How to Catch a Fire

That last post left me with a slight pang of emptiness. So here, on the eve of 5770 in Jew Years, are some things to think about when you’re riding high on airplanes. If I have time I’ll  make a wallet sized graphic you can take with you and give out to strangers.

  1. Be real. Be yourself. Be aware that you’re alive and breathing and existing RIGHT NOW. Strive for authenticity. Pursue truth and the ‘who the hell am I’ question with unbridled intensity. Be fucking real. Be you and everything will shine!
  2. Be honest. Be honest with yourself. Be honest with others. Harder than it sounds, I KNOW. I had stomach pains for years because I wasn’t.
  3. Connect with the Spirit. Some call it God, Jesus, the flying Spaghetti Monster. Those in the know know that there is an intangible,  sensational force that exists in everything. Me, you, your shoes, the keyboard, this monitor, the letters in this sentence. Engage with that power.
  4. Burn a fire under it. You’re creative. You’ve got ideas. Light a fire, devote some of your creative passions to PRODUCING and bringing to life that seed in you. This is hard. But there ways to do it. Write down what you need to do to accomplish that goal. Write down what you need to CUT OUT to accomplish that goal.
  5. Be kind to others. Our biases and fears fill our hearts and make us automatically draw perceptions of others. Some are right. Some aren’t. All are unfounded. That person who looks like a complete weirdo/idiot/asshole could be a neurobiologist saving lives every day. Either that or they own a bike shop and can fix your flat. The point is, we all have gifts and talents. Imagine a world where we unconditionally loved and respected others?

My thoughts and prayers are with you Healey. I love you with all my heart and will pray for a healthy, quick recovery.

I’m moving to Atlanta, GA to finish ad school. I miss SF, but SF will have to wait.

Happy New Year everybody. I gotta go. My mom is putting on her makeup and staring at me in the face. Man. I love being home.

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Nightmare on 8111 Batha Street

My stomach was all torn up this morning.

I had this time portal dream where Gil and I are 7 and 9, respectively. (I’m 2 years older)  For reasons unexplained, we’re being held prisoner by this pudgy WASP type in this modernized house in Reseda. The address is 8111 Batha Street, and there are spruce and cherry trees out front, a toy plastic bicycle on the lawn, and fallen acorns on the driveway.

It’s gray outside, like San Francisco gray, where no one wants to get out of the house but smoke and cook vegan pasta and read books in living rooms. Anyways, I’m freaking the fuck out, being older than Gil, who is exploiting his youth and naivete to his advantage. The thought of being kidnapped by a strange, manic, but sweet guy hasn’t fully entered his brain, but it’s all I can think about. My stomach is compressed, my lungs burn from restrained tears and my head is shaking in panic. He’s offering Gil cookies and milk – smiles sadistically and restrains me with his fat hand on my chest, pushing me back into the plush, beige couch if I try to move too quickly.

It’s night.

I have my Google phone on me, which is somehow impossible because it hasn’t even been invented yet. I write a message to my brother Edahn…I can see the words…

We’ve been kidnapped. This is not a joke. We’re on 8111 Batha Street. Send the cops. There’s a hallway to the left when you enter, and we’re in the first door on the left. I’ll be, I am waiting. This is not a joke. He has weapons. Bring SWAT.

Gil called me at 9.36. I tell him everything, my stomach still hurts. It was so real. It took hours to go through. He looks up the address. It EXISTS. But it’s in South Carolina.

You want to know the sick, twisted ending? As I’m walking to school  I started thinking how I could work this whole thing into an ad.

5.3 updates. miami. ad school. green belt blog.

miami ad schoolSo 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.