"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.