Consolation

To make myself feel a little bit better about life (and by life, i mean, working with passive-aggressive women, reprimands in front of my boss, anticipated future rejections from grad school, lack of responses from my recommenders, unfinished personal statements, and general loneliness), I decided to seek inspiration from this piece. Except instead of "ways to say I Love You", it's "my reasons to love Jeremy". And instead of 100, I'm copping out at 8 (which may move up to 10 in the near future). Sappy and sad, I know, but what can you do.

1. It was one of those awful days at work where, with every email from my big boss and every prying question from my little boss, I got closer and closer to sticking a fork in my eye. I couldn't call Jeremy, of course, because this was a night like any other weeknight, when he is out saving the world. Still, I sent him a whiny text message, expecting absolutely nothing. What I got in return, however, was a phone call from him, ducking away inconspicuously, just to tell me that everything was going to be ok. And with him there, it always is.

2. He grew up in rural Nevada, watching cows roaming freely at the foot of the snowcapped mountain range, breathing fresh alpine air, and squinting at the beaming sun unobstructed by deciduous trees. It required driving from valley to summit to valley again just to arrive at a summer job, visit a mall, or hang out with friends. Ann Arbor was the most urban environment he was willing to adjust to at the time. For three years leading up to graduation, I looked at him longingly and breathed dreams of future cityscapes into his ear. Something clicked, and now, he calls me while rushing on the streets of DC just to say he looks forward to crowds, and brick buildings, and holding my hand in the most courageous step toward metropolitan living.

3. From 2004 until 2005, I was getting spoiled by the vibrancy of mediterranean France. It was a good time of learning about Descartes, trying new cheeses, and avoiding getting pooped on by the ever-present pigeons, but it was not without nostalgia. The dear letters, cards, and poems I received from him kept my head from exploding into a million multicultural pieces. With his help, I came home safely and enriched, sane and happy.

4. He agrees to watch "Mean Girls", when I am just not in the mood for "Gladiator".

5. Right before I left for distant lands, he gave me a mixed CD with this song on it. It continues to get me through all sorts of gloomy weather to this day.

(Unfortunately, this band does not have music videos, so all you get is a crappily recorded live version. Sorry.)

6. For whatever reason, I enjoy soaking my hands in the warm running water and mindlessly scrubbing soap into the delicate porcelain. Cooking, on the other hand, often produces in me an urge to stick my head in the oven. Keep that casserole company. I never have the energy to even THINK about food, let alone figure out a way to make it edible. And not just for tonight, but also for tomorrow's lunch? Forget it. He, however, it much more skilled at combining ingredients, chopping, and frying, and making sure I am fed and satisfied. Both at night and in the middle of the workday.

7. A year and a half after I have already graduated, they tell me I can't order my transcripts because of a financial hold from the library. Apparently, it took them that long to figure out that sometime, when that annoying Usher song was still popular, I forgot to return two books. Two books which together cost no more than $40, and for which, they are now charging me $300. He senses the desperation in my voice and offers to pay half of it. He actually gives up $150 more than he has, so I can get into grad school and move with him to San Fransisco.

8. Unless I am purposefully procrastinating, vacuuming the hairy bathroom floor is the last thing on my mind when my whole future depends solely on whether I succeed at explaining my to-date scholastic and professional accomplishments in 12000 characters or less. He gently offers, and with absolutely no sour face about it, vacuums the entire bathroom, kitchen, and hallways.

The rejection letters I am already expecting

Dear Ms. D.,




Are you f'ing kidding us???




The end,
Admissions Committee

The Healing Process - I

This is post number one of probably many to come, documenting my healing process in light of recent events. Recent events, which can be summed up as: 1. Jeremy unwittingly breaking my heart in a major and powerful way by choosing to stay on his path for a while, a path that didn't involve me, cold snowy winters, or the Atlantic ocean. But mainly just me. And 2. me now trying to rebuild the trust in him, in us, in our future, and all those other cliche but very real things that make a relationship work.

It starts with none other than 1 Corinthians 13, which goes something like, blah... blah... blah... Love is patient, Love in kind, blah... blah..., UNTIL it gets to verse 5: ...it keeps no records of wrongs. Ouch indeed, I gasp. What a challenge! You mean, I can't even hold the fact that he doesn't eat cheese (yummy gooey cheese) over his head? Seriously, the world just might end.

I think the first step toward this pretty much unattainable goal will be a list. A list of all the wrongs that float in my head and all the aches that linger in my heart. And all the accusations that are often on my lips just because. Because he hurt me and he deserves the same.

Tonight though, I will burn this list and hope for at least one inch toward emotional and psychological restoration.

Coup d'Etat

Ninety years ago today, Russia's fate was changed forever. One crazy guy decided it would be a good idea to overthrow the existing monarchic system, and with that, he made history. Here is what the Writer's Almanac has to say about it:

It was on this day in 1917 that the Russian Revolution took place. In the years leading up to it, hundreds of thousands of Russians had died in World War I, there'd been a series of food shortages, and prices of available goods had risen by more than 700 percent in just three years.

The revolution was led by Vladimir Lenin, who had been in exile in Switzerland, plotting to overthrow the Russian government. In April 1917, he crossed the border back into Russia for the first time in 10 years and went underground. He had to sneak through the streets in a disguise to attend a meeting of the Bolsheviks in late October of that year, but he persuaded a majority of his party to launch an armed takeover of the country. The coup met almost no resistance on this day in 1917, and the next day, Lenin was elected chairman of the Council of the new Soviet Government. Overnight, he had gone from a fugitive in hiding to the leader of the largest country in the world.

Lenin believed that a Communist country would need to be ruled at first by a military dictatorship, but that once Communism took hold, people would be so happy with the new system that the police state would wither away, and society would become a classless stateless paradise. But Russia remained a totalitarian police state for more than 70 years.

One dictatorship exchanged for another. Шило на мыло, so to speak. It's interesting to think that until the 1980s, theoretically, Russia has never functioned under a democracy. Western societies wonder why it has taken so long to adjust to this new political scheme, but just think. Figuring out voting rights, the stock exchange, and trade? It didn't come easy to the pilgrims either. You have to work for your Capitalism. And who is to say that it's the answer to the world's problems, really.

Communism, I think, is actually a fascinating philosophy. I mean, it's based solely on the goodness of the people (which I have my doubts about), and what can be more beautiful than that (minus the religion being the opium for the people bit)? A society where everyone shares the resources and "from each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs"? Nice optimism there, Mr. Marx. Too bad experience has shown that we are incapable of such idealism.

And with that, I'll leave you with my favorite Земфира song (how crazy is her site, btw). As well as another really sweet Zemfira song. Ok, this is pretty cool too.

The things we say

The kids over at Explosm recently had a translation contest in an attempt to expand their website globally. Of course, as soon as I heard "translation", I started salivating. Nothing makes me happier than to be able to use my bilingual skills. You know, those mad skillz I got.

They warned the contestants about the challenge of translating their very language-dependent humor. They often use slang or puns in their comics, which only an extremely proficient translator could even attempt to carry across. In the end, I chickened out. I tried my best to translate the meanings of the words, to make sure they didn't sound awkward in Russian, but the jokes? The implicit jokes just didn't translate so well. I mean, what's funny in one culture is not in another. And I'm not clever enough to subtly change the humor as well as the language while staying true to the pictures.

That was one tough assignment. I didn't submit anything, but here is what I came up with.

La dolce vita

Heather came to visit this weekend and it was, as always, a good time. Again and again it is so nice to see that despite our lack of communication for years, we are as similar as ever. I mean, anywhere from future plans involving distant lands like the golden shores of California to feelings on any given relationship situation, we click. Our exchanges are comfortable and not at all strained, and this fact is so refreshing. It makes me feel that little bit less lonely to have tasted a fragment of home.

P.S. YES - Anthony Bourdain went to Russia for his show on the Travel Channel and that makes me so very happy! The more I watch his show, the more his seeming arrogance is replaced with knowledge and keen insight, in my eye. Anthony is undeniably a great writer and in this episode, he effortlessly succeeded at capturing the Russian soul. He covered it all - the solace we feel when picking mushrooms in a birch meadow, the camaraderie of a peasant meal with fresh veggies and aromatic bread, the old spirit of the Soviet left-overs, and also the rich and vibrant life of new Russia. The funniest part though was his coverage of shot after shot of real, frozen Russian vodka. For any reason, at every occasion. And that is not an exaggeration.