Like I've got time for a BlogSpot!!

2005-11-08T02:44:00.000+02:00

Like I've got time to move house!!

2005-10-20T10:22:00.000+02:00

Psychologists have proven that the second most stressful experience a person can go through in their life is moving house. Here in the LIGTFAB family however, we’ve never been happy with second place when in comes to psychological norms. So we tried to find the short time in which my wife has her last exams, I start my new university and is just over the chagim, and decided to move then. Genius.

To expound:
It’s not just my wife’s exams, it’s her moed bet, her “second chance” exams, as she spent the first lot marrying me. So she really has to do well in these.
And I’m not just starting a new university, I’m taking the 5 week, 80 hour super-intense prep course, which I need to pass to stay here. So no pressure there then.
And It’s not just over the chagim - when the entire country decides to close for a month and traffic is at its all time worst - it’s over the few weeks in the year in which a myriad of friends and family come out to Israel, who we just have to see.
And it’s raining - great.

In short, I really don’t have time for a blogspot.

Mrs LIGTFAB

2005-10-03T16:36:00.000+03:00

How to swear like an Englishman - Lesson 1

2005-09-29T18:51:00.000+03:00

One of the problems with living in an Israeli society and studying in an American university, is that no-one I know swears properly. The average American’s vocabulary, when it comes to swearing, consists of just two crude words, to be termed the "f-word" and the "s-word".
As I live and work among these unenlightened folk, I feel it my obligation expand their basic lexicon with some good English swear words. Therefore, I shall be teaching the basic English swear words here, over the next few weeks, for you to learn.
This public service comes with 3 preconditions:

For reasons of piety (i.e. My mother probably reads this blog), I shall not be including the more vulgar of the English swear words.
The reader must agree to take upon his or herself to incorporate all the words, at the rate of word a day, into his or her vocabulary, thus learning to swear properly in just under a week.
Whenever possible, all words should be said with a good British accent, preferably a London accent or the queen's English. If this proves too difficult, a Manc or Brummy accent will do, however please do not resort to a Scouse accent, as this may offend.

Lesson 1 - The B words
We are specifically starting with four words that are used in a similar way to - and thus easily exchangeable with - their cruder American counterpart. These four B-words also form the base of a swearing Brit's vocabulary. They are:

Bugger, Bollocks, Bloody and Bastard

Bugger is normally used like the American f-word, as in "bugger you", "bugger off", "oh bugger" and if said in shock, "bugger me".
Similarly, bollocks should be used as a replacement for the s-word, in phrases like "oh bollocks" and "what a load of bollocks". You could describe a certain film or event by saying "it was bollocks", or use it by itself as an exasperated "bollocks!”
Bloody, the most English of the b-words, is equally interchangeable with the term "f-ing", as an adverb or adjective placed before the word it’s describing. It can be used simply, as in “bloody hell” or extensively, as is “I’m not bloody chasing after that bloody dog any bloody more!”
And finally, Bastard. Being the most internationally recognised English swear word is an advantage, as it is easy to learn and incorporate into your everyday language. However this can also be a great disadvantage, as the subtleties that make it truly English are often lost. But don’t worry about that now, we’ll be coming back to that in lesson 4...

Until then, keep practising!

Coming soon...
Lesson 2 - Mothers, fathers and other blood relatives

Just not right

2005-09-28T17:16:00.000+03:00

Some things just shouldn't be allowed, like this guy who photographed his own brain surgery.

SVEDËNHELL

2005-09-26T23:52:00.000+03:00

I wish to officially take back what I said two weeks ago. I hate Ikea! I loath it with an unearthly passion and now I'm going to tell you why. I'm going to moan, I'm going to rant, I'm going to blitch, and you're just going to have to listen. Cos it's my blog. And I said so.

This is how you buy stuff in Ikea Israel. First, you have a look through the catalogue, either online or in print, and get a rough idea of what you want to buy. You choose beds, a sofa or two, tables for the kitchen and dining room, chairs for both, bathroom cabinets, office equipment, etc. Then you go to Ikea, and are greeted instantly by bright lights, clean walls, a kid’s crèche and two elegant restaurants (one meat, one milk - both fully kosher). Until now you're doing great, you're happy, you're relaxed, you're naïve.

You spend a good few hours on the top floor, where everything is laid out nicely and it's easy to see what Ikea has to offer. You're given a small pad and a truly Swedish pencil, and walk around with the catalogue in one hand, the pad in the other and the pencil in your mouth (or behind the ear for the authentic experience) choosing what you want for your new home and writing down all the product codes. This part is actually quite difficult, as you try to match colours, fabrics, rooms and themes as much as possible. Admittedly, it's slightly irritating that "light wood" in one bookshelf isn't quite the same tone as in another, and that the chairs that match your table only come with red, black or beige cushions, while the matching couch comes in blue, green, yellow or white. But you're bigger than that. You struggle on, and with a triumphant but weary smile on your face you bring your full list, with codes, numbers and colours to the cashier.

With a tone that one normally saves for children and the physically disabled, your cashier pitifully informs you that you've been writing down the wrong product code. You've been looking at the red number on the bottom left corner, when you really need the black number on the bottom right. You need to start again.

Most of us begin to crumble at this point, but some foolhardy people still believe they can keep their composure, and with a smile slightly wearier than triumphant, they head off back through the faux wood jungle once again. Many are lead to believe, you see, that re-writing their list "should be easy", as they've "done in once before" and that all they need to do is find the stuff on their list and write down the other number. I mean, it sounds logical? No? No. for this is Ikea, and logic hath no place within these halogen lit walls.

The Ikea designers, with their incessant scheming, have named all their products in their warehouse after Swedish porn stars! Their basic extending kitchen table is called "Mygård", their single beds are "Tðvik", their bookshelf’s "Billy", and their aptly named saucepan rack "Feckїt". So you're trawling through the shower curtains, trying to find the code to something on your list called an "Anneboded", and about now even the most hardened crusader begins to loose his cool.

But this, my friends, is just the beginning.

Because sometimes, the product code you now need is missing, replaced by a little yellow slip that says "ask at the product helpdesk". So you go to the product helpdesk, to be told that for some reason or another, the product that you want isn't available. Here is a true list of reasons we were told we couldn't get the products we wanted today, in order of appearance:

The one in stock only has one door instead of two.
It’s not available in that size.
No-one else wants it in blue.
Everyone else wants it in blue.
It’s not in stock, never was in stock, and never will be in stock.
The guy who knows where we keep those isn't here today.
It’s in our warehouse, but too high up.

Never mind that you've just spent two and a half hours colour co-ordinating your living room, we don't have half the stuff, so you'll just have to start again.

I'm gonna speed up here cos I'm probably boring you. I boring me for goodness sake! Here is the abridged version from what happens next to when you finally get to go home:

You go back to the counter to pay, she sends you downstairs to the warehouse, they send you back upstairs to get the petek (product slips) for half your stuff, and tell you to come back down afterwards to get the rest off your stuff. When you get back downstairs, you discover that they don't get the stuff for you (like in Chul), but that you have to go round the warehouse and get it all yourself. So you spend an hour or so putting beds, wardrobes, desks, bookcases and the likes into oversized yet still ridiculously small trolleys. Then, physically exhausted, you bring said trolleys to the checkout only to discover that they don't fit through the slim checkout isles. I have seen grown men cry at this point. Somehow, you get the stuff through the checkout, give in the aforementioned petek, and are told that you have to wait another hour while they get the aforementioned stuff for you. At this point, I cried. Finally, and I do mean finally, you get all your stuff together, pay for it, they give you the receipt and another slip of paper which you take, with your beds, wardrobes, desks, bookcases and the likes, to home delivery where you have to wait for yet another hour for them to give you stickers to label all your products and a stick to hit the dog that bit the cat that ate the goat.

You can then, after spending seven hours wandering around SvedënHell learning to swear profusely in Swedish and cursing every Nordic god you can think off, go home.

Thank you for listening, I feel much better now.

Society for HandHeld Hushing

2005-09-20T12:13:00.000+03:00

There are some people, good people, who look around the world today for ways to change our lives for the better. They are the true Heros of our generation.

They saw the crisp and said:
"I know! Salt and vinegar!!"

They saw the toilet seat and said:
"Ah, let's try putting a hole in that"

More recently, some wonderful people from Coudal have secured themselves a place amongst these heroes by giving us the means to combat one of modern societies minor pests, American seminary girls on cell phones! These nice people racked their brains for months as to how to stop these self proclaimed "Very American Americans" driving us mad in shops, restaurants, busses, trains and on the street, and finally came up with quite a good idea.

As a public service, they introduced the reasonably polite SHHH, the Society for HandHeld Hushing. Available now are printable, fill-in-the-blank cards that you hand to irritating Americans, informing them that no-one in their immediate vicinity wants to hear about their lives, problems or eating disorders.

Since their creations, they have been downloaded over 850,000 times and featured in Wired News, on Australian National Radio and dozens of other places. They're available here, and I would highly recommend anyone frequently travelling to, through or in areas often populated by such annoyances to carry the cards on their person at all times.

Oh, and I'm thinking of getting them printed with the Egged logo.

Caffeine makes you poo

2005-09-20T08:35:00.000+03:00

Sometimes the title of a post can say so much you don't feel the need to write anything more in the post itself.

It does, by the way.

Never blog about bloging

2005-09-17T23:53:00.000+03:00

When you write your own blog you can basically get away with anything. You don't have to please your readers, you don't have to cater to anyone's taste, you don't have to be interesting, and your blog doesn't even have to make sense! But there are some basic unwritten rules about bloging that must be adhered to at all times. And up there with "never blog about your co-workers" and "always know if your mother reads your blog" is a fundamental and oft forgotten rule:

Do not insult your readers intelligence, i.e.:

Never blog about blogging!

We all know the feeling, you one sit down at your computer to blog one fateful day, and nothing happens. Nothing. Happens.

You can't think of anything to blog about.

It may not be because your life's particularly boring or empty; you might just have nothing to say. There's always the chance that you've stumbled upon the great discovery of conversation, and with a small cry of "Eureka!" have began saying things directly to people, thus having no more need to blog. Or you could just be shallow.

Either way, you are suddenly faced with a momentous, blog-changing decision. What do you do now? Oh, you know the sensible thing to do would be to stand up, turn off your computer, and walk away. Go do something else. But in the back of your mind, a twisted logic is beginning to form:

I normally blog about what goes on in my life.
What's going on in my life right now is that I have nothing to blog.
I should blog about the fact I have nothing to blog.

So I say "NO!" and say again, "NO!"
You never, ever, under any circumstances, blog about the fact that you have nothing to blog about. If you’ve got nothing to blog, don’t blog! Sometimes inspiration comes, sometimes it doesn’t. You people just have to learn to let it go sometimes. Learn to walk away.

There's nothing worse than reading a blog titled "I have nothing to say" or worse "what should I blog about". Nothing is more insulting to the experienced blogger. You’ve taken the time and effort to visit some blog, only to be slapped in the proverbial face. With a proverbial salmon. You feel violated.
People can get hurt that way.

You awful, thieving people

2005-09-13T19:49:00.000+03:00

I would like to say something, publicly, and for the record. I think computer piracy is wrong. First of all it is a crime, but more importantly, I think it undermines our already over-corrupt society.
I have had enough of people coming up to me and, because I know a little about computers, asking me where they can download this song or that movie.

It is to those people that I now say:

"No! I will not help you download files illegally from the internet!"

I will not tell you what program or programs to use to download free music tracks.
If you wanted to download bigger files like films, music, games or programs I would make sure you never found out what a BitTorrent client is, what BitTorrent client to use, where to get it or how to use it.
And if you were corrupt enough to actually USE a BitTorrent client, it would go against everything I stood for to tell you what sites to go to for the best downloads.
Thankfully, most computers nowadays need a legitimate, individual serial number to install or run, and these are impossible to duplicate. So don't even try!

And those of you out there who "would never dream" of downloading files from the internet, but are perfectly happy committing "lesser" crimes, I will play no part in your atrocities. You know who you are. Those of you looking to copy CDs, get into subscription only websites without subscribing, unlock your DVD player or find out who owns what web site. You people make me sick.
All you really want is free porn anyway.

It's because of you that the entertainment industry today is what it is.
I blame you all for the emotional breakdown of Michael Jackson.
You bastards

Confessions of an IKEA addict

2005-09-11T09:10:00.000+03:00

Hi, my name is Shmuli, I am a 21 year old male, and I have a confession.

For the last 8 weeks I have been happily married to a beautiful and amazing woman, who I would do anything for. However, I think I am slowly falling in love with a retail warehouse.

You see, about a week ago my wife and I put down a deposit on a new apartment in Givat Shmuel. As we needed to furnish it ourselves, we started looking at the Israeli IKEA catalogue for ideas. And that's when the problems began...

THEY HAVE EVERYTHING THERE!! And I don't just mean tables and chairs! Oh no, they have chopping boards, bathroom mirrors, clocks, toothbrush cups, even those squidgy things Israeli's use to clean the inside of the shower, EVERYTHING!! And it's all so funky and colourful!

I WANT AN IKEA HOUSE!!!

The problem is, I think my wife knows. As I was lying in bed the other night, I heard a faint tapping sound. Not sure what it was, I crept into our main room, only to find my wife on the internet - LOOKING AT THE NEW CATALOGUE!!

She said she was only browsing, but I don't believe her.
Does that make me a bad person?

Don't Panic!!

2005-08-29T21:39:00.000+03:00

I know I’ve been busy, but don’t worry; I’ll be blogging again soon.

Until then, here is a short poem:

po

Blokes and Birds

2005-06-30T09:55:00.000+03:00

Ever since Emmeline Pankhurst began chaining herself to public amenities back in the days of Marry Poppins, women everywhere have been demanding equality. Fair enough.

For the most part they’ve been successful, and after winning he right to vote in Britain in 1918, women have been breaking equality boundaries wherever they find them. From the top office jobs to members of parliament, internet CEOs and airline pilots, women can be found in every industry, performing every task.

But just underneath gloss of our equality triumphs, lurks a gross social injustice still waiting to be overcome.
Tell me if this sounds "equal" to you:

Most birds will happily sit on other birds’ laps, but you blokes try sitting on your mate’s lap in a pub and he’ll jump a mile before slapping you sideways.
Any bird can wear trousers, but I can only think of one or two blokes in the world who can get away with wearing a skirt.
Two birds holding hand – no problem there. Two blokes holding hands – erm...
Birds can wear guy’s perfume, but no guy would EVER admit to wearing Chanel no.5 or Angel.
It’s always cool to be a laddette, it’s never cool to be camp.
Two birds kiss on the telly and the ratings soar, two blokes kiss and everyone changes channel.

You see, the real battle takes place not in the office or the voting booth, but in our everyday lives. For true sexual equality, birds have to truly act, and be treated, like blokes. We must make fun of them as much as we do men. Rinse them, for only a sexist joke portrays true equality. If they no longer want to be seen as the weaker sex, they’ve got to be able to take it like a man like the rest of us.
And ladies, you need to play your part in our equalitarian society as well. You need to start feeling awkward about things you don’t understand and people who aren’t like you - none of this open minded nonsense. Feel insecure about your sexuality. Be uncomfortable with a mate standing too close to you, don’t look in the mirror before you leave the house in case you start worrying about your looks, and never, ever comment on someone’s hair unless you’re making fun of it! Oh, and spit a bit when you talk. You can’t be selective with equality now, can you?

And if you don’t like it, get back in the kitchen.

Blitching

2005-06-28T02:35:00.000+03:00

Blogging is false

When people blog to bitch, they blog to get something off their chest. They're angry and pissed off and they want people to know it. But they can't tell real people. They're scared of real people. Real people have feelings, and can get hurt. Real people can get upset. Real people can get angry. Real people can answer back.

They can't vent, so they blog.

Blog's don't answer back.

Therefore, when it comes to the people they're closest to in life, and they find they can't bitch about them to their faces, or even behind their backs, they blog. People will happily slag off their nearest and dearest (e.g. best friends, spouses, siblings, parents, etc...) safe in the knowledge that as they haven't actually said anything to that person, they can't upset them. No confrontations with loved ones, no provoking those they care about, but at the same time they get to say what they think and how they feel. And no-one gets hurt.

But there is a fundamental flaw in blog bitching!
(can we call it blitching? - I think so)

Those same people that they went out of their way to avoid upsetting, those who they felt too close to want to fight with, are probably the only people who read their blogs in the first place!

"Surely," you should now be thinking "no one would be that stupid! People should know who reads their blog, and should have enough brains to know not to blitch about them over the internet!?!"
- And you'd be right.

Most bloggers realise their mistake half way through their blitch. It hits them like an epiphany, and for a second they're shocked by their own foolishness. But they've got to blitch about something, they're angry!

So they blitch about blitching itself.

How it unravels!

It's called a lift, now sod off!

2005-06-26T16:10:00.000+03:00

Today I saw an American. I saw him on the underground. I know he was an American because he said “bada-bing, bada-boom”

He stepped into the lift at Bond Street Station and said, “This elevator’s the bomb.”

No. Not an elevator. Not a bomb. It’s called a lift.

Henceforth, I have compiled a list of games to play on Americans if ever you have the misfortune of meeting one in a lift:

When there's only one other person in the lift, tap them on the shoulder and then pretend it wasn't you.
Push the buttons and pretend they give you a shock. Smile, and go back for more.
Ask if you can push the button for them, and then push the wrong ones.
Ask: "Did you feel that?"
Stand really close to someone, sniffing them occasionally.
Ask them if they’re American. When they say they are, ask them if that means they’re from America. Then get really excited because you once had a friend who went to America.
Wait a moment, then ask them if they know your friend.
When the doors close, explain to the American: "It's okay. Don't panic, they open up again."
Tell them you can see their aura.
Admit things to them. Intimate things.
Stand silently and motionless in the corner, facing the wall, without getting off.

If you've got any ideas for more games, please post them below:

How not to get married in Jerusalem – the abridged version

2005-06-25T11:37:00.000+03:00

Elope, if you can.

more coming soon...

The Rules of Engagement

2005-06-21T16:04:00.000+03:00

In so many films today, we see our hero unsuspectingly walk into life changing situations. People on our silver screens are constantly being bitten by genetically modified arachnids, picking up the wrong briefcase/handbag, or momentarily returning to the office for a forgotten item when their own life changing moment comes and slaps them round the back of the head.

My impending big life change however, has not been that subtle.
I’ve see it coming for about four months now.

In the space of a few days in July, I am getting married, moving to Israel, starting a new university, and beginning a struggle with a bureaucracy that I wouldn’t understand even if I did speak the language. And the hay-fever doesn’t help.

I’m excited, I’m scared, I’m anxious, but most of all, I can’t wait!

Sit back and enjoy the ride...