PROSAIC DEMIURGIC

My Definition of December in Moscow

You know the expression, "Winter wonderland?"

It's just like that, but without the wonderland.

More later, -jv

Some Catching Up To Do

Hi campers,

Sorry I've been so slack in updating this blog. That's what happens when you're working two, no, three, no, four jobs at the same time. Don't believe me? Let's do the math. One, I'm vetting twenty stories and scripts for Happy Together -- the Russian Married with Children -- between now and December 31. Two, I'm editing -- which means tearing apart and putting back together -- scripts for My Dear Witch -- the Russian Bewitched -- now shooting three episodes a week, thank you very much. Three, I'm jamming on the edit of my novel, Grifter's Roll, due at the publisher's early in the new year. Four -- I can't tell you four, it's a state secret. But anyway, I've got my hands full. But it's Sunday night and all my Monday ducks are in a row, so I can spend a few minutes with my labor of blog love and catch you up on the action.

First, it's now been officially and fully TWO SOLID WEEKS since I have seen the sun. Seriously. Not a ray of direct sunlight has struck the streets of Moscow for two full weeks. Can you believe it? To me it strains credulity that there wouldn't be at least one little break in the clouds somewhere along the way. On the other hand, it hasn't been too dreadfully cold. It's only dipped into the 20s during the last few days. Maxx and I keep telling ourselves, "This isn't so bad. We could cope with this if it didn't get any worse." Of course, it will get worse. Much. But in the meantime, for really crappy weather, you have to go to Chicago or the Northeast US. But the sun, man. I do really miss the sun.

On the tourist side, I still haven't been to the Kremlin, still haven't been to the Pushkin Museum, but I have now been to the Museum of Soviet Era Arcade Games. This is one of Moscow's more obscure museums, but I was jazzed to see it when I heard about it. I told my Russian friends I was going, and they didn't believe there was even such a thing as Soviet era arcade games. But there are. Here's evidence.

 

 

These are some very funky, very primitive games. From a technology point of view, they exist somewhere between mechanical and digital; that is, they have lights, but the things that make the lights light are levers. I know that doesn't really explain much. What can I tell you? You had to be there. "There," in this case, was the basement (bomb shelter, really) of a local university building, where are stored some 40 or 50 machines in various states of restoration. About a third of the games are playable, and about a third again of that number are decently entertaining. Some barely qualify as games. There's this weird tank simulator where you move a magnetic toy tank around on a flat surface and "destroy" enemy truck by, basically, driving close to them. Big fun. There's another game where you digitally throw sticks at various moving objects. That one was actually quite lively. It's based on a real-world game, I'm told, where you literally throw sticks at various stationary objects. I suspect the arcade version is actually more diverting. Anyway, safer.

The museum, such as it is, is the labor of love of two university graduates who started collecting and restoring the machines about three years ago. They know that there are exactly 90 different Soviet era games out there, and hope to collect them all and establish them in a proper museum some day. For now, they open to the public just one evening a week, and the foot traffic is reduced to, well, freaks like me, plus the odd student film crew looking for an off-kilter documentary subject. They boast, though, that there's no larger collection of such games anywhere in the world. And I'm sure this is true. Such games got pretty roughly swept aside after the end of Soviet times. From 1991 forward, they were all replaced by cheap second-hand machines from Japan and Europe, and the Soviet games being, well, crap, were quickly consigned to store rooms and junk heaps, whence only few have been rescued. In America, we treat our ephemera with more dignity. I'm sure if you wanted, say, a first-generation Pong machine, you could not only find dozens in fully restored glory, you could order them on eBay and have them shipped to your door.

Anyway, Museum of Soviet Era Arcade Games.

Big fun on a Wednesday night.

This weekend I actually got to a real museum, the Tretyakov Gallery of Modern Art. This occupies parts of a giant exhibition hall on the banks of the Moscow River, and features your Chagalls, your Kandinskis, and countless other artists whose names I cannot spell and you could not pronounce. I would show you pictures, but "no photos" signs abounded, and some pretty savage looking lady docents stood by to make sure the rule was enforced. There were some fairly stunning pieces though. For my money, the most interesting items were the offspring of the shotgun wedding between art and Soviet authority. You had these immense supergraphic canvases with pictures of hunky workers and peasants all shoulder-to-shoulder in the factory or on the battlefield or getting ready to go down in a mine. With titles like, "Let us toil and never rest until the spirit of bourgeois imperialism is stricken from the land." Not exactly "Starry Starry Night," but whatever.

Between museums, Maxx and I snuck in a visit to the Europa Mall, which was huge, and oddly photogenic, at least the escalators.

My second-favorite photo from the trip is this one, for PINKO CLOTHING.

Considering the prices inside, you'd have to call it unintended irony. I mean, is this what we fought the Cold War for?

Well, yeah.

My favorite photo was one for a cleaning product you'd recognize by its logo as Mr. Clean. Here in Mother Russia, though, it's known as...

I wonder if this branding was the result of market research or just sketchy translation. Who knows? All I know is, I haven't had this much fun with a product name since Barf Detergent.

Well, campers, that brings you more or less up to date. It's late on Sunday night now, time for all good campers to be in bed. The forecast for tomorrow is sunny and clear.

I'll fricking believe it when I see it.

More later, -jv

A Russian Christmas

Maxx and I have a long-standing arrangement when we travel together for my work: I spend all my time working, and she discovers what I missed while I was there. Take it away, Maxx...

 

A RUSSIAN CHRISTMAS

Prior to my arrival in Moscow, I had been told that Russia does not celebrate Christmas. Surprised, and somewhat disappointed, I learned upon arrival that December 25 is indeed a work day. But, it did not take long to realize that my understanding of a Russian Christmas clearly needed some refining. After all, as I walked Tverskaya, Moscow’s main shopping street, I saw lots of blue and white holiday lights in store windows, huge 25ft+ decorated trees in the parks and squares, and enough ornaments or Santa Clauses in the grocery stores or touristy shops to realize that there was more to Christmas here. So, of course, I started asking questions – of John, mostly, since I cannot converse in Russian. But, John did not have all the facts and it is unrealistic to ask him to do my research. So, I did what any 2008 computer-oriented individual does: I checked out Google. This is what I learned:

Russia: Pre-1917

What is interesting about this period is that there seems to be some contradictions in the researched materials as to what actually occurred before 1917. The information is sketchy at best and the “sources” do not cite sources, so it is hard to capture truth from believable fiction.

This version says that it was common practice on Christmas Eve for groups of people to dress as manger animals and go from house to house singing songs known as kolyadki. Kolyadki songs were sometimes carols for baby Jesus and other times were in honor of the ancient solar goddess, Kolyada, who brings long days of sun (Hah! NOT in Moscow!) throughout winter. The singers were offered coins or food as payment for their performance.

Another account connects Russia’s Christmas celebration with St. Nicholas. The legend is that the 11th-century Prince Vladimir went to Constantinople to be baptized and when he came back, he spoke of miracles performed by St. Nicholas of Myra. Thus, the feast of St. Nicholas (December 6^th) was observed for many centuries; and December 6^th became the day to exchange gifts.

The most believable version is linked to the Eastern Orthodox Church. Most Christian Russians, then and now, belong to this church. To be expected, Christmas celebrations were centered around the church, As the Eastern Orthodox Church uses the old Julian calendar, Christmas Day was (and still is) celebrated on January 7th, 13 days behind the Gregorian calendar that we use. Now, in this rendition, on Christmas Eve - January 6 - there was a parade with people dressed in costume and the Star of Bethlehem perched atop poles. Meals were celebrated with family and friends and then all went out to visit the Nativity scenes in the public squares before attending the evening Christmas Mass.

Russia: 1917-1992

The Revolution of 1917 changed everything. Religious traditions, icons, any open expression of religion were all banned. While it was easy to pray at home, for the next 75 years ….

from Lenin and Bolshevism …

Stalin and Communism ….

through Malenkov / Khrushchev / Brezhnev /Andropov /Chernenko /Gorbachev

no public form of Christmas celebration existed.

But the Russian populace are a hardy breed and they were not deterred. They reinvented the New Year’s celebration to include a decorated tree and they introduced Grandfather Frost (“Ded Moroz”), who looked suspiciously liked St. Nicholas except that he wore blue instead of red. Out of necessity, a new tradition was born…

…and that tradition turned into a joyous winter festival with no remnant of Christianity in the holiday.

Russia: 1992-Present

In a more relaxed post-USSR atmosphere, Christmas is once again celebrated. The Russian Orthodox Church made Christmas – January 7 – an official holiday. However, although Christmas has returned to Russia (some have even reverted to celebrating December 25^th), the New Year’s celebration remains the favored holiday – with gift exchanges, fireworks soaring majestically over Red Square, and ice skating rinks galore.

And for those who wish to know about gastronomic traditions, here is the …

TRADITIONAL RUSSIAN CHRISTMAS EVE DINNER

• Mushroom soup with zaprashka; this is often replaced with Sauerkraut soup
• Lenten bread ("pagach")
• Grated garlic
• Bowl of honey
• Baked fish
• Fresh Apricots, Oranges, Figs and Dates
• Nuts
• Kidney beans
• Peas
• Parsley potatoes
• Bobal'ki (small biscuits combined with sauerkraut or poppyseed with honey)
• Red Wine

The meal is meatless as you can see and the 12 foods are said to be symbolic of the 12 Apostles. There is also a porridge – “kutya” – that is made of wheat berries, honey, and poppy seeds. Kutya is eaten from a common dish and it is said that some families used to throw a spoonful of kutya up to the ceiling. If the kutya stuck, there would be a plentiful honey harvest.

BREAD FOR CHRISTMAS EVE
1 pkg dry yeast
1/2 c. lukewarm water
1 Tbsp. sugar
1/8 tsp. salt
6 c. flour
4 Tbsp. sugar
1 tsp. salt
4 Tbsp. salad oil

Dissolve yeast in warm water with 1/8 tsp. salt & 1 Tbsp. sugar. Set in a warm place to rise. Sift 6 c. flour in deep bowl, add 2 c. warm water, 4 Tbsp. sugar, 1 tsp. salt & 4 Tbsp. salad oil. Knead well & set aside to rise. When volume has doubled, punch down & let rise a second time until it doubles again. Punch down. Divide dough in two equal parts. Shape one part into round bread, cover & let stand 20 minutes. Punch down & reshape. Place in greased pan. Allow to rise until double in volume. Bake at 350 for one (1) hour.

Note: The second part of this dough will be used for Christmas Eve Bobal’ki.

CHRISTMAS EVE BOBAL’KI
1 pkg. yeast
6 c. flour
1 tsp. salt
2 c. water (approximately)
1 Tbsp. sugar
1 Tbsp. sugar
* c. lukewarm water
* c. oil

Dissolve yeast in lukewarm water; add salt & 1 tablespoon sugar. Let it set about 10 minutes. Sift flour & sugar. Add yeast mixture & rest of ingredients. Knead well. Let rise until doubled. Punch down. Cut off portions of dough about the size of an egg. Roll out on floured board by hand to make roll about 1 inch in diameter. Cut into 1-inch pieces. Place on greased cookie sheet. Let rise about 20 minutes.

Bake at 350 for about 10 minutes or until lightly browned. Cool & separate. Place in colander. Pour boiling water over Bobal’ki. Drain quickly to prevent sogginess.

Any of the following mixtures may be used on the Bobal’ki:

1. Sauté 1 small onion in 2 tablespoons oil. Add 1 pound sauerkraut (drained); cook about 15 minutes. Add mixture to half of Bobal’ki.
2. Combine 1 c. ground poppy seed, 2 Tbsp. honey & 4 tablespoons water. Add to remaining Bobal’ki. Mix well.
3. Melt 1 stick margarine. Combine with 2 tablespoons honey & 1/2 c. strawberry preserves.

Finally …. Let me say ….

С Рождеством Христовым и С новым годом от Москвы до Вас!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from Moscow to you!

More later, -jv

Service Interruption Repaired

I don't normally repost serial e-mails, but this one is particularly funny and, more to the point, reflective of the elation and relief we all feel (we being right-thinking liberals like me) in the wake of Obama's election. A tip of the shapka (Russian fur hat) to Pat Herson -- a right-thinking liberal like me -- for passing this along.

 

Dear World:

The United States of America, your quality supplier of ideals of liberty and democracy, would like to apologize for its 2001-2008 service outage.

The technical fault that led to this eight-year service interruption has been located, and the software responsible was replaced Tuesday night, November 4.  Early tests of the newly-installed program indicate that we are now operating correctly, and we expect it to be fully functional by mid-January.

We apologize for any inconvenience caused by the outage, and we look forward to resuming full service --- and hopefully even to improve it in years to come.

Thank you for your patience and understanding,

The USA

 

And now, a shot of our president-elect enjoying his not-so-secret vice.

What, you didn't think he was human?

More later, -jv

Beating My Head Against Russia

It's hard to keep a "weather? whatever" attitude when the best thing you can say about the dismal, gray day is, at least it isn't snowing. But we're in the middle of another of those giant sunless skeins for which Moscow is -- in my mind anyhow -- famous, and I confess it's starting to get me down. I believe I saw a sun ray on Sunday when Maxx and I walked down to the Arbat for a cup of Starbucks and a gawk at the street vendors who had much more enthusiasm than common sense as they hawked their wares to almost no one in the 35 degree chill. Since then -- for that matter, since well before then -- not a single sun beam have I seen. Maxx and I both have these low level respiratory things that might become colds someday or might just be our bodies' allergic reaction to the gloom. Then again, it could just be asbestos in the walls. In these old, old Moscow buildings, one never knows... but one drives nails into walls at one's own risk, I'm told.

Still, one does what one can. Maxx and I improvised a Thanksgiving dinner of sorts last week. You see the "spread" pictured here.

It looks a bit better than it was. That's a chicken, not a turkey; and a tart, not a pie; a bottle of the finest Russian sparkling wine that 500 rubles can buy; potatoes of a sort; and the toughest peas your teeth have ever crunched. Still, it was a rough accommodation. That's what we're all about here: the rough accommodation.

In the name of rough accommodation, we did some touristy stuff last weekend. I continued my Mastery of the Metro by plotting us a course to Gorbushkin Dvor, the largest gadget emporium this side of the Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas. Through a combination of hand gestures and my sub-pidgin Russian, we managed to buy the things we were after: a couple of headphone-like devices and a hair dryer (not for me). The two most useful Russian words I know are kak skazats, which means, "How do you say?" So I was trying to find out what the Russians call a cell phone accessory for hands free conversation, and I asked, "Kak skazats 'hands free'?" The answer? "Hands free." Sometimes Russian is easy.

We stopped at CoffeMania (sometimes Russian is easy) for an overpriced cup of coffee and a blini. I liked the table top.

That night we went to the Moscow Circus. Here's a glimpse of the superstructure.

Photos weren't allowed during the performance, so you have no shots of jugglers caught in mid-juggle or trapeze artists caught mid-trap.

All in all, it was an okay circus. No Cirque du Soleil, but what is? The Moscow Circus is, of course, a Moscow Institution, and as such it's highly revered. But the clowns were garden variety, the jaw-dropping acts only half-dropped the jaw, and the wild animals seemed, well, tame. Maybe I'm just jaded. Maybe it's just that I'm not five years old, and I don't speak Russian.

Change of subject. As some of you know, one of the jobs I'm doing here is consulting on script development for the adaptation of the old American sitcom "Bewitched." Yesterday, in the course of that work, I encountered a weird lost-in-translation problem. Seems there's this old episode of Bewitched entitled "Pleasure O'Reilly." It tells the story of a sexy neighbor who creates problems for our witch heroine and her mortal husband. It's a titillating tale, but not particularly racy, even by the standards of the 1965 American audience for which it was made. Trouble is, the episode title, and sexy neighbor's name, got translated into Russian as -- I kid you not -- Oral Pleasure. And based on this mistranslation, the Russians assumed that the whole episode was shot through with uncharacteristically overt blow job jokes. I assured them that this was not the case. "Trust me," I said, "in America in 1965, no one was thinking about blow jobs." Okay, maybe we were thinking about them (not me -- I was 10) but NO ONE was talking about them on television.

Know what? They didn't believe me. I mean, they nodded their heads and all, but I could see that I wasn't getting through. And this is kind of emblematic of the problem I have on this job in general. I just have trouble getting through. I call this experience, "Beating my head against the Russians." It's not chronic, but it happens often enough to get frustrating. I remember a similar experience last year in Romania, when I kept asking, "If you know a better way to do something, why do you still do it this way?" And the answer was, in one form or another, "Because we do it this way." So, okay, once again the world proves that it won't obey me without question. When will the world learn that there's two ways of doing things: my way, and wrong?

Still the battle goes on. I don't know if the work is interesting because it's frustrating or in spite of that, but it remains a challenge, and it's making me better every day. Better at managing problematic writers. Better at leading by example. Better at coping with frustration. Better at coping with gloom -- the weather kind, not the existential kind. It's going to be a long December. Christmas doesn't happen here until January, so I'll be jamming on stories and scripts right through till New Year's Eve. After that, I'm out of here, at least for a couple of weeks. Maybe I can get to Vegas.

When's the Consumer Electronics Show?

More later, -jv

Another Guest Post

I told Maxx before she got here that she could anticipate having some strange adventures. I knew that hers would be different from mine, and this is proving true. Where I get pigeon-dropped by would-be street hustlers, she gets lost in shopping malls. This is us, respectively, in a nutshell.

On the plus side, if I can get Maxx to write all my posts, that leaves me more free time for internet poker. so... "It's an ill wind that blows no good."

 

Maxx Duffy wrote:

 

November 26, 2008

Thanksgiving Eve Day …

My goal was simple: trek (translation: sweater, coat, scarf, mittens, hat, boots, gloves) to the upscale grocery store (translation: super expensive with goods from around the world) and purchase a small turkey. While I had not seen any at the local grocery store, I know that John spent Thanksgiving last year in Moscow and ate turkey at a friend’s home. So I figured that there had to be one turkey somewhere and it was worth the shot as I wanted to surprise John with a turkey dinner on Thanksgiving. Of course, Thanksgiving dinner would be after he returns from work as, for obvious reasons, Thursday, November 27, 2008 is a work day in Moscow.

So trek I did to no avail – 3 grocery stores (2 upscale; 1 downscale) later, it was clear: no turkey other than me thinking that I could find one!

Now, seeing that I was out and about and definitely warm (I was overdressed and now carrying in hand my hat, gloves, scarf and sweater), I figured that I might as well set another goal: Russian crafts. After all, every magazine that I see highlights them and surely there must be some kiosks or stores that sell more than just the Russian nesting dolls that are everywhere. I would find them! I knew from my visit to Red Square a week or so ago, there were winter holiday buildings going up along with a skating rink. Visions of hot cocoa – with marshmallows – emerged along with me wandering the shops scouring for the unusual. Eagerly, I walked down toward the Square.

But, what you need to know is that when walking on the main street, whose name I can pronounce phonetically: Tre-sky-yah but cannot spell, you often cannot cross the street. Rather, it is commonplace to take an underground passageway to cross to the other side. Some of these passageways are easy: walk down stairs, walk under street, walk up stairs. Others are more complicated: long, long passageways with hole-in-the wall (translation: claustrophobic) booths selling wares and as one walks along, multiple choices of where one might exit upward. Right before Red Square, there is one more underground passageway. This one is long – has numerous choices for exits – but I figured that I would take it to its logical end and go from there. I ended up at an underground shopping mall. Now, in fairness, this was not a surprise as I recognized it as being the one that I had been to with John, though we came to it from Red Square, so we entered it from the top versus an underground passage. But, I figured that I knew where I was. In fact, why not spend a half hour exploring its 3 levels (John and I had not explored it to its fullest; can you guess which one was not interested in doing that?) to see if there is a crafts shop there? Goal in mind, I start wandering the mall – and got lost! Literally, lost! Turns out there are many offshoots of the 3 levels and those lead into the underground passageways; it did not take me long to realize that I had no idea which way to go. Figuring that any direction would do, I set off in what I hoped to be a promising direction, laughing to myself at the silliness of being lost in a mall in Moscow. I ended up at a dead end, but the dead end also happened to be the food court. Great! I am hungry but, first … forgive this indelicate statement: I had to find the Toilette! Surely there must be one near the food court. Of course, that was foolish thinking. Okay, I will ask for the Toilette, something that is easy to ask, and then come back to the food court. Well, the Toilette was not that far, but it did have a sign and that sign, lo and behold, stated in Russian and ENGLISH: Pay Toilette. Pay? Pay? Oh nooooooo. I only have a 1000 ruble bill (worth: $40), no small bills, and definitely NO COINS. Fine. I will see if someone will give me change. Four attempts later (everyone pointed me to the Toilette vs. giving me change), I decided that I could wait and would get change at the food court.

The food court, just like malls in the U.S., had multiple choices. I immediately eliminated anything that had grayish looking meat and/or goulash-style vats. I equally eliminated things that were not recognizable. This left me the traditional mall food: pizza + salad, hamburger joints, and sushi. I opted for pizza and salad as I could point at them. So I asked for a slice of broccoli pizza and a mozzarella + tomato salad. The pizza slice came on one plate; the salad on another. Now, in Moscow, servings are small. So when the server piled on the salad, I was delighted. In fact, I finally said to him: “Stop! Too much.” He got my meaning. Now I am waiting for the cashier. Wait, wait. Move. Wait, wait. Move. Wait, wait …. OH! BUMMER … they are WEIGHING the salads! They sell the salad by grams! Figures. My turn. Weigh the salad; buy a water; add the pizza slice: ~$20. I only have the 1000 ruble bill and the cashier clearly wants me to give her something smaller. I indicate that I have nothing smaller; she says something, clearly unhappy … but I am thinking, no matter, I will get change. So, she give me change back – smaller bills and one coin: 5 ruble. This is too large a coin. I need one or two rubles only. I try to get her to break it down but no go. So, I sit to eat – the salad is plentiful; the pizza slice okay. And, now back to the matter at hand: finding a non-paying Toilette! I knew if I could get out of the mall that I could go to GUM Department Store and there would be a free one there … 15 minutes later, I accomplished escaping the underground mall. GUM was in sight. But, first … remember the winter holiday buildings in Red Square? There they were! But, alas, not open yet.

GUM saves me and when I glance at my watch I realize that I now need to trek back for a client. Suffice to say that I did not go back the route I came.

And, for those of you who are wondering about Thanksgiving dinner, it looks like it will be chicken!

 

More later, -jv and maxx

Weather? Whatever.

The first really serious snow of the season is falling right now, turning the formerly quaint, dry and free-range-cigarette-laden streets of Moscow into something so treacherous that feet unused to snow and slush (i.e. mine) move in tiny, mincing steps, never actually parting company from mother earth, for fear of returning to same ass first. I don't want to bitch about the weather, truly I don't. I figure, look, from here on in it's either going to be snowing and cold or not-snowing and cold, and either way I just have to suck it up and deal. And this will be my mantra: "Weather? Whatever." At the same time, I'm not going to fall into fantasy; no matter how you slice it, a Winter Wonderland Moscow is not. Or maybe I've lost the ability to view the city through romance-colored glasses. Or maybe I'm just so busy working now that I don't have time to appreciate the poetry of a snowscape (or post many blogs).

Nah. Really, the weather just sucks. And so I'm inspired to a new haiku, reminding myself as I compose it that a haiku is five syllables, then seven syllables, then five. Thus, as I imperfectly capture the view from my apartment window...

... I write "A New Snow-Ku"

crap crap crap crap crap

crap crap crap crap crap crap crap

crap crap crap crap crap

 

Ask me, that sums it up perfectly.

More later, -jv

A Snow-Ku

Winter arrived in Moscow today, inspiring the following haiku, "From the Back of a Slow Moving Car"

Snow (pa-Russki, sneg)

Picks up where the rain left off

Traffic won't improve

 

Photographic evidence to follow. -jv

Guest Appearance - the Airlock Door

My wife, Maxx Duffy, weighs in with her own impression of Moscow. 100 percent accurate, I guarantee. Take it away, Maxx...

 

 

November 18, 2008

Moscow

So, here is the deal.  To get into our apartment, I have to pass through 6 doors:

• the outer door which has a key code and is easy enough once one memorizes the code;
• the elevator door, which really counts as two of the doors - in and out - but one is never sure if one is going to have the opportunity to walk out of it as the elevator is old, like the building, and the ride is bumpy conjuring thoughts of wires not catching 100%;
• the air lock door, a HUGE black, padded door behind which hides the entrances to two apartments - one of them ours;
• the outer apartment door;
• the inner apartment door - the space between the outer one and the inner is about one foot. 

The airlock door requires an old-fashioned key about 4 inches in length; our outer door takes a 6-inch key; and the inner door takes a more typical, U.S. type key, and while we do not lock that door, the key must be carried just in case.  

The airlock door and our outer apartment door are tricky to open.  First, in inserting the key, you have to catch the sweet spot; if you do, then you can proceed to unlock it TWICE ... but ... it often happens that the second time round the key gets stuck - one has jiggled the key and the sweet spot has gone away.  Nothing that one can do but unlock it once, remove key, and start over.   This can sometimes take more than one time to get it unlocked.  Of course, in doing this, the noise of the lock can be heard.  The same problem exists with our outer door which clearly is inside the airlock and next door to our neighbor. 

Today, after taking an excursion to what is called Little 3rd Street Promenade (a 2-block pedestrian walkway like the one in Santa Monica), I returned to the apartment and got waylaid by the airlock door.   At least  3 attempts and then - FINALLY -  I got it open   realizing that the problem was not the sweet spot, but rather that I was turning the key the wrong way.  One can turn the key both ways, but only the right way produces the sweet spot and which way one turns the key gets a little confusing depending on whether one is going into the apartment or coming out of the apartment.  The airlock is ALWAYS locked (don't get me going about fire codes). 

Well, I did get the airlock unlocked and I was greeted by my neighbor, whom I had not met yet.  I smiled and nodded my head and he immediately took my airlock key from my hand!  Speaking Russian (intensely?), he puts the key into the lock and proceeds to show me how to turn it; he sounds stern - was I getting a lecture? - or is it just the Russian language is harsh sounding?   He keeps holding up 2 fingers which I assume means that he is telling me that I only have to turn it twice.  Trying to be nice, I indicate twice by holding up 2 fingers and nod agreeably.  He then hands the key back to me, turns around,  and reenters his apartment.    Of course, there was no way to explain that I knew that I had to turn it twice; that was not the problem.  I just don't have it down pat as to which way to turn the key; you would think that would be easy but for some reason it is not. 

I then had to open our outer apartment door and, in that instant, I prayed for the sweet spot and was rewarded.  I felt relief getting inside and then I wondered why.  Why did I feel relief?   Had I annoyed my neighbor with the noise?  Was he just trying to be helpful and not giving me a lecture?  Am I misjudging his actions because his native language is harsh sounding? I don't have the answer to the questions; I only know that I will become an airlock key expert as quickly as possible!

more later, -jv (and maxx)

Tverskaya-ku

Well, I went home to LA for ten days, played a little poker, played a little ultimate, stored as much vitamin D as my body and the Southern California sun would allow, collected a number of comforts of home I'd been missing (peanut butter; vegetable peeler; wife) and returned "home" to Moscow. Know what? Even though I put that word in quotes, it did very much feel like coming back home. Back home to street signs and billboards I can increasingly diminishingly fail to understand. Back to temperature norms such that any day that's dry and above 40 degrees makes me think, "Wow, nice day." Back to not one, but now hallelujah two jobs, between which I am now perilously close to too busy, which is exactly the sort of peril I need to keep my days interesting and engaging. Back to Moscow: crazy, smoky, noisy, weird, intense Moscow.  

Speaking of noisy Moscow, I was walking on Tverskaya Boulevard today with Maxx -- actually we walked it end to end, where one end is defined as "near our flat" and the other as "Red Square" -- and I noted that you always know you're on Tverskaya because the drone of passing automobiles never, ever stops. Worse, the boulevard is bracketed by big buildings on both sides, so that all that zizzing engine noise is reflected and amplified back and forth across the street. As the saying goes, "You know you're on Tverskaya when you can't hear yourself think."

You may, however, be inspired to compose a haiku for Tverskaya, thus:

Oh incessant drone

White noise of a dead TV

I can hear the ocean

Anyway, it's great to be back, or weird to be back, or something. For those of you who were wondering where the hell the posts have been, I'm sorry -- я огорченн-- I've been taken over by events.

More (sooner or) later, -jv