A Stranger Among Her Own

Things that rub me the wrong way...

2011-10-03T20:31:00.001-04:00

...My new hiking/work shoes. They WILL break in, I hope, but man, a giant blister AND no arch support after 3 hours of wearing (and only 45 min of that was walking) does not bode well for me...

...Chlorine rubbing out the fabric of my very expensive swim suit. I am far too broke to spend $80 on a racing suit every 12 months. I know this doesn't seem like much in a year, but this is the 2nd suit that's getting all stretchy and puckery and translucent...

...Kerbs on my car tires. At least once a year I somehow misjudge distances, and today I scraped the CRAP out of my front right rim...

...UHaul employees. I rent once a month, sometimes once every two weeks for the last 5 years from the same location. Could you PLEASE make some sort of a notation on our account, so I don't have to give you my address, phone # and listen to your rules EVERY TIME??? Really, there should be a frequent customer program at UHaul...

...My Nook not recognizing the book I am supposed to read for next week's book club...

Why do gyms make me angry?

2011-06-20T20:41:00.000-04:00

Right, so going to the gym should be a cleansing, invigorating and ultimately stress-reducing experience, right? At least for me, that's usually the case. Plus, I only stick to the pool, where the proportion of crazy is usually less.

So why am I annoyed by people there?

1. Dear guy drenched in CK1 - it's not 1994. It never will be again. Plus, you are not 19. It's simply embarrassing for a man in his 30s to wear that much cologne, no matter the brand. And you know what happens to cologne from your body when you jump in the pool? It flavours the water. No shit. You should try swallowing the water that splashed when you jumped in. It was like CK1 soup out there.

2. Dear lady rubbing your body with lotion - I am happy you are so very comfortable with your body. But next time maybe you should do it with your crotch away from me? I don't like staring at people's pubes 12 inches from my head. Every time I see nude women walking about the locker room without actually making to get dressed, I get flashbacks of being in public bathhouses when I was little, and I cringe. Also, you are too skinny, and not in a good way.

3. Dear gym management - I am glad you've finally installed a swim suit spinner. Trouble is, it's the size of my trashcan, and weighs just as little. Would it hurt you to either a) secure the damn thing to the ground or b) put up a sign that says "please hold the spinner down as it is bound to take flight under influence of centrifugal force"? Also, try to empty out the plastic cup the spinner drains into every once in a while.

I can go on, but I am done bitching for the day. Gym memberships (especially ones with swimming pools in the middle of an urban area) are fucking expensive, and I expect some level of reciprocity on the part of both other patrons and management. At least the towels are clean.

Stuffed Animals

2010-06-28T07:14:00.000-04:00

Amusements in Siberia

2010-06-15T10:49:00.000-04:00

Imprisoned in Siberia

2010-06-12T08:53:00.000-04:00

So there is a zoo here. I've been to it, once, about 20 years ago. I have only horrible memories of that visit, animals in filth behind bars, smelly, lonely, cold. For some reason I thought that things might have changed in 20 years. Not so much. They only got worse...

These two statues are really the best part about the zoo, and even the lions seem to be apprehensive about what lies ahead.

It's rather impossible to photograph through bars and steel cages.

I think the bears had it the worst - tiny cages in the sun, no respite from the heat save for a stream of water, shot at the poor animals by some zoo workers

He is only 4. He doesn't have a name, like the tigers in the Bronx. He is alone in a cage. He is simply beautiful. Last year, the zoo called for a drive of 800,000 roubles to buy him a bride. Obviously, the drive was in vain. Mind you, the zoo is a municipal institution.

The lynx did not want to be bothered.

Sweet Escape

2010-06-09T06:34:00.002-04:00

Current Russia is filled with little cafes like this one. No, it's not exceptionally cozy, but fairly cheap and convenient.

My mom and I had a latte and a milkshake, in addition to some extravagant sweets:

But the most interesting part was the flyer lying on every table, advertising "New Sweets for the Spring 2010" produced by the largest confectionary company in Tomsk - Antonov Dvor, which conveniently listed its website on the back - if you can read a bit of Russian, you can find even more cakes on their website.

I've decided to share some of these with you - if anyone is interested in the cake descriptions, I can translate those, but just the names are worth it:

Don Quixote

Dark-skinned Girl

Bolero

Sweet Almond

Pani Eva

Raspberry Bells Ringing

For Two

Almond in Chocolate

Liza

Summer

Puzzle

Graffiti

Waltz

Chocolate and cream-cheese

Amusements in Siberia

2010-06-08T08:28:00.000-04:00

Travels in Russia I

2010-05-31T22:46:00.002-04:00

I found this "vignette" in a store just beyond the security check-in at the Domodedovo Airport. There were many other fine stores lining this corridor, but this one struck me as something you display specifically for a foreign tourist - look how mighty Mother Russia is! Oddly enough, all the gates through this security check point led to internal flights to Siberia and such. Which basically means there are enough rich Russians who might buy this crap.

I originally thought this was just a display, but there is a price list that reads:

Rug “Bear” 250,000 (roughly $8,333)

Rug “Wolf” 90,000 (roughly $3,000)

Hat “Winter” 40,000 (roughly $1,333)

Wed Lost In Translation I

2010-05-13T15:51:00.000-04:00

Please imagine the following scene. You walk past a very large shop window, which displays signage "Parquet Floors - Laminated Flooring" in letters about 3 feet tall. You open a door with a sign "Floor coverings sold here", walk between two displays of hard wood flooring remnants, and open another door. THAT door has a sign "Flooring Showroom", and the entire room is FILLED with displays of hard woods, plus the floor is covered with laminate examples. Each item has a price tag, and in the corner you see a man wearing coveralls and five-o-clock shadow, staring into a computer.

Did you imagine this well? Now imagine the kind of person you need to be, when having walked through all of this, you ask in all seriousness:

- Hmm, is this the bank?
- Do you sell toilet paper?
- Do you carry radiators, or do those (seen) along the walls belong to the store?
- I need plumbing fixtures, size XXX. What do you mean "you don't have any", we bought them here! Where am I supposed to buy them now???
- Everything you carry here is crap, do you have anything better?
- Can I buy coveralls like yours here?

You can also run past the remnants, past the shop clerk, past the displays, past the bathroom, hit the back wall and scream "How the hell do I get back out to the street???"

* * *

Представьте, что вы проходите вдоль огромной витрины с надписью «Паркет-Ламинат» метровыми буквами, открываете дверь с наклейкой «Магазин напольных покрытий», проходите между двумя рядами распродажи остатков паркетной доски, открываете дверь с надписью «Магазин паркета», входите в помещение, все стены которого зашиты образцами доски, а на полу лежат образцы ламината, всё с ценниками, за столом у монитора сидит небритый мужик в спецодежде. Представили? А вот теперь представьте, кем нужно быть, чтобы, пройдя сквозь всё это, спросить что-то типа:

— Э-э-э, это Сбербанк?
— А у вас туалетная бумага продаётся?
— А у вас батареи продаются, или это ваши вдоль стен?
— Мне нужны фитинги размера ***. Что значит «нет», у вас покупали! А где есть?
— Одно говно везде продаётся, нормальное есть чё?
— А у вас такие курточки, как на вас надета, можно купить?

А ещё можно забежать внутрь, пробежать мимо продавца, мимо стеллажей с товаром, мимо туалета, мимо вешалки с одеждой, упереться в стену и оттуда орать: «Как мне на улицу-то попасть?» Кругом! Бегом — марш! Запе-е-е-вай!

Wed Joke 10

2010-05-05T13:54:00.000-04:00

Once I was in a book store, not far from the Moscow train station, and needed the clerk's help.

- Hello, do you happen to sell the Bible?

- Let's look it up on the computer...who is the author?

I went through multiple answers in my head: "the Jewish people", "a collection of works by multiple authors", "God." I could not decide, which one was the best, so I managed "Hmm, well, it's just Bible..."

* * *
Однажды я зашёл в книжный магазин недалеко от Московского вокзала и сразу направился к консультанту:

— Здравствуйте, у вас Библия есть?
— Сейчас посмотрим по компьютеру... А автор кто?

В голове пронеслось много ответов: «собрание сочинений различных авторов», «иудейский народ», «Бог». Не выбрав лучшего, я выдавил я из себя: «Эм, ну, это просто Библия».

Wed Joke 9

2010-04-28T22:23:00.000-04:00

I work as a receptionist in a dentist's office. For a new client, I need to fill in a patient's place of employment. I ask:

- Where do you work?
- Who, me?

The man turns right and left wildly, wondering if HE is the one being asked a question. Obviously, there is not a soul left or right of him, and even behind him.

- Yes, you. I know where *I* work, do you know where you do?
- I do.
- So where do you work?
- Who, me?

* * *

- How can I help you?
- I need a dentist.
- I understand, you are in a dental clinic. We offer tooth cleaning, cavity fillings, tooth removal, crowns and prostetics - which would you like?
- Well, I need a dentist!

* * *

Работаю в регистратуре стоматологической поликлиники. Для заполнения карты нужно указать место работы пациента. Спрашиваю:

— Где вы работаете?
— Кто, я?

Мужчина дико поворачивается на 90 градусов в разные стороны и смотрит, его ли спрашивают. Чудо: ни слева, ни справа, ни даже позади него никого нет.

— Да, вы. Я знаю, где я работаю, а вы знаете?
— Знаю.
— И где же?
— Я, да?

* * *

— Что вы хотели?
— Мне бы к стоматологу.
— Это понятно, вы пришли в стоматологическую поликлинику. Лечение, удаление, чистка, протезирование?
— Ну, мне к стоматологу!

Wed Joke 8

2010-04-22T11:36:00.000-04:00

A book store that sells educational materials. A customer, accompanied by her high-school-aged daughter, asks:

- Our physics class required Mendeleev's Table of Elements, do you have one?
- Of course, we have it. What size would you like?
- I don't know, it's for a physics class!
- Well, here's one, look at it. Maybe you'd like a larger format?
- "The Periodic Table of the Chemical Elements"...Young lady, what are you giving me??? This is a CHEMISTRY table, but we need a PHYSICS one! What else have you got?

They rifled through all the available tables, and went to another store...

* * *

В магазин канцтоваров и наглядных пособий заходит покупательница с дочкой-старшеклассницей:

— Нам по физике задали таблицу Менделеева, у вас есть?
— Конечно, есть. Вам какого формата?
— Не знаю, по физике задали!
— Вот такую посмотрите. Может быть, вам побольше?
— «Периодическая система химических элементов»... Девушка! Что вы мне даете?! Это — таблица по химии, а нам нужна по физике! Покажите, что там ещё есть.

Перерыли все таблицы и ушли в другой магазин.

Sunday Saffron V

2010-04-18T15:53:00.014-04:00

Been a bit busy...

2010-04-15T17:47:00.005-04:00

Sorry for no Sunday Saffron or Wed jokes, been busy on this project:

Apartment Therapy Small Cool

Please vote for us!!!

Wed Joke 7

2010-04-07T10:12:00.003-04:00

Cable television reps drive me up the wall. And it's not so much the fact that they call at all hours of the day, but the reaction I receive when I tell them I don't have a TV. I did not have a TV when I lived in the dorms, and now I easily get by with torrents and streaming Internet.

- Hello, my name is Sergey, I represent XYZ Cable Services, are you watching television?
- I don't have a television.
- Are you sure you don't have one?
- Quite sure.
- (expressing sorrow for me) Oh, how do you manage now?..

* * *

Задолбали провайдеры кабельного телевидения. Достало не то, что они звонят, а их реакция на сообщение о том, что у меня нет телевизора. Да, я отвыкла от зомбоящика в общаге и спокойно обхожусь торрентами.

— Здравствуйте, меня зовут Сергей, компания «*****», вы смотрите телевизор?
— У меня нет телевизора.
— Точно нет?
— Точно.
— (сочувственно) Как же вы так...

Wed Joke 6

2010-03-31T15:41:00.006-04:00

If you said any of these phrases about 20 years ago, you might have been declared clinically insane:

- I am going to be hiking in the woods, but call me anyway...

- My hand is totally frozen from talking to you...

- I accidentally erased "War and Peace"...

- I sent you a letter ten minutes ago, did you get it yet?

- Drop the photo on my soap...("soap" is a euphemism for "mail" in Russia)

- I forgot my phone at home...

- I can't talk to you, you are always disappearing...

- Add some money to my trumpet...("trumpet" is slang for "handset", all mobile service is pre-paid in Russia)

- Let's give him a home movie theatre for his birthday...

- Well, use your phone calculator!..

- Give me 25 roubles for the Metro...(20 yrs ago the Metro cost 10 copecks)

- Oh, Ivan is not at home, he is serving in the army. But call his cell!

* * *

Фразы, за которые лет двадцать назад можно было легко загреметь в дурдом:

- Я буду в лесу, но ты мне позвони...

- У меня уже рука замерзла с тобой разговаривать...

- Я случайно стер "Войну и мир"...

- Я тебе письмо десять минут назад послал, ты получил?

- Скинь мне фото на мыло...

- Я телефон дома забыл...

- Я не могу с тобой говорить, ты все время пропадаешь...

- Положи мне деньги на трубу...

- Я завтра себе мозгов докуплю...

- Давай подарим ему домашний кинотеатр...

- Да ты на телефоне посчитай...

- Дай мне двадцать пять рублей на метро...

- Ивана нет дома, он в армии. Вы ему позвоните.

Sunday Saffron IV

2010-03-28T22:20:00.006-04:00

Wed Joke on Thursday

2010-03-25T18:20:00.003-04:00

It's easy to understand why some people drink. At least, each person can justify (or thinks they can, anyway) the reason for their alcoholism. Somebody drinks "to relax," another "for the taste," yet another "for a social lubricant." But can you explain why animals are driven to drink? For instance, take my parakeet (well, he is a bird, not an animal, but that doesn't bar him from being an alcoholic.)

So, the story.

About a year ago we've begun to notice some strange behaviour with our parakeet - he would chew up whatever fruit - apples, pears - very carefully, and then spit the flesh out into his water dish. He then would wait two-three days, until the dish fermented, and drink it all up, this "moonshine" of his. Then he'd get up onto his perch, and begin to "sing" so loudly, that people from neighboring HOUSES would come over to complain. His "singing" is evidently copied from some mating baboons, and cannot be easily described. His "normal" speech (which includes "hello," "idiot," "asshole," "bitch") is reserved for the sober times.

And don't even think about passing by his cage when he is drunk! He attacks everyone who passes by, and if you attempt to remove his "moonshine", you are risking losing a limb. His beak is on par with a vulture - he can snap a pencil in half easily. And a few days ago we've noticed he begun adding tree bark to his mixture - I guess he'll be making bathtub gin soon!

* * *

Ну почему пьют люди - вроде бы понятно. По крайней мере каждый может (или думает, что может) объяснить, почему он пьёт. У кого-то "релаксация", кому-то "вкусно", кто-то "штоб баб подпоить". А вот как объяснить алкоголизм среди животных? Например - мой попугай (птица - не животное, но это не мешает ему быть алкашом).

Короче, история.

Где-то с год назад мы стали замечать, что попугай ведёт себя странно - яблоки, груши и т. д. тщательно пережевывает и мякиш сбрасывает в поилку с водой. После сидит и ждёт несколько дней - пока не забурлит. И только когда бражка готова - начинает активно пить. Потом набырится, залезет на жёрдочку, и давай сцука голосить, да так, что люди из соседних ДОМОВ!!! жалуются. Причём крики скопированы наверное с каких-то бабуинов перед боем. Словами ("привет, придурок, сволочь, сука") он говорит тока когда трезвый. А во время запоя к нему лучше не подходить - злобно кидается на всех, кто мимо проходит, хорошо, клетка спасает. А уж в клетку руку засунуть, чтоб брагу забрать - вообще нереально. Дзюба у него такая, что орлы или ястребы отдыхают - карандаш перекусывает в одно движение. з. ы. А недавно заметили, что в брагу он кору и щепки стал добавлять - коньяк, гад, готовит.

Sunday Saffron III

2010-03-21T19:23:00.008-04:00

Wed Joke 4

2010-03-17T22:05:00.008-04:00

Found on the Russian website They Drive Me Up A Wall (rough translation):

I was recently highly entertained by a local TV station. During the nightly news there is a segment they call "business information", but in plain Russian - it's advertisements. So the other day a newscaster informs us (all the while smiling pleasantly):

- And now please enjoy some useful information, which you will surely need, if not right now, then definitely in the near future!

This is followed by a commercial for a local full-service funeral parlor. Could you have imagined anything less?

***

Порадовали наши местные телевизионщики. В новостной программе у них есть блок «деловой информации», по-русски — рекламы обыкновенной. Так вот, сидят две ведущие в студии, одна с приятной улыбкой вещает:

— А теперь вас ждет блок полезной информации, которая если и не сейчас, то наверняка пригодится вам в скором будущем!

И запускают рекламу ритуального агентства. Ну это надо было додуматься, а?

Sunday Saffron II

2010-03-14T19:26:00.004-04:00

Wed Joke 3

2010-03-10T20:15:00.005-05:00

7 pm, a news radio station. The land line rings:

- Hello, is this WXYZ radio?
- Yes.
- Can you tell me where the Farmers' Market will be?
- What Farmers' Market?
- Well, you know, potatoes, beets, etc.
- I haven't a clue.
- What? You've just announced about the Farmers' Market!
- You know, I was just reading the news, and can assure you we did not announce a Farmers' Market.
- No, you did! I just saw it on TV!
- (Pause) Then why are you calling us?
- I called the TV station, they are not picking up.
- Well, it's after 5 pm, they probably went home already.
- Hmm. You are probably right... (Pause) Listen, are there any women nearby?
- No. What, you want to meet some?
- No, they always know where there is a Market!

Работал на новостном радио. Звонок на рабочий телефон в 19:00:

— Здравствуйте, это радио «*****»?
— Да.
— Скажите, где ярмарка будет?
— Какая ярмарка?
— Ну там картошки купить, свеклы.
— Понятия не имею.
— Как? Я же слышал, как передавали, что будет ярмарка!
— Вы знаете, я вёл выпуск новостей, и могу точно сказать вам, что мы этого не передавали.
— Нет! Вы не передавали! Я по телевизору смотрел!
— А почему вы нам звоните?
— А я туда звонил, там трубку не берут.
— Уже семь часов вечера, и рабочий день закончился.
— Хм. Тоже верно... (Пауза.) Слушай, а рядом с тобой женщины есть?
— Нет. А вам зачем — познакомиться?
— Нет! Они просто всегда знают, где ярмарка!

Sunday Saffron I

2010-03-07T16:08:00.005-05:00

Wed Joke 2

2010-03-03T17:32:00.004-05:00

Found on the Internets (once again, a true story) from a veterinarian telling workplace stories:

— У нас котик странно себя ведёт. (Достают трупик котика.) Он лежит на одном месте и к еде не подходит — уже три или четыре дня.
— У вас котик умер.
— Как умер?! Он не мог умереть! Он ещё молодой! Ему только семнадцать лет!
— Для кота это очень приличный возраст.
— Ну и что? Я вот слышал, что некоторые доживают до 30 лет! Сделайте ему укол! Ну сделайте ему хоть что-нибудь! Может быть, его ещё можно оживить!

- Our kitty is behaving very strangely (removing cat body from a carrier) He's been lying in one place and not eating, maybe 3 or 4 days already.

- Your cat is dead.

- What do you mean he is dead?? He could not have died! He is very young! He is only seventeen years old!

- Well, that's a very advanced age for a cat.

- So what? I've heard there are cats who live to be 30! Give him a shot! Give him something! Maybe he can be brought back to life!

Wed Joke

2010-02-17T18:15:00.003-05:00

Read on the Interwebs today (presented as a true story)

Russia's president Medvedev was visiting a certain Siberian city. About two hours before the presidential cortege was to travel down main street (appropriately titled Oil Workers Street) someone discovered that one of the theatres had a billboard announcing the next production. It was to be a children's story, with the following title being featured quite prominently:

"We wait for you, oh happy gnome!"

According to the onlookers, the billboard was torn down in record time, obliterating all traces of its existence.

In honor of Easter - food...

2009-04-13T00:18:00.004-04:00

Toni Bourdain in his “Les Halles Cookbook” expresses the following:

"Good cooks do not exist in a vacuum…Think of food like drugs. If you were a druggie, and you moved to a new and unfamiliar town, chances are you wouldn’t know where to score your drug of choice. First thing you’d do is to seek out other drug users. You’d pick out an obvious spot, like the parking lot of a methadone clinic, a bad part of town, a pawnshop, a Phish concert, and you’d make “friends” with fellow travelers of similar interests. Soon, no doubt after a few bad experiences, some trial and error, you would find what you need. Same thing with food. Kind of.”

Eye Candy

2009-03-22T14:32:00.003-04:00

The result of a fruitful Saturday.

Blurry Reasoning

2009-02-08T23:32:00.017-05:00

I have a bizzare fascination with blurry photos. I always find them more mysterious, and often, more beautiful than their perfectly focused counterparts. Of course, there are many a time when a crisp image is absolutely necessary, but sometimes I miss the enigma of identifying objects through the blur, be it intentional or accidental.

I photograph every theatre show that I work on, ostensibly for portfolio purposes, although I had no need to share my portfolio with anyone for close to four years now. I find the documenting process fascinating, and my iPhoto is littered with an average of 100 shots per show, when I *might* use 2 to represent a particular production. I work on up to 15 shows a year - you do the math.

And when photographing the show, accidents happen. Not enough light or too much motion on stage being the most frequent culprits, I always end up with folders titled "BLUR". So I would like to share my most recent one, and maybe you too will be fascinated with blurry reality...

My 25 things...

2009-02-04T11:52:00.005-05:00

This was going around Facebook...so I thought I'd cross-post...

Rules: Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you.

1. I am deathly afraid of telephone communication, but only in my personal life. I am terrified to speak to strangers when in need to make an appointment, argue with a utility company, make an inquiry, or even when calling friends. I've always tied this to the fact that we did not get a phone until I was 14 years old, and in my mind phones are for business and emergencies only.

2. I want to be an interior designer when I grow up.

3. I have a secret desire to be a singer in a (nonexistent) cover band for a specific Russian rock band.

4. I dress preppy, and am slightly ashamed of that. But only slightly.

5. I don't spend nearly as much money as I would like to on clothes and nice shoes. That said, 60% of my closet is dress clothes. Also, I'd like to eventually have a job where I could dress nicely.

6. I find that with opera, people either love it or hate it. Which confuses me, because I am totally indifferent towards opera.

7. I spend too much time reading design blogs, and not enough time implementing the ideas I garner from them.

8. I regret not having learned to bake from my grandmother before she passed away.

9. I am an overeducated snob, and proud of it.

10. I look at my high-school years with neither fondness nor regret, but rather a bit of indifference, which I am told is different from other people...

11. I am a classically trained pianist who has not touched the piano in almost 3 years. I miss it.

12. Sometimes I miss my 1.5 hour train commute, because I got a lot of reading done. Actual novels. That was before Google Reader showed up in my life.

13. I walk to work, it takes me 5-7 minutes depending on the snow. LOVE IT!

14. When I grow up and become that interior designer, I will live in the San Francisco Bay Area and probably miss New England.

15. When I was a child in Russia, we had to bring a change of shoes with us to school October through May to keep the school floors semi-clean. I think about that every day as I change into my work shoes under my desk, and then go on to mop the dirty shoe-prints from the newly painted black stage.

16. Speaking of shoes, to this day I don't understand why so many American homes and apartments have front doors that open directly into the living room - you NEED a coat closet and a place to take off your shoes and put your bags down. I feel funny if I come to your house and you don't ask me to take my shoes off.

17. Seeing the Atlantic Ocean for the first time in my life in August 1992 was a truly life-changing experience. Seeing the Pacific in 2000 was just as strong, as they are so completely different. Even though I can't see the ocean from where I live, I can smell it on windy days, and that keeps my love affair with the ocean going.

18. I will never understand why theatres in the United States don't have extensive lobbies and cloakrooms. I understand about the cost of real estate and maximizing your profits, blah blah blah. BUT - The first time I went to Lincoln Center, I found people just as dressed up as they are going to the theatre in Russia, and there ARE cloakrooms there. THEN I went to BAM and discovered that I have to keep my coat on my seat, which totally cheapens the cultural experience. When I took my mother to see Chicago on Broadway, and we had to queue in the street in March because there is no lobby, I was embarrassed for the state of the culture in the United States.

19. I am much more fluent in English than in Russian in this point in my life, and that saddens me, as nobody should lose their native tongue.

20. If I never see anyone misuse "lose" and "loose", as well as "buses" and "busses", it will be too soon.

21. I discovered pedicures for the first time in my life at the age of 31. Now I get one whenever I can afford it - the foot massage alone is worth it.

22. I am Russian and I don't drink vodka. So there.

23. If I wasn't agnostic, I'd convert to Judaism.

24. Social interaction exhausts me. I am much better at dinner with 2 people than at a party with 10. If I go to any gathering with over 20 people, I need to rest a day afterward. When I used to teach, two hours in front of a classroom left me feeling as if I'd just run the marathon.

25. I like any ice cream, any time, but even more so if it's coffee-flavoured.

More experiments in furnishings

2009-01-26T23:17:00.003-05:00

Before: slightly outdated, sometime eaten by a small canine who pulled the stuffing out, and very very very dirty.

After:

Unfortunately, red is a very hard colour to photograph, so you can't see the fine woven detail on the fabric. It's also more crimson and less tomato in real life. BUT it also attracts lint like crazy - I must have lint-brushed it 20 times while I was working.

As a bonus, when I took the previous upholstery off, I discovered the fabric was a sheet. Just a regular ol' flat sheet. Needless to say, not the best material for upholstery.

While the chair hung out in my apartment, the cats have adopted it, and often used it as a two-tier cat seat - one on the seat, the other under. They also got very sad when the chair went away. So I've been scouring Craigslist for a cheap chair to bring back for the felines, but to no avail - all the cheap ones have really bad lines.

Feline Angst

2009-01-26T22:45:00.006-05:00

LK and I are owned by two bossy felines, one of which is a terror to both humans and cats, and the other usually is a very peaceful individual. I've been privy to some weird canine behaviors lately, and while the stories are amusing, I don't generally think of our cats as especially destructive. I mean, look at him, isn't he a perfect portrait of calm?

His name is Miles, by the way, and this is how he looks when he is very tired:

And this is what he does when he does not like being left alone for 18 hours (or so):

If you look closely, the napkins are not just strewn all over the floor, but they are also eaten in the corners - almost every single one is chewed up. While Miles is an expert at eating paper - just in the last two days, he took bites out of a bill for car repair, a Postal Office receipt, and an Inaugural edition of the Boston Globe - we try to keep as much paper out of his reach as possible.

Therefore it did not occur to me to hide a *closed* plastic container of napkins on a kitchen counter. Every day I thank heavens he is not a larger feline...

More Recent Distractions

2008-12-13T11:56:00.009-05:00

As I can't stay away from doing crafty things with fabric, I covered this screen with different fabrics I chose for a production at work:

Notice how the screen fabric matches the throw on the chaise? That's intentional:)

And then I turned this:

Into this:

I think to date the back-and-white has been my favourite fabric to work with, as it was a linen that did not fray at all, and the pattern, while complex, was both symmetrical in all directions AND predictably repetitive:)

IKEA hack all the way

2008-09-14T12:05:00.016-04:00

Why I don't write here often:

a) Work
b) Recently, health reasons
c) Other hobbies
d) Life
e) Home improvement

Why I DO write here:

I love making things with my hands, and I love sharing the results with others.

As some of you might know, LK and I live in 360 sq. feet in what amounts to downtown Boston. This is done out of necessity and convenience (to work and civilization), in that order. We also share our home with two bossy felines.

As you might imagine, maintaining this small of an abode requires constant organization, ingenuity, and skill. To that end, last year we got rid of our awful boxy black late 1990s TV and DVD player and replaced both with a ridiculously expensive iMac that serves as a full entertainment center.

I LOVE the fact that I can watch Russian television streaming through the Internet on the 24" inches of silvery goodness:

But after obtaining this sexy gadget, there was no good place to rest it except the old television stand, which (as you might imagine) was not the ideal place for work. After a period of adjustment, and considering the narrow sliver of real estate available for the entertainment center, we wanted a desk that would serve the goal of using the computer without cluttering the space too much.

Ideally, we wanted this Parsons Console from West Elm:

It was *JUST* the right size and finish to fit in the space allotted, and blend with the decor. But, as you might imagine, people who live in 360 sq. feet out of necessity don't really have $329 to spend on a desk, no matter how pretty it is. ESPECIALLY if they just bought a really expensive computer.

So we set out thinking of a good IKEA hack that would serve a similar purpose, since there are many an item at IKEA featuring the same type of white laminate finish and square forms. For a while I was enamored of the concept of this VIKA AMON/VIKA TORE combination:

Sadly, IKEA tabletops don't come in depths less than 24", and the max we could allow for our space was 18". Ripping one down and dealing with the unfinished edge seemed like a waste. Then one day I remembered I had a white shelf left over from a project at work that originally came from this UDDEN set for the kitchen:

Armed with a 15" x 48" table top, it was time to find some legs for it. On a recent trip to IKEA to research some OTHER items we wanted to purchase, there she was. Our white beauty. In the AS-IS section. A LACK shelf for $45.

Quickly dispatched home, she became the base for my "45 minute $45 desk" (that is precisely how long the desk took, from start to finish.) It still needs some refinement, but it's fully functional.

The art behind the computer awaits relocation to another wall. The top of the desk is firmly screwed to the bases.

That little mousepad shelf slides in and out, and is made from the middle shelf of the LACK and some glides left over from our TROFAST recycling center set-up.

A week after the desk was born, we received the 2009 IKEA catalogue. Imagine my surprise when I saw the following in its "Workspaces" section:

Turns out they now sell VIKA ANNEFORS table legs, to make precisely what I just made. However, the depth of the IKEA desk remains a min of 24", so I like my 15" hack better for our space.

Maybe now is a good time to mention that with the exception of two vintage pieces in our apartment, EVERYTHING is from IKEA. And we couldn't be happier.

Not terribly original

2008-08-24T23:02:00.011-04:00

Another brief post on recycling of clothes. The first item was a misguided purchase a couple of years back that never got much wear. While it might look lovely and care-free on the mannequin, this shirt NEVER looked good on me.

So I turned it into a tank to be worn over another tank (since it's rather sheer...)

For the second item, I had a white button-down that belonged to my grandfather at some point. I don't think the man ever really wore it, but it had a couple of faded "Сделано в СССР" labels in it, so it was probably older than me. Polyester wears well. I had no desire for wearing a polyester-blend shirt too much, but I was inspired by Ms. Forty-Two Roads, in particular by the shirts she made from other shirts. I must say this top has been my absolute favourite past summer.

Lost and found

2008-08-20T11:08:00.003-04:00

Last year I had to acquire a large quantity of used books for a production. One of these books contained these photos, clearly forgotten. I've had them on my desk ever since, because it fascinates me how someone could forget pictures in a book for a couple of decades.

They seem like vacation photos, and the family is quite happy, don't you think?

That little kid is now roughly my age, and I have his baby picture - how strange is that?

The universal moving day is fast approaching...

2008-08-19T23:05:00.003-04:00

I was thinking about cats a lot today, what with the eternal mayhem going on at home (one cat keeps trying to emotionally destabilize the other, and us, her humans, in the process of doing so) and THIS is what I saw while walking home:

That's right, the logo for Yamato moving company is a vaguely Siamese mama cat carrying her kitten in her mouth. How freaking appropriate. I can only hope the movers promise to be as gentle with your crap as the cat carrying its baby.

What is Italian for "couch"?

2008-08-13T19:20:00.004-04:00

This was never published because I kept waiting for the "before" pictures of this lovely couch, and finally got tired.

The "before" was Italian pink silk dupioni from 1980s - gorgeous, but not appropriate for upholstery. It was falling apart if you looked at it wrong.

This is the "after".

Kimonos live many lives...

2008-08-13T19:15:00.006-04:00

While still on the subject of reupholstering, here is an example of what happens when you have a WHITE armchair in your family for at least 40 years:

(not MY family, so I am a little hazy on the actual timeline, but the chair was quite solidly built)

And THIS is how you bring it back to life with a vintage kimono and some material left over from drapes:

This detail is where I had to seam two pieces together because the kimono was not wide enough, and so then I had to pretend I meant to do this:

summer diversions

2008-08-13T18:38:00.008-04:00

I had promised a friend I would show her some of the things I did this summer. They included upholstering multiple pieces of furniture. Here is the latest (and the one I love the best thus far...)

Before: a lovely down-filled Crate and Barrel sofa that was bleached by the sun and worn out. Please excuse the quality of the photos, they were taken with a Polaroid and then scanned in...

After: IKEA fabric that makes the piece look vaguely Marimekko-ish.

*On a side note, I finally organized my iPhoto to my liking (I've only been using a Mac for about a year) and I can't be more excited than I am right now about the ease of posting images. It's as if I've been using a card catalogue for years, and finally upgraded to a computerized library search!!!

Tops for tanks...tanks for tops?

2008-05-31T16:46:00.011-04:00

What do these 3 garments have in common?

(aside from the fact that they were made in the same factory...)

And no, it's not their supreme uglitude.

They actually make one very spiffy summer top!!!

I believe I bought 1 new piece of clothing this summer, which is a record for me...

She's a Kraft-machine...

2008-05-31T16:34:00.009-04:00

...And not the yellow-processed-cheese kind.

Behold, the results of another day where I could not sit still*

*I told someone yesterday that the chief difference in temperament between my mother and me is that my mother doesn't sit still in order to get further in life, whereas I MUST make things with my hands for the sake of creating (as anyone who knows me, I have NOT chosen a profession that brings one further in life...)

I had one too many "belly-shirts" and while I thought I'd just make another t-shirt, I realized I did not have enough jersey to make it pretty...

...but I had a yard of stripey silk, a workshop and hours of time...

Cute, HUH?

I hate Blogger...and NBC...and my slumlord...

2008-05-29T22:19:00.020-04:00

Did I leave anyone out???

I hate Blogger...because one wrong keystroke publishes an entry that was in no way complete...yet the only way to take it down is to delete it completely, without the ability to save the post - does that make sense to you? I didn't think so.

I hate NBC because they took all NBC-related programming from iTunes last year, thereby rendering me unable to watch Top Chef or Project Runway (yes, Bravo is owned by NBC.) No, I don't have cable. No, I don't mind paying $2 per episode of TV. Yes, I was watching this season on YouTube, until NBC went and policed that this week, ending my knowledge of current Top Chef competition at Episode 11.

One of the main points of contention between NBC and Apple was the per-episode price of $1.99, which NBC reportedly found to be too low. That same programming is now available on Amazon Unbox for $1.89. Go figure. Of course, it is only available if you are on a PC running Vista, or have a TiVo or some weird personal video payer. Those of us with pretty Apples are just s**t out of luck, I guess.

Question - if you have TiVo, chances are you have full cable. Why on earth would you want to download a cable program onto your TiVo from the Internet? Boggles the mind.

I hate my landlord because they haven't upgraded the electrical service in the building since, oh, NEVER! The building was constructed circa 1920, and the ENTIRE apartment is on the same circuit. So if you are using the microwave and pretty much anything else, you trip the breaker. And the switch is in the basement. I live on the 5th floor. Good times!!!

Now onto what I originally wanted to post:

Another craft project, a table runner made from fabric sample squares, given away by recycling interior designers. This is the second step towards changing the decor of the apartment to a blue-grey scheme from a black-and-white scheme (the first step was painting the living room greying blue...)

Since I had boundless energy this morning (or so it seemed then...) I also made another shirt:

from these sad castoffs:

I fashioned something a bit more elegant:

Movie time! Crafty time! Free time!

2008-05-27T18:28:00.020-04:00

I fell in love with Katharine Hepburn in 1997, when I read her autobiography Me: Stories of My Life.

I can't express in an eloquent manner why Hepburn mattered. Before there was Wikipedia and Google, I spent the summer of 1997 learning as much about Kate Hepburn as I could from books. Her independence, her intelligence, her unusual personal life, her devotion to her family - these were all qualities that resonated with me. Her beauty is being taken for granted for the purposes of this blog entry. I've only ever seen two of her films by that time, but I loved her on screen as well as on paper.

*As it was just pointed out to me by a commenter, a Kate Hepburn Cultural Arts Center is being constructed as we speak in Old Saybrook, CT. I think I shall visit over the summer...

Last year, in honor of her 100th birthday, I wanted to watch all the Hepburn films that Netflix had to offer. Then life interfered, as it often does. So I am starting now - I figure a film a week should not be too taxing, and will take me the rest of the year - there are 25 of them in my queue. Having to report them here should also keep me honest/and posting regularly.

So tonight I watched "Little Women" and while I understand it received an Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay, two questions stick in my mind:

a) Did people in 1932 interact quite as artificially as they do on screen? Or is that just a film convention from the time period? Or are they trying to be very proper for portraying 1864?

b) Did Louisa May Alcott *write* such a contrived ending for the novel, or was this the fault of the adaptation? I've never read "Little Women", so I can't tell. But I can't possibly believe that Jo would be happily accepting a marriage proposal from Fritz Behr if events proceeded as they did in the film.

OK, now that I've got that out of my system, here's the other part of the post.

About a month ago I have come to the conclusion that I own entirely too many articles of clothing which are ill-fitting. However, I also have the know-how to *make* them fit, and just needed the time to do so. Summer is my off-season time, and here's what happened last week:

LK gave me this cute T-shirt in the winter, but trouble was, it was meant for extremely short-torsoed people (which I am not) - see Exhibit A

Well, when combined with this home-made shirt (ahh, what did we ever do without CafePress?)...

...it becomes quite wearable! and sporty! and you can't see my belly button!

The other one is a bonus. A shirt that was a hand-me-down for a reason (could it BE more shapeless?)...

...with the help of some clever darting becomes quite lovely!

I even wore it to an event and received compliments.

So that makes my other summer resolution - I am going to alter a couple of items a week, thereby gaining new summer clothes without spending any money - yay.

we'll see how long the resolute behaviour lasts (she thought sarcastically)

Foodies of my mind, unite...

2008-04-20T15:31:00.006-04:00

I've been trying to go to the local Russian store more often, as they carry the most interesting foods sometimes. Behold, a full meal that would not be out of place in Tomsk:

We have: toasted matnakash (which I always call "lavash" because that's what we called it in Siberia when we were little, even though true lavash is totally different, and is more like a tortilla.)

With that we have some cold cuts of ham and salami (the Russian store has nearly 20 varieties of sausages and as many types of ham), topped with some awesome Armenian brynza (it's sort of a feta cheeze, but not to be confused with Slovak bryndza from the Wiki article) - just the right degree of salty.

On the side there is a Russian version of sauerkraut (which was too fresh, and inspired me to make some of my own - proper pickled cabbage needs to be more limp and, well, pickly) and my favourite salad of all times - Olivier

Ahh, and that green drink the colour of a chemistry experiment? That would be my favourite soda, Tarhun. The green is, of course, food colouring, but the drink IS actually flavoured with tarragon.

I have to admit that the meal as a whole would be incomplete by strict Russian standards, as it consists only of zakuski without the requisite first course (soup), hot course (meat or fish) or dessert (well, we had dessert, I just didn't take any pictures of it.)

In fact, the meal as it was laid out would have been perfect accompaniment to a bottle of vodka, as tradition dictates. Too bad I don't drink vodka (I know, what a bad Russian) and can't justify a full holiday meal on a Thursday:)

Listmania - or, my version of April Top 10

2008-04-13T21:11:00.013-04:00

I subscribe to the NY Times UrbanEye, a daily alert of things cool in the Big Apple and in the paper itself. Since I don't actually LIVE in New York, reading UrbanEye is somewhat like magical thinking - imagining how cool it would be to attend events described in the digest, had I had more time and money and time and...

The blogs I've been dying to finish that WILL appear on this page...eventually...

* My trip to Houston (trust me, it's worth talking about)
* My trip to a craft fair
* The shows I've worked on this year (the main reason for not posting on any predictable schedule)
* IKEA Hacks
* Communism in architecture

Meanwhile, all I can offer is a list of New York Times articles I found fascinating.

1. A Guide to the French reminds me that I grew up in a Socialist country where the dressing and etiquette habits remain much the same as in France, and I love it.

2. Mikhail Baryshnikov takes the kinds of photos I end up with in a darkened theatre when I am not careful.

3. This has been covered on the Internets already, but $1 bus fares make me happy.

4. So do the "new" Polaroid snapshots.

5. LOVE this photograph of Gnarls Barkley!

As much as I love their music.

6. The government makes me really sad and scared.

7. Apparently, one can build reefs with decommissioned subway cars - do they not rust???

8. As women, we are conditioned to never ask what we want, or what we are worth. One woman intends to do something about it. I will be reading her book.

9. No offense, but college kids nowadays are bloody spoiled.

10. And pity the writer who lives outside Brooklyn (where all the cool kids are, apparently.)

Pretty things

2008-04-04T16:53:00.005-04:00

While it's raining, I'm trying to put together a couple of posts. Meanwhile, this makes me happy...

American Idol, Bulgarian style

2008-03-19T20:36:00.001-04:00

Ahh, the things one finds on the interwebs. Behold...

Shoes! Shoes? Shoes...

2008-03-07T18:41:00.015-05:00

I've always had a difficult relationship with shoes. They hurt my feet. All of them. Even the most comfortable shoes on the planet will give me blisters, and for a variety of reasons all shoes I wear MUST conform to the following standards:

They MUST be as narrow as possible, preferably with a pointed toe.
They MUST end below my ankle, unless knee-high.
They MUST weigh as little as possible, preferable to not be felt on my foot all all.
They MUST support my arches well.
(and for dress shoes, mostly) They MUST have a heel.

I went to a podiatrist a few years ago because I lost all feeling in my little toe, and after an exam the doctor asked if I've ever done ballet. "yes", I replied carefully, "but not for a long time." Do I wear high heels? "yes," I said just as carefully, "daily since I was 12 years old."

It turned out I have foreshortened Achilles' tendons, developed through years of heel-wearing and intermittent dance training. This mostly manifested itself in unbearable leg pains whenever I'd put on flat shoes. Trouble is, I work on my feet 10-15 hours a day, and in flat shoes. I'd love to have some heel, but they suck for climbing ladders.

The doctor suggested I slowly stretch out my Achilles' by having heel lifts in my work shoes, which seemed like an interesting idea, but I went cold turkey and wore nothing but flats for a few months. The pain was unbearable. However, now I can effortlessly switch between flats and heels with minimum pain.

Which brings us to work shoes. Last week I discovered that my shoes no longer gave me the requisite support (as manifested by terrible pain in my arches and lower back) after running around from 9 am until midnight. New shoes it is, but which ones? Given the above requirements, I can't very well use standard steel-toe working boots (too heavy), clogs (not secure enough) or even Doc Martens (wearable, but too ugly)

Over the years I've tried several brands of work shoes, from LLBean mocs to Timberland hiking shoes (which is where we are right now.) Timberlands cost $100. The last pair was bought a little over a year ago. $100 per year seems like a lot sometimes. But I suppose, not until you see what I DO with said shoes. Behold, the gallery of my past 3 pairs of work shoes:

Old Timberlands (when they were new)

And this is what the Timberlands turned into after a year and a half of daily use:

So those became my "spare" shoes and I used these Pumas for a while, in-between other shoes.

But apparently, Boston winters and WEARING the shoes is not good for them...

So I bought new Timberlands, in the vain hope they will last longer than the other ones.

Only to be severely disappointed 14 months later:

I ordered new shoes. I am trying a whole other tack - dance shoes. It's quite possible they might give me the support I need, and even if they die after a few months, they are only $30.

On A Rare Day Off

2008-03-07T12:00:00.002-05:00

Silly Russian jokes:

Would you like some coffee with cognac?
No, without...
Without cognac?
No, without coffee...

* * *

Does your fiance know how old you are?
Well, yes, partially...

* * *

If you've invited 10 people to a dinner party, and only have 8 lobster forks, we can only envy your problems...

Anderson Cooper is the best!

2008-02-20T21:07:00.002-05:00

I don't have cable anymore, really, and I miss CNN terribly. More to the point, I miss my nightly date with Anderson Cooper on 360.

Which is why YouTube is still in business.

Borrowing from Auto-Win

2008-02-18T22:16:00.002-05:00

I am attending a technical rehearsal of a dance show. Right now that means I sit in my office and read things on-line. That's not ALWAYS the case, but currently my services are not needed in the theatre, yet I can't really go away until everyone is done. So I thought I'd get back to this blogging thing I've abandoned some months back.

Couple of weeks back my friend SB and I were quite taken by the idea of having a central repository of ideas, if you will, on-line that your friends can access. I suppose if you blog regularly, you can use your blog for that, but most people I know don't blog. Yet we would all like to share fun pictures, ideas, articles and news you find on-line, maybe some music, videoclips etc.

Now, if you subscribe to RSS feeds on Google, you can definitely share the media you find interesting with other people who subscribe to GReader. As you can see, that also has some obvious limitations.

Another way would be Facebook/MySpace - but do you really want your 65 Facebook friends to watch a Durex sex-toy ad? Or this one?

No, what we were desiring is an on-line notebook, if you will, that your friends can look into, where you stash those LOL cats, movie reviews, restaurant notes, viral videos, interesting news items etc. etc. - things that now are shared chiefly through randomized e-mail that can get a) lost, and b) annoying.

Seeing how I've got absolutely ZERO internet programming knowledge, obvs I won't be creating such a service any time soon. I mean, I compared Blogger with the Firefly Phone last week (it's only got 5 buttons) and I can't even bring myself to figure out how to migrate to another, not-quite-as-boring-layout-and-more-user-friendly blogging service...

But I will steal an idea from Auto-Win and post some links I got from reading the New York Times...

Americans are un-intellectual, and people write books about that.

They also choose not to wear perfume any more.

And some of them are insanely lucky to overcome the bureaucracy and score an insanely cheap (albeit tiny) corner of Manhattan.

Now, I don't live in NYC (and often, while reading the NYTimes, I think there really IS no other world outside Manhattan) but this real estate market story makes me think of Communism. You know why? Because there was so little available real estate in the former Eastern Bloc, you HAD to get married and move in together as soon as possible to enjoy any privacy at all. And then if you broke up or got divorced, there were very few rentals available, so you moved back in with your parents. Just like some of the people in the two stories above.

Zemfira (again)

2008-02-08T00:39:00.000-05:00

Zemfira is currently (and probs since 2002) my favourite musician. It helps that she is

a) hot;
b) writes good poetry and good music to set it to;
c) quite possibly very gay (though never officially confirmed); and
d) only 6 months younger than me (I can't really explain right now why that matters, but it does, ok? It's easier to relate to famous people that way.)

It took me a few months to be able to hear Zemfira's new album "Thank you" - it's become a lot more difficult to get media from Russia over the last few years - now I can't even purchase music or DVDs from the Russian version of Amazon, which I totally could do even last year, so this sucks. Anyway, I have insomnia (again...) and I've spent the entire night listening to this album, so I have to share this song - I know none of you speak Russian, so I am posting the translation.

This is YouTube (I haven't figured out how to link properly) video for the song.

Pay no attention to the "prologue" in the video - it's a pretty standard Russian music video technique of "setting the scene" and is rather poorly done in case, I feel.

Zemfira – We crash/We are divided/We are shattered*

We scatter about on business,
Earth is divided/shattered in two.

Erase me, erase me,
Look into me, stay here.
Forgive me for my weakness,
And for loving you so strangely and desperately.

A sigh of regret escapes the lips...
We are hung up in all the wrong cities.
Moonlit phone calls...
Through provisional borders, I am with you.

Erase me,
Look into me, stay here.
Forgive me for my weakness,
And for loving you so strangely and desperately.

We scatter about on business,
Earth is divided/shattered in two.
A sigh of regret escapes the lips...
We are hung up in all the wrong cities.
Moonlit phone calls...
Through provisional borders, I am with you.

We scatter about on business,
Earth is divided/shattered in two.
We scatter about…
Earth is shattered…
We are shattered…

*as you can see, I haven't settled on one translation of the title...Russian is much more complex of a language than this here Ye-Olde-Anglo-something-something...

Randomized cooking

2007-11-01T19:12:00.000-04:00

This is tres mundane, but...

I am making a giant vat of pasta sauce right now (what can I say, we can't cook in small quantities,) and I came to realize that I always stir pots/sauces/batter/paint/what have you clockwise.

Much like that spinning dancer...

Which made me wonder - so most people stir clockwise? Only right-handed people? Only right-brained people?

I mean, I pass counter-clock-wise every once in a while for variety, but not 90% of the time.

Please comment...

Dear City of Boston...

2007-10-29T21:42:00.000-04:00

Fuck you.

You tried to take away my car twice in two days. Both times I had to defend it.

First you have the gall to give me a $75 ticket prior to towing my car to a lot that costs $120 cash to get the car out of that jail, on the outskirts of Somerville, replete with barking dogs, lack of public transport, and generic film noir feel.

Towing my car from a designated resident parking spot that you'd decided OVERNIGHT should become "special event no-parking zone" in order to defend Fenway Park from crazed crowds slated to descend upon it should the Red Sox win Game 4 of the World Series.

What resident in their right mind removes their cars from a street that at midnight on Saturday was normal parking, and by 5 pm on Sunday had become a tow zone? Most people in my neighborhood don't move their cars until Mon am, when they have to go to work.

Fortunately for you, Boston, and for me, I was the last car in the street you tried to tow, and the tow operator was a total sweetheart and relented to my crying pleas after me running after the truck for a good block, and let me have the car back.

Then, dear City of Boston, I re-parked in front of my building, which I assumed was safe from the war zone that post-game was slated to become.

Oh, how wrong I was.

You see, in 2004 I did not HAVE a car, so the rioting that was so ugly everywhere else in the neighborhood only resulted in some broken bottles and pee on the steps of the brownstone we lived in at the time. So of course, I was totes naive about the whole "celebration" as it might affect my life.

I watched the news coverage, and tried to stay calm. For all my not really giving a shit about the Red Sox, it was pleasant to feel the city so proud of its team, and even watching the game on the tee-vee was kind of fun. Then I saw a crowd gathering literally a couple of buildings down from me (on the news) and went outside to check on the car.

Just in time to see this:

(images courtesy of News Channel 5 website - I did not have my camera at 1:30 am while outside in my jammies)

Or rather, the truck being in the process of being overturned. You can't see my car - it's three spots away from the truck, behind the camera in the picture on the left.

Imagine a huge crowd (2000 strong, by all estimates,) heaped like ants around multiple vehicles (that red MINI next to the truck? totaled as well) and surging around them, looking for release.

Now imagine at least 100 cops in full riot gear, pushing the crowd towards LK and I, sprawled on the hood of the Saab, and people running away from the cops over the hoods and roofs of parked cars. At least 9 other vehicles that I saw in the morning had serious damage on them - dented roofs, hoods, shattered windscreens. We got lucky again. Because we were there to protect the car, nobody jumped on it, or tried to flip it.

At one point I called 9-1-1, and the dispatcher replied to my anguished cries of "they are going to destroy my car, and there is nothing I can do about it!" - "well, dear, we are doing all we can. you can thank the college students for this. why don't you speak to an officer on the scene?"

The closest officer to me at that point was 50 yards away, on the OTHER side of the psycho/drunk crowd. When the riot-gear-outfitted line finally reached the Saab, and I agitatedly explained to an officer what I was doing, he was at least kind enough to escort us to the door of the building, protecting US from both the crowd and other cops (who kept trying to get US to "disperse")

Now, dear City of Boston, did you really think it was a good idea to contain a "celebratory" crowd on a street corner between two gas stations? And then push it into a residential area with potential property damage, instead of into the empty street to the right you so carefully emptied of cars at 5 pm?

Shame on you, the City of Boston.

And I am not paying your ticket.

left brain.right brain.no brain

2007-10-22T00:22:00.000-04:00

Ok, for some reason this test has been making all the blogging rounds.

I saw it a couple of weeks back, and saw that I am dominantly right-brained, but the switch happens randomly and without my trying. If I deliberately try to switch the direction, nothing happens.

I guess I don't have much control over my own brain. Quel surprise...

Also, why is she nude? Is that essential to the test?

Hacking IKEA

2007-10-21T23:32:00.005-04:00

There is a wonderful blog called IKEA Hacker. It is for/by people who like to customize IKEA furniture. Consider this my entry into this category of (somewhat crazy, always handy and imaginative) people.

This room was an unhappy storeroom for properties, when my theatre was dearly lacking space for dressing rooms. Moreover, we also lacked money. Fortunately, I had about a month of summer to figure out what to do about all this. There was an odd space in the basement that could house the props, if they were condensed and organized.

My assistant and I spent a couple of weeks sorting through the contents of the properties storage, and came up with enough items we could sell/give away. Amazingly enough, through a combination of eBay and Cragislist we made enough money on the unused props to buy shelving for the new storage room in the basement, AND to supplement some of the new furniture for the dressing room.

With budget still a concern, there was only place to to turn - IKEA.

We created space for 12 actors to put on makeup, as well as storage for wigs and shoes.

The counters were hacked from shelving units Udden, combined with Vika Kaj legs. The niche was created from the Udden units as well, but the metal sides left over from the units used for counters were used as spacers, creating the correct height for wig heads.

Other products used in the said hack were:

Mirrors Kolja
Mirror Minde
Mirror Raan
Chairs Herman

Dressing rooms always need lights surrounding the mirrors, and an inexpensive solution was found in undercabinet lights Liesta, plugged into power strips Rabalder

Unfortunately, since the hack was complete, IKEA discontinued these particular undercabinet lights, so when the bulbs burn out, we have dark spots. Other mini halogens are quite pricey, but I am considering replacing the burnouts with their current incarnation, Non lights. I believe they accept the same power connections, so it won't be much of an issue.

Liveblogging Red Sox

2007-10-21T23:20:00.000-04:00

I don't care about baseball. At all. So sue me. I guess I will never be a true Bostonian.

However...

I can look into Fenway Park from my living room window. The window having been chosen for its proximity to work and affordability (the latter surely owing to the fact that no sane person would want to face a baseball park for a prolonged amount of time.)

And as it is the middle of the 8th inning, they are singing Sweet Caroline. And the Sox are winning. And there are literally hundreds of cops in the street, on horseback, on foot, and on bikes.

I doubt I will go to sleep anytime soon. When they win (and they will) I will take pics of the madness and update.

This level of sport fanaticism fascinates me, it really does.

Update at 11:30 - it's 6-2, bottom of the 8th, the madness is almost over/just beginning.
Update at 11:42 - it's 9-2.
Update at 11:46 - umm, it's 11-2.
11:57 - Red Sox had won the ALCS. Gotta go take some pics.

Min geselle chumet niet...

2007-10-09T22:59:00.000-04:00

Orffnight...

Wa ist min geselle alse lange?
Der ist geriten hinnen - hinnen - hinnen - hinnen...
O wi, wer sol mich minnen?

I don't usually like MetaFilter - too much random info that is not tailored enough to my tastes. But the following (learned through MF) illustrates my feelings Sergei Rachmaninov precisely.

Rachmaninov Had Big Hands

Click through. It will make you laugh.

Sciurus vulgaris...

2007-10-08T12:06:00.000-04:00

I was reading this article in the NYTimes today, and for the umpteenth time was struck by how little we know of the world outside of us until we are exposed to it.

I grew up with red squirrels. They were ubiquitous, as squirrels are wont to be, and never warranted a second thought. They also changed colours with the seasons, as bunnies in Russia do as well - red in the summer, mostly grey in the winter (the bunnies go from grey or russett to white, in case you are wondering.) If you ask a Russian kid to draw a squirrel, you will get a blazing orange critter with tufts on its ears. They have a long coat and a glorious tail.

Because they don't usually molt until October or November sometime, when there is already snow on the ground, the most striking vision of a squirrel from my childhood is an orange red squirrel in the bright white snow stealing bright red mountain ash berries.

It never occurred to me that squirrels could be grey all the time, have short fur, or not have any tufts. If you are in the US right now, ask yourself - what do you think of when you think of a squirrel?

And then ask yourself - what would you never see and know for yourself if you did not experience it in another town/ another country/ another continent...

Mihi cordis gravitas res videtur gravis...

2007-10-02T22:32:00.000-04:00

Amor volat undique,
captus est libidine.
Iuvenes, iuvencule
coniunguntur merito.

Siqua sine socio,
caret omni gaudio;
tenet noctis infima
sub intimo
cordis in custodia:

fit res amarissima.

My love...you know that you are my best friend...

2007-09-20T20:53:00.000-04:00

The funny post of the day:

I've been drinking juice spritzers that taste totes like the soda one could get out of these public soda machines in Russia in the 1980s:

You took a real glass, flipped it upside down on a little fountain thingy, and it washed it like a miniature dishwasher. Then you put it under the spout, dropped in 5 kopecs (I suppose the current equivalent would be 5c) and pushed the soda button. Every machine had three buttons, but usually only two options were functional - seltzer or soda, and the flavours depended on whatever they loaded the machine with that day - usually something citrusy. Easy and good for the environment.

The sad post of the day: forgive the convoluted language. It's a nostalgic kind of day, and this from a very nostalgic poet - Bulat Okudjava.

This connection of hearts -
It is an ancient mechanism.
It seems that the end is quite near…
But in one moment – a thaw is here.

It seems the time has come –
A break is nearly imminent.
But everything that exists in the morning
Can turn around by the time evening comes.

This connection of hearts –
It is an ancient mechanism.
- But what if the end has truly come?
- What bloody thaw can we talk about?

And if the time has come indeed,
All contrivances are useless.
- What has been, is no longer relevant
- And the two of us, even apart, are still beautiful

And in the moments - sweet and sorrowful -
All the words from books of note,
And all the teachings of those who “only want the best”
Have lost their importance.

And only the two of us can understand
The sources of our joy and torture.
And we stand by this, we live by this,
And draw our solace from separation.

Russia...poetry...love

2007-09-12T23:33:00.000-04:00

When I was 13 and obsessed with Victor Tsoy (earlier mentioned here), I found great solace in a line from his song that goes like this:

“Смерть стоит того, чтобы жить, а любовь стоит того, чтобы ждать”

“Death is worth living , and love is worth waiting .”

At 31, I still find solace in it.

And now, simply because I feel guilty for not posting, a little more translation.

Стань моей птицей - could be heard here

Диана Арбенина from Бонни & Клайд (2007)

стань моей птицей
стань моей птицей
чтобы во мне повториться
чтобы во мне повториться

стань моей кровью
стань моей раной
чтоб задыхаясь на плаху
чтоб на прощанье не плакать

чтоб четыре крыла по периметру неба
чтоб кричали тела горячо и нелепо
чтобы высохшим ртом по периметру пульса
не целуйся

стань моей крохой
стань моим сыном
чтобы во мне не остыло
чтобы во мне не остыло

стань моей смертью
стань моим страхом
чтоб задыхаясь на плаху
чтоб на прощанье не плакать

чтоб четыре крыла по периметру неба
чтоб кричали тела горячо и нелепо
чтобы высохшим ртом по периметру пульса
не целуйся

чтоб четыре крыла по периметру неба
чтоб кричали тела горячо и нелепо
чтоб четыре крыла по периметру неба
чтоб кричали тела горячо и нелепо
чтобы высохшим ртом по периметру пульса
не целуйся

стань моей птицей
стань моей птицей

Become My Bird

Diana Arbenina, from “Bonny & Clyde” (2007)

Become my bird
Become my bird
So you can be repeated in me
So you can be repeated in me

Become my blood
Become my wounds
So when gasping - on the scaffold
So no crying at farewell

So four wings - the perimeter of sky
So the bodies shall scream, hotly and absurdly
So the dry mouth won’t kiss
the perimeter of pulse

Become my little one
Become my son
So it won’t grow cold inside me
So it won’t grow cold inside me

Become my death
Become my fear
So when gasping - on the scaffold
So no crying at farewell

So four wings on the perimeter of sky
So the bodies shall scream, hotly and absurdly
So the dry mouth won’t kiss
the perimeter of pulse

So four wings - the perimeter of sky
So the bodies shall scream, hotly and absurdly
So four wings - the perimeter of sky
So the bodies shall scream, hotly and absurdly
So the dry mouth won’t kiss
the perimeter of pulse

Become my bird
Become my bird

Crafts

2007-09-02T23:15:00.000-04:00

I've been reading a lot of design blogs, and got inspired by these people featured on one of them last week - SunMoonLake quilts. They recycle sweaters into throws. So I thought - how hard can this be?

Examples of blankets they've made:

They sell the larger ones for $900. It's a racket.

I am vaguely OCD. I like organizing things. I like arranging things by type and colour. I like cutting things into strips and sewing them back together. So I set to work. Here's what I produced:

I am embarrassed.

This is a classic example of the Russian phrase "The first crepe came out in a ball."

The phrase literally refers to making crepes in a cast iron skillet - you have to have it at just the right temperature, with just the right amount of butter greasing it. 10 times out of 10, the first crepe you pour into the skillet will absorb the excess grease, and get scrambled and burnt/undercooked.

Things I learned from my weekend of crafting:

1. I will make more of these throws. I like it.

2. They are cashmere. EVERYONE likes cashmere.

3. They are soft and warm. Unless you live in Florida, you can use one.

4. With cost of materials and my time estimated at $25/hr, these should NOT cost $900.

5. I might sell these on Etsy.

6. I am not wild about the patchwork aspect of this particular quilt. I will stick to stripes only.

7. Knits are a bitch to sew.

8. The strips must be completely STRAIGHT, with not even a hint of bias.

9. That last sentence could be misinterpreted.

10. I need to obtain better/more lightweight fabric for backing.

11. I need to cut the strips with a rotary cutter and a crafting ruler. As I do not possess either item, I must make the cuts at work.

12. That whole contrasting stitch thing that the online people used and the design bloggers raved about looks like crap on mine, because my stitches were uneven, since knits are a bitch to sew. I will stick to thread colour that blends with the quilt, thank you. In this case, it should have been pink/mauve of some variety. I only had brown. MUST buy more thread.

13. I watched a whole season of Dexter while working on these. Finally, a way to watch TV and NOT feel like I am wasting time.

Moving Day!!!

2007-09-02T22:55:00.001-04:00

No, I am not moving. But anywhere between 20,000 and 50,000 students did yesterday and the day before.

For those of you not familiar with Boston, the entire city operates on the academic year. That also means that all leases begin on Sept 1st. Couple that with large numbers of freshmen moving into the city each year, a Red Sox game, and Labor Day weekend, and you've got yourself a giant clusterfuck.

This was the scene in front of my building yesterday:

Where those trucks are parked is National Parkland.

On this next picture, what you have to understand is that the lane of traffic from the guy in car forward is "created" curbside parking that takes up a lane of the four-lane street. And the rest of those cars - game traffic.

And a better angle on the U-Hauls:

It was hard to photograph trucks, because people thought I was going to report them somewhere or something, and started yelling at me.

When we were unlucky to move on this same weekend last year, we had to fight for double-parked spots with other people in the street. It was disgusting. There were people carrying possessions across four lanes of traffic.

Click here to see what happens EVERY summer because somebody doesn't understand the concept of 10' clearance. It's a very entertaining slide show.

I hate Sept 1st.

Pool Madness!!!

2007-08-29T00:20:00.001-04:00

I am full of sadness and rage today. I am going to channel my rage into bitching about people in gyms.

I went to the gym today for the first time in a while. It’s good for working emotional turmoil out of my system. I’ve been entirely too slothful for the last two months. I swam. I tried to make that a good experience. It wasn’t, because other swimmers have got no manners.

If you’ve spent any time in lap pools in your life, you will recognize the accepted etiquette:

When two people share a lane, they each swim on either side of said lane at their own pace.

When a third (fourth, fifth, tenth) person needs to use the lane (the pool was exceptionally full today), they choose a lane that suits their own speed of swimming the best, and they ask the two people already in the lane if they may join and proceed in circles – true laps, going counter-clockwise.

This is done by lowering your arm in the water when the person on the left nears the end of the pool to get their attention, and asking if they mind swimming in laps. I’ve never seen anyone refuse – until today.

When the woman on the left in the lane I picked agreed to swim laps, we had to wait for the guy on the right to be apprised of this. He stopped, we told him, and he said “no” and swam away! It’s international etiquette, for fuck’ sake! And you can't just force the lap, because it will cause an accident.

So they stayed alone in their lane, and I joined three other women in another lane. The last lane had 5 men at this point. Another guy came in and waited a long time to join the empty lane, and was greeted by the same refusal from the asshole. It was kind of insane. But we were making it work, the four women, we all had a similar stroke, and were generally courteous.

For the first 400 yds or so.

Rule number two of lap swimming – keep your pace similar to others in your lane, and allow for even spacing. With four people, there should be one person turning at each end, when two people are roughly at 12 yds. If you are too slow, you wait at the end to let a faster swimmer pass. If you are too fast, you slow down until you can pass at the end.

NONE of this was happening. There was one woman who kept barreling through, almost running into two other women multiple times. There was the second woman who swam excruciatingly slowly, and never stopped to let others pass. I kept trying to keep my distance, but inevitably kept running into the slow woman.

The speed demon finally had enough, and left. The lane got a bit easier, but we still had three people swimming in the same direction, as if we were connected by a rope.

To add insult to injury of this annoying swim, when I got out of the pool, I found that someone had taken my towel. It’s not mine, it’s the gym’s, but that meant I had to shlep through the locker room out to the towel shelves on the main floor to get a new one.

Read tomorrow: creepy people in gyms.

Books

2007-08-22T23:39:00.000-04:00

CNN tells us today that the average American reads 4 books a year. 25% of all adults read NO books this year.

It's no wonder scenes like this happen:

From Gawker, August 13, Observations: Scenes From L.A. by doree

But the best part of my trip to California was a conversation I overheard at a Carl's Jr. on Highway 5.

Girl to guy: "Yeah, and then we read this book called the Metamorphosis? It's about a guy who turns into a bug!"
Guy: "That sounds dumb."
Girl: "Yeah, it was retarded."
Guy: "I had to buy that book Elements of Style for one of my classes."
Girl: "That sounds familiar. We also read To the Lighthouse. It has no plot!"

Although, to be fair, it's not like they were wrong. Everyone from Martha Woodmansee to James Wood would say much the same.

I think that's fucking sad. I am not the best reader anymore, with the Internet and films taking up a large portion of my attention. And I tried cataloging my habits on GoodReads, but I haven't made that a priority, which means I haven't touched it in months.

However, I still read. I blogged about my compulsion to read here. I tried to think back over the past year, and I think I average a book a week. Even with a conservative estimate of a book every two weeks, I read 26 books this past year. If I think long enough, I can list them all.

That also means that I've read 6 to 12 times more than an average American. Can I have a prize now? Oh, and this is reading for PLEASURE. To expand your mind. To learn something. To enjoy the beauty of language and concepts. To have a good story. Unless, of course, you are this guy:

"Fiction just doesn't interest me," said Bob Ryan, 41, who works for a construction company in Guntersville, Alabama. "If I'm going to get a story, I'll get a movie."

I am not including any reading that was necessary for work. I am also not including Vanity Fair, which, when read from cover to cover, as I do, qualifies for 12 novels a year. I would love to keep reading The New Yorker, but I just don't have the time.

So, gentle reader - how do you compare to the average American? Do tell. And everything counts - books read for class. Books read to your children. Books read for work. Literary magazines. I don't think "Cosmo"/"Glamour"/"People" count.

Wasting time...

2007-08-21T10:25:00.000-04:00

I am ashamed to say I got here through MetaFilter.

Soviet Posters!

I own the poster above, and a few others.

The coolest thing on this site is the explanations of the historical events behind the posters - something that is useful to a non-Russian.

Because everyone needs a history lesson a day.

BTW, they are revising history in Russia AGAIN, with the current crop of 16-19 year olds thinking that Stalin was the best/most successfull leader the country ever had, and that the West ruined the bliss of Communism for them (???) - courtesy of MSNBC.com

Travel Tips

2007-08-20T21:14:00.000-04:00

I am ripping off SFGate here, but it's precious:

Travel Tips for those behaviourally challenged when abroad

Although I am a little confused as to why you can't have your hands in your pockets in Russia. I've never observed that to be a huge problem. But overall, Russians don't put hands in pockets unless it's January and you lost your mittens.

My favourite thing on the list is:

"In Uruguay, don't tell people you're enjoying your stay in Paraguay. (Similar rules apply for Sweden and Switzerland, Slovakia and Slovenia, Niger and Nigeria, Macedonia and Mesopotamia.)"

Also, it should also be added "Never, in any country, wear shorts, white trainers, and a fanny pack..."

Do any of you have travel tips?

The Internets

2007-08-20T11:46:00.000-04:00

This is about the Internets.

I was bored a few weeks ago, and scrolled through a bunch of random blogs – you know how on Blogger there’s the “Next Blog” button? And it takes you to someone’s blog at random?

I felt a little bit like that commercial “You have reached the end of the Internet”, because a couple of times I was directed to the same blog over and over.

Do you remember when in the early 1990s there was a button on Yahoo, I think, where you could see the “New” webpages as they were being added daily, and the Internet was so small, like a public school library? And all of a sudden it’s the Library of Congress? Except much bigger and in every language under the sun?

Anyway, here is what I discovered cruising Blogger – people use the hosting service in the weirdest ways. Maybe this is indicative of the blogosphere in general.

1. Personal diaries. By far the most common use, no? Sometimes sarcastic commentary. Wondering about the purpose of live. That’s sort of what I am doing, I guess. Common cultural ground. It’s funny to read music references on people’s blogs, and think “yep, they are 30 yrs old”, and be right after looking at the profile. But that’s a different post.

2. Family updates. The number of stay-at-home moms blogging is staggering. I get it, you are at home, and everything is a new experience, and your child is the most precious thing under the sun, and you found a good way to keep the grandparents updated. But do you have to blog about poop? Can't we just see pretty pictures?

3. Political rants. Less common than you’d think. Mostly liberal.

4. Travelogues. Some are abandoned, created solely about one trip in 2005. Some are sad – two midwives working in Uganda in a hut with no resourses. The one I really enjoyed is a guy on some sort of religious mission teaching ESL in South Korea. Soooooo sheltered.

5. Pages in Japanese. Can’t read those at all.

6. Pages in Spanish. Don’t know Spanish.

7. Pages in Italian. Ditto.

8. Pages in Dutch. Or Swedish. Or some other Scandinavian language. Can’t read that either.

9. Pages in Portuguese. These often have to do with various soccer teams.

10. Pages solely dedicated to a sport – auto racing, baseball, etc.

11. Pages in French – these I can actually understand somewhat.

12. Porn. You’d think it wouldn’t exist on Blogger, but when I first came across a page selling undergarments (how cheap do you have to be? You can’t pay $8.95 for your own web address?) I thought porn wouldn’t be far off, and I was right. Also, people trying to sell you web services and jewelry. Once again, WHY use Blogger? Cheapskates.

13. Religious freaks. God is great, and you should feel that way too.

14. And the one that made me want to call child services. Unfortunately, I will never find this page again, and I did not think to copy the URL at the time. A diary of an anorexic/bulimic girl, detailing her struggle with food. Probably not more than 18, living someplace in Europe. Complete with photographs of women (models) she finds attractive, and some pics that could have been her. Very scary, because only concentration camp victims are that thin, and there is NOTHING sexy about your spine sticking out. It made me very sad, because if nobody helps this girl, she will die. She would beat herself up for eating 500 kcal a day. She would triumph when the only thing she ate all day was an orange. She referred to her disorders as Ana and Mia, like they are her friends who are helping her through the day. Her blog tagline was “beautiful dolls…cause the prince always rides off into the sunset with the thinnest princess.” It makes me afraid to ever have a daughter.

FutureSex/LoveShow

2007-08-15T23:03:00.000-04:00

I am too tired/exhausted/distracted to blog about all the things I really want to talk about.

I am also considering blogging more frequently but shorter - going for quality, you know?

Of course, the minute my season actually starts, there will be zero time for such games.

Shit.

So anyway, JT, you know? He definitely brought sexy back. There was LOTS of simulated sex in the stage show. Of course, I didn't photograph it. So we will have to rely on blurry flickr pics courtesy of midnightlounge.

Why am I showing you a picture of his tour bus? Because we could hardly get to the train following the concert due to the crowds of girls waiting outside the Garden next to above bus. I decided we did not need a JT sighting in a crowd of screaming 12-year-olds.

I thought we would lose our hearing completely during the show. The noise that 20,000 females under 25 can produce can quite possibly shatter glass, and definitely hurt human eardrums. They screamed so much that in the encore, JT couldn't help but remark that we are definitely the loudest audience he has ever heard (and I would hazard he says that to ALL his fans, but he kept cracking up and not being able to sing, which made it more believable) which of course spurred another 30 seconds of screaming.

This is him during the encore. He rocked on the slow songs. The sound was clear, the instrumentation perfect, the stage show very spectacular.

BTW, is there a trick to posting pics on Blogger that DOESN'T always top-post, or am I just retarded? I am sooo tired of dragging pictures down...

But the screaming girls? The first half of the show was virtually useless - you couldn't hear anything because of the screaming. Sure, there was cool choreography going on, and special effects, but the whole effect was a bit disconnected.

Once they started playing with the screens more, the crowd calmed a bit. It didn't help to constantly repeat "Hello Boston!!!" on Justin's part, as that just wound girls up even more.

You know how I talked about a UFO at the Police Concert? Well, there was one here too. A circular truss came down center stage to right above JTs head (I can't remember the song though, I was too fascinated by the truss), it was hung with probs 12 moving lights and shining red everywhere. The truss then pivoted about 60 degrees, and began rotating about its center.

I am not explaining this very well, but it was something like having a giant angled halo rotate around your head, you know? Here's a picture of the rig before that stuff came down (the white downspot is shining from that halo):

There was also a half-time show. You heard me right. Timbaland came out and rapped for 30 minutes or so. It was awesome rapping, with a video on the screens, incorporating samples from famous singers that were synced with the videos (including Aalyia (sp?)) And I don't care a whit about rap, so that's saying a lot.

I guess JT needed the rest from all that dancing (and not too much singing, I am afraid). Justin had four back-up singers - the men were built like houses - and the back-up is what did most of the singing. The audience contributed quite a bit as well.

Plus, the stage was shaped like an oval with random appendages, creating a true "theatre in the round" experience. And the choreo for the set was very even about how much time JT spent with every section of the audience. For the above slow songs on the piano, the piano platform slowly rotated around. So you can imagine how much running around was to be had.

Where it says "137" on the diagram - that's where we were. "Premium Club Seating" - it was kinda cool, being on a level of the arena that had private bars and things that the "General Public" is not privvy to.

I kept thinking about the fact that his singers were African-American, his dancers all white (except one sorta-Latina chick), there was an all-white 6-piece string ensemble, and the rest of the band - you guessed it - black. I don't know what the conclusion of this observation is.

Overall effect - mixed. The stage show was definitely the most lavish I've seen. The dancing was amazing. The singing - not so much, which is a shame, since JT CAN sing, you know? But I've learned a giant lesson - 12-year-old girls are a force to be reckoned with, and I NEVER wish to be surrounded my them en masse.

Vacation

2007-08-04T21:11:00.000-04:00

Ladies and gents,

I am going away for a week without my computer. Well, *with* my computer, but consciously with no internet access. So I'll talk to y'all next Saturday, yeah? There will be also an account of the JT concert. Have a good week!!!

TAGGED!!!

2007-08-02T21:57:00.001-04:00

So Riese decided I should play her little game, and I will joyfully comply, though I always refuse these things when they come by as chain-emails:

We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.

It is my understanding the facts should be more or less unknown to the general reader, no?

1. If I had less common sense and more physical space for living, I would be a crazy cat lady. Every cat I see, I want to take home. Last night we discovered this beautiful tuxedoed Maine Coon in the hallway of the building, and even though he eventually went home to his little Asian girl-mother, for a minute I wanted to take him home. I've been that way since I was a toddler. The only time I did not own a cat or two was in college, where I was too terrified of breaking the rules to have a kitten. However, I gave LK and her girlfriend at the time two kittens from my house, and visited them periodically.

2. I desperately try to be less preppy. I don't currently own any loafers, but that's only for lack of trying. Most of my wardrobe is black and white and brown, and I still own my high-school letter jacket.

3. I read more slowly in English than in Russian. It's a curse, because English is my primary language now. But in Russian I can scan a page and get all the information out of it, whereas in English I need to sound out the words in my head, making me constantly feel like I am in grammar school. Paradoxically, I type in English 10 times faster than in Russian.

4. I have trouble following orders and fulfilling requests. Like, ever. That's one of the reasons I don't understand the army. I need to understand the specific reason behind what I am being asked to do, and then I will do it, even if I don't agree with the request or the reason. This gets me in trouble at work sometimes. And in real life, too, just ask my family.

5. BUT, if I said I will do something for you, and give you a timeline, it will get done well and on time. I can't understand people who disregard deadlines. I am also NEVER late for appointments, unless there are factors way beyond my control (shitty public transport, anyone?) in which case I will call you and tell you exactly how late I will be. It has taken me YEARS to not be the first person to arrive at a party.

6. I was trained as a classical pianist for years. I hated it until I was 15, at which point it was too late to be serious about a career in music. I never had the drive, patience, or technique to become a concert pianist. I would have made a decent accompanist or a musicologist. Often I miss playing. Piano is not an instrument you can easily acquire and move around with you, like a guitar or a flute.

7. I've never done karaoke. I would LOVE to go to a karaoke bar. I don't have any serious desire for embarrassment, but I want to try it. I've been obsessed with this Griffin product for a while - it's a mike you plug into your iPod, and it supresses the vocal track - can you imagine the possibilities?

8. On the subject of music, and if I knew the last thing about guitars and playing rock music, I would love to have a Zemfira cover band. I guess we could cover Nochnye Snaipery too. No Russian pop, though. I could translate the songs and do some in English, some in Russian. There isn't much of a market in the US for that, I know, but it's cool to dream about.

So - no tags for me - but maybe those of you who read the blog and NEVER comment (you know who you are...) - write a note or two? You know, anonymous commenting is turned on now (it took me a month to realize only Gmail people could leave comments...) so write away...

The Police Part II

2007-07-29T22:55:00.000-04:00

This is not my picture, but rather courtesy of a person whose name completely escapes me on the Creative Commons.

Here is my disjointed account of the concert:

I always forget to bring my camera when it matters. LK took some pics on her phone, but we could have brought a bazooka, and they would not have cared. They even did not scan our tix, but just tore them off, in the old-fashioned way. For some reason I am still stuck in the era of concertgoing when they frisked your bags with intensity akin to airport security, and I always forget they don't care about cameras anymore.

BTW, what is it with people taking pics of themselves at concerts? Who cares that you are sitting in a sea of other people in a stadium? Wouldn't it be better to take pics of the band? Just a thought.

Friction Plane, Joe Sumner's band, opened. Not my kind of music, but Joe looks, sounds AND moves on stage like his dad. Genetics are an interesting thing. Nobody in the stadium cared about Friction Plane, unfortunately, as the average demographic was 40.

Umm, what I said yesterday about "wrapped around your finger"? Absolutely true. Haunting, beautiful, a religious experience. I think it was the best performance of the set, with Roxanne being a close second, and Every Breath You Take fitting for the encore. The actual closer for the set was Next To You, which I don't know well, but it totes did not matter, because the showmanship was excellent, and the light show looked like a fireworks finale.

Everyone said how Sting can't hit the high notes anymore, and it's true, he can't. Not in "Walking On The Moon" anyway. But do we really care? Didn't think so.

The stage design was clean - I love it when bands use white light and graphics, because white is so effective. Don't get me wrong, there was lots of colour as well. In addition to the screens and scores of automated light rigs above the stage there were six hydraulic platforms with moving lights upstage, providing interesting backlight. These cracked me up slightly, because they were oval, and at times they moved between songs in the dark, looking like menacing UFOs. However, in my book, U2 takes the prize for light shows and graphics.

I kept wondering if Stewart was not having a good time playing, as the man never cracked a smile. Andy was clearly enjoying himself, and Sting is just...Sting. When we saw him at the Orpheum, he played for two hours straight without breaking a sweat. I guess (tantric) yoga really pays off. However, for the bows all three laughed and thanked the audience, Stewart beating his chest over his heart, and Andy taking photos of the audience. So I guess Mr. Copeland just needed to concentrate really hard on keeping up with the pace of the concert?

Fenway Park as a concert venue? Rather poor, I felt. I hope nobody I like ever plays there again, because you can't really see the performers unless you are in the $500 field seats. Mind you, we had good seats, but I've been spoiled by smaller venues (even the Garden has better vantage points, and it's HUUGE). The sound was great though.

Yesterday's sighting of shirtless Sting was a bonus, because tonight the shirt stayed on. The man's bass looks like he fought a battle with it, all chipped and chewed up. But neither he nor Andy changed their guitars during the show, which I found unusual - most acts I've seen in the last few years change instruments multiple times during the show, either to achieve a different sound, or as a preference thing. On the other hand, Stewart threw his drumsticks around like candy, almost after every song.

Pet peeve of the evening - a couple in their early 20s texting incessantly in the seats in front of us. The girl must have sent 40 messages. What could POSSIBLY be so important to text every three minutes? For fuck's sake, the concert was only 2 hours long! Can you really NOT go without talking to others for two hours? I was reading over their shoulders, since the phone screens were annoying the crap out of me, and the girl was composing things such as "btw are you moving 2morow?" and getting responses like "i heart you"! I saw that the guy was writing a set list, which is silly, because it's posted on Wikipedia, and they did not deviate.

All in all, an excellent evening. This particular concert redeems my next musical indulgence - Justin Timberlake at the Garden in two weeks. I'll report on him bringing sexy back in a totally different way from Sting...

The Police Part I

2007-07-28T22:22:00.000-04:00

As the entire universe should know, The Police were playing Fenway Park tonight. LK and I have tix for tomorrow night, and as we live within a stone's throw of said park, we thought we'd enjoy the concert remotely, as a little preview. There was some question as to whether or not the torrential rains that knocked out our power will allow for the concert to go on, but by 6 pm all was well.

We went out to dinner, and as we were passing behind the Green Monster on our way back home, the ethereal voice of Gordon Sumner (aka Sting) filled the entire neighborhood. It was seriously akin to G_d speaking to you about being "wrapped around your finger." I have this T-shirt from the last Sting concert we attended that says "There is no religion but Sex and Music", and it felt quite to the point.

We stopped to listen, and stayed for the rest of the set. Right before the encore, we noticed a limo cortege pulling up to Gate C, which is right at the edge of the stage. The same limos with police escort we saw at 6 pm entering the park. Hmm, coincidence? We walked over, parked ourselves on the sidewalk, and our patience was rewarded. The band exited the stage right out of Gate C after the last song, and Sting stopped and (very consciously and exuberantly) waved at the fans (us and maybe 50 or so others) right before getting into the vehicle. He was shirtless. And hot. Andy and Stewart were right behind. Lots of screaming ensued, much of it from women AND men standing around us. The van pulled out of the gate, and all 3 members of the band actively waved at us as they passed.

I am not a celebrity stalker. Celebrity doesn't really phase me. I find most celebrities to be as flawed (and maybe more) as the rest of us, and respect their privacy. I also fully realize that what makes them a celebrity is a talent in a particular field, just as the we all talented in our own, not quite as glamorous, fields. But as Sting was standing by the side of the van, LK turned to me and said "Ok, I am straight right now." And I wholeheartedly agreed. If I was alive during the height of Beatlemania, I would have been one of those girls waiting hours for the band to arrive/depart. As it is, we will thoroughly enjoy ourselves tomorrow night.

New Cambridge One!!!

2007-07-20T16:56:00.000-04:00

This is an item for the two of you who read this blog who are actually FROM Boston:

The main reasons I EVER go to Harvard Square are OM and Cambridge*1. Now there is one less reason, as I just discovered a brand new Cambridge*1 on the bottom floor of the Trilogy Building (across from Landmark center.) Like, they were installing the awnings as I drove by, and sitting in traffic I could see that the decor is the same, and I am assuming the menu is the same - I am going to check it out ASAP. This in addition to Harry Potter coming to my door tomorrow morning makes me a very happy girl indeed!

Summer pet peeves

2007-07-20T10:10:00.000-04:00

I have been in Harry Potter land - after the movie I realized I had absolutely NO idea as to what happened in "Half-Blood Prince", and I am getting "Deathly Hallows" on Sat at 8 am (yay Amazon! I think I will be sad to not have these random morning deliveries,) so I am speedily re-reading. And the funny thing is, you how you read something a second, third time, and you know where the plot is going, and remember the characters, etc? Well, not me! I am reading the book and I think "when did this happen? and why is Harry being so dense?" as if I'd *never* laid my eyes on it before, which is disturbing, 'cos I totes read it two years ago. Every once in a while I get flashes of recognition for small plot points, but they are very far in between.

So since I am kind of busy, here's a post I wrote last week:

I am not generally prude. I work in theatre. I am not often surprised by nudity or compromising situations, and found myself discussing dildo design at dinner tonight. Since I currently can’t think of a good blog topic that has to do with dildos, but have been wanting to post this screen caption forever, I am just going to do it:

That’s from The Libertine. Crappy movie, that. Even Johnny Depp is not excellent. On the other hand, everyone in that film is a snappy dresser, leaving no room for my pet peeves. I have a ton of pet peeves that deal with appearances. I’ve mentioned a couple of these in my earlier Summer post, but I think this deserves a closer look.

People often wear ill-fitting clothes clearly without thinking about what others might see. I’ve been guilty of that in the past, as I am sure we all have (umm, 1980s, anyone?) but mostly because I did not care. At dinner last night my entire thought process was thwarted for good 3 minutes by a lady who paraded past us to the maitre d’s desk to find out the wait time, and paraded back at the same rate. My friend SB was rendered speechless as well. Why? Because this woman’s girls (as Stacy London would note), which were at least a D-cup, were trying to escape her very open v-neck sweater, quite dangerously. In fact, I was kind of afraid that her breast would fall out at my feet and roll down the hallway, as it was being basically bisected in two by her bra cup right above the aureolae. As some bits of this woman were tan, and some were not, her breasts also caught light at a funky angle, drawing extra attention to flesh that should have been covered. Now, do you think she was getting dressed at home and thought “well, this bra doesn’t really fit me anymore, so maybe I’ll get some action if I just bare as much as I can?”

On the same note, a news item appeared today:

BERLIN (Reuters) - A German bus driver threatened to throw a 20-year-old sales clerk off his bus in the southern town of Lindau because he said she was too sexy, a newspaper reported Monday.

"Suddenly he stopped the bus," the woman named Debora C. told Bild newspaper. "He opened the door and shouted at me 'Your cleavage is distracting me every time I look into my mirror and I can't concentrate on the traffic. If you don't sit somewhere else, I'm going to have to throw you off the bus.'"

The woman, pictured in Bild wearing her snug-fitting summer clothes with the plunging neckline, said she moved to another seat but was humiliated by the bus driver.

A spokesman for the bus company defended the driver.

"The bus driver is allowed to do that and he did the right thing," the spokesman said. "A bus driver cannot be distracted because it's a danger to the safety of all the passengers."

But hey, at least she was mostly dressed. Not so much some others I’ve seen this week. I’m not even going to expound on girls in dresses and skirts that are so short they should be worn over pants – too easy. People wearing white – do you NEVER look at yourself in the mirror before leaving home? Do you not KNOW what happens to white cotton when lit from behind by strong afternoon sun? Sure, white is all light and summery and deflects the harmful rays, keeping you cooler, but…we have this fabric in theatre called “scrim”, which basically is a specific cotton weave. When you light it from the front, it’s opaque. When you light it from the back, it disappears, revealing whatever is behind. This is what happens to your skirts, ladies in white cotton. The thinner your skirts are, the more I can see. In certain situations this would be a good thing, but not on strangers, and not in Boston – not exactly the capital of pretty people. My high school graduation dress was fairly see-through, and my conservative grandmother insisted I buy a slip for under it. Boy, was she right. There is a video that shows my graduating class in all its see-through glory in the morning sun. The same exact thing happened with my college graduation (what IS it about schools I attend and white?) And my dress was only transparent to where you could see a slight shadow where my body ended and the skirt began.

Yesterday I saw a girl who wasn’t wearing any undergarments under her white skirt – kind of gross in the first place, or maybe she was wearing a dark g-string, either way there was a dark triangle visible. I think I need darker sunglasses to remedy this issue. In the same intersection I saw a man in white pants with – you guessed it – no undergarments. How do I know that? He dressed to the left, and if there were boxers involved, the pants were so tight I should have seen man-panty lines. So for people wearing white until Labour Day, here are some rules:

1. Briefs for men were invented a long time ago. Make use of them.

2. Undergarments should be worn at all times when in public! These consist of slips, bras, and panties. Unless you are planning on some tryst al fresco with your boyfriend/girlfriend in the extremely immediate future, or are returning home from same. In which case I salute your fascinating sex life, and STILL don’t want to see it.

3. When undergarments are worn, they should be nude or white. Black, red, polka-dotted, whatevs are NOT acceptable under white clothes. Unless you are having your period, in which case you shouldn’t be wearing white anyway.

4. Tight-fitting clothes only look good on people with zero body fat. Tennis payers look GREAT in stretchy white. So do dancers and faithful yoga practitioners. Size 14 women – not so much. Thankfully, the only men I see in tight white garments are Red Sox fans, and that’s a whole different shade of fugly.

5. Watch where you might sit! Grass stains on your ass as you walk down Boylston st makes me wonder if you were involved in #2 above. Same for general dirt stains. White is hard to keep clean, I know, but do try!

6. Unlike some people I know, I don’t actually have a problem with people wearing white when it’s not summer. But all of the above rules apply.

Bastille Day!

2007-07-14T23:33:00.000-04:00

Today is Bastille Day. Vive La France! To celebrate this event, I went to see Pixar’s Ratatouille. More about that later. In other news, and this is for MK:

Ani DiFranco never fails to brings the ladies and a few sensitive dudes to tears or soft, gentle whimpering with her honest lyrics, music, and tight body. Anais Mitchell opens. Her folk-rock tunes of love gone gosh darn crummy start at 8 p.m. at the Warfield, 982 Market (at Fifth St.); Tickets are $40.50.

I stopped listening to Ani circa 2000. The most I ever paid for her concerts was $22. My college roommate used to go see her in clubs in NYC for free. I realize $40 is not nearly the same type of inflation you now get with really famous bands (you don’t want to know how much we are paying to see The Police in Fenway Park), and that musicians need to eat too, but this is sad.

Oh yeah, Ani - there was only so much tragic whining I could handle. Plus, she stopped being intriguing when she got married. That ended in divorce, yeah? I am happy she is still making music, and there are still people coming to ogle her tight body. Maybe if I listen to her again now (her new stuff, I mean) I might like her again. I should experiment.

But back to rats in the kitchen. In his excellent book The soul of a chef: The Journey Toward Perfection Michael Ruhlman says the following:

“When we braise meat, we can if we choose, connect ourself with everyone who has ever braised meat and everyone who will ever braise meat…to connect to that same pleasure, that amazement, to connect to that same gratitude. This is the kind of satisfaction that people who truly love to cook are after. We seek, in our collective struggle, to learn more and to cook better, but we are in fact reaching for that connection to humanity that we’ve lost or maybe never had or simply want more of. This connection will forever elude us…if we ever lose sight of cooking’s fundamental importance to others.…never forgot for a moment what the work was all about: to cook for people and to make them happy.”

That’s what food is all about. And that’s what Rémy, the cutest rat in history of film, wants to do for people, and does with great success. He has pink ears, nose, and paws, and is great at using these to express emotion as only a rat might. I predict a huge surge in pet rats this year, as there were thousands of clown fish being acquired after “Finding Nemo”, and dalmations a decade earlier. The depiction of the food and the restaurant business in Ratatouille is flawless, and I dare say Rémy’s fur is more realistic than that of James P. "Sulley" Sullivan (or as I like to call him, “Kitty” in “Monsters, INC”.) Aforementioned Thomas Keller, chef/owner of French Laundry, served as an adviser on the film, providing his recipes for the dishes, as well as the model for the way the kitchen should be run. In return, to quote SFGate’s Stacy Finz “To pay homage to the cooking profession, the filmmakers used Keller's voice for the role of a restaurant patron. The French version of the movie has chef Guy Savoy playing the part; the Spanish one substitutes the voice of El Bulli chef Ferran Adria. In the British version, "The Naked Chef" Jamie Oliver has a cameo as the restaurant inspector.” My hero Tony Bourdain called this film “quite simply the best food movie ever made”, and anyone who has any modicum of interest in food (not even cooking, just eating well) should see it. I am done gushing now.

Harry Potter

2007-07-12T21:14:00.001-04:00

This is a rare live blog post.

Reasons I LOVE Harry Potter movies and books:

1. confirms my inner geek. I have an outer geek too, but I try to hide her.
2. do y'all have flying dreams? 'cos I do. and Harry Potter movies just throw me into those dreams, because flying on a broom has got to be the coolest thing EVER. Also totes reminded me of my absolutely FAVOURITE ZEMFIRA song: London Sky - forgive the quick translation, I totes thought I translated it before...

I dreamed of the London sky
Of a long kiss
We were flying, not holding onto anything
Which one of us will fall down first,
Break into pieces, onto the Tower Bridge?
In the morning,
I will find out in the morning...
You will find out later...
There is nothing more precious than these dreams.
Without these reminders
I am a lone wolf
What if I miss in the middle of the night,
Take off,
And nobody will know?
Just that lone wolf,
I am counting the steps until the very last destination.
Let’s run and fly!
I dreamed of the London sky,
Of a long kiss
We were waking on clouds there,
Pretending to be London rain,
Together sprinkling on the asphalt.
In the morning,
I will find out in the morning...
You will find out later...
There is nothing more precious than these words.
I am a lone wolf
What if I miss in the middle of the night,
Take off,
And nobody will know.
Just that lone wolf,
I am counting the steps until the very last destination.
Let’s run and fly!
I dreamed of the London sky…

3. People die, and teens have to deal with that. Even if it's just on the screen. For Harry Potter it's totes for real.

4. Emma Watson/Hermione Grainger is hot. She's also a know-it-all, which reminds me of ME being 14. Except that I wasn't a witch OR hot.

5. I REALLY REALLY want to believe in magic. I also totes wish there were Harry Potter books when I was a kid. They make growing up easier.

"Relaxation Audio Music That Will Help You Connect Faster With The Universe While Doing The Shamanic Ritual"

2007-07-10T23:34:00.000-04:00

I already got this out of my system today while talking with LK, and then I got pissed off again.

I like my job. It’s the first job I’ve had since grad school where I am appreciated, and I can actually use my expertise without other people questioning it. I’ve been working in my field for 13 years. I have a Master of Fine Arts terminal degree that proves that I can build and paint and budget and supervise and move and shake and destroy theatrical scenery like nobody’s business. I can build machinery and upholster furniture. I can teach students and program light-boards. I can lift 60 lbs on a regular basis (which happens to be in my job description, and sucks, btw.) I can even mop floors for dancers, move pianos, and change lamps in work lights!!!! (yeah, three guesses as to what I did at work today…) But according to the 2007 Boston State Payroll tables, as published by the Boston Herald (does anyone read that piece of crap anyway?), I make quite a bit less than an Administrative Assistant at the Mayor’s Office. Now, I understand that working for the City and the State is lucrative. And it probably takes a lot of acumen to keep up with the Mayor’s appointments (that’s why he has 3 Admins.) And any idiot could move a piano. But a fucking secretary makes more money than I do after 5 years teaching at university level?

A lot of people who have “real jobs” – i.e. not in the arts or education – always make the assumption that we work in theatre “for the love of it.” Yeah, we might love it. We might also all be masochists, because 70-hour work weeks, never seeing your loved ones, doing menial labour, never seeing the sun, and zero public recognition are only SOMETIMES worth it. And call me crazy, but love alone does not pay rent or school loans. Especially not in Boston.

To alleviate some of this rage, I spent a long time hanging out with Miles – here he is in all his glory:

Of course, what makes me especially peeved about money and fairness of compensation is the fact that I have recently started a process of becoming a legal resident alien. Within this process, processing priority is given to people with higher degrees of education. Since the USCIS works with the speed of a melting glacier, the higher degree you claim, the better your chances are. Unless you can’t use your degree because your employer can’t afford to pay you the rates the Department of Labour thinks are commensurate with that MFA, thereby rendering it useless. Did y’all follow that? Good.

And now, for something completely different, and inspired by TMB. I was looking for an e-mail that mistakenly got dumped into my SPAM folder, and my eye caught this gem:

Ani, you using shaman's rituals in your life yet?

Intrigued, I opened the message, hoping to learn secrets like never before – after all, it’s not every day that one receives offers of spiritual guidance through SPAM. My mother would be so proud! As would LK’s mom, too. This is what I found:

Hey Ani -

I just got off the phone with Robert (umm, who the fuck is Robert? Am I supposed to know him? - Ani) and he was telling me about his new book about getting what (and who) you want with the power of Shamanism

Yes, I said Shamanism.

http://dyvufyfu.licgru.info/csha/WqPBET9oiYfTqptt

The helpful, spiritual sort of thing that can put you back in peace and harmony with the universe and make your
wises and desires come to life...(I am not sure I want my wises to come to life, but ok…)

http://dyvufyfu.licgru.info/csha/WqPBET9oiYfTqptt

Anyway, he told me about the amount of copies he was selling on a daily basis (So what makes Robert an expert on shamans?) and (after my jaw absolutely dropped) I was convinced we are in the middle of a 'spiritual revolution'

http://dyvufyfu.licgru.info/csha/WqPBET9oiYfTqptt

He doesn’t know how long he can offer this book, so I wanted to make sure you had your chance to read it
before it’s gone, Ani. I am SURE you will love it :-) (OMG, the smiley face did it! I MUST buy this book!)

http://dyvufyfu.licgru.info/csha/WqPBET9oiYfTqptt

Blessed Be
With the Powers of Shamansim,

Bob Andrews
Currently near Ciaro, Egypt (Is that a new settlement? Oh, that’s right, you can’t spell!)

Of course, I was curious, and clicked on the hyperlinks. This is where they all lead:

Exclusive Information For The Next ~~365~~ 248 Visitors... (I clicked a couple of times, and the counter never changed…)

"You're About To Discover Secrets That Most People Will Never Know About MAGICK..."

Inside you'll uncover how to...

Have a magnetic charisma to make all people love you (even the ones that hate you right now)
Get as much money as you want for your personal needs. (You won't have to save money again).
Become one of the most beautiful people in your community. (Dieting, exercising or even liposuction won't produce such powerful results!)
Conquer fear and feel unstoppable energy to do anything you want to do. (You will never feel drowsy or depressed again.)
Win friends and influence people. (Your popularity levels will skyrocket)
And this literally only the skim on the surface... After you'll discover the 100 Shamanic rituals that are the most powerful form of Magick ever created, your heart will triple its beat rate! But more on that in a few seconds...

And then you had to sign your life away, yada yada yada, visa card, $37.00 for a discount from $399.00! whatevs. Oh, and you get "Relaxation Audio Music That Will Help You Connect Faster With The Universe While Doing The Shamanic Ritual" Now, I have nothing against shamans, although I seriously doubt they have allowed some douchebag write abour 100 rituals. Also, they need to be specific about the shamans themselves – Native American? Aleut? Yakut? Chukcha? Mongol? ‘Cos they all believe in different spirits and procedures, and the spirits might get pissed at us for using them for our own gain. And MAGICK? Really, Bob Andrews, really? I think I will buy a $2 volume of Dale Carnegie, since you seem to be using his copy.

And this is the last time I read SPAM. Well, for now, anyway.

Fireworks

2007-07-08T13:27:00.000-04:00

And since I am posting pics left and right, this is from July 4^th. It was raining, but the Boston fireworks are the best in the country, as far as I am concerned. And fireworks make me happy.

Weddings

2007-07-08T13:20:00.000-04:00

So I got totes distracted with the whole Death thing. I was PMSing like no other time. Lots of people get irate when they have PMS. I get depressed out of my gourd and cry non-stop. Or read books about dying. Or think everyone I love will die soon. Or have absolutely no control over my emotions. Or all of the above. However, onto happy things:

Last weekend my best friend MK got married to the lovely RB in upstate New York. As I am writing this, I realized I never asked if she was changing her name. Not that it really matters, but it was brought to my attention by another friend who got married the same weekend (and whose wedding, sadly, I was not able to attend) that if you don’t change your name legally on the marriage license (when it’s free), it gets really complicated. Anyway, we were waay, waay upstate, not like Westchester upstate. The ceremony was at a vineyard on the shore of Cayuga Lake. Did you know they make wine in upstate New York? Neither did I, and being used to California wines, I had my doubts. It’s good wine though. I tried the merlot, and hated it, but the Riesling was perfect.

This is the view from where the ceremony took place. That’s the bride and groom having artistic photos taken. It was the most perfect weather you could ask for. The winery apparently does upwards of 50 weddings/ceremonies/celebrations per season. It’s a party factory.

This buddy was part of the ceremony, as you can tell by his collar. His name is Flash, and after the wedding he got a little sister named Sophie, which he is not too happy about (a canine sister, weirdos.) Isn’t she cute?

In fact, the running joke at the wedding was “No, we are NOT pregnant.” What is it about family pressure on people in their late 20s-early 30s? MK and I talked about how when our parents got married, it was all about a legal and societal permission to have sex. (I know, not a super deep thought, but bear with me.) Since in our lives, nobody gives a damn if people have sex outside of marriage (unless you are deeply religious, of course, and I am not discriminating among the major religions that frown on premarital, recreational sex. Don’t even get me started on religion and gays…) marriage is more a symbolic gesture of commitment, and an excuse to get lots of gifts and have a party. But EVERYONE expects you to get pregnant right away, as if marriage was only a front for procreating, and nothing else. I am sort-of totally anti-marriage as a concept, when it comes to my own life, and everyone I know keeps saying “you’ll change your mind when you have kids” and maybe I will, but I don’t really feel the need to be sanctioned by the state to love LK. This does not make me anti-gay marriage. That would be dumb. Just anti-Ani marriage.

But this is about someone else’s choices, no? So I was in the ceremony, as MK’s Best Lady (I think that’s the term we ended up with) together with his sister (to balance out the party, the bride had her brother as an attendant on her side…so we were all “boy-girl” on the wrong side…) but to match the bridesmaids, I had this lovely bouquet. Which promptly died from heat throughout the day, which was sad.

What wasn’t sad were the favours. Both bride and groom are potters. So they made 200 of these lovely vases, 8 different designs, slipcast and glazed with the groom’s specially invented glaze, with the wedding details inscribed on decals. It took months to make these. I now have two lovely ones at home to add to my collection of MK pottery.

And the cake rocked. Both beautiful and tasty. And the design whore that I am, here’s my gifts collaged with the cake. I picked paper to match the wedding, totes unaware. I knew the wedding colours (red and chartreuse) but I didn’t know about the cake.

The next day another groomsman and I went on a hike at Taughannock Falls State Park, which apparently houses the tallest single drop waterfall in the NorthEast (215 feet, taller than Niagara Falls by 33 feet.) Unfortunately, there wasn’t much water flowing through the gorge at the time, so the waterfall was not impressive. Apparently one could swim in the basin and walk under the waterfall into the 1980s. But then probably some idiot drowned while drunk, and the Park Services prohibited any such foolish activity. Truth be told, it is still really easy to get under the falls, if you walk on the creek bed, but you would probably get arrested. Oh yeah, and I learned a cool trick. If you stare at the water falling for 30 seconds, and then shift your gaze to the rock wall next to the water, the rocks move up the wall in this slow morphing motion, like a special effect. The longer you stare at the water, the longer the rocks morph. It’s like hallucinating without any drugs.

DEATH Explanation

2007-07-04T00:29:00.000-04:00

I was trying to decide if I should publish the last 5 posts, and thought it a bit ridiculous to write and then not do anything with it. So just in case, gentle readers - I am fine. Just having a bad reaction to a mediocre novel, like a hangover of sorts. And once again, please read in Roman Numeral order, because clearly I suck at top posting.

DEATH V

2007-07-03T23:34:00.001-04:00

On May 9, 2003, I got a horrible phone call. My only uncle, my mom’s brother Valera, had passed away. There were three circumstances that made this waaaaaay more painful than any of the previous deaths. The first was the fact that he was 45. The second was that he died in his mother’s arms from acute alcohol poisoning that basically stopped his heart. The third was that there was no way I could fly there for the funeral, not in time, not that summer, all because my employer did not file my visa renewal in time. I was stuck in Boston with my grief, and a complete inability to do something about it. Moreover, I was so fucking angry at my uncle. Angry for being selfish, for going out drinking with his friends before the holiday (V-E Day, a huge holiday in

Russia

), for knowing what alcohol can do to him (the man was a fucking doctor, ok? A radiologist!), for not calling the ambulance fast enough. Angry for the ambulance for dilly-dallying, for making him get dressed before they tried to take him away, for treating him just like another alcoholic, instead of a man with a medical degree who self-diagnosed. Angry for the broken-down social systems in Russia that turn a talented doctor into a depressive alcoholic because his salary is not enough to live on apart from his mother, because every day he doled out 4^th Stage lung cancer diagnoses to teenage girls and working men in a dark office with ancient equipment and complete inability to help his patients, because life is just too fucking depressing and needs to be escaped. So he did. In a major way.

In Russia we bury our dead in their physical bodies. Cremation is against the tenets of the Orthodox Church. It is believed that when the day of Judgment comes, the dead will walk among the living, and they need their bodies for that. The soul also is believed to not leave the body until the 9^th day after the passing, so you kinda need the body for that as well. On the 9^th day it is good to go to the cemetery and talk to the decedent, giving them a shot of vodka covered in a slice of black bread. This usually gets drunk and eaten by the bums who hang out at cemeteries after you leave. On the 40^th day, the soul leaves this world, having corrected all its earthly sins and mistakes. It is also necessary to go the cemetery then. So this very natural system for grieving is built in, a gradual way to let go of your loved one, a way of communication that is both consoling and reassuring. My grandmother went to the cemetery every week that year, rain or snow. It helped her to not lose her mind completely. Helped my mom too. They buried Valera next to his father. Most cemetery plots have little tables and benches installed, if you wish. It’s oddly comforting to visit their graves with my mom and grandmother, and have a meal with them, telling them about the events of last week/month/year. I just wish I could do it more often, because not being able to tell the dead you love them is a terrible burden.

However, I can tell Jasmine I love her almost all the time. In June 2005 my pretty blue-eyed Tonkinese seal-point princess Jasmine, aged 11, was lying on the cool tile in front of the fireplace, and panting like a fish out of the water. She was diagnosed with a malignant lymphoma in August 2004. One day I was scratching her throat, and felt a lump. In a few days it was the size of a golf ball. My original idiotic vet put her on antibiotics, which only spurred the cancer. Once in oncology, they excised the growth and put her on chemo. The chemo made her so sick, she stopped eating and sleeping. By Christmas she was in complete remission, but literally starving to death. LK and I spoonfed her every four hours. I was exhausted and scared. I’ve had her longer than any other cat ever. She was my friend and my baby. She had the most intense blue eyes, and the most annoying, endearing meow. She did this thing, where when you were sad (and I’ve been sad a lot!) she would lie on the pillow next to your head and pet your face with her paw. She would literally stroke your cheek or forehead, as if to say “it will be ok, you can stop crying now” which of course made me cry even more sometimes. When LK came to my apartment for the first time years ago, Jasmine sat on her chest, stared in her eyes, and said “you are ok, you can stay.” So when at Christmas we knew she was suffering so much we had to put her down, we still couldn’t do it. It would’ve been akin to euthanizing a fucking person.

On the morning of January 6, 2004 (which happens to be Orthodox Christmas) Jasmine walked up to her food bowl and ate solid food. She continued to eat and gain strength and generally behave normally all through the spring, testing in remission, until we found another lump on her throat in May. By early June she couldn’t breathe. The look in her eyes as she laid on that cool tile said “I’ve done all I can, please help me now.” LK cradled her while our friend drove to the hospital. We kissed her, and held her paws while she was given her injection. When she was still, she was the smallest, most precious lump of fur I have ever seen. She was warm and supple as her life was no longer there. They took her away, and I got on the plane to Russia the next day, leaving LK to receive the cremains. We still haven’t decided where to scatter her. It’s as if while she is still here, in a pretty red box, she is with us. The Russians have a point. You need physical reminders of the dead, because once you stop thinking about the dead, they stop existing.

DEATH IV

2007-07-03T22:19:00.000-04:00

On April 22, 1997 my Baba Zina, a grandmother who raised me as a nanny and mother and housekeeper and whatever else rolled into one, because she lived with us, and my parents were inept, died of ovarian cancer. She was the only person who knew all the names of my friends, all the things I was interested in, she taught me how to be independent and how to cook and sew and do whatever else a woman needs in life. She was also my roommate for 16 years. I last spoke with her on March 15^th or so. I knew she was dying, and wrote a poem asking her forgiveness after I got off the phone. I was so overcome, I took a leave of absence and bought a plane ticket to

Russia

. My parents freaked out. They thought I’d be throwing away my entire academic career, my entire future, by coming back to

Russia

was still very unstable, both politically and economically. I’d only planned to be there until August, and finish the incompletes I was given. They thought I might not be able to come back to the States. I argued with my parents on the phone for two days. At the end, I gave up, changed the ticket date, and went back to school. That was a very stupid thing to do. I never got to say goodbye to my baba. My parents never told me she died. I flew to

Russia

on June 2^nd or so. I thought I was coming home to say goodbye. It turned out she’d died six weeks earlier. I went into a depression that lasted a few years after that. I know that eventually I have to forgive my parents. They did a very Russian thing, where you never tell anyone the worst. In

Russia

, people with fatal diseases are kept from knowing their own diagnoses. This was very similar. I was too weak to stand my ground, and I guess at the end that it made me stronger. It also made me feel less.

A couple of days after arriving in Tomsk, I went to go see my maternal grandparents. My grandfather Yura, who’s been a diabetic for many years, generally in poor health, and bedridden for the last two or so years, was very excited about my visit. He got dressed up, came out to the dining room, and had a meal with us, having a bit to drink, very animated and interested in my news, my work in theatre, the way of life in the US. I never knew him very well, mostly due to his being very reserved from his sometime military career, and the Russian habits wherein men prefer male company. It was very touching to have him be so excited and loquacious. Two days later, in the early morning of June 7, 1997, my mom called me to tell me he has died. He did not live to be 70 by 13 days.

The thing I learned at his funeral is that I absolutely, resolutely, cannot drink vodka in large quantities. Russian funerals are a lot more involved then the Western ones are. After the wake (which is either religious or civil or both) and the actual internment of the body, there is a huge party, wherein all who attended the funeral proceed to get shitfaced. Toasts are said about the decedent, nothing bad (as you do not speak ill of the dead) and a shot of vodka is taken with each toast. My grandfather had touched a lot of people in his life. I tried to pace my shots, but I was at the head table with my family, and it was impossible to not drink. I stopped counting after 7 or so. By 5 pm my dad and I stumbled home, wherein I passed out and did not wake up until 5 pm the following day. I no longer drink vodka. Well, sometimes, but it has to be really good. Like Pravda.

I came back to the States sometime in August. The nightmares of that summer were not over though. August 31, 1997 - Princess Diana. I had this tiny teevee in my dorm room, painted like a fish bowl, and everything that came through it seemed surreal. You might remember, Mother Teresa quietly passed away the next week, and nobody really paid attention, as the world was still not right.

The next 3-4 years felt like a real breather. No significant deaths, famous or familial. I was still depressed, but functional. Then 9/11 happened. Now, I did not actually know anyone who perished, and not to sound trite, but that was a huge relief. I woke up that morning to a panic’d DJ on my alarm radiostation yelling for everyone to turn on their teevees. Just as I did, the second plane hit. I thought it was WWIII, maybe. (I always think it’s WWIII. All day today fighter planes have been flying overhead for something 4^th of July related, and it freaks me out endlessly. You can take the girl out of the Cold War, but you can’t take the Cold War out of her brain.) My hysterical mother called me, finally got through, she was watching CNN in Siberia, and just as we were trying to make sense of any of it, the Pentagon plane hit. I went to Russia that winter, and talked about 9/11 non-stop. Everyone was still very upset. I seemed to be a conduit for so many people, somebody who was actually THERE, the only person they knew who’d been to NYC, nevermind WTC. We weren’t at war yet, I don’t think, so everyone was very sympathetic to the US. It felt a little funny to represent the state of mind of an entire country where I am a non-resident alien.

Before I came to Russia, November 29, 2001 gave us my mom’s 49^th birthday, and the death of George Harrison. Of course, I was a bit more matter-of-fact about his death then 15 years earlier with John Lennon, but I still have the clipping from the NYTimes. This meant that there will never be even a remote possibility of a Beatles reunion.

I am fuzzy on this next date, but it was sometime in late December 2001, when I was already in Russia. Elizabeth Woodward was my American Grammy. She was a matriarch of a wonderful family that basically adopted me when I first came to the US. She was the same age as my Baba Zina, so I was not surprised it was her time to go. Her funeral taught me another quirk – (umm, no pun intended, you know who you are) – in Northern climes of the States, they don’t inter the bodies in the winter. They wait until the ground thaws out, and have a ceremony in the summer. In Siberia, we just use construction equipment to dig graves in the permafrost. Given the bloody history of Siberia, it makes more sense.

DEATH III

2007-07-03T22:17:00.000-04:00

Sometime in 1986 - Baba Dunya – my maternal Great-grandmother. She’s been bedridden for many years, had strokes and was paralyzed on one side. I disliked visiting her, disliked the smell of medication, the constant gloom in her room, inability to carry on a civil conversation. I think everyone was a bit relived when she passed, it made my grandmother’s apartment less cramped. There was always a wedding photograph of Baba Dunya and Ded Mitya above her bed, where they were twenty and painfully beautiful. I want to remember them that way. When they took her outside for the drive to the cemetery, my grandmother was beside herself with grief, screaming and throwing herself at the coffin. I got to watch her do that twice more later in life. I don’t know if watching her did something to me, but I’ve never cried at a funeral. We all grieve in different ways, and mine does not involve public tears.

Two other things I learned from this death – the traditional Russian dish of kutya (sticky rice or wheat pudding with raisins and honey) you taste at funerals to pay respect for the dead tastes like shit; and kissing goodbye to a dead body that is not embalmed and has been displayed around the apartment for two days is gross. I can’t eat rice pudding in any incarnation anymore.

Winter 1987 – my cat Phil’ka – this is rather silly. Probs in winter of 1985 my dad brought home a tiny squealing ball of Siamese goodness. We previously had this magnificent Siamese cat Nestor, who was a rescue from the ruins of a demolished apartment building nearby, but somebody stole Nestor after about 2 years, and I was distressed. So when a colleague of dad’s had kittens, he brought a little guy home. He fit in the palm of my dad’s hand. My dad is crazy about cats, btw. So we named this one Philimon, for some other emperor, as the Siamese are so freaking majestic. Unlike Nestor, who was a smart angel, Philimon turned out to be a dumb brat who scratched everyone, and marked. Because he was so little when we got him, he was handfed, and he insisted on being handfed when he got older. My grandmother would cut up fish into tiny bite-sized pieces, and Phil’ka would sit on her lap and eat one piece at a time from her hand. He refused to eat anything else, or in any other way. And since nobody fixed kitties at that time, Phil’ka got in the habit of going outside to court some ladies. Until he never came home. Until some time after his disappearance I went outside to play in the snowbanks in the yard, and found his little body. Frozen, in the snow, cut clean in half on midsection by a snowshovel. I’d like to believe he was already dead by the time he got dismembered, but I will never know for sure. I got hysterical and made my dad go out, collect the cat into a garbage bag, and dispose of him.

August 7, 1987 – Anatoly Papanov and August 16, 1987 - Andrei Mironov – two very famous Russian actors, who were in multiple iconic comedies together. We tend to idolize the dead, so it’s even harder when people who are already idolized pass away suddenly with a heart attack on stage at age 41. It was a very cold summer, and Papanov’s last film “Cold Summer of 1953” had just come out, so ever since I associate cold summer weather with loss. It was also the last quiet summer before my hormones turned me into a short-tempered raging bitch until 1992 or so.

August 15, 1990 - Viktor Tsoy – this was a hard one. I was really into rock by then, and Kino was king. I would buy records when I could, they have become plentiful and affordable. Kino was music for young people sang by young people in Russian – together with Nautilus Pompilius they were very much Gen X (before there WAS Gen X). Sure, there were other Russian rock bands then, but they were all closer to my parents in age. Kino was OUR generation. Plus Tsoy was exotic and hot. They criticized the politics, but also sang of young love and angst. And that August Viktor Tsoy went on a fishing trip in Latvia, possibly fell asleep in his car, and collided head-on with a bus. I wasn’t a hard-core fan who would travel to his grave or anything, but for me this was the equivalent of John Lennon dying.

May 1991 – Yanka Dyagileva – what is it with musicians taking their own lives? She was a local rock chick from Novosibirsk, a rarity in Russia – most famous musicians then were from Leningrad. She recorded ten or so albums of acoustic angst-y rock, similar to early Ani DiFranco, very unusual and cool – women were absent on that scene until Zemfira came along, really. Then fell/jumped into a river after a long bout with depression. It’s extremely disheartening to learn to love a musician only to have them die right away.

Sometime in 1992 - Car Accident in high school. A guy from my grade whom I knew since we were 5 and his younger sister (who used to bully me relentlessly) were riding with three others from a wedding. I did not know the driver. Russian car from the 80s, seatbelts not mandatory. Wrapped around a telephone pole. Guy’s sister went through the windshield from the middle of the back seat. Driver and shotgun-riding passenger joined her. Instant death, broken necks. My classmate and his friend got lucky, the seats saved them. Later in the summer, my classmate crashed his motorcycle. Imagine being their single mother – two children dead in once summer.

1994 - Kurt Cobain – not even going to blog about this. Everyone should remember where they were.

In the fall of 1996 I entered the semester of my college career of which I have very little recollection. This was because JW (my roommate at the time) and I would get stoned on Wednesday night, stay stoned for the next four days, add some alcohol to the mix on Fri and Sat, sleep most of Sunday, and repeat the cycle the following week. Part of it was because we could. Part was self-medication. We had this joke between us, that if the phone rings at 8 am on the weekend, it’s because somebody is dead. I think the first person to die was her high-school friends’ mom, who she was very close with. Or maybe it was the friends’ gay dad. Or maybe both. Things were a bit fuzzy. Then it was my friend K’s mom. Then it was JWs grandmother. Then it was my American sister M’s dad. Then it was JWs girlfriend’s grandma, I think. Sometime around this lk’s grandmother died too. Big mess, in other words. Granted, most of these people were older. But we weren’t even 21 yet. That’s a lot of fucking funerals. We HAD to joke about it, because we thought we’d go crazy otherwise. However, the one funeral in my life that I would give anything to have gone to wasn’t meant to be that way.