Tuesday, August 30, 2005


so lousiana and mississipi got hit with the biggest water balloon ever. it's not funny. it never was.

watching the tv, for what little time i do, reminds me of sept 11th in a cinematic way, like this whole thing is just one awesome disaster movie where the good guys never win. and maybe its like that, this war in iraq that our idiot president is waging--a Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid fight till the finish, because in the end, the good guy is supposed to win. the good guy always wins.

Been doing quite a bit of nonstop thinking, brain jogging about purpose, life, actions. Hopefully this won't sound too metaphysical or out there, but I've come to realize that the things we care most passionately about are really things we can't live without, or can't live without doing. And perhaps anger is that truly motivating force that pushes us to act the way we are, and do the things we do, to do good or in some cases, to do evil. This is sounding very Star-Wars is it not? True, I think most people are good, thanks Anne Frank, but what's really pushing people to do good? A kind heart? What's stronger? The kind heart or the angry soul that turns even more upset when injustice goes on this world?

Take a friend of mine: Let's call her Shauna. Works with the homeless...Noble, right? But what if we dig deeper down the surface, to find out why she's really getting up early on saturdays and making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches: Is it because it makes her feel good, and it's the right thing to do? Or is there a stronger, more intense undercurrent of anger inside her, that says : IT IS FUCKED UP THE WAY THE STATE DEALS WITH THE HOMELESS ? People who go into the law purely for the money are gonna wind up depressed, confused, and without purpose. Careers should go beyond materialistic desire, personal gain, or pleasure, whatever the hell that is. It has to be a calling, an unrelenting force that grabs hold of you, shakes you the fuck up and doesn't let you go, because it shouldn't, because you didn't choose to become an actress, or a doctor, or a paramedic- no, the theatre chose you, the hospital chose you, that ambulance has a seat reserved just for you.

And if all you wanna do is turn on that annoying siren to get people out of your way, then that's fine.

So what can't you live without?

Monday, August 29, 2005

The Valley

On Moorpark-The businesspeople walk in twos or threes
to eat sushi and submarine sandwiches with no tomato
Dogs grow tired running with half naked children
throwing black matted sticks in Libbit Park
Squirrels chatter over chain link fences
Too busy to count their acorn bounties
Israelis shawarma with amateur psychics
telling my mother when she’ll lose her hair

On Moorpark-Daniel Geft and his soon to be ex-girlfriend smoke joints
watch Japanese anime until she gets a message from another, turns “I’ve got to go” “Where?” “Away” [from you]
Four lawyers discuss evicting their client’s son. He will win the settlement. His co- worker will file papers and bring in 943 Hindis to this country.
Moses gets a stiff neck when Rachel Stark throws a candy too hard during
her cousin’s Bar-Mitzvah reading and there will be a lot of ow ow ows. Her
mother will die of bone cancer the next year.
She is thirteen. [The girl, not the mother]
My grandfather watches Matlock eats green pea soup and misses his son, who doesn’t
speak Hungarian, sadly.
I play with Legos until my spaceship is built, with seats for eight. After dinner I’m
going to Mars. You’re coming with me, whether you'd like to or not.

Sunday, August 28, 2005

God into God, Orgies

Blogging from the new pad, aphex twin in hand
thru the stereo, lone headphones buzzin through my brain
like a psychedelic train changing lanes direction<-> misdirection
searching for substance- the borderless connection

There's this line in Teddy, a short story in JD Salinger's Nine Stories, it's the one about the prodigy wunderkid who predicts his own upcoming death, a prophet of some sort who writes in his diary: It will happen today or in 1963. It is not worth mentioning even. Interesting how Salinger used the youth, kids, as his heroes. They were always devoid of corruption, selfishness, judgemental attitudes...Lovely. Anyways, Teddy tells this observer/journalist fellow that at age 5: "I saw that everything was God, and my sister was pouring cereal and it was like she was pouring God into God."

To make matters worse, or perhaps more confusing, there's my old Rabbi O, whose name I won't mention since he suffered jail time due to oral copulation on a minor (Guess Who? It's Maria!) who told me that God is love and love is God and God is involved in love and you can't have love without God. I'm beginning to wonder if that's true. I don't know. Maybe I need to have kids in order to find out. Can you imagine that? Holding your newborn baby, straight from the womb, in your arms-knowing that this being, this thing, for the next 15 seconds, is totally yours?-Maybe I'm hanging out with my cousins from Israel too much, playing American Uncle Aaron whose Hebrew skills have deteriorated to those of an assimilated Jew in Santa Barbara, but Geez Louise, that's got to be a totally religious, Godly experience. What the hell's it like for women, that I want to know.

I employed that whole giving/receiving thing today at Dinner downtown. My Israeli aunt, Sigalit, hasn't been able to pay for anything since she got here 2 weeks ago. I think she COULD if she wanted to, but when the bill comes, my parents wallets are open faster than a Jewish camp girl's legs. And still, when she fronted the bill like a true gangta, my mom still wanted to throw down! It was ridiculous. See, here's a great fucking example: when she paid, she felt appreciated, needed. And that's all there is too it. Let her pay Ma, let her pay.

Got this picnic activites to run tomorrow. Should be cool. I'll update later how it goes.

I need an extra-curricular activity, minusing the fact that I'm no longer in school. Job, eating, sleeping, coffee, reading, writing a bit. Though I have to say the poetry is on full throttle right now which makes me super :) but I need something else. Sailing, karate, dancing, painting, learning how to do websites, since thats still all the rage...Let me digress::: Tonight I danced swing on State Street with my mom outside this Irish bar, blocking and bumping into ppl. It was great. Shes a great dancer. Really short. That's not what makes her great. There's also a lack of massaging in this world. Why the hell are we so goddamn conservative and afraid to touch each other? I think we should all just jump in a giant pudding pool naked.

Friday, August 26, 2005

Fed Ex Relationship

You ever see those unconditional givers who just give, give, give?

There's something wrong with that? I've been thinking, as it applies to jobs, life, love--there must be some art to receiving, letting our guard down, exposing our vulnerability that's just so lovable. Telling your particular Jew (or person) of interest that you need them, you actually need them, and not to staple stuff or take you to the airport, but instead on an emotional, deeper level. Deeper...What the hell that does that mean? I mean, I get That's deep yo, or What's the deeper meaning? but when it comes to love, you can't really explain it, can you? It's a feeling, a sensation, beyond words-It goes past anything else in the world.

Anyways, getting back to the matter at hand...Taking/receiving, shows appreciation, it shows humility, shows that you don't have all the answers and you require assitance, my assistance, which makes me happy, makes me feel useful, appreciated. So it's like Fed Ex essentially: the shipping company will go bankrupt if they've got nothing to send, and we'll go bankrupt if we can't get anything sent. see, um, what I mean?

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

brain----> jelly

What happens when the brain decides to continue operating auxilary power without end waves determined to flood passages chrning and burrowing further into deep recesses and ohmygod its pain actual pain i sweartogod by three im dead dead dead abyss of papers staples staplers mousepads crawling spiders on walls grinning because they have amoresubstantial salary of flies and grasshopers. so we continue, contrived with a mediocre post about mediocre posts when the greatest wish is some sleep, sex, and spaghetti

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Gaza, Altoids, Air Conditioners

So we left Gaza. Weird how Jews use 'we,' not they, not the IDF, not the settlers, not Israel. It's we. Maybe just the religious ones, who knows. I'm in the dark. As if we're one embodiment, one massive entity of guilty skullcap wearing gangstas.

We won the Six Day War. We did.
Who did?
We. Me and my Jewish homies in the Middle East.
You weren't even born then!
So what? We still did it.

My aunt believes Sharon left in haste to deflect a possible corruption scandal from erupting even further, but I'm privy to think the 73-year-old PM finally realized it was over, that they had to get out, that a soldier for every man, woman, and child on a 400 km coastal strip in the desert wasn't feasible, smart, or assisting Israel's overgouged moral reputation any longer. Though there is that whole security issue, that to my knowledge has been overlooked and ignored by most: What the hell are you gonna do now if they fire shells into Ashkelon? Tel-Aviv? It's a given truth that the Palestinians have tried to sneak in weapons beforehand, so what's stopping them now? If Sharon thinks he's leaving with some sort of Get-Into-Gaza-and-Kick-Ass-for-Free Card, he's buried himself even deeper into his own trench. A week ago, Gaza was a wasteland. Today, it's still a wasteland, but the Arabs' wasteland. He had the high ground before; soldiers protecting religious settlers were also a line of defence, albeit an unjustifiable one. But now, there's nothing keeping them there. So what, just invade a small, premature country? Right...Then you start another one of these.

On a more serious note, I've noticed that Altoids make me sneeze. The cinnamon flavor produces a mild reaction, peppermint and I explode with much violence. And it's not just me. The same thing happens to my mother.

Air conditioners make me tired. It might just be mine, I don't know. But whenever I make the drive from SB to LA, after about an hour (and this is on a good night's sleep) I can barely keep my eyelids open. Man. If you think about it, eyelids are pretty slimy.

Anyone have any good ideas for mushy foods? Say, one you'd want to have in an eating contest?

Sunday, August 21, 2005


We were at nurits house for a bit of iraqi cholent, tibit it's called rice and brisket and spices my cousins were all there, some 24 of them eating drinking amber ale and pacificos it was great until not until when barak and ruben pulled me out they needed to make a minyan-10 men don't ask my why not women orthodox ruin-for my great grandfather baba yitzchayik from baghdad rich textile businessman businesspeople the family he died how many years ago? yartzheit we said kadish it was my cousin ruben israeli doesn't speakeddahebrew too well and barak who didnt visit the holy land since 85 that's nineteen to ya buddy and my other ido, 9 nine years old only speaks hebrew but didnt know how to pray, odd in america, americans know more then chabad rabbi chanting his beard moving like fibers with each sway and sway and muscle movement of legs and me confused jew praying but my lips weren't moving fast enough for the times and neither is my head and then havdalah came and we smelled the cloves and drove home and no one said a word.

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Allergens, Armenians, Armen, the Zoo

I think I'm allergic to Santa Barbara. The combination of mechanized mold, a well organized dust infantry unit, and reconnaissance ocean particles have proved a formidable force that pushes my nose to surrender every morning. Chapped lips, cant breathe, headaches--these are my nights.

I got some stories to tell.

My family's here from Israel, and by that I mean the overseas family we're still in contact with. Sigalit and her two kids, age 9 and 4, arrived here last Friday night. We're busy doing touristy stuff, and I never realized Universal Studios was so much fun, and that walking around 3rd street promenade with a three year old on your shoulders really gets the chicks to flock like hot sheep. We cut lines, using the 'switch pass' and went on Jurassic Park thrice. It's super fun. The camera snapped my mom's face right before the drop--imagine having a plate of cholent or a shawarma in a pita slip out of your grip after slaving for hours in the kitchen. Times that by 10--that was her. If you don't get the metaphor, then I'[m sorry, but, this blog isn't for you.

They all went to the LA zoo today, and I just couldn't make it. First off, I went there, a few months ago, and wasn't that impressed. It's not like it used to be--it looks smaller, there are less aminals, the monkeys aren't cute, just annoying. But the main reason was because I got in LATE last nite.

Went out for sushi at Miyagi's on Sunset--with girls!--did some sake bombing, got a little hammered but could've still operated light scale machinery I sweardagod, then we bounced across the street to Standard for drinks. Sorry if this sounding self-indulgent, but hey, it's my blog. I really need to stop apologizing, now. A whiskey sour, vodka tonic, and two champagne/peach drinks that sounded like bulemia between the four of us, and after the club decided to stop serving alcohol, we left.

Only Joey didn't have his fucking keys.

Sunset Strip. 2:30 a.m., rapidly closing in on three, and we're stranded, with two Jewish girls.
What do we do?

"Uh, hi. Is the bathroom open? It's locked? Fuck, I mean, can you open it?"
"Yes, we open it. Julio! The bathroom!"
"Oh, and, how much is a room here?"
"We're booked solid," says friendly Korean hotel night-time manager.
"Solid? You mean, no rooms?"
"Yes. No rooms. Go to Hyatt."
"How much is that, man?"
"Start at 245."
"Dollars or yen?"
"Dollars. You want I call for you?"
"Dollars? Two hundred and forty five dollars?"
"Yes. Where you going?"

I run into 2 Napoletan right outside the club. We exchange numbers. We take a taxi. Our driver is this asshole Armenian named Armin, (good title for a movie?) and the fare was around $65. Joey dropped 40, but altogether the night was one of his most expensive, since he covered drinks, dropped around 30 for dinner, and now this. BUT, THE NIGHT DID NOT END THERE MY FRIENDS. Because he was facing an $80 ticket if he didn't retrieve his BMW by 8 am, we drove right back to the city, spare keys in hand, to get his damn car. We had 4 hours till the deadline. We made it there and back in 45 minutes. I crashed at 5.15 after reading a bit of Foer.

And that's why I didn't go to the zoo at 8:15 today.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

the good times are killin' me

So I love my job.

I just finished SuperStaff SuperVision by this UberCounselor named Michael Brandwein, and it has to be one of, if not the best, book I've ever read on interpersonal communication, relationships, and problem solving. Written for camp supervisors to help them deal with camp staff, it's perfectly applicable to my job, which is sort of the same thing, except that my counselors are better looking that the examples he uses in the book. I sweardagod I'll marry this guy's daughter neice if she's even one tenth as smart as he is. If you're looking for a book that'll help you grow as a person, pick it up. I realize I'm goin overboard with the PR, but really, I can't recommend it any higher. And neither can the camp freaks on the inside pages.

Why is trader joe's so damn expensive? And why is it that everytime I come home I feel like I didn't get anything?

I have a seriously unattractive farmer's tan, a nice 'fuck you' from the sunburn I got in pasadena. I used aloe vera so my skin wouldn't peel, and for the first time in my life, I actually have color. Pigment! Time to pray to the god(s), and ask them What the hell took you so damn long?

Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer. Hilarious. Jewish. Not too Jewish. HYSTERICAL, laugh out loud funny. He's 26, and jesus, what a literary RISKTAKER this boy is. It has to be something in the matzoh balls. Or maybe his matzah balls. If only I could get some of those...

I need new music. If anybody knows of anything, let me know, hit the comment button, write a band, a song title, your phone number, Swiss bank accounts, sister's phone number (only if she's hot), and also a detailed explanation as to why I suck at math, and when that disturbing spiral plunged downwards. We're talkin the day here, folks.

Oh yeah, and girlfriend! Where do I find her?

Sunday, August 07, 2005

if you're wondering

Weidmanart.com has got cool posters. I saw some at the Pasadena swap meet, but were still overpriced at $25. "They're a steal" he says. "Steal my ass," I replied. I got a cool dresser than I'm gonna repaint a slew of colors: blue and green. too bad I have no house to put it in. Did I just end that sentence with a preposition?

Friends come and go...And lately more going than coming. That's been my motto lately. To let you in on a little secret, I'm from a pack of 5 guys in the valley that grew up together in the sandbox. we lives within 5 miles of one another. . One of em, one of the dannys, yeah, the crack of his ass would show a little bit of itself when we made sandcastles and dug our way to indonesia, because where else do you want to go when you're four? He's got a girlfriend now, living in Manhattan, making him nearly unreachable at all times. The other, Joe, is going to London in 10 days. The other is stayin here, but we're not that close at all anymore, so no big loss there. And the last one is becoming a rabbi I think. He called me today for the first time in months. He's got one of those needlessly super-aggressive personalities that doesn't let you get a word in because he's analyzing outloud his opinions on goddamn everything, and if you DO, by sheer luck have a counter opinion of your own, you'll need to either shout over him or just cut him off by cracking your hand through the air. Now that's conversation.

the summer is ending. and it's still 110 in the Valley. I like it. Today at the swap meet, saw some old guy with clear air tubes coming out of his nose, running into a knapsack slung across his shoulder. This was probably the oxygen bottle, I guess. He was breathing heavy, even though he was skinny which made him even more odd, but during my grotesque stares, I couldn't help but empathize with the geezer. "Yeah, me too, brother. We all can't breathe in this damn heat." Which makes it all so nice.

Here's to finding new friends.

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

this little piggy went to work for the man

the superjew entered the work force today. i'm tired, exhausted, happy im making some kesef and get to eat at restaurants and not feel bad about the bill...not that i did, ever, wait nevermind, here's what i had to say...

I woke up at 7 a.m., today, because I had to pee, yes, but I think the real reason was bwecause the anxiety in my bloodstream has usurped total control over my jewish body that alarm clocks have ceased to exert any power whatsoever. the night before i made a sack lunch, A SACK LUNCH of a pastrami sandwich with sun dried tomatoes and mayonnaise, a dragon and yellow plum, pita chips but no salsa, and three sticks of trident. A sack lunch...There's some sort of reversal going on here, I can't figure out what. The last time I had sack lunches was when our housekeeper made them for us..And she gave us Hi-Cs and Capri Suns and double layered tuna on bagels.

No news on work. I'm involved in the jewish community, in a way that is yet to be determined. my day was compressed with meetings, trainings, instructions, getting-to-knows, and meeting jewish VIPS of Santa Barbara. It's great-free meals, hopefully get hooked up with someone's granddaughter who's old enough to breed, and I'm surrounded by jewish senior citizens who love to tell tales of escaping nazi germany and killing krauts while in "the services," whatever the hell that means...maybe some sort of jewish mafia.

It's funny. When I was in italy I'd call my ex and recount my menu for the day. She nodded over the phone-somehow a nod will pass thru phone lines-and only when i got back did she tell me she really didn't care...Well... you people have the ability to hit that red X button, but please, stay for the kittens, and for the self-deprecation.

tomorrow? Pasta.

Monday, August 01, 2005

i've got people skillz

nunchuck skillz, people skills...liger skills. What's wrong with Los Angeles? You can't meet ayone with a brain here in so called 'meeting spots.' Clubs, bar, discoteques-why is it so damn hard to find someone who can actually engage you in substantial conversation? I'm mostly pissed about this one girl I met in CLEAR, a bar in the valley. She was hot, Russian, a writer-read children's books!-, obsessed with harry potter which kinda turned me of but hell at least she was reading...so we're talkin for around 40 minutes, we've got the same drinks, go outside to join the others for a cig and then she decides NOW is the perfect time to tell me how she bought a $150 dollar long sleeve shirt for her boyfriend. Yeah. Thanks. Nice timing. You could've told me that, like, four hours ago. Ass. I don't know what pissed me off more: the fact that she had a boyfriend but was still letting me flirt with her or her purchase of a goddamn shirt for 150 dollars. It's stiched cotton, stupid. Made in China for pennies, while Lucky Brand and DKNY make a fortune.

My expanding list of places I consider kosher to meet chicks. And guys if that's your thing. Feel free to add whatever spots you like...Come on, now, seriously...

Supermarket-Health food section and checkout.
Trader Joes
Ice Cream parlors...Everyone's licking and slurping something. Makes it a whole lot easier...
The Getty Museum Lawn and Garden
Pool Halls- Hit Balls!
Best Buy---It's like heaven, that's why.
Apple Stores-Nerds, iPods--->The Girl of my Dreams
Gas Stations-Hey where you headed okay cool just come with me okay I'll follow you your friend is cute you're from the valley? No shit! and Jewish cool well let's go swimming and my place and get married.

Any others?