"Hi! Uhh.. cheers!" Man, am I rusty! Awkward glance. "cheers.."
They're two ladies, one mid 20's, the other early 30's, dressed in a suspicious black-on-black - black tops beneath black vests, black stockings, (white-patterned belt), both in skirts.
"So.. I've got to ask you... out of curiosity.. are you two religious? or maybe ex-religious?"
Younger one nods, older one says, "wait. Do I look religious?" She's giving me quite a severe look. Her friend lights up a cigarette.
"Well, I mean - it could go either way, but I've been getting the feeling.. see, I can sort of recognize - I also come from a semi-traditional backg-", "so do I look possibly religious, or definitely religious?"
"possibly, I guess." (You're too polite! Sure, that's who you are, but while you're here - why not play the game? Be an asshole. You're in a sex-crazed den, for god's sake! There's a couple sucking each other's tonsils out right behind you..) "Too bad". "Why's that?" "I wanted to look completely religious. And yes, we're actually Hozrot Betshuva*".
"Ok..," what the hell are these two doing in this alcohol-soaked dive?? "why is it so important for you to look definitely religious?" "Because it affects me. It projects outwards". "But why? Maybe it projects something towards others, on the outside, but if you've made this sort of choice, shouldn't you be more at peace on the inside? I should think it would matter a lot less than it does to you.."
"What happens on the outside affects what happens on the inside," she says. Her friend is heading towards the dance floor, and pulls her along. As she gets sucked into that black-hole, she blurts out what sounds to me like "we've found a higher truth." And they're gone.
For the next half hour I'm there, guys are hitting on them - separately and together.
Fascination and revulsion. Another night in Jerusalem.
* "Born again" Jews.
Friday, December 07, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Why I Support the Anti-Smoking Law with Every Fiber of My Being
The new, tougher smoking law that has gone into effect recently is completely justified. Not everyone seems to agree on this, though*.
The naysayers generally fall into two groups:
a) wishful thinkers, i.e. those that see the problem with exposing non-smokers to smoke in public, but oppose the law on the grounds of harm to personal property rights, and
b) idiots, i.e. those that see no problem with the situation as it's been.
Let me start with the second group. These inconsiderate bozos will conveniently play blind to the reality of Israeli nightlife over the past 24 years (since the first anti-smoking laws were enacted in 1983), in which many if not most smokers didn't give a rat's ass about breaking the law, inconveniencing others to satisfy their own habit, and arguing back or giving a nasty look whenever politely asked to put out their cigarette. They describe a self-serving, imaginary "status quo" like it ever had any significant support from the three quarters of overage Israelis who don't smoke**. Their royal highnesses will sometimes be so kind as to claim that if it's so bothersome to non-smokers, they can "just ask" - like a non-smoker should ever have to.
To them, I say this:
I feel the need to point this out because these people often talk like the whole point of a nightspot is to smoke in it. It isn't. Smokers enjoy smoking in those places, but everyone else doesn't. I'm sure some people would enjoy starting a sing-along, masturbating or loudly proselytizing the Word Of The Lord in there, but everyone else wouldn't. The only reason nightspots have become so synonymous with smoking is because it's been grudgingly put up with. And spare me the relativist BS: the "lots of people do it so it's ok" argument has been used to defend everything from the Israeli's chronic overdraft to cannibalism and slavery. It's not.
They will usually try to nitpick with that old red herring: "how is smoking different from drinking, or driving a car? They can also harm your health! And what about overeating? Why don't you just outlaw food?"
Well done.(clap, clap.) Good for you. (clap clap.)
Before I answer why cigarettes are different, can I just point out that I can't stand these lines of argument? I mean, is that question supposed to conversely insinuate that by justifying the legality of food they've somehow proved it's OK to smoke in someone's face?? it makes me want to answer back with convenient, ridiculously over-simplistic analogies of my own: "Adolf Hitler was bad for a lot of people's health - I suppose you would've supported him!"
No, but seriously, their retort is that substances and acts such as drinking, driving, any kind of noise etc. can be harmful to others, yet are still allowed. What makes smoking different to the other oft-mentioned "legal drugs", is that smoking is simultaneously harmful to one's own health, physically addictive and an inconvenience to others even when used in moderation (the three strikes.) A single cigarette will bother most non-smokers, and quite likely harm their health - though I'll submit that the research findings have been contested.
So let me clarify: I am by no means a supporter of government intervention, especially if it can be circumvented by other means. The decision to curtail an individual freedom is a serious, potentially catastrophic one, not to be taken lightly. I oppose limiting a person's right to something that may harm himself or others if abused - e.g. drinking, driving, owning a knife etc. - because that would hurt the rights of responsible users. However, when something has all the detractions I've listed above, that's when I consider legally curtailing its use in public, if social norm doesn't take care of it first. It hasn't.
The bottom line is, this twisted situation has remained: a three-quarter (and growing) non-smoking majority, with virtually no options for attending a nightspot without being exposed to cigarette smoke. It's what's known in economics as a market failure - when the combined interests, preferences and tastes of people operating with free reign do not manage to bring about their desired result. The reasons for the failure in this case would be too long to write out here, but it does go to show the tremendous power of the norm, of habit, of what is.
The "classic" solution to market failures is government intervention. While this has been hotly contested by the more conservative end of the economic spectrum - also worthy of its own post - I feel this is largely as a reaction to a long tradition of uncalled-for or overused government intervention, rather than an actual preference of market failures over alternatives in every case. As I've written earlier, I'm no fan of interventionism per se, but the facts on the ground remain: given effective property rights, the non-smoker does not face a realistic non-smoking option. I think the pros outweigh the cons in this case.
There's a lot of semantics involved. If one paints this as a major Property Rights Issue, then it sounds like something that should be defended to the grave; but we're not talking about curtailing anyone's freedom of expression, freedom of employment (which has been curtailed under the present system) or any other basic freedom. We're not forbidding smoking - that would be a far more fundamental issue. We're only restricting smoking in areas where lots of non-smokers normally gather. Smokers can smoke at home or outside all they want.*** I don't see how the alternatives, in which non-smokers had no viable options, or even the "segregated nightspots" theory (which would hurt freedom of employment as well as drive a social wedge in Israeli nightlife), are so much better.
One day - when smokers become an even smaller segment of society, when the common social norm is that they never light up unless they know they won't be bothering anyone, and when plenty of non-smoking venues exist - this law won't be necessary. Right now, I think it absolutely is.
* for the sake of this post, I'm referring specifically to nightspots.
** not that it's a popularity contest. Even if there were a majority of smokers, it still wouldn't entitle them to inconvenience and possibly harm the health of others with no good purpose.
*** I've been asked what the distinction is between the home and a nightspot - since they're both private property, and people can choose whether to come to them. While they are both technically private, for this particular issue the answer is in the latter part of the question - people couldn't (until now) really choose not to come because they had no realistic non-smoking nightspot options.
a) wishful thinkers, i.e. those that see the problem with exposing non-smokers to smoke in public, but oppose the law on the grounds of harm to personal property rights, and
b) idiots, i.e. those that see no problem with the situation as it's been.
Let me start with the second group. These inconsiderate bozos will conveniently play blind to the reality of Israeli nightlife over the past 24 years (since the first anti-smoking laws were enacted in 1983), in which many if not most smokers didn't give a rat's ass about breaking the law, inconveniencing others to satisfy their own habit, and arguing back or giving a nasty look whenever politely asked to put out their cigarette. They describe a self-serving, imaginary "status quo" like it ever had any significant support from the three quarters of overage Israelis who don't smoke**. Their royal highnesses will sometimes be so kind as to claim that if it's so bothersome to non-smokers, they can "just ask" - like a non-smoker should ever have to.
To them, I say this:
When god created humans, and with them the innate desire to socialize in a dimly-lit space after a hard day's work, he/she didn't create said space full of cigarette smoke.
I feel the need to point this out because these people often talk like the whole point of a nightspot is to smoke in it. It isn't. Smokers enjoy smoking in those places, but everyone else doesn't. I'm sure some people would enjoy starting a sing-along, masturbating or loudly proselytizing the Word Of The Lord in there, but everyone else wouldn't. The only reason nightspots have become so synonymous with smoking is because it's been grudgingly put up with. And spare me the relativist BS: the "lots of people do it so it's ok" argument has been used to defend everything from the Israeli's chronic overdraft to cannibalism and slavery. It's not.
They will usually try to nitpick with that old red herring: "how is smoking different from drinking, or driving a car? They can also harm your health! And what about overeating? Why don't you just outlaw food?"
Well done.
Before I answer why cigarettes are different, can I just point out that I can't stand these lines of argument?
No, but seriously, their retort is that substances and acts such as drinking, driving, any kind of noise etc. can be harmful to others, yet are still allowed. What makes smoking different to the other oft-mentioned "legal drugs", is that smoking is simultaneously harmful to one's own health, physically addictive and an inconvenience to others even when used in moderation (the three strikes.) A single cigarette will bother most non-smokers, and quite likely harm their health - though I'll submit that the research findings have been contested.
So let me clarify: I am by no means a supporter of government intervention, especially if it can be circumvented by other means. The decision to curtail an individual freedom is a serious, potentially catastrophic one, not to be taken lightly. I oppose limiting a person's right to something that may harm himself or others if abused - e.g. drinking, driving, owning a knife etc. - because that would hurt the rights of responsible users. However, when something has all the detractions I've listed above, that's when I consider legally curtailing its use in public, if social norm doesn't take care of it first. It hasn't.
Which brings me to the first group. They seem to have garnered a fair bit of support. On the face of it, there's a certain neat logic to it: allow nightspot owners to choose for themselves what sort of business they'll have. Non-smokers will be able to choose to go to non-smoking venues, while smokers could still enjoy themselves in smoking establishments.
The problem? It doesn't work.
The fact is, the freedom for every owner to decide whether his business will allow smoking or not has existed effectively for, well, ever. In the past 24 years, it may have been technically illegal to have a smoking nightspot, but this law has never really been enforced; and on the flip side, every nightspot owner has always enjoyed the legal freedom to ban smoking on his property if he wished. But what happened? All the bars ended up being smoking bars. There have been only a handful of attempts to open non-smoking bars in Israel.
The problem? It doesn't work.
The fact is, the freedom for every owner to decide whether his business will allow smoking or not has existed effectively for, well, ever. In the past 24 years, it may have been technically illegal to have a smoking nightspot, but this law has never really been enforced; and on the flip side, every nightspot owner has always enjoyed the legal freedom to ban smoking on his property if he wished. But what happened? All the bars ended up being smoking bars. There have been only a handful of attempts to open non-smoking bars in Israel.
The bottom line is, this twisted situation has remained: a three-quarter (and growing) non-smoking majority, with virtually no options for attending a nightspot without being exposed to cigarette smoke. It's what's known in economics as a market failure - when the combined interests, preferences and tastes of people operating with free reign do not manage to bring about their desired result. The reasons for the failure in this case would be too long to write out here, but it does go to show the tremendous power of the norm, of habit, of what is.
The "classic" solution to market failures is government intervention. While this has been hotly contested by the more conservative end of the economic spectrum - also worthy of its own post - I feel this is largely as a reaction to a long tradition of uncalled-for or overused government intervention, rather than an actual preference of market failures over alternatives in every case. As I've written earlier, I'm no fan of interventionism per se, but the facts on the ground remain: given effective property rights, the non-smoker does not face a realistic non-smoking option. I think the pros outweigh the cons in this case.
There's a lot of semantics involved. If one paints this as a major Property Rights Issue, then it sounds like something that should be defended to the grave; but we're not talking about curtailing anyone's freedom of expression, freedom of employment (which has been curtailed under the present system) or any other basic freedom. We're not forbidding smoking - that would be a far more fundamental issue. We're only restricting smoking in areas where lots of non-smokers normally gather. Smokers can smoke at home or outside all they want.*** I don't see how the alternatives, in which non-smokers had no viable options, or even the "segregated nightspots" theory (which would hurt freedom of employment as well as drive a social wedge in Israeli nightlife), are so much better.
One day - when smokers become an even smaller segment of society, when the common social norm is that they never light up unless they know they won't be bothering anyone, and when plenty of non-smoking venues exist - this law won't be necessary. Right now, I think it absolutely is.
* for the sake of this post, I'm referring specifically to nightspots.
*** I've been asked what the distinction is between the home and a nightspot - since they're both private property, and people can choose whether to come to them. While they are both technically private, for this particular issue the answer is in the latter part of the question - people couldn't (until now) really choose not to come because they had no realistic non-smoking nightspot options.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
The TGF (Two-Girl Fortress) Has Fallen!
In a previous post, I introduced the TGF - Two Girl Fortress - as the impregnable wall, the unsolvable riddle, the nemesis of Nice Guys the world over. No longer. Today, I've officially cracked it. Hurray, the king is dead!
Quick recap: Often occurring at a night spot, a TGF is a situation where 1) two (or more) ladies are engaged in conversation, 2) you're interested in one of them, and 3) there's no possibility of eye contact with her (e.g. she has her back to you), and thus no hope of a reciprocated "go ahead" smile.
Why not just talk to her, you ask? Hold on, there's more.. As I'd written in said post:
Quick recap: Often occurring at a night spot, a TGF is a situation where 1) two (or more) ladies are engaged in conversation, 2) you're interested in one of them, and 3) there's no possibility of eye contact with her (e.g. she has her back to you), and thus no hope of a reciprocated "go ahead" smile.
Why not just talk to her, you ask? Hold on, there's more.. As I'd written in said post:
"Here's my problem: I need a ruse. I cannot, under any circumstances, walk up to two ladies in the middle of a conversation and say "hi", without having some reasonable excuse for doing it. I'm towering above them as they sit, I'm cutting into their lively conversation, and I'm still basically nobody to them. I don't care if she or both are single and looking; I don't care how many times you'll tell me it's "normal" and "expected" and "flattering"; I don't care if you've uncovered her secret diary expressly saying she wishes someone who looked just like me would walk right up to her in the middle of a conversation and start talking - I will never feel like anything other than an intrusive stranger butting in. My price for being civilized."
So, 4) I'm a polite non-actor who doesn't enjoy butting into total strangers' lively conversation with a ludicrously transparent agenda. The situation's stressful enough as it is! There you have it: the TGF. One tough nut to crack.
Fast forward to this evening. Ran into a classic TGF: I was at a bar with a couple friends, sitting at a table, there were two girls ahead of me, and the one I was interested in was with her back to me. My brain goes into action again, furiously trying to figure out how to solve this old doozy. Clutching at straws, I thought I'd try a technique I had once fantasized about doing, a trick that requires a great deal of confidence and good humor to work. Tonight, for a change, I had it - encountering this dilemma yet again, after so many other instances, allowed me to see its comic side, and ease up just enough to try. I won't say what the trick is, because it's kind of embarrassing. For the sake of the story, I'll just say that it allows me to stay seated and yet try to get her attention.
So I gave it a try. Just as I started, however, she got up to go to the bathroom, rendering my attempts futile. This felt like a sign from the heavens: some higher force, the same one who's enjoyed taunting me for years with beautiful, attached ladies and TGF's, was laughing at my attempts to storm the old fortress. Predictably, this took most of the wind out of it for me. My army had thundered towards the walls, morale high, with all their bravery and might, only to storm an empty fortress. Needless to say, they now saw their commander as kind of a jackass...
Normally I would stop here. There's only a short window of opportunity where you're still hopeful and self-confident enough to try these things; after that, you slide into self-awareness and thus lose any chance of being charming enough for a total stranger to accommodate you. But I couldn't give up yet. Something about still, after all these years, being unable to come up with a reasonable solution to this frustrating quandary told me that. She came back to the table.
I summoned what little remaining ease and confidence I had, and tried again. But this time, there was simply no response. Try as I did to raise my voice, she couldn't seem to hear me. If she did, she certainly wasn't showing it.. She must've assumed I'm a loud busybody - surely an endearing quality! My army had attacked the correct fortress all right, but this time it had been roundly defeated. Bruised and battered, the surviving few came back to report it's time to call it quits. With my friends trying to console me - poor guys, they probably wondered why I was taking this so personally; if only they knew the demons I was facing! - I pretty much did.
Then her friend got up to go to the bathroom.
By this point, I'd become quite sick and tired of this feeling of helplessness. "aw, fuck it!". With no hesitation, and certainly no game-plan, I got up and sat opposite her. I was smiling. This was going to be honest. "Look," I said, "I've been trying all night to figure out a way to hit on you. Now, I know this is kind of sudden and out of the blue, but I'll be sitting right over there. If you think you might be interested, feel free to let me know on your way out or something. No pressure, and sorry if I've made you feel uncomfortable."
I got up and went back to my seat, exhausted but vindicated. I'd done it! Thing is, though, about halfway through my little speech, she gave me that look of "that's sweet but I have a boyfriend; you can stop now. Please?" I wasn't too optimistic, but at least I'd tried, and that was something.
I'm back at the table. No response from her. She doesn't turn around, her girlfriend facing me doesn't give any communicative, playful looks at me, nothing. I wait for a while longer and then announce to the guys we can go - I get the message.
As I step out - another rejection for the record books - the unthinkable happens. She gets up and practically chases after me outside the bar. "Is it still relevant?" she asks. So cute.. "Of course it is!" Apparently, I'd completely misinterpreted her reaction.
A short conversation later, I had her number. :)
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Talk Talk Talk
In an article that came out today, Jerusalem's glorious mayor, Uri Lupolianski, wrote Transportation Minister Shaul Mofaz requesting that Road 9 not become a toll road. Road 9 connects those coming to Jerusalem from the direction of Tel-Aviv straight to the Begin thruway, and bypasses the traffic at the center of the city.
I couldn't help but notice there was no mention of who had put such an offer on the table in the first place, or anyone explaining the underlying logic for such a proposal. I'd be happy to make up my mind, if I were given some rational explanations either way, but instead the article only quotes politicians too busy covering their own asses to professionally address this issue.
One by one, they dispel and excoriate the idea. It's a chorus of them, yelling "noooo... no no no. Of course I'm against it. It's a terrible idea". It's almost like these damned empty-rhetoric throw-a-fish-to-the-"masses" politicos are trying to one-up each other in the vividness of their description; all, presumably, to get more votes next time their sorry asses are up for reelection. Loophole-ianski went for gold by writing, "it's inconceivable that at the entrance to our nation's capital, there will be one slow, clogged road for the poor, while next to them the Mercedes', Volvo's and luxury cars of the wealthy will be whizzing by". Yep, you write 'em, boy. Tug on the hearts of your constituency you must think are really, really, stupid. Thanks for the professional assessment.
I can't get over this incredibly annoying habit politicians have - a complete and utter disconnect between action and rhetoric. Do anything you want, absolutely anything you feel like; just remember to give it a ridiculous, shamelessly see-through spin for the "masses" you must scorn so much.
A couple other recent examples come to mind: the laughable stipend the government has offered Holocaust survivors, and the bread price wars. In the first affair, Prime Minister Olmert's Office offered an 83-shekel (around $20) monthly stipend for Holocaust survivors, to begin next year (and gradually grow). I couldn't believe this when I read it. It's like a government course in shamelessness: let's give our people, who have endured the worst horror ever wrought in history, as little money as possible. Holocaust survivors are old, so let's start next year, since progressively more are dying every year. Then, let's not give a lump sum, but again - a monthly stipend, so we can stop as soon as those costly survivors drop off. As if that's not enough, let's make that monthly sum the price of, well, nothing. Sure, we'll increase the amount as time goes on - once virtually none of them are left.
Of course, Olmert's office describes this is as somehow having righted an historical injustice, patting themselves on the back like this has been a major achievement. Said Olmert, (I can't believe he's still in power! I can't!) "Survivors living in Israel deserve to live with respect without reaching a state where they can't enjoy a hot meal or a slice of bread [..] over the years nothing has been done to take care of this, and the neglect on the part of past governments won't continue. With us, this [problem] will be taken care of." With $20. starting next year. Bull.
Same with the bread wars. Events conspired to make the price of flour go up. This meant the price of the plain, price-controlled bread was liable to go up as well. Eli Yishai, Minister of Industry, Trade and Labor, immediately started swearing up and down that bread prices won't go up. It's so transparent: He has to say that, purely for votes' sake. No serious discussion, nothing. In the end, of course, the prices went up, because you can only fight simple facts on the ground - transportation costs are not what they were in 1999 - for so long. But no, like a mother pacifying her baby, he has to tell the "people" one thing while whatever has to happen goes ahead anyway. Can't you give the public a little more credit and share some of the considerations? No dilemmas? What, would our tiny little brains explode trying to wrap our heads around notions like, "listen guys, the price of wheat worldwide, has gone up. So has gas. Bread is made of wheat. Bread has to be brought to the store using gas-consuming vehicles. We may have a problem here"?
That's really what it is - the mother pacifying the baby. But we're not babies. I would hope most readers have reached this conclusion long ago, but in case you haven't:
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
"That's the End of That" - by Resident Traveler
Introduction here.
(AKA "The Impossible Dream", AKA "She's a Frecha")
They say every pot has its lid. But whenever I look around:
She's a frecha* - and that's the end of that.
If she's not a frecha, she's a neo-hippie - and that's the end of that.
If she's not a frecha, nor a neo-hippie, she's either the over-driven career type, a scantily-clad, deathly-thin Mars-creature, or a sour-faced urban burnout - and that's the end of that.
If she's not (any of the above), she's not physically attractive enough (hard as I try to overlook it), and that's the end of that.
If she's still not any of the above, she lacks heart. Or any kind of joi d'vivre (joy of life), and that's the end of that. (Lots of these. Lots and lots and lots.)
ISSNAOTA, she's married, or has a long-term boyfriend. She does. Trust me. No "that" to end. (OODLES of these.)
ISSNAOTA, she's got serious emotional baggage from past relationships, can't shake it off - and that's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, she's "going through a rough period in her life", turning hot and cold at the drop of a hat - and that's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, she's intensely interested in fashion and/or new-ageism, excessive materialism, hip-hop, smoking or, god help me, "real men" - commanding, go-getting, impulse-driven, egotisitical, insensitive, stubble-faced men - and that's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, she simply doesn't know what she wants. I give up! That's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, she's insecure - which on its own is ok - but expresses said insecurity in an unwillingness to attach to anyone and will string me along like I'm a toy. Once reality finally seeps in - that's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, she's just sort of apathetic. Has no burning interest in something - anything. And for me - that's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, are you sure she doesn't have a boyfriend? Thought so. That's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, she's rabidly anti-religion, anti-Zionist or anti-any form of capitalism, with a major chip on her shoulder, and that's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, she's religious. Just a liiittle too religious to give me a chance because, after all, she wants to get married, so why waste her time with someone who isn't her particular micro-stream of orthodoxy? - and that's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA - and we're already talking about something rarer than an incorrupt politician - she doesn't give a damn about music and has no artistic interest (either would be surmountable). For me - that's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, did I mention we're talking only about women here? Who are under 40? Without children? WHO LIKE MEN? Thought so. That's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, This is it, I've found her. After years of searching, I've found my one-in-a-million. My holy grail, my lid. I'm ecstatic, and can now preach to my pessimist single friends not to lose heart; that despite all the potential pitfalls, they are out there.
But remember, all this has only been half the equation: she still has to like me. And guess what:
That's the end of that.
* - Frecha: the Israeli equivalent of whatever they call women overly preoccupied with an intensely juvenile fashion sense in your country.
This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
(AKA "The Impossible Dream", AKA "She's a Frecha")
They say every pot has its lid. But whenever I look around:
She's a frecha* - and that's the end of that.
If she's not a frecha, she's a neo-hippie - and that's the end of that.
If she's not a frecha, nor a neo-hippie, she's either the over-driven career type, a scantily-clad, deathly-thin Mars-creature, or a sour-faced urban burnout - and that's the end of that.
If she's not (any of the above), she's not physically attractive enough (hard as I try to overlook it), and that's the end of that.
If she's still not any of the above, she lacks heart. Or any kind of joi d'vivre (joy of life), and that's the end of that. (Lots of these. Lots and lots and lots.)
ISSNAOTA, she's married, or has a long-term boyfriend. She does. Trust me. No "that" to end. (OODLES of these.)
ISSNAOTA, she's got serious emotional baggage from past relationships, can't shake it off - and that's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, she's "going through a rough period in her life", turning hot and cold at the drop of a hat - and that's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, she's intensely interested in fashion and/or new-ageism, excessive materialism, hip-hop, smoking or, god help me, "real men" - commanding, go-getting, impulse-driven, egotisitical, insensitive, stubble-faced men - and that's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, she simply doesn't know what she wants. I give up! That's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, she's insecure - which on its own is ok - but expresses said insecurity in an unwillingness to attach to anyone and will string me along like I'm a toy. Once reality finally seeps in - that's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, she's just sort of apathetic. Has no burning interest in something - anything. And for me - that's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, are you sure she doesn't have a boyfriend? Thought so. That's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, she's rabidly anti-religion, anti-Zionist or anti-any form of capitalism, with a major chip on her shoulder, and that's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, she's religious. Just a liiittle too religious to give me a chance because, after all, she wants to get married, so why waste her time with someone who isn't her particular micro-stream of orthodoxy? - and that's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA - and we're already talking about something rarer than an incorrupt politician - she doesn't give a damn about music and has no artistic interest (either would be surmountable). For me - that's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, did I mention we're talking only about women here? Who are under 40? Without children? WHO LIKE MEN? Thought so. That's the end of that.
ISSNAOTA, This is it, I've found her. After years of searching, I've found my one-in-a-million. My holy grail, my lid. I'm ecstatic, and can now preach to my pessimist single friends not to lose heart; that despite all the potential pitfalls, they are out there.
But remember, all this has only been half the equation: she still has to like me. And guess what:
That's the end of that.
* - Frecha: the Israeli equivalent of whatever they call women overly preoccupied with an intensely juvenile fashion sense in your country.
This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
Monday, July 16, 2007
"You're Single? How Come?" (AKA "That's the End of That" - Introduction)
It's moving season, and this time I decided I'd rent on my own (I'm 29, figured it's time). The hunt is thankfully over, but while I was searching, I noticed a pattern: the landlords, in their 50s and 60s, would ask whether I am, indeed, looking just for myself. When I'd answer in the affirmative, they'd give me a cockeyed look and ask, "you're single? Really? How come?" This happened several times...
While I was resisting the temptation to give an answer along the lines of "they ran out of my size at the girlfriend store" or "because I ate them all", they'd usually temper the question with a compliment - "I'm just saying.. good-looking guy like yourself..". Obviously they meant well, but this only underscored the assumption, still somewhat common amongst our parent's generation, that unless something's really wrong with you, the only thing separating the average single and a sustained, happy relationship is merely the decision to have one.
So, to try and properly answer the question, I've cooked up a little song/ditty/prose-poetry piece (not all based on personal experience, it should be noted) called "That's the End of That", which addresses this issue. It's being finalized as we speak (you read?), and I'll put it up in the next few days.
[...and, it's UP!]
Important clarification:
This post has been picked up by the good people over at Israelity, and I'm grateful for it. Looks like I left this somewhat open to interpretation, however, so let me clarify:
This post wasn't an expression of having chosen singledome, but rather of frustration over how impossible it is to find anyone! This should be made abundantly clear with my next post...
While I was resisting the temptation to give an answer along the lines of "they ran out of my size at the girlfriend store" or "because I ate them all", they'd usually temper the question with a compliment - "I'm just saying.. good-looking guy like yourself..". Obviously they meant well, but this only underscored the assumption, still somewhat common amongst our parent's generation, that unless something's really wrong with you, the only thing separating the average single and a sustained, happy relationship is merely the decision to have one.
So, to try and properly answer the question, I've cooked up a little song/ditty/prose-poetry piece (not all based on personal experience, it should be noted) called "That's the End of That", which addresses this issue. It's being finalized as we speak (you read?), and I'll put it up in the next few days.
[...and, it's UP!]
Important clarification:
This post has been picked up by the good people over at Israelity, and I'm grateful for it. Looks like I left this somewhat open to interpretation, however, so let me clarify:
This post wasn't an expression of having chosen singledome, but rather of frustration over how impossible it is to find anyone! This should be made abundantly clear with my next post...
Sunday, July 15, 2007
"I Got a Call From This Number.."
I'm all of 29, but the technological changes my generation has seen make for some strange memories.
Just around a half hour ago, walking home on the same path that's spawned other trips down memory lane, I saw I'd received a call to my cellphone from a number I didn't recognize. Calling back and telling the complete stranger on the other end of the line, "I got a call from this number", I was struck by how naturally this sort of interaction came to me.
I remember not so long ago when the callback service was first offered on our (landline) phones. Cellphones were yet to be seen, and our phones were limited to the only things I could ever imagine they'd do - dial and talk. Games? Call ID? Internet? Third Generation gadgets that run your finances based on self-updating stock-market reports? Science fiction!
Then one day, I could punch/dial a code - using that mysterious "*" sign I had always wondered about - and call the person I had just missed. The first time I had this sort of conversation was incredibly bizarre. "uh..." - what should I say? Describing this random, somehow inherently modern/urban/hyper-something incident was awkward. I was a kid. I knew everyone there was for me to know, and actively calling someone "out there" was an almost transcendent, philosophical experience. Talking to a total stranger - now so natural to us thanks, in part, to the internet - felt like those first radio bursts sent to outer space in search of alien life.
Being young didn't hurt, of course. Everything was new, strange, exciting yet scary, bizarre yet easily digested as the new norm. Growing up parallel to rapid technological innovation makes me wonder how much these sorts of memories are the result of a child's limited world view, and how much our perception today really has been expanded through communication technology.
Just around a half hour ago, walking home on the same path that's spawned other trips down memory lane, I saw I'd received a call to my cellphone from a number I didn't recognize. Calling back and telling the complete stranger on the other end of the line, "I got a call from this number", I was struck by how naturally this sort of interaction came to me.
I remember not so long ago when the callback service was first offered on our (landline) phones. Cellphones were yet to be seen, and our phones were limited to the only things I could ever imagine they'd do - dial and talk. Games? Call ID? Internet? Third Generation gadgets that run your finances based on self-updating stock-market reports? Science fiction!
Then one day, I could punch/dial a code - using that mysterious "*" sign I had always wondered about - and call the person I had just missed. The first time I had this sort of conversation was incredibly bizarre. "uh..." - what should I say? Describing this random, somehow inherently modern/urban/hyper-something incident was awkward. I was a kid. I knew everyone there was for me to know, and actively calling someone "out there" was an almost transcendent, philosophical experience. Talking to a total stranger - now so natural to us thanks, in part, to the internet - felt like those first radio bursts sent to outer space in search of alien life.
Being young didn't hurt, of course. Everything was new, strange, exciting yet scary, bizarre yet easily digested as the new norm. Growing up parallel to rapid technological innovation makes me wonder how much these sorts of memories are the result of a child's limited world view, and how much our perception today really has been expanded through communication technology.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Dirty Hypocrites
It's been ages, I know. Lots going on, so I'll just quickly point out one peeve and leave it at that:
I live in Jerusalem, and I happen to like this city. Lots of my friends do too. But we all know plenty of people who don't, which is fine. I can even see why they don't - it just doesn't bother me as much.
Every year on Jerusalem Day, and several times in between, an article comes out with doomsday predictions for the non-haredi 20- and 30-year-olds of this city. Haredis pouring in, young "talents" leaving, no employment etc. This is legitimate subject matter for an article, but what always gets me is the hypocrisy of the talkbackers: with each new damning article, dozens of bozos go online with responses titled "dirty city", alluding to Jerusalem's allegedly filthy streets, under anonymous pen-names indicating they're from Tel Aviv.
And I ask: have these morons ever been to the entire half of their own city known as South Tel Aviv? This large area contains unique mixtures of organic and non-organic substances, the odor of which could bring a hardcore New Yorker to his knees. We're talking about streets that make Gotham City look like Toronto. To tell the truth, I find parts of south Tel Aviv quite charming in a grotty, nahlaot kind of way, but I'll never accuse Jerusalem of being particularly filthy after seeing/smelling that.
Jerusalem's got tons of problems - the municipality first among them - but let's refrain from gloating at one of Israel's truly special cities for gloating's sake.
P.S. Unbelievable! The day after I post this, another article comes out (Hebrew, article titled "Jerusalem of Ugliness").
I live in Jerusalem, and I happen to like this city. Lots of my friends do too. But we all know plenty of people who don't, which is fine. I can even see why they don't - it just doesn't bother me as much.
Every year on Jerusalem Day, and several times in between, an article comes out with doomsday predictions for the non-haredi 20- and 30-year-olds of this city. Haredis pouring in, young "talents" leaving, no employment etc. This is legitimate subject matter for an article, but what always gets me is the hypocrisy of the talkbackers: with each new damning article, dozens of bozos go online with responses titled "dirty city", alluding to Jerusalem's allegedly filthy streets, under anonymous pen-names indicating they're from Tel Aviv.
And I ask: have these morons ever been to the entire half of their own city known as South Tel Aviv? This large area contains unique mixtures of organic and non-organic substances, the odor of which could bring a hardcore New Yorker to his knees. We're talking about streets that make Gotham City look like Toronto. To tell the truth, I find parts of south Tel Aviv quite charming in a grotty, nahlaot kind of way, but I'll never accuse Jerusalem of being particularly filthy after seeing/smelling that.
Jerusalem's got tons of problems - the municipality first among them - but let's refrain from gloating at one of Israel's truly special cities for gloating's sake.
P.S. Unbelievable! The day after I post this, another article comes out (Hebrew, article titled "Jerusalem of Ugliness").
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Why I Went to the Demonstration: Hubris
It was enough to stand in line for a bus at the Jerusalem Central Bus Station to see how wide the spectrum of people was for the demonstration on Thursday. In the long queue for Tel Aviv, an obvious old-school Jerusalem-intelligentsia left-winger was having a low-level argument with a family of settlers, even as they were headed to the exact same rally. No point in specifying types: everyone was represented.
I consider myself a somewhat intelligent person, and I'm not normally one to go for mass rallies, typically over-politicized and dumbed-down for the perennially underestimated "masses". Indeed, the demo on Thursday had several predictable detractions to it - first and foremost the shameless attempts by various political parties to claim ownership over the cause at hand. Several giant banners, splashed with the usual political sloganeering, were raised above the crowd. Also, while most of the speakers maintained a surprisingly respectful tone towards the protesters' intelligence, the cheesy Galgalatz pop-shmaltz of the musical interludes occasionally made me question what I was doing there. Adding insult to injury, Israel's favorite goat-voiced Lennon-wannabee, who had not served in the army, sang at a rally largely protesting the shameful preparation and direction of the IDF by the current administration.
But I was not there for any political reason. The two main (interconnected) arguments I had heard for not going concerned the inherent watering-down of the message at a mass rally, and the claim that forcing our Prime Minister to resign immediately may not be the best course of action at the moment, rocking-the-boat-wise.
I was well aware of both those points when I went. But after some deliberation, I reached the conclusion that by that same last point, I had to go - the alternative was worse. I knew few if any of the speakers would be speaking for me. I also knew factions across the political spectrum had all sorts of irrelevant personal and, of course, political axes to grind with Olmert and Defense Minister Peretz. But I went for one reason: not going would be an expression of apathy towards the incredible hubris of Olmert and Peretz. And that I couldn't live with.
No country deserves such shamelessly opportunistic "leaders". If it were the only bad move Peretz ever made, that he did not voluntarily refuse the position of Defense Minister due to utter lack of compatibility would be enough for me to brand him unfit for politics for life. And Olmert - well, where do I begin? Long story short, I watched him badly mismanage and spinelessly sell short my hometown of Jerusalem during his period as mayor. Surrounded by empty-rhetoric politicians, Olmert really takes the cake. During last elections, well before he had so many opportunities to screw up, and facing nothing but bad options, I knew one thing: there was no way I'd ever vote for that man. After the war, both men's desperate attempts to shun responsibility and keep their seats was sickening to me.
Not going would have meant I don't oppose these people - their conduct and their values, as leaders - to the core; and I most certainly do. On a larger scale, not going would be an indication to our leaders that Israel's citizens are not watching, do not care, and/or might even forgive their conduct. This had very little to do with politics. It has to do with leadership, and we currently have none.
I consider myself a somewhat intelligent person, and I'm not normally one to go for mass rallies, typically over-politicized and dumbed-down for the perennially underestimated "masses". Indeed, the demo on Thursday had several predictable detractions to it - first and foremost the shameless attempts by various political parties to claim ownership over the cause at hand. Several giant banners, splashed with the usual political sloganeering, were raised above the crowd. Also, while most of the speakers maintained a surprisingly respectful tone towards the protesters' intelligence, the cheesy Galgalatz pop-shmaltz of the musical interludes occasionally made me question what I was doing there. Adding insult to injury, Israel's favorite goat-voiced Lennon-wannabee, who had not served in the army, sang at a rally largely protesting the shameful preparation and direction of the IDF by the current administration.
But I was not there for any political reason. The two main (interconnected) arguments I had heard for not going concerned the inherent watering-down of the message at a mass rally, and the claim that forcing our Prime Minister to resign immediately may not be the best course of action at the moment, rocking-the-boat-wise.
I was well aware of both those points when I went. But after some deliberation, I reached the conclusion that by that same last point, I had to go - the alternative was worse. I knew few if any of the speakers would be speaking for me. I also knew factions across the political spectrum had all sorts of irrelevant personal and, of course, political axes to grind with Olmert and Defense Minister Peretz. But I went for one reason: not going would be an expression of apathy towards the incredible hubris of Olmert and Peretz. And that I couldn't live with.
No country deserves such shamelessly opportunistic "leaders". If it were the only bad move Peretz ever made, that he did not voluntarily refuse the position of Defense Minister due to utter lack of compatibility would be enough for me to brand him unfit for politics for life. And Olmert - well, where do I begin? Long story short, I watched him badly mismanage and spinelessly sell short my hometown of Jerusalem during his period as mayor. Surrounded by empty-rhetoric politicians, Olmert really takes the cake. During last elections, well before he had so many opportunities to screw up, and facing nothing but bad options, I knew one thing: there was no way I'd ever vote for that man. After the war, both men's desperate attempts to shun responsibility and keep their seats was sickening to me.
Not going would have meant I don't oppose these people - their conduct and their values, as leaders - to the core; and I most certainly do. On a larger scale, not going would be an indication to our leaders that Israel's citizens are not watching, do not care, and/or might even forgive their conduct. This had very little to do with politics. It has to do with leadership, and we currently have none.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
This Resident Traveler Has Been Nominated (!) (?)
I've been nominated in some JIB Awards categories - more so than I thought I could be considered for, but hey - I'm hardly complaining..
So if you think this is somehow a really good personal blog, small blog, "of the rest" or overall blog, not to mention if you thought this was a good post, head on over to the awards site and vote. It's your chance to make a total stranger feel good about himself!
Voting starts sometime Sunday, April 22nd, so if you still remember to do it then, you must really want to vote for this blog, which is just the sort of vote I'm looking for. Good on ya, if you're in that pack!
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Male-Bashing and Romance (What's Left of It)
"Hiding in my room / safe within my womb
I touch no one and no one touches me"
Simon and Garfunkel, I am a Rock.
Men. We've done some horrible things in our time. We've cheated, looted, raped and pillaged. All things being equal, we're more likely to lose our temper and resort to violence. We can be sophomoric and inattentive. We've mismanaged countries and instigated wars - one of us had Rome burnt to the ground - for our own ego's sake. I don't know what to say - some men really stink.
But things are getting out of hand.
It's enough to look at the wildly popular Ynet* "relationships" section to see that there's some kind of war going. For the women, it's as if most men are likely to do one or any combination of the above offenses - daily, judging by their (women's) talkbacks. Either that or we're spineless wimps not worth the time, effort or heartache (for those rare romantics who still speak of something so syrupy as the "heart"). Those feeble voices trying to defend us are dismissed as naive. The men, for their part, seem to have recoiled in horror from Israeli women, complaining of their allegedly over-demanding nature, like some huge, usurping, Jabba-the-Hutt-esque blob. So everyone's more defensive towards each other; everyone's more suspicious. What went wrong? Where'd the romance of our parents' or grandparents' generation go?
The answer lies partly in the gradual loosening of social conventions (worthy of its own post sometime), but primarily in today's widespread availability of information. We're getting bombarded by it on all sides, so everyone's become more aware. Go back several generations, and it was a lot easier to have romantic notions. It was, of course, also a lot easier to scam someone, rob a bank, kidnap a child** and, yes, rape someone and get away with it. Greater innocence meant everyone was easier to take advantage of. Now that we're more informed, we know more of the tricks; we're more wary. But this new awareness, while vitally important in protecting us from the scumbags of society, comes with a price. "Some" or "freak" instances of wrongdoing have intuitively become "most" or "typical". We're not just more suspicious, we're that much more cynical. And cynicism is a serious romance killer.
Our information is disproportionately negative, so the more of it we get, the more negative information we get. Just like on the ynet talkbacks, combative emotions - ranging from argumentativeness to out-and-out antagonism - seem to draw far more people to action than positive ones. Also, there's simply a basic lack of newsworthiness to most things good. Crimes of all sorts, wars, betrayals at the highest political echelons - these grace the news pages every day, but acts of common decency do not. No one's going to come running with report after report of good human behavior, including good male behavior.
We've all heard about the two-timing, harassing, good-for-nothing man; but you won't hear about the good ones. What about deep, romantic displays of love? An arm around the shoulder on a cold winter's night? A sympathetic ear at a time of crisis? The compliment you didn't know how badly you needed? Errands run, promises kept? who outside your direct circle will ever give you news of this? Statistics on sexual offenses are meticulously tabulated, reaffirming accusations of man-as-incorrigible-predator, but you're never going to get stats on consensual, glorious, tender sex. It sounds funny, I know, but therein lies the most basic of biases in our information - for all sorts of reasons, you're not hearing about a lot of the good stuff, and this means you're not getting the true picture.
I've kind of gone in circles here, but my bottom line is this - if we allow ourselves to get too protective and cynical from all the negative information, we'll end up like the protagonist from that Simon & Garfunkel song. Things aren't as bad as they seem. You may be sure all the good men are gone, but it only seems that way because, in a certain sense, they're less interesting. They are out there, though, so keep the faith, keep your guard (reasonably) down, and keep your eyes open!
P.S.
(Yes, I suppose I'm projecting ever so slightly... Thanks, Freud!)
* Israeli online newspaper
** Excluding the effects of internet chat rooms and the like. I'm only referring here to people's gullibility.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Enough to Make You Go Vegetarian
[not for the faint-hearted, this]
Going to the Jerusalem Shuk today, I saw quite a sight - a worker marching into the shuk (market) area, carrying a giant hunk of cow on his back. This enormous ribcage, that looked like it must weigh as much as the worker, went flying right by the face of one girl, who shrieked in terror.
There he went, behind car exhaust fumes, by overstuffed garbage receptacles and into the dingy shuk, carrying this hunk of flesh over his presumably very sweaty neck. I'm a big meat fan, but this was enough to make me contemplate vegetarianism. Came to my senses soon enough, though... (munch, munch.)
Going to the Jerusalem Shuk today, I saw quite a sight - a worker marching into the shuk (market) area, carrying a giant hunk of cow on his back. This enormous ribcage, that looked like it must weigh as much as the worker, went flying right by the face of one girl, who shrieked in terror.
There he went, behind car exhaust fumes, by overstuffed garbage receptacles and into the dingy shuk, carrying this hunk of flesh over his presumably very sweaty neck. I'm a big meat fan, but this was enough to make me contemplate vegetarianism. Came to my senses soon enough, though... (munch, munch.)
Sunday, February 25, 2007
"Don't be Crazy"
"Why not go after her? what have you got to lose? What have you got to lose?"
I had been feeling a sort of angst, an impatience, all evening. Some friends invited me to a jazz show near my house, but when I showed up I couldn't stand being there. Normally I'm fine with some live jazz, but at that moment it irritated me to no end. It seemed so soft, just some polite, mood-setting background music; and here I was, ready to scream. I couldn't take it.
I ended up going with a friend to a bar on Gaza street. Both of us were a little dispirited. As we left - another uneventful night, another day of eternal bachelorhood - a young lady standing outside the bar caught his fancy. She parted ways with her friends and began walking up the street. I told my friend he should try - what has he got to lose? You can't afford to dwell on these situations, so I quickly patted him on the shoulder, wished him goodbye/good luck, and turned up Radak street for the walk home.
He never did go up to her, but the thought stayed with me. What have you got to lose?
I felt a longing. I was terribly missing my former self. My throat welled up. I was thinking in a way I hadn't thought like in - what was it? 6, 7 years?
For those few moments, I went straight back to the sort of total romanticism I had only experienced in my early twenties. All the advanced calculus of making first contact gave way to this naivete. What have I got to lose? My god, why had I stopped ever thinking that? I'm all of 28, but it felt like I was staring at an old photograph, realizing how much I've aged.
In my close group we called it a "kamikaze mission": a situation where there's not going to be any way to make proper social contact before stating your intentions. You just have to go up, say something short, hope for the best and ask. The classic one is when she's just passed you on the street. Something deep in your gut says it would be a crying shame to let her go. But let me be clear here - this was never mere physical attraction. There would be something about her, something beyond, a je ne sais quoi, that would induce me to do something I would certainly never contemplate doing normally.
It was all coming back to me - "what have I got to lose?" I used to think like that all the time. Going up to a young lady and straightforwardly, almost confessionally, asking her for her number. So she says no - so you gave her a compliment. What's wrong with that? You gave a total stranger a bit of an ego boost for the evening. It was a win-win situation. That was part of the romantics of it - I used to feel happy all the time at the prospect of making someone else happy.
It was such a youthful way of thinking, from a time when even someone out on the street could juuust be "the one". Nothing else mattered at that moment. why not? Take the plunge. No hang-ups, no long analysis of what sort of person she is, I just wanted to go up and try. Not to belittle the genuineness of my interest for a second, but yes - it was very exciting. I would smile at the prospect of doing it, not that there wasn't a good bit of dread as well...
Started walking down Osishkin.
These feelings used to arise at night for me. I would go out on the porch of my parents house, stare at the stars, and something deep inside would strike me. I can't describe it - simultaneous excitement and despair at the untapped potential I thought I had. I would sit at home, and think I have to write something. It's 1:30AM - let's write a book! Let's take my guitar and go sit somewhere and play it. Something's bound to happen! There was a spark of pure romanticism that would bubble to the surface, even in calculating, rational ol' me. god, I haven't had that in years.. what happened? when did all that change? It seems so naive now.
It was around when I hit Bezalel street that it started to fade. I began to see the folly of it, like big, gaping holes. "Don't be crazy. You'd just intimdate her. A total stranger walking up to her like that, in the early hours of the morning? Why on earth would she agree to it? Look, with all the good will in the world, she simply doesn't know you from Adam; you're just putting her on the spot. What do you want her to say? Have some dignity - be an adult. You can't just pounce like that out of the blue. It's a very stressful situation to put her in, and she's much better off playing it safe. You know what? If she says yes, she's probably crazy."
By the time I turned onto my street, it was gone. You grow up, I guess. You mature. People out on the street can't be "the one", right? These things take time, you build them.
I used to be crazy.
I had been feeling a sort of angst, an impatience, all evening. Some friends invited me to a jazz show near my house, but when I showed up I couldn't stand being there. Normally I'm fine with some live jazz, but at that moment it irritated me to no end. It seemed so soft, just some polite, mood-setting background music; and here I was, ready to scream. I couldn't take it.
I ended up going with a friend to a bar on Gaza street. Both of us were a little dispirited. As we left - another uneventful night, another day of eternal bachelorhood - a young lady standing outside the bar caught his fancy. She parted ways with her friends and began walking up the street. I told my friend he should try - what has he got to lose? You can't afford to dwell on these situations, so I quickly patted him on the shoulder, wished him goodbye/good luck, and turned up Radak street for the walk home.
He never did go up to her, but the thought stayed with me. What have you got to lose?
I felt a longing. I was terribly missing my former self. My throat welled up. I was thinking in a way I hadn't thought like in - what was it? 6, 7 years?
For those few moments, I went straight back to the sort of total romanticism I had only experienced in my early twenties. All the advanced calculus of making first contact gave way to this naivete. What have I got to lose? My god, why had I stopped ever thinking that? I'm all of 28, but it felt like I was staring at an old photograph, realizing how much I've aged.
In my close group we called it a "kamikaze mission": a situation where there's not going to be any way to make proper social contact before stating your intentions. You just have to go up, say something short, hope for the best and ask. The classic one is when she's just passed you on the street. Something deep in your gut says it would be a crying shame to let her go. But let me be clear here - this was never mere physical attraction. There would be something about her, something beyond, a je ne sais quoi, that would induce me to do something I would certainly never contemplate doing normally.
It was all coming back to me - "what have I got to lose?" I used to think like that all the time. Going up to a young lady and straightforwardly, almost confessionally, asking her for her number. So she says no - so you gave her a compliment. What's wrong with that? You gave a total stranger a bit of an ego boost for the evening. It was a win-win situation. That was part of the romantics of it - I used to feel happy all the time at the prospect of making someone else happy.
It was such a youthful way of thinking, from a time when even someone out on the street could juuust be "the one". Nothing else mattered at that moment. why not? Take the plunge. No hang-ups, no long analysis of what sort of person she is, I just wanted to go up and try. Not to belittle the genuineness of my interest for a second, but yes - it was very exciting. I would smile at the prospect of doing it, not that there wasn't a good bit of dread as well...
Started walking down Osishkin.
These feelings used to arise at night for me. I would go out on the porch of my parents house, stare at the stars, and something deep inside would strike me. I can't describe it - simultaneous excitement and despair at the untapped potential I thought I had. I would sit at home, and think I have to write something. It's 1:30AM - let's write a book! Let's take my guitar and go sit somewhere and play it. Something's bound to happen! There was a spark of pure romanticism that would bubble to the surface, even in calculating, rational ol' me. god, I haven't had that in years.. what happened? when did all that change? It seems so naive now.
It was around when I hit Bezalel street that it started to fade. I began to see the folly of it, like big, gaping holes. "Don't be crazy. You'd just intimdate her. A total stranger walking up to her like that, in the early hours of the morning? Why on earth would she agree to it? Look, with all the good will in the world, she simply doesn't know you from Adam; you're just putting her on the spot. What do you want her to say? Have some dignity - be an adult. You can't just pounce like that out of the blue. It's a very stressful situation to put her in, and she's much better off playing it safe. You know what? If she says yes, she's probably crazy."
By the time I turned onto my street, it was gone. You grow up, I guess. You mature. People out on the street can't be "the one", right? These things take time, you build them.
I used to be crazy.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
The Israeli Disease
(warning - rant coming up)
A friend of mine was kind enough to fly me on a business trip with him once. We were going to have a stopover in Europe, and I wanted to duck into the city for something. I was certain I could do it and come back in time for the connecting flight. He wasn't too thrilled about my plan, but I kept pressing - "It'll work out, c'mon!".
He then asked me The Question - the one question Israelis avoid bringing up, or even contemplating privately, ever:
This is really a simple question. I couldn't word it any more simply. It means exactly what it says, and doesn't insinuate anything beyond. To an Israeli, however, this question is negative thinking at best, an out-and-out accusation at worst. "What do you mean 'what happens if it doesn't work out'? what, you don't trust me? nothing will go wrong!". And that's exactly it - to an Israeli, nothing will ever go wrong. It's an amazing, widespread delirium. If you don't live in Israel, you may think I'm exaggerating; but if you do, this should sound pretty familiar - it's the Israeli Disease.
While completely detached from reality, the Israeli Disease has its (few) advantages - this eternal optimism is behind our renowned ability to improvise, to miraculously create a solution out of thin air at the last second. It can also be said to be the result of a traditionally more cohesive, trusting society. However, its main problem is that it entails the wholesale sidestepping of consequences to one's actions. Everything will work out because "somehow, it always does", and the results - well, we see the results every day: in the news, and all around us.
Ahh, we lucky Israelis. Since nothing will ever go wrong, we allow ourselves to ask for any favor, big or small, damned the consequences. For the same reason exactly, warranties are nice pieces of paper that give an American-esque aura to a purchase or a service, but not much else. Since nothing will ever go wrong, we can build a rail system and then discover later the rails don't fit the cars. We can build event halls with floors that cave in, not to mention bridges. Since nothing will ever go wrong, government ministries and municipalities needn't concern themselves too much with, say, doing anything. The expression "cover for me" should be in the national anthem.
The Israeli Disease is responsible for us finding ourselves, again and again, up s#!t creek without a paddle. We see our politicians spreading promises left and right with no hope of fulfilling them, blabbing to the press, groping subordinates and taking bribes with no thought of consequence; we see wars fought under the assumption that winning them is somehow an ingrained Israeli "trait"; we see social security messing up, hospitals messing up, the police messing up, the army messing up, companies messing up, drivers messing up. As a good friend pointed out once, the common line you'll hear from a reckless driver - "haven't been killed yet!" - applies to every single person who has, one second before the crash.
So if you're Israeli, by birth or by symptom: please, stop and think. Ask yourself what happens if it doesn't work out exactly the way you planned*. By doing this you're not paranoid or self-defeating, you're merely being smart. By all means, go ahead with your plan, just remember it's only that- not a certainty.
As for my plan? As soon as my friend asked The Question, I dropped it. And surprise surprise: turned out there was no way in hell I could've pulled it off.
* if there even was a plan; "assumed" might be more appropriate.
A friend of mine was kind enough to fly me on a business trip with him once. We were going to have a stopover in Europe, and I wanted to duck into the city for something. I was certain I could do it and come back in time for the connecting flight. He wasn't too thrilled about my plan, but I kept pressing - "It'll work out, c'mon!".
He then asked me The Question - the one question Israelis avoid bringing up, or even contemplating privately, ever:
What happens if it doesn't work out?
This is really a simple question. I couldn't word it any more simply. It means exactly what it says, and doesn't insinuate anything beyond. To an Israeli, however, this question is negative thinking at best, an out-and-out accusation at worst. "What do you mean 'what happens if it doesn't work out'? what, you don't trust me? nothing will go wrong!". And that's exactly it - to an Israeli, nothing will ever go wrong. It's an amazing, widespread delirium. If you don't live in Israel, you may think I'm exaggerating; but if you do, this should sound pretty familiar - it's the Israeli Disease.
While completely detached from reality, the Israeli Disease has its (few) advantages - this eternal optimism is behind our renowned ability to improvise, to miraculously create a solution out of thin air at the last second. It can also be said to be the result of a traditionally more cohesive, trusting society. However, its main problem is that it entails the wholesale sidestepping of consequences to one's actions. Everything will work out because "somehow, it always does", and the results - well, we see the results every day: in the news, and all around us.
Ahh, we lucky Israelis. Since nothing will ever go wrong, we allow ourselves to ask for any favor, big or small, damned the consequences. For the same reason exactly, warranties are nice pieces of paper that give an American-esque aura to a purchase or a service, but not much else. Since nothing will ever go wrong, we can build a rail system and then discover later the rails don't fit the cars. We can build event halls with floors that cave in, not to mention bridges. Since nothing will ever go wrong, government ministries and municipalities needn't concern themselves too much with, say, doing anything. The expression "cover for me" should be in the national anthem.
The Israeli Disease is responsible for us finding ourselves, again and again, up s#!t creek without a paddle. We see our politicians spreading promises left and right with no hope of fulfilling them, blabbing to the press, groping subordinates and taking bribes with no thought of consequence; we see wars fought under the assumption that winning them is somehow an ingrained Israeli "trait"; we see social security messing up, hospitals messing up, the police messing up, the army messing up, companies messing up, drivers messing up. As a good friend pointed out once, the common line you'll hear from a reckless driver - "haven't been killed yet!" - applies to every single person who has, one second before the crash.
So if you're Israeli, by birth or by symptom: please, stop and think. Ask yourself what happens if it doesn't work out exactly the way you planned*. By doing this you're not paranoid or self-defeating, you're merely being smart. By all means, go ahead with your plan, just remember it's only that- not a certainty.
As for my plan? As soon as my friend asked The Question, I dropped it. And surprise surprise: turned out there was no way in hell I could've pulled it off.
* if there even was a plan; "assumed" might be more appropriate.
Monday, January 08, 2007
About Me #2 - A College-Educated, Taxpaying Punk
["About me" posts, despite their name, are meant to have some relevancy to the reader as well. See my introduction to them here.]
I'm a punk. No, I've never worn a torn shirt with safety pins, nor contemplated a mohawk (and not just because I couldn't grow one if I tried). I've got a college degree. I didn't grow up "on the streets". I haven't touched a single (non-musical) drug in my life. I've never smashed a beer bottle in the street. Musically, alongside rock, I've played folk songs, disco and Mizrahi. I've covered the Sex Pistols, and I've covered the Beatles; I've covered Simon & Garfunkel and Nirvana. I pay my taxes. My police record is clean. I'm nearly ten years past my teens. I've worked at the same institution (in different capacities) for 6 years now. Rest assured these are all irrelevant to the subject at hand - I am, undoubtedly, 200%, a punk.
The word "punk" has gathered an incredible mishmash of meanings. For many, the image that still comes to mind is that of thuggery - ratty clothes, "fuck-you" attitude, outspokenness, smashing things, crudeness. "Punk politics" has come to include a grab bag of causes, from anti-authoritarianism to veganism to anarchism to fascism to extreme left-wing politics. So first of all, I have to clarify: I'm not talking about punk the musical form, nor the "fashion", nor the politics of punk. I'm talking about punk as a way of life; the ideology of punk.(1)
The pervasive, mostly negative image of "punks" I mentioned above, stems primarily from the more visible sections of its audience, rather than from most of its original musical founders - especially those in the US. To avoid a laborious history lesson, just take it from me: in 1975-77, when punk was still in its infancy, the only things the so-called "punks" in the States had in common were lots of energy and a critical thought process.
So what is the ideology of punk? Punk ideology combines anti-dogmatism with a simple imperative: think. As Jello Biafra, singer of the great Dead Kennedys, put so succinctly: "punk ain't no religious cult - punk means thinking for yourself". It discourages preconception - don't automatically reject an idea simply because it seems out of left field. Always question, but stay balanced. Don't automatically go with "the majority", nor be a reactionary for its own sake. A punk tries as much as possible to simply remove the common wisdom from the equation. Punks have a healthy disregard for norms and empty rhetoric as any kind of indication of "worth". Rather, they'll try to deconstruct a situation and put it back together themselves. If the conclusions coincide with extant norms, that's fine. If they don't, that's fine too. Needless to say, they will often fall somewhere in between.
Despite its uneven implementation among punks, punk ideology tries to avoid being auto-rejectionist. If someone doesn't agree with you, he/she is not "the enemy". By all means try to convince by way of rational explanation, but certainly don't catalog and otherwise reject out of hand the validity of others' opinions. Punk is not relativist, though. A common trapping of the aforementioned rejection-of-the-assumed is that it can lead to a paralysis of self-doubt. But the punk outlook is a positivist one: it encourages action, and it encourages forming a well-considered opinion. Yes, always be open to criticism of your opinion, be willing to revise, update or replace it entirely if need be, but first make sure you have one, and know why you do.
The next obvious question is why use the term "punk" and not just, say, "thoughtful person"? Without making an overly restrictive generalization, it's because punk ideology has one added tendency that's not intrinsic to a thoughtful person: the desire to simplify. This comes across in punk as the musical genre, but also as a way to make choices in life. A punk will look for a simpler way to do things, and appreciate functionality and practicality. It doesn't mean he/she is trying to live like a monk, nor that he/she must be free of any guilty pleasures; but by and large, the ornate, the overpriced and the extravagant are instinctively off-putting to a punk. This is why you will see some punks choose to live communally, shunting the job-car-house-family track(2), and why you will see a tendency towards simplicity and directness in the music. But this criteria is actually fairly flexible - one needn't be resistant to economic or social status advancement to be a punk; he/she should only not see them as the prime measures of "success" in life.
Last but not least, punk ideology requires being a civil human being. As Ian Mackaye, one of the first to actually sing and speak about these issues, said in an interview recently: "When I play music, there is no code of behavior beyond general humanitarian [values-R.T.]: you don't attack, assault people, or be ugly or intolerant.. but that would be the same if I invited anyone to my house for dinner, too."(3)
(1) I'm not trying to create an artificial split between punk the music and punk the ideology. Needless to say, punk began as a musical movement. But its ideology existed right from the start, and permeated the music in both its composition and its subject matter.
(2) Again, this too comes across in the music - see my mention of the brilliant economy of a certain punk band in an earlier post. This is also the principle driving many of the political strains mentioned above - anti-consumerism, environmental concerns and social justice - though the dogmatism that often accompanies them defeats the very purpose of punk as I see it..
(3) Available here. Be warned - while Mackaye shines (as usual), the interviewer doesn't really "get it".
I'm a punk. No, I've never worn a torn shirt with safety pins, nor contemplated a mohawk (and not just because I couldn't grow one if I tried). I've got a college degree. I didn't grow up "on the streets". I haven't touched a single (non-musical) drug in my life. I've never smashed a beer bottle in the street. Musically, alongside rock, I've played folk songs, disco and Mizrahi. I've covered the Sex Pistols, and I've covered the Beatles; I've covered Simon & Garfunkel and Nirvana. I pay my taxes. My police record is clean. I'm nearly ten years past my teens. I've worked at the same institution (in different capacities) for 6 years now. Rest assured these are all irrelevant to the subject at hand - I am, undoubtedly, 200%, a punk.
The word "punk" has gathered an incredible mishmash of meanings. For many, the image that still comes to mind is that of thuggery - ratty clothes, "fuck-you" attitude, outspokenness, smashing things, crudeness. "Punk politics" has come to include a grab bag of causes, from anti-authoritarianism to veganism to anarchism to fascism to extreme left-wing politics. So first of all, I have to clarify: I'm not talking about punk the musical form, nor the "fashion", nor the politics of punk. I'm talking about punk as a way of life; the ideology of punk.(1)
The pervasive, mostly negative image of "punks" I mentioned above, stems primarily from the more visible sections of its audience, rather than from most of its original musical founders - especially those in the US. To avoid a laborious history lesson, just take it from me: in 1975-77, when punk was still in its infancy, the only things the so-called "punks" in the States had in common were lots of energy and a critical thought process.
So what is the ideology of punk? Punk ideology combines anti-dogmatism with a simple imperative: think. As Jello Biafra, singer of the great Dead Kennedys, put so succinctly: "punk ain't no religious cult - punk means thinking for yourself". It discourages preconception - don't automatically reject an idea simply because it seems out of left field. Always question, but stay balanced. Don't automatically go with "the majority", nor be a reactionary for its own sake. A punk tries as much as possible to simply remove the common wisdom from the equation. Punks have a healthy disregard for norms and empty rhetoric as any kind of indication of "worth". Rather, they'll try to deconstruct a situation and put it back together themselves. If the conclusions coincide with extant norms, that's fine. If they don't, that's fine too. Needless to say, they will often fall somewhere in between.
Despite its uneven implementation among punks, punk ideology tries to avoid being auto-rejectionist. If someone doesn't agree with you, he/she is not "the enemy". By all means try to convince by way of rational explanation, but certainly don't catalog and otherwise reject out of hand the validity of others' opinions. Punk is not relativist, though. A common trapping of the aforementioned rejection-of-the-assumed is that it can lead to a paralysis of self-doubt. But the punk outlook is a positivist one: it encourages action, and it encourages forming a well-considered opinion. Yes, always be open to criticism of your opinion, be willing to revise, update or replace it entirely if need be, but first make sure you have one, and know why you do.
The next obvious question is why use the term "punk" and not just, say, "thoughtful person"? Without making an overly restrictive generalization, it's because punk ideology has one added tendency that's not intrinsic to a thoughtful person: the desire to simplify. This comes across in punk as the musical genre, but also as a way to make choices in life. A punk will look for a simpler way to do things, and appreciate functionality and practicality. It doesn't mean he/she is trying to live like a monk, nor that he/she must be free of any guilty pleasures; but by and large, the ornate, the overpriced and the extravagant are instinctively off-putting to a punk. This is why you will see some punks choose to live communally, shunting the job-car-house-family track(2), and why you will see a tendency towards simplicity and directness in the music. But this criteria is actually fairly flexible - one needn't be resistant to economic or social status advancement to be a punk; he/she should only not see them as the prime measures of "success" in life.
Last but not least, punk ideology requires being a civil human being. As Ian Mackaye, one of the first to actually sing and speak about these issues, said in an interview recently: "When I play music, there is no code of behavior beyond general humanitarian [values-R.T.]: you don't attack, assault people, or be ugly or intolerant.. but that would be the same if I invited anyone to my house for dinner, too."(3)
(1) I'm not trying to create an artificial split between punk the music and punk the ideology. Needless to say, punk began as a musical movement. But its ideology existed right from the start, and permeated the music in both its composition and its subject matter.
(2) Again, this too comes across in the music - see my mention of the brilliant economy of a certain punk band in an earlier post. This is also the principle driving many of the political strains mentioned above - anti-consumerism, environmental concerns and social justice - though the dogmatism that often accompanies them defeats the very purpose of punk as I see it..
(3) Available here. Be warned - while Mackaye shines (as usual), the interviewer doesn't really "get it".
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Monotonix: The Band That'll Put a Smile on Your Face
..even as you're pinned to the floor - by their singer.
Had this whole post on agnosticism and faith ready, but forget that.. Every once in a while I see a band I'm happy just to know exists. Quick background: I'm a huge music fan - first and foremost, though not reserved to, rock music. listen to tons of it, Play in two bands.. Big on all things with an independent bent and strong emotion, but that's for a later post.
Just got back from catching the Monotonix at the Sira bar in Jerusalem. They're a Tel-Aviv based trio consisting only of a drummer, a guitarist and singer. No second guitar, no bass. To compensate, Yonatan, the guitarist, plays a detuned guitar through a bass amp, and deftly goes back and forth between bass-like passages and guitar. On top of that, the drummer bashes his minimal kit - no toms, just a snare, bass drum and a few cymbals - standing up. From these two instruments, they manage to coax as full a sound as anyone could hope for. The economy of it all is inspiring.
But the real center of attention is Ami, the short, mustachioed, 45(!!)-year-old singer; though that's probably the most peripheral part of his presence on stage. Just last night:
He routinely walked deep into the audience and hugged or kissed people, especially the ones in the back who weren't paying attention.
Halfway through the second song, I offered him my beer and he immediately proceeded to pour it on his head.
All this may read like mere shock tactics, like he was trying too hard to "entertain" - but he wasn't. What doesn't come across is the basic human warmth he spread in the crowd, even when he seemed over-the-top. The feelings this man managed to coax, along with the ear-piercing but ever melodic rhythm section.. you just had to be there. He wants to get everyone involved. Israeli audiences tend to be quite calm - they'll cheer for a few second after a song and then fall deathly quiet; Ami's out there just trying to wake everyone up, without ever seeming like he's struggling against them or somehow dissatisfied with them.
The single greatest thing about this band is their utter lack of pretension. None of Ami's antics seemed at all forced; he was just having fun. No one at a Monotonix show could even try to maintain some air of false poise or distanced "cool" with this madman crashing into them at every opportunity. Everyone was smiling. You had to. Even if you hated them, you were smiling.
By the end of the set, I felt like the random batch of people that made up the audience had been joined, if only for a moment, by this singular experience. It's a feeling I rarely get these days at shows, but I did tonight. Long live Monotonix!
Had this whole post on agnosticism and faith ready, but forget that.. Every once in a while I see a band I'm happy just to know exists. Quick background: I'm a huge music fan - first and foremost, though not reserved to, rock music. listen to tons of it, Play in two bands.. Big on all things with an independent bent and strong emotion, but that's for a later post.
Just got back from catching the Monotonix at the Sira bar in Jerusalem. They're a Tel-Aviv based trio consisting only of a drummer, a guitarist and singer. No second guitar, no bass. To compensate, Yonatan, the guitarist, plays a detuned guitar through a bass amp, and deftly goes back and forth between bass-like passages and guitar. On top of that, the drummer bashes his minimal kit - no toms, just a snare, bass drum and a few cymbals - standing up. From these two instruments, they manage to coax as full a sound as anyone could hope for. The economy of it all is inspiring.
But the real center of attention is Ami, the short, mustachioed, 45(!!)-year-old singer; though that's probably the most peripheral part of his presence on stage. Just last night:
He routinely walked deep into the audience and hugged or kissed people, especially the ones in the back who weren't paying attention.
Halfway through the second song, I offered him my beer and he immediately proceeded to pour it on his head.
He duck-taped himself to someone and thus "forced" him to dance with him for an entire song, then "hung" off him with the tape, singing like it's all in a day's work...
He spent the rest of the show covered in tape, with his own left shoe dangling by the shoelaces from the mike cable.
he set the cymbals on fire...
he set the cymbals on fire...
he jokingly (or not) yelled at the barman for doing "business" in the middle of "his show".
he jumped right onto this haredi guy and clung to him for a good minute straight - while singing.
He would walk out the door... walk into the audience and drag someone to the stage, then wrestle him to the floor (I was one such victim. He didn't get much resistance, though - I was paralyzed by laughter!)
he climbed to the top of the bathroom stall, a good three meters off the floor, and sang from there.
..and for the brilliant end of the show, he took the cymbals away from the drummer one by one, and handed them to people in the audience, along with sticks for them to bash away in their own time.. Ran, the drummer, was left with only his snare, which he set up on top of the bar counter, and carried right on playing it standing there. All the while, Ami was on top of the bar with him, waving two lightbulbs like a 'luded-out hippie.All this may read like mere shock tactics, like he was trying too hard to "entertain" - but he wasn't. What doesn't come across is the basic human warmth he spread in the crowd, even when he seemed over-the-top. The feelings this man managed to coax, along with the ear-piercing but ever melodic rhythm section.. you just had to be there. He wants to get everyone involved. Israeli audiences tend to be quite calm - they'll cheer for a few second after a song and then fall deathly quiet; Ami's out there just trying to wake everyone up, without ever seeming like he's struggling against them or somehow dissatisfied with them.
The single greatest thing about this band is their utter lack of pretension. None of Ami's antics seemed at all forced; he was just having fun. No one at a Monotonix show could even try to maintain some air of false poise or distanced "cool" with this madman crashing into them at every opportunity. Everyone was smiling. You had to. Even if you hated them, you were smiling.
By the end of the set, I felt like the random batch of people that made up the audience had been joined, if only for a moment, by this singular experience. It's a feeling I rarely get these days at shows, but I did tonight. Long live Monotonix!
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