A Mitzvah for the Books

In honor of Passover this week, and Blood Moon (not really), I want to share a story about something that just happened in my life. I still don’t know if my actions constitute a genuine mitzvah, or yet another gigantic exercise in resistance and procrastination. Either way, I feel good about what I’ve done and that’s all that matters.  

It all began with the passing on of a sweet old lady who lived in my neighborhood. At least, I assume she was sweet; I can’t say for sure because I never even met her. Although I did once see a middle-aged man, presumably her son, escorting her from her front door to the sidewalk one morning while I was walking home from the gym.

In that brief moment when I saw Rose Levine – who I did not yet know was named Rose Levine – for the first and last time, with a man who may or may not have actually been her son, I became very grateful. Grateful to be young(ish?), that everything in my mind and body was working as it should, and that my own parents were both still alive and healthy (B”H). All those thoughts rolled through my mind as I kept walking along, and I never gave much thought to the frail old woman who lived on the corner of 1^st Street and La Jolla Ave for at least another year...

Then about a month ago, while walking to the gym in the morning, I saw flags outside of Rose’s house, and also, a sign: Estate Sale Today! Poor Rose… That was my first thought. My second thought: Estate sale today! Sweet! I’m not one to seek these things out, but I must admit, I do enjoy looking through other people’s junk in the hopes of finding treasure. On many occasions when passing a yard sale, I have said things to my wife like, “Honey, we really need that speaker/painting/ashtray/rug/tchotchke/sweater/lamp/chair/shoe/dog bowl/faded VHS cassette of Ghostbusters II/whatever the hell that Army thing is...” And in her infinite wisdom, she always responds in the exact same way: “You don’t need it. It’s crap. We have enough crap.”

Well, later that day I went back to the estate sale, and I just so happened to have a red-hot ten dollar bill in my pocket and no one sensible with me to tell me what not to do with it. I stepped into the two-story house slowly and respectful-like. This was not just some yard sale or antique mall, after all, it was the home a recently deceased sweet old woman whose spirit could still be felt lingering in the halls… along with an omnipresent smell of mothballs. 

The first room I went into was the den. It had an old TV on a rolling table, an old couch, and two walls lined with books from floor to ceiling. This is when I first learned that Rose was very well read, and very Jewish (though I still did not yet know her name was Rose). Of the thousands of books, most were Jewish-related; prayer books, books about Judaism (with titles like “To Be  Jew” and “Jews in the Middle Ages”), books about Israel, Jewish cook books, books entirely in Hebrew, and also books by famous Jewish authors, a few of whom I had actually heard of. I perused all of the shelves, but could not find a single book that I wanted. Oh well. I decided to keep moving through the house…

Found this pic online, but this is what Rose's bookshelves looked like (in case you've never seen bookshelves).

Upstairs, in a bedroom, I found something that surprised me: Thousands more books! Some of them were Jewishy, but most were plain old novels. It made me sad, or at least contemplative in a stoner kind of way, to think that the brain that had consumed and absorbed all these books was now… no more. Whoa.

I then found myself in the master bedroom, where I happened to notice a cable bill on the dresser made out to one Rose Levine. Once I was able to put a name to the former homeowner, and all the stuff inside the house, I lost my appetite for bargain hunting. Other people around me were sifting through garbage bags stuffed with linens, or jewelry boxes, and clothes still hanging in the closet, but I couldn't help but feel sad for poor old Rose. I imagined her having a(nother?) heart attack at the sight of strangers rifling through all her stuff.  “Don’t touch that, it’s mine!” But I digress. Time to head back downstairs…

Arriving in the kitchen, which was littered with boxes of cooking utensils, I learned that Rose also loved to cook and bake. She had countless pots and pans, baking tools, bowls, etc. None of it fancy, just well-used. I could then hear in my mind’s ear some little Jewish kid boasting about his bubbe’s stuffed cabbage being the best in the world, or Rose’s adult son (the guy I saw earlier) saying, “Nobody makes chopped liver better than my Ma.”

When all was said and done, I ended up buying an old cast-iron skillet, and an electric hand blender. (What, you thought I wouldn’t regain my bargain hunting appetite?) The woman running the estate sale shrugged as she considered how much to charge me. “Ten bucks?” she said. Sold! On one hand I felt kinda dirty walking home with Rose’s cast-iron skillet – which undoubtedly made countless delicious chicken cutlets in its day – and her nifty immersion blender, but on the other hand, I thought Rose would be glad to know that her things were going to good use… in a Jewish home no less (albeit not a kosher one).

I thought my story with Rose Levine had come to an end, but in fact it was just… the middle.

A few days ago, as I once again passed Rose’s house on my way to the gym, I saw that a bunch of moving boxes had been left outside on the grass next to the garbage cans. At least a dozen. Apparently, movers had come to the house, packed up anything of value, and left all the worthless books to be thrown away. I blamed the movers, but mostly I blamed her son. These were your mom’s books! How could you let this happen? Such a shanda… Rose would have been devastated. To me it was akin to the Nazi book burnings in 1933 Germany. Okay, maybe that's a stretch, but it was still pretty upsetting.

But what was I really going to do about it? Salvaging all those books would require a decent amount of time and effort, not to mention a friggin’ truck. Did I really even give a damn? Nobody reads actual books anymore anyway. The answer to my question about what I would do – at least for now – was nothing. I casually looked over the books in the boxes, found one that I wanted, and took it home with me. “Portnoy’s Complaint,” which I’ve been meaning to read for years. Once gain, I felt dirty taking Rose’s stuff, but this time I was reassured knowing that Rose would certainly be happy that at least one of her books was saved from certain destruction. The rest were not my problem…

Later that day, however, when I was driving home, something compelled me to take a detour by Rose’s house. I guess I was curious to see if the books were still there, and to be honest, I was hoping they wouldn’t be. But lo and behold, there they were. Didn’t anybody want them? If you leave an old chair or TV out on the curb in my neighborhood it’ll be gone within an hour, but books? Not so much. As I was about to drive off in disgust, I could hear old Rose calling to me from beyond the grave… “Please, Todd, don’t let my books get thrown away. Some belonged to my husband.”

What choice did I have? Especially now that I knew her dead husband was in the mix. I grudgingly popped the trunk and loaded three boxes of books. Seemed like a good compromise. Maybe I’d stash them in my garage and sift through them later, or maybe I’d just drop them off at a donation center… I still wasn’t sure. All I knew was, I was glad I was able to save the ones that I did, and the rest could go with God for all I cared.

The next morning, on my way to the gym, I saw that the remaining boxes of books were all still there. I still wasn’t prepared to do anything about saving them, but I did decide to move them onto the driveway so that they wouldn’t get ruined by sprinklers. And then I was done, for real. Those books were officially someone else’s problem, I told myself. I had already done more than I should have. End of story. 

Well, for someone else it may have been the end, but not this guy...

Check out the new icon at The Grove bathroom! 

A few hours later, I had a nagging Schindler-esque feeling in my gut that I could have done more. I needed to do more. I tried to ignore the feeling, hoping it would subside, but it only festered and grew inside me. Before long I found myself Googling National Council Of Jewish Women… and called them asking if I could drop off books to be donated. Yes, of course, the woman said. I then said, “What if I had many, many, many books… like a dozen huge boxes… would that be okay?” I was hoping she’d say no, but of course, the woman replied with a resounding, “Sure!”

Well, dear reader, you can imagine what happened next. In spite of all the work I needed to do that morning (you know, like for my career and stuff), I chose to clear out my trunk, lower the back seats, and load up my car. The process took at least a half hour because I had to consolidate several boxes in order make room for all the books. A few neighbors eyeballed me as if I was some kind of heartless scavenger. When all was said and done, every inch of my car was filled with Rose’s books.

               

Picture me driving, if you will, dripping with sweat, in a heavy car packed with boxes of books, half-listening to Morning Becomes Eclectic. My seat belt alarm chimed incessantly because of the boxes in the passenger seat. Upon arriving at the donation center on Fairfax, I drove around into the alley and backed my car up to the donation drop-off area, where I proceeded to unload all the boxes, and watch impotently as an old man loaded up one dolly after another with boxes filled with Rose’s books. 

                          

And that was that. I drove away with a hankering for a pastrami sandwich at Canter's, which I never got but had certainly earned. Who knows where the books will ultimately end up? Will any of my actions make the slightest difference in the world? Probably not. But at least I had a satisfied feeling knowing that one old lady who’s already resting in peace can now rest a little easier.

Thanks for reading! And liking! And sharing with friends...? Until next time, happy Passover! And Easter! And Blood Moon (not really). 

21 Things LA Drivers Do That Make Them Bigger A-Holes Than Drivers in Other Cities

I’ve driven in – or been driven in – many cities in America and around the world, and it’s safe to say that asshole drivers are truly everywhere. Los Angeles is not unique in that regard. However, LA is unique when considering the sheer number off asshole drivers. Not just shitty/dumb, or crazy/reckless drivers – but pure, dickish assholes.

Beijing drivers, for example, do some of the craziest things I’ve ever witnessed on the road, but the drivers themselves are generally not assholes; they are merely cogs in a giant piece of machinery that I actually think functions quite beautifully. Like controlled chaos.

The major difference, in my estimation, is that every shitty thing an LA driver does has an F-you factor that drivers in other cities just don’t seem to exhibit. (Explanations for this phenomenon will be explored in Part II of this series: “Reasons LA Drivers Are Bigger A-Holes Than Drivers in Other Cities.”)

It’s worth noting that not everyone in LA is an asshole all the time; they just become assholes as soon as they get behind the wheel. And everyone – including myself, and you, and even my own mother (sorry, Mom) – is guilty of being an asshole LA driver, at least on occasion. Some people I’ve talked to freely admit to it. “But I’m not an asshole driver,” you might say. Bullshit. Of course you are. Keep reading to find out why.

Before we get to the list, bare in mind that I am trying to avoid listing typical dickish driving behavior that can be found in asshole drivers anywhere in the world, not just LA. Some examples of this would be, say, tailgating or running yellow lights. Neither is worth mentioning herein. So, without further ado, here is:

21 Things LA Drivers Do That Make Them Bigger Assholes Than Drivers in Other Cities

1)  They drive entirely too fast. This may sound generic, but what makes LA drivers bigger assholes than fast drivers in other cities is their reasoning behind it. It’s not that they urgently need to get somewhere, they just want to get to where they’re going before you get to where you’re going (more on this in Part II). I call them “speedies,” and I can spot them in my rearview mirror – or even hear them – from a mile away. Newer, fancier, sportier cars are usually the worst offenders.

2)  Not only do they do not stop at stop signs, they barely slow down. Yes, we are the proud inventors of “The CaliforniaStop,” but LA asshole drivers are always pushing the limits of this act. Also…

3)  They a don’t give a damn whose turn it is to go at a stop sign, they just go whenever the hell they want. And when four cars are at a four-way stop sign all at once... may the biggest asshole win.

4)  Texting while driving… and generally doing things while operating a motor vehicle that don’t involve driving. Yes, of course this phenomenon exists everywhere, but LA drivers are especially egregious about it, so let’s just say excessive texting while driving. They often do this while not stopping at a sign, as I have witnessed on numerous occasions.

5)  Excessive honking… Especially when it comes to the unnecessarily long “fuck you” honk when a short, friendly toot that implies, “C’mon fella, let’s move it along” would easily suffice. It’s worth noting that the person they are usually honking at is most likely texting when their red light turns green.

6)  Disregard for someone who wants to change lanes. These assholes just don’t want to let you in. In fact, they will often speed up when they are behind you and in the lane you want to be in so you can’t get in front of them. I oftentimes don’t put on my turn signal before changing lanes because I know some asshole back there won’t want to let me in if he sees me signaling.

7)  They won’t alternate when two lanes are merging, especially in stop-and-go traffic. They often avoid eye-contact to hide their cowardice. The bolder ones might look you right in the eye and scowl or grin. There is a special place in hell for these assholes.

8)  Disregard for pedestrians… Even when pedestrians have the right of way (which they always do). These assholes love to make a right turn right in front of you as you step into the crosswalk, or as you approach from the far side of the crosswalk. And which Angeleno among you hasn’t almost been killed in a crosswalk by someone making a left turn? But here’s what makes LA drivers especially big assholes: They’re not sorry! Just a few days ago some asshole making a right turn gave me the middle finger after he almost ran me over as I walked through a crosswalk. Huh?

9)  They stop in the middle of a crosswalk at a red light, forcing pedestrians to go around their stupid cars – often making them walk uncomfortably close to oncoming traffic. Most of these assholes don’t back up even when they can. Instead, they look down at their phone to avoid your gaze, making them even bigger assholes.

10) Disregard – nay, disdain – for bicyclists. If there’s one thing an asshole LA driver hates, it’s when he’s trying to speed down the right hand lane of a major boulevard at rush hour (another asshole move, however legal) and he gets stuck behind a bicyclist. (Yes, LA bicyclists can be assholes, too, but at least they’re doing their part to decrease their carbon footprint.) Assholes will often cut off a bicyclist to “show him who’s boss.”

11) Disregard for the “two-cars-per-yellow-when-making-a-left-turn” rule by being the third car to go. (If you’re not from Los Angeles you probably don’t even know about this rule… which really pisses assholes off when you’re visiting LA and you don’t move into the intersection when waiting to make a left turn. In fact, it probably pisses them off when they visit your city, too.) Point is, being the third car to make a left turn at a yellow/red light is a dick-move, but assholes here do it anyway every. damn. day.

12) They make a left turn long after the turn-arrow has turned yellow/red… often nearly killing pedestrians. Nuff said.

13) Disregard for the “No left turn between 7-9am, and 4-7pm Mon-Fri” rule (at certain intersections). These assholes will stop in the middle of the intersection – even when they know they aren’t allowed to turn at that time – and make the cars behind them wait… leading to more assholes who honk their horns for entirely too long.

14) They make a quick right turn in front of you when you’re driving straight… only to then go very slowly. They often don’t stop at a sign when making this shithead maneuver.

15) They take up more than their fair share of the road when approaching you head-on on narrow side-streets… And, of course, they drive entirely too fast as they do it. It’s like a lame game of chicken which often results in busted side-view mirrors. Our city’s lame version of jousting.

16) They go in the far right lane at a red light (even if it’s right-turn only, or even if it’s not an actual lane at all)… only to zip ahead of everybody when the light turns green. Usually a maneuver performed by speedies, these assholes will accelerate rapidly, nearly crash into the parked cars ahead, only to cut the driver next to them off in the last second. Being stuck behind one of these assholes is especially frustrating when you want to make a right turn at an intersection and no cars are coming… and it’s a very long red light.  

17) Excessive lane changing. Either in heavy traffic, or when it's moving fast, these assholes are just never content to stay where they are. They especially hate assholes who won’t let them in… while at the same time they won’t ever let anyone in front of them.

18) They back out of a driveway knowing that one or more cars is probably driving down the street. “Is it safe to pull into the street? Who gives a shit? I want to go now!” That’s what they have tattooed on their backs.

19) On the other side of the coin from #18, this asshole will speed up to a car that is pulling out of a driveway (or making a three-point turn)… then slam on his brakes and honk his horn for an excessively long time… making him a far bigger asshole than the one who pulled out of the driveway without looking.

20) They are filled with RAGE! I’m not talking about general road rage, which is just adorable in other cities. I’m talking about how LA drivers have an amazing ability to get incredibly angry at the flip of a switch. They will scream and/or give the middle finger almost immediately. The worst offenders usually get upset because someone did to them what they usually do to others. Take a yoga class, go to a shooting range, listen to whales… I don’t care, just take a breath and chill the fuck out.

21) Being an asshole in general. This is deliberately vague because LA drivers are always coming up with new and innovative ways to piss off other people and prove that the rules of the road just don’t apply to them… and that they are huge, gaping assholes. “Road closed? Yeah right, not for this asshole.”

    Maybe you only do some of these things on rare occasion, or maybe you do all of them all the time. I know I’m certainly guilty of some of these things… (takes one to know one, right?). In any case, the end result is the same: an entire city of asshole drivers.  

Please stay tuned for parts II and III of this series, “Reasons Drivers in LA Are Bigger Assholes Than Drivers in Other Cities,” and “Things LA Asshole Drivers Do… When Not Even Driving.” 

And of course, please feel free to let me know in Comments or Facebook if I missed anything!