My Brooklyn buddy William Levin takes a number of guises on this blog: the Apple expert Macboy, the Shabot cartoonist Ben Baruch, and the eccentric chronicler of the misuse of Lowercase L‘s. His latest incarnation is as the Jewish Robot, a maker of Jewish-themed videos and animations. And his latest work is a parody of the Obama Girl music video that’s still making headlines two months and 3.5 million views after it was first released.

Co-written by William and Brooklyn singer Michelle Citrin, filmed by William, and edited by the ever-grumbling A Brooklyn Lad, I’m proud to present Rosh Hashanah Girl. A great team effort. And a harbinger of many fun projects to come.

I passed this scene in Prospect Park yesterday evening and I couldn’t resist. There was something about the way both the kids and the parents matched. And the way you can easily imagine that this is the way dinner time at home might look. It was a beautiful evening for a picnic too.

My apologies for the lack of blogging lately. The painting period is over. Now, we’re into the unpacking period. You know the one: where you can find the printer, but you can’t find the power chord or the USB cable.

I’ve spent a lot of time lately thinking that I could do with a holiday. It’s been a busy year what with working on a couple of books and moving house.

Coincidentally, Sofie is planning a business trip to Peru. So, I have decided to join her. We leave in a few days. Any recommendations for Lima, Cuzco and Machu Picchu would be greatly appreciated. I am going to have a lot of time to myself to explore while Sofie is at work.

Underhill Avenue and St Johns Place, Prospect Heights, Brooklyn. (Google Map.)

Facebook can be a pain. But one of the highlights over the past few months has been the old photos that have popped up via friends. Hard to believe that lad in the baggy jumper in the background, sneaking a sly cigarette on Otley Chevin, is me.

I’m not one for keeping albums, but now I can see why people do it. I’d almost forgotten that this me, aged about 18, ever existed. Looking at the photo, I have a vague memory of the way he used to think. And I am amazed to consider how different his outlook was compared to the outlook I have now.

If you’d told baggy jumper boy that 13 years later he’d be writing this from an apartment in Brooklyn, New York, he’d have told you to bugger off. Then he would have jumped in his rusty green VW Polo (with a blue trunk) and asked if you could give the car a bit of a push.