Excerpts from a conversation I had recently...
ME: Damn, The Dow Jones Index dropped 500 points today, pretty disastrous.
WIGGY.F.BABY: I have been hearing about this Dow Jones all day, who is he by the way?
ME: Cue laughter...
I love my Wiggy! But it does raise a couple of interesting questions. It is ironical that the Dow Jones index which arguably should reflect the health or status of the American Stock market or economy should be affected by issues in the Euro zone or crisis in Africa. More puzzling is the fact that most people are completely unaware of the impact of the Dow Jones index on global issues. I'm amazed at the domino effect that is basically inherent in every facet of life, the butterfly effect is no joke. A simple statement from one man triggers chaos in the stock market, what if the dude lied and covered up the truth, the market would probably rise. Brings to mind a certain Bernie Madoff who perfected the Ponzi scheme with such mind-blowing genius that he was able to swindle even governments under the guise of "mysterious hedge funds" that were too complex for the "normal"/average man to fathom. Therein lies the crux of my debate...Information & Knowledge...
There is no knowledge without information, but information without knowledge is limited too. Combine information and knowledge and you'll get power. Bernie Madoff had the knowledge and the information and he was able to wield it to great effect. What is so complex about hedge funds that an average mind can't fathom? Why do we need investment bankers who crunch up numbers and rely on statistics when a simple natural disaster could blow up all the numbers and calculation to bits? Don't get me wrong, I respect the investment gurus and statisticians alot, they have the information and the knowledge because they spend alot of time studying mundane issues that actually have alot of impact.
I'm trying to rein in my thoughts, no point waltzing off into the murky waters of business and finance. Let me turn to art and literature to depict ideas. Odysseus was accorded the honor of being the inventor of the Trojan Horse. Whether mythical or legendary, we would never know if he got the idea from someone else, the movie "Troy" cast it as an idea he got from a soldier's innocent craft, Odysseus was a smart dude, he had a solid background on the traditions of the trojans so he used both his information and knowledge to devastating effect. Even Achilles with all his strength couldnt prevail. Fastforward years later and some dude came up with the trojan virus, polymorphic worms that masquerade as innocent files. Some other dude came up with the idea of Trojan condoms, dunno what he was thinking about, but the whole 'Trojan' name struck a chord and people liked the name. I wonder if that condom brand would have been popular if he named it 'chukwuka' condoms. lol.
Anyway, what I've come to realize is this: If you put the right information in the hands of a man with vast knowledge, the possibilites are endless. The scary thing about information is that it flies about everywhere and could trigger a stampede if twisted or transform you to a king if well used. An "idea" is always stored in the mind/head and remains proprietary to whoever conceives it, the moment that "idea" is voiced out, it morphs into "information/data" and loses its copyright, it floats around in the air, transported by sound waves to any listening or random ear and propagated by more voices, largely ignored by many. Whoever has the knowledge to act first on that floating information/voiced idea gains the patent and power associated with it...ask Mark Zuckerberg!
"This article is dedicated to my 401K plan, still in its infancy but reeling from the Dow Jones index fiasco"
Friday, August 5, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Ramone (page 1)
The first step is always the hardest. Remember the first scenes of some of the epic movies you’ve watched over the years? Quentin Tarantino’s “Reservoir Dogs”… Visualize the entourage sitting at a random diner, all clad in black suits, debating the rationale behind the culture of tipping. Ridley Scott’s “Gladiator”… Maximus primed for battle against the hordes of barbarian savages, the air tinged with the tension of approaching violence. Christopher Nolan’s “Inception”… the headlong tumble into a multilayered dream ushering in the madness that was soon to follow. There is always something about the beginning that draws you in, pushing you past the stages of inertia. The right word, the right picture, the right scene, to depict the moment, the ultimate quest for that brief spark of literary genius to capture the reader or viewer’s attention has always been a stumbling block.
Today was no different; his eyes stared blankly into space, lost in the timeless limbo of a wandering mind, seeking the glimmer of a spark or distant fire to begin his book. The ritual never changed and he never seemed to notice or mind either. He was sprawled in bed, his laptop beside him on the crumpled sheets. The shades were always drawn, but little slices of sunlight still made it through, bathing the room in soft glows. An urban poster of a black man with a trumpet hung askew on the wall above his head. Closer inspection revealed it to be a Justin Bua artwork. There were few similar posters scattered around, some framed, and others still in the tubes they were shipped with.
Recognition slowly crept back into his eyes; as usual his foray into the boundless world of imagination had proved fruitless. He glanced around the room and was struck by the organized chaos and randomness of the décor, not typical of an aspiring writer; it was more or less a futile attempt at style that fell way short. He stared at the cursor blinking on his laptop screen and he realized that he still hadn’t typed any words. It hadn’t always been like this, for some odd reason he couldn’t remember when things changed or the genesis of his mental fugue state. All he could remember was going to bed one night and then waking up to realize that 2 days had passed. To worsen issues, he had gone to bed in a t-shirt but he woke up fully dressed with a raging hangover. The first time was 6 months ago and it scared the daylights out of him, but since then, there had been multiple episodes so he simply resigned himself to the rhythm of chaos.
He grudgingly pushed himself out of bed, and the instance his feet hit the floor, the perfect intro hit him hard…”What happens to a dream deferred…”
Meet Ramone, the writer…
To be continued…
Today was no different; his eyes stared blankly into space, lost in the timeless limbo of a wandering mind, seeking the glimmer of a spark or distant fire to begin his book. The ritual never changed and he never seemed to notice or mind either. He was sprawled in bed, his laptop beside him on the crumpled sheets. The shades were always drawn, but little slices of sunlight still made it through, bathing the room in soft glows. An urban poster of a black man with a trumpet hung askew on the wall above his head. Closer inspection revealed it to be a Justin Bua artwork. There were few similar posters scattered around, some framed, and others still in the tubes they were shipped with.
Recognition slowly crept back into his eyes; as usual his foray into the boundless world of imagination had proved fruitless. He glanced around the room and was struck by the organized chaos and randomness of the décor, not typical of an aspiring writer; it was more or less a futile attempt at style that fell way short. He stared at the cursor blinking on his laptop screen and he realized that he still hadn’t typed any words. It hadn’t always been like this, for some odd reason he couldn’t remember when things changed or the genesis of his mental fugue state. All he could remember was going to bed one night and then waking up to realize that 2 days had passed. To worsen issues, he had gone to bed in a t-shirt but he woke up fully dressed with a raging hangover. The first time was 6 months ago and it scared the daylights out of him, but since then, there had been multiple episodes so he simply resigned himself to the rhythm of chaos.
He grudgingly pushed himself out of bed, and the instance his feet hit the floor, the perfect intro hit him hard…”What happens to a dream deferred…”
Meet Ramone, the writer…
To be continued…
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Lethargy
Feels like one of those days, can't figure out what the issue is but I've kinda lost the spark to engage my brain cells in the mundane task of work. Just can't seem to find my spark so I need a catalyst really bad. Got a whole load of stuff to do before the year ends, personal targets to be met and I just kinda feel empty, like I'm a muscle car running low on gas. Gotta overcome the slump before it gets worse. Maybe I should blame it on the weather, aint a big fan of summer. People look at me like I'm nuts when I say this, don't blame me, I've had enough exposure to hot humid weather to last me a lifetime. The only good thing about summer is the opportunity to play soccer as often as possible.
Been thinking alot lately, a whole stack of saucers flying around in my mind. I feel sorry for my cerebral janitor sometimes, having to deal with all those broken ideas and dream fragments strewn across the hallway of my head must be a heavy task. I'm actually surprised that people read my blog, some can't seem to reconcile my blog with my outward personality, lol. Well, I'm a mystery to myself too, so don't be shocked, together we'll figure it out. In case you don't know I speak very fluent pidgin english and I can switch facades pretty easily. I need a vacation! Seriously, a 1 or 2 week getaway to a private hideout, free from the complexities of engineering and everything technical.
On to lighter news, July 4th is just around the corner, I definitely aint hosting any bbq party, can't muster the energy to host one. But I am surely looking forward to the chance to rest a lil bit, maybe watch tv series on Netflix, cook, listen to music... "laid back mood theory". I know I shouldnt be saying this, but...Happy 4th of July y'all (When in Rome, do as the Romans do)...Naija for lyf!
Been thinking alot lately, a whole stack of saucers flying around in my mind. I feel sorry for my cerebral janitor sometimes, having to deal with all those broken ideas and dream fragments strewn across the hallway of my head must be a heavy task. I'm actually surprised that people read my blog, some can't seem to reconcile my blog with my outward personality, lol. Well, I'm a mystery to myself too, so don't be shocked, together we'll figure it out. In case you don't know I speak very fluent pidgin english and I can switch facades pretty easily. I need a vacation! Seriously, a 1 or 2 week getaway to a private hideout, free from the complexities of engineering and everything technical.
On to lighter news, July 4th is just around the corner, I definitely aint hosting any bbq party, can't muster the energy to host one. But I am surely looking forward to the chance to rest a lil bit, maybe watch tv series on Netflix, cook, listen to music... "laid back mood theory". I know I shouldnt be saying this, but...Happy 4th of July y'all (When in Rome, do as the Romans do)...Naija for lyf!
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Memories & Tears
Tears...
He stood by the window, forehead pressed into the cool smooth surface, hands in a knot behind him. The rain splashed against the window, dropped off the ledge and formed little puddles somewhere below. The rain drops were frenzied in their arrival, in contrast to the slow tears that streamed down his face. It felt eerie, the only sound noticeable was the clatter of the elements against the window, he stood perfectly still. The only movement you could make out in the dim silhouette of the room was of the fingers of time itching towards eternity. The imagery of tears can be fascinating, his eyes were tinged with absent-minded sadness, his vision blurred by the build up of the little pearls of water. Running down in an almost perfect elliptical trail, the stream of tears traced a path to the cleft of his chin and the little drops plunged to the soft rug beneath his feet. His reverie was broken by the deep sound of rumbling thunder, he cocked his right ear, recognition and awareness slowly filtering back in. A rueful smile changed the features of his looks, in one swift motion he ran the back of his hand across his face and backed away from the window...
Memories...
I was just a few months shy of my 4th birthday, chatting away happily with my brother and sister in the car. Dada was excited and smiling, I can't remember why I noticed but he seemed to be buzzing with new energy. He told us we were going to the hospital to see mama and the new baby. I wasn't so keen on the new baby but I wanted to see mama. I had noticed her absence and my simplistic brain couldn't recall why she had to leave and stay in the hospital overnight. I knew she worked in the hospital but she had been home for awhile since she started putting on weight on her belly. My sister had told me that mama was pregnant with that childish-grownup confidence she had and my brother didn't seem bothered so I figured that mama would eventually lose the weight. My sister kept chattering excitedly in the car, my mind drifted off to a thousand places, I guess I started dreaming as a kid.
We arrived at the hospital and I quickly jumped out of Dada's Peugeot 504, squinting into the hot Enugu sun. I walked in between Dada and Wiggy (my sister), swinging my short hands happily as I held their hands tightly. My brother (Ragfella) strolled alongside while we all kept up the mindless chatter and random observation of our surrounding. We finally got to Mama's room and I recall she looked a bit tired but happy to see us. She was carrying the new baby, swaddled in white blankets. Dada motioned for us to keep our voices low so as not to wake baby up. Wiggy's eyes lit up, I bet she was thinking up new ideas of how to include baby in her "empty milo and bournvita tin" cooking classes. I struggled to catch a glimpse of baby's face, leaning and stretching as far as my short legs would allow. Finally Mama lowered baby for us to see properly and I was fascinated. Baby looked fragile and very fair and the first thought that crossed my mind was that she was too small. I could'nt understand how she could be so small when Mama's stomach was so huge when she was carrying baby inside her. I didn't know exactly how to voice my observations so I waited for Ragfella to say something. I looked up to him, not just because he was taller than me, but he was older and wiser. He had a quizzical expression on his face too, then he said in Igbo, "ukwu nwa di ka ukwu okuko"...(translated as "this baby's leg is like a chicken's leg"). Dada and Mama burst out laughing and we all joined in.
I wasn't sure I could ask my own question, so I bottled it up. On the ride home, I kept wondering why I didnt see any toilet bowl or big bowl in mama's room, how else could she have "poo-pooed" baby out?
He stood by the window, forehead pressed into the cool smooth surface, hands in a knot behind him. The rain splashed against the window, dropped off the ledge and formed little puddles somewhere below. The rain drops were frenzied in their arrival, in contrast to the slow tears that streamed down his face. It felt eerie, the only sound noticeable was the clatter of the elements against the window, he stood perfectly still. The only movement you could make out in the dim silhouette of the room was of the fingers of time itching towards eternity. The imagery of tears can be fascinating, his eyes were tinged with absent-minded sadness, his vision blurred by the build up of the little pearls of water. Running down in an almost perfect elliptical trail, the stream of tears traced a path to the cleft of his chin and the little drops plunged to the soft rug beneath his feet. His reverie was broken by the deep sound of rumbling thunder, he cocked his right ear, recognition and awareness slowly filtering back in. A rueful smile changed the features of his looks, in one swift motion he ran the back of his hand across his face and backed away from the window...
Memories...
I was just a few months shy of my 4th birthday, chatting away happily with my brother and sister in the car. Dada was excited and smiling, I can't remember why I noticed but he seemed to be buzzing with new energy. He told us we were going to the hospital to see mama and the new baby. I wasn't so keen on the new baby but I wanted to see mama. I had noticed her absence and my simplistic brain couldn't recall why she had to leave and stay in the hospital overnight. I knew she worked in the hospital but she had been home for awhile since she started putting on weight on her belly. My sister had told me that mama was pregnant with that childish-grownup confidence she had and my brother didn't seem bothered so I figured that mama would eventually lose the weight. My sister kept chattering excitedly in the car, my mind drifted off to a thousand places, I guess I started dreaming as a kid.
We arrived at the hospital and I quickly jumped out of Dada's Peugeot 504, squinting into the hot Enugu sun. I walked in between Dada and Wiggy (my sister), swinging my short hands happily as I held their hands tightly. My brother (Ragfella) strolled alongside while we all kept up the mindless chatter and random observation of our surrounding. We finally got to Mama's room and I recall she looked a bit tired but happy to see us. She was carrying the new baby, swaddled in white blankets. Dada motioned for us to keep our voices low so as not to wake baby up. Wiggy's eyes lit up, I bet she was thinking up new ideas of how to include baby in her "empty milo and bournvita tin" cooking classes. I struggled to catch a glimpse of baby's face, leaning and stretching as far as my short legs would allow. Finally Mama lowered baby for us to see properly and I was fascinated. Baby looked fragile and very fair and the first thought that crossed my mind was that she was too small. I could'nt understand how she could be so small when Mama's stomach was so huge when she was carrying baby inside her. I didn't know exactly how to voice my observations so I waited for Ragfella to say something. I looked up to him, not just because he was taller than me, but he was older and wiser. He had a quizzical expression on his face too, then he said in Igbo, "ukwu nwa di ka ukwu okuko"...(translated as "this baby's leg is like a chicken's leg"). Dada and Mama burst out laughing and we all joined in.
I wasn't sure I could ask my own question, so I bottled it up. On the ride home, I kept wondering why I didnt see any toilet bowl or big bowl in mama's room, how else could she have "poo-pooed" baby out?
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
" U r like a clock", she said...
I lost to my cousin in a game of chess, I really don't know how she won because the rules were a bit too dysfunctional and the chess board had this surreal feel to it. Anyway, as soon as she said "Checkmate", I launched in to a mini speech on how it wasnt possible for her to have won since I decided the rules of the game. She didn't pay much attention to my agitated rambling, so I did the next best thing, I closed my eyes and switched to another dream...Itz funny how you realize that you are dreaming while in a dream, and the beautiful part is that you only awaken to that logic when things are not working your way in the dream!
For no logical reason, I remembered that my Dad had nice feet! It was the most ridiculous switch in the history of my temporal malfunctions, but that was what popped up in my head and I can't figure out why ( Later on when I woke up, I was able to trace the genesis of the random thought to Coco's fingers). Anyway, my papa has nice feet, there I said it! The next page in the dream was a gradual throwback to the days of my father's youth. I could see the young man that he was then, the well kept afro, clothing style of the 70s, the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket, cigarettes he didnt smoke but which were supposed to lay credence to the 70's swag back then...Dada was calm and laid back, that was definitely his style, I could see it in the dream...
Mama on the other hand was a fire brand! From a distance I could see the mischief and light dancing in her eyes, excitement bubbling underneath, reminds me of Olivia sometimes. I had fallen asleep reading Chimamanda Adichie's "The thing around your neck", so I guess the brief relapse of my dreams to the past was triggered by pages in the book. Turned over the next page and I was running shirtless in the village in pursuit of a lizard. My mind was trapped in the body of a 9 year old boy, and it took me awhile to realize that it was me. I could hear my brother's voice and a host of other voices too as we flung stones at the unfortunate lizards who were displaying espionage tricks beyond modern imagination. For a brief second, I understood the exhilaration of being an Avatar...
Then the next page was a blur. I've discovered that there is a fuzzy stage in every dream, like a black hole where information is hidden and never revealed. I pride myself in being able to remember and recount my dreams but I've never been able to read that blank page. God knows I have tried, I just havent found the trigger yet. I do believe that if we could explore our dreams then faith would be boundless. The slight vibration of my Blackberry feels like a ray of sunlight in the dream. It may sound odd that my heart is somehow synchronized to my BB but you wouldn't understand the chemistry. Anyway, a message came in and I smiled in my dreams, a few seconds later, my eyes fluttered open...
"The rooster never crows in the city..."
For no logical reason, I remembered that my Dad had nice feet! It was the most ridiculous switch in the history of my temporal malfunctions, but that was what popped up in my head and I can't figure out why ( Later on when I woke up, I was able to trace the genesis of the random thought to Coco's fingers). Anyway, my papa has nice feet, there I said it! The next page in the dream was a gradual throwback to the days of my father's youth. I could see the young man that he was then, the well kept afro, clothing style of the 70s, the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket, cigarettes he didnt smoke but which were supposed to lay credence to the 70's swag back then...Dada was calm and laid back, that was definitely his style, I could see it in the dream...
Mama on the other hand was a fire brand! From a distance I could see the mischief and light dancing in her eyes, excitement bubbling underneath, reminds me of Olivia sometimes. I had fallen asleep reading Chimamanda Adichie's "The thing around your neck", so I guess the brief relapse of my dreams to the past was triggered by pages in the book. Turned over the next page and I was running shirtless in the village in pursuit of a lizard. My mind was trapped in the body of a 9 year old boy, and it took me awhile to realize that it was me. I could hear my brother's voice and a host of other voices too as we flung stones at the unfortunate lizards who were displaying espionage tricks beyond modern imagination. For a brief second, I understood the exhilaration of being an Avatar...
Then the next page was a blur. I've discovered that there is a fuzzy stage in every dream, like a black hole where information is hidden and never revealed. I pride myself in being able to remember and recount my dreams but I've never been able to read that blank page. God knows I have tried, I just havent found the trigger yet. I do believe that if we could explore our dreams then faith would be boundless. The slight vibration of my Blackberry feels like a ray of sunlight in the dream. It may sound odd that my heart is somehow synchronized to my BB but you wouldn't understand the chemistry. Anyway, a message came in and I smiled in my dreams, a few seconds later, my eyes fluttered open...
"The rooster never crows in the city..."
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Novocaine
My best friend from childhood is getting married soon. It feels surreal, I still recall when we were kids, feels just like yesterday. It just hit me, I recall when we were 12 or 13, on our way back from school, the car had broken down on Third Mainland Bridge Lagos, somehow we had managed to 'borrow' a copy of a Cosmo mag, don't ask me how we got it, but there were hot chicks on the mag and that was all we cared about. We swore that once we got to the golden age of 18, we'ld marry hot sexy models! I still remember like it was yesterday, the wide eyed look of boyish wonder as we gazed at the sultry brazilian models with streamlined bodies clad in bikinis and whispering our names from the pages of Cosmo...a young boy's dream world...
Sometimes I wonder how time flew by, whatever happened to the kid that was in me. In my dreams I search for him, throwing back the sands of time for a chance to gaze albeit for a second at the kid I once was years ago...I miss the age of innocence, the reckless joy of being young without a care in the world...the exhilaration of waking up on a Saturday morning with the knowledge that school was a factor you didnt have to deal with...I miss the excitement of christmas, the magic of the last seconds of the year, the frenzied excitement of fireworks...the clump I felt in the pit of my stomach when I tried talking to a girl, the innocence and naivety of shyness...I miss the "me" of years ago...
I look at my childhood pictures and a smile breaks out on my face...a tinge of sadness and at the same time joy at the overflowing beautiful memories...I stare at myself in the mirror and I can barely recognize the imagery peering back at me, brows creased by too much thinking, eyes dulled by the passage of time, eyes that once sparkled with excitement, now glazed over and camouflaged behind the tides of life, every scar on my body awakens a memory, they arent many so I can remember the history behind each one...Listening to Frank Ocean's "Swim Good"...nostalgic-mind-dulling music...the track is on repeat...I'm floating in a state of pseudo-music-induced tranquility...the kinda state where you can't really feel anything around you, definitely not the words I am typing...
Sometimes I feel like I'm caught in a dream, feelings of presque-vu, I havent seen the future but it feels like I have tasted it. In my mind, the future feels like sunset on the beach in Tel Aviv, only difference is that I'm never alone in my thots, she's always right next to me...dreams are never structured, that's what makes them beautiful, you can open one door in a dream and traverse from the verve of Israel to the pristine air of winter time in Ottawa...Can you picture an eagle's view from the skies? I'm on cloud 9...Novocaine...If I publish this post, forgive me...I did it in my dreams...
Sometimes I wonder how time flew by, whatever happened to the kid that was in me. In my dreams I search for him, throwing back the sands of time for a chance to gaze albeit for a second at the kid I once was years ago...I miss the age of innocence, the reckless joy of being young without a care in the world...the exhilaration of waking up on a Saturday morning with the knowledge that school was a factor you didnt have to deal with...I miss the excitement of christmas, the magic of the last seconds of the year, the frenzied excitement of fireworks...the clump I felt in the pit of my stomach when I tried talking to a girl, the innocence and naivety of shyness...I miss the "me" of years ago...
I look at my childhood pictures and a smile breaks out on my face...a tinge of sadness and at the same time joy at the overflowing beautiful memories...I stare at myself in the mirror and I can barely recognize the imagery peering back at me, brows creased by too much thinking, eyes dulled by the passage of time, eyes that once sparkled with excitement, now glazed over and camouflaged behind the tides of life, every scar on my body awakens a memory, they arent many so I can remember the history behind each one...Listening to Frank Ocean's "Swim Good"...nostalgic-mind-dulling music...the track is on repeat...I'm floating in a state of pseudo-music-induced tranquility...the kinda state where you can't really feel anything around you, definitely not the words I am typing...
Sometimes I feel like I'm caught in a dream, feelings of presque-vu, I havent seen the future but it feels like I have tasted it. In my mind, the future feels like sunset on the beach in Tel Aviv, only difference is that I'm never alone in my thots, she's always right next to me...dreams are never structured, that's what makes them beautiful, you can open one door in a dream and traverse from the verve of Israel to the pristine air of winter time in Ottawa...Can you picture an eagle's view from the skies? I'm on cloud 9...Novocaine...If I publish this post, forgive me...I did it in my dreams...
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Tel Aviv
As time approached for my trip to Israel, I was struck with the unease that I felt absolutely no excitement whatsoever, dunno why, maybe it was because I'd have traded my trip to Israel for a day in Kenya, you wouldn't understand so I'll keep the story for another day. Twas a 10hour flight, peaceful and smooth. On arrival @ Tel Aviv, I could feel little bubbles of excitement building up within, my eardrums were ringing in resonance to an unknown chord, after effects of auditory imbalance I guess ( an ailment that plagued me through out my soujourn in the Holy land). I'll cue you in on a few items that surprised me in Tel Aviv.
1. Mercedes Benz was the taxi of choice. Yes sir!!! The cab drivers were rolling in Benzes!!! Leather seat pimping. Yours sincerely was very much amazed, a huge upgrade from the cabs that I have to put up with in NY/NJ!
2. Israel may be painted as a religious country but there is absolutely nothing religious about Tel Aviv! Simply put, Tel Aviv is the New York or Paris of the Mediterranean or Middle East. It is a coastal town and my hotel was right smack on the beach. Now, there are beaches all over the world, but I am yet to find the words to describe the beauty of the Tel Aviv sand and the piercing blue gaze of the sea. Truly beautiful!
3. Israelis love food! And I mean it. The food is 100% natural, not all the processed and steroid infused abnormalities we see in the US. They have a huge craving for this dish called "Humus". It is a type of paste that I really wasn't in to but I gotta give the Israelis alot of credit, they are pretty good with food.
4. There are alot of young people in Israel, ALOT! Got me thinking, but I figured that since the jewish population lost a whole generation during World War 2, they werent taking any chances.
5. There is basically no discrimination between men and women in Israel, both sexes are fierce and independent, equal opportunities every where (I may be wrong, but that's my perspective). There are many female engineers here, the women arent afraid to mix it up with the men and they are really good!
6. Security is key! If ever you plan a trip to Israel, get ready to be searched, and I mean it. It doesnt matter if you are American or Palestine, you can be selected at random and searched at the airport, well if you are Palestine then you are most likely to be searched anyway, lol.
There are a few other things that have escaped my mind. I enjoyed walking along the beach, feeling the sand between my toes and the cool feel of the mediterranean breeze. I watched the sun set, gazed at the stars in the Meditteranean sky and daydreamed about my Coco...
Well, I'm back in Brick City...time to restrategize, focus and make things happen...
1. Mercedes Benz was the taxi of choice. Yes sir!!! The cab drivers were rolling in Benzes!!! Leather seat pimping. Yours sincerely was very much amazed, a huge upgrade from the cabs that I have to put up with in NY/NJ!
2. Israel may be painted as a religious country but there is absolutely nothing religious about Tel Aviv! Simply put, Tel Aviv is the New York or Paris of the Mediterranean or Middle East. It is a coastal town and my hotel was right smack on the beach. Now, there are beaches all over the world, but I am yet to find the words to describe the beauty of the Tel Aviv sand and the piercing blue gaze of the sea. Truly beautiful!
3. Israelis love food! And I mean it. The food is 100% natural, not all the processed and steroid infused abnormalities we see in the US. They have a huge craving for this dish called "Humus". It is a type of paste that I really wasn't in to but I gotta give the Israelis alot of credit, they are pretty good with food.
4. There are alot of young people in Israel, ALOT! Got me thinking, but I figured that since the jewish population lost a whole generation during World War 2, they werent taking any chances.
5. There is basically no discrimination between men and women in Israel, both sexes are fierce and independent, equal opportunities every where (I may be wrong, but that's my perspective). There are many female engineers here, the women arent afraid to mix it up with the men and they are really good!
6. Security is key! If ever you plan a trip to Israel, get ready to be searched, and I mean it. It doesnt matter if you are American or Palestine, you can be selected at random and searched at the airport, well if you are Palestine then you are most likely to be searched anyway, lol.
There are a few other things that have escaped my mind. I enjoyed walking along the beach, feeling the sand between my toes and the cool feel of the mediterranean breeze. I watched the sun set, gazed at the stars in the Meditteranean sky and daydreamed about my Coco...
Well, I'm back in Brick City...time to restrategize, focus and make things happen...
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