Tel Aviv, Tel A Friend!

I am officially in the blogosphere! I want to thank Beatrissa Elelman for suggesting this, no longer novel, method of sharing my adventures while I am literally half way around the world. I will make an attempt to maintain this blog daily for all those that want to tune in and get your daily dose of Maratazine (sure to cure colds, coughs, rheumatoid arthritis, herpes, hemorrhoids and premature ejaculation).

"“Next year in Jerusalem" the old adage goes and so I find myself a short 50-minute drive from the holiest city on Earth. If Jerusalem is the heart of Israel then Tel Aviv must be the genitals. People here have no concept of day or night, no concept of time or the ebb and flow of human circadian rhythm. Last night, after my 17-hour flight from Los Angeles, I landed into the home of Uri Mor my host for three weeks. Uri works as a technical stage manager for several large Israeli bands as well as touring stars from around the world. Next week he will be setting up and running Sting's concert in which, Matisyahu will be the opener. Actually, Uri has promised to hook me up with a backstage pass for Matisyahu'’s underground "“Unplugged"” performance the next day. Anyway, I landed and immediately found myself inebriated (who would have thought) on two pints of Israeli Beer "GoldStar"” and a pint of both blond and dark Palestinian beer (damn good by the way). Seems the Palestinians can brew it they just can'’t drink it. Actually, from what I've been told there are many secular Palestinians that like to throw back a pint as much as their star-crossed brothers, the Israelis. Its too early to get into political ranting, I'’m sure I'’ll find time for that. As our condition continued to descend Uri reminded me that there would be a huge concert at 1AM tonight and we should try to compose ourselves for the sake of the fans if not for our own health and well being. The Israeli'’s frown upon over consumption of booze although telling by Uri and the piss drunk adoring fans at the concert, I wouldn't have thought. Walking back to our fourth floor apartment, which has a terrace with a view over Tel Aviv, I was struck by how the city reminds me of a blend between Los Angeles and Odessa or any number of other Russian cities. High-rises sit scattered over the skyline with small Bauhaus apartment buildings interspersed among them. We walked back, the warm sticky compote of air clinging to our bodies. The heats not all that bad, actually no different from L.A. but the mugginess gets right under your clothes, like a wet spider web. That night we drove north to Ritsiyon a small encampment of posh clubs, A-class restaurants and loft style apartments that could pass for Tijuana if Tijuana had posh clubs, A-class restaurants or lofts. One thing I noticed once we got there was how friendly, open and engaging the Israeli are here. These are not the used car dealer types you may come across in any number of U.S. cities. The Israelis here are attractive, almost too perfect in some way, as though the Holy Land had mutated the recessive traits out of their genome; if I didn'’t know better I'd think I was in L.A. minus all the surgery. By 1:30A the fans were in a state of frenzy and I was just in a state. "“Mashina"” came on and played a two-hour set to an audience that danced and sang along. My Nikon camera, swung over my shoulder, provided me with unlimited access to the event. I was the American photographer guy, probably from some magazine or something. I danced to all the songs but didn'’t have a clue as to the content. By the time the concert ended it was 4AM, my mind used its remaining resources to remember the details: name, bowel and bladder control and that was it. I helped Uri gather some of the equipment that would be picked up by the touring vans later in the night (wait what night it was about to be morning). We left SOHO, the name of the venue but instead of getting in the car we walked into another restaurant on the square called Meatball. As we walked, the number of people aimlessly trying to find their way amazed me. People were going about like it was 9P on a Friday night, this was Thursday and it was 4:45AM. The band made its way into the restaurant and we all sat down together for a little dinner before heading home. My stomach had shut down hours ago along with other non-essential organs and so I wasn't in an eating mood, although I did force down a phenomenal super rare hamburger patty. As the DJ played remixes of U2 and ABBA, I listened to the music and the Semitic banter of my new Israeli friends. My mind drifted. Being here finally, with all the plans and excitement along with all the years hearing and thinking about Israel finally began to creep into my deteriorating conscious. Israel was no longer a place it was a condition. We left the Meatball and made our way home. As our car entered the Northern edge of Tel Aviv I saw the sun make its way up the Eastern hills, over which lay the West Bank. 25-minutes away there were a totally different group of people living a drastically different life, I couldn'’t believe it and amazingly neither could the other people in the car. It seemed that days had passed since I had slept, perhaps even weeks. Israel, I am learning, can do that to you, leave you confused and unsure of your footing. What do you really know about religion, yourself or the world for that matter? At 6:30A I finally put my head down on the sticky pillow (nothing here is truly dry). Although we closed the metal shutters on the terrace, light streamed in and so I put on the eye mask I had bought at LAX. As I put my head down, a menagerie of birds began their morning orchestrations and so I slipped on my BOSE Noise Reducing headphones. There I remained in bed, black patches on my eyes, headphones on my head, sweating as though I had just completed the IronMan, when Yossi, Uri'’s cat jumped on my feet and rolled up into a ball. Under normal climatic circumstances I wouldn't have minded but a warm furry creature clinging to my sweat drenched body agitated the last remaining cells of my fragile nervous system. Yossi went bye-bye and I tried to close my eyes and not think. The air in the room, trapped by the closed metal shutters, continued to rise in temperature. I panted like a runner in the final stretch of a 300-mile uphill sprint. Sleep undoubtedly thought I was busy and went elsewhere for this night. Yossi lay coiled on the piano. Sleep had not abandoned him. I went to the terrace and cracked open a shutter. Tel Aviv was waking up and so I decided that just sitting here watching their day begin would be a fitting way to watch mine end. There would be time to sleep tomorrow. That's how it happened, that'’s what I saw. "“Liila Tov - Good Night"