah: My twerpy little sister and her twerpy little friend...

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 15:19:26 +0000

noraleah:

My twerpy little sister and her twerpy little friend like to make fun of M. and I because we “prep” days before parties. But advance planning is the key to health and happiness, as ~~compulsive~~ frequent hosts know.

In today’s Times, Mark Bittman offers you 101 make-ahead Thanksgiving dishes. Enjoy your family … and get out of the kitchen!

I’m in charge of Edelfamily Christmas dinner this year, so am delighted to have this handy guide (Thanksgiving menus are v similar to Christmas ones, you know).

On a thing that I find a little weird about the UK (#3,439)

Mon, 16 Nov 2009 18:32:00 +0000

The convention of putting your A-level and GCSE grades - ALL of them - on your CV.

In the US, this would be the equivalent (in terms of the amount of learning you’ve done) of not only listing your SAT scores and what you got on your AP exams, but noting what your GPA was when you were in the tenth grade.

When I was in tenth grade, I failed the first quarter of math. Flat-out failed it: I hated the teacher so much (he was apt to sexually harass the girls and throw things at the boys) that I had some kind of strong anxiety reaction and simply drew a blank every time we had any kind of assessment.

Thus, I feel for people who feel they must diligently report that they got a terrible mark in, say, GCSE Religious Studies, because they were so busy trying to buy cigarettes and kiss boys and write plays and doing all the other things that you do when you were fifteen that make GCSE Religious Studies not a priority. I think it is a very good thing that potential employers cannot learn about my tenth-grade math failure on my CV, because even though it would now - thirteen years later - be totally irrelevant, it nonetheless would surely not look pretty.

(Although I suppose that they can now read about it on my blog. There you go, future employers. Jean Hannah Edelstein: a failure at math, aged 15.)

On the purposes of books

Mon, 16 Nov 2009 11:05:00 +0000

JHE: I'm terrified of moving, because I have so many books. Four years' worth of books.
A: And I suppose many of them are ones you've accumulated are from reviewing, aren't they? So not actually books that you want...
JHE: Exactly. Not only am I not going to read them again, they don't look impressive on my shelf...
A: ...which are really the only two purposes of books.

On Take Care of Yourself

Sun, 15 Nov 2009 00:19:19 +0000

I saw Take Care of Yourself today at the Whitechapel Gallery. I expected to find it interesting, in light of my professional expertise, but I didn’t expect to find it so familiar, and not a little bit painful.

The artist, Sophie Calle, received a most horrible break-up email from a lover, and was inspired to share it with dozens of women from different fields of expertise to get their particular take on the matter - a judge finds that he’s broken a contract, a psychiatrist decides that he’s a perfectly sinister personality type.

With the exception of one woman who protests that Calle can’t have loved him very much if she is moved to share this most private statement in public, all of the women agree: despite the manner in which he couches his rejection in the most florid of prose, Calle’s ex-lover is a jerk. And this near-universal recognition made me think about how easy it is to see when someone else is in a relationship with someone who you see is clearly abhorrent, but how easy it is to lose this perspective when you are in a relationship yourself.

And I thought of all of the times that I had received similarly horrible missives, or speeches, or whatever (not very many, but too many all the same), and still longed for a way to see the good in the men rejecting me even when my friends - both women and men - assured me that I was better off alone. Life would be easier, no doubt, if we could maintain that clarity of view that we have with regards to partners of other people, I suppose, but perhaps it would also be impossible: only with the loss of that critcial perspective can we dupe ourselves into risking love.

I am very grouchy today.

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 14:55:50 +0000

I am very grouchy today.

I have been listening to Bon Iver this afternoon, and this song...

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 17:56:00 +0000

I have been listening to Bon Iver this afternoon, and this song reminded me of the three times in my life I have tried to donate blood.

The first time I tried to donate blood, I was in high school. I had just turned 17 and was thus eligible to donate blood and my friends and I were all, OH YEAH BLOOD DONATION because we were still too young to do anything else edgy, such as drink alcohol or smoke cigarettes (we were law-abiding youths; remind me to tell you another time about the interesting fact that I have never had an illegal alcoholic drink). So I got plugged in to a needle and expressed a pint and then I passed out on the floor of our auditorium and that was really a deeply unfortunate thing to happen in high school.

The second time was also in high school, the second semester of that year. Shamed by my previous blood donation fiasco, for some reason I decided that I should do it again in order to prove my worth. This time I did not pass out, so I was all, I AM THE HERO OF BLOOD DONATION. (This is the least interesting of the three blood donation stories, but is a necessary middle eight, so to speak.)

The third time was at university. You cannot donate blood, the Red Cross people said, because you have spent too much time in the UK, a place where there is mad cow disease.

Oh, I said, rolling my sleeve back down. I don’t think I have mad cow disease.

You can still eat a snack while you wait for your friend, they said.

I started eating some snacks.

OH MY GOD, said a nurse, charging over and attempting to bodily drag me away from the snack table. YOU NEED TO LIE DOWN.

Um, I said, I didn’t donate blood. I am just eating some snacks while I wait for my friend.

Oh, she said resentfully. Well. You’re very pale.

And from that day forth I started wearing blusher.

(I am aware, by the way, that this song is not really about blood donation at all. But macht’s nichts.)

Women's rights, hung out to dry | Jean Hannah Edelstein | Comment is free | guardian.co.uk

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 10:13:30 +0000

Women's rights, hung out to dry | Jean Hannah Edelstein | Comment is free | guardian.co.uk

"We all love a nice cup of tea but in the cut and thrust of office life it can be easy to put off..."

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 22:44:00 +0000

“We all love a nice cup of tea but in the cut and thrust of office life it can be easy to put off putting the kettle on, seeing the time it takes as unjustifiable luxury. This shouldn’t be the case: there are many reasons why it pays to offer to get a round in.”

- If you only do one thing this week … make tea for your colleagues | Money | The Guardian

Here’s the thing, folks. I have lived in the UK for six years. I have worked in offices in the UK for nearly five of those years. I do not understand the tea round. This article makes it sound really jolly and pleasant, but actually it can be very sinister and political. Who’s included in the tea run? Are they making the tea the way that you like it? Who is using your favourite mug? Do you intentionally leave someone out of the tea run in order to indicate that you are mad at them (yes, yes, you absolutely do because you are British and couldn’t possibly just discuss it with them).

Yes, this all sounds a bit bitter, like an over-steeped cup. But maybe I am, because the tea run makes me frown. I’m just going to come out and say it: I don’t like tea that much. I mean, it’s fine, but I can really take it or leave it. So it never occurs to me to make tea in the office.

The result of my lack of desire? I am never quite sure when it is time to go on a tea run. So I will sit there in my office thinking, ‘hm, I should get some tea…um, now? Now? NOW?’ and as I am doing all of this thinking - which is obviously keeping me from doing my work - almost invariably someone else will go and get some tea first and then everyone thinks I am a rude non-getter of tea. Or else I think, ‘yes, yes, NOW’ and I say ‘DOES ANYONE WANT SOME TEA?’ and everyone is like, ‘meh, not right now, thanks’, and then I feel just as confused.

Oh, British people. I love you. But I do not love your incomprehensible tea system that threatens to stand between me and assimilation forever.

My top 10 books of 2009

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 15:00:00 +0000

Inspired by Publisher’s Weekly, who have just published their list of the top 10 books of 2009, here are my own top 10 picks:

1. Himglish and Femalese: Why Women Don’t Get Why Men Don’t Get Them by Jean Hannah Edelstein

2. Himglish and Femalese: Why Women Don’t Get Why Men Don’t Get Them by Jean Hannah Edelstein

3. Himglish and Femalese: Why Women Don’t Get Why Men Don’t Get Them by Jean Hannah Edelstein

4. Himglish and Femalese: Why Women Don’t Get Why Men Don’t Get Them by Jean Hannah Edelstein

5. Himglish and Femalese: Why Women Don’t Get Why Men Don’t Get Them by Jean Hannah Edelstein

6. Himglish and Femalese: Why Women Don’t Get Why Men Don’t Get Them by Jean Hannah Edelstein

7. Himglish and Femalese: Why Women Don’t Get Why Men Don’t Get Them by Jean Hannah Edelstein

8. Himglish and Femalese: Why Women Don’t Get Why Men Don’t Get Them by Jean Hannah Edelstein

9. Himglish and Femalese: Why Women Don’t Get Why Men Don’t Get Them by Jean Hannah Edelstein

10. Himglish and Femalese: Why Women Don’t Get Why Men Don’t Get Them by Jean Hannah Edelstein

Gosh, would you look at that? How surprising. Rest assured, of course, that I gave a fair chance to all the ‘big’ books of the year, but made them all stand on their own two feet. It disturbed me when I was done that all of the books on the list were the same one, and by me. But, naturally, I published it anyway.

"Back when I got into journalism, the idea that a fistfight in a newsroom would turn into a news..."

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 16:25:17 +0000

““Back when I got into journalism, the idea that a fistfight in a newsroom would turn into a news story was unthinkable. The guys in the sports department at the New York Daily News, they had so many, you wouldn’t even look up.””

- Washington Post editor Henry Allen, 68, who punched Style reporter Manuel Roig-Franzia on Friday night for filing “the second-worst piece I’ve ever had handed to me in 43 years.” (via andrewromano)

Good old-fashioned print journalism. I like to think that they were wearing bow ties and suspenders when this happened. And that they knocked over some typewriters. These days a pissed-off editor will just send you a snarky tweet.

"And what was the big story concerning women during the last conference season? Pay inequality?..."

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 15:36:14 +0000

“And what was the big story concerning women during the last conference season? Pay inequality? Childcare? Rape conviction rates? Don’t be ridiculous; this is Britain, 2009. It was Sarah Brown’s dress. Then Sarah Brown’s shoes. Then Samantha Cameron’s dress. Then Samantha Cameron’s shoes. Sorry, I cannot type the brand of Samantha Cameron’s shoes. My hand is beating my head.”

- Good luck, Liz Truss | Tanya Gold | Comment is free | The Guardian

For once, I think Tanya Gold is spot-on.

"Dear Jeanie, I’m a total Blogelstein fan as you know, but today … “Dad took..."

Sun, 01 Nov 2009 23:11:00 +0000

“

Dear Jeanie,

I’m a total Blogelstein fan as you know, but today … “Dad took Arthur and I” !! … I know language is supposed to be fluid and all that, but that one really sticks in the throat. Just omit Arthur and you’ll immediately get my point.

”

- Thanks, Mumelstein! (duly corrected)

Parents upset, bored, by 'Where the Wild Things Are'

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 23:07:00 +0000

Parents upset, bored, by 'Where the Wild Things Are':

This is one of my favourite risible CNN articles ever* - especially the part where one father lodges this complaint:

“I think there almost wasn’t enough of a fear element — there was never a moment when my [20-month-old] was crying.”

Hello, refund.

But this did remind me of the first movie I ever saw, or the first movie I can remember seeing: a black-and-white, silent version of The Little Prince, which my dad took my brother and me to see at the glorious Proctor’s Theatre in Schenectady, New York. I think I was about three, and it scared the living daylights out of me - the sheer movieness of it was challenging enough to my small brain, never mind the talking fox. And as a result I have never read the book or watched another film version of it, even though I am told it is charming.

* The wedding cake shaped like a bride still wins, however.

On having the flu

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 22:56:00 +0000

It’s awful, but you knew that already. But I’m not sure when I last stayed in my bed for three days in a row, except perhaps when I had the flu - the Real Flu, I think this is but a pseudo-flu, a cold for anyone with a hardier constitution than mine - when I first moved to London. It must have been the second or third week that I lived here and I really couldn’t move at all for most of a week; then-boyfriend kindly ministered to me in my miniature horrible dorm room, and I lost ten pounds in a series of sweaty, feverish sleeps. (Emaciation-by-virus naturally elicited a slew of compliments from people, which was weird.)

Non-existent-boyfriend has, obviously, not been of any assistance this time, though Neighbour Jude did kindly bring me orange juice and an armful of satsumas on Wednesday, and Flatmate Ben has lifesavingly lent me his laptop (mine is still at the Genius Bar). But I have had to make my own soup and yesterday it was an utter failure; the matzo balls dissolved entirely, turning the soup into a sort of Kosher chicken porridge, and because I was hungry and ill and alone I ate it and it was awful and I felt very full of self-pity.

But this is not really about satsumas or laptops or even bad soup: what it is about is the fact that yesterday as I entered my 36th (or so) hour of lying here waiting for my immune system to prevail, the angle of my Vellux window and the phase of the moon and my view from my pillow were perfectly aligned so that I could see the latter through the former as it rose around five o’clock. Which is something I would not have seen had I not been bedridden. It didn’t make all of this gross suffering feel worthwhile, not quite. But quite a bit less bad.

Get vaccinated to help your friends.

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 20:54:35 +0000

jayparkinsonmd:

Equal rights for all races, genders, and sexual orientation. Do not litter. Don’t drink and drive. Give money to charity. Etc, etc, etc.

Why do these things? Because it’s the right thing to do as a society. The vast majority of us do these things because we care about other people. We want to help others. We don’t litter because it makes the world ugly. We don’t drink and drive because we could kill ourselves and others. We eat local and buy Priuses because it helps the environment.

There is a strong history of branding an individual problem in order to change our behavior to benefit society. The Don’t Mess With Texas campaign is credited with reducing litter on Texas highways 72% between 1986 and 1990. Smoking in public has been markedly reduced because it harms other people. Just watch Mad Men to see how society has changed. We now look at the world in a more connected way. We behave differently because, through marketing, we now know that the way we behave makes a difference in the world.

Vaccines work because of herd immunity. In diseases passed from person-to-person, it is more difficult to maintain a chain of infection when large numbers of a population are immune. The higher the proportion of individuals who are immune, the lower the likelihood that a susceptible person will come into contact with an infected individual.

Not getting vaccinated is therefore a social problem, like driving drunk, littering, equal rights, and smoking around children. For every person who does not get vaccinated, more people in our society are at risk of serious illness or death.

In 1904, there was a Supreme Court case called Jacobson vs. Massachusetts. Massachusetts at the time had a law mandating smallpox vaccination. Jacobson didn’t want to be vaccinated. He sued. The court ruled against Jacobson:

“in every well-ordered society charged with the duty of conserving the safety of its members, the rights of the individuals in respect of his liberty may at times, under the pressure of great dangers, be subjected to such restraint, to be enforced by reasonable regulations as the safety of the general public may demand.”

They ruled it was in the public’s interest for the state to enforce the law. It was a top down, creepy implication that in order for the public to be protected, we should all be required to risk death as a complication of a vaccine. While I don’t agree with this top-down approach, we’re smarter today. And vaccines are much, much safer today than injecting powdered smallpox scabs. They ruled properly, but mandates aren’t the answer.

Making vaccination a social cause is the answer. Doing things for others makes us feel really good. Getting vaccinated not only protects me, but it protects the herd of awesome people around me, so none of my friends or strangers die a preventable death.