As we say in this neck of the desert, life is something something...
Beth's story about her new neighbors made me laugh out loud this morning. If you ask me, though, it's probably better than living near the Chiang Mai Zoo in Thailand these days. I mean, seriously. Panda porn?
According to this article on the Sky News website,
"A panda bear is being shown porn films to ignite his passion and teach the right
way to romp."
The Egyptian Sandmonkey has written a post about the demonstration against planned amendments to the Egyptian constitution that he attended yesterday. The scenes he describes are absolutely chilling, and certainly not reminiscent of any accepted "democracy". One of the things that scares me the most about this whole episode is that I haven't been able to find any mention of what happened in Cairo yesterday on any of the mainstream media (MSM) websites, and once again, the Egyptian government will probably deny that these events even took place. This is what happened when rioting broke out in November on the first day of Eid ul Fitr, and it took the MSM several days to start covering the story, which, incidentally, they initially picked up from the Egyptian blogosphere. I'm blogging this and linking to the Sandmonkey's post because the world needs to be made aware of Egypt's crumbling democracy.
I am awed by the Sandmonkey's courage to jump into the fray, knowing that the outcome would inevitably be violent, and knowing that he could get into some serious trouble. It is one thing for those of us living in a democracy to criticize our government, but quite another to knowingly put one's self in harm's way in order to fight for that democracy. Please take a moment to read his post.
During the past few days, Tel Aviv was transformed into a spotty patchwork of red and white as a seemingly endless number of soccer/football fans from England could be found wandering the streets, strolling along the promenade, and, probably more than anything else, drying up the local beer reserves. Thousands of English fans streamed into Israel last week ahead of yesterday evening's Euro qualifier against Israel (and I fell asleep shortly after the game started, which I'm sure will make Anglosaxy lose any respect for me that he might have had). Every newscast has spent an inconceivable amount of time following the goings-on of these fans, and if I had to hazard a guess as to what the most frequently asked interview question was among this crowd, I'd be willing to bet that it had to do with the number of beers they'd had so far that day (with mind-boggling answers such as "10" and "14", which would probably put me in a coma for several days, while these fellows seemed to be fine).
It was also noted on more than one occasion (and often with sloshy, beer-goggled pride) that a number of the fans partook of the services offered by a number of "after-hours" establishments in the vicinity of my office. There was even an interview with one young man as he was, umm, being serviced. He seemed to be having a rather difficult time answering the questions, and when asked which team he thought might win the game, he responded with something like, "ummm.... yeah... I don't... ummm... really know..." Now that, my friends, is entertainment. Overall though, they seemed like a rather cheerful bunch, and as we crawled through the traffic on the road running parallel to the promenade, we couldn't help but get caught up in the atmosphere, especially when we heard the boisterous singing coming from The Buzz Stop and Mike's Place (which made the news in 2003 as the scene of a suicide bombing) as onlookers lined the streets as though the Macy's Parade was about to come through.
It was recently announced that another "fine dining" establishment will soon be reaching our shores from the US, and I couldn't help but think that had this restaurant been here this week, they would have done very well. The eatery in question is Hooters, and if you were to ask me what slogan might be appropriate for the Israeli branch, I'd say something like, "Hooters... Because life in Israel isn't wacko enough...", or "Hooters... Can Israeli society sink any lower?" As I said, though, I think it would have been quite a hit with our English friends this week, given the excitement they displayed about meeting Israeli women (one fan said during yet another televised interview that as long as he got our beer and our women, he didn't care who won the game).
But what does all of this have to do with 80s Music Video Sunday, you ask? Well, all this talk about Hooters has reminded me of a time when Hooters meant something else. When it referred to a band out of Philadelphia that had a number of hits in the 80s, and not a derogatory name for female body parts. I've always really liked the song "And We Danced". I love the upbeat tune, and there's something about the video that has always put me in a good mood. I wonder if it's because the video showed a bunch of kids just having a good time, instead of the usual, recurring rock music video theme of far too many hooters...
And We Danced
The Hooters
She was a be-bop baby on a hard day's night
She was hangin' on Johnny, he was holdin' on tight
I could feel her coming from a mile away
There was no use talking, there was nothing to say
When the band began to play and play
And we danced like a wave on the ocean, romanced
We were liars in love and we danced
Swept away for a moment by chance
And we danced and danced danced
I met my be-bop baby at the Union Hall
She could dance all night and shake the paint off the walls
But when I saw her smile across a crowded room
Well I knew we'd have to leave the party soon
As the band began to play out of tune
And we danced like a wave on the ocean, romanced
We were liars in love and we danced
Swept away for a moment by chance
And we danced and danced danced
The endless beat, she's walkin' my way
Hear the music fade when she says
Are we getting too close, do we care to get closer
The room is spinning as she whispers my name
And we danced like a wave on the ocean, romanced
We were liars in love and we danced
Swept away for a moment by chance
And we danced and danced danced
And we danced like a wave on the ocean, romanced
We were liars in love and we danced
Swept away for a moment by chance
And we danced and danced danced
And we danced...
And we danced...
And we danced...
And we danced...
It would seem that all of the antics being played out in government circles until now were merely child's play - a warm up for the main event, so to speak. Apparently, our brilliant Finance Minister, Avraham Hirshson, has allegedly embezzled millions of dollars over the past few decades. That's right. Millions. And this is the man who is ultimately responsible for our national budget. Can anyone else see the irony in this, or is it just me?
This latest twist in the ongoing embarrassment known as the Israeli government has gotten me thinking. Israeli society seems overwrought with problems these days. One would be the aforementioned "embarrassment" (I've lost track of the number of current Knesset members who have either already been investigated for wrongdoings or are currently under investigation, not to mention those who are suspected of wrongdoings, but given the backlog, have not yet begun to be investigated). Another issue that one hears about periodically is the overcrowding in Israeli prisons. Yet another problem plaguing our society is unemployment. So, here's what I propose. Why not kill three birds with one stone? Let's bring in outside contractors to physically turn the Knesset building into a new prison. Construction and maintenance would provide employment, and locking the criminals inside the building where they're already spending a great deal of time anyway would save on space and logistical problems in the overcrowded prisons.
Given the dizzying speed at which our Knesset members are sliding down the slippery slope of freakishly bad behavior, and given the fact that most regular Israelis no longer have any respect for the government, the presidency or any of the symbols that represent these entities, turning the Knesset building into one big correctional facility that specializes in the rehabilitation of politicians might go along way towards repairing an untold number of our societal woes, especially if the money for maintenance is forceably removed from the increasingly well-lined pockets of those locked within its walls.
And, just for kicks, I think that all structural changes to the building should be made using the Pal-Kal method...
The latest edition of "Here - Notes from the Present" is out in print and online (in both English and Italian!). This journal was "launched in Italy in Italian in 1999 to gather testimonies, descriptions and observations of and reflections on the private-public times we live in". A number of something something blog entries were reprinted in the last edition, as well as in this one. The journal is a fascinating read, and in addition to the online version, subscriptions for the print edition are available at 30 euros/36 dollars for three issues. Check out the exact details regarding subscription rates here.
I can't believe it's been nearly a year since we were last in the US. I remember the trip vividly, as though it took place just last month, yet suddenly I find myself making preparations to fly once again. It will be different from last time though, for two reasons. First of all, we will be flying to Florida instead of New York, and second of all, the Little One and I will be flying solo without the Husband, as he has too much going on work-wise and can't get away right now.
I'm really looking forward to the trip, though not without some trepidation. We'll be flying the route recommended by SavtaDotty, which involves a direct flight from Tel Aviv to Atlanta lasting just over 13 hours, a layover of just under three hours, during which we'll have to go through Customs, grab luggage, return luggage, and probably take a train to our next gate (which I plan to milk for maximum entertainment value). The last leg of our journey should take a little more than 90 minutes, where the Little One's grandparents will be waiting for us by the massive aquarium to help us collect our luggage and make the fifteen-minute drive back to the house. I've ordered kiddie meals for the kiddie and selected our seats for all four flights (sadly, no bulkhead seats were available), and have more or less decided that potty training will be put on hold while in transit so that we won't have any unfortunate incidents at inconvenient times. The last thing I need while standing in the Customs line is "Mommy, doody/pee pee", and not having any place to run (and not wanting to give up our place in line).
But I digress. One of the things that concerns me the most about this trip (aside from having to keep my son entertained for three weeks straight) is language. As time goes by, he is speaking more and more in Hebrew, and less and less in English. He understands everything we say to him in English, he chooses books and videos in English, but the language he usually opts to speak in is Hebrew. If I ask him how to say a certain word in English, he can tell me, and occasionally initiates in English, but for the most part, his primary spoken language is now Hebrew. Our conversations usually occur with me speaking to him in English and him responding in Hebrew. I'm not overly thrilled with this situation, but don't like the idea of trying to force him to use English, as I don't want him to rebel against the language. I don't want him to see English as a chore.
I've begun preparing him for the trip, and he knows that in a few weeks we'll be getting on an airplane and flying to visit Grandma and Grandpa (and possibly Mickey Mouse, which has proved an effective deterrent when I want him to do something or stop doing something, as he doesn't want to miss meeting the mouse), and a slew of cousins, and aunt and uncle, etc. While gently pushing him to speak more English, I've been trying to explain to him that when we go to visit Mommy's family, he has to speak in English, as they don't speak Hebrew, but I'm not sure he understands yet. He seems to understand the concept in reverse, in that if we tell him to say something to someone else, and we tell him in English, he switches to Hebrew, even when it's a word that he normally uses in English. I'm hoping that once he's fully immersed in a totally English-speaking environment, the language will come to him naturally, and that after three weeks there, his English speaking skills will be on par with his Hebrew speaking skills. Needless to say, I don't relish the thought of having to play full-time translator for the duration of our trip, and I know that my parents will be incredibly frustrated if he responds to them only in Hebrew.
Given that he is not yet three years-old, I'm not sure how much he comprehends of his bilingualism. He understands that there's an accent he uses on certain letters when speaking in Hebrew and that the accent changes when speaking in English. Sometimes, if I ask him to say a particular word in English, he simply repeats it in Hebrew, using an American accent. While watching Balamory last week, Archie came on the screen. I made some innocuous comment about Archie and was immediately chastised by my son, who explained that it wasn't "Archie", it was "Ahhhrrrchie", and no amount of explaining and cajoling would convince him otherwise, even though Balamory is in English. On the other hand, while being read to in English by one of his young Israeli cousins recently, when the girl stumbled over a word or two, the Little One (who knew the book virtually by heart) corrected her while using his American accent.
Before we flew to the US last year, he was speaking, but not really connecting words into sentences yet. While there, he had something of a language explosion, and because it happened while we were in an English speaking environment, the "explosion" was mainly in English. After we returned to Israel, his Hebrew caught up with his English, and then surpassed it as he began to truly interact with his peers and other Israelis who were, of course, all around him. I am hoping for a similar explosion (or at least concrete recognition of the fact that there are two distinct languages, and that not everyone speaks both) during this trip, but given that his language skills are far more developed this time around, I'm not quite sure what to expect.
*This post cross-posted to Brio.
As I mentioned in a previous entry, I spent the year of 1986-87 on a year program in Israel, and even managed to break my ankle during my stay. It actually happened when I'd been in the country for less than a month, coincidentally, a few short weeks after someone, while wishing me good luck, had told me to "break a leg". So I did, in a really spectacular way. Our group spent four days on an army base in the north so that we could have a small of what our Israeli peers would experience during their basic training. I didn't make it through all four days. On day two, there was an obstacle course. The first obstacle was a high wall that had to be scaled. You guessed it. I didn't make it past the first obstacle. I managed to get to the top of the wall, and even managed to get over it. It would seem, however, that I didn't land on the ground properly, for the next thing I knew, I heard a crack, and suddenly, my right leg was, umm, improperly aligned.
Given that this occurred just over twenty years ago (which is rather shocking in itself), I don't remember everything that happened. I do remember arguing with people in the base clinic, people who tried to tell me that it wasn't broken, but rather just a bad sprain (I retorted that it had to be broken, given that my knee and foot generally had a tendency to point in the same direction, not opposite directions). I remember the bumpy ride to the hospital in Nahariya, and how it hurt like hell. I remember the idiot masquerading as a medical professional, who told me to get out of the wheel chair and onto the examining table, the one who not only wouldn't help me get up, but actually left the room after telling me to do so, which is how I learned that putting weight on a broken ankle, even by mistake and even only a little bit of weight, is a really, really bad idea.
Not only was my ankle broken, but it was broken in three places. I would need surgery to repair it. With cast and crutches, I was taken back to the base, and the next morning our program director drove up from Jerusalem to pick me up. The hospitals were on strike (some things never change here...), but because I was in Israel on a Hadassah program, I was able to get admitted to Hadassah Hospital on Mount Scopus, which was adjacent to our facilities.
Memories of the week or so that I spent in the hospital are sketchy. Many of the staff members I encountered were very nice. I can specifically remember one young male nurse from one of the neighboring Arab villages who was especially helpful, who would spend extra time talking to me and bring me things like cans of Coke from the "outside" whenever I asked. I remember someone asking me if there was something that I really wanted to eat, and that is how I managed to get a cheeseburger brought to me while in the hospital. I seem to recall a friendly plaster fight between me and a handsome young doctor who was closing up my cast after the swelling from the surgery had gone down (during which they had inserted six screws and a metal plate, all of which were removed a year later in the US). I remember the stories of a few of the other patients – one young man who had fallen while running on his kibbutz and gotten stones embedded in his leg (which he proudly showed me in the clear plastic container given to him especially for that purpose); the older woman in the bed next to me whose body was cancer-ridden, but was stuck in the orthopedics ward because she'd broken her femur. When she wasn't completely wracked with pain, she would tell me about her life, and while I've forgotten what she told me, I do remember that it was very impressive, as one would expect of someone who had lived through Israel's brief history.
When she was in pain though, her moaning and crying was frightening. I felt young, alone, and scared myself, and to dull my own pain and block out the world around me, I would grab my walkman and play a certain cassette over and over again. That album was the 1985 release of Norwegian band a-ha's "Hunting High and Low", and the song that I listened to the most was "Take On Me". I've already mentioned my feelings for this band (and of course, for lead singer Morten Harket), so I won't bore you with that again (except to say the man is definitely living proof of the adage about men who get better with age...). I won't put this song on my cell phone, but it will always remain in my heart (yes, I'll wait while you go throw up now) as the song (album, band, etc) that got me through a really difficult, lonely time.
Take On Me
a-ha
We're talking away
I don't know what
I'm to say I'll say it anyway
Today's another day to find you
Shying away
I'll be coming for your love, OK?
Take on me, take me on
I'll be gone
In a day or two
So needless to say
I'm odds and ends
But that's me stumbling away
Slowly learning that life is OK.
Say after me
It's no better to be safe than sorry
Take on me, take me on
I'll be gone
In a day or two
Oh the things that you say
Is it life or
Just a play my worries away
You're all the things I've got to remember
You're shying away
I'll be coming for you anyway
Take on me, take me on
I'll be gone
In a day or two
Given the fact that European Jewry was nearly decimated in the last century, and noting that anti-Semitism has been on the rise for some years now, it is nothing short of scandalous that our government has, at the request of the prime minister, opted not to discuss the genocide carried out by the Ottoman Empire against the Armenians from 1915 to 1917. I am usually one of those individuals who argues mightily against those who believe that the Jewish people should be held to higher moral standards than others, but in this case, we should indeed be ashamed of the stance taken by our government. Who are we – living in a state created from the ashes of our own Holocaust – to deny the Holocaust of another nation? And indeed, it was nothing short of a Holocaust, as anywhere from hundreds of thousands – perhaps even one-and-a-half million – Armenians perished.
What is it about Turkey that makes all other nations feel the need to bend over backwards and turn a blind eye, whether it involves the Armenian genocide, Cyprus, or even the law according to which an individual can be convicted of the vague crime of "insulting Turkishness"? It occurs to me as I write this, that if I were writing as a Turk, I could be convicted of such a crime, which is simply mind-boggling. It seems to me that if the Turks were truly as keen as they say they are with regard to joining the European Union, that they would be prepared to come to terms with certain aspects of their past, instead of refusing to acknowledge these events and insisting that other nations do the same. It is disappointing that they have managed to stifle criticism of their past and present actions, and nothing short of criminal that they expect their trading partners to do the same. How can Turkey successfully join and integrate into the EU without truly coming to terms with its history, without addressing and rectifying its mistakes?
It is shameful that the Israeli government prefers to avoid hurting the sensibilities of a government that seems to have no problem when it comes to criticizing ours, especially when dealing with the topic of the Armenian genocide. By doing so, we are conveniently ignoring historical lessons learned, and setting the stage for those who choose to conveniently ignore the Holocaust against the Jews. Our government, by its actions, is essentially lending a hand to Holocaust denial. The lengths that we will go to in order to obtain acceptance as a nation have grown very scary indeed.
Like many of my like-minded friends, I find myself becoming tired - overwhelmed, even - by the way that Israel is always being portrayed in the news. It is exhausting to see the constant stream of bad press because of our actions in the Territories, our behavior at checkpoints, targeted assassinations etc. It is frustrating, because I know that we are capable of so much more than these acts of violence and humiliation, and that there are so many other faces that we can be showing to the world, which is why it was so refreshing to come across this article in Haaretz today, proving once again all that Israel is so much more than just an oppressor of Palestinians. Envoy to El Salvador recalled, reportedly found naked, drunk According to reports, two weeks ago San Salvador police approached a man that seemed to be in need of help. Upon reaching the man, they discovered that he was inebriated, his hands were tied, his mouth was gagged with a rubber ball and he was carrying accessories that implied he had been involved in sexual activity. In spite of his inebriated state, the naked man identified himself by his full name and explained that he is Israel's ambassador to the country.
By Haaretz Service
The Foreign Ministry recalled Israel's ambassador to El Salvador,
Tzuriel Refael, after he was reportedly found on the street naked, drunk, bound and gagged, Israel Radio reported on Monday.
Sometimes an announcement can make you simultaneously ecstatic and depressed. This was the case when I found out that The Police were getting back together. Their album "Ghost in the Machine" was one of the first albums I got when I joined one of those wretched record clubs. You remember those, don't you? You paid something like one penny to join, got eight cassettes of your choice, then had to purchase a certain number of cassettes at full price within a designated amount of time. You also specified your favorite music genre, and every month, unless you notified them otherwise, the record club would automatically send you the so-called "album of the month" for that particular genre (at full price, of course).
But I digress. The Police. I was a big fan of The Police, and later on, a big fan of Sting's, after he went solo. NRG and I attended two of his concerts together – one at the Boston Garden (where I have distinct memories of fighting over the binoculars after our artist removed his shirt during the course of his act), and one at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center. And, I'm sure if I were to dig threw the piles of old t-shirts laying around my parents' basement, I'd find that black Sting concert t-shirt that I probably spent far too much money on. Do kids even buy concert t-shirts these days?
So, obviously, hearing that my beloved Police were getting back together was indeed exciting. I've got a friend who's going to see them in both NY and Amsterdam. Sadly, I don't see how I am going to see them. They aren't performing anywhere that I can get to, so it seems that I will have to give them a miss.
And, you know how you associate a song with a particular person, even though you can't really remember why? Today's song is one of those songs. Back in my sometimes-mentioned summer camp days, I had a friend named Beth. I've got no idea where she is today or what she's doing with her life, but to this day, I still associate "Don't Stand So Close to Me" with Beth. I can still remember how even just hearing the opening notes would send us off into a fit of hysterics, with Beth turning a lovely shade of red (something to do with a crush on a certain counselor, if I remember correctly, but I really can't be sure). So Beth G, wherever you are, this one's for you...
Don't Stand So Close to Me
The Police
Young teacher, the subject of schoolgirl fantasy
She wants him so badly, knows what she wants to be
Inside her there's longing, this girl's an open page
Book marking, she's so close now, this girl is half his age
Don't stand, don't stand so
Don't stand so close to me
Don't stand, don't stand so
Don't stand so close to me
Her friends are so jealous, you know how bad girls get
Sometimes it's not so easy to be the teacher's pet
Temptation, frustration, so bad it makes him cry
Wet bus stop, she's waiting, his car is warm and dry
Don't stand, don't stand so
Don't stand so close to me
Don't stand, don't stand so
Don't stand so close to me
Loose talk in the classroom, to hurt they try and try
Strong words in the staffroom, the accusations fly
It's no use, he sees her, he starts to shake, he starts to cough
Just like the old man in that book by Nabakov
Don't stand, don't stand so
Don't stand so close to me
Don't stand, don't stand so
Don't stand so close to me
Don't stand, don't stand so
Don't stand so close to me
Don't stand, don't stand so
Don't stand so close to me
Don't stand, don't stand so
Don't stand so close to me
Don't stand, don't stand so
Don't stand so close to me
Don't stand, don't stand so
Don't stand so close to me
Don't stand, don't stand so
Don't stand so close to me
A major milestone is now being reached in the something something household. We are currently in the throes of potty training, after an unsuccessful attempt was made last summer (resulting in copious amounts of urine being removed from various items that shall remain unidentified, lest you think twice about where to sit during any upcoming visits to our home). We're doing much better this time around, and aside from the increasingly infrequent accident, I'd say we're doing quite well.
The technicalities of the potty training process are accompanied by much running and cheering – I've lost track of the number of times I've been forced to leap up from the chair in our home office, chasing after the little blur that ran past the door while yelling, "Mommy! Pee pee!" We race to the bathroom, and he hops onto his little step stool. Pants are quickly pulled down, and for me as a female, this is where it gets tricky. Aim. Who knew? Certainly not me. I can honestly say that I'd never really thought about it. Until now. Until I watched as the Little One proudly managed to hit everything but the inside of the toilet bowl. The walls, the floor, the plumbing, the raised toilet cover. Who'd have guessed that such a little boy could make such a big mess? I quickly mastered the fine art of aiming, given that it seemed preferable to take an active role in the urination process than to have to clean up the resulting mess if I didn't.
You'd think that once the stream had stopped, we'd be finished. Umm, not quite. Unbeknownst to me, there's a part two. Little One has finally emptied his bladder, and as I start to reach for the toilet paper, he offers a brief instruction. "Shake it, Mommy. Shake it!" Shake what? What? OH! That? I have to shake that? Good grief. Once again, I find myself asking, "who knew?" I'd never have guessed that one. After all, our plumbing works differently, and unless I'm doing something wrong, there's no shaking required at any stage.
And of course, lest you think that this process is done without speaking, think again. Think "positive reinforcement". While the Little One is shooting his stream, I'm shooting off a verbal stream of encouragement. "Way to go, Little One!" "That's right. You ARE making pee pee in the toilet!" "Ooops! Not on the wall, Sweetie." "What? You don't have pee pee, you have doody? Turn around! Turn around!" "No, you can't see your doody while you're actually sitting on the toilet, Sweetie. It doesn't work that way."
Finally, once all is said and done, once we've shaken, wiped, flushed and dressed, it's time for congratulations. "You made pee pee/doody in the toilet! You rock the house, Little One!" "Let's tell Aba what you did!" "Yay!"
Then there are those occasions when we are somewhat less successful, though thankfully, there seem to be fewer and fewer of these. In this case, the scene usually plays out as follows:
"Little One, do you have to make pee pee or doody?"
"No, Mommy."
Five to ten minutes later. "Little One, do you have to make pee pee or doody?"
"No, Mommy."
Five to ten minutes later, after hearing peculiar "straining" noises coming from the Little One. "Little One, did you make pee pee? Did you make doody?"
"No, Mommy. I'm farting."
"Are you sure? You're a little stinky, and your pants are wet. Did you make doody?"
"YES!"
Sigh... "Why didn't you tell me, Sweetie? You're supposed to do it in the potty, remember?"
Little One opts for the diversionary tactic. "MOMMY! LOOK! IT'S FIREMAN SAM ON TV! DID YOU SEE FIREMAN SAM? FIREMAN SAM! FIREMAN SAM!"
By now I am hip to his tactics, and while he continues to chatter on about Fireman Sam, I carefully pick him up and run to the bathroom. I extol the virtues of toilet use, while he again chooses to go with the diversionary tactic.
"Little One, you know you should be making pee pee and doody in the toilet, right? You have to use the toilet, Sweetie."
More often than not, he responds with, "In da name uh-duh Hundred Maker (sic) Wood, I cature (sic) you!"
And really. How could I possibly argue with logic like that?
I spent the academic year of 1986-87 in Israel, participating in a program from which two of my fellow bloggers are also past participants (and one of whom is even a current staff member). It was an exciting, unforgettable year, which began with me unceremoniously breaking my leg and requiring surgery (enabling me to learn all sorts of words that they didn't teach us in Hebrew class), leaving me in a cast for ten weeks and laying the groundwork for future dealings with the Israeli medical system (of which, unbeknownst to me at the time, there would be many), teaching me how to argue and get what I want as a patient (which was not as common as you might think back in those days – I made an enemy of one doctor who was insulted that I demanded a second opinion. Fortunately, the second doctor had the hots for my friend, and I was able to use it to my advantage...).
The year continued with my friends and me becoming involved with a charming group of young Armenian men living in the Armenian Quarter of the Old City in Jerusalem, providing us with a window into a culture of which we knew very little. To this day, I have a soft spot for all things Armenian, and hanging in our hallway is a small piece of artwork created by Jerusalem-based ceramics artist Vic Lepejian, whose work I have admired since I first entered his shop (Vic's Armenian Art Studio, located just inside the Jaffa Gate on Armenian Patriarchate Road) back in 1986.
There are, of course, certain songs that I will always associate with that year, songs that will conjure up memories of different events, whether it be me on my first Armenian date (we went to see Top Gun at the long gone Edison Theater, with me in a full leg cast, and to this day, "Take My Breath Away" takes me back to that evening), the song "We're In the Army Now", by Status Quo, which, to me, symbolizes the Israeli experience, given that the Israelis who were my age during that year were all doing their compulsory military service, and the remake of the song "Lean on Me" by Club Nouveau, which I can remember listening to endlessly while working in the apple packing house of a certain northern kibbutz.
One of my favorite songs to come out that year was a rap song, a parody of a song made popular by Madonna. The artists were the Dutch duo MC Miker G & DJ Sven, and the song is "Holiday Rap". As I recall, the song was a huge hit in Israel, and I remember being incredibly frustrated when I couldn't find it anywhere once I returned to the US.
Holiday Rap
MC Miker G & DJ Sven
We celebrate seven weeks Miker "G" and Sven
We took a holiday with all our friends
It was a time to relax and let your worries behind
Exactly seven weeks or something crossed my mind
It was the shine of the time we never forget
One morning our parents kicked us out of our beds
We told them it was stupid, don't play the fool
But the answer was short: you gotta go to school!
"G"'s running up and down and everybody know
Rappin', rockin', poppin' in the street-kid-show
Miker "G" rocks the house and you know what I'm saying
Now when he's on the mike there is no delaying
So you better run to see him in your neighbourhood
He's rappin', rockin' all the way to Hollywood
He, check it out, these are the words we say
You scream with us: we need a holiday!
We gonna ring-reng-a-dong for a holiday
Put your arms in the air and let me hear you say
We gonna ring-reng-a-dong for a holiday
Put your arms in the air and let me hear you say
We gonna ring-reng-a-dong for a holiday
Miker "G" and Sven were here to stay
We gonna ring-reng-a-dong for a holiday
He, check out the new style we just play
We are going on a summer holiday, if you want to go, yoh Sven
We're going to London and New York City
And we take a little piece of Amsterdam
We are going on a summer holiday, if you want to go, yoh Sven
We're going to London and New York City
And we take a little piece of Amsterdam
I wanna holiday, I scream a lot, school is the only thing we got
Sven's parents told me I better go
'Cause Sven's hangin' on the street in the street-kid show
In the bar "Rox" what happened to you?
I told him it's my life and I know what I'm doin'
I saw the school I thought I'll never stay
Give me seven weeks again, I need my holiday!
Well, this is my partner with the number one jam
Famous in the boogie-box in Amsterdam
He's the fastest rapper and his name is Miker "G"
His rap is stronger than the sucker M. C.'s
Well, let me show you what my man can do
Rappin', rockin', poppin' and the boogaloo, too
But anyway, no more delay, just listen to the beat-box he will play
My name is M. C. Sven, I'm also deejay
I didn't like the schools, I took another way
Yoh like the Miker "G" so I used my voice
And soon I bought a big Rolls Royce
That's right, my name is Miker "G", I use the holiday with the M. I. C
On the street was a party bigger than Hollywood
I grew up in this neighbourhood
We gonna ring-reng-a-dong for a holiday
Put your arms in the air and let me hear you say
We gonna ring-reng-a-dong for a holiday
Put your arms in the air and let me hear you say
We gonna ring-reng-a-dong for a holiday
Miker "G" and Sven were here to stay
We gonna ring-reng-a-dong for a holiday
He, check out the new style we just play
We are going on a summer holiday, if you want to go, yoh Sven
We're going to London and New York City
And we take a little piece of Amsterdam
We are going on a summer holiday, if you want to go, yoh Sven
We're going to London and New York City
And we take a little piece of Amsterdam
Bite is the thing most rappers do, but I can write my own thing, too
I can understand things most rappers say
'Cause rappin' is my thing and I do it every day
I'm the number one rapper, yoh, my name is Sven
I can rap more raps than a superman can
So I'm the guy on your radio, also rockin' to the rhythm in stereo
And you don't stop that bodyrock, and you won't stop that bodyrock
You spell my name right, I'm Miker "G", M-I-K-E-R and "G" you see
Well, "M" is for microphone and "G" is genius
Miker "G" in the house that's serious
And you know that and you show that, it's time Sven, so let's go bad
We are going on a summer holiday
We're going to London and New York City
We are going on a summer holiday
We're going to London and New York City!
