Joseph Zitt's [as if in dreams] 2024-01-11
Hi. I'm Joseph Zitt. I moved from the US to Israel in 2017. This is my newsletter about more-or-less daily life in my city in the shadow of war. You can select these links to subscribe or unsubscribe. There are more links at the bottom. You can also read this email online here. Here we go...
Cardboard cradles for the cats
My landlady comes outside just as I am walking past her porch. The cats in their ad-hoc hotel pop their heads up from within the dry cardboard boxes along the wall. A large black and white cat, who quite recently was a kitten, jumps out and runs figure-eights around her feet.
"That picture that I had sent you on WhatsApp of the cat..." she says.
I got it yesterday. "Oh! Sorry for not responding. Yes, it was charming." In the picture, a cat had been looking down into their house from outside a high window.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I sent it to you by mistake."
"No problem. I enjoyed it."
She looks down at the cat at her feet. "It was this one. Of course."
"Of course." When that same cat first appeared, she had shredded her way through my small window's screen and entered the house, along with her twin.
I continue down the path toward the gate. A lamp lies in the path, where it had crashed to the ground during the storm. I don't touch it. I don't know if it still has power.
The streets are littered with fallen fruit: kumquats, limes, bitter oranges, lemons, and grapefruit. Winter is citrus season. I probably didn't encounter them in that order, but my mind, of its own accord, has sorted the recent memory by size.
DIscombobulated coffee
The water is shut off in the office kitchen when I get there. A pipe below one of the sinks had sprung a leak. A man's legs jut out from inside a floor-level cabinet. I assume that the top half of him is working on the pipes.
Things are still dismantled when I head down to the supermarket to harvest my lunch. I get my usual produce and a salmon salad, then pick up a pricey coffee-to-go from the café next door.
When I come back into the kitchen, everything is miraculously back to normal. Coworkers are making coffee from our machine. Oh, well. The coffee from the café is slightly better.
I'm busy on a deadline, since I'm taking off from work next week. I'm not planning to travel, except for a day trip to the capital to see the new National Library. Wanderlust is not in my DNA. I like sleeping at home.
Hagueiography
I only get to glance at the news. There isn't much. Lawyers, judges, and attention seekers from around the world are giving performances as they court kangaroos in The Hague.1
The people shouting against us have to prove intent, which is tricky. They are cherry-picking quotes from various people over the years. But if there's one thing this country breeds well, it's loudmouths with ever-changing opinions. When we give our side tomorrow, any sense of consistent intent should collapse.
It's unclear what could come of this, anyway. "International Law" seems to be a sort of boogieman that countries accuse their opponents of violating, with little effect. And as a wise friend pointed out during Occupy, any law without a proven "or else this will happen" clause is nothing more than posturing.
Suitability
In other international news, we're suing a league who has thrown our team out of its international hockey competition.2 People I have spoken to about this are shocked to learn that we have a hockey team. It's like the local equivalent of Jamaican Bobsledding.
Our most recent Eurovision contestant, who recorded a beautiful version of her hit song to bolster the mood of the country early on3, may have taken a misstep with her own recent lawsuit. She is taking TikTok to court for claiming that another singer (who I hadn't heard of before) got more views than she did last year.4
The reaction to it has been harsh. The local news site, which tends to be upbeat about most things, lit into her today.5
The 770 Underground
There's been a lot of talk about some renegade Chabadniks who got caught building a secret tunnel into their headquarters6 from another building nearby.7 Who would have thought that Chabad and Hamas would turn out to be skilled at the same thing?
Grilled cheese stands alone
It's a long day. I end up leaving quite late. The last person who has a key to lock up the office has to catch a train. So it goes.
Walking home, I'm frustrated that I didn't finish uploading what I completed. Checking online from home, it looks like I actually did. That appears to be how my memory works nowadays.
I think of getting supper somewhere, but the usual chicken joint would be closed already, and I'm not feeling adventurous.
I head straight home and make a grilled cheese sandwich. It is sufficient. Vacation awaits. I may actually get some things done.
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You can find me via email, Bluesky, Mastodon, Facebook, and, just out of inertia, X/Twitter. There's more about me and my books, music, and films at josephzitt.com.
The newsletter’s official mailing address is 304 S. Jones Blvd #3567, Las Vegas NV 89107. (I’m in Israel, but if physical mail comes to me at that Las Vegas address, it’ll get scanned and emailed. I don’t expect that to happen much. If you want to send me physical mail, ask me for a real address.)
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L'hitraot.