Filling in Some (Jerri) Blanks

9.28
I’ve had a lovely, relaxing yet productive Sunday. One of the fourth year students invited me to go for a walk in the afternoon. It was a brisk but beautiful autumn day, perfect for a stroll. Before we planned to meet, I had some time for housework, like fighting with the washing machine and trying to figure out how I already got a utilities bill for more than 1,000 rubles. The electricity went out briefly, but it was bright enough for me to do some work by natural light. I was eating dry Honey Nut Cheerios straight out of the box when it came back on, so I had a proper lunch before heading downtown.

I wasn’t meeting Nadia until 3, so I took an hour to sit in a cafe that has free wireless. To my surprise, all the websites loaded, even those that hadn’t worked the last time. I feel so much better having uploaded two weeks’ worth of blog posts. I also took the opportunity to put some websites on my flash drive, including all my friends’ blogs, the current New Yorker and a transcription of the first presidential debate. Perusing the news, I was saddened to see that my beloved Paul Newman died. In addition to being a first-rate actor and philanthropist, not to mention heartthrob, he taught me that the world really would give a Buckeye a chance. I’m really dismayed by this news, all the more so because I have no one with whom to commiserate. A great young writer also died, whose name escapes me at the moment, but I know it’s a three-part name and he was part of the Believer generation. Sad.

At 3 I met Nadia and her classmate Tanya in the metro station. They wanted to take me to the photography museum and were embarrassed to learn that I had already been there when they still hadn’t. I genuinely urged going anyway, since I loved it and they might have changed the exhibit anyway, but when we got there we decided to go to a cafe instead. I kept my mouth shut about having been to that cafe as well. The girls are so sweet, and promised to also take me shopping for winter clothes and sexy boots. I told them I live close to the school and invited them to come over some time for tea, an invitation they accepted as graciously as if I had offered them tickets to opening night at the opera. Before heading home, they showed me a fabulous grocery store where you can buy fresh meat, fancy cheese, really anything you want. For today I contented myself with real lettuce and salad dressing, since I’m getting pretty sick of my cabbage with home-made honey mustard salads.

When I got home, I went down to the grocery store, where I found some coconut milk (yay!) but couldn’t find the peanut butter I once bought there (boo). Just before the cashier started ringing up my purchases, I asked if I could use a credit card. The store generally accepts credit cards, but you never know because the machine at any given register might not work. Good thing I asked, because none of them were working today. So I hauled ass back to the metro station to use the ATM and made it back before my ice cream melted. It’s funny, everybody at that store knows me now, and treats me with patronizing kindness. What’s weird is that none of them have asked what a young American woman like me is doing in Ekaterinburg, besides causing problems at the grocery store.

Now I’m fed like a fat mafia don and just as happy. I’ve been enjoying doing “research” for my rock and roll “lecture,” but this evening I hit a brick wall (of sound) when I got to the Beatles. How can I talk about them for just a minute and then move on to whatever the hell happened to music in the 70s? I wrote a couple notes about “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” before closing my book in frustration. Probably the best approach will be from the Jeff Katz School of Academic Honesty: I’ll acknowledge my inability to speak dispassionately and then propose another lecture solely on the Beatles. But maybe it will be a good exercise in self-control to discuss the Beatles objectively. Too bad I hate exercise and self-control. I’m having similar but not nearly so profound difficulties preparing only a minute’s discussion of Phil Spector. For that one I’ll just have to keep the burden of information to myself.

Well folks, that’s our show for tonight. Tune in next week for more exciting adventures of Butch Abbigie, the Sundance Yid.

9.30
A day of small difficulties and even smaller triumphs, but I got it all done. Actually, today felt like that Animaniacs cartoon “Good Idea, Bad Idea.” Today was the first day of Rosh Hashana. The synagogue held a service this morning at ten and again this evening at six. I had class at noon, so I resolved to go to the evening service, hoping also to get a dinner out of it (good idea). Unfortunately I beat my alarm clock and woke up at eight, filled with guilt and self-loathing for doing schoolwork instead of going to the morning service (bad idea). I became obsessed with the importance of hearing the shofar and berated myself for not going when I had the chance, because anything could have happened to delay me between then and six. Ultimately I decided I don’t believe in superstitions and went on with my day. Having gained two extra hours, I endeavored to clean the bathtub of washing-machine residue and take a shower (good idea). But when I tried to rinse out the chemicals, the water came out of the tap an uncleanly shade of brown (bad idea). It ran clear after a minute, so I did a blitzkrieg memory-repression and hopped in.

My first class was good, despite being attended by only two students, down from last week’s three. It was ok though, I think they had fun and learned, but these kids, first-year advertising students, have a bad habit of not writing anything down. As it turned out, they were better than the students I worked with later in the day. In the hall I ran into one of the PR professors, who told me America’s stock market crashed like Yeltsin driving a Lada (a little post-Soviet humor for ya). Spectacular. In the afternoon, I had agreed to substitute-teach today with the third-year English students (good idea). I gave the students the choice of learning about either the American, revolution, government or education system. After one election with poor voter turnout, the students finally chose to hear about education, though kids kept trickling in for about fifteen minutes. I tried to make my lecture interactive by having them compare it, point by point, to Russia (bad idea). Then I asked them to design their own schools and present them to the class (worse idea). Even though they refused to stop when I told them the time was up, less than half of the groups were willing to present, and fewer still to comment on the presentations. In these situations, if kindness doesn’t work, some light-hearted insults usually motivate the students, but nothing was doing. By the time the class ended, I think I was even happier than they were. I was frustrated, and the more I thought about it, the angrier I got. Those kids just stared at me like I was crazy for asking them to speak in English, and they were upper-college students in the English department! Even the first-year PR students had been more responsive.

I came home to have a quick bite before heading downtown. I planned on making a lovely salad with tuna for protein and familiarity (good idea). But I didn’t have a can opener, so I attacked the can with every sharp object in my kitchen (bad idea). Having finally freed and drained/strained the fish, I sat down with my audiobook of Stephen Colbert’s I Am America and So Can You! (good idea). Incidentally, I finished the Phil Spector audiobook. It ended with him having just married a woman forty years his junior and awaiting trial for murder. Suddenly it was almost five o’clock, and I wanted to get to the American Center before services (bad idea).

I hauled ass down to the Center, checked my email, returned my books, got new books and made it to synagogue with time to spare. As it turned out, the youth group--my age, not middle-schoolers--meets every Tuesday night, so I thought I might also make some friends in addition to hearing the shofar (good idea). I certainly felt better for having heard the rabbi blow on that ram’s horn, but frankly, Adam Siegal does it better. After the service, we adjoined to the dining hall for a dinner of, you guessed it, tuna, and not just once but in two different dishes. Also, the fish’s heads decorated the table (disgusting idea) On most nights I don’t eat tuna even once, so why on this night did I eat it three times? Also, no one talked to me (bad idea) except the kids I’d already met and those to whom I was directly introduced. I even tried to strike up conversations, but they fell flatter than week-old seltzer. Awkward. The rabbi tried to get me to stay for the class, but I insisted I was scared of going home when it was dark. He understood, and invited me for dinner next shabbos. That’s a good idea, and I’ll play it as it lays. Now I have a great idea: I’m going to eat some ice cream and watch Russian sitcoms until I pass out. Ab-uh-dee ab-uh-dee ab-uh-dee that’s all folks!

10.3
Boy those Russians really know how to make a girl feel special. Today is Teachers’ Day and I’m telling you, we should institute this holiday in America. What happens on Teachers’ Day you ask? Well, quite simply, students shower their teachers with gifts. Actually, the holiday is on Sunday, so I guess the kids started “celebrating” early. I had heard about this holiday, but being a new pseudo-teacher, I really wasn’t expecting anything. I couldn’t believe when my first class presented me with a beautiful coffee mug and a congratulatory card (Russians say “Congratulations” on holidays and birthdays, where we say “Happy...”). It was so sweet, and clever how they did it at the beginning of class, making it hard to then ask for homework. This was the first-year PR group, and as they are the only students I see twice a week, I chalked it up to a special bond. I was even more shocked then when my second-year English students gave me a big box of chocolate truffles! That time it worked; I didn’t assign any new homework but ended class by passing around the candy and letting them go early. My final class today was with another group of second-year English students, one of whom stayed late to congratulate me on being a novice teacher and give me a star-shaped candle. What a sweetheart. These little tokens really made me feel appreciated. I guess that’s the whole idea.

Now I’m awaiting a visit from my landlords. I received a huge bill for the month of September and, since I only moved in on the 15th, they graciously agreed to split it with me. Actually, I would be satisfied with paying 2/3, but I takes what I can gets. They might also bring a new mattress, which is also amazing, since I was ready to buy one. I bought them a little box of candies to thank them for being the sweetest, most helpful landlords, in spite of the curse Gary DiMauro laid on us. Hopefully I’ll also remember to ask them how to work the oven. Even though I always keep the place quite tidy, I cleaned it especially well for this visit. I feel like a college student whose parents are coming to the dorm. This feeling is not completely unjustified, since the housing agent told me that Uri and Liudmila refused a bunch of potential tenants, waiting for someone they could trust to take care of the place. Anyway, my philosophy for living alone is to keep my apartment as neat as Bonnie keeps hers.

This weekend I’ll do some shopping and maybe try to work out a long-term plan for teaching. Tomorrow morning of course I’ll go to temple, which I’ve been looking forward to all week. There’s a chance the rabbi invited me for dinner tonight, but I wasn’t really sure what he was saying at the time. Late Saturday afternoon I’m supposed to meet Zhenya to go shopping for a winter coat and maybe some sexy boots, “both warm and cool,” as she joked. Monday is my birthday, which was actually giving me some lonely anxiety. Here’s the deal: in Russia, it’s customary for the birthday person to cook a big dinner (or treat everyone at a cafe) and receive a bunch of gifts. I really don’t want any presents, and I don’t want to give the impression that I do, but I want to celebrate. It’s just sort of inconceivable for a group of people to go out to dinner on someone’s birthday and everyone pays for him/herself. Am I being cheap? Maybe. But I’m also uncomfortable with the obligations on both sides. Anyway I think I found a loophole: the cinema. A colleague, not knowing it’s my birthday, invited me to go see Mamma Mia on Monday evening. Perfect. And another example of how my standards are changing from living abroad. At home I had no interest in seeing this movie, but everything’s funnier dubbed into Russian, including Meryl Streep singing. So this way I can bring a cake into the office (another obligation of the birthday girl) and go out in the evening. Way to go me!

10.4
Today I had a very good, very lucky day. In spite of the stupid mistakes I made, the universe provided for me. Hey, the dude abides. First of all, my alarm didn’t go off, because when I set the clock last night, I forgot about military time. So instead of waking up with the alarm at 8:30, I woke up on my own at 9:20, with just enough time to get dressed, grab some food and head to temple. I made it without a minute to spare. After the service the Israeli girls invited me and my friend Sveta to have lunch. The five of us had no common language, but each spoke a little English, Russian and Hebrew. We were a regular United Nations of Jews! It was great; we ate, sang and laughed a lot. One of the Israeli girls told this joke: A Jew on a desert island built two synagogues, one to go to and one not to go to. Jewish humor is an international language.

When I left, I called Zhenya about going shopping. She said she could meet me at the Geological metro station in about an hour, but I was already there, so I elected to go on my own. To get to the shopping mall MEGA, you have to take a bus from the metro station. Thanks to the kindness of strangers, I found the bus and made it to the mall, in all its glory. Some of MEGA’s attractions include Ikea, a grocery store and a skating rink in the food court. Only in Russia. After looking in a few stores, I found myself a super-warm, calf-length, fur-trimmed black winter coat. Score! I wandered around some more looking for boots, but in vain. I might try tomorrow at the market.

I chased down the shuttle to get back to the metro. It both picked us up and dropped us off at new locations, but I managed to find the closest metro station after only one wrong turn! In the subway bootleg DVD store I bought myself a birthday present: fifteen Soviet comedy classics on one disc! Women be shoppin. Now I’m dead on my feet, ready to settle in with my new old movies. And it’s a good thing I ate so much at lunch, because I haven’t the energy to cook. For dinner: clementines and chocolate ice cream. As Molly would say, “It was a pehfect day.”

10.6
Just after midnight on what’s now my birthday, I turned on the tv to the stupid American movie Maid in Manhattan. Guess whose uglified beautiful face was smiling at me? Amy Se-fuckin-daris! Happy Birthday to me! Or, as we say in Russian, “Unfortunately, the birthday is only once a year...”

Some 24 hours later

A great birthday. I woke up early, well not really early but 9 o’clock is early enough for having not set an alarm. Managed to find the post office, it’s only right across the street from where I live. So I sent off ten letters and postcards (check your mail friends!) and realized that I could pay bills there too. I had been nervous when my landlords told me I could pay my phone bill at the post office since I have no Russian bank account, but what they meant was that you present the bill and pay cash to the cashier. I also had the singular pleasure of watching pensioners complain about the slow service and scold young mothers and their babies. Then I picked up some groceries, including a cake, and passed the early afternoon leisurely reading and watching Arrested Development.

It was only at three when I arrived at school, proudly carrying my birthday cake, when I realized my class was at two. Doy-ee. Everyone cut me some birthday slack, but really I had been home doing nothing! My next class wasn’t until 5:30 (really this time!), so I brought the cake down to my friends in the international affairs office. We ate some sweets, drank some tea and they rounded up a lovely tea set as a gift for me. It was a bit embarrassing to get improvised presents, especially when people scolded me for not warning them about my birthday, but come on, they have my passport on file. Anyway, I was more than happy to share with my dear colleagues this surprisingly delicious store-bought cake.

After class, I planned to meet another English teacher to see the movie Mamma Mia! (their quotation mark, not mine). I bought myself a beer, heated up some pasta and hurried to meet Dasha and her young son Danilo near the theater. The theater was very nice, and soon they’re even showing the new Coen Brothers movie. But I don’t think I’ll go, because if it’s translated well, I won’t understand it, and if poorly, that’s a waste of 50 rubles! So, about Mamma Mia! Maybe it was just the Russian dubbing and my joy at watching a Hollywood musical on my birthday, but I loved it! Meryl Streep’s singing wasn’t nearly as bad as the choreography, and I’ve loved Abba ever since Muriel’s Wedding. Plus, since we stayed through the credits, we got to see the bonus performance of my favorite Abba song, “Waterloo.” Disco and Napoleon--it’s a winning combination!

Walking back, Danilo invited me to the Puppet Theater production of Gogol’s “Overcoat.” He recounted the story, which I already knew but his English was so adorable and emotion so sincere that I didn’t care to intervene. If he were a little older, I would have told him what Gogol was really talking about! Now I’m really looking forward to seeing this show. If it’s half as good as the Petersburg production of Nose, it will be twice as good as anything at Playhouse Square. We parted ways at the metro station near my apartment and Dasha asked me to call her when I got in. That’s why I love hanging out with moms.

Now, already satisfied with the day’s events, something incredible happened to top it all. I fixed myself a bowl of cereal and started flipping through tv channels, looking for something entertaining or at least inoffensive before bed. As if some programmer knew it was my birthday, my all-time favorite bad movie is on tv. No, not Rock and Roll High School. No less than Scarface! I turned it on at the beginning of Tony’s sprawling descent, right when he gets nabbed by the camera in the clock. This is lucky because once I hear that infectious synth-and-whip music, I can’t turn it off. I just have to “push it to the limit (limit!)” Since I’ve started writing this, Tony’s killed Manuelo and now he’s about to get f’ed right in the a. I take your bullets! I’m Tony Montana! I bury all of you cock-a-roaches! There’s something so satisfying about seeing him get it in the back of the head. That reminds me that I want to prepare a lesson on the American dream...

Well folks, I’m about to see what sleep is like for a 23-year old. And when I come home this summer, you’ll all be able once again to “say hello to (your) little friend.” Nyuk nyuk nyuk.