I would very much like to be

Bukowski

Old and

All too aware

Hunched, miserable,

Alive.

 

I would very much like to be

That 5 year old I saw in the Art Institute

Writhing in his mother's lap with boredom,

Not caring that his shirt was pulled up to his armpits because the bench he lay on was

Cool

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If I ever run for office, I will build my entire campaign around one simple idea: I believe that during the course of your life, you should be able to legally kill one person. This will be called "a freebie".

There will be rules and limitations, of course. You can't kill anyone under the age of fifteen; if you do, you're disqualified, and will proceed straight to jail. Also, you can't kill with complicated chemical or machine-based weapons (including guns and explosives); however, simple handmade weapons (like clubs, spears, and cudgels) are totally acceptable. Weapons based upon simple machines (wedges, pulleys) are also encouraged. Killing someone with bare hands would be highly esteemed, and totally something to brag to friends about.

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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.

So, I'm here in Israel, and it is awesome. I have been journaling every few days, and it is amazing how great I feel when i do it. i was hoping that i would come up with some ideas for any short stories or poems while i was here and i actually came up with a poem that will premiere soon. my trip has been totally awesome, and i can't believe how much i've missed blogging on the website. This blog really has no point; i just really felt the need for blogging. that is really all i have to say for now. an update of the total awesomeness of Israel is soon to come. peace out.

 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.”

*Forewarning*

The following article contains direct references vulgarity, racism, hate, and vague references to something that will probably never touch your lives directly. That being said, try to remember that the author does not advocate nor encourage Hate in any of it's manifestations... I'm a Lover...

In other words, the opinions and views expressed in the following post do not necessarily represent the  opinions and views of Crazy Rockwell.

Plus, I'm drunk.

*/Forewarning*

 

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so the title has nothing to do with the topic, but i really just couldn't come up with a title.

So i am leaving for Israel on Sunday at 6:30 in the morning. I am really excited; not about getting to the airport at 5 but about being in Israel for a month. So I bought a small leather journal last night to bring with me to Israel. I figured that this would be a perfect time to really gather inspiration; if no ispiration comes, i can at least journal about what i did each each day. then again, how can anyone not find inspiration in Israel. Wow, this is probably my shortest blog... then again this is only my third blog. Well, see you all when i get back. i will definitely have plenty to say in a month's time.

So, I am leaving for Israel in less than a week, and I haven't done a thing for packing. I really feel that the term procrastination is an understatement in this case. I just don't know what to do with myself.

So I tried my hand at some writing this past week. I did some free writing, and I guess it went okay. I don't really know. I can't tell. I started writing a short story, but I only got three sentences out. I just don't know where to take it.

"Hark, who goes there!" I screamed. Well, not out loud. I was definitely thinking it though.

I think I like that beginning, but I'm not such an experienced writer to where I would really know. I guess it doesn't really matter if it's good or not because I am writing just to write. I don't plan on becoming a novelist. Though that would be funny if that actualy seemed to be the case. Well, maybe not.

 I guess that the title of this blog makes so much sense. It seems to me, that I just don't seem to know very much. Oy vey.

DAMNIT now my sandwich is facedown on the floor, and all I know is how I lost the words I wrote before...

A perfect night for destruction, perhaps I'll stab you in the back,

A loss of appetite when my lunch leaks out from it's sack,

The loss of a friend once loyal, thrice missed and twice removed,

Be careful now, do you allow? his words flow unapproved....

I'm lying, preaching chastity, my belt is WAY too tight,

And when I'm done with prayer I'll spread my legs for you tonight,

'Cause in my black sketchbook, you stain my pages more and more,

Your blotting ink is no longer just a doodle I'll ignore.

So I'll paint my face and pierce my tongue, and preach till my palms are red,

Because the only reason for my faith in God is your movement in my bed.

Okay, so I finally joined ouropenmic.com after going to the live open mics each week this semester. For those of you who have come, you may know by now I am not particularly eloquent.... but then again, using the word eloquent just kind of makes me sound that way, doesn't it? Anyway, I figured what better way to improve my writing than to actually write, and what place would be better to do that very thing on other than this website. At least people can comment on how much it may suck, or if I actually write something worthwile. So this first blog will hopefully start a line of creative and interesting topics, and I hope I don't just end up making an ass of myself. Well, I guess that is really it. Farewell to all until my next blog.

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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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 love America & capitalism. 

I love to point out only half-jokingly the reason "the terrorists" hate America.

It's not ideology, infidels, or whatever.

Basically, it's about QT.  The "terrorists" wish they had the ability to choose from a selection of 40 sodas and mixers.  52ozs of Diet Mtn Dew mixed with Frozen orange cream is freedom in my mind.  The terrorists hate us b/c they only got one thing to drink : (Pause)

 It's called Haterade ,it's the non-alcoholic and they got it all on tap. 

But, yeah it's not just QT .  It's Costco.  C'mon with its  samples, liberal return policies and 1.50 foot long  hot dogs.  G-d bless Costco and G-d Bless America!

So getting away from commercialism for a second, there are so many other seemingly small things in life that are awesome. 

Seriously. (Pause)  Some things I find awesome in no particular order or listing of importance  are:

Little kids in tuxedos,

Water balloon fights,

Grenadine based beverages ( Pause) you know shirley temples, roy rogers etc)

Free refills,

Good looking girls wearing wife beaters,

Popping packing bubbles,

Getting blackjack.

I love all this stuff and I love the internet too!

Yeah. I love the internet! And it's got nothing to do with porn.

 Believe it or not there are non-porn related sites on the internet.   (pause)

Yeah it came as a surprise to me as well.

I spend so many of my waking hours surfing the internet looking  through facebook, theonion, the drudgereport, and wikipedia.   (pause)

I really love wikipedia.  I don't really know how we knew the answers to the most random things in life before wikipedia.  I do know that I am thankful everyday for all I've learned browsing wikipedia.

Did you know for instance

That Ice-t's real name is Tracy Marrow?

That penny farthings are the names for those old humoungous bicycles with the big wheel in the front.

That Angola is in Africa and not S. America?

That I share a birthday w/ Vladimir Putin, John Mellencamp, Yo Yo Ma and Toni Braxton. We were all born October 7.

That cleveland steamers, soggy biskets, passing the cracker, rusty trombones and donkey punches aren't nearly as innocuous as they sound.  Not even close.

That birds fly in flocks, wolves travel in packs, and porcupines move in prickles.  I'm totally serious prickles.  Also sadly porcupine meat is enjoyed in some reginos of Italy and Vietnam.

Thank you wikipedia, and ouropenmic for enriching the internet and my life as well.

And thank you all for listening to me, or at least pretending to.

 

 

 

 

The perfect profession would have to be priest. Or cardinal. Or reverend. Or rabbi. Or something. People never kill those guys. They're too scared to. Whenever you hear people talking about a nun getting killed they sound so sad. Like it was so much worse than a normal person. Yeah. I think that's what I'll do. Especially if there's actually a god. He wouldn't kill me if I worked for him.

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