CLOUDS

Yesterday, yours truly, a decent representative of the american education system, got HUSTLED by a toothless wizard who sold his soul to the devil. How did it happen?

3 words: BLACK-MAGIC HYPNOSIS.

Sam and I decided to walk through a not-so-great area of Tel Aviv because we are tough peddlers like that. We passed through one of those junk markets where you can buy almost anything any piece of shit!!! All was gravy (except for the overflowing sewage pipes, which were not gravy), until we came until a little oasis of pure voodoo evil, aka my new friend toothless magicman who, as fate would have it, was placed there for the specific purpose of robbing me blind of my money, and more importantly, my ego.

He sat there in his chair (clue 1: the chair was levitating) at a table with 3 cups and a ball. He shuffled around the ball while two clueless indians, with expressionless, empty faces (clue 2: they had no souls) were trying to guess which cup had the ball. They were winning and losing, but the whole time, it was somewhat obvious to my compatriot and I which cup had the ball. We remarked to each other how retarded these indians were (IRONY) for guessing so poorly half the time, when a russian came up and started watching, and agreed with us. After a few minutes of watching, I made momentary eye-contact with the anti-christ and BAM all my thoughts became, “EASY MONEY. DO IT. DO IT. SO EASY. DOUBLE YOUR SAVINGS IN SECONDS. GOOD EYES. GOOD MONEY. GIT HIM.” Thats when I realized he wasnt even looking at the cups, balls, indians, or anything, just looking straight into my weak and obedient soul and commanding me to give him money.

He interrupted my momentary glimpse of fiery corpse babies, flying between the pillars of hell, to tell me he would let me play for free. ANYTHING YOU SAY. So I did, and won my first round. Ok, so I confirmed my ability to choose a cup correctly (and completely submit to his desires). He didn’t have to say anything on from this point, telepathic connection was established and me losing money was as sure as his thousand year old body never having to sleep or eat.

Next he, once again, shuffled the ball underneath the cup in an obvious way. The indians were playing with 100 shekel bills (25 dollars) and the thought didn’t even occur to me to try a smaller bill first. In my defense, I was not even conscious at the time. So I threw down a 100 shek-shek on the right-hand cup, high-fiving my friend in a display of brimming confidence, ecstatic in  knowing that I was on the eve of doubling my wager.

monYAK, monYAK, MONYAK …. OPPPPAHHH!!! lost your money.

When he lifted that cup, every thing I’ve ever known to be true, logical, moral, and right was destroyed. In one fell swoop, my entire understanding of the natural world was reduced to an infant’s, and if you saw my face, you would not laugh, no, you would recoil at the face of a man whose wrinkled contours and hysterical eyes reflect a complete loss of sanity. Soul having been raped, I frantically looked around, trying to find someone else who was as confused as I: surely I am not the only one who was 100% sure about their decision, only to find I was completely wrong. I was talking in a high-pitched voice, much faster than usual, asking Sam if he saw what I saw, if I understood him correctly when he agreed with my choice before I put down the money. Mind you, my clear-thinking was out the window, but my first impulse was to run as fast away from this fresh evil as my newly-corrupted legs would take me. Before this impulse had time to blossom, I wanted to look one last time into the eyes of someone whos pupils were little windows into fiery hells, who so easily and mysteriously took my money and now, after resuming with the indians, was flaunting a grin that displayed the truth; that he was without a single shred of conscienceness. BAM: “WIN IT BACK. SHOW HIM. EASY MONEY. EASY EYES. SO EASY. GIT IT AND GO. GIT AND GO. GOOD MONEY. WIN. IT. BACK.”

Took out my remaining 50 shekels (12.50$), waited until I was absolutely, without-a-doubt sure of which cup had the ball, and in the blink of an eye, any remaining shred of dignity was promptly urinated on. My head started throbbing and gravy poured out of my eyeballs. I was the hampster on the wheel that keeps spinning when it stops running, except this time the wheel is being turned by the narco-wizard, whose accomplices pick up my change as it falls out.

After digging myself out of the giant pile of trash I had buried myself into, and after the images of burning tires, hitler, and rotting flesh subsided, only then was my mind, newly tainted with the purest of evils, able to understand with amazing clarity the extent of this conjurer’s scheme. The archangel of sodomy, the two indians, even the russian, ALL MADE A COMBINED EFFORT TO RUIN ME. After watching them continue their ruse, luring others to make the same mistake as I, the entire scam was so apparent that I can teach you how to do it yourself.

HOW TO HUSTLE A NAIVE TOURIST:

You will need:

• 1 x Wizard: Performs routine fetus sacrifice to ensure magic powers are beyond anything humanly possible. Uses said powers to mindrape people out of their money.
  Interesting notes: often seen with dried blood around the mouth. Avoid eye-contact at all costs.
• 1 x Mind Manipulator: Stands at a considerable distance, usually smoking. Checks up to see how Indians are doing, will remark how stupid they are. When you tell your friend what cup you think it is, he will jump in and say DO IT! YOUR ARE RIGHT! PUT IT DOWN, I SAW IT TOO.
  Interesting notes: Born into lives of negligence, they were farm-raised by wizard to become a sly accomplice. has no soul.
• 2 x Dumbo Game-Runners: These two keep the game going for the audience. By repeatedly winning and losing, they cultivate a false understanding of the odds within anyone unlucky enough to be unaware of the scheme.
  Interesting Notes: At first glance, you laugh at their stupidity. In the end, they laugh at yours. Every night while you dream. Also: have no souls.
• 1 x Muscle (optional, recommended): in case someone figures it out, and isnt as completely devastated as I was. In other words, reacts like anyone else would when robbed.
  Interesting notes: I have no idea who this was, or if they were even there. But probably they were.
• 1 x Naive Tourist: Pure, clean, happy. Cannot have been previously brain-tainted; must be so gullible as to believe there is an honest street game with reasonable odds of winning in a back alley. Must be human, mortal, and hypnotizable.

Step 1: Mix all ingredients in a giant shithole.
Step 2: ???
Step 3: GET RICH.

If you have any questions, you can find me brooding in a black trench coat, in a pile of trash in some alley.

Greetings to my thousands of readers! I am sure you greedy hedons have noticed that my once powerful blogabilities (TM), which have repeatedly provided you giggly schoolgirls with countless hours of raw, life-sustaining entertainment, has slowly diminished to mere spurts of mediocre filler. Well, not for long! Don’t give up yet! Yes, my friends, WE HAVE LIFT OFF!!!!

WEEEEEE HUUU!!!! Rejoice! Its true, the last few months have been sprinkled with hand-trembling adventure; furious excitement that perks the ears of none other than Orville Redenbacher himself. In these periods of self-doubt, as I asked myself “why does nothing ever happen to me” during times of soporific boredom, or “why does this always happen to me” in times of glorious self-ownage, a little gem pops out, like a giant elephant giving premature birth to a beautiful human baby. But enough fudge brownies, lets get to the real meat and bonez.

Speaking of which, I just finished a week on a moshav (communal farm) called Amirim. Mira is hebrew for hairy armpit, however, since it is conjugated in the female form, it really means “woman of hairy nature”. Understand? No? Slow today, are we? I will explain further. The root of the word, Amir, means raging hippy. Altogether it means I stayed at a Hairy raging-hippy commune.

HAYELLLTOONNNN!!!!

Because jews are inherently hippish creatures, the place I stayed had undoubtedly the highest concentration of hippies, hippans, festies, smellies, vegans, and corp-haters in the world. So what did I do for a week, other than eat omelettes every meal? Basically I just watered plants all day. I did get on the good side of the boss man, and he took me around in his subaru justy and showed me how he pays people in the real world with eggs and trees. In case you are wondering, the conversion rate for 2 hours of engine repair on a pickup truck is equal to 11 crates of eggs or 8 citrus trees and several pomegranate trees, depending on the quality of the job.

My boss rewarded me for my godlike watering skills by taking me to get acupuncture. There is no medicine in Amirim, mainly everything is healed with natural healing, good vibes, and acupuncture. Going in, I was excited to try something new but I was extremely skeptical. I am a man who pays his respects to science, logic, and proven laws…curing poor appetite by sticking a needle in the big toe JUZ DON MAKE SENSE. But I am fair, so I will give the chinese a fair shot at showing me what they know after thousands of years of medical development.

ACUPUNCHER MESURD : ESUR SO SIMPUR.

I walked in, and first they gave me a long questionaire, asking what my health problems were and what I came in for. Apparently, acupuncture can cure anything, including fear of acupuncture (not true, but it can cure broccoli aversions (also not true)).

I said I was healthy, and just wanted to see what it was about, so they looked at my tongue, pulse, and feet to diagnose me. The two doctors had conflicting opinions as to my affliction, so they brought in another, who also disagreed. And another, and another. In the end there were 5 doctors and the guru, none of which could agree on what was wrong with me, so they listened to the guru, who said I have “fire in my stomach, an overactive mind, poor lung and kidney cooperation, and a generally weak core”. Alright.

The way acupuncture works, supposedly, is by modifying, redirecting, or freeing “chi flow” in critical points of the body, of which there are 180, I think. Also something to do with the not-physical body, blablahblah.

So they measure you up and stick you with needles. I got one in my foot to help my kidney talk to my lungs, one in my wrist to help my lungs listen to my kidney, one in my belly for my core, one in my chest for my stomach, and one on my forehead for mind. To help your chi start flowing, they light a hard block of “ancient herbs” (moxa) on the needle which releases heat, but, more importantly, it produces thick smoke that smells identical to ganja.

What do I think made me giggle to myself for 8 hours after the operation? Needles? Maybe. Or perhaps it was the block of hashish they lit on my chest? ….

So that was that. I must admit, I am not so skeptical anymore about acupuncture; even if it didn’t solve any of the problems the guru addressed, or if the means in which it did were dubious, I did leave feeling better than Ive ever felt probably in my life.

After several more dozen meals of omelettes, I left Amirim to come back to Haifa, where, needless to say, Ive been eating lots of animals and seeing live jazz shows. Ahhhh, corporations.

as you can see, watering plants all day has left me with a crisp tan.

Since this only covers the last week, and I was too swamped with autograph signing to write about the period of time since my last post and my adventures in the hippy nest, I will give a brief timeline of what has happened. (/humor).

In order:
yemenite passover: Passover spent with yemenite family. Uzi and his mother treated me to delicious yemenite foods, and since they were religious, often delicious hours of boredom (no television, no driving, no computer during certain periods). Went to the beach all day, alone, eating sunflower seeds and growing a handlebar mustache.

Israel Trail: Eric Chafetz saves me from impending catatonic state by offering to hike a trail which covers the entire country. I meet him in the north, and proceed to hike the most beautiful trails Ive ever treaded in my entire life. Camping outside was fun, and who could ask for better company than my old roommate from tzuba. Though we ended early because of planning issues, I can safely say it was one of my most fondest experiences in Israel so far; and has resulted in me making the goals to one day hike not only this trail to completion but the Appalachian as well. Tips: canned food not good idea, too heavy. Pack light. Some rocks make better toilets than others. Avoid setting up tent on ground which is not level, unless you want to better acquaint yourself physically with your camping partner several times in the night.

Hatzeva: A moshav in the desert. Never in my life have I tried so many different kind of vehicles in such a short time….Atar Shahak trusted me enough to let me operate his trucks in manual gear, tractors, atvs, scooters…lots of fun. first day of driving manual, i was offroading in the desert. Also picked cantaloupes, dug holes, and shit my pants everytime a thai worker said something nice to me.

haifa: almost got an engineering job; modeling fluid flow. then i once again passed an opportunity to further my career by turning it down to water plants in a hippy nest instead. parents visited, father saw friends from 40 years ago.

phone broke. getting new one tomorrow. possible stories ahead.

I just got back from Eilat, to visit my friends, and let me just say, that place is amazing. Its a resort city in the very south, on the Red Sea, and its beauty is surpassed only by that of the vacationers.

The first night, I slept at my girlfriends place, but apparently I hogged the bed and she did not get any sleep. This led to one of the dumbest arguments ever, and, to make a long story short, I didnt want to “intrude” again, so I tried doing what I originally planned, which was sleeping at my friends’ place. Problem is that a russian security guard makes sure no one comes in past 10, so now I segue into the second night when I was not able to enter. So my friend and I decided to stay up until 6, and we did, and we had fun, but the time came to sleep and we did, on a bench, next to a dog with no less than several thousand flies perched on his oh-so-clean fur. Flies, as we affectionately called him, and the flies that infested him, kept us company until we went back into the rooms, and slept a little more.

I’ve been to a few resort cities, but Eilat really is something special: music is playing everywhere, people are dancing everywhere…its like a big party. I tried to get a job there, but was denied for not have a work permit, as if thats really important. That leads me to where I am now, which is Netanya, in the north, where I will be kicking it with some sweet yemenites for passover.

I just finished a 3 day excursion into the heart of a beautiful pine forest in the north of Israel, near Haifa, with several hundred “troubled” teenagers. Overall it was a good experience, and I would like to share a few memorable moments which I am sure to remember fondly until the day I die.

First and foremost, my job was to positively influence the kids in my group of 7, who happened to be around 10-13 years of age. After about 45 minutes of being looked down upon, I came to the conclusion that in order to do this, you have to get “in” with them, or they will just throw sticks at you and won’t listen to anything you say.

With that in mind, I will explain the complex logic involved in my genius strategy. Basically I convinced them, using subtle references to obscure facts I know, that I have been involved in many wars, including WW2 and Vietnam. I told them my primary weapon was a flamethrower, and that occasionally, when I felt like it, I would use a sniper gun or rocket launcher. They not only believed me, but instantly respected, admired, and feared me, which was great, because from that moment on they did everything I said, which was not the case for the two other guides who have been working with them for months.

Anyways, as you can guess, it was a pretty tricky business because I told them so soon, and there were 3 days of military operations would could expose my exaggerations. Was it wrong to lie to them? I don’t think so, because in the end, they left with an image of a hero they can aspire to become (I told them the importance of discipline, respect, and teamwork required to become a successful war fighter)…that is, until they realize its impossible for a 20 something to have fought in ww2 and vietnam, but by that day the lessons would have hopefully already been ingrained. Unless that day is today, when they tell their parents. In any case, it saved me from the stress of working with people who don’t listen.

How did it all start? They told me they were hoping they would play paintball, and I asked if they ever played without armor, because its more comparable to real warfare. They asked questions from there, and next thing I knew, I was explaining why you should really stick to stealth / knife combat, and save the flame fuel for emergency situations, like the time, I was seperated from my unit and wandered into a hidden german bunker.

…I am such a good role model.

A big problem I had was (notice the recurring theme) understanding Hebrew in critical situations. I was made platoon leader of our group, and was given instructions on how to plant a fake bomb on a car, and then providing cover for the other squads while they escaped. Anyways I got half of it right because of the translations provided by a 11 year old russian boy.

One particular incident worth sharing happened on one of our long night hikes. We hike in 2 lines, and when the captain gives the signal to get down, we get down. Then he passes a message, usually explaining why we stopped, to the soldier first in line, which is passed down to the end, like the game telephone. Every time this happened, there would be a holdup when I tried to pass on the message. Imagine playing telephone with a 120 year old grandpap, who, instead of asking what was said immediately, tries to recreate the noises he did not understand. Thats what I did and it never worked. One time there was a guy in front of me who was not feeling well, apparently he had to use the bathroom. We had already been hiking for several hours, so I understand his problem, he did not have a chance to go. He was right in front of me and when we got down, he just put his face in the ground. When it was his turn to pass the message, all I heard was hard breathing. The guy in front of him passed it to me, but I could not hear it well enough to employ my signature butchering of it, so I asked the face-down guy again. He did not answer. I asked again and again, still no reply. The man behind me in line was the guide, who started laughing at the situation: I cant speak hebrew and the guy in front doesn’t feel like talking, just making soft grunt noises. Anyways we passed another message up, explaing we did not receive the message, and the soft grunting was replaced by silence, and a terrible smell.

The trip, overall, was alot of fun. We made several mock military operations, and I managed to escape with only minor cuts and bruises. Also, the experience gave me an opportunity to meet one of the nicest and most amazing 17 year olds in the world, Dorin, who hosted me at her house with the professionalism of an experienced, 85 yr old russian grandmother.

Its been a few days since I have had no permanent address, and it feels great. The first thing I noticed as a newly crowned homeless man is that my bags are heavy as hell. without wheels, every time you hear “the hostel is 2 blocks ahead and to the left” you just say oh gawd and put them down to rest. Then you begin to notice how uncomfortable you become if you don’t have access to showers for several days. Then the loneliness settles in :(.

Tomorrow I am going camping for a few days in a forest up north. I am volunteering in a program for the correction of juvenile delinquents. Think something along the lines of Boot Camp, for all you Maury Povich fans. I may die.

After that, I need to find a job, and fast, because at this rate I will not have any money after mid-april, unless I begin pan handling.

Hi friends

Well, last time I posted, I was just a young and inexperienced adolescent, struggling to understand my purpose in my respective space and time. Unfortunately I am still just a young and inexperienced adolescent, struggling to find my purpose in my respective space and time, but now I have a different job, where I can still daydream about just how young and inexperienced I am as an adolescent, but while doing different things. Rather than polishing sharp glass, I now help a repair man fix broken sinks, showers, toilets, and other broken household appliances.

I will spare you, my reader, the boring details of the job, and instead mention the guy I am helping. His name is Saber, he is an Arab, and he is a really nice guy overall, though the fact that he is Arab introduces several interesting social subtleties. For example, I am helping him repair broken objects. I do have a little experience with this, and I did study engineering, so occasionally I may find myself in a position to advise him on how to do something. Even though I would only be offering help, I know I can’t, because of this aforementioned difference between us.

Yesterday Saber was trying to fix a broken drying machine, and he called for help some russians from the factory, some of whom I knew from my time there. He left to go get some parts, and a russian guy started talking to me about the usual stuff: life in America compared to here. He said the problem here is all the politicians push for solidarity with Israel, but have their own plane tickets ready in case war breaks out. Then he said if the arabs really wanted to, they would destroy israel from within, because, according to him, only 2 out of the 6 million residents of israel are jewish (note, this is not true). He then said if war broke out tomorrow, Saber would not hesitate to pick up a gun and kill me when I came to work. Right after he said that, Saber came back in and took a look at what we were doing, and I couldnt help but laugh.

Anyways, despite the fact that we repair (usually just replace) broken sinks all day long, its ironic that, in our main office for all repair men, the faucet is broken. Also its ironic that with such a naturally dirty job (unclogging toilet and shower pipes, etc), my boss Saber refuses to drink from a cup unless its brand new. Sometimes we have to drive all the way to the factory for a clean cup. Needless to say, I usually wait in the car.

On a separate note, some people here in Israel like to yell alot. Im not sure if its the Mediterranean mindset, or its something else, but sometimes you ask yourself what is going on right now. One theory Ive heard is that because of the tight regulations on violence (you are really punished for fighting someone), it leads to people feeling comfortable saying whatever they want. This theory came from a Russian guy who said that where hes from, if there is a decent reason, you can avoid punishment for fighting. He said he was once almost killed by 2 guys on a bench who weren’t satisfied with his answer to the questionthey posed, which was “why are you walking so fast.”

In any case, this was at first for me very intimidating but now I am used to it, in fact, I sometimes notice myself yelling back. Almost always its with taxi drivers.

Often they try to change the price when they drop you off. I was with Elliot and his cousin Rebecca when the driver tried to pull a fast one. He was a middle aged guy, who was seedy in character, who showed us how absent minded he was when he drove the whole way in the middle of the road, taking up 2 lanes. When we arrived, I gave him the fare and was expecting my change. He sees I have more money than the agreed fare so he starts telling me how expensive gas is and how he wasn’t sure where the destination was, etc etc etc. I calmly told him, with a serious face,

thief, if you dont give me my correct change, i will pull out a pistol and shoot you.

I said it in all honesty, and it didnt even occur to me that it could be funny until elliot started laughing. In fact I still dont think its funny, but Elliot insisted I post it here.

Ha! 3 days ago I was walking to my room when one of the russian guys from the program stopped me and offered me some whiskey. I could not refuse, after work, so I went inside and relished a short drinking session, where I had 2 or 3 drinks with the only 2 russian guys in the program.

They are real russians. One is crazy, and is hated by all americans because he likes to touch girls without their permission. The other is quiet, calm, traditional tough russian guy. Both drink often and create problems within the community. They were not meant to last long here.

The experience is something I’ve always wanted to do, after being pegged with the russian drinking stereotype in college, despite the fact that I haven’t ever even been in Russia. Now I could see how its done.

When Americans drink, we put on some music or something, and pull out a beer from a case. We drink when we feel like it, without any pressure, or rules, or routine.

3 days ago, the only thing I noticed was that, when they drink, they prepare tons of food on the table. Hot dogs (minus the buns), mayonnaise, traditional russian bread, tons of garlic, pieces of chicken, meats, etc. After taking a drink they would take a bite of bread with meat.

Overall it was a very pleasing experience because I felt a camaraderie not often present in american circles. I noticed the sentiments before when I accompanied my parents to their russian parties, but never really experienced it myself.

Anyways, I felt I should return the favor so I bought another bottle of whiskey and brought it to their room, yesterday. Had I known what would happen, I would have taken it to my room instead.

Immediately the crazy one said, this is no good, we need more if we want to do this right. So he went out and bought another bottle.

After the whiskey was sufficiently cold, we took out 3 cups, turned on some music (vysotsky, of course) and started pouring double shots. After each drink, we would eat some garlic, turkey, and bread, etc. 5 minutes later, we would repeat. This continued until we finished the first bottle, at which point we switched to the second. I noticed that, in addition to the routine feel of the process, there was an underlying sense of competition. Perhaps they felt that they had to prove how much better russians drink than americans, or perhaps they simply wanted to assert their dominance over me, but in either case, there was no slowing down. There was no mention of stopping until near the end, when I started hearing statements like,

“I will now pour myself another. I can pour you one too, but only if you feel that you can handle it.”

“I will now pour myself another. Before I pour yours, I want you to think very carefully about your decision, and I will pour it only when you are ready.”

Since I was feeling fine, I kept up with them until we were done. At that point I could see the gears slowing down in their heads, as they started wrestling each other. I left the room for an appointment I had made with someone earlier.

After the appointment, I went to the computer room to check my email. I did not feel good sitting in the room so I left, and the walk to the rooms made me feel better.

But when I got back, chaos had erupted. The crazy one was running around with his hands out, touching any poor soul who got trapped in a corner or stumbled to the ground. People yelling everywhere!

The worst was the quiet, shy guy. After drinking, I noticed he was 3-4 inches taller and appeared to be much much stronger. I was told to help immediately because he was causing trouble in a room; when I got there he was threatening to kill someone because they accidentally popped a balloon and it scared him.

After getting him out, it was one after another. He wanted to kill everyone. I had to physically remove him from people, and I was repeatedly telling him that he was hurting his own friends. After a while, he started saying this is not my friend. Then i would say, but he is my friend, and you are my friend, correct? And he would say yes, yes you are my friend.

Then after that conversation repeated 100 times, he stopped agreeing with me. Suddenly I wasnt his friend anymore, and I needed more help, which was provided by other guys in the ulpan.

With hulk tied down by 8 guys, and gropey lost somewhere in the woods, I had a few moments to enjoy my stupor. I was still ok, I was just smiling alot and saying silly things. Then the director came to sort out the problems, and I went to my room, where I fell asleep.

The two russian guys were kicked out this morning. Farewell my friends, I am sorry it had to end this way.