Tuesday, September 27, 2005

On Stuff

And now, a personal story.

When I was backpacking through Spain a few years back during my year abroad in Italia, I met a girl in Granada--home of the Alhambra--who was also traveling through that wonderful Spanish country of ham, fried ham, fried piglets, and falafel. Her name is Iris Marble, dunno if she's out there, reading this post from some humid hostel in Costa Rica--but if you are, holla!--but she taught me an important lesson while we were overlooking the Moorish city from the Bumblebee patio.

She had been traveling for almost a year, through New Zealand, Australia, Thailand, Malaysia...When suddenly her overstuffed backpack frame just completely broke apart. She had been carrying mementos, gifts, clothes, clothes, more clothes, STUFF, to be exact...And had to throw so much of it away. And she found it to be quite a cathartic, liberating experience...

Why the hell do we have so much stuff? My room has a bed, a nightstand, some clothes, a broken lamp, a baseball and baseball glove, 2 blue crates, 4 pairs of shoes, and an alarm clock. Oh, and water bottles. (I'm getting a rug because I'm seriously concerned that another few nights at this temp and my testicles are gonna fall right off, seriously diminishing my chances at procreation.)

But STUFF. Do we really need it? Do you really need all the things you own? The shit on your desk, the superchic cell phone you might be reading this from, that book even, expensive highliters? I hope I'm not sounding too pretentious, because then I'd be forced to commit suicide if Rugelach didn't kill me first, b/c obviously I made needless expenditures, but I'm talking more from a humanistic point of view, I think. Our tendency to collect, to gather and to save, thinking that one day this will come in handy, or I really am going to use this when I get home. Maybe I'm just quibbling about a friend of mine, who in his twenties, owns: a hot tub, 2 barbecues, 2 laptops, 3 computer monitors, an aquarium, 2 sofas, a Laz-E-Boy, 2 tables, a washer and dryer, a queen size bed, and not one, but TWO motorcycles, AND a car. Jesus. That's a lot of crap.

My theory? We should all live in our own teepees, go back to the barter system, and hunt wild buffalo. Come on! the sex would be stupendous, we'd become men by starting real fires, fashion would be nil, and Jews could finally look hot in leather. Not like Ross from friends, that freakazoid.

Who wants to be in my teepee? What? No one? Alright fuck you then. More room for me. I'm a big hairy Jew and I need it...

Sunday, September 25, 2005

jewlicious is lovely...and so are you

Check out jewlicious!

My face hurts. I'm smiling too much. Is this a problem?

tzipi i hope your house didn't blow away. and i hope your kittens arent wet.

rosh hashanah is days away! i need to make amends. to all the people i've offended: i probably did it on purpose. im kinda sorry, but don't worry, im sure it will develop into full onjewish guilt by friday, right before the sabbath, which i dont keep anymore, or really ever did, but im with that.

there's nothing worse than a pretentious writer. (i might be one of them [i probably am (but i just don't want to admit it [for some reason])]) i was talking with one of them today. man. conversation is like driving a car with almost no gas, where youre desperate for a way out, the gas pump looming up ahead.

Do you any of you readers dig that stream of conciousness stuff I've done a couple of inches below?

i do.

spread the love, buddhadharma style! and stay jewlicious!

love, me

Friday, September 23, 2005

S is for Everything

"cashflow" - hiking- dogs - pogs - blogging - boo! - apple cheesecake samples - hurricanes and how i wish they'd go away - the big battle of richard III vs. richard the lionhearted - guys named mortimer and their sex lives - broken, leaky faucets with limestone forming along the lower lip - jd salinger and why he's still a hermit and whether he's written anything good lately and how we might never know whether he did - "thinking out of the box" - playing arcade games in the city of arcadia, and how metaexistential that is - what Socrates's hemlock tasted like and whether it came in different flavors - "let's make sure we're on the same page" - Jane's addiction, who is jane, and what is she addicted to - throwing a baseball hurts my arm, a lot - the thing that keeps me going most of all is my unborne children, and their fifth birthday - who knows after that, my wife maybe - honest mechanics who won't charge you shit if they didn't really do that much work on your car - that honest mechanic's name is Jimmy and he works at the Honda dealership in Goleta - "let's get the ball rolling and move forward" - why obese people can't see that they are actively murdering themselves, and that that they should be convicted of a crime against the self - the dalai lama's words should be flown across plane banners worldwide, in every language, so that everyone can be happy at once, at the same time - the feeling of stagnation and the desire to get away away away from everything sometimes and just sink into myself, and then the equally strong desire to come back and back and back and kiss everyone - "you're gonna call it a day?" "i'm gonna call it a day" "sounds good. see ya around."

and we walked along me you and billie jean remember? when the house was fallinng apart the house was a mess the dishes were everywhere and chrissy was down making snow angels on the hardwood floor and lucy laughed like a baby and said 'this is just exactly, no, how i want to live the rest of my life' smiling soundly like an angel, a real angel, young still but so what? it was beautiful to see you and you andyou andyouandyouandyou there in october, making little sense at that time, but we didn't care it was one great big nothing, silence, everything, noise, noise, noise serenity through your eyes my love

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

woof woof

That's my dog, yo.

I think I'm sick of this Jewish stuff.

I need a hobby.

This blog sucks.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

The way of the Cyclops

So the official results are in, and it's quite clear that I've become what I've always feared I would: a man with one eye. Brownsville, Hannah, you're absolutely right, there's no way around it: I am a cyclops. It's time I learn to harness my powers, and take each difficulty in stride. What I realized though, is that there are some benefits to having one eye.

  1. Ability to look into a microscope, and not have to close an eye--because I only have one.
  2. Ability to look into binoculars, for the same reason mentioned above.
  3. When I get punched and get a black eye, it won't look that weird, because there won't be another eye to compare it to.
  4. When I wink at the pretty barista at Borders---she'll know.
  5. Only one box of contact lenses---forever! (And half the amount of Visine bottles I'd normally buy)
  6. When my boss says, "Aaron, give it an eye-over," I'll be like, "Okay," and totally mean it.
  7. Now I can eye-ball olive oil, curry powder, cumin, and salt, and stop feeling dishonest like I did before.
  8. My friends will say, "Damn, my eye hurts," and I'll say, "Yeah. I hate it when that happens."
There are, of course, some challenges posed by being a Cyclops. But with Buddhadharma, I can't see any of them.

Thursday, September 15, 2005


BananaHannah1986 (4:03:57 PM): I know what you are thinking
NotKosherSB (4:06:36 PM): no, what am i thinking?
BananaHannah1986 (4:06:46 PM): oh that Im stupid
NotKosherSB (4:07:39 PM): ah
BananaHannah1986 (4:08:09 PM): you were huh?
NotKosherSB (4:08:22 PM): well
NotKosherSB (4:08:28 PM): like these one word answers?
BananaHannah1986 (4:08:35 PM): no, you know they drive me insane
NotKosherSB (4:08:43 PM): oh
BananaHannah1986 (4:08:48 PM): you are doing it just to annoy me
NotKosherSB (4:09:02 PM): maybe
NotKosherSB (4:09:28 PM): but
BananaHannah1986 (4:09:38 PM): >:o
NotKosherSB (4:09:51 PM): ?
BananaHannah1986 (4:10:09 PM): that was my angry face
BananaHannah1986 (4:10:11 PM): but what?
NotKosherSB (4:10:30 PM): well...
NotKosherSB (4:10:50 PM): check blog

Wednesday, September 14, 2005


Look at my profile picture. Expand it to full size per favore.

Does it look like I'm missing an eye?

Fuck Myspace.com

The Dalai Lama is my Dog

Pleasure is temporary.
Displeasure is temporary.
Happiness is permanent.
Unhappiness can be remedied.

People tend to harbor emotions of pain, anguish, hate, jealousy. Why? Is it easy to retain dark feelings than happier ones? Why don't we laugh enough?

Why do I wake up congested in my apartment room every day?
Why didn't the landlord fuckers put in insulation?
Why do I hate shaving?
Why do I get headaches when I talk on my cell phone for more than 10 minutes?
Why do I fear I'm getting brain cancer from this fucking thing?
Why don't I have an endless supply of hummus in my refrigerator?
Why purpose do alligators serve? [in the grand scheme of things]
Why don't people have more casual sex?
Why don't the people who are having more casual sex give me a call, so I can properly say no?
Why did gigapets ever go out of style?
Why am I dead tired but still writing?
Why are you reading this?
Why did I write an entry that had the lyrics from you spin me right round baby right round?
Why am I so hairy?
Why am I so afraid to get anything waxed?
Why is my 22 year old friend a virgin?
Why doesn't he just admit he's gay?
Why doesn't he?
Why can't he just stop?

Sunday, September 11, 2005

why are you here?

I don't know the lyrics to this song, nor do I know who wrote it. You are the millionth person who accessed my blog through this random post of mine. Please leave a comment at the bottom. thanks!

you spin me right round baby right round like a record player round round round round you spin me right round baby right round like a record player round round round round you spin me right round baby right round like a record player round round round round you spin me right round baby right round like a record player round round round round you spin me right round baby right round like a record player round round round round you spin me right round baby right round like a record player round round round round you spin me right round baby right round like a record player round round round round you spin me right round baby right round like a record player round round round round you spin me right round baby right round like a record player round round round round you spin me right round baby right round like a record player round round round round you spin me right round baby right round like a record player round round round round you spin me right round baby right round like a record player round round round round you spin me right round baby right round like a record player round round round round

aaron is tired.

Saturday, September 10, 2005


!!! we danced in dharamsala destroying inequities,
me and you and the Her that was there (but wasn't)
recounting past lives like they were lollipops
my hands were dripping with sage that smiled as we walked through waist high waters, grass, parting the head-high stalks with our heads
like floating swans in Dakota ponds
the sunflowers swaying like stand-alone children
against the graying skyline of
planes, skyscrapers, complexes, buildings, machine, locomotive cars gasoline diesel land
so you turned the other cheek to find the man the man the man in me
and then?
and that's how we lived for the next 50 years

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

still a grizzly man

I'm taking this Grizzly idea to an entirely different perspective.

As you can tell, I am a hairy, hairy beast. And I've come to terms with that, just like you should come to terms with your murderous tendencies, especially those of yours directed at small, crippled children, homoerotic clowns, chasidic rabbis who have less than 8 kids, and "guys" named Bernie.

But alas I've come to terms with the human rug, the magic carpet, the Aaron Small shag..It's part of my personality, gives me that extra oomph of testoserone when I need it most (during sex, stupid.)

Man, you're so hairy!
Ha. Yeah. Thanks.
It's just like, hair everywhere!
I know. I don't mind. I kinda like it, in a weird sort of way, you know.
No, I don't know. How do you live like this? Aren't your arms hot?
No, not really. Are we still on for sushi, or what?
Jesus. That's really-A LOT.
Yeah. Wanna touch it?

And so she does, and the night ends up wonderfully, a hicky on my cheek, my arm under her head and a hand on her haunches. We drink Naked BerryBlast the next morning. I'm not wearing a shirt, and neither is she.

Q: You know why?

(a) 'Cause I'm the mothafuckin' Grizzly Man
(b) 'Cause I'm the mothafuckin' Grizzly Man
(c) 'Cause I'm the mothafuckin' Grizzly Man
(d) 'Cause I'm the mothafuckin' Grizzly Man

Monday, September 05, 2005

New Poems


Six fever dreams later I shrug to her
My arm still in a sling, bent against my mouth, wretched
a shadow suspended in the doorway, speaking to me
Are you coming or going?

I stare at her glossy eyed, eyes dry weathered from tears
tired of crying-unable to sleep until she hears our son is okay and
Yes, yes he is
he'll be okay OK
I assure her and myself, butterflies in my right foot kicking the elft
Traffic accident. What??? He's okayy...
Like a whisper the precint captain says.
One of the lucky ones. You should see the others.
A mangled body voyaged thru Satan's dishwasher
my boy my boy mybody and my boy.
The shadow moves, from hospital to kindergarten to kitchen to bedroom to car to highway to hospital to x-ray machine to CAT scan.
Listen to my son sleep.
He's been sleeping for four years, six months, and 17 days.

Prayers for Rain (a Woman)

I prayed for rain and found a woman
who had pieces of earth between her toes
hummingbird tattoos engraved in her palms,
a fingerprinted history of cynicism and grace
a kiss of wine-lavenders nestled in her hair so everyone knew it was her

I prayed for rain and found a woman
a white gown, with turquoise pendants all around her waist
dancing under the attentive avocado trees who bowed their heads as if to say
"Dear lady, to what do owe this pleasure?"
Her pink sun umbrella twirls
as do her lips
which smile to the joke only she understands

I prayed for rain and found a woman
We rode motorcyles to Michigan [she drove]
then tasted fine wine in Hungary
our heads nodding ludicrously to reds, whites, and all things in between
When the waiter wasn't looking I stole a kiss and you laughed and said stop and kissed me again and that's when I knew

Sunday, September 04, 2005

The Killer Grizzles-I am alone in Encino

I've found a newfound appreciation for all things Iron & Wine, Sufjan Stevens-anything that's slow, mellow, at the brink of Elliot Smith styled depression but just a few inches away from the line of suicide. Fever Dream by I & W evokes this feeling of simultaneous hopelessness and hopefulness, where anguish has dipped in and left happiness a lurking shadow that's there, visible, within your midst but disappearing and reappearing further and further like a fleeting mirage.

I saw Grizzly Man tonight. Alone. It's a documentary about a documentarian, Tim Treadwell who spends 3 months every year living with and studying bears-but not doing much studying, besides giving them random titles like Chocolate, Tabitha, the Grinch, Rowdy, Mickey-and essentially loses his sanity and human quality over 13 years. He loses touch with reality, grows frustrated and inable to continue interpersonal relationships, preferring to frolic with man-eating killer grizzly bears.

Oh, I forgot to tell you. He got killed by a bear 2 years ago. A recovered alcoholic, his continual profession of his love for the bored bears is sad yet sweet at the same time: his neverending quest for a life of quasi-normalcy is dependent on saying "I love you I love you Iloveyou Iloveyoubears" every 10 minutes, or else he'll slip further into an even deeper spiral than the previous one. The physical proximity to the bears isn't so shocking, it's his dissatisfaction with the human world and conviction that he is bear, the bears see him as a bear, and because he "works" as their magical protector, he's somehow above everyone else. His disillusionment with civilization led him to an unrequited relationship with animals, where a farfetched solution to personal crisis begot him an untouchable life. Maybe he was crazier than before.

I can't believe I'm still thinking about it, this movie. I guess it really resonates with me, maybe it's 'cause I'm lonely, yet happy to be lonely. Maybe not exactly happy, but not complaining. I don't think I've ever seen a movie by myself. Is that pathetic? I'm wierd. I'm a fucking Grizzly Man. My bears are guitars, books, journals, diaries, the ipod, this computer screen, the untouchable reader (you). We're all Grizzlies, dedicated, awkward, introverted, able to hold our own and take the road less traveled because shit, life is just more interesting when you've got a body full of fur.

Safe Travels to all you..Tovah, Sarah, the New Orleans Refugees, Me, my brothers, all the Grizzlies OUT THERE.

Oh, and check out the new links, yo.

Currently Listening to: "Breakthrough" by MoDest MouSe.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

Katrina prediction...

You have got to read this article. Here's proof that prophets exist. It's quite scary, and it's about the Hurricane. Check this out.