Monday, December 1, 2008
im an old broad
for my birthday sveta got me a kiwi gelatin cake and a bunch of yellow roses. they sang happy birthday in russian. i never really thought of how silly it is until they sang it in russian and vodik didnt really get it and he sang a solo that was kind of him just saying the same thing without breathing or smiling or taking his eyes off me. then he set the kitchen table cloth on fire.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
cheating at this again
here i go again ripping off my own writing. i started writing in the hotel because i was exhausted and the light was so yellowy and i was so robbed of sleep that i looked at the silvery styrofoam balls hanging from the ceiling and the parade of obnoxious fakey folk costumed russians and this obnoxious comedy sized balalaika and i felt like maybe i had slept in a closet standing up or something and i kind of wondered if i'd ingested something. yellow lights will make you crazy. we had a pretty long night and i sang so loud the same chorus and then i woke and wandered back to where i belonged and we rushed downtown and were the first in line to see Lenin's dead body. Like disneyland or something. i also started writing to legitimize myself. i was holding all of my stuff in my hands and sleeping in a large leather chair. i wouldn't trust me if i saw me. im pretty sure i was sleeping with my face nestled in my own neck.
im not thatthat obsessed with the space dogs (theres a movie called that and i dont mean the movie) and im not really even into Japanther but i mean they're both kind of interesting. especially when they're in russia.
its this place, cosmos hotel, and its right across from the space museum which is, of course, sucks because , of course, I can't see the cosmosabaki like I wanted and there's a vitamin conference and everyone is wearing black pleather heel boots and drinking protein shakes and it smells like hard boiled eggs. and i hate hard boiled eggs.
oh and its also a casino. the hotel i mean. lights and jackpot noise and everytime my eyelids get too heavy that same guy is still at that same machine and he just doesnt have a soul anymore. and olympic swimmers are here and they keep sitting next to me and keep talking about buying houses and doing commercials. maybe one of them will maybe marry me. the funnest lot are the japanese and their trainer has a white board on his room that says Japantrainer but of course i read it Japanther and got overly excited and tried to peek in and succeeded eventually and wished i hadn't and felt uncomfortable.
oh and there's a hanging circles sculpture of the solar system sort of in blue and purple styrofoam balls the size of tractor wheels and everything is bathed in this sickly yellow light and my face hurts.
i can officially sleep anywhere. today: face up one boot on my suitcase one dangling kind of off the chair face up and surrounded by 13 year old russian girls singing and my purse in my armpit.
and i still love you. and by you i mean moscow.
oh and i just found a really heavy silver bobbypin in my hair and i just dont know where it came from. russia's getting confusing.
im not thatthat obsessed with the space dogs (theres a movie called that and i dont mean the movie) and im not really even into Japanther but i mean they're both kind of interesting. especially when they're in russia.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
reading disorder
i think i maybe liked moscow a tad bit better than st.petes even though that girl suggested that i shove my train ticket down my shirt so no one would steal it. yeah, a tad bit better. now that the sun isnt showing up things are more monotonous and im only going to halfway halfass this post. because its pretty much a message that i sent to bradley after reading his bradley oliver blog and he likes it and his taste level is pretty refined so ima spit it out again.
i really wanted to see the cosmonaut sabaki Belka and Strelka real real bad and who would have thought that the cosmos hotel is directly adjacent to the cosmonaut museum. there's a rather beautiful sculpture of a rocket launching against the sky and when the sunset the light hit it right and it glistened. and then the moon came out and the cosmos hotel lit up. like they have flashing lights all over it. i was a little scared the show might keep me up or give me horrid nightmares or the other kinds of bad things that happen with flashing lights. none of that happened. i slept like a baby. although the carpet in all the other floors was space themed and i believe the furniture was metallic. ours wasn't. some vomity color carpet i believe and the furniture looked like it was bought at a yard sale. and the door shocked us every time we opened it.
i also just looked up the cosmonaut sabaki and figured i would share about about animals in space that i looked at. a monkey was the first animal in space. i mean they sent up fruitflies, but i just dont think that counts. The first was Albert the second and he died on impact. Besides dogs the USSR sent up mice, guinea pigs and frogs. And then they decided to send a tortoise in orbit around the moon. The french sent a rat and then two cats, one of which died. And thats my bookreport on animalsinspace. I dunno, i kind of think its interesting about these animals in space and "first spiderweb in space" and things. one night my fake dad talked about the theory that america never went to the moon. and then he said something awkward about black people. like most dinners.
we were staying at this really gross {nice but super trashy} hotel called cosmos that had all these flashing lights and was next to the cosmonaut musuem featuring the stuffed deceased cosmonaut dogs {which was of course closed for renovation like everthing else in russia of course}. but anyway a large group of international olympic swimmers was also staying there and we were looking for our coordinator irina and we passed a room with a handwritten sign in english and japanese and i read it too fast and read "Japanther" and was all at once confused and excited and passed by the room several times very slyly trying to take a peek until i finally spied inside a japanese man lying naked face down on his bed and then another japanese man in jockey underwear and i think the one was giving the other a massage because it makes the most sense realised "Japanther" actually read "Japanesetrainer." they both made eye contact with me but nothing happened. the end.
i really wanted to see the cosmonaut sabaki Belka and Strelka real real bad and who would have thought that the cosmos hotel is directly adjacent to the cosmonaut museum. there's a rather beautiful sculpture of a rocket launching against the sky and when the sunset the light hit it right and it glistened. and then the moon came out and the cosmos hotel lit up. like they have flashing lights all over it. i was a little scared the show might keep me up or give me horrid nightmares or the other kinds of bad things that happen with flashing lights. none of that happened. i slept like a baby. although the carpet in all the other floors was space themed and i believe the furniture was metallic. ours wasn't. some vomity color carpet i believe and the furniture looked like it was bought at a yard sale. and the door shocked us every time we opened it.
i also just looked up the cosmonaut sabaki and figured i would share about about animals in space that i looked at. a monkey was the first animal in space. i mean they sent up fruitflies, but i just dont think that counts. The first was Albert the second and he died on impact. Besides dogs the USSR sent up mice, guinea pigs and frogs. And then they decided to send a tortoise in orbit around the moon. The french sent a rat and then two cats, one of which died. And thats my bookreport on animalsinspace. I dunno, i kind of think its interesting about these animals in space and "first spiderweb in space" and things. one night my fake dad talked about the theory that america never went to the moon. and then he said something awkward about black people. like most dinners.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
so this is winter
ive been slacking. for alongtimenow. its because sometimes my ears feel like they're burning from the drum out and sometimes i forget that i have toes and the wind is all made of snow and they sprinkle sand on the park paths instead of salt and you cant tell that there were once stairs their until you sink in the better half of your leg and the first time i tried out my snowleggs i fell some 5 times. once i deserved for getting overly excited, twice was a freak fall {whenever i fall its usually really cartoonish; like i feel myself in the air for a split second and all my limbs everywhere and i have time to say oh brother or something like that in my head}, the third some fat dude laid me out, the forth some babushka chewed me out and the fifth some dog kissed my wounds and then promptly pissed on the ground next to me (next to me mind you, he was a way polite stray). and this is all a pretty big excuse.
my fake family has been sometimes forgetting to feed me and i cant tell if its a statement or a suggestion or if they just want to teach me what is a russian winter. like all the lights are off in the house and im thinking they'll come to my room and roll in a potato and i'll have to fight the cat for a raw potato dinner. its not that that bad but im awful grumpy when i havent been eating and then i move onto delusional and everything to me gets funny and thats just a bad idea in russia. some dude made eyes at me because i was giggling and you know what happens when some dudes make eyes at you. we went to this russian walmarty thing called OKAY. walmart back home gives me anxiety and so did this one but they have free samples of booze which is interesting but which i didnt partake in. i did, however, get some really great bargains. but i did, however, feel extremely dirty afterwards.
i was thinking about trying to write about moscow and some of the past weeks and budapest but we'll see what happens.
my fake family has been sometimes forgetting to feed me and i cant tell if its a statement or a suggestion or if they just want to teach me what is a russian winter. like all the lights are off in the house and im thinking they'll come to my room and roll in a potato and i'll have to fight the cat for a raw potato dinner. its not that that bad but im awful grumpy when i havent been eating and then i move onto delusional and everything to me gets funny and thats just a bad idea in russia. some dude made eyes at me because i was giggling and you know what happens when some dudes make eyes at you. we went to this russian walmarty thing called OKAY. walmart back home gives me anxiety and so did this one but they have free samples of booze which is interesting but which i didnt partake in. i did, however, get some really great bargains. but i did, however, feel extremely dirty afterwards.
i was thinking about trying to write about moscow and some of the past weeks and budapest but we'll see what happens.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
the end of an era
i almost lost my fingers today trying to eat ice cream.
goodbye to the sweetest taste of russia i suppose. but hello snows.
goodbye to the sweetest taste of russia i suppose. but hello snows.
ruining sixteen year olds dreams of course
i left my hungry hostel house at 4 a.m. with my stupidbulkybag. and hungary is so well kept but all of the train stations are in primary colors and all the titles have too many j's and ii's and when primaries are lit that way like super market lighting and you dont sleep everybody feels a little bit drugged. maybe thats why they're so harmlessly sweet. we did go to a nightclub that was basically a highschool gym. and it was like a highschool dance. the bad kids were smoking in the back, akward boy and girl clumps, bad music only they were serving cheap beer in plastic cups. when i left the bathroom i saw a hungarian tripping examining the wall. i ought to go to hungary more if only for the airlines. only 2 hours long and a full vegetarian meal and they gave the vegetarian meal chocolate and 2 drink services and when was the last time you saw a matching barfbag and charted your flight the whole way and spoke in three different languages and not one bitter flight attendant and if you stay one saturday (no, i wasnt in on that but i ought to let you know) its 99 euros round trip which really isnt bad.
im in moscow by two with everything in my hands and i didnt buy a ticket because the online ticketer wants to charge you 96 euros for moscow to st. p. no thank you i will attempt to speak in broken russian. i talked to some girl in a beehive that was no help. and then to another one who also had a bee hive but was a help. they'll never smile at you but its the tone of their voice. but theres not a chair in that train station. and i witness the gay mafia in kofe haus. they combed eachothers beards and wiped eachothers chins and drank fancy coffees and cakes and smoked long cigarettes and a couple held hands and i was there for 6 and a half hours and so were they. and then im back at the station and im getting nervous because something seems off. and i switch platforms and dodge some leather jackets and then im in some strange backway with a broken train car and some old lady's selling a ton of plastic bags that say "MGM Grand" and another leather jacket is following way to close and im paranoid and loose him under a sidewalk underpass.
two girls help me realize that im at the wrong station and they tell me to tuck away my ticket and they say maybe i even want to shove it down into my shirt, you know, people here are different. and she takes me all the way to the new train station although we stop along the way to help a babushka carry some chairs which was her idea and she says she just thinks how she'd feel if she needed help. and then she negotiates with a security guard and he looks at me funny and i just dont know which kind of cop he is yet but he's straight, he shows me when he kicks some creep creeping up on my shoulder while the creep is "sleeping" and tells him he can sleep when he's dead so move on. best cop ive known in russia.
the ticket was all of 20 USDs. random selection open sleeping car and it leaves at 2 am. 12 hours for a train waiting in moscow. and i get to my car. girls in russia wear heels and spot on makeup and hair and proper manners and cross their legs. and i help a kid unfold the top bunk held up by utility chains and he says thanks and then looks and realizes im a girl. and they all do and they're wide eyed. and one's got an earring and one's listening to rap and ones reading lord of the rings. they're all probably 15 maybe 14. and im ruining all their wonderful ideas about girls. i am going to wear these clothes to sleep and wear them in the morning and i am wearing tights where you can see my dirty toes. and i am paranoid enough to sleep with my shoes underneath the bundle of my coat under my pillow and with my purse still looped around my shoulder and clutching my passport just incase the guards come to check again. and my hair is still wet from the hungarian bath the night before and i do sleep in a crumpled ball against the window against my pillow.
im in moscow by two with everything in my hands and i didnt buy a ticket because the online ticketer wants to charge you 96 euros for moscow to st. p. no thank you i will attempt to speak in broken russian. i talked to some girl in a beehive that was no help. and then to another one who also had a bee hive but was a help. they'll never smile at you but its the tone of their voice. but theres not a chair in that train station. and i witness the gay mafia in kofe haus. they combed eachothers beards and wiped eachothers chins and drank fancy coffees and cakes and smoked long cigarettes and a couple held hands and i was there for 6 and a half hours and so were they. and then im back at the station and im getting nervous because something seems off. and i switch platforms and dodge some leather jackets and then im in some strange backway with a broken train car and some old lady's selling a ton of plastic bags that say "MGM Grand" and another leather jacket is following way to close and im paranoid and loose him under a sidewalk underpass.
two girls help me realize that im at the wrong station and they tell me to tuck away my ticket and they say maybe i even want to shove it down into my shirt, you know, people here are different. and she takes me all the way to the new train station although we stop along the way to help a babushka carry some chairs which was her idea and she says she just thinks how she'd feel if she needed help. and then she negotiates with a security guard and he looks at me funny and i just dont know which kind of cop he is yet but he's straight, he shows me when he kicks some creep creeping up on my shoulder while the creep is "sleeping" and tells him he can sleep when he's dead so move on. best cop ive known in russia.
the ticket was all of 20 USDs. random selection open sleeping car and it leaves at 2 am. 12 hours for a train waiting in moscow. and i get to my car. girls in russia wear heels and spot on makeup and hair and proper manners and cross their legs. and i help a kid unfold the top bunk held up by utility chains and he says thanks and then looks and realizes im a girl. and they all do and they're wide eyed. and one's got an earring and one's listening to rap and ones reading lord of the rings. they're all probably 15 maybe 14. and im ruining all their wonderful ideas about girls. i am going to wear these clothes to sleep and wear them in the morning and i am wearing tights where you can see my dirty toes. and i am paranoid enough to sleep with my shoes underneath the bundle of my coat under my pillow and with my purse still looped around my shoulder and clutching my passport just incase the guards come to check again. and my hair is still wet from the hungarian bath the night before and i do sleep in a crumpled ball against the window against my pillow.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
supa sweet
speaking of really sugary sap stories and that kind of thing my card hasnt showed up and i have about $20 total in my pocket and i leave for moscow in a little bit and im actually kind of a tiny bit worried about all of this and today some lady on the metro totally made my day without even looking at me so there.
people dont smile on the street in russia. no really. and anytime they did it mostly just makes you completely worried and scared and hold your stuff a little tighter. like this serial smiler in the metro and he smiles at sarah and i with his gums and wild crazy eyes. and keeps doing it. like that girl with the curly hair in the cafe. and she just kept smiling and turning her head to follow me and did she want some kind of connection and maybe was she trying to make eyes with me and it just was an alarming kind of smile i suppose. everytime i hear someone speaking english i just assume we're best friends. in one of my worst rush hours when my hand got wedged up someone's small intestine or something i say this couple. they're both wearing backpacking stuff and northface jackets and he has the kind of face you get when you get shoved into the metrocar and get your hand wedged into someone's scrotum and someone's got their armpit nestled in the nape of your neck and he's swearing up a storm and his face is just fed up. best friend. and i make eye contact with the two and give them my biggest best american girl smile. and they're eyes get the size of saucers and they both snap their eyes to the floor and i can hear their heads screaming GYPSY.
and then theres this little lady on the metro and she gets on with these pizza boxes tied with string. i dont think they were for pizza. probably baked goods maybe. and shes beaming. and closing her eyes and theres this creep in a leather jacket next to her and she's just closing her eyes and glowing. shes totally imaging opening that box. and just starring at those baked goods. and setting them on a plate and staring at them. and bringing in her whole family so proud and just staring at them. and thinking of how good they might taste and just staring at them and glowing. and the sleazy stops slackjaw staring at sara and i and starts checking out the baked goods. and thinking about just staring at them. and just starts beaming.
people dont smile on the street in russia. no really. and anytime they did it mostly just makes you completely worried and scared and hold your stuff a little tighter. like this serial smiler in the metro and he smiles at sarah and i with his gums and wild crazy eyes. and keeps doing it. like that girl with the curly hair in the cafe. and she just kept smiling and turning her head to follow me and did she want some kind of connection and maybe was she trying to make eyes with me and it just was an alarming kind of smile i suppose. everytime i hear someone speaking english i just assume we're best friends. in one of my worst rush hours when my hand got wedged up someone's small intestine or something i say this couple. they're both wearing backpacking stuff and northface jackets and he has the kind of face you get when you get shoved into the metrocar and get your hand wedged into someone's scrotum and someone's got their armpit nestled in the nape of your neck and he's swearing up a storm and his face is just fed up. best friend. and i make eye contact with the two and give them my biggest best american girl smile. and they're eyes get the size of saucers and they both snap their eyes to the floor and i can hear their heads screaming GYPSY.
and then theres this little lady on the metro and she gets on with these pizza boxes tied with string. i dont think they were for pizza. probably baked goods maybe. and shes beaming. and closing her eyes and theres this creep in a leather jacket next to her and she's just closing her eyes and glowing. shes totally imaging opening that box. and just starring at those baked goods. and setting them on a plate and staring at them. and bringing in her whole family so proud and just staring at them. and thinking of how good they might taste and just staring at them and glowing. and the sleazy stops slackjaw staring at sara and i and starts checking out the baked goods. and thinking about just staring at them. and just starts beaming.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
how im hungary
this popped up when i searched budapest on youtube. and i liked it. and i'm (okay so my t's and i's arent dotted so knock on wood) going from moscow to buda sunday and leaving morning thursday. and i like it. and i better like it.
strictly for saps
if you've only been reading for the occasional piece of eastern euro grit move on. sometimes im a girl. cute overload doesnt do much for me and i've never even seen the notebook and i hate to death jane austin but when a 17 year old girl almost starts crying because all she wanted ever was just to meet somebodies (anybodies and maybe even nobodies) from another country and speak to them in english like she's been practicing and i tell her i'm from arizona and she says wow and bends her knees and looks up to the sky and her eyes well up with tears and i'm going to be kind of touched.
i got what i deserved for walking around in the rain with demolished shoes. im kind of sick and my card still hasnt made it. and my phone shut down and liz is bailing me out. and we decide to meet on the street and theres this awkward moment where we both kind of feel like we're making a drug deal and it doesnt help that my eyes feel like they're on fire. and then theres this girl in a little white elfish hooded coat and shes talking. shes 17 and shes from outside of moscow. her teacher says her english is horrific. and i can barely hear an accent and she keeps apologizing but they're perfect apologies. she's only 17 and shes in proper university. and shes so in awe with us. so much so that her eyes are going to pop out of her head and she's clutching her heart and she's saying "wow" over and over and we're only just these two kids from america making a shady cash pass on a bridge.
and we didnt do anything at all and her dreams coming true and i kind of started crying and i kind of wish id loved every bit of every minute so much when i was 17. and i kind of wish i could love every bit of every minute so much anytime at all. maybe some day if i eat all my vegetables and finish all my chores and say all my prayers maybe then just a bit.
totally beautiful. totally sapz.
i got what i deserved for walking around in the rain with demolished shoes. im kind of sick and my card still hasnt made it. and my phone shut down and liz is bailing me out. and we decide to meet on the street and theres this awkward moment where we both kind of feel like we're making a drug deal and it doesnt help that my eyes feel like they're on fire. and then theres this girl in a little white elfish hooded coat and shes talking. shes 17 and shes from outside of moscow. her teacher says her english is horrific. and i can barely hear an accent and she keeps apologizing but they're perfect apologies. she's only 17 and shes in proper university. and shes so in awe with us. so much so that her eyes are going to pop out of her head and she's clutching her heart and she's saying "wow" over and over and we're only just these two kids from america making a shady cash pass on a bridge.
and we didnt do anything at all and her dreams coming true and i kind of started crying and i kind of wish id loved every bit of every minute so much when i was 17. and i kind of wish i could love every bit of every minute so much anytime at all. maybe some day if i eat all my vegetables and finish all my chores and say all my prayers maybe then just a bit.
totally beautiful. totally sapz.
Monday, October 27, 2008
ewww
i went down the elevator this morning and the lobby was a tornado. it sounded like a wind tunnel. i jammed my weight into the door just to get it to open a crack. snaked out. its still for a minute but its raining. cold cold raining. and then this insane wind comes and it doesnt really have one particular direction and im grabbing the sides of my hood and pressing them against my face to keep my ears warm and my eyes are so tight against my face because of the wind and my skirts going crazy and waters creeping up the very top of my boots down into my ankles. ok so this is winter. suck it up america this is winter. and then my nose is dribbling. and i kind of let it go for a teeny bit and my hair goes a little crazy and blows right into my nose. and i peel it off and theres blood on my fingers. the winds doing a crazy piece and waters pelleting my face and bouncing off and i have a bloody nose. and its mixing with the rain droplets a bit and its getting in my hair a bit. last time i had a bloody nose i think i was seven. dont you get those only in dry weather? the gross roadkilltrim on my hoody has these tiny little bits of blood but they're super diluted. watery ketchup. i am jaywalking to the metro across crazy russian drivers and my face is sprinkling bits of bloody rain. dont worry, i fixed it in the corridor with some wads of paper from my backpack. think today is the first day i can safely say the weather sucks.
i dont understand how there was a windstorm in the metro when the trains were still and we're 200 feet below.
i dont understand how there was a windstorm in the metro when the trains were still and we're 200 feet below.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
great estonian blow out
i dont really know why they shucked us all over to estonia.
except for that its the most beautifulgreensafefriendlyembracingacceptingcalmyetyoustillknowyourineasterneuropewhenagagleofpoplerunsbyandplaysagamerunninginacircleanddisappearswithaleafshakinggustofwind.
heres to joking on the bus that when we got to the border the sun would peek out and everyone would be smiling and asking what language we wanted to converse in and here, here's a flower and a glass of wine. just in time for rocktoberfest. which means a bunch of swedish deathmetal bands playing in an eroding building like a castle where the windows hang on by threads or maybe that is just the wine but no one cares the difference anyhow. we wanted to follow the ruckus but standing outside the hotel and perking up our ears wasnt good enough. ask the concierge. its not russia; she found it all in seconds on the internet and circled it on a map with a smile. and we trecked up a hillside and asked a few tourists and went too far and asked in a gas station and they all smiled and helped. we had to ask one last place but we got it down and wandered over. we could see the crowd outside. black. vests. some chains. zombies dripping off their faces kind of tshirts. they're all late thirties and getting fat. they're all ready to rock. after one more cigarette. we head in. big guy at the stairs. liz charges the stairs and in seconds he kindly removes her. 600 krun. no thanks for that, thats about 60USDs. wander around the parking lot looking for deserters who might give us their stubs. no such luck. go to the other side of the building and watch the windows shake as recycle bin or maybe its figer claw starts playing. slightly sad to be on the inside looking out and slink away down the hill. live music and old people in a cruddy hooky old people bar. get comfortable and eat chips with ketchup salsa and true estonian drink. too bad about the deathmetal estonia. we wont hold it against you.
speaking of parties
friday i came home from school and museum tired. and dinner wasnt on the counter.
and three bottles of jager were.
gena said in the kitchen "oh, we're having people from church over." sometimes when they have people over i feel just like a zoo. becky washington from the americas. they usually have the same questions. are you married. do you have a boyfriend. are you a dancer (i really think they think all people from america are fat and that i must be a dancer. duh why else would i be not overweight and in russia. its a nice idea though. maybe soon i'll say yes. live the fantasy.) where do you live in america. why dont you. have a boyfriend we mean. im not complaining; sometimes your tired. sometimes you dont like people watching how you hold your fork or fold your candy wrappers. sometimes they talk about you while your at the table. and you kind of have to pretend your clueless. its just more polite. he didnt say exactly when. they 10 minutes later the doorbell is ringing and russians are streaming in. im hit by a wave of shy and duck in my room. and russian children keep peeking in. we exchange silly faces. we exchange silly faces for about 30 minutes. a brave one comes in and we girl talk. i dont understand. she doesnt understand. we're best friends. we stare at eachother alot. i can just tell she totally gets me and we're best friends. gena says i can come eat cookies. i go eat cookies and they're drinking jaeger. and eating cookies. and watching church slideshows and listening to younglife songs like "our god is an awsome god" but only in Russian. they're looking at the way i hold my tea but its not so bad. they translate a little bit; all the words i know in russian. although it just means we're compatible. they offer vodka filled chocolates; and when they leave vodik and i bond. he only plays with a knife for like 2 of the minutes we're together. and never points it in my direction. not even once.
and three bottles of jager were.
gena said in the kitchen "oh, we're having people from church over." sometimes when they have people over i feel just like a zoo. becky washington from the americas. they usually have the same questions. are you married. do you have a boyfriend. are you a dancer (i really think they think all people from america are fat and that i must be a dancer. duh why else would i be not overweight and in russia. its a nice idea though. maybe soon i'll say yes. live the fantasy.) where do you live in america. why dont you. have a boyfriend we mean. im not complaining; sometimes your tired. sometimes you dont like people watching how you hold your fork or fold your candy wrappers. sometimes they talk about you while your at the table. and you kind of have to pretend your clueless. its just more polite. he didnt say exactly when. they 10 minutes later the doorbell is ringing and russians are streaming in. im hit by a wave of shy and duck in my room. and russian children keep peeking in. we exchange silly faces. we exchange silly faces for about 30 minutes. a brave one comes in and we girl talk. i dont understand. she doesnt understand. we're best friends. we stare at eachother alot. i can just tell she totally gets me and we're best friends. gena says i can come eat cookies. i go eat cookies and they're drinking jaeger. and eating cookies. and watching church slideshows and listening to younglife songs like "our god is an awsome god" but only in Russian. they're looking at the way i hold my tea but its not so bad. they translate a little bit; all the words i know in russian. although it just means we're compatible. they offer vodka filled chocolates; and when they leave vodik and i bond. he only plays with a knife for like 2 of the minutes we're together. and never points it in my direction. not even once.
it's your birthday party. happy birthday darling
just excited is all. i'd been wanting to go to helsinki for my birthday and we're going now and maybe a mini cruise over to stolkholm if liz can overcome her fear of traveling in steerage and guess who's coming for the fun.
three days after the fact but i'll still be there. pretty pretty pretty happy.
sara said "why dont people ever come to St. Petersburg?" well sara, not entirely true. MC Hammer was just here. We were in Estonia. And Sigor Ros showed their face. We were in the retirement home for orientation.
and we saw xiu xiu. and it kinda sucked. yea, when you put all the cards out it kinda sucked. the club you played was pretty nice and we saw the waiters bringing you imported beers and sandwhiches and letting them hang out in a nice VIP room. and we saw you not even start until an hour late. and play with your heads down and not look at the audience once. they said "thank you this is our last song." so it wasnt their fault that no one in the audience understood that it was their last song (one of my favorites). and then here comes the diva encore charade. they're packing up their instruments and everyone's kinda staring at them waiting for another song. there was light applause but they didnt get it. and the band just disappears without saying thanks or something. and they're gone for a minute. and then the Russians get it. and someone bold shouts "play more." and people take a second and then "yea, more." and finally, a stiring of "more" and a "pluz" or two. and Xiu Xiu opens the door and everyone shuts up. and Xiu Xiu waves very bored and shuts the door. one minute of silence. and then someone bold shouts "more." and we give up; crawl to the back and get near the stairs. and then they come out and people clap and they play a 3 minute thing and they're gone again. and a tray of cocktails follows them. cocktails in glasses. not gin in a can or plastic bottles. and they're gone for good. and the australians we've just now befriended boo them. and call them bastards. and i can't really tell them no. totally divaZ.
p.s. i didnt detail that i was shoved in someones armpit and had the firmest assgrab of my life. and i didnt mention that the tickets we're 700 rubles=30 USDs. and that they only played for probably under 30 minutes. totally divaZ.
three days after the fact but i'll still be there. pretty pretty pretty happy.
sara said "why dont people ever come to St. Petersburg?" well sara, not entirely true. MC Hammer was just here. We were in Estonia. And Sigor Ros showed their face. We were in the retirement home for orientation.
and we saw xiu xiu. and it kinda sucked. yea, when you put all the cards out it kinda sucked. the club you played was pretty nice and we saw the waiters bringing you imported beers and sandwhiches and letting them hang out in a nice VIP room. and we saw you not even start until an hour late. and play with your heads down and not look at the audience once. they said "thank you this is our last song." so it wasnt their fault that no one in the audience understood that it was their last song (one of my favorites). and then here comes the diva encore charade. they're packing up their instruments and everyone's kinda staring at them waiting for another song. there was light applause but they didnt get it. and the band just disappears without saying thanks or something. and they're gone for a minute. and then the Russians get it. and someone bold shouts "play more." and people take a second and then "yea, more." and finally, a stiring of "more" and a "pluz" or two. and Xiu Xiu opens the door and everyone shuts up. and Xiu Xiu waves very bored and shuts the door. one minute of silence. and then someone bold shouts "more." and we give up; crawl to the back and get near the stairs. and then they come out and people clap and they play a 3 minute thing and they're gone again. and a tray of cocktails follows them. cocktails in glasses. not gin in a can or plastic bottles. and they're gone for good. and the australians we've just now befriended boo them. and call them bastards. and i can't really tell them no. totally divaZ.
p.s. i didnt detail that i was shoved in someones armpit and had the firmest assgrab of my life. and i didnt mention that the tickets we're 700 rubles=30 USDs. and that they only played for probably under 30 minutes. totally divaZ.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
my first time
ive been riding the metro alot more lately and not using the mashrutka like i used to. i kind of appreciate the long walks to and from and through the park. all the trees are naked now and it makes the morning sky look extra eerie and if you go early enough everyone is slightly sleepy and no one has the heart to push. plus i gotta work of them ice creams and it saves me a couple rubbles. so i can buy ice creams.
but every once in a while i see a mashrutka door roll open and some stuffy miss get out looking like shes going to vomit and i miss it a bit. mashrutkas are basically fancy van/mini vans loaded with rediculously placed seats and zero seat belts and they run on set routes but you have to flag them down and you have to pass up your money and you have to yell when you want out. my method is to cross my fingers that someone gets off so i dont have to choke through saying russian "stop." people pack in and your riding jerky and sometimes they let too many people in so their all kind of akwardly standing in the minivan. for a good streak of time this gang of babushki would get on at the same stop at the same stuffedup time. first time i was sitting sideways. babushki tumbles in and nestles her crotch on my knee. second time babushki tumbles in, gives me crocodile smile with anticipation and nestles her crotch on my knee. kind of hope its a one time thing. becomes a daily routine. wonder who's her rebound knee.
i was nervous the first time i ever jumped onto the thing. even less russian than my supermarket list of russian now. like a gum wrappers worth, if even. you put your hand down next to you like your telling a dog to sit. the ridiculous yellow mashrutka pulls up next to me and the door rolls open on its own and everyone inside is still moving from the sudden jerk. i try to figure out where to put my money. i kind of hold it out for the lady in front of me. dont know that you pass money by shoving it into their face. the mashrutkas going fast. teeter to the front. hand him my money. get change. teeter back. we're going 60. mph. between rush hour. he drives on the curb for a moment. going 70. no ones batting an eyelash. almost hit a mercedes going 70. hes pissed. our drivers pissed. they're trying to run eachother off the road. we roll down the window and were cursing at him and by we i mean the driver. half his body's out the window. the mercedes spits. and by the mercedes i mean the mobby guy wearing a leather jacket and driving 80 and trying to run us of the road.
but i made it to school in 20 minutes. beat that greenline transfer to redline metro route.
but every once in a while i see a mashrutka door roll open and some stuffy miss get out looking like shes going to vomit and i miss it a bit. mashrutkas are basically fancy van/mini vans loaded with rediculously placed seats and zero seat belts and they run on set routes but you have to flag them down and you have to pass up your money and you have to yell when you want out. my method is to cross my fingers that someone gets off so i dont have to choke through saying russian "stop." people pack in and your riding jerky and sometimes they let too many people in so their all kind of akwardly standing in the minivan. for a good streak of time this gang of babushki would get on at the same stop at the same stuffedup time. first time i was sitting sideways. babushki tumbles in and nestles her crotch on my knee. second time babushki tumbles in, gives me crocodile smile with anticipation and nestles her crotch on my knee. kind of hope its a one time thing. becomes a daily routine. wonder who's her rebound knee.
i was nervous the first time i ever jumped onto the thing. even less russian than my supermarket list of russian now. like a gum wrappers worth, if even. you put your hand down next to you like your telling a dog to sit. the ridiculous yellow mashrutka pulls up next to me and the door rolls open on its own and everyone inside is still moving from the sudden jerk. i try to figure out where to put my money. i kind of hold it out for the lady in front of me. dont know that you pass money by shoving it into their face. the mashrutkas going fast. teeter to the front. hand him my money. get change. teeter back. we're going 60. mph. between rush hour. he drives on the curb for a moment. going 70. no ones batting an eyelash. almost hit a mercedes going 70. hes pissed. our drivers pissed. they're trying to run eachother off the road. we roll down the window and were cursing at him and by we i mean the driver. half his body's out the window. the mercedes spits. and by the mercedes i mean the mobby guy wearing a leather jacket and driving 80 and trying to run us of the road.
but i made it to school in 20 minutes. beat that greenline transfer to redline metro route.
Monday, October 20, 2008
how im hungry
liz says "that image of a child sad because the top scoop of their ice cream fell never happens in Russia."
100percentthetruth. although thats because its too darn cold not too darn utopian.
i cant get enough ice cream. about a dollar a pop on the streets; perhaps 80 cents for the goto classic. ive never eaten so much ice cream in my life. and ive never eaten ice cream with gloves or had the chocolate part slip down on my scarf (i ate it anyway. in russia ima beast). you are 80percent more russian looking while eating the good stuff on the streets; 80percent more likely to get asked directions in russian.
ben says "peesh" in bulgarian is a crude word.
somuchsothethruth as confirmed by the bulgarian wonderful magdalen (no i dont actually like michael jackson as much as when i sing it with magdalena) but doesnt make it any less tastey.
peesh is like a better version of a plain donut for about 8 rubles/.40USDs and even better when you get it cruising the backmarket contemplating a chanel beanie or 10 classic movies on one DVD for about 2USDs although it might not work in your tvset ever or a taser or a little baggie of whatever those roma women are selling that look like tiny green pellets and they only sell them under that tunnel.
and i say i cant decide if i love the russian brother of a 'dilla better because its on the street for a dollar50 and so much variety like mushroomcreamsauce or cabbagesourcream or simplesimplydeliciouscheese or potato. there are 3 competing stands and each serves a little different style and i can tell you where you wanna get what. i do miss real chips and salsa thats not ketchup and i do dream of thai food and pizza.
still vegetarian; never need no tongue or bear. so there.
100percentthetruth. although thats because its too darn cold not too darn utopian.
i cant get enough ice cream. about a dollar a pop on the streets; perhaps 80 cents for the goto classic. ive never eaten so much ice cream in my life. and ive never eaten ice cream with gloves or had the chocolate part slip down on my scarf (i ate it anyway. in russia ima beast). you are 80percent more russian looking while eating the good stuff on the streets; 80percent more likely to get asked directions in russian.
ben says "peesh" in bulgarian is a crude word.
somuchsothethruth as confirmed by the bulgarian wonderful magdalen (no i dont actually like michael jackson as much as when i sing it with magdalena) but doesnt make it any less tastey.
peesh is like a better version of a plain donut for about 8 rubles/.40USDs and even better when you get it cruising the backmarket contemplating a chanel beanie or 10 classic movies on one DVD for about 2USDs although it might not work in your tvset ever or a taser or a little baggie of whatever those roma women are selling that look like tiny green pellets and they only sell them under that tunnel.
and i say i cant decide if i love the russian brother of a 'dilla better because its on the street for a dollar50 and so much variety like mushroomcreamsauce or cabbagesourcream or simplesimplydeliciouscheese or potato. there are 3 competing stands and each serves a little different style and i can tell you where you wanna get what. i do miss real chips and salsa thats not ketchup and i do dream of thai food and pizza.
still vegetarian; never need no tongue or bear. so there.
my big sleep
spent the weekend in estonia and failed to make it into deathmetal but danced with the estonians and ate chips with ketchup salsa with the dead beat old crowd and ran for the first real time in a really really long time and thoroughly enjoyed it and ran out on a peir and was covered in sea spray and then more stuff happened and a few more happened and wasn't ever scared not even once. not even crouched on the ground eating crumbling toast all by myself.
and then i came back carsick and the elevator to the metro stopped and started and david and i swallowed our hearts because we all almost fell 3 stories down those stairs and when i got home i vomited.
then slept 16 straight hours and didnt wake up once. and never made it to school.
and now all my russia friends are pissed.
and i'm in love with you still estonia.
more stories from stonia, i promise.
and then i came back carsick and the elevator to the metro stopped and started and david and i swallowed our hearts because we all almost fell 3 stories down those stairs and when i got home i vomited.
then slept 16 straight hours and didnt wake up once. and never made it to school.
and now all my russia friends are pissed.
and i'm in love with you still estonia.
more stories from stonia, i promise.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
up by your bootstraps
for a second there i think i was seriously thinking about thinking about fleeing the country. and they havent even given us our passports back. i want toast and to be surrounded by understanding people and scrabble and work and bicycle bicycle bicycle and knowing the city and not being too scared and not being too different and pizza and mountains and swimming and non-life threatening stories and warm people and my ankle boots.
jarlath told me that "the way that i look" is "a hazard." what does that mean anyway? and what does that mean i'm supposed to do about it anyway? how many glamour shots did that stupid study abroad company make us submit and if they really though "the way that i look" was going to be "a hazard" they could have refused all the money we threw at them and arent really getting back in return. they told me if i fuck up again i'll be sent home and i had this plan of going out with a bang and if i saw one more person slumped in the street or another grabby drunk where no one cares about you it was about time to go big and get sent home. of course things like that never work out that way for me and id probably just get arrested for stepping on the grass and itd be goodbye ruskies.
fortunately, st. petersburg has incredibly quick turn around in ways i cant explain.
so i just wont even try.
it helps to remember why im here.
my boots are all fixed but my favorite ring's still broken.
just know that the city's just not the same alone. or without yous guys.
no one buy a leather jacket while im away. im totally over seeing them. and the thungs that wear them.
Friday, October 10, 2008
real beats
but for every amazing performer there has to be a really bad one. you know, balance out everyones life. like the one on nevsky who sings and i dont even know the name of the goddam song "whats up pussy cat." and im sure he doesnt know english. but he sings it regardless.
i was standing in the metro after a really long day and i had just gotten on going the wrong direction and dozed off and made it to the end of the line and had come back up the line and had to transfer.
and from the middle of the station this really shrill flute. playing killing me softly.
again, photothank sarah.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
why i like law and order
because i watched russian law and order and drank hot tea and shortbread sandwhiches filled with chocolates shaped like cupcakes and teddybears in the concierge desk while keeping tabs on the tenants and having my back repeatedly pat, of course.
last thursday (why thursdays; always thursdays) i jammed my key into the lock and twisted 20 times and nothing happened. and 50 and nothing happened. and im so tired and take off my shoes even though its socially unacceptable and 20 more times. and nothing happens. sometimes you just want to go home.
my phone is still in the hands of the police so i go down to the front desk and its the woman who asks me the same question everytime. and every time i apologize, and shes started saying "do you understand yet? yet?" and now i say "maybe tomorrow" but probably the wrong way because she just repeats herself and shakes her head. her hairs just like dorothy hammle.
so i ask for the phone. and she talks for like 30 minutes. the hard part: people dont use intonation when they ask questions, so its debatable whether they're asking you a question or not. "Can I, please? telephone?" it doesnt call the city just the apartment. she doesnt think i get it. i do. i get frustrated; im so tired and my feet hurt and i want my blankie. i want my blankie so bad i go outside and sit on the swingset for 5 minutes and cry a little bit. i feel just like a child. i go back in; i'll wait at the door until my family goes home. i can sleep in the hallway. i go in and she grabs my hand. we're gunna go find a phone that calls out she says. i dont wanna but she puts on her coat and bolts her office and scurries off, telling me to follow. then it starts pouring and we're going from building to building, mary and joseph, trying to find a phone. and i just kind of follow her like a little pet. a soggy pet whos a foot taller than her. i keep asking her where we're going. shes not exactly answering.
we give up. she brings me to her office and tucks me in on her couch. i tried to fight it but i just submitted and let her pat my head. she asks some mafia man entering the building with his wife if she can borrow the phone. he speaks a teeny bit of english. he gives me the phone and i call my family. they dont believe me. its a key; of course it opens the door stupid american girl; dont bother caalling once the key opens the door.
the don disappears. can you try the door concierge? i see her in the elevator go upstairs and disappear. i see the don and his wife come down. they bought art that day; a 5 or 6 foot tall oil nude. perfect. they wanna try. we go upstairs; the nude leans up against the wall. everyone gives it a try. then 20. "i have a friend. opens any lock in any safe in any bank. lives in the building over. he will fix this mess." not even 2 minutes he is there. he works his magic. and nothing happens. works it 20 times. no luck. he seems throughly disappointed.
back to the office. bad crime tv, snacks, tea, blanket and a lady with an auburn bowl cut. who pats my back. and reads trashy novels. and taps her foot to the law and order theme.
last thursday (why thursdays; always thursdays) i jammed my key into the lock and twisted 20 times and nothing happened. and 50 and nothing happened. and im so tired and take off my shoes even though its socially unacceptable and 20 more times. and nothing happens. sometimes you just want to go home.
my phone is still in the hands of the police so i go down to the front desk and its the woman who asks me the same question everytime. and every time i apologize, and shes started saying "do you understand yet? yet?" and now i say "maybe tomorrow" but probably the wrong way because she just repeats herself and shakes her head. her hairs just like dorothy hammle.
so i ask for the phone. and she talks for like 30 minutes. the hard part: people dont use intonation when they ask questions, so its debatable whether they're asking you a question or not. "Can I, please? telephone?" it doesnt call the city just the apartment. she doesnt think i get it. i do. i get frustrated; im so tired and my feet hurt and i want my blankie. i want my blankie so bad i go outside and sit on the swingset for 5 minutes and cry a little bit. i feel just like a child. i go back in; i'll wait at the door until my family goes home. i can sleep in the hallway. i go in and she grabs my hand. we're gunna go find a phone that calls out she says. i dont wanna but she puts on her coat and bolts her office and scurries off, telling me to follow. then it starts pouring and we're going from building to building, mary and joseph, trying to find a phone. and i just kind of follow her like a little pet. a soggy pet whos a foot taller than her. i keep asking her where we're going. shes not exactly answering.
we give up. she brings me to her office and tucks me in on her couch. i tried to fight it but i just submitted and let her pat my head. she asks some mafia man entering the building with his wife if she can borrow the phone. he speaks a teeny bit of english. he gives me the phone and i call my family. they dont believe me. its a key; of course it opens the door stupid american girl; dont bother caalling once the key opens the door.
the don disappears. can you try the door concierge? i see her in the elevator go upstairs and disappear. i see the don and his wife come down. they bought art that day; a 5 or 6 foot tall oil nude. perfect. they wanna try. we go upstairs; the nude leans up against the wall. everyone gives it a try. then 20. "i have a friend. opens any lock in any safe in any bank. lives in the building over. he will fix this mess." not even 2 minutes he is there. he works his magic. and nothing happens. works it 20 times. no luck. he seems throughly disappointed.
back to the office. bad crime tv, snacks, tea, blanket and a lady with an auburn bowl cut. who pats my back. and reads trashy novels. and taps her foot to the law and order theme.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
gypsy encounter #1
the hospital is the most magical place in russia i promise.
i hate saying that because stephanie's in a wheel chair. i hate saying that because its a hospital.
it was beautiful yesterday; the sun made an appearance and there were yellow and red leaves blanketing the little village where stephanie has been living for about a week. the place with the weaving dirt paths, uneven stone and the magic blue door. stephanie got cigarettes and she wanted a stroll. i never knew how much id let myself go until i was huffing and puffing behind stephanies wheelchair. the red one. thats the good one. even if im suspicious that only one of the handbrakes is really actually functional.
stephanie ties her foot up in a sock and we abuse the elevator button. the elevators are like little rooms and they have little old persons in them and a coat rack and each one has its own slew of kitten posters or glittery religious calendars and a hard bench that may or may not be where the little persons lay to rest. i think may more than may not but this is all just speculation.
we weave around the backways of the hospital permitter and stephanie promises us a gypsy caravan. a wooden, mobile gypsy hut. and we peer in the windows and its full of wooden bunks built into the walls and dim and hardly functioning little lights. and we dont even hear the door open but all i hear is liz scream. and there, in the doorway: bonefied gypsy man. ratty raggy clothes, ratty raggy hair; bad teeth.
my first gypsy man. my first gypsy caravan.
of course we fled the scene immediately, just as another appeared in the doorway. they couldn't smell our innocents; we smelled like cigarettes.
i hate saying that because stephanie's in a wheel chair. i hate saying that because its a hospital.
it was beautiful yesterday; the sun made an appearance and there were yellow and red leaves blanketing the little village where stephanie has been living for about a week. the place with the weaving dirt paths, uneven stone and the magic blue door. stephanie got cigarettes and she wanted a stroll. i never knew how much id let myself go until i was huffing and puffing behind stephanies wheelchair. the red one. thats the good one. even if im suspicious that only one of the handbrakes is really actually functional.
stephanie ties her foot up in a sock and we abuse the elevator button. the elevators are like little rooms and they have little old persons in them and a coat rack and each one has its own slew of kitten posters or glittery religious calendars and a hard bench that may or may not be where the little persons lay to rest. i think may more than may not but this is all just speculation.
we weave around the backways of the hospital permitter and stephanie promises us a gypsy caravan. a wooden, mobile gypsy hut. and we peer in the windows and its full of wooden bunks built into the walls and dim and hardly functioning little lights. and we dont even hear the door open but all i hear is liz scream. and there, in the doorway: bonefied gypsy man. ratty raggy clothes, ratty raggy hair; bad teeth.
my first gypsy man. my first gypsy caravan.
of course we fled the scene immediately, just as another appeared in the doorway. they couldn't smell our innocents; we smelled like cigarettes.
evil twin
10/03/08 NON-WELLS FARGO ATM TRANSACTION FEE $5.00
10/03/08 ATM WITHDRAWAL - MANEZHNAYA SQ 1MANEZHNAYAMOSCOW RU 0908 $115.67
10/03/08 NON-WELLS FARGO ATM TRANSACTION FEE $5.00
10/03/08 ATM WITHDRAWAL - MANEZHNAYA STR MANEZHNAYAMOSCOW RU 0908 $192.78
im in st. petersburg. not moscow.
and there's 4 more. officially fucked.
10/03/08 ATM WITHDRAWAL - MANEZHNAYA SQ 1MANEZHNAYAMOSCOW RU 0908 $115.67
10/03/08 NON-WELLS FARGO ATM TRANSACTION FEE $5.00
10/03/08 ATM WITHDRAWAL - MANEZHNAYA STR MANEZHNAYAMOSCOW RU 0908 $192.78
im in st. petersburg. not moscow.
and there's 4 more. officially fucked.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
story time is over kids
sometimes i feel like ive been subjected to living in this ridiculous story and wonder why and wonder when its going to stop and wonder what i did to deserve this. and maybe its nothing about me at all, and maybe this happens to everyone else and maybe im the only person who finds it so amusing and amazing. and maybe that parts still true, but i wonder why it doesnt stop and why im always at the butt end of it. and then i realize that i do things like go to russia and ive got to hold myself partially responsible.
i dont think ive ever wanted stories less. not now, about a week ago. because all i have is a story. a crazy, what happened next, villians and gangsters and allyways and shadowy door posts and soviet jails and vomit on the floor and gypsy cabs and eastern europe kind of story. and i could never tell you all the middle inbetween. ive blacked out before and ive known little before but it just wasnt that way this time. i've also had two beers before. i think we would both be okay with admitting a crazy night of boozing and counting our blessings and taking it easy. it wasnt that way this time. we know the same story and thats it. the same peices, the same parts. we know we lucked out and i cant help but feel awful that stephanie's waist deep in a cast and im completely unmarked. she has the kind of break skydivers get. we had two beers 40 minutes apart and now we're missing 1 and a half obviously important hours. we had two beers so now no one believes us. i think its the part with the laughing man that gets them.
ana said to stephanie: "what a story. it sounds like out of a movie." jarlath said: "what a story. sounds like something from the KGB." i thought maybe just museums and libraries from now on. visiting stephanie and patting her head.
and then i went to visit stephanie and it was another story.
stephanie's hospital was a 40 minute ride from the street where they got her. liz and i wanted to see her; more so after she called me looking for answers cause she couldnt remember and i had to tell her there was nothing to tell her. we took the metro and transfered. even the metro stops bizarre. more bizarre than usual. and then we thought we might wander. we stop this older woman and she goes "students? hospital? i will help you." not in english, in russian. no english she says. she says no english in russian. shes really delicate looking and her eyes never really seem to focus and shes smiling too much. maybe shes doing drugs. shes probably trying to make is do drugs with her.
she stops at the bus stop. shes on drugs and this is getting confusing. thats the street over there? were asking. yeah shes saying, but then why are we at the bus stop. she gets on a bus. we start looking for someone else nice. someone else nice whos not doing drugs. dont you want to go to the hospital? she says. we get on the bus but we still dont believe her. when its her stop we ask where we get off and she says to come with her. we still dont believe her but we go. its this forested area with patches of birch trees and tall green grass and delicate pathes. it looks like a fairytale except for that its doted with these yellowing brick soviet-style apartments and shops that dont follow any kind of pattern.
we talk to her in bad russian. her daughters a wife in vegas. shes going to vegas in october. small talk. its alot of walking. her eyes are crazy and i dont see that we're going to any sort of metropolis. she might jut kill us. for drugs. after a half hour and ditches and rain we get to a yellowing wall. with a brought blue door. "hospital." she didnt understand.
and then we open this heavy, totalitarian fairytale door. and there in the middle of the forest of russia is a huge hospital complex. we thank her and shes gone.
im okay with that story. i just wish i could tell you why i had to go visit her in the hospital. or why we both dont remember the break.
i dont think ive ever wanted stories less. not now, about a week ago. because all i have is a story. a crazy, what happened next, villians and gangsters and allyways and shadowy door posts and soviet jails and vomit on the floor and gypsy cabs and eastern europe kind of story. and i could never tell you all the middle inbetween. ive blacked out before and ive known little before but it just wasnt that way this time. i've also had two beers before. i think we would both be okay with admitting a crazy night of boozing and counting our blessings and taking it easy. it wasnt that way this time. we know the same story and thats it. the same peices, the same parts. we know we lucked out and i cant help but feel awful that stephanie's waist deep in a cast and im completely unmarked. she has the kind of break skydivers get. we had two beers 40 minutes apart and now we're missing 1 and a half obviously important hours. we had two beers so now no one believes us. i think its the part with the laughing man that gets them.
ana said to stephanie: "what a story. it sounds like out of a movie." jarlath said: "what a story. sounds like something from the KGB." i thought maybe just museums and libraries from now on. visiting stephanie and patting her head.
and then i went to visit stephanie and it was another story.
stephanie's hospital was a 40 minute ride from the street where they got her. liz and i wanted to see her; more so after she called me looking for answers cause she couldnt remember and i had to tell her there was nothing to tell her. we took the metro and transfered. even the metro stops bizarre. more bizarre than usual. and then we thought we might wander. we stop this older woman and she goes "students? hospital? i will help you." not in english, in russian. no english she says. she says no english in russian. shes really delicate looking and her eyes never really seem to focus and shes smiling too much. maybe shes doing drugs. shes probably trying to make is do drugs with her.
she stops at the bus stop. shes on drugs and this is getting confusing. thats the street over there? were asking. yeah shes saying, but then why are we at the bus stop. she gets on a bus. we start looking for someone else nice. someone else nice whos not doing drugs. dont you want to go to the hospital? she says. we get on the bus but we still dont believe her. when its her stop we ask where we get off and she says to come with her. we still dont believe her but we go. its this forested area with patches of birch trees and tall green grass and delicate pathes. it looks like a fairytale except for that its doted with these yellowing brick soviet-style apartments and shops that dont follow any kind of pattern.
we talk to her in bad russian. her daughters a wife in vegas. shes going to vegas in october. small talk. its alot of walking. her eyes are crazy and i dont see that we're going to any sort of metropolis. she might jut kill us. for drugs. after a half hour and ditches and rain we get to a yellowing wall. with a brought blue door. "hospital." she didnt understand.
and then we open this heavy, totalitarian fairytale door. and there in the middle of the forest of russia is a huge hospital complex. we thank her and shes gone.
im okay with that story. i just wish i could tell you why i had to go visit her in the hospital. or why we both dont remember the break.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
they just make sense
im just not that comfortable with public changing rooms. and i'm just not that comfortable getting all that close.
so we go to the banya in novgarad. theres a large fitting room with wide chairs in long lines that look kind of like director's chairs. and they're all in rows and there are coat racks and shoe racks and its about the quality of a YMCA built in 1932. and theres us. and then there's a circle of russian woman, all smoking drinking and gossiping and dripping and they're all naked. the chatter stops and they're looking at us. and smoking; smoking at us. smoking at us and sizing us up.
we stripped down but we were all clutching our towels. about 7 of us.
the second room is full of basins; old showers where you pull a chain and the water drops down. some of the women are scrubbing each other with mud, some of them are lathering shampoo. and then they're all looking at us. they shuttle us into the sauna. the top is the hottest; wooden slatted benches. they pass us the branches and we kind of tickle ourselves with them. and then a fleet of them come in the door and we're all sitting on top of each other in the steam. and they're yelling things at us in russian but they're smiling. then they start yelling the only thing they seem to know in english: "MASSAGE MASSAGE!!" and before i know it they're pulling me to my feet and bending me over and beating me double with oak branches. im not a sadist, but it felt pretty good until they poured more water on the stones and my knees began to get weak and my head started to slump. we're all standing up, but they're still trying to teach us how to serve a proper wallop with those branches. 7 girls caught up on the stairs, sweating into their eyes and swaying on their feet.
and then the second thing i understand that we're supposed to do: to the river. only four of us at once, and i kind of thought there'd be a private walk. But in towels we run out to the public banya front and sideway down to the uneven beach ledge and the shallow bay and a gang of sleazy Russians in leather jackets.
we go twice, and the Russian women are giggling with us, and offering us shampoo and teaching us how to shampoo and how to scream when we dump water on ourselves because from what i can tell from the sign language its just good for your soul and teaching us how to drink beer and how to giggle and smoke and smile
so we go to the banya in novgarad. theres a large fitting room with wide chairs in long lines that look kind of like director's chairs. and they're all in rows and there are coat racks and shoe racks and its about the quality of a YMCA built in 1932. and theres us. and then there's a circle of russian woman, all smoking drinking and gossiping and dripping and they're all naked. the chatter stops and they're looking at us. and smoking; smoking at us. smoking at us and sizing us up.
we stripped down but we were all clutching our towels. about 7 of us.
the second room is full of basins; old showers where you pull a chain and the water drops down. some of the women are scrubbing each other with mud, some of them are lathering shampoo. and then they're all looking at us. they shuttle us into the sauna. the top is the hottest; wooden slatted benches. they pass us the branches and we kind of tickle ourselves with them. and then a fleet of them come in the door and we're all sitting on top of each other in the steam. and they're yelling things at us in russian but they're smiling. then they start yelling the only thing they seem to know in english: "MASSAGE MASSAGE!!" and before i know it they're pulling me to my feet and bending me over and beating me double with oak branches. im not a sadist, but it felt pretty good until they poured more water on the stones and my knees began to get weak and my head started to slump. we're all standing up, but they're still trying to teach us how to serve a proper wallop with those branches. 7 girls caught up on the stairs, sweating into their eyes and swaying on their feet.
and then the second thing i understand that we're supposed to do: to the river. only four of us at once, and i kind of thought there'd be a private walk. But in towels we run out to the public banya front and sideway down to the uneven beach ledge and the shallow bay and a gang of sleazy Russians in leather jackets.
we go twice, and the Russian women are giggling with us, and offering us shampoo and teaching us how to shampoo and how to scream when we dump water on ourselves because from what i can tell from the sign language its just good for your soul and teaching us how to drink beer and how to giggle and smoke and smile
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
you are found, yes you are found
i was lost today. completely utterly completely lost. on the wrong side of town kind of lost. smoke stacks and fruit stands kind of lost. horseback riders on the roadways, government documents and paperbacks in the gutters and laundry off of rusting statues kind of lost.
there's something about wandering like that that feels like you're being rocked to sleep even though everything seems sort of wide lens and distorted. and i knew i was traipsing totally in the wrong and there was alot of barbed wire and more than ever stray dogs and gangs of militzia and i really couldn't make myself panic. i was the total opposite of panic. and that kind of made me want to panic...
everyones pushing and everyones shoving and everyone's stepping over death and they don't really care if they dig in their heels. sara said its easier to push back and im not a saint but i just dont wanna. i really just dont wanna. alot of times it makes me giggle. most of the time it makes me giggle; every once in a while it makes me cry.
but something about here just feels right.
there's something about wandering like that that feels like you're being rocked to sleep even though everything seems sort of wide lens and distorted. and i knew i was traipsing totally in the wrong and there was alot of barbed wire and more than ever stray dogs and gangs of militzia and i really couldn't make myself panic. i was the total opposite of panic. and that kind of made me want to panic...
everyones pushing and everyones shoving and everyone's stepping over death and they don't really care if they dig in their heels. sara said its easier to push back and im not a saint but i just dont wanna. i really just dont wanna. alot of times it makes me giggle. most of the time it makes me giggle; every once in a while it makes me cry.
but something about here just feels right.
we're all for sale
i will not forget to carry my camera.
i will not forget to carry my camera.
i will not forget to carry my camera.
after taking the metro up north to the mall ("grand canyon") and checking out the russian hiphop store we headed back towards the metro station which in all of an hour had been transformed into a bustling market. fish next to secondhand socks next to tazers next to knives and guns next to mumus. sarah wanted so badly to haggle for a pair of oversized nightshirts with waterskiing bears, but the woman wasnt having any of it. we figured if we turned away dramatically she might try to bargain with us. no luck. sarah was pissed she wouldn't come down any.
they were all of 150 rubles (USD $6)
i will not forget to carry my camera.
i will not forget to carry my camera.
after taking the metro up north to the mall ("grand canyon") and checking out the russian hiphop store we headed back towards the metro station which in all of an hour had been transformed into a bustling market. fish next to secondhand socks next to tazers next to knives and guns next to mumus. sarah wanted so badly to haggle for a pair of oversized nightshirts with waterskiing bears, but the woman wasnt having any of it. we figured if we turned away dramatically she might try to bargain with us. no luck. sarah was pissed she wouldn't come down any.
they were all of 150 rubles (USD $6)
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
big girls don't cry
made a whole decent breakfast all by yourself and took vitamins. charmed that cat you live with. took 129marshrutka even though the only useful word you knew was "thank you." four russian women asked you for directions on seperate occasions, which means maybe you looked like you knew what you were doing. you even told them in passable russian that you had no idea what they were saying. ordered your own coffee even if sarah had to tell you how to say it okay. you even survived rush hour on the metro. you did pretty good today. so dont worry too much that that man stuck his hand in your dress and groped you on the way home. your still a pretty decent big girl.
Monday, September 1, 2008
russians laugh the same but different
i have to say right now i feel my most homesick.
i spent most of my yesterday trying to find the right plug converter for my laptop. too bad my sign language for "plug" looks like sign language for copulation. which electronic people think is really funny.
which is really funny except for when you just really want the right plug right now and everyone is laughing at you in russian.
and then i got insanely jealous when i saw where maggie was staying. and that she was having borsk for dinner. it's insanely russian, with rugs designed into the carpet and crazy wall paper and cat statues everywhere. and im living at ikea by myself with a really pretty cat and wireless internet. but i'd rather be living in real russia.
mostly i just want everyone here so we can enjoy the organ grinder in the red square.
like it should be.
da?
i spent most of my yesterday trying to find the right plug converter for my laptop. too bad my sign language for "plug" looks like sign language for copulation. which electronic people think is really funny.
which is really funny except for when you just really want the right plug right now and everyone is laughing at you in russian.
and then i got insanely jealous when i saw where maggie was staying. and that she was having borsk for dinner. it's insanely russian, with rugs designed into the carpet and crazy wall paper and cat statues everywhere. and im living at ikea by myself with a really pretty cat and wireless internet. but i'd rather be living in real russia.
mostly i just want everyone here so we can enjoy the organ grinder in the red square.
like it should be.
da?
ILLiterate
it's one of the most difficult things to tell yourself that a p is not a p, it's an r.
and that this * is a letter.
i love my professor. she has one lazy eye and 6 gold teef. she's been teaching japanese bussinessmen and all she can do in english is growl "i am a so sorry. i dont speak english."
i promise pictures soon.
ive just been lazy,
and that this * is a letter.
i love my professor. she has one lazy eye and 6 gold teef. she's been teaching japanese bussinessmen and all she can do in english is growl "i am a so sorry. i dont speak english."
i promise pictures soon.
ive just been lazy,
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
its 2 am and 7 pm all at the same time
got so cranky on the plane which is a shame because i love flying. a lot. the guy in the aisle seat ate my dinner and i was kind of bitter. but then we watched annie hall and the big lebowsky together, and made our peace. but THEN i fell asleep and woke up to go to the bathroom and couldn't stir the guy in the aisle seat. and then there was the part where i woke up in a cold sweat and had to put my head between my knees which actually really helped in a weird sort of way and the guy in the aisle seat moved all of his stuff so i could sit indian style like a child.
and then we drank orange juice in the morning and he couldn't believe i spoke english.
what a brilliant father figure.
camera tomorrow, i promise.
and then we drank orange juice in the morning and he couldn't believe i spoke english.
what a brilliant father figure.
camera tomorrow, i promise.
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