Petersburgian Case File #18: A Holiday For The Rest of Us

We here in the motherland have no class on Monday as it is a national holiday.

And this is what I imagine all of Russia will look like on the day off.

Which, as absolutely and utterly content with that as I am, begs the question: why? As is always the case in all things Russia the answer turns out to not be all that simple. I present to you the reason we have a day off (the way it has been explained to me, at the very least):

I be here edumakating the masses. Where be my governmentally approved grants and monies and suches, Mr. Obama? See I'm a well respected pillar of my community here so much as I could have resorted to childish and coy name calling like replacing the B in your name with an S denoting you to be some sort of Muslim Terrorist of ill repute and the like, I did not. Bet youse don't hear about the plight of the workin man like me in your lamestream media outlets like Ms. Ariana Huffington's Post and her Post's related publications.

Russia always had a day off or even a few days off in early November because on November 7th they'd have a holiday for the October Revolution. Logically the October Revolution would be in November (I believe because it was in October on the old calendars which then became November when they switched to the Western/Gregorian calendar but I guess the name had stuck by that point). Well the good ol' CCCP is no more, down with the curtain, blah, blah so celebrating the October Revolution is somewhat...passé now, to say the least (see how I got the line on the e there? Be very impressed with my technological prowess).

And people say my propensity towards the broad means I can't be delightfully wry.
Well here it is. I am being wry. Delightfully so.
And drawing absolutely no unwarranted attention to it whatsoever. 

But the people always had a holiday then and the people expect a holiday then. They demand a holiday then and they deserve it, damn it! So what do our benevolent overlords do but say "We must have a holiday in early November but we can't have the October Revolution!" So off they go to their batcave to meticulously rifle through the annals of history to find something, anything, that occurred in early October that seems like a thing to celebrate.

"Oh guys you won't believe it. This is just, oh how could we be so stupid - look! Putin's birthday is on November 6th oh this is perfect!...Hey wait why does this say edited 3 hours ago...and from this very IP address. IVAAAAAAN!" *Benny Hill music begins

Eventually they find, back in the mid-1500s something dealing with a Saint and Russia defeating the Pollacks. Truth be told I kind of missed a bit of this part but rest assured that whatever I write is 100% true and you should never doubt or attempt to do any research into it. Point being if there is one thing Russians love almost as much as their government holidays its a hardy fuck you to the Pollacks. Because well...Pollacks! [I know you read and worship this blog Luke so that's right this was aimed directly at you]

...because this comes up under a google image search of Polish People.

And so, on the basis of not much of anything, the day of the victory mixed with something dealing with some Saint, again I really kinda zoned right about here (November 4th), is declared a new holiday. Since the 4th falls on a Sunday this year, we have the 5th off. From what I understand if you ask most Russians they wouldn't know what the holiday is for or just continue to call it the October Revolution. God bless this country and a Happy Lenin Day to you all!

And as always life gets in the way

I plan, I hope to post more Case Files here soon. I have been terribly busy - and not feeling all that great - over the last few weeks because of a plethora of reasons. I shall doubtfully be able to maintain an every other day schedule but hopefully will be able to put out at the very least one case file a week (if not a few more) starting from this coming week.

Hope to see all of you again then!

Petersburgian Case File #17: Kids These Days

Ahh that'll never get old. Dated? Oh incredibly, but I imagine it was about five minutes after it came out. Old, however? Never. Moving on...I got to bed fairly late last Saturday because, well, you know I was out hittin them Russian nightclubs, a shot of vodka every time they played a Gogol Bordello song.* Well it was either that or I actually got back home around 11pm and then was sitting at home catching up on the latest season of Louie. One of the two for sure. Not sure which though. Crazy, crazy night.

I have nothing snide to say about this man. He is absolutely wonderful.
I did originally want to put a Gogol Bordello picture here but honestly even the least ridiculous picture of him I could find seemed just way, way too broad and outrageous for a blog that, comparatively, enjoys showing an iota of self-restraint.

Point being, I was tired and hoped to get a good night's rest seeing as tomorrow was Sunday, the lord's day, the sabbath. Instead I am woken up fairly early by incredibly loud music being blasted outside my window and squeals of joy and merriment from little kids in the courtyard below.

You are by far the literary character I most identify with.
Bill Murray, that is. I mean, honestly, have you heard about the things he's done? That guy cannot be real.
On a Bill Murry related tangent I am quite upset that I shall no longer be in Russia come February if only so that I could post the same blog entry twice and have it be seen as cute and creative rather than just lazy.

Apparently there was some concert-y fun morning day thing going on for children and it just so happened that it was occurring right outside my window. But I mean I am not here to complain - St. Petersburg once the fall sets in can start to become a dreary town with its many a cold, rainy, cloudy days, so the sound of jubilant youngsters was a very refreshing wake-up call. Its the music that was being played that caused a double take in me because, well, when one things children one thinks:

*shudders*

Or, with the slightly older and slightly less developmentally advanced, one thinks:

A note of clarification: by that first slightly I mean slightly, and by that second slightly I mean significantly.

Less often though one tends to think of this:

He does birthday parties and bar mitzvahs too! Horrifying, horrifying birthday parties and bar mitzvahs!

And yet that is exactly what I woke up to on Sunday morning: Tom Waits' voice. Now let me be clear here in case you don't know this about me (and considering that this gets brought up fairly often, unless you are one of those strange page hits I get from Germany every once in a while** you probably already know) I really love Tom Waits. Absolutely adore him.*** Which makes waking up to his music, in Russia, coupled with the sound of children squealing to be one of the most bizarre and surreal and easily bordering on the nightmarish were I not so pleased with it, experiences of my life. I want to imagine this wasn't a fluke. I want to disregard that this song may actually appear in the soundtrack for the first Shrek film (which begs the question what the hell a song with lyrics like: "I like my town, with a little drop of poison / Nobody knows, they're lining up to go insane" doing in a children's film?) and just imagine that this is what life in Russia has done to these 5 and 10 year olds - harden them all into profound, dark little bastards who only derive pleasure from smoking, drinking, standing on a cold bleak September morning in the rain, and listening to Tom Waits being blasted from a speaker. I want to imagine that the only faults they find in songs like "The Piano Has Been Drinking" and "Bad Liver and a Broken Heart" is that Waits does not go far enough to accurately describe their existence. I want to imagine Waits playing a seeding St. Pete nightclub filled with 4 year olds drinking bourbon straight out of bottles. For the last number Waits invites them all on stage where he gets down on his knees and, arms wrapped around their shoulders, sways with them as they all sing "Hoist That Rag" and "Innocent When You Dream". And yet, nevertheless, there are people who tell you there is no such thing as paradise on Earth.


*Disclaimer: blogger.com, all blogger.com affiliated, and come to think of it this writer himself, as well, strongly, strongly discourage playing the aforementioned shots game as almost any human being attempting to do that in a Russian nightclub would undoubtedly be dead within a half-hour. 

** In which case: Guten Morgen! Freut mich, Ihre Bekanntschaft zu machen. Schraubenschlüssel teutonischen Rittern Apfelkern glücklich lebensbejahend grüne Lüge Löffel ablecken diese Untergang Parodien sind ziemlich komisch. Send your mistranslation complaints to google.com!

*** I still don't love Hell Broke Luce as a song, I'm sorry Nick - if you're reading this out there - I just, I can't get into it as music I get that the lyrics are powerful I don't argue that but - honestly I could easily sustain a many hour conversation about Tom Waits and by could I mean have. Nonetheless we best have some more Waits jam sessions when I get back - if only to scare the neighbors. 

Petersburgian Case File #16: Rhetorically Inquisitive

Went to dinner a few nights ago in this pretty nice place. As with many a places there is, theoretically, indoor and outdoor seating though considering the climate of Petersburg I have to imagine the outdoor seating is closed 11 to 11 1/2 months of the year.

That's actually how the outdoor dining patio looks in late September.

Still I suppose at this time of year the outdoor dining option still theoretically exists and so when we got there the hostess asked us "Inside or Outside?" and being the adventurous souls that we are said "Outside" to which the hostess reacted with what was either incredibly strong shock or a small, in that case probably unrelated, aneurism. But, well, the customer is always right so she led us outside to a lovely view of our surroundings, a space heater plus blankets at our table to keep us warm, and a generally more tranquil environment compared to the hustle and bustle of the inside of the restaurant and I have to say, hostess be damned, it was actually absolutely lovely.

Oh don't judge me Tim!
I love that his face is one of the first things to pop up on a Google image search for incredulous.

At least for the first 10-15 minutes before the realization of this is the evening in late September in St. Petersburg which means it is freaking cold, coupled with the fact that dinner is not a 5-10 minute ordeal. But we were brave, we were adventurous - what is a semester in Russia, after all, without suffering? How could we ever hope to reach the heights of our great Russian models our Pushkin's, our Dostoevsky's, our more contemporary batshit Nabokov's without some suffering. And so we pondered. And so we sat.

"Am I smart enough to write Lolita now?" his eyes said with forlorn.

At least for another 10-15 minutes before saying fuck it lets go inside. Okay, truth be told I was the one who said fuck it let's go inside but when you combine that with the knowledge that I was the one who also first decided yeah let's sit outside the whole of this story becomes a good bit more embarrassing for me than when I just ascribe decisions and actions to some quantity of "we". And so we were relocated into the wonderful, pristine comfort of four walls and a roof and as we were sitting down we caught a glimpse of the hostess laughing in the background. That is definitely one point for her.

Petersburgian Case File #15: The One Where They Went To The Flea Market And No Other References To Friends Were Ever Made In This Blog Because I Mean Like...I Have Nothing Against Friends And I Get People Like It...I Don't Begrudge Them That...The Rachel As A Haircut Is A Really Interesting Cultural Artifact, I Suppose...And Of Course I Love Kudrow I Just I Guess Never Really Clicked With It, Wrong Time In My Life Maybe. But I Mean Its Nice So Yeah Enjoy It, I'm Glad You Do, Honest I Am*

See how I come through on promises? Truth be told I was sitting here not really sure what to write and was considering writing about something else, while, in true writer-ly / jewish fashion made sure to complain and lament this fact to my friend who, ever so logically suggested I write about the flea market like I said I would. Its embarrassing but likewise true that at that moment in time I had genuinely forgotten that that is how I ended my last post but you, of course, don't need to know that so to keep the narrative flowing just uhh one second here.

Aaaand poof you've forgotten! Forgotten what you ask? Uhh nothing...nothing at all just uhh don't scroll up.
And when I say forgotten I don't mean because of that little gizmo thing I just mean because you, and I, and the world just got so, so lost in Tommy Lee Jones' dreamy 5 o'clock shadow wrinkles.
Tommy Lee Jones' Dreamy 5 O'Clock Shadow Wrinkles(c) is, by the way, my favorite eau de toilette.

...So I got to the flea market! It was a really massive one that stretched on as far as the eye can see and then some. All filled with these little booths full of clothing and chachkis and perfumes and well everything imaginable. There were also some stray dogs wandering around but, you know, so it goes I suppose. As with all flea markets prices were certainly negotiable and said negotiability seemed quite strongly encouraged by all involved. I have to say I was impressed when some of my friends with very limited Russian were able to barter some items down. I, being the meek and timid soul that I am (as ever so clearly is displayed by each and every post in this blog), didn't particularly want to engage the Ruskies in haggling but prices as a whole seemed quite cheap so I didn't find that too much of a problem.

See like that is kind of a strange image for me but nobody else seemed to mind whatsoever. Sometimes even in the city proper, in the main part of Petersburg, you'll find a few. They're never aggressive or anything but still one tends to have a bit of a reaction to it. Maybe that just subtly shows what a 1st world privileged capitalist I am.

Like everything in this post-communist hellscape the flea market seemed to be broken down into two different sections of capitalist superiority and inferiority: The flea market 1% who had their things in sturdier looking structures on sidewalk that was actually paved, and then the flea market masses who had their things in little tents and tarps on this dirt/mud sort of field which I imagine all US shantytowns of the days of yore looked exactly like.

Its a regular Hooverville I tells you!

The dirt field part was inexplicably fairly wet/muddy even though I couldn't recall any rainstorm in the past few days which begs the question of how ridiculously muddy it will be during the actual rainy seasons. If that was the state of things at a dry time I truly cannot fathom how a person will be able to walk around it at all once we get a little more moisture. Now most people looked at clothing, looked at knick-knacks, looked at, well, the logic things to look at when you are in a foreign country at a flea market - the types of things specific to the country and that you would not be able to find otherwise. I, of course, gravitated towards the guy selling music and dvds - things I could easily get back in the States but of course not in bizarre Russian versions. CDs, at least the bootleg ones they were selling here, certainly gave you a bang for your buck as each CD was inexplicably filled with close to 200 songs (as opposed to, you know, 10-15 on a regular CD). They were selling artist's whole discographies in 2-CD bundles for about $3 a CD. Something tells me those artists will see a lot of the profits from each of those sales. I bought a 2-CD set of Russian singer-songwriter Vladimir Vysotsky and was very pleased with my purchase. They also had DVDs, including many TV shows on DVD from Breaking Bad to Mad Men to Luck. Luck was by far my favorite and not only because I make sure a different executive from HBO wakes up ala the classic morning bedhead scene from The Godfather until they bring back the damn show!

This is all cute and adorable but that baby's version of Last Tango in Paris is by far the most disturbing thing I have ever seen in my life. Interestingly enough, though, still directed by Bertolucci and the girl still played by Schneider.
Depraved, depraved stuff.

It was also my favorite because of the inexplicable translation of the name Luck into Фарт which in English would sound like Fart. If that isn't bizarre/confusing enough the word Фарт as far as I know does not exist in the Russian language so this isn't a case of "oh isn't that funny the word for Luck in Russian is Фарт." The word for luck is удача, I have absolutely no idea whatsoever how that title came about, what that word means, and what it means in relation to the show. I mean, I suppose, a series with leads like Hoffman, Farina, Nolte, and Gambon (all around the 70 mark at least) might have some unintentional flatulence but I really doubt/really hope that was not what they were going for.

If you want to see this guy talk about fucking prostitutes and beat a young man to death with an ashtray watch Luck!
Take that childhood.
Spoiler alert I suppose though honestly I mean you might tell yourself you'll watch it eventually but lets be honest nobody is ever going to watch Luck.

So I got home content with my CD purchase only to open it and find 2 of the same CD in the case. I mean for $6 that is still a ton of songs but regardless disappointing. Must have been the curse of the Del Torro babushka. (See I told you I'd bring it full circle...god I'm clever)


*I suppose, in retrospect, or not really in retrospect as I have yet to publish this post (as in I am not editing it after the fact) everything after the words flea market would probably have made a better asterisk post than being included in the title but no, damn it, I am going to keep it as part of the title cause people like the gimmick of a long title and I will ride that, if you would be so kind as to indulge me in one more horse related bit of humor, one trick pony all the way to the glue factory.