chanukah dog. or: perhaps my parents go overboard

Chanukah Dog from Kira Goldenberg on Vimeo.


Our dog associates candles with him getting presents. This year's first night of Chanukah explains. Apologies for any video quality issues.

so this is a little messed up, but it amuses me

come back

Hearing my godson's voice from India always makes me laugh, and then cry.

new realities

Via a good friend. (and via)

do not be alarmed

It's just another blog post, after a good long time. Here are some pieces with my byline that were published in the last couple months for my ever-so-vast reading public's perusal.

From Beehive to Bottle, Down East Magazine, Aug. 2011

The Best Time I Made A Celebrity Think I Was A Moron, The Hairpin, Sept. 8, 2011

Village Group Wants Change of School District, Southampton Patch, Sept. 1, 2011

bed cake

Hello from my latest gig, which involves hanging out with a six year old much of the week. Today, we made the sheet cake out of Amelia Bedelia Bakes Off, and then decorated our "bed cake" with the biggest marshmallows that ever showed their puffy selves in a grocery aisle.

staying on the sidelines

A friend was surprised yesterday to learn that I rarely vote, or even register, and am uncomfortable participating in advocacy events as anything other than a journalist. I feel out of place at such things without a notebook. It's not that I don't have opinions—I certainly do—but years of working to make sure my reporting is fair, and that my sources don't feel judged regardless of their stances, make me hesitant to express what I think in any public way. This meant, yesterday, that I disappointed my friend by not joining her at a gay pride march.

But this reluctance was justified twice yesterday. First, I met with a someone who asked for my help crafting a narrative of his story. He was uncomfortable and defensive as he related it to me, and I discovered that it was because he had never shared his past and his views with anyone before without feeling judged and defensive in the process. When he realized that he couldn't discern my views during our conversation, because I was putting aside any I may have had to plunge into his worldview, he relaxed.

Second: another friend, getting her journalism degree, was apprehensive about covering a touchy event and asked for reporting advice before she began. Here's my advice, edited to delete blatant identifiers:

friend: One of my weaker areas is approaching crowd members for interviews because i overthink what to ask themonce I dive in I'm all goodme: don't say, "can i ask you a question"

just walk up and introduce yourself and ask

  or chat and then intro then ask

 friend: k

 me: if they feel like it's a conversation it's smoother

 stupid questions like "wow what are they doing?"

and at first i usually just go with people, no matter what crazy shit they say, and don't challenge things that seem like bullshit til a bit farther on

  bc as you already know, people always have a point, even if we think they're nuts

friend: right

  plus I'm going to be talking to some real nutty people

me: you can say ... "so what would you say to someone who... to get their response w/o them feeling attacked

friend: oh yeah

  I like taking care that I'm presenting myself as neutral or kind

 me: you can also ask "who would be a good person to talk to" which i'm saying bc i often forget to do it

 friend: right

 me: bc then you have cred

friend: WORD

 me: "so and so suggested i speak to you  Yesterday evening, I got an email from said friend. (No, I can't figure out how to un-indent this text.) It read:

Ok so I'm good at journalism. I started an interview that was filmed and poached when I got someone talking about what they shouldn't have at the big media blitz, and I've embedded with some [folks] who think I'm totally great. I took your advice and it made me feel better about doing what I do. 

   

a bit about my dog

This is Kippy. He's an 11-year-old Tibetan terrier. He runs my parents' house with one paw tucked demurely beneath his torso. This photo doesn't do justice to his cuteness.

I've spent a bit of time there in scattered spurts lately, and it's made me want to share a few tidbits about the little jerk:

He's a neighborhood celebrity

Every time I've walked Kip recently—and I mean that: every single time—strangers approach us, grinning, greet Kippy by name, fawn over him and then depart without introducing themselves to me, the lowly human at the other end of the leash. He has a couple neighborhood friends that I do know. They keep treats in their houses for him, so he'll pull toward those locations during strolls. He only stops straining if you tell him that they aren't home. 

He only has accidents when he's sick, but then those accidents are only ever on my parents' sole Oriental carpet

The pooch has standards.

He knows that candles mean presents

Kip always gets birthday presents, but combining wrapping paper and candle lighting once a year is probably not enough to convince him that the strike of a match means he will be getting a package.

Hanukkah, on the other hand, has eight consecutive present nights. Kip gets presents on all of them. Over the years, this has led to a routine that a neighbor thought my parents were lying about until she came over one evening this past winter.

Mom strikes a match to light the Hanukkah candles and, as match hits matchbox, Kips comes flying from whatever corner of the house was currently serving as his chaise. He sits at Mom's feet, looks up at her, and starts a sustained whine that sounds somewhat like high-pitched singing. This is fortuitous, because prayers precede presents, so my parents consider that Kip joining them in reciting the blessings. Then, they say, "Happy Hanukkah!" and Mom brings in gifts for everybody. Somebody opens Kippy's first, as best they can as he noses the wrapping. He delicately accepts the toy or the treat, prances into the next room, and lies down with it between his paws, content.

He has us trained

Everyone is used to being uncomfortably contorted on their own beds so as not to disturb Kippy when he's sharing them. A couple who recently stayed overnight let him sleep between them on the full-sized futon in the basement, even though he snores.

enlightenment, the hard way

Remember that last post I wrote forever and a day ago? I reworked the anecdote there into a much more polished essay, available here.

a wash, and some wisdom

from regineabos.wordpress.com

This morning during Mysore practice, I fell on my head during titibasana b. That'd be the pose pictured above. It requires binding your hands behind your back and then looking forward and taking five steps forward and five backward. I took a step, lost my balance, and landed on my head.

"This is not my day," I grumbled.

The woman practicing behind me answered, "Today is not your day for for looking up at your butt with your hands behind your back and then walking around like that?"

A few minutes later, I stayed up in handstand for the first time. The day hasn't been so bad after all.

P.S. We had to do 30ish-second promos for one of our Salt pieces in advance of next week's opening. Here's mine.