I'm a model now

Yesterday afternoon my evening of teaching started out with a photo shoot. Not bad, but I don't think the students appreciated it very much. Since I wasn't actually too sure what would be happening myself, I didn't quite prep them well enough. I felt especially sorry for the one girl in that group. What type of promotional material is successful with only men? That's right, bring on the babes to advertise for an English language school. About twenty minutes was spent with me pretending to talk English. They even wanted me to draw an apple on the board and write some big words. My words of choice were Xanthippe, devolution, and schwanck. The photographer was shooting digital, so I should be able to steal a copy and share a few choice poses. One thing the people at the office wanted was for everybody to hold the books we use in a prominent position. The students did, but I figured since I was wearing a Dr. Seuss tie, why not hold a Dr. Seuss book? As a result, the next several years worth of promotional material from the K-ELC will proudly display The Cat in the Hat Comes Back.

I finally found out how long of a break I've got, and it is rather nice. After I finish on the 28th of December, I don't need to teach again until January 17. I'm really looking forward to this break. Recently I've had a bit of trouble hyping myself up to teach. Perhaps a few weeks worth of reading, studying, and doing other non school related activities will be what the doctor ordered.

It seems to me that I've complained about my slow dial-up speeds before. However, I found out that there are two categories of phone numbers in Kaliningrad. Mine is a member of the slow, non-modem friendly category. And here I thought that the multi-spliced line snaking its way throughout my house and into my flat was to blame. The sub-33.6 speeds don't bother me as much as the repeated redial attempts required to get a connection sometimes. For example, the other evening (or middle of the night, to be more accurate), I chatted with the little lady. Two bucks for an almost two hour call is magnificent. Forty-five minutes waiting to get a connection is not. To be fair, that is the longest I've ever spent, but still.

The person who invented wrinkle free shirts should win a Nobel prize for something or another. Last weekend I washed all of my dress shirts. I got the strange idea to try drying them inside my flat as opposed to on the balcony as is my custom. To my surprise when I woke up the next morning, they were all dry. What usually takes three or four days took just a few hours. So I dumped the shirts on the ironing board and decided I would iron them later Sunday evening. They're all still lying on the board save the two wrinkle free ones which I've been wearing this week.

PhotoSite, the company I use for hosting my pictures, sent out an e-card for the holiday season to all their customers. For some odd reason I found it interesting to see the people responsible for providing that service to me. Hopefully I'm wrong, but from their pictures, I don't get the feeling that I'll be seeing a Mac version of their software anytime soon. With one exception, their customer support has been excellent, so I may be wrong about that. Time will tell.

On a techie related note, I just finished downloading and installing 10.3.7 (the latest update to Panther, Apple's current OS). If my memory serves me correctly, 10.2.7 was the last update to the Jaguar line prior to Panther's pounce on the market. If history is any indicator, Tiger will be available before long. Back when I was running Jaguar, I was quite happy with it and not terribly interested in Panther. One of my last projects at BOSS Staffing before I finished my internship there last summer had me using a utility that only ran under 10.2. I was surprised at how awkward it felt. Currently, I don't plan on upgrading myself until after I return to the States at the end of August. No, I won't be on the bleeding edge, but if something goes wrong over here, I don't have access to facilities to fix myself as I would if I were home. So I'll be happily living in the past soon.

My parents sent me a Christmas care package. It has been stuck in Moscow since November 29. One of the things in it was a few holiday music CDs. If it doesn't arrive soon, I don't suppose I'll get to enjoy that aspect very much. Who made the rule that Christmas music is only for Christmas time? Most of the artists that put out CDs work on them during un-Christmas months, such as May or July.

Last Saturday morning I arrived early at the church. Too early - nobody was there. Soon a few people drifted in and the choir rehearsal began. Why not? I helped (or, more accurately, hurt) the tenor section. When the music goes fast them foreign words look pretty foreign. Especially when they are down at the bottom of the page in a little paragraph and the notes are a ways a way. Sing the vowels. And when you are lost, repeatedly mouth the words "peas and carrots" or "watermelon" as you smile and look at the conductor. The most annoying thing for me was that nobody had ending consonants. Maybe over here in Russia you aren't supposed to spit your consonants all over the person's neck in front of you, but that is my favorite part. If there were more hours in the day, I wish that I could be in a good choir. Looking back, and even at the time, I enjoyed my singing experiences during high school. Unlike most of my trumpet endeavors, with my voice I know that if I practice something it will go well. Possibly not perfect, but definitely within the boundaries of good.

The pillow I've got on my bed now is very soft indeed. It is down. Now that is good in the softness department. However, because the pillow isn't exactly classifiable as new, it has a few holes. That means that the little itty bitty feathers squeeze themselves out. And stab me. A few times this week I've woken up in the middle of the night with something quite uncomfortable poking my neck. After the few second 'where am I, what is this pain' wears off, I try to grab the offending feather and throw it on the floor. Why do I share this small nocturnal secret? My floor now has more than a few feathers on it, so that means I need to clean it. Oh joy! Another scrub session...

1st Day of Christmas

I always had problems with counting. The lovely morning routine in third grade of writing my multiplication tables from 1 to 12 (or only until 9, if we were lucky) should have helped me, but sadly didn't. Is this the first day of Christmas? Even if it isn't, I wish your partridge/cartridge in a pear/bare tree the best. This morning I was perusing the blog of a young friend (when I should have been studying Russian) when I stumbled across an entry that slapped a little bit of sense into me. In it, she expressed her unbridled glee over the coming holiday season. I must say that, irrespective of where I've lived, it has been awhile since December held that special something for me. I must be turning into a crotchety old codger.

Yesterday was Constitution Day, or some other rubbish holiday over here. It seems to be an excuse not to work. This evening at lessons, three people came to the first, two people to the second, and one to the third. I suppose that I get paid either way, but if I have a choice between students and no students, I think I prefer the former.

On Sunday, I recorded an English textbook for a lady. I went to the office, thinking that it would be somewhat quieter than my apartment, as the people upstairs have been doing construction for about three weeks. Even at the office, there was some noise. Recording an entire book is more work than I thought it would be. Now I need to go back through and cut out my extraneous burps, mispronounced words, and other artifacts. It wasn't entirely a boring day as I learned how to make a trunk call and send a telegram - the material is a little dated.

Saturday the pedestal I'd placed Russian bus drivers on was brought down to earth. For as fast and crazily as they drive, I have been amazed at the lack of accidents I've witnessed or been involved in. I was standing across from the exit door when I heard a nice crunching sound on the other side of the door. We kept moving, but the driver stopped when the owner of the car hopped out and yelled, "Come back here, you *$#@!" It was a two lane road and the double long bus decided to pass some people who were not moving fast enough. It was fine, but as he was coming back over into the lane sideswiped a car a little. Created rather nice traffic, but, since I had to walk, I now know that area of Kaliningrad much better than before.

Since mid-November I've been taking Russian lessons with the Privet! school that my father dug up when we were looking for info about Kaliningrad. I've been rather happy, and the prices are quite reasonable. Though on my salary - it comes out to about 85% of my monthly stipend - it is pricey. Last week my two Russian lessons were quite different. I discovered the trick near the end of November to get my money's worth. One thing that I like when teaching is for students to have questions and just show an interest in what we are doing. By prepping a few questions for my teacher, our hour and a half session has run to over two hours a few times. Such was last Tuesday's lesson. Friday was a different story altogether. I arrived late and for most of the whole time I was quite lost to say the least. I could see a little bit of light shining at the end of the tunnel from which my teacher was speaking, but as soon as I thought I knew what was happening, the candle went out. Time seems to drag forever when you are clueless and don't really know where to ask for clarification.

There is one small thing I've failed to mention here before. In the ELC Operation and Policy Manual there is a small 'Outside Work' clause I have chosen to overlook. It basically says that failure to comply may result in instant dismissal. Ahh, instant coffee, instant pudding, instant oatmeal, instant dismissal. For a little over a month I've been giving private English lessons. It provides an additional 25% monthly income (this is really quite necessary in light of the last paragraph) and studying one on one makes me need to be a little more on top of my stuff. So the benefit seems very real to the school. As a result I'm not too concerned about any instant anything.

Tuesday, December 7, I cancelled my last two lessons and attended a concert. I didn't want to cancel class, but Galya, the lady who helped me secure a practice spot, really wanted me to go to the concert. It was an experience on many levels. First, I had attached the wrong meaning to one of the words. Instead of WIND orchestra, I was expecting YOUTH orchestra. As a result, the quality was much better than I had braced myself for. The concert was more of a celebration for the 75th birthday of the conductor than anything. Last CUC Alumni weekend's concert and several NEYE events I've been a part of allowed me to empathize with the poor musicians - began at 7 and finished at 10:15 with only a ten minute intermission. There were six different vocalists and some of them sang as many as five different songs. At least four instrumental soloists. The choir from the music college. A huge gala event. There was even a gypsy group. In between one of the pieces, a group of maybe eight costumed people waltzed down the right aisle and onto the stage singing an authentic sounding song. The last person in the group was carrying a tray with a birthday shot. After the birthday boy had danced with three of the other people, he was served his present. Where else in the world can you find vodka consumption by the conductor a scripted part of the concert? As things were winding down, what appeared to be two different field type bands circled the audience and joined the wind ensemble on a song. I was rather impressed to see one trumpet dude playing on a cornet with an 'A' loop built in. All he has to do to modulate is twist a little nob and open up more leadpipe. I thought those things died out about 75 years ago. When the announcer lady began announcing the next encore, the slick stage manager equipped with an always-on headset (bad idea) said, "No! Concert is over. Mass transit stops working soon." A fitting conclusion to the show.

A week ago Sunday, I visited the Curonian Spit with the other students of the Privet! school. Two times out of the city in under a month. The Spit is similar to the Outer Banks of North Carolina - one side is the ocean and the other is not. At its narrowest, it is only 400 meters wide, while at the widest it is 4 kilometers. The whole thing is a National Park and there is a border midway. We stayed on the Russian side which is much less commercialized than the Lithuanian half. I went shutter crazy with the camera, but just last night flipped through the pictures on the computer for the first time. As a result, it will be at least another week before they are served up for your pleasure. I saw the ocean! That was cool. My companions for the trip were Ilya and his father Yuri (I think) - the people who run the school, and the other two students. I don't remember either of their names. The man was from Germany and the woman was from Switzerland. We did quite a bit of driving, and I found it interesting that the conversation was held mostly in English. At times the other two students found it easier to speak in German to clarify something, but since we're all supposed to be learning Russian, it seemed strange to me. I think my favorite part of the excursion was one of the dunes. It is the second highest dune in Europe. Coupled with the bitter wind and lack of people, it made for quite an impressive barren stretch of land from the top. I think I'd like to go back sometime when there is opportunity to take more time. Lodging at the main inn is only about $20 including dinner and breakfast. But, I don't have a special pass to wave at the entrance of the park, so that would probably tack another $30.

When I got back from the Spit, I headed to the friendly barbershop and asked the girl to take it off. Take it all off. As she began unbuttoning her shirt the thought entered my head that what she had in mind might cost more than I could afford, so I clarified that I was referring to my hair. Perhaps I should have let her continue what she started, as the haircut was not one of the better ones I've had. Coupled with the funky goatee I'm sporting now I bear a striking resemblance to a Cossack. One of the students even told me I looked like Taras Bulba, a Ukrainian folk-hero. Taras was also my name when I took Russian language lessons at the University of Maryland. I think the goatee will only last another week because it is getting on my nerves. I've been bearded for nearly a month and a half and now I need a change.

It hasn't snowed for several weeks here, but I haven't given up hope yet. I think we had three Saturday's in a row with accumulation. Though that made the following weeks mucky to say the least, I'd say it was worth it. Also as I flipped through pictures last night I realized I'd not looked at those pictures either. There are a few interesting snow shots, but I'm counting on future snows for my presentable pictures.

Back of the Balalaika Section

I believe I've been remiss at updating this fine thing again. Following is a brief summary of some of the fun I've been having.

On the practicing front, today marks my third day back in the trumpet mode. Last Friday I met with the director of the Sergei Rachmaninov Kaliningrad Regional Musik Colledge. He agreed to let me practice if there was an open room. I owe a very big thank you to Galina i-don't-know-her-other-name. She is a friend of the lady who gave me my season pass to the concert hall. Apparently, after hearing that I didn't have any place to practice she took it upon herself to help me out. After meeting with the director, we walked around Kaliningrad for an hour or so looking for somebody who could translate what happened for me. We never did succeed, but it turns out that I understood enough of what was happening. On the nice walk I found out that she has four children (maybe five, I can't remember now). The last two are twins. And she is two years younger than my mom.

Thursday when I got home from work, I attempted to call my family. After a couple tries (including one wrong number), I got a decent connection. I thought it was pretty funny because I could hear everything they said fine, but occasionally they'd lose me. It sounded as if the Thanksgiving holiday went on fine without me. My food was just as good as theirs though - a bowl of cereal, and some noodles.

My second semester is more than half way finished and I haven't even mentioned my students here yet. They are actually very good. This time around I am enjoying teaching the upper three levels more than the lower levels. In one class I had 13 students the first day, which is much larger than my biggest class (of 7) before. Now that class has dwindled, but enrollment does look up in my opinion. Some of the things I have learned are surprising to say the least. For example, last week I learned about the way real Russians bobsled. First you whack a small kid on the head and 'borrow' his sled. Then secure it to the back of a car with ropes and pile on. Here comes the interesting part. Your friend driving the car goes on a nice straight away strip of road and you (along with two or three other friends) hang on for dear life. Naturally, you must be ready to bail at a second's notice and skid on your back for a little ways. This becomes tricky when the road has lots of traffic, but definitely ups the thrill factor. I'll leave it to your imagination what the reaction of other motorists is when a car towing three grown men on a sled passes at 60 kilometers per hour!

What else did I learn last week? Currently it is very difficult to buy an apartment in Russia. Credit is not the same over here as in America, and even if it were most people wouldn't be able to get it. The reason is that taxes are deemed too high (somebody said 48%), so the average person only legally makes 600-1000 rubles a month. This figures out to about $30. All the other earnings are handed over in a nice paper envelope. Some people I've asked admit to having bank accounts, but by and large beneath the mattress is the closest most come to a bank. I prefer my piggy bank. To each his own.

The Sunday before Thanksgiving I broke out the Christmas music. I know, I know, I've committed the unforgivable sin - Christmas music before Thanksgiving. But I rather enjoy various aspects of the holiday. Besides the possible birth-date of Jesus, I like the commercial aspect - especially the decorations. Someday I wanna have an outside light display that doubles or triples my electric bill for the month of December.

Then yesterday. I had been practicing for what, two days, and two men knocked on the door to the class where I was teaching. They mentioned something about being musicians and two minutes and ten minutes. I didn't quite get what they said, but they left. It was during the sixth level, so the students are very proficient in English and I asked someone to give me the low down on what just happened. They weren't sure either. So the lesson continued. Five minutes later, they opened the door and motioned for me. Okay. First question: do you speak Russian? A little. Next question, do you want to play a concert with us tomorrow? Uhh, excuse me? Dixie land jazz. About this time one of the students came out to help me. To cut a long story short, in about twenty minutes I will be meeting the two fellows to go play some music. I hope they realize that one, jazz is not my strongest suit, and two, I haven't played for three months. Talk about hopping in up to my neck. Tune back in a few days to see if I survived.

Or maybe make that a few minutes. The guy showed up half an hour early to pick me up, so I just returned from rehearsal now. It turns out that the concerts aren't until later this week and today was just a rehearsal. Nice little combo: trombone, guitar, bass, drums, sax, and me. As I expected it was pretty obvious that I ain't a jazzer. But they liked me and I'll be playing with them on Saturday someplace. The trombone guy, Yuri, is middle aged and teaches around the area. Now I know some people in the music community.

A few comments on practicing. Usually after I take a week or so off from the horns, the first day back I am a god. Naturally, the next week or two is spent recovering from my lip-smash festival the first day. On Monday, I promised myself to take it nice and easy. After all, three months is a bit longer than a week. If I had wanted to play god, I don't think I could've. I was in the staff (the low part) for the 30 minutes I fiddled around. It is like relearning the instrument. In some respects it is nice. Usually I adjust each note a little bit unconsciously to make it in tune. None of that is going on right now, so maybe I'll get to know my horns a bit better. My goal (prior to dixieland jazz) was to take a month or two and get back to the basics: lyrical playing, good breathing, sound, and not so much techincal stuff. I still want to do that. I don't think I'll be a regular with good ol' Yuri and his swingin' chaps, but we'll see.

The rehearsal of the combo was in the music college. Interesting layout (for a non-Russian). To get to the small rehearsal room we had to walk through five practice rooms. It looks like it used to be a hallway and they just put up a few walls and voila - extra practice rooms. Maybe all the big universities with not enough practice rooms should take a lesson.

My concert for the weekend was the monthly offering from the local orchestra of native Russian instruments. At first it was interesting. But then the novelty of sitting in the front row and craning my neck to see anything wore off. Only today is my neck back to normal. There is a certain something to a bunch of tiny mandolinish instruments strumming a very high note in various degrees of tuneliness. Something that I don't think I'll be subjecting myself to again for some time. Halfway through the first half out came the vocalist clad in "authentic Argentinean garb!" Actually it was Russian, but I digress. From her first cowgirl whoop, until her acapella encore in the second half, I was blown away. Literally. The sound guy had her turned up way too loud. But I survived. Quite an entertainer she is. I've been humming a few of the songs she sang all week and will need to keep my eyes open for any other concerts by her - she is amazing. The title for this post comes from an interesting parallel I picked up on. In the orchestras I've played with the viola section has born the brunt of a copious amount of jokes. Some undeserved, but mostly rightfully earned. As my poor neck was at a ninety degree angle, I noticed similar behaviors near the back of the balalaika section. The first chair balalaika was great and his solo in the concert was quite enjoyable. But some of the third and fourth stand balalaikas looked as if they may have been strumming their instrument on a street corner a few hours prior. Maybe this isn't the case and I'm just not up on my balalaikonometry. I chuckled to myself in between cringes from the oh-so-high not-so-in-tune mandolinny things. Yes, the concert was worth my 33 cents. I should complain. Programs aren't free even for season subscription holders. What a crock!