Lost in translation

Saw Lost in Translation last night. What can I say, a great movie, Bill Murray is great, Japan looks great, the music is great (with an inspirational Jesus and Mary Chain finish) and Scarlett Johansson is mighty cute...though any ambitions I had of moving to Japan for a year with mrs. anglosaxy were dealt a serious blow by the character portrayed by Scarlett - never let your wife tag along with you if she doesn't have anything to keep her occupied...oh well...

Off to a tribal gathering with the in-laws, should be good for a beer or three...

Bon voyage!

Bon voyage to Lily, who flew off last night to Thailand for a month of fun and sun...not jealous at all...

That reminds me, I'm currently working on a travelogue of the 3-month trip myself and the good woman took, now over a year ago - shit, time flies! It'll take a bit of time, there are loads of pics and tales to tell, but in the meantime here's a bit of a taster...

My map

My map looks like this, though I'm hoping that Italy and Japan will be joining the list this year:



create your own visited country map
or write about it on the open travel guide

Mr C expands operations into Europe

[I'm not sure if all of you believe my tales regarding young Mr C, but I can assure you, they are completely kosher, honest guv...I may add a wee touch of my own to raise a smile but the events do actually occur, including this one from Tuesday night...]

"Mr C! Long time no see [no rhyme intended...]!"

"Yeh, sorry Ashley about cancelling the last lesson, I had some aggro with a new guy who has turned up on my turf. He's decided to charge all my clients half price, so I had to 'sort him out'..." He then whipped out a flick-knife and slammed it down on the table. 'Sorting someone out' suddenly sounded a little more sinister, though I had to hand it to him, he knows how to grab my attention..."And Ashley, I'm flying to England next week for some 'business', so can we learn some relevant English so I can go shopping and meet some ladies..." He then expanded into details of his 'business plan', most of which was a load of bacon and eggs (ie., very unkosher).

"Er, OK, no problem. You know what, let's start with the immigration desk when you arrive at the airport [they always seem to ask mrs. anglosaxy a barrage of questions]." I then proceeded to write as many relevant questions on the board, so Mr C could work on his answers.

The first couple of questions Mr C dealt with very well - it was his response to the question 'Why have you come to England?' that caught me trying to stiffle an outburst of laughter: "Ah, yes, I love you Amsterdam! Very bootiful!". As I wiped a tear away, he tried to correct himself, bless him..."Ireland, yes! I love you!"... [Mr C is slowly convincing me that London is NOT in England].

In an effort to bring some sense of normality, I called mrs. anglosaxy to ask her if she could remember the questions they regularly ask her. After jotting them down, Mr C suddenly took an interest in my mobile phone (my phone was brought over from England and is not available here, so everybody thinks it's flash - it's not).

"Is it new?"

"Nope, it doesn't even have any real games on it."

"Ah, and it's all in English."

I couldn't resist - "Yes, it even rings in English!"

"Wow, how does it do that?"

The next thing I knew, I was being splashed with water (might have been beer...) as I lay sprawled on the floor...

Bastards

Bastards...Jerusalem again. Sometimes get the feeling that these bastards have the power to strike at will. Apparently the authorities didn't expect a bombing because of the impending prisoner exchange...yeh right, they trust Hamas, Hizbullah et al now then?

A little disturbing

< worried citizen mode >
This is, perhaps, a wake up call...
< /worried citizen mode >

More tales of Mr C to come...last night's lesson was a classic!

Things that just don't translate...

As a supposed expert in the English language (I speak the lingo, therefore I must surely be able to handle the posts of Technical/Marketing Writer, GUI Designer, Teacher or Translator - and don't forget my abilities as a walking Thesaurus...ahem...), there is many a time when I come across words/expressions in Hebrew that just DO NOT WORK in English. I'm sure they exist in every language (I'm not even going to start thinking about the complexities of English, though I know I'm going to suffer a slow and painful death in trying to explain idioms like 'get a kick out of something' to Mr C...), but here are my own personal favourites that I regularly come across:

1. Mashu, mashu = something, something
2. Sof ha derekh = the end of the way
3. Haval al ha zman = shame about the time
4. Ata 10! = you're 10!
5. Sim ayin = put an eye
6. Ma nishma? = what is heard?
7. Ma pitom! = what suddenly!
8. Kfotz li = jump to me
9. Nafal ha-asimon = the phone token fell *
10. Yoffi toffi = beautiful toffee

*When was the last time you actually saw an 'asimon'? Could you imagine a self-respecting Israeli teenager actually carrying one of these in their pockets today?! How would you repackage them in today's telephony market when competing with SMS, a variety of ringtones and games? Buy one, get 50 free?...

"We used to run the world before you..."

Another classic comedy from the BBC - The Office - scooped a Golden Globe award last night. If any of you out there work in an office environment, you're going to have to catch this...

Polls apart!

Just to check that there is life out there, I've rigged up a weekly poll (on the right of my page, down a bit...). This week you'll have a chance to vote for your favourite food - just what gets you dribbling?

Izabo

Last night we ended up at the Barby club in Kfar Saba (again?!) to watch Rockfour. I'm not a big fan of Israeli rock/pop and I'm only familiar with a couple of Rockfour's songs but what was most rewarding from the night was the support act, Izabo (in Hebrew only, sorry, their site is still under construction)...they have some very catchy indie-type songs, all sung in English. I'm not sure if an Israeli English-singing band could ever corner the Israeli market, let alone Europe or the US, but they might just surprise some people, they have the songs and the charisma. I had a chat with the keyboard player after their show and embarrassed even myself with the amount of bullsh*t accolades I gave her and her band mates (the green bottles were piled high on our table by this time, that's my excuse...). Seriously though, if you like quirky, pop/indie songs, this band just might be for you...

Kubanneh!

[Please apply a liberal sprinkling of your very best Jamie Oliver accent to the following...]

As the wind whistles through the shutters, it's time for your Saturday mornin' 'Yemenite delights with anglosaxy!'. As Tel Aviv was battening down the hatches last night, mrs. anglosaxy was busy making her first ever kubanneh. For those of you new to the game, kubanneh is a greasy kind of bread/cake, similar to that other Yemenite delight, jachnun, but oh so different! And for those of you who are curious, mrs anglosaxy is not of Yemenite extraction, she's more of an Iraqi-Iranian cross-breed...

So, it all started last night, and, as for jachnun, it involved leaving it cooking overnight. After mixing the dough, including yeast of course (as you can see, we swapped our usual Friday night partaking of yeasterly substances packaged in green bottles for yeast of another kind), by hand for that authentic Yemenite, er...or Iraqi-Iranian taste - see picture 1 below, the mixture was left to stand for a couple of hours. Much to our delight (we're new at this kubanneh mularky) the mixture had risen (picture 2). Margarine was then added and then the whole lot was placed in one of those jachnun-like pots and it was stuck in the oven. Only this morning were we able to sample some home-made kubanneh (picture 3)...

TIP: Don't put too much sugar in it, otherwise you have yourselves a cake...

NOTE: Don't worry, later today I'm sure to partake in a few yeasterly mixtures packaged in green bottles - lots of English football on TV...

Trees they are a fallin'

Bit windy round this neck of the woods, not too cold but very blustery. The trees in the garden have taken such a pounding in the last 24 hours, one of the big ones is doing its Leaning Tower of Pisa impression. I managed to harness one of the dog's leads (we're out of string/rope...) around the tree and tied it to the wall, so hopefully it'll hang on until the winds subside...

Mr C didn't turn up for his lesson last night. Maybe he's taken offence to my tales of woe? One of his honchos was looking after the house when I arrived, but after waiting 15 minutes and not getting a reply on the phone, I beat a hasty retreat. It was probably for the best, what with all those powercuts in Ramat Gan...not sure I would have enjoyed sitting in the dark with Mr C and his honcho. I would probably have sat there nervously, wondering what to discuss first - how to overcome the difficulties the US is facing in Iraq now Saddam is in captivity (especially with Mr C's renowned knowledge for all things American), OR the impending bird flu pandemic in Asia? Tough choice...

How British are you?

So you think you know your fish and chips from your double-deckers?...How British are you?

I passed with flying colors (er, colours)...

Jolly good, wot! Anyone for tennis? That'll be ten ponies, guv. You're the epitome of everything that is English. Yey :) Hoist that Union Jack!

Lick the bowl

Sis, you would have been proud of me! If you ever open up an Israeli branch of your cake-making business, you know where to come...today it was my turn at work to bring in a home-made cake (our department has a fortnightly meeting, not in my corridor, accompanied with cake...). So, last night, ably assisted by mrs. anglosaxy's father (!), we toiled over this frozen chocolate and cream creation. My fellow corridor inmates have just polished off the last piece, it was damn good, even if I say so myself!

Now, the next few minutes will be interesting...the recipe called for a touch of brandy, so we kind of 'went for it' and added half a bottle (I totally blame mrs. anglosaxy's father...) - you don't need to guess where the other half went, do you? Anyway, things should be pretty chilled out in the office this afternoon, there definitely seems to be a few happier faces around as I type...

Plenty more work

I had a lesson with a 16 year old schoolgirl today. I wrote the word 'grandfather' on my board - we'd previously been working on a glossary of terms, all connected to 'the family' (and no Mr C in sight...) - and asked her to extract as many words as she could in 5 minutes. Some of the words she came up with: eye, pie, this, and rud. Plenty more work there then...

If I have to give a preference, I would say that I prefer teaching the younger generation. I have a very enthusiastic 11 year old girl who amazes me with her desire to learn, she'll turn out OK. If the kid wants to learn, their enthusiasm is pretty contagious and the whole lesson becomes fun...just seems so much more rewarding than trying to stop my jaw from getting too bruised 3x a week with a certain adult student of mine, you know the geezer...

Chiko=Mr C

I returned from a lesson with Chiko an hour or so ago. Phew...

***[As my blog has started to get a few hits and is 'out there' in the public domain, and as Israel is so f**king small, I've decided to rename Chiko as Mr C, just in case he, or any of his honchos, ever get their hands on this. I'm not too sure they'd appreciate my anecdotes and, heaven forbid, you wouldn't want to see me diving into the Med with a block of concrete wrapped delicately around my feet, would you? In addition, today Mr C decided to up the ante and increase his English sessions to 3 times a week. It might take a light year or two before Mr C might ever be able to understand what's written here but you never know...Running scared? You betcha, especially after his tales of tangles with the underworld and his rumbles in the jungle with owners of those charming 'health parlours' in Ramat Gan...]***

Anyway, back to the lesson with Mr C...I decided to go on a world tour this evening:

"OK, Mr C, let's take a look at a map of the world. Can you point out Israel?"

After a few seconds of furrowed brow and serious mental effort (Scotty was working overtime in the engine room...), Mr C managed to point to Lebanon. As the map was fairly small, I let this one go...

"OK, and what about America?"

Again a few seconds of mental turmoil passed before a stocky finger prodded at Africa. I wasn't sure if he saw it, but he must have heard my jaw slap on the table...in embarrassment, he was eager to make amends:

"I know where Australia is!" he stated proudly. Peeking through my hands that covered my face, I hesitated before daring myself to look at where he was pointing...Russia, bloody Russia!!

Next lesson: a discussion on world poverty...

You speek Engleesh?

Ahhh, if the joys of being an English speaker in a foreign land mean that I have to go to Molly Blooms on a Monday night, down a few pints (or half-litres) of Kilkenny, eat a few chips (commendably supported by smoked salmon), hear a few bars of 'Whisky in the Jar' - all in return for some translation work (translate = review a small document and just check there are no dodgy bits) on the premises, then I guess I'll just have to force myself to carry on living...

You know you've been in Israel too long...

...when you start blocking junctions during the rush hour (go on, you've still got a spacious 2 cm before you start nudging that car in front!).

...when you start jumping queues (lets face it...did you ever see an organized, civilized queue? Even those cute looking old Yemenite grannies have queue-jumping down to a fine art!).
Nightmare Scenario: Planeload of Israelis and only two check-in desks!!

...when you start trying to barge your way into a lift (or 'elevators' as some of you from 'across the pond' might prefer) while its occupants are still exiting - Let them get OUT before you try and push your way IN!

...when you start shouting on your mobile phone in the middle of the street (with exaggerated arm movements, of course).
Nightmare Scenario: Nice romantic movie at the cinema...accompanied by the joyous chorus of a Nokia and Eriksson doing their renditions of Sarit Hadad's latest (who?...).

...when you start leaning on your horn. (Quick, the traffic light is still on red. See if you can be the first to blow your horn before it changes to amber!)

...when you start using your hands to plough through that chicken - never mind that grease running down your arms, use a pita to mop it up!

...when you no longer get fazed as you wait for the shop assistant to finish her 'emergency' phone-call to her sister's friend's cousin's brother's girlfriend.

...when you no longer expect to hear a 'please' or 'thank you' - just give me the bloody change!

...when you no longer flinch at the sight of someone flushing their nasal contents onto the street - with the same hand that you may well soon be shaking!

Sunday, Sunday...

Welcome back O! The girl with the vodka-lined liver is back in the office! Can't say that I ever noticed her nose before but it looks pretty ordinary to me and looks much better for its one-on-one with the concrete stair...

I found this site on French military history. Nice quote at the bottom of the page:
"Going to war without France is like going deer hunting without an accordion. All you do is leave behind a lot of noisy baggage."

Destination: Kfar Saba

Kfar Saba was deemed the town of choice for last night's recreation. Our playing partners were again Rino and Shlotim. We originally intended to see a performance by 'Ha Giraffot' (The Giraffes...ahem...), but after it was canceled we sat ourselves in a nearby, hardly-authentic Irish bar called The Foggy Dew. Is it me, or have Irish bars become the new 'frozen yoghurt' (remember a few years back when frozen yoghurt was all the rage?)? They seem to be popping up everywhere. And what's all the fascination with Irish pubs - it's not all leprechauns, frothy pints of Guiness and back-slapping stories about the Emerald Isle, though the Pogues are f**king excellent... Er, English pubs not good enough for Israel?

Anyway, after a miniscule amount of alcohol, we moved on to another bar, called Bruno Pub (yes, another naming/spelling slip by an Israeli bar owner, forgetting that " 's "...us anglosaxies know where to find 'em!). Quite surprising the number of people about in Kfar Saba on a Friday night, but as mrs. anglosaxy put it, they were all probably desperate to be in Tel Aviv...