I Live In France

Well today I took my cheap ass out for a much needed trip to the market. For weeks I've been surviving off of the pasta that my roommate's gracious Iraqi mother gave to me, cans of tuna, peanut butter-banana-honey sandwiches (delicious), and, last but not least - hummus and pita. Yes, I am a cheap bastard. Or maybe I'm more lazy than cheap. I don't know. Too many thoughts in the head. Too much effort.

Anyway, upon entering the main outdoor market in Tel Aviv - the famous Carmel Market - all I could hear was a constant hum of "Ce que doit nous achetons. Non cela est trop jaune. Peut-être nous devrions acheter ceci. Combien de baisant des euros avez-vous ? Quel est shakshuka ? Où la salle de bains est ? Oh ce n'est que 5000 euros ? Bien, je l'achèterai. Où la plage est ?"

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh. The French have invaded Israel.

They are launching a "tour d'loud annoying voice" campaign to take over the city of Tel Aviv for a few weeks. They come to participate in loud pre-mating rituals, to gather and consume copious amounts of sustinance and fermented beverages, to change the color of their skin from white to red, and to generally distrupt the local ecosystem. And I am one of the many innocent bystanders in this precious ecosystem.

The only positive benefit that I have seen come out of this is listening to myself unconciously imitate French as I'm walking around my apartment in the morning, happily in my underwear, drinking my coffee, and eating my cereal. "je pre leuo ahn ba tititeh. Ouo je'leurs est m'crepres. Hoh hoh hoh oui oui oui".

I am nearly fluent.

Thank you French group of 18-year-olds sitting behind me on the bus to Jerusalem talking AS LOUD AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE.

That is all.