Today during a class break I sat down to read a couple copies of The Jerusalem Post. And my roommate says that she wants to go do something, and I said I'd actually just prefer to have a nice sit and read something in English. And she calls out, "Jeez, you're always READING!" as if reading were such an annoying habit. As if it were criticism.
So I was just like, fuck this. I don't need to be criticized for reading the fucking news of the country I now live in and want to call home. So without thinking and without looking up from my papers, I blurted out, "Yeah? Well you never read, and look how you turned out."
You know when you say something, and then you freeze immediately after saying something, almost like you're hoping that if you stand absolutely still the person might not see you, or maybe you'd slip into an alternate reality or something. You're really hoping for some extreme salvation. I didn't look up from my papers cos I thought maybe it would turn out that my roommate was actually a trick of the light or some shit like that.
I kind of stand by my statement though. During class we were reading an article on Ron Arad, and one of the words we didn't recognize in Hebrew was like famished or starved or something. And the substitute teacher tried to explain it to us in Hebrew, and she's like, "It's when you don't have enough food and you're hungry and skinny and blahblahblah." And my roommate was like, "Anorexic?" And I wanted to smack her for being so stupid, but I kept silent. I mean, even by guessing standards, that's pretty retarded. Granted, in any other context anorexic would have been a decent guess, but this is a captive we're talking about, and my guess is that someone who is being held captive would not intentionally deprive himself of food. I dont know, maybe there's something I'm missing though...
It's really starting to piss me off though. All the time she tries to "out-Israeli" us, but at the same time she doesn't know anything about Israel. "Who's Ehud Olmert?" "What's the Knesset?" "What three captured soldiers?" It just pisses me off. Pick up a fucking newspaper once in a while! I mean, I'm hardly the most informed person, but even I make sure I have basic information of what the fuck is going on.
Also, the Mexicans ripped a huge fart in class today. The substitute was introducing herself and the two of them were being kind of antsy, like kids in elementary school are when there's a sub. And then suddenly one of them, in the middle of the sub's sentence, rips the BIGGEST fart I have ever heard in my entire life. And I could not stop laughing. Like, uncontrollably, to the point where I cried, broke a sweat, and thought I was going to pee my pants. I have no idea why I find this so funny..... And even though my roommate and I were kind of pissy with each other today, she said she couldn't stop laughign because she thought it was just so funny that I, of all people, was laughing. "But you're so mature usually!" she said, while choking back giggles. I wanted to be like, you obviously have not discovered my blog, because today I'm publishing a story about Mexican farts and yesterday I mentioned that I was afraid of spilling a cup of pee everywhere.
Anyway, so today I ended up going over to the family's house to teach the girls some more English. It was cool. I taught the youngest girl to recognize A through G, and I finished the cursive alphabet with the oldest. The middle girl taught me the TV schedule, hahaha. (Super Nanny is on in 10 minutes!!!). Then they invited me to stay for dinner, and so I did.
The dad came home, and at first I was really freaked out. I'm afraid of most of my friends' fathers, because a lot of them are cold or scary or whatever. There was one father I knew when I was 5 years old who used to make me cry whenever he entered the room because I thought he was so scary.
Oh man though. I like this dad. He came in and was like making fun of his kids, then he made fun of me, but at the same time made me feel like a welcome part of the family. Haha, it was awesome.
They kept putting food under me, and I thought I was going to burst. They gave me a pudding cup (I thought pudding was only for breakfast! WHAT A DEVELOPMENT THIS IS!!!!!), and the oldest girl said she also wanted one. But they had given me the last one. So i told the girl that I was actually really full (which was true), and that she could just take mine. So she agreed, but as she reached for it, the dad smacked her hand and was like, "No no no, she's just being polite--this is what they do in America! They have manners! You can learn something from our American friend here!" And then he turns to me and is like, "Tell her that you have manners in America. You learn to be polite in America, not like in Israel! Right?"
Hahhaha, I love this family.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
She's back from the recruitment office--and she's got news!
Today I created yet another reason for going on birthright (if you’re an Israeli).
So I went to the Lishkat Giyus today, and they informed me that if (G-d forbid!) a soldier dies in the army, a little bit of money is paid to your family or to some other person of the soldier’s choosing. So they asked me who I wanted my money to go to if (here’s your cue to say “G-d forbid!”) I die in service—yeah, I know I’m probably going to work in an office somewhere, but you can die from papercuts….
So obviously my immediate response is, “My parents, of course!” And she tells me it has to be someone in Israel and asks if I have any other family in Israel—and then she catches herself, because she remembers that earlier in the interview we couldn’t think of anyone that I know in Israel that has been here for at least 7 years, and she suggested that I put down the name of a family member, and I told her that I don’t have any family in Israel or even an old friend, and all of the people I talk to here in Israel regularly are new immigrants. So the soldier who is interviewing is trying really hard to be helpful and suggests that we put down the guy in the Machal office to be both my contact who lives in Israel and the person who would get my money. So we called him, and he freaked out and was not helpful and didn’t understand what was going on and was generally unhelpful. He told me that no one else has ever had this problem before and so he couldn’t figure out what my problem was. (My guess is that most people who do the program do have family/close friends in Israel that they can put down, so that’s why this guy has not heard this problem before….). So we get off the phone with him, and the soldier who is interviewing me is starting to get a little concerned, cos we can’t move on without this information. She suggests putting down the manager of the ulpan. Desperate to just get on with things, I said okay.
(Holy fuck though, if my money went to this fucking ulpan……Jesus Christ, I’d pray for immortality, drink unicorn’s blood….do whatever it takes to prevent that.)
So we called and there was no response.
Well, fuck. So we’re just sitting there, and I'm trying to act all calm but in my head I’m freaking out because I don’t know what I’m going to do. I asked if she could just give away my death money to charity or something, or if she could just give it to a random person on the street—I didn’t really give a fuck, I just wanted out.
Meanwhile a crowd of soldiers gathered around the desk I was at as each tried to offer advice. Other people being recruited who were bored and scared looked over at me, and I just felt so pathetic. It was embarrassing and really drove home the point that I’m alone in this country.
I started nervously fidgeting with my phone, and then I got suddenly got an idea. “Fuck this,” I said in English, and then continued in Hebrew to the soldiers, “I’ll try one more time, wait.”
I called my roomie from Birthright.
I said in Hebrew, “If I die in the army, do you want my money?”
And the ENTIRE room erupted in laughter. Oh my goodness, it was excellent. I think most of the time people are just like, “Give it to my parents,” and here I was just trying desperately to get rid of my money to anybody (if my last attempt didn’t end in success, I was considering just finding a random schmoe off the street), and I end up asking questions in an incredibly blunt way.
Anyway, once that got settled everything was quite nice. During the interview it was really difficult to understand everything the soldier was saying, but I thought I understood pretty decently.
So finally I got released from that room and sent downstairs for my physical. I’m like about to die because I have to pee so badly, and so I go quickly and then head downstairs for a medical exam. And they immediately tell me I need to go pee in a cup. And they tell me that I need to pee in an upstairs bathroom and then carry it downstairs in front of everyone back to the doctor’s office. Which struck me as quite possibly the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard. What if I bumped into someone (as I do all the time) and I spilled a cup of pee everywhere? Omg, that’s so gross, I’m sorry I just said that to y’all.
So obviously since I just peed I can’t go again so I start chugging water. Like I spent a solid 5 minutes at the water fountain.
Which meant that for the rest of my time in the lishkat giyus, I had to pee every 10 minutes. (Again, sorry I’m telling you all of this, but I mean, you are CHOOSING to read my blog….)
Eventually I end up in the main physical examination room. And this horrible and enormous Russian lady talks to me in English, which is a relief for me after (at this point) experiencing 2 hours of not fully understanding everything), but she’s only doing it because she thinks I don’t understand Hebrew at all.
As she sifts through my papers and says not a single word to me, in Hebrew she starts yelling, ranting, etc. at the soldier in the room about how angry she is that I don’t have a teudat zehut and how that just makes everything soooo difficult for her, and how angry she is that my doctor from home gave me a prescription that she didn’t think I should take for what I have, and what a pain I was and how difficult I am making her day just by sitting in her office. And then to top it off she started ranting about how she hates my doctor and people from England (where she said I came from) because they use pounds and inches, instead of kilograms and meters.
So I sat there quietly through all of this and smiled and pretended that I couldn’t hear or understand. But when she suggested that I was from ENGLAND and that the English use OUR system, I got pissed. So I said to her in Hebrew, “They use kilograms and meters in England too. And anyway, I’m not from England. Oh, and anyway I also understand Hebrew.”
Hahahahahah. Oh it felt so good. She got all red. Then she started arguing with me in English over whether or not England used pounds or not. I told her she was confusing pounds, the unit of measure, with pounds, the unit of currency. I wanted to say, "You're also a fucktard," but I kept it civil.
So finally since I have a blood issue I had to get a little blood test, and so a soldier takes me down the hall. And again no one thinks I understand English. No one told me in English that I was getting a blood test, I just overheard it in Hebrew and I was told to follow a soldier in English. So I’m sitting there and a couple soldiers start whipping out needles and shit like that. And then one of them says to the others in Hebrew, “Do you think maybe we should translate for her what’s going on, because she probably doesn’t understand what’s happening. It might scare her.” Then another said, “No, just surprise her, that will be better.” And I burst out laughing….
After being made to stand in nothing but my skivvies in front of the horrible and enormous Russian lady, I was sent upstairs to take tests.
So first I had to do that horrible shape/sequence shit test. And it was great because all the instructions were translated into English.
Finally I clicked to go onto the personal questionnaire….and everything switched into Hebrew. I thought I was going to vomit. I think the last time my stomach dropped like that was when I went on “Ghostrider.” I raised my hand and a soldier came to my aid. “Yes?”
“Um….it’s in Hebrew.”
“Yes.”
“Um…..I….I….I’m American….I….I can’t….”
“Oh. Well, we only have it in Hebrew, so…..can you read Hebrew at all?”
“Yeah, a bit, but—“
“Well, just try.”
Fuck. So I started off the questionnaire by being totally pissed off. I don’t understand why they wasted their fucking time translating the questions and instructions for the shapes and sequences thing when the instructions were self-explanatory, while the actual verbal questions they left in fucking Hebrew. Like, whose fucking great idea was that?
But then I started working on the questions and I realized that I more or less understood the questions and the answers. At least, I THINK I understood. For all I know, I kept saying, “Yes, whenever we go to Gaza I want to be the first one in.”
A couple questions I had to guess at because I would read it and it would be like, “In your opinion is garble farble in quarkledee foobletan dratten?” And they don’t let you leave questions unanswered so you have to put SOMETHING. So I have a feeling that like 80 percent of my answers are accurate (more or less) representations of me, whereas 20 percent are total wildcards. I can just imagine people somewhere reading my answers:
“Well, from the answers we got we can tell that she’s slightly introverted, likes to read, is excited about her army service, and enjoys raping small children. She also is always on time, enjoys studying, and she also killed a man in Reno.”
Finally I was released. I walked down to Ben Yehuda to get some shwarma, and when I went to pay, the guy says to me IN ENGLISH: “You got chicken? 29 shekels.” And I wanted to be like, “Bitch please, ‘chicken’ and ‘29 shekels’ would have been the easiest thing I’ve heard in Hebrew all day…..”
So I went to the Lishkat Giyus today, and they informed me that if (G-d forbid!) a soldier dies in the army, a little bit of money is paid to your family or to some other person of the soldier’s choosing. So they asked me who I wanted my money to go to if (here’s your cue to say “G-d forbid!”) I die in service—yeah, I know I’m probably going to work in an office somewhere, but you can die from papercuts….
So obviously my immediate response is, “My parents, of course!” And she tells me it has to be someone in Israel and asks if I have any other family in Israel—and then she catches herself, because she remembers that earlier in the interview we couldn’t think of anyone that I know in Israel that has been here for at least 7 years, and she suggested that I put down the name of a family member, and I told her that I don’t have any family in Israel or even an old friend, and all of the people I talk to here in Israel regularly are new immigrants. So the soldier who is interviewing is trying really hard to be helpful and suggests that we put down the guy in the Machal office to be both my contact who lives in Israel and the person who would get my money. So we called him, and he freaked out and was not helpful and didn’t understand what was going on and was generally unhelpful. He told me that no one else has ever had this problem before and so he couldn’t figure out what my problem was. (My guess is that most people who do the program do have family/close friends in Israel that they can put down, so that’s why this guy has not heard this problem before….). So we get off the phone with him, and the soldier who is interviewing me is starting to get a little concerned, cos we can’t move on without this information. She suggests putting down the manager of the ulpan. Desperate to just get on with things, I said okay.
(Holy fuck though, if my money went to this fucking ulpan……Jesus Christ, I’d pray for immortality, drink unicorn’s blood….do whatever it takes to prevent that.)
So we called and there was no response.
Well, fuck. So we’re just sitting there, and I'm trying to act all calm but in my head I’m freaking out because I don’t know what I’m going to do. I asked if she could just give away my death money to charity or something, or if she could just give it to a random person on the street—I didn’t really give a fuck, I just wanted out.
Meanwhile a crowd of soldiers gathered around the desk I was at as each tried to offer advice. Other people being recruited who were bored and scared looked over at me, and I just felt so pathetic. It was embarrassing and really drove home the point that I’m alone in this country.
I started nervously fidgeting with my phone, and then I got suddenly got an idea. “Fuck this,” I said in English, and then continued in Hebrew to the soldiers, “I’ll try one more time, wait.”
I called my roomie from Birthright.
I said in Hebrew, “If I die in the army, do you want my money?”
And the ENTIRE room erupted in laughter. Oh my goodness, it was excellent. I think most of the time people are just like, “Give it to my parents,” and here I was just trying desperately to get rid of my money to anybody (if my last attempt didn’t end in success, I was considering just finding a random schmoe off the street), and I end up asking questions in an incredibly blunt way.
Anyway, once that got settled everything was quite nice. During the interview it was really difficult to understand everything the soldier was saying, but I thought I understood pretty decently.
So finally I got released from that room and sent downstairs for my physical. I’m like about to die because I have to pee so badly, and so I go quickly and then head downstairs for a medical exam. And they immediately tell me I need to go pee in a cup. And they tell me that I need to pee in an upstairs bathroom and then carry it downstairs in front of everyone back to the doctor’s office. Which struck me as quite possibly the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard. What if I bumped into someone (as I do all the time) and I spilled a cup of pee everywhere? Omg, that’s so gross, I’m sorry I just said that to y’all.
So obviously since I just peed I can’t go again so I start chugging water. Like I spent a solid 5 minutes at the water fountain.
Which meant that for the rest of my time in the lishkat giyus, I had to pee every 10 minutes. (Again, sorry I’m telling you all of this, but I mean, you are CHOOSING to read my blog….)
Eventually I end up in the main physical examination room. And this horrible and enormous Russian lady talks to me in English, which is a relief for me after (at this point) experiencing 2 hours of not fully understanding everything), but she’s only doing it because she thinks I don’t understand Hebrew at all.
As she sifts through my papers and says not a single word to me, in Hebrew she starts yelling, ranting, etc. at the soldier in the room about how angry she is that I don’t have a teudat zehut and how that just makes everything soooo difficult for her, and how angry she is that my doctor from home gave me a prescription that she didn’t think I should take for what I have, and what a pain I was and how difficult I am making her day just by sitting in her office. And then to top it off she started ranting about how she hates my doctor and people from England (where she said I came from) because they use pounds and inches, instead of kilograms and meters.
So I sat there quietly through all of this and smiled and pretended that I couldn’t hear or understand. But when she suggested that I was from ENGLAND and that the English use OUR system, I got pissed. So I said to her in Hebrew, “They use kilograms and meters in England too. And anyway, I’m not from England. Oh, and anyway I also understand Hebrew.”
Hahahahahah. Oh it felt so good. She got all red. Then she started arguing with me in English over whether or not England used pounds or not. I told her she was confusing pounds, the unit of measure, with pounds, the unit of currency. I wanted to say, "You're also a fucktard," but I kept it civil.
So finally since I have a blood issue I had to get a little blood test, and so a soldier takes me down the hall. And again no one thinks I understand English. No one told me in English that I was getting a blood test, I just overheard it in Hebrew and I was told to follow a soldier in English. So I’m sitting there and a couple soldiers start whipping out needles and shit like that. And then one of them says to the others in Hebrew, “Do you think maybe we should translate for her what’s going on, because she probably doesn’t understand what’s happening. It might scare her.” Then another said, “No, just surprise her, that will be better.” And I burst out laughing….
After being made to stand in nothing but my skivvies in front of the horrible and enormous Russian lady, I was sent upstairs to take tests.
So first I had to do that horrible shape/sequence shit test. And it was great because all the instructions were translated into English.
Finally I clicked to go onto the personal questionnaire….and everything switched into Hebrew. I thought I was going to vomit. I think the last time my stomach dropped like that was when I went on “Ghostrider.” I raised my hand and a soldier came to my aid. “Yes?”
“Um….it’s in Hebrew.”
“Yes.”
“Um…..I….I….I’m American….I….I can’t….”
“Oh. Well, we only have it in Hebrew, so…..can you read Hebrew at all?”
“Yeah, a bit, but—“
“Well, just try.”
Fuck. So I started off the questionnaire by being totally pissed off. I don’t understand why they wasted their fucking time translating the questions and instructions for the shapes and sequences thing when the instructions were self-explanatory, while the actual verbal questions they left in fucking Hebrew. Like, whose fucking great idea was that?
But then I started working on the questions and I realized that I more or less understood the questions and the answers. At least, I THINK I understood. For all I know, I kept saying, “Yes, whenever we go to Gaza I want to be the first one in.”
A couple questions I had to guess at because I would read it and it would be like, “In your opinion is garble farble in quarkledee foobletan dratten?” And they don’t let you leave questions unanswered so you have to put SOMETHING. So I have a feeling that like 80 percent of my answers are accurate (more or less) representations of me, whereas 20 percent are total wildcards. I can just imagine people somewhere reading my answers:
“Well, from the answers we got we can tell that she’s slightly introverted, likes to read, is excited about her army service, and enjoys raping small children. She also is always on time, enjoys studying, and she also killed a man in Reno.”
Finally I was released. I walked down to Ben Yehuda to get some shwarma, and when I went to pay, the guy says to me IN ENGLISH: “You got chicken? 29 shekels.” And I wanted to be like, “Bitch please, ‘chicken’ and ‘29 shekels’ would have been the easiest thing I’ve heard in Hebrew all day…..”
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Get me teachers' credentials!!!
I taught someone something today!
I taught an 11 year old Israeli girl how to write in cursive in English.
It was so fucking cool, cos she caught on pretty quickly.
Someone in the world knows something--BECAUSE OF ME! Yes, it may be something incredibly irrelevant and that no one uses, but she still knows it because of me!!!! Aaaaa!
This is great! It's great because, you know, I've spent basically three months now being the idiot. The person who doesn't know anything, who doesn't understand what people are saying when people ask her for help on the street, and when she does understand, doesn't understand the bus system well enough to give proper, helpful instructions. The person who is always holding up the line, or bumping into people, and being generally bewildered and confused.
BUT NOT ANYMORE! I KNOW SOMETHING THAT SOMEONE DOESN'T KNOW, AND I SHARED THAT INFORMATION. I AM THE FUCKING CHAMPION!
:-)
I feel really good. I think from now on, every single day that I'm in Israel I have to teach someone something. I don't care if it's teaching someone how to tie their shoes, or how to whistle, or how to do trig problems--I just need to teach something and then I won't feel like a total retard.
I taught an 11 year old Israeli girl how to write in cursive in English.
It was so fucking cool, cos she caught on pretty quickly.
Someone in the world knows something--BECAUSE OF ME! Yes, it may be something incredibly irrelevant and that no one uses, but she still knows it because of me!!!! Aaaaa!
This is great! It's great because, you know, I've spent basically three months now being the idiot. The person who doesn't know anything, who doesn't understand what people are saying when people ask her for help on the street, and when she does understand, doesn't understand the bus system well enough to give proper, helpful instructions. The person who is always holding up the line, or bumping into people, and being generally bewildered and confused.
BUT NOT ANYMORE! I KNOW SOMETHING THAT SOMEONE DOESN'T KNOW, AND I SHARED THAT INFORMATION. I AM THE FUCKING CHAMPION!
:-)
I feel really good. I think from now on, every single day that I'm in Israel I have to teach someone something. I don't care if it's teaching someone how to tie their shoes, or how to whistle, or how to do trig problems--I just need to teach something and then I won't feel like a total retard.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE!
My TV magically fixed itself! Gaaaaa!!!! What a miracle!!!
Also:
I have to figure out where I want to live during the army, if indeed everything works out. Do I want to stay on the kibbutz? Do I want to move to a different kibbutz? Do I want to get an apartment (it's a more expensive option, so that's prolly not gonna happen)? And if I go to a different kibbutz, WHERE??!?!?!
This should be interesting. Stay tuned as Sam figures out where the hell she's gonna be!
Also:
I have to figure out where I want to live during the army, if indeed everything works out. Do I want to stay on the kibbutz? Do I want to move to a different kibbutz? Do I want to get an apartment (it's a more expensive option, so that's prolly not gonna happen)? And if I go to a different kibbutz, WHERE??!?!?!
This should be interesting. Stay tuned as Sam figures out where the hell she's gonna be!
Friday, July 11, 2008
I'm not gonna lie...cosmonauts...I hate cosmonauts.
"German Boy, your farts could kill a room full of Arabs. I think that's what your job's gonna be in the army." --one of The Americans.
Today the French guy was ranting about the love of his life and how he's going to win her back. At the end of his explanation, he stood up from his chair and screamed in English: "I AM ZE CHAMPION!!!" And then he sat back down in his chair....but with a little too much gusto. He flipped over, and also took out the table behind him. Oh man...... We did a re-enactment of it and caught it on film, which I hope to upload at some point, but I just wanted to write this down so that whenever I feel sad I can think about this. It was almost as ridiculous as the Pink Packaging Peanuts Man in terms of things I've seen...
From age fifteen:
"Down the street, there was this man carrying HUGE bags of bright pink packing peanuts. And since they were so big and cumbersome, you couldn't see him, you could only see his feet sticking out below. And he was kicking a HUGE roll of bubble wrap ahead of him cos he had no free hands. It was seriously the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life. It was just this levitating being of packing peanuts kicking a roll of bubble wrap. I pointed, screamed, "OH MY GOD--LOOK!" and then I fell off my chair laughing."
It's one of those things that you have to see to appreciate it, but I'm gonna appreciate it for the rest of my life.
This has kind of put me on a nostalgic turn, and so I just want to put together a couple moments of my pre-Israel life:
"Last night I woke up at 4 am to hear the front doorknob clicking and Dolley growling at the door. I thought to myself, this would be a good time to go arm myself. So I hid in a dark corner of my room, beanie on head and softball bat in arms. First I sprinted across the hallway to go poke Dingo until he woke up, figuring that he would maul anyone who tried to hurt me. "Kill, Dingo!" I whispered. "Attack!" He just grunted and fell back asleep. Then slowly I crept around the house with this very large metal bat, checking for intruders and wishing I knew where the gun was. Checking the windows. I figured if anything was going to try to kill me, at least I'd go out beating the living shit out of it."
"I saw a classical concert tonight with my dad. The Disney Concert Hall inside looks like the mouth of a lizard, filled with people it's trying to eat. Some people sit on the side, clinging for dear life, not wanting to be swallowed completely by the lizard. And the pipes of the organ look like menacing buck teeth, and it makes the audience want to tell the orchestra, "LOOK OUT!!!!" as they're about to be bitten off. During La Mer (one of the first pieces they did), you can totally just hear where the pirates come. Then there was Swan Lake and I could just imagine the conductor waltzing with the lead violin lady, wearing a poofy green gown. The violinist wearing one, i mean. not him. Right before the first piece, you know, the audience is quiet and it's right before the conductor does that downbeat thing......this guy behind my dad did a good long 5 second blast fart and I burst out laughing.....I thought it was my dad, but it turns out it wasn't."
"The closing of Waldenbooks is a bit like the sinking of the Titanic. You know, the band just kept playing as the ship went down. That's kind of what the employees of this book store are doing. They're not acting like doom is right about to hit them. They just keep assisting people and smiling, knowing that their store is closing this month, knowing that they're going to lose their jobs. But they keep smiling and helping. Just like the Titanic band."
anyway....(9.9.05 and 2.8.05), i just wanted to share. because im bored.
AND
I've been feeling really nostalgic. I just watched my team, the LA Galaxy, tie with Chivas. And I was sad I wasn't home. But at the same time, I don't want to go home. It's becoming easier and easier to imagine staying here in Israel for a long time, if not for the rest of my life. I just can't wait to get off this fucking kibbutz.
Today the French guy was ranting about the love of his life and how he's going to win her back. At the end of his explanation, he stood up from his chair and screamed in English: "I AM ZE CHAMPION!!!" And then he sat back down in his chair....but with a little too much gusto. He flipped over, and also took out the table behind him. Oh man...... We did a re-enactment of it and caught it on film, which I hope to upload at some point, but I just wanted to write this down so that whenever I feel sad I can think about this. It was almost as ridiculous as the Pink Packaging Peanuts Man in terms of things I've seen...
From age fifteen:
"Down the street, there was this man carrying HUGE bags of bright pink packing peanuts. And since they were so big and cumbersome, you couldn't see him, you could only see his feet sticking out below. And he was kicking a HUGE roll of bubble wrap ahead of him cos he had no free hands. It was seriously the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life. It was just this levitating being of packing peanuts kicking a roll of bubble wrap. I pointed, screamed, "OH MY GOD--LOOK!" and then I fell off my chair laughing."
It's one of those things that you have to see to appreciate it, but I'm gonna appreciate it for the rest of my life.
This has kind of put me on a nostalgic turn, and so I just want to put together a couple moments of my pre-Israel life:
"Last night I woke up at 4 am to hear the front doorknob clicking and Dolley growling at the door. I thought to myself, this would be a good time to go arm myself. So I hid in a dark corner of my room, beanie on head and softball bat in arms. First I sprinted across the hallway to go poke Dingo until he woke up, figuring that he would maul anyone who tried to hurt me. "Kill, Dingo!" I whispered. "Attack!" He just grunted and fell back asleep. Then slowly I crept around the house with this very large metal bat, checking for intruders and wishing I knew where the gun was. Checking the windows. I figured if anything was going to try to kill me, at least I'd go out beating the living shit out of it."
"I saw a classical concert tonight with my dad. The Disney Concert Hall inside looks like the mouth of a lizard, filled with people it's trying to eat. Some people sit on the side, clinging for dear life, not wanting to be swallowed completely by the lizard. And the pipes of the organ look like menacing buck teeth, and it makes the audience want to tell the orchestra, "LOOK OUT!!!!" as they're about to be bitten off. During La Mer (one of the first pieces they did), you can totally just hear where the pirates come. Then there was Swan Lake and I could just imagine the conductor waltzing with the lead violin lady, wearing a poofy green gown. The violinist wearing one, i mean. not him. Right before the first piece, you know, the audience is quiet and it's right before the conductor does that downbeat thing......this guy behind my dad did a good long 5 second blast fart and I burst out laughing.....I thought it was my dad, but it turns out it wasn't."
"The closing of Waldenbooks is a bit like the sinking of the Titanic. You know, the band just kept playing as the ship went down. That's kind of what the employees of this book store are doing. They're not acting like doom is right about to hit them. They just keep assisting people and smiling, knowing that their store is closing this month, knowing that they're going to lose their jobs. But they keep smiling and helping. Just like the Titanic band."
anyway....(9.9.05 and 2.8.05), i just wanted to share. because im bored.
AND
I've been feeling really nostalgic. I just watched my team, the LA Galaxy, tie with Chivas. And I was sad I wasn't home. But at the same time, I don't want to go home. It's becoming easier and easier to imagine staying here in Israel for a long time, if not for the rest of my life. I just can't wait to get off this fucking kibbutz.
I should charge for everything I do...
You know what I feel like at this place? Everyone’s therapist. I mean, I like to be helpful and I like to find solutions to friend’s problems….but today for example I had a guy I just met a couple days ago telling me all about his love life issues. In excruciating, emotional detail. The way he was talking to me, you’d think he was laying down on a couch with me in a chair behind him taking notes. I’m like, “Dude, I JUST met you!!!” Except I didn’t say it. I just tried to say comforting things, but it’s hard to do that when you don’t know the person….
Then there’s the French guy. Holy fucking balls, it’s like 2 hours a day I have to listen to him talk about his love life problems. It’s pissing me off because we used to be friends, and now it’s a one-way street. All we get to talk about is HIS issue. This single issue. The other day he apologized to me for threatening me all the time and being an ass in general—but then a couple days ago he bragged to me that when he apologized to a bunch of people (including me) the other day, he was only doing it because the girl he is obsessed with demanded that he did. So he says this to me, he admits that he isn’t sorry for being threatening or scary or insanity-inducing, but then he expects me to want to keep listening to all his shit and problems. Why? Because I’m not his friend, I’m his therapist.
Also, I’m thinking that if the Women of the Wash respond to me in English when I talk to them in Hebrew one more time…I’m gonna charge them. I get paid to talk to little girls in English, so I feel like I should get paid if I talk to these women in English against my will. Either that or I could do what my mom told me: “Wait, Sammy, you said your boss is French, right? Well, from now on, whenever she responds to you in English, you should respond to her in French. See how she likes it.” I think my mom’s a genius sometimes….
Also: yesterday in Jerusalem we (among other things) went to the Knesset and Yad Vashem. And well, you know me. Or maybe you don’t. But maybe by now you’ve figured out that I tend to internalize (is that even a word?) emotions more than I express them. Apart from anger or excitement, I think most of my powerful reactions to things are done in my head. So we’re in the Knesset and we’re looking at this really interesting tapestry, and I’m just taking it all in quietly. But my roommate is one of those people that needs to outwardly express things at all times—so she kept repeating things like, “Ooooh! Look the colors!” “Isn’t this just incredible??!?!” or “Wow, isn’t it amazing how he ____?!” And I just kind of ignored it because I was deep in my own thoughts and enjoying the art in my head (I mean, the enjoyment occurred in my head…I wasn’t looking at art inside my head….whoa….). And then my roommate gives me this look as if I’m crazy, and she says to me in this vicious and condescending tone, “You just don’t appreciate art!” So I turn to her and said, “No, I just quietly appreciate art.” But she didn’t really get it.
Then in Yad Vashem…oh Jesus was I ready to kill her. Look, I don’t think I need to waste a bunch of space to say that obviously the Holocaust upsets me—1) I’m a human being, 2) I’m a Jewish human being, and 3) I’m a Jewish human being with roots in Eastern Europe. So I think we can just go on the assumption that I find the Yad Vashem experience extremely upsetting. Well, the thing is that I don’t always make it entirely obvious that I’m upset—yesterday at Yad Vashem I didn’t cry, and for the most part I kept a pretty calm outward expression. This is despite the fact that seeing some of the exhibits, or reading some of the information or looking at some of the pictures was absolutely unbearable.
My roommate on the other hand cried. She was a total mess. Now please don’t think for a minute that I’m criticizing her—I don’t for a second blame her for crying. The problem was that her way of experiencing the museum involved jabbing me with her elbow constantly to get my attention to say, “OH MY G-D ISN’T THIS HORRIBLE?!?!” I quietly told her that I agreed, but then went back to reflecting in my head everything that I was seeing/reading/etc. Later we came to a few pictures of men being hanged, and again my roommate took to poking and jabbing me to get my attention. She again demanded to know how horrible this was, and I quietly said that I agreed…..and then my roommate got angry. She demanded to know why I wasn’t upset. She told me that her family’s not even from Europe and she’s a complete mess, and so being a Polish Jew I should be an even worse mess. I told her, “I AM upset.” But she refused to believe it, saying, “Well you don’t look it!” I didn’t look it, so therefore I couldn’t BE it.
I hate this.
You know what I need? I need a nerd. I need a nerd to hang out with—age/gender/race/religion/whatever is irrelevant. I’m accepting applications from now until the end of time, so here are the requirements if any of you think you fit the bill:
I need a quiet friend to sit with and to occasionally translate Latin with. If you don’t know Latin, that’s okay—as long as you want to learn it. I need someone who’s geeky, who likes TV and the internet. (And, on another note, I need a TV.) I need a friend who wouldn’t mind sitting on the top of the crusader ruins here and looking around at the view in silence for an hour—and the silence is interrupted only when the two of us simultaneously wonder out loud where the bathroom of the castle would have been. And then we get up and actually investigate the ruins because we honestly feel like we’re gonna figure it out. (And this is in spite of the fact that we both know damn well that people probably used chamber pots or some shit like that back then.)
I need a friend who understands that I’m just letting my imagination run wild—but also takes it seriously--when I say, “That building on that mountain over there is what I think Mount Olympus would look like if the Greek gods actually lived there,” and then the friend gets into an argument with me by suggesting, “No way! That place looks like G-d’s toaster!”
I need a friend I can sit with at Coffee Bean, and we can speculate on the lives of the people passing by. “That guy definitely has genital herpes.” “I bet that woman is having an extra-marital affair.” “That woman is probably a teacher, or maybe a social worker.” “That man grew up on a kibbutz.” We might argue or disagree on certain conclusions, but we’d both agree that the man over there is an aspiring journalist.
Unfortunately, there are no friends like that to be had at this place. Instead I’ve got party animals, men on the run from the law, aggressive weirdos, and Russians. For all I know, the Russians are sweet nerds—but I can’t understand a fucking word that comes out of their mouths, except, “Mah nishmah, SEMMY???”
Anyway, I’m accepting applications.
Then there’s the French guy. Holy fucking balls, it’s like 2 hours a day I have to listen to him talk about his love life problems. It’s pissing me off because we used to be friends, and now it’s a one-way street. All we get to talk about is HIS issue. This single issue. The other day he apologized to me for threatening me all the time and being an ass in general—but then a couple days ago he bragged to me that when he apologized to a bunch of people (including me) the other day, he was only doing it because the girl he is obsessed with demanded that he did. So he says this to me, he admits that he isn’t sorry for being threatening or scary or insanity-inducing, but then he expects me to want to keep listening to all his shit and problems. Why? Because I’m not his friend, I’m his therapist.
Also, I’m thinking that if the Women of the Wash respond to me in English when I talk to them in Hebrew one more time…I’m gonna charge them. I get paid to talk to little girls in English, so I feel like I should get paid if I talk to these women in English against my will. Either that or I could do what my mom told me: “Wait, Sammy, you said your boss is French, right? Well, from now on, whenever she responds to you in English, you should respond to her in French. See how she likes it.” I think my mom’s a genius sometimes….
Also: yesterday in Jerusalem we (among other things) went to the Knesset and Yad Vashem. And well, you know me. Or maybe you don’t. But maybe by now you’ve figured out that I tend to internalize (is that even a word?) emotions more than I express them. Apart from anger or excitement, I think most of my powerful reactions to things are done in my head. So we’re in the Knesset and we’re looking at this really interesting tapestry, and I’m just taking it all in quietly. But my roommate is one of those people that needs to outwardly express things at all times—so she kept repeating things like, “Ooooh! Look the colors!” “Isn’t this just incredible??!?!” or “Wow, isn’t it amazing how he ____?!” And I just kind of ignored it because I was deep in my own thoughts and enjoying the art in my head (I mean, the enjoyment occurred in my head…I wasn’t looking at art inside my head….whoa….). And then my roommate gives me this look as if I’m crazy, and she says to me in this vicious and condescending tone, “You just don’t appreciate art!” So I turn to her and said, “No, I just quietly appreciate art.” But she didn’t really get it.
Then in Yad Vashem…oh Jesus was I ready to kill her. Look, I don’t think I need to waste a bunch of space to say that obviously the Holocaust upsets me—1) I’m a human being, 2) I’m a Jewish human being, and 3) I’m a Jewish human being with roots in Eastern Europe. So I think we can just go on the assumption that I find the Yad Vashem experience extremely upsetting. Well, the thing is that I don’t always make it entirely obvious that I’m upset—yesterday at Yad Vashem I didn’t cry, and for the most part I kept a pretty calm outward expression. This is despite the fact that seeing some of the exhibits, or reading some of the information or looking at some of the pictures was absolutely unbearable.
My roommate on the other hand cried. She was a total mess. Now please don’t think for a minute that I’m criticizing her—I don’t for a second blame her for crying. The problem was that her way of experiencing the museum involved jabbing me with her elbow constantly to get my attention to say, “OH MY G-D ISN’T THIS HORRIBLE?!?!” I quietly told her that I agreed, but then went back to reflecting in my head everything that I was seeing/reading/etc. Later we came to a few pictures of men being hanged, and again my roommate took to poking and jabbing me to get my attention. She again demanded to know how horrible this was, and I quietly said that I agreed…..and then my roommate got angry. She demanded to know why I wasn’t upset. She told me that her family’s not even from Europe and she’s a complete mess, and so being a Polish Jew I should be an even worse mess. I told her, “I AM upset.” But she refused to believe it, saying, “Well you don’t look it!” I didn’t look it, so therefore I couldn’t BE it.
I hate this.
You know what I need? I need a nerd. I need a nerd to hang out with—age/gender/race/religion/whatever is irrelevant. I’m accepting applications from now until the end of time, so here are the requirements if any of you think you fit the bill:
I need a quiet friend to sit with and to occasionally translate Latin with. If you don’t know Latin, that’s okay—as long as you want to learn it. I need someone who’s geeky, who likes TV and the internet. (And, on another note, I need a TV.) I need a friend who wouldn’t mind sitting on the top of the crusader ruins here and looking around at the view in silence for an hour—and the silence is interrupted only when the two of us simultaneously wonder out loud where the bathroom of the castle would have been. And then we get up and actually investigate the ruins because we honestly feel like we’re gonna figure it out. (And this is in spite of the fact that we both know damn well that people probably used chamber pots or some shit like that back then.)
I need a friend who understands that I’m just letting my imagination run wild—but also takes it seriously--when I say, “That building on that mountain over there is what I think Mount Olympus would look like if the Greek gods actually lived there,” and then the friend gets into an argument with me by suggesting, “No way! That place looks like G-d’s toaster!”
I need a friend I can sit with at Coffee Bean, and we can speculate on the lives of the people passing by. “That guy definitely has genital herpes.” “I bet that woman is having an extra-marital affair.” “That woman is probably a teacher, or maybe a social worker.” “That man grew up on a kibbutz.” We might argue or disagree on certain conclusions, but we’d both agree that the man over there is an aspiring journalist.
Unfortunately, there are no friends like that to be had at this place. Instead I’ve got party animals, men on the run from the law, aggressive weirdos, and Russians. For all I know, the Russians are sweet nerds—but I can’t understand a fucking word that comes out of their mouths, except, “Mah nishmah, SEMMY???”
Anyway, I’m accepting applications.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
I've got a bad case of the day before yesterday
Good News?
On Monday I’m going to the enlistment center place thing. A few days after that, I should be receiving 100 percent confirmation that I’ll be doing the army (assuming all goes well and that they don’t reject me for whatever reason….). I’m both excited and nervous. I’m afraid it’s gonna turn out to be like my Misrad Hapnim experiences where everything seems to go wrong.
I’ve had a really bad headache the past couple days, and so today I slept in during class. The director of the ulpan called me like 45 minutes after class had started, and started demanding to know what was wrong. It’s so fucking difficult to have a conversation in Hebrew when you’re feverish and are disoriented from just waking up.
A translation of my conversation in Hebrew:
Him: What’s the problem?
Me: I have a headache.
Him: Okay, take a pill and then come to class.
Me: No, but I’ve had a headache since yesterday and the day before yesterday.
Him: You also have the day before yesterday?!?!?!? If you have the day before yesterday, you have to drink a lot of water, okay Samantha???
I felt really confused. How the hell could I have a “the day before yesterday.”
I then realized, a little too late, that I had said “diarrhea” instead of “the day before yesterday.” Shilshom (yesterday) versus shilshool (diarrhea). I think that this is by far one of the most embarrassing Hebrew errors I’ve ever made. I always confuse the two words and I guess with the fever I couldn’t keep it straight which one is which. From now on, I’m just gonna say “Yesterday yesterday” instead of “the day before yesterday” in Hebrew, because this was beyond embarrassing.
About an hour late I arrived at class, and I walked into a tense situation. Apparently the guy that I smacked and that yelled at me a couple weeks ago had gotten into a verbal fight with our teacher about her teaching methods. (For example, if you don’t know how to conjugate a verb like l’shalem, she’ll say, “How do you conjugate l’daber” and that’s supposed to get you to think of the correct answer. It works for some people, but for some reason it confuses the hell out of this guy.)
During our breakfast break, our class (minus the teacher) was eating together in the dining hall, and the guy was ranting about our teacher in Hebrew. During his little monologue in which he addressed our teacher, he used the male form instead of the female form. Our teacher is a female. No one corrected him because it’s fucking annoying to be corrected all the time, and the guy was speaking really fast and was in the middle of a story. Mostly, no one really gave a fuck. But my roommate interrupted, and in an incredibly arrogant voice said, “It’s LACH, not LECHA!” As if she were exasperated with this guy and couldn’t believe how stupid he was.
Oh G-d. That was the wrong thing to say. The guy looked like he was gonna stab her. He started speaking really viciously, saying that he didn’t correct her when she was reading in such a way that suggested that she was a terrible reader (we all know she’s the worst reader in the class), so she shouldn’t be correcting him when he’s speaking. A small argument ensued, and five hours later the guy is STILL pissed off about being corrected.
I don’t really blame him. It’s not fun to be corrected by your fellow English speaker when you’re speaking Hebrew, especially when you’re corrected in such an arrogant way. And I’ve noticed—when I was learning French in high school, it didn’t bother me too much when I was corrected because at the end of the day, it didn’t matter if I could understand French or not. But now that I’m learning Hebrew and trying to live in this country, I’m REALLY sensitive to being corrected, because I’m constantly feeling like my Hebrew isn’t good enough for me to live here. I usually don’t mind corrections if they’re from Israelis and if it’s done in a nice way though.
But this was not a polite correction done by a native speaker. This was a rude, arrogant correction done by a fucking Australian. So the guy was HEATED.
Moral of the story though: Don’t fucking correct someone when they’re ranting and telling a story about something that has really upset them.
Funny thing about this guy though? He found out about the crazy French guy who was threatening me with this and that and who was driving me crazy—and IMMEDIATELY he went up to the French guy and started screaming at him for treating me in such a way. Is this supposed to be an apology—a rather aggressive one at that--for yelling at me?
Everyone at this fucking kibbutz is a loose cannon though. You may ask me, “Sam, why are you trying to hang out with such aggressive/mean/whatever people? Why are you friends with this guy who yells at anyone and everyone, including you? Why are you hanging out with a French guy who is on the run from the French police for arson and attempted murder?” Well, the answer is that I don’t have a choice. These are the people I know in this country. For some reason that apparently only makes sense to G-d, I’ve been put with these people. Yesterday the aggressive guy got into a fight with a kibbutznik in the dining hall. He told me the story: “I was standing in line, when some twat who lives on the kibbutz pushed me out of line and cut in front of me. He said, ‘This is MY kibbutz, MY home.’” And hearing that pissed me off. Yes, I may have just arrived in this country a couple months ago, and yes maybe my house is Oliver Twist’s tool shed, and yes maybe I am completely miserable here—but I have no other home in this country! Yes, I understand I’m not a kibbutz member and that this is only a temporary home (5 months is still a long time though…), but again, I still have no other home. It pisses me off that these people can tell us that this isn’t our home, because it makes me feel homeless in this country. Worse than that, I’m a parasite to these people. I may hate this home and this may be a terrible home, but it IS my home. And similarly, I may have serious issues with the aggression of some of the people here in the ulpan, but they ARE the people here. There are no other people here. This is what I have. Might as well make the most of it.
Tomorrow we’re going to Jerusalem on a field trip. Should be interesting…
On Monday I’m going to the enlistment center place thing. A few days after that, I should be receiving 100 percent confirmation that I’ll be doing the army (assuming all goes well and that they don’t reject me for whatever reason….). I’m both excited and nervous. I’m afraid it’s gonna turn out to be like my Misrad Hapnim experiences where everything seems to go wrong.
I’ve had a really bad headache the past couple days, and so today I slept in during class. The director of the ulpan called me like 45 minutes after class had started, and started demanding to know what was wrong. It’s so fucking difficult to have a conversation in Hebrew when you’re feverish and are disoriented from just waking up.
A translation of my conversation in Hebrew:
Him: What’s the problem?
Me: I have a headache.
Him: Okay, take a pill and then come to class.
Me: No, but I’ve had a headache since yesterday and the day before yesterday.
Him: You also have the day before yesterday?!?!?!? If you have the day before yesterday, you have to drink a lot of water, okay Samantha???
I felt really confused. How the hell could I have a “the day before yesterday.”
I then realized, a little too late, that I had said “diarrhea” instead of “the day before yesterday.” Shilshom (yesterday) versus shilshool (diarrhea). I think that this is by far one of the most embarrassing Hebrew errors I’ve ever made. I always confuse the two words and I guess with the fever I couldn’t keep it straight which one is which. From now on, I’m just gonna say “Yesterday yesterday” instead of “the day before yesterday” in Hebrew, because this was beyond embarrassing.
About an hour late I arrived at class, and I walked into a tense situation. Apparently the guy that I smacked and that yelled at me a couple weeks ago had gotten into a verbal fight with our teacher about her teaching methods. (For example, if you don’t know how to conjugate a verb like l’shalem, she’ll say, “How do you conjugate l’daber” and that’s supposed to get you to think of the correct answer. It works for some people, but for some reason it confuses the hell out of this guy.)
During our breakfast break, our class (minus the teacher) was eating together in the dining hall, and the guy was ranting about our teacher in Hebrew. During his little monologue in which he addressed our teacher, he used the male form instead of the female form. Our teacher is a female. No one corrected him because it’s fucking annoying to be corrected all the time, and the guy was speaking really fast and was in the middle of a story. Mostly, no one really gave a fuck. But my roommate interrupted, and in an incredibly arrogant voice said, “It’s LACH, not LECHA!” As if she were exasperated with this guy and couldn’t believe how stupid he was.
Oh G-d. That was the wrong thing to say. The guy looked like he was gonna stab her. He started speaking really viciously, saying that he didn’t correct her when she was reading in such a way that suggested that she was a terrible reader (we all know she’s the worst reader in the class), so she shouldn’t be correcting him when he’s speaking. A small argument ensued, and five hours later the guy is STILL pissed off about being corrected.
I don’t really blame him. It’s not fun to be corrected by your fellow English speaker when you’re speaking Hebrew, especially when you’re corrected in such an arrogant way. And I’ve noticed—when I was learning French in high school, it didn’t bother me too much when I was corrected because at the end of the day, it didn’t matter if I could understand French or not. But now that I’m learning Hebrew and trying to live in this country, I’m REALLY sensitive to being corrected, because I’m constantly feeling like my Hebrew isn’t good enough for me to live here. I usually don’t mind corrections if they’re from Israelis and if it’s done in a nice way though.
But this was not a polite correction done by a native speaker. This was a rude, arrogant correction done by a fucking Australian. So the guy was HEATED.
Moral of the story though: Don’t fucking correct someone when they’re ranting and telling a story about something that has really upset them.
Funny thing about this guy though? He found out about the crazy French guy who was threatening me with this and that and who was driving me crazy—and IMMEDIATELY he went up to the French guy and started screaming at him for treating me in such a way. Is this supposed to be an apology—a rather aggressive one at that--for yelling at me?
Everyone at this fucking kibbutz is a loose cannon though. You may ask me, “Sam, why are you trying to hang out with such aggressive/mean/whatever people? Why are you friends with this guy who yells at anyone and everyone, including you? Why are you hanging out with a French guy who is on the run from the French police for arson and attempted murder?” Well, the answer is that I don’t have a choice. These are the people I know in this country. For some reason that apparently only makes sense to G-d, I’ve been put with these people. Yesterday the aggressive guy got into a fight with a kibbutznik in the dining hall. He told me the story: “I was standing in line, when some twat who lives on the kibbutz pushed me out of line and cut in front of me. He said, ‘This is MY kibbutz, MY home.’” And hearing that pissed me off. Yes, I may have just arrived in this country a couple months ago, and yes maybe my house is Oliver Twist’s tool shed, and yes maybe I am completely miserable here—but I have no other home in this country! Yes, I understand I’m not a kibbutz member and that this is only a temporary home (5 months is still a long time though…), but again, I still have no other home. It pisses me off that these people can tell us that this isn’t our home, because it makes me feel homeless in this country. Worse than that, I’m a parasite to these people. I may hate this home and this may be a terrible home, but it IS my home. And similarly, I may have serious issues with the aggression of some of the people here in the ulpan, but they ARE the people here. There are no other people here. This is what I have. Might as well make the most of it.
Tomorrow we’re going to Jerusalem on a field trip. Should be interesting…
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