Category Archive

So I’m getting into the game. Pollack was stoked with the good news.

Miami Ad School accepted me into their copywriting portfolio program. 2 years. 8 quarters - the first four I’ll do at their San Francisco campus, which means some samsoniting to the Bay Area. I’ll tell you – I’m most excited about the mountain biking trails up there. Heard they’re great. Plus the air is cleaner up there, and there are lots of like minded hippie Jews I can roam around with. I’ve always wanted to check out the Mission Minyan too. Getting there will be much easier now.

So I’m thinking about starting a new blog focused on green advertising! I want to scour and gather like only an urbanEskimo can, and observe green ad campaigns from big and small companies. I want to see what works, what doesn’t, who’s authentic, and what’s artificial. I’m curious to see where the sustainability movement is headed. It’s got potential to move from fad to reality and truly make an impact and bring about concrete change, but can just as easily lose that momentum through obtuse corporate greenwashing and the average consumer’s apathy. Advertising, whether for business or the social good, is at its core the effective delivery of a message: buy our pants, vote on Nov. 4, don’t drink and drive…Public opinion can be influenced, with the right words, the right phrase, and the right method. I just hope we’re not that far off that that delivery will be impossible. Really. That’s one of the reasons I’m getting into this game.

If you’ve got any ideas for the blog name, let me know. And Chad, if you’re reading this – I need to learn CSS. Tell me how. Los blogs are ready for a makeover. And Jenny Jones is booked all week, that biatch.

Miami is Miami. Like LA, only girls show more skin, which is great because some chemicals in the air make their boobs grow three times as big. Book your flights now ladies. Oh, and watch where you walk out there. In a little over four days I almost got hit twice, I got into a mad dog Valley stare down with a 60 year old Cuban woman right outside Subway - definitely a first – and had our rental car smacked by a drunk Haitian construction worker. Motherfucker this, motherfucker that. Have a great day, boss! My mom gave him the finger, as she should. The city is built like Westwood, with more rivers and bridges, tattoo parlors on every corner, but only one bookstore in South Beach. It’s got a Euro feel, with cafés that stay open till four, people spilling onto the sidewalk just like in Italy… Miami is a fat cake of sexiness, but if you’re looking for even a small slice of intellect you’re shit out of luck. Not just out of, shit out of. The latter is much worse.

Having a blog is like having an open house, to your head, all the time. Wade stepped in a few days ago. Zen Master. Compassion seeker.  He knows what’s up. Nice to meet and greet.

Read this post of his: 8 ways to develop mindfulness. Very helpful. #s 2 and 4 are where it’s at.

I’m about to take over YouTube. You saw it here first.

the lyrics are on the Words page.

Also updated Who I Am.

Updates: Miami Ad school app is done. I think my grandma is dying and I want to make a video about it. Not the death, but everyone’s reactions to it, and last memories of her. It’s 94 degrees in my room. I go mountain biking or hiking every day, and I thought I broke my ass bone because of one of those 2 activities. I’m reading the Wisdom of Insecurity by Alan Watts and it rocks. 66 people died in a train wreck in China. I know that thats sad, but seriously, that’s something like .0000066 percent of all the Chinese people on Earth, perhaps just China. I’m just saying. Break out the samsonites! hi molly!

I’ve never seen I<3Huckabees, and with good reason: I’ve never even been able to grasp the concept of existentialism, until a few days ago.  Maybe it’s like Kabbalah; you need to be married and over 40 to even start it. But alas, I still haven’t reached quarter life and I’m single tingle and ready to mingle. Christ, was that lame. Digression!

Existentialism, as I understand it - and as Wikipedia explains it - is the belief that we, human beings, draw meaning from personal values, decisions, and actions, as opposed to some higher power, force, or authority. “I think therefore I am,” besides being an reprehensible grammatic error, evokes power in the one who says it.

Fuck searching for yourself.

Create yourself.

The part that really resonated with me and my elbows was the concept of absurdity, in that life IS absurd. And so is death.  most of us live life thinking, irrationally, that tomorrow brings hope, all the while edging closer and closer to the certainty of death and the end. But we fail to see that plain truth, that we all die in the end, life is pretty much meaningless - till we create it ourselves - and we tend to lead a more secure, stable route, thinking again wrongly, that stability and safety will lead to prosperity and reward.

God. Where are we these days? But why? Why do we take Road A instead of G,H,I, or J? Because confronting that irrationality and going on a quest for deeper meaning is so imposing and burdensome, the body and mind undertake a self-sabotaging mission to thwart those chances for self-discovery.  That, at least for me, is what this whole id vs. ego tug is all about. Safety and stability versus adventure and risk.

But I’d take risk any day.

I’m leaving Santa Monica. Just confirmed with the flatmate. On the eve of possibly securing a job in an agency. Yum. Only recently have I grown close with my neighbors.  Israelites. He’s a furniture maker, they’ve got great kids, and he smokes. He’s got a lot to teach, and they’re fucking amazing parents.

Laughing the other day, like never before. I’m working on a company re-brand for an agency, a sort of trial run to see if I can cut it.  One of those moments that are few and far between - (if you think about that phrase, that makes SO much sense clarity. It wasn’t an out of body experience, but my vision and perspective had shifted outwards. I was, for a few minutes, able to observe myself as an outsider, examining where I was it, what I was doing. 24, thinking creatively, branding an eco-friendly company, with zero experience.  I realized that that’s exactly what I wanted, years and years ago. I swear. I saw myself doing this, no, merely wished I’d be doing stuff like this - and there it fell, right into my lap, a gift, my narrow minded self not paying attention.  It was hysterical.  How often are we so focused on the now, living mechanically, unable to see those moments of beautiful clarity.  It calmed me down instantly, seeing that what I’ve hoped for was being put in front of me. And however it pans out, it was a cherished 240 seconds.

I’ve been using sunscreen regularly. I read on Wikipedia that sunblock only prevents penetration of UVA/UBV rays. It doesn’t really protect against melanoma. Even 45. And 70. We’re all screwed. Starting with the fair-skinned, freckled, pale Jews.

Not so sure about Thailand. Gonna need to check the weather. Willing to even hold off so that I go during the down under summer. What’s the point? I guess there are more places. honestly now. you’re being evasive. What’s the real reason? I want to travel with someone, a partner, a lover. What a way to see the world. And to be with one person. For that long. You’ll either kill yourself or need to buy a wedding band in the duty free shop.

And creativity on demand is tough as hell. Mark that. But shit, I do think I am ready for this.

i’m going to post a short story im working on in a few days, and would appreciate anyone and everyone’s feedback. it’s a flash fiction piece, and i dig it. a tragic comedy. sad, but bittersweet at the same time.

interviews interviews interviews this week.

if I don’t land a job im finishing the app then heading to new zealand for a while. Its time I get me some intense UV rays. and see what the sheep are all about.

here are some options: hawaii, new zealand, australia, thailand, nepal, hong kong.

something rural. something nice. and something far far different than los angeles. couchsurfers, get those beds ready.

(cross-posted in jewlicious)

My mother, in true Sabra style, underwent a complete overhaul of the Shabbat dinner at our house a few months ago. It’s sasbich all the way, baby: hard boiled eggs, roasted eggplant, potatoes, spicy cilantro, purple cabbage, minced red onion, and amba, a spicy, pickled mango spread that makes up a percentage of any Iraqi’s bloodstream. The food has gotten lighter, but the conversation has not.

I’ve lived on farms and kibbutzim, built mudhouses in the Arava desert, and thought more than once about getting the prestigious club card. My brothers? One lived in Peru and wiped the asses of impoverished Peruvian babies; the older one is a lawyer - okay, not so hippie but he has aspirations of becoming a Zen master, by not trying to become one. Our liberal attitude never clashed with our parents’ conservative one. I think they believe it’s just a phase. But as political talk glides its way onto our table nearly every week, beliefs become more distinguished. See, my parents are great people. They’re also conservative neo-hawks who will vote for anyone as long as they support Israel and won’t hesitate to drop nukes in case shit goes deadly, think Democrats are lying, sleazy scumbags, and that Obama is a Muslim fanatic who no matter what he says, will side against the Jews. Yes, that’s our world.

“His middle name is Hussein,” they say. “He is in love with Louis Farrakhan.” And McCain? “McCain will protect Israel.” That’s cause he’s old and crazy. “Yes, yes he is. Old and crazy.”

I have been told that you have no heart if you’re young and a Democrat, but financially retarded if you’re old and still Democrat. But what gives? Do some Jews get bitten by the money mozzie at age 40 and start voting Red no matter what? I’m trying to make sense of this dynamic: are your parents like this? I can’t be the only one swimming through this rift. How do I get them to see the other side of the political story?

Either way. I’m canceling out my dad’s vote. Like a real son of a bitch.

christ it’s 1:18 already? been up writing, working on the ad school app, flirting with creative directors and such; my mom has a migraine. and a sinus infection. the brothers and I have offered to get her green many a time, but she’s persistently resistant. so i drew a bath and pressed her eyebrows to relieve the pressure. She says it’s working. I say more drugs. Pharma or medicinal.

God, decisions decisions. I feel my creative juices to be running lower than ever have before. Which is strange, because I haven’t been writing this consistently, or working on being creative as much as I have in recent weeks. What do I need? to explore, travel, see more. I’m feeling India. It’s feeling me. it calls me, while I’m sleeping. naked. under the covers. wearing nothing but my leg hair.

I’m really excited for the food.

I am in somewhat of a crux though…If work doesn’t pan out, I’m doing these applications then getting the hell out of this country for a while. Till school starts. Hopefully. And if that doesn’t work out as I’ve planned, then, so be it. I’m tired of all this planning.

On the lady front…Things are good, complicated complicated complicated.  I wish I had experience in this whole relationship thing..Or at least more practice. I question whether I’m doing things right. Where the fuck is the manual? Nowhere.  If you could win a rabbit, rabbit or habit, rabbit or whales. it’s funny. i’ve made  my fair share of mistakes in past relationships. Did I learn from them? Am I doomed to repeat them like a bad re-run of Who’s The Boss? Me: filled with hope that my intentions are coming through loud and clear  on the relationship radar. that and a fair understanding that I’m not perfect, I need a fair amount of training and being told what to do (which, let’s face it, is hard for a semi-control freak like myself), and patience, patience, patience. I don’t get things right the first time, but try to repeat my mistakes. before they’re too late.

confused. I need the forest. and space cookies.

It’s a great day when a respected rebbetzin says the word dildo before you’ve eaten your Cheerios.

The alcohol and the kareoke were flowing the night before till 3 am, but I’m out of bed at 10 for a course on Repressed Sexuality, Masturbation, and Intimacy in Judaism led by the Seidler-Fellers. When I get there, the room is packed with Jews, young, old, married, single, Streimel headed rabbis, horny comedians.

LimmudLA, the first annual conference for the city of Angels, a child of an already proven concept, took over white republican Orange County this weekend - most of the takeover taking place at the Hilton and surrounding sushi strip malls when we got sick of the step-up to wedding foods - and it rocked. Here’s the concept: bring together experts, thinkers, filmmakers, musicians, political analysts, philosophers (many of whom could charge thousands of dollars for a single speaking gig) and LEARN. Learn what? Sacred Sexuality and the Sabbath; Abraham, his unfailing confidence, and why that might have pissed God off; Why the Iranian threat may expedite the Peace Process between Israel and the Arab States; “Night of the Living Jews,” a short Hasidic horror produced by Heeb, written and directed by high school dropout/rising Heeb Oliver Noble. (Do the two always go together?) Luckily the sex sessions did not overlap. It was great to engage in intercourse discourse all day.

Limmud. It’s not brand new. It’s what Jews do. Finally, someone had the balls and the brains to spend resources on a Jewish conference with a substantive backbone. That’s what this conference, which felt like Bonnaroo with less drugs, brings what others don’t: substance, quality, stuff, ideas, lessons, food for that needs to be challenged space in my head. And they’re smart too: they podcast, they vidcast, and after realizing the success of the first one in the UK 25 years ago, they inspired and help operate satellite festivals in other cities and countries too. Good karma, spreading your way.

What else do I like about Limmud? In this advertising age where branding and marketing and oversexifying anything Jewish has become king, where promoters and organizers work desperately (and usually unsuccessfully) to make an event appear ‘cool’ because some group of morons and the monkeys who follow them think that that will draw bigger numbers, generate buzz, and of course, the bills to pay for the next lame Jewzika, Jewzapalooza, or JewzIthinkImgonnathrowupalready, LimmudLA boldly and intelligently maintains its authenticity, says no to the played out, idiotic puns, and for me, personally, a 24 year who has had a more than just a brief stint of Jewish professional life, gives some badly needed fresh air. The problem, of course, does not simply lie with the name and concept; it’s what behind it that can make or break a program. Take this festival for instance: though I do take issue with the name, no doubt, its an exciting idea that demanded innovation, creativity, a brand new way of looking at traditions and crossing cultures to give fresh insight.

To promoters and planners: spend less time packing and more time concepting. If there’s no content or no substance, no amount of advertising, packaging, cleverness, or cuteness will help you. Create something of value, stand behind it - that’s how you’ll draw the people. For Jews’ sake: get creative. Think. We’re supposedly good at that. Don’t be satisfied and follow what other people are doing with time tested ideas. It won’t work. Resist the temptation and stand out above the rest. That’s the only guarantee.

Limmud equals learning. So be at the next one.

I watched united 93 tonight. Christ. Intense. Death. Memories. Brutal to watch, not just hard.

I can’t remember the last film I saw that affected me like this, leaving me comfortably numb, lonely, empty inside. the film itself was real, historically analyzed, and that’s what made it all the more depressing.  The scenes of a woman calling her son who was at home, smiling through the I Love yous, a girl in her 20s calling her parents, telling her that the plane is hijacked, and that this is the last time I’ll talk to you, two grandparents calling their grandchildren trying to make sense of it all, the passengers’ uprising the killers head bludgeoned to a red pulp the door breaking apart the plane drops altitude from the sky coming closer to the ground closer and then nothing. black. just black.

i quit my job today. gave them 2 weeks.  couldn’t sleep last night. i have a girl on the brain. don’t ask me how this is happening, or why, or why now, i can’t figure it out, but im actually comfortable with where its going. she’s not a hippie, but grew up in the mountains, and is almost as tall as me.

yeah so i quit. with nothing set in place for after i get outta that spot. but i’m okay with that. corporate america is a prison; job longevity completely overrated. at this point at least. what are we? monkeys who sit in front of computers and learn how to work machines? is that life? work was getting pathetic, and i wanted out.  the brothers are excited, the friends as well, the parents a different story. and that is to be expected

the past few years have been filled with personal torment and struggle, self loathing and discovery, a squashing and reconstruction of myself.  i’ve played cat and mouse with the ‘i’ll figure it out at some point’ game for god knows how long, and I can tell, just from my body, that my head has put the brakes and actually getting perspective into what its doing. i’m doing it right now, and this utterly foreign sensation has entered the naturalization stage.

I am a writer. I’m writing. I write.  A few months ago I realized I could even make money doing it, by coming up with concepts, channeling those cerebral spasms into something useful for a client, who would like to figure out how to present something..a shoe, new detergent, a political policy, a festival, a book about the Jewish view on masturbation, whatever comes up.  and there’s thing place called advertising school that I knew nothing about (operation destroy college counselor initiated) that I’m scrambling to get my shit together for, so that I can join their ranks and fill my head with how to sell, and what to say in order to sell.  what gets me slightly down are my shortcomings, however apparent, however minute. i guess the self-guessing never stops. whatever. let someone else run the footlocker, run the chinese slave shoe factory, train the managers, and fire the employees who are doing blow in the stackroom. I just wanna write their commercials and name their shoes for them.

life is good on other fronts. i mentioned the woman, and that is going well. im into her like I’m still in high school. which makes sense, since she’s not 20 yet. but i give her credit, she’s got an older mind on her shoulders, as i did, do, had. the hotness factor undoubtedly plays serious role as well. the brother is a lawyer and working with the father, the mother is on the path of being a real estate mogul, the other brother, i don’t know, i think he’s just growing up. on saturday i’m going for an ear candling and a foot detox, and then the moca to check out some japanese art exhibit with my friend. big weekend? maybe.

look forward to the weekend. we all need it. peace and love, shabbat shalom…i hope things are going well for you in your neck of the forest.

the cartilage peeling wheels careening I’m dissolving into symptomatic panic the pleasure in my face senses automatic aromatic bamboo splitting underneath my nails. transmitting the spells I run on adrenaline cells, fueling this vessel of organic matter the latter it’s coming to my understanding that life is but a funnel we all traverse, what are we but a different colored Alice born to slip through our own wonderland. we’re looking for someone, something, the glue that makes it all make sense. you’ll find it in fresh cut leather, ripe avocado, the space between the buttons on your blackberry, the sulphuric pools by the dead sea, fruit from thailand. it’s there. just breathe.

this is where i came undone, and re-done, the threadcount in my head coming together, no longer splitting, no longer unwitting, the synapses wringing together, fresh hanging laundry, i know this is a crappy metaphor but just go with it, visualize it in your head, and you’ll see it, the peaceful piece of clothing strung up between 14th century apartment buildings in napoli, the ones in postcards. if we could all be like that, hanging, being pressed, getting worn, then getting washed, getting worn, getting a stain on our right breast, being worn by a grandfather, then son, then son of the son. it moves in cycles: red, spiraling cycles. sometimes you eat the bar, and sometimes you get a power bar. and then of course, sometimes the bar eats you.

I’ve got Election Fever these days. I also have a body fever. Some type of flu/virus that hits me every year. It’s a fever, accompanied by the guests of honor: runny nose, dizziness, and nausea. Usually I get it for 3 days - I stay bedridden, and if I do get up for some soup, I get that weird body and head rush you get when you’ve been in a jacuzzi too long and need to get out because it’s cold and you want some pizza.

Isn’t eating and drinking while inside a body of water just so awesome?

Anyways. Check out this article here: Clinton Braces for Second Loss.

On the eve of the the New Hampshire primary, it looks like the Woman in the Pantsuit is doomed.

Sorry Wink. How’s life on the trail?

hey. how’s it going? come here. that was a good hug, I swear! wrong? nothing’s wrong. why would anything be wrong? it’s true, urban eskimos, i’ve neglected you. i got busy. i go distracted. from the things that matter. not things, just thing. youre the only thing. for me. that matters. yes. this is real. no, there isn’t anyone else. i promise. nope, not even blogger. i haven’t spoken to her in over a year. NO ONE. there is no one but you. yeah. yeah i know. it got weird. didn’t it. im sorry it happened too. i wish we could just stop time and continue things like they used to be but i can’t so. why are you - are you about to cry? because then thats gonna make me cry.oh. same old. working. in quite a weird spot. but making a little bit of dough. yeah. its ok. i bought a whole bunch of furniture. a lot. its nice. you should come by and check it out. my asthma is flaring up. i think its because my roommate smokes. or maybe its just LA. it has that effect on one’s lungs. im comfortable in my living spot. sorry. SPACE. its a space, its not a spot anymore. spot was so senior year of college. spots become spaces at some point thereafter. quite difficult to get out and build up a community. the westside has gained that type of reputation. sometimes i pretend that i just moved here, but then when my original location turns out to be encino, in the san fernando valley, my new friends get turned off (or so i think) so i’ll lie and say that i’m from israel, in hopes that that gets me more attention and interaction.it doesn’t work that well.im not jewish anymore. thinking about it, thinking about how to get myself back into that world, whether i want to, i think i want to, but sick of the same old same old. dinners at my house, with people, shabbat, we could OM…that would make my fridays. who needs anything else? i’d make all the guys wear ties. we’d have clip ons at the door. and there’d be candles everywhere.i’m so…self absorbed lately. it’s wierd. in the desert, i was always surrounded by others. it offered solitude, peaceful solitude when you wanted it, but moving to a new town, with friends either across the city or out of the country - this is loneliness. cooking for myself on some nights, cleaning my room, watching weapon races and Top ten fighter jets on the Military Channel. It is not easy. something to be relished, seized, an opportunity to learn and grow of course, but affection is what i crave. not necessarily sexual, but that doesn’t sound bad either.  and when is that supposed to happen? before or after i find some solid friends who live close enough to walk or bike over?i should get out more to you, santa monica. you are, after all, my city.  

i officially hate the gmat.

i hate standardized tests. they were meant to subvert creative thinkers. i hate it. i’m enrolled in this course for this retarded test, a test i don’t want to take, for schools i don’t plan to attend. why? because i’m supposed to finish things i start. im scheduled to take it in 3 weeks, and haven’t done shit the past week. why? because i hate it.   it’s dropped six levels in my priority list (and i only space for 5) because i just don’t see the point in business school. i learn with my hands, not with my feet. what i meant to say is, I learn best by experience, not by studying models in school. there are other ways to learn besides a formal education.

in other news..i think i have found some sense of direction, and i’m referring to modes of generating funds to pay for gardens, travel, sandwiches, small aarons, and of course, sandwiches for small aarons. making bills are important, and that’s it.

i’m moving to santa monica tomorrow yesterday, this weekend (choose one) with a guy who works in the advertising field. copywriting is where i’m at. it’s clever, its fun, its in demand, it’s pretty lax (but i’d still eb working a lot) i could freelance..I’ll be Mel Gibson from what women want…without the whole anti-semitic feel…but i’d still do a movie where I crucify Jesus. Ha.

which leads me to think: what ARE the chances of finding a SICK apartment in the city i love, drastically reduced rent, a parking space, and a crack in the door of the advertising world? whoever’s pulling the strings. dude. I owe you a lo-carb energy bar. and maybe a jamba juice. I’ve always felt that yes, no matter how much I can try and deny some form of divine intervention (god! did he just say that?) some sort of energy is out there, pushing, moving shifting. maybe. perhaps. or i’ll just go the buddhist route and just deny everything. but no, it can’t all be coincidence and luck.

of course, we’re all actors in our own movies, no matter who the director is.

“I wouldn’t call it stepping up the rhetoric,” he told reporters after Bush said last week that a nuclear-equipped Iran evoked the threat of “World War III,” and Vice President Dick Cheney warned of “serious consequences” for Iran.

“In fact what the vice president said was a very clear review of the situation in the Middle East,” Fratto said following a hawkish speech by Cheney on Sunday.

Asked if the administration was setting the stage for war, Fratto said that top US officials including Cheney and Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice “have all been incredibly clear and consistent in our message on Iran.”

The message? We’re gonna go in and kick your asses within 8 months.

I really don’t know where I stand on this issue. On one hand, you’ve got a fanatical figurehead who wants to kill Jews, but says he doesn’t at the podium. On the other hand, how can I, how can anyone, be truly pro-war? Maybe I’m soft hearted, but a fair amount of skepticism is not out of the question when watching events unfold. The pre-text may not be deliberately misleading, but how can any human on this Earth vote an unequivocal yes on any form of US action, military or political, against a neighboring country?

In what’s shaping up to be a tournament of sorts of death, I find it compelling to take a look outside the window, smell that seasonal scent of Malibu celebrity homes burning (it’s not great and further aggravating my already aggravated allergies) and wonder: It’s getting set up. Literally, before our eyes. The threats, the insults, the rhetoric. Again? Really? Really? And all this on the eve of our President asking Congress for another $196 billion to further fund the most privatized war in history?

In other news, I found an apartment in Santa Monica, on 14th and Wilshire.  It’s gonna be nice to walk again, and my bike will finally find some regular use.  The apartment is nice. And the rent is highly under priced for the area, which is even better. The housemate is nice too. Works in advertising, writes, likes TV.  So what gives, jibba jabba?

Crystal meth is a serious drug.  Not that I’ve tried it. I saw the seriousness of it on MTV’s True Life.  If I ever get so addicted to something that I’ll prostitute myself to unattractive black males and have 6 week old taco bell wrappers in my underwear drawer…Then please…Leave me be, if only for the comedy. Then shoot me four hours later.

Something big is happening. Something big is bubbling. Do ya feel it?! Do ya?

baby, i swear. One day we’ll get the money straight…

cooking in the kitchen, without a shirt
can drive a man crazy
raise your hands, up at that angle
I’m like melted water
thoughts rushing, rushing about you
I’ll tear you out of that dress
rip you apart
and have you for lunch
you’re still the tenant
for that corner property of my back
you can have it, have it all.
it was always yours, and never mine
always. from the beginning.

but now.
its like sleeping with strangers
but no longer fun

we order takeout now.
you fall asleep before me.
your shirt’s on all the time.
and there i lay.
tired drowning in computer magazines  and the laptop

and you sitting.

staring.

my friend left yesterday.

joey is gone to sydney, for the better part of a year. his tentative plan is to work and live at a hotel, as an activity coordinator. what’s an activity coordinator dude?

‘i don’t know, it’s like, when people want beach stuff i give them boogie boards’

and probably snorkel gear. the Israelites pronounce snorkel with a sh, like shutup. Shnorkel. ridiculous. so the boy is gone, another trip. i’m envious, but not so envious. i try to beat back-to-the-valley traffic now by heading over to barnes by work and read business journals and art magazines. it’s very chic chic but doesn’t really cut out my driving time all that much. Anyways folks I checked out the travel section: fodor’s, let’s go, lonely planet, browsing by country. and for some reason, I couldn’t really nail down a place that I’m starving to see. brazil, s. america, africa, thailand or india, i think that’s where i’m headed (regardless) but even those didn’t really jump at me.

perhaps the pictures were of sucky nature, but i’ve come to realize that this nomadic lifestyle, of going and coming, staying or leaving, it’s of cyclical nature, in that it comes and goes like santa barbara wind, october allergies, and a facebook application. ive got too much going on here, which is good. i have a new mp3 player (8 gigs!), a GMAT course, a UCLA extension course, a girl that i’m dating but have only seen once, a job where i’m the only jew. times are exciting, so what’s there to leave?

joey and i headed to skinny’s, a horrible pseudo-lounge in north hollywood that is even made more depressing by its airport decor. its completely devoid of personality. everyone who leaves, yep, they’re off to fly to eureka or memphis to see elvis and his distorted pelvis. i got hit on by a 32 year old (swear she’s older…but i was stoned at the time) who owns an accessory store or something. ‘you should just do whatevery you want to do right now. you’ve got another few years before you have to get serious.’ just a few more years….

new zealand is supposed to be beautiful this time of year.

i remember in granada, i was at the bumble bee, this hostel in the albaicin, talking with the usual stragglers - this was years ago-we went to the bar and ran into more americans and italians. there are a lot of misinformed people in this world for what’s its worth, and i hope it’s worth a lot, staying in one place learning, even the 9 to 5, there are advantages to everything. its a matter of perspective i guess. and how long it takes for the squirming to really affect you.

i give it a few more months.

something to get you through the day. sounds like the end of the world, aye?

life is crazy right now.  i am vaseline: spread over the city of angels yet still not lubricated enough, ripping apart on 5 hours of sleep (damn the electric clock!) the headshakes from lcd monitor systems pulling my eyeballs out of their sockets and pinning them to the back of my skull.

kenneth burns’ wwII doc, ‘the war’, is on pbs. check your local listings. 

i sat in my first class today in 2 years. it was fun. you appreciate learning more when you’re older, i think. and single out the annoying girl who sits in the front row and asks too many questions.

my newest favorite site!! fwa. artists and developers only.

i finally learned how to convert psds into html. havent done it yet, but i think i figured it out. yay. its time.

i miss being jewish. happy sukkot.

new days. office lighting. halogen headaches. beef jerky lunches. shops on abbot kinney. aaron is tired. but busy is sexy, right? life is out of the samsonite, unpacked somewhere in marina del rey. life is fighting an hour of traffic, skidding on highway pavement. breathing exhaust from automobiles and supply chain trucks. its meditation time. or time for learning spanish. como estas? que es esta traffico? mi rompe le palle… life is whole, whole is life.

so like, who reads this thing anymore? just me, perhaps, i suppose. i always get thirsty late at night. she’s calling me.

the crickets come to sing softer songs than those of their cicada cousin. ‘pooteeweet?’ they chirp, clicking their bronze heels saying ‘it’s ok, it’s ok, we’re here to keep you company since you’ve left yours.’ friends of mine when the newly found friends are no longer, slipping out of my hands like a badly broken miscarriage full of mishaps galore. attention to detail, attention to detail…the details are what I live for, what I’d die for. in 1945 roughly 120,000 people died in the firebombing of dresden. not a sound was made by the people, because they were incinerated. i guess the learning curve wasn’t so curved after all. we either climb or fall of the edge but I’m falling I’m falling off the slope of the workforce no longer- scouting for the next hill while still panting from the other. and now, to retrace my steps and do it all over again? mythical fairness fading from my fingers like a dream, nails in the coffins hammering away keeping me awake at night, the crickets still singing ‘pooteeweet?’ to check i’f i’m awake of course i’m awake i’m preparing for tomorrow’s job hunt, a trail i know so well i could lead tours on it. this world’s all about chances, so i hear. The firebombing consisted, of the by-then standard methods, of dropping large amounts of high-explosive to blow off the roofs to expose the timbers within buildings, followed by incendiary devices (fire-sticks) to ignite them and then more high-explosives to hamper the efforts of the fire services. The consequences of these standard methods were particularly effective in Dresden: the bombings eventually created a self-sustaining firestorm with temperatures peaking at over 1500°(2700°F). After a wide area caught fire, the air above the bombed area became extremely hot and rose rapidly. Cold air then rushed in at ground level from outside, and people were sucked into the fire.

so i hear so i hear. the Dresden heat of the san fernando valley affects us all..in mind spirit direction, leading her majesty’s armies of ants to penetrate the dishwasher indoors, the crickets to click their heels.

they’ve stopped singing.
the drone of the air conditioner goes on.

today was my dresden. the office, the computer, the email. everything was sucked out from under me.

so it goes.

the eskimo got a job, got a vintage t shirt that gets high fives from the ladies at toluca lake bars, downloaded a bunch of putumayo cds (paid of course listening to bob marley and bossa nova, signed up for jdate, loves work and stays late, going to a barbecue on sunday, gonna throw a kick ass rosh hashana party or get drunk trying, worked out and tired-from working out-interested in procuring free massages (any takers?), not blogging enough, going to weddings, hanging out with married people (still weird) meeting new peeps at work and getting the brain nerdwired (yes i just made that up) and as always, plotting the next adventure…

why do truly vintage t-shirts - those made in the 70’s and 80’s - last so long? is it something in the fabric? or production processes? and in th same vein, why do Gap or urban outfitter ‘vintage style’ t-shirts go dead like 20 minute chewing gum after a few years? the threads walk away, the article compromises all it’s structural integrity. i tried digging up some facts but just got lost in the conspiracy. it’s all about cyclical consumerism. the shirts are designed to go bad after a certain amount of time, because then we buy new ones.

solution = buy old, longer lasting t-shirts. or buy hemp. or grow it. and then smoke it, if that’s your thing.

my sleeping schedule is definitely out of whack. though i don’t think that it’s a good thing if it’s ‘in whack,’ since i don’ really know what that means or what whack is. if you find out, let me know.

we’re having a salsa party on sunday. if you’re in town, you’re invited. say that you’re with the urban eskimo and security will let you in.

 UPDATE:  (thanks Jessica!) and god bless wikipedia.

Planned obsolescence (also built-in obsolescence (UK)) is the decision on the part of a manufacturer to produce a consumer product that will become obsolete and/or non-functional in a defined time frame. Planned obsolescence has potential benefits for a producer in that it means a consumer cannot just buy a product once and never have to buy again - the life of the product’s usefulness or functionality is fixed, so that at some point the consumer must purchase again, whether returning to the original manufacturer for a newer model, or buying from the competition. For an industry, it stimulates demand in the marketplace by ensuring a customer must come back into a buying mode sooner than had the product been built to last longer or indefinitely. It exists in many different products from vehicles to lightbulbs, from buildings to software. There is, however, the potential backlash of consumers that become aware of such obsolescence; such consumers can shed their loyalty and buy from a company that caters to their desire for a more durable product.

the eskimo is samsoniting it again, along the coast of southern california and the gorgeous coastal spots of tijuana and ensenada. im writing from santa barbara, visiting friends, eating thai food, hiking, the sort of detox one’s body demands after going through a 3 day debauchery binge cruise provided by carnival cruise lines.

limitless food, long lines, peoples of all different types, frat boys, bachelorettes, wet t shirt contests, and an abundance of crap sold by merchants hawking 8 dollar sombreros without a peso in mind. it was like spring break in a taco bell bathroom. add some silicone enhancements and then throw as much as possible away, dump it in the ocean, the sink,m wherever, as long as you throw away.

a cruise is like las vegas on a yacht. sorry. somehow that sounded a lot more poignant in my head. but its definitely an eco disaster. they do re-use plates, cutlery, dishes…but the food, my pelicans..so much food gets tossed its insane. and its not good! happens when you cook in thousand quantities.

the eskimo got a job! i’m gonna work for a design company! in santa monica. rub your hands and your heads together…i shall be moving soon. the commute is killer. the job is killer too. context: former = bad, latter = good. i’m starting as a junior project manager.

no go watch flight of the concords! and get diseases from monkeys.

You guys can at least comment on the piece I wrote.

Bastards. give me a thumbs up, or four thumbs down. whichever. but more is to come. and I update the my bio. its on the other page. read it. comment.

or don’t.

and in others news, i am completely in love with lesley feist. not in the creepy, awkward teenage stalker kind of way (i’m way past that) but just mesmerized by her music. go watch intuition on you tube. if it doesn’t make you contemplate crying then sorry to break the news to you, but you’re most likely an android and don’t have tear duct technology. sucks.

are we staggering or running? it’s not post culture shock anymore. i’m running out of scapegoats for my predicaments. theyre lurking around here somewhere.

been back nearly 3 months and i’m still job hunting. i have made progress though. met up with MTV a few weeks back for a design/management position. ‘we all love you but we can’t expand right now’. i have my second of three interviews for a hi end design firm in LA. so that’s a good thing. an even better thing is that my brothers and I are doing business together…starting a social networking site in a specific niche market. for the three of you that read this, you know what it’s about. the others: it’s top secret and i will kill you.

BUT what takes the danish is hands down was my interview with a ‘team coordinator’ for acn wireless…a ponzi pyramid scheme where new recruits are encouraged to sell wireless services and basically recruit more of their friends to enroll - at $499 each. it was complete bullshit. but he had great tricks up his sleeve…a promotional video featuring donald trump, legal protection, failing to mention the start-up fee, promising a rich lavish lifestyle. when press though, he did elicit a few honest, shocking answers…the fact that after a year he has only 60 customers for service, but 320 lowest level recruits. ACN. total fucking scam. afterwards i talked to the barista at coffee bean. jack hails from Missouri, lived in rural country with 1 mile between each house. now that i think about it, that really sucks if you’re a kid without a bike.

having terrible, terrible luck with the opposite sex lately. nothing really more to add, but that, yeah, i’m not really in uh, relationship get-to-know-you at the moment. i saw an old friend at big 5 the other day. he was buying black shoes for the holiday, asking me about my woman situation. funny thing about us jews. i guess i’m at that stage when the topic of marriage is making a more frequent appearance. that dick. anyways. it’s weird.

it’s like annoying as all hell conversation when you meet someone from your university or home town; the blabber rants on incessantly, spewing out a 6 inch thick catalog of names who either don’t recognize or want to forget. “oh do you know this guy, he lived on your street, played a lot of basketball…steve something? No? he’s a really funny guy. alcoholic too. what about…”

yeah what about NO.

anyways…this guy asks me my age (24) then somehow jumps to ‘yeah you know, when you’re 30 though, your options and choices are more limited. all the 22, 23 year olds are taken. then you start asking, well, she’s 27…why is she still single? you gotta ask yourself that.’ so now i’m 30, still single, jobless, and probably going to end up with someone who is likely unattractive and so ill tempered no one wants to be with her.

this guy is my new best friend.

last friday night we went out for chinese food. it was terrible, but the fortune cookie i got was great. it went something along the lines of ‘you’re only just starting on the path to many great things.’ it was something like that, but more, what, chinese-ee? fortune cookie-ish speak? okay. i’m a racist. but screw you. it was my cookie!

with the fortune of an overprocessed malodextrine, cardboard like pastry, i wake up anew! job interview is on monday.

p.s. i emailed the dude from ACN…i’ll update tomorrow with his response…if he writes back…please, please write back. this could get very, very fun.