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I think I would like to glow red hot

With madness

Something to talk about, you know?

Instead of forging conversation

Upon general concerns

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Judaism.  Religion?  Race?  Nation?  People?

Perhaps.

To me, "the Jewish people" are a family.  3 fathers, 4 mothers... then going down to Egypt as a family of 70 people.  By the time the Torah is given, there are 600,000... and that's just counting the adult males!  By that point, we're called a 'nation'.  Yet put two Jews together, even ones that call themselves atheists and don't know *anything* about Judaism beyond what's said in the media, and there will be an inexplicable bond between them.  It's a sense of... "whatever happens, this person is on my side.  They may be crazy to everyone else, but they won't mess around with me."  It's family. 

My first Jewish friend, I trusted more than anyone else in the world, even when I didn't know a thing about Judaism other than what I'd heard in the media.  This person was also the one that told me I was Jewish because my mother was.  We were crazy atheists, but we were also crazy atheist Jews.   Tony, wherever you are, I hope that you are safe, successful, and that you connect to your Jewish roots and to other Jews.

hey guys...sorry i havn't posted in a really long time.

 

i'm in NY right now studying for a few more weeks (i've already been here for 3 weeks, hense the posting delay), and we have limited internet access. i will post something cool when i get back...perhaps my term paper i'm writing while i'm up here.

 peace

A child, two years old, will start a trek from the living room to outside, upon seeing an open door.

A parent, upon seeing this, will pick up the child and redirect them, causing the child to now sojourn in the safety of the house.

G-d seems to do this to me sometimes when I'm just about to say something.  The person I'm about to speak to will come up with some other topic, and before I know it I'm swept away from the direction I was going.

Yet, sometiems I do find my way outside.  And sometimes it is indeed scary.

“ Hey Ren, you’ve got five minutes.” said Joe, the stage manager for Saturday Night Live. He nudged Ren’s shoulder encouragingly, and walked off to give the rest of the band their time cue. The cigarette Ren had been smoking was almost gone, but his nerves were still as shaky as they were when he first was told that his band, The Drones, would be playing S.N.L. He threw the remainder of his fix to the floor, and ground the heal of his black leather boot into the steaming ashes.
        Ren paced the stage wing, trying to keep his composure, but he could feel his heart in his throat, and his mind had left him. He had worked so hard for this: his chance to claim his rightful place in the pop culture universe. “Two minutes.” called Joe. This meant Ren had to collect himself, fast. He turned to his drummer, Randy. “We got this, don’t we?” Ren muttered, choking on his words. Randy flashed him a sly grin, and confidently replied “Yea, we got this.”
        “Show time. Good luck guys!” Joe announced in a volume that could be heard throughout the entire back stage area. Ren grabbed his guitar, and took a big gulp in the back of his throat. As he stepped out on to the stage, the florescent lights blinded him. The audience was roaring with anticipation of the brilliant performance they were about to see. Then Ren fell under the crowd’s trance, took the microphone, and started to…
        RIIIING…RIIIING…RIIIING. The phone in Ren’s three room apartment screamed. “Dude, where are you?” he heard Randy‘s voice from the other end of the line. Ren looked at the clock that hung on his living room wall. “Aww man…9:00...” he muttered worriedly. Ren hung up the phone, packed up his guitar, and took off for The Drones gig at the local grunge club.

So, I have decided to give myself a challenge, since I need to motivate myself after a fun but exhausting and distracting trip to Chicago.  I've decided to write poetic notes to exes.  Or something.  Basically, broken relationships is the theme.  Here is #1.  Enjoy. 

 

O buh-bum

that first night,

sweet holiday of happiness,

kissing in the grass

seemed so right.

Every moment after

felt the same,

every touch

excited our senses,

every smile oh, buh-bum,

so real.

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An analogous situation, she crawled in and bowed her head,

Then dropped her jaw and let her dirty words fill us with dread.

I searched the eyes of passerbys, not sure of what I'd see,

A glimpse of shame and blinked back fears showed grief, but no charity.

I couldn't deduce what alms she begged (as she recited every night),

Was it milk money, drugs, or humanity's qualm--humility, so absent from sight?

As she swayed by the feet of the black suit and tie, the difference was plain to see;

In her naked request, her honest prostration, she had dignity, rather than he.

 I wrote this for my friends from high school: Hannah, Josh (Joshi), Karin, Sarah (Sarita), and Ost.

 

    “Closing time…Open all the doors and let you out into the world.” Hannah and I sang to the sound of Semisonic’s Closing Time, which was playing on Joshi’s cell phone. We were sitting on the couch in Ost’s living room. In the background we could hear shotgun bangs that blasted from videogame Tom and Ost were enticed in. “Your frizzles going down fo sho, m’kaaaaay?” Ost randomly prattled at the bad guys on the T.V. screen. Sarita and Karin cuddled at the other end of the couch, listening to our voices as we continued to sing our favorite song.
    By definition a home is a shelter, but what it protects you from is not specified. I guess that means there can be many different ideas of what a home is. Some are concrete, like a house or an apartment. That is not the case for me. Mine is much more abstract in nature. It is not a physical object, but rather, a feeling. The tricky part finding what makes me feel that way. So the big question is not so much where my home is, it’s how I get there.
    “Closing time…time for you to go back to the places you will be from.” I heard Hannah’s beautiful voice harmonize with mine.“Closing time… this room won't be open 'til your brothers or your sisters come.” As I sat there surrounded by my best friends, all I could think about was how lucky I am.“So gather up your jackets, and move it to the exits… I hope you have found a friend. Closing time… every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.” We Kept singing while Ost protested “ Yeah, I know who I want to take me home. I know who I want to take me home. I know who I want to take me home. Take me home...” During that last verse of the song Hannah said something I will never forget. She smiled and sighed “I want Sami to take me home.”

Okay, so earlier, I posted a bunch of videos at once. but I don't think that's gonna go over well with internet readers, so here's just one I really liked. Hopefully I'll end up doing this kinda regularly. Hope you enjoy.

1. I think the real reason girls wear tight pants is to make it harder for guys to take them off.

2. Am I going to remember and appreciate all the wonderful people I met in the last month, year, years in Arizona when I leave?

3. I have so many personalities, I'm starting to forget who I am. There's Manic Elad, Depressed Elad, Yetzer Hora (Animalistic) Elad, Yetzer Tov (G-dly) Elad, there's Hitting On Girls Elad, there's Online Elad, there's Balanced Elad, there's Crazy Elad. If I found Plain Ol' Elad, would he just be added to that list?

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I want to meet the man from Nantuckett,
Visit Urugay,
Swim in Lake Titikaka,
And travel to Uranus.

I'll always let you know that your epidermis is showing,
See a cow and yell "moo",
Try to get the big rig driver to honk at me and
Order French fries at even the nicest of restaurants.

I'll always chuckle at the words "hard", "bulbous", and "cheeks",
Encourage my  friends to join the Pen 15 Club,
Refuse to eat choclate pudding and carrots for similar reasons,
And mix all the soda's together at the convenience store.

I'll always laugh at  boys named  Dick and Peter,
Call every lil boy I meet buddy, champ, chief, or sport,
Snicker at people that masticate their food,
And marvel at G-d's infinite sense of humor when I see a standard poodle.

I love finding the fun and looking for the funny.
I love it so much that I will marry it.

 

 

You know how people are always saying that you judge yourself by a more ridged set of standards than others do? I guess I've always ascribed to this theory, but only really applied it to small things like appearance or performance. An encounter with an old friend made me rethink this assumption.

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After every early dismissal of my middle school career my friends and I would walk half a mile down Thirty-second Street to Wendy’s. During that two-year span I can’t remember ever receiving my meal the way I ordered it. This was no doubt due to the lack of English speaking employees. Most of them could not speak English well enough to produce exactly what customers had ordered. Me and my buddies never cared much about this because 1) the only other restaurants in walking distance were much more expensive, and 2) none of us were old enough to drive anywhere else. But that was not the case for most of the other customers.
We had seen a lot of unhappy people walk out of Wendy’s. A non-English speaking employee would inevitably mess up an order, the customer would complain, and then the two would have a banter session. This was a fairly common occurrence, and, although slightly annoying, was somewhat entertaining. Even though a lot of these unsatisfied customers were angry upon their departure, one couple takes the cake as all time most pissed people to ever grace the Thirty-second Street and Shea Wendy’s with their presence.
This middle age couple had apparently made a very large purchase, which was served to them obscenely differently then they had ordered it. After sending it back three times in hopes of receiving what they had actually wanted, the husband threw a fit. He began barking profanities at the Wendy’s employee. Of course this was to no avail because said employee had no clue what he was saying. The man stomped off dragging his thoroughly confused wife out the exit door.
Watching the man get really ticked off had some extreme entertainment value, but I also soaked up some sociology from the incident. I determined that people just don’t know when to give up.
Letting small stuff slide is something most people have some real trouble with. It seems to me that many of us are so stubborn that, no matter how unimportant the issue may be, we can’t seem to drop it. I think people in general would be a lot happier if we could learn to, in the words of Mr. Kenny Rogers, “know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run.”

i don't want to die of cancer: hair-falling-out, retching, hacking, coughing, sighing-to-sleep in a hospital bed. i want to fall off a building. a skyscraper or something. or maybe i'll jump out of a helicopter. air rushing through my hair, pounding in my ears.

 

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