There's no way that's actually safe...

Before I write a ridiculously long post, I would like to mention that there is a group of soldiers here at the university, presumably studying some program or other as part of their army service.

I was made ever aware of this when I heard shouting outside, and lo and behold, there is a small gathering of young soldiers, probably younger than me, just chilling four flights down in the back parking lot, situated directly below me, within view from the window.

In fact, they are not just chilling.

They are lighting fires.

Fires fueled by gasoline.

Gasoline which liberally spills outside the so-called boundary made out of what appears to have the shape of a garbage-can lid.

(the spilling bothers no one.)

And then putting them out with a fire extinguisher.

36 times.

I am very happy that the army is teaching its new recruits how to use a fire extinguisher, but I would prefer that such an occurence
a)was operated under mildly stricter safety standards
b)did not take place 3 feet from a rather dense set of bushes
c)did not send plumes of gasoline-fueled smoke into my room
d)did not take place anywhere near the university in which all my personal belongings are located.

Also, I would like it if the 18 year olds didn't make macho cat-calls when the fires were lit. I would rather they do so when the fires are put out, so as to indicate to me that it is the putting out that excites them, rather than the lighting.

Moving right along:

My classes are going rather well. I dropped one of them (writing systems) because it was so unbelievably boring I clawed the walls. Also, it doesn't really count for any credit. At all. So I dropped it like third period french. Or more precisely, like fourth period writing systems.
Also, I would appreciate it if when the teacher verbally singles me out as the only native english speaker in the class, that s/he not try to correct my english. I am a highly educated and literate individual, and so if I try to say that X is a word, X is a bloody word. I am not making it up; it is not in my interest to fool the 20 other arab/russian/israeli students who I would like to befriend. So stop second guessing me. If I say "sketchball" is a word, akin to "slimeball" or "dirtball", and that it is "current slang for a shady character who is prone to lurking in the shadows, doing questionable acts, etc", then that is what it means.

Goddamn.

It was worth it, though, when I heard immediate mutterings and discussions, in Arabic and Russian, with the word "ahsketchaball", and "sketchyballu", as soon as I explained what it was. Even cuter when they all meticulously copied it into their notebooks, and asked me how to spell it.

Awwwww....ESL.....

Other than that, I spent the evening teaching my ethiopian tutor kid how to properly pronounce words in an Usher song (Caught up), though considering that he uses words like "brotha", "gon'" ("going to", in case you were wondering), and "nekked", i then had to explain to the 12 year old with a vocabulary of perhaps 35 words, total, a)what those words actually meant and b)how to properly pronounce/spell/inflect them.
However, I am now officially the coolest tutor, since we were basically busking on the streetcorner with her best friend, singing Usher and Destiny's Child at the top of our lungs.
Sweet.

Also, after doing a friend's French homework in one of my classes today (English Lexicology, by the way. Nothing remotely related to french), she has decided that I am now her French tutor. No monetary involvement, but I can handle it. The fact that it is not my mother tongue, and that I currently have a firmer grasp on Hebrew than I do french, does not seem to bother anyone in this arrangement. Which is nice.

Do you know where the stupidest place to spend a Sunday in this country is?
Nazareth.
Even the churches are closed.
I went on the most boring daytrip, where I was clearly promised a trip to the market place, which was of course, closed on sunday. And it was not boring because of the closed market, a fact to which I can attest by the 40 pictures I took of the lovely scenery and mosaics of Zippori and Nazareth, but because we had the most boring tour guide, ever. She is one of the professors here, and it was a class trip that the rest of Overseas was invited on, and I'm sure she would be an amazing tour guide in her native language, Hebrew. But she hemmed and hawed so damn much that I swear, she was talking for hours, but I didn't remember anything specific about what she said at any given point, even thirty seconds after she finished. All of us spaced off. Thank god for commemorative plaques and information centres with the same information, in a more user-friendly format.

My chicken is defrosting and I need to make sure that there are no gasoline-induced threats to my lovely curtains.

That is all for now
-Jessie