Mid-Town Private Parking Recipe

Good recipes are hard to come by, but sometimes they appear all by themselves at a dinner party or through a mutual friend. Sometimes you can come across a good one on the street, as is the story brought to you here by the Frug Street Chronicle Committee Cooking Club’s Mr X of Gordon street.

Ingredients:
A car
A scooter (preferably in working condition but not a must)
A lockable handlebar on the scooter (if inoperable a steel link chain will suffice)
General disregard to neighbors (add an angry demeanor if one is available to you)

Directions:
When meaning to leave your house take both sets of keys (car and scooter) with you, if an extra set of hands is available to you, bring them along.
Remove your car from the parking spot you wish to reserve for a later time (leave your car running in the middle of the street while other cars honk for added zest). Now cleverly park your scooter in the middle of the vacant spot. Be sure to measure the distance between the two cars and the sidewalk so as not to leave any chance for a random neighbor to occupy it while you are gone.
Lock the scooter’s handlebar to make it virtually impossible for anyone to move it without circling back into the street creating a hazard. (In a lack of a lockable handlebar use the steel chain to lock the scooter’s wheels together making it impossible to roll back onto the sidewalk)
If any neighbors call you on it, you can threaten to key their car when you get back, chances are they will try to find a safer spot on a different street.

Now get in your car, drive off and leave the scooter simmering for up to 12 hours.

If at first you don’t succeed, try again.
First failures are not uncommon in complicated recipes, so if you return to find your scooter has been moved and your parking spot gone, leave a threatening note on the occupying car’s windshield. Explain in the note, in a condescending tone, that scooters have a legitimate right to park in the street like a car and that by touching and moving your vehicle they have illegally violated your private property. You can always spice the note up with a little ‘my scooter is now damaged since you moved it’ or ‘I am considering pressing charges against you’ or even a dash of ‘I have witnesses and photographic evidence of the event’. Each one of these will ensure that said neighbor will not touch your scooter again.
Enjoy.

The Voice of Exile

The Frug Street Chronicles Committee is back and proud to announce that we are resuming blogcasts out of our newly funded Exile HQ  in Gordon Street.

From our newly acquired outsider viewpoint we can now tell the tale with a bigger perspective. The new committee is committed to bringing you news & updates on the down and dirty in sector F18 of the revised Tel-Aviv map.

They may occupy our streets but they will never occupy our virtual space!

A new perspective

New posts coming soon

Trash Can Podium and the National Anthem of Puke

Now that I have quit smoking (4 weeks, 2 days and 18 hours ago, yes… cigarettes are like the girlfriend who dumped me), I try to make guests smoke out in the balcony so as not to completely ruin the smoke free / Berry Splash Glade scent mixture in my flat. Since the Israeli winter has decided to stay in Western Europe, much like other smart young citizens, this balcony smoking law isn’t really a bother and it even creates for a voyeuristic experience, like the one on Sunday night…

I was inhaling the exhaled fumes of a certain someone’s cigarette out in the balcony and beneath us, on the street, an old ragged hobo-ish woman walked up to my building’s big green trash cans. She opened one up and started to rummage between the bits of left over spit and diapers. Scavenging through the garbage with her head fully tilted into the belly of the plastic dumpster. Suddenly, she paused, lifted her head up and to the side of the trash can and puked her guts out onto the sidewalk. I was disgusted, my gag reflex was kicking in. My so called friend was laughing hysterically. The woman / creature / troll like figure just took a deep breath and immersed herself into the green fortune chest, looking for her prize. After a few seconds, again, tilt of the head, up and over and evacuation of the stomach.

This went on in cycles as she meticulously searched the insides of these fly ridden canisters. As my desire to hurl finally calmed down, I started thinking of Michael Phelps. This woman had stamina, and she was not giving up. Every time the stench of garbage got too much for her, she lifted her head, as a swimmer does gasping for air, and puked. Revitalizing herself for a few more critical seconds in which she can sink herself back in the trash and look for her hidden treasures. She did not give up, she did not move on to a more aromatic bin, she braved through the stench and scouted the miserable content.

To me this woman is like an Olympian Athlete, the Rocky Balboa of Frug Street Gypsies, Lady Gag Bag.

PS – Idea to self: ‘Survivor 6^th Street – the search for leftovers”