It Was a Very Good Year

Snow is falling fast here and Uralmash looks so peaceful, you would never believe it was once the seat of the Russian mafia.  Incidentally, Irving Berlin was born in the relatively nearby city of Tiumen, hence the lyric, “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know.”  American Christmas has come and gone, but the Eastern Orthodox church doesn’t celebrate it till January 7th.  Still, I’m all set for New Years, which is the big Russian gift-giving holiday.

But first the bad news: today I walked away from an ATM, forgetting to wait for my card.  I only realized it hours later when I tried to buy tickets from Moscow online.  I ran back to the bank, but they’d closed half an hour earlier.  Yikes!  So tomorrow I’ll be there as soon as they open with my passport, receipt and phone number of the consulate just in case.  Wish me luck, but in English, because the Russian response is “To the devil!”

My week has been quite relaxing, as my students are writing their zachyoti, pre-exam pass/fail tests.  So while they stress out, I get time off.  On Monday I went to a local kindergarden to see the kids’ Christmas pageant.  Part of the “school of tomorrow” movement, this kindergarden is conducted half in Russian, half in English.  The kids were painfully cute, singing made-up songs about Chreestmas.  I only wonder if they actually understood what they were saying.

Yesterday I went with an American friend to the Tchaikovsky opera “Queen of Spades,” based on a story by Pushkin.  I love going to the theater here in general and opera in particular.  Since operas are usually not in English, I’m used to not understanding what the hell they’re saying.  This time, I was pleased to get about 50% of the lyrics, and the rest I easily pieced together.  The production was, as always, gorgeous.  There was some weirdness after the first movement of the third act; curtains closed, houselights came on and the musicians started filing out, soon followed by many audience members.  Far be it for the Russian theater to announce what on earth is going on, but after about ten minutes, a mysterious voice proclaimed that a principal singer would be replaced by another performer.  The understudy was great, maybe even better, but died after one only scene, which makes me wonder what could have happened to the other performer?  Anyway the show was amazing and only six cell phones went off during the three-act performance.  Good job Ekaterinburg!

After the opera, my friend (his name is Mitch Richards, and anyone who knows my former speech impediment will appreciate the hilarity of that name) and I wanted to get a drink.  We came upon a Beatles-themed Yellow Submarine Bar.  Mitch was sure it was “hard-core Russian,” which sounded good to me.  But in fact, as we descended into the basement pub, we heard a live band playing “Blue Suede Shoes,” followed by a bunch of early Beatles, Queen, Pink Floyd and the like.  Sitting at the bar, our English conversation attracted a great deal of attention, and we befriended a bunch of young bilingual Russians.  There was even another American there, a kid who incomprehensibly left South Carolina to come to Russia in late December.  So, not exactly “hard-core Russian,” but we had a great time.

Now I’m gearing up for New Years.  All my presents are bought and bagged, and half are already delivered.  This week I’m looking forward to a consulate holiday party, then heading to a nearby village to spend New Years with my friend’s family.  Apparently, the mother already asks about me every day, even though we’ve yet to meet.  Then, a few days into 2009, fellow Fulbrightniks Matt and Jason are coming up to begin our travels.  I’m so excited to sally forth!  So, in these last days of 2008, I wish all my friends, family and unknown readers the very best of health and happiness.  Here’s hoping the coming year will be full of peace, joy and love.   And remember, you, blog-readers, are the real heroes!

Where the Bands Are

I’ll write all about my weekend, but I’m sleepy so I can’t promise it’ll all come out in complete sentences.  Pretty exciting Friday night: I went down to the train station and finally bought my tickets to St. Petersburg.  It turned out to be much easier and even cheaper to do it in person, rather than online.  Now I just have to figure out how I’m getting from Prague to Moscow and from Moscow back here at the end of the month.  But, you know, baby steps...

Saturday I went with my new friend Irina to temple.  She’s Christian but studies Hebrew (at the synagogue in fact) and is very interested in Judaism.  She was lucky to have come on that day because we had special guest singers at the service, but more on them later.  That afternoon I went to see 4 Christmases, a totally generic, predictable holiday movie with one redeeming feature: a scene of Reese Witherspoon beating the shit out of a roomful of kids.  I sure do like to see those youngsters spill.  Then at night I went with a couple students to an arthouse/bar called 2KY (KY is pronounced “coo” in Russian, although to me it looks like KY Jelly).  It was really hip yet comfortable there, more Columbus than Cleveland if that helps, and the band was great.  Unfortunately, we stayed there way too long.  I didn’t want to get wasted, but everyone else did, especially the girls’ 15-year old friend.  (On the one hand, I was very annoyed by the young girl’s inability to hold her liquor.  I’m 23 and have no business with a drunk-ass 15 year-old.  On the other hand, I remembered going out with Alyse Shafran when I was, indeed, even younger than that...)  Luckily, since we arrived 8, I had time to get drunk, get bored, get annoyed and still get home by midnight.

Today I went to work with the high schoolers who are preparing for their college entrance exam.  For me it’s terribly uninteresting, but they really appreciate the chance to practice the spoken English component with a native speaker.  Strangely, today they practiced doing monologues, which they could’ve done with anyone.  Then in the afternoon I went with three friends, including the aforementioned Irina, to a local Chanukah concert.  It took place at a huge stadium, curiously named the Palace of Youth.  The bill included the Israeli two singers who wowed me at the synagogue last week, a couple dance groups from the JCC and Klara Novosomethingkina, a singing Russian comedy legend.  Because I couldn’t understand any of her jokes, although I did know when she was making fun of Bush, I didn’t get much out of Klara’s performance.  Actually, all I got was low self-esteem, because everybody except me was laughing hysterically.  The two Israeli singers were wonderful and I teared up when they sang a medley of songs from Fiddler on the Roof.  Lucky they didn’t do Hatikvah or I’d have been a wreck.  But what stole the show for me was a steadily growing group of bored little children in front of the stage.  At first it was one curly headed girl, dancing and reminding me of my younger self.  Then she was joined by another, then many more, until the kids were literally running all over the stage.  Klara had a lot to say to and about children, so nobody stopped them when they went as far as sitting in a clump center-stage.  Adorable.

About my low self-esteem: it’s not as bad as all that.  A couple days ago a shopgirl who’d overheard me conversing with someone else about my origins came up to express her shock that I was a foreigner.  Speaking with me, she said, she thought I was “one of our girls.”  Also at the concert I ran into a few people I met when I first arrived.  I said two or three words to them tonight before they said my accent was much better.  So, I’m improving, despite all the time I spend watching American tv. 

Now I’ll go take a bath because I smell like the roasted chicken I ate with my bare hands.  Merry Christmas or Happy Jewish Christmas (eat an extra eggroll for me).

Obscene odes on the windows of the skull

Hit a record high in the classroom today: I taught Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl.”  My fourth-year students are studying law, so I introduced the historically divine origin of justice and the idea of legislating morality.  Then I gave out part I of Ginsberg’s iconic poem.  I taught them all about the Beat writers and warned them that this poem was very racy, if not downright dirty.  So we started reading it out loud, and that’s no easy task even for a native speaker.  The kids were plowing through, and it was so cute hearing their accented pronunciation, saying things like ee-DA-ho for Idaho.  About 1/3 of the way through, I gave them the option to stop, but they wanted to continue.  So we read the whole 3-page section, theoretically in order to talk about the obscenity trial.  We did in fact discuss the trial, but it was an incredible thrill for me to share the poem with these students.  I was genuinely proud of them for working through the whole thing, and some of them even enjoyed it (though none asked for, say, other Beat titles...).  Of course they didn’t know all the words Ginsberg uses, and I wonder if they even realize how explicit some of those lines are, but they definitely got the point.  And, amazingly, they even got the rhythm.  By the time we got to the last line, my student pronounced the words “good to eat a thousand years” like a regular Beat(nik).  It was somewhat daring for me to give out this literature, but they got it, and got into it.  I don’t know if it affected their souls, but my experience was nothing less than spiritual.  Talk about the best minds of my generation...

Good Times (and Great Oldies)

I am pleasantly exhausted after a great weekend.  Wanna hear everything I did?  If not, then you’re on the wrong site.  Incidentally, we’ve finally started to get some snow here, though not much.  I can’t help but think of Jessie, and how during the winter in the Hudson Valley she so disdained the time-intensive processes of bundling and unbundling, to the point where she would sometimes just stay in.  This is my first Russian winter and I don’t intend to hibernate.  Hope Yuss knows it will still be cold when she comes to visit in March...

Friday night, my friend Yulia invited me to go to a student theater festival at the Ural State University in the center of the city.  After navigating through the labyrinthine campus for about forty minutes, we found the performance hall.  By now we were about an hour late, pretty bad even by Russian standards of punctuality, but I didn’t think it warranted what happened: some jerk student slammed the door in our faces.  It was humiliating!  We stood around for a while longer, weighing our options of sneaking in at intermission or saying to hell with it all.  Ultimately we chose the latter.  Bummersville, but I had to go home and bake cookies (more on which follows) anyway.  So instead of student theater, I started watching The Sopranos from the very beginning.  Can’t say I regret my choice.  (“It’s not about mistakes Mother.  It’s about choices.  And I’ve chosen to make a mistake.”)

Saturday I went to temple as usual.  After a few weeks of really sad and gruesome Torah portions, we finally had a happy one this week: the reunion of Jacob and Esau.  I’m learning so much Russian from these weekly services.  Not the kind of language I use in everyday conversation, but beautiful nonetheless.  I had lunch with the Israelis and Chaia told a very cute anecdote (in the Russian sense, meaning jokey story).  Two beggars, a Jew and a gentile, are invited to a Passover Seder.  The Jew tells his colleague that it will be a great feast, so the gentile arrives at dinnertime, hungry as the dickens.  First they wash their hands, then tell the story of the exodus, drink four glasses of wine and eat everything off the Seder plate.  When they get up to wash their hands again, the starving gentile stalks out of the house.  Later, he meets his Jewish friend, full to bursting, who explains that if he had waited just a little longer, he would’ve had the best meal of his life.  The moral of the story is to be patient in waiting for the Messiah.  But I, always ready with a glib response, said, “That man should’ve come to my family’s Seder, because we always start with soup and gefilte fish!”

I came home and baked more cookies (explanation forthcoming, I promise).  Then was the highlight of my weekend: I got to video-chat with my precious 5-year old cousin/best friend Molly.  She looks the same, gorgeous, and it was so amazing to hear her sweet voice.  At first she was shy, but then she warmed up and even tried to squeeze herself through the computer, saying, “You forgot to bring me to Russia!”  I wonder what she pictures when she says “Russia.”  We did a little call-and-response with her favorite Springsteen and Beatles songs; that girl’s repertoire is astonishing.  When it was time for me to go, I had such a hard time saying goodbye.  How could I close the screen when it was full of her beautiful face?  And I guess she felt the same way, because my mom tried to get her out of the room, but she wanted to “stay with Abbie.”  Awww.  Warmed the very cockles of my heart, whatever those are...

Saturday night I went out with my friend Veronika to a couple bars.  She works at the American Center and is studying to be a journalist.  So of course she is super-smart and interesting, and one of the friendliest people I’ve met in Russia.  Being so cool, she also has really cool friends.  So we went to a couple different places, and by the end of the night, I was totally ripped.  It felt so good, not to get drunk but to go out and dance.  The “DJ” played mostly cheesy American pop, which was fine by me (except for one thing: I love Queen, but I really don’t need to hear “We are the Champions” three times in one night).  Technically this place is a pub, not a club, but there was a lot of action on the dance floor, kind of like the Black Swan.  The biggest difference between this place and American bars was that the DJ regularly played slow songs, at which point gentlemen ask ladies to dance.  They even dance properly, not like we do at Bar Mitzvah parties.  I danced with only one boy who I thought was pretty cute, but it might have just been his tie-cardigan combo making him look like a mod.  At the end of the night, my cabdriver couldn’t make quite enough change from my 500 ruble note, but I was too drunk and tired to fight.  Besides I’ve taken a few rabbit (free) rides, so it’s just karma.  I got into bed, ate a bowl of popcorn, watched the first 10 minutes of Big Lebowski and passed the fuck out.

So, what’s up with all those cookies?  The vice-consulate’s wife Melody invited me to a Christmas cookie exchange.  Being a big Jewface, this was new to me, but here’s the deal: you bake a ton of cookies, bring them over and then get to take a bunch from everyone else.  Melody is a regular Martha Stewart, except glamorous, beautiful and sweet instead of pure evil.  She made the most delicious enchiladas for lunch and served hot apple cider.  Most of the other guests were her friends from church (including a missionary who brought her little daughter, probably the only other Abbie in Russia) or the consulate.  The whole event was absolutely lovely and elegant.  I only made one indiscretion.  We were talking about vinegar (more interesting than it sounds) and I told a story of how I once reached for a bottle of beer and wound up with a mouthful of balsamic.  The missionary looked uncomfortable, but I got a laugh out of the consulate IT specialist.  Much better received was the story of Luke’s double-life.  Here’s the cookie list: my lemon drop butter, or as Lucia calls them, sun cookies, chocolate chip, double ginger snaps, chocolate crinkles, chocolate rum balls, snickerdoodles and some incredibly elegant South American caramel sandwich cookies.  Not too shabby!  I thought about bringing them to my class pot-luck on Friday, but we’ll see how many survive until then.  The prognosis for those double ginger snaps is grim...  As I was walking out, a truck driver leaned out his window and asked what I was carrying, something delicious, could he try it?  I finally experienced the full meaning of the Russian phrase Да нет, “Yes, NO!”

Now I’ve got to relax, rehydrate and build up my strength for work tomorrow.  I feel I’ve had a weekend like those lyrics of the only band that matters, the Clash, “48 hours means 48 thrills!”

Notes from Underground

Ok ok, nothing to report, but I felt some pressure from one particularly rage-a-holic reader to write a new post.  So here's what I've been doing:

I read The Call of the Wild.  It's one of the most beautiful little books I've ever read, and certain images will be forever in my mind and in my heart.  However, I can't quite picture what the protagonist would look like.  Buck is 1/2 St. Bernard, 1/2 Scotch shepherd.

I’m preparing for my travels, looking into attractions in Amsterdam, Berlin and Prague.  If anyone knows any must-see sights there, give ‘em here.  I’m also teaching myself German from a book called German Through Pictures.  Ich habe ein Buch!  Er ist auf dem Tisch! 

I’m looking for warm sneakers for my trip, but women’s shoe stores here only seem to sell hooker boots.  Is it me, or is this gender discrimination?

Teaching, or conducting classes anyway.  My second-year students are doing a unit on “Meals and Food” so we’re having class pot-lucks.  My fourth-year students are doing law, so I tried to do a Roger Berkowitz lesson on the historically divine origin of morality versus the atheistic modern age.  This somehow turned into a lesson on how the only English word that can be any part of speech is “fuck.”  Sorry, Senator Fulbright.

Meanwhile, I’ve been supervising the third-year students’ “methodology projects.”  These are basically research projects culminating in presentations, the kind of thing American students start doing in sixth grade.  I’ve realized that in Russian education there’s no focus on critical thinking, so the kids don’t see a problem with printing out a page from Wikipedia and reading it out loud as a presentation.  I’m trying to break my kids of that habit.  It’s particularly difficult when they don’t bother to come to our meetings.  Tonight I told my JCC students how much more I like working with them.  Nuts to the Pedagogical Institute!

Looking ahead a couple days, I’m going to try to make latkes.  I have all these potatoes and some really good sour cream.  I’ll let y’all know how that goes.  The vice-consulate’s wife also invited me to a Christmas cookie exchange, so I’ll be making Jessie and my patented Monkey Cookies.  Except since I’m baking without Jessie, I’m gonna put in some pecans too.  Mama’s cuttin’ loose!

So you can see what a thrilling and noteworthy life I lead here.  Eh, Rachel?

PS--My blood brother and brother-from-another-mother are going to Israel tomorrow on Birthright.  Have fun boys and make good decisions!

She loves the lovin' things

My but I feel accomplished!  Here’s what I did today:

Class with the first-year advertising students.  Now they’re starting their exams, so I’m done with them, and not a minute too soon.

Then I went downtown to meet with the director of Studio Lukie-More.  They’re actually an architectural firm, but for some reason, they’ve also started an art studio.  So they make these gorgeous cartoons with Russian fairy tale characters, some as commercials, some as education.  But here’s why I was there: they’re doing this project to record Pushkin’s “Prelude to Ruslan and Liudmila” in as many languages as possible.  And guess who got to do the English translation!  Actually, they provided the translation, but wanted my voice.  Little did they know, I’ve had a celebrated career in community theater.  It was so much fun, and they really seemed to appreciate it.  Hopefully it will be ready soon, and I’ll post it for all my fans to hear my Cleveland accent butchering Pushkin.

Next I made my way down to the synagogue.  Last week there were two participants who really stole my heart.  Their language was well below the level of the rest of the class, and they were sincerely bummed not to be able to join in.  So we agreed that I’d come an hour early and do English for Beginners.  This week, one of the two was sick, but the other came and we had a great time.  Teaching from square one isn’t as hard as I thought it would be, but only because we have Russian as a common language.  That is, I can’t imagine how my Israeli friends manage in the Jewish day school.  Anyway, Vadim and I worked for about forty minutes before he made some weird hand signal, started laughing and said, “Enough!”  I couldn’t have agreed more.  Soon the other group came in, and we practiced the conditional mood using the Barenaked Ladies’ classic “If I had $1,000,000.”  There’s one from the Jennifer Day school of language-teaching: get their attention using pop music.

Finally, I came home and booked my flights for my January travels.  Fellow ETAs Jason, Matt and I are heading up to Petersburg for a few days, thence to Amsterdam and Berlin.  From Berlin we’ll take the train into Prague and end up back in Moscow just in time for the mid-year conference.  Jealous yet?  As if that all weren’t enough, I even did laundry!  Now I’m ready to relax with some free streaming American television.  Oh internet, did you ever get those love-letters I sent you?

Full of love in Ekaterinburg, this is me signing off.  Goodnight friends.

Willful Suspension of Disbelief

Just got home from the Opera and Ballet Theater, where I saw Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet.  As a rule, I find ballet pretty boring, but I took a chance on this Shakespeare adaptation.  I was definitely not disappointed, and blown away by some aspects, especially the Lady Capulet.  I had never heard the ballet before, and found it positively moving.  The production made me feel sympathy towards characters I had previously disdained, like Tybalt (he was a great big strong Bashkoristani).  I did, however, have two serious criticisms.  1) The dancer playing Romeo was rather limp-ankled, especially compared to Tybalt.  Of course, a great many male ballet dancers are, as we say in Russian, light blue, but I had a real hard time accepting him as a heterosexual love interest.  He was, to be scientific, a Faggotus Maximus.  2) The ending was, incredibly, anti-climactic.  Romeo stabbed himself instead of drinking poison, and everything wrapped up quite quickly and dispassionately.  Then of course came the inevitable synchronized applause.  Overall I found it quite moving, but I wasn’t exactly bawling at the end.

What else can I tell you from the last few days.  Today got off to a rocky start.  I’d agreed to help some high school students who are preparing for the YeGE, Russia’s new SAT-type entrance exam.  This promised to be interesting because the test is very controversial.  Unfortunately, I ignored my alarm clock this morning, and woke up only when the teacher called me.  Whoops!  After that, I was expecting some students who I’d invited over for tea as a make-up class.  Only one showed up, and so much the better, since she’s the only one whose name I know.

Friday night I went to our local Scottish bar to hang out with a couple foreigners doing some sort of hearing-impaired education project.  The bar was a riot.  It purported to be Scottish, but one wall was decorated with the Beatles, another with Elvis.  Most important, though, the house beer was great and all the bartenders were in kilts.  A huge tv projected music videos, and just when I had gotten up to go to the bathroom, they showed Queen, followed by John Lennon, followed by none other than Roy Orbison backed by Elvis Costello, Tom Waits and Bruce bloody Springsteen.  It was a war between my brain and my bladder, and I was the battlefield.  Anyway, I’ll definitely go back to that bar, if only to find out what they wear under those kilts...

Thursday night was Thanksgiving and I was so thankful to be invited to the Consulate General’s home.  As I’ve been reading F. Scott Fitzgerald, I was positively enraptured by this ex-pat scene.  Moreover, after seeing how well the American government provides for its diplomats, I’m now considering a career in the foreign service.  The point, though, is that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, and, turkey being hard to find here, I was extremely grateful to enjoy a real Thanksgiving dinner with other Americans.  They had everything: turkey, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, mashed potatoes, corn casserole, goyish green beans, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, apple crumble, I could go on.  Apparently, as we Fulbright ETAs were allowed to send ourselves teaching materials, so diplomats can send themselves foodstuffs.  Hence the StayPuft mini-marshmallows.  To top it all off, the Consulate General is a Buckeye, and his roommate at Miami University was from Beachwood.  How’s that for the irony of fate?

Well friends, I’m exhausted as you only can be when you oversleep at the beginning of a long day.  Much love.

Turkey in the Straw

On this most holiest of Thanksgiving days, I would like to express my gratitude for the following people and things:

My health, sine qua non.

Mom, Dad, and Zak, for their constant support and humor, and for always indulging my whims. 

My extended family, for more love than I know what to do with.

My friends, for liking me even though they aren’t obligated to.

Corollary: Internet at home, so I can talk to the aforementioned every day.

My teachers and professors at Beachwood and Bard, especially Jennifer Day and Jeff Katz, who encouraged and inspired me to follow this most bizarre of paths.

The Jewish community of Ekaterinburg, the most welcoming and accepting people I’ve met.

All my helpful students and colleagues at the Ped. Institute, for reminding me why I’m here.

My fellow Fulbrightniks, for making me feel I’m not alone in this great big country.

The good people at Fulbright, for paying me to goof off in Russia.

Finally, for the first time, I’m thankful for the American people who did the right thing and elected Barack Obama!

Well, I guess that’s about enough cheese for one day.  I feel like Travis Birkenstock in Clueless, making an acceptance speech for having the most tardies in the class.  “I’d like to thank the good people at McDonalds, for making those little Egg McMuffins, without which I might never be tardy.”

Happy Thanksgiving folks.  Be good to each other.

Thank You: Addendum

Remembered a funny incident on my run.  Generally, I avoid eye contact

with other pedestrians, especially when I'm running/rocking out to my

invisible music.  But today I couldn't help noticing a particular

individual crossing my path, because he looked exactly like David

Polster, the best teacher I ever had who wasn't actually my teacher.

He returned my gaze, so for a minute I thought, "Yeah, maybe Mr.

Polster came to Russia, to my city, to my very street, without telling

me."  But then he started motioning like he, too, was about to break

into a run and cracked up.  Anyway, that's one of the nice things

about having mostly Jewish friends: you can come to Russia, and

strangers will look familiar.

Thank You For Lettin Me Be Myself

A beautiful snow has settled on Ekaterinburg.  It isn’t falling anymore, but there’s a peaceful layer of frost blanketing the trees, and Russians even have a word for that.  I’ve started running again, since I realized that soon the weather will permit me from doing so for a long time.  Actually, that day might have been today.  It isn’t the cold, frost, or sexual suggestiveness that makes it dangerous; it’s the puddles.  I kick up slush as I go, and it falls back through my very permeable running shoes.  My feet got soaked, and I kept thinking of the character in Admiral whose legs get amputated because he falls in a puddle and doesn’t take off his socks.  But I kept going, fueled by Springsteen’s Darkness on the Edge of Town, and now my feet feel warm and secure.

Most of my news concerns food.  Last Sunday I went to my friend Veronika’s for dinner, and what a dinner it was.  Her mom prepared a veritable feast, but then declined to eat with us, explaining that she had snacked while cooking.  They taught me the term khlibni-son, which I think means “bread-dreamer,” and anyway describes someone who loves to feed.  Add that to the list of Russian idioms that describe me, right below Traveling Frog and Disorganized Mary.  Veronika’s mom made salads, blini, kotleti, chicken, and my favorite eggplant caviar.  She also insisted on sending me home with a bagful of blini.  I wasn’t opposed...  In other food-related news, I got an invitation to the Consulate General’s apartment for Thanksgiving.  I’m so excited, not just because this is sure to be a swanky event, but also because I love Thanksgiving and didn’t want to miss it, in every sense of the word.  So I’m going to try to bake something for the first time here (not counting chocolate chip cookies with Katherine in Tiumen).  I got everything I need for oatmeal chocolate chip coconut cookies, with a food necessary alterations.  1) The coconut is dyed orange.  I’ll pass this off as an autumn decoration.  2) No chocolate chips.  I will chop up chocolate bars.  3) No vanilla extract, only “vanilla sugar.”  4) No brown sugar.  I bought what I think is just raw sugar.  Today I’ll look in the big fancy grocery store, but I’ve been mostly disappointed by them in the past.  Anyway, I’ll make the effort, and I’m really looking forward to drinking wine and listening to Journey while I bake.  If only Katherine were with me, the wine and Journey wouldn’t seem so pathetic...

Today, no classes except English for Jews.  I’ll go by the university and try to reschedule a couple of sessions I’ve missed, but I don’t really care all that much.  My 4th year students are beginning a unit on Law, and I was really excited for an activity I’d planned: bringing Raskolnikov to trial.  It turns out I was mistaken in assuming these kids would have as thorough a knowledge of Crime and Punishment as I do.  Maybe it’s just been a while since they’ve read it, but they forgot the second victim and chalked up Raskolnikov’s motives to financial.  As if!  But I’ll try the same activity again with another group, if only because I really enjoyed playing the judge, banging scissors on the desk and threatening to fine my students for contempt.

Ok friends, that’s all she wrote.  Happy Thanksgiving, and please have seconds of everything for your favorite ex-pat.

Show 'Em Whatcha Got

What a satisfying day I’ve had in Ekaterinburg.  I’ll work backwards, moving from the freshest memories to those already growing stale.

Just got home from the musical comedy theater where I saw Catherine the Great.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, a musical comedy, even a rock opera, about the Romanov’s (arguably) kinkiest tsaritsa.  It was amazing!  Act 1 dealt mostly with Catherine’s personal character and rise to power, while Act 2 had more to do with Russian history of the time.  Two women played Catherine, younger and older, and when the two interacted, I cried like my mom during the overture of Fiddler on the Roof.  The songs were great, the actors and orchestra incredible, and the costumes were absolutely stunning.  Almost every song was a different genre, from jazz to rock to one questionable rap number, and most of them also had classical motifs.  The set blew my mind, and there was even a lot of multi-media effects.  All in all, I think theater is more alive in Russia than in America.  If our jerkwater town can do a production like this, with tickets for 250 rubles (about 10 bucks), imagine what’s going on at the Moscow Art Theater.  Also, the show is only about a year old, so in America it would still be on Broadway.  In fact, I spent half the show fantasizing about translating it into English (there was just barely too much dialogue for it to qualify as an opera), even going so far as dreaming up next year’s Fulbright proposal...

There is one area where American theaters have it over Russians: the curtain call.  At every show I’ve been to here, including in Petersburg, I’ve noticed two bizarre phenomena.  1) The actors stay in character and do a little dance or mini-skit at the curtain call.  This is weird because we’re clapping for the performers, not the characters.  2) The audience claps in unison.  How can you express your pleasure through forceful clapping when everyone’s beating out a rhythm?  It’s bizarre.

This afternoon I began in earnest my applications to graduate programs for Russian studies.  And yet, I’m already having second thoughts.  For all the applications I of course have to write an essay explaining why I want to continue my studies, and frankly, I don’t know.  In the back of my mind, I guess I’ve been thinking I’ll do more Russian now and eventually go to law school, since I’d rather work in the “real” world than in academics.  Well, now I’m starting to think that if it’s what I ultimately want, I ought to just go straight to law school.  I just really don’t want to come home and have nothing to do for a year, which will be the case if I have to wait to take the LSAT, whereas I could take the GRE and enter grad school right away.  But that’s no way to plan your future.  Right?!?

My day began with a conference at school on the methodology of teaching English.  Now I’m not sure what methodology means, but I was asked to speak, so I wrote a lecture on “The Student-Led Classroom.”  I was pretty nervous for a couple reasons.  First of all, to me, that style of teaching is second nature, so I didn’t think it warranted special attention at a conference.  Second, when I practiced, the speech only took at most 20 of my alloted 45 minutes.  But what can I say?  Baby girl knows how to work a crowd.  As it turns out, the educational system that I’m used to (ie, the student’s ideas are more important than the teacher’s) is very different from Russian tradition.  So for most of the attendees, these ideas were rather revolutionary.  Also, I got a lot of great feedback, not just about my speech, but about my public speaking.  Thanks high school speech teacher Sheila Heyman!  I think I won everyone over when I concluded with examples of educational methods in Anna Karenina.  Who’s the stupid American now?

All in all, a great Thursday.

Tha Shiznit

Good stuff all around.  I’m getting more comfortable with teaching, and even beginning to enjoy my work.  That being said, if the PR department keeps jerking me around, I won’t hesitate to quit.  Still, over all, it was a very good week.  I’ve been teaching a lot of successful classes, and use Langston Hughes’ poem “I, Too, Sing America,” to segue into talking about Barack Obama.  It’s worked out every time, and sometimes the kids even pre-empt me.  Radical.

Tonight my landlords came over for the rent.  They are the sweetest couple you’d ever hope to meet.  They call me “Abigail” instead of “Ebi,” which makes me think they might be on to my semitism.  Good stuff.  Tonight, we even joked around.  Every time they come over, I offer them tea, which most Russians accept if not expect.  But they always refuse and say that they just came from the dinner table.  Tonight I said, “What kind of Russians are you?” and they laughed and said “People are all one!”  When they saw my internet wires running through the house, instead of getting angry as many landlords would, they said, “Tell your parents we said hello!”  Then, to top it all off, after we finished our business, my landlady took an ice cream treat out of her purse as a gift for me.  Seriously, I am so lucky to have landed this apartment.  Even if the place were a shit-hole, landlords like them are, well, hard to describe without resorting to cliches.  As I told my mom, good landlords are a rare breed even in America.  In Russia, they’re like mythical beasts.

I went grocery shopping and it was a bit of an adventure, not to say challenge.  They had no olive oil, only brand after brand of sunflower oil.  After frying up a smelly batch of eggplant parmigiana at Katherine’s in Tiumen, I was in no great rush to buy that.  I settled on what I hope is vegetable oil, but may just be sunflower oil that is good for cooking vegetables.  I shopped not without regard to price, but under the assumption that I had enough cash to cover it all.  But then, when I went to pay for my wine (which is like a mini-store within the store), I discovered I had about 200 rubles less than I thought.  So what if I bought two bottles of wine?  One is for my dinner party on Sunday, and one is for myself until then.  As Max Fischer said, “I can write and direct a hit play.  So why can’t I have a little drink to unwind myself?”  A-ny-way, I was really nervous when I went up to pay, because even though the store takes credit card, the machines don’t always work.  The cashier also didn’t believe I could use a MasterCard, even though I swore I’d used it there before.  When the card went through, I said “Thank G-d” in Russian but in a distinctly American south accent.  The important thing is that I made it out with all my purchases, and without anyone asking my nationality.

Plans for this weekend are very low-key.  I had to stay in tonight to meet my landlords, but you’re never alone with the internet!  Tomorrow, temple, then lunch at the rabbi’s.  I have a video-chat date with Jessie at night, so that pretty much takes care of my Saturday.  My student/friend Masha invited me to go to another rock show, but she didn’t seem too enthusiastic about the band.  She explained that my review of the Moy Raketi Verx show was “very sweet,” but she hasn’t been able to put it online.  Also, she added that she saw Moy Raketi Verx again and they told her to tell me hi.  Rock!  Sunday, my friend Veronika invited me over for dinner, but I’d already made plans to have Yulia and Margarita over to my place.  It feels like I have a real social life, even if it rarely forces me out of my apartment.  It’s kind of like living in Tivoli, except without three of my best friends in the adjoining rooms.  Good times.

Reason to Believe

Another Tuesday, another successful session of English for Russian Jews.  The administrative office let me make 40 copies of poems (unheard of at the Ped. Institute) and even gave me a free calendar.  Score!  Besides, I’m growing quite fond of the attendees, especially the three old ladies who have come early for every class.  Even the annoying guy wasn’t too annoying today.  We talked about Barack’s victory, and then read some particularly topical Langston Hughes poems (he, too, sang America, you know).  I was also very happy that the Israeli girls came, purely, I think, as a show of friendship, because they surely haven’t the energy or interest to study American poetry after a long workday.  Incidentally, I invited them to go to the ballet, thinking that since it was non-verbal they would be able to enjoy it.  But they earnestly responded that dance isn’t interesting to them.  Well, it’s not particularly interesting to me either, but in a foreign country I’m down for whatever.  Then again, I’m here by myself, and they have each other, which gives them the luxury of refusing invitations.  Anyway, the nicest part was when I was cleaning up after class.  The woman who runs the library where we meet told me how much she enjoys just listening to our classes.  She said it always sounds very interesting and cheerful.  Thanks lady!

Speaking of which, I’m trying to figure out my winter travel plans.  We have basically the whole month of January free, starting around Christmas and ending a month later at the Fulbright conference in Moscow.  In that time, I want to explore as much of this country, continent, world that I can.  I’ve been talking to two other ETAs about traveling to Turkey with one, to Poland and Prague with the other.  Just to make it harder to decide, my friend Nick will be in Israel until January 20.  I’m tempted to go see him, but Israel is one of the three countries I’ve ever visited, so I think I should branch out.  Also, I really want to get a genuine experience of New Year’s, the biggest holiday in Russia.  The best way to do that seems to go with my friend Yulia to her hometown, Bashkoristan in Ufa.  We’d ride the train, make merry and arrive early next year.  Lauren and Olga, on the other hand, want me to come visit them in Petersburg for the holiday.  But I just don’t know...I’m torn.  To quote Arrested Development, “I feel like the prettiest girl at the dance.”  I promise I’ll post my decisions as I make them.  Meanwhile, if anyone has suggestions or advice for traveling around or from Russia, give ‘em here.

Feelin good, feelin great, how are you?

It’s Saturday night and I’m perfectly happy to be sitting at home in my leggings and Cleveland Browns sweatshirt.  I’ve been having almost too much fun the past few weeks, so I’m thrilled to have a night to myself.  Right now I’m listening to the Boss and doing some prep-cooking for a mini-dinner party tomorrow night.  Nerd?  Maybe.  Content?  Definitely.

Today I had to do something rather difficult: cancel private lessons with a very sweet young woman.  It felt like breaking up with a boyfriend, or so I imagine, having never had a boyfriend.  The problem was that when we first met, we agreed that there needn’t be any money exchanged if we spent half the time talking in English and half in Russian.  But as it turned out, the conversation was always in English, and when I asked her Russian questions, she couldn’t explain.  If nothing else, I learned that being a native speaker doesn’t qualify one to teach the language, so I guess I must’ve brought something else to Fulbright’s prestigious table.  Anyway, I took a passive-aggressive tact, telling her that my program forbade such lessons (almost true), and referring her to Yulia, who’s an experienced English teacher.  I also invited her to my JCC classes, which was uncomfortable because earlier she had made some vaguely anti-semitic comments.  Still though, it was the best meeting we’d had, and I was having second thoughts about my decision, but I think I did the right thing.  We promised to stay friends, and man, this is sounding more like a break-up with every sentence...

So.  Here are some accomplishments from the last couple days:
An administrator asked me to move from vi (formal “you”) to ti (informal, friendly “you”).  This is the Russian social equivalent of a romantic interest asking you to go steady.

I helped two people edit their application essays to American graduate schools.

Had a jolly good at Yulia’s birthday party last night, but kept my wits enough to walk home and get up for temple this morning.

All that didn’t keep me from spilling ketchup-mayonnaise sauce (called Russian dressing in America, French dressing in Russia) on my beautiful wool dress today.

I’m also getting more Russified every day.  For example, I can’t stand it when I get mud on my leather boots.  I’ve made an important decision: it’s not that streets in Russia are necessarily dirtier than those in America.  Russians just get more upset about the dirt than we do.  In any case, I’m now the proud owner of both shoe cleaner and polish, different but equal products.  Now I just have to start wearing makeup and stop sitting on the ground.  It freezes your ovaries, you know.

That’s all for now.  Tune in next week for adventures in wacky world.

Journey to the Center of My Mind

Well it’s been almost a week since I left for Tiumen, and I’m hoping I can remember all the good times I had there.  Over all, I would say that if I did plan to stay in Russia for another year, I would definitely want to live there.  It’s a rich, clean, European city (I think the first one led to the other two).  I was met at the train station by Katherine, her gorgeous department head Svetlana and her cute husband Artyom.  By the way, if you ever travel within Russia, all the trains run on Moscow time.  This is a lesson I learned the hard way.  The first night, Katherine, or Ketrin, as she’s called in Russian, and I went into the city center and found a fancy restaurant that we decided was probably a mafia hang-out.  When we were approached by two creepy young men, we were convinced.  Still, it was a great meal, and my first time eating out since our breakfast in Moscow...

The next day we went with Katherine’s friend Lena to a celebration of German culture in Russia.  I was cynical at first, but when traveling I try to be open to anything.  It turned out to be great; a bunch of speeches I couldn’t understand, alternating with folk dancing, singing and questionable pop songs.  It was really fun, until the “awards ceremony” at the end, which felt like a high school graduation where you know no one and barely understand the language.  After that, we went to a cool rustic restaurant (where I almost ate a fish eye) and then I finally bought my warm, yet cool, sexy boots.  That night we went to the talent show at Katherine’s school, which was really entertaining, but again included a lot of lame-o awards.  After the show, we went back downtown to find a bar, a surprisingly difficult enterprise.  The German pub was closed and we even peeked into a “gentlemen’s club” that turned out to be even seedier than we had guessed.  Much to her embarrassment, we came out to hear a university student calling, “Hyello, Ketrin!”  Finally we ended up at an Uzbekistan restaurant, and I was sorry I wasn’t more hungry.  All I could get down were two mulled wines and an order of chak-chak.  Fatty!

The next day we were invited for dinner at Svetlana and Artyom’s, which happens to be right across the hall from Katherine.  Her university hooked her up with a gorgeous apartment in the faculty building.  So we just spent the day going to the impressive open-air market, drinking wine and baking cookies.  For dinner, Artyom made plov which put mine to shame.  They also invited another man who works at the department, with whom they seem to be trying to fix up Katherine.  Too bad he’s fat, balding, over thirty and, if that weren’t enough, said stupid things about both women and America!  If he thinks I lost my femininity, he can suck my dick!  

Monday and Tuesday were Russian holidays, some sort of Russian Federation attempt to reign in the Day of Revolution.  Similar, Katherine noted, is the Russian Federation national anthem, which is just the Soviet Union anthem, minus the references to Lenin and Stalin.  Anyway, we were planning just to walk around the city, but were got no farther than the circus square.  Outside was a huge crowd of people singing along with a live concert.  City dignitaries were there, as were young flag-waving members of Yedinaya Rossiya, Putin’s political party.  We rode the carousel at the year-round mini-amusement park, then joined in the fun, despite Fulbright’s warning to avoid organized masses of patriotic Russians.  But how could we resist such a joyous celebration?  The funny thing was, it struck me that a similar demonstration in America wouldn’t attract the same following.  Sure, we have the Fourth of July, but it’s hardly a display of pure nationalism.  Here were performances songs about “How I love you, Russian earth,” and the crowd, young and old, singing along.  It was really a remarkable thing to witness.  So was the life-size pizza in the audience, who obliged my request for a friendly photo, and then got a little too friendly.  When we’d had enough of the concert, we stumbled upon Tiumen’s hilariously Soviet-themed restaurant.  Come for the romantic nostalgia, stay for the borshch!  That night we made eggplant parmigiana and watched silly American movies dubbed into Russian.  All in all, a perfect day.

Wednesday morning, we learned the most amazing, least probable, most important thing in the world happened: Barack Obama won the American presidential election.  Even writing it now, I can hardly believe it.  For the first time in my life, I’m extremely proud to be an American.  I was so glad to be able to share that moment with Katherine, and we both almost cried watching his acceptance speech, despite the Russian language over-dubbing.  A minute later I got a text-message from the ETA in Vladivostock with one word: OBAMA!  My thoughts exactly.  It was also the first I really appreciated the Russian custom of congratulating people on holidays.  Many people have been congratulating me on our new president, and I couldn’t be happier to thank them.

In the afternoon, I got to watch Katherine in action.  I don’t know how she was a year ago when she was in my place, but let me tell you, that girl can teach.  I learned quite a bit from observing her, and already used one of her lesson plans today.  In addition to teaching the students at the Tiumen Technical University, she also does bi-weekly American culture/English language classes with the other teachers.  Great idea!  If I weren’t so lazy, I’d suggest the same thing at the Ped. Institute.  My train back was inexplicably two hours longer than the train there, but it was ok because I rode with Danielle Steele.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, after 22 years of good literature, I’m enjoying the hell out of Palomino.  Actually, I picked that book for my trip because she’s a very popular author in Russia, so unlike other English-language books, it wouldn’t single me out as an American.  Still, I did bring the book from the states, and now I can see why she’s a best-seller.

Now I’m back home, and it really does feel like coming home.  Tiumen was great, and in some ways a nicer city, but it’s a good feeling to return to a routine.  I taught four successful classes today, all of which were well-attended, and even took care of grocery shopping and paying for the all-important internet.  In the evening I helped a young man with his Fulbright application essay, and can’t help feeling rather self-satisfied.  Of course, hubris is one of my biggest fears, so I’ll take care not to be ambitious tonight.   I guess the morals of this story are my great respect and fondness for Katherine, and the unexpected return of my faith in the American people.  Danielle Steele couldn’t write it any better.

Two Maniacs in Tiumen

Hey fans!  I just got back from the greatest long weekend in Tiumen.  It was an incredible time, not least because Katherine and I shared an unforgettable moment: the vbictory of Barack Obama!  For the first time ever, I'm proud to be an American.

Here are some pictures from my time in the capital of Siberia.  I'll write more details about my adventures when I have time.  Sufficient to say that we witnessed a celebration of the Day of Remembrance and Forgiveness (formerly Day of the Revolution), I look skeeved out because that pizza was trying to get to second, and yes, that is a fish's eyeball on my fork.

Spooooky Houuuse SpookyHouse!

Well faithful readers, it’s Halloween and I am happy and full of candy.  I showed my students The Simpsons’ Treehouse of Horror and even stopped myself from explaining all the references and jokes they were missing.  In the evening, I went with young Danilo to see Gogol’s “Overcoat” at the Puppet Theater.  What an experience.  First of all, there were no kids in the audience; it wasn’t a show for kids.  The theater was beautiful, modern, quite large, and sold-out.  Danilo somehow got us tickets in the third row, even though they were two of the last ten tickets to be sold.  When we first sat down, I was amazed by the set: a huge bed, a coat spread out over the ceiling and a door in the middle of the coat.  It began with the hero, the only human in the cast, lying in bed and a cast of white, ghost-like, Jim Henson-looking puppets rising up all around him.  One of the coolest aspects of the show was the great variety of the puppets.  From plush to avant-garde to almost Japanese, there was no attempt at uniformity, and that in and of itself was exciting to watch.

The production started where Gogol’s story ends: the hero, his coat stolen, is dead and roaming the earth as a ghost.  In this play, by turns funny and frightening, the coat falls to different characters, but is so intent on finding her true owner that she brings bad luck to anyone who tries to possess her.  Or at least, I think that’s what was going on.  The truth is, I understood very little of what was said.  I was just so stunned by the music, scenery and artistry of the spectacle that I found it very moving.  I even cried when the puppeteers came out at the curtain call, like my mom used to at our school plays when the principal said, “The kids worked so hard on this.”

Well that’s all I got.  Tomorrow morning I’m off to Tiumen, so there probably won’t be a new blog post until there’s a new incumbent president.  Let us pray.

Shoulda Been Gone, After All Your Words of Steel

Had a frustrating day at work, but it ended quite pleasantly.  I had scheduled meetings with the two third-year groups whose methodological projects I'm supervising.  I even went in early to print out extra copies of their assigned Gospels.  Not only did I not have the room I scheduled, the first group didn't show up.  I had tea and took care of some business and was about to leave when I decided to give the second group the benefit of the doubt.  Sure enough, three students were waiting for me, and we had quite a nice little talk.  I came home for a while, then returned to the school for my next class.  Before it started, a kid who was supposed to be at the second meeting called me and said she couldn't find me and could I give her the information now.  I got a little self-righteous in my old age and told her that the other students had no problem finding me, and it was her responsibility to get the info.  To drop the bomb on my bad mood, nobody showed up for the next scheduled class.  Later a student told me that they did come, apparently on Russian time, ie ten minutes late, and I just didn't wait long enough.  Nuts to them!  I took a walk and then drank tea in the kafedra (head-quarters?).  

My last scheduled class was with a great group and they're always a pleasure.  They're studying ecology so I gave them a brief natural history of the United States, which somehow ended up as an anti-imperialist rant.  I believe it was one of Maida's high school history teachers who used to say, "There's no "north" from space; the white man decided north is up."  (It's amazing how many quotes from Maida's teachers have entered my vernacular.)  Anyway the students were very interested and engaged, and with them the time goes by very fast.  Before I knew it, I was home, chatting with mom and cooking pelmeni.  

By the way, I downloaded "Burn After Reading" and was absolutely loving it, it's just pure classic Coen, when it cut out after some 90 minutes.  I wonder if my neighbors heard me yell out, "Noooo!"

Nothing Special, Just a Girl

I don’t have much to report, I’m just so happy to have the internet in my home.  At this very moment, I’m chatting with both my beloved mama and fellow ETA Mary-Katherine (Masha-Katya).  I can’t even express how much of a difference it makes to feel connected.  I’ve already rediscovered the joys of Facebook, MySpace and, my all-time favorite, AllUC.org.  Many American websites, like Pandora don’t work here, but, joy of joys, I can watch movies and tv shows.  I’ve already downloaded the new Coen brothers movie, Oliver Stone’s Bush bio-pic, Terry Gilliam’s documentary about trying to make a movie of Don Quixote, and a bunch of Home Movies and Dr. Katz.  

What else did I do today...bought my train tickets to Tiumen, sent out more postcards (now that I know they eventually do arrive) and taught my students to say “awesome” and “bitchin’.”  Also I got in trouble again, this time with a colleague who’s my age, for not relying heavily enough on the textbook.  You’re damned if you do, and I’ll be damned if I let Zikova’s English Grammar rule my life.  Tomorrow I’m working with some 3rd-year students on their Christmas project, teaching the Bible as literature.  Unfortunately, I assigned the wrong Gospel, but it will kill some time to read the right one.  The good news is, I’m so lackadaisical about teaching, I’ve become the favorite among the students.  Rock!  Alright friends, it’s time for me to curl up with George Clooney and two flavors of ice cream.  Hope you all have as nice a night as I will.

Wheel's on Fire

Ladies and Gentlemen, I can hardly believe my luck.  I am writing, and soon will be posting, from my house.  That's right: I got internet in my apartment!  They gave me enough wire to take my computer all over the flat and the connection is surprisingly fast.  I even get the first month free (not including the 1000 ruble installation fee of course).  Today the Mac expert came to iron out the kinks.  He even spoke English and, though I busted him watching one of my episodes of "The Simpsons" when the installation still wasn't complete, he was nice enough.  Not nice enough for me to accept his flirtatious invitation to "call anytime," but he got the job done.

So now I'm reclining on my luxurious, mattress-ed bed, thinking about all the things I can do now that I couldn't before.  I think I'll even join VKontakti, the Russian version of Facebook, just to further blur the line between student and teacher at the Ped. Institute.

This evening I gave my second English class at the synagogue.  It wasn't as well attended as the first, but that's ok because this group was much more manageable.  We read Countee Cullen's "The Incident" and Langston Hughes' "Harlem (A Dream Deferred)," the latter of which I read in my best Stephen T. Colbert voice.  The participants, I hesitate to call them students, trudged through the poems and I think came away with a good sense of both form and content.  The one problem was an overly eager student, who took it upon himself to correct the others' English grammar.  I, as the teacher, don't even correct grammar, because I know it's nerve-wracking enough to speak in a foreign language.  If he comes again and pulls the same shit, I'll give him what-for.  Also, when we were talking about racism and political correctness (a favorite topic of Russians'), I joked that I don't feel any liberal guilt, because while Africans were enslaved in America, my family was "busy being raped by Cossacks."  No one got the joke, or even how that could be a joke. I guess it was lost in translation...

Friday is Halloween, so I've started a rumor that anyone who says "Trick or Treat" to me will get some candy.  I bought three bags of candy, so hopefully they'll take me up on it.  Also I plan not to "teach" but to show episodes of "The Simpsons' Treehouse of Horror."  That evening, I'm going with my colleague Dasha's son Danilo to see "The Overcoat" at the local puppet theater.  I have no doubt that it will be a remarkable production.

Next week we have two days off school, because what used to be The Day of the Revolution is now The Day of Remembrance and Forgiveness.  Hilarious.  To celebrate, I'm going to Tiumen to visit Katherine, a second-year ETA.  It will be great to see her and to visit another city.  My only regret is that I'll have to leave before the election results are in, so when I get back I'll be drinking (either champagne or vodka, depending) alone.  For now, I'm happier than a proverbial pig in shit.

I got internet in my apartment!

Have Idea, have Ikea (also rhymes in Russian)

I’ve had a great Saturday, and as Homer Simpson remarked in a classic episode, “I owe it all to not going to church,” or in my case, temple. I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve become rather derelict in my temple attendance, missing both the end of Sukkot and Simchat Torah, but I had the totally legitimate excuse of sickness. This morning, however, I chose to play skip, a choice I actually made last night despite setting my alarm. I decided I was still less than 100% healthy, it would be behoovey to get my Saturday morning sleep. Compounded with the fact that I got drunk with friends Friday night, I slept this morning ‘til almost noon. I had one more, even worse excuse: I had plans to go to a reggae club tonight and wanted to save my strength. I used to pull that sort of thing in high school and college, skipping class during the day so I could go to work or a show at night. I guess you don’t grow out of certain priorities. Anyway when I woke up I had a text from my friend Nadia that plans had changed and reggae was out. Go figure.

I had a nice chicken soup breakfast and cold cereal lunch before meeting Nadia downtown for a movie. On the way we saw Sergei, the husband of my colleague Dasha, who was just returning from an attempt to buy Chuck Berry tickets for the three of us (the box office was inexplicably closed). Imagine: in the third biggest city in Russia, running into an acquaintance who was just doing something that concerns you directly. The funniest part was that, having met Sergei only once before, I wasn’t even sure it was him, so I stared him down until he said hello first. I’m starting to get the hang of this city.

Actually, the chances of that meeting weren’t so small, since Nadia and I were going to the cinema/performance theater where the Chuck Berry concert will be. Cosmos is a huge, beautiful, really cool complex, decorated, like the other theater I visited, to combine classic architecture with modern technology. Between Open Season 2 and Admiral, we chose to see Admiral, and, as it turned out, rightly so. Initially, I had very little interest in this film. It’s the story of a naval officer of the White Guard (the tsar’s army), living and loving through the Revolution. I thought it would be a proper balance of romantic sap and cheap, Hollywood-style special effects. How wrong I was. The film was so gripping, so moving, I cried in the middle and sobbed at the end. I’m generally not drawn in by war movies, but this was made in the tradition of Saving Private Ryan; from the very beginning, you’re right in there with the soldiers. Moreover, since the hero is a member of the White Guard, the filmmaker didn’t exactly glorify the revolution. Even the love story was complicated and beautiful. The male lead is the same guy from the Night and Day Watch movies, and according to Nadia is ubiquitous in Russian cinema, and the female lead bears a striking resemblance to Anna Karenina. I sincerely hope this movie makes its way to America, where with the help of subtitles, you all can catch all the nuances that I missed.

After the movie, and my crying-headache, Nadia asked what plans I have for tomorrow. It turns out we both, independently of each other, planned to go to the Mega shopping mall. I had actually wanted to ask her to go with me, but I didn’t want to be needy or annoying. This works out perfectly; I’ll help her pick out new pants and she’ll help me pick out a new mattress at IKEA. Now I’m home, watching The Incredibles dubbed into Russian on tv. It wants for the voice talents of the original, but loses nothing in the categories of cute and clever. All I plan to do tonight is measure my bed and kiss its uncomfortable Soviet ass goodbye. Well, goodnight!

Epilogue: bought the mattress, but instead of ordering a taxi, I apparently ordered next day delivery. Anyway I got it this morning.

A Quick One While He's Away

Dear Comrades,
After a quick battle with a sore throat, I'm feeling all better. It certainly helped to take the day off work. I made chicken soup, watched "The Great Escape," read 1/2 of a stupid book about American English and, what helped me the most, called home. It made me feel so much better to hear my parents' voices, and I hope I didn't worry them by sounding hoarse. The point of this post is to let you, Mom and Dad, know that I'm fully recovered. It also didn't hurt that I took a sleeping pill and after two nights of only 4 hours' of sleep, I was out for a full 12 hours.

Now I've gotta run for my first class with 3rd year students, in which I'm helping them do their methodology projects, a term I barely understand. The topic is winter holidays in America so I get to teach the Bible as Literature, while dreams of Bruce Chilton dance in my head.

Oh yeah, about that show I went to on Sunday, my friend/student/rock journalist Masha asked me to write an article for her website, UralRock.ru. It's my first Russian-language publication, in fact one of my first publications ever. Bitchin'.

Welcome to the Working Week

What a great weekend, and not just great in the context of being lonely in a weird country, but truly great. It started Thursday evening when, together with Katie, I had Tanya over for dinner. Tanya is the receptionist/manager of the university’s English department, and roughly my age. She’s one of the few people who doesn’t slow down her speech when she talks to me, nor does she ever stop to ask if I understand. Most of the time, in fact, I don’t understand what she’s saying, but she speaks in such a way, and usually concludes by cheekily smiling and squinting her eyes, that I find her hilarious. It was very nice having her over, and now I might be able to refer to her the way the rest of the department does, as “Tanichka.” Friday night I met a woman who was interested having private English lessons and had been referred to me by a colleague. I was fully prepared to charge her 500 rubles an hour for serious, structured lessons, but when she arrived, everything changed. She too was about my age, and lovely in the way that explains why Russian women are considered (if only by Russians) to be the most beautiful in the world. Instead of payment, we decided to do dual-language meetings, so we will work on her English and my Russian. After she left, Katie and I watched Sluzhebni Roman (“Office Romance”). It’s a Soviet romantic comedy about a businesswoman and her nebbishe employee, and the most enjoyable movie I’ve seen in a long time. I have a categorical problem with any movie in which a hardworking woman undergoes a makeover to get a man, but besides that, I loved it. In Hollywood, the female lead would be played by Diane Keaton and the male by Woody Allen. Hey, that sounds familiar...

Saturday began at temple and lunch with my Israeli friends. We ate ourselves silly, including breaded chicken wrapped around an egg, a strange dish that was like a cross between kotleti and chicken kiev. I taught them a song from Jessie Strongin’s Hebrew school about how “Wherever you go, there’s always someone Jewish. You’re not alone when you say you’re a Jew...” Then I asked if any of them had seen Fiddler on the Roof, because it seems to be unknown in Russia. Chaia started singing “Matchmaker” and “Wonder of Wonders.” When the other two Israeli girls and one Russian said they had never seen it, I suggested that the temple could buy and screen the film. “Why would they do that,” Chaia asked, “when it’s so anti-semitic?” Then commenced most bizarre quarrel of my life: in Russia, an American arguing with an Israeli over the anti-semitic implications of Fiddler on the Roof. Chaia contended that Tevya’s daughters’ rejection of Judaism and their perspective of the traditions paints Jews in a negative light. I understood her point, but because of the language barrier, couldn’t quite explain that the real enemy in the film/play/stories is Russia, that is the outside, modern world. It got heated. Luckily, the rabbi’s wife arrived just in time to translate Chaia’s and my ideas between Hebrew and Russian until we were able to, if not agree, at least understand each other’s points. Phew. Then Katie showed up and, after eating some cake and singing a few songs about the Messiah, we took our leave.

From the synagogue Katie and I went to the house of Tatiana Nikolaevna, the head of our department, where Katie had left some winter clothes last year. Her apartment was easily the most beautiful I’ve seen in Ekaterinburg, probably in Russia. She has three daughters, and until I saw them, I didn’t fully appreciate how beautiful Tatiana Nikolaevna is herself. Now I had eaten enough at temple to last me through the day, but you try refusing food from a Russian mother, let alone your boss. So I ate another meal, two more varieties of cake and did my part in two bottles of wine. I played with her daughters and 14-year old dog and we all had a jolly old time. Also present was her friend Marina, who promised to take me to shows of local jewelry-makers, something I had just been telling Katie I wanted to investigate. Amazing. To top it all off, when we were going to call a cab, Tatiana Nikolaevna’s husband offered to drive us home. His butt-warmer was on turbo-blast, which was pretty nauseating after six glasses of wine, but still it was nice to get a free ride. Katie went out on an errand and I used the phone card she gave me to call home. Sadly, my mom wasn’t home, but I had the most wonderful, amusing and comforting talks with my dad and Zak.

Sunday I met my student/friend Nadia for a walk in the park. The park was muddy and the benches removed for construction, but we did peek into a pet store, where they had a cat on the staff and a monkey in a cage. Disturbing. Then we went with some more of Nadia’s friends to a cafe. Actually, the weather was so pleasant that instead of a cafe we decided to buy some beers and sit outside, talking and listening to gypsy street musicians play “Hotel California.” At 4, Katie and I were invited for dinner at Dasha’s, our colleague with whom I saw Mamma Mia! on my birthday. She made such delicious food, and even more delicious was her almost two-year old daughter Sveta. The little hooliganka performs on her brother’s command in both Russian and English, always cheeky and adorable. Dasha’s husband is a really cool businessman who has travelled throughout the US and showed us his pictures from his visit to Cleveland. It wasn’t until I was standing behind him at the computer that I noticed his t-shirt was from the Rock Hall. They invited me to go with them in a month to see Chuck Berry. I didn’t even know he was still alive!

I left Dasha’s a little early, but with a good reason: I went to meet another friend/student to go to an indie rock show! After an exasperating journey, I finally made it to Nirvana Club. Masha was waiting by the door, and because she’s a music journalist for the website UralRock, she got us both in for free. The place, which is supposedly not one of the best clubs, was so fucking great to me, it felt just like home. Cheap beer and loud, live music, it looked like the Agora and felt like the Grog Shop. The kids there were dressed the same as Cleveland indie rockers, right down to the Chucks. This was very comforting. Masha knows everybody from the bartenders to the musicians and is particularly good friends with the headlining band, Moy Raketi Verx (“My Rockets are High”). All the bands were awesome, and again, not just in the ironic Russian context, but really great. Also, it was some kind of Resurrect Kurt Cobain party, so a bunch of the bands did really faithful Nirvana covers. I came home drunk, exhausted and happy, my ears ringing like they haven’t since I saw Double Murder Suicide the night before I left home. I even had a great, life-affirming conversation with the taxi driver on my way back to the apartment. After my favorite snack, a post-show bowl of cereal, I am so ready for bed. Good night.