W, thanks for the link.

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/09/30/fashion/30russia.html?ref=europe

(An article about Russian teenagers and twenty-somethings embracing hip-hop culture even though the political climate is so anti-American--the photo was taken yards away from where Ира and I were sitting the night of the psychological-portrait guy)

I missed the competition, but the article definitely jibes with what I've seen around. People wear that style of clothes (even if they'd never be mistaken for American), and I've even seen some freestyle competitions by the metro. It's also fun going to clubs where Aubergine DJs and seeing everyone go wild when he remixes Cypress Hill or the Talking Heads or the Beastie Boys (I gather he's pretty well-known on that scene, and his (British) nationality must help).

More contemporary, mainstream American culture is popular too. Next week, Kerrill, of the diamond-studded spinning dollar sign belt buckle, is missing my class to see the Beyonce concert (last month it was Black-Eyed Peas). American movies make it over too, and are always popular (though, frustratingly, always dubbed).

The one thing in the article that tripped me up was this : "Anti-American sentiment may be big in Russian politics right now, a sure vote-winner for the country’s leaders..." I don't gather that people are going to vote based on anti-American sentiment. It sounds like it's much more important that a candidate guarantee stability and prosperity, and encourage people to be proud of being Russian (in which anti-Americanism could play a secondary part, I guess).

This Times article from a couple weeks ago: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/09/10/world/europe/10sitcom.html contains this howler:

"Older Russians typically roll their eyes at mention of “Schastlivy Vmeste” [a "Married with Children" Russian remake], as if they briefly wonder whether life under Communism was not so bad after all."

There's no "briefly wonder" about it. A lot of older people here (and a decent amount of my generation) feel near-unqualified pride for the USSR and Stalin's leadership (granted, maybe it's exaggerated when they're talking to an American), and the question of whether life is better then or now is honestly a difficult one. And that's coming from people rich enough to afford the language school.

A couple weeks ago I got an email from Arthur (namer of Bullshitstan) asking if I wanted to go for a walk sometime during the weekend. I always accept my students’ invitations, because they’re an interesting bunch and they invariably show me a side of the city I never would have discovered by myself. The free Russian lessons aren’t bad either. As my teaching personality deflates from super-energetic-Rhubarb-hoping-to-God-you’ll-like-her to normal-Rhubarb-trying-to-explain-how-English-works, I’m more comfortable hanging out with my students. It feels more like they’re inviting me, and not that perpetually-smiling person who’s endlessy enthusiastic about grammar.

The weather was nasty last weekend. Arthur and I ended up stranded under an overhanging entryway of a building, watching the rain form dirty puddles in the potholes of a Novoslobodskaya side street. He asked if I was cold, and I said truthfully that No, I felt fine. A couple minutes later he said Your lips are getting blue, we’re going inside. I was surprised because I wasn’t at all uncomfortable, but he said, half-jokingly Hey, I’m Russian, I can tell these things. I guess it makes sense to be attuned like that, if you live in a place where dying of cold is a real threat and common occurrence every winter. I remember blue lips in America seeming more like a funny curiosity than a warning.

The situation also rang bells of what a lot of expats notice—Russians, generally, are tirelessly protective and concerned for their friends, even if they seem to give less than a shit about the strangers they pass on the street. “Friend” in Russian even has two words—your знакомые are people you sort of know and hang out with occasionally, your дружья are people you trust and stick by no matter what. It irritates Russians how Americans call everyone their дружья, when it’s really a more significant relationship than that. I’ve also heard the argument that a lot of the Western paranoia about the Russian mafia is due to misunderstanding of that sort of friendship.

Arthur and I ended up finding a coffee shop. He decided my Russian needed improving and set to work, and I was more than happy to go with it.

We hung out again this past Sunday. We met by Novoslobodskaya, then went downtown to a bookstore and to Red Square. I don’t know if my mood was different or what, but he was doing my head in. He kept steering me by the elbow or the waist through doors and around the corners in the bookstore, and would touch my arm to get my attention even though he clearly already had it, whenever said something. It got to be pretty agitating, and soon I couldn’t stop myself from pulling away. I can deal with the different ideas here about personal space, I’ll play along with the gender stuff to some extent, but when the two combine it’s a little much.

In terms of relating to him, it was kind of downhill from there. Once we had talked about the obvious stuff, there wasn’t much left, and I didn’t have the incentive of the classroom to force the flow of conversation.

I’ve taught his class a couple times since then. He’s started correcting the other students (half the time he’s right, half the time he’s not), which annoys everyone, especially me. Plus he gets all huffy when I work with him on his mistakes. He’s acting like he wants to be exactly on my plane, which doesn’t work for the classroom. It’s made my stern side flicker on and off (I’m developing Dad’s stern-face, with the slightly raised eyebrows, steady stare, and mouth in a line) and I think he’s getting the picture.

Rhubarb—originally grouped with the vegetables, reimagined as a fruit, known to grow wild in Russia, delicious when properly prepared, revolting when not, weathers the winter, and what I’ll be calling myself from here on in.

Also, from Wikipedia: “It is or was common for a crowd of extras in acting to shout the word "rhubarb" repeatedly and out of step with each other, to cause the effect of general hubbub. As a result, the word "rhubarb" sometimes is used to mean "length of superfluous text in speaking or writing."”

Blueberry was originally named after the obnoxious girl from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory who turns into a blueberry and floats away. Blueberry, I take it all back, you're a lovely person and your namesake is delicious and versatile.

Blueberry arrived in June, after quitting her job at an English law firm and spending a month at a teacher-training program in Prague (the same as mine in Krakow). She's unguardedly nice and normal, which makes her a bit of an expat anomaly. The lack of mental baggage that sets her apart from a lot of expats (and enables her to relate pleasantly to all of them), I think, makes her immune to Moscow's pull. The city's cold and dirty, the people are unfriendly, everything's expensive, and she misses her boyfriend. She doesn't need the bright lights and distractions, the attention people give Westerners, or the ready-made (versus self-created) interestingness of life. She'll probably go home for good at Christmas (so will I, unless a newspaper can give me enough financial and visa support that I can cut ties with the language school).

She's much less forgiving of the Western male shenanigans than I am. (Maybe it's because she's been involved with Aubergine, who seems much less a victim-of-circumstance than Artichoke.) Last week, we were standing on a chilly balcony outside a house party where Aubergine was DJing. She was having a cigarette and I was wrapped in a Tibetan shawl trying to stay warm. We were idly looking through the plate-glass window, back in on the party inside, at American guy who I had been on a couple dates with the week before making out with an utterly wasted British girl (let's call her Orange...lay off the self-tanner, honey. Rawr!)

Hmm, that's a shame, I thought, but no hard feelings because nothing between us had really progressed and I wasn't convinced I was into him anyway. Blueberry went a bit through the roof and thought he was being really rude to me. I didn't feel slighted, I just felt like I had got a useful piece of information about his personality.

We started talking more generally about the expat guys here, and I told her I felt kind of bad for the ones who need what Moscow offers and who for some reason feel like they can't go home. Blueberry, on the other hand, has zero sympathy and says they made their bed, they can fucking lie in it.

I took a cab home soon after that (something I don't like to do by myself, but I didn't want to wait until the metro opened at 5:30).

Epilogue 1: The convoluted soap opera. Orange, Blueberry, the aforementioned American guy, and a few others went back to Aubergine's soon after I went home. As things were winding down (Blueberry reports), Orange was all over Aubergine, who shed her long enough to tell Blueberry he'd get rid of Orange if she stayed. Not surprisingly, Blueberry (who's slept with him before) just shook her head, snapped something, and left him with Orange. (Blueberry and Orange have both kept it quiet--thanks to Starfruit, it's me the rumor mill associates with Aubergine, as I was surprised to learn when I got back from Tibet. If you're having trouble following all this, so am I.)

Epilogue 2: The American guy who I had been out with then had seen snog (great British word) Orange left yesterday morning. He gave me a weirdly rib-crushing hug, cheerfully said he'd see me in hell, and that was that.

Epilogue 3: This morning we had a "Welcome to [Language School]" meeting for all first-year teachers, meaning everybody but Pineapple, Artichoke, and the administration. It was basically Aubergine at the whiteboard with a marker presenting stuff that anyone with half a brain figured out after the first two weeks of teaching (What levels do we teach? What books do we use? What do we write on the attendance sheets?), then telling us how lucky we were to have mandatory unpaid professional-development workshops for a profession most of us are leaving in a few months anyway. While I sat there and doodled on my newspaper that I would have felt a bit too cheeky to read, and hoped they would end it soon, Blueberry was humorously but pointedly calling Aubergine and Pear on the bullshitness of it all. She used to work for an employment-law firm, and really knows the ins and outs of how (British) companies should treat their employees.

It reminded me of the balcony episode. I say fine, expat boys, pull that shit, just don't expect me to date you as far as I can throw you; fine, Language School, pull that shit, just don't expect me to pass up the first opportunity to jump ship. Blueberry says wait, this isn't okay. I withdraw from situations and selfishly cling to the freedom of my thoughts, while Blueberry takes a stand and enters the mix. I admire her confidence and faith in her ideas, and I wonder if it can be earned without sacrificing depth of observation of different points of view.

Also, I've dumped Artichoke for her as my laundry date.

Last night Ира and I were sitting on a bench in Pushkin Square, talking and drinking a cans of fruity god-knows-what from the kiosk. A few benches away there was a severely drugged-up teenager staring intently at us, speaking at a mile a minute, and fidgeting with a decent-sized paintbrush. Ира finally got irritated and asked him what the hell he wanted. He was painting my psychological portrait. It's a picture of a baby Siamese cat. (?)

I keep meaning to tell you about Blueberry, but I just spent the last two hours writing an email to the editor I met last week, so I'm going to be lazy and cut and paste that instead. It's a brainstormed list of article ideas. If you were about to move to Moscow, what would you care about?

Dear [Mr. Ed],

I hope you had a good weekend. I've brainstormed some article ideas, both expat- and science-oriented. Please tell me if any sound promising.

Expats:

-a guide to kiosks. What's good to eat? Who frequents them? What's the etiquette involved? What on earth is "Hooch"?

-markets. Where does the food come from? Who runs the stalls? If they're not Russian, is their job threatened by new immigration regulations?

-Who, among Muscovites, are learning English and why?

-If you live in a block of flats, odds are you've heard drilling and hammering at all hours as your neighbors remont their flat. What's the philosophy behind all the home repairs? How/why do people do it? Where do they get the supplies? Are trends changing as capitalism and prosperity set in?

-Starbucks is opening soon. What made them decide to enter the coffee market here? Could coffee-to-go culture take root in Moscow? (My students are always amused when my bright green travel mug shows up on my desk).

-I read that there's a guided tour starting near Patriarch's Pond at midnight on weekends, all about the Master and Margarita. I'm almost finished reading the book, and am curious about the tour.

-I miss peanut butter, maple syrup, brown sugar, brownie mix...where, if anywhere, are these things to be found? What do they cost? What are acceptable substitutes?

-A Russian expat and Moscow State University alum taught a class at my college called "Communism and its Aftermath." She spent some time back in Moscow recently, with her American husband and newborn daughter. What's her perspective on how the city's changed? What does she miss about Russia? What's life like on the flipside of expat-hood?


Science ideas:

-Russia's Druzhba oil pipeline is the longest in the world. It stretches from eastern Russia through much of Europe and the Middle East. Recently, it has been at the center of Russia and Belarus' energy disputes. What is the daily operation of the pipeline like? What were the challenges of constructing the segments that run through the permafrost of Siberia? How much maintainance does it require? Where exactly does the oil come from?

-The International Science and Technology Center, located near Novoslobodskaya, gives grants to ex-Soviet weapons scientists so they can pursue other areas of science and not be involved in further weapons development. What is the daily work of this organization like? Where does their budget come from, and where does it go? What changes have they seen over the past decade?

-The New York Times magazine recently ran an article that questioned how drugs are approved in the States, and how medical advice is decided upon and propagated. The article looked at the practice of clinical trials, and the role of the media and drug companies in influencing peoples' medical decisions. What is pharmaceutical development like in Russia? What sort of review process do drugs undergo before they go on the market? What government office is in charge of it, and what are the regulations involved? Are knock-offs of name brand drugs a big problem? How aggressively are prescription drugs advertised?

-In the States, a lot of published scientific research comes out of universities. In Russia, as far as I know, the Academy of Sciences is much more influential and prolific. What does this mean for how science is conducted? Does it help or hinder collaboration between scientists? How do people rise through the ranks? What does it mean for student involvement in major research? What important results has it produced recently? What's the internal organization like? Is the system working well? Is it changing?

-The zoo. What does it do to get ready for winter? How have recent warm winters affected it? What's in store for the future? Who plans the exhibits, and which are the most interesting?

-What's the deal with the space capsule at VDHKh? How did it get there? What's its history? Who upkeeps it?

-Stroll through a fruit and veggie market and you'll see shiny green apples from Chile next to their smaller, spottier local counterparts. How much market produce is locally grown, and how much is imported? From where? What are agricultural operations like outside of Moscow? Also, there's a dairy farm a couple hours south of Moscow that sounds kind of interesting (it's run by a German-Canadian guy who's registered on the website where I found all the farms I worked on in Europe).

-Russia is filthy-rich with oil and gas reserves. Geologically speaking, how did it get that way?

-Russia recently resumed sending planes to patrol its borders and nearby oceans, and the US government was quick to dismiss the aircraft as outdated. What sort of technology do the planes use? How much has the technology developed since the planes were built?

I know the head of the US Embassy's Environment, Science, and Technology Department and I'm hoping to see him again soon to talk about possible ideas and contacts.

Thank you for going through these, and I look forward to hearing from you.

Best,

[that girl who's STILL hoping someone gives her a pen name]

Belly-dancing class is getting crowded. All summer only three or four of us showed up regularly, now there are eight or ten. (The city in general starts up again come September--people come back from their dachas, kids go back to school, offices resume full-time hours, the language school fills up.)

Of the women who show up for class, I think the instructor and I are the youngest by 10 years. There are a few pairs of middle-aged women--my favorites are the two who crack each other up singing Shakira songs. It's a really friendly, laid-back bunch. I'm sort of surprised that it doesn't attract more supermodel dyevushkas (one girl with perfect hair, black leg-warmers, and impossible breasts came a few months ago and gave herself bedroom eyes in the floor-to-ceiling mirror the whole time, but she was definitely the exception).

The instructor's really good at reading who shows up that day, whether they've been coming for a while or it's their first time, and tweaking the lesson accordingly. (I'm pretty sure she just wings it every day, which makes me sort of jealous in terms of my own teaching). Every class, she goes over all the basics, spending more or less time depending on who's there, and throws in some new stuff towards the end. I'm getting to the point where I'm decent at a lot of the individual moves, but I wish I could put them together into a few minutes of something coherent.

It's a lot of fun, and I wish I had discovered it while I was still really running. All the tightness in my hips that was giving me fits through college cross-country has dissipated, plus it's a hell of an ab workout. When I don't feel like going for a run, sometimes I shut the door to my room and practice to ABBA.

This morning I talked to the editor-in-chief of the weekly English newspaper. (I could never get hold of anyone but secretaries at the daily, plus I like the idea of longer, more thought-out weekly pieces instead of banging stuff out under daily deadlines.) I had agreed to call him at 11, so after waking up at 8:30 I went online and read all the back issues I had time for, drank too much coffee, watched youtube's Pat Benatar collection, paced around, picked up the phone and almost did that 7th-grade thing where you dial 6 numbers and hang up, and called him. He said he had time to talk to me that afternoon, and gave me directions on how to get to the office ("takethemetrotoПаркКультурыtaketheleftmostexitgoundertheпереходtakealeft"...I could've sworn he was testing my ability to take rapid-fire dictation).

I taught my noon class, then headed to the newspaper office. Over a cup of coffee, the editor told me he liked my clips and wanted to hire me part-time. Their budget is maxed out for September, so anything I write in the next few weeks will have to be freelance and paid retroactively. He just got this job a few weeks ago himself, and is still struggling with the larger news organiation about budgetary stuff and nationality quotas of employees (apparently you can only have so many Americans). He invited me to their next staff meeting and said he'd keep me posted on possible assignments and hopefully, once the new budget is in place, a staff position. My best-case scenario was that I'd give my notice at the language school today, but still I'm thrilled to have my foot in the door.

In honor of my new combo of location, occupation, nationality, and historical moment, I think I'm going to cleanse my blog of proper nouns. Or at least eggregiously misspell them so I don't have to worry about overzealous Googlers (J, your unfortunate experience with Congressman Constipation is definitely influencing my thinking).

I'm getting rid of my first name, so do any of you, dear readers (assuming I can still use the plural), have a name for me? You can follow suit and name me a fruit. Also, if I get familiar enough with the newspaper staff I'm thinking of naming them after 80s rock stars (more interesting than electrical appliances, less insulting than insects, more plentiful than fast food chains.) So post a comment or email me. I won't ask for an explanation I promise. Also email me if you want a link to the newspaper, and any articles I end up writing for it.


On a different note, Stephen M (not sure if you're still doing humanitarian stuff in Mumbai or if you've moved on to the hedge fund), my strongest memory from 6 years ago today is of exchanging holy-shit glances with you when the principal came over the loudspeaker and interrupted Mr. Zeljo's Chinese History class to tell us about the two planes.

Foods I would kill to have a constant supply of: real maple syrup, tofu, Tostitos, Newman's Own salsa, natural crunchy peanut butter, cheddar cheese, brown sugar, chocolate chips, Morningstar Farms vegetarian corn dogs.

Also I want to drive Mom's Prius down highway 81 from Virginia into Tennessee to visit Uncle Sandy up in the hills by Nashville, as the setting sun makes the sky all streaky and pink, with my bare left foot hanging out the window, singing along to my Greatest Hits of Journey CD even though it's scratched to hell and most likely lost by now. On the way I want to stop at Taco Bell. Moscow has its own brand of late-night neon fast-food depravity, but it's harsher and different.

And Rew, I know we haven't been in touch, but you should come too. And unlike that time in Canada, I'll believe you when you tell me we're on the right highway.

Today was my third day with Apricot's upper-intermediate class. She went back to Scotland a few weeks ago, so I have her class until they finish in December. The first time I taught it 8 people showed up, then four, today two. I hope it's stochasticity and not me.

Arthur and Helen and I had a good time though (Helen's real name is Elena, not sure about Arthur). When I teach big chunks of vocabulary all related to a similar theme (school, work, health, entertainment), the next lesson I put the students in pairs and give each pair a stack of cards with the words on them. One of them picks up a card, uses the word in a sentence, and the other one picks up the next card and continues the story. Last class we learned vocab about government, politics, and war.

Me: *draws 2 adjacent globs on the board* "So here's a map of two countries. This one is...Fakeistan. What should we call this one?"
Arthur: "Bullshitstan!!"
Me: "All right, Bullshitstan. The king of Fakeistan is...Arnold Schwarzenegger. Who's the king of Bullshitstan?"
Arthur: "George Bush."
Me: "Are you calling my country Bullshitstan??"
Arthur: "Are you calling California Fakeistan?"
Touche.

Under Helen and Arthur's watch, Bullshitstan invaded the civil-wartorn Fakeistan. After a brief occupation, Arnold advised his people to surrender due to Bullshitstan's superior arsenal, plus he was too busy bodybuilding to really give a shit. Although the land and infrastructure of Fakeistan was wholly incorporated into that of its militarily superior neighbor, Bush was kind enough to give Schwarzenegger an upper cabinet position and peace reigned once again.

I had my first Russian lesson in a while. My previous teacher Lola left (Artichoke had recommended her to me, amidst choruses of "met her in a bar down in old Soho..."), so now I have Natasha. Like Lola, there's no real glitz or performance, she just teaches me the language and is an affable person along the way. I think if I had a more ego-driven teacher I'd hate it, which makes me feel better about my own functional rather than entertaining classroom presence. But then again, if I want to hear crazy personal stories in Russian I can just prick up my ears on the metro, whereas teachers are the only native English speakers most of the students know, so maybe it's more justified on the English end of things. Speaking of which I have to go teach.

It's the season of the interns. About 50 newly-arrived Americans and Brits (for the most part), divided into six groups and trained at the school over the next six weeks. Both Monday and today a couple of them observed my evening pre-advanced class ("teaching observed is like shitting with the door open" -Onion).

Monday/Wednesday pre-advanced is pretty laid back. I think seven or eight people are signed up for the class, but a different three or four of them show up on any given night. They're all around my age, or a little older, and love talking about anything and everything. We usually start off sticking to the coursebook, then go off on various tangents. I spend much of class collecting mistakes to correct on the board as a group, and feeding them new vocabulary where they need it.

An American and a Canadian were observing my class tonight. They're both headed to Volgograd in a few days, after finishing up the training in Moscow. Aubergine threw them in my class about 30 seconds before it started and told me to incorporate them in the lesson as much as I could. My students (Evgenia, Kerrill, and Andrey showed up today) were eager to chat with them (I'm the only native English speaker most of them know, which surprises me).

The lesson today was about a Survivor-ish reality TV show where the students had to pick six of ten contestants to go on the show, argue about their selections, and learn personality adjectives along the way (Kerrill thought for 5 seconds and picked all the attractive women--which irked Evgenia--and also the black guy because maybe he can rap. Kerrill is the one who asked me on Monday what "stanky" meant (I deflected the question to the intern) and has recently been sporting a belt buckle with a fake-diamond-studded, four-inch-in-diameter spinning dollar sign).

The interns were fun tonight. I had them participate in everything, which livened things up, let them practice explaining stuff to students, and made my job a lot easier. It'll be a relief though when the school settles back to normal.

Today, in search of peanut butter and tofu, I walked half a mile down Novoslobodskaya to Азбука Вкусна ("Tasty Alphabet") an upscale grocery store on the inner ring road. Everything's imported and has a little flag next to it of the country where it's from.

I weaved my way among the cutely-uniformed salesgirls and powersuited midday clientele and found a tiny little jar something Jiffyish for $7 and a half-sized package of tofu for $9. I scoffed at the tofu and stared longingly at the peanut butter for a few minutes, thought about buying a $2 cucumber (I ended up going to the market instead and paying 50 cents for 3), and left emptyhanded.

The media keeps reporting that Moscow's the most expensive city in the world, which is funny because the average salary is $1000 per month (what I make now--Giant Midwestern Underground Fungus gave me a raise--plus I don't pay rent). Being a familyless, carless, healthy person, I can easily put away half of it and not feel like I'm scrimping.

If $1000 is average, that means that for every one of my students who occasionally steps out of class to tear one of his employees a new one on his fancy Nokia, there are dozens of people who make approximately nothing. The markets largely make it possible for people to get by (a loaf of bread costs a quarter), but that could be changing. Immigrants from the former republics run the markets (Salim the fruit and nut man, who I was buds with until he got pervy, is from Kazakhstan, and the woman who runs my favorite veggie-stand is from Azarbaijan), but they're getting forced out as the government cracks down on illegal immigration. Eventually the chain groceries might be the only option.