Rise of the Jew Fro

You know how people LOVE their tattoos, but love GETTING tattoos? The  burn of hydrogen peroxide on skin, the smell of ink bubbling underneath, the soothing buzzing sound of the drill…same thing with me and shaving my head. It’s like going to the mikva without having to see a bunch of  old naked Jewish men. (That may sound pleasant to some of you, but I pass on ass) Couple rounds with the clipper and I’m left with millimeters of fuzz surrounding my skull. And I never have that problem of having my hair in my face like the rest of you long-haired losers.

But at some point, we all begin to break.

Male Jews suffer from a disorder. We entertain the idea of growing out our hair and sporting a massive afro.  Expanding our base of hair from three to fourteen inches – thas a good idea. sually brought on by seeing Lenny Kravitz on a cover of Rolling Stone. We take one look in the mirror, glance back at the mag: I CAN DO THIS.

Seth Rogen brought the JewFro back into the public eye, until he got rich and lost weight. Speaking of Rogen, I saw this guy a few weeks ago, at Arlequin Cafe in Hayes Valley. Nice guy. Probably his stuntman.

2009-06-13 17.15.17
I saw him and felt inspired. Could I do it? Would mine look better? Could it look any worse?

After some deliberation, logic won out, and for seventeen dollars, the perfurmed Persian ladies at Supercuts did some damage yesterday.

It looks decent. But I feel like I’m letting the team down. So I compiled some studies of the Afro.

I’d like your input on how to proceed.

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Hippie

THE BURNER

Vegan. Brews his own kombucha. Volunteered at an organic farm in New Zealand, harvesting beets and carrots all summer. Prefers Chacos over Tevas. Swears his rock deodorant works. Don’t get too close. Secretly purchased Soulja Boy ringtones on iTunes.

unity

UNITY

Café junkie / Bus stop preacher. Seeking a Publisher for his indie anthropology fashion zine. Can’t talk to girls but will whoop your ass in speed chess. Heroes: Malcolm X, Kanye, and Willis from Different Strokes.


business

STRICTLY BUSINESS BABY

Afraid of big words. Great at sales calls. Brings in leftover donuts, goes out to lunch with the CEO, leaves work early to hold down the Happy Hour. Currently listening to the Da Vinci Code book on tape. Have you read it? He has questions.

Put down the Germ and WALK AWAY

Advertising creatives are receptacles for useless information. We dump everything we find straight into our brains, let it seep out slowly. Hopefully, it leads to some interesting work. It can also have drastic repercussions.

Ever since I completed a print campaign for Purell Soap, I’ve become a full fledged germaphobe. I wash my hands constantly – 4 or 5 times a day. I scrub before I eat anything. I pound fists rather than shake hands. I de-MUNI-fy with antibacterial spray sanitizer after riding the metro.  If I forget to spray – it’s like skipping yoga for a day – something’s off.

Then it got worse. I started to realize how many surfaces my hands come into contact with everyday. Think about it. Then I paid attention to how often my hands make it into my mouth. It’s astounding. Automatic.

How other people do the exact same thing? Could I continue to trust them? I drew parallels with the ultimate health trap: ‘If you sleep with this person you sleep with everyone THEY slept with.’ Now I can’t touch a doorknob, ATM keypad, or shake hands with a stranger without wondering how many people had sex on them.

How to Win at Monopoly, when all you have is Baltic Avenue and $800 in fake money.

# 1 Pass and Grab

Buy up everything you can. Properties, utilities, railroads, EVERYTHING. Be an even bigger dick. Put some money on Chance and charge rent when others land on it. Don’t worry about not having enough money in the bank.  It’s early enough in the game that everyone’s still friends at the table. If you DO happen to land on Illinois Avenue and so poor you can’t afford the $24 rent, comp your friend a night stay in return at your place and you’re set.

Monopoly
NOTE: This only works in the at the early stages of the game. 45 minutes in and you’re cracking skulls to get that $6 your friend owes for sleeping in the slums of Baltic Avenue. Fuck him. You’ll need those six dollars when you gotta pay the Man in housing taxes.

# 2 Country Clubs

The other school demands more tact and patience. The prudent player skips half the board, buying property only in the real estate suck zones. A dice roll from Jail, these black holes draw in even expert players, and soon enough everyone’s getting raped at St. James.

These are the same bastards that run the high-end country clubs on Marvin Gardens & Ventnor Avenue. Less pricey than Pennsylvania Avenue, with a high mortgage, land on hotels here and you’re finished. If you manage to grab the orange, yellow, and red, you’ve got a bigger head than Daniel Day-Lewis in There Will Be Blood.
Picture 7

But not all places are terrible. There is one place that offers safety, relaxation, and peace of mind. And it’s not Free Parking.

It’s Jail.

After a few trips around the board, ruthless speculation, and nonstop construction, getting incarcerated is the sweetest thing next to finding two Red Starbursts in a row. The streets aren’t safe to wander, and going to prison is the best thing that could happen to you. Smoke a cigarette, watch others sweat over Luxury Tax, practice dice – once you’re rehabilitated, pay your debt to society with only 50 bucks.

You could even write a book your experiences or lay some tracks and put out an album about your experiences. Hitler wrote Mein Kampf in prison. It only led to bigger and better things for him. (It fucked over everyone else, but hey, this is YOUR game)

jail baby

The final school of thought, which is more of a strategy pursued by retards, is to buy up only railroads and utilities, and ignore everything else. The max you’re cleaning up is $200, (that’s if you own all FOUR) so this strategy is not recommended. Unless, you’re playing with actual real-estate agents, who will draw up contracts and cut deals in order to prolong the game even further.

douche bags

In that case, put down the boxcar or thimble you’re playing with. (The thimble is choice – it’s fun to hold and provides ample distraction when that asshole to your right has to count his money after every turn), Hand your cash back to the Banker and get a new set of friends.

In my experience, Country Clubs usually wins. Unless, I’ll-Buy-Everything-I-Land-On has enough money and brains to monopolize the light blues early on. (that’s the one with Vermont Ave) That requires passing GO! Minimum 4 times, coming up big in the Community Chest, and replenishing funds at Free Parking to build some houses. It’s tough no doubt, but do that and everyone’s asking you for favors.

That’s it! Next week we’ll discuss the love triangle between April O’Neil – Michelangelo – Raphael. I personally believe April is totes asexual, but journalism comes before sexual preference. And you know damned well she’d fuck a mutant turtle for a front-page story.

Before I Cut the Cake

I turned 26 years old last week. Go me!

I don’t get the idea of birthdays. You’ve made it! Great job! One year closer to death! But I do appreciate the alcoholic traditions associated with the holiday. Because isn’t that what birthdays are? Holidays? Except this time, we’re celebrating you.

Here in SF, friends gathered together for parties and pints. I was there, too.
In LA, the family I currently speak to raised hell over kebabs and Persian rice. Edahn and Varda presented me with a 21.5-inch monitor after I cut the cake.
It is huge. And yes, that is what she said.

Spirits soared the day previous, when after my daily dose of chi kong, I discovered an email from the internship coordinator. I clicked on the email.
The message opened. I began reading.

Congratulations. You will be attending the Crispin Porter and Bogusky Greenhouse in Boulder, Colorado for your summer quarter away. First day of class is Monday, July 6th and ends on Friday, Sept 11th. Please bring oatmeal cookies and Belgian beer for the entire creative department.

CP+B is the mother agency of the school. We are its suckling babies, mouth closed tight on its creative nipple. They keep their people busy busy busy, and I don’t plan on sleeping much during my Ad-venture. Ha. I love puns. Suck it.

In short, next week the Bay Area will release me from its grip for six months.
I hope to return stronger, wiser, and able to survive on four hours of sleep a night. Boulder first, then who knows? Paris, Tel-Aviv, Sydney? Choices, choices…So many choices! Well, as the old saying goes: Never complain if you’ve got too much peanut butter on your hands.