Saddam = Sakaashvili?

Another equation, but with logic many have already hinted at. My point here is mostly the idea of regime change---more and more, with the latest comments from Russian generals and Foreign Affairs Department head Sergei Lavrov, it seems Georgia's long-held paranoia has been confirmed: Russia does in fact seem to want Sakaashvili's head, and probably has all along, likely in just as crude a way as Saddam's was shock-deprived of oxygen.

What I sorta wonder is whether or not they actually think the guy's insane, and how much, if they do, that factors into their decisions to overthrow his admittedly slipshod government. And that in turn makes for a bigger, even juicier question: how much of what the Russian bureaucrats are spewing out right now do they actually believe themselves? And what, in each of these instances, are they after? Is Putin so hot-headed that he simply kept rolling with the punches (WTO---out, NATO partnership---out, all negotiating leverage besides that gained by oil and gas---out) after having dealt himself a severe wound by shooting himself in the foot with the escalation in Georgia? And how much is Medvedev turning into his double out of genuine respect for his unabashed railing against anyone who disses them and how much is he being put up to it all by the master puppeteer?

A hilarious example of language so exaggerated it's far beyond absurd, like calling Yeltsin a bit of a drinker:

(from a statement by Foreign Affairs minister Sergei Lavrov yesterday): The president and parliament [etc. etc.] today passed a resolution acknowledging the independence of South Ossetia and Abkhazia and regarding the signing of agreements expressing friendship, cooperation and mutual assistance.

Mutual assistance. As in, you let us piss off the Georgians from your territory every once in a while, and we'll try not to let any South Ossetian elementary schools fall into the wrong hands like we did with your Northern brethren, you can tout our military as having your back, and the money will come in steady flows. That is, as long as we still hate Georgia and it's in our interests to have you as our lap dogs.

Obama + Putin = ?

I just thought of something after reading this solid, well-informed, moderately insightful piece by David Remnick, editor of the New Yorker and former Moscow correspondent for the Washington Post (during the fall of the Soviet Union). In the last sentence, his genuinely thought-provoking conclusion hints at the shortcomings in the diplomatic techniques used by the West in dealing with Putin (and, to a lesser extent, both due to his weakened presence and his seemingly more flexible and reasonable approach toward governance, Medvedev), whose all-encompassing power is extremely dynamic, stretching across boundaries not dared to be traversed by his immediate predecessor at least. He's conniving, aggressive, and has a whole ton of firepower behind him, from military and social (a vast majority of Russians support him) to monetary and natural-resource---which makes him a spiny target for Western handling. That is, Europe can't piss him off too bad because they're so dependent on him for gas supplies, and the U.S. doesn't seem to want to face off with him for, well, lots of reasons, such as the fact that their military is already overstretched in Iraq and Afghanistan, they see the idiocy in the Georgian move to attack South Ossetia and therefore for all their support of the maniac Saakashvili they don't wanna take too strong a position against Russia, etc. etc.

Those were all tangents. What I really thought of immediately after finishing Remnick's rumination was how Obama, the possible successor to a largely ineffectual negotiator in Bush, might handle Putin; whether he would be the one negotiating with him at all or whether he might leave it mostly to his secretary of state, much as Bush has done with Rice; or whether he might not dispatch VP Biden, a veteran in foreign affairs, to deal with the temperamental de facto leader of the country.

More than anything else, I just thought about how Putin might react to having to negotiate with Obama. I can't recall reading anything about Putin's opinion of the U.S. presidential candidates or about race---but given his deep-seated Russianness, a characteristic stereotypically (and definitively present in large numbers of Russians) tied to prejudice against anyone who is anything but ethnic Russian or, in some cases, a member of another white people, I can just imagine him trying to hide his discomfort in meeting with Obama. I so want to see that.

Whether or not Obama would himself be any more effective a negotiator or diplomat with Putin, regardless (not that you can simply disregard the influence of Putin's likely unease with the man) of possible personal issues, is a completely different story of course. From what I've seen of Obama, especially lately, I can't say that I have a lot of confidence in his ability to take a hard line---not that that's necessarily the path I think needs to be taken with Putin all the time. But the Russian prime minister is so saavy and has so much experience in having his way with weak-stomached foreign leaders, that I would worry about Obama's ability to stand his ground with him.

There's even a fitting historical analogy that may predict the result of this potential unfair fight. I remember reading about how JFK met with Khrushchev when he first became president and got his ass handed to him by the Soviet head of state. He got completely out-played diplomatically, bullied around by Stalin's experienced successor. There have been worthy comparisons made between JFK and Obama---both young, highly intelligent, charismatic politicians who quickly rose through the political ranks---but I wonder if the latter too might run straight into a brick wall in attempting to negotiate with Russia's newest shrewd, powerful, autocratic leader.

Forever War

I read this article in the latest NYT magazine and found it really compelling. I'd have to think more about the running motif to feel like I understand its exact place or impact in the piece, but I think Filkins does a really good job of setting up the deadness he feels when gets back . . . and communicates the sense of the title of the book this piece is a part of, "The Forever War."

???

To the like two people who may or may not still read this: is this article interesting to you?

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/07/14/world/europe/14moscow.html?partner=rssnyt&emc=rss

And if so, can you please tell me why?

I realize that the whole "journal" rubric in the Times is, naturally, meant for an audience unfamiliar with the place in question, but come on . . . . Anne Barnard or one of the many bazillion smart people who would love to write something for NYT can't come with something slightly more compelling going on in Moscow than street cafes? Sure, they're a "big deal" here in summer, and that might be interesting---but the article doesn't actually deal with them very much, it just makes a few semi-sociological and economic points while talking to a few utterly unremarkable people. I suppose for those who know little to nothing about the country or city, these slight insights are interesting . . . . or are they?? ANYone who reads this, if you glance at the piece above, please let me know.

Sorry for the rather unclassy journalist-bashing. It's probably just jealousy, I realize. But hey---I and most everyone else at the Moscow Times could probably write a better piece than that. What makes Ms. Barnard so special, hmmmmmm???

Writing again

Hi there, possessors of RSS feeds!!! I know you're the only ones who could possibly be reading this, so I thought I would direct this to you, more than to anyone else.

It's amazing how much inertia seems to be involved in writing. I finally had a full-length assignment due at work this week, after a good couple months of writing little blurby descriptions of restaurants, and POOF suddenly I have the itch. I have some confidence that it will whither away soon enough, though, this itch, as it so often does, so I figured I would indulge it while it lasts.

I don't really have anything in particular to talk about. Just wrote a piece about a bunch of (somewhat) cool stores in Moscow, the usual Moscow Guide fare. It was fun to write, sometimes, but mostly just to try to make the writing itself interesting---writing about stores is . . . not always that fun. I don't even know why I proposed the story in the first place, except that I thought it was an actually useful thing for ex-pats in the city---that is, stores where you can get apartment stuff that isn't run-of-the-mill, isn't from Ikea, will last, and is central enough not to alienate all the timid businessmen who don't know there's more city outside the Garden Ring. But then it turned into this piece on little knick-knack shops where you can get things that could be compared to the "flare" shit Jennifer Aniston had to wear in Office Space, stuff that I don't actually think is all that cool but that makes for pretty good pictures which often seems to be the priority here at the Guide . . . which I guess I understand but don't always appreciate. Being a writer for the magazine, not a photographer. Ssssooooooooo anyway I also have some freelance assignments!!! Which is far more exciting news for me. I'm writing about this Soviet video game (who knew they had THOSE?!?) called Morskoi Boi, which is not the most interesting game in the world but the history surrounding it and the others is pretty cool . . . and, like so many Soviet projects, it was real perty. Constructivist art, almost Japanese-like sharp lines and solid blocks of color. Way cool. And then another one, a travel story on Kaliningrad, this very odd part of Russia, an exclave, that the Commies snagged from Germany when settling up after WWII. Lucky them. Actually it was pretty lucky, because the place is of strategic importance being a port on a sea that isn't frozen year-round and being next to those massive giants of the European continent Lithuania and Poland. I wanted to head over to Lithuania to check it out while I was there, but it didn't quite work out . . .

In other news, it's hot as mmmmmmmm a boiler room in Moscow. A wet heat, too, the kind in which you're always sticky. I know I shouldn't complain considering so many of my friends have been/are in places billion times hotter, but I figured I would mention it. Makes staying at work late easier at least---they have the magical AIR conditioning here at least!!!

Been cooking a lot lately, too. That's fun, except that I so often get down on myself for not coming up with more recipes, especially tasty ones . . . I realize that I have to cook more and use more recipes that ARE tasty and read more etc. etc. etc. to get better but sttiiiiiiiiill . . . sorry but now I got interrupted in writing this so I lost my flow so I'll stop now. Perhaps more another time. Stratosphere.

Home?

I took a walk yesterday around one of those neighborhoods in Moscow
that makes you forget it's mostly a city of giant boulevards and jam-packed highways. It's near this giant church that everyone here thinks is really cheesy because it was made pretty recently, replacing a demolished, old, beautiful relic of Russian Orthodoxy that Stalin decided was a little too opium-like. But anyway, the neighborhood was quiet---legitimately, actually quiet---even though surrounded by one of Moscow's main thoroughfares (if you can call a ring-road a thoroughfare) and full of buildings that when I passed I thought, "Yes---if I could live there, maybe Moscow would be the place for me . . ."

Not that it ever really would be I think. But I've been telling various people lately that Russia has started to seem normal to me. I told one friend not comfortable, but familiar, and I think that's right---and when I think about the States, I get a little nervous, like it's a place that I would have to adapt to. I guess I've never been abroad as long as I have been now, so maybe this happens to everyone---maybe this is what all that "reverse culture shock" talk was about. Another friend (I don't know why I'm not using names, but I'm not and I'm not gonna, so there) was telling me the other day that he thinks he's traveled so much that new places don't shock him the way they used to---but I wonder what going back to the States will be like for him. Maybe normal. But probably not.

What kinds of things have become normal? A short list: sushi in non-Japanese restaurants, nine out of ten women wearing heels or knee-high boots (perhaps a statistical exaggeration), dust/dirt everywhere, metro cars that come every two minutes (at most during rush hour), "rye" bread that's not actually rye bread, really bad out-of-season produce, street food, beer restaurants, seeing people I know on the streets (that doesn't really happen in New York, right?), talking about the weather constantly

I could keep going. But I'll leave it at that for now. Anyway I suppose the "sut'" (essence, approximately) of this post is that familiarity seems to have pretty strong influence on people. I remember someone (brother?) telling me about a statistic that cites proximity as having an incredibly big role in ich people end up dating each other. Proximity! So am I falling in love with Moscow? I don't know. Am I beginning to feel more relaxed (okay, so maybe I could say "comfortable")? I think so. But is that just because I've spent nine months here now? Maybe this is all really obvious to everyone, but I still keep turning it over in my mind.

That said, I think I should probably move, after summer at least. Anyone have suggestions where??

The Sun = A Narcotic

I realize that I haven’t written on this in forever. Yet again.

Whatever—that’s what I’ve decided to think about this blog. I had originally planned it as something I would take seriously—write drafts of posts, think about them a long time in advance, have a specific topic that I would address and come at it only after extended thought. F*#% that. I do that all day. Here, for now at least, I’m just gonna spew.

So consider yourself forewarned, dear readers . . .

Right at this moment I want to spew about how damn amazing the weather has been lately in Moscow. I realize that I've written about this before. I'm okay with that. Anyway, for those of you who don’t know, winter is one big cloud fest here in Russia’s capital. Pollution, so I’ve been told, holds the clouds in, and you end up with something like one decently sunny day every two weeks. And yet as of last Friday, I’ve looked up to see a milky gray-white exactly once, in the early morning one day.

It’s incredible! I told my boss I thought the apocalypse was approaching, and instead of the confirmation I expected, he just said, “This is what spring is like here. You haven’t been here a whole year’s cycle, so you don’t know—but it really is.” I was shocked. In a really good way.

It’s made me think about how much the weather affects my mood, which I know is old news—you know, Seasonal Affective Disorder and all that, which seems less to me like a disorder and more like basic logic about pretty much everyone’s personality—but still a rather remarkable phenomenon. The sheer number of things that affect how one feels and how much energy one has and what one wants to do on any given day—well, it’s mind-boggling to think about. And here I am thinking that the weather is IT. This week it has been, but I’m guessing if the sun sticks around long enough, I’ll soon pass on to thinking I have more energy one day because I ate more protein or got more sleep or went for a run or whatever.

Another thing about Moscow for those of you who may read this just for those little tid-bits: spring and summer mean people are OUT. It’s awesome. For instance—and I could be totally wrong about this, but I don’t think I am—I came home on the metro this evening at a somewhat typical time for me—9 p.m. (don’t worry, I don’t get to work until 11). Often, I have to stuff onto a car despite the fact that “rush” hour (which is kind of perpetual on certain metro lines here, including, often, my purple line heading east outside the circle line) has ended a couple hours before. Tonight—I almost got a seat. I think people were out, walking around, chilling in the city streets. I know I was the night before. And it’ll only get warmer and lighter and, I hope, less crowded in the metro from here . . . . . .

There are lots of interesting reasons for that, by the way. Such as the fact that most young people here still live at home, so spring and summer means the freedom to be on the street, with friends (and partners) and without parents. But also, in some way, it seems like the seasons are so extreme here in Moscow (and much of Russia) that you end up with this highly marked, mostly unconscious feast-and-famine mentality about life, such that in winter, everyone sits at home and mopes and sleeps a lot—and in summer, everyone lives it up like crazy. I guess that’s how it is in plenty of places, but here it seems to me more of a thing. Maybe it’s just because I’ve come from Claremont, where winter means 60 during the day instead of 80 and, sometimes, a few less sunny days—but I don’t think so, at least not completely.

What’s so cool to me is that it’s still literally feast and famine in some ways. Obviously, you can get anything you want food-wise year-round here these days, but in summer, the selection is absurdly better. The markets are packed with vendors and produce, and stuff is orgasmically cheap. And tasty. I can’t waaaaaiiiit . . . . .

Who Doesn't Love the Sun

"No one" is the answer. Myself included. It's 5:20 p.m. here, and there is still sun shining into the Moscow Times' big and tall windows. Woohoo!!

Other than expressing my joy for Mr. Sun, I wanted to tell everyone who doesn't love dates and figs to start doing so. They're so amazing. And at the giant, sprawling, incredibly unorganized markets of Moscow, there is the occasional dried-fruit and nuts vendor who sells them, and not just any kind, but EVERY kind. That is, they sell like 10 different kinds. Big ones, smaller ones, tarter ones, sweeter ones, every kind of ones. Try cooking with them some time, too---I used some North African couscous recipe the other night that used dates, and I just about died from pleasure every time I bit into one.

Presidential election here in Russia on Sunday. Eh. Crazy that such a supposedly big deal can be so boring. No one's really talking about it, including the newspapers for the most part, and for good reason---there's not really anything to talk about. "Welcome to the hot seat, Mr. Medvedev"---that's about it.

Also, while all you faithful readers are doing things that you may not have already been doing, such as eating more delicious dried fruits, listen to Lil' Wayne. He's really good!

Till next week.

Hello world

I'm sitting rather bored at work. I have to do translations today, of interviews with Russian professionals in the pharmaceutical industry. Yuck.

Sooooo, I thought I would re-start the old blog since there's nothing on my Google Reader at the moment . . . at least this, then, will give you all who have my blog on YOUR RSS reader of choice something to peruse in the inevitably empty moments of your work day.

I just finished an article about the graffiti scene in Moscow . . . it was pretty interesting, but I wondered, as I was writing it, how much further I could delve into the scene and still find it interesting. I think I was approaching a point that I think exists with most things where I knew enough that it seemed normal---yeah, so there's a graffiti scene in Moscow, so what?---without feeling like I had nuanced enough information to say truly compelling things about that scene . . . if such things exist at all. Part of me is very confident that they DO exist, but I feel like I might have to get into an almost academic level of complexity to get at them, when I see associations easily (maybe it's a lack of knowledge about art in general, really . . . ) and can at least think that I can make grandiose claims about something's cultural significance. I have the basics, which gave me plenty for an article---and really, I don't think the next step, where deeper issues might come out, would appeal to that many of the readers of my publication---but it left me feeling blah. Like, what did I really find all that stuff out for?

In other news, there's this stuff in Russia that I think most foreigners who've never been here don't know about that I want to plug: it's called "ikra," which is also the Russian word for caviar . . . but I hate caviar. Or, at least, haven't liked it in the past. Maybe that will change. Anyway, what I'm talking about is this orange paste that they sell in jars made from pureed eggplant, random squashes and root vegetables like that, tomatoes, onions, garlic, and a few other assorted pieces of tasty organic matter. And god is it good. I just bought me a jar and a loaf of the awesome black bread they make here, and I've been busy scarfing it down for the last, ooohhh, 10 or so minutes. I'm already a third through the jar. It's not that small a jar.

Hope anyone reading this hadn't despaired that I would never show my virtual face again! Because here I am---ready to procrastinate by blabbing into cyberspace. Catch, cyberspace, catch!

Sorry . . . that's probably enough for today.

I'm Baaahhh-aaaaack

Hi! Sorry I went AWOL for so long . . . if anyone out there still bothers to check this page out, well, there will be some new stuff on it, hopefully semi-consistently.

First, a quick life update:

I'm back in Moscow after a month in the oh-so-sunny U.S., where I saw lots of friends and family members and it was overall pretty awesome, so the whole windy, snowy, snow-blowy wintrousness that I've come back to is not my favorite, but hey, I'm settling in I suppose, and hopefully, before I know it, the sun will be back paying at least weekly visits to Muscovites and inviting us all out to play.

Now, my little tid-bit for today: a personals ad put out in the Moscow Times that I thought to be . . . well, lots of things. You judge for yourself:

"I'm a Doctor from Nagoya, Japan in my mid seventy's seeking a kind and attractive woman under the age of 40 to spend my life with. I speak English very well as a second language. I'm director of my private clinic and have a beautiful home. My interests are travelling, movies and more. I'm a former Judo champion and taught it during my post graduate study in the United States. My ideal woman would have short blond hair and be around 5 feet tall. I also have visited Moscow many times and am familiar with the people and their culture. If you are interested Please contact me in whatever way is most convenient. I am looking forward to hearing from you. Sincerely, [name, e-mail addresses, and phone number . . . which I didn't think appropriate to put here]."

I don't know why I decided to post that---I guess it just struck me as intriguing for some reason. Personals ads in general are pretty fascinating, I think . . . don't you?

More soon (hopefully)!

Khreschatik is Ukrainian for Tverskaya

. . . or, for those of you across the quickly rising pond, 5^th Avenue; although the scale is barely comparable (take a wild guess as to which of the three is the biggest).

I’m in Kiev! Which is cool and all, but Russia sure is bein’ a pain in the arse, making all foreigners wait at least 10 days for a visa to their much-beloved, infinitely desirable country . . . unless you go back to your homeland for the errand. That means that those of us who hail from the States are screwed! which is pretty much what Russia wants (or so the theory goes).

So I should probably just relax in this budget wonderland of borsch, Orange Revolutionaries, and a strangely familiar alphabet—right?? Well, I would, but I’m in a bit of a salty pickle, at least for now; I’ve been snoozing on an army cot with a Californian compatriot, but her Soviet-style one-room is somewhat cramped . . . so I’m in need of another flat surface and a pillow for the next 10+ working days. What to do? I’m looking into short-term apartments, which look pretty sweet—now I just have to convince the Moscow Times to fit the bill for my couch-bed palace!

Unfortunately for any of you itching to catch a glimpse of this fascinating former Soviet republic through the eyes of a semi-experienced explorer of Slavic lands—I forgot my camera. So I’m afraid any pics I pull out of town with will have to be from an ancient, late-90s-style disposable. I hope they still sell them in this technological superstore of a country!

A full report on U-kra-i-ni-ya is forthcoming—after I go see some stuff :- )

Still Kickin'

So, after 4+ weeks of finding a new apartment with a Turkish guy who doesn't come home for days at a time, starting work as a writer for an English-language Moscow entertainment and lifestyle magazine, spending 6 hours in an FSB (what used to be the KGB) interrogation room, and being disallowed from leaving the country at Sheremetevo airport–I'm still alive!

Just kidding––that is, I am breathing, walking, etc., but not all of those things are true–only 3 of them are.

I really am working for the Moscow Guide, a quarterly publication of the Moscow Times–and the job is amazing! I get to sit around looking up information about obscure extreme winter sports like iceboarding and snowkiting while munching on Finn Crisps and chatting with my fellow writer and editor about which picture of a blowfish is best for the luxury-foods article . . . which makes my life pretty great. Granted, I'm not exactly saving the world, but Moscow Guide can be a stepping stone to bigger and brighter journalistic endeavors–not that journalism is necessarily helping to solve any real problems.

And my roommate really is a Turkish guy who doesn't show up for days at a time–which is fine with me, except that, given Moscow's less than open attitude toward foreigners, I worry, sometimes, that he's been kidnapped or thrown into one of the WWII tanks that line the walkways of Victory Park near my building. I've thought about trying to climb into one just to mess with the ancient controls . . . but being tossed in doesn't sound like as much fun.

He's always fine, though, when he makes it home! And full of stories about the trashy club he and his co-workers went to in Chertanova (on the outskirts of the city to the south) or how he had to pull two all-nighters at work (recounted while making himself another cup of coffee). He's nuts! But rather sweet, and always interesting.

I have one more story, obviously . . . but I'll save it, try to keep you guessing!

Happy Halloween, everybody--I hope they celebrate it wherever you are, because they certainly don't here!

ps: I promise to start putting up pictures soon, in case anyone is interested in seeing the beginnings of Moscow's winter (i.e., fall).

Lies, Damn Lies, and Cultural Stereotypes

And with that title, I’m gonna make a few.

People in Russia are dishonest, xenophobic, and racist—or so one might think after my Saturday. I began the day nervously gulping down muesli, the yogurt and raisins making me jitter with sugar high, staring at phone numbers of realty agencies. I have to make these calls, I told myself—I had put it off too long already. I managed to wait until after I had licked my bowl of the unnaturally purple “drinkable yogurt” and gathered any and everything I might need for the ordeal: Palm, computer, house and cell phone, two pens, and a pad of paper with my leading sentences chicken-scratched out in. The call did end up being unpleasant, but in an unexpected way.

I dialed on the house phone, waiting for Lyudmila of Rentaroom Realty to pick up. As soon as she did, I relaxed: I was the customer, after all, and she seemed eager enough to help me pay them for an apartment. After asking my name, however, she apparently lost all notion of being polite.

“Excuse me, ZEEK, but are you black?”

I hadn’t understood, and I asked her to please repeat what she had said. The next time, I got it, and I assured her, in a voice that I hope betrayed my anger, that I was not. She said okay; that Americans came in different shapes and sizes; but that she could continue, now, knowing that I was white. After getting other essential information, she made inquiries into the two places I was interested in and quickly called me back to tell me that one owner hadn’t picked up and that the other insisted on renting only to Russians.

I’ve been here before, so I know about the racism, but that was the first time that it had been threatened to be directed toward me. I was shocked that a realty agent would ask such a question of a potential client—wouldn’t she at least wait until we met, then judge whether or not anyone would rent to me? I suppose it just saved her time to ask me directly (before, by the way, she asked me my age, ideal price range, area preference, and how many rooms I wanted).

I hung up not really in the mood to make any more calls, so I went to a beautiful market on the west (rich) side of Moscow, called Dobromilovsky Rynok, only to get VERY ripped off by an awfully nice Azerbaijani man. At least he was just in it for the money, though, right? Would another foreigner have anything against me? I went home not feeling great—the picture-perfect grapes I had bought tasted less than the price warranted—only to find my (gay, black) roommate sitting on his bed looking gloomy. I asked him how the internet café was, and he told me that he never made it there—he had forgotten his metro card, so he just went to the grocery store, where he bought four large bags worth of groceries, started to leave, was roughly grabbed by a security guard, brought to a back room, and accused of shoplifting. An enormous, nasty woman, he told me, flung curses at him, gesturing crazily to a video-camera shot of him picking up some cheese, putting it down, and walking away. Luckily, Chris half-wailed, the security guard and policeman, who were subsequently ordered by the glowing red woman to pat him down, were rather nice, and quickly recognized that he was not to blame. He nonetheless had to sit for more than an hour while she told him that he ought to be ashamed of himself. By the time they let him go, he said that his burgers were thawing and his ice cream half-melted.

The point is that while I’ve enjoyed my time here a great deal—rainbows of produce and character-filled side streets do it for me—days like yesterday make me wonder why I came back. I don’t yet know what I want this blog to be, but I thought it important to describe that day—and not, like I joke uncomfortably in the beginning, to make stereotypes, but to note a few unpleasant streaks of behavior that exist in this culture. I haven’t witnessed first-hand anywhere the kinds of racism and xenophobia that still seem entrenched here. I guess it’s probably good to see for myself that it still exists and needs attention, but it's not easy to deal with. Here’s to hoping that ethnic Russians address these demons soon.

Madeleines made with . . . Organic Egg Whites??

Sorry to all you gourmands out there—the title of this post has nothing to do with a creative dish I’ve tried recently in an over-priced but delicious four-star restaurant. It’s just an attempt at a metaphor about the confluence of my life with RUSSIA’S . . .

. . . because, see, everything has been so new for the both of us lately. I’m into my third week here, and yet I can’t seem to stop wanting to move, change jobs, find more expensive purchases (painful example from this week: White Acacia honey from Bashkirian beekeeper: $8), and see random British men lying in the fetal position when I open the door to my apartment. That’s right, all of the above took place u menya (“to me/for me/at my place”—and it really can mean all those things) in the past five or so days, just as Moscow was celebrating its 860^th birthday, bitterly welcoming autumn, and finding itself smitten with the taste of cage-free organic eggs. Yes, shame on you, all you disbelievers out there—even a back-asswards country like Russia can boast those brown-shelled taste bombs that Californians have been eating since the 60s. And, somehow, it gets better: their brand-name is “Happy Chicken”!! How great is that.

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is that all this change somehow reminds me of the past . . . that chill, 7-a.m. breeze that hits me as I walk out of my apartment building is eerily similar to one that hit me two years ago; I could swear that I saw the same Bashkirian vendor at the All-Russian Honey Festival of 2005 (that’s right, second time I’ve gone!); and, even though I was at some extremely strange battle-reenactment in the svezhii vozdukh that day long ago, I’m pretty sure I noticed Moscow turn 858 while I was in country. With Happy Chickens running rampant now, are Muskovites just years away from drinkable tap water and ovens with temperature gauges? Or are the $500 cellphones and ubiquitous fur coats signs that these things have no order? Did I actually come back to Moscow . . . ? Or did I just eat a light, fluffy madeleine (without preservatives—very Russian)? Considering that I might soon work for a newspaper, live in a single room and share a bathroom, and still can’t really afford that prikol’niy (coooooool) designer coat in the window—let’s just say I feel right at home ;-)

I Live in Moscow

It’s true— there is no temperature gauge on my stove; my hot water just came back on a week ago, after the annual three week “cleaning of the pipes”; I have a courtyard in which old alcoholics sit all day with tops of cardboard boxes at their feet, playing cards and shooting dice; and last weekend, I found a syringe, filled with blood, on the front step of my apartment building. But wait, that could be just about anywhere in Russia . . . here in Moscow, a six-month membership to a gym close to my office costs $750; my ten-story apartment building is one of the shorter ones in my neighborhood; my metro stop is three stops from the end of a line with 20 or so stops, and there are nonetheless no seats to be found at 9:15 a.m.; and if I ever stay out past 1 a.m. (when the metro closes), I will have no trouble getting a cab ride home from most any car that passes. So crazy! But, really, pretty damn fun, too.

And I think that it can only get better, really. Right now, I’m working for a company called Language Link, which is infamous for paying its employees little but attracting a lot of foreigners because they make it easy for people to find them (on the web, for instance) and offer full visa support and accommodation, an attractive package deal to your average college grad looking to live abroad! It sure was to me. Little did I know, I could’ve easily found a job that pays twice what LL pays ($900/month to start) and a room in an apartment all on the same website! Wish I had known that six months ago.

So, because I have a not-so-sweet job (I sit in an office with some fun Russians and translate economic documents, for the most part, for companies like RTS, the NYSE of Russia; sounds, to me at least, potentially exciting, but I promise, it’s not) and my apartment is linked to that job, I can see myself walking up the steps past a different set of alcoholics and, who knows, perhaps a crack spoon, to a new home in the near future . . . and here I was gonna put up some crazy awesome pictures of all sorts of cool stuff. But I can't seem to get it to work. That's Russia for you.

Anyway, I think I’ll try to write on this her blog once a week or so, about any and everything CRAZY or interesting that happens to me here in the RF, so if you’re ever curious about what I’m eating for dinner (probably cabbage! and/or borscht. Oh, and pickles, too) or you live in a very hot climate and want to feel better about the weather where you are (the low today—August 28—was 45 degrees) or you’d like to live vicariously through someone roughin’ it abroad (that means you, Portlanders! Your life is too cushy—feel some of my pain for me . . . ), just type out www.russiatranslated.blogspot.com, curl up in a blanket, and say hello! to Moscow . . .

What is "Conservative" Thought About the Kremlin?

News related to the Kremlin and their consistently inflammatory remarks toward the West has sparked much controversy over their aims in the globo-political sphere. Perhaps most interestingly, conservatives may be fighting other conservatives in this conflict: one blog cited "conservative reporters" in the West as labeling Putin the "head of a gangster state." Indeed, this comment may be an exaggeration, but are conservatives the only ones criticizing the Eastern autocrat?

Of course not. From his comments regarding a new arms race to the many, many recent clashes with the Bush administration, Putin seems to be pissing off more than just conservatives. And why wouldn't liberals be angry? The Kremlin has been establishing itself as a one-party government capable of silencing any and all opposition for some time now, making his regime ripe for dissent. In Russia itself, for instance, the "Other Russia" party (in clever contrast to Putin's United Russia) is made up of self-proclaimed liberals such as Garry Kasparov, while other dissenting factions such as the Russian People's Democratic Union have heads like Mikhail Kasyanov, another leading radical.

So what, exactly, are the two sides? Aren't there more than two? As best as I can tell, there's the Kremlin, and then there's the rest of the world. Oh, ahem, except for a, umm, few others.

U.S.-Russia Relations Make Lead Story on Times Website

Get ready, Russian departments of America, for a sudden influx of students. If the trends regarding U.S.-Russia relations continue, our government will begin to want more and more students who know the language. Just this morning, the New York Times decided that a rebuke of the Kremlin and its policies by a deputy state department official deserved top billing on its website.

According the implicit rules set up by the Kremlin, these kinds of comments are fair game--there has already been some back-and-forth between the governments, and it seems likely that it will only escalate from here. Let's keep our fingers crossed that this won't lead to another Cuban Missile Crisis.

(Some) Europeans Can Now Make it to Russia Visaless

Some English speakers must care about this. Russian daily Vedomosti, a paper tied to the Wall Street Journal and the Financial Times, reported Thursday that restrictions on travel between Russia and the European Union will be simplifed significantly by allowing visaless entry into the RF for most EU residents.

The bad news for most English speakers? Neither Britain nor Ireland (nor, unfortunately, the U.S.) were included in the deal. Thanks to the continuous cold shoulder from Putin and someone's poisoning of Litvinenko, it looks like we Anglos will have to go through the same rigamarole every time we want to visit the Fatherland. Bring on the migration cards!