Alon vs. The Carry-On

Before flying to England, I tried to bring a small enough bag so that I wouldn't have to check it in. Easy Jet policy clearly states that a bag larger than the required size must be checked in. Oh and you have to pay around 20 British Pounds to get it on the plane. On the way to the Airport, I knew my bag was a little too big, but with some luck (and charm) it should work.

When I arrived to Ben Gurion and the woman behind the counter told me to place my bag on the scale, I said No, no, This is my carry on. Now, I have a pretty poor experience with check-in counters. Once, I was so tired from n

ot sleeping, a flight attendant asked me if I was stoned. I thought this was very rude! (although I was stoned, but thats besides the point).

After announcing my carry-on, I saw for one of the first times, a smile? a giggle? I don't know what it was, but this lady is showing some sort of an amused emotion. Instead of arguing for my right to have a carry on, I smiled back and agreed Yea I don't know what I was thinking. I know that it was social taboo for her to laugh at a customer's suggestion, but for fucks sake, my bag was huge, and she was smiling! What an ACCOMPLISHMENT!

Today, I fly back home to Israel. I asked again. And its a no go (Surprisingly, The British check-in counter was way more unpleasant than the Israeli one. I think that British accent make a person sound more cultured and intellectual, but a Rude British accent can make the veins in my fore-head pop open). When I arrived to my gate, the man in front of me was arguing with the flight attendant. They said he had to return to the check-in counter to check-in his small document pouch. He said, This is my wallet, what do you mean? (Israeli vs. British is like Bear vs. Rabbit; there are many ways to interpret that).

In moments, the situation escalated. The man was out to make a formal complaint, but the EasyJet Supervisor would not give out her information. And things were now getting political. This man had every right to make a complaint against the supervisor. A paying customer should be able to complain, or praise, any member of a service he/she wants. And here comes the statement we all feel a bit uncomfortable when we hear, I HAVE RIGHTS! Of course you have rights, but these guys are obviously not going to help you. The system is corrupt and unfortunately, we all know it, but don't care enough to do anything about it.

For years Airline companies have been charging customers for bags that are over weight. I couldn't understand why. As if your extra 5 pounds will change the cost to fly a plane? To the point to charge an additional $85 per bag? What a scam! Limit by size, not by weight. How heavy can luggage be to disturb the flight's course. We should treat our baggage the way we treat overweight people, charge them an extra ticket for the extra seat, but don't ask them to pay $5 for every additional pound they weigh!!!

Anyway, the Israeli man in the terminal ended with a statement that everyone knows to be true. I fly with EasyJet to save money, but, you know what? It really isn't worth the hassle. Well, Buddy, as much as you were in the correct throughout your whole situation with EasyJet staff (in my opinion), a smart man always knows, that you get what you pay for.

Alon vs. The Rich Kids

I called a few friends from my IDC days who have left their Israeli lives to live a life filled with opportunity. Gemma moved to London just a few months ago. When I saw her last, we got drunk off our asses at her Goodbye celebrations at the Carlton. Today, She's driving a mini Cooper, Roof down, with a mutual friend of ours - Maya.

Have you lost your minds? I yell as my first gesture. Its freezing! Now get out and give me a hug! Gemma gives me a big hug and her bare arms wrap around my four layers of clothing (not including scarf, hat and gloves). Maya lets me in to the 2 door car. And we're off!

This is the most Expensive street in London! Maya tells me from the front seat. We pass by Castles, mansions, Forts, etc... One of the houses actually wrote "Royal Mansion" on its pretentious entrance. At first I thought congress sits in these houses. But no, just your simple elite family. 29 rooms, 13 bathrooms for a single family (made-up estimate).

Leaving the Gigantic houses we approached MarlyBone to have lunch with another friend of ours, Ilan. Ilan came with two of his friend (one of whom was Rafi Ginat's son). We sat down at the Posh restaurant LUC (capital letters, no K, no E. Just... LUC). What the fuck! Lets get the Burger! We all caught up and found ourselves out the door and in the nearest shopping store. I found gloves that were so pricy, they could actually support me for 2 weeks (not kidding). Pants that would have me taking a second job to pay for. And random french literature for the thematic affect.

I walked out of there and announced Man, I feel poor. But I didn't feel bad. I didn't feel the strong urge to buy that comfy shirt with the Rugby letters on it for 265 Pounds. I mean I guess it would be nice. But I'm warm, fashionable (i think), and comfortable. I'll stick to picking up the clothing that fall out of Allan Billig's closet.

Well, after a nice meal and simple afternoon , I got dropped off by the ladies and got back to work. Its nice to see their new lives. How just a few months ago Gemma had a happy life in Israel and today she has a job, a social life, and resources to lead a new and better life. The grasp Israel had on her vanished from her eyes. I could see that it was gone. As if it were just a part of her life. A part of her life that she will not return to. It was calming to know that its so easy...

Alon vs. Fish & Chips

Finally! Fish & Chips! Its about time. I can't wait for that tasty deep fried cod covered in my choice of vinegar or tarter sauce... hmmmmmm!

My boss invited me over for dinner since I told her that one of my favourite dishes is Fish & Chips. She suggested a great fish & Chips place right around the corner from her house!

So there we are. Me, the director, her husband, and their 17-year old grand kid eating dinner together. The place kinda looked like a Greek diner but no one was eating breakfast. They were here for one reason, and one reason only - Fish & Chips!

We got our plates and in front of me lied a 16 inch long piece of deep fried cod with a large side of Fries (oh and I also got some mashed pees, and put it to the side). And the tarter sauce? - on the way :)

My first bite! HERE IT GOES! (slow chewing...) huh? that's weird... My second bite... Oh shit... MY third bite! oooof! Just as expected, a tasteless meal. Like most of the other English meals I've had. I've been waiting years to taste a real English fish & chips, and here I am, forced to eat... THIS! We finished the meal with a Crème-Brule (awesome) and split up. (Thanks for Dinner, guys. Now you know the truth about how I felt, though)

From this meal though, I did find a returning theme to my trip. On my first day, I found an old set of head-phones from the 60s that work amazing. Later, I arrived to Shlomi's to find a reel-to-reel recorder that sounds digital - so sharp you can cut your self. But at this meal, to my surprise, the 17-year old said something a 17-year old would say, something anti-system, anarchist - sorta - that goes against a School of thought. He mentioned a band he liked, but said he doesn't like the band's attitude. He said that the idealization of instruments has gone too far. And as many of us deep-thinking-high-schoolers once said, It should be about the music (,man...).

For me, these 3 events were brought together in a nice package which solved a problem I have been trying to solve for many months now. Money has been the biggest set back in my professional development as a video producer/editor. I keep finding the most expensive and best equipment with intentions on buying some day. Toys and knick knacks that will satisfy my high standards. But as that awkward-looking boy from the restaurant said, its about the 'music.'

Good work comes from within'. Although these tools may give us confidence in our work. In the end of things, it all depends on the mind of the creator and no one else.

So, I need a camera. Now that money is of no importance. Which do I buy? :) (I'm off to Ebay!)

Alon vs. Shlomi

Since I arrived in London, I have been searching for places to stay. I can't afford to stay at a hotel (and the company won't sponsor accommodations), so I have to deal with what I got. Phone call after phone call, email after email, couch surfer after couch surfer... nothing....

And then I get an email from Yaniv, Call Shlomi, he's a friend of mine that lives in London. Now if you know me well enough, you know that I'm pretty shy when it comes to asking strangers for a place to stay. But I actually met Shlomi once, and in the condition I'm in, I'm ready to ask a homeless person if we can snuggle for warmth.

Hello, Shlomi? I ask. Yea, Hi, it's Alon I'm Yaniv's Brother. I think we met a few years ago

when we got really stoned together. At this point I realized that this might be a different Shlomi. A more serious Shlomi. A Shlomi that doesn't smoke pot and hates users. But then I thought, wait this is Yaniv's friend. Its SHLOMI Shlomi! That moment he told his Girl Friend near by what I had said and they both laughed. Although, I later remembered that I was about 12 when I met Shlomi. So it never even happend. (Am I the only one in the world that can create and end a psychological break down in a matter of moments?)

Anyway, I met Shlomi that night with his lady, Ania. They asked me to bring over some Potatoes and Lamb chops. And I did as I was told. When I arrived Shlomi didn't look a bit like what I expected. He kinda looks like Danny Olinsky and me rolled up into one (Nachon, Yaniv?).

An amazing meal was prepared. Along with what I brought, they made Boar Sausa

ges. I couldn't get my hands off 'em. We ate, drank, and laughed till it was too late. Shlomi walked me to his apartment where he said I could stay while he slept at Ania's.

Wow! Is that what i think it is? an 'old school' reel to reel tape player, a fully functioning classical piano, acoustic guitars on the wall. I hit the jackpot! After a few instructional moments with Shlomi, I was left alone in this musician's wet dream of a room (its an expression shlomi. Don't worry ;) ). I played Piano for about a half hour and watched as every key I hit stroke the physical strings inside the piano. Then, since i didn't know how to turn it on, I stared at his reel to reel player. and just stared at it. And stared at it. Its so beautiful...

What a wonderful night sleep I had. Shlomi, man, Thanks for Dinner. Even though I can't wait to go back home to Israel, thanks, Shlomi, for making me feel as if I were already home.

Alon vs. Cambridge (Part 2)

Part 2: The Rest of the Night

Due to 2 requests (and the fact that It was too much for 1 post), I will satisfy Sharifin and Avee by finishing my night in Cambridge.

Juan asked me what I wanted to eat and two things came to mind:

1. FISH & CHIPS - one of my favorite foods. In my previous visits, I couldn't find a single shop. The birth place of the dish, and NOTHING!

or

2. Indian Food - It may not be India, but I have been waiting for some proper Indian food for a long time! Damn you Tanduri Restaurant in Tel Aviv with your shitty fake Indian crap! What did I already ask for… (i get pretty emotional) What was I doing? Oh Yes.... DINNER!

Indian it is :) The table was a smorgasbord of delicacies! Juan did all the ordering (since I had no Idea what kind of Indian food I liked) and when we got our dishes, I was like a child in a candy shop!

I dropped my stuff in his room (I'll get in to that later) and we were off to Kambar.

Wow, College Life. Even the Oldest School in the world knows how to party harder than the IDC. Campus life here is sweet. Its a small town that seems to be based on its student life style. We step inside and there are about 3 floors of music people and Alcohol. The whole night really showed me what I missed by going to school in Israel. And I must say… It looks like fun. Why is the IDC so alien to Campus life? Oh well… Hopefully someone who cares enough will show the international students, that we know how to live too :)

Back to his room. Juan's place is a 2 room apartment inside of King's Coll

ege. The view from his window shows the river and birds which play in the water. A long field of grass stretches out to the distance and people walk by covered in coats, hats, gloves, and any other garment that will keep them warm.

21 years old and living the life - Cambridge style! Juan… you were born to be King someday! Make sure you remember me, though. I'll probably need a place to stay :)

Oh, and Breakfast was awesome! Jesus, how did the English Survive? Sausage, Bacon, Ham, Fried Egg, and Beans... Not a single proper vegi on this plate! Oh well... I'm on vacation! I'll have the same treatment in the palace, Juan! See ya then! ;)

Alon vs. Cambridge (Part 1)

Yup, you read that right. Cambridge! I know! I didn't think I would get here either, but I got the night out of work. I'm a bit restless...sorry if i sound a bit verbose... Anyway, I got on the 17:14 train and an hour later I found my self an hour away from London (by train). Juan told me Once you get off the tra

in, walk outside and take the 1 or 7. I listened and searched for my bus.

Oh man… Is this really happening? a DOUBLE DECKER?! Just like in the movies!!! I got on and paid 1.50 and started walking towards the back. Wow, wow, wow…. the back?! I didn't travel an hour to just sit in the back like some Egged bus! I turned my shoulders and marched up the stairs… Oh sweet English life… No authority up here, no sound of rattling money, no Dos DIS BAS GIT TO CITI CENTRE, MATE?! (again, strong English accent). Its quiet, its visual, its the top deck of a bus (man, I get excited easily…)

I finally made it. King's College of Cambridge. Juan is in his third and final year here. He says hello to every passing-by-er. Well this is what were doing, he says. First we'll go to th

e debate, second we'll eat, third we'll get stoned, and fourth, a Balkan party.

Yes, Yes, awesome, and yes, I said with a straight face, excited to unfold each layer of his agenda.

Part 1 - My first debate.

Do you know how old Cambridge is? Old! Really old! About 800 YEARS old… Most these buildings have been here since the 13th Century. Now, in previous blogs I have written that certain things make me nervous (Olympic Gold Medalist, Jesus folk, etc…). Today as I step through the arch door I discover that old buildings make me nervous too!

With Old foundations come OLD traditions - the true reason to my uneasiness. We sit down in the hall thats already filled with an audience waiting for the debate to begin.

DING DING (more like a hand held bell) Debate # 1: The house proposes that a Strong Dictatorship is better than a Weak Democracy.

I don't know if you have ever been to a proper debate, but it is something that is not to be taken lately. The loyalty to tradition, the strong voice of reason that comes from each speaker. This is the "Junior" round you could say. The president of the house steps in to make announcements from her King-like high chair with her two officers sitting on lower seats on either side of her. Afterwards 4 students step in and divide to a side of their argument - Proposition vs. Opposition.

Proposition goes first. Later, the Opposition. After each team has provided an opening argument, the floor become open to the members of the house. Any person has up to 1 min. to say his piece. The President is in total control of the behavior of speakers through out the house. When she decides there has been enough, attention turns to the closing argument of each team (the 2nd student would argue now). What was interesting to me was that at any point of the debate anyone can stand up and say POINT of INFORMATION! At this point the speaker has a choice of hearing what that person says in regards to a comment he/she made. Most of the times, though, they just sit them down.

After a proper Yay or Ney Call out, the President announces the winner… The Opposition takes it A weak Democracy is better then a strong Dictatorship (according to the house).

Ding Ding Debate # 2: The House proposes that a Nuclear Iran is better than war.

Sounds interesting, right? English Diplomats, scholars, Phds. This is proper debate. Offensive, to the point, and sometimes edge of your seat commentary. The second speaker for the opposition begins his opening argument with this statement. Something strange is going on here. The first speaker for the proposition mentions Marijuana, and the second speaker is obviously smoking it. And then he goes on into his lecture.

On the "senior" debate the vote is collected by the door you use when you leave. Later in the nearest bar, a man walks out announcing the results.

So I open this forum to a vote! Would you choose a Nuclear Iran or a war? Think about it before you answer.

Alon vs. Tate Modern

I finally made it! Tate Modern!

One museum has placed many obstacles in my way until I finally got here. This would be my third time in London, my first time in Tate Modern. I walked through the front doors and made my way towards the first floor. The museum is divided into a few floors, 2 of which are year round exhibits and one is a visiting exhibit. I didn't have time for the visiting exhibit (or the money) so I walked around the free parts of the museum. Not bad… P

ersonally the Modern Art Museum in Barcelona is one of my favorites, but this one ain't bad either.

Now there is one more Artist who made an apperence. Wei Wei is a Chinese Artist who created this MAJOR attraction in the bottom floor of the museum. This guy really likes Sunflower seeds! (Wei Wei at Tate) His exhibit includes a

perfect 90 degree rectangle of, I must guess, 9,032,378,654,345 sun flower seeds (give or take a few million), a film explaining the importance of sunflower seeds in our society and surrounding (origin of G/D, Hope of mankind, etc… I guess Afula is a actually a huge philosophical center), and a video recorder room.

This last room was pretty

interesting. 6 or 8 screens are planted on the walls to allow guests to approach individually. After pressing start, a short clip of the fat asian man begins "Hello, I

am Wei Wei. How is your day?" After answering him outloud, I realize this isn't where I'm supposed to interact… is it?. The screen shows me 2 options, Ask Wei Wei a question or Answer a question from Wei Wei.

This fork in the road really had me by the balls. It reminded me of a comment I heard from a 16-year old girl earlier that comes to almost everyone's mind at one point or another, That's Art? Who the Fuck is this Wei Wei? What the fuck would I want to ask him? And what is does he want to ask me? I don't want to record my self for the guy who bought 10,000 British Pounds worth of Sunflower seeds from the local vender and spilled it all over the floor.

But then it hit me! To answer that 16-year old girl's question I would like to open this forum for discussion. What makes Art….Art? Are random paint strokes really worth my time? Is an infinite amount of some ite

m worth an emotional expression? I think so! Nothing is done for no reason (Not to mention that no one pays for nothing). To be a great artist, you must have one very important element to Human success…. Rhetoric! The power of communication makes the difference between cow shit and manure, Red liquids and blood, trees and cabins. In order to see something right, we must place it in perspective. A true artist can take a standard 2.0 pencil. Place it in any position or location at random and tell us why its Art.

What do you think?

Alon vs. The Chicken Pot Pie

As most of you know, I have a bit of experience in the pie baking business. So needless to say, When I saw that sign for Award Winning Pies!, Best Pies in England!, and Don't miss our Pies!, I had to go in. I walked in to the shopand received that common English polite mannerisms. Hello there! Come on In! Would you like to have a Pie? (Please read that with a heavy English accent, you know the kind that you only see in American movies, you know, as if you were talking like a king's jester).

YES! I replied excitedly. She showed me the last available pies and I felt a strong urge for that last Chicken Taragon and Bacon Pie that was sitting there all by it self. Waiting for me since it was a chicken, a pig, or a plant. So many kingdoms of Nature working together to please my afternoon appetite. Oh, did i not mention the gravy? How could I forget! Would you like some gravy on that, govna?! (English accent… ok she didn't REALLY call me govna) Obviously, I replied. She does a few tricks behind her counter and after a few moments…. VOUALA! A little box with my first English Pie.

Alright alright, I'll admit I never did make a salty pie back when I was working at the Seattle Pie Company, but any Pie maker would tell you, its all about the crust. I give it a 6 out of 10. although it was nice and tasty, and a bit soggy from the gravy, the pie crust was hard to cut. I really had to stab it inorder to penetrate! I was actually thinking that the thing came with instructions! You know something like How to eat the pie :). Should I pick it up and bring it to my mouth? Should I cut it from the center? Should I eat it from the out side in or from the middle out? I don't know, this is too much pressure! To my surprise, I did find instructions. RIGHT ON THE BOX. Unfortunately, it showed customers not how to eat the contents, but how to open the box! (…pause…) What?! Are people THAT fucking stupid?! They need instructions to open a box?! Jesus… Now, how do I eat this thing?…

I finished eating and went off to Tate Modern. I've always wanted to go there and here's my chance. Thank you, English Pie Keeper! Your dish was superb! (www.pieminister.co.uk).

Alon vs. The Freezing Cold

Have I really become so warm blooded? I grew up in rain, and snow, and winter and frost and still my head goes numb when I get too cold. I can still see my teenage self stand in front of the grey ocean in Margate, New Jersey, watching the frozen fish get washed up to the shore. That cold! Its been 7 years in the warmth of Israel and now I am surprised to find my self so freezing cold in a foreign country, all by my self and with no one to complain to... So fuck it, when you have no friends, you blog! :(

When I landed, I felt the window of the aircraft to get a feel for the temerature outside. Even though its layered glass I can still get a feel for what its like outside (i think). When I felt the warmth, I thought "Its probably not that cold." I grabbed my bag, and walked out of my aisle.

Stepping out of that plane was awful. Like a ton of bricks landing on your chest, I felt that cold air hit me like no other. My body actually stopped in place. In my life, my body has never been so surprised by temperature. You could see a little thermostat pop up by my body and drop down to negative degrees Celsius. Each step down the stairway was harder than the last. I rushed past people, hitting them along the way, inorder to reach my suitcase containing 3 scarfs in the exterior pocket. I finally made it inside, but I can still see my breath materializing before my eyes. Is this what England is like? A man can be indoors and feel his arm hairs breaking off? Lets just get out of here and fast.

It was quite a long flight, so my phone is dying from playing too much Spider Solitaire, my computer is dead from watching too much "Lie To Me," its the middle of

the night and I have no idea where I'm going to. I get the address quickly out of my phone as to not to waste anymore precious battery and walk towards a bus. It took me a bus, a train, a subway, and a taxi to get to the producer's house. It was so cold that my hand would stick to metalic items around me. The bus took me to the train, which led me to the subway. Now at this point, I couldn't handle how cold my ears were. I kept hallucinating little snippets of the small vains in my ears exploding from the cold. I reached for my headphones and made sure they covered my ears. I felt a little silly wearing headphones that we'ren't working, but in times of man vs. nature, we must do everything to survive (is that a stretch?)

Its 1 am, I finally made it. My Producer was surprised I made it. I had taken a cab from the Underground to her house, we had a cup of tea she gave me some sheets, and I went to bed.

Here I am. A continent away from home. In a weeks time I would be done with my work and on my way home. But who's thinking of that now? These sheets are so warm, I can physically feel the blood rushing through my body...

Goodnight, London! See you in the morning...

Alon vs. Turbulance

For those of you who don't know, I have been selected from a group of more than 1 (2) to fly to London, England, in order to complete a film that lost its way a few years ago. I may not be making any money, I may have to give up Sabich for the next week, but I'm in London, Biznatch! (I'm supposed to be excited, no?)

I've been flying my whole life. I'm pretty sure that I've averaged at least 1 flight per year. But in my case, no matter how much I practice getting on and off planes, I'll always have a gut feeling that the plane is going to take a really long time to nose dive into the ground and blow up in to a Hollywood explosion in the middle of some sea somewhere. I've wondered how long I would have to scream before I died in some horrific manner? What would kill me first? The shock? the impact of the plane? Maybe (if we're lucky, the engine will explode before we hit the ground and this torment will end before schedule. I doubt it though, the airlines never do anything ahead of schedule. We'll probably have to ride it through)

On this flight I was alright. Its not a big deal. I got myself a window seat and kept busy most of the flight. But then... All of a sudden... a shake? My world begins to collapse. I hear loud beeping in my head, my neck gets tense. With one hand I grab on to the seat before me and with the other I put my earphones down to around my neck. My eyes POP open to see if anyone else

in screaming? The girl in the next aisle turns her body to her other side and lifts her feet up to the chair. She was sleeping. That turbulence didn't even wake her. AGAIN! The captain now instructs everyone to take their seats. People slowly move towards their seats, falling over people with each Turbulence bump. I'm losing feeling in my fingers now and that lady in the front thinks that because she's next to the bathroom she shouldn't have to go back to her seat! To my surprise, neither does the flight attendant.

We land in London safely. After a bus, a train, a Subway, and a Taxi, I found my way to Irris's house (Director). She made me Tea and I got comfy in the fold out bed she had prepared for me.

SEVEN days in London! They'll be full of Work, but I'll be learning, exploring and discovering the whole time. And then I get back on my return flight (oooooof lala)...