Category Archive

I swear that I did this independently. I didn’t join this organization and get brainwashed into growing some facial hair in that special love area between my nose and upper lip. I’m not some sheep growing a mustache, I’m just growing a mustache. Plus I don’t think that that is even physically possible - for sheep to grow mustaches. On a somehow related topic, is there a term for those strands of hair that grow on old women’s chins?

This is me after 9 days. That’s 316 hours of solid growth. The plan is to grow it out till end of time. Or March. Or Passover. Whichever comes sooner. But SERIOUSLY. I’m just trying to look like my dad. I started writing a song about it. Eventually it will require a full 72 piece orchestra. It’s pretty pretty.

Dad, dad, aren’t you glad / I hope that my ’stache doesn’t make you sad / trying to show my Hungarian roots / If I was half panda I’d eat some bamboo shoots

Hiking abounds! I am the brushfire ninja, hiding among the power leaves and the power trees. On a scale of 1-47, one being not really that much, 25 being yes, I sort of see it, and 47 = that’s exactly what I was thinking, zounds, your powers of telepathy make me want to touch myself! HOW CLOSELY DO I RESEMBLE AN IBEX?

Winkelman. Stop being so damn intelligent. A little corruption is good for everyone. I’m sad I couldn’t make it to Austin. I should listen better. You know I have ridiculously small, elf like ears.

Hi Monkeys! I’m going to Australia! Thailand! And Lhasa! And Mollster, thanks for reading.

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.

that’s how i look at it. i’m soon to be employed. not unemployed. fuck unemployed. drug addicts, my weird israeli cousin who ‘worked’ as a landscaper, he was unemployed. sean connery is unemployed.

my food making skills have gone through the roof. the roof of my kitchen. on wednesday im going to go have sex with the farmers market vendors and steal all the asparagus.

If you’re in LA, you should visit the ACE Gallery . Bees and Meat. Not to bee missed. You should bee there. Just bee yourself. Okay. Enough.

the sun is out. and i don’t have to go to work today. beach time it is!!

-Aaron

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.

this is pretty interesting and current.

remember that Israeli air strike against northern syria  a few weeks ago? according to an arutz sheva article, israeli officials overheard syrian officials call israel an aggressor, mentioning the country’s attack on a “nuclear facility.” is this substantial confirmation that what really happened there was osirak II? what’s even more compelling is that israel says they bombed the weapons cache when learning that nuclear material was smuggled in from north korea, our weird friend in the asian states.  if true, this would be in direct violation of bush’s non proliferation doctrine he launched years back, when he said that he’ll hold the country responsible for spreading material.

so. spreading nukes bad. syria gets nukes. they admit it. but from who? israel claims it was n. korea. if they were right about the content of the weapons, it doesn’t seem that israel’s theory on the materials’ origins holds no water.  so what did the us president do? today at a white house press conference about the impotence of the dem. controlled congress, he evaded both questions designed to elicit any sort of response.  i’m not advocating any pressures to be made (well, that’s not completely true) but what’s happening right now is completely hypocritical, and if bush wasn’t such a pussy, he’d deal more effectively with the current situation. politically, he sets himself up and shows no follow through on any threats. who the hell listens to that?

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 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.

santa barbara the city the city of everything normalcy familiarity wordness to flagstaff the hippie heat of the farmers market crushed blackberry and sun dried tomato cheese please ‘thanks for the vegetables!’ so we can eat lunch. to sante fe alberqurque we’re stepping in this bus. oh the bus, moishe’s mobile compressed trapped heat sleeping in contorted and distorted shapes the bodies of these determined fish in a fishbowl under inspection by the 8 mm makeshift breakfasts and mobile blogging avocados the where to goes on this, this endless road of nothingness and green pasture, god’s heartland and america’s armpit. here we go now, here we go now, in oklahoma city, dead center, the new eco beacon for the townsfolk. sweat steam barometric aromatechtric pressure rising, rising, rising— 

today i awoke at 12:10. poetically pathetic, the repercussions of slumbers neglect. why is that your consumer spending tendencies rise dramatically at times when you’re not working? shouldn’t that be the opposite? more money in the bank, more in your pocket. there must be some unspoken social behavior i’m not seeing. in my case i bought a bike. a 21″ Specialized RockHopper with disc brakes, what I like to call ‘testicle saving shorts’ a jersey with the bike store’s logo (he said it was the cheapest, best option) and even a helmet (i made do with the normal size…my enlarged cranium proved not a hindrance to
my efforts to walk out of the store having spent less than 800 quid. that i managed. and the color? Firetruck Red in pride of, of course, firetrucks and firemen [and firewomen?] everywhere.

been reading Geoff Dye. He’s like david sedaris on drugs. travels to different places, does drugs at said places, meets people who like to do drugs, goes to drug festivals. it’s a classy book and highly recommended to those 10th grade teachers still undecided about their summer reading lists. it has a little bit of kerouac too, more unpretentious. he goes to new orleans and makes a friend who committed treason in the cold war, selling secrets to the reds over the border in berlin. and then they go driving. so simple, like plain cheesecake. you don’t need to add processed blueberries to make it good. you hear me baskin? what about you robbins?

grad program found! potentials at least. the MEM.

keeping up with the tai chi. planted an herb garden that’s ready to use. next come the vegetables. growing sage and rue in a torn apart toaster. it’s rad. i miss the farm at lotan though, to be honest.

what does it take to re-stabilize? reenter that familiar, fleeting space you were in, this lifetime or the previous one? im working on it, i’m working on it.

my hands are peeling. i dont really get it. i dont think its a fungus or anything. stress maybe? could anyone wikipedia this and tell me what they discoveR? its the fingers actually. my fingers are peeling, on both sides.  and that cant be attractive, especially when the eskimo is COURTING A LADY. she is winning his heart and the prospects look quite nice, quite lovely, that he is winning hers as well. i miss her already.

im travelling to bonnaroo, that super hippie festival of love and light, in a bus named the moishe mobile. short green bus, runs on veggie oil,  solar panels to keep us flying. we’re filming a doc, doing workshops, and driving through the south. have i ever mentioned that ive been to 4 continents but never driven past las vegas? i dont think ive ever even been between vegas and manhattan. what gives? a real crying shame, i agree.  sonow i get to see what real america is like…maybe ill visit flint and make a film about it.

the site, the project, the moishe mobile. 

i love you all. i love life. love is everything. love is all that matters. be good.

So i promised a post about my trip in Jordan, so here goes everything, and nothing, 20 minutes before another kibbutz dinner of cucumbers, tomatoes, and goat cheese.  second things second, i feel compelled to apologize for the sudden deterioration of my writing since I arrived at the kibbutz. My theory, though yet unproven, is that it has something to do with a search for a middle vernacular around here; hebrew because I’m not fluent, english because i like speaking with israelites, and sometimes hebrew just fails.

there were four of us. healey, marc, julia, and the eskimo. we set out for eilat to change money, and crossed the border quite easily and made it into aqaba. our taxi driver tried to convince us that aqaba would be entirely sold out and wanted to drive us to petra immediately. he tried and tried, literally during the 20 minute ride into the city. scamming and negotiating, bargaining and haggling is a central vertebrae in every jordanians spine. you can bargain over water, taxis, hotels, gas, restaurant food..everything except entrance into petra.

jordanians are nice. very nice. nicer than israelites, generally. i pointed at a boys falafel to get directions, and without flinching he presented it to me so i could grab a bite. thanks, but no thanks, kiddo. a group of rich kids from amman, capital of jordan, starting filming and interviewing us near the falafel stand, and from there adventure began. they made us call their mothers, view pictures of themselves on their hi tech mobiles, and insisted we dont pay for anything. they were nice, and one of them beat me in an arm wrestling match.

the next morning we bussed it to petra. i didnt sleep much the night before, so it was nice to play catch up against the jordanian west mountain valley.  its odd, and very cool, to go 1/2 hour east and end up in an entirely different culture.something we miss in america. (canada isnt a real country)

petra kicks ass. we got a 2 day pass and it wasnt enough. its ancient passageways that lead to the main siq, are full of chinese tourists, brits, jordanians, and us. donkey carts an camels make runs transporting tired, elderly, heavy, or rich travellers. the great beauty in petra lies off the beaten paths..it really is up to you to discover the essence, and you’ll only find it if you go where others don’t, where its a little more uncomfortable, but in the end worth. props to marc for keeping me forward.

then it was back to work at lotan. today we played with poop. tomorrow? who knows. for more pictures, check out julia’s blog!

It’s cold. Winter is allegedly ending tonight, bringing promise of 100 degree weather till May. Kick ass.  To counteract the heat we’re starting our day a half hour earlier, to 6:00 for Chi Kong.  It’s like Tai Chi, but involves more stretching. My body is getting used to this idea of waking up with the sun. The sleeping game is a different story…Our salon is a room built with straw bales and mud.  I found an old red Halloween hat and affixed it to the energy efficient light on top, which generates less heat. It’s pretty sweet and the room, or should I say, womb, (ha!) is quite popular.  It feels like a hostel, with a lot of people traffic in and out.

We started permaculture last week. It’s gold. I knew a bit about Bill Mollison and some of his guild techniques, but now getting into the principles that encompass this theory. Theory, lifestyles, perspective, paradigm…Permaculture is everything, and nothing. It’s disorder among order, it’s order among disorder. A no waste, super efficient, eco friendly, holistic way of behavior, methods, goals, life, and all processes.

My parents are curious as to what exactly I’m doing here. Seed balls, irrigation, no till farming, compost, birdwatching, eco design, soil analysis, clay, carbon and nitrogen, vermicompost and why worms kick ass, plants plants and plants, mud structures, mud building, mud mixing…the list goes on, and we’re not even halfway yet. But it’s bigger than that. It’s like stumbling through a jungle, lost and without water and discovering an entirely new world of self-sufficiency, greendom, and healthiness rushing through everything. 

I think I’ve found what I’ve been seeking. Or maybe what I’m seeking has found me.  A true Gemini, whose interests and passions come and go faster than a train in Germany, it’s nice to finally get attached, but not obsessed, with something and stick to it.  My friend here, Healey, yeah, she said the same thing today.  It’s like that.

Oh and I went to Jordan last week, saw Petra, ancient city… Probably more well known as the set of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. I saw the temple where they got the Grail.  I went in.  I have the Holy Grail.

happy purim peoples! purim is a persian jewish holiday that celebrates the time, about 2300 years ago, when a bunch of bad guys tried to kill all the jews in the known world, we killed them instead, and then we ate a lot. its the same formula. rinse and repeat.

i have a mohawk now. its won crowds and the hearts of my fellow green apprenticeship members, and so i think its staying for the time being. i’ve wanted natty dreads for some time now, but looking like an algonquin (or like the unfriendly indian warrior from dances with wolves) will have to suffice. for now. not only a wicked fashion statement, its also beats the heat, which in the past three days has reached over 90 degrees. its supposed to get worse.

my roomate, also featured in this post, has recovered from heat exhaustion, but the numbers of those dropping has remained steady of about 1 person per week.

this permaculture shit is awesome. It feels like hi-tech biology class, only with more toys, peoples, and technical science. we got our books today, and its so gratifying to be part of something so valuable, necessary, and treated so seriously by our staff. and the word staff also seems inapproriate…4 are escapees from england or the US, assisted by yisrael, our technical israeli guru & walking horticulture encyclopedia. this course, itsnt really a course…im begining to see it more as some sort of passing or transfer of information from one group to another. its there if you want it, and they’re there if youre hungry for further information. my brain is swelled with facts about compost, sheet mulch gardening, companion planting, and soil fertility. i feel like a boy entering an ecological disneyland..so much to see, and so little time to do it. only here i wanna figure out how all the rides work, and here the owners teach you to build your own at home. the science and technology behind everything is simply….enormous…i’m really happy here, and happy i got here.

i think kids who grown up on on kibbutzim are programmed to hug all the time. its nice. thats all. they’ll hug me even when dressed as a samurai. (with mohawk)

okay. the dust allergies have usurped all control of my typing faculties. cottage cheese and salad for dinner awaits. till next time…

would love to know if you’re curious about anything, the kibbutz, permaculture, the program…

earthlings, compadres, the time is now!

It’s been about a week here. I’ll start with the rundown, in typical Aaron semi stream of conciousness ADD style that by now I hope you’ve become accustomed to: our living room is an actual mudhouse, my roomate is 35, moroccan, bought 3 acres of land in the desert and is starting to farm immediately after this thing is over, i’ve learned all about compost, soil introduction, sheet mulch, growing herbs, why socialism is essentially flawed, why capitalism is morally flawed, It’s very hot and windy here!

I like being a farmer. the labor is being taught by professionals, complimented by a lot of science and explanations behind everything, making it all worthwhile.
it’s changing me. kibbutz life, tiring and fun, communal and intimate…it’s something we miss in america, or at least the town I come from. Where am I going with all this? The stillness, the nature, the people, the love and connection within a healthy community…Its inspiring me and opening up my eyes, possibilities, to new ways of life and lifestyle. It’s revealing what I want to get away from (mass consumerism, vanity, mechanical beasts, overwhelming stimuli) and what I want to move towards. Earth, nature, friendliness, healthiness, tea, lovely people, creativity, balance, love, family. because, in the end, what else is there really?

oh. and the rest of the kids on the program are great. though its kinda like the real world. the real, real world.

so I head down to the arava valley desert tomorrow. 10 weeks of saturating sun, mud building, getting up at 6 am, awkward first encounters, snoring roommates, and the stillness of sand everywhere. with my white complexion I’m packing 2 jugs of spf 40 sunscreen, and a spare jug when those run out.

the urban eskimo’s ailments of recent days have kept me under self-imposed house arrest, allowing for massive amplication of preexisting moods of self introspection. it’s difficult to pinpoint the exact moment of epiphany, but if someone put a katushya next to my head, it’d be somewhere around today 2:30 in the afternoon, at cafe neto.  those who know me well, and perhaps those who’ve received an on the surface understanding of the kid who left civilization, left work, left a job teaching jewish studies to an inspired group of children in the rich suburban bubble called Santa Barbara, fell hard for a girl and spent a weekend with her based on knowing her for a trite, passionate amount of hours, left normalcy, left a comfortable language, for what promised to be adventure, rebuilding areas savagely ripped apart by war, traveling throughout a hyper fantasized land, and living in the desert, turned out into something so entirely different, so beyond what I would have expected to happen, that that awareness has made everything truly worth it.  I don’t need to tell you how everything turned out - history is being written and is written with every breath eye movement thought turn of the head and changing streetlight.

Before I left my bedroom in America I said “Goodbye!” and meant it with the confidence of a boy whose insides were being torn apart in 17 different directions by unseen futures exploding with adventure, that drug I’ve been addicted to since I can remember remembering. and this now-written tale of life as an israelite, I can say with assurance on the eve of my “program,” has fallen short of expectations, or perhaps was it I who erred by setting them too high?  reconstruction was repainting, sometimes i miss the kids I teach, the romantic relationship dissolved as swiftly as it left the harbor, travel week became farm work, and the desert - there lies the vast desert - a few hours away.

but no tale ends with a sad ending. it’s against the rules, and my book is no different. my coming to terms with israel, this strange place which leaves me alienated as a true stranger in a land of strangers, a land whose culture and way of life I simply abhor yet at the same time accept, has slowed me down to an almost standstill, and it is with a heavy heart that I begin to declare that this journey of nomadic madness is coming around it final curve, the fruits of my wandering reaped and placed into a basket whose owner is slowly getting used to the ground and looking for a nice, soft, interesting place to touch down, for the landing is an adventure in and of itself. 

this new desire to stay afloat, in one place at one time with one mind, and the death of my former self…it would be preposterous of me to affirm unflinchingly that I’m fully satisfied with the outcome, but I’m feeling disarmed by logic, love, and the passing of time. hours. days. weeks. months. years. it’s all added up to this, or so we’d like to think. what fools we are, loyal to this myth of choice and want and time and space. what is everything really, but a series of interactions, moments, experiences, and actors who pass through our own personal books of history?

everything in its right place, moving along this fast-moving track, the pollution clearing, the noise and impediments brushed aside with each added second flour sifted for the next day’s bread. and down the road it is with clarity, though still blurry, that I envision sitting there my own family, my own children, a home, a space, and I’m doing nothing but staring and reminded of this day.

so everything has changed.

the farm is what i expected, and more. ill try to paint some pictures for you.

it is separated into 2 groups. running the actual farm are israelis, mostly coming from kibbutzim or moshavim settlements from all over, doing a year of national service before the army, serious hippies who prefer to spend their time tending to our small herd of goats, roosters, and lone horse. one girl, shlomit, is somehow related to the late great shlomo carlebach. born in the golan heights, she comes from a family of 9 children and ran away from high school and has been living on the farm for 9 months. they are quiet folk, sabras who are eager to teach me the benefits of a vegetarian diet, israeli slang, how to cook cabbage and make lentil soup, “tea” steeped just with lemongrass, sage, and zatar (all from the farm), and build houses from mud, hay, and wood.

i am dirty here. very, very dirty. i live in a dome, 9 x 9, an acre away from the main house with the other group. 2 jews with a penchant for farming and living “the minimalist lifestyle” came to the farm, gave a presentation, set up a few dome homes, and started growing growing growing everything in season. yigal, the 26 year old, is a skinny, reclusive english lit grad from columbia…he misses shakespeare but has been living by himself in a dome for about a year. his partner is shoshana: talkative, happy, happy to farm, has been living in israel since 16. she created her own, private farm at 21, an accomplishment that makes me feel so small, even more aaron small, in comparison. the dedication and committment to a lifestyle, a vision, and a way of life that these israelite Thoreaus breathe is stuff you only read about in books {or eskimo blogs}.

in the domes we are without water, electricity, bathrooms. we’re up at 6, working from 7-12, cabbage till 1, work till sunset. thursday i hiked with gaia and carlebach about 10 minutes in our backyard and ran into a herd of 150 cows. gaia played her didgeredoo and i had a few staring contests with some of the longhorns. they won every time. we sat on a fantastic pine tree that i mean to climb next time we’re there.

so whats been running through the eskimos head? this struggle, this momentum has sprung forth, a clear distinction has become apparent, namely this question of reality. as i sit with the compost crew after dinner smoking a sage cigarette (all-natural and like everything else we eat, it’s from the farm) i ponder “what is the real world?” is it us? in here? at the farm? or is it with ‘them,’ out there? perhaps reality is exists subjectively, there being 6.7 billion realities in the world, never staying static, shifting perpetually in this circulating artery of time. but then, what feels more right, more real for me? its true…we are without internet, a bookstore, coffee, film festivals, and renoir…but we do have clean air, grass and earth as our floor, the trees as best friends, and the chance to play an integral role in nature, survival, and this cyclical system of life on earth.

“everthing comes back to the circle.”

im not making any calls yet, but its become even more apparent to me how humanity must seriously reconsider its priorities and objectives while on this earth. we are living with this self-destructive propensity to be content with the way things are, and have our grandchildren pay the price for our actions.

the question remains then, where to start?

im heading back to the farm tomorrow. ill be there for about 2 weeks. its also supposed to rain. come find me. i’ll be in the dome.

edahn and I were reunited on sunday after my return my tzfat. six foot two, built, destroyer of carbs and anything low-protein, at once everything and nothing, seeker of truth and expert rumikub player, partner in crime and fellow quest seeker in this city. we’ve bussed, gotten rides, never taxid to tel-aviv, yet the days we share never pass without profound adventure, mispronounced semitic words, and bad gas.

the 16th proved to be a day of introspection after a whirlwind of events the day before culminated into a sad, fast collapse of an eskimo partnership. its led me to believe that life, this book comprised chapters of indiscriminate lengths, sees many, many characters phase in and out…some recurring, others not. and how does the story go? well we are writing, we are writing, we are writing.

thrill found us, or maybe we found it, yet again today in modiin, a brand new city 20 minutes from jerusalem, that city of immobile tension, cold rock and labyrinthian layout. modiin, we saw from our uncles moshe’s car, is assumingly designed by architects from the communist era school, as the skyline is predominantly prisonlike, nauseatingly urban. nextdoor, among the rocks is chava v’adam, an ecological farm with all structures built from mud or recylced material, and where the urban eskimo will make his home starting sunday till whenever he leaves.

“Dude, I so want to live here. this place is awesome,” edahn retorts. he was helping one farmer carry mud and create the foundation for a wood burning over for shoshana’s tent, manager of the farm at just 22 years.

“this is our future city.” “it’s the way to enlightenment. i mean, it’s on the path to there, to bring it about.” “your hands are really dirty. we got to go. moishe is calling us. im glad you got to see this place.” “awesome.”

we are writing…we are writing…we are writing…we are writing…we are writing…

wow wow weewah! i sit on my aunts minimalist yet still plush burgundy couch gypsy kings in my ear, hail outside watching an arabic film about corrupt politicians, everyone looks like saddam hussein (before he was hanged) shabbat has just started, life is beautiful among the grape leaves a drive to tel aviv to pick up hungarian cakes soon soon i build an entirely green city with my cousin’s simcity 4.0

where to start? bear with me. days separated by //

//slept about 40 minutes maximum on the flight over to ben gurion airport, sat next to ariel beery, sperjewblogger, researched green design companies from wired magazine, took notes for future job reference

// it’s raining. bussed to kiryat shemona and kfar gileadi, which are about 8 Km from the lebanon border, then starts the hail // paint bomb shelters with crew, lots of trippy mushrooms, stencils get discarded pretty quickly / b-ball with the kids, a 3 vs. 8 with one feminine looking kid named michael, nicknamed the “egoist” / security guard at nursery/elementary school metula, border town, insists on showing a group of us from where the katushya rockets fell. he takes us to playground, points across gates at hills about a mile away: “here is hizbollah. see? that’s the hizbollah base. the rockets fell here, and here, and they shot at us here. these are the bulletholes.”

rats in the shelter, by shabot robot will

/ I ask the residents: ” what else could we do to help you in metula?” “your presence here is not something to be overlooked.” a broken woman in her mid forties responds. // i make friends with our security guard, evgeny, 23 year old guy who fought in special forces, spent 3 months in an ashram in india, doesn’t talk much but when he does he speaks truth! // more bomb shelter work: butterflies, camels and caravans, sunsets, genies, turtles, mario, animals from noah’s ark, more mushrooms // self discovery :: i am allergic to gluten. it gives me gas and hurts my stomach. // 39 volunteers saw down burnt trees, make room for clearing in park naftali / mahpach: social activists practice intentional community building in kiryat shemona. young adults, anticapitalists working around gov’t bueacracy to help citizens. i’m gonna look into volunteering for them in a few weeks / festival with hadag nachash, marissa, dancing, almost making it on stage, can’t find a drum, sleep for 4 hours // bus ride back, trains to here, to there, to herzliya, now it rains it rains it rains and i prepare / i got accepted into the green apprenticeship program, yay! its beautiful here. gray light and white thunder, falafel traffic, arabic videos, plans plans plans. patience is a virtue.

thanks for pics shabot

time is of the essence, since its 2 am and my neighbor/roommate in manhattan is feeling the quesy after eating some questionable sushi. all is well in aaron land. im feeling burnt out, not from the 4 mile treks throughout the village (east and west..on tuesday i unknowingly walked across the island to find an argentianian tea shop..yes, i know im cool) but the need to see and do has been replace by the need to live and be. tonight some friends and I did shabbat, it was nice, peaceful, smart conversation.

which is a key coastal difference. its not that new yorkers are smarter or more intelligent, but life is just quicker here. everything is quicker..the way people enter and disembark from the subway, the rate at which my greenbacks flee their leathery home and enter into various cash registers around manhattan, and action. what israelis call tachles, getting down to the bottom of things, is this churning sensation flowing through new york. lives and plans are scheduled, banter is useless - and probably because its cold out so people tend to stay indoors, and whoa, actually talk to others - interaction leads to thinking, and thinking leads to more thinking, which may or may not lead to action. sometimes i’ll overhear topics of convos in LA, and call me self-righteous, but youll see me running my hands through my now frustrated scalp, thinking, is this for real? the mellow, chill stereotype has funneled down into empty, aimless drifts of thought with nothing substantial to show for. no, of course, not everyone in the west village has a higher vocabulary than my dad, but thats one, modest consensus that won’t hold up to any academic standard.

what is lost on me is this abstract and contemporary art business. holy crap. i couldnt help thinking of holden caulfield from the catcher in the rye, as he stumbles through new york eyeing every phony that walked by. i love art. my mom is an artist, my brothers and i make music, my dad, uh, he used to play the accordion and kicks ass at crossword puzzles. but bad art, REALLY bad art pisses me off. i walked into 27 galleries in the chelsea district in about 2 hours, and was only impress by 2 of them. and one artist in particular. the rest were off the wall, weird weird stuff. example: a 16 foot tapestry print of a boarding ticket to london with the seat circled. that’s art?

another gallery displayed 4 pieces in a huge wherehouse type of room, a great space. the ‘artist’ colored 8 canvasses in primary colors, then nailed like colors in pairs of two, then put them on opposite sides of the wall. jesus. dont forget pretentious curators who sit and play on vintage imacs until a fat cat shows up. then they smile. only then.

new york is…a lot to handle. ive been here a week, and putting it out there that i’ve seen a lot of the city and willing to live with that lie. the need to escape, see some greenery and exercise is starting to emerge, which is nothing new. the ocean, the vastness of the desert, and good looking girls is also an attractive plus. but now is now, and here is the here, so i try and take advantage, even if new york apartment buildings have ‘central heating’ and for this reason i sweat at night.

ive been carrying around a pocket dalai lama book wherever i go. im like a faithful jewish buddhist mormon who doesnt try to save anybody. really dig his thoughts on universal responsibility, and responsibility in general. its a concept that makes a ton of sense as a guide to our actions and is somehow lost on society these days. i think our daily interactions can be measureable or questioned from this perspective, and whether we can take further actions to act more responsibly.

thats my thought. have nice weekend. be especially nice to someone today, even if you normally wouldn’t. see what happens.

Why do I always forget stuff? I blame it on the 2 hrs sleep I had my last night in Boston. Joe and I cooked green beans and mushrooms for th next day, shaved our heads, packed like mad cats…and I left a hi-tech thermal and a purple polo shirt at his place. I know, i know, they’re just shirts, but shit, I’m running low as is. My roller suitcase, in case you’re wondering, is composed of the following:

6 boxer shorts
1 Ex-Ufficio 6 week boxer brief..It’s awesome, absorbs odor, sweat. They are really kick ass, highly recommended.
8 pairs of socks
Italian leather shoes coated in pig fat for water protection, Running Asics, Chaco Sandals
5 shirts
1 mafioso hat, 1 over ear beanie which gets kinda itchy after prolonged use
1 patagonia fleece (with windwall technology

brooklyn: west indies immigrants and carribean pirates fighting on the street no cops come out to intervene though the police station is around the corner / i get scooped up by a bearded member of the tribe on eastern parkway, become the 10th man for his minyan, discuss legalization of marijuana with his 22 year old wife (who is also a mother and cool as all hell ) / witness the gentrification of nyc - 800 unit condo complexes built next door to the brooklyn dentention center, a comunist era prison in the heart of the arab quarter / eat fantastic black lentil soup, sip overpriced coffee, expecting to bump into jerry seinfeld and george costanza on the street, spilling coffee on one of them and devising a scheme / feeling NY : i gotta get into a fight, play music on the subway, and go to an upper west side jewish singles event / staying in prospect park (near crown heights, headquarters of chabad, home of matisyahu, and others) with my friend shulie, checked out the art museum, saw photos and babylonian scupltures / it’s dirty, people are friendly, its not that overwhelming, the cafes are uber:cool they have a lot of bridges here that lead straight in to the heart of the beast.

gonna go find out what this whole big apples thing is all about. stay up.

i’m officially jetlagged. its not pretty. staying up, watching crocodile dundee I and watching joe’s roomate play madden (i was never into sports games, just WWII shooters) fill my nights till 4 am. Youtube, another killer filler.

It’s taking a couple of days for the brain to fully register and characterize the term “new england”. first of all, i think that that term is not slightly off base. why? one, bostonians don’t have terrible teeth. two, bostonites eat foods other than fried fish and chips. what does resemble my stay in London is the bleak, dark synergy flowing through this segregated, formerly inundated, revolutionary dated town. theres a sad feeling in this town, the citizens searching for pleasure, laughter, and signs of happiness with a slight guilty conscience, glancing at the sounds of smiles abashedly. my hood is about 40 minutes from downtown, so ive been training it a bunch to and fro, sadly, without the fro. i think im gonna get another haircut tomorrow.

clam chowder here is something else. then again, i cant say that im a chowder expert. i wonder if someone has that job. chowder tester. a chowder evaluator. a chowder chowder. crab legs though, do not have my endorsement. i do not vouch for crab legs. you hear me?

its funny how traveling forces you to ponder things you havent thought about or touched, or to analyze and understand trains of thought from new perspectives. i picked up a book, cradle to cradle, today at borders with my gift certificate. i also tried ben and jerrys ice cream today on newbury street. 8 different flavors. man was the parlor girl nice. anyways. sustainability. ecology. i think ive found my calling [for this week]. no, seriously, for the first time i’ve found something i want, am excited, and willing to sit through, years of professional study. i want to build summer camps that teach kids to think green, to figure out a better marketing strategy for sustainability, fair trade, and using less; i want to discover small changes that produce long lasting change; i want to travel and study and speak and learn and do it all over again.

im moving to the desert.