Still putting off my homework. I miss being up really late on school nights here (usually I go to bed early because there’s not that much to DO, whoever’s fault that is). This is actually kind of a strange thing to say, since last weekend (we have three weekend nights because we don’t have class on Monday) I didn’t go to bed before four a single night, and that’s not really unusual. But I guess that’s why I said “school nights”. I very sincerely miss actual schoolwork. I really like writing papers and reading for interesting classes like history and philosophy and that Palestinian Lit course (even though I think most langauges have a more ornate poetic tradition than English, since all the foreign poetry I read I think is too syrupy-thick – or it’s just really impossible to translate poetry very well). I especially like writing papers real late at night. I miss my really hardcore productive all-nights from last year. God willing, I will soon repeat them.
But I sat down to write this ‘cause I just talked to my host father some. Mom was encouraging me to talk more to my host family, so I’ve been asking them who they like for the upcoming elections. This, combined with some other stuff I’ll talk about, makes me think my family is a little unusual. Keep in mind my group for comparison is very small – I’m just going based on what other people have said about their host families and stuff our teachers have said.
So my mom, who I asked first, said she wasn’t sure yet. She was gonna think more, but probably Putin, who she generally likes. My older sister said she wasn’t sure either, and then sort of seemed to take it as a matter of course that she’d vote for Putin too. This sounds a little different what other people have reported from their host families – the idea that my host mom was gonna think it over more surprised me, since a lot of Americans don’t do that (though Russia has a lot more viable choices – well, probably, I’m still not entirely convinced that Putin will outright tamper with election results, or that he’s in a postion to). Also most other people have seemed to say their families think of it as unimportant: “It doesn’t matter, we don’t really control anything like you do in America” seems like something I’ve heard from several people, like our teachers.
Then my dad said he didn’t think his vote made much difference – hey, buddy, now you’re speaking a language I understand. He told me the most coolestest anecdote ever. It’s a Russian sequel to that one about the fox and the crow with the cheese (“Wow you sing so pretty!” bird sings, drops cheese, i tag dalia). It goes like this:
Crow: crow is in TREE with CHEESE . . . eating CHEESE
Fox: arrives at TREE (insert relevant VERB of MOTION – a pod- GLAGOL, if I am not MISTAKEN, which I probably AM) Hey, didja vote for Yeltsin, or against him?
Crow: filled with PRIDE at PARTICIPATION in Russia’s new POLITICAL PROCESS “Yo! I totally voted for him!” KONYECHNA, CHEESE upals. “Chort!”
Fox: cyels CHEESE and IDYOTs
Crow: THINKING to SELF Well . . . what if I’d said no?
The point obviously being, that it doesn’t matter who you vote for. I guess this is a fairly normalish Russian view (though he didn’t draw an contrast to America). But then he talked a little bit about the Soviet Union. He said things were better now (kind of unusual, at least for what I’ve heard about other kids’ families?), but only a little, economically – we’ve already established he doesn’t think much of electioneering. He says that now, its easier to find things you want to buy: no waiting in huge lines, no going across town to find a store with whatever you want. But that a lot of stuff is so ridiculously expensive now you can’t afford it anyway. His example was also plane tickets. In Soviet times, families could afford to take trips for their kids to go skiing. He said he could go, in those times, on his salary and buy a ticket to anywhere in the USSR, round-trip, and spend a longish time vacationing wherever he was (I think he said a whole month!). Now, though, he definately could not afford that. And the best professional skiiers (maybe they’re not professional) in Irkutsk can’t afford a trip to some big ski conference or competition or something.
Interesting that Russians don’t give a shit about political freedoms. I don’t think they see a big difference between Soviet times (after Stalin anyway) when you could have whatever opinions you want as long as they were indoors and now, when you can have opinions. What’s more important, to them at least, is buying shit you want/need and so on. I dunno how I feel about this. I don’t have very much (any?) belief in my personal political efficacy and not THAT much in the difference between the parties (okay, actually this is less true. it doesn’t affect me directly, but the fact that gay people can’t get married? what the fuck is that? and while I may have some issues with huge amounts of public welfare now, it still makes at least as much sense to me as spending all our money on weapons that we only use to antagonize everyone so that we need to buy more). Ugh, I dunno. If your tradition is that you look out for you and yours by going around the government or through legal gray areas, and if your tradition is living in minor to moderate censorship . . . I can understand this outlook. It’s always obnoxious when some asshole right-winger with a degree in assholery writes a book about how the slav simply can’t understand freedom because he’s always lived in godless, backward totalitarianism not like Classical Athens and Western Europe and America. Who let’s these dickheads out of the Victorian period, anyway? I found a list on Wikipedia once of the ten most influential battles in history from some book. One of them was Valmy, so I was all tickled until I scrolled down and saw the list had Thermopylae because the Spartans saved Ancient Greece, cradle of freedom and truth and democracy and thinking and freedom and Monday Night Football and babies and puppies and baby puppies and blowjobs from the evil Persian Japanazi athiest rock and roll feminists. Then I saw the book was from like 1850 and by an English guy. I think there was even something about some battle from the Thirty Years War saving Western goodness from Papist fanaticism.
That was kind of a long rant. I really like that anecdote though.
Reasons why I am not a lot better at Russian than I was at the end of Language School, here being posted so I don’t have to explain them to everyone when I come back: I surf the internet a lot here (this is also why I have no money), in English. When I’m not doing that, I’m reading or writing in English and often listen to music in English. I think all these things are reccomended against in the Middlebury orientation literature. But I could’ve figured out by myself that these things were bad. I don’t spend much time on our homework (which is not that involving to begin with). Basically I make very little effort to actually learn Russian. Please don’t be surprised when I am not hugely good. But I still speak more Russian than you.
Also, like I’ve been saying: “Thick as a Brick” is NOT THAT GOOD. I love Tull – Bryce helped me get back in a little bit (so did Songs from the Wood on its own, some), and I take back some of the dirty/snotty thoughts I’d been having recently. But “Thick as a Brick” is just about my least favorite Tull album. No, it really might be my least favorite. Though my copy has a cool Ian Anderson/Martine Barre/Jeffery Hammond interview. I love these, there’s one on my Aqualung too. Big long, like, fifteen minute interviews. Though this one mostly seems like it’s about A – how little time Anderson spent actually writing the music and B – how gross the studio and cafe they ate at while recording it were. Perhaps all these detailed descriptions of gross food and dank basements taints my enjoyment of the album . . .
Gross food! Reminds me of how I was gonna write about my food/stomach issues. Even if I wanted to stay here for a whole year, I think I would probably just die from gastro-intestinal problems. I’d just sit down one day and shit out all my organs. Which might actually be a relief. Let me simply say that the initial period of . . . disruption that travelers are warned to expect turned out to, in my case, not be very “initial”. I think I’ve had problems, ranging from simple discomfort to other more discomfortable problems, for at least as much raw time as I’ve not had them. Plenty of the food is decent to good. But I get these terrible soups. I don’t know if this is normal, I don’t eat a lot of soup, but I’m getting a seemingly-random grab-bag (I guess you don’t have to say random if you use the expression “grab-bag”) of stuff: potatoes, noodles, and what seems like more pieces of chicken skin rather than actual chicken in water. Hot. The big problem is the watery-ness. It’s so watery! Agh!
Another problem is richness. Maybe other people usually butter their sausage-and-cheese on bread. I never say someone butter something and then put cheese on it before, though. Sour cream on mayonnaise on eeeeverything (though I shouldn’t complain, I manage to dodge both). My host father tried to get me to butter cookies today at tea. Grease. So much grease. Finish your broth (again maybe that’s usual for other people, but it’s terribly gross for me). And quantity. They force a lot of food on you. A lot. Forcefully. You don’t understand, trust me. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s more. And if you forget to eat bread or something, woa boy. They practically holler, and always very accusitorily, “And why aren’t you eating any bread!?” I just remember Homer telling Bart to butter his bacon and bacon his sausage. It’s like that. Also the most hilarious event is as follows:
Eddie: eats hurridly, like a fugitive, trying to cram everything into his mouth before the Food Gestapo arrive.
Mother: walks by, scoots PLATE of SAUSAGE closer to EDDIE
Sister 1: walks by, scoots PLATE of CHEESE closer to EDDIE
Sister 2: walks by, scoots BOWL of SOUP closer to EDDIE
Sister 1: walks by, scoots PLATE of SAUSAGE closer to EDDIE
Mother: walks by, scoots PLATE of COOKIES closer to EDDIE
Mother: walks by, again, scoots BOWL of SOUP closer to EDDIE
Sister 2: walks by, scoots PLATE of SALAD* closer to EDDIE
Father: walks by, exclaims “AND WHY AREN’T YOU EATING ANY BREAD, MY BOY?! HERE, PUT SOME BUTTER IN THAT TEA!” initiates CONVERSATION about SKI LIFTS with EDDIE
Mother: “And now the CAT isn’t eating enough! The CAT! Why aren’t you eating?! I gave you two pieces of meat!” notices EDDIE, scoots PLATE of SOUP closer to him “Would you like some (more) sour cream with your soup?” EDDIE has laid down his BREAD to eat some SOUP “And why aren’t you eating any bread?!”
Eddie: dies, exeunt EDDIE
Table: FALLS OVER, as entire entire CONTENTS have been successively shifted to one eigth its total SURFACE ARE
Cat: is in heat
None of this is made up. Mom told me to butter my tea today. She yelled at the cat for not eating enough.
*Russian salad consists of a whoooole lot of mayonnaise.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
A Post I Probably Shouldn´t Post Due to Possible (Though Improbable) Legal Repercussions
Yesterday was tuesday for all of you who are currently out of contact with the world (that would be you Eddie), and after our grammar class, which runs from 7-9, several adventurers and myself decided to have some fun. We started off the night at our favorite tapas bar and ordered two jars of sangria. Remember that there were 4 of us, so we really had about a half jar of sangria each, which is not a whole lot, but enough to impair judgement to some extent--and more importantly, enough for us to decide that we wanted to get wasted--which we did, kind of.
After Tapas we went to another favorite bar called Habana Club, where they serve zombies, which if you don´t know, are the most alcoholic drink you can buy without just straight up asking for a bottle. We each had one and were well on our way to anebriation, when we happened to meet an interesting looking cuban with some interesting promises--that is to say he was drug dealer. Several of the more adventurous of our already adventurous group decided to talk to him and perhaps realize a transaction. He sat down and began to chat, first in english then in spanish as soon as he realized that we spoke the language. He joked and laughed and reminisced about Cuba and how much he liked Madrid: we got comfortable with his presence. Then we started talking about rent prices, did a red flag go off in any of our minds? nope, becasue we are/were idiot americans. Then he changed tactics, and began to sketch out the girls of our group with some whispering, exorbitant amounts of touching, and some promises, "oh don´t worry, i´ll just sleep on the couch." It was now or never, becasue at that point we wanted him to leave but also wanted to have fun so we entered into the buyout, payed him his money and he left supposedly to go get things.
Did he return? of course not, and we were taught a hard lesson of street. actually, we were just taught how big of idiot´s we all were for trusting someone like that and we all left sober and pissed off. However, irony strikes hardest when you least expect it, and on my walk home I smelled a certain aroma that only pounded home our lesson.
After Tapas we went to another favorite bar called Habana Club, where they serve zombies, which if you don´t know, are the most alcoholic drink you can buy without just straight up asking for a bottle. We each had one and were well on our way to anebriation, when we happened to meet an interesting looking cuban with some interesting promises--that is to say he was drug dealer. Several of the more adventurous of our already adventurous group decided to talk to him and perhaps realize a transaction. He sat down and began to chat, first in english then in spanish as soon as he realized that we spoke the language. He joked and laughed and reminisced about Cuba and how much he liked Madrid: we got comfortable with his presence. Then we started talking about rent prices, did a red flag go off in any of our minds? nope, becasue we are/were idiot americans. Then he changed tactics, and began to sketch out the girls of our group with some whispering, exorbitant amounts of touching, and some promises, "oh don´t worry, i´ll just sleep on the couch." It was now or never, becasue at that point we wanted him to leave but also wanted to have fun so we entered into the buyout, payed him his money and he left supposedly to go get things.
Did he return? of course not, and we were taught a hard lesson of street. actually, we were just taught how big of idiot´s we all were for trusting someone like that and we all left sober and pissed off. However, irony strikes hardest when you least expect it, and on my walk home I smelled a certain aroma that only pounded home our lesson.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
I ______ Russia (The Postening)
Well let’s start trying to get this out!
I don’t think I’ve posted for . . . two weeks? Or is it three? This is the second weekend after Petersburg, so that probably means at least three.
My flights to Petersburg were both good and bad. I don’t know if I flew on the only good jets Aeroflot has, but my Aeroflot experience was completely different from that of everyone else ever, apparently. The jets were nice – roomier than American ones, and they gave us lots more food. I’m a fan of the airline, except I got delayed four hours in Irkutsk, so I missed my connection in Moscow. Have you ever had to get rescheduled in a Russian airport, in Russian? I have. Well, it was more like getting rescheduled in Frantic/Exhausted Gesturing, but whatever. After I got all that stuff done (which involved getting at least six different people at different desks to stamp and/or sign my ticket – varying from a belegured looking woman behind a desk who dealt with, like, entire flight (I was at the back of THAT line) to a very official looking guy in a big office with a nice suit/uniform. i don’t think i was really supposed to see him either time, but he obligingly signed my ticket on both visits) I talked to Sara using this machine that you stick your daddy’s credit card in and then dial numbers. I was limited to “thirty” on that, but if that was minutes, rubles, dollars, euros, or sheckels I can’t say. Dad can! Then I drank a beer. Then I flew to Peter.
Seeing “St. Petersburg – Leningrad: Hero City” in huge letters on the side of the airport as we bused in from the tarmac was frankly, enormous. Chilling. I already began to feel what I’d known I would: the beast of history is thick in Peter, probably only that thick in four or five other cities on earth (we’re talking Cairo, Rome, that level). You can feel the press of ghosts around you. Thirty dead people behind each living today indeed. Sara met me in the airport, and it was as wonderful to suddenly go down some steps and see her waiting as I had expected it would be. Deleriously pleased to have arrived, with Sara on my arm (or really me on hers), I found my bag and we found a bus. Sara’s waiting was not so hot, I don’t think, since she got to get to know not one but two lecherous uzbeks. One complete with hilarious moral advice.
So we made our way to the hotel. Then we went to a bar and I started meeting her friends, who were cool. Some kids on the Midd program in Moscow were visiting and pissing everyone off about being super language-pledgy (I indulged in being annoyed with those pushy geeks – this WAS my speak-english week).
The week generally worked like this: Sara was at school during the day. I would meet her at her classes-place when she had some class trip (she has lots, probably the best part of the ACTR program) I could tag along on. When she didn’t she’d come to the hotel and we’d make plans to go out that night. I think we went to bars every night, sometimes with her friends, sometimes not. We at at lots of nice restraunts and generally played the extravagantly rich (which is were you ignore how much money you have – NOT were you have that much) couple about town. I mostly slept during the day, or read a little Gogol, or listened to Meat Loaf, or screwed around online.
I got my wallet stolened on the way to Petropavloskaya Krepoct on Wednesday (after Dom Knigi), so we didn’t go and instead called my parents to get my cards canceled. Then the week got really fun, since Sara bought me anything and everything I wanted (mostly beer and hamburgers). On Halloween we partied down with her friends at the ex-patriot bar. Absinthe may have been drunk.
By the time the weekend arrived, we realized we had done very few cultural activities, and were chagrined. So we crammed in as much as two lazy-ish people can in a weekend. We say the palace where they killed Rasputin (it actually has a name that doesn’t involve Rasputin! can you believe it?!). There wasn’t a cafe across the street, because across the street was a canal (I’m not sure anyone knows this, but Peter is full of them, imagine that!). We climbed up a big cathedral (though not Smolny, the tallest) to look out over the city. We say Petropavloskaya FINALLY, where every Tsar since Peter is buried (if that’s not right, they’re only missing a few in between Peter and Catherine, but I don’t think they are) – I guess all the Emperors and Empresses, really. We saw several famous monuments, including one to Suvorov (my new crush), Rimsky-Korsakov (with which I have a personal history), Peter I (I sat on its lap and made it wear my new Red Army point hat – how perverse!), and, of course, the Medni Vcatnik (Bronse Horseman). It was, true to legend, covered in shattered champagne glasses.
We also walked all over the place, mostly from Petropavloskaya to the Vcatnik and from Issakevsky (the cathedral) to my old dorm (that was a good two hours). So we saw lots of the city, much of it on the canal at night. It was frankly glorious. And of course all po Nevskemu. Really an amazing city. Really.
And then I had to leave, so that was frankly miserable. Sara and I just sort of rode morosely to the airport and parted ways, me laden with a ridiculous amount of junk I’d brought, her with all the stuff of hers that had accumulated in the hotel. Flights back were just as cushy and about a billion percent more on-time. Returning to class was miserable, and those first few days back were rough. I think my bad mood was because vacation was over and I was five timezones from Sara again, and because my classes are mostly dumb and obnoxious and, you know, not history. And because I had a doklad to prepare, which was unpleasant. Once that got done I was perked up some.
My main class I do not like is Praktika Rechi. That’s conversation practice (well, sort of), anyway, we’re always talking about really dumb psuedo-deep shit like “Who Needs Oridnary People?” and stereotypes and stuff. Also the teacher likes to tell me how much I suck and then still pretend we are somehow close. I’m actually starting to really like the film class more. Most of the last four or five films have been really good (am I really understanding them better? i doubt it, to be honest, but it seems that way). Vladmir Konstantinovich is nice, he just drones on so. But I think he’s been doing that less of late. Praktika Grammatiki (I bet you can figure that one out) is grinding and awful, but our teacher is kind of saucy and fun. Kind of. She’s an aquired taste. Our real course (our mainstream) is not very demanding. Once I week I sit there and try to pay attention (fortunately I fail within twenty minutes usually and can go to doodling). Most recently, I sat a lot closer (instead of the very back, where we sit because we are afraid of Russians and they all have class in that room all day so when we get there they’re all long deployed) and understood more. This could have been because I sat closer and could hear better, because it was about Peter Pervi, or because I succeeded (slightly more – in most contexts what I did would still have been “fail to listen”) in paying attention. Sonya always writes down lots of stuff. Bah! Baikalovideniya is probably my favorite, mostly becuase Pavel Alexandrovich is such a friendly, intelligent young man with an awesomely strange moustache. It’s hard to explain why I like him. He’s nice and he’s smart (probably, I don’t understand much). He laughs when I pantomime “elk” because I forgot the word (this is a long time ago, I do actually know it know: lyos’).
Most days we go to a little cafe at the bus/marshrukti stop nearby (Universitetsky) which we call Morsckoi Cafe because all the waitresses wear sailor uniforms, but I think it’s really called Brig Fortuna. The food there is good (I just get blini with sgoshonka – God, I hate transliteration) and very cheap. And they play positively awful music videos. They’re at least as bad as American ones, and some are like, actually pronographic. I mean, there are, like, girls covered in oil in bikinis rubbing against each other and moaning. There are sometimes people actually having sex on big plasma screens on the walls. One day they played “Thriller”, and it was fantastic. Now I want the album. Other times we go to the Tex Mex restraunt here. It is actually very good, and I can feel the addiction squeezing my brain in class most days. I have eaten roughly twenty chimmichangas in the last month. Really. Big beef ones. Hmmm. Usually waitresses at these places are huge bitches. And usually Vanya loses his tag from the coat check. Seriously. Like four out of five times. But we love him.
We went to a bar on Friday, and then the tex mex place afterwards! That stuff was fun. We drank beer and I ate pelmeni. Our waitress was nice. At tex mex afterwards our waitress redefined the above-mentioned standards of bitch-ness, however. But she brought me chimmichanga #18, so I didn’t beat her up. Taxi home. Next night movie with Leonya, Anya, and Lucy. Theatre was way comfy. Movie was “Golden Age”, about Elizabeth and the Spanish Armada. Hollywood history: good on epic, bad on historical accuracy! Philip II was channeling Darth Vader. Like, really. I sipped beer. Stella Artois = good. Leonya told me that we are going to see Stephen King’s “The Mist” when it comes out in like a week. Of course it will be in Russian. I am way excited.
Money is becoming an issue. Mom’s gonna have to wire me more (becuase I have no cards, re: the wallet theft). Also that guy got my social security card, though I’m not too worried about identiy theft. Plus it doesn’t look like it’s very important, so I’m not sure he’ll even expect he COULD try to do something with it. I have to buy cards all the time: cards for phone time, cards for internet time. My lifeblood. Can you have two lifebloods? What a dumb question.
I’ve been talking to Elisabeth about buying my ticket back. I think she’s got it by now, for mid-day on the 16th of December. I’ll fly there, spend a day or two with Sara (she’s flying back to America the same day as me, the 18th) and then fly home through Atlanta. My plan is english-culture fest, where I beg as much money from Mom and Dad as possible (my finances will by then be in utter tatters), go out (dead from jet-lag) and proceed to buy my body weight (greatly increased by my stay in Russia) in CDs and comic books. Then I’ll rent twenty movies, go home, and lie on the floor underneath all of this stuff. Then I’ll start watching movies and reading comic books, ordering and eating Brooklyn Pizza pizza as needed. When my strength is up, I’m heading to La Fondita. Home Friends who’ll be living up to their name will be invited, nay, begged, to take part.
But the real point of bringing this up is to say that whenever I’ve had to talk to Elisabeth about this ticket, I’ve been hit with a big wave of sadness. THAT’S perverse. What am I going to miss? Feeling like an idiot every time I open my mouth? Having tons of food, most of which, whether I like it or not, is murder on my digestive system – MURDER, forced on me at all times? The classes I just explained why I don’t like? The cold (okay, we all know I won’t lack for that at Midd)? The not being able to order from Amazon (this has been death, despite the fact that all the stuff I want to order I only have come in contact with through Leonya)? No comic books? No HISTORY books?!
I know I will miss Leonya and Anya a ton. A ton. They’re just great. But they’re just two people, and I’m returning to gastronomic and cultural comfort, dozens of close friends and relatives, and studying something that is not Russian (the reasons this is good are many: I do not look like an idiot when I’m studying history or philosphy, I like those subjects better, I’ve been studying Russian at insane levels for six months).
But I will be sad. I’m already sad! So I can only conclude that Sibera has in fact cast a spell on me, making me love it completely unrelated to all the reasons living her is hard. I believed that this could happen – smart people I respect told me it would. But I didn’t think it would happen to me, until about three days ago. I just have to stop talking about this write now. The asshole culture shock graphs told me it would go this way, but I’m not even sure I want to leave. Jesus.
I expect this coming semester to redifine awesome, frankly. I’m signing up for awesome classes, I’m pumped about seeing all my friends (and playing DotA . . . oooooh, computer games – my first and forever love). I’m really thinking I’ll look up a ton of awesome history books for myself. I’ll get to see Sara a few times while she’s back. I love college! Phew, talking about the good things I’m going back to is a little comforting. The strength of loving (God, what’s the right word for this?) Siberia is honestly frightening.
And, to be honest, once I start really worrying about these two ten-page papers I have to write (yes, of course in Russian), I expect (really?) to go back to miserable homesickness and depression. I wouldn’t describe the norm here as “miserable homesickness and depression”, but I’ve been melancholy for much of the semester. Except recently it seems like I’m chaging from “not so hot with little breaks of happiness” to “usually good with little spikes of depression”. Who knows? Too much psychoanalysis never works. I’m done.
I think Miss Jones said at some point that there aren’t words to desrcribe just how she feels about Russia. Ooooh, I feel that way.
I ______ Russia.
I don’t think I’ve posted for . . . two weeks? Or is it three? This is the second weekend after Petersburg, so that probably means at least three.
My flights to Petersburg were both good and bad. I don’t know if I flew on the only good jets Aeroflot has, but my Aeroflot experience was completely different from that of everyone else ever, apparently. The jets were nice – roomier than American ones, and they gave us lots more food. I’m a fan of the airline, except I got delayed four hours in Irkutsk, so I missed my connection in Moscow. Have you ever had to get rescheduled in a Russian airport, in Russian? I have. Well, it was more like getting rescheduled in Frantic/Exhausted Gesturing, but whatever. After I got all that stuff done (which involved getting at least six different people at different desks to stamp and/or sign my ticket – varying from a belegured looking woman behind a desk who dealt with, like, entire flight (I was at the back of THAT line) to a very official looking guy in a big office with a nice suit/uniform. i don’t think i was really supposed to see him either time, but he obligingly signed my ticket on both visits) I talked to Sara using this machine that you stick your daddy’s credit card in and then dial numbers. I was limited to “thirty” on that, but if that was minutes, rubles, dollars, euros, or sheckels I can’t say. Dad can! Then I drank a beer. Then I flew to Peter.
Seeing “St. Petersburg – Leningrad: Hero City” in huge letters on the side of the airport as we bused in from the tarmac was frankly, enormous. Chilling. I already began to feel what I’d known I would: the beast of history is thick in Peter, probably only that thick in four or five other cities on earth (we’re talking Cairo, Rome, that level). You can feel the press of ghosts around you. Thirty dead people behind each living today indeed. Sara met me in the airport, and it was as wonderful to suddenly go down some steps and see her waiting as I had expected it would be. Deleriously pleased to have arrived, with Sara on my arm (or really me on hers), I found my bag and we found a bus. Sara’s waiting was not so hot, I don’t think, since she got to get to know not one but two lecherous uzbeks. One complete with hilarious moral advice.
So we made our way to the hotel. Then we went to a bar and I started meeting her friends, who were cool. Some kids on the Midd program in Moscow were visiting and pissing everyone off about being super language-pledgy (I indulged in being annoyed with those pushy geeks – this WAS my speak-english week).
The week generally worked like this: Sara was at school during the day. I would meet her at her classes-place when she had some class trip (she has lots, probably the best part of the ACTR program) I could tag along on. When she didn’t she’d come to the hotel and we’d make plans to go out that night. I think we went to bars every night, sometimes with her friends, sometimes not. We at at lots of nice restraunts and generally played the extravagantly rich (which is were you ignore how much money you have – NOT were you have that much) couple about town. I mostly slept during the day, or read a little Gogol, or listened to Meat Loaf, or screwed around online.
I got my wallet stolened on the way to Petropavloskaya Krepoct on Wednesday (after Dom Knigi), so we didn’t go and instead called my parents to get my cards canceled. Then the week got really fun, since Sara bought me anything and everything I wanted (mostly beer and hamburgers). On Halloween we partied down with her friends at the ex-patriot bar. Absinthe may have been drunk.
By the time the weekend arrived, we realized we had done very few cultural activities, and were chagrined. So we crammed in as much as two lazy-ish people can in a weekend. We say the palace where they killed Rasputin (it actually has a name that doesn’t involve Rasputin! can you believe it?!). There wasn’t a cafe across the street, because across the street was a canal (I’m not sure anyone knows this, but Peter is full of them, imagine that!). We climbed up a big cathedral (though not Smolny, the tallest) to look out over the city. We say Petropavloskaya FINALLY, where every Tsar since Peter is buried (if that’s not right, they’re only missing a few in between Peter and Catherine, but I don’t think they are) – I guess all the Emperors and Empresses, really. We saw several famous monuments, including one to Suvorov (my new crush), Rimsky-Korsakov (with which I have a personal history), Peter I (I sat on its lap and made it wear my new Red Army point hat – how perverse!), and, of course, the Medni Vcatnik (Bronse Horseman). It was, true to legend, covered in shattered champagne glasses.
We also walked all over the place, mostly from Petropavloskaya to the Vcatnik and from Issakevsky (the cathedral) to my old dorm (that was a good two hours). So we saw lots of the city, much of it on the canal at night. It was frankly glorious. And of course all po Nevskemu. Really an amazing city. Really.
And then I had to leave, so that was frankly miserable. Sara and I just sort of rode morosely to the airport and parted ways, me laden with a ridiculous amount of junk I’d brought, her with all the stuff of hers that had accumulated in the hotel. Flights back were just as cushy and about a billion percent more on-time. Returning to class was miserable, and those first few days back were rough. I think my bad mood was because vacation was over and I was five timezones from Sara again, and because my classes are mostly dumb and obnoxious and, you know, not history. And because I had a doklad to prepare, which was unpleasant. Once that got done I was perked up some.
My main class I do not like is Praktika Rechi. That’s conversation practice (well, sort of), anyway, we’re always talking about really dumb psuedo-deep shit like “Who Needs Oridnary People?” and stereotypes and stuff. Also the teacher likes to tell me how much I suck and then still pretend we are somehow close. I’m actually starting to really like the film class more. Most of the last four or five films have been really good (am I really understanding them better? i doubt it, to be honest, but it seems that way). Vladmir Konstantinovich is nice, he just drones on so. But I think he’s been doing that less of late. Praktika Grammatiki (I bet you can figure that one out) is grinding and awful, but our teacher is kind of saucy and fun. Kind of. She’s an aquired taste. Our real course (our mainstream) is not very demanding. Once I week I sit there and try to pay attention (fortunately I fail within twenty minutes usually and can go to doodling). Most recently, I sat a lot closer (instead of the very back, where we sit because we are afraid of Russians and they all have class in that room all day so when we get there they’re all long deployed) and understood more. This could have been because I sat closer and could hear better, because it was about Peter Pervi, or because I succeeded (slightly more – in most contexts what I did would still have been “fail to listen”) in paying attention. Sonya always writes down lots of stuff. Bah! Baikalovideniya is probably my favorite, mostly becuase Pavel Alexandrovich is such a friendly, intelligent young man with an awesomely strange moustache. It’s hard to explain why I like him. He’s nice and he’s smart (probably, I don’t understand much). He laughs when I pantomime “elk” because I forgot the word (this is a long time ago, I do actually know it know: lyos’).
Most days we go to a little cafe at the bus/marshrukti stop nearby (Universitetsky) which we call Morsckoi Cafe because all the waitresses wear sailor uniforms, but I think it’s really called Brig Fortuna. The food there is good (I just get blini with sgoshonka – God, I hate transliteration) and very cheap. And they play positively awful music videos. They’re at least as bad as American ones, and some are like, actually pronographic. I mean, there are, like, girls covered in oil in bikinis rubbing against each other and moaning. There are sometimes people actually having sex on big plasma screens on the walls. One day they played “Thriller”, and it was fantastic. Now I want the album. Other times we go to the Tex Mex restraunt here. It is actually very good, and I can feel the addiction squeezing my brain in class most days. I have eaten roughly twenty chimmichangas in the last month. Really. Big beef ones. Hmmm. Usually waitresses at these places are huge bitches. And usually Vanya loses his tag from the coat check. Seriously. Like four out of five times. But we love him.
We went to a bar on Friday, and then the tex mex place afterwards! That stuff was fun. We drank beer and I ate pelmeni. Our waitress was nice. At tex mex afterwards our waitress redefined the above-mentioned standards of bitch-ness, however. But she brought me chimmichanga #18, so I didn’t beat her up. Taxi home. Next night movie with Leonya, Anya, and Lucy. Theatre was way comfy. Movie was “Golden Age”, about Elizabeth and the Spanish Armada. Hollywood history: good on epic, bad on historical accuracy! Philip II was channeling Darth Vader. Like, really. I sipped beer. Stella Artois = good. Leonya told me that we are going to see Stephen King’s “The Mist” when it comes out in like a week. Of course it will be in Russian. I am way excited.
Money is becoming an issue. Mom’s gonna have to wire me more (becuase I have no cards, re: the wallet theft). Also that guy got my social security card, though I’m not too worried about identiy theft. Plus it doesn’t look like it’s very important, so I’m not sure he’ll even expect he COULD try to do something with it. I have to buy cards all the time: cards for phone time, cards for internet time. My lifeblood. Can you have two lifebloods? What a dumb question.
I’ve been talking to Elisabeth about buying my ticket back. I think she’s got it by now, for mid-day on the 16th of December. I’ll fly there, spend a day or two with Sara (she’s flying back to America the same day as me, the 18th) and then fly home through Atlanta. My plan is english-culture fest, where I beg as much money from Mom and Dad as possible (my finances will by then be in utter tatters), go out (dead from jet-lag) and proceed to buy my body weight (greatly increased by my stay in Russia) in CDs and comic books. Then I’ll rent twenty movies, go home, and lie on the floor underneath all of this stuff. Then I’ll start watching movies and reading comic books, ordering and eating Brooklyn Pizza pizza as needed. When my strength is up, I’m heading to La Fondita. Home Friends who’ll be living up to their name will be invited, nay, begged, to take part.
But the real point of bringing this up is to say that whenever I’ve had to talk to Elisabeth about this ticket, I’ve been hit with a big wave of sadness. THAT’S perverse. What am I going to miss? Feeling like an idiot every time I open my mouth? Having tons of food, most of which, whether I like it or not, is murder on my digestive system – MURDER, forced on me at all times? The classes I just explained why I don’t like? The cold (okay, we all know I won’t lack for that at Midd)? The not being able to order from Amazon (this has been death, despite the fact that all the stuff I want to order I only have come in contact with through Leonya)? No comic books? No HISTORY books?!
I know I will miss Leonya and Anya a ton. A ton. They’re just great. But they’re just two people, and I’m returning to gastronomic and cultural comfort, dozens of close friends and relatives, and studying something that is not Russian (the reasons this is good are many: I do not look like an idiot when I’m studying history or philosphy, I like those subjects better, I’ve been studying Russian at insane levels for six months).
But I will be sad. I’m already sad! So I can only conclude that Sibera has in fact cast a spell on me, making me love it completely unrelated to all the reasons living her is hard. I believed that this could happen – smart people I respect told me it would. But I didn’t think it would happen to me, until about three days ago. I just have to stop talking about this write now. The asshole culture shock graphs told me it would go this way, but I’m not even sure I want to leave. Jesus.
I expect this coming semester to redifine awesome, frankly. I’m signing up for awesome classes, I’m pumped about seeing all my friends (and playing DotA . . . oooooh, computer games – my first and forever love). I’m really thinking I’ll look up a ton of awesome history books for myself. I’ll get to see Sara a few times while she’s back. I love college! Phew, talking about the good things I’m going back to is a little comforting. The strength of loving (God, what’s the right word for this?) Siberia is honestly frightening.
And, to be honest, once I start really worrying about these two ten-page papers I have to write (yes, of course in Russian), I expect (really?) to go back to miserable homesickness and depression. I wouldn’t describe the norm here as “miserable homesickness and depression”, but I’ve been melancholy for much of the semester. Except recently it seems like I’m chaging from “not so hot with little breaks of happiness” to “usually good with little spikes of depression”. Who knows? Too much psychoanalysis never works. I’m done.
I think Miss Jones said at some point that there aren’t words to desrcribe just how she feels about Russia. Ooooh, I feel that way.
I ______ Russia.
Schedules.
I love making them, as you all know.
I'll make them for you, because one's not enough.
Let me know if you're interested.
--gs
I'll make them for you, because one's not enough.
Let me know if you're interested.
--gs
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Oh my God, the preciousness
So there is a child in the courtyard outside my window singing "We wish you a merry christmas" along with his radio. It is the most adorable thing I have ever seen in my life. I want to bottle that sound and carry it around with me for when I'm sad.
In other news on the adorable singing children front, on Monday I took a group of five primary kids to play a game during class, and as I left I heard the teacher promising the rest of the class that they would get to do something fun to. When I come back with my kids at the end of the class, the (hilariously sprightly) teacher bounds across the room and goes "look what I taught them!" She turns on a CD player and all the little children start singing along with Yellow Submarine. It was amazing.
In other news on the adorable singing children front, on Monday I took a group of five primary kids to play a game during class, and as I left I heard the teacher promising the rest of the class that they would get to do something fun to. When I come back with my kids at the end of the class, the (hilariously sprightly) teacher bounds across the room and goes "look what I taught them!" She turns on a CD player and all the little children start singing along with Yellow Submarine. It was amazing.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
because
hi, so i´m at work right now doing a covert blog entry becasue i´m a.)bored, and b.) becasue i want the adventure and have increasingly come to regret my lack of getting into trouble. not that i would get into trouble if they even did know i was writing a blog, i´m supposed to work three days per week, but i don´t think ive done so yet and were half way through the experience. so what´s new with me.
having finally had enough of my spanish roommate and incredulous dueña, i have decided to move out and into a dorm style residencia. it has internet, a good kichen, a large sofa, and french girls all of which were lacking at my previous apartment. i am however, scared about breaking the lease/rent but luckily i dont pay until the middle of the month.
homework has finally...well i wont say increased becasue that would imply prior existence, homework has come home. ususally i do my grammar HW in another class but yesterday i forgot my grammar book so instead made a menu of all the dishes i know how to cook. Actually, i looked at it when i was done, and i could probably open a bad restaurant, you know, those restaurants that are pretentious and snooty but the food isnt actually that good, they just have sulfites in the wine to make you hallucinate and want more.
Wow i have been typing on one of those ancient keyboards, the really loud ones, and no one has looked over or asked what im doing. I guess if you look busy and intense about what youre doing no one will question you...that´s a good life lesson, you should write that down--movie, anyone? Van Wylder.
Ok thats about it, ill probably update on the situation when i move in. i think my new roommate is going to be australian, which is sweet. later, boss.
having finally had enough of my spanish roommate and incredulous dueña, i have decided to move out and into a dorm style residencia. it has internet, a good kichen, a large sofa, and french girls all of which were lacking at my previous apartment. i am however, scared about breaking the lease/rent but luckily i dont pay until the middle of the month.
homework has finally...well i wont say increased becasue that would imply prior existence, homework has come home. ususally i do my grammar HW in another class but yesterday i forgot my grammar book so instead made a menu of all the dishes i know how to cook. Actually, i looked at it when i was done, and i could probably open a bad restaurant, you know, those restaurants that are pretentious and snooty but the food isnt actually that good, they just have sulfites in the wine to make you hallucinate and want more.
Wow i have been typing on one of those ancient keyboards, the really loud ones, and no one has looked over or asked what im doing. I guess if you look busy and intense about what youre doing no one will question you...that´s a good life lesson, you should write that down--movie, anyone? Van Wylder.
Ok thats about it, ill probably update on the situation when i move in. i think my new roommate is going to be australian, which is sweet. later, boss.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Quickly.
Sorry for the last (un)post. It was a drunken mistake of mine, made when I wrote an incomprehensible entry (a) detailing how much you all need to come back, soon, and (b) declaring that I'm withholding an endorsement of any Pres. candidate, b/c I'm still stuck b/w Clinton and Biden. Both these things are true, but--
--it was a dumb post that I only understood when I reread it b/c I had written it. Also, since apparently this blog is on Greenwich Mean Time, I write a drunken article and it says "posted at 9:05 AM." And that is not a good idea for anyone, except maybe Lucille Bluth.
But, besides that, and this applies to Miles and Frazar BECAUSE THEY WATCH THE WEST WING, I found my Bartlet, and I'm making them SGA President next year, if they submit to running.
ciaoooooooooooo
--gs
--it was a dumb post that I only understood when I reread it b/c I had written it. Also, since apparently this blog is on Greenwich Mean Time, I write a drunken article and it says "posted at 9:05 AM." And that is not a good idea for anyone, except maybe Lucille Bluth.
But, besides that, and this applies to Miles and Frazar BECAUSE THEY WATCH THE WEST WING, I found my Bartlet, and I'm making them SGA President next year, if they submit to running.
ciaoooooooooooo
--gs
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Friday, November 2, 2007
Witches are purple?
Fraz here. I realize that it´s been a while since my last update, so I thought I´d add a little bit, if only so that my most recent post isn´t full of whining about my tummy hurting. Though I´m still reeling that they don´t have pepto bismol here.
Classes at Carlos III are...how can I put this delicately? Bad. They probably form the worst part of my experience here. It´s an annoying ass commute to get to them, and lectures seem to just be in exercise in learning the obvious and not having work. While this is, in some ways, kind of the answer to my prayers, it just makes going to class all the more annoying, since it seems so pointless once I get there. I also just kind of feel like a listless bum in general, and at the same time, have an intense fear that I´m going to fall into that "easy class" trap, where you so blow off an easy class that you still manage to fall below standards.
But I´m not that worried. And I don´t mind it that much, since I´m doing a great practica, which feels more like my main academic pursuit here. I´m an assistant in the english department of a local school, teaching kids ranging from 8-17. It´s really awesome, because I have so many different roles to play depending on which class I´m with. When I´m with the youngest kids, I speak mostly spanish, and we really just go over vocabulary and do "cultural activities," which means that I got to spend all of last week doing Halloween activities from elementary school, like drawing pumpkins and making masks, and that kind of thing is good for the soul. I also work with the older kids, who speak great english, and I just kind of act like one of our language TA´s with them, holding conversations about whatever so they can practice their english. This was kind of terrible the first couple of days, though, because I didn´t know I was going to start so soon, so I first had to do it with no conversation topics, so had nothing to fall back on when there was an awkward silence, and then with a list of conversation topics that the teacher gave me, except that they were made for adults learning english in Canada, so they were all about southeast asia and raising children (Have you ever worked on a farm? How do you feel about teenagers today?).
My most academically rewarding students, however, are the ones who are like 14, because I get to do focused work with the remedials, and it´s awesome. I have to talk with them in spanish, because they´re really behind in their english, and so we go over english grammar in spanish, which is 1) pretty trippy, in and of itself, 2) making me realize how impossible to explain some of our grammar and phonics are, and 3) really teaching me a lot about how to teach english to non native speakers, which is incredibly interesting, and makes me really wanna do teach for america even more.
The other fun part about my practica is recess, when all the teachers go to the cafe, and I get to shoot the shit with them. No real stories to relate here, but it´s just a fun opportunity to speak with some natives, all of whom are very nice, and very complimentary of my spanish, which provides a much needed ego boost on certain days. My favorite teacher so far is the primary english teacher, who is also the religion and art and science teacher, and whose english, as you might suspect, is hilariously bad. Imagine your spanish teacher from second grade. She´s a blast, though, and we have a good time.
Hmmm...on the social front, not a whole lot to report that Mile´s hasn´t. We have a good time, but nothing too exciting to relate. My family had another big dinner the other day, and it was a blast. I sat next to the funny uncle (funny as in he´s a blast, not as in the creepy one) and I was pretty much cracking up the whole time. Coincidentally, there was some procession going on that day in the church we live across from, where all these peruvians come out and parade their little Mary idol or whatever. Anyways, we were watching it from the balcony, and everyone was pretty much adopting their mildly condescending "oh, how cute" attitude, except the funny uncle, who was sufficiently drunk enough to start making fun of catholicism and the procession march, which sounded suspiciously like the Godfather theme, my screaming "Vito Corleone!" over and over again. Then he started talking about immigrants. Which reminds me, earlier at dinner they were all joking that they needed to act more civilized in front of me, or I´ll "think we act like Africans!" I love it.
I´m also thinking of coming back next semester, but, despite a brief moment of clarity last week, I´m still very much on the fence about it. I love the city here so much, and I´d love to have another semester to get to know it, and the cultural expereince is great. What it kind of comes down to is whether I can take another semester at Carlos III. I mean, I can mentally justify one semester of laziness for a cultural experience, but a whole year is harder, which is why I´m also considering transfering to the sede next semester. And, of course, I miss all of ya´ll, but, honestly, I´m so pigheaded about not letting that influence my decision that it´s probably doing more to make me stay here than to come home. At the same time, I´m really realizing that my time left at Middlebury is finite, and if I miss a semester I can never have it back. And I miss my sunday schoolers. Meh, I dunno, I´m very conflicted. I´m talking with the academic advisor here on monday; I´m guessing this is a fairly common phenomenon and I´m hoping she can help me out.
Classes at Carlos III are...how can I put this delicately? Bad. They probably form the worst part of my experience here. It´s an annoying ass commute to get to them, and lectures seem to just be in exercise in learning the obvious and not having work. While this is, in some ways, kind of the answer to my prayers, it just makes going to class all the more annoying, since it seems so pointless once I get there. I also just kind of feel like a listless bum in general, and at the same time, have an intense fear that I´m going to fall into that "easy class" trap, where you so blow off an easy class that you still manage to fall below standards.
But I´m not that worried. And I don´t mind it that much, since I´m doing a great practica, which feels more like my main academic pursuit here. I´m an assistant in the english department of a local school, teaching kids ranging from 8-17. It´s really awesome, because I have so many different roles to play depending on which class I´m with. When I´m with the youngest kids, I speak mostly spanish, and we really just go over vocabulary and do "cultural activities," which means that I got to spend all of last week doing Halloween activities from elementary school, like drawing pumpkins and making masks, and that kind of thing is good for the soul. I also work with the older kids, who speak great english, and I just kind of act like one of our language TA´s with them, holding conversations about whatever so they can practice their english. This was kind of terrible the first couple of days, though, because I didn´t know I was going to start so soon, so I first had to do it with no conversation topics, so had nothing to fall back on when there was an awkward silence, and then with a list of conversation topics that the teacher gave me, except that they were made for adults learning english in Canada, so they were all about southeast asia and raising children (Have you ever worked on a farm? How do you feel about teenagers today?).
My most academically rewarding students, however, are the ones who are like 14, because I get to do focused work with the remedials, and it´s awesome. I have to talk with them in spanish, because they´re really behind in their english, and so we go over english grammar in spanish, which is 1) pretty trippy, in and of itself, 2) making me realize how impossible to explain some of our grammar and phonics are, and 3) really teaching me a lot about how to teach english to non native speakers, which is incredibly interesting, and makes me really wanna do teach for america even more.
The other fun part about my practica is recess, when all the teachers go to the cafe, and I get to shoot the shit with them. No real stories to relate here, but it´s just a fun opportunity to speak with some natives, all of whom are very nice, and very complimentary of my spanish, which provides a much needed ego boost on certain days. My favorite teacher so far is the primary english teacher, who is also the religion and art and science teacher, and whose english, as you might suspect, is hilariously bad. Imagine your spanish teacher from second grade. She´s a blast, though, and we have a good time.
Hmmm...on the social front, not a whole lot to report that Mile´s hasn´t. We have a good time, but nothing too exciting to relate. My family had another big dinner the other day, and it was a blast. I sat next to the funny uncle (funny as in he´s a blast, not as in the creepy one) and I was pretty much cracking up the whole time. Coincidentally, there was some procession going on that day in the church we live across from, where all these peruvians come out and parade their little Mary idol or whatever. Anyways, we were watching it from the balcony, and everyone was pretty much adopting their mildly condescending "oh, how cute" attitude, except the funny uncle, who was sufficiently drunk enough to start making fun of catholicism and the procession march, which sounded suspiciously like the Godfather theme, my screaming "Vito Corleone!" over and over again. Then he started talking about immigrants. Which reminds me, earlier at dinner they were all joking that they needed to act more civilized in front of me, or I´ll "think we act like Africans!" I love it.
I´m also thinking of coming back next semester, but, despite a brief moment of clarity last week, I´m still very much on the fence about it. I love the city here so much, and I´d love to have another semester to get to know it, and the cultural expereince is great. What it kind of comes down to is whether I can take another semester at Carlos III. I mean, I can mentally justify one semester of laziness for a cultural experience, but a whole year is harder, which is why I´m also considering transfering to the sede next semester. And, of course, I miss all of ya´ll, but, honestly, I´m so pigheaded about not letting that influence my decision that it´s probably doing more to make me stay here than to come home. At the same time, I´m really realizing that my time left at Middlebury is finite, and if I miss a semester I can never have it back. And I miss my sunday schoolers. Meh, I dunno, I´m very conflicted. I´m talking with the academic advisor here on monday; I´m guessing this is a fairly common phenomenon and I´m hoping she can help me out.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
My Midd Experience
I hope you guys are still enjoying what are now your closing months abroad. While I am aware of the plural insinuations that I'm doing naught but pulling teeth here, I must kindly chide all a' y'all; Middlebury is, in fact, neither boring nor exasperating, but stimulating in a salad of ways.
For example, Balanced Debate is getting off to a good start. After going through hell choosing its initial members, we've already got three faculty debates in the works. Katie Hylas (our Senator,) is working on getting a sociologist to debate a psychologist over the origins and nature of gender. The sociologists seem to be all over this, while the potential psychology professors so far approached have all seemed squemish to debate a sociologist. Dan Roberts, also a member of the committee, is planning a debate between an Art History and an English professor over perspectives on art. Specifically, "does context matter to a work?" Finally, Colette Van der Ven, whom we all know, is getting two, maybe three, Political Science professors to debate international development: helpful or hurtful? On one side we have our very own Nadia Horning!
Just so that I won't be accused of nepotism, only appointing the three people, all of whom I already knew, I must add that I've also appointed to strangers, who are not as active as my friends.
We're also planning student-only Soapbox Debates! Hopefully making them a biweekly thing, getting the Ross Fireplace Lounge at 7:00 PM, to get the out-of-dinner crowd. The first one is planned for Nov. 13, and the topic: "Should the U.S. be the world's moral policeman?" Specifically, universal human rights versus cultural relativism. Future topics would probably include current events that make people angry.
Finally, Dr. Mr. President Max Nardini and I are planning a "Great Debate" for J-Term or the Spring, bringing in outside speakers to a real, Lincoln-Douglas-style debate. We're meeting Tuesday to discuss topics and specific speakers.
The biggest mistake I made with this subcommittee was to have three of the five people be going abroad next semester. Therefore, I need new applicants. Eddie's expressed interest. And, while I love you all forever already, that feeling would be magnified if you all applied (when the time comes, of course.)
Secondly, Debatable deadlines are coming up, soon. Being an editor, I have something invested in this, and am politely requesting that, if you guys have time, you could submit something. Topics include, but are not limited to: Politics, Diversity, Academic Affairs, Pop Culture, Sports, etc. etc. Submissions should be limited to 850 words (3 - 3 1/2 pages,) or "blurbs," which are just two paragraphs.
I got two tests back, today, and on both, I received an 89.75 ?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!? OMG OMG OMG OMG WTF>!?!?!?!
They really couldn't spare a quarter-point, each?! I didn't even know we graded in quarter points in this country/world/dimension.
Anyways, I'll go to bed now; I wanted to write to kill time, let you guys know how I'm doing, hope you're all doing well and make a note of the fact that I am not morbidly bored.
Love you all. enjoi.
--gs
For example, Balanced Debate is getting off to a good start. After going through hell choosing its initial members, we've already got three faculty debates in the works. Katie Hylas (our Senator,) is working on getting a sociologist to debate a psychologist over the origins and nature of gender. The sociologists seem to be all over this, while the potential psychology professors so far approached have all seemed squemish to debate a sociologist. Dan Roberts, also a member of the committee, is planning a debate between an Art History and an English professor over perspectives on art. Specifically, "does context matter to a work?" Finally, Colette Van der Ven, whom we all know, is getting two, maybe three, Political Science professors to debate international development: helpful or hurtful? On one side we have our very own Nadia Horning!
Just so that I won't be accused of nepotism, only appointing the three people, all of whom I already knew, I must add that I've also appointed to strangers, who are not as active as my friends.
We're also planning student-only Soapbox Debates! Hopefully making them a biweekly thing, getting the Ross Fireplace Lounge at 7:00 PM, to get the out-of-dinner crowd. The first one is planned for Nov. 13, and the topic: "Should the U.S. be the world's moral policeman?" Specifically, universal human rights versus cultural relativism. Future topics would probably include current events that make people angry.
Finally, Dr. Mr. President Max Nardini and I are planning a "Great Debate" for J-Term or the Spring, bringing in outside speakers to a real, Lincoln-Douglas-style debate. We're meeting Tuesday to discuss topics and specific speakers.
The biggest mistake I made with this subcommittee was to have three of the five people be going abroad next semester. Therefore, I need new applicants. Eddie's expressed interest. And, while I love you all forever already, that feeling would be magnified if you all applied (when the time comes, of course.)
Secondly, Debatable deadlines are coming up, soon. Being an editor, I have something invested in this, and am politely requesting that, if you guys have time, you could submit something. Topics include, but are not limited to: Politics, Diversity, Academic Affairs, Pop Culture, Sports, etc. etc. Submissions should be limited to 850 words (3 - 3 1/2 pages,) or "blurbs," which are just two paragraphs.
I got two tests back, today, and on both, I received an 89.75 ?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!? OMG OMG OMG OMG WTF>!?!?!?!
They really couldn't spare a quarter-point, each?! I didn't even know we graded in quarter points in this country/world/dimension.
Anyways, I'll go to bed now; I wanted to write to kill time, let you guys know how I'm doing, hope you're all doing well and make a note of the fact that I am not morbidly bored.
Love you all. enjoi.
--gs
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