every now and again I feel the need to write some shit down.
I hate when I get that feeling and don't really have shit to say.
I tend to just jot shit down. Sometimes it turns out enjoyable.
Other times it is shit like this. I mean I guess this could be
enjoyable to some one.... somehow but I have not figured out
who or how yet. If i ever end up accidentally famous, I will write
an autobiography and it will start out with some malarky like
this. People will still buy it though, because I am famous. They
will or at least should be disappointed in the way that it is written.
Or at least the way the prologue is written. I hope it doesn't
come to that. Fuck I would hate to be famous. I will take the
cash no problem but Christ on a cracker.... fuck being famous.
Being infamous would be slightly cooler but still I am not too sure
I would be into it. Plus I am not the type to be infamous for anything.
Nothing I can think of anyway. I have made a few infamous collages
in my time. But not really noteworthy when it comes to the whole
"collage scene". Fuck those scenesters anyway though. Right?
Fuck man I honestly don't even know anymore. Could it be?
Nah?
Alright F this noise straight to hell. I am going to watch a movie.
Turn off the brain. Catch some mimis.
*End transmission*
I hate when I get that feeling and don't really have shit to say.
I tend to just jot shit down. Sometimes it turns out enjoyable.
Other times it is shit like this. I mean I guess this could be
enjoyable to some one.... somehow but I have not figured out
who or how yet. If i ever end up accidentally famous, I will write
an autobiography and it will start out with some malarky like
this. People will still buy it though, because I am famous. They
will or at least should be disappointed in the way that it is written.
Or at least the way the prologue is written. I hope it doesn't
come to that. Fuck I would hate to be famous. I will take the
cash no problem but Christ on a cracker.... fuck being famous.
Being infamous would be slightly cooler but still I am not too sure
I would be into it. Plus I am not the type to be infamous for anything.
Nothing I can think of anyway. I have made a few infamous collages
in my time. But not really noteworthy when it comes to the whole
"collage scene". Fuck those scenesters anyway though. Right?
Fuck man I honestly don't even know anymore. Could it be?
Nah?
Alright F this noise straight to hell. I am going to watch a movie.
Turn off the brain. Catch some mimis.
*End transmission*
It is a little bit of you need with a big fat side of what you want. Not so much a creed as it is a maxim, for my way of life. With a constant bombardment of flesh and sin, I find myself reaching for unimaginable concepts of love without pain, and lust without action... These things rob my being, of nourishment, which I desperately need right now. I sit and think and partake in my onanistic rituals while lamenting the thought of being free... free and challenged, free and busy, free and anything but this... numb, callused, confused, and worst of all bored. This is where the risk of entertaining such demons falls into play. a feeble attempt to break the bindings of this time and place I find myself in. I can cope. I can work with it. However I can't escape these "non-ethical yearnings" I so foolishly have come to hypocritically accept.
No school for me?!
Why does this country's process of doing shit have to be so circuitous and convoluted? Seriously. Did I get into school or not?
I was told today that I did not meet the requirments for the Hebrew test but then simultaneously received a letter saying that I had been accepted.
Why exactly do they not send the results of the Hebrew test to the school if they send the Psychometric results and the test is done in the same room in the same day directly after each other?
So.... Am I going to school this year?
I think not but apparently I am still not sure.
Christ on a cracker.
BAM!!!! MONEKY FACE------------------->
Why does this country's process of doing shit have to be so circuitous and convoluted? Seriously. Did I get into school or not?
I was told today that I did not meet the requirments for the Hebrew test but then simultaneously received a letter saying that I had been accepted.
Why exactly do they not send the results of the Hebrew test to the school if they send the Psychometric results and the test is done in the same room in the same day directly after each other?
So.... Am I going to school this year?
I think not but apparently I am still not sure.
Christ on a cracker.
BAM!!!! MONEKY FACE------------------->
Yesterday I got a job. The guy that interviewed me was not only friendly but we actually clicked on an artistic level because he is actually an excellent photographer and considered going to the school that I will be attending in the fall. After the interview he told me to show up tomorrow (today) to start my training I said "אחלה" and proceeded out the door with my chin held high and with visions of air conditioners, hard drives and tattoos flowing through my brain. My room will finally be cool I thought. I can finally stop deleting shit after I download it I thought. I can finally start my chest piece I thought. Then I bought myself a sprite and skipped the entire way to the bus station back home.
I woke up bright and early with butterflies in my stomach, excited to face the day and conquer this new experience in the face (yes, conquer in the face). I rolled out of bed, made me a massive mug of iced coffee and sipped it while smoking my morning cigarettes and watching "I love you man" (hilarious movie by the way). I packed my bag and bounced out the door and quickly walked to catch the sheirut back to Ramat Gan to begin my training. I was the first one there as always because I am almost never tardy for anything. I bought a lemonade and waited at the corner store so I would not be ridiculously early... only noticeably early. I finished my citrusy beverage and put out my cigarette. I walked into the office fresh and confident (job interviews and tests have NEVER made me nervous). Seeing as how was the first one there a nice young lady guided me to the room where the training was to occur and I sat down unpacked my drawing equipment and began to sketch to pass the time. It was the first time I had done anything artistic and worthwhile for months. I was proud.
Finally all the other people showed up, a few of them late and the boss guy re-re-re-re-reiterated that the only basic rule is don't be late. This also boosted my confidence. I was sitting pretty having shown up early and having a more than decent rapport with the boos man.
They handed out a few papers to be filled out and signed and then gave us our training packets. I am pretty sure I was the only native English speaker there so I flew through the manual, caught the few grammatical mistakes and aside from that everything seemed to be fairly legit. Then they start explaining it in their own words. Now with any sales job you have to expect a certain amount of skeeviness but this shit seemed ripe with sketchiness from the the first few words out of dude's mouth. Now, I know you can make a pretty penny at this place and I am in desperate need of some nourishment for my bank account but those excitement butterflies almost instantly turned into a suspicious awkward bubbling. I decided to stay even though my gut was telling me otherwise. Further into the presentation it just got worse and worse. People kept bringing up scenarios of "what if a customer says this?" and the response was literally almost always "lie". I was fucking shocked. The guy must have told us to lie more than 10 times in the span of 2 hours. Now, I know how to sell shit. I have sold shit before, but my whole approach has always been honesty. Not just in sales but in every aspect of my life and I am proud to say it has served me quite well. On our second break I went downstairs to smoke a cigarette and thought about that air conditioner. I thought about my 2 terabyte hard drive. I thought about my chest piece.
I walked back into the building and entered the elevator. By the time the doors parted my mind was made up. I waited for the girl behind the counter to unlock the magnetic door, I walked into the office and I packed my shit. I didn't pack everything. I left that sketch I was doing in my little workbook folder and I also left the complimentary pen.
I really do need a job but fuck lying to sell people shit. If I lie it will be to a cop or some other form of federal agent and it will be for a damn good reason.
I suppose I walked away with my integrity and my dignity still in tact.
Anyone know a good tattoo artist that will do work for integrity?
I woke up bright and early with butterflies in my stomach, excited to face the day and conquer this new experience in the face (yes, conquer in the face). I rolled out of bed, made me a massive mug of iced coffee and sipped it while smoking my morning cigarettes and watching "I love you man" (hilarious movie by the way). I packed my bag and bounced out the door and quickly walked to catch the sheirut back to Ramat Gan to begin my training. I was the first one there as always because I am almost never tardy for anything. I bought a lemonade and waited at the corner store so I would not be ridiculously early... only noticeably early. I finished my citrusy beverage and put out my cigarette. I walked into the office fresh and confident (job interviews and tests have NEVER made me nervous). Seeing as how was the first one there a nice young lady guided me to the room where the training was to occur and I sat down unpacked my drawing equipment and began to sketch to pass the time. It was the first time I had done anything artistic and worthwhile for months. I was proud.
Finally all the other people showed up, a few of them late and the boss guy re-re-re-re-reiterated that the only basic rule is don't be late. This also boosted my confidence. I was sitting pretty having shown up early and having a more than decent rapport with the boos man.
They handed out a few papers to be filled out and signed and then gave us our training packets. I am pretty sure I was the only native English speaker there so I flew through the manual, caught the few grammatical mistakes and aside from that everything seemed to be fairly legit. Then they start explaining it in their own words. Now with any sales job you have to expect a certain amount of skeeviness but this shit seemed ripe with sketchiness from the the first few words out of dude's mouth. Now, I know you can make a pretty penny at this place and I am in desperate need of some nourishment for my bank account but those excitement butterflies almost instantly turned into a suspicious awkward bubbling. I decided to stay even though my gut was telling me otherwise. Further into the presentation it just got worse and worse. People kept bringing up scenarios of "what if a customer says this?" and the response was literally almost always "lie". I was fucking shocked. The guy must have told us to lie more than 10 times in the span of 2 hours. Now, I know how to sell shit. I have sold shit before, but my whole approach has always been honesty. Not just in sales but in every aspect of my life and I am proud to say it has served me quite well. On our second break I went downstairs to smoke a cigarette and thought about that air conditioner. I thought about my 2 terabyte hard drive. I thought about my chest piece.
I walked back into the building and entered the elevator. By the time the doors parted my mind was made up. I waited for the girl behind the counter to unlock the magnetic door, I walked into the office and I packed my shit. I didn't pack everything. I left that sketch I was doing in my little workbook folder and I also left the complimentary pen.
I really do need a job but fuck lying to sell people shit. If I lie it will be to a cop or some other form of federal agent and it will be for a damn good reason.
I suppose I walked away with my integrity and my dignity still in tact.
Anyone know a good tattoo artist that will do work for integrity?
The panphobia sets in as I once again return to this real world that I have worked so arduously to escape. I fear the comfort and the lack of surprise. I fear the unexpected and the predictable. Excitedly skipping away from my job interview, cigarette pressed between my lips and copious amounts of sweat running from my scalp to my socks I think to myself how a cheeseburger can make this all go away.
I ate one.
It didn't work.
I will not be discouraged. In fact quite the contrary I believe. I will watch several episodes of "no reservations" with Anthony Bourdain, catch up on my Conan O'Brien and drink me some cold cold water.
"Training" starts tomorrow. Ah being crammed into a white air conditioned room with about 20 norms.
It begins.
Much love,
Zark
I ate one.
It didn't work.
I will not be discouraged. In fact quite the contrary I believe. I will watch several episodes of "no reservations" with Anthony Bourdain, catch up on my Conan O'Brien and drink me some cold cold water.
"Training" starts tomorrow. Ah being crammed into a white air conditioned room with about 20 norms.
It begins.
Much love,
Zark
I have 2 words for you: zach galifianakis
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=5043958564827525972
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=5043958564827525972
I got a call today from my bank, saying that I had gone into the minus, quite severely and needed to get to the bank today before 1:30 to deposit money in my account or the consequences would be dire (i am paraphrasing). I got out of bed, got dressed and headed down the street in the blistering sun.
After a short yet blood boilingly hot walk I ended up at the bank only to find it blocked off by caution tape with several police officers there and all of the employees being escorted out. I wanted to go up and ask what the hell was going on, but every time someone approached the stern police woman out front would yell at them to leave the area. One thing I noticed though, that makes me love this country is that despite the fact that there was caution tape and police vehicles outside, several people just ducked under the tape and proceeded to try and enter the bank until they were reprimanded by the officer.
Blatant disregard for authority here.
Got to love it.
After a short yet blood boilingly hot walk I ended up at the bank only to find it blocked off by caution tape with several police officers there and all of the employees being escorted out. I wanted to go up and ask what the hell was going on, but every time someone approached the stern police woman out front would yell at them to leave the area. One thing I noticed though, that makes me love this country is that despite the fact that there was caution tape and police vehicles outside, several people just ducked under the tape and proceeded to try and enter the bank until they were reprimanded by the officer.
Blatant disregard for authority here.
Got to love it.
Had myself an excellent breakfast today finished up the second season of the Drew Carey show, now gots to get to cleaning.
Need to make room to paint. Got me some canvases to gesso.
Need to make room to paint. Got me some canvases to gesso.
Growing up where and how I did, kissing on the cheek as a way to say hello or goodbye was neither common nor acceptable. This was one of the smaller things that I had to get used to while moving out to Israel.
I was never really too social of a person but since my arrival here I have tried my damndest to get out and meet new people... shake things up a bit, get a little crazy. Aaaanyways, I went out to a party one night in Haifa on the edge of a cliff on the side of a mountain. A little camping style party with a bonfire, everyone was sitting around drinking beers and speaking Hebrew, joking around and all that other social crap that people apparently do. I however do not drink beer and at the time spoke very little conversational Hebrew. My drink of choice is and always has been whiskey. So on the rare occasion that I do go out I always buy myself a little bottle of whiskey instead of bringing a six pack to the party. Surprisingly though people are for more apt to accept a beer that you tear off the plastic rings than a shot from a bottle you pull from your pocket, so I usually end up drinking the majority of the bottle to myself. Anyone who has ever drank with me knows that I enjoy drinking my drink and then laying down. Usually I don't even care where we are, camping, town square, someone's house, even the occasional restaurant... I enjoy laying down when I drink. So I am at this party having fun even though I don't really know exactly what is going on. Good weather, nice people, a few good looking girls, a camp fire and some of the freshest mountain air in the entire country. I find myself half a pint of whiskey in when I get the hankering to lay my ass down in the dirt. I am not shy about getting my clothes dirty especially when I have had a fair amount of the creature. So I move away from the group, find a spot with relatively few rocks and lay flat on my back, ipod in my ears, cigarette in one hand, bottle of whiskey in the other. I am sitting there enjoying the air, the sky, my music, my buzz and my smoke for several minutes, when I thought that I heard someone asking about the guy on the floor (between the music and my nearly mediocre understanding of Hebrew I wasn't too sure what I had heard). "Fuck it" I say to myself and I slip back into my relaxing state of ground laying. I actually got comfortable enough to close my eyes for a few minutes. When I opened them moments later there were four or five people standing above me asking me if I was okay. Apparently they thought it was pretty serious because everyone was speaking English at this point. I held my fist out, and popped my thumb in the upwards direction which in my mind meant "I am totally excellent thank you for asking". Apparently though, other people can perceive this sign as, "this guy is too fucking drunk to even speak". In reality I was not quite drunk yet. I had a good buzz and just didn't feel like talking. This was the actual moment where I became known as "the guy who drinks too much and then lays down". This misconception stuck with me for several months. I am the guy who lays down when he drinks but damn it, it is not because I drank too much, it is because I am a huge fan of being comfortable and laying down is the rich man's sitting. I laid there enjoying my own company occasionally imbibing my Johnathan Reddington (as I like to call it) for what I recall now, to be several hours until my friend came and asked me if I was ready to leave. I got up, dusted my ass off and turned off my ipod to begin the goodbyes. Handshakes and "Take it easies" for the dudes and hugs and kisses on the cheek for the gals. Everyone else executed these maneuvers flawlessly... I however was not so proficient in the art of cheek kissing at this point in time. The first girl came up and I just gave her a hug, I didn't even attempt to go in the for the potentially awkward cheek to lip action that could have ensued. Just a hug... and I didn't fuck that up. The second girl comes in for the hug/kiss and for a split second, I have a moment of clarity. Everything seems to fit together and I understand fully that it is me who is the odd man out here, and I am the one who is making this out to be way more than it is, and I am the one who is over analyzing all of this minutia until it snowballs into an an uncontrollable panic attack. It all made sense. Between the moment I could not muster the confidence to kiss girl number one to the moment I was within kissing distance of girl number two I had that revelation. All it took was that little fraction of a second of insight to shatter all the misconceptions that I had built up since my arrival that were causing me such horrid anxiety. I was READY. I leaned in, tilted my head to the left, gave her just the right amount of squeeze in the hug and then I bite her neck.
I bit her fucking neck.
Now when I tell this story to most people they assume that the big blunder in the end is that we both turned the wrong way and we kissed on the lips.... oh how taboo. No I bit her neck. No blood, very little residual spit but the fact of the matter is that I missed pretty badly, socially and physically by I would say about seven centimeters. Where the hell did that bite come from? I have done a lot of "wacky" or, "quirky" things in my life but I honestly cannot piece together the series of events that had to take place in my body in order for me to have pulled that out of left field. I was not embarrassed at all though. Normally I would have been but I had that magic ratio of sleep deprivation and Red Label to keep me from feeling as much as I normally did. Instead..... I laughed. I laughed pretty damn hard too, and no one knew why. It seemed that even girl number two didn't know why I was laughing.
We all piled into the car and in between spurts of laughter I tried explaining that I bit some random girl I had never met and would more than likely never see again. I imagined the conversation she was having with her friends as we pulled away. I wondered if she even cared. She probably did. Bites are not always bad but more often than not, they are.
It took me a few months to get back into the cheek kissing game. I have overcome many little obstacles like this to get to where I am today, but I think that in 2012 I will be able to compete with the best of them.
I still do not do it all the time but now it is because I just feel like I am showing off and not because of being a nervous wreck.
I don't have a good way to end this.
I was never really too social of a person but since my arrival here I have tried my damndest to get out and meet new people... shake things up a bit, get a little crazy. Aaaanyways, I went out to a party one night in Haifa on the edge of a cliff on the side of a mountain. A little camping style party with a bonfire, everyone was sitting around drinking beers and speaking Hebrew, joking around and all that other social crap that people apparently do. I however do not drink beer and at the time spoke very little conversational Hebrew. My drink of choice is and always has been whiskey. So on the rare occasion that I do go out I always buy myself a little bottle of whiskey instead of bringing a six pack to the party. Surprisingly though people are for more apt to accept a beer that you tear off the plastic rings than a shot from a bottle you pull from your pocket, so I usually end up drinking the majority of the bottle to myself. Anyone who has ever drank with me knows that I enjoy drinking my drink and then laying down. Usually I don't even care where we are, camping, town square, someone's house, even the occasional restaurant... I enjoy laying down when I drink. So I am at this party having fun even though I don't really know exactly what is going on. Good weather, nice people, a few good looking girls, a camp fire and some of the freshest mountain air in the entire country. I find myself half a pint of whiskey in when I get the hankering to lay my ass down in the dirt. I am not shy about getting my clothes dirty especially when I have had a fair amount of the creature. So I move away from the group, find a spot with relatively few rocks and lay flat on my back, ipod in my ears, cigarette in one hand, bottle of whiskey in the other. I am sitting there enjoying the air, the sky, my music, my buzz and my smoke for several minutes, when I thought that I heard someone asking about the guy on the floor (between the music and my nearly mediocre understanding of Hebrew I wasn't too sure what I had heard). "Fuck it" I say to myself and I slip back into my relaxing state of ground laying. I actually got comfortable enough to close my eyes for a few minutes. When I opened them moments later there were four or five people standing above me asking me if I was okay. Apparently they thought it was pretty serious because everyone was speaking English at this point. I held my fist out, and popped my thumb in the upwards direction which in my mind meant "I am totally excellent thank you for asking". Apparently though, other people can perceive this sign as, "this guy is too fucking drunk to even speak". In reality I was not quite drunk yet. I had a good buzz and just didn't feel like talking. This was the actual moment where I became known as "the guy who drinks too much and then lays down". This misconception stuck with me for several months. I am the guy who lays down when he drinks but damn it, it is not because I drank too much, it is because I am a huge fan of being comfortable and laying down is the rich man's sitting. I laid there enjoying my own company occasionally imbibing my Johnathan Reddington (as I like to call it) for what I recall now, to be several hours until my friend came and asked me if I was ready to leave. I got up, dusted my ass off and turned off my ipod to begin the goodbyes. Handshakes and "Take it easies" for the dudes and hugs and kisses on the cheek for the gals. Everyone else executed these maneuvers flawlessly... I however was not so proficient in the art of cheek kissing at this point in time. The first girl came up and I just gave her a hug, I didn't even attempt to go in the for the potentially awkward cheek to lip action that could have ensued. Just a hug... and I didn't fuck that up. The second girl comes in for the hug/kiss and for a split second, I have a moment of clarity. Everything seems to fit together and I understand fully that it is me who is the odd man out here, and I am the one who is making this out to be way more than it is, and I am the one who is over analyzing all of this minutia until it snowballs into an an uncontrollable panic attack. It all made sense. Between the moment I could not muster the confidence to kiss girl number one to the moment I was within kissing distance of girl number two I had that revelation. All it took was that little fraction of a second of insight to shatter all the misconceptions that I had built up since my arrival that were causing me such horrid anxiety. I was READY. I leaned in, tilted my head to the left, gave her just the right amount of squeeze in the hug and then I bite her neck.
I bit her fucking neck.
Now when I tell this story to most people they assume that the big blunder in the end is that we both turned the wrong way and we kissed on the lips.... oh how taboo. No I bit her neck. No blood, very little residual spit but the fact of the matter is that I missed pretty badly, socially and physically by I would say about seven centimeters. Where the hell did that bite come from? I have done a lot of "wacky" or, "quirky" things in my life but I honestly cannot piece together the series of events that had to take place in my body in order for me to have pulled that out of left field. I was not embarrassed at all though. Normally I would have been but I had that magic ratio of sleep deprivation and Red Label to keep me from feeling as much as I normally did. Instead..... I laughed. I laughed pretty damn hard too, and no one knew why. It seemed that even girl number two didn't know why I was laughing.
We all piled into the car and in between spurts of laughter I tried explaining that I bit some random girl I had never met and would more than likely never see again. I imagined the conversation she was having with her friends as we pulled away. I wondered if she even cared. She probably did. Bites are not always bad but more often than not, they are.
It took me a few months to get back into the cheek kissing game. I have overcome many little obstacles like this to get to where I am today, but I think that in 2012 I will be able to compete with the best of them.
I still do not do it all the time but now it is because I just feel like I am showing off and not because of being a nervous wreck.
I don't have a good way to end this.
