Negative 26 kopeks

Well folks, this is just about it for the TAWL blog. Here is how I see its future. In about a week I'll post my initial impressions upon reentry into the US stratosphere. Then a month or so later will follow what I think I've learned about the world, God, and, most importantly, myself. Unless I have big document problems when I attempt to leave this fine place in about 8 hours, this is my last post from within Russia.

All good thing do not have to come to an end. They just need to change shape a little bit. Before this year finishes, it is my goal to finish approximately five additional entries that are either partially finished, or completely planned and unwritten. Coincidentally, all five could come from the past two and a half weeks, but I'll try to spread them out a bit more. Gazing farther down the road of time, this blog has been about my trip to Russia. A large reason for that country was the language spoken there. Therefore, this blog should ideally be bilingual. That requires that I know Russian. Realistically, if I spend some quality time daily practicing my Russian language, within five years I think I could attempt to translate this epistle without losing all of the biting humor.

The youth camp that I attended from August 4-8 was absolutely fabulous. For many reasons. One of them was the beach. As a wee lad I loved to wake up early in the morning and just walk for as long as I could. I was able to resurrect this pastime of mine and do some quality thinking. It was on one such walk on Friday, August 4, that I finally realized my time in Kaliningrad was almost over. Sure people back home had told me that repeatedly, but it only sunk in then. Walking, deep in thought, I came to the conclusion that whether I liked it or not I'd soon be leaving. It is difficult to describe emotions, so I'll forge on; realize that this afternoon stroll was incredibly useful for me.

Before I left for the camp, I chucked a few Russian songs onto my mp3 player. Ten to be exact. So far I've translated three of them I think. One in particular will always be associated with my weekend walks on this particular Kaliningrad shore. I'm not exactly sure where my notebook is with my translation, so for now I'll just paste a link to the song. Enjoy it for its beauty now. Later, when I post the English equivalent, possibly you may enjoy it for its words also. Without further ado, Mir bez liobimogo (A world without a love).

Upon arrival back in the city, rain came. Not just a little rain - a flood. I renamed Moskovskii Prospekt, the River Moskva because of the amount of water. I had a great chuckle at this. Not 3 months ago this road was redone and guaranteed for ten years. Already in two stretches the road was not visible. The sidewalk a good foot above the road was not visible. Only trees and the top halves of some unfortunate cars were visible. On Tuesday alone, over 500 large trees fell down in the city. Not very nice weather.

Most of that week I spent in the office trying to finish up the beginnings of a database for the center. I did not meet with success unfortunately and they still have nothing usable.

The evening of August 12 found me participating in yet another wedding. I still don't quite understand all the details, but the final details were only decided on a short time before the shindig kicked off. Most of the program therefore was a quick re-adaptation of the wedding two weeks ago. When you start a long program at 4ish in the afternoon, that is okay. When it starts at 9:30 in the evening, that can be problematic. I was home a little after 2, so that isn't too late, but it seemed much longer.

Possibly as a result of this late evening, possibly as a result of my mood, and possibly because of sunspots, I was a bit lethargic on Saturday. I haven't figured it out exactly, but I'd say that maybe my new rate is slightly less than a dollar a picture. Yes, somehow, somewhere, I lost the camera loaned to me by Ira. Most likely it happened on the busride back from church to school. As I sat there with a plastic bag on my lap wide open, I slept. Seeing a nice looking camera and a dead asleep dude may have been too much for some bargain shopper. Or maybe I just dropped it someplace. In any event, I realized it was gone, kicked myself in the head a couple of times, and continued on with life. (One note is in order here. I opted not to tell Ira, the accountant, that I lost her camera. Not entirely the most honest thing to do, but I did it. I was able to find an exact replacement for everything so she shouldn't be able to find out.)

My first trip to the Russian banya followed on Saturday evening. It was a private banya and the guy who we visited had some German WWII relics. Sasha, Kostya, and I played dress up for a few minutes before making our ways to the banya. I have to say that it is indeed nice. But I don't think that I love it with quite the same fervor as a real Russian. Maybe it is something that comes with time and much alcoholic consumption. We left somewhere around 2 and before long the driver wasn't able to stay awake so we pulled over for a quick nap. Maybe two hours later a crazy driver almost hit our parked car and this provided enough of a wake up call that we were able to proceed home without further incident.

to be continued....
I need to go meet a friend in Moscow and further details will have to wait.

The day; the life

Nothing more, nothing less. No commentary (I don't think I can not do that myself). I shall attempt to relate what I did during the last 24 hours - aka August 4, 2005.

The stroke of midnight found me seven minutes from Victory Square. I had just decided to stop practicing the trumpet because a light rain was beginning. Of course I didn't have a coat, but that is a minor detail. Man with trumpet case, camera pouch, and headphones - nice!

I wanted to photo the city at night but wasn't sure at what time exactly the lit fountains stopped working. Sometime before 0:07, the water stopped its spouting. Still, I managed to photo a few interesting things. The tabletop tripod that I use makes for some unusual angles when placed on the ground, but pain in the legs and dirt on the pants gets old. The added two feet of a trumpet case seems to be just what the doctor ordered.

Home a bit before 2, I showered myself and grabbed a small bit of grub. After checking my email I figured it'd be in the best interest to call the girlfriend and see what she was up to. She was searching (successfully) for potatoes in the supermarket. Spent a bit more time proofing the dead dish before she got published. While that was happening, I IMed (what is the correct spelling of IM when used as a verb, anybody?) one of my students. Last night was our last class and just said hi and joked around a little bit. A bit later I had another chat session with the girlfriend. Promising to go to bed soon, I closed the chat program and let her attend to her burnt potatoes.

By the time I finally sacked out it was somewhere around 4 and I hadn't finished my homework for Russian class. Fortunately, the alarm didn't disturb my slumber and I finally lumbered out of bed a quarter to nine. Rushing around, I started breakfast and then set about finishing up my final test for Russian. About two hours later I was as done as I was ever going to be and threw some clothes on, dashing out the door chomping on a fresh stick of gum.

The ladies at the office had asked me to bring some of my ties to work so they could play dress up Troy. I obliged them and brought a smattering of my funnier ones. Since today was my final Russian lesson, I was in a bit of a rush to scan a book that I had to return. It was actually pretty nice - I explained my minor escapades of the prior evening and every 20 seconds or so pressed the scan button and flipped a page of the book. Before long, Valya realized that she was sitting at the computer, yet I kept reaching over her to press the 'Next Page' and then 'Scan' button. She decided to be helpful. It was fine and then her bright blue eyes noticed that the area to be scanned was roughly the size of a postage stamp. Fortunately, only ten pages had passed since the frame was changed and I finished without incident.

I gave my first lesson in the fineries of Skype and tried to answer questions as accurately as possible. Leaving my bag of ties, I promised to return before the end of the day so they could make lovely photos together with me. One glance at the clock on the mobile told me that I would not be on time for my lesson. Boarding the bus, I phoned my teacher and told her I'd be about ten minutes late. While on the bus I got out a small piece of paper and made a list of pieces I could play including necessary vocabulary words in preparation for my farewell concert.

Maybe half way from the bus stop to my language school a horn honked. Who should pull over next to me but the director of the Privet! Russian Language School. It was great to have a ride, and she taught me some new phrase on the way. Naturally, it has slipped my mind. Nine minutes late, I entered the classroom.

Sitting down, I braced myself to review the test. After I returned all the materials that she had lent me, my teacher pushed a book across the table in my direction. She explained that it was her present to me and then proceeded to sign it. "The Rules of Russian Grammar" - just what I need (no, really)! Maybe two minutes before the thought had crossed my mind that I should give something to my teacher for all that she has done. But I consoled myself with the thought that I could bring some flowers by next week sometime.

I only found my eyes closed unexpectedly one time during our lesson. The test was pretty far over my head I think, but after looking the words up in the dictionary I got most of it. A few minutes past two, my teacher asked me if I was ready for the concert. Ready or not, it was gonna happen, so I packed up.

Two or three weeks ago I brought my trumpet with me to my language lesson so that I could practice later that evening without an intermediate trip home. One of the staff asked me to play a few things, which I did. The idea was born that I should give a concert and I agreed. Naturally, I thought I'd sit down and pick out some interesting things to play and maybe even prepare small explanations for each piece so that my Russian was understandable. I don't think a scrap of paper and a 10 minute bus ride qualifies. Anyhow, without so much as a warm-up toot, I explained my first piece and set off. Judging by the time I finished I probably played for 25 or 30 minutes.

A small surprise for me followed - a cake with some kind of berries. I think they just wanted me to take it home, but I quickly asked for help and in 10 minutes all that remained were two small slivers. A hair past three I bid my final adieus and with my bilingual certificate in hand I exited the building. Entering my bus, I eventually found my way to the bus station where I purchased a ticket for 6:20 tomorrow morning. On a rainy weekend I'm headed to the beach to sleep in a tent (cue Mommy's voice, "Do you have rocks in your head boy???").

Thinking of a farewell present for a certain somebody, I stopped by a nearby camera store and looked at what they had available. After I promised Anastasia I would hit the sack earlier this morning, I actually looked around for cameras a little bit and found one I thought would work. This store had the exact one in stock and I asked to take a peak. What do you know but the battery was dead (or as they say over here, eaten). I waited for ten minutes while the clerk charged it up a little bit so I could give it a whirl. The main thing I was looking for was how it felt in the hand and whether or not it had Russian menus. My head didn't work and I couldn't remember the correct way to ask what the stores hours were. I already knew, but just wanted to double check. After talking around the question for a few seconds the guy understood what I was asking but I blew my I'm-really-a-Russian-dude cover in the process.

Another bus ride home for a small snack. A few minutes before five I got off and was greeted by a strange sight. A fairly big banner with a metal frame was just laying on the ground. I looked at it, but kept on going. Maybe two minutes down my street I looked back and from the distance recognized that the metal frame was supposed to be mounted on the light post. The banner was from the city holiday a month ago and somehow fell down. By the time I opened my apartment's door I had decided to commit my bad deed for the day.

Without taking my shoes off I tiptoed through the kitchen and grabbed my pair of scissors. Back to the fallen sign I traipsed and liberated it from the frame, rolled it up, and returned to my residence equipped with a five foot or so souvenir. Dirty, yes, but rather slick. If you're wondering, the bad deed would be walking in the apartment without first removing my shoes.

Fed and my remaining ties in the backpack I departed for the last time today. When I hopped aboard the trolley-bus I chucked my ear-buds in and cranked up the tunes. Less than half an hour before closing time I made my way into the office. Valya and Galya (the daughter of the accountant) were lazing in their swivel chairs each wearing one of my ties around their neck. I thought it was pretty funny so snagged the camera and made a few memories real quick. The next twenty minutes were probably some of the more embarrassing of the day. First I taught Valya how to tie a tie the Troy way. Then we proceeded to tie all the ties. Then 4 on me, and 3 on each of the girls. Then all on me. Then all on my neck. Then I don't remember what. But there was a lot of laughter and nobody died, so that is good.

Ira, the accountant, finally said it was time to go and dragged her daughter off. I stayed and gazed deeply into Valya's eyes as I helped translate something for her friend. It sounded to be a profile of some desperate dude on a 'find your dream man' website. Translation complete, tea drinking commenced. We killed time for the next little bit until the evening lesson began. I'm the teacher and Valya is one of the students.

On the way to school we attempted to locate a barber that would still be open after class. I had forgotten that I wanted to get my hair trimmed before this weekend. Nothing promising found, I decided to finish class a few minutes early and try to make it back to my street before they closed. Our lesson was nice enough, only three people came. Before I knew it, it was over too.

At the bus stop. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. And then a trolley-bus. A trolley-bus that should have been put out to pasture long ago. I kept hoping I'd make it back in time, but I didn't. Nine minutes past the cut off for new customers I entered my salon.

Marshmallows. The sixth food group. The one that the Russians don't have. Not using my money for hair, I decided to search for marshmallow replacement for the bonfire this weekend. Three stops later I jumped off my favorite tram and commenced the search for marshmallow substitute. I found something similar that seemed to hold its shape decently while I pinched it. But only the first 7 pinches, though. On the eighth it kind of flaked away.

Before bringing useless food with me, might as well test it out, right? I fired up the stove and placed a marshmallow on my potato poker. A little bit sweeter than marshmallows, but similar characteristics. Even the skin pulls off when it gets brown. I dare say that my discovery burns better than marshmallows. At the end of the second marshmallow I decided to lick the skewer. Bad idea. Now the corner of my lips are missing a bit of their normal feeling.

I've probably forgotten some interesting things from today. But probably also some boring ones. That and in light of the fact that I've not packed anything and my bus leaves very soon, I'd say that this is enough of a day. Later I'll return and clean up the recount so that it is a little less monotonous, but for now please excuse my typos and repetitive, "and then I got off the bus and then I got on the bus and then the bus got on me and then boarded the tramway and then on the trolley and then and then and then...."

"Your dish, she is dead"

Funny how sometimes random things pop up and seem as if they were placed there on purpose. Monday morning I was using the computer. I don't remember exactly what I was doing, but it was evidently something that didn't not require a great deal of thought. I remember this small detail because, as a rule, I can't listen to music and think at the same time. Background noise is okay, but silence is my preferred operating environment. Anyhow, I was doing something on the computer and listening to random songs when something I'd downloaded several months ago came up. It was a recording of Steve Jobs' commencement address at Stanford University delivered on June 12 this year. I read a transcript of it a few days after the fact, but never got around to listening to it. I doubt that the contrast is as stark as the 1960 "Great Debates," but I walked away with a different nugget of wisdom than from when I read it.

Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future.

Just since Steve Jobs said it doesn't make it true - in fact it may give added reason to question it. Nonetheless, that morsel has given my brain some exercise as I sit staring out the window of transport. I suppose as I prepare for reentry into the fine US of A (think space capsule bulleting through the atmosphere), I've got questions. Trusting in myself, God, my lucky stuffed animal, or something else and not compelling myself to connect the dots exactly may be the best medicine. Let the bombs fall where they might and wait to evaluate the damage until after the war.

This weekend was mainly wedding preparation and execution for me. Suffice it to say that Russian and American weddings aren't exactly the same. Most of my experience in both cultures has been nestled within another sub-culture - that of Adventism. I don't particularly feel like comparing today, so I'll just state the facts. Sunday the religious wedding service began at 13. I sang in the choir so wound up standing up front for probably an hour or so. This section contained a homily, exchanging of vows and rings, some special pieces, and that is about all. It probably finished somewhere around 14:30. The second part was food so people headed outside and ate. The third part began maybe an hour later. For several hours the bride and groom sat at the front facing all the people seated there and people sang songs, did skits, made small presentations and whatnot. I think it finished somewhere in the vicinity of 20, but wasn't paying very close attention to my watch. And then the happy, unsuspecting couple drove off into the sunset ready to conquer the world together.

Saturday evening I got home from rehearsal a bit past midnight and went to bed shortly thereafter. A lady had given me a small scrap of paper with some kind of poem written on it. My instructions were to buy a lamp and then read this to the newlyweds sometime during the wedding. Not knowing whether a lamp meant a light bulb or a lamp, I opted for a lamp. Deciding I needed a bit of exercise on the overcast Sunday morning, I jogged down the street to the nearest store where I thought I could find a lamp. Unfortunately, I neglected to put a belt on and there were a few close calls with my jeans, my underwear, and the unwanted presence of distance between the two. The lamps in the place were kind of hokey, but beggars can't be choosers. (Especially when the beggar doesn't know exactly what time the wedding starts!) For 1040 rubles and 75 kopeks, I had a respectable lamp and headed home.

Now last week Elena went shopping for a new outfit for the wedding. A day or so later we were talking about that and she asked what I was going to wear. Naturally, I responded that I hadn't a clue. She told me something to the effect that I should go buy a white shirt, but I don't really like white shirts so I pretended that I didn't really understand and the conversation continued. It became rather obvious on Sunday that I really didn't understand. All the people who sang in the choir for the first section were wearing white tops and black bottoms. Except for me. In addition all the guys took their coats off, but I was a little bit late with that message too. It would be interesting to look at a picture of the choir. I imagine you'd see fairly uniform people and one dude in a dark jacket, blue shirt, and pink tie! That's me, the unique one.

I arrived before most of the people did and staked my claim to a seat leaving my trumpet, jacket, and lamp there. I think the whole day I occupied my spot for all of five minutes. When I wasn't on the stage singing or acting, I was in the hallway. It has been some time since I've had the pleasure of being backstage and goofing around - nice and fun. Of course that meant that I didn't enjoy the final version of most skits. But I had seen most of them multiple times prior, so I don't suppose that that is such a huge loss. There is one thing that I will rather miss. I asked Valya (my colleague) to record the skit I was in so I could share it with all y'all when I returned. When I explained how to use the video mode of the digital camera I was borrowing I either neglected to mention the part about pressing the record button or didn't say that very clearly. As a result she took the prime spot for videoing at the front of the room and thought she was making an excellent movie during my skit. When it finished she returned the camera to me and wanted to see what she had done. It took me a long time - maybe 2 seconds - to realize that no video had been made. I think that I told her there wasn't any video as nicely as possible, but it was rough by the time it made it to her ears and I could hear a sob making its way up her throat before she turned away. Score for Troy, make the girls cry.

Instead of playing the piece that I had rehearsed, I doodled around on some vocal piece for a verse and chorus on my horn. It wasn't bad, but I didn't particularly want to play it. But at least I shared the sound of the trumpet, even if it wasn't a good sound. By this time in the program, Valya learned about the record button and made a movie of me playing the trumpet. The memory card only had a small amount of space remaining, so instead of getting the whole song, she got just me. It is kind of funny, Elena is bringing the mike up to her mouth to sing and the movie finishes.

Plagued by insufficient memory, as the day wore on, I downsized the resolution of the pictures I was taking. Finally finishing up at good ol' VGA resolution. When the people left I stuck around for a little bit and helped clean up. There was lots of food left over so I helped by taking about 3 kilograms of fresh cucumbers home. They're almost gone now.

Not so long ago I updated the picture page. Feel free to check 'em out:

• 2005 June 19 - Walk with Volkov family
• 2005 July 30 - Pictures with the younguns at church
• 2005 July 31 - Wedding

I'm in the midst of trying to help a comrade immigrate to Australia. Last week there was a bunch of email activity and Friday evening not even a minute after rendezvousing for the customary constitutional my mobile rang. It was comrade Podkin wanting to review what I had found out. I assumed that it would be a quick information session, so suggested the Elena come on over and wait while I talked with Sasha (aka comrade Podkin) and then he could give her a lift home. She agreed. But brief is not exactly a good description of the Australian discussion. After a couple minutes, Elena asked if she could clean the kitchen. I should've said no, but it was kinda my fault that she was bored out of her mind and I agreed. When she finished she came back into the main room where Sasha and I were singing the Aussie national anthem and gearing up to play a quick one-on-one footie match. She explained something to me in Russian, but the delay between when the words were spoken and when I understood was too long, so she tried in English. "Тарелка (the Russian word for dish), she died." Ahh, priceless. My dish is a she. And not only is she a she, she was alive at one point in time. Live and learn, eh?

For my very diverse readership, what is the generic word for dish in other gendered languages? Is there any language in which dish is not female but male? I wonder if anybody has ever done a study to see if the dishes in use in such cultures represent their masculine/feminine status. Sounds like a big waste of time to me, but if somebody reads this and makes an experiment because of my idea, please send me a copy of your results - it'd be interesting.

A few evenings ago I made my way to the music building to practice after school. It was nine o'clock and the building was already locked. Come on now, isn't it supposed to be open for another half hour? Not wanting to go home without buzzing a bit, I headed to a large well-lit place a ways away from houses. In the shadow of the great Dom Sovietov, I practiced my horn. People stared, but that didn't bother me. Then an old man came up behind me with a funny grin on his face. I kept practicing, but he didn't move. So I decided to favor him with a rendition of some piece. At the end, he shook my hand and thanked me for playing such wonderful music and then staggered off. He stopped maybe three times and turned back to listen some more. There I was playing some notes that I considered to be highly unlovely and I made some old drunk guy's day. Interesting how that works - a person can receive something from me that I didn't give.