Palm Desert

"Oh, that's not good.."

"What, what happened?"

"Your palms.. it's not a good sign." She'd read my palms a long time ago. Got quite a bit right, as well. Blind luck...

Just that moment, someone walked in the room, and she turned to engage them in some mundane conversation. I hesitated for a moment, but decided to let it go. A few minutes later, she got ready to leave.

"That's it? You're just going to leave me hanging like this?"

"Well, ok.. but do you really want to discuss it in this forum?"

"Come, I'll walk you out." A few paces down the hall, I was all ears.

"no, it's just that I saw you have some frustration."

"You got that from across the room? wha..?"

"Yeah, I could see it. Some kind of deep frustration, like something isn't progressing as it should, or isn't going the right way."

I was stunned. "Sometimes you scare me with how well you read this stuff."

"Do you want to.."

"No. Bye, see you tomorrow."

About me #3: Romance Is in the Mundane

["About me" posts, despite their name, are meant to have some relevancy to the reader as well. you can see my introduction to them here, though this now reads to me as somewhat out of date and borderline naive. But hey, tradition is tradition, right?]

A few days ago, I was sitting at a cafe¹ and suddenly found myself in the throws of the aforementioned existential angst (just the angst, though - not the sweaty bit. :) ). Then, outside, a young woman walked by on the street². Moderately attractive. Warm face, energetic gait.

As she passed by, for a split second, she gave me a wide smile - or so I thought. Her face quickly fell back to normal walking-down-the-street blank look. She must have mistaken me for someone else, or seen a passing acquaintance of hers behind me. Still, the effects on me were surprisingly powerful - in that split second, my heart swelled. I felt elated. It was amazing to me how one stranger's smile could snap me so quickly and easily out of what can only be described as a proper, 17th-century-philosopher-with-an-abusive-upbringing-and- undetermined-substance-abuse-problem style bout of depression.

This got me wondering. For one thing, it certainly gave kind of a ridiculous air to the mood I was in. There I was, allegedly grappling with all these difficult questions, feeling downcast, and one stranger's glance pops me right out of it!³ But this was more than just simple excitement at attention. It was exciting because it was unprompted. Her intent, in fact, had little to with it - as became clear a second later. It was a slight gesture that came about for no apparent reason, but it was glorious. There's a pattern here with me - I love the unprompted, small gesture. It's genuine.

I love spontaneous goofiness - as much as I love momentary impatience for it. Because, again, it's genuine. It isn't contrived. This comes across in other facets as well. Not long ago, I was in an unsure dating phase with someone. I was having a good time with her, but wasn't quite sure whether it could go anywhere. There would often be a somewhat formal air to the proceedings, and the conversation would hover around the obvious. The breakthrough moment came, ironically, when she revealed her doubts, as did I. That was the moment we both felt far more intimate, again - because voicing one's concerns is undoubtedly real. And there's something quite romantic about two people at that level of comfort with each other.


Let me spin this the other way: I've noticed I have a really hard time with planned events. I find the notion of a planned holiday, for example, quite stressful, because so much is at stake! It seems to me almost doomed to failure because we pin so many hopes on them, they can't possibly live up to the expectations! Same with weddings, parties etc. I'm not trying to say by any stretch that I don't enjoy planned events, occasions or travel; only that when I do, it's almost invariably not their planned aspects that I've enjoyed. It's the small stories that mean so much to me. Every wedding has had it's kooky little story, far removed from the official proceedings. Every trip abroad gave more insight at the trucker's stop than at the tourist attraction. and it's often the least planned events that turn out fun, because everyone has to improvise. It's real. It's not a preplanned Kodak Moment.


So I often find myself moved - truly moved, I'm not exaggerating - by the mundane. Not in the tree hugging way. I don't mean admiring the beauty of nature or the miracle of birth etc. - not that there's anything wrong with that.. - but simply appreciating small human moments. The idea of this person giving a total stranger a glance, practically moved me to tears. Meeting someone simply, falling in love with them simply, the notion of 90% of your time together being fairly routine - I actually find all that terribly romantic. I think not having some teriffic story about how you met, is just as good a story as a "good" one.


The other day, I was moved by the fact that a group of my close friends were genuinely excited to watch a film widely considered to be the worst of all time. It spoke volumes to me. I felt so fortunate to have friends like that, that are aware of - and actively voice - the absurdities of life, and are quite happy to swim within them. Obviously, there's no end to the examples but.. you get the idea.


The simplest definition I've heard for happiness is perceived reality minus expectation. When the latter is sky-high, it's going to be awfully difficult to be happy. I feel the film and television industries have really set the bar high for us. The one-upmanship in creating the most incredible on-screen action/suspense/extreme and, especially, romantic moments have made it so easy to (dis)miss the gems going on in our day-to-day lives.


I know he meant something else entirely, but when Ian Brown sang "Keep what you've got / by giving it all away", I like to think he wasn't talking about possessions, but rather about lofty expectations.




¹ Yes, they actually have those in Jerusalem! In fact, we've got lots of them! Let it never be said this blog is without its educational merit. ;)

² Some of you may be thinking, "really? Jerusalem actually has cafes with stylish full-glass walls facing the street? Not the gaudy styled ones, but the ones actually done in good taste? Isn't that too.. I don't know.. cosmopolitan for Jerusalem?" Well, yes we do and no it isn't, I'm glad you asked (thought?). Reputation aside, Jerusalem has some pretty cool nightlife (is my point).

³ DISCLAIMER - I'm a pretty normal guy. Really. This was just the sort of blue mood we all get from time to time. Don't want to be giving off the impression like I'm some manic depressive or anything..

The Existential Swamp Monster

Sometimes the simplest things bring you down to earth.

It's my birthday today - 30th. These past few days have had me thinking quite intently on where I am, where I'm going, what will be, what won't be. Existentialist pondering alongside existential angst. Coincidentally, I'd also thrown together a whole long post on where I stand in my romantic view, somewhat altered from where I stood a year ago. So it felt like something important was going on. Suddenly, this 30th birthday seemed fraught with meaning.

Had a big conference at work. Those there with me know by now that those sorts of events are when I whip out the stops and actually dress nicely for work. So there I was, looking sharp, feeling fairly "important". Had the opportunity to set aside my thought and just focus on the tasks at hand, and I was feeling fairly good about it all. It didn't hurt that there were some good-looking members of the opposite sex there as well - and one in particular I was hoping to impress with my casual interest dotting the constant calls to duty. Soooo authoritative.

At the tail end of the day, as I walked back to go home, one of the workers exclaimed, "wow, you've really been working hard." "Yeah, you've noticed?" I asked. "Well, I can see - you've been running around with those giant sweat stains!" For the first time that day, I got a look at a mirror. I'd been spending that day feeling like hot s%!t - all the while looking like a swamp monster!

At first, I was embarrassed as hell. Then I just kinda had to laugh. Happy 30th, me.

Midnight, on a Bench, ____ Street

It feels pointless at moments, like I'm on display. But then again - so is everyone else. We're even on that score.

On select moments within the daily humdrum, when I free my mind enough to think, I feel a vague sensation of trying to unravel this big riddle. Except it's too difficult. Requires too much sustained concentration. So like a Rubik's Cube wasted on the impatient, I toss the riddle aside, figuring I'll chip away at it some other time. But each time, I'm starting from scratch.

Tonight I'm alone.

The weather is perfect. Light breeze. Cool, not cold. It's a special experience. stretches of noise, cars whizzing by, punctuated by moments of silence. Relief. It's not them that I'm here for, though.

Random moments in people's lives: young, religious girl helping her grandmother down the street; hip Jerusalemites, with their 3/4 pants and sandals, congregating outside some bar - discussing their big travels, big career plans and, of course, the big soccer match; a solitary young woman in colorful shuk garb shows up on the horizon, grows larger and larger as she comes near, then past me and into the car; the obvious first-date couple, "uhhhh"-ing away at each other through their best attempts at a natural grin; the smokers, communicating by proximity rather than language, like a pack of cats on a lazy afternoon; the mad biker, going for a speed record whilst pulling off a wheelie. But by and large, each and every person is in a box and outside of it. Ultimately indescribable.

Then comes someone I know.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"So, you like sitting on this bench?"

"Oh, no. I'm waiting for someone.."

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:

"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. :)

"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...

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.)

"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.

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.

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 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!

The Ultimate Open Challenge: the Two-Girl Fortress

OK, I know I said I'd post more about myself, but it's a fast-paced world out there. If something springs up urgently, well, damned if I don't write about it! Fear not (I'm sure you do..), the first "about me" post is under construction, awaiting my next stretch of concentration... Anyway:

I'm going to give you a puzzle to try to solve, and I welcome any and all attempts to crack it, ok?

here's the situation: I go out to a bar/restaurant-type place. As I enter, I notice a girl who catches my fancy. Great! now I'm psyched.. I sit at a table, with my good (male) friend. she's having a lively chat with her girlfriend. they're sitting two tables down from us, her friend facing me, "my" girl with her back to me. and now the question: what on earth do I do?

This is a TGF, Two-Girl Fortress*. It's impenetrable to me. And it exists virtually everywhere I go. Now, there are occasional circumstances that make it possible - difficult, but possible. At a bar, for instance, I might be able to sit next to her and start a conversation. Even table situations can sometimes work, if I can initiate eye-contact and see what the response is. If she sends enough of a "go ahead" smile, I might actually work myself up to doing something about it. But in this case - with no physical proximity or eye-contact - I'm dead in the water. I'd call it a UTGF (Ultimate TGF) if it weren't too long and cumbersome.

Here's my problem: I need a ruse. I cannot, under any circumstances, walk up to two girls 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 up to her right 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.

A priceless piece of advice I've heard is to ask to join the table. If you suggest that, you obviously haven't been reading. join the table? Are you kidding me?? Look, I'm aware this might not be nearly as unacceptable as it feels like to me, but I need a minimal level of truthfulness with myself, because I'm extremely transparent - I'm no actor. If what I'm feeling is that I'm an intrusive stranger, I can't try to exude this charming, nice guy who's confidently asking to join the table like it's perfectly natural for me. It ain't. Doing that is like trying to stab myself in the hand with a fork - just can't do it!

I've gotten all sorts of well-intended advice on this subject, but it's all regretfully immaterial to the basic problem: how do i interrupt two strangers' conversation with little or no acting ability? Solve this one, and you've solved one of (my) life's greatest mysteries!


* I know we've said we'll use "lady", but it really doesn't work in this context.

About Me - Intro

I'm really quite new to this whole blogging thing.. I've started reading a few to get a sense of how things work, and one nagging feeling keeps popping up: who are you? I never feel I know the person writing.. I don't mean I need to know anyone's shoe size or inclination on Nietzschean theories of Transgressive Ethno-Hippopotamy, but I'd like to know a little about the person who took the effort to write whatever it is I'm reading. Many of these bloggers seem to be writing essentially to their group of friends - though at the same time they obviously want as many readers as possible to comment on their trip to the ATM or how Gregory and Muriel are getting married. Others seem to write a strong opinion piece and then fade right back into the shadow of their own anonymity.

Needless to say, things come across between the lines - a touch of dryness in "Ex-Brooklyn-ite furious about our defeatist government"'s writing, some pop-culture saturation in "thought I left England behind but it followed me", a certain je ne sais quoi about "Religious Mom X's" - but overall, without a clue as to who these people actually are, they're writing missives without a source. The anonymity has a certain advantage to it for polemical/political-style blogs, where the writer may well prefer to leave her/himself out for "purity of argument"'s sake, but most of the more personal/anecdotal blogs seem strangely up in the air.

So I'm going to tell you, by drips and drabs, about myself, so far as I can tell. now, hold on.. I know this sounds like a practice in sheer vanity, but I'll try to keep it somewhat relevant to, well, people besides myself. So, to be continued. That is, if I stay on track long enough to follow through on this idea and not just write some more about Jerusalem girls ladies. mmm....


----------- PS ------------

I'm working on it, I'm working on it.. The first part'll be up in the next day or too. Meanwhile, read my other posts. They're grrreat!

LAnd of a Thousand Rock Stars

More from that memorable trip, this time in LA.

My buddy Q and I spent some time there last month, where everyone seems to think they're either a rock star, a very personal friend of a rock star (by virtue of some work they did for the rock star's label back in '02), or god - meaning several levels below a rock star.

In this strange, strange place, truth is secondary to attention-grabbing headline-speak. Every time we were introduced to people the story would shift. A friend of ours had "just met these guys from Israel on the street", we were "punk guys who have their own teeny underground radio station that plays the Casualties all the time", and several other random permutations. My memory for lies isn't what it used to be. But we certainly hadn't just met, and it wasn't "on the street" etc..

We were shown a good night out on the town by this person. It was her friend's birthday, which we celebrated by bar-hopping, consuming copious amounts of alcohol and the so-called alcohol known as "American beer", and finally ended up at birthday boy's apartment. Inside was the usual party scene, with a clear center of attention: strewn on the couch to one side was a guy with telltale emo hair (front swept to one side in the least natural look possible, streaked), surrounded by three girls. "Another rockstar wannabe", I thought. Everyone seemed to be talking with him or discussing him.

Q and I sat down on the couch next to him, and between Jaeger shots (all that was left at that point) we struck up a conversation. This guy's name is DJ. really. As I was talking with him, it was hard not to miss the black bandaid stuck on his right cheek, with white skull-and-crossbones imprint. Two of the three girls around him had the very same bandaid, thus removing any suspicion that he, heaven forfend, actually needed one. No, this was part of that whole rediculous fashion thing "punk"'s become.

So I started by asking him very basic questions about his band ("band, eh? what do you do in the band? your name's 'DJ'? are you one?").. He seemed quite surprised to be meeting anyone who doesn't immediately fall down in worship. Q took it a step further, though.. [warning: you have to know something about rock and punk, past and present, to get this.]

"So what music do you guys play?" he asks. We both know full well this has got to be some cookie-cutter, connect-the-dots mall-punk emo crap. We were curious what he'd answer. "We play rock, basically, yeah.." "REALLY?", Q leans over with his best fake 'sure I care about you' expression, "rock? like AC/DC?" "No, not really".. "so, rock.. like Motorhead, right?". I'm dying at this point. This brilliant man had taken everything I've been telling him for years about what rock's really about, where its heart and soul is, and was shoving it in this guy's face.

"no, not really, more like Green Day stuff". Guilty, I'm thinking, of rock-star wannabeism of the first degree! I'm in seventh heaven. A DVD case of this band's tour was lying on the table in front of us. Q asks him about it, and he starts telling stories of how they toured every corner of the planet five zillion times in LA-speak.

Ah, LA speak: in this language, whilst grinning and sounding spaced out, the word "fuckin'" is liberally sprinkled everywhere, it replaces virtually all commas and periods ("it was fuckin like fuckin yeah man fuckin..") and attached itself to all and's and but's (and fuckin wow man.. it was like, you know how there's this friend of yours whose like fuckin the great party animal you know? but fuckin these guys were way crazier!"). His friend across the room, with bandaid placed horizontally across the base of his nose giving him that intellectual, boxer look, grunts in agreement. It was a rather amusing sight.

When our "friend" DJ returns to the issue of the DVD, Q eggs him on. He starts getting all faux-excited, and finally says "oh my god, I've GOT to have that DVD!". I know this guy. he'd never talk like this to anyone. It was hysterical.

Anyway, I'm not really going anywhere with this. I guess you had to be there!

Hypothermic in London

A tale of loss, the human condition and irresistable urges, all in beautiful London.

I love London. I've been to New York and LA, but London just cries out "me!" like no other. Everything a through-and-through urbanite like myself would want, without the loneliness and insignifigance I feel radiating from the other two. On the way back to Israel, my friend - we'll call him "Q", heh heh - and I had a 20-hour stopover there before heading back to the land where everyone's doing you a favor...

What would transpire in that time was completely unplanned, which is what made it so fun. Q and I showed up, met up with a friend of his - she was terrific to be with, a party animal yet somehow without an ounce of potentially offputting hedonism - hit some bars, met another friend and we were all having a great time until.. curfew hour came. 11 o'clock tick-tock, that was it! The bars shut down faster than government agency computers at 1 PM.

So, she invited us over to her place. We took a bus down near her area, turned some streets, and then walked down a row of identical-looking London red-brick houses, into one, up to the top floor, and into her apartment. At this point I feel I must point out that NOTHING HAPPENED, so all pervs can lay down their, ahem, arms. But it was still very enjoyable, the perfect end to our trip. We spoke late into the night on issues of punk, Israeli "legal alien" dilemmas, memories from the mother-land, and a fair share of politics in light of the new post-modern relativist thing going on. Sometime I've got to write my views on that. remind me. Riiight. Anyway, it gets time to leave. 3 AM, 4 hours to go to our flight, and we have to get back to our temporary pad, pack and catch a bus over to the airport. This is when things start going awry.

We step out into the cold, backtrack whence we came, and it hits me - I forgot my glasses at her place.

These are not cheap. and I need them. No problem, I figure, we'll go back and find her apartment. Easier said than done! We never took her proper address. There were around 10 apartments, and all I could remember was that this place wasn't one of the first two. So we're talking anywhere between apartments 3 and 9. It's freezing. To make matters worse, neither of us had the girl's number OR a cellphone, rendering any calls for help simultaneously useless and impossible. So, as Q paces to battle impending hypothermia, I run around buzzing top-floor apartments at 3AM. "Excuse me, sir, I'm sorry to bother you at such a late hour, but I've left something important in the apartment next door and for some reason they don't answer. If you could just buzz me in..." Must've been fun for them to hear.

4 buildings, three out-and-out curse-sessions, one classic "do you have any idea what time it is?!!", and an "I doubt that very much, the woman next door is very old" later, I finally hit the right button. Several times. Apparently this terrified the girls half to death and they greeted me with a knife and a carefully aimed deoderant stick. That's a stick, not spray, which they had planned to throw at me. this plan was based on the assumption that as a highly-trained lethal assasin, I'd be so overtaken by laughter that I'd be rendered instantly powerless.

So, time's a little short but we can now finally get on our way. It's freezing, sooo damn cold! figure we'll call for a cab. At a public phone, I dial the one number our now traumatized friend had given me, and the obligatory Indian/Pakistani answers. Many rephrases and clarifications later, he says the cab will be there in "10 minutes". The 20 that ensued were the coldest I've felt since my glorious army days. fun fun fun. The two of us could be seen hopscotching, running in circles and cursing at the top of our lungs.. this was straight out of "Band of Brothers". I call back and he says "oh, sorry, we don't have any taxis in the end", ignoring the fact I'd given him the number of our public phone, anticipating trouble... At this point we miss the once-an-eternity bus that could get us home. We resort to strategically placed ambushes round a major interesection to catch a cab, and *6* perfectly empty ones go by before one stops for us. Apparently nearly all cabs on the roads have actually been ordered by someone, in stark contrast to the rather anarchic taxi conditions back home.

But we're finally on a cab and, with a bit of luck, we're still ok. About an hour to take it home, have him wait while we pack faster than that one Indonesian who had an internet connection the day before the tsunami, and get the hell over to the bus stop. We pull up outside our apartment, and Q steps out of the cab. With a look of fierce determination, sweat on his brow and teeth clentched, he announces: "I'm gonna have to take a dump". Arguing was out of the question (you have to know the guy) and so it was that, with meter running, he spent some of the most expensive "alone time" in recent memory.

Since you're interested, we ended up taking the cab all the way to the airport - the map I used to try to find our bus stop was just plain defective, I tell you! - which cost us roughly half the GDP of a small Pacific country.

But I still love London.