From a few months ago:
Small child: "I want the marker!"
Katie: "I'm sorry, you want the crayon?"
Small child: "I want the marker!"
Katie: "Okay, you mean you want a different color of paper. Cool."
Small child: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGGGGGGGH (temper tantrum ensues).
My Hebrew has since improved enough that the kids now understand what I'm saying most of the time, but they spend a significant amount of time correcting my grammar and trying to make my vocabulary less shameful. After attempts at French and German, I'm now completely convinced that language acquisition requires one primary thing: immersion. Our program is made up entirely of English speakers, leaving us stranded in an English language bubble.
Breaking out of the language safety net that is our program is made even more difficult by the fact that most Israelis know (or think they know) English. Five words into most conversations, my accent lets whoever I'm speaking with know that I am, in fact, not from these parts. English is switched to for the rest of the transaction and I'm left with no opportunity to use my Hebrew.
Although I spent the better part of this morning having my accent mocked by an angry five year old, I'm occasionally reminded that I can in fact make myself understood.
Today:
Me: "Omer, can you please sit down?"
Omer: (giggles) "No, Kay-tee, you sit down!"
Me: "Omer, you're a silly girl. Now sit down."
Omer: (hugs me around the knees and doesn't sit down) "Okay."
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Cats in your trash: Trash Cats
I truly loathe the travel blog where someone abandons the blog for, oh, say, five or six months, then apologizes profusely for their absence and then launches into a brief description of what's going on in their lives.
If you think you're getting a trite apology, then screw off, dear readers.
The primary seasons here are "winter" and Summer. "Winter" is a weak Mediterranean impression of the last two weeks of September in Chicago. Summer is a broiling, steamy inferno that lasts from March until September, making you want to curl up inside your freezer. Spring and fall make brief appearances that barely qualify as seasonal change. Granted, there are some pretty spectacular sandstorms that turn everything brown (including your snot) and we've gotten some intense thunderstorms, but in general, this weather doesn't match up to the constant intensity of the Midwest. Spring? It's gorgeous. Summer? It's hot, there are tornadoes and there is plenty of humidity to go around. Fall? Let's talk about cold rain for three months. Winter? You had better have laid in a supply of canned goods and parkas, otherwise you will freeze to death while taking out your trash.
Trash is really a fascinating aspect of living here. It's everywhere in one way, shape or form. In our neighborhood, trash can be found in nearly every nook and cranny. Farther north, trash pick up becomes slightly more regular as the socio-economic status increases, but dog excrement coats the sidewalks. In one special place, Israel really puts the states to shame: rats. They just don't exist here like they do in New York or Chicago. Dear reader, can you guess why? It's because we have mid-sized carnivores who live in the garbage containers, ready to completely mess up any rat silly enough to think it has space in the food web here. That's right: trash cats. Forget the Palestinian-Israeli Conflict, because geopolitics are really so 2010. Today, let's focus on the trash cat.
Entire herds of cats have been witnessed trawling up and down our street, looking to terrorize anything smaller than them. Sized approximately at 1/8 of a standard issue jaguar, the tom cats are actually awe inspiring. My favorite, dubbed The Destroyer, is a 20 pound tom cat without an ounce of fat on him. One eyed, colored like a tabby cat crossed with an ocelot, with testicles the size of ping pong balls, The Destroyer owns this block of Jaffa. Every now and then, he is sighted perched on top of the dumpster across the street, with ten tom cats surrounding the dumpster, considering whether or not to take him on. A few screams and hisses later, The Destroyer is merrily consuming some leftovers from a chicken dinner, while the other tom cats have retreated down the street for easier pickings.
The love lives of our neighborhood trash cats are exceptionally public. Any time of the day is time for copulating, and there is nothing quite like the sweet sound of The Destroyer getting it on with his newest lady friend. Kittens are everywhere, ranging from the saddest, mangiest little things that are clearly not cut from the same genetic cloth as The Destroyer, to the sleek, well fed, unbelievably fast tabby kittens that are clearly his progeny.
From toilet paper to chicken guts, anything is game for the non-discerning trash cat. The Destroyer was sighted last night holding down a treasure trove of chicken guts from the halal meat shop around the corner. The other trash cats waited meekly while The Destroyer shoveled down mouthfuls of raw chicken.
The natural nesting habitat of the Jaffa trash cat is, of course, the municipal dumpster. While I generally regard trash cats as being like squirrels in Chicago, they manage to really ratchet up the pest factor by bursting out of trash cans and dumpsters when you are trying to put out the garbage. An explosion of kittens bursting out of a dark dumpster at eleven o'clock is really just what you need before going to bed, listening to the sweet sounds of trash cat love. The life cycle continues.
If you think you're getting a trite apology, then screw off, dear readers.
The primary seasons here are "winter" and Summer. "Winter" is a weak Mediterranean impression of the last two weeks of September in Chicago. Summer is a broiling, steamy inferno that lasts from March until September, making you want to curl up inside your freezer. Spring and fall make brief appearances that barely qualify as seasonal change. Granted, there are some pretty spectacular sandstorms that turn everything brown (including your snot) and we've gotten some intense thunderstorms, but in general, this weather doesn't match up to the constant intensity of the Midwest. Spring? It's gorgeous. Summer? It's hot, there are tornadoes and there is plenty of humidity to go around. Fall? Let's talk about cold rain for three months. Winter? You had better have laid in a supply of canned goods and parkas, otherwise you will freeze to death while taking out your trash.
Trash is really a fascinating aspect of living here. It's everywhere in one way, shape or form. In our neighborhood, trash can be found in nearly every nook and cranny. Farther north, trash pick up becomes slightly more regular as the socio-economic status increases, but dog excrement coats the sidewalks. In one special place, Israel really puts the states to shame: rats. They just don't exist here like they do in New York or Chicago. Dear reader, can you guess why? It's because we have mid-sized carnivores who live in the garbage containers, ready to completely mess up any rat silly enough to think it has space in the food web here. That's right: trash cats. Forget the Palestinian-Israeli Conflict, because geopolitics are really so 2010. Today, let's focus on the trash cat.
Entire herds of cats have been witnessed trawling up and down our street, looking to terrorize anything smaller than them. Sized approximately at 1/8 of a standard issue jaguar, the tom cats are actually awe inspiring. My favorite, dubbed The Destroyer, is a 20 pound tom cat without an ounce of fat on him. One eyed, colored like a tabby cat crossed with an ocelot, with testicles the size of ping pong balls, The Destroyer owns this block of Jaffa. Every now and then, he is sighted perched on top of the dumpster across the street, with ten tom cats surrounding the dumpster, considering whether or not to take him on. A few screams and hisses later, The Destroyer is merrily consuming some leftovers from a chicken dinner, while the other tom cats have retreated down the street for easier pickings.
The love lives of our neighborhood trash cats are exceptionally public. Any time of the day is time for copulating, and there is nothing quite like the sweet sound of The Destroyer getting it on with his newest lady friend. Kittens are everywhere, ranging from the saddest, mangiest little things that are clearly not cut from the same genetic cloth as The Destroyer, to the sleek, well fed, unbelievably fast tabby kittens that are clearly his progeny.
From toilet paper to chicken guts, anything is game for the non-discerning trash cat. The Destroyer was sighted last night holding down a treasure trove of chicken guts from the halal meat shop around the corner. The other trash cats waited meekly while The Destroyer shoveled down mouthfuls of raw chicken.
The natural nesting habitat of the Jaffa trash cat is, of course, the municipal dumpster. While I generally regard trash cats as being like squirrels in Chicago, they manage to really ratchet up the pest factor by bursting out of trash cans and dumpsters when you are trying to put out the garbage. An explosion of kittens bursting out of a dark dumpster at eleven o'clock is really just what you need before going to bed, listening to the sweet sounds of trash cat love. The life cycle continues.
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