At a Theatre Near Us

“I don’t understand what interests you so much about the army,” Amir said, sounding somewhat exasperated. “My father’s stories, about being sent into Lebanon to hunt Fedayeen, would scare you to death. Even he gets frightened when he retells them.”

That conversation took place in the spring of 1976, on the balcony of Amir’s mother’s apartment, in Ramat Gan. We were both nine years old at the time. Seeing this advertisement, for the Venice Film Festival winner, brought his concerned words to mind.

My Dogs Like The Fall

Dolf had the best ears. Whether it was clicks and cuts, musique concrete, or the Dead C, he could always hear the continuity. And he didn’t like any of it, which Dolf always indicated by promptly walking out of the room until I changed the music. So, for the year that we took care of him,  after several missteps, I only played dubstep CDs. Whether they were the squishy, synth-heavy producers of the Dubstep Allstars series, or genre forerunners, like Rhythm and Sound, the thirteen-year-old schnauzer was always happy. This was his easy listening music. So moved was I by Dolf’s predilection towards a certain sound, I completely excised noise from my iTunes library. That Dolf was dreadfully sick made it an easy decision.

Flipping through our library last week, I decided to put on some old Fall records – the best-selling Infotainment Scam LP, and my favorite Fall song ever, Free Range. Any serious Fall fan will tell you that these are definitely not the most representative works, that it would be best to push them aside in favor of earlier material, like the brilliant Hex Induction Hour. Not for me. These recordings are both laden with personal memories attached to the time and place of their release. As inclined as I am to recount them, even more interesting is how they drove me to connect with our younger dogs.

Skipping the needle between the Joe Gibbs-Lee Perry mashup, Why Are People Grudgeful? and Mark E. Smith’s bored-sounding intonation of “Also Sprach Zarathustra” in “Free Range,” Pixel and Raster started waving their tails, excitedly barking at the speakers, as though there was something new inside them. Granted, they are younger schnauzers, certainly smaller and healthier than the late Dolf. Nonetheless, it was like somebody spiked their puppy chow with intensely good cheer, and, maybe, a double espresso or two. So surprising was their response, it was as though it changed something inside me, not just my appreciation of The Fall. I’m going to have to play the band for them again and see what happens.

Where’s the Love?

The new Zeek OS is now live. We released it last night, warts and all. This is the lead story: My analysis of the present crisis of Israeli-American relations.

File Under Classic Rock

Mussolini and his entourage were hung outside our apartment building, in Piazza Loreto, on April 29th 1945. We’ve never ascertained the exact spot, though we assume its dual-commemorated by a monument to fallen Communist partisans in immediate view of our building’s front door, on Viale Andrea Doria. Indeed, it is curious that there is no memorial for the event.

That’s why when we encounter nostalgia for the late Italian dictator, we are almost always surprised, lulled as we are by the ideological consistency of our neighborhood. Walking down Via Torino yesterday, we encountered this positively non-ironic collection of Mussolini chic, displayed alongside classic rock bootlegs and Catholic calendars.

You have to appreciate the art school quality of the collage. Eric Clapton and Il Duce? That’s awesome.

With the Vegetables

This supermarket thinks very highly of its clientele. Esselunga, Parco Solari neighborhood, Milan.

Under Reconstruction

After what seems like an eternity, Zeek’s relaunch is imminent. We’re hard at work porting content and proofing every conceivable part of the new site. Check our new url, zeek.forward.com, beginning November 1. I’d wager there will be something alive and healthy to view then. Though there won’t be a version immediately optimized for mobile, I spent a good part of a recent Sunday checking it out on our handsets. Jennifer is the iPhone user. I’m the one with the Android.

In the interim, the first copies of the Fall print edition were distributed at San Francisco’s Litquake festival last Saturday, as well as mailed out to contributors. If you happen to live here in Europe or the Middle East, and want a promotional copy, drop me a line. I’ll be receiving a box any day now, and will have enough stock on hand to share. Contents will remain exclusive to this specific edition. Israelology will otherwise be exclusively available for order through the new Zeek site.

All Languages Lead to Rome

Albanian, French and Arabic samples of migrant news and money transfer services. Migropolis exhibit, Venice, October 15.

Let’s Get Physical

Two and a half years is a long time. That’s how long it had been since I’d edited my last print periodical, the January/February 2007 edition of Tikkun. But, immediately after reviewing the final copy edits to Israel vs. Utopia at the end of June, I went to work as the guest editor of Zeek’s Fall print edition. Hired to assemble the magazine’s first Israel-themed issue, I gave it the title Israelology.

To be released later this month, the issue will be given out for free to registrants of the forthcoming J Street conference, taking place October 25th to 28th in Washington, DC. Israelology will also be distributed to the venues I will be reading at on my US tour in November. The near-simultaneous publication of this edition, in conjunction with my new book, is a welcome accident.

Spot the Difference

The unrest presently taking place in Jerusalem is making itself felt abroad. On Saturday, members of the local Palestinian community held a demonstration in front of Milano Centrale. Note the Italian flag in the mix.

Last of the Mannequins

Coming home from dinner a few nights ago, Jennifer pointed out the number of stores that had closed along the Corso Buenos Aires. “The economy is definitely worsening here,” I replied. “Just look at how many folks have moved out of our building.” A few minutes later, we found ourselves staring at five for rent signs at our building’s entrance, (“affitasi” in Italian), along with a fresh advert for the sale of a live/work space.

If you’re used to living in apartment buildings, you get accustomed to people moving in and out, especially in densely populated commercial areas like central Milan. However, such a high turnover is especially noticeable when your building only has 14 units. Considering the immense political and economic turmoil Italy is presently undergoing, the exodus from our building helps personalize the turbulence, however uncomfortably.

Driving it all home the following day was the closure of the bakery on the ground floor. Ever since we first moved in, we’ve relied on it for basic needs like bread, beer and mineral water. Run by an elderly Italian lady, her establishment has been indispensable to us. If you were out of  breakfast cereal, you could always run downstairs and buy a delicious brioche. If it was dinner you were after, you could get an excellent slice of focaccia pizza.

What defined the place was not the food, though, but the presence of three enormous mannequins, caricatures of Italian peasants, wearing vintage clothing, sporting disproportionately large, workman-like hands and bulbous noses. Affixed to the rear wall and the ceiling, every time you entered the bakery, there they were, looking down on the baked goods, as though they had harvested all of their ingredients. Cliched, sure, but still impressive.

Hence how striking it was to see the last of the mannequins lying on the floor yesterday evening, grasping a bundle of fake wheat and a piece of plywood in its hand. Everything in the place had been cleared out, save for this lone, dismembered-looking farmer.