Mose and I went to the park today with a two-year-old who only speaks Russian.
At one point, she pissed on the slide, a little puddle at the top, which I threw sand on, the way I'd seen old stable managers do. I thought that was pretty clever until, later, I had to come back and sweep it off the backside of her fleece pants after she'd sat in it.
At another point, a woman arrived with her two-year-old son. She asked me how old my daughter was, and I said, "Two," since that's all I knew how to say in Russian. Only later did it occur to me that this was probably the first time in my life that I'd ever lied and said I had a child.
"Do you think there'll ever be a time when I lie about having a child and it matters?" I said to Mose.
"I don't know," he said. "Maybe."
"Do you think I'll lie about having a child and not have one, or do you think I'll lie about not having a child and have one?"
Mose didn't answer right away. Then he said, "I really don't know what you're talking about."
Friday, October 5, 2007
Monday, October 1, 2007
Nonplussed
For the last two days, I've tried in vain to make conversation with the Russian girl that lives next door.
She's three years old.
She's three years old.
"Do I need a partner?"
I enrolled in Salsa classes, and so am part of the burgeoning Latin dance movement in central Russia. Now, I'm getting e-mails that include lines like this one:
В городах всего мира обычные люди сталкиваются с тайной, со сладкой меланхолией, с чувственным удовольствием и удовлетворением от общения через танго.
Roughly translated:
"In cities around the world normal people collide in the mystery, the sweet melancholy, the sensuous pleasure, and the satisfactory contact/intercourse of the tango."
I asked Mose if he wanted to come with me. He wouldn't look at me.
В городах всего мира обычные люди сталкиваются с тайной, со сладкой меланхолией, с чувственным удовольствием и удовлетворением от общения через танго.
Roughly translated:
"In cities around the world normal people collide in the mystery, the sweet melancholy, the sensuous pleasure, and the satisfactory contact/intercourse of the tango."
I asked Mose if he wanted to come with me. He wouldn't look at me.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
At first you think it's...
In the Circus of the Charge of the Light Brigade, Michael Conley will be third. Before the lions. After this guy.
Verdi's аида
Mose and I attended the opera last night, my first in Russia. The experience was notable for two reasons:
1) We sat in the gods, where the price of tickets was 100 rubles—approximately $4.
2) During the intermission, we drank tea from plastic cups and openly ate homemade meat-pastries. Others did the same.
On the way out, we sang old Russian folk songs. Mose explained that an opera is only singing, while an operetta has both singing and words. We all agreed that operettas are finer.
1) We sat in the gods, where the price of tickets was 100 rubles—approximately $4.
2) During the intermission, we drank tea from plastic cups and openly ate homemade meat-pastries. Others did the same.
On the way out, we sang old Russian folk songs. Mose explained that an opera is only singing, while an operetta has both singing and words. We all agreed that operettas are finer.
Pitch & Toss
I found this today. If I could ever get Mose out for drinks, I'd suggest we play.
"Pitch and toss, known as The Hoy, was very popular with miners in the fifties, perhaps later, and had a little specialised vocabulary of its own. The hoyer or chucker of the two pennies sometimes had an assistant who collected the coins after each throw. He was known as a bevver and for his bevving might get a little tip if the chucker made a profit. The three possibilities were known as 2 heads (chucker wins), 2 tails (chucker loses) and 1 head, 1 tail (no one wins). The last combination, I never knew why, was called '2 bikes'.
If more than one gambler wanted to be the chucker (this could be a very expensive business, as the odds are even on winning and there could be several big bets against) then the choice was made by having the candidates throw a penny towards a marker on the ground. The mark might be a piece of paper, a little mound or a stone showing through the soil..."
from Les Gorse (courtesy of here)
(In a related side-note: "Pitch and toss" is also cockney rhyming slang for boss.)
"Pitch and toss, known as The Hoy, was very popular with miners in the fifties, perhaps later, and had a little specialised vocabulary of its own. The hoyer or chucker of the two pennies sometimes had an assistant who collected the coins after each throw. He was known as a bevver and for his bevving might get a little tip if the chucker made a profit. The three possibilities were known as 2 heads (chucker wins), 2 tails (chucker loses) and 1 head, 1 tail (no one wins). The last combination, I never knew why, was called '2 bikes'.
If more than one gambler wanted to be the chucker (this could be a very expensive business, as the odds are even on winning and there could be several big bets against) then the choice was made by having the candidates throw a penny towards a marker on the ground. The mark might be a piece of paper, a little mound or a stone showing through the soil..."
from Les Gorse (courtesy of here)
(In a related side-note: "Pitch and toss" is also cockney rhyming slang for boss.)
Vincent Wilhelm Van Gogh II
"Every Sunday, the family clad in black and bearing flowers, set off to the little cemetery at Groot-Zundert, where they went directly from the gate to a grave marked 'Vincent Wilhelm Van Gogh 1852.' A single date to mark a birth and a death, for this was the grave of a child six weeks old. As the father, mother, two sons and three daughters prayed, the eldest of the boys--also called Vincent Wilhelm--stared intensely at the gravestone and the name, his brother's, that was also his own.
"The young Vincent Wilhelm was born March 30, 1853, a year to the day after the death of his brother."
Pierre Cabanne, Van Gogh, Terrail, 2006, pp. 7-8.
"The young Vincent Wilhelm was born March 30, 1853, a year to the day after the death of his brother."
Pierre Cabanne, Van Gogh, Terrail, 2006, pp. 7-8.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Death by Water
Today I asked Mose if he thought I could drink a whole one liter bottle of water and not die.
"I try to drink a liter of water everyday," Mose said.
"No," I said, "I mean if I drank it right now. Would I die?"
Mose didn't answer.
(It's true, though. Mose tries to drink at least a liter of water a day. He's very good about that.)
"I try to drink a liter of water everyday," Mose said.
"No," I said, "I mean if I drank it right now. Would I die?"
Mose didn't answer.
(It's true, though. Mose tries to drink at least a liter of water a day. He's very good about that.)
The Home Office
I'm considering applying for online work. Mose has been encouraging. Then I heard a discomfiting fact. The incidence of work-at-home rape is actually quite high. I haven't talked with Mose about this. I don't know if I will.
The Chandelier
Today I was hitting Mose with a pillow when I accidentally shattered the chandelier. "Here," Mose said, when I was done vacuuming the glass off the floor. "You should probably vacuum the couch too."
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