Chapter 1

An Arab and a Jew enter a bar…

Yes, I know that sounds like the beginning of a joke, but it was actually the beginning of my life. 

It was 1995, an Irish bar in Times Square, and a more innocent era when the most pressing geopolitical question was who’s your favorite spice girl?

But enough autobiography….

In reality, it was the first of many jarring juxtapositions that define the world’s attitude to me:

…girls don’t like me

…men feel uncomfortable

…I don’t fit into the narratives which maintain your coherence.

Maybe it was the long hours fantasizing about revenge on the bullies that made me so cruel. Maybe I was just born like this. It is not lost on me the irony that they spat on me and called me ‘whore.’

To conclude, if you are trying to figure me out, then this is all you will ever know about my past…

But it is all you need to know.