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I’m like 4 moons late on writing this post, just like the tardy cycle of the Kaleesy in Game of Thrones Season 1, episode 3…

I went to Croatia as the penultimate stop on my Creator Tour across Europe.  About 3 years ago, I produced a series of global street style videos.  We wanted something from the blue hot Zagreb, and with the help of @henrygoldman and his cyber sleuth techniques, we found Jelena, a young, uber talented Croatian producer/hustler.  She helped us create this video, and we forged a long distance correspondence that kept us in contact for the years I threatened to actually come to Croatia.  Jelena is Renaissance Woman.  She parties, sings (really well), is a very talented video producer, talent manager, and bookie.  I’m lying about the bookie thing, but she’d sort you out I’m sure if you wanted to gamble on a Croatian football game (GO Hajduk)!

I emailed Jelena while in Bodrum, Turkey about whether or not she was around, and to paraphrase her response:

“Duuuude, just come, I promise we’ll turn your world upside down…”

12 hours later I was en route.  Zagreb is an awesome city.  It’s got a small enough feel that you can easily get around on the efficient tram.  The cafes really cater to the late night set and have that Euro, let’s just chill and drink beer with our friends all night, and coffee during the day.. and get more f’d up at night again.  The food is … solid, very solid.  Jelena insisted I eat some isht I will never remember the name of it, and she described it as great drunk food, though we ate it at noon.  I’ll have to ask her to describe it.

We went to a music festival and stayed  until the sun rose, finally at a  “silent parties” you see in cell phone commercials… Which seem super corny, but it wasn’t, it was fun, and maybe I gave the whole concept some slack since I was in Croatia for F’s sake.  See the pic here. that’s us wearing the ridiculous head phones.

Croatia is friendly, fun, and in my next post I’ll tell you about the islands off the South… which are bananas.  Best kept non secret.  Do yourself a favor and go while people still are still talking about how cool they “hear” it is.  I’m getting a boat and sailing there as a 3rd stop.

A former girlfriend urged me to never apologize,  but just to spite her, because I know she  is reading this now, I’m going to go ahead and say I’m sorry anyway.  My previous posts have been tired, lazy, half ass… plebeian.

I realize now that more people read this stuff than I had initaly thought.  I’ve had friends IRL tell me that they had read previous posts, I was stunned.  Sincerely, I thought this was the equivalent of a tree falling in a binary abyss of nothingness.  Alas, I was wrong, friends actually read this shit!

No longer will I write for the sake of writing, how narcissistic *99% of social media, including this*, I hereby pledge to post content I hope will delight and entertain you.  Yes, you former gf, spiting while entertaining you.

I last left you in Turkey, a magnificent city that puts LA’s traffic to shame, as well as doing the same to Greece’s cuisine.  Oh, the mighty  Bosphorus (great recent bbc audio doc on the significance of the B).

When my crew and I arrived at the airport, ready to make our way towards Belgrade, I wasn’t quite ready to head inland.  Having been fortunate enough to grow up near the water, I’ve always been drawn to it, magnetically.   I learned that friends were in BODRUM, on the Aegean Sea.  While the itinerary said Belgrade, I just couldn’t stomach the idea of (those of you who know me well get the bad pun here) heading inland versus this idylic ocean city I had been told was the “St. Tropez of Turkey”… A flight was leaving in an hour’s time so i bid farewell to my bros on the spot and went my own way.  I was able to purchase a ticket at the airport for a flight leaving in less than an hour.

I arrived at the Maca Kizi hotel sans reservation.  Based on the look of the staff upon my arrival it seemed that this had been a first.  Or maybe it was my backwards baseball hat Cali style that threw them off.

“So you don’t have a reservation?”

“Yes ma’aam, that is correct”

“Hold on let me get the manager”

I BBM’d a friend in the states and asked her to call the hotel that moment and tell them that a famous American actor with a large nose named Adrian Brody was coming to the hotel, unannounced, in an effort to maintain a low profile.

Voila, they found me an ocean view room!

This hotel was pretty big willy style, and definitely trying to jock that Hotel Du Cop meets Byblos St. Tropez steez.  I wasn’t mad at that, except for the fact that the staff was on me like flys to shit.  They need to chill out, and learn how to leave a dude be.  That said it was gorgeous.  The water was phenomenonal. So was the breafast spread.   By the “beach” which isn’t really much of a beach at all, but planks built out on the ocean, people lounge and sip cocktails as you listen to downtempo lounge music from the mid 2000′s.  Lots of rich Turks (litteral Turkish people not like Young Turks) are checking eachother out, and there’s not too much friendly socializing, but that was fine for me.

Goto Bodrum.  Get in the ocean, and you’ll forget every worry you’ve ever had in the world.

My time had come, and after 3 days at the hotel there, I realized it was time to move on.  I learned there was a yoga retreat happening around the cove which sounded like a good change of pace.  It turned out to be a group of British folks, with an ex pat American and fellow college alum leading the group.  Lisa the yogi was cool, even though the hotel felt like the set of the Shining.  Set in a quiet cove where large boats come to find secluded beaches, it really couldn’t get better.

Without my next destination set up yet, and needing to change my scenery, I made a last minute move to head to Croatia…

At this point in the trip I was convinced I had Chrones.  No joke.  Crazy stomach pains after a beer.  Cramps like a motherfucker.  ”No Dan, it’s not pms you dick.”   At this point I also wanted to punch dan in his friggin face.  I mean, how many days can you stay in a small hostel room with 2 other grown dudes?

I’m playin, it was all good.  But yeah I was hurt up.  Good thing we were off to Turkey, where we’d be hosted by Freddy’s lovely cousin Amy, Na’wlins born, Turkish Citizen now.  We were staying at their crib which had a the craziest view of the Bosphorus… more like Flossphorus.  See the view below.

Plus of the place was that Amy’s husband, Turgay, is the national coffee making barista champ in all of Turkey.  In a week’s time he’d be repping Turkey in the world competition to be held in the Netherlands, speciically in, get this… TURKISH COFFEE competition.  Palate was in luck, stomach not so much.  Fuck it, I went for the coffee.  Genius.  This guy is a gangster.  He looks like he could be a drummer for Pantera, and rip your head off for drinking his coffee the wrong way, turns out he’s the chillest barista i’ve ever encountered.

Negative of their spot is they had cats and Dan was allergic.  That turned out to be a plus though, because we checked into this one time flossy hotel that had that flossy, hey day in the late 80′s don johnson, tony montanya vibe to it.  BALLIN!

Anyway, we killed Istanbul, saw major sites, ran the city, drank Racky (sp?), the Turkish moonshine that turns creamy white when you drop ice in it.  (This shit would have Van Gogh slicing his whole face off… absinth got nothing on it.)

Turkey is incredible.  The food is amazing, Istanbul is a stunning city like no other, and the convergence of cultures and history there actually feels authentic.  The bazaar is even cool, and makes the jeruslaem old city feel like souvenir land.   I almost expected Mickey Mouse to jump out of an alley with a yarmulke on (in jerusalem that is)   See FB for the set of photos that should accompany this post.   I have to pee and am tired this post sucks.

Turgay, a barista gangsta

6/7/11 – Jerusalem

We’ve arrived at our hostel, the three of us.   “Stan”, “Buddy” (names have been altered to preserve a false sense of anonymity.) and I.  We have a tiny room with a single cot and a bunk bed, and it’s late, but we’re pumped to be in the Holy Land.  It’s a holiday, Shavuout, so the streets are quiet and we’re hungry.  We manage to find some uninspired grub.  As the man behind the counter takes various sauces and vegetables, adding them to the pita like pocket, Freddy declines the hard boiled egg extra.  The dude looked up at me right after he chopped it and gestured “you want it? i already chopped the shit up”.   I eagerly accept.

I decided I would get up early in the AM with the other eager beaver, Freddy, who had the bright idea to take a jog through the Old City on what was apparently an observed holiday in the holiest of cities.  We got our fair share of puzzled looks, 2 idiot Americans jogging down an ancient street, never mind my running shorts look like Ivan Lendel’s 80′s Wimbeldon wearing high rise jawns.  We managed to run alongside a prcession of observant Jewish families leaving early morning synogogue.  Very embarrassing.  But a great way to see the Old City and avoid the sweltering heat that was to come.

Our tour guide, Ori, was a work horse of a guy.  Though he appeared to be in his late 70′s, it was clear that his formidable younger years in the Israeli air force prepared him to out walk me not only through the treacherous souvenir plagued streets of the Old City during the peak of the desert sun hours, but also show us the view from MOUNT SCOPOLUS!!!  definitely my favorite buzz word to come out this leg of the journey.  Just the way Ori continued to say MT. SCOPOLUS through the bootleg minibus PA system, made the place ubiquitous in my Israeli history refresh.

The next day we hiked Masada.  On the drive up to the mountain from the highway, in what feels like the middle of nowhere, there was a stage being constructed.  There was a giant Sphinx head, if I recall.  And it just looks so damn dramatic, it’s unreal.  I learned at the base of Masada in the tourist/ticket center, that the stage was for an opera performance.  I’ll have to google which one it was.  Anyway, I had a vision that it would be incredible if Kanye orchestrated some type of venue for a show.  Really in the middle of nowhere, but in front of Masada.  Whoa!  Who could top that shit?  He could come in on the gondola that comes down from the mountain.  Talk about Jesus walking!  I’m talking about Kanye lowering down thousands of feet in a glass globe.

We climbed the mountain.

All the overweight families on the top were actually clapping for us when we made it.  They all took the gondola up and thought it was a feat fit for the likes of Moses what we did.  What would have been more astonishing… Dan lighting up cigarettes the entire climb to the top of a mountain at the peak of a Middle East summer day?  Or actually making it up without a cig?  You’ll just have to keep wondering.

OR was it Freddy, the Abrams Tank Kullman, who was running off pure whiskey that was just kicking in from the night before?  We rode the gondola on the way down.

I took my sister tonight to see Woody Allen’s new flick.  What’s crazy, is that she is so young, she barely knows of Allen, or his films for that matter.  Her age is barely an excuse.  Anyway, on my out of the film, I spotted a media mogul exiting the film with his wife.  This guy is a legend, having startled ”old” and “new” media in the highest capacities, and while not unequivocally successful in his latter role, he is most certainly a BOSS.

I couldn’t help wondering though, if dude had empathized with the character played by Owen Wilson.  Or was actually envious.  Shit, I’ll admit I was… am.

Back to the flick.  Woody is just so good at being heavy handed with the messaging, and it not being corny.  I’m not sure quite how he does it, even when the performances feel odd and forced.  The chick opposite Owen Wilson, his cliche annoying nagging fiance that’s not right for him, played her role all contrived and forced feeling, but despite that, Woody is still able to convey his message with a subtly that is unique to him.  Genius.  Or just prolific enough at this point that he can self reflex on his own shit.  Whoa!  Like Lil Wayne!

My friend Min told me I’d want to goto Paris after seeing the film, she’s right.

Real Jews move in silence like Mazoh Brie.  Woody is a g. Go see the film.

Will the real BG pls stand up… I’ve been secretely paranoid that some other Brandon Gross may come along and steel my thunder.  Well, B, good work, you little pee hole. No srsly, congrats.

Today I was arraigned to appear in court, as I am contesting my citation for going through a stop sign on my bike. If I didn’t enjoy observing cattle call court sessions so much, I may actually be really agitated. But still, to the cop or system, what have you that allowed this dude to write a citation for this ‘stead of doing some real The Wire style Po-Leece work, shame on you.

check out this law breaker in the video at the scene of the crime.. wait till i break my laptop out to the judge to show evidence. She’ll prob throw the book at me on principle… guilty as charged for being a nerd.

Peep this email my mom forwarded to me from the Queen Bee at the assisted/independent living building my grandparents moved into. They lived through the Holocaust… Give them a break.

After I read this, all i could think of was Jay-Z…, “can I live!?!” I asked my grandfather about it. And as he’s always told me wisely, “there are more than 2 sides to a story.” True.

—–Original Message—–
From: “G, Merrie ” [xxxxxx@xxxxxxxxcom]
Date: 08/25/2009 12:37 PM
To: “Susan Cohen” , “LILI gross” <>
Subject: Fwd: need of your assistance

Hi Susan and Lili,

We are having an issue that seems to be getting a bit out of hand and I need your help – we have a resident here in our assisted living who is in a wheelchair with Parkinson’s. Robert and Ruth are making an issue of not wanting to have to “look at her” while they are in the dining room. I got a report from the dining room coordinator that last night at dinner when this resident was brought into the dining room, your folks made a production of getting up and moving to a different table, because the staff would not seat her in the back of the room away from them. Robert said it made him physically ill to have to eat in there with her.

The dining room is for all of our residents in IL and AL to enjoy, and this woman is certainly “with it” enough to know what is going on around her – I am afraid that this is going to cause some emotional distress for her, as well as her family who are counting on us to provide a nurturing environment for their mother.
I would like any advice from you on how to get this message across to Robert and Ruth so that they understand that all of our residents are entitled to be treated with dignity and respect. We are all happy that your parents are starting to enjoy their daily lives here and the activities – we just need to make sure everyone is getting along.

I appreciate any feedback you may be able to offer. Thanks so much!

xxxx

Executive Director
xxxxxxx Westwood
xxxxx Wilshire Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 900xx
310-555-5555
Fax: 310-xxx-xxxxx