Picky, Picky, Picky

This really doesn’t have anything to do with the Naked Archaeologist, nevertheless…

I’ve noticed that the world is divided into two types of peoples. Not Jew and Gentile, not Muslim and Christian. Not white and black. Not even men and women.

The World is divided into people who use toothpicks in public and those who do not.

Now, the thing is I straddle these two worlds. I am married to a wonderful Czech woman who is nearly completely assimilated. In other words I have never seen her use a toothpick in public. But her family is a different story.

Tonight I ate at a restaurant in the City Centre of Jerusalem that Leslie recommended (thanks), and at the end they made a bit of a ceremony of bringing the toothpicks at the end of the meal. Not just one, but a whole cup full of individually wrapped toothpicks. And not the cheap thin kind, but the heavy ones, pointy at each end.

So I unwrapped one, and discreetly picked away, trying to be effective and yet ashamed at the same time.

Which was when I looked at the bar, where a woman, early thirties, short Louise Brooks hair, slim, elegant, striking, in what I judged to be a Coco Chanel cocktail dress was boldly mining the perfect gaps between her blazingly white teeth.

And there was no notion of shame here. But there was elegance.

Her boyfriend (also early thirties, athletic, toned, looked as though he knew three different ways of incapacitating you without even touching you. Still he was bald which made me feel better) sat with his lips pulled back over his teeth in a grotesque grin, picking away. Totally unmoved by my obvious fascination.

I was tempted to say that his elegant girlfriend’s tooth picking was erotic or seductive. But it wasn’t even close. I wavered on elegant. Bold, definitely.

I thought to myself, well this makes sense, because of course so many people came here from Eastern Europe, it’s a custom brought with them. But that’s not right.

Because when I eat in the Arab neighborhoods the same thing happens. And it was the same in Jordan. The presentation of the toothpicks was less ceremonial, and of course you would likely not see a woman in a Chanel dress, but the picking was an important part of the meal.

So the world is divided into two kinds of people: toothpickers and non-toothpickers. And I will never be able to pick my teeth in public unselfconsciously.

But while I’m in Israel, I’m doing my best.

Waiting for Godot

We had, I think, a typical day today. At least, it’s a kind of day we have often enough. The picture on the left illustrates what we did today. Yes, that is a parking lot. No, the talent is not there.

When I arrived last night I walked to the conference area of the Mishkenot, knowing that a conference on the Jesus tomb was just wrapping up.

As I turned the corner, I heard the shouting. And then the room came into view. I could see a group of people holding an academic back, and he was pressing hard toward Simcha, trying to hit him.

Ah, how I’ve missed the Middle East.

Call time this morning was a comfortable 11:30, so I had plenty of time to review the scripts, note important questions for Professor James Tabor, and apply several varieties of expensive facial moisturizers and hand cream (duty free was good to me).

The sun sets here about five o’clock at this time of year, so we had a tight day, shooting material for three different shows at the traditional site of the Last Supper, and if possible the site where Tabor thinks Jesus sentencing actually took place.

Then CNN called. And ABC. And God knows who else. And they all wanted to talk about the Tomb (I was shocked that no one used the headline: “Tomb Debate Resurrected”) And Simcha wanted to talk. And talk. Still running on adrenaline, I assume, from nearly being assaulted by a man in tweed and elbow patches.

We started shooting at 3.

All of which explains how we ended up behind schedule, standing on a street corner in East Jerusalem as the sun set up the Kidron Valley while Simcha stood praying and a group of Arab men began to gather.

Felix stood beside me saying “this is bad.”

What, the obviously Jewish and Western crew gathered around a six-foot-two praying silhouette in a Kippa in the middle of an Arab neighbourhood, as the call to prayer from the mosque echoed down the valley? You think?

Well, I’m back at the hotel now, and I have to tell you Felix didn’t worry me. He’s the producer famous for making the worst of a good situation. And famous for getting out of any fix. I mean he’s the only Russian Jew I know who’s been to the Khyber Pass to visit the Taliban.

The moment that worried me was when I asked Eyal, our always cool cameraman if it was safe. He glanced at the setting sun and murmured: “umm…”

Back into the abyss

I flew El Al from Toronto to Jerusalem to start my second Naked Archaeologist shoot, and I have to say the experience was terrific. The service is great, the food is good, those ex-IDF pilots make you feel safe, but mostly they’re extremely polite during the body search.

After the requisite ten minutes of questioning at Pearson, they took away my carry-on, promising to return it at the gate. Two hours later they did, and then took me aside, down a corridor to conduct a body search. Just as the nice fellow passed his wand (that is not a euphemism) across my ass, my phone rang. It was my wife. She has a wicked sense of humour.

The only other moment of note, since I slept through most of the flight, was at the de-icing station, when an elderly man suddenly fainted. The flight attendants rushed about, and the captain came on the intercom asking if there was a doctor on board. On El Al. What are the odds?

Seventeen people stood up.

If you’re gonna be sick on a flight, make it El Al.

It only seems like 40 years in the desert

Here’s the thing: I was offered the chance to edit an entire season’s worth of… well, disaster reenactment docutainment. For an entire year. Good pay, nice, intelligent people. And I just wanted to slit my wrists. Did I mention it was for an entire year?

The alternative was, of course, to submit a short film I had made to "On the Lot". Course I was delusional at the time and didn’t quite realize that it's a fucking game-show.

So instead, I got myself into a room with two producers who asked why a seemingly sane and well adjusted (they have no idea) person like me would want to direct “The Naked Archaeologist.” Good question. I gave all the stock answers. They didn’t believe me. So I pulled out my secret weapon. I had already worked with Simcha Jacobovici a.k.a. "The Naked Archaeologist". In fact I had been to Israel with him. On another project. “The Lost Tomb of Jesus”. Top secret. So secret, in fact, that apparently no one knew I had worked on it. Even the Producers of the show were only vaguely aware of my existence. This is a fair precis of my career.

But, I had an ace up my sleeve. "The Lost Tomb of Jesus" was so secret that every single cast and crew member had signed a confidentiality agreement.

Except, as it turns out, me.

So I told them all about it.

And, like Martin Sheen said in Apocalypse Now: “I wanted a mission, and for my sins, they gave me one.” And God knows, it was just as hot and sweaty as Mr. Sheen’s mission.

In fact if you look at the picture to the left you’ll see me in the process of becoming glued to Simcha during a two hour drive down a forlorn Jordanian highway. It was only about 45 degrees.

The picture nicely illustrates the balance of power between me (writer-director) and Simcha (talent). He’s full on, middle of frame, engaged in an important phone call. I’m half cut off, amusing myself by taking a photograph of my own nostrils.

Actually, this may overestimate my power on the shoot.

But I take heart in the fact that we have matching baseball hats, matching glasses and his arm appears to be around me.

Thankfully neither of us is actually naked. That's a different blog.

So that’s how I ended up driving around the deserts of Israel and Jordan for two weeks in August, directing "The Naked Archaeologist." Two weeks in a van with Simcha Jacobovici is better than “On the Lot” isn't it? Right? Right?