Abbichka: Rocket to Russia

And in the End...

2009-07-20T13:26:00.001-07:00

In honor of the 40th anniversary of Apollo 11’s landing on the moon, since most Russians doubt that this event took place, I thought today would be a good day to write my final Rocket to Russia. I’m writing this post from my bed in Beachwood, covered in hummus from my job as a line-cook at the Jerusalem Grill. It’s weird how not weird it is to be back. I got home two days before Michael Jackson’s death and, being a life-long MJ fan, it was strangely glorious to be home for his passing. Instead of mourning alone in Russia, I shared the night with my family, my best friends and a karaoke bar full of the faithful. The country’s reaction to his death was definitely overkill, like where were all these fans when Michael needed them? And, as my friend Mike said, if the country had shut down that way when the Patriot Act were passed, we’d be a stronger nation. But as for me, I won’t stop til I get enough.

Of course, I’ve been reflecting more and more on what I learned in Russia. There are big things, like Russian generosity (incredible) and gender roles (intense). But there’s also little things, like I went to the theater last night and didn’t have to buy a playbill. Wow! And yet every time I go out, I’m excited, until I remember I can’t buy or drink beer on the street. Actually, I had been somewhat prepared for that feeling, but I didn’t anticipate it’s pervasiveness. Most of all, it just feels great to be able to speak without thinking or planning, even when expressing confusion. In English, I can ask exactly what I need to know. I’m also a lot funnier in English, so that’s nice.

But I miss speaking Russian, and I take every opportunity to do so. The other night I saw an old babushka walking her dog. I asked it’s name in English, and she answered, “Darya.” “Dashenka!” I says. “Milaya, krasavitsa” (“Little Darya, darling, beauty). But the woman didn’t take my bait for conversation. She just said, “Sank you.” I have another friend Mike, a Russian one, and when he rolled into town, I went nuts. I called him my handsome, good smart boy, and he said, “You spent a year in Russia and learned how to talk like a grandmother.” I guess I’ve always been more of a babushka (“grandmother”) than a dyevushka (“young lady”).

And yet, I have been influenced by the Russian women’s way, though I didn’t show it there. As soon as I got home, I bought a bunch of high heels, cut my hair and even did my eyebrows, which I haven’t done since prom. So maybe I am a bit of a dyevushka. One thing’s for sure: between rethinking gender differences and living alone, I may not have become an adult, but I’m definitely a woman. An Amerikanka at that. I already miss my friends there, most of them beautiful, strong, intelligent young Russian women. Nadya, Veronika, Aigul, their names are like a cast of Nabokov characters. Thanks to them, I had a year of good times.

Now all I have to do is read Russian literature every day, like Jason on his way to becoming a Doctor of Philosophy. Or go back to Russia next year like Matt. Oy.

So, now that the Rocket has successfully returned from orbit, what’s the next mission? Well, I’d like to go to graduate and/or law school, but that’s all I’ll commit to right now. It appears I have a year on my hands, or at least a semester, to live a little. For this summer and eternally, Cleveland is all my heart desires. But instead of bundling through another winter and working some stupid job here, I am moving to Austin, Texas with Jessie (see posts from April 15 and 22). I’ll work some stupid job there, and on warm nights go to outdoor concerts with cowboys. Then I’ll go back to school. And ya know, I bet there are more interesting, engaging, high-paying jobs in Austin than in Cleveland for two young educated women. I just remember this camp counselor one summer in Michigan. She was from Ohio, but had spent a year living in Austin, which she described as a friendly paradise. Now this girl taught me to play “Dear Prudence” on guitar, gave me her thriftstore1984 and sent me letters for years. Since then I’ve always had this romantic fascination with the city. Jessie’s reasons for the move, which she’s been planning all year, are pretty similar to mine. She’s sick of Boston and New York winters. And to get there, we will take the most magnificent road trip I could imagine.

There are two downsides to the move, one more serious than the other. 1) At home I don’t pay rent. But it seems in Austin rent is almost as cheap as in Cleveland, plus most places have pools. 2) Molly Markowitz. Being away from her this past year was hard to bear, and being with her now is my favorite thing in the world. This past weekend she slept over for the first time. Having worked all week, I passed out at 11 watching Willy Wonka. She watched the whole thing, woke me up when it was over and said “I’m still not tired.” But I turned off the lights and we cuddled and snoozed away. Then in the morning, she woke me up on my one day off at 7:50, the exact time I get up for work. She whispered in her cute voice, “Wake up Abbie. It’s morning!” which is all I ever wanted to hear. That, along with her rendition of “Friller Night.”

In the past year, she got a lot bigger, smarter, funnier, all the things that are supposed to happen. The surprise is that she missed me just as much as I missed her, with the same intensity. So leaving her again won’t be easy. She already knows about it, and is upset. But at the same time, she’s used to me leaving and coming back. It just kills me, cuz we have so much fun together and I know it means everything to her too. Of course in Texas I’ll miss my kinfolk terribly. But like I told my mom, this year, I can come home for Passover.

So I guess that just about wraps her all up. I’m putting Rocket to rest, but who knows? Maybe I’ll write Abbichka: Live from Austin. Thanks for reading. Neither fluff nor feather!

I Believe I Can Fly

2009-07-05T23:39:00.000-07:00

Well my darling Rocketeers, this is the last entry I'll be writing from the Motherland. Right now, it's 3 a.m. My taxi comes at 4 to make my 6:30 flight. Other than that, I should be sleeping, but I haven't actually slept in two days. It's been a crazy last week, with me trying to squeeze everything possible into my dwindling time and expanding suitcases.

Between all my different groups of friends and acquaintances, I've had a couple going-away parties. The most memorable was the one that followed my final JCC class last week. One of my students there is simply wild about her dacha, talks about it all the time. I asked her to bring me something from her garden, but she misunderstood me, and thought I was asking her to bring me to her garden. So, after class last Tuesday, she said, "Well, let's go!" After a whole year of working together, it was great to relax, drink beer and speak Russian with these friendly folks. Another day, I had an incredible marathon cooking-and-eating party with my local rabbi's wife and family. Turns out, it's not kosher even to have cats and dogs as pets. Oy vey! Sunday night I invited a bunch of friends over for a "Let's clean out Abbie's fridge and closet" party. I can say it was even more successful than I'd planned, since it became a sleepless sleepover.

In other news, I went to the Ekaterinburg zoo, which wasn't as bad as I expected, but still pretty sad. The boy and girl animals are separated (are they orthodox?) and pretty much no one in there has enough space. Except maybe the rodents, one of whom I alone noticed was giving birth. I also noticed the monkeys were fed yogurt. Weird! And it's always funny to see what animals are considered exotic by someone else's standards. That is to say, in this zoo, attractions include a skunk, a raccoon and squirrels. But nowhere were there more people crowded around in bewilderment than the tank of axolotls, the very same pink smiling amphibians we used to have as pets. Finally, elsewhere in the city, I managed to buy all the souvenirs for myself, friends and family that I'd dreamed. Lemme tell you, Uralski stones are gorgeous, but they're heavy as hell!

Now, one final story, which I considered not publishing on here, but as a "journalistka," my responsibility is to tell the truth, or my version of it. So, if you have a weak stomach or are my mother, you might want to stop reading here.

Raise your hand if you're familiar with "rope-jumping." Basically, it's bunjee-jumping, only without the boing. You tie a rope securely to some high up structure, attach it to a rock-climbing apparatus that looks like leiderhosen and, well, jump. I had never heard of it, but Danil, one of my student-come-friends is a seasoned rope-jumper. Since the beginning of our acquaintance, he's been talking about the most popular place in the city, this great big bridge over the river, for practicing the...sport? So today, my very last day in Russia, we decided, in the wise words of Van Halen, "Might as well jump."

Now when I say you jump off a bridge, I'm not talking about a pedestrian bridge. Rather you have to scale up underneath a highway bridge, already holding on for your dear life just to get to a place where you can stand. Then, in the middle of the structure, a place not designed for foot traffic, was a group of maybe six young men and women, or better to say boys and girls. One of them, dressed like a security guard in military fatigues, was the owner of the apparatus, and spent his free time hanging out there, helping anyone who wanted to jump. Incidentally, this was maybe my first and only experience of someone in Russia offering his services and materials to strangers for free use! After watching others a few times, they harnessed me up and I climbed over the edge. After almost chickening out a few times, I jumped! Actually, it's more of a fall than a jump, and backwards at that. I guess it looks like suicide, and probably sounded like murder the way I screamed. Then you just swing back and forth until you pull yourself up (for boys) or get pulled up (for girls).

What a rush! Afterwards, I was really speechless, only able to say things like "mama dorogaya" ("mother dear"). Having been so close to punking out of the whole thing, I was super-proud of myself. In fact, my buddy Danil started doing it only because he's so afraid of heights. I mean really, how many people can say they've rope-jumped off a bridge in Ekaterinburg? And I bet dollars to donuts I was the first American girl to do it. After we climbed down from the bridge (which was, in some ways, the scariest part of the excursion), I strutted like I've never strut before. I felt like strangers could see the adrenaline flying through my veins, or at least could tell that I had some amazing secret. But now I guess the secret's out. Sorry Mama Dorogaya!

I started writing this entry in my (former) Ekaterinburg apartment. Already now I am sitting in the Ekat airport, waiting for my flight

The post above was never "completed," but was printed in full for the reader's understanding of my frazzled mental state.

Greatest Hits of Altai

2009-06-12T05:32:00.000-07:00

A couple hours ago, I returned from my extended trip to Altai. That destination afforded me the opportunity to visit my friends Matt and Jason in their base-cities, Novosibirsk and Tomsk, respectively. Those visits will warrant their own blog entries, but first things first. Before we left, another American lost in Russia told Matt that Altai had incredible “energy.” We made fun of that hippie for hours, but it turned out, she was dead right.

Altai is one of the many autonomous republics that exist within Russia. Altaians have their own distinct language and culture which is closer to Mongolian than Russian. In fact, half the Altai mountain range is in Mongolia, and we were closer to there and China than we initially realized. The lure of Altai for tourists is its pristine nature. In addition to the mountains, there are beautiful lakes and huge stretches of taiga, a mixed-growth forest. We planned our trip for this time only because it fit with our teaching and home-going schedules. Little did we know we would arrive too late for the encephalitis-laden tick season and and too early for

the tourist season. So we had the whole of Lake Teletskoye to ourselves, sharing it only with the locals and non-threatening ticks.

Matt, Jason, his girlfriend Rusana and I stayed in a little cottage ca

lled Nastenka named for the owner’s daughter. The owner, Nina, and her husband had built a few guest cottages around their own house. Thus we were surrounded by her prized gardens, and one morning she even put some of us to work there! We also had use of her kitchen, banya, barbecue pit and outhouse (oh boy). We spent a lot of time sitting in her gazebo, and she loved how Matt played the banjo. A note about Nina--we were so lucky to have found her, quite by chance on the internet. How she managed to get a web-listing I’ll never figure out. Anyway, because she had no other guests at the time, Nina was more than happy to help us with everything we wanted to do. She told us the best places to go, took us on a hike up the mountain, even introduced us to a friend of hers who sold fresh milk, sour cream and farmer’s cheese. The coolest thing was how she walked around in awe of the natural beauty, as if she was seeing it all for the first time. One curious thing: for some reason, she was absolutely certain we were a group of Germans. Nothing we said could convince her otherwise. As Jason pointed out, Nina was very perceptive of most things, like she anticipated our every need and desire, but she’ll forever remember us as that nice company of krauts.

Even cooler than Nina was her dog Misha (alternately Lisha, Pisha and Grisha) who was our self-appointed tour-guide everywhere, every day. The first time we went for a walk, we tried like the dickens to keep Misha inside the fence, only to have him pop out in front of us a few yards away. Everywhere we went, Misha was with us, occasionally inviting another dog to join. He did some amazing tricks, like climbing trees, hopping fences and avoiding being kicked in the head by cows. Weaving on and off the path, sometimes we thought we lost him, then he would pop out way ahead of us. The most, or only, heartbreaking moment of the trip was Misha’s face when he realized he couldn’t come with us on a boat ride.

We spent our days hiking or hanging out by the water. One day, the rainiest, we took the aforementioned boat ride. The boat was covered, so it wasn’t miserable, and it was amazing to see just how big Lake Teletskoye is. I’ve heard this lake described as Baikal’s little brother. The lake has inspired many legends, of dragons, lost gold and meteorites. We didn’t see any of that, but it certainly was inspiring. At night, we usually barbecued, then drank massive amounts of beer in the gazebo until passing out.

On our last day, we were getting ready to take the first in a series of buses to get to the train station that was four hours away. But just before boarding, we were offered a cheaper ride with a man going our way. This type of hitchhiking is totally normal in Russia, and is often a more economical way to travel. We took the man up on his offer, not knowing he would become one of the most memorable characters of our trip. Alexander was so full of joy and energy, knew a few words in a bunch of languages and was eager to teach us what he knew about Altai. On the road, Matt mentioned that we wanted to buy some famous Altai honey. We passed a house advertising the same for sale, and noticed a little boy jumping up and down on the front porch. Alexander uttered the endlessly quotable line: "Enough jumping! Bring honey!" Later, we stopped at the city Gorno-Altaisk, where Alexander showed us the main square, then brought us into the cafeteria at the central goverment building. We still had quite a few hours til our train, so he offered to take us to see the Katoon (or, as we called it “Cartoon”) river. We relaxed by the bank enjoying Matt’s banjo-playing and Alexander’s dancing. We all agreed that meeting a man as nice and jolly as Alexander pretty much restored our faith in humanity.

Finally, we got to the train station. When we boarded the train, we found our seats, as most, occupied by soldiers. It was, literally, a Mongolian cluster-fuck. Apparently their officer had found their wagon, without checking that the soldiers sit in their specifically assigned seats. Luckily, since so many passengers had been displaced by the careless soldiers, we weren’t the only ones complaining. Thanks to Jason’s Russian girlfriend, we got our seats with a minimum of hassle. We played a few rounds of Durak, which seems to be the only card game played in Russia, before bedtime. Jason and Rusana claim that there was a military marching band practicing at 3 a.m., but I slept like a drunk baby.

So, now I’m lying in my bed, tanned and spent. I’ve showered done my grocery shopping and half my laundry and I’m positively exhausted. It's weird being in Yekaterinburg where the tap water smells after being in Altai where people drink water straight from a pump in the ground. I have a little over a week left in Russia, and while I lost some precious time in Yoburg, I couldn’t be happier I made this trip. I recommend visiting Altai to anyone in Russia; I’ve really never seen anything like it. And here’s the most important part: a place like this can’t possibly remain forever. Nothing gold can stay, right? Already, there’s talk of building casinos and turning this gorgeous nature preserve into a sort of Russian Las Vegas. So get yourself to Altai before that happens. And if you’re looking for a place to stay, ring up Nina. She loves hosting friendly Germans.

Mystery Train

2009-05-27T08:55:00.000-07:00

Well faithful readers, 24-hrs from now I'll be half-way through my 22-hr train ride to Novosibirsk. There I'll hang out w/fellow Fulbrightnik and OG Matt "Mettik" Nelson. Thence we go to Altai for approximately one week of good times in the Russian wilderness. Thoreau-style, I'll be incommunicado for a few days. But don't worry - you can all look forward to a great post when I get back!

One love.

An Artist, (He) Don't Look Back

2009-05-19T23:45:00.000-07:00

Last week, my dear friend Lauren (http://laurichka-samizdat.blogspot.com/) emailed me that she had met a performance artist, Kimbal Quist Bumstead (www.kimbalbumstead.com). This young man, traveling across Russia and doing art pieces along his way, was headed to Ekat next. This past

weekend Ekaterinburg joined many Russian and European cities in celebrating Muse

um Night. On this day, our local museums were open late and presented all kinds of cool events. Although I’ve heard in other cities, it went all day and the museums were free, Ekaterinburg gets an A for effort! So, after some email correspondence, I went to see Kim’s performance at the Museum of Fine Arts.

My experience with performance art is nonexistent, but that night, I became not only a spectator, but an integral participant. Before he began, Kim, whose curly blond hair makes him easy to identify, asked me how I felt about audience interaction and if I was claustrophobic. I answered good and no, respectively, but if I were clever I might have asked some questions of my own! From my seat in the front, I could see Kim’s materials: long rolls of butcher paper, string, masking tape, cardboard, a bottle of vodka and a bunch of plastic shot glasses. Uh oh!

After being introduced, Kim got to work. He took me by the hand and led me to a museum bench in the center of the performance space (which was actually just the main gallery of the museum). We sat down and each had a shot of vodka. Next he taped my hands together, tied me up and laid me down. Kinky. Then he started wrapping me up in the butcher pape

r and taping it together, prompting the little boys around me to argue whether I was a Russian mummy or a birthday present. Finally, Kim poured another shot of vodka down my gullet and covered my face with a piece of cardboard. He then pulled a man out of the crowd, gave him some vodka, and made him a standing Russian mummy. Compared to that schmuck, I, lying down and able to move my head and look around, was lucky. My feet were tied to his torso, so that when he moved my legs were pulled. Those same little boys wondered if, when the paper came off, the man and I would have switched places. Then some spectators (actually my friends who Kim had met before the show) got cardboard taped to the palms of their hands. They were

given vodka and small pieces of paper and instructed to draw the wrapped bodies. In the end, Kim taped their pictures to the string connecting me and the man, and then taped the cardboard-handed spectators to us. WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN? Kim says this is not the right question. Better to ask, “How does it make you feel?”

I can say with no exaggeration that this was one of the strangest experiences of my life. As I told the tv journalist who interviewed me afterwards, it’s hard for me to make sense of the piece, since I didn’t actually see it. But I did have the feeling of losing my wits (from the vodka) and power (from the tape and paper). Plus, it was hot as hell in there!

After the performance, I hung out with Kim and some other cool kids he met here. He is a “couch-surfer,” part of a community that hosts travelers and in exchange gets free accommodations when traveling. So since arriving in Ekat that morning, he’d met the curator who helped organize his performance, his couch-host, plus another local girl who was currently hosting two super-cool Dutch couch-surfing artists. As it turns out, Kim is half-Dutch, so they were all talking in that wacky language! In fact, the aforementioned standing mummy was one of these two, and he has the coolest name since Kimbal Quist Bumpstead: Marnix. Perfect name for a cool cat, human or feline.

So in the past few days I’ve hung out a lot with this little group, who’ve become a random but loving family. Last night we all saw Kim off at the train. His train-car was full of departing soldiers, and some of them had girlfriends, but only Kim had four girls and one very tall boy chasing running the train and waving handkerchiefs. I’m so lucky to have met this amazing kids and I know they’ll have plenty of crazy adventures on their travels throughout Russia and the world. Maybe traveling is itself a kind of performance art. If so, these kids are stars.

Speaking of traveling, in about a week I’m going to Altai with fellow Fulbrightnik and Europe-companion, Matt (http://mattinsiberia.wordpress.com/). Altai is a mountainous region, famous for its breathtaking natural beauty. It’s been Matt’s dream to check it out and if there’s one thing I support, it’s living your dreams. So in a couple weeks, expect some gorgeous pictures and man-versus-nature stories. Here’s hoping man wins!

They're Gonna Put Me in the Movies

2009-05-15T08:33:00.000-07:00

Today I recorded the English-language voice track for a new movie about nanotechnology. What the hell is that, you ask? I didn’t know either until I was asked to participate by a professor/producer at Ural State University. He and his colleagues made a really cool film about nanoscience for both professionals and laymen - guess which category I fit neatly into. I tried to churn out the best performance I could, but it was hard to sound excited given that I had no idea what I was talking about. Anyway, the film will be shown at Russian, French and even American (ie-New York) science film festivals, whatever those are. So I’m gonna be a star!

In other news, my creative writing class is still going strong. This week we began our speech-writing unit and I taught Dr. King’s “I Have a Dream.” The kids really responded to it, how could you not? They all learned a lot about the civil rights movement and American history in general. Plus King was just such a talented writer, that speech is moving even out of context. The hardest thing is knowing when to jump in and explain things, cuz the students are pretty shy when it comes to asking for clarification. It’s also hard to get them to read it aloud with the proper emotion, since in Russian churches, the priests don’t sermonize. But a couple kids got it right away, and the rest did with only the minimum of prodding.

Last weekend was a huge holiday here, the 9th of May, Victory (over the Germans in WWII) Day. This might be a somber memorial, but since it coincides with the beginning of spring, it turns into a huge holiday. I did everything you’re supposed to do on that day. I went to the city’s military parade, although that’s sort of redundant since Russia rarely puts on any other kind of parade. In the afternoon I went with some friends into the forest for a Russian barbecue, which is basically shish-kebob. The woods were full of people, congratulating each other on the victory. Then in the evening I went to Ural Technical University for an outdoor concert of a great local, now nationally-famous band, called Chaif. It was awesome! I even knew two of the songs, plus they played a Russian-language version of “No Woman, No Cry.” The crowd was amazing; they knew every word to every song. It almost felt like being at Blossom. When it got dark enough, there were two huge fireworks displays. Everyone was so cheerful (read: drunk), chanting “RO-SSI-YA!” all night. It was even more fun than New Years, if only because everyone was outdoors.

Then the next night Russia won the national hockey championship, or whatever it’s called. I didn’t watch the match, but at 3 a.m., I was lying in bed and through my window heard “RO-SSI-YA! CHEM-PI-YON!” so I figured out that we had won. People are pretty psyched about this. Now there’s a big musical event called EuroVision going on. It’s a competition between singers from all over Europe. This year it’s being held in Moscow because last year’s winner was Dima Bilan, who is Russia’s....I’m having a hard time coming up with an analogy. He’s this young pop star who must be really popular, but no one I know likes him. He’s not as talented as Justin Timberlake, but not as wimpy as John Mayer. Plus he has such a major mullet that after he won EuroVision last year, the haircut showed up on every boy too young to protest his parents’ wishes.

This weekend there’s a city-wide event called Night of Museums. Lots of events at all the local museums, should be fun but I’ve heard it’s terribly disorganized (big surprise). So that’s my so-called life in Ekat. I have just over a month left and I’m trying to get some more travelling done, just within Russia, before I head home. See you soon.

Oh yeah, and in case you’re wondering, my metro-falling-horror-story has now become just a funny anecdote. And the bruise, while still huge, is almost monochromatic. Hooray!

Baby Take a Bow

2009-05-07T09:46:00.000-07:00

So much fun today did I have, but it started somewhat trippingly...

I was asked to be a judge of a local foreign language students’ theater festival. Of course I was excited for this opportunity! A little too excited as it turns out. Rushing to the metro, I fell down the marble stairs. Ok, that’s not such a big deal. It’s happened before and may well happen again. But then, hopping onto the metro, I actually fell in between the car and platform! My badonk-a-donk saved me from falling all the way to the tracks, but for a moment I was struggling like a person in quicksand. A strong young man had to pull me out, and then I had to comfort a babushka who practically had a heart attack from watching the incident. I actually didn’t realize how terrifying it all was until I got over my embarrassment. To quote Clueless, “Now all night long, I’m gonna be known as the girl who fell on her butt.” On the plus side, that gap is only a couple inches wide, so at least I’m skinny enough to have faced into this peril.

Anyway, after the most awkward metro ride of my life, I arrived at the Ural Technical University. This was the first time they’d put on such a festival, and it was a great success. In the preceding days, there had been performances in German, Spanish, French and Chinese. Today was English day. Groups from three local universities (including some of my own students) prepared English-language performances with simultaneous Russian translation. Get your tissue Mom, “the kids worked really hard on this.” First two kids did a short William Saroyan piece called “Hello Out There.” Next, a group from the host university presented an only slightly abridged The Importance of Being Earnest. Finally, my own pedagogical students presented an original play in which Snow White meets Cinderella. Fantastic!

My personal attachments aside, Earnest was one of the most incredible productions I’ve ever seen. Here’s why: these kids had me cracking up with their performances. Then, the live translation had the Russian audience cracking up with Wilde’s words. It was really something to experience. I had only seen this play once, and it was a Cleveland Play House production from which I remember only a feeling of boredom. But in these hands of these Russian students of a technical university, it really came alive. Imagine my surprise when I found out that in the past two days, the same kids had given equally moving performances in French and Chinese. In fact, their production of Yasmina Reza’s Art won them a trip to France. Way to go kids!

It was also pretty cool to be part of the jury. For the first two performances, there was a British man with me. Unfortunately, he had to leave early, so I had to make the final call myself. Choosing those other kids over my own students I’m sure will be a huge scandal, but they don’t pay me enough for me to be unfair. Along with my judging responsibilities, I got a free gross cafeteria dinner and a big bouquet of flowers. In this country you often see women walking around with such arrangements and I always wondered if they feel as uncomfortable as they look. Now I know they do. On the other hand, they’re probably more used to this phenomenon than I am. They also probably don’t come home and put the flowers in an empty water bottle.

After the performances, I took a long walk with some students who were in the audience. We had an ice cream and enjoyed the beautiful warm weather. And when I got back to the metro, I was as careful as if I were carrying a dozen Faberge eggs.

Going to the ZAGS of Love

2009-04-26T07:12:00.001-07:00

I got such a treat last night--I was a guest at a Russian wedding. My friend Aigul’s sister was getting married, and since I met the family at New Year’s, I was invited to this jubilee. Unfortunately, I came down with a cold and got sicker as the day went on, so I couldn’t fully enjoy the festivities. Still, I took it all in, and here’s my full report.

A Russian wedding is very different from an American one, regardless of religion. In fact, this family happens to be Muslim, but you wouldn’t know it from the service or reception. I think a lot of this has to do with the Soviet rule, but I don’t know if church services were the norm before that. In any case, the wedding ceremony is a legal affair, and the reception is a bacchanalian celebration. We Jews may know how to party, but these Russians put us to shame.

The wedding begins at ZAGS, a government administration where married couples are registered. Knowing this, I thought it would be a somber, official affair of signing documents. This is also how I picture a “city hall wedding.” Actually, the ZAGS hall was romantically decorated, and everyone was already dressed up. I, like most women there, wore boots but carried dress shoes in a plastic bag. The service was just like a religious one, only with no mention of G-d. The couple exchanged rings, took vows, kissed and, yes, signed documents (I cannot overstate the significance of dokumenti in Russian culture). After a photo-session was katatsya.

Katatsya literally means “to roll around.” I think so anyway, I’m too lazy to look it up. Figuratively, it means driving to different scenic locations in the city for more photo opportunities. I’d seen wedding parties do this in St. Petersburg and Ekaterinburg; sometimes they even stage funny scenes, like bridal tug-of-war. I’d always marveled at the women’s resolve to show off their gowns, despite the weather, but we all wore coats. In the little town of Beloyarsk, there aren’t so many picturesque places. We went to a Soviet monument with an eternal flame and a highway bridge by the forest. At each stop, after taking pictures, we boozed it up. I learned that here it’s perfectly legal for the passengers in a car to drink alcohol, just not the driver. This is when I started feeling ill, so I declined riding dirty and became more of a passive observer than an active participant.

Next we came to the cafe which had been rented out for the reception. Three long tables were arranged at right angles and over-flowing with food and drink. Some four hours after the salads and appetizers, we were unexpectedly served hot dishes. The hall was decorated with posters advertising marriage advice. For example, “To get to your golden wedding, the wife must have a silver character, and the husband--iron support.” One made me feel bad, with its proclamation that “Anyone sober at a wedding is a spy. With every glass of wine, we grow louder!” Indeed, I’ve never seen people drink so much, though Russians don’t get so obviously drunk, and I felt a bit of pressure. But I always got out of the (s)hot seat by pointing at my half-full wine glass and toasting with mineral water.

With food, drink and dancing, how different could a wedding reception really be? Very. The chief difference lies in the presence of the tagana. This is an entertainer hired not just to dj but also to lead games and organize the endless toasts. Actually, the games were a lot like the family’s New Year’s celebration, but with the tagana there, none of the guests had to assume control. Another big difference was the importance of money. First of all, there is no gift registry, so most people give as gifts something for the house and some cash. Then, at the party, there are many opportunities to donate money to the new couple, like raffles, auctions and paying the bridge and groom to kiss. Even the wedding cake was auctioned off, slice by slice. Another guest told me that at some weddings, you have to pay for your silverware! This struck me as very strange and un-romantic, but I guess it’s just a fun way for the family and friends to help the couple get started. In some of these games I even participated, as Aigul’s mom kept coming by and giving us hundred-ruble notes.

My favorite part of the night was the bitterness. I mean of course the tradition at a Russian wedding for the crowd to shout out gorko (“bitter”), so the couple has to kiss to make it sweet again. The funniest is after a toast, when people drink some vodka and start yelling, “It’s so terribly bitter!” At first, especially at ZAGS, the couple’s kisses were short and perfunctory. But as the night went on, they grew longer and more loving. So very sweet.

The reception, or at least the tagana’s shift, ended with wedding fireworks. I realized that I’ve been to two of Aigul’s family events and both included fireworks and games where men have to dance in women’s clothing. Then we went back inside and kept dancing. There was one song where we all light birthday candles and held them up around the dancing couple. I was so worried that the little boys would light each other's rattails on fire, but everyone survived unscathed. Word travelled quickly that the unknown guest was an exotic Amerikanka, and thanks to a little black dress I borrowed from my friend Olga, my dance-card was full. I felt bad about spreading my germs, but even worse refusing invitations to dance. So I split the difference, and spent some time dancing, some playing with children, and some sitting and blowing my nose.

At the end of the night, rather than sleep on Aigul’s mom’s floor, we took a taxi back to Ekaterinburg. The bride filled my purse with candy and gave us a couple bottles of wine for the road. As Aigul and her friend Katya drank, I thought about all the people at the wedding who’d tried to help me find a husband that very night. If nothing else, I have options.

Moscow Nights

2009-04-22T07:49:00.000-07:00

After a whirlwind week in Petersburg with my dearest Jessie, we headed to Moscow. I had tried to prepare her for the reality of the overnight train, but it turns out, there’s no way to do so. Between my assurances and my friends’ warnings, Jessie was still bewildered by platzkart (3rd class). For me it wasn’t so bad, but poor Jessie slept about as well as a hooker on VJ Day. Anyway, we arrived in Moscow, checked in to our hostel, and hit the streets.

This was my third time in Moscow, and my first time there purely for pleasure. You know, I like the city more than I thought. In two days’ time, Jessie and I rocked Red Square, the “old” Tretyakov Gallery, and the American-themed Starlite Diner. We had a great time wandering around the city, drinking Super Hooch and just enjoying each other’s long-lost company. Yes, it’s a very expensive city, but we kept it real. My advice for Moscow: don’t be shy about doing uber-touristy things. The Tretyakov Gallery is a knock-out and St. Basil’s Cathedral is even more beautiful on the inside. Moscow has a bad reputation for being hectic, but as long as you avoid the subway at rush-hour, it’s not so bad. And on that note, the subway is the most logical I’ve ever seen, with the exception of Ekaterinburg’s one-horse line. Bottom line, I was thrilled to unlock Moscow’s mysteries with one of my all-time best friends.

So Jessie left on Tuesday, giving me two days by myself. On the first day, I went to the “new” Tretyakov to see the modern Russian art collection. Hot dog! They do a great job of showing but the regime-approved Soviet art, and what was going on underground. Best of all I loved the exhibit of super-contemporary (read: today) artists. I enjoy going to museums alone, but this particular experience made me miss Jessie, who always teaches me so much about art.

On Wednesday I made a pilgrimage of sorts to Yasnaya Polyana (“Clear Glade”), the site of Tolstoy’s farm estate. I thought it was the name of the house itself, but it turns out, Yasnaya Polyana refers to the entire neighborhood. If I had known how complicated this trip would be, I don’t know if I would’ve attempted it. But however blindly, I took the three-hour bus ride to Tula, got dropped off at the proper stop, and wandered until I found the museum environs.

It was, of course, amazing to see where Tolstoy lived, worked, wrote, walked, planted, taught. I saw his house, his greenhouse, his doctor’s house, the schools he built for his peasants’ children. All of it was beautiful, and not quite what I pictured. Well, what I pictured was the 40-page scene of Anna Karenina in which scores of peasants thresh wheat, so of course I didn’t see that. But I did see the equipment they would use, and a family of cats living in the hay barn.

The most touching part of the experience was seeing Tolstoy’s simple, grass-covered tomb. I doubt his body is interred there, since at 80 years old he abandoned his family at Yasnaya Polyana and went off, I imagine into a cave, to die. But I stood there, paying my respects at this memorial, and thought about Jennifer Day. She helped me write my senior project about Tolstoy, and all my thoughts about him are connected with my feelings about her. I don’t know if she ever made this pilgrimage, but I made it in her honor. In some ways, everything I do from now on will be in her honor. If Jen and Count Tolstoy are together somewhere drinking tea, they will know I love them both.

The following day, my friend Sydney came to Moscow from Chicago. She and I studied Russian together and even lived in St. Petersburg together. We both studied with Jen, so it was really therapeutic for us to be together. We grieved a great deal, but soon moved on to remembering good times. And of those, there were plenty. Plus, Syd is one of the funniest, liveliest, most outrageous people I know. I love that crazy girl. We had a great time doing “bullshit souvenir shopping,” eating various ethnic cuisines and even checking out a couple museums. Also, because I misunderstood my own flight information, we got an extra half-day together. Weee!

So now I’m back in Ekat, exhausted but satisfied. Having spent time in the two big cities with two of my favorite people, I’m ready for the last two months of this great experiment. Here I go!

Ramble On

2009-04-15T09:07:00.000-07:00

Hi faithful readers! Been missing me? Well, I’m on the road, visiting Russia’s two great capitals. In fact, the trip was inspired by another visit – my bff Jessie came all the way from Boston to hang out! She flew back home this morning, leaving me in Moscow, so I have a little time for an update. Actually, I’m writing from the lobby of Napoleon Hostel, so this will be a quick and dirty entry.

I can’t tell you how amazing it was to have Jessie with me in Yekaterinburg. We had only a couple days there, but now she’s the only person from my “real life” to see how I’ve been living this year. In Ekat, we did all the typical tourist sites which have already been described here, plus a couple more. We saw the “fake border of Europe and Asia,” plus the real site where the Romanovs’ bodies were destroyed. Regular readers will remember that the Romanovs were killed in the city proper, but as it turns out, their bodies were taken, hacked, burned w/acid and buried in the forest. On that site now stands a monastery, with seven churches for each member of the family. A sad story, but a beautiful memorial came out of it. Of course we ventured into the forest on the coldest day in weeks. When our host asked Jessie if she was as cold as she looked, she yelled, “Colder!”

We flew to Petersburg on Sunday night to hang out with my friends up there. Plus, it happens to be one of the world’s most beautiful cities, and Jessie, as an art historian, couldn’t miss the Hermitage. We smashed all the major museums, plus stumbled on the most adorable gallery of puppets. At the Marinsky we saw the charming Soviet ballet, “The Little Hunch-backed Horse.” So sweet! Unfortunately, we couldn’t find matzah or any of the other Passover Seder necessities, but we did make some great dinners, including one of all appetizers, like Cher in Mermaids. What else…we saw the cool printing studio where my girl Lauren does her thing, went out to a club when they were having a funk party, and took plenty of walks drinking plenty of Funky Juz. Shout out to Lauren “Abmanitsa” for letting both of us crash, not just at her place, but in her bed!

Then Jessie and I took the over-night train to Moscow. I knew pretty much what to expect, but my poor dear, she didn’t get a good night’s sleep the whole two weeks she was here. We arrived “cracked out,” but out of the whole train, we were the only women who looked it. Still, we gave it our all in the two days Jessie was in Moscow. The first day, we tackled Red Square. We really wanted to see the Armoury, where the crown jewels are, and I somehow talked the cashier into selling us student tickets, even though neither of us have valid student ID’s. But I plead our case so persistently, she finally said, “Take them and never tell anyone.” I never would’ve been able to accomplish this when I arrived in August, not to mention translating everything for hypo-allergenic Jessie. The next day, we found the Starlite Diner, a favorite expat eatery and went to the incredible Tretyakov Gallery.

I was sad to say goodbye to Jessie this morning, but how can I complain? I can’t even tell you how much it means to me that she came out here. Jessie and I could have fun doing nothing together, but we’re also great travel partners. She’s so sweet, thoughtful, funny and brave! What a woman…what a phenomenon. So now I’m alone in Moscow, but just for a couple days. Soon crazy Sydney, with whom I studied Russian at Bard, will come out to see me, Lauren and all her favorite haunts in the motherland. In the meantime, I’ll hit up the “New” Tretyakov, Tolstoy’s estate and whatever else I find in this most beautiful, most expensive city.

That’s all for now folks. Much love.

A Eulogy

2009-04-01T04:55:00.000-07:00

Today I walked the streets of Russia looking as sad and somber as any native, but it’s not because I’ve become acclimated. Yesterday the world lost a very promising figure in the sphere of Russian studies, and I personally lost a great friend. Jennifer Day, who passed away yesterday at a tragically young age, was my first and best teacher of Russian language and literature. On our first day in class, she read us Pushkin’s “Ya Vas Liubil” (“I Loved You”) and enchanted us with the melodic power of the poem. By the end of that semester, she had us all, amazingly, able to recite the same poem. Jennifer made the language come alive, and I use her teaching techniques every single day in the classroom.

In many ways, Jennifer, or Zhenya, is my hero. She proved, despite what Nabokov said, that an American can master the unwieldy Russian tongue. As a young woman of a decidedly non-Russian background, she had an incredible career in Russian studies, writing on everything from St. Petersburg architecture to literary meta-texts. In my experience, most professors have either a deep knowledge of the subject or a love of teaching. Jennifer had both. Though not yet a tenured professor, she was the absolute heart of our Russian department. During the semesters when she was on sabbatical and maternity leave, the department became staid and its events perfunctory. But Jennifer always brought such great enthusiasm and creativity to her work, her joy was positively contagious.

Our teacher-student relationship quickly expanded beyond the classroom. Over the course of our three years’ acquaintance, I became Jen’s dog-walker and baby-sitter, and she became my project advisor. For some students, weekly senior project meetings were dreadful affairs. But I looked forward to my meetings with Jen, because I knew I would come out of them re-energized and inspired. In fact, our discussions came to resemble therapy sessions. I’d arrive with a problem, we’d talk it out, and she would wisely guide and enable me to find my own solutions. She was always modest when I expressed my gratitude, but I know in my heart that my success was due as much to her efforts as to my own.

I can say with no hesitation that Jennifer Day is the singular reason I am in Russia today, and not only because she wrote me a recommendation for the Fulbright application. Jen shared with me an illogical, impractical passion for Russian studies, and taught me that this feeling could be the foundation of a career. She encouraged and inspired me, both as my teacher and my friend.

My heart goes out to Jennifer’s family, friends and students. Though, or perhaps especially because, I am in Russia, I am with you in your grief.

Sure Shot

2009-03-26T09:34:00.000-07:00

A few mini-adventures to relate:

Fellow Fulbrightnitsa Katherine came from Tiumen. We spent the time - what else - eating, drinking and seeing the major sites of Ekaterinburg. I have a local friend who majored in tourism (a popular department throughout Russia) who gave us a historico-cultural tour of the city. We learned so much, including that the Russian word for factory "zavod" comes from the fact that early factories had to be near the water, in Russian that's "za vodou." Cool! We also had my colleague's family over for dinner, which was my first time entertaining a whole family (mother, father, 14-year old son and 2-year old daughter). It was a great success, especially when I won the little girl over by pretending I had a sleeping gnome in my teapot. On Katherine's last day, we saw the new computer-animated movie "Monsters Versus Aliens" in 3-D. It was an awesome experience, and refreshing to see a movie in Russian and understand everything.

Yesterday I had the day off so I went to the local Natural History Museum. It was full of rocks, prehistoric skeletons and taxidermied animals. It turns out there's a huge variety of owls in this region, including one called the Ural Owl. Usually I'm scared of those action-posed dead animals, but this museum was just so rinky-dink, it was hard to feel any way but bemused.

Tonight I went to see the women's basketball team take on the Novosibirsk team. First of all, we kicked ass! Second of all, at half-time, a stranger with an American accent remarked on the fact that my friend and I were speaking English. He didn't look like a missionary, so I asked where he was from. Chicago! Imagine meeting another midwesterner there at the Palace of Sport. He's visiting his cousin who plays on the Ekaterinburg team. So we chatted for a minute about Lebron and our favorite musicians from each other's cities (his-Bone Thugs, mine-R.Kelly). I gotta say, it just about made my day.

Well that's just about it for now. A week from today my dear sweet Jessie will be here, direct from Boston. I'll try to post again before that, because once she's here I'll be too busy having the best time of my Russian life.

One love.

Gangsta Like Me

2009-03-18T10:25:00.000-07:00

Today I went on the best cultural excursion! (Side note: Russians use the word “excursion” to mean just about any outing; where we say “field trip,” “tour,” “visit,” anything, they say “excursion.”) You may know that one of Ekaterinburg’s claims to fame is being home to the largest organized crime circuit in Russia. As it turns out, all the men who made it so, along with their families, are buried in one place. The “Mafia Cemetery” is a must-see for anyone with a macabre gangster fascination, or anyone who likes gaudy decorated tombstones. I went today with my friend Liz, a Fulbright research fellow based in Petersburg. Actually, we tried to go yesterday, walked all over the city trying to find transport to this neighborhood, only to discover today that the busses we needed stop right by Liz’ interim apartment. We were very un-Russian (read: emotional) when we found the bus, and even worse when we saw the cemetery through the window and started clapping.

I’m no expert on the Russian mob, and it’s not as if I know these guys’ names. So what makes this place so fascinating? The gangsters spared no expense on their eternal resting places, and some of them really dropped a pretty kopeck. The trend in modern Russian cemeteries is to have the departed’s likeness laser-printed on the tombstone. Sometimes the man’s face juts out, hewn in the living rock. Now imagine that done for a guy who looks, quite deliberately, like Tony Soprano or Michael Corleone. Many of the men had life-size memorials, showing off their leather jackets and BMW keys. They did the same for their wives, who are displayed in high heels and tight dresses, apparently on the dance floor. One particularly prominent gangster built a stunning angel-like monument of his wife, after he whacked her for suspected infidelity. Some times the men were depicted doing their favorite activites, like boxing or book-keeping.

What’s more, the cemetery was huge! It looked small from the bus, but extended for kilometers into the forest. There was no order to older or newer graves, though they were all post-Revolution. The graveyard was immaculate, with well-plowed paths between all the sections. We saw no grave-diggers or groundskeepers, but there were a few dogs keeping watch and keeping warm on the plots. There were foot-trodden paths to most graves, and most of them were decorated with day-glo silk flowers. One grave had been visited very recently: lying on the marble slab were a becrumbed-plastic plate and a shot glass with the remnants of drink.

Luckily, no mourners were visiting today. Serious people would have ruined our schadenfreudy fun.

One Big Holiday

2009-03-08T12:14:00.000-07:00

Congratulations on the holidays!!

Today two holidays are being celebrated in Russia. One is so-called International Women's Day, a vestigial Soviet celebration of the female sex. Russians honor it by "congratulating" the women in their lives with chocolate and flowers.

It's also Purim. Well, technically, Purim starts tomorrow night, but today I went to a concert organized by the local Jewish Culture organization. There's a funny phenomenon I've seen at all Russian concerts (not that I've seen Dima Bilan or Alla Pugachova, but at these dinky ones): the song-to-speech ratio is at best 1:1. Politicians, organizers, veterans, they give these interminable speeches (they're no less boring when you understand what they're saying), then they call dozens of people on stage to present them with gifts and certificates. Sometimes they make jokes about how boring the speeches are, but that's as good as it gets. I guess there's no Russian equivalent for "Less talk, more rock!"

Actually, one interesting notion came out of the speeches. Whereas I alternate between considering myself a Jewish American and an American Jew, most of the practicing Jews I've met here barely consider themselves Russian at all. So even though today was actually Women's Day and not Purim, I wasn't "congratulating" anyone on the Russian holiday. But many of the speakers acknowledged it, and one finally illuminated the whole issue: what is Purim if not a celebration of a strong women?

The concert portion of the concert was equally cheesy. The worst part was a young man in a silver sharkskin suit singing and embarrassingly dancing to Hebrew songs. I thought he was making a complete caricature of himself, but the crowd loved it. His CDs sold like blini, and some old babushki even gave him the flowers they'd received for Women's Day. The best parts were, as always, the children. The local Hillel group put on an adorable Purimspiel, featuring the most beautiful local Jewesses. But the show was stolen by a 6- or 7-year old bespectacled red-headed boy who sang and danced in an otherwise all-girl ensemble. He had the confidence of star, unaware that he had the appearance of a nerd. He performed with such soul, I wish I knew Yiddish to describe it. Apparently I was not the only one so taken with him; when they introduced each performer, the audience went crazy. Later I saw him in the theater and said "Well done." He said thanks but didn't even smile, like a big shot.

Also, a discovery. In the States, we have two varieties of hamentashen (for my goyish readers, that's the delicious fruit-filled Purim treat). There's a cakey kind and a cookie kind. Well, in Russia they have a third variety: bready. It wasn't quite as tasty as I would've liked, and no Mom, they didn't have apricot ones, but it was still spiritually satisfying to eat the wicked Hamen's three-cornered hat. Sacrelicious.

Happy days, everyone. Congratulations on being/knowing wonderful women and chag sameach.

Osip: Epilogue

2009-03-04T07:00:00.000-08:00

After a magical day and a half, Osip found a new and permanent home. He moved in with my dear friend Aigul and her roommates. I'm very glad to have gotten him adopted by friends, so I can still visit him and watch him grow. Plus, they kept his name, which probably no one else would have done. I already miss him terribly, but I'm not trying to stay in Russia forever, nor do I care to deal with the red tape of exporting a pet. So, on to bigger and better beasts!

Osip

2009-03-03T07:37:00.000-08:00

Here he is, little Osip. Ain't he sweet?

eKATerinburg

2009-03-03T05:45:00.000-08:00

I don't know if this will ultimately prove good or bad, but today in my apartment building I FOUND A KITTEN! I came home after class and was trying to take my usual afternoon nap, but I couldn't fall asleep because of a mewling I heard in the hallway. Knowing how vulnerable I am to the lure of "stray cats," I tried to ignore it, but it didn't stop. Ultimately I gave in, opened my door, and found a tiny white and gray tabby M-head (pictures to follow). I picked it up and it purred in my arms. None of my neighbors claimed it, and they said it had been howling all night. So I brought it inside, fed it some chicken and milk, watched it pee on my bathroom rug and decided to keep it, at least for a little while.

My maternal instincts are surging. Hopefully I'll be able to find a home for it before June, but, also hopefully, no sooner. I ran downstairs and bought it some cat food and kitty litter. Don't yet know if it's a boy or a girl, so I can't yet choose a name. I do know, it's a good hunter, clever (already figured out the litter box) and "loves the love." It's purring and marching on my lap as we speak. It hasn't cried since I brought it in, except to get my attention for some affection. It follows me from room to room, unless enjoined in battle with a bottlecap, shoelace or one of the many enemy cats that live in the mirrors. It's also very clean and a good eater!

I finally did get my nap, but this time, instead of being interrupted by a screaming kitten in the hall, it was serenaded by purrs from a sleeping kitten on my cheap. Wish me "neither fluff nor feather!"

Be Our Guest

2009-02-25T03:15:00.001-08:00

I haven’t blogged in a while (A Weil?) but I have a perfectly valid excuse: I’ve been hosting three wonderful Petersburg imports. Liz, Anna and Lauren are all doing Fulbright research projects in Peter the Great’s “Window to the West,” and came down to check out the “Gateway to Siberia.” Of course I endeavored to show them a great time, but I was relieved to hear Lauren say she was surprised by how cool this city is. And Lauren knows from cool cities; besides Petersburg, she’s lived in Denver, CO and Portland, OR. So her approval means a lot.

While they were here, we did what any group of expatriated Americans would do in a foreign city: checked out the famous cultural sites and ate a ton of food. We saw the ballet Don Quixote, visited the photography museum and Romanov site and did lots of walking. We went to my favorite club 2KY and did lots of dancing. We made yummy meals (spaghetti bolognese, vegetable curry, roast chicken, eggplant parmigiana) and went to a restaurant that makes pies according to ancient Russian recipes (I tried rabbit!). Last night, Liz’s Bulgarian friend who lives here made us a traditional pork dish from his country. Delish! Also Lauren and I have been experimenting with the wide variety of fruity alcoholic drinks available in every Russian grocery store. So far, our favorites are Graper, which tastes like grapefruit juice, and Orange Funky Juz, which tastes like orange soda. For having such a high alcohol content, they’re very refreshing!

Two days ago was yet another enigmatic Russian holiday: Defenders of the Motherland. In Soviet times, this was Red Army day, but it’s morphed into a sort of soldier-appreciation day. Because the most popular of these memorial days is Women’s Day on the 8th of March, some people treat February 23rd as Men’s Day. So we congratulated all the men we met, either jokingly or seriously depending on their ages. On Friday there was a huge snowmobile show under the bridge in the city center. The number of people there was astonishing, and just as interesting as the show itself. In fact, there were so many people there, it took us quite a while to find a spot from which we could see the daredevils riding their snowmobiles off huge ramps and flipping in the air. With everyone craning to see, it felt like the 4 of July.

I guess that’s about it. The girls sat in on a couple of my classes, but you can read about that on Lauren’s blog (http://laurichka-samizdat.blogspot.com/). Now I’m alone again, naturally, and trying to figure out what the hell to do with all my free time. What a weird problem to have!

Baller

2009-02-15T07:27:00.000-08:00

A quick run-down of my weekend, then a special treat. On Friday night, a colleague invited me to see our city’s basketball team. She failed to mention that YMGK (that’s a complicated acronymn for something industrial) is a women’s team. Not to sound sexist, but it was still a very exciting game! Both our and the opposing team included as many black people as I’ve ever seen in Russia -- four on each side. When I inspected the ladies’ jerseys, I noticed they all had American-sounding names. I’d heard that American basketball players are sometimes lured to Russia by the promise of more rubles than they were making in dollars. I guess it applies to the WNBA too. The most surprising thing about the game was something I didn’t even notice at first -- the arena was dry! In Russia, they don’t sell alcohol at sporting events. Everything else was the same: big costumed mascots, skimpily-clad cheerleaders, silly halftime games, blaring Queen songs, it just wasn’t fueled by alcohol. Imagine, in a country where drinking is practically ubiquitous, it was absent from the one place where I considered it integral. Way to avoid sporting event-induced violence Russia!

Saturday I went to temple and got acquainted with the three new Chabadniks, Mushka, Chaia Mushka, and Batsheva. They are very sweet girls from Jerusalem and Tzfat. I brought them a gift, “Easy Russian for Travelers,” not knowing that gift-giving is forbidden on shabbos. The girls accepted it though, saying they’d consider it a loan until after shabbos. Whatever lets you sleep at night Chaia Mushka.

Today I went to give a speech at the university’s Open Door Day. Turns out we also have native German and French speakers. Who knew? I didn’t mind doing them this favor, even though I won’t be here next year and they severely cut my hours this semester, but I must say, I was expecting some refreshments. I mean, in the States, an event like that would have cookies and coffee, right? After that, I went over to the market to stock up for Wednesday, when some friends are coming in from Petersburg. Lauren is one of my dearest friends (you may remember her from the European adventure), and she’s coming with two other awesome Fulbrightnitsi, Anna and Liz. I can’t wait for their visit--guests give me an excuse to shirk my responsibilities and wild- (weil)-out. When I got home, my kitchen light was burned out. I replaced the lightbulb, but I guess the problem is more profound than that. I called my handy-man, but there was no answer. I should’ve tried some more avenues, but instead I fell asleep, and by the time I woke up, it was too dark for anyone to fix anything. Good thing I have a big window in the kitchen and a light in the refrigerator!

So, readers, you’ve been promised a treat. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m teaching creative writing this semester. The first assignment was to write a memoir, focusing on setting and using all five senses to add detail. In one of my groups, I had no volunteers to workshop this assignment, so I took the task on myself. Here, ladies and gentlemen, is my memoir. Enjoy!

Landlords and Ladies

When we moved into our house, it contained years of other people’s shit. Yes, yes, we had let our friends store their stuff there over the summer. But that only went so far to explain the abandoned bikes, medical encyclopedias and suitcases tagged with the names and addresses of students who had dropped out after our freshman year. Not to mention the inches of grime that decorated every surface in the house, letting us know that none of the former residents were very diligent about cleanliness. The dirt was so thick, I didn’t realize the sink was white, not gray, until I cleaned it. But that’s how college houses are--full of other people’s shit.

So, in those first few August days of our inhabitance, my housemates, Maida, Jessie, Ailey and I did the most thorough cleaning of our young lives. On our hands and knees, we vacuumed, swept, mopped and scrubbed for hours every day. In the waning summer days, we hauled box after box of unclaimed crap into the basement that reeked of mildew. Then, in the evening, we would drag our tired bodies onto the porch, the nicest part of our house. There, looking out onto the main street in this small town, we had placed the most disgusting couch we’d found in the house. There we sat, eating the last of the summer’s crop of watermelon, its sweet juices dripping down our still sweaty chins. There we watched the sun set, alighting the sky with every shade of red and purple, and when it was dark enough, we switched from drinking water to beer. As it got chillier, the autumn winds reminding us that school would soon be starting, we’d put on sweaters, bring out a stereo and dance until we warmed up. Those days--college without the classes--were some of the happiest I’ve known.

But there was a villain, because every story needs a villain. In this case, it was our landlord. Gary DiMauro was notorious at our college for renting houses to almost everybody who lived off-campus. Short, balding, rather resembling a Neanderthal, Gary did not own these houses. He owned a real estate business and was in effect a middle-man with a storefront. He made his living by charging students rent at an incredible profit, confident that their parents would never question the cost. He did very little to improve these houses or address the residents’ concerns. When we told him about the poison ivy growing all around the house, he replied, “Don’t worry, it’ll die at the first frost.” So why did we rent from him? Why would anyone? Because he’d put his name on every property in our quaint little town of Tivoli, and if you wanted to live there, you had to go through him. It was like getting a hot dog at a baseball game. Yes, they are ridiculously over-priced, but when you’re in the stadium, you have no other choice. So my friends and I, like hundreds before and after us, rented from Gary.

After a cold, dark, endless winter, the sun came out again. We had all survived the school-year, written our senior projects, taken our exams, in a word, graduated. It was June, and once more warmth filled our humble home. At the end of the year, the house was undoubtedly in the best condition it had been in years. Despite our many parties and house-guests, we’d always maintained an impressive level of tidiness. We’d made many improvements to the house, such as the compost heap we started in the backyard behind the mysterious, covered-up well. So we were in high spirits about moving out, confident that Gary couldn’t possibly find any damage. Damage, that is, that could inspire him to deduct money from our $500 deposits. Our last encounter with him would be a “walk-through,” when he would literally walk through our house and survey it for any problems.

The fated day came, after another bout of manic cleaning. The house that had once smelled of mildew and grime now had the pleasant odor of chemical lemon and pine. It glistened with evidence of our labor. Gary arrived, glanced at Ailey’s packing boxes and said, “Well, obviously, you’re not ready for a walk-through. Your stuff is still here. Don’t you know how to move? You hire a truck and put your things there.” We were flabbergasted. Did he honestly expect us to clean the house, move all our things out, then wait around for him to check our work? He almost walked out, but we convinced him to go ahead with the process. It was difficult for us, especially big-mouthed me, to contain our criticism and bitter comments. At one point he said, “Where’s all this hostility coming from all of a sudden?” Obviously, he didn’t know we’d been cursing his name since the day we moved in. Another time, he said, “I hope you all have sons of bitches for your next landlords, so you’ll know how good I’ve been.” Wise, even-keeled Jessie replied to this, “Why would you wish that upon us?” He may have been decades older, but we were more mature by far.

Despite our hours of cleaning, Gary was not satisfied with the condition of the house. According to him, when we’d signed the year lease, we’d come into permanent possession of everything the house contained. That meant that the bikes, the medical encyclopedias, the suitcases, it all belonged to us now, and unless we disposed of it, we would be charged for its eventual removal. How could this be? How could he threaten us this way, when all this junk had been there for years? Hadn’t he given previous residents the same speech, or had we somehow earned his particular wrath? These questions were moot--the point was we had to get rid of the crap, or we would have to pay.

Ailey and Jessie both had cars, so after Gary left, we began loading them up with garbage. In shifts, the girls drove to the dump with years of other people’s trash. As the sun set, we were exhausted. We prepared to install ourselves on the porch with beers and watermelon like we had all those months ago. That’s when we spotted them--two human-sized floor lamps standing innocently in the backyard. Somehow they had escaped our notice, and we’d be damned if we were going to make another trip to the dump. It was just Jessie and me, staring at those lamps as if in a show-down. Then it dawned on us--we didn’t have to get rid of them, we just had to put them where no one would ever look.

Slowly, carefully, we lifted the huge stone slab that covered the mysterious well. The stone was heavy, it took all our combined strength to lift it. Jessie and I looked into the abyss, and spit down there as a scientific trial. It was deep, deep and dark. Slowly, carefully, we lifted the lamps up to the well. We dropped the first one down, heard it fall but didn’t hear it land. There wasn’t even a splash. The well must have been even deeper than we imagined. Deep enough to hide the mutilated body of, say, a hateful landlord. We dropped the second one down. Again we heard the whoosh, loud at first, then growing softer until it disappeared entirely. For a few moments, the backyard was purely, deathly silent. Then, suddenly, it was filled with the sound of maniacal laughter, that of two girls who had outsmarted an evil genius.

We told no one, not even our housemates, who, being environmentalists, might not see the humor in our prank. It was the perfect crime, and no one would ever know. Until now.

February 14, 2009

Kitty's Back in Ekaterinburg

2009-02-10T02:36:00.000-08:00

So, after recovering from my vacation, I’m getting back in the proverbial swing of things here in Ekaterinburg. For a while I was rather depressed about being back here, but it turns out, like going to the dentist, the dread was the worst part. Once I got here, I realized how much I’d really missed my local friends and how Ekat does feel like home, if only for this year. The semester started on Monday and I was there, ready to make good on my New Years resolution. For the record, I made two resolutions: 1) to be more prepared for my classes and more assertive with the administration. 2) to read some Russian every day (I guess that’s not really relevant here). So I marched into the classroom to greet the third-year students, many of whom I’d met but none of whom I’d taught. The class is nominally “Practical Grammar,” but I hijacked that shit and turned it into “Introduction to Creative Writing.” I mean, grammar doesn’t get much more practical than that, right? Now, for the first time, I’m actually excited to teach. And it seems like the students are excited to learn, to read famous American/English writers, and to write! My hopes are high right now, but I won’t be totally surprised if the first assignment produces some internet print-out plagiarism...

I’ve also eased into this transition by having plenty of fun. Actually, at first, I was burnt-out on fun and preferred to stay home catching up on “The Sopranos.” Luckily, my solitary confinement didn’t last too long. I was pleasantly surprised to find how anxious I was to see all my friends. On one of my first days back, I went with a friend/student to a modern dance show. I liked it a lot more than I usually like modern dance, plus it was cool to check out the vestigial soviet Theater of the Young Spectator. I’ve already hit my favorite artsy bar and bought tickets to next week’s performance of the ballet Don Quixote. This weekend I’m going with a colleague and her family to my first Ekaterinburg basketball game. Let’s hope Lebron-less basketball can hold my attention.

Yesterday my friend and fellow Fulbrightnik David rolled through town with his buddy. They’re doing the Trans-Siberian (hardly) Express, and had only a 3-hour window in Ekaterinburg. In those three hours, I showed them the city center, we played in the soon-to-be-deconstructed ice city, walked on the frozen river, saw where the Romanovs were assassinated and ate in a Russian cafeteria. We had so much fun, they were lamenting not having more time here. For my part, I felt strangely proud showing off the city. After being in foreign cities, it’s nice to know my way around again.

This evening I have another class at the synagogue, which is always fun. What’s more, it looks like my beginners’ class will be an actual class, not just a private lesson, as it ended up being before. That means I’ll have to do more planning, but I resolve not to be so lazy. Tomorrow I’m free all day, so maybe I’ll stop by the university and try to firm up my schedule. Other than that, I’ll just enjoy my free time while it lasts. And I’ve still got plenty of “Sopranos” yet to watch...

Back in Black

2009-01-31T05:21:00.000-08:00

So I’m back in Ekaterinburg after the Grand Tour, and while it feels good to be “home,” I returned with extremely mixed feelings. Europe is so pleasant, friendly and easy, whereas Russia is generally pretty cold, both physically and emotionally. I came home to find my internet company has gone over and my apartment smells even worse than before. Of course, part of this melancholy might come from the fact that I was on vacation; I had no responsibilities except to have fun with my awesome friends. Anything is going to feel difficult after that. It was just such a harsh transition, returning to Russia and being immediately shoved on the subway and fined for not having our train tickets when exiting the station. Still, it’s nice to be in a place where I speak the official language, if with a heinous accent.

The conference in Moscow was fun, and improved by our childish antics. Highlights included: Lauren cutting the boys’ hair, dancing to 90s hits in a deserted club, watching Hedwig after singing the songs all over Berlin and spiking the mors (a sort of homemade cranberry juice) at the fancy Fulbright dinner. It was wonderful to see everyone, inspiring to hear what all my fellow Fulbrightniks are up to and exciting to steal all their ideas.

Oh yeah - I never wrote about the end of our time in Europe. On our last day in Prague, we met up with a friend of a friend of Jason’s, who gave us the most amazing historico-cultural tour of the city. Can you imagine living in such a touristy city and still being willing to entertain three foreign strangers? He taught us so much about the city and even gave us candy and Prague calendars. Later that day we met up with my friend Lenka who had been living in Ekaterinburg. Lucky for her, the task of explaining Prague was done, but she showed us even more cool stuff, like the senior show at the academy of art. On our last night there, we followed our hearts and split up. Jason went to the museum of Communism, Matt to read Kafka in a restaurant and I checked out the local puppet theater. They were performing their smash-hit production of Mozart’s Don Giovanni, an opera which, it turns out, he wrote for Prague. I loved the theater, show, concept (a drunken Mozart puppet conducted the “orchestra”), everything, so much, even if I nodded off a bit during the first act.

From there we took an incredibly disorganized and uncomfortable train ride to Vienna. We arrived at 6:30 a.m. with just enough time to glance around the city, regret not having more time there, and eat breakfast in the historic Cafe Central. This restaurant, one of Trotsky’s favorite haunts, was exquisitely beautiful and the food was good too! Then we hauled ass to the airport and flew back to Stepmother Russia.

So now I’m sitting in a free wifi food court, drinking a proper half-liter Russian beer and missing my travel partners terribly. I still have about two weeks before school starts again, which is good since I have some serious sleeping to do. Without internet at home I won’t be able to chat any time soon, but if you’re reading this, chances are you’ll be getting a postcard soon.

Much love from a most ambivalent Abbichka.

Pragnosis: Positive

2009-01-26T00:37:00.000-08:00

A quick note from the Czech Republic before we have to czech out of our hostel. Prague is the most beautiful city I have ever seen! Every building is at least lovely, many stunningly gorgeous with all kinds of funny architectural details (this trip makes me wish I knew more about architecture). In some ways this is the most touristy city we've visited. Everywhere we go, we're surrounded by tourists, and all the locals speak enough English for us to get by. And yet, I maintain that there is a real hometown Prague. We didn't necessarily find it in these three days, but I'd be open to living here for a year and testing out my hypothesis...

The boys and I (Olga and Lauren punked out after Berlin) all agreed on the first thing we wanted to see here in Prague: the Kafka Museum. It was a beautiful museum, but heavier on the mood/experience than factual information. Jason said it felt like it was curated by literary critics and installation artists. Having read very little Kafka, I had a huge emotional response to the museum. Jason, having read almost all of his work, was somewhat disappointed. Today we're going for the real experience: Kafka's grave and monument in the old Jewish quarter of town. That was the only museum we've visited. This is really a city for walking, taking in the beautiful sights, trying to make out the Czech language, eavesdropping on Russians and engaging them in conversation when we can. Tonight we're taking a midnight train to Vienna, so before that we'll try to see the puppet theater production of "Don Giovanni" and eat some more delicious Czech food.

This was a really good choice for our final destination, since it's a compromise between Europe and Russia. Czech is a Slavic language written in Latin letters; Prague is a tourist city, but a slightly sketchy Eastern European one. All in all, a perfeck trip.

Auf de kaka gehauen

2009-01-22T03:16:00.000-08:00

Guten tag faithful readers! I'm writing from beautiful, historic Berlin and classical music is playing in the hostel, so if this post seems more elegant than usual, that's why.

Berlin is awesome, yet so different from Amsterdam. There, we just biked around on every interesting, picturesque street. Here, on the other hand, the city is very spread out, we take the metro everywhere and after 3 days I still feel like I've barely seen anything. So far, my favorite thing about Berlin is seeing the on-going dialectic between the past and present. Everywhere you go, you see evidence of Prussia, Weimar, Third Reich and the GDR, all smashed up together but not exactly in conflict. Areas like Checkpoint Charlie and the death strip are now tourist attractions, and fragments of the Wall are now works of art decorating the city. On the whole, Berlin is incredibly balanced about its past: neither self-abnegating nor glorifying. I haven't been to many places in my life, but this seems like a rare quality.

So here are some highlights from this leg of the journey:
Watching Barack's inauguration over beers and nachos in an American-style diner.
An unbelievably thorough Paul Klee exhibit and a Jeff Koons exhibit that got us all asking the Big Questions about Art.
The East Side Gallery, the longest stretch of fragments of the Wall which artists were commissioned to decorate.
Humboldt University, where Hegel taught and Marx and Einstein both studied.
Markisches Museum, which was built to look like a church but serve as a museum, so that walking through the building is itself an artistic experience. They have incredible art and artifacts from pre-historic, ancient and modern German history, plus a cool exhibit about artificial lighting. There, too, the past and present peacefully coexist.

Outside the Markisches Museum is a tiny park that's home to two brown bears (Berlin loves bears!). Before going there, I asked a man, in my rudimentary but spirited German, where the bears were. He said they were sleeping and I found it very odd that this museum employee would know the bears' nap-schedule. Maybe two hours later, I remembered it was January and realized what he meant: the bears are hibernating. So I'll guess I'll have to come back to Europe in the spring to see Holland's tulips and Germany's bears.

Just one final note about how great our travelling company is. Everyone brings different skills and interests to the mix, and I think we bring out the best in each other. It's also strangely comforting being with other Americans who live in Russia. For one thing, that gives us much more street cred in Europe than just being from the states. But also, it's so funny to see how we've all been Russified, like how we all packed slippers and drink tea every time we come inside. Plus, we all break out, as Lauren said, "shit-eating grins" whenever we hear people speaking Russian on the street. This trip is making me see how very non-Western Russia still is, but I think I'll go back reinvigorated. But I sure will miss Europe's great variety of ethnic cuisine.

Well I guess I'll say auf wiedersehen. Just wanted everyone to know that we're taking care of each other and having quite a laugh. Ciao for now.

Delft Elf

2009-01-16T16:54:00.000-08:00

Well, here's what we've all been waiting for. Abbichka Special Edition: European Vacation. I am writing from our Amsterdam hostel, the Hotel Annemarie, right on Museumplein. What can I say except everything you've heard about Amsterdam is true, but that doesn't even explain half of what's great about this city. It is so incredibly beautiful at every time of day and every part of the city. It's so warm here that we've rented bikes and spent all our time rolling around on the canals and cobblestone streets. Lauren brouight portable speakers for our iPod, so we just ride around playing tunes for everybody. The bike culture is probably the coolest thing about this city - everywhere you go there's bike paths and clumps of biked chained to racks/pipes/eachother. Amsterdam's architecture makes it so clear that New York was first colonzezd by the Dutch; the streets look like Wes Anderson's Brooklyn while stately homes and gardens call to mind all those Hudson Valley homes. We've gone to great museums, especially the Rijksmuseum, which illustrates that the Dutch has always been fun-loving people. Tomorrow, we're going to the Van Gogh Museum. My favorite way the museums here are so different from Russia is that they're informative and well-organized. Imagine. And instead of shooing you out at right closing time, a little bell begins to ding, like the bike bells on the streets.

Here is, I think, the main difference between Russia and the Netherlands: Dutch people are happy, friendly and not suspicious! Public services here are so fair and reliable, we're in shock. To buy train tickets, we just had to give him the money (passport and exact amount not required), then the train was right there at the airport! And you know, on the train and tram, they never even asked for our tickets. Dutch people smile!

Here's how we know we've all been somewhat Russified: we all brought travel silppers; we drink tea every time we come inside, 4 degrees celcsius feels downright tropical. The only area where Russia has it up on Amsterdam is the all-night access to groceries, including large quantities of cheap beer. We all got normal bottles of beer here, only they felt so small after getting used to liter bottles of Bochkarev. Also, Amsterdam is of course super-liberal, but I realized they still rely heavily on euphemism. Want some weed? Go to a "offeehouse"(not a cafe or a bar, there's no smoking there). Prostitutes? They're in the "red light district." I'm also coming to appreciate what it means that English is an international language, and training myself to not to say I'm from America, but the States. But lemme tell you, it gets us much more streeet cred to say we've been living in Russia since Semptember.

So Weils (etc.), Abmans, Bliumins, Cieplies (that's the plural of Cieply), Nelsons and anyone else who may be reading this, we are safe, happy, healthy, well-fed, exhausted and turning out to be a great team. Tomorrow is Lauren's birthday and we're having a Russian blini party in the hostel. Oora!

Next week: from Berlin.

Double Petersburger: Seconds

2009-01-11T13:46:00.000-08:00

Before I forget all the glorious details, I want to write about The Magic Flute. Yet again, my overwhelming impression was that theater is much more alive and experimental in Russia than in the United States. If I saw Magic Flute at the Met, it would probably be a fairly traditional production. Here, however, it was somehow both modernized and timeless. The costumes of the principals were very simple: good guys in white linen, bad guys in black metal and leather. Chorus members looked like peasants and sat right next to us around the stage. Most beautiful were all the inventive Asian elements sprinkled throughout the opera like so many scallions on a bowl of peanut butter noodles. The dragon was a huge shaggy Chinese New Year beast, who, at the curtain call, was revealed to be two fourteen-year old kids. Garlands of leaves were strung throughout the performance hall, and the actors did moved all over the space. The Queen of the Night looked like the villainess from some 1980s cartoon, all purple and gray. She has the best aria, but Papageno was a better performer. He totally stole the show, and even gave us an autograph afterward. Did I mention the opera was translated into Russian? It would have been nice, if we hadn't been so excited to practice our burgeoning German study...

That night we went to a funny club called Zhopa, which means "ass." It was the kind of place I would have loved when I was 17. There were tons of teenagers making out and the music was mostly 1990s American pop. I had dancing for about an hour, but somehow managed to stay there til nearly 4 a.m. That's why I feel so gross today, but I'm engaging the germs in total war.

Well dear readers (especially Jason's and Matt's parents), this will probably be the last post for a couple weeks. We are heading to Amsterdam in a few days, thence to Berlin, Prague and one morning in Austria. I'll write from Moscow (with love), if not before. Wish us safe travels and we shan't disappoint.

One love.

Double Petersburger with Cheese

2009-01-11T05:23:00.000-08:00

Reporting live from St. Petersburg, where all is well, except that I’m trying to fight off a cold before we head out to the Continent. Matt, Jason and I took a fun, alcohol-fueled 35-hour train ride here from Ekaterinburg. We arrived Friday morning to the apartment of fellow Fulbrightnik Lauren. Presently our Russian-born, Cleveland-raised friend Olga came over to make the best blini of my life (it’s in her blood; she once taught me how to make them over the phone). Having sat for so long, we were far from tired, so we set right out. On the first day, we visited the precious little Nabokov museum. Housed in the tiny apartment where he grew up, it mostly contains photographs, personal effects, like his Scrabble board, and a considerable portion of his butterfly collection. Adorable. From there we visited the Medni Vsadnik, the great central monument to Peter I. In the surrounding park, I pet and fed apple slices to an oppressed but still beautiful baby bear.

Walking back to Lauren’s apartment, we went through a tourist trap alley where they sell souvenirs and bizarre experiences. For her upcoming birthday, I made one of Lauren’s dreams come true, and bought her a photo opportunity with a tiny monkey dressed in a baby’s snow suit. I even bargained with the monkey-keeper, and got a second monkey ½ price! Unfortunately, another “merchant” had a hawk, who tried to escape and whacked me upside the head. Karma? Then, feeling thoroughly disgusted, we ran into a friend of hers who was on his way to the Hermitage. Since students get in for free and we all have IDs from our universities, we decided, what the hell, let’s go to the world’s biggest art museum. It was hard keeping such a large group together, but no one got lost for good. The museum is unbelievable, impossible to take in completely, but always satisfying.

Saturday was amazing. We got a very late start, but eventually went out for a walk and got some surprisingly excellent cheeseburgers (free unlimited ketchup and fountain drinks!!). In the evening, we decided to class it up and head to the Mariinsky Theater where they were doing The Magic Flute. The boys and I have been practicing our German in anticipation for Berlin, so we were all over Die Zauberflote. Unfortunately, we didn’t realize that the production was at the Little Mariinsky and accidentally bought tickets to that night’s performance of Swan Lake. Bogus! After trying to scalp our tickets, Olga explained to the box office lady that we didn’t speak Russian, and managed to get us tickets to the right show. We triumphantly hauled ass down the street and made it in time for the opera. Here’s the best part: the little Mariinsky is a huge, yet intimate space with central seating, boxes and surrounding benches for a little theater-in-the-round. Since we got there so late, we got to sit around/on the stage!

Uh oh, I’m losing battery power…promise to write more toute de suite!

Ekaterinbourgeoise

2009-01-06T16:29:00.000-08:00

How much fun can three Americans have in Ekaterinburg in three days? So much that I can’t even imagine what we’ll get into in Petersburg, let alone Europe...

Fellow Fulbrightniks Jason and Matt arrived here on Sunday morning and we leave tomorrow night for our grand tour. While they’re here I’ve been trying to show them a good time in the capital of the Urals, and I think I’ve succeeded. On their first day here we ran around the city. I said some goodbyes, including to my dear Israeli friends who will go home before I get back here. My attachment to them grew so gradually I barely even noticed, but now I know I’ll really miss them. But, they said, they’ll wait for me in Israel. Last night the boys and I had a bunch of my friends over and taught them how to play the drinking game King’s Cup. It was quite possibly the first time the game has ever been played in Russia and in Russian (the kids here don’t need a game in order to drink large quantities of alcohol), but it was a big hit with everybody!

Today was an excellent day for Americans in Russia. We started by searching out cheeseburgers, and managed to find them, but the entire food court-style restaurant had no ketchup! This was especially upsetting, given all the unexpected foods Russians eat with ketchup. Then we walked to the Church-on-the-Blood, the site of the Romanov mass assassination. Tomorrow being Christmas according to the Gregorian calendar, we caught a beautiful church service and saw people carving amazing ice sculptures outside. From there we went to my favorite Beatles-themed Yellow Submarine bar where we fortified ourselves for the boys’ dream: walking on the frozen Iset river. Incidentally, we learned the word Iset is Tartar for “smelly dog.” After a stroll on the ice, which included writing “USA” in the snow, we went down to the local city of ice.

Most Russian cities do some kind of ice display around the holidays. Ekaterinburg being such a huge metropolis, ours is an entire city made out of ice, with sculptures, slides, a labyrinth and other attractions. Jason, Matt and I heard music from across the street so we went to check out the “dance party.” After a few runs on the ice slides, we noticed no one was really dancing to the blaring music. So we started our own dance floor, always trying but never succeeding to get others to join us. We got a lot of attention, and in fact a man in a giant piglet costume danced with us for a minute, but we couldn’t get the party started. One passerby, however, called us niformalni, which basically means “underground,” so that was cool. Taking his comment as a cue, we went to the nearby artsy club/bar, 2KY, where we danced to a live band and DJs. The boys lasted longer than me (maybe because they drank an alcoholic energy drink) and were happy to be in a club that wasn’t mainstream, even if we all complained about the hipsters just the same.

Tomorrow night we begin our 35-hour train ride to St. Petersburg. I’ll definitely try to write from there, because after that, I’m gone! See you on the dark side of the moon suckers!

Visualize, Actualize, Realize

2009-01-02T04:16:00.000-08:00

Last Year's Man

2009-01-02T04:01:00.000-08:00

Now that I’ve experienced New Years in Russia, I understand why they get so excited for it. This was seriously one of the most fun adventures I’ve had in my whole short life. I went with my friends Aigul and Katya to picturesque Kristal, a nearby village where Aigul’s mother lives. Every year, the whole family gathers there to eat, drink, play games and make merry. We arrived in the early afternoon, before most of the other guests. There was a lot of cooking going on, so we decided to go to the nearby banya.

An explanatory word before I go on: Aigul’s mom, Venira, lives in a modern apartment building, so don’t get the wrong idea. There are lots of little old wooden houses too, but Venira lives in an apartment complex near the tuberculosis hospital where she works.

So, the banya. This is a traditional Russian bathhouse/sauna, built out of wood and some metal for the stove. In the stove you boil lots of water and in the water place bushels of some kind of leaf (birch?) for a wonderful aroma. (Until last year, Venira’s apartment didn’t have hot water, so they did all their bathing in the banya.) I had never been in one, but I’d seen and heard a lot about them. When we arrived, Aigul’s uncle Leonard was carrying big buckets of water to the banya and urged us to go see if it was hot enough. We walked behind the apartments to where every tenant has their own banya and storage facility. Hot enough tt was, so we stripped down and jumped in. At first, it was awkward taking a naked schvitz with my student, more awkward still when she offered to give me the traditional beating with birch branches. But honestly, the experience was so relaxing and refreshing, it took about one second for me to lose my inhibitions. Anyway only Americans are embarrassed about being naked, Europeans don’t care. We came out feeling so warm and wonderful, the walk back to the house didn’t even seem cold.

The guests, in addition to us, included a bunch of aunts, uncles and cousins who I never quite got straight, especially as the Russian word for cousin is “second-born brother/sister,” so they often just call each other brothers and sisters. I fell in love with a three-year old hooliganka who was very shy with me at first, but by the end of our time there was yelling “Ebi! Chase me!” Venira also has two friendly orange cats who are mother and son, and who come and go as they please. We started eating at 8 at night and didn’t stop til, well, they’re probably still going. The menu was chicken, duck, assorted Russian salads (the best is called “herring under a fur coat”), cold cuts, cheeses, cabbage pie, home-made pizza and probably other things I’m forgetting. We drank wine and champagne, the men drank vodka. For dessert there was fruit, chocolates and my homemade oatmeal coconut chocolate chip cookies. As we ate, we played games like mad-libs and held lotteries for embarrassing improvisations. Venira dressed up like Grandfather Frost (the Russian Santa Clause character) and gave out gifts. 2009 is the year of the bull, so a lot of the gifts and games were cow-themed.

The TV was on in the background all night, but set to a music video channel, not the traditional New Years movie “The Irony of Life.” At midnight, President Medvedev congratulated us all on the holiday, although everyone assured me that Putin did it better. Instead of “Auld Lang Syne,” they play the Russian national anthem. We lit firecrackers at the dinner table, then went outside where we joined all the neighbors in shooting off fireworks. At the end of the night, Venira’s neighbor with whom I’d sat at dinner, pulled me aside and gave me a volume of Pushkin as a gift. At the time I didn’t understand why she was asking me if I had my own copies the Russian classics at home or only in the library, but I guess at some point in the evening she ran home and grabbed this book for me. What a sweet broad.

We went to sleep, three on a pull-out couch and maybe 7 in each room, drunk, full and happy. I awoke the next morning at noon to find all last night’s leftovers pulled out, plus some new dishes. The next two days proceeded as the first night - games, food, drink, songs. The family is from Bashkoristan so they sang a bunch of Bashkiri songs, and at one point Aigul even busted out the old accordion. Now I’m back home and though I’m enjoying the peace and quiet, part of me misses the noise, the children, the cats. Everyone urged me to come again, and those from elsewhere invited me to visit their towns. Which is good, since I left my gloves there...

2009: so far, so good.

It Was a Very Good Year

2008-12-28T09:43:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-21T06:57:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-15T07:00:00.000-08:00

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)

2008-12-14T04:58:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-09T09:37:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-02T09:37:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-30T09:13:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-27T00:01:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-25T07:41:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-25T02:02:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-20T10:06:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-14T09:28:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-11T08:00:00.000-08:00

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?

2008-11-08T08:00:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-06T09:34:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-05T21:57:00.000-08:00

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!

2008-10-31T11:21:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-30T08:06:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-29T08:16:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-28T09:54:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-10-28T08:36:00.000-07:00

Have Idea, have Ikea (also rhymes in Russian)

2008-10-27T04:10:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-23T02:22:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-20T03:21:00.000-07:00

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.

Grrr

2008-10-17T00:12:00.000-07:00

I came to school for my 8:30 class only to learn at 8:40 that it was cancelled. I could've gone home, but my 10:15 class was still on. Of course I couldn't get into any of the rooms I needed, like our department office or the computer lab, so I once again comandeered a computer in the international office. They're so kind to me, I've got to do more than buying them the cheapest chocolate cake I can find. Maybe this weekend I'll bake them some monkey cookies... I've also decided I'm spending altogether too much time with the first-year period students. I have them four times a week, which is four times as much as any other class. It's nothing personal, I like them a lot, but frankly I'm running out of information. Today I actually went into English teacher mode for the first time and taught them about 1st- 2nd- and 3rd person narrators. Even I was bored. Anyway it will all get better because my final class of the day is with a great group, and its one of the girl's birthday. Cake!

This evening I'm giving my first private English lesson to a woman who got my number from one of our professors. Fulbright limits the amount of private teaching we can do, but there's no restriction on dual language conversation, ie 1/2 hour of conversation in English, 1/2 in Russian. But it really all depends on whether or not this lady and I click. If she's coming to my house for English lessons, I'm pretty much obligated to keep myself stocked with cookies and candy. It's a hard life.

Ok dear readers, I'm getting sick of being stared at by the students who are in the computer lab for legitimate reasons. That means I'm signing out.

Kiss noises!

PS--My friend Lauren says Amy Sedaris is getting her own sitcom. Anyone have any details about this?

PPS--In response to Dave Bellard's question: there is photo-publishing technology, but I can't figure it out. All my pictures are on Facebook, but I've yet to upload any from Ekat. If you want to know what my apartment looks like, just picture your grandmother's house in the 70's.

Rock Rock Rock n Roll Pedagogical Institute

2008-10-16T01:52:00.000-07:00

Hey friends (my but that feels nicer than “Dear Diary”). It’s the middle of October, it’s snowing, I’ve been here about a month and a half and am feeling groovy. Today I gave my lecture at the American Center on the history of Rock n Roll. From my notes I didn’t think I’d be able to fill up the two-hour time slot, but actually I ran out of time before I even got through the eighties! Still, I managed to end my presentation with Josh Goldberg/Double Murder Suicide’s “Ballad of Eddie Guerrero” and the message that in the 21st century, everyone has the power to be a rock star. My Mac-version PowerPoint didn’t work, so it was a good thing I remembered to put JPEGs of the musicians on my flash (please note: that is the most technologically sophisticated sentence I’ve ever written). The turn-out was amazing; a ton of my students came, plus a dozen or so people I didn’t know, including a local journalist. The American Center staff asked me for next time to warn them how many people would come, because tonight they barely had enough chairs. I think everyone really enjoyed it, hopefully as much as I did. When the lecture was over, an older gentleman came up to me and gave me a CD of his son’s band, Dead Alice. It doesn’t look like my cup of chai, but I’ve never been a girl to turn down a free CD. Plus it came with a bonus pin! Also one of my students gave me a flash drive full of music, including a really good Russian indie band that’s playing here this weekend. I feel like Don Quixote, getting ready to go out on his first sally. Let’s hope mine doesn’t end with a drubbing!

In other news, I paid my second month’s rent. I had agreed to meet with my landlords sometime tonight after seven, so I figured they would call me then. Inopportunely, I forgot my cellphone at home today, so when I came home a little after seven-thirty, my houseguest Katie was outside the door waiting. My landlords had come and gone, leaving a huge bag of garden-fresh produce for me. They were very understanding when I called them, came back and were politely bemused when I didn’t understand the extra money they wanted. “It’s your money,” they kept saying, “for our safety.” Eventually I realized it was a security deposit and paid it happily. When they left, having met Katie, they asked if there would be another ETA here next year who might want this apartment. How’s that for a show of confidence? I can’t overemphasize the rarity in Russia, or anywhere for that matter, of such respectful, helpful, kind-hearted landlords, and what a difference it makes.

Tomorrow I don’t have class until the late afternoon. I have a second class in the evening, but thinking I was going to the ballet, I got a real teacher to substitute. Now it turns out the ballet was sold-out, so I think I’d better show up to class because I might get tickets for another Thursday. I’ve already made a bad impression on this teacher by not being where I was expected. Which is worse, to be flip-flopper or a total flake? I just hope I didn’t lie and tell her I already had the tickets... I guess we’ll never know.

Back on the Blog

2008-10-13T02:50:00.000-07:00

Hey gang. Today I went to the internet connection office and they were all set to install in my apartment until they realized I'm not a Russian citizen. I have to go back tomorrow with somebody who has a Russian passport (the cute Russian boy in line behind me wasn't allowed to help) and then, with our powers combined, I should get internet at home. Don't stop believing!

10.7

Today was a roller coaster, which in Russia is called “American mountains.” Not that it was particularly exciting, but just full of ups and downs. Tuesday is my easiest day at the Ped. Institute; only one class with at most three students. After that, I came home, had some lunch and headed downtown to the cafe that usually has free wireless internet. I was anxious to read birthday emails, but to my dismay, the internet wasn’t working. And that after I bought a bottle of water for 45 rubles! The nerve! So I schlepped my laptop over to a real internet cafe (to be clear, there’s real internet, but no cafe). They don’t have wireless there, so I had to pay another 100 rubles for about an hour’s worth of internet. I was trying to get my fix of New Yorker articles, plus pictures of musicians for my upcoming lecture on rock music. Unfortunately, I wasted both time and flash drive memory loading Google Image pages that now won’t open. On the plus side, the happy birthday e-mails were all-you-can-eat.

From the internet cafe I walked to the synagogue, and even figured out some new shortcuts. It was the first night of my English language club, and we had over a dozen participants! They were of varying ages and levels, which is a challenge unto itself, but everybody was energetic and attentive. My preparation consisted of bringing postcards of Cleveland and photos of my family, so I had everyone talk in groups about their lives, families, and pets until I heard it dissolve into Russian. Then I asked them to name their favorite English and American authors, and you wouldn’t believe the people they mentioned! We’re talking J.D. Salinger, Tennessee Williams, Graham Greene, Kurt Vonnegut! It blew my mind. For next class, I’ll have to do some actual planning. Luckily, the people at the synagogue are extremely accommodating, and they even have internet! Too bad the Ped. Institute isn’t run by Jews.

After class, Katya, one of the younger participants asked what I was doing. I had planned on just talking the metro home and having dinner, but she insisted on giving me a ride, introducing me to her English-speaking friends and showing me around the city. We went to a cafe (ironically the same chain where I had gone for WiFi, but in a different location), where her friends were going with their English class. We were standing in line to order shwarma when her friends came in, attended by a group of Texas missionaries. I was introduced to Rodney from Dallas, who had no idea that when he first entered the cafe, I thought he was just another Russian drunk. Anyway, Katya is very sweet. She even treated me to the shwarma and when I thanked her, she said, “No, thank you for the class!” What a mensch. So now I’m home, full of Coke, shwarma and love for Ekaterinburg’s English-speaking Jewish community.

Tomorrow is Yom Kippur, and though I’m not going to fast, I will tally up my sins. I’ll start with the most recent and work backwards. Sorry for prejudging you, Rodney from Dallas!

10.9

It’s a rainy Seattle night in Ekaterinburg. Also, as Lewis Black said, “It’s Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year, and I am FUCKED!” I knew I wouldn’t fast, so I didn’t go to temple either, for fear of being hypocritical. In fact, this morning I woke up just as services were beginning and thought, “Woo hoo, don’t have to go.” Way to atone. Instead, I went to the Marc’s-type discount grocery store and stocked up on yogurt and generic honey flake cereal. They also have fresh (non-frozen) meat there, amazingly. Sorry Hashem!

I went in to school around 2 to meet with Vino, the resident American English Language Fellow. She wanted to plan some Halloween festivities, but we also both needed to get photos done for our new visas. (Actually, I had some extra passport pictures done in Ukraine, but somehow I lost them. My frustration over this fact even crept into last night’s dream.) We talked about doing Halloween and Thanksgiving programs as we walked to the photographer. Vino doesn’t speak Russian, and it gives me a great feeling of confidence to translate for someone. We got back to school just in time for me to print some documents and head to class.

So I’ve been doing a little poetry with my classes lately. I started with Langston Hughes’ “Harlem (A Dream Deferred)” and William Carlos Williams’ “Red Wheelbarrow.” Recently, though, I found a beautiful poem about racism called “The Incident” by Countee Cullen. I started using this poem because it’s about a white boy calling a black boy “nigger,” and since this is the normal Russian word for a black person, I wanted my students to know not to use it in the U.S. Most of them have liked this poem and had nice egalitarian things to say about it. Today, though, I gave it to the third-year PR students and was shocked by their response. After analyzing the poem, they said that it was irrelevant to their lives because racism does not exist in Russia. Probably I was too aggressive, but I told them that I’ve seen so much discrimination against foreigners, mostly people from former Soviet republics. Hostile treatment of Azerbaijanis and Tadjikistanis, I said, was no different from discriminating against blacks. The students became extremely defensive, most of them insisting that these foreigners come to Russia illegally and sell drugs. It got very uncomfortable very fast. I tried to break the tension by revealing that I’m Jewish, but it didn’t really work. Eventually, one of the students appeased me with some anti-racist platitudes, and we moved on. They much preferred “Dream Deferred” (hey that rhymed!) and one girl even connected it to race relations at the end. I was still feeling shaken by what had gone down, but as we were leaving, a student asked how long I would be there, and when I said all year, she smiled and clapped. Phew!

After that I had class with 4th-year English students. I walked in and saw one of my favorite groups, which was strange because I’m only supposed to have them twice a month. They also said they were surprised by my being there, but we got started anyway. About ten minutes into the class, their real teacher walked in and said a different group was waiting for me downstairs. Whoops! And just when I was starting to feel comfortable in this school. But that was just hubris, overweening pride. Still though, it’s just as important that they’re getting used to me.

10.12

It was a great weekend, the best I’ve had in a long time. It began Friday evening with a much-appreciated phone call from my friend David, who’s ETA-ing in Vladivostock. We had a great talk about our shockingly similar experiences. Like me, he is adjusting to living alone for the first time, and strongly missing his friends and family. But on that topic, he imparted a piece of wisdom from Balzac or Rousseau or some such frog: “The man who gives himself to loneliness, oh yes, he will soon be lonely.” I realized that I’ve spent more time lamenting my solitude than doing anything to change it. When we finally hung up, I was on the brink of grateful tears. He’ll never know how much that phone call meant to me.

Saturday I went to temple, and felt wonderful sitting surrounded by friendly and familiar faces. After services, the Israeli girls asked me to have lunch, but apparently the rabbi’s wife had sent the same request, and she won. Feeling like the prettiest girl at the dance, I promised Chaia, Mushka and Chanali that I would surely join them next week. We also made plans for Sunday, but more on that in a minute. So, my friend Sveta and I walked to the rabbi’s house, and she explained her philosophy of shabbos. It’s not correct, she said, to think of it as a day of not working. Rather, it’s a holy day, and you honor it by not doing what you usually do. In her convincing opinion, this is more liberating than conceiving of shabbos a list of prohibited actions. I asked her why, when you don’t use machines, it’s ok to use running water. At just that moment, we ran into the rabbi, who took the question. I couldn’t quite understand his explanation, but I think it has something to do with processes that are already going on for everyone. That is, the water is running whether I turn on the faucet or not. That’s fine, but it reminds me of what my Bubbe used to say, “They make it up as they go along.”

How’s that for gratitude? Here this man and his wife welcome me into their home, and I mock their beliefs. Nice, Abbie, real nice. Anyway they know that I’m not religious, I mean, I don’t know the prayers or anything. But they know how much it means to me to feel part of a Jewish family. The food was even better than last time, and I felt comfortable and confident enough to join in the conversation. By the time I left, it was snowing heavily. A student, Yulia had asked me to meet her in the city center for an evening walk, but I was dressed for a morning temple service, so I went back home. Feeling discouraged by the weather, I called her to see if we were still on. She was game, so remembering the advice from Balsack or whomsomever, I put on warmer clothes and headed back to 1905 Square.

Now, a confession: when Yulia first called, I wasn’t sure who she was. Her name hadn’t registered, and anyway there are Yulias aplenty. But when she came out of the subway, I recognized her smile immediately. Another confession: she’s one of my favorite students. She had brought Margarita, a psychology student whom she tutors in English. In bad weather, Russians still go for a walk, but only as far as the nearest cafe. In this case, it was Mamma’s Biscuit House. The girls told me about their Buddhist aspirations, meditative drawing classes and New Years plans of taking a train to seek out shamans. Writing it out makes them sound like New Age hippies, but really they’re so spirited, fun and smart. After they ate and I, still full from lunch at Marina’s, drank, we fancied a change of location, so I invited them back to my place for a drink. We shared cheese and crackers, wine and all our thoughts on international relations. Yulia said she’d never met an American that she really wanted to befriend, but in me she sensed a kindred spirit. She went on to say that I made her realize that the Cold War is fought between Moscow and D.C., but Russians and Americans can still be friends. I told her that’s exactly what I wrote my Fulbright application about and, though I didn’t want to come off as needy, this was the first night I felt like I had real friends. Her birthday is coming up, and I volunteered to make any kind of cake she likes. When she asked if I could make a Pavlova, we both knew that it was fate for us to meet.

Today, Sunday, I planned to go with my friend Nona, plus Chaia, Mushka and Chanali, to the Ekaterinburg museum of art. We walked there from the synagogue along the river, passing an excellent monument to computers: the PC keyboard hewn in stone. The museum was great, and featured amazing exhibits of metal-smithing and Urals stone decorative art. I recognized busts of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, plus mini-sculptures of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. Unfortunately, I enjoyed the museum much more than the Israeli girls. They were not at all interested in the iconography, which is my favorite, and further discouraged by not understanding the Russian placards on the rest of the works. I tried to help them feel engaged by explaining the historical predominance of religious art in Russia, but on the way back they confessed that art doesn’t much interest them anyway. Still, they were happy to go somewhere besides work. And I was happy to see all that beautiful Christian art!

In the evening, I did my favorite thing in the world: cooked a ton of food and shared it with friends. Last year’s ETA Katie is visiting, and since we got acquainted in Kiev, I invited her to stay with me. I also asked Yulia and Margarita to dinner, since they wanted to show me the Russian-dubbed version of the South Park movie. I made vegetable soup, chicken pilaf, Israeli salad and my grandmother’s garlicky eggplant. The girls brought the most delicious tea and chocolate-covered marshmallow-type treats, which I served along with some gingerbread. The DVD didn’t work, but I was just as happy just to talk and goof off. It’s really nice having Katie here, since she spent all of last year in my position and then signed up for a second hitch in Belgorod. She’s on the couch passed out now, and I’m in my bed, about to do the same. Let’s just hope that while she’s here I get back in the habit of closing the door to the bathroom.

It's alive! Aliiiiiiiiiiiiive!

2008-10-10T00:21:00.000-07:00

Good news fans! The school computer lab is open and has a surprisingly fast internet connection! Of course, there's no macs here, so I can't easily upload old blog entries, but I takes what I can gets. Right now I'm sitting here in the middle of a class, a privelege afforded "teachers" like me. So I still don't have internet at home, but at least I have it at work. Just realized the kids all have little plastic slippers over their shoes. Whoops.
More good news: I'm really enjoying my Soviet comedy classics, even if I can't understand every word. I watched one called "Be My Husband," where a woman needed a man to pose as her husband for some reason connected with renting an apartment. Guess what ended up happening. It was really cute. Another great one was "Afonya," about a plumber who lives and loves by his own rules. If this movie had been made in America, it would have starred Jack Nicholson.
Ok my loves. Gotta get ready for class. Keep on keepin' on.

Whoops

2008-10-07T03:37:00.000-07:00

Posted that one a couple times didn't I? Sorry. Just more reading pleasure!

Filling in the (Jerri) Blanks

2008-10-07T02:49:00.000-07:00

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.

Filling in Some (Jerri) Blanks

2008-10-07T02:40:00.000-07:00

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.

Highlights

2008-10-04T23:33:00.000-07:00

Hey faithful followers! As usual, I have a stock-pile of back-dated posts, but I can't upload them here. Oh well. Here are the highlights:
Temple yesterday: a multi-lingual lunch with five girls in three different languages, Russian, Hebrew and English. Turns out, Jewish humor is international. So is the food. BTW, Halle, you're right, these girls are Lubbovitcher all the way.
Teachers' Day: A Russian holiday when students giv their teachers presents. That's what I'm talkin' about. I got a coffee mug, candle and a box of chocolates. And I'm not even a real teacher!
Third-year English students: capable, enthusiastic and energetic. When I asked them about a Russian fairy tale they had referenced, they all got up and acted it out. In this group is the sweet girl who took me to the photography museum and was mortified to learn I had already been there when she never has. She and her dad are also helping me get internet in my house.
Doberman: I met today on the street, a fat bitch (come on, it's a dog!) named Danna. Dannichka!
The New Yorker online: I can save articles right to my flash drive!
Pirated DVDs: Fifteen Soviet comedy classics on one disc!
Birthday: Tomorrow. Cake and "Mamma Mia." Anything's funny dubbed into Russian.
Ok my friends that's it for now. Shana tova and an easy fast to my Jewish friends. To my gentile friends (do I have any?) I say, when the Messiah comes, we'll know who was right; there's a fifty-percent chance either way.
Peace and love