Things I Should Be Doing Right Now:
---Writing спасибо (Thank You) cards to all of our professors and office workers. (This would usually be a good procrastination method from having to do real work. However the fact that said notes have to be in Russian and hopefully have minimal mistakes makes me very much not want to do this. At least Megan said that it isn’t that big of a deal if there are grammar mistakes. The professors would definitely not believe we wrote them if they were completely free of mistakes)
---Doing my phonetics homework.
---Proofreading my politics paper – because no matter how many times I read it and reread it, I will still get it back covered in red ink due to my complete inattention/inability to correctly use case declensions.
---Going to bed, as it is now 1:12 a.m.
Things I Am Not Doing Right Now:
---All of the above.
I finished writing my paper though. It is 20 pages long. Well, like 19 and a half. I’m not really sure how this happened. I guess I sort of have been writing it for a month. But still, it’s 20 pages and it’s in Russian and it’s FULL of mistakes!!! But it’s still done (well sort of). There is lots of footnoting and further proofreading that needs to occur. Then there is some sort of oral presentation/defense which has to happen. Ahh.
I told myself I couldn’t write a blog entry until I finished the paper tonight, because as soon as I start functioning in English to write the blog, it would have been impossible to go back to Russian writing mode. I mean more impossible than Russian writing mode is usually (and Russian writing mode is always very impossible and highly unproductive). However the lesson learned is that many nights of highly unproductive-ness can still result in a high overall level of productivity.
It’s like when you’re in high school and you take 6 months to write the 15 page senior paper and then you get to college and you write 10 page papers in a weekend – or if you are Flora, you write them in like 4 hours.
I calmed down off the “throw everything away/give everything away/leave it all in Russia” bandwagon and now tomorrow shall call cab driver to arrange for me to be driven with baggage to Andrei’s house in Moscow where I can leave my stuff for December and January while we with Sonya travel about the country. Also, I wonder why I brought my Chaco’s to Russia. Did that ever sound like a good idea? But I pretend that my excuse is that I wanted to wear them at Laurel’s house and then they just got brought along to Boston and then to New York and then to Moscow. But it’s still sort of highly ridiculous. Plus they’re heavy. Not that there is any way my luggage will ever be under the weight limit to get back to the U.S.
Things That Actually Relate To Russia
The Loko game on Monday: You’re not going to understand my amazing cleverness unless you speak Russian. Oh well. So I was on the marshrytka along with half of the population of Yaroslavl. Now that it’s actually cold and snowy, the marshrytka’s are almost always FULL of people. But my maneuvering/shoving of people skills to reach the door have greatly improved since that culture moment/getting disastrously lost in Bragino. So whenever you go to a Loko game, like half of the marshrytka gets off at the stop for the arena. But on this marshrytka, there were a lot of шуба (dead animal-fur coat) wearing women. Шуба pronounced “shoo-buh” and so I definitely assumed that they would not be exiting for the hockey game. Oh man, was I wrong. There were so many шубы (много шуб) at the hockey game. This is where my cleverness comes in. A hockey puck is called шайба “shai-buh.” And I came to the conclusion that if I was in charge I would make there be a mandatory decision for every woman between шуба and шайба. It’s clever because the two words sound like each other. Like you can’t have the best of both worlds. You can’t get to go to hockey games and get to wear the dead animal (Margarita thinks she has ridded me of my vegetarian habits-Haha. She has not completely. I still call it a dead animal and not a fur coat.) Every woman has to make a choice. You can pick шайба (puck) or you can pick шуба (animal/coat). I think it was a lot more clever when it only existed in my head. It doesn’t sound very clever at all, now that I have typed it.
Today at basketball practice the girls were talking about how their parents forbid them to play sports when they were young. So they secretly had to go to basketball or football practice (remember that when I say football, I am logically referring to the sport played by such people as David Beckham and Mia Hamm, and not the sport played by such people as OJ Simpson). And then I was glad that I had never taken my hockey stick to basketball practice when we used to play hockey on Monday nights. I don’t think they would have understood/been accepting of the idea of me not only playing ice hockey (Margarita has asked me like 800 times if I have ever tried figure skating. Answer: NO), but playing ice hockey on the boys team all the way through high school, plus playing pick up with the men at Arena. So the fact that they were forbidden from playing sports is so like 1950’s or something or earlier, I don’t know. It’s old. Also, mother, thank you for not forbidding me from playing hockey.
I feel like the blog is recently much less “this is what I did,” and more “this is what I think.” I don’t know how I feel about that.
The elections to the State (federal) Dyma are on Sunday. Edinaya Rocciya is going to win. They’re going to get like 60% or more. This is okay with me, I think. Today I decided I wanted to read what English newspapers were saying about the upcoming elections. Oh man. I forgot how much America doesn’t like Putin. Like they just ripped him apart and talked about how its not true democracy and how this European delegation of observers of the voting process (there has to be a better English word to explain this, but I can’t think of it) declined to come because according to them, Russia was being really annoying and only wanted to supply visas for like ¼ of their delegation. But the English-language (i.e. not just British) newspapers wrote that Putin said that the delegation didn’t come because America convinced them not to come so that Russia would look bad and look like we were trying to conduct somehow rigged or unfair elections. And then there were various Putin quotes about Europe and America keeping their noses out of Russia’s business and not meddling in our internal affairs. But the translations were not anything close to something Putin would ever say. He wouldn’t have insulting comments about “America staying out of our business.” I listen to his speeches on the news every day. He doesn’t talk like that. That’s more like Bush quality of speaking. Also I heard Bush’s voice on the news because the dubbing was delayed like 5 seconds after Bush started speaking. And I forgot how much I hate his voice. Like he just sounds like a complete loon. Perhaps even a goon.
So anyways, it was crazy reading what the English-speaking press is saying about the elections on Sunday. Also they keep mentioning the “next president” of Russia which we don’t really talk about in Russia, because everyone just sort of secretly thinks it’s going to be Putin. Maybe not everyone, but a lot of people. I think I agree with them. And since presidential elections are on March 2 (I won’t be here. Ah!!! The misery is overwhelming.) that means he would have to leave the presidency before Dec 23 in order to declare his candidacy. And he is also the only candidate on the Edinaya Rocciya list to the federal Dyma. And elections are on the 2nd (in two days). So there is the possibility that he could then become a deputat in the Dyma for 3 months and then go back to the presidency. But if he does this, he is going to have to resign from the presidency like soon. But he keeps talking about the “next president,” but no one actually believes him. Not that any Russians are really that angry about this. He has a huge popularity rating. I feel like I didn’t know that when I was in the U.S. The population actually incredibly supports him. And there are no other political personality’s in Russia even close to the support that Putin has. So mainly Russians would support him having a third term. I'm pretty sure that didn't make sense that whole thing I just wrote about Putin. But sort of the whole point is that it is really complicated and he might resign really soon in order to be able to have a 3rd term without disrupting the constitution. But he might not. But no one really knows.
Also this is related to earlier comment about the voting observing people from Europe not coming. When we saw this on the news, Margarita had the most awesome comment ever. I don’t actually remember what she said, but it was something that would be translated like “Well, who gives a damn.” Like, if the snotty Europeans and Americans don’t approve of our elections, we don’t really care, at all. And this attitude is awesome. Except of course, Russia gets completely trashed in the international press because of not complying with the election observer people (I really wish I could think of a better word), but America always has the “Fuck the world. We do what we want” attitude. Hey, let’s go invade Afghanistan. And Iraq. And not sign the Kyoto Pollution Treaty Protocol Thing.
Going to write the Thank-You notes. I bet as soon as I have to use some hard case ending, I will think of a really important thing to write about on my blog. I wonder if they’ll know if I write them all the exact same note.
Ugh. There’s 11 cards. I’ve only written 2. Ah. I just used the ты form instead of the вы form.
Also when I was reading about Putin in the U.S. press they referred to the такого как путин song in which the girl sings about how wants a boyfriend like Putin who doesn't drink or run away and is strong. And they used this to show how dominating Putin is and how he brainwashes all of the Russians into being in love with him and not being a true democracy. Except all of the Russians also realize how ridiculous this song is.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
выйти из шкафа
A. Today in phonetics we had to listen to the tape recording of us reading a Pushkin poem in early September right when we arrived. In short, I was appalled by my speaking ability (or lack thereof). I was also appalled by what my voice actually sounds like. But that always happens when I have to hear myself on message machines or such. It doesn’t even sound like Russian when I speak. Then we listened to the recording we just recorded today. And there were differences. So that was good. Apparently I discovered in the past 3 months that there are “soft” letters/sounds in Russian language and so it sounds a little better. But it’s still so atrocious. Maybe I should be optimistic. “Look at the process you made in only three months.” “Recognize your ability to tell the difference between good Russian and bad Russian, because that is the first step to reaching a level of good Russian.” Oh god, but it is so bad.
Б. And I feel like the Russian I speak in the university is like 10 times better than any Russian I speak on the street. Like, I can’t try to conjugate a verb correctly or worry about the soft “l” that I am supposed to be articulating because I am too busy trying to not get hit in traffic. I also just feel like I’ve gotten lazy in Russian. Like I never really study that much anymore. And if I do, I don’t spend my time memorizing vocabulary words. I guess it’s not my vocabulary that limits me so much. It’s just like the more “real” Russian I hear, the more aware I become of the little constructions and nuances that I completely understand but never remember when I am trying to formulate my thoughts. And then I try to defend myself that I have reached a functional level in Russia where I can buy train tickets and buy tickets to hockey games and concerts and theatres and reserve hotel rooms and read the newspaper and come away understanding the basic thoughts and etc. and so maybe I should stop worrying about the grammar and awkward constructions and accent. But it’s still really worrisome. And I don’t really know what the answer is. I guess I should just make myself talk more. I know that the answer is not “Go back to Midd and don’t take a Russian class for the spring.” But that’s what I have to do.
В. What is the difference between when we say “I have” and we say “I have got” because Vacilica’s husband Aleksei refuses to believe me that there is really no difference. And that maybe the only difference is that “I have got” is conversational and I would never write that. Plus I feel like I never actually say “I have got.” But that is what he always says, plus that’s what they teach in the English textbook at School Number 4 where I teach, and I don’t want to ruin their whole “I have got…” construction.
Г. This is still related to me complaining about how bad I am at Russian. So at some point in my study of Russian I realized that they don’t use the construction “Me and Sonya” (shout-out to Sonya!), instead Russians would say “We with Sonya.” So I started using this form. And at first I feel like an imposter, like this is some construction only allowed to be used by people who actually speak the language. But then you get over it and you go about explaining how “We with the babyshka watch ‘Dances on the Ice’ every Sunday night.” And you feel like you cracked this code and it is awesome. And then today in grammar, our professor explained that when foreigners use the construction “Me and Sonya” it sounds to a Russian like I actually involved in said activity and was forced to drag Sonya along as like a suitcase that I was pulling behind me. Like Sonya becomes a very unappreciated and insulted participant in said activity. So apparently I didn’t crack any secret code when I began saying “We with Sonya,” I just made it sound like Sonya was an actual person who was equally involved in such activity and she stopped being some large bulky useless item/person which I dragged along behind me.
Д. Also you can’t say “я голодна” “I’m hungry” because that is automatically a foreigner construction and Russians understand what you are saying, but secretly think you are a weirdo. You are supposed to say some huge long verb which I will now be forced to go look up in a dictionary. Returned. Said verb. Проголодаться (с.в.) So now I will try to remember to say я проголодалась.
Е. Why am I always exhausted when I wake up at like 7:15. But now it is 1:00 a.m. and I am not going to bed and instead typing this blog.
Ё. Every day I involve myself in this huge battle (this battle only occurs in my head) of “stay or go.” Haha. You all thought I had decided weeks ago that I was going back to Midd for the spring. And I did decide. Except now everyday I want to stay here more and more. Not that I ever really wanted to leave that much. It just seemed like a responsible choice to go home and finish college. So then I made the mistake of asking Megan what would happen if I told her now that I actually wanted to stay. And she said “We would figure it out.” This was not the correct answer. The correct answer would have been. “Abby, you already made your choice. You have to leave.” But I am going to leave. And then I will be able to come back. And it will all be okay. But I can’t actually guarantee that I get on my plane leaving Moscow. That sounds like one of the most ridiculous things I have ever thought. After all, the only reason I got on the plane to Frankfurt and Moscow was because I couldn’t abandon Natalie and SpongeBob (disguised in the pea coat) in the New York airport.
Ж. Are you allowed to гулать by yourself or does such activity require you to have companions?
И. Vacilica asked me different English words which mean crazy person and I came up with fool and idiot and then……..LOON. And I didn’t know if I should share with her this gold mine of a word (you’re definitely not allowed to say gold mine of a word…). But then I told her and she totally didn’t understand that I had just revealed to her the best word in the English language. She didn’t understand that she had been let into this secret group of people who know and utilize the word loon in their daily speech. She didn’t understand that she had been revealed a secret English word which will someday sweep the English speaking world and possibly get adopted into Russian and take various case forms so there will be много лунов and people will spend their time talking about сумасшедших лунах.
К. Life is so much easier when I am in my “selfish don’t change the world” mode. But then I get in this “change the world” mode and it’s just so exhausting to be affected by everyone else’s problems. It’s not everyone though. It’s just the kids. Maybe I should feel bad for all of the really poor Russian grandmothers living alone because their husbands already died and barely surviving on their small pension payments. But I don’t really feel that bad for them. This is going to sound really mean, but I feel like I approach them as more of historical relics from the Soviet Union than as real people. Oh man. I am a horrible person. Anyways, the babyshkas don’t tug at my heart strings. Why do I use all of these strange English idioms now? The kids do though. Not all of the kids. The kids at School 4 where I teach English are really cute, but they don’t get to me. They’re all 10 years old and they already have 2 cell phones each. These kids are rich. Well their parents are. As Margarita would say in her disgusted tone “бизнес…” (business). I am ashamed of my cell phone when I enter School Number 4. But it’s the other kids who don’t have money and don’t really have much of a future. Like I walk past the little boys playing hockey on the sidewalk and well mainly I just want to play hockey with them, but I also just want to take care of them.
Л. So now I have to return to Russia to personally take care of all the poor and mistreated Russian children. This is what I felt like when I was in New Orleans. That somebody just needed to do something for these kids. But then the feeling fades and you sort of realize you can’t change the whole world and so maybe it’s not worth spending all your time stressing about it. But I feel like I’ve changed my “change the world itself” life plan to a “change the world one child at a time” life view.
М. Agh. This is completely not about Russia. Also it is 2:10 in the morning and I am still typing this. I am going to not be happy when the alarm on my phone goes into its shrilly, peppy alarm ring tomorrow (today) morning.
Н. Now it is Thursday morning. And I am running out of time to write this. Soon (actually like right now), I have to leave to go to the university so that I can use the internet and then go teach English and then go to basketball practice and then come home and eat dinner and do my homework (write the final 3 pages of my 20 pg. politics paper!).
О. There’s lots of other important things to write about:
-I went to another Loko game. It was awesome, as usual. We won 4-2. And came back from 2-1 losing margin entering the 3rd period.
-If you are wondering how to say a gay person came out of the closet in Russian, you just say выйти из шкафа which translates directly as to walk out of the closet. This is brilliant.
-I’m leaving Yaroslavl on Dec. 17, but then Susanna and I are coming back for 2 days on our way to Piter. But still this is amazingly depressing. And also worrisome because somehow I have to get the multiple like billion pound suitcases to Moscow so that they can stay in my friend’s house there until I return at the end of January to fly to New York. Except I don’t want to have to pay like 3,000 roubles to take a cab to Moscow. But the train would be like extremely atrocious with the suitcases. So I think I am just going to throw everything away, leave it all in Russia. I’m sort of kidding. But I’m sort of not.
Things That Would Not Be Thrown Away:
-hockey skates and gloves
-souvenirs I have bought for people
-my awesome fur hooded winter coat
-possibly 3 pairs of pants and some sweaters
-laptop
-my boots
-the rest could really just be thrown away
П. Ahhhh, now I am late leaving the apartment.
Kitty…
С Днём Рождения!!!
Happy Birthday!!!
Б. And I feel like the Russian I speak in the university is like 10 times better than any Russian I speak on the street. Like, I can’t try to conjugate a verb correctly or worry about the soft “l” that I am supposed to be articulating because I am too busy trying to not get hit in traffic. I also just feel like I’ve gotten lazy in Russian. Like I never really study that much anymore. And if I do, I don’t spend my time memorizing vocabulary words. I guess it’s not my vocabulary that limits me so much. It’s just like the more “real” Russian I hear, the more aware I become of the little constructions and nuances that I completely understand but never remember when I am trying to formulate my thoughts. And then I try to defend myself that I have reached a functional level in Russia where I can buy train tickets and buy tickets to hockey games and concerts and theatres and reserve hotel rooms and read the newspaper and come away understanding the basic thoughts and etc. and so maybe I should stop worrying about the grammar and awkward constructions and accent. But it’s still really worrisome. And I don’t really know what the answer is. I guess I should just make myself talk more. I know that the answer is not “Go back to Midd and don’t take a Russian class for the spring.” But that’s what I have to do.
В. What is the difference between when we say “I have” and we say “I have got” because Vacilica’s husband Aleksei refuses to believe me that there is really no difference. And that maybe the only difference is that “I have got” is conversational and I would never write that. Plus I feel like I never actually say “I have got.” But that is what he always says, plus that’s what they teach in the English textbook at School Number 4 where I teach, and I don’t want to ruin their whole “I have got…” construction.
Г. This is still related to me complaining about how bad I am at Russian. So at some point in my study of Russian I realized that they don’t use the construction “Me and Sonya” (shout-out to Sonya!), instead Russians would say “We with Sonya.” So I started using this form. And at first I feel like an imposter, like this is some construction only allowed to be used by people who actually speak the language. But then you get over it and you go about explaining how “We with the babyshka watch ‘Dances on the Ice’ every Sunday night.” And you feel like you cracked this code and it is awesome. And then today in grammar, our professor explained that when foreigners use the construction “Me and Sonya” it sounds to a Russian like I actually involved in said activity and was forced to drag Sonya along as like a suitcase that I was pulling behind me. Like Sonya becomes a very unappreciated and insulted participant in said activity. So apparently I didn’t crack any secret code when I began saying “We with Sonya,” I just made it sound like Sonya was an actual person who was equally involved in such activity and she stopped being some large bulky useless item/person which I dragged along behind me.
Д. Also you can’t say “я голодна” “I’m hungry” because that is automatically a foreigner construction and Russians understand what you are saying, but secretly think you are a weirdo. You are supposed to say some huge long verb which I will now be forced to go look up in a dictionary. Returned. Said verb. Проголодаться (с.в.) So now I will try to remember to say я проголодалась.
Е. Why am I always exhausted when I wake up at like 7:15. But now it is 1:00 a.m. and I am not going to bed and instead typing this blog.
Ё. Every day I involve myself in this huge battle (this battle only occurs in my head) of “stay or go.” Haha. You all thought I had decided weeks ago that I was going back to Midd for the spring. And I did decide. Except now everyday I want to stay here more and more. Not that I ever really wanted to leave that much. It just seemed like a responsible choice to go home and finish college. So then I made the mistake of asking Megan what would happen if I told her now that I actually wanted to stay. And she said “We would figure it out.” This was not the correct answer. The correct answer would have been. “Abby, you already made your choice. You have to leave.” But I am going to leave. And then I will be able to come back. And it will all be okay. But I can’t actually guarantee that I get on my plane leaving Moscow. That sounds like one of the most ridiculous things I have ever thought. After all, the only reason I got on the plane to Frankfurt and Moscow was because I couldn’t abandon Natalie and SpongeBob (disguised in the pea coat) in the New York airport.
Ж. Are you allowed to гулать by yourself or does such activity require you to have companions?
И. Vacilica asked me different English words which mean crazy person and I came up with fool and idiot and then……..LOON. And I didn’t know if I should share with her this gold mine of a word (you’re definitely not allowed to say gold mine of a word…). But then I told her and she totally didn’t understand that I had just revealed to her the best word in the English language. She didn’t understand that she had been let into this secret group of people who know and utilize the word loon in their daily speech. She didn’t understand that she had been revealed a secret English word which will someday sweep the English speaking world and possibly get adopted into Russian and take various case forms so there will be много лунов and people will spend their time talking about сумасшедших лунах.
К. Life is so much easier when I am in my “selfish don’t change the world” mode. But then I get in this “change the world” mode and it’s just so exhausting to be affected by everyone else’s problems. It’s not everyone though. It’s just the kids. Maybe I should feel bad for all of the really poor Russian grandmothers living alone because their husbands already died and barely surviving on their small pension payments. But I don’t really feel that bad for them. This is going to sound really mean, but I feel like I approach them as more of historical relics from the Soviet Union than as real people. Oh man. I am a horrible person. Anyways, the babyshkas don’t tug at my heart strings. Why do I use all of these strange English idioms now? The kids do though. Not all of the kids. The kids at School 4 where I teach English are really cute, but they don’t get to me. They’re all 10 years old and they already have 2 cell phones each. These kids are rich. Well their parents are. As Margarita would say in her disgusted tone “бизнес…” (business). I am ashamed of my cell phone when I enter School Number 4. But it’s the other kids who don’t have money and don’t really have much of a future. Like I walk past the little boys playing hockey on the sidewalk and well mainly I just want to play hockey with them, but I also just want to take care of them.
Л. So now I have to return to Russia to personally take care of all the poor and mistreated Russian children. This is what I felt like when I was in New Orleans. That somebody just needed to do something for these kids. But then the feeling fades and you sort of realize you can’t change the whole world and so maybe it’s not worth spending all your time stressing about it. But I feel like I’ve changed my “change the world itself” life plan to a “change the world one child at a time” life view.
М. Agh. This is completely not about Russia. Also it is 2:10 in the morning and I am still typing this. I am going to not be happy when the alarm on my phone goes into its shrilly, peppy alarm ring tomorrow (today) morning.
Н. Now it is Thursday morning. And I am running out of time to write this. Soon (actually like right now), I have to leave to go to the university so that I can use the internet and then go teach English and then go to basketball practice and then come home and eat dinner and do my homework (write the final 3 pages of my 20 pg. politics paper!).
О. There’s lots of other important things to write about:
-I went to another Loko game. It was awesome, as usual. We won 4-2. And came back from 2-1 losing margin entering the 3rd period.
-If you are wondering how to say a gay person came out of the closet in Russian, you just say выйти из шкафа which translates directly as to walk out of the closet. This is brilliant.
-I’m leaving Yaroslavl on Dec. 17, but then Susanna and I are coming back for 2 days on our way to Piter. But still this is amazingly depressing. And also worrisome because somehow I have to get the multiple like billion pound suitcases to Moscow so that they can stay in my friend’s house there until I return at the end of January to fly to New York. Except I don’t want to have to pay like 3,000 roubles to take a cab to Moscow. But the train would be like extremely atrocious with the suitcases. So I think I am just going to throw everything away, leave it all in Russia. I’m sort of kidding. But I’m sort of not.
Things That Would Not Be Thrown Away:
-hockey skates and gloves
-souvenirs I have bought for people
-my awesome fur hooded winter coat
-possibly 3 pairs of pants and some sweaters
-laptop
-my boots
-the rest could really just be thrown away
П. Ahhhh, now I am late leaving the apartment.
Kitty…
С Днём Рождения!!!
Happy Birthday!!!
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Flat Stanley and Paper Napkins
I thought I lost Flat Stanley today. It would have been a catastrophe.
You may ask who/what is Flat Stanley. And I will answer you. Apparently there is a popular children’s series of books about a character named Flat Stanley who goes on all sorts of adventures around the world. He is flat, as in two dimesional. I am not sure if this is critical to the plot line of the stories. So American children read the Flat Stanley books and then they draw their own “Flat Stanley’s” on pieces of paper and send them on adventures. Like they would give the Flat Stanley to a truck driver and the truck driver would take pictures of Flat Stanley at various locations in the U.S. on his truck route and send the pictures back to the kids. Or they just send the Flat Stanley to relatives living in different spots across the U.S. And the relatives would take pictures of him and send the pictures back to the children. So I received Flat Stanley in an envelope from my mother approximately 2 weeks ago. This Flat Stanley belonged to a family friend, Jessie, who is in 2nd grade in Missoula. So I was instructed to take pictures of Flat Stanley in Russia and send them back to my mom and she would get them to Jessie. Later I was informed that Jessie’s entire class was talking about how Flat Stanley was in Russia.
I’m not big on the whole picture taking thing to begin with. Especially in Russia, where they might put you in jail for taking a picture. But knowing that the hopes of an entire 2nd grade class rested on my shoulders, I decided to suck it up and take Flat Stanley for a photo shoot on the banks of the Volga. So I did that and I sent the pictures off to my mother. Then I thought, I can probably get a picture of Flat Stanley by an onion-dome church without being arrested. So today on my various errands (Margarita thought I was at the library for 5 hours. I was not at the library for one moment.), I stopped by the church. Immediately I noticed two police cars. Churches, however, are one of the things you actually can fairly fearlessly take pictures of. So I pulled out the camera and then I couldn’t find Flat Stanley! He was not stuck in my planner where he was supposed to be. So I just took a picture of myself and the church and returned home. I was sort of relieved. I had begun to worry that the police men were really bored and would try to question me as to why I was taking a picture of this piece of paper with the church in the background. My Russian is not bad. It’s not especially good either. Even if I was completely fluent, the policemen would never have understood my explanation that Flat Stanley is a character from an American book who travels around the world and you are supposed to take pictures of him in different places and send the pictures back to the elementary school kids.
This is the sort of thing that captives people in the U.S. and everybody gets excited about finding the coolest place to take a picture of Flat Stanley. There is no way any Russian would ever understand this concept. Perhaps, they would. But I really don’t think they would. Mostly there would just be scorn at how worry free and trivial minded the Americans are. So I was sort of relieved that I had forgotten Flat Stanley at home and avoided any sort of atrocious conversation with the Russian police. After all, the churches always look better when they are lit up at night, so I figured I could just return tomorrow evening and take a picture when the church would be lit up. Then I got home and I still couldn’t find Flat Stanley. Panic began to occur. The Volga pictures were good. But Flat Stanley really needed to be photographed next to an onion-dome church before his tour of Russia could be done.
So I was freaking out about how I had lost/thrown away the piece of paper that Flat Stanley was drawn on. How the whole second grade class would be betrayed and heartbroken. Then I figured I could probably just draw another one and never tell anyone I had lost the original one. After all, it’s not important what Flat Stanley actually looks like, it’s just important what he’s standing next to in the picture. But then I found him stuck inside of my phonetics book. Thank goodness.
So tomorrow evening I shall take a photo of Flat Stanley next to the lit up церковь ильи пророка (Elijah the Prophet) and send those off to my mother as well.
My mom suggested I take a picture of Flat Stanley on the marshrutka. This is one of the most ridiculous proposals ever (sorry mom) and I refuse to suffer the humiliation of taking a picture of a piece of paper sitting next to me on the marshrutka.
Also, Laurel! Get excited about the fact that Flat Stanley is being sent to Paris! It has been requested that after his tour of Yaroslavl, he be sent on for some photos in Paris before being returned home to Missoula. Susanna, I’m not sure why Irkutsk didn’t make the cut. Sorry.
Other Things Unrelated to Flat Stanley:
I sort of went souvenir shopping today. As I have discussed earlier, souvenir shopping is a difficult task to embark upon for several reasons. I have no idea what anybody would want from Russia. However, whatever I purchase is required to be interesting, Russian, light (very-light), compact, easily packable, un-breakable, and cheap. It is sort of hard to satisfy all of these requirements in one gift. However, I came up with the brilliant idea of paper napkins from макдоналдс. These satisfy essentially all of the above requirement. Except that I think people would be underwhelmed when I return from Russia and proudly give them each a single макдоналдс paper napkin from the макдоналдс in Yaroslavl. So I scrapped that idea. But that is still my backup plan.
Kurt, I bought you the most awesome gift ever today. It is not a napkin from макдоналдс. I don’t think you actually read my blog. But hopefully Aiko will read this and tell you. It is awesome. And if you don’t think it is awesome, then I will just have to keep it for myself. You only have to wait ‘til February to receive it.
For a really long time I wondered what they called hair conditioner in Russia. I was smart enough to not go to a store and ask for кондитионер (conditioner) because then they would think I was requesting an air conditioner. Anyways I went to this small grocery store by our house to buy a bottle of shampoo and even though you get to pick out yourself the stuff, it was still stressful because the saleswomen were staring at me, so I just picked fast and left. And then I returned home and with the help of my trusty English-Russian dictionary which is now held together both with duct tape and black hockey tape realized that I had in fact purchased conditioner. I don’t remember the full word but it is long and starts with an “o”. So then I thought I would just pretend that the conditioner was shampoo and just use it. Except this doesn’t work because now my hair just constantly looks like a grease pot, even after I “wash/conditioner” it. So I went to another store today and actually bought shampoo. Good story. I know.
I can no longer pretend that this blog entry is a productive use of my time.
You may ask who/what is Flat Stanley. And I will answer you. Apparently there is a popular children’s series of books about a character named Flat Stanley who goes on all sorts of adventures around the world. He is flat, as in two dimesional. I am not sure if this is critical to the plot line of the stories. So American children read the Flat Stanley books and then they draw their own “Flat Stanley’s” on pieces of paper and send them on adventures. Like they would give the Flat Stanley to a truck driver and the truck driver would take pictures of Flat Stanley at various locations in the U.S. on his truck route and send the pictures back to the kids. Or they just send the Flat Stanley to relatives living in different spots across the U.S. And the relatives would take pictures of him and send the pictures back to the children. So I received Flat Stanley in an envelope from my mother approximately 2 weeks ago. This Flat Stanley belonged to a family friend, Jessie, who is in 2nd grade in Missoula. So I was instructed to take pictures of Flat Stanley in Russia and send them back to my mom and she would get them to Jessie. Later I was informed that Jessie’s entire class was talking about how Flat Stanley was in Russia.
I’m not big on the whole picture taking thing to begin with. Especially in Russia, where they might put you in jail for taking a picture. But knowing that the hopes of an entire 2nd grade class rested on my shoulders, I decided to suck it up and take Flat Stanley for a photo shoot on the banks of the Volga. So I did that and I sent the pictures off to my mother. Then I thought, I can probably get a picture of Flat Stanley by an onion-dome church without being arrested. So today on my various errands (Margarita thought I was at the library for 5 hours. I was not at the library for one moment.), I stopped by the church. Immediately I noticed two police cars. Churches, however, are one of the things you actually can fairly fearlessly take pictures of. So I pulled out the camera and then I couldn’t find Flat Stanley! He was not stuck in my planner where he was supposed to be. So I just took a picture of myself and the church and returned home. I was sort of relieved. I had begun to worry that the police men were really bored and would try to question me as to why I was taking a picture of this piece of paper with the church in the background. My Russian is not bad. It’s not especially good either. Even if I was completely fluent, the policemen would never have understood my explanation that Flat Stanley is a character from an American book who travels around the world and you are supposed to take pictures of him in different places and send the pictures back to the elementary school kids.
This is the sort of thing that captives people in the U.S. and everybody gets excited about finding the coolest place to take a picture of Flat Stanley. There is no way any Russian would ever understand this concept. Perhaps, they would. But I really don’t think they would. Mostly there would just be scorn at how worry free and trivial minded the Americans are. So I was sort of relieved that I had forgotten Flat Stanley at home and avoided any sort of atrocious conversation with the Russian police. After all, the churches always look better when they are lit up at night, so I figured I could just return tomorrow evening and take a picture when the church would be lit up. Then I got home and I still couldn’t find Flat Stanley. Panic began to occur. The Volga pictures were good. But Flat Stanley really needed to be photographed next to an onion-dome church before his tour of Russia could be done.
So I was freaking out about how I had lost/thrown away the piece of paper that Flat Stanley was drawn on. How the whole second grade class would be betrayed and heartbroken. Then I figured I could probably just draw another one and never tell anyone I had lost the original one. After all, it’s not important what Flat Stanley actually looks like, it’s just important what he’s standing next to in the picture. But then I found him stuck inside of my phonetics book. Thank goodness.
So tomorrow evening I shall take a photo of Flat Stanley next to the lit up церковь ильи пророка (Elijah the Prophet) and send those off to my mother as well.
My mom suggested I take a picture of Flat Stanley on the marshrutka. This is one of the most ridiculous proposals ever (sorry mom) and I refuse to suffer the humiliation of taking a picture of a piece of paper sitting next to me on the marshrutka.
Also, Laurel! Get excited about the fact that Flat Stanley is being sent to Paris! It has been requested that after his tour of Yaroslavl, he be sent on for some photos in Paris before being returned home to Missoula. Susanna, I’m not sure why Irkutsk didn’t make the cut. Sorry.
Other Things Unrelated to Flat Stanley:
I sort of went souvenir shopping today. As I have discussed earlier, souvenir shopping is a difficult task to embark upon for several reasons. I have no idea what anybody would want from Russia. However, whatever I purchase is required to be interesting, Russian, light (very-light), compact, easily packable, un-breakable, and cheap. It is sort of hard to satisfy all of these requirements in one gift. However, I came up with the brilliant idea of paper napkins from макдоналдс. These satisfy essentially all of the above requirement. Except that I think people would be underwhelmed when I return from Russia and proudly give them each a single макдоналдс paper napkin from the макдоналдс in Yaroslavl. So I scrapped that idea. But that is still my backup plan.
Kurt, I bought you the most awesome gift ever today. It is not a napkin from макдоналдс. I don’t think you actually read my blog. But hopefully Aiko will read this and tell you. It is awesome. And if you don’t think it is awesome, then I will just have to keep it for myself. You only have to wait ‘til February to receive it.
For a really long time I wondered what they called hair conditioner in Russia. I was smart enough to not go to a store and ask for кондитионер (conditioner) because then they would think I was requesting an air conditioner. Anyways I went to this small grocery store by our house to buy a bottle of shampoo and even though you get to pick out yourself the stuff, it was still stressful because the saleswomen were staring at me, so I just picked fast and left. And then I returned home and with the help of my trusty English-Russian dictionary which is now held together both with duct tape and black hockey tape realized that I had in fact purchased conditioner. I don’t remember the full word but it is long and starts with an “o”. So then I thought I would just pretend that the conditioner was shampoo and just use it. Except this doesn’t work because now my hair just constantly looks like a grease pot, even after I “wash/conditioner” it. So I went to another store today and actually bought shampoo. Good story. I know.
I can no longer pretend that this blog entry is a productive use of my time.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Happy Thanksgiving
Happy Thanksgiving! My e-mail won't work. At first this was sort of annoying. Now it is really annoying. Then I thought that maybe it would be fixed soon because it is almost 8 a.m. in Vermont, and Middlebury will not be functional without e-mail. In fact they are probably sending out e-mail messages about how they apologize for the inconvenience that e-mail is not working and it will be fixed soon. But then I realized that it is Thanksgiving and so Ron probably doesn't care that e-mail isn't working. But I am still annoyed. So I don't know how long I will sit here waiting for it to start working.
Other things:
Yesterday I bought a winter coat. It was so much of a less tramatic process than I imagined it was going to be. The buying of the coat was undramatic. However after I bought the coat I was supposed to go over to a friend's house and then go to the theater. And I am pretty sure that the friend would have disapproved of how much money I had spent on the coat (which wasn't that much money for me, but would be a LOT of money for her), plus I didn't really want to have the huge plastic bag with me at the theater. So I solved this problem by stuffing the brand new coat into my shoulder bag/purse thing. This was ridiculous. So then I just had this huge overflowing bag which I tried to calmly carry about and ignore the fact that it was essentially exploding and hope that nobody said anything about it. But it all worked out and the friend didn't ask about it. And then we went to the theatre. And I understood very little of the play, but since it was a comedy it meant that at some points the entire audience of Russians were laughing. This was sort of unsettling. But in a very comforting way. It is good to know that Russians can laugh in large groups. I am aware that Russians can laugh with each other in small company, but it was good when the whole audience was laughing. Also on the marshrutka to the theatre, I both got a lucky ticket and lost one of my mittens. (I have to buy new mittens today before Margarita yells at me). So I guess that I was going to have very bad luck and my lucky ticket minimized the damage to only losing a mitten.
Other items of note: Artic Slaughter is no longer in existence as a band. There is some new band, but I forgot what they are called. Sorry, Kit.
E-mail is still not working. This is annoying. Also Margarita is supposed to be at a birthday party all day meaning whenever I decide to go home, the apartment should be empty, which would be AMAZING. But I am worried that she will be there and I will not get to appreciate my rare moments of being alone. This is strange. I am alone almost all the time. But never actually "alone, alone." Like she is always lurking somewhere about the apartment and sometimes you just need to know that no one else is around. Even if she is gone, she has promised to return exactly at 7 p.m. I am not sure why this is necessary. There is no way I am going to eat dinner tonight. I made this clear to her. That the whole point is to eat a large Thanksgiving meal at like 2 p.m. and then not eat for several hours/days. Except I bet she makes me eat dinner anyways. Ugh.
Other things:
Yesterday I bought a winter coat. It was so much of a less tramatic process than I imagined it was going to be. The buying of the coat was undramatic. However after I bought the coat I was supposed to go over to a friend's house and then go to the theater. And I am pretty sure that the friend would have disapproved of how much money I had spent on the coat (which wasn't that much money for me, but would be a LOT of money for her), plus I didn't really want to have the huge plastic bag with me at the theater. So I solved this problem by stuffing the brand new coat into my shoulder bag/purse thing. This was ridiculous. So then I just had this huge overflowing bag which I tried to calmly carry about and ignore the fact that it was essentially exploding and hope that nobody said anything about it. But it all worked out and the friend didn't ask about it. And then we went to the theatre. And I understood very little of the play, but since it was a comedy it meant that at some points the entire audience of Russians were laughing. This was sort of unsettling. But in a very comforting way. It is good to know that Russians can laugh in large groups. I am aware that Russians can laugh with each other in small company, but it was good when the whole audience was laughing. Also on the marshrutka to the theatre, I both got a lucky ticket and lost one of my mittens. (I have to buy new mittens today before Margarita yells at me). So I guess that I was going to have very bad luck and my lucky ticket minimized the damage to only losing a mitten.
Other items of note: Artic Slaughter is no longer in existence as a band. There is some new band, but I forgot what they are called. Sorry, Kit.
E-mail is still not working. This is annoying. Also Margarita is supposed to be at a birthday party all day meaning whenever I decide to go home, the apartment should be empty, which would be AMAZING. But I am worried that she will be there and I will not get to appreciate my rare moments of being alone. This is strange. I am alone almost all the time. But never actually "alone, alone." Like she is always lurking somewhere about the apartment and sometimes you just need to know that no one else is around. Even if she is gone, she has promised to return exactly at 7 p.m. I am not sure why this is necessary. There is no way I am going to eat dinner tonight. I made this clear to her. That the whole point is to eat a large Thanksgiving meal at like 2 p.m. and then not eat for several hours/days. Except I bet she makes me eat dinner anyways. Ugh.
АВАРИЯ!!!
Tuesday was a day/evening to remember. I have my mainstream class on Tuesday evenings from 8:05 to 9:20 although it usually ends around 9:00. Then I make the 20 minute walk home, usually with my friend Vacilica from class, and then do my homework. Some weeks my mom calls around 11 p.m. my time (1 p.m. her time).
Yesterday as I left for evening class, Margarita was worried that my mom was going to call too early when I was still at class. So she started freaking out about this (*side note: She also freaked out at me last night when I was eating dinner. I had a complete plate covered with potatoes which I was slowly (not really that slowly, but by Margarita’s concerned glares, too slowly for her liking) eating. Then I put down my fork so that I could take a drink of tea. And immediately, like immediately, she asks, “Is something wrong with the potatoes. Are they okay? What’s wrong?” Essentially, I got yelled at for taking a beverage break. I wasn’t even taking a beverage break for a silly beverage such as water, I was drinking the country’s favorite drink/meal, tea. Whatever, I’m over it. Next time I shall keep fork in hand and keep eating the potatoes simultaneously while drinking the tea. Moving on.*)
So then she asked me what she should say if my mother called. I tried to reassure her that my mom would not call 3 hours ahead of our scheduled time. But Margarita was still really worked up about this. Then she suddenly said “Ring late” in English as she had decided this was how she could explain to my mother to “Call back later.” Except she has a very hard to understand accent. I really hope my accent when I speak Russian is more understandable than her accent when she speaks English. Usually when she starts speaking English (which is rare) I don’t understand what is going on. And so I stare at her. And then she repeats the phrase and finally my brain registers that I need to switch to English understanding mode. However, I think that due to earlier referenced “staring period” she thinks I actually don’t know English. Her vocabulary includes such words/phrases as
-butterfly (most Russians know this word. They also know submarine because of The Beatles “Yellow Submarine.” I don’t know if Margarita knows “submarine.”
-“please sit down”
-“good bye”
-“6 o’clock”
-“ring late”
Anyways, I’m getting off topic. So I left for class. And I got to class. And I listened to the lecture. And understood some of it. Then I walked Vacilica to her bus stop. By this time it was 9:30. So I had an hour to get home. If I had walked it probably would have taken me 30 minutes. But I sort of wanted to get some work done before my mom was supposed to call at 10:30. So I got on the 91 marshrutka bus which was supposed to be a 10 minute ride and then a 5 minute walk. And it was what I would call sort of full. There were no seats left (there’s probably seats for 20 people) and maybe like 5 people were already standing in the center aisle way. So I got on and paid my fare and then we kept stopping and collecting more and more and more and more and more and more people. Suddenly I found myself in the middle of the standing people in the middle of the marshrutka far away from either the rear or front doors. So then I tried to move so that I could make my way through the crowd to get to the door to get off at my stop. But no matter how much I tried to move, no one else seemed to notice or to make any room for me to get to the door. So I just stood there.
Sometimes, I get tired of being brave in Russia. Like I probably could have just shoved my way through all these people and made it to the door and pushed my way off at my stop. But I was tired and like I said, I didn’t feel like being brave. So I just stood there squished in the crowd. So then we passed my stop. But I was having a cultural experience of being squished by like 8 billion other people on the marshrutka. I don’t know how to explain how full it was. My best explanation is that at one point, I was having a hard time finding an empty place on the floor to put my foot without stepping on someone else’s foot. If you understand that the space your feet take up on the floor is much less than the space the rest of your body takes up, you will begin to get an idea for how full this marshrutka was. Then we kept collecting more people. The door on the marsrutka has to fold in when it opens. The rear door couldn’t fold in because of the mass of people to open for much of the ride. At any given stop, 5 people would get off (they could only use the front door at this point), 1 of the people would actually be getting off at the stop, then the 4 extra people would climb back in, plus like 3 new passengers.
And then finally we got to almost the end of the route and people started to get off. When I got off there were still lots of people standing in the aisle, but there was at least room to move around and make it to the door. So I got off and I walked to the other side of the street and waited for another 91 coming back into the city to come along. And it was 10:10 by then. So I had given up on getting home in time for the 10:30 phone call from mom. Then a marshrutka never came along. So I stood there for a long time. At this point I began to get sort of worried about my current situation. Not so much that I would miss the phone call. But the whole me being a 30 minute drive away from home at 10:15 at night when the public transportation is starting to shut down. Then Margarita called me on my cell phone. “ABBY! WHERE are you?” I had spent quite a lot of time trying to think of a good excuse for me being like an hour later than I usually am on Tuesday’s after evening class. So I told her that I had to talk to my professor but I was on my way home. I didn’t think she would understand my excuse that the marshrutka was too crowded to get off and plus, I was having my cultural moment of being in a huge crowd of Russian people. Also, no matter how squished we became no one would ever not get on the marshrutka and no one would ever make eye contact or say anything regardless of the fact that any one person was guaranteed to be physically molesting at least like 4 other people. Ah yes, Russia!
So then having successfully lied to Margarita. I continued to wait for the marshrutka. At this point I decided to start walking around the road back towards the center of Yaroslavl. But it would have been impossible for me to actually walk back. As well as the fact that it would have taken like an hour and a half, it is along huge scary large highways. And then no marshrutka’s came. But a sketchy car did pull up next to me. So I kept walking. Then I saw a marshrutka and I took of running across the icy/snowy road/field. But then it turned because it wasn’t going where I needed it to be going. Then I continued walking. There was a high level of panic occurring at this point. A level of panic that is not being adequately conveyed through my writing.
Then I saw another marshrutka. And so I began running again except this time it was actually a real field of snow without a path in it. So I was in my heel boot things running across a snow field at 10:30 p.m. in the Bragino (aka far from my house) part of Yaroslavl. Then my phone rang. And I knew it was going to be Margarita yelling at me again. Except it was Vacilica calling to try to figure out when we could meet again. This was ridiculous. My phone never rings. No one ever calls me. Sometimes I get text messages. So not only was my phone ringing. My phone was ringing during as earlier described sprint across snow field etc…Then I lied to her and said that my mom was supposed to be calling (which was true I just left out the whole part of me being lost in Bragino far from the phone on which my mother would be calling on). So I said I would call her back. Then I slowed to a walk as the marshrutka I had been chasing sped far away from me. Then I got to this other “stop” where people were actually waiting which was a good sign. As the other various places where I had stood waiting had all been without people. Also upon my approach to said kiosk and bus/tram/marshrutka stop there was a large patch of ice on which I sort of did some sort of figure skating stately and majestic twirl except it was neither stately nor majestic.
Then I started to imagine the conversation that was likely occurring between my mother and Margarita.
Margarita: Allyo?
Mother: Abby?
Margarita: Abby no.
Mother: Pajalsta.
Margarita: Ring late.
Mother: Pajalsta? Spasibo? Pajalsta? Spasibo? Abby?
Margarita: No Abby. Ring Late.
Mother: Abby? Pajalsta?
Then I stood at this stop for a long time. Lots of marshrutkas would drive by, except they were empty and done for the day and going to wherever marshrutkas go when they are not being driven. I wonder where they do go? Does every marshrutka driver actually own his marshrutka? Because they all have their very individual curtains and other various decorations. And park it at their apartment? Or is there a huge compound somewhere in Yaroslavl where there are like a billion marshrutka’s, because if there is, I want to go there. I don’t know why I am so intrigued by marshrutkas. They’re just so awesome. I feel like they capture so many different aspects of the whole Russia experience. If I was going to write a thesis, I would write it about marshrutka’s in Russia. This is a если бы construction because 1. I am not going to write a thesis and 2. Middlebury would not allow me to write a thesis about how awesome marshrutkas are. I just typed marshrutka like 6 billion times.
Kept waiting for a marshrutka. Kept waiting for Margarita to call me again and yell at me that she had just had a conversation with my mother. And WHERE WAS I? But she didn’t call. Thank goodness.
Then I asked this woman how to get back to Gigant (my stop) and we waited together for a marshrutka and then got on and then I got off at Gigant. Also this was one of the “small” marshrutka’s which I had never before had reason to ride. These are actually yellow vans, with seats for maybe 10 or 12 people. I think these are the only kind of marshrutkas they have in Irkutsk. So then I got to ride on of the small marshrutka’s which was good because it was on my list of “mandatory things to do before I can leave.” Then I ran through the back alleyways/ courtyard area’s of the various apartment buildings to get home. Courtyard is not the right word. These areas are neither classy nor majestic. Mainly they are dark and sketchy. So then I was sprinting through the back alleyways and it was 11:00 at night and I was very late and there was so much adrenaline. And it was pretty cool. Then I got home. And launched into this over exaggerated monologue about what a кошмар (nightmare/catastrophe/etc…) the whole evening had been. Then I told Margarita that after speaking with my professor I got on a marshrutka but I didn’t read the number correctly and so it didn’t go where I thought it would go. So then I had to get off and wait and take another “correct” one back. Which is sort of true. Except I did actually know the number of the one I got on, there was just the whole “too many people” problem. Then my mom called at 11:30 having actually not called at 10:30, so it all worked out. But oh man, last night was just so ridiculous. I hope that this blog entry conveyed at least a part of how ridiculous the whole evening was.
Yesterday as I left for evening class, Margarita was worried that my mom was going to call too early when I was still at class. So she started freaking out about this (*side note: She also freaked out at me last night when I was eating dinner. I had a complete plate covered with potatoes which I was slowly (not really that slowly, but by Margarita’s concerned glares, too slowly for her liking) eating. Then I put down my fork so that I could take a drink of tea. And immediately, like immediately, she asks, “Is something wrong with the potatoes. Are they okay? What’s wrong?” Essentially, I got yelled at for taking a beverage break. I wasn’t even taking a beverage break for a silly beverage such as water, I was drinking the country’s favorite drink/meal, tea. Whatever, I’m over it. Next time I shall keep fork in hand and keep eating the potatoes simultaneously while drinking the tea. Moving on.*)
So then she asked me what she should say if my mother called. I tried to reassure her that my mom would not call 3 hours ahead of our scheduled time. But Margarita was still really worked up about this. Then she suddenly said “Ring late” in English as she had decided this was how she could explain to my mother to “Call back later.” Except she has a very hard to understand accent. I really hope my accent when I speak Russian is more understandable than her accent when she speaks English. Usually when she starts speaking English (which is rare) I don’t understand what is going on. And so I stare at her. And then she repeats the phrase and finally my brain registers that I need to switch to English understanding mode. However, I think that due to earlier referenced “staring period” she thinks I actually don’t know English. Her vocabulary includes such words/phrases as
-butterfly (most Russians know this word. They also know submarine because of The Beatles “Yellow Submarine.” I don’t know if Margarita knows “submarine.”
-“please sit down”
-“good bye”
-“6 o’clock”
-“ring late”
Anyways, I’m getting off topic. So I left for class. And I got to class. And I listened to the lecture. And understood some of it. Then I walked Vacilica to her bus stop. By this time it was 9:30. So I had an hour to get home. If I had walked it probably would have taken me 30 minutes. But I sort of wanted to get some work done before my mom was supposed to call at 10:30. So I got on the 91 marshrutka bus which was supposed to be a 10 minute ride and then a 5 minute walk. And it was what I would call sort of full. There were no seats left (there’s probably seats for 20 people) and maybe like 5 people were already standing in the center aisle way. So I got on and paid my fare and then we kept stopping and collecting more and more and more and more and more and more people. Suddenly I found myself in the middle of the standing people in the middle of the marshrutka far away from either the rear or front doors. So then I tried to move so that I could make my way through the crowd to get to the door to get off at my stop. But no matter how much I tried to move, no one else seemed to notice or to make any room for me to get to the door. So I just stood there.
Sometimes, I get tired of being brave in Russia. Like I probably could have just shoved my way through all these people and made it to the door and pushed my way off at my stop. But I was tired and like I said, I didn’t feel like being brave. So I just stood there squished in the crowd. So then we passed my stop. But I was having a cultural experience of being squished by like 8 billion other people on the marshrutka. I don’t know how to explain how full it was. My best explanation is that at one point, I was having a hard time finding an empty place on the floor to put my foot without stepping on someone else’s foot. If you understand that the space your feet take up on the floor is much less than the space the rest of your body takes up, you will begin to get an idea for how full this marshrutka was. Then we kept collecting more people. The door on the marsrutka has to fold in when it opens. The rear door couldn’t fold in because of the mass of people to open for much of the ride. At any given stop, 5 people would get off (they could only use the front door at this point), 1 of the people would actually be getting off at the stop, then the 4 extra people would climb back in, plus like 3 new passengers.
And then finally we got to almost the end of the route and people started to get off. When I got off there were still lots of people standing in the aisle, but there was at least room to move around and make it to the door. So I got off and I walked to the other side of the street and waited for another 91 coming back into the city to come along. And it was 10:10 by then. So I had given up on getting home in time for the 10:30 phone call from mom. Then a marshrutka never came along. So I stood there for a long time. At this point I began to get sort of worried about my current situation. Not so much that I would miss the phone call. But the whole me being a 30 minute drive away from home at 10:15 at night when the public transportation is starting to shut down. Then Margarita called me on my cell phone. “ABBY! WHERE are you?” I had spent quite a lot of time trying to think of a good excuse for me being like an hour later than I usually am on Tuesday’s after evening class. So I told her that I had to talk to my professor but I was on my way home. I didn’t think she would understand my excuse that the marshrutka was too crowded to get off and plus, I was having my cultural moment of being in a huge crowd of Russian people. Also, no matter how squished we became no one would ever not get on the marshrutka and no one would ever make eye contact or say anything regardless of the fact that any one person was guaranteed to be physically molesting at least like 4 other people. Ah yes, Russia!
So then having successfully lied to Margarita. I continued to wait for the marshrutka. At this point I decided to start walking around the road back towards the center of Yaroslavl. But it would have been impossible for me to actually walk back. As well as the fact that it would have taken like an hour and a half, it is along huge scary large highways. And then no marshrutka’s came. But a sketchy car did pull up next to me. So I kept walking. Then I saw a marshrutka and I took of running across the icy/snowy road/field. But then it turned because it wasn’t going where I needed it to be going. Then I continued walking. There was a high level of panic occurring at this point. A level of panic that is not being adequately conveyed through my writing.
Then I saw another marshrutka. And so I began running again except this time it was actually a real field of snow without a path in it. So I was in my heel boot things running across a snow field at 10:30 p.m. in the Bragino (aka far from my house) part of Yaroslavl. Then my phone rang. And I knew it was going to be Margarita yelling at me again. Except it was Vacilica calling to try to figure out when we could meet again. This was ridiculous. My phone never rings. No one ever calls me. Sometimes I get text messages. So not only was my phone ringing. My phone was ringing during as earlier described sprint across snow field etc…Then I lied to her and said that my mom was supposed to be calling (which was true I just left out the whole part of me being lost in Bragino far from the phone on which my mother would be calling on). So I said I would call her back. Then I slowed to a walk as the marshrutka I had been chasing sped far away from me. Then I got to this other “stop” where people were actually waiting which was a good sign. As the other various places where I had stood waiting had all been without people. Also upon my approach to said kiosk and bus/tram/marshrutka stop there was a large patch of ice on which I sort of did some sort of figure skating stately and majestic twirl except it was neither stately nor majestic.
Then I started to imagine the conversation that was likely occurring between my mother and Margarita.
Margarita: Allyo?
Mother: Abby?
Margarita: Abby no.
Mother: Pajalsta.
Margarita: Ring late.
Mother: Pajalsta? Spasibo? Pajalsta? Spasibo? Abby?
Margarita: No Abby. Ring Late.
Mother: Abby? Pajalsta?
Then I stood at this stop for a long time. Lots of marshrutkas would drive by, except they were empty and done for the day and going to wherever marshrutkas go when they are not being driven. I wonder where they do go? Does every marshrutka driver actually own his marshrutka? Because they all have their very individual curtains and other various decorations. And park it at their apartment? Or is there a huge compound somewhere in Yaroslavl where there are like a billion marshrutka’s, because if there is, I want to go there. I don’t know why I am so intrigued by marshrutkas. They’re just so awesome. I feel like they capture so many different aspects of the whole Russia experience. If I was going to write a thesis, I would write it about marshrutka’s in Russia. This is a если бы construction because 1. I am not going to write a thesis and 2. Middlebury would not allow me to write a thesis about how awesome marshrutkas are. I just typed marshrutka like 6 billion times.
Kept waiting for a marshrutka. Kept waiting for Margarita to call me again and yell at me that she had just had a conversation with my mother. And WHERE WAS I? But she didn’t call. Thank goodness.
Then I asked this woman how to get back to Gigant (my stop) and we waited together for a marshrutka and then got on and then I got off at Gigant. Also this was one of the “small” marshrutka’s which I had never before had reason to ride. These are actually yellow vans, with seats for maybe 10 or 12 people. I think these are the only kind of marshrutkas they have in Irkutsk. So then I got to ride on of the small marshrutka’s which was good because it was on my list of “mandatory things to do before I can leave.” Then I ran through the back alleyways/ courtyard area’s of the various apartment buildings to get home. Courtyard is not the right word. These areas are neither classy nor majestic. Mainly they are dark and sketchy. So then I was sprinting through the back alleyways and it was 11:00 at night and I was very late and there was so much adrenaline. And it was pretty cool. Then I got home. And launched into this over exaggerated monologue about what a кошмар (nightmare/catastrophe/etc…) the whole evening had been. Then I told Margarita that after speaking with my professor I got on a marshrutka but I didn’t read the number correctly and so it didn’t go where I thought it would go. So then I had to get off and wait and take another “correct” one back. Which is sort of true. Except I did actually know the number of the one I got on, there was just the whole “too many people” problem. Then my mom called at 11:30 having actually not called at 10:30, so it all worked out. But oh man, last night was just so ridiculous. I hope that this blog entry conveyed at least a part of how ridiculous the whole evening was.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Вы замужем?
The Highlights
A
Margarita yelled at me for being a hooligan last night. At the time, it sort of pissed me off, but now I just think it’s funny. She gave me a new clean towel which I am then supposed to go and hang on its hook in the bathroom. But when I went to go hang it up, the old towel was still there. So I didn’t know what to do. So I just put the towel back in my room. And then when I was organizing my room, I laid the towel on the floor near the door, so that I would remember to put it in the bathroom. And then Margarita walked by and saw the towel on the ground and yelled at me for being a hooligan and putting the clean towel on the ground. And then I just sputtered (is that an english word? maybe I mean stuttered. Or stammered.) and tried to make up some excuse that I had accidentally dropped it there. Except she didn’t appreciate this excuse. Whenever I do something wrong, she always says something like “See what a hooligan you are when I am not here to keep you in line.” At least that’s what I think she says. This had earlier applied to my inability to finish all of the food I was left for meals when she was not home to supervise my eating, but has now apparently spread to my delinquent towel dropping activities. And my sub par laundry skills. Apparently I don’t wash out the soap well enough from the clothes or wring out enough of the water before I hang them up to dry.
Б
Wednesday was a big day. I decided that I wanted to go to the локомотив hockey game, since they only have 6 more home games while I will be in Yaroslavl, and I hadn’t been since early September. My first obstacle was purchasing a ticket. So I walked to the building where I thought hockey people had said I could buy a ticket. Except the front of the whole building was blocked off for a remont. I realize that’s not an English word. But remont is so much cooler than remodel. Plus I feel like remodel sort of carries the meaning that it might look new and clean and classy after the remodel. But I feel like there are much lower (and more realistic) expectations of a remont. Anyways, then I found these signs instructing to the secret back entrance. At this point, I successfully entered the building. Which had turned out to be more challenging than I expected. And I was actually fairly content with my entering of the building that I still would have been happy if my ticket buying had failed. This will probably not make sense. Russia, or at least me being in Russia, just sort of lowers my expectations like that. Somehow, I think professors at Midd would be less than impressed if I decided that entering the building was really adequate enough and there was no reason to actually go to class or do any of the work. Then, I asked one of the guard women where I could buy tickets for the game. And apparently I had to exit the building and go to another secret back/side entrance. Once again, this was a successful venture and I purchased the ticket.
В
Got on the marshrytka (This word is impossible to type. I always try to type it with the Russian letters even when the keyboard is in English.) And I received a lucky ticket! I also recently realized that the Russians call them счастливый билет (which I guess translates to “happy ticket.”) I am not sure if I am actually receiving an abnormal number of lucky tickets or I just didn’t get one for a long time when I got here. I now have 5 of them. I guess this is enough, that I could sacrifice one so that I could eat it, and see if my luck got really good. But I sort of like my collection of them. Then there was a traffic jam for a long time and then me and half of the marshrytka got off at the stop nearest to the rink. And I bought a program and found my seat and it was awesome. Somehow my actual excitement at doing all of this is really not being translated into my writing. So I will skip ahead to the important parts. They played the Russian national anthem, which is still a very strange and surreal moment. I switched seats with this guy so that he could sit by his wife. Then the wife befriended me. I think that the wife was probably younger than I am. Then there was phone numbers exchanged and popcorn shared and a fateful question asking if I could ice skate. And I said yes. And then the wife said she was very bad. And then I decided to say that I was bad too. Somehow it just didn’t seem right to say, “well, actually I play hockey here at this rink every week.” And then the wife, I think I will now refer to her as Anya, which is her actual name, suggested that we should go ice-skating together. I am unsure if this will ever happen. Mainly because I sort of doubt she will ever call me. But it she does call me, it could be a catastrophe. I guess I will just hope that the fact that I will skate in rented ice skates which will probably be figure skates which will probably be very dull and too small for me, will help to disguise my ice skating aptitude (is that a legit use of that word?). Also, since we were sitting on the first level right behind the net, sometimes an off-shot would hit the glass right where we were sitting. And Anya would scream and I would not really know what to do. Also she kept asking her other friend why there were only 4 of our players on the ice or why the goalie was sprinting towards the bench (on a delayed penalty call) or etc…and I would just dumbly pretend I didn’t understand. But I think I was still paying too much attention to the game and not doing enough giggling and screaming when the puck would approach. Then the husband returned from some undisclosed location (where he had consumed lots of alcohol) and the game ended and we left.
Г
Also the title of this entry is one of the questions Anya asked me. “Are you married?” I had never been asked this question before. So that was good. Then the drunk husband tried to speak English to me. His vocabulary consisted of “My name is Alexander” and something about “Little Lily in Italy.” I think this was some poem he had once memorized. He was astonished that I had no idea what he was talking about. Then they walked me to the marshrytka stop and the girls said “Good bye” in English and the husband yelled “Good morning.” Like I said, limited vocabulary.
Д
The deadline to change my mind and stay the year passed yesterday. So now there has been some calm acceptance of my unfortunate and impending departure. I woke up on Tuesday and there was a lot of snow on the ground and it was a winter wonder land. And I filled out the form to stay the year. But then I calmed down and stuck to my guns (can I say that?)
Е
I am in the process of writing a 20+ pg. paper about Edinaya Pocciya (United Russia). It is a fairly atrocious process that often ends in me playing solitaire or free cell on my computer for hours on end. Mostly it’s hard because although the party is “Putin’s party” and has nearly a 60% popularity rating, with the next popular being the Communists with like 15%, I haven’t met anyone who actually really likes Edinaya Rocciya. Most people just like Putin. But then some people hate Putin. And so I don’t know what I am supposed to think. I guess I’m supposed to not like Putin. But I actually do. Also our politics professor today said that she thinks Putin is going to have a third term. Which would be allowed (sort of) because you are only allowed 2 terms in a row, so if he gave up the position for awhile then he could almost immediately reclaim it. Actually he could pretty much do whatever he wants. **Are American presidents only allowed 2 terms total or 2 terms in a row? Because I thought they were allowed 2 terms total, but other people think it is 2 terms in a row? (I’m sort of embarrassed that I’m half a poly sci major and don’t know this). And then the Russians in this conversation kept talking about how Bill Clinton could become president again. Russians really like Bill Clinton. Also, our politics professor is obsessed with Hillary. And how Hillary will be president and how good old Bill used to be president. Etc…**
Ж (Aiko’s favorite letter!)
Also the president of France (is his title president?) was in Moscow today hanging out with Putin and Zybkov. So the entire country of France being dysfunctional as a result of the strikes doesn’t seem to be affecting him that much. He’s just chilling with Putin.
З
I never go to museums in Yaroslavl. Actually, I went to one of the exhibits in the Kremlin area one time. But my Russian friend Vacilica refused to pay the entrance fee at the gate because she wanted to go pay at the other gate where there were pictures of the exhibits to help us choose. So then the guard woman yelled at us and threatened to call the police. So I am scared to go back there. But there are other museums I should be going to. But whenever I say I will go to a museum, I always would much rather just wander about the city or ride random marshrytkas until they kick all of us off at the end of the route, and then wander more, and then hope that somehow I will be able to make it back into the city. So maybe I will go to a museum this weekend, but I probably won’t. Oh well.
И (this whole labeling the points in Cyrillic was a good idea until I got to where I don’t know the order of the alphabet and now I have to go look in the dictionary to find the next letter. Perhaps I should memorize the alphabet this weekend).
Facebook has some special function where you can enter your maiden name so that it will not be displayed on your profile (because that would disrespect your husband???) but your old friends can search for you with your maiden name and still find you. This is ridiculous. If you are married. You are not allowed on facebook. Period. End of discussion. No exceptions. I know it is a difficult choice. Marriage or the ability to poke people. But you can’t have the best of both worlds. Also, facebook is out of control with it’s like 10 trillion different options/functions/junk.
К
I would like to clarify that Artic Slaughter as mentioned in one of my previous posts as being one of Kit’s New Year’s Resolutions (make Artic Slaughter more popular). Artic Slaughter is a band, and not the actual slaughtering of walruses or penguins. Because that would be atrocious and I would not allow that to be one of his New Year’s Resolutions. Also, I think by mentioning Artic Slaughter on this blog, I have done more for their popularity than Kit ever did. Kit, do they still exist? BURN!
Л
The drunk men on the marshrytka this morning approved of my hockey playing-ness.
-Man 1: A girl playing hockey. Нормально. Which I guess translates as “normal” but I feel like it has more of a “good” meaning.
-Man 2: Yes. Нормально.
(5 minutes pass)
-Man 2: How do you know she plays hockey? Maybe she plays basketball or football.
-Man 1: She has a hockey stick.
-Man 2: Oh.
Also I decided that I am going to abandon my use of the word “soccer” because the English game “football” has essentially 0 contact between the foot and the ball, and the game which is all about the foot and the ball we call soccer. So now I will call soccer, football and I will call football, American football.
A
Margarita yelled at me for being a hooligan last night. At the time, it sort of pissed me off, but now I just think it’s funny. She gave me a new clean towel which I am then supposed to go and hang on its hook in the bathroom. But when I went to go hang it up, the old towel was still there. So I didn’t know what to do. So I just put the towel back in my room. And then when I was organizing my room, I laid the towel on the floor near the door, so that I would remember to put it in the bathroom. And then Margarita walked by and saw the towel on the ground and yelled at me for being a hooligan and putting the clean towel on the ground. And then I just sputtered (is that an english word? maybe I mean stuttered. Or stammered.) and tried to make up some excuse that I had accidentally dropped it there. Except she didn’t appreciate this excuse. Whenever I do something wrong, she always says something like “See what a hooligan you are when I am not here to keep you in line.” At least that’s what I think she says. This had earlier applied to my inability to finish all of the food I was left for meals when she was not home to supervise my eating, but has now apparently spread to my delinquent towel dropping activities. And my sub par laundry skills. Apparently I don’t wash out the soap well enough from the clothes or wring out enough of the water before I hang them up to dry.
Б
Wednesday was a big day. I decided that I wanted to go to the локомотив hockey game, since they only have 6 more home games while I will be in Yaroslavl, and I hadn’t been since early September. My first obstacle was purchasing a ticket. So I walked to the building where I thought hockey people had said I could buy a ticket. Except the front of the whole building was blocked off for a remont. I realize that’s not an English word. But remont is so much cooler than remodel. Plus I feel like remodel sort of carries the meaning that it might look new and clean and classy after the remodel. But I feel like there are much lower (and more realistic) expectations of a remont. Anyways, then I found these signs instructing to the secret back entrance. At this point, I successfully entered the building. Which had turned out to be more challenging than I expected. And I was actually fairly content with my entering of the building that I still would have been happy if my ticket buying had failed. This will probably not make sense. Russia, or at least me being in Russia, just sort of lowers my expectations like that. Somehow, I think professors at Midd would be less than impressed if I decided that entering the building was really adequate enough and there was no reason to actually go to class or do any of the work. Then, I asked one of the guard women where I could buy tickets for the game. And apparently I had to exit the building and go to another secret back/side entrance. Once again, this was a successful venture and I purchased the ticket.
В
Got on the marshrytka (This word is impossible to type. I always try to type it with the Russian letters even when the keyboard is in English.) And I received a lucky ticket! I also recently realized that the Russians call them счастливый билет (which I guess translates to “happy ticket.”) I am not sure if I am actually receiving an abnormal number of lucky tickets or I just didn’t get one for a long time when I got here. I now have 5 of them. I guess this is enough, that I could sacrifice one so that I could eat it, and see if my luck got really good. But I sort of like my collection of them. Then there was a traffic jam for a long time and then me and half of the marshrytka got off at the stop nearest to the rink. And I bought a program and found my seat and it was awesome. Somehow my actual excitement at doing all of this is really not being translated into my writing. So I will skip ahead to the important parts. They played the Russian national anthem, which is still a very strange and surreal moment. I switched seats with this guy so that he could sit by his wife. Then the wife befriended me. I think that the wife was probably younger than I am. Then there was phone numbers exchanged and popcorn shared and a fateful question asking if I could ice skate. And I said yes. And then the wife said she was very bad. And then I decided to say that I was bad too. Somehow it just didn’t seem right to say, “well, actually I play hockey here at this rink every week.” And then the wife, I think I will now refer to her as Anya, which is her actual name, suggested that we should go ice-skating together. I am unsure if this will ever happen. Mainly because I sort of doubt she will ever call me. But it she does call me, it could be a catastrophe. I guess I will just hope that the fact that I will skate in rented ice skates which will probably be figure skates which will probably be very dull and too small for me, will help to disguise my ice skating aptitude (is that a legit use of that word?). Also, since we were sitting on the first level right behind the net, sometimes an off-shot would hit the glass right where we were sitting. And Anya would scream and I would not really know what to do. Also she kept asking her other friend why there were only 4 of our players on the ice or why the goalie was sprinting towards the bench (on a delayed penalty call) or etc…and I would just dumbly pretend I didn’t understand. But I think I was still paying too much attention to the game and not doing enough giggling and screaming when the puck would approach. Then the husband returned from some undisclosed location (where he had consumed lots of alcohol) and the game ended and we left.
Г
Also the title of this entry is one of the questions Anya asked me. “Are you married?” I had never been asked this question before. So that was good. Then the drunk husband tried to speak English to me. His vocabulary consisted of “My name is Alexander” and something about “Little Lily in Italy.” I think this was some poem he had once memorized. He was astonished that I had no idea what he was talking about. Then they walked me to the marshrytka stop and the girls said “Good bye” in English and the husband yelled “Good morning.” Like I said, limited vocabulary.
Д
The deadline to change my mind and stay the year passed yesterday. So now there has been some calm acceptance of my unfortunate and impending departure. I woke up on Tuesday and there was a lot of snow on the ground and it was a winter wonder land. And I filled out the form to stay the year. But then I calmed down and stuck to my guns (can I say that?)
Е
I am in the process of writing a 20+ pg. paper about Edinaya Pocciya (United Russia). It is a fairly atrocious process that often ends in me playing solitaire or free cell on my computer for hours on end. Mostly it’s hard because although the party is “Putin’s party” and has nearly a 60% popularity rating, with the next popular being the Communists with like 15%, I haven’t met anyone who actually really likes Edinaya Rocciya. Most people just like Putin. But then some people hate Putin. And so I don’t know what I am supposed to think. I guess I’m supposed to not like Putin. But I actually do. Also our politics professor today said that she thinks Putin is going to have a third term. Which would be allowed (sort of) because you are only allowed 2 terms in a row, so if he gave up the position for awhile then he could almost immediately reclaim it. Actually he could pretty much do whatever he wants. **Are American presidents only allowed 2 terms total or 2 terms in a row? Because I thought they were allowed 2 terms total, but other people think it is 2 terms in a row? (I’m sort of embarrassed that I’m half a poly sci major and don’t know this). And then the Russians in this conversation kept talking about how Bill Clinton could become president again. Russians really like Bill Clinton. Also, our politics professor is obsessed with Hillary. And how Hillary will be president and how good old Bill used to be president. Etc…**
Ж (Aiko’s favorite letter!)
Also the president of France (is his title president?) was in Moscow today hanging out with Putin and Zybkov. So the entire country of France being dysfunctional as a result of the strikes doesn’t seem to be affecting him that much. He’s just chilling with Putin.
З
I never go to museums in Yaroslavl. Actually, I went to one of the exhibits in the Kremlin area one time. But my Russian friend Vacilica refused to pay the entrance fee at the gate because she wanted to go pay at the other gate where there were pictures of the exhibits to help us choose. So then the guard woman yelled at us and threatened to call the police. So I am scared to go back there. But there are other museums I should be going to. But whenever I say I will go to a museum, I always would much rather just wander about the city or ride random marshrytkas until they kick all of us off at the end of the route, and then wander more, and then hope that somehow I will be able to make it back into the city. So maybe I will go to a museum this weekend, but I probably won’t. Oh well.
И (this whole labeling the points in Cyrillic was a good idea until I got to where I don’t know the order of the alphabet and now I have to go look in the dictionary to find the next letter. Perhaps I should memorize the alphabet this weekend).
Facebook has some special function where you can enter your maiden name so that it will not be displayed on your profile (because that would disrespect your husband???) but your old friends can search for you with your maiden name and still find you. This is ridiculous. If you are married. You are not allowed on facebook. Period. End of discussion. No exceptions. I know it is a difficult choice. Marriage or the ability to poke people. But you can’t have the best of both worlds. Also, facebook is out of control with it’s like 10 trillion different options/functions/junk.
К
I would like to clarify that Artic Slaughter as mentioned in one of my previous posts as being one of Kit’s New Year’s Resolutions (make Artic Slaughter more popular). Artic Slaughter is a band, and not the actual slaughtering of walruses or penguins. Because that would be atrocious and I would not allow that to be one of his New Year’s Resolutions. Also, I think by mentioning Artic Slaughter on this blog, I have done more for their popularity than Kit ever did. Kit, do they still exist? BURN!
Л
The drunk men on the marshrytka this morning approved of my hockey playing-ness.
-Man 1: A girl playing hockey. Нормально. Which I guess translates as “normal” but I feel like it has more of a “good” meaning.
-Man 2: Yes. Нормально.
(5 minutes pass)
-Man 2: How do you know she plays hockey? Maybe she plays basketball or football.
-Man 1: She has a hockey stick.
-Man 2: Oh.
Also I decided that I am going to abandon my use of the word “soccer” because the English game “football” has essentially 0 contact between the foot and the ball, and the game which is all about the foot and the ball we call soccer. So now I will call soccer, football and I will call football, American football.
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