A Continental Drift

2012-01-29T18:16:00.000-06:00

Birch and Barley, DC (click images to enlarge)

best seat in the house

bacon, chocolate and sesame donuts

waffles and fried chicken

There's a ton of cooking that takes place in this home

2012-01-26T21:03:00.000-06:00

CONFESSION 45

2012-01-26T13:37:00.002-06:00

Dinner at my house

CONFESSION 44

2012-01-25T23:29:00.002-06:00

It must be said that no future is ever how we imagine it to be, so we live in an uncertain yet unyielding present, asking by the second, Where am I? Am I where I belong? Am I being true to the spirit of me that dwells behind my breastbone, behind my navel, between my eyes and in my skull, in my hands that decide where they want to go before I give them permission, in my feet that walk me where I don’t know I’m going? Is it safe to cross here? Is he who he says he is and can I trust him?

Then we dive in.

- Today's confession is a list of anxious questions I also worry over every day (though not necessarily in reference to a partner) from "Six Questions for my Boyfriend" in Salon's Since You Asked column. [The 6 wonderful questions for a boyfriend are: How can I tell if 1) my über-rational boyfriend is in love with me? Aside from whether he loves me or not, I constantly debate whether 2) I can deal with the lack of physical/verbal affection, which genuinely depresses me from time to time. I want to know — 3) will he stand by me? If I get fat or lose a limb, 4) would he abandon me? If a large, toothy animal pounced on us, 5) would he run away, or would he give it a whack? If I do something dumb or we get in a fight, 6) would he forgive me?]

It's alpaca

2012-01-24T23:19:00.002-06:00

CONFESSION 43

2012-01-24T21:48:00.001-06:00

My life now is my young coworker's idea of an ideal retirement.

Well-dressed Dog

2012-01-21T23:27:00.000-06:00

More Snow

2012-01-21T00:37:00.002-06:00

Snow

2012-01-20T23:03:00.001-06:00

Forgiveness

2012-01-19T10:40:00.002-06:00

See this film if you want to see the madness to which we are driven if we never forgive. Metaphorically speaking, surely.

NYC, from an accountant's office

2012-01-18T21:08:00.003-06:00

Dinner

2012-01-15T21:39:00.000-06:00

Baked collard greens: chopped up collard greens, tossed with oil, salt, sesame seeds and pepper. 350 degrees for approx 15 minutes, but because temperatures and times vary, keep an eye out. The greens will become crunchy and flaky, reminiscent of the texture of nori (sushi seaweed).

A solid dressing for a simple salad: toast coriander and sesame seeds (I also tossed in black mustard seeds). In a small bowl, top with salt and oil and crush the seeds with the back of the spoon, or better yet in a mortar with a pestle, if you have them.

Here, I used the dressing with shredded red cabbage and stir fried carrots.

I'm achin' now

2012-01-15T21:25:00.001-06:00

Snow in DC, or Dreams of a Russian Chicagoite

2012-01-09T14:44:00.000-06:00

Hello, beautiful.

CONFESSION 42

2012-01-06T14:10:00.000-06:00

I would never [again] stay with a man who would presume to dictate what I did with my body and sexual health.

-Today's confession, as written by Katie M in America And The Pill, Elaine Tyler May

Modern medicine and ancient mindsets

2012-01-04T13:47:00.001-06:00

By the mid-1960s, angry women were writing to John Rock and Gregory Pincus demanding a pill for men. "Why don't you men take the contraceptive pills?" wrote one irate woman. "Stop making us - the women - guinea pigs in this experiment.... Why don't men mature and understand that there are desires in life besides excessive use of your love-stick?"
...
In 1970, Boston Globe columnist Dr. Lindsay R. Curtis ... noted that men do not have the same stake in contraception: "What it boils down to is this: Women can get pregnant; men can't." There were also psychological effects. "Generally speaking, a man equates his ability to impregnate a woman with masculinity. And all too often the loss of such ability really deflates his ego."

- America And The Pill, Elaine Tyler May

Times have changed but attitudes haven't, and we call this a sexual revolution?

2012-01-02T03:02:00.000-06:00

Now reading: America And The Pill

2012-01-01T15:48:00.001-06:00

[In the 1960s, Hugh Hefner] argued that giving the pill "to the girls who request them is in the best interests of the girls themselves, and that this, after all, should be the deciding factor."
But Hefner's insistence that the "deciding factor" should be what is in "the best interests of the girls themselves" maybe have been a bit disingenuous. Soon, Playboy began insisting that women take the pill regardless of side effects or reservations, claiming that those who resisted the pill were neurotic, prudish, hostile to men, or unwilling to take responsibility for contraception. (There was no similar insistence, however, that men should take responsibility for contraception.)
- America And The Pill, Elaine Tyler May

It has become my project to investigate the progressive-in-name-only attitudes about women's birth control methods, with a special focus on the pill. Five decades on, supposedly progressive young men still shamelessly hold and boast the kind of mindset that was found at Playboy in the '60s.

Flatlanders

2011-12-29T16:04:00.001-06:00

For all us fuckups

2011-12-28T11:40:00.000-06:00

A. Don’t waste your life in the company of assholes.

Q. Outside of getting a therapist and/or a puppy, is there any basic advice you can suggest for a person on their quest to become emotionally healthy?

www.dearcoketalk.com

MERRY CHRISTMAS

2011-12-24T20:07:00.003-06:00

roommates!

There's no cure for the common cold

2011-12-22T21:54:00.000-06:00

I've been collecting these treatments in an effort to alleviate the (mild) suffering. Nothing works. Got any more? I welcome your comments.

vodka
100 ml cognac, egg yolk, warm milk
milk with turmeric
milk with honey
ginger, lemon and honey boiled in water
rest
menthol applied to chest or back

A Marvelous Thing of Dark Beauty

2011-12-22T21:29:00.000-06:00

2011-12-20T09:28:00.001-06:00

Starry starry night

2011-12-19T23:06:00.001-06:00

This is me trying to get a perfect foursome of photos in Photo Booth on a Mac. Video courtesy of my roommate, Juliana.

Alone in the library

2011-12-16T21:08:00.001-06:00

CONFESSION 41

2011-12-15T14:20:00.000-06:00

My online dating profile says I'm looking for someone open-minded and generous. I'm nervous that this makes me seem like I'm just looking for a sugar-daddy, even though I know that I just need someone generous with his time and love, someone giving, someone who is sugary and sweet to everyone, not just me. A New York Times article about a study on the subject of how generosity improves happiness in marriages defines it as "the virtue of giving good things to one’s spouse freely and abundantly." I sometimes wish I could elaborate on my profile. But it's only one profile, on a free dating site. Men will figure it out. If not there, then later on down the road.

From the same study:

Top three predictors of a happy marriage among parents:
1. Sexual Intimacy.
2. Commitment.
3. Generosity.

Andy Warhol's Pitch for Citizen Journalism

2011-12-11T22:00:00.001-06:00

Warhol's Headlines exhibit at the National Gallery of Art in Washington DC

If you start your own blog, your own podcast, your own newsletter, your own photo stream, you'll become the "they" and you'll own your own news.

An Icon

2011-12-11T21:52:00.001-06:00

The first time I ever heard of Angela Davis, the radical activist from the '60s, was when my mom was explaining to her hair stylist that her perm used to be so big she was told she looked like Davis. The young American stylist had no clue whom my mom was referring to. I'm not surprised my mom knew who Davis was though.

Angela Davis was a communist. She was fired from her teaching position at UCLA, where she was an assistant professor in philosophy, for her membership in the party. Davis was a radical feminist, a civil rights activist who was associated with the Black Panther Party, and has been more recently involved with prisoner rights and in activism to abolish the prison industrial complex. Her portrait is among many at The Black List exhibit at the National Portrait Gallery in DC.

Getting Older

2011-12-10T10:15:00.001-06:00

friend: i feel like ive slipped back into old-man mode
i look forward to going outside in the freezing weather at 6am to watch astrological phenomenon, and then go to the grocery store to use some coupons
and later im gonna make some cookies for all the little kiddies 21 and over

Occupy DC, Thursday, Nov. 3rd, evening

2011-12-07T23:04:00.001-06:00

Holding the wheel of his
broken skateboard

Wolfgang, 19, from Brooklyn, hopped a free ride from Occupy Wall St. Arrested on the Brooklyn Bridge and held three days for fighting back a cop. Comedian, skater, former dealer, charmer and current traveler. Next stop: Occupy Miami on a free bus leaving tonight. Next job: bell hop in Brooklyn. Lucky kid; money, he says, always falls into his lap.

Occupy DC, Friday, Nov. 18th, just before noon

2011-12-07T23:00:00.001-06:00

Henry was sitting on a bench in McPherson Square across from Occupy DC's kitchen tent. It was cold and sunny, and the park was bustling with at least two classes of high school students (including mine). A small smiling guy with a high-pitched voice, Henry immigrated to the States from El Salvador 22 years ago. Most recently, he worked as a manager in a fast-food joint for five years until he got laid off. He was unemployed for months and his management experience meant nothing when he applied elsewhere. He's been frequently coming down from his home nearby on 14th St. to McPherson on 15th and K. How does he feel while he's there? It gives him peace, he says. It calms him. He starts as a full-time dishwasher on Monday, at $9 per hour, down from something like the $15 he used to make at his last job.

CONFESSION 40

2011-12-06T19:12:00.001-06:00

Hark, a vagrant

Welcome to my experience with love.

CONFESSION 39

2011-12-06T16:43:00.001-06:00

When I get home, I'm going to pour two beers into a water bottle and go for a walk.

CONFESSION 38

2011-12-05T22:21:00.001-06:00

I love pets. They allow us to enjoy the names for which our kids would be dragged away by Child Services if we ever named them that.

Occupy Your Mind

2011-12-04T23:14:00.001-06:00

Click images to enlarge. More photos after the jump.

Occupy DC erected this structure last night, working from 11pm until 2am. Why? Well, occupying is cold and it's December. The structure was sent over in easily-constructed pieces. Not exactly a permanent structure, and not the first building-like structure, but cops got up in arms; they mounted their horses, cordoned off the streets, taped off McPherson Square, and eventually fenced off the barn from the rest of the camp to tear it down. People watched from windows, from cafes, standing across the streets, and swarming at the statue of Major General McPherson. Many took photos, some stood quietly and watched, and some ranted and raved about the gall of the protesters who put it up. What are these people doing?!

Service staff standing outside Georgia Brown's across 15th loudly bragged about how they could easily and violently drag down the protesters from the roof of the barn (the cops were taking their time and taking great care to talk to the protesters, and then remove them by putting them in harnesses and taking them down and arresting them). Occupiers whose tents were fenced off were pissed. Why did these assholes have to build this barn and get everyone in trouble? Other protesters and onlookers said this was an unnecessary escalation and a provocation.

Is this structure worth the entire camp, I asked one protester. This can be a good thing or a bad thing, he said, but we need an escalation. I went to Starbucks to warm up, and sitting there, I realized that even some of the occupiers had forgotten what they were doing there. The camps, the marches, the declaration it took them two months to write, the Occupy movement itself had been an escalation, an agitation, an annoyance, like the occupation of the Capital building in Madison, Wisconsin early this year, like the Occupation of DC by veterans in the '30s demanding to be paid for their foreign service in the First World War (whose occupation led to the GI Bill, which allowed veterans to buy homes in the suburbs after WWII), like the sit-ins at lunch counters and bus boycotts during the Civil Rights Movement, like the Vietnam protests, and, yes, like Occupy now. Have we forgotten our own history? Naturally.

Until the cops brought the bright light, there were fears that the cops were using the cover of night to begin their arrests without being able to be captured on camera. There was a call on Twitter for spotlights. Check out the head harness in the photo.

Police truck moves in. Protesters are on the roof of the wooden barn at this point.

Negotiation: eventually, one protester remained after the rest left or were lassoed off. Everyone who was gathered from inside and from the roof of the barn was arrested.

CONFESSION 37

2011-12-03T00:30:00.001-06:00

I don't like when people use the phrase "2.5 kids, a dog and a van in the suburbs," or any combination thereof, to refer condescendingly to non-urban life. There's plenty of single young urban professionals sitting around at home drinking beer on weekdays, unable to buy a dog due to lack of living space and scouring dating sites (hello!), whose lives are probably just as lame if not lamer than the suburbanites, but no one's gotten around to having a statistically irrelevant, overly-generalized phrase that reeks of trendy anti-establishment sentiments for that yet, though I'm told "yuppie" does the trick.

Child Janitors, what a concept!

2011-12-02T09:02:00.001-06:00

“Really poor children in really poor neighborhoods have no habits for working and have nobody around them who works. So they literally have no habit of showing up on Monday,” Gingrich told more than 500 employees inside the Nationwide Insurance lunchroom, NBC News reported. "So they literally have no habit of showing up on Monday. They have no habit of staying all day. They have no habit of 'I do this and you give me cash,' unless it's illegal."
... "Most of these schools ought to get rid of the unionized janitors, have one master janitor and pay local students to take care of the school. The kids would actually do work, they would have cash, they’d have pride in the schools, they’d begin the process of rising."

-"Newt Gingrich says poor kids have no work habits, suggest janitorial work"

Newt Gingrich said something so insane, so provocative, that people jumped on him without really realizing that all of this is already being done, all of this is actually very community oriented and very thoughtful, and we Americans could really learn a lesson. Though perhaps his wording needed to be more sensitive to children, who shouldn't be blamed for the conditions they grow up in. His belligerence to unionized labor, though, was expected.
I grew up as a student janitor in my school in Russia and as an English teacher in Japan, I helped my students clean their school every since day after lunch. No one got paid. They washed and scrubbed the cement floors outside, swept the floors inside, watered the plants, collected and took out trash, vacuumed and dusted. Japan The Capitalist Nation was built in our image after WWII, but it retains a strong sense of community, of responsibility for one's surroundings and spaces, for one's peers and elders. You clean the mess you make, as a sign of respect for yourself, others, and the spaces you occupy. Every kid should be responsible for cleaning their schools and their homes, not just the poor.

The mess my students (who come from wealthy families) leave behind is abhorring. The mess my wealthy peers created in the first dormitory housing I ever lived in, which was private and more expensive, was maddening. They destroyed and vandalized property, wrote with markers on the walls, and had no respect for the cafeteria staff. It was unbelievable, and blaming only the poor is unfair. Respect for work and pride in the schools and common spaces needs to be taught to all Americans.

As for work habits, work ethic, and showing up on time: Newt is right. A journalist friend and I developd a multi-media workshop for students in a low-income area last spring, and the high school students were paid to show up and participate by the local Department of Housing and Urban Development. While it took some convincing, the students did stick around because we provided them an opportunity to learn something new and earn money for it. Around the same time, I spoke with a coordinator at a community TV station in Cambridge, Mass. called CCTV about a similar program there. The students are being paid to show up on time, to "attend workshops and learn camcorder, editing, lighting and audio, gaining media art, technical production, and computer application skills," and to produce content. They are being paid, said the coordinator, so they see worth in being punctual and in developing good work habits, because yes, many of them don't have role models. Their role models have faced the same challenges and saw more obstacles than opportunities in their lives. Newt isn't crazy, listeners. At least not about this issue.

Beef industry, 1900

2011-11-30T09:27:00.001-06:00

Found while reading about Upton Sinclair and preparing a lesson on the history of journalism.
Click to enlarge. The photo is in the public domain.

A room with a view

2011-11-29T23:12:00.001-06:00

A player piano score, attached with two-sided tape onto brown
craft paper and nailed to the wall (click images to enlarge)

Mine is one of two bedrooms in the apartment I share with two roommates. Each one of us occupies one of the three total rooms (including the livingroom), so there technically is no common space for all to use, except the kitchen and bathroom. For a couple weeks, I slept on the jute rug in my room, considering how to invest. Buy a bed and awkwardly host guests in a dorm-like room? Section off the room into tiny sleep and living spaces? Or find a fold-out couch which doesn't look like a moldy futon?

Fold-out couch and bench

I decided on a plan in which everything doubles as something else. The couch turns into a bed. My desk (below) turns into a dining table. The bench doubles as a coffee table and extra seating for the dining table. And the bookcase (bottom), provides an enormous amount of visible and hidden storage due to storage boxes, and is low enough to display my spoils.

Fir

More fir, also a cinnamon scented broom,
and my obi (belts for kimono), on top of
the bookcase (opposite of the couch)

CONFESSION 36

2011-11-28T12:31:00.001-06:00

Dealing with a caffeine high while dealing with a problem student: I wanted to be super helpful and supportive and not scary, but I was SUPER HELPFUL AND SUPPORTIVE AND NOT SCARY.

Your heart is as black as night

2011-11-24T09:43:00.000-06:00

Welcome to Hedonism

2011-11-19T20:12:00.001-06:00

Most luscious dinner ever

2011-11-15T20:22:00.001-06:00

Not what you have, but what you use;
Not what you see, but what you choose;
Not what seems fair, but what is true;
Not what you dream, but what you do;
Not what you take, but what you give;
Not as you pray, but as you live.
These are the things that mar or bless
The sum of human happiness.

-Unknown

Selections from the Contents section of the book "How to Love"

2011-11-15T20:10:00.001-06:00

First deserve, then desire.
Oh, how powerfully the magnet of illusion attracts.
1. A Man is Known by the Company He Avoids
Fear is the prison of the heart.
Always borrow from a pessimist; he wont expect to be paid back.
No hell is private.
The best of compasses does not point to true north.
We cannot direct the wind but we can trim the sails.
We flatter ourselves if we believe that our character is fixed.
The duty of love is to listen.
When all is said and done, more is said than done.
2. People to Cherish
The Essential Virtues
Kindness
Optimism
Courage
Loyalty
Tolerance
Honesty
Beauty
Humor
Flexibility
Intelligence
The most dangerous food to eat is a wedding cake
Love will make you forget time and time will make you forget love.
If it weren't for marriage, men and women would have to fight with total strangers.
Beware of those who are sure they are right.
Ideas are easier to love than people.
If you were arrested for kindness, would there be enough evidence to convict?

- Gordon Livingstone, M.D.

November 15th

2011-11-15T12:36:00.001-06:00

I called my grandfather to wish him a happy birthday. He recovered from alcoholism twice. He's married. He has grandkids and even a great-grand-daughter. And yet when I called him this afternoon, his speech was slurred, and he sounded lonely. In Russia, there is a saying that goes, Old age is not happiness. It's not even the thought that he's drinking that makes me sick to my stomach. It's the fact that my grandfather feels completely alone.

CONFESSION 35

2011-11-14T08:37:00.001-06:00

What my parents did embrace were countercultural values. ...

"We were educational anarchists." ...

Tired of the constraints of the 40-hour workweek, my father, in 1972, quit his job in publishing. My parents were in their early 30s, and they had four children under 7. “But we still wanted to explore the world,” my father recalled recently. They bought six one-way tickets to Europe, leaving only a laughable $3,000 to subsist on. Young and idealistic, they thought they could easily educate us along the way. “Life itself would become a portable classroom.” ...

My mother, Pat, a first-generation Irish Catholic from the Bronx, met my father, Jack, a theology major from the Midwest, at Herder & Herder, a small publishing house in New York City, in the mid-1960s. My parents weren’t hippies. They didn’t practice free love — they married in their early 20s, six months after they met, and are still together 47 years later. They didn’t take drugs — the one time my father smoked pot, he rushed to the E.R. because he “felt funny.” ...

My dad’s father once grew corn in his backyard for the sole purpose of taking weekend naps among the stalks. ...

“Surely there was a better way for children to learn other than being confined to a large building all day.” ...

“James had what I called a ‘Ping-Pong’ mind; he had trouble in certain areas but always came up with the most interesting ideas. That was just James, why change him? Why say, ‘James, you have to study more,’ or, ‘James, we’re going to drill on spelling words tonight’? We knew he’d be fine.” ...

“Children’s lives are more than products that must be molded until they adapt well to society, or to another school, or to the work force. As it is now, a child’s life is very much bound up with schools and schooling, and that animating force that gives life to each child is ignored.” Today she still holds that her work was not in vain. “You’re all well adjusted and happy. And all of you are close to one another. What else could I possibly want?”

- excerpts from "My Parents Were Home-Schooling Anarchists" from the New York Times Magazine.

I hope that one day, my experiences with my own family will be similarly idealistic. Interestingly, the writer contrasted her experiences with "Tiger Moms" in this article, while in reality, the parenting styles are very similar. Totally hands-on, even while being hands-off.

Tweed Jams: Tweed Ride DC

2011-11-13T20:02:00.001-06:00

Occupy the Streets (in Tweed)

2011-11-13T18:56:00.001-06:00

These are the shots from the annual Tweed Ride in DC. We started in Meridian Park in Columbia Heights and headed south. We made our way past Freedom Plaza and cheered in solidarity with the Occupiers. We headed east, were cheered by children and adults in the southeastern neighborhoods and then headed into swarms of people with cameras at Eastern Market. Enjoy the shots. It was a beautiful day to see the city.

with my bike

Check out that tandem!

Yours truly. This photo courtesy of Jeff Surprenant Photography

2011-11-13T18:16:00.001-06:00

Today the wind is a powerful 10 mph or more. I put rocks in my backpack to keep me from blowing away. I'm sitting in a cafe working on a job app, wearing blue jeans and a red striped sweater and hoping someone recognizes that I very vaguely look like Where's Waldo. This is how I entertain myself on weekends.

-a friend's Sunday afternoon

CONFESSION 34

2011-11-12T10:00:00.001-06:00

Meet the future Mr. Tatyana.

Maybe this is the freedom loud people in America cheer for

2011-11-11T11:15:00.001-06:00

... the freedom to not necessarily go to jail for nearly every infraction you make (depending on your race, class and gender of course). Viva America!

Parenthood for the childless

2011-11-11T08:54:00.001-06:00

It's parent-teacher conference season, and I'm sitting across from my students' parents, and watching them describe what their kids do at home, apologize for their kids' mistakes, marvel at their kids' accomplishments, and panic over the kids' unusually low grades because this new journalism teacher is being a real hard-ass and ruining their chances at getting into good schools. I wonder what the parent is thinking whose kid fucks around in my class and is getting a 28%.

"30K per year for this?"

Yeah, it's that much. I had a long conversation with the groundskeeper over the free lunch provided to the staff yesterday. An African-American man with a 5-year-old grandson in the public school system, he was gushing about how amazing this private school is. The kids are learning several languages from the earliest grades, exercising so much of their brainpower. They're being molded into marketable little success stories.

We should learn Spanish, he told his wife, so they could teach the 5-year-old and practice with him. Because god knows there's no affording this school for him or his family. I could be giving my entire paycheck to his education here, but then I'd be putting so much pressure on him to really make something of himself when he graduates. He's a lucky kid to have grandparents who care so much.

What's the payoff for having a kid, though? Thirty K or not, parents invest so much in their kids and sacrifice physical, mental, financial and emotional health. And if the kid's not even trying at school, are you stuck saying, "I wiped up your butt so you could fuck around?!"

As the Russian saying goes, I birthed you and I will kill you.

Are kids like the hobby we do when we've got nothing better to do? Well, I've got my job stuff squared away. Got a nice lady I'm with. She's pretty fine. I'm a virile man. We'd have nice looking babies. Or maybe kids are actually really cute and entertaining?

My grandfather put it this way; he told me about a middle-aged bachelor, never married. Who's going to take care of him when he's old? my grandfather asked. My grandfather remarried after my grandma died in 1992. And he's always been with someone, always wanted grandkids around, always urged my brother and me to go find people to marry. To have someone around to gush about, to marvel at, and yes, sometimes, to get really pissed off at. Maybe in the end, they all turn out OK.

2011-11-11T07:58:00.001-06:00

At three o'clock, my carriage turns into a pumpkin.

-Russian mother of three, who insisted we meet up some time around lunch and not at all in the afternoon, when her children return home from school. Russians have such a way with words.

NYC, from an accountant's office on the 9th floor in Chelsea

2011-11-09T09:32:00.000-06:00

25 years old

2011-11-09T09:26:00.000-06:00

friend: yanno the only reason i wanna have a wedding right now is so that i can mak the playlist
it would be really non-romantic music. just a lot of bump+grind, freak-inducing music
anyone over the age of 30 will be very uncomfortable and will make excuses to leave

DC Street Music

2011-11-06T23:10:00.002-06:00

Day 1 of "Stop The Machine" in Freedom Plaza, Oct. 6

After work, by the metro

Witness

2011-11-03T22:25:00.000-05:00

I feel the world is forgetting about us. That's why I decided to become a video reporter.

The voice of the narrator from the documentary "Burma VJ." There is no open political dialogue in Burma. "... If people talk to us and tell us what they think, they will go away too. So they keep silent. Our stories are silent."

Then in 2007, people began to talk. Monks organized protests and walked through the streets. Hundreds of thousands of people joined in for the first time.

"Monks are not supposed to do political things, but when the people are suffering and starving, sometimes they rise to give their support. ... They turn their alms bowls upside down. They will no longer take alms from the generals." In a Buddhist nation ruled by the military, where generals try to appease god by building temples, the monks are the only ones, it seems, who can and are able to make a stand.

"To the residents of Rangoon: gatherings of more than five individuals are forbidden." The government responds. Then soldiers trap, beat up and take away some of the monks. This happened on the Brooklyn Bridge in the U.S. during the Occupy Wall St. protest. It has happened elsewhere, in Asia, South America, the Middle East, and everywhere else.

Yet. Says the narrator on the phone to his friend: "You may think what I'm about to say is cruel. People have to get arrested. They have to die. Monks, too. Our country is different from the rest of the world." His friend is scared: "I don't understand politics. But I dont want to see monks and people dying. I cant stand it anymore."
"Be strong, my dear," says the narrator.

As a college student, I fell in love with the country after I read a non-fiction book called Finding George Orwell in Burma. In the book, an American journalist under the pseudonym Emma Larkin writes about how Orwell is seen as a prophet by the intellectuals in Burma. Larkin writes about being watched and followed through markets and in tea shops where she met with her sources, their conversations mixed with detailed encounters with Burmese food.

I wanted to visit immediately. I read the book as a guide, and visited Laos (as well as Vietnam and Thailand), also authoritarian, as a sort of preparation. But I always wondered, would my visit negatively impact the people in Burma? The country is under trade embargoes and its international friends involve North Korea. As a visitor, I would no doubt provide cash to the government, even if I stuck mostly to local guest homes, shops and restaurants.

But I realized my money wont go far for the generals. In a big or small way, I am showing solidarity with the people who live in the places I visit. When we meet people, we share stories and reassure each other that we're not alone.

CONFESSION 33

2011-11-03T09:33:00.001-05:00

Probably the best cup of coffee I have ever had was at the IKEA cafe for something like 59 cents, with free refills.

CONFESSION 32

2011-10-26T15:11:00.001-05:00

Dealing with students (self-reflection through chat):

me: i just told a kid i'd hunt him down if he didnt return a computer. he didnt laugh
dang

me: im so harsh to my kids on their papers, but in person, theyre all so adorable. i feel horrible
like i stabbed a puppy

Method of transportation

2011-10-24T22:32:00.000-05:00

Well on my way to getting a real serious touring bike, I got this road bike when the severity of bike crime hit me. My friend had her bike stolen off the bus she was riding in San Francisco. I decided I was too new to my city - DC - to invest in something that would cost over one thousand dollars. Sure, I'd use the hell out of it. But what if it got stolen or destroyed in an accident?

That's how I got Pick, this green Schwinn road bike with yellow handlebars. I'll have to sink lower than I've ever done before. I've never had a road bike. I invested in a helmet and a heavy-duty lock, as well as wheel locks for my quick-release wheels (probably very convenient for traveling though.) Why Pick? It's short for Pickle, itself short for Fried Pickle, a food my roommate and I first tried the afternoon of the bike purchase. Very tasty, actually.

Why's the bike upside down? It's out of commission, because after I removed and then reattached the back tire, I could no longer figure out the way to work the chain through the mechanism. The wheel can't even move, so I can't wheel the bike to a bike shop across town. I've cut up my fingers and covered my hands over and over in bike grease. Currently, I'm trying to figure out my options.

Our Love

2011-10-24T15:57:00.001-05:00

Class warfare

2011-10-22T11:08:00.001-05:00

friend: my roomies gave me this amazing running sweater that they were going to send to paraguay, and i love it.
me: LOL
friend: psh, paraguay. i'm going to keep it.
donations to me!

CONFESSION 31

2011-10-22T10:58:00.001-05:00

During our many years of friendship, Francesca and I have only been capable of self-deprecating hyperbolic humor. In our world, the Feds listened in to all our inane phone conversations. In our world, we would amount to nothing and end up living under a bridge somewhere in the Chicago suburbs. And eventually, when we got older, Franny started talking about how when her life takes a nose-dive, she'll be staying on my Golden Couch, which I would obviously own due to all my success in life. It's all been exaggeration, until I realized literally three minutes ago that I finally bought a Golden Couch. Of course, as is in my nature, I exaggerate. The couch isn't really Golden, but it's my first personal long-term piece of furniture. It's new, well-made, and it folds out to become a bed! That girl's the next Nostradamus.

CONFESSION 30

2011-10-18T10:59:00.000-05:00

me: i'm sexually attracted to whole foods
Friend: i do get rather aroused at whole foods
and other grocery stores as well

CONFESSION 29

2011-10-15T12:27:00.000-05:00

What is it with you and hip-hop?

About four years ago, my friend George and I would stay up late in our newsroom hunched over his Mac, going through his collection of hip-hop and rap. He would demand my attention, then tell me to put on his earbuds and listen. This part! These words! This title! Hear this sample? I fell in love with the rich tapestry I saw unfolding in front of me.

About three years later, George and I met again. It was shortly after my breakup, and I was devastated. George gave me the album How I Got Over, by the Roots, and I listened to it every day. A boss of mine at the time told me to avoid sappy love songs. Forget sappy love songs! I was listening to songs about systematic inequality, about struggles of African American men with and without families, and about longing for God. At the same time, I became involved as a teacher in a mostly African-American poor neighborhood.

Eventually, I pieced together what hip-hop meant for me. It was my story as a woman in my family. My parents are intelligent loving people, but they always saw me as a woman in the sense that I had to do things women did, like have a woman's job, do women's sports, play women's musical instruments, and avoid going places on my own. In turn, I was always the volatile resistant member of the family who always pushed back. We fought ballistically over my chosen career of journalism and about my travels. I couldn't go back to Russia for 13 years after we immigrated to the States because of a lore that grew in our home, where it was told that Russia was too dangerous and the people too cruel for me to handle.

I moved on my own across the world and across the country and aside from your typical anxiety, I was never scared. Ironically, I was inspired and driven by my parents and their own battles living in Russia and as immigrants in the U.S., as well as by this constant fight over my age and gender in my family and culture.

When I rode the train into Chicago from the suburbs, and then the elevated train through the city, I saw several instances of graffiti showing the word "Forgive." I always felt and still feel that the graffiti was strategically placed for me to see, because even though the music I listen to helps me deal with many things, I still forget that final step, forgiving others and forgiving myself.

CONFESSION 28

2011-10-12T23:39:00.000-05:00

For lunch, I went to a Greek place and ordered their spinach pie (spanakopita). Do you have tea? I asked, because it wasn't on the menu. The weather had been rainy and windy and the air was sticky with humidity. I felt sick. Yes, we have tea, the owner said. I sat down and waited.

He put the mug in front of me carefully. Twinings Earl Grey. Delicious. The water was still boiling. Several minutes later, he came out with the hot freshly made spanakopita on a ceramic plate and put it in front of me. Next to the pie, he placed a plastic fork on top of a stack of paper napkins. This was an order-at-the-counter place, and he was nursing me at my table.

I love having people in my life who will from time to time stuff me full of food, tell me I'm all skin-n-bones, and smother me with care and kindness.

Titles

2011-10-11T09:38:00.001-05:00

Me: people respect me more when i tell em im a teacher
it's funny
cuz i'm a total goon

Friend: lol i think people respect me less when i tell them im a librarian

Something New

2011-10-10T03:23:00.001-05:00

Wired from green tea, I'm lying on the floor of my room, on my comforter, on a thick rug playing around on my phone. It's almost four a.m. This is how I've been sleeping in my new apartment in DC, in part because I haven't found the perfect furniture and in part for comfort. No neck or back pain.
Today I walked through the Adams Morgan neighborhood, south on 14th street looking for a sleeper sofa, after testing touring bikes on Columbia street. The bikes go for over a thousand dollars. You could say I'd be investing in my primary method of transportation and working up to the multi-week bike tours for which I'd be mounting heavy luggage on the frame, but I'm not sure it's currently justifiable for me to spend so much money on a bike which will have a decent chance of getting stolen. Can I put a price on the quality of a bike and its as well as my body's endurance while riding? Appears so.
As for the beds, it's proving difficult to choose a solution for my bedroom, especially since I'm content sleeping on the floor. On my way down 14th, I found a store called ~~Hunted House~~ Miss Pixie's which specializes in old and repurposed wood furniture, as well as cheap comics and other books. I spent four dollars on One Hundred Years of Solitude - a Nobel Prize winning novel - and The Debt to Pleasure - a novel that seemingly is told through recipes. I thought it referred to carnal pleasures when I read the title and then when I saw the erotic-looking peach on the cover. I also picked up an advice book for women in difficult relationships. I read through, nodding to myself and seeing myself in these women, and put the book back on the shelf. It was like pulling apart two magnets. The tone was so familiar and empowering. But you can only dwell so much until the words become a mantra that keeps regurgitating the frustration inside a person. I think other women will find more use in that book than I would have.
I started reading One Hundred Years of Solitude sitting at the marble fountain in Dupont Circle. People sat on the grass and talked on the benches. They took their time and walked slowly. It was warm. And finally I felt that this was my new home.

Big Girl Apartment

2011-10-06T22:57:00.000-05:00

I'm elated to finally be a resident of Washington DC. I live just north of the school where I teach. I live just north of a subway stop, a grocery store and a liquor and international deli shop. The shop has a bin for sampler size chunks of cheese (much larger than you'd expect), each wrapped in clear plastic and priced at $1.50. It sells dolmas and fresh bread, and has been the source of dark beer for me since I cooked my first dinner.

I built an IKEA table and chair, which I purchased along with essential household goods like toilet paper, a dish rack and cleaning agents in a rented car. I use the screw driver from the IKEA tool kit I bought to open beers. Somehow, I have so far avoided buying a bed. I sleep on the IKEA rug, pillows and comforter, and frankly, the minimal selection of beds at the IKEA store and the exhaustion of shopping makes me want to sleep on the floor rather than do more shopping of any kind.

And yet, I find comfort in creating a streamlined beautiful living space. I'm soon going to whip out all my wall hangings, from activist posters to Japanese tea towels and a player piano score. There's also the matching clear cups and glasses, as well as jars for spices. An abundance of coffee paraphernalia. Large beautiful plates. I already plan cooking dinners for guests and hosting visitors.

He's just a nice guy, don't you see?

2011-09-30T00:04:00.000-05:00

Ron: Look Dorothy, I never promised Julie I'd be exclusive. I never said that I'd never see other women. It's just that I know she doesn't want me to see other women, so I lie to her to keep from hurting her.

Dorothy: That's very convenient.

Ron: Wait, wait, wait, wait. Now look at it from my side. See if a woman wants me to seduce her, I usually do, but then she starts pretending like I promised her something, and then I start pretending like I promised her something, and in the end, I'm the one that's exploited.

Dorothy: Bullshit, Ron.

Tootsie, 1982

CONFESSION 27

2011-09-27T13:00:00.002-05:00

I haven't experienced a Russian winter in 16 years. I'm strongly considering going back this season, not just to see the snow but also to see my grandparents and perhaps take a ride on the Trans-Siberian, at least part of the way to the east.

2011-09-24T02:42:00.001-05:00

CONFESSION 26

2011-09-22T00:13:00.001-05:00

It's time to uproot and move again. I get nervous moving.

CONFESSION 25

2011-09-20T00:07:00.001-05:00

I love letters. I love deliberative long exchanges. I love one-on-one conversations in person and over the phone. I don't like Tweet, Facebook or text conversations. Gchat conversations only work when it's the only practical way to connect at that time. Short text exchanges are confusing and lead to assumptions. They lack careful deliberation. Skype is a miracle. Talking is sloppy. But voice and in-person conversations are pregnant with meanings.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

2011-09-17T11:45:00.001-05:00

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Monsters

2011-09-15T18:24:00.002-05:00

my parents and I celebrate their 34 years of marriage
at the Chicago Botanical Garden

A guilty good time

2011-09-10T11:39:00.000-05:00

Turn down a drink in the United States, and people get the message without your having to explain. "Oh," they say, ashamed of themselves for presuming otherwise. "Right. I should probably ... quit too." In Europe, though, you're not an alcoholic unless you're living half-naked on the street, drinking antifreeze from a cast-off shoe. Anything shy of this is just "fun-loving" or "rascally." Cover your glass in France or Germany - even worse, in England - and in the voice of someone who has been personally affronted, your host will ask why you're not drinking.
"Oh, I just don't feel like it this morning."
-David Sedaris, When You Are Engulfed in Flames

CONFESSION 24

2011-09-10T00:26:00.001-05:00

my buddy Masatora,
during my birthday bonfire over a year ago

I'm positive that David Sedaris and I are the same person. The same self-deprecating humor, the watchful curious experimentation on insects, the romantic love of gay men, the close relationships with siblings, the love of writing, a ton of other stuff and this:

I may have been a Boy Scout for only two years, but the motto stuck with me forever: Be Prepared. This does not mean "Be Prepared to Ask People for Shit," but "Think Ahead, and Plan Accordingly, Especially in Regard to Your Vices."

This is again from his book When You Are Engulfed in Flames, which I'm now reading, and he's talking about smoking. I wasn't in Boy Scouts (although I wish I was sometimes), but I grew up and matured as an adult being constantly reminded by family, some very mature friends, and from inside, that you should plan ahead and rely on yourself. Bring booze and / or food to the party, don't schmooze off your friends at the bar, don't expect your parents to cover your bills, etc. This doesn't mean that I can't accept free food, a beer, or a present. Instead, it means that as mature people, we expect ourselves to not burden others by taking without giving. You get me a beer, I get you a beer. You buy me a meal, I make you a meal. Think ahead and think of others, always.

Or as a Serbian cafe owner once told me about love: We give all of ourselves and expect the other person to give all of themselves back to us.

Big

2011-09-09T22:33:00.001-05:00

The title at top left seems to be a part of the word "Panorama" written in the Katakana alphabet

One of the coolest images I've ever seen in my life is this Japanese illustration of the Kowloon Walled City in Hong Kong. (I was wondering why there might be a Japanese illustration. In fact, the population of the city exploded when the Japanese took over Hong Kong during their Asian takeover before and during World War II. No wonder they studied this place while there.) When you look for images of the city on Google, the city almost looks photoshopped. This drawing is different. Click to enlarge it, it's huge. Go through and examine the details of daily life, including at least one person on a toilet and a couple having sex. I found this image here, where the author compares the city - which had no central management - to huge banks of data, or Big Data.

The Walled City of Kowloon has lessons for Big Data. A useful definition of Big Data is data that has outgrown the ability of conventional information management tools to store and analyze it. This definition is particularly helpful because it focuses the discussion away from magnitude and towards manageability. After all, big volumes of data are often manageable.

- from Big Data and the Rogue Dentists of Kowloon, by Pete Bell

Japan on Film, a video

2011-09-09T15:25:00.001-05:00

Gosha, every day

2011-09-07T18:04:00.001-05:00

CONFESSION 23

2011-09-06T10:17:00.000-05:00

"What are you thinking about?" I once asked. And she said, "Oh, you know, the composition, the sufaces, the way things look realistic when you're far away but weird when you're up close.""Me too," I said, but what I was really thinking was how grand it wouold be to own a legitimate piece of art and display it in my bedroom. Even with my babysiting income, paintings were out of the question, so instead I invested in postcards, which could be bought for a quarter in the museum shop and matted with shirt cardboard.

- Today's confession, as written by David Sedaris in When You Are Engulfed in Flames

Eventually, I realized there was no way I could show off all my postcard art, and so I started mailing the cards to friends. In a way, I've extended my postcard collection to now include pieces in other people's homes (unless my friends have been throwing them out).

CONFESSION 22

2011-09-05T22:57:00.002-05:00

I regret not having watched Avatar in the movie theater. When I visited Russia a year ago, everyone had seen it, from my cousin Yulia, to her husband, to my uncle, and my mom's childhood friend and husband. Have you seen Avatar? (me: eyeroll) No. I haven't seen Avatar. Let's watch Avatar!!! (me: eyeroll) No.

Now, I roll my eyes at thee, old self! My parents have been showing me all the big movies of the past 20 years while I've been living at home. They can't believe my lack of knowledge about American pop culture. Last night was Zombieland. I do regret having watched that movie now, though.

CONFESSION 21

2011-09-05T00:24:00.001-05:00

The bed in my bedroom of my parents' house routinely leaves me with a sore back and an immovable neck. It's a very good bed with a very good mattress, with quality pillows, bedding and even a bed skirt. My mom prides herself on all these elements of a proper American bed. But I just can't sleep on it. I sleep on the floor, on the flannel-lined sleeping bag that unzips completely to make one barely padded square of fabric. My back and neck feel much better. Although I now experience vertigo or something like it right before falling asleep, feeling as if I'm about to fall off. And every morning, I wake up disoriented. Where am I?

A l'amour! Love is simple.

2011-09-03T23:04:00.001-05:00

Julia and Paul Child; found on Vanity Fair, who got it from the Schlesinger Library at Harvard

I do not know how to turn up the heat, send an e-mail, call the answering machine for my messages, or do anything even remotely creative with a chicken. Hugh takes care of all that, and when he's out of town I eat like a wild animal, the meat still pink, with hair or feathers clinging to it. So is it any wonder that he runs from me? No mater how angry I get, it always comes down to this: I'm going to leave and then what? Move in with my dad? Thirty minutes of pure rage, and when I finally spot him I realize that I've never been so happy to see anyone in my life.

-David Sedaris, When Your Are Engulfed in Flames

The Trans-Siberian and North Korea

2011-09-02T01:46:00.001-05:00

At the last train station between South and North Koreas, close to the border, I was perusing a train system map which in its full length expanded on the already longest railway in the world, the Trans-Siberian Railroad. In theory, the system I saw in the Korean train station could take a person from the southern tip of Korea in Busan, north through the peninsula, and then either through China or through eastern Russia from Vladivostok, across all of Russia and then across all of Europe ending somewhere on the Iberian Peninsula (arbitrarily, I chose Cadiz, Spain). One day, I hope to complete this journey.

On a somewhat related side-note, I am fascinated by North Korea. It's the modern-day Soviet Union, which is the country where I was born. So it's interesting and incredibly sad for me to observe the similarities between the two regimes, and learn about it from my comfortable home in the United States. It's the same feeling I had reading Animal Farm. The authoritarianism, hypocrisy, ignorance and abuse are part of the lives of millions of people who have lived under such regimes around the world. Below I provided links to the cheerful as well as impassioned news straight from the government's mouth, as well as views into how people live and suffer there.

Korean News: a North Korean government news service
Camp 22: a North Korean concentration camp for political prisoners
Oh Kil-nam: a South Korean economist who took his family and defected to North Korea
"Glimpses of real North Korean life behind the facade": A BBC journalist visits the country [video]

CONFESSION 20

2011-09-02T00:37:00.001-05:00

Oregon, March 2011

For all my love for Cast Away, I don't fantasize about the beach life as much as I day-dream about life in the far north and exploring Antarctica. For example, today I spent the afternoon reading about the South Pole at a book store. What's so fascinating about the South Pole? The blue ice! It literally looks blue after air bubbles are compressed out of it. The curious lack of nationhood and the overlapping and uneven application of national and international laws! An empty horizon in some areas! There's even a ceremonial gold marker designating the geographic South Pole! And Antarctica can even be morbid! When researchers work there in the summer months, they become trapped on land by the ice and kept company only by eternal darkness and what I can only imagine to be literal insanity from the lack of sunlight.

Imagine: no police force. No shopping (only light souvenir stands in some areas. Seriously.) A tricky toilet system. An incredibly exclusive tourism industry to keep the place pristine for research (despite what global warming is doing to the research territory.) Let's now imagine what this can all mean. Murder. A fellow explorer kills me in a liquor-driven rage intensified by previously mentioned madness from the lack of light. It's like the fallen tree riddle. No one is around to know, care, or do anything about it. And more importantly, what does my fellow explorer then do for months of darkness, alone? That, perhaps, is the cruel punishment of the bitter cold, and the fascinating potential (but unlikely) reality of the Antarctic. There's so much to explore. I imagine I'll visit some day soon, but during the bright winter months.

Well look at you

2011-08-31T01:28:00.001-05:00

Welcome to my new look!

Although everything has been slowly changing for some time now, let me highlight some features.

If you scroll down, there are pictures of my dog. Very nice.
If you scroll down a bit more, you will notice that there are fewer posts per page.
~~If you scroll down all the way, you will notice the archive, links and "Running Commentary" sections at the foot of the page.~~ In Running Commentary, you can find the following series: Confessions, Looking, and first-hand accounts of the relief effort after the Fukushima earthquake. *update as of 8/31: I'm playing around with this section. It's on the side now.
If you look to your left, you will see a running commentary from my Twitter.
The image for the background was taken a year ago in the mountains in Japan, by the Pacific coast, north of Shizuoka City.
I'm still working out some styling issues, so I'm sorry if some older posts aren't easy to read because of the clash of color schemes.

Computer Dog

2011-08-26T00:36:00.003-05:00

Life Abroad

2011-08-25T12:12:00.000-05:00

Tokyo, Feb. 2010

I'm watching "Cast Away" and Tom Hanks is busy trying to make fire on the island. He just caught a tiny fish in a net he made from a woman's dress. He sharpened a branch using the blades on ice skates and stabbed a crab. He ripped his palm rubbing branches together to ignite a small flame. His hands are shaking as he washes them in the ocean. In four years, his brain will provide both sides of every conversation and argument. He will spear fish like a predator.

And then he will escape. Upon his return, people will greet him with a buffet of long succulent crab legs. He will pick one up and throw it aside. Light switches will brighten rooms. The volleyball will no longer be around to provide companionship, and neither will his fiance, long ago married to another man.

That's culture shock.

Sex Ed

2011-08-21T22:38:00.002-05:00

Every girl and woman should watch this video and get advice from women like these when learning about sex. Developing self-confidence is just as important as learning about your body and about birth control.

He doesn't wanna wear a condom?
He demands sex before you're ready?
He refuses to practice safe sex and learn a thing or two about STDs?

Duly fucking noted.

The Art of Soviet Photography

2011-08-20T23:25:00.001-05:00

by the campfire; long exposure (click any image to enlarge)

To shoot this roll of film, I used a Zenit-E camera with a Мир-1B 2.8/37 lens. The camera is almost 40 years old. It has no built-in flash, and the light and aperture adjustments are all done manually, as is the rolling of the film. In fact, it's taken me years to get to this point, where I can expect to get most of the shots on a single roll to be at least OK. The camera is the only one my dad used in Russia, first as a teenager. It's the one with which he took pictures of my mom when they went camping in their early 20s, and the one on which my brother and I are captured as budding little babies, nudity, giggles and all. I played with it as a toddler, enjoying the winding of the spring and the click of the release. It's fascinating now to find manuals with attractive constructivist covers for this entire line of Soviet machines. Let's peruse.

Zenit-E manual

This and the following covers from the site Communist Cameras
(check out more pages at the link)

Zenit-E manual (check out more pages at the link)

Zenit-E manual

You can find more shots from this roll in this album on Picasa.

Law Firms

2011-08-20T01:12:00.001-05:00

friend: my industry isnt exactly technology savvy. we have a fucking vcr at work
and typewriters

What We Remember

2011-08-15T02:48:00.001-05:00

1. Joan Rivers

Joan Rivers was 75 in Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work, a documentary which follows one year in her life. She'll try to get a part doing a penis elongation commercial. She'll sell jewelry on shopping networks and show up wherever to perform. She's a neurotic workaholic. She keeps a file cabinet of jokes which still make her laugh and writes new ones. An empty calendar of events means to her that her life was for nothing. She wants people to love her. She relies on herself for her material, but it seems she relies on others for drive, which comes from recognition and appreciation of what she does and who she is.

During the film, she fires her manager, a man who has been in her life for 35 years. He is one of the last people to whom she can say, Do you remember when ...

He's been through everything with her. Her recognition, her depressing dives, her daughter's birth. EVERYTHING. Completely heart-broken and crying, she explains that he was one of her remaining links to the past. Rivers doesn't come off as a nostalgic person. She's always doing something new. She's a happening woman. But when she loses her manager, she loses her friend, and the 35-year story vanishes, like pieces of a puzzle which can't be put together to reveal the bigger picture. She moves on, finishes another project, her calendar fills up again.

2. Personal Preferences
One time in March, just over a year ago, a friend and I walked off a ship onto an island. Before we had time to explore our options about where to spend the night, we were befriended by a widow. Some politeness and a couple hours later, we were invited to spend a couple nights in her house.

I'm sitting on my hotel bed. Hotels are nice. People's homes are better. You get the nagging hosts with their home-cooked meals and the weight of obligations on everyone's shoulders. But you also get some history, a wealth of memory, stories, habits, allergies and preferences.

Tonight is the first night of a week-long meandering journey through Wisconsin. Tonight's easy night. We're staying in a motel. The camping gear waits in the car.

New camping gear is great, unique, and I get exactly what I want. But borrowing others' stuff turned out better. Jacob, a family friend who crisscrossed much of everything in the U.S. on a motorcycle and once chased after a black bear with a camera, emptied his garage out to me when I was setting out. Do you want a machete? (It was to clear off the grass.) I'll take the hatchet, the hunting knife and the saw. Then the bear mace, binoculars, camping kettle, stove, flash lights, inflatable mattress, I had to stop him. We set up a 5'6" tall tent in the living room, after downing the pepper vodka. It was a tight fit in front of the baby grand piano, next to his daughter's cats. To see how it's done.

New paths are amazing. But having the discussion about how to avoid picking the poisonous mushrooms (when you're dead of burst kidneys a week after consumption); being led through maps of solitary camp sites and over-crowded beaches; over beers and in flowing emails hearing stories about passionate decisions and broken hearts; reading about conquests, revolutions and family histories; is what oftentimes makes me race to my new paths in the first place.

Some things are universally both new and old. Do you remember the first time you saw the ocean, people say when they see any other ocean. Forests, deserts, and snow - even if we've never before seen them - are nostalgic to our species.

I try not to be overly nostalgic. I try to fill up my calendar, finish projects. But what makes the moments better - if not also sometimes more stressful, irritable and annoying - is that sometimes, I have someone to turn to and say Do you remember when ...

2011-08-10T21:13:00.001-05:00

2011-08-08T20:58:00.001-05:00

Tatyana learns guitar

2011-08-04T20:09:00.001-05:00

This post is a nod to my friend Tripta, who started a blog called Tripta Learns Python. On her blog she suggests that to learn something - Python in particular - it's helpful to pick a project. So in my determination to get back to playing guitar, I also picked a project. This song is called "Я бы новую жизнь" and is written by Yuri Vizbor. This type of song is called a bard, which refers to a story-telling usually accompanied by a simple guitar background. My dad likes to listen to Vizbor and other bard singers in the car and one day recently when I was driving and listening to his CD, I was moved by this song and decided to learn it.

As for the lyrics: they're written very poetically, so perhaps I could spend a longer time with you individually discussing the meaning, but generally speaking, the song is about a man who says if he had another lifetime, he would become a fighter pilot and protect a city. If he had 20 lifetimes, he would become a doctor in a small village. Had he been given 100 lifetimes, he would become an astronomer. But in the last part, he says that his life is here. He smokes in the mornings, like a soldier before a battle, and gives his one and only lifetime to his wife. The last two lines tell of him watching his son sleeping, while clutching an old teddy bear.

CONFESSION 19

2011-08-03T22:05:00.004-05:00

(Sorry for the really bad quality vid. I couldn't find a better version.)

I'm gonna say something controversial. Ahem.

I'm baby crazy.

Your throat is getting tighter. Baby crazy spells trouble. I was talking to two high-school teens this spring as they leveled offenses against the other's gender. It all started when the girl, bouncing her baby on her lap, said she was grateful she didn't have a son. Why? Boys steal, deal drugs and get into trouble. Oh yeah?! Well girls have babies!

(By the way, these gender roles seems very appropriate, biologically speaking. The hunter male - or hustler - and the child-bearing female.) Anyway, I want to address the charge leveled against the girl, because boy problems (and race and poverty issues) are a whole other topic. I want to address the phrase "baby crazy" and its meaning, and break down its current definition, which is on par with diagnosing women with hysteria. So, again, let me reassert that I'm baby crazy. Here's what that means.

That means that I find babies cute. Babies are adorable, and it's in their nature to be adorable and in our nature to find them adorable.

Other anthropologists have made the startling discovery that children have entertainment value, and that among traditional cultures without television or Internet access, a bobble-headed baby is the best show in town.

From this NYT article I previously mentioned on this blog in March, 2009.

When I see those little monsters looking cute and doing cute little baby things, I just wanna eat their tiny little toes off. (But not really.) I have the same reaction to puppies, kittens, and basically anything. But for the purpose of this post, let's focus on the kids playing on playgrounds, whose proximity to my ovaries makes me want to give birth to an entire kindergarten class. For many people, it's a normal biological response, akin to finding people attractive and wanting to have sex with them.

At the same time, those of us who have the luxury of choice in the matter (vs. girls and women who have no ability to find or buy birth control and whose partners wont use condoms) often know well enough when we're not ready, no matter how we react to playgrounds full of children. As this Jezebel story puts it, only crazy TLC baby-related shows (or the film Babies) (... or my family back in Russia) can temporarily convince us otherwise.

They make you think that even little old can't-get-your-shit-together you is capable of raising a cute, cuddly little human to adulthood. It's insidious, really. Without you even realizing it, these shows go in through your eyes and work their way all the way down to your uterus where they plant a seed, which grows into a baby. Or at least the idea of a baby.

Many of us crazies are actually terrified at the thought of reproducing, just yet. One friend tells me to never mention babies in front of her live-in boyfriend, who gets a little too intense with his fantasies of starting a family. She loves babies but isn't yet ready for that discussion.

Even baby crazies can wait. Another friend in her mid-30s told me that she's glad she had her baby only a year ago. It was good timing. During her pregnancy and some time after, she didn't miss going out or drinking. When her baby was born, she was happy to spend every day with him slowly watching him wake up to the world, doing activities much younger women might have found boring or restrictive. She has more patience and more time now that she's older and has a stable life.

So let's get past the insults and the misunderstandings, and bring it back to the baby sitting on the high-school girl's lap. She was there with her mom every week in my class, which was full of children from pre-school through high school. In the class, everyone was crazy about the baby: the boys, the girls, and, obviously, me.

CONFESSION 18

2011-08-01T13:20:00.001-05:00

I get stuck in fly traps more often than the flies do. Who's the real pest in the house?