Zemfira (again)

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...

TAGGED!!!

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:

1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts.
2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. 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...

Oedipal unrest

Some time ago my friends and I were passing time discussing that oh-so-12-year-old-girl question of which celebrities one would like to kiss (and do other things to…) – all in good fun, etc. This game is especially good when there is a reasonable variety of the players’ sexual orientations, and copious amounts of alcohol are consumed. As I’ve just seen the last “Pirates of the Caribbean”, my list was quite obviously dominated by the Captain Jack Sparrow himself, and went something like this:

1. Johnny Depp
2. Zemfira (this required explanation – a Russian rock star)
3. Kate Moennig (an actress, for those not familiar with The L Word)
4. Gael Garcia Bernal
5. I can’t post it here. It’s too embarrassing. It proves that I am indeed 12 years old.

Now, something has been bothering me about this list since its inception. I couldn’t quite figure out what, so I thought about it for a while, and then I watched The Science of Sleep (which is, by the way, a phenomenal and sad film.) And then I got rather creeped out, because I realized what was bothering me. Gael Garcia Bernal reminded me of my father. A lot. Like they could be brothers. Born 25 or so years apart in two different ethnic groups on two different continents, but that’s just details. I invite you to compare for yourselves:

I know it's not exactly twin city here, and my dad is, like, 12 years old (well, not really, I have good genetics, yo) but eerie, no?

I thought back to Babel, and realized I had that vaguely creepy feeling then as well, but I could not define it besides feeling like I personally know the actor. And it wasn’t just a physical resemblance, either – it was Stephan’s character traits that reminded me of my dad as well. I think what made it more poignant is that The Science of Sleep is set in some indeterminate time period – could be now, could be the 1970s, there’s no real contemporary technology or anything involved, and Gael Garcia Bernal’s character wears what appears to be his father’s polyester clothes from the 1970s. Since I recall many things in my life beginning in 1978 or so, the polyester suits just cinched it. Add black plastic “nerd” glasses, and my father was up on the screen.

So now I guess I have Oedipal complex by proxy – I don’t know if such a thing exists, but it makes me uncomfortable.