From Russia With Dave - 7/17/2011

Ok I'm back with part two of the 2011 Russian bonanza - the summer edition.  And by the way right now I'm listening to "Smooth Operator" by Sade.  Great song. Which reminds me I was at a free Sting concert last night in Palace Square.  I think the whole city showed up.  Russians are crazy about Sting.  They don't know a thing about The Police, but they love their Sting.  Funny drunk Russian male mullett dancing galore. 

So... winter came and went and now its pretty uncomfortably hot.  This Russian weather can never get it right.  Either too cold or too hot.  Too wet or too dry.  Land of extremes.   And I love it.  But now that it's hot you play the game of "spot the old Russian man dressed in head to toe bright white - including hat and moccasins."  By the way I've temporarily forgotten if periods go inside or outside of "quotation marks.".  So it's hot.  I walk to and from work every day (about a 40 min. walk) and many times I'm forced to remove the shirt from my body.  Well, no I'm not forced.  Actually it's not uncomfortable at all to wear the shirt.  But sunny days feel like a gift from God and I want as much as my vitamin D-deprived skin to get in on the action.  And Russians don't really wear summer clothes well.  Winter clothes they got down pat.  Nobody can mess with a Russian’s sense of winter fashion.  But summer clothes?  Eh, they just look a little out of place.  They like these very colorful, outlandish, oversized shorts and shirts.  It’s as if they are over-compensating for their lack of good weather by filling all of their summer desires into one day and one outfit.  Tommy Bahama eat ur heart out.  Well actually when its sunny everyone becomes kind of a gushy goopy tourist here because its such a rare and joyful occasion.  The hills are alive with the sound of balalaika and accordion.  

I've still been doing my double time as a teacher and foreign relations/PR manager at BioVitrum.  But now in the summer im just going full time BioVitrum.  Thank heavens.  Honestly I'm a little sick of teaching.  The people I meet in my classes are always a treat but if I have to give another lesson on the present perfect or try to explain what the words "conscientious" or “assertive” mean I'm gonna hurl.  But things have been going very nice for me at BioVitrum.  I’m getting schooled on international finance, taxation, and laws right quick.  Not to mention the constant marketing and PR activity I do.  Got me a couple nice suits also.  By the way the Russian word for "business suit" is "costume."  Literally it's pronounced "costume."  So when I wear a suit and people say "ooh, nice costume," I have to remember that I'm not on the set of a gala presentation of Phantom of the Opera.  

Our company had a shashlik (BBQ) party the other week which is funny because you get to see all of your colleagues get trashed.  Just one instance I'd like to share.  The head of our IT department.  He's a very quiet, serious, IT sort of guy who looks strikingly similar to Oliver Platt.  He rarely socializes with anybody and just stays stuck to his computer all day.  Anyway, I got to this shashlik party and the first thing I see is this IT guy groveling in the grass like a fish on dry land and I think he was drooling on himself.  Next he was literally crawling around the party trying to catch girls.  Again making very strange noises.  Then his subordinates, I repeat subordinates, lifted him up by hands and legs and basically played a kind of demented jumprope with him, using him as the rope.  Classic.  And now my favorte part.  Does anybody remember that scene in Police Academy where the uptight head police officer was sunbathing and the great Steve Guttenberg wrote the word "Dork" on him with suntan lotion?  Well towards the end of the party our IT guy was shirtless and again groveling in the grass and making strange giggly noises in an attempt to sunbathe and his subordinates wrote the word "Xui" on him with lotion.  "Xui" is one of the worst curse words in Russian.  I would translate it as a stronger version of "foolish asshead".  So yeah it was pretty funny.  Priceless photos going around the office.  Most of the time I was teaching people how to play baseball which I think is more difficult than trying to teach the entire English languange in a day.  Baseball just doesn't translate into a Russian's mind.  Chopping wood, yes.  Baseball, no.  The most important rule I told them was to "never let go of the bat."  I think I said that about 50 times that day.  Then of course I got into a hardcore conversation with our CFO about Stalin and WWII.  Fun times.

One more funny sunny story I want to tell.  In Russia there is a great and old tradition of the banya.  It's basically a sauna/steamroom on steroids.  It's Russian physical therapy.  Everybody has told me I must experience the banya to get a proper Russian experience.  In my more than 2 years here I'd managed to avoid the banya but not anymore.  Olga's father invited me to his dacha (country house) specifically to join in on the banya.  How could I refuse?  So we got there, I was wearing fairly decent clothes, and expecting just to go in the banya, whatever that meant.  But no, this was to be a truly Russian day.  First thing I was made to do was strap on some huge Frankenstein boots and help the father and his son-in-law with the yardwork.  Hardcore yardwork.  Like shovels and drills and saws and the whole works.  I was not prepared for this.  Not to mention that these guys spoke almost no English so they had to grunt and mime their instructions to me.  Tilling the soil in the hot sun with some old time Russians.  Lord almighty.  All we needed were some oxen and the picture would be complete.  But I can't say that it was all bad because in true Russian fashion they were supplying me with my fair share of alcohol.  

So after the work it was banya time.  The banya was a seperate shack-like thing with two rooms, the steam room and the sitting (drinking) room.  First thing we had to do, to my utter horror, was strip completely butt naked.  This was not up for discussion.  Drop your pants or get back to chopping wood.  So there I was naked with Olga's father and his son-in-law, who I barely knew and who was a HUGE bear of a man.  We got the steam going by pouring water on scalding hot big charcoal looking things.  It was hot and drenching in there.  We stayed in there for about 8 minutes soaking up the steam and sweat, then poured extremely cold water on ourselves and went back into the other room for some beer.  At this time we were all a little drunk and the Russian conversation was flowing like pools of sweat from our naked bodies.  Then we went back in the steam room and the real fun began.  What makes a banya a banya is the tradition for all the participants to whack each other with "veniki" or branches from a birch tree.  I was first up to lay down flat on my stomach on the banya table.  I had no idea what to expect.  The other guys were getting their veniki wet and ready to pound my unprepared naked body.  So then it began.  The huge son-in-law literally let out a "ROAR!" and began whacking me up and down with these branches.  Literally "ROAR!!".  The veniki felt like extremely hot pin needles all over your body.  At first it was quite shockingly uncomfortable but after I got used to it the burning hot birch branches felt rather nice.  Then it was time to turn over on my back.  Wait a minute guys.  They mimed me to cover up my stuff and began again.  "ROAR!!"  And while the huge son-in-law was whacking me, the father was whacking hime.  It was this savage chain of naked guys whacking each other like the dickens.  I don't think this would fly in southern California.  We rotated turns whacking each other (I'd be lying if I didn't let out a sort of Roar when I was doing the whacking).  In between turns we'd always pour cold water all over us, which felt great and is a necessary part of the banya therapy, then we'd go drink and bullshit with each other.  It was quite a unique experience.  The banya baby.  In winter they mix it up a bit by substituting cold water for jumping and rolling around in the snow naked.  Not kidding.

So that's about all.  The last little morsel I will leave you with is that in Russia they have an exact replica of the cleaning product Mr. Clean, bald guy with arms folded and all.  Except he's not called Mr. Clean, he's called....Mr. Proper!  Sounds like an evil yet seductive James Bond villainous henchman.  If it can't be clean it might as well be proper.  So it goes in Russia.

The saga continues...

Until next time

From Russia With Dave - 3/10/2011

Bleen.  It's been a very long time.  Rest assured I am alive and well and doing well for myself here in the land of plenty.  By the way there's a huge billboard on the river embankment here which reads (in Russian):  Russia:  Land of Opportunity.  Catchy slogan huh?

So here's the scoop about this last winter:

First I'll start with New Years.  Seems as good a place as any considering its...New Years.  First lets review my two previous New Years here.  1st year:  on Palace Square with a thousand drunk and merry Russians singing the national anthem while a blue-robed Grandfather Frost danced on stage with a scantily clad damsel he referred to as his "granddaughter" and Dmitri Medvedev on the jumbo screen with sweet slicked-back hair saying this would finally be the year Russia modernized its economy and stamped out corruption.  2nd year:  in the girlfriends abnormally small apartment in the outskirts with her family, drinking whiskey, exchanging gifts, speaking to old ex-Soviet army guys in English as if they can understand me perfectly, and smoking unfiltered Israeli cigarettes and pretending I was thankful for doing so. 

So now my third New Years here.  Spent it in my apartment with my roommates Sergey and Rimma and Rimmas parents.  Her parents are from Belarus which at first was slightly intimidating considering Belarus is sometimes referred to as "Europe's last dictatorship".  Basically I was expecting her father to be a mixture of Joseph Stalin, Alan Greenspan, Darth Maul, Zorro, and the bad guy from Casino Royale.  And her mother in my mind was gonna be a mixture between Margaret Thatcher, Bonnie Raitt, the villain old woman from the Austin Powers movies, and Joan of Arc.  But I was pleasantly surprised to find that they were indeed regular old friendly parents who wouldn't be out of place in the state of Iowa or Wyoming.  As is the custom, everybody got dressed up to the tilt even though we were just staying in our flat.  Yeah I wore a tie.  Rimma's mother wore some full length Neil Diamond sparkly outfit. So we drank champagne, ate the traditional Olivier salad and to my hearts surprise....big giant ribs.  First ribs I've had in Russia.  Mean tasty.  Papa Rimma will cook you up some mean ribs.  By the way "papa rimma" is exactly how you say "the Pope" in Russian.  That information might get you out of a jam some day.  Also in case you're interested the word for "humpback" in Russian is "garboon".  So now you all can say "the Pope" and "humpback" in Russian and I guarantee if you say those two words together to a Russian you will have a life-long to-the-death take-a-bullet-for-you friend.  So back to New Years, we watched the presidents speech and then afterwards there's this traditional New Years program which is a surreal cartoon-like parody of world political figures acting plain goofy.  Kind of like a weird Celebrity Deathmatch but instead of Brad and Angelina it was the grotesquly caricatured presidents of Georgia and Belarus.  Around 4am we walked to Palace Square thinking we would meet a crowded square of merry makers but instead we found a giant trash heap with assorted drunken zombie loners wearing bunny ears.  By the way, does anyone know of any tradition to wear bunny ears at New Years?  Have I missed that?  Cause in Russia it's huge.  New Years?  Get your bunny ears.  Forget about the shovel or portable fan.  Get your bunny ears.

Now I'll include some monologues I wrote a while back which gives an idea about the Russian winter.  Here we go.  Where I’m at there are occurrences of people getting killed by tsunami icicles and out of control snow plows.  You turn the corner and without notice theres just a huge mammoth monster snow plow noisily plowing away without any regard for innocent bystanders.  And the sidewalks are pure slippery ice.  Nothing else.  Just slippery ice.  Unbelievably slippery.  And watching the old babushkas trying to navigate them with the help of a cane never fails to bring a smile to my face.  Actually I wouldn’t call it a smile.  I’d call it full blown sympathy and camaraderie.  We are all in this together folks.  Then you gotta watch out for the guys on the roof indiscriminately breaking icicles with a hammer.  In Europe they usually use lasers to get rid of icicles.  In Russia they usually use immigrants from Tajikistan.  By the way its popular for kids to suck on icicles.  Which makes sense because in Russian the word for icicle and popsicle is the same.  That’s what happens when your country isn’t so materialistic.  Icicles become your popsicles.  I’ve never seen such icicles.  Some of them gotta be 10 feet long.  Death from above.  Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  And there’s been a bunch of wind here so some of the icicles have a very stylish curve to them.  Like those Arabian swords.  In Russia even the icicles have style.  Put a fur coat on one of them and you’ve got the next Project Runway sensation - Arabian sword style.

Speaking of fur you should see all the fur people wear here.  Full body fur outfits as far as the eye can see.  I’m talking real fur baby.  Like the kind that used to be on a living breathing animal with hopes and desires of its own.  You should see the sparkle in a Russian woman’s eye when she talks about her fur.  You can insult her house, you can insult her family, you can insult her country, but don’t you dare insult her fur.  Hell hath no fury like a Russian woman whose fur has been insulted.  And some of these ladies are just absolutely covered in fur from head to toe.  Fur coats down to their ankles, fur gloves, fur scarves, and usually a huge fur hat.  Like Abraham Lincoln’s hat, but fur.  Shiny, silky, delicious-looking fur.  And if I said that I wasn’t a little jealous when I see these fur-clad female warriors then I’d be lying.  Fur looks so comfy and inviting.  Like an old friend who is always willing to stick up for you when the elements attack.  Like a warm fire in a wooden house.  I want some fur.  I want some fur right now.  I want to live in a fur house and never have another care in the world.  No matter what happens, the fur will take care of it.

I’ve been sporting a Green Bay Packers beanie recently.  Just a loud yellow and green beanie in a sea of black.  I had been resisting wearing a beanie for the longest time because it makes my hair look incredibly not cool but soon I just had to give in.  Now my hair has a permanent Jim Carrey from Dumb and Dumber look.  All I need is a hideous mullet and I’ll fit right in with many other Russian men.  And with my ear muffs I basically look like a silly cartoon character compared to these stoic black clad natives.  One Russian told me that wearing the green and yellow color combination was something to the effect of the worst thing that a person could possibly do.  Gotta keep my melon warm though.  But actually I am a little worried that the Packers might get me noticed by an inquisitive policeman who probably thinks the Packers symbol is something like Al-Qaeda.   I wonder what would happen if I wore a full Packers uniform here.  I wonder what would happen if I wore a full Packers uniform including pads and helmet here.  At least it might protect against the icicles.  And the drunk Russian beggars who are constantly singing songs outside the nearest McDonalds.  Which reminds me, whenever I think the winter is getting too tough and I can’t go on, I always remember one thing….McDonalds double cheeseburgers.

Someone I barely knew asked me today if I was wearing two pants.  I said of course not do I like the kind of person who would wear two pants?  That just doesn’t sound comfortable at all.  What if they were jeans?  Can you imagine wearing two pairs of jeans?  Sounds like the worst thing in the world.  Anyways, when I told him that I’m indeed not wearing two pants he looked at me like I was a terrorist.  After a bunch of miscommunication and trying to explain what he meant I gathered that he was referring to Long Johns.  By the way listening to a Russian try to explain in detail what Long Johns are is hilarious.  I asked if they were really necessary.  He looked at me with all the seriousness of heaven and earth and said “your little friends will freeze.”  I was waiting for the laughter to go along with it but he just stood there and stared at me with those stone cold eyes.  “Your little friends will freeze.”  These are the last words I hear now before I go to sleep and the first words I hear when I wake up.  This guy was either an angel in disguise or a horrible devil.  So be thankful for where you are right now.  Drink some vodka and eat some anchovies for me.  I wish I could be there with you but that would mean getting up and spending 45 minutes putting layer upon layer on and that just ain’t happenin.  And by the way anchovies are an excellent vodka snack.  

Alright that's enough for now.  The spring/summer version will be next.  I'll just say right now that it's HOT outside and portable fans have replaced the ruble as the chosen currency for any transaction.  Ok bye.