Buzz

When I was five-years-old my family got a Beagle. I was staying at my Uncles’ condo for the evening, and my parents rolled in from a charity auction with a “little surprise.” We named him Buzz and for 15 years he was my best friend.

We put him in the middle seat of the car and he slumped his head in his paws. I put my hands an inch above his head because he was asleep and that was the closest I could get to petting him. I shouted at my parents, “I’m crying right now, what’s going on?!? I thought this was only supposed to happen when you’re sad.”

It didn’t make any sense.

The first few days he was home, he peed all over the house and was loud at the most inappropriate times. This instantly made him my best friend.

When I was little, sometimes my brother and I would wrestle. I usually lost. Most times when Buzz saw us “fighting” he’d start barking and put his nose in the middle of us to break it up. Or maybe that was just a mechanism for us to pay attention to him. Either way, it worked.

He bit me, once, when I was young too. It was an accident and immediately after he did it, he stared at me with his big brown eyes and whimpered. I did the only thing I could think of with blood coating my hand; I told my Dad what happened on AOL Instant Messenger (because it was around 2003 and I wasn’t very smart okay? I thought that was the proper protocol for an emergency). That bite ended up leaving a scar which I still have today. Now it’s nice to carry a physical reminder of him.

Buzz would come in my room and listen to every note I played on  the trumpet for eight years and stared at me while I tried to hammer out covers by “The White Stripes” on the guitar for five. On the very rare occasions I brought a girl over to meet the parents, I would watch how she interacted with Buzz more closely than the people who raised me and put a roof over my head.

Sometimes he was an asshole when he broke into the garbage or started barking at six in the morning on a Saturday, but for most of the time, he was the sweetest asshole you’ve ever met.

One time Buzz got famous on Reddit because he was sniffing around to poop and a deer walked behind him and he didn’t notice.

He got on a bunch of websites because of this stupid picture, but eventually I stopped looking at where it went because some people would write nasty comments about him. One guy even falsely claimed that he took the picture and that Buzz was actually his dog. That’s when I learned that humans are wayyyyy worse than dogs.

When he got older he slowed down, of course. He still loved bread, though, and would try to grab anything he could off the table. Even when his hips gave out and even though he was neutered over a decade ago, he’d still hump the air when another female dog came near him– Buzz Lightyear Mulvey was not a quitter.

Losing a best friend is really  hard. There is no good simile or metaphor about time being like a river that can capture what it is. The guy made it past the average lifespan of a Beagle by over two years so even though I couldn’t really be ready for something like that– it was time. Still, there is a weird expectation when you get a dog at a young age– you grow up together and you expect him to be there. It’s completely illogical but there is a part of you that says What the hell man, we grew up together, why did you get old when I am just barely becoming an adult?

I mean, Buzz pounded through an entire bag of chocolate once and if that can’t kill a dog, how the hell are some years supposed to. They did though because I guess time is like a river that can’t be stopped.

But anyway, Buzz was my little man, and I hope he made you happy if you got to meet him.

 

 

 

 

 

Five hints you are hearing, reading, or watching bullshit.

by Ricky Mulvey

I’ve been working in the news game for about six years now. I started in when I was in eighth grade when I wrote high school football reports for my local newspaper (turns out you only need to be a 13-year-old, B average English student to do that). So I’ve had my fair share of news consumption.

A lot of times when I share an idea I heard from the news I get back something along the lines of, “well you can’t believe everything you see in the media.” I hate that phrase. It’s usually thrown out by some uptight adult and it suggests that when you read or hear something you don’t like in the media, you can chalk it up as a wicked lie that came from bias. Obviously the writer or reporter is lying if they are presenting information that contradicts your previously held beliefs.

Challenging an idea with “well don’t believe everything you hear,” is lazy and patronizing, but there is a little truth to it; there is plenty of tricky business in the media. Don’t you worry. But there are ways to spot it, and better ways to teach spotting it than holding up your pitchfork and a sign that says ‘EVERYONE LIES.’

By no means am I an expert, but I think I have a little insight, and especially after being on a trip where we met countless speakers about Israeli issues, all of which with an agenda, my nose is a little bit more in touch to smell bullshit.  So any time someone is trying to sell you an idea here are five red flags:

1) If a child is used to advance a political message, get reaallll skeptical. 

Remember when everyone went nuts over that Invisible Children charity and wanted justice on an East African warlord in 2012 with a “Stop Kony” profile picture”? These guys even showed up to my high school. We gave them money, put on talent shows for them, and did not really ask questions about why these dudes were asking 16 year olds for money while rolling up in a brand new Cadillac Escalade.

They showed a striking documentary about child soldiers and we bought into it because children are so persuasive. A smiling ten year old with gaps from lost baby teeth is adorable and of course he does not have a political agenda, which may be true, but the guy writing the script for what he is saying probably does.

We were so taken back by these kids forced to be soldiers that we did not ask questions. We did not look to see EXACTLY where the money was going or who was running the organization (people that swing their ding-a-lings at San Diego traffic.)

I found the same type of logic in Israel. We went to a museum about Gush Katif, which was the move then Prime Minister Ariel Sharon made to forcibly take all Jewish settlers out of the Gaza Strip. The way this museum sold us on the tragedy of Gush Katif was by showing us a documentary featuring a ten year old kid, the last Jewish settler born in Gaza, “discovering” what happened in interviews with family and friends.

Now, many in Israel see getting the settlers out of Gush Katif as a mistake… I mean, things aren’t too cheery in Gaza at the moment, but that is not the point. This museum used the eyes of a ten-year-old to sell one side of a contentious political issue.

They sold Gush Katif as this confusing tragedy because a smiling, gapped tooth kid was so plainly against it. When Gush Katif occurred the majority of the Israeli parliament was in favor of pulling the settlers out of Gaza and so were the people. But of course, you can hide these facts, like you can hide a lot of facts, by having a child selling one side of a political issue.

Yes, sometimes kids are parts of political discussions, especially when kids are a part of the issue discussed, but when they are being used to sell you an idea, get skeptical.

2) Answering a direct question with “I don’t know.” 

When we went to this Gush Katif museum someone asked our guide, “So why did they make you leave Gaza?” She answered “Oh I don’t know,” then continued to sell us on the tragedy that happened to her family. This was bs. You can Google the logic behind Gush Katif in about three seconds. The government hoped it would bring about peace, and keeping Jews in Gaza was costing too much in money and lives.

But she did not answer the question because the guide’s job was not to educate us, it was to influence us.

When questions are being dodged, there is a reason. Especially if it is an expert doing the dodging.

3) A mismatch or no match at all

Look at who you are getting quotes from in an article, news reports, documentary, anything. Just like you can have a mismatch in boxing, you can have the same thing in the news. Especially when you have a few opinions in a piece, look at who is “competing” for your influence.

For instance, I am very against the BDS movement. These guys want to pull as many international investments as they can from Israel, among other things. I think it’s slimy, anti-zionist, and (in part and secretly) anti-semitic. I’ve been to the settlements these guys yell about and I don’t know exactly what the answer to Jewish settlers in the West Bank is, but I think peace needs to come from the settlers, other Israelis, and the Palestinians themselves. I don’t think trying to destroy Israel’s economy as a whole will bring any peace. It’s adding fire to fire.

However. If I was put on some show with the leader of the BDS movement, I would probably get my ass kicked in that debate. I spend much less of my day working with that issue and do not have the talking points this person would have.

So know the matchup.

And sometimes there is not even a matchup to begin with. For a quick example, I’ll use the documentary “Blackfish.” This is that documentary about how SeaWorld is evil and hates whales and all of that messy business.  It’s VERY good on selling you the idea, but if you watch the movie, you will see that there is no proper chance for an opposing voice to state their case. They leave no room for another point of view, because the movie is not designed to educate you, but to influence. Leaving ample room for the other side would hurt the sale of the documentary’s perspective.

Regardless of how you feel about whales in captivity, certainly you can agree that that is a little fishy.

4) Short quotations

When is the last time you expressed views on any issue, well, with very few words? Probably has not happened. Same goes for a news report or article. You don’t know how long the interview was or the context of any quotation. Get skeptical when something feels unfin

5) Refusal to admit flaws in an argument. 

There are very few, if any, black and white issues in the middle east. The best you can hope for is to see two sides of gray when looking at Middle Eastern politics. Here is an example of this:

The Druze are a people that live in Lebanon, Syria, and Israel. In each country they are loyal to the ruling power and in Israel they participate in government and are some of the most fearless soldiers in the military… This is in part due to their belief in reincarnation, but this is beside the point.

Earlier this year a village of Syrian Druze was slaughtered by ISIS forces. In Syria, Druze have hesitantly backed Bashar Al-Assad while staying mostly out of the conflict.

Naturally the Israeli Druze called on Israeli government to help their Syrian brethren. This puts Israel in a pickle. If you give arms and let Israeli Druze go to Syria and fight you 1) get involved militarily in a messy Syrian conflict that you have managed to stay out of (besides humanitarian aid) for years, 2) you put yourself in a fight with no allies.

If you don’t do anything, you allow potentially, more massacres to occur of Syrian Druze and risk harming relations even more with northern Druze in your country.

What do you do?

Almost nothing, besides terror attacks, can be viewed as simply black and white, good or bad, in the Middle East. And I think the same principle applies to most news and political issues elsewhere.

It is okay to trust some things you hear, even if you disagree with what is being said. Just know when it’s okay to call bullshit.

I’ll have some another more normal Israel blog soon.

Israelis can take a joke

by Ricky Mulvey

I have less than a week left in Israel. It sucks. It’s been a great ride.

One of the things I will miss most about this place is that Israelis can take a joke. I love saying wacky, off-color things, and I very rarely have to worry about any Israeli getting offended. It’s lovely.

A few days ago I was referring to the town of Yeruham, (a town in the middle of nowhere in Israel where I spent a weekend), as a place so unknown and terrible that not even Hamas would want to bomb it… maybe they would when it becomes more relevant than an open field.  That’s not the exact joke, but you get the idea.

The Israelis I joked about this with were fine with it. They laughed. They joked about some more offensive things that need not be here, and then we moved on. The Americans that heard it? Well, I was reminded, they do face rocket attacks still. It’s very serious. I should look up the last time it happened.

Yes. That was what I was going for. I really believed that Yeruham is rarely attacked because their nightlife options are poor and Hamas thinks it’s crappy enough to live there already. This kind of attitude makes me feel a little held back in the U.S. Sometimes it’s not worth it to put yourself out there with people that look to be offended.

There is much less of that breed in Israel.

Another example was when I was in the town of Sderot. This place gets a TON of attacks since it’s right next to the border of Gaza. We visited this collection of rockets that fell on the city.

Touching these were strange. They were specifically designed to kill me and my people but could not do anything now– like a former poison that was safe to drink. I held one up to my junk and took a picture because that’s  my small way of telling Hamas what it can do with itself.

I was so hesitant to post it or do anything with it.  Wouldn’t so many people take it offensively? What if that was a rocket that killed someone? I spoke to a friend about this hesitation and one of the residents from Sderot approached me.

“What?” He said. “You think that is offensive? Come on, I can promise you soldiers do, what you would consider, way more offensive things with these rockets. This is nothing.”

Oh. So I was the uptight one. I cannot remember a time where that was the case in America.

 Showing Hamas what it can do with their rockets aimed at civilians.

And lastly, a  few days ago I was filming a story in the West Bank.  I went to a town called Yitzhar.  It’s a literal stone’s throw away from some Palestinian territory and what a lot of people (including myself) would consider an extreme Jewish settlement. The area we went to interview the settlement’s spokesman was this beautiful hilltop. No person was around our little crew, the air was fresh, and the day was clear enough that it was possible to see Israel’s rugged hills roll into the Mediterranean.

While the cameraman did some set-up shots  with the spokesman,  my co-producer Josh  and I walked around the hilltops. (Sure I could call him a co-intern, but that does not sound nearly as fancy). We reached a ledge and I picked up a stone. No  one was below us.

“Josh, do you think these are the size of rocks they throw around here?”

“No way. That’s way too heavy to hurl at someone.” He said.

“Are you saying I am not strong enough to throw this rock?” I said.

Little did he know, I have really been working on my figure lately and by golly I was strong enough to hurl that. Not at anyone. Just off the ledge. So I cocked back my arm and threw the stone into the grass beyond. It fell about 10 yards away and Josh shrugged.

“Yeah, but that was still weak. That wouldn’t hurt anyone. You should have used a smaller rock,” Josh said.

Then I rotated my arm and felt a sharp pain in my shoulder. But of course, I could not really complain about this to anyone.

People raise a lot of questions if you tell them you injured your arm while throwing stones in the West Bank: no matter how casual the situation actually was.

I hope that wasn’t offensive.

I am not an Orthodox Jew

by Ricky Mulvey

I just got back from the border of Gaza. It’s the second time I have been there in two weeks. I’m a little tired a little stressed and I’ve only been watching it from the sidelines, the cheap seats.

The second time I went to the border, for a sliver of a moment I though Ugh I’m going to this border again. Twice in two weeks. You know, the exact same attitude that someone has when they have to go eat at a Chili’s twice in one week.

I could never imagine going in.

 Rockets straight from Gaza in Sderot

A few times since I have been over here I have been asked “Have you thought about joining the IDF (Israeli Defense Forces)?” With the kind of tone that suggests You’re an able-bodied Jew living in America. Why not come over here and fight with us?

The pressure is not overt, but it’s hard to explain to these guys that just got out of the army that I very plainly don’t want to. I don’t want to leave my university. I don’t want to pick up all of my stuff and come to Israel for three years. I don’t want to get fluent in Hebrew so I can go in the West Bank and get shot at, get rocks thrown at me, and risk my life for a country that I’m pretty certain I do not want to spend the rest of my life in. Hell, I don’t even want to sit in an office for three years for the army. I’ve been close to Gaza. I do not need to hang out there longer at the moment; thank you very much.

And yet every time I am asked this and I say “not really” I feel like I am commiting a small act of betrayal.

A few days ago I was in the West Bank shooting again– come to think of it I haven’t really been hitting Israel like I should. I’ve been to the Jewish settlements in the West Bank twice and still haven’t been in the Dead Sea. Overlooking the West Bank

Anyway, we had a shoot at a settlement and ended up shooting at the Yeshiva (the school where some Jews go to study Torah and its teachings for a lifetime). Holy hell did I feel out of place. All these orthodox Jews studying and discussing Torah (and Midrash), rocking and singing, discussing. It was strange to see and even tougher to sip on a water and act casual. These people are described (broadly) as having the same religion as me and I felt incredibly distant from them

I kept waiting for one of them to ask me “Hey bud, who do you know here?” At which point I would shrug my shoulders and slowly Cha-Cha Slide my way out.

But they could not have been more welcoming. Sure they had an interest in really getting me into this Torah study thing, but the place ended up having a feeling like a Torah study program brought to you by the Grateful Dead.

It was still intimidating explaining to these Yeshiva guys that we were filming their settlement and what my role was when I wasn’t entirely sure what the story was, and what exactly my role as a “news producer” was there, and I have to perform these verbal gymnastics with a 6 foot 5 Orthodox Jew with sideburns (or Payot) dangling over my head.

Anyway, they didn’t kill me and the it ended with a surprise trip to the Mikvah– a natural water spring/bathing ritual place, where one of the guys decided it was time to skinny dip in front of your old pal Rick and the crew. We just kind of dipped our toes in so we could participate as well.

Little did I know that the proper way was to go in there completely naked.

I thought I was a little uncomfortable before: now I have this naked man I met only an hour ago telling me to jump in this pool with him.

Yeah, I sat that one out.

Life is weird. Israel is weird. I am glad I am here.

 

 

I was next to Gaza and in the West Bank and all I got was this blog

by Ricky Mulvey

I’ve traveled a lot lately. I’ve been to Jerusalem, the West Bank, the border of Gaza, and Haifa.

This won’t be my funniest post, but  I promise the next ones will have more humor.

The border of Gaza was one of the most meaningful places I’ve ever been too.  I was in the town of Sderot filming for my job, and we ended up driving along the fence.

I got out of the car when we reached this fence. A row of houses were behind us and few things have been eerier for me than being in a quiet neighborhood right next to Gaza. You can hear the buzzing from the electric fence when you’re that close, and past the farmland you can barely make out a city.  I won’t call this moment transformative,  but it was pretty close. For God’s sake, if I was literally standing ten feet from where I was my life would be entirely different. I cannot even imagine the person I would be — certainly not Jewish, certainly not able to travel around the world. This was not about the conflict for me (although I’m sure some troll can make it out to be in the comments), but luck. I am an American Jew staring at Gaza as a tourist. I’m using their electric fence for a post on Instagram.

I may be close, but I am not in touch.

A few days after this I was at a mandatory  fun and hilarious improv show. There was a lot of audience participation in the show and very few jokes actually told, but trust me when I describe it as mandatory  fun and hilarious. They shouted out for a scene location. Everyone shouted for things like Ben Yehuda Street, the beach, or Tel Aviv.  I shouted the Gaza Strip. I thought it would be the funniest thing in the world to watch these happy-go-lucky improv players put together a scene in Gaza after doing a scene that was mandatory to watch fun and hilarious about how many questions they could ask while riding a camel.  Naturally they ignored me, but a few minutes later I realized how dark humor is such a wonderful coping mechanism… even if the girls in the row in front of me disagreed.

But moving on now.  A few days ago I made it to the West Bank to interview a woman named Daniella Weiss. Weiss is an important figure in Israeli history (look her up for more info), her views are controversial, and it was an honor to interview her.

 My view from atop a Jewish settlement aka those things that those BDS kids yell about these days.

I have wanted to go to the West Bank for a long time (or Judea and Samaria, whatever floats your boat) and it was great to get there. To see the little trailers and neighborhoods that have caused so much uproar. They are trailer parks that make world leaders shout.

It made me want to grab some world leaders by the collar and say “look around. Shut up, there is plenty of space here so get it together and f***ing share. Everyone can be here if you stop acting like whiny buttholes.”

Granted some neighborhoods we went to were nicer like the one I visited, but it is nuts to be next to the shacks that cause such an uproar. You won’t find President Obama condemning many other trailer parks besides these ones.

Earlier in the week I was in Haifa and while I have nothing but love for Haifa, I have nothing but distrust for Haifa cab drivers.  I think some Israeli cab drivers lick their chops a  little too much when they see a group of confused looking American youth.

It’s like Donald Trump and Mexicans– I assume some of the cab drivers in Haifa are perfectly nice people but for the most part I don’t trust or like them and I think they should be sent to Mexico.  Okay, it was only one of them told my group to get out of the car and leave when we were plainly in the wrong spot, but I stand by my thoughts. This is in front of the Bahai’ Gardens in Haifa. It was cool and pretty and reminded me of Highgarden from Game of Thrones. You should go there.

All in all, I have been having a great time running around Israel. The next post will be coming real soon.

Standing Up in Tel Aviv

by Ricky Mulvey

It’s really hard to do stand-up in Tel Aviv if you are telling English jokes. Your options are pretty much to either tell your circumcision jokes to your friends or put them in a blog.

I finally found one place though. A beach bar called Mike’s Place  has an open mic every Monday. I’ve been here a month and have not performed in that time I was ready to go like a dog on a pork chop, (or a Ricky on a desperately missed pork chop in this Kosher land).

The mic was advertised as one for all talents including comedy, but there ended up being a bunch of fantastic musicians and me telling jokes.

When I arrived for sign-ups I asked the guy if anyone else did stand-up. He said no one had in months. A few people tried and never came back. I realized that I maybe should have scoped the place out a bit before going.

For instance I called the bar about the open mic and asked if I could perform in English– I did not know that the theme of Mike’s Place is America.

The host basically told me “Yeah I guess you can do jokes. Yeah, we advertise that we let people do comedy. There’s mainly Russians and Israelis here and they will want to talk during your set, but it’ll be great. The wait staff will probably pay attention to your jokes.”

Ah, the opening, welcoming arms of the Tel Aviv stand up community.

Naturally I was terrified when I went up to do stand-up in this room that makes photos tough. As you can see these nice Russian men to my right wanted nothing to do with my jokes.

But I went up  and talked about things I am extremely comfortable with, like how I went to a surprise circumcision party a while back (because that’s what Jews do) and how I realized it was a surprise for me because I did not know I was going, but also for the baby because he had NO idea what that knife meant. Then how I got a text that I needed to leave early so I told the rabbi to cut faster, but it was okay he told me. He only needed to take a little off the top.*

It’s been recommended I put more pictures in my blog, but I don’t think there is much I should include for this topic.

Overall the crowd was loud and not paying attention, but the people that listened were great for the most part. I was excited to see if there was a big difference in how my jokes hit here versus America, but it was pretty much the same  for me.

After, one woman told me she enjoyed it and that made me happy.

Then one 65-year-old Israeli leaned over to me as I sat back down. He was with a woman about 30 years his junior in a tight black dress.

“Are we done with the talking.” He said. He wasn’t really asking a question. “I come to see music not to listen to this talking.”

I did not know what to say so I went with “Uhhhh, it’s a nice bar.”

As I was about to leave he stepped out of his booth, grabbed the woman by the wrist, pulled her out of the booth, slid in behind her and sat, and directed her on his lap. She did not fight it but was not enthusiastic about it by any means. Her face remained impassive.

If my jokes don’t hit with a human piece of garbage like that, I guess I am okay with it.

*For more delightful circumcision jokes you’ll have to come see me perform in Cincinnati or Columbus. Don’t worry. I have lot’s more. Circumsicison jokes related to my junior prom? I got em. Circumcision jokes related to modern bars? I got em. You name the situation you want to see a circumcision joke and I will tell it or I guarantee your money back.

 

Am I allowed to bring a phone charger in Israeli jail?

by Ricky Mulvey

In the words of Donald Trump, “I think I am actually a very nice person,” and when you think about it, there is a lot I share with Donald Trump: we both have a tendency to look at the bigger picture, see ISIS as a bunch of bozos, and both claim to have written “The Art of the Deal.”

Anyway, I try to be a nice person. There are times where that is tested.

We had this party in the desert a few nights ago. About twenty people were there, and for the most part everyone was in a great mood. One group leader approached me. He heard I had issues with my French roommates, (he was their guide/group leader/madrich), which was strange because this is something I do not publicize, and definitely do not write about. But I found it tough to say anything nice. I need to get better at that. Maybe you’ve seen examples of that struggle in this blog.

About thirty minutes after that, the cops rolled up to our little shindig. And to paraphrase the rap group N.W.A. “to heck with the police!”

(Even when the Po-po rolls out, you know I’m looking out for pictures for the blog.)

This worried me. I was not doing anything illegal, I think, but I was still worried about going to jail because I don’t speak Hebrew and my phone had a super low battery. Luckily, the cops just cleaned up the beer bottles some people had out, spoke to someone, played with this stick toy thing this girl brought, and then left. If only the good ole US was like this. This interaction made me take back the feelings that bond me and N.W.A.

I was in the desert because I was at this retreat called “Shabbaton” in the small town of Yeruham.

 (I think the best way to describe the Shabbaton is the word “mandatory” and “fun” I’ll call it fundatory)

We learned all about Shabbat (or the Sabbath) and talked about being Jewish while sitting in circles for extended periods of time. Some parts of the Shabbaton were okay. But I do believe some parts of this Shabbat thing is absolutely insane. This girl on my trip was talking about how a family she knew would hold their baby up to a light switch and hoped it flung his arm out to turn lights off and on during Shabbat because

1) Jews on Shabbat are not supposed to do any work, which includes turning on and off lights

2) Young children/babies get a free pass to break the Sabbath rules.

I pretty much shouted “DOES ANYONE ELSE THINK THAT STUFF IS ABSOLUTELY INSANE,” but uhhh, no one really responded.

Stories I heard during this weekend made the trip worthwhile. I spoke to a former paramilitary soldier who told a story about losing his friend in combat a few years ago. They were searching a house in Palestinean territory for a suspect and heard a rustling in the bushes. They did not fire because they wanted to make sure it was not a civilian. It turned out it was an ambush. His friend got shot in the head. His friend got shot because they wanted to be humane. Even with that experience, he said he was happy that Israel tries it’s best to be humane during warfare.

While I am elated to be far away and forget Yerucham, that part will stay with me.

Ricky and the Frenchmen

by Ricky Mulvey

I have two French roommates. One is named Raphael and the other leaves passive-aggressive notes on the fridge. Seriously, I have tried to introduce myself on a few separate occasions to this guy and he hasn’t told me his name. My other American roommate doesn’t know it either. Until I learn it, I’ll just call him Bootsy.

Maybe I’m doing something culturally wrong. I don’t know much about the French other than that Quebec is a place and they had a tendency to surrender at inconvenient times in the 1940’s.  Maybe there is a weird thing about introductions I don’t know yet.

Anyway, Bootsy joined us permanently two days ago. He’d been gone for a month. The first time I met him I introduced myself, he said okay, then he went to his room. I don’t know what to do. This morning they sat at breakfast, spoke in French, said “America,” then kind of looked at me and laughed.

It took a lot of my energy to not make a snappy comeback about the greatness of America. You know, like a quick one liner about how our Constitution is probably better than theirs or how there’s no violent persecution of Jews in America. But those kinds of jokes don’t go well over cornflakes. Plus I had literally no idea what they were saying about me and I don’t want the Frenchmen to hate me.

They could have been talking about how I’ve really toned up lately then been laughing in agreement.

There are quite a few cultural differences I don’t get over here. For example, there are so many restaurants that seem to be angry at you for coming in. The attitude is “What do you want? Good. Now leave.”

I just want schwarma. I don’t want you to be mean to me. I promise I’ll give you money. Please don’t hate me for wanting to exchange money for goods and services.

(Ugh, there’s too much negativity in this post right now so here are a few pictures of some goats. )

Okay, we’re back from the goats.

The other day my trip to the West Bank got cancelled which was a major bummer because visiting a geopolitical crisis was on my summer bucket list.  That sounds a little silly, but it’s completely true. I was looking forward to gaining a better understanding of a conflict that is one of the defining problems of my second home.

I’ll do my best to make it over to the settlements before this summer is over. I think I will, but we’ll see. As you can imagine, travel to a place known for kidnappings is a tricky maneuver to pull off.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Awkward: A Night Out In Tel Aviv

Here’s your Hebrew word of the day: Arsim.
Arsim are a large collection of Israeli men who watched a few episodes of “The Jersey Shore” and declared “this is how I will live my life.” They do things like wear hats made of all leather and Ed Hardy shirts and say uncomfortable things to women. Last night they were out in full force.

 (sorry random Arsim friend. I love you.)

As a people, I think they are incredibly amusing. We went to this bar last night and there were tables full of them, occasionally with women.  They are either staring at their phones, their drinks, or scouting women with serious squinted, eyes. And okay sometimes they are hitting on them… maybe more than your old pal Rick is. I tried my best okay? I just don’t have the confidence of a man wearing an all leather hat and a gold chain.

I don’t know the name of the club we went to last night but I do know that I am morally opposed to it more than anything else I’ve seen in Israel. A fifteen dollar covercharge is criminal and if the UN wants to regulate anything in Israel it should be this nonsense. Why am I paying you lots of money so I can have the privilege  of then buying your nine dollar beer? It’s like I can either buy someone a drink or have money or have a savings account.

I should mention that the night was fun: everyone was in good spirits and the Arsim did not talk to me because I do not have the parts they are looking for.

But I will say that if someone came up and said “Hey Rick, we are having a protest so Palestinean families can build over those bars and create a string of places with reasonably priced drinks and no cover: want to join?” I would immediately renounce my zionism and run to the front lines.

I’m glad I went once though. It’s a life experience to slick back the hair and go clubbing in Tel Aviv, and I’m sure I’ll go again. I just have to remember to sell a kidney or two so I can buy a rum and coke.

On a more serious note, I’m in the process of making plans to cover a story in the West Bank. Obviously I am a little scared but I am thrilled it can happen. I’ll give out more details in a few days.

A Working Man

by Ricky Mulvey

I walked in the office where I will be working for the next several weeks and saw two large pictures: one of Vladimir Putin, and one of Barack Obama. I do not know about the office politics of where you work, but it’s probably not like this.

Life is a little more diverse in Israel.

The place I started at  is a small news wire agency in the heart of Tel Aviv. We are the teacup sized version of Reuters.  It’s okay though. I love being there.

I have more freedom than a lot of other internships I know of, the office has a beautiful overlook of Tel Aviv, and I will get to help cover some very interesting stuff.

Our main clients also offer an interesting predicament for me. I am an American teenager with a fingernail grasp on the Middle East and we sell a lot of stories to Russian and Asian news agencies. I am not too familiar with what businessmen in Singapore want to hear about and am a little afraid of what stories I want to sell to a part of the world that does not have the most positive outlook toward Israel.

They are challenges that will be fun to face though. My hope is that I will be able to insert a small dose of balance into, what I perceive as, an unfair media landscape toward Israel. As the country with the most journalistic freedom in the  Middle East, Israel has had that freedom bite them in the tuchus a little bit. People are not afraid to dig when there isn’t a fear of imprisonment.

With that said, I do look forward to using this opportunity to explore Israel’s darker side. Today I talked to a former special forces soldier about my desire to get to the West Bank or explore the sectarian conflicts in Jerusalem. He looked at me like I was crazy. “The West Bank is a total shithole.” He told me.  Maybe I am crazy, and maybe it is not possible, but I hope that there will be a post in the future about me speaking broken Arabic in a place that is not exactly welcoming to us Jews.

I have already done the touristy stuff in Israel. I want to peek behind the curtain now.