Do fatigues make me look fat? Maybe I ate too many Bamba Crisps.

Israel is a nation of immigrants. Sound familiar? And just like Canadians, most of their favorite foods originated somewhere else. Instead of our culturally hijacked perogies and roast beef, Israelies have taken hummus and falafel as their own. We immigrants don’t steal everything. By our very nature we are enterprising, creative and adventurous folks even when it comes to food. We Canadians can be proud of the Nanaimo bar, butter tarts and everything maple (including, this here blog, the maple shekel!). Recently, I discovered a uniquely Israeli treat: Bamba crisps. Looks like a cheesy but instead is peanut buttered flavoured. Sounds gross? Not so. Those suckers are strangely addictive. I’ll be sure to bring some back for you to try. My lab mate invited me over for a gathering with some friends on Saturday and introduced me to Bamba Crisps and some of the other local chemists and significant others.

I am giving them a cultural education too. After hearing a local correctly use the phrase "your cup of tea," I felt it was necessary to teach them a better phrase: "whatever floats your boat" They were amused by the rhyming.

Going to a new place and meeting new people is, at first, about finding similarities in your experiences. The littlest things can be the beginnings of a conversation (and hopefully, friendship) like milk being sold in bags, the common experience of horrid exams, and great chocolate cake recipes. Today, I unexpectedly discovered that my rather surly labmate, who swears he isn’t a nice guy, loves the Trailer Park Boys.

My lab mates have lead very different lives than my own – far more than the city-country split I have been living with for a decade. Every single one of them has spent at least two years in the army (many more than three) and consequently, they are all at least a few years older than you would expect for their education levels. I am one of the younger people in the lab, and yet I am the post doc. Which goes to show their dedication to getting a graduate degree. Frankly, at 29, I am pretty much done with this living in near poverty and school business. And yet, many of them at my age are at the beginning of gradschool.

No kidding, I was a wordless observer to a nonchalant conversation today amongst my academically inclined colleagues about which weapons are easy to fire. What was I to say? My gun experience is limited to shooting a BB at a margarine container in Ashley’s back yard when I was fifteen.

I can’t imagine being forced into anything, let alone the military (I am not so good with taking commands), but they grow up knowing this is part of life and it seems to be perceived as a rite of passage towards adulthood. In fact, I feel a little left out of the club because I didn’t spend time in the military. Oh well. Maybe it is for the best; the Chicken tells me I don't look good in cammo.