The good news: I got my VCR to work, all by myself. Turns out that I had to use my TV remote to go into the TV's menu and do this complicated thing, which I'm not sure what it means but intuitively I figured out what to do. So now my tapes work, hurrah!

The bad news: I was up all night, sick as a dog. Since I was sick a few weeks ago, I'm nervous about "calling in sick" to work. Would they believe that I'm really sick this much? I've got 4 articles to submit on Thursday morning, plus 3 small freelance assignments due next week. Meanwhile, the only thing I'm ingesting is water, and even that is sort of iffy. I really would rather spend the next day or two in bed, moaning. But a girl has to earn a living.

Oog I'm sick again. Not hacking-cough sick this time. It's a fever-nausea-shaky-crawl-into-bed sick. I hate this! I feel yucky and miserable.

UUuuuurrgh! I bought a new VCR and now I can't get it to work! I'm usually good at this stuff but I'm stymied!

I plugged the VCR into the TV (there was only one cord with the VCR, which plugged into one place in the VCR, and the TV only has one place to plug into - the spot for the antenna). I plugged the VCR into the wall. I set the channel on the TV to 39, which according to SHARP is the channel I'm supposed to set it to in the Middle East.

But when it came time to match the VCR's "output" channel to the 39 on the TV, nothing happened. I followed the instructions exactly, and nothing happened. I tried putting in a tape so as I changed things I could see whether it started to work, but nothing worked.

I tried calling the Sharp number in the US, but they are closed on Sundays. So then I went to their online customer support and sent an email inquiry. We'll see how long it takes to get an answer.

Meanwhile, any tips? I'm really frustrated. I just wasted about an hour and half trying to get this to work, to no avail.

Let me know what you think of my new template!

It sure took me long enough to move the code over for the "comments" section, so that all of your great comments, from my wonderful readers, wouldn't be lost, along with the counter (Thanks, Haloscan and Bravenet!) I feel so computer savvy, moving all that HTML all by myself, and figuring out what to do with it!

Next up, a newly reconstructed list of links, which was lost anyway, no thanks to Blogger. :-(

Can someone tell me what this "Trackback" thing is next to the "Comments"? It looks like it might be useful but I don't know what it is.

Also, do you all like having links on the right-hand side to "recent posts," or should I get rid of it? It looks a little "busy" to me, but if you all like it, I'll keep it there.

Ciao for now.

In which we discuss the politics of my building . . .

(all names have been changed to protect the innocent)

1. There's a single woman downstairs from me, Merav, who is a little odd. I don't like her because the day I moved in, after searching high and low for my apartment and spending a lot of time changing the lease with my new landlady, she said "You are paying too much to live there. You shouldn't pay so much." I was like "I do not want to hear this, leave me alone." Also, I used to have a bow on my door, which was pretty and so I could tell people that I'm "on the first floor on the right, with a bow on the door." Well, she stole the bow while I was in America! A little cookoo, I'd say.

2. Above me is an American named Shirley. She arrived about 3 months ago under the auspices of some Christian organization and is volunteering for the old age home around the corner. We're not sure what religion she is. Normally I wouldn't care, but the woman next door to me, Miri, has a "thing" about "the Christians in the apartment upstairs." Anyhow, Shirley seems nice enough, and I have some pity for her because she seriously has no family at all, anywhere, but the old lady across from HER has been very mean and tells Shirley that she makes too much noise. It's not true because I live directly below Shirley and she's very quiet. But the old lady harasses her and has even come to her volunteer job to complain to her face in front of her coworkers. Also, Shirley started off on a bad foot here because she likes to feed the wild cats outside, and most of the building doesn't like to encourage the cats.

3. Miri, like I said, lives next door to me. She's from France and is also a freelance journalist. I've had her over for Shabbat meals and have gone to her place, and she seems like a nice person. A little eccentric, perhaps, but who am I to talk. Anyhow, Miri has a housecat named Mushi. While Miri was away once on vacation, I saw a note on Miri's door, from Shirley, that said "take better care of the cats on your porch or I will report you to the police. They are hungry and a kitten fell off the porch!"

I don't know what that was all about, but Shirley likes to complain about Miri because, according to Shirley, Miri's cat has kittens on the porch, and the kittens keep falling off, and Shirley has to walk around the building and save them. Miri denies all of this. I don't know what is going on, but they do NOT like each other.

4. I'm also having trouble with Shirley myself. Like I said, she seems basically nice, and I've invited her to come to my place to hang out or for Shabbat meals, but she's never come. I let it be known to her when she moved in that I don't think she should feed the cats, but didn't make a big deal out of it (the old lady was already making a big deal out of it), especially when I found out that she has no family. I figure I wouldn't take away her joy of taking care of the wild kitties.

But a few weeks ago, water started pouring into my window from above. I ran outside and saw that Shirley had overwatered the plants on her windowsill so much that there was like a waterfall happening. So I politely pointed it out and said it's not a problem or anything, but it startled me because the water was coming into my apartment. She said "Oh, man, I can't do anything right around here." I felt bad and said "I'm not angry or anything. It's OK. It just surprised me." But she did say she won't do it again, so I was OK with that and let it go.

Well, today I finally said something to her about the laundry. About once a week I put laundry on my line outside. And every week I have to keep it out there for days, because just when it's dry, Shirley does HER laundry -- every day -- apparently by soaking it in the bathtub and letting it drip profusely all over my almost-dry clothes. So I leave out my clothes for another day, and the next day they get soaking wet again. I asked her --so nicely -- if maybe if she sees that my clothes are hanging below, she could knock on my door and give me a chance to take in my clothes. She said that would be a big hassle for her, since my clothes are out all the time. I said "yeah, they are out a lot because just when they are almost dry, they get dripped on again." So I politely suggested that maybe she can hang up her clothes on the left-hand side, since my clothes are further to the right (2 of my lines don't rotate around, so I can't move the clothes over). She agreed, but as she left I heard her sigh, like I'm yet another of the mean neighbors.

I feel bad making her feel bad, but I can't keep having my clothes get wet!

5. The other day I ran into Merav outside, and she told me that she's collecting 35 shekel from each apartment, to hire someone to "clean the garden." We have a space in the front of the building with lots of brush and some thin tree-looking things that extend up past my window on the first floor. I couldn't understand why someone would take about 350 sheks (the total from our 10 apartments) to pick up the garbage in the garden-- ie "cleaning the garden"-- but I didn't want to argue with her, so I put out the money.

Well, today I go outside and there is a gardener, and the garden is . . . gone!!!! All the brush has been cleared and the tree-spindly-things had been cut down! It looks so depressing! I said "why did you do that?" and he said "I do this once a year, cut it all down and leave the roots, so it won't get too wild. Don't worry, in two months you'll have brush again and it will look very nice." Well, I was depressed. Now I have no shade in front of my windows, and THAT certainly will not grow back in 2 months! If Merav is going to arrange this once a year, why not in the fall when we don't need the shade?

The garbage is still out there, by the way.

6. Meanwhile, the old lady -- the one who harasses Shirley-- stops me whenever she sees me to demand that I tell her who is feeding the cats. She knows that my window overlooks the place in the garden where the cats hang out, and she tells me every time "you keep your eyes open! I'm sure it's THAT GIRL but I think there is someone else too . . . if you see them, tell them to stop it!" I just say "hm, yes" and wish her a good night.

All that having been said, I do, in fact, like some of the people in my building. I like Miri, though I do wonder whether Shirley's accusations about the falling kittens are correct. Don't know what's up with that.

And across the hall from me is a really nice Israeli woman, who ALSO works in media, for the Israeli Broadcasting company (3 apartments on my floor, all occupied by single women from 3 different countries who work in media! - a lot of newspapers accumulate on my floor in the mornings . . . ) I like her a lot, but she's hardly ever home.

And downstairs is another immigrant, a young man from Ethiopia who is studying Economics at Hebrew University. We bump into each other sometimes at the mailboxes and he's very friendly and happy-seeming.

But with all the politics, I feel like I'm living on Melrose Place, except without the handsome men and passionate sex.

***UPDATE***
I just went outside to take out my garbage. The cats who live in the garden look very, very confused about having lost their ground cover. (What does a confused cat look like? You ask. I don't know, it's an intuitive thing, OK?)

I also noticed that, while I thought we only had 3 cats living out there, actually there are 5. They aren't hurting anyone, and they keep the scorpions away, so as far as I'm concerned they can stay. I just wish they wouldn't whine at each other at 6 in the morning . . .

Last night I finished reading Joan Haslip's book "The Lonely Empress," a biography of Elizabeth, Empress of Austria and Queen of Hungary. I have great respect for the author, because this book was obviously well-researched and she neither idolizes nor excoriates the Empress. We're given to see that Elizabeth was a complicated character who deserves pity but was no angel.

What really struck me about Elizabeth herself is how similar this woman, who lived from 1837-1898, was to Princess Diana. Both women's husbands had been slated to marry their older sisters. Both got married in their teens to a ruler/Crown Prince. Both were considered exceptionally beautiful and were generally idolized by their subjects. Both were anorexic. Both felt constrained by Court life and engaged in actions that were disapproved of by the royal family. Both had strained relationships with their mothers-in-law. Both became estranged from their husbands. And both died suddenly from unnatural causes.

Weird, but true.

Next up is either Marie Antoinette or Nellie Bly. I've got biographies of both on my bookshelf, waiting to be read. Who should be first?

Lately a lot of people from a certain organization have been calling to yell at me about something I wrote. At first it really upset me, because they were 5 percent correct. Had they been totally wrong, I would have been indignant, but not upset. But I like to think that I'm mature enough to listen to people's criticism of my work and carefully consider whether they have a point. In this case they had a point. So I apologized for those actions which were indeed mistakes, took responsibility, and explained how the rest of their complaints were based on incorrect assumptions. Each person, in the end, so far, has ended the conversation understanding my viewpoint and being able to move on (at least, that's what they said, and it sounded sincere. One of them even proceeded to give me a story tip).

I think a piece of this is that I've learned that when someone is angry at me, it's best to let them finish whatever they have to say. I let them get it all out, without interrupting them. Just the act of my waiting patiently until they finish diffuses most of their anger, I've noticed. People get angry, and they need to express it to its object, and once they've done so a lot of it goes away before I've said a word. This is something I've just figured out in the last few days and I'm pretty proud of myself for being able to do this instead of getting defensive.

The other thing I've learned in the last few days is how not to get "sucked in" to other people's issues. If the source of their anger turns out to be connected to something that has nothing to do with me, well, they can tell me all about it, and I'll freely (and sincerely) express regret that something I did has become a piece of their problem, but I simply do not take responsibility for things that are out of my control. Interestingly, I find that people respect this.

Anger is a really interesting emotion.

In response to my previous post about "Shattered Glass" (see below), my friend Susan, who until recently worked as a reporter in the U.S., sent me the following email, to which I say "hear hear!" (She gave me permission to post it).

So, here's Susan:

"I have very little sympathy for Stephen Glass.

For most journalists, even when we're exhausted, and running on deadline, and the story is falling flat, the thing that keeps us from fabricating details is a commitment to getting the facts right to the best of our ability. Sometimes this is very hard, and sometimes it is very dull, but that is the job. My impression of Stephen Glass is that he had no regard for the truth, and the importance of telling the truth.

It is my firm belief that newspaper and magazine articles should be written well, with vivid detail, in narrative form when appropriate. However, if style comes at the expense of truthful content, then it is a mere sham. Stephen Glass and Jayson Blair are very good writers, but journalism is not just about good writing.

A couple of years ago, a colleague of mine covered a gathering of family members of passengers from Flight 93 in which they had the opportunity to hear the audio recorded on the plane before it crashed in Pennsylvania on 9/11. The reporter was not allowed to hear the recording, and was not even allowed into the room where it was played. So, he thoroughly interviewed those who had heard it, and the following day he went back to the hotel conference room, and asked a hotel worker how the room had been arranged, going so far to ask what color the tablecloths had been -- they were yellow. From these details, he wrote a very vivid account of what had transpired.

That's what journalism is about -- finding out the color of the tablecloths, the name of the policeman's dog. It's asking John Smith how he spells his name, in case it turns out to be Jon Smythe. We all have our tired and lazy days, we all make mistakes, and we all have our temptations to liven up a quote, but most of us don't entirely disregard the truth. It makes me angry when people like Stephen Glass rise to the top of their profession by
spinning tales (even if they are eventually caught) when so many of us who work hard to get the facts right have to struggle for the opportunity to work in journalism."

Last night I saw "Shattered Glass," about the fall of Stephen Glass, the New Republic reporter who made up stories right and left and finally got fired after a Forbes reporter figured out that his stories were a sham.

That movie struck me with the fear of God. Because I totally related to the pressures that led Glass to do what he did. Who among us hasn't considered embellishing a quote, working on an assumption, or even making up a source? A writer has a lot of power, and it takes huge amounts of integrity not to abuse it. So far I've resisted the temptation, as I believe most journalists do, but the devil likes to whisper in one's ear about how much more colorful a story would be if only a quotation were written out of context, or how much quicker the story can be filed if the facts are not verified . . . . This truly is not a job for the weak.

The vision I have of this is of a dark abyss. As a journalist, I have, out of curiosity, walked to the edge and peered over to see how deep it goes. The difference between most reporters and Stephen Glass is that instead of walking away from the edge and doing real work, he jumped over.

This movie showed us how deep and dark that abyss really is. It was painful to watch his descent.

Poor Stephen. He really needed UYO.

OK, so, like, this is so weird, man.

A few nights ago I noticed that when I went into the Blogger system to change the "template" for Chayyei Sarah -- ie to go into the HTML and tweak a few things -- it didn't pull up all the code, only the code for the stupid banner at the top. So I wrote to the Blogger people saying "um, hello, I see my blog, I can hear my blog, and I can taste my blog, but the code . . . it ain't there! Where'd it go?"

So they send me an automatic response that's all "we got your message and will write back soon." Whatever.

Next thing you know, my blog is down! Well, not the whole blog. But everything after the stupid banner, was down!

So I wrote again, this time with the subject "Emergency! My blog is down!"

This time they wrote back a few days later (like, yesterday maybe), saying "Sorry, but we lost your template. We found your posts, but your template is gone."

So, you'll notice, friends, that all those nice links I had up for, like, 10 minutes on the right-hand side are now gone forever. And unfortunately, I did not save the code in another document.

So now I have to go reconstruct all the links.

Fie on Blogger. Shimmy's suggestion that I switch to LiveJournal is looking more attractive every day.