Adventures of Helicopter and the Chocolate Man

It's unavoidable. I have to blog today.

The school was closed last week because it is a national holiday week for all students. I spend the week teaching english to kids at a camp. We'll get more into that later. The school is closed down for yet another week now because some half of the student came down with flu like symptoms during vacation last week. How come there were no epidemics while I was in high school, we could have run train on swine flu and gotten half the year off. Kids these days have no concept of exploitation in the name of slacking. Its sad really. So I am literally the only person taking classes in an entire school building right now and most of my teachers don't even want to come in for class. I had one class this morning and my second one was just canceled. I have no moral choice but to blog. I owe you.

Camp was surprisingly fun. I really don’t like kids that much, especially in large groups. The more kids are around the less likely they are to listen or care about anything. I taught four english lessons each day as well are organizing the kids for meal, sports, swimming and other child like activities. Here are some highlights of the Camp:

Nicknames:
Every one in the camp chose a nickname to go by for the duration of camp. I for example was Master Bus. (I was thinking about Debater, but that would be too easy). A lot of the boys, trying to be cool, chose lame, poser nicknames like "Rapman" and "Fifty Cent" (who was quite overweight and quickly became known as Fat Joe). One young albino boy with a mullet though rose above the immaturity and picked a nickname that rings in the heart of every six-year-old boy in America. HELICOPTER. It’s just so simple and elegant. what kindergartener wouldn't gladly trade his name in for the exquisite beauty of Helicopter. If only he had known the word Fire Engine, life would have been complete for him.

Quiditch:
The athletic competition between the student at the camp is Quiditch. Its essentially glorified handball. Glorified in that it has bludgers (other soccer balls) and if you have the quaffle and get hit with one you need to toss the quaffle up like a jump ball. The high point of quiditch for the campers is the last day an all star team is chosen and the are given the opportunity to play a match against the counselors. I know what your first thought there was: "Oh my god, who would let craig play in that game, he might actually kill a child." And then your second thought: "no no Craig would show some restraint and athletically dominate the children to the point of tears but not actually do any physical harm, hes better than that." Lets just say you should trust your first instincts. It was a blood bath. Fat Joe was a surprisingly good goalie, but he was no match for the bump, set, spike strategy. A few goals were scored on direct rebounds off of his face, tough kid though.

Politically Incorrect:
One of the other counselors taught the other sets of english lessons each day. His nickname was Master Moto and he’s from Zambia. I was drinking tea one day in the hallway of the dormitories and keeping an eye on the kiddies when one of the older student who spoke good english came up to me and said, and I quote, "have you seen the chocolate man, I need to ask him something." I literally spit tea all over everything in a 5 yard radius. His response? "Are you ok? Good. I need to talk to the chocolate man." Point completely missed. I talked to the russian counselors about this and they say it was ok since black people in russia refers to georgians and chechens, there needed to be a differentiation, and apparently chocolate is it. Bottles my mind.

Shashlik:
One night when all of the kiddies were asleep we went down to the beach (Finnish Gulf) to grill some shashlik and celebrate the "Day of National Unification" (a holiday more fake than Columbus Day and Kwanza Combined). I told the other counselors that I would take care of making the fire since "every American knows how to build a fire." I occasionally take to talking shit on behalf of Americans. More out of humor than pride but the impact is the same. (they also told me that they had charcoal and gasoline.) The charcoal was not auto-light like in America, we forgot the gasoline, and it snowed that day so all of the wood was wet. I had talked a big game and now I was in a pickle. I pulled off my jacket, rolled up the sleeves of my hoodie, instantly got cold, and put my jacket back on. This was going no where, and fast. The two guys Moto and Kroniker went back to the dorm to get the gasoline while Oss (female) and I stayed to work on the fire. Using the teepee method, I performed my best Bear Grylls impression and actually had a small fire built and stabilized by the time the guys got back. Not to say the gasoline didn’t help, but I got it done on my own. Dignity of America, consider yourself preserved.

That’s all for now. More Later

Ramble On,
Craig

A Cop-Out Blog

I know this is a total cop-out blog, especially considering how remiss I have been about posting in the last few weeks, but things are really busy here. I was in Moscow briefly this weekend and I'm busy now preparing lessons for the english classes I'm going to be teaching next week. So with out further ado I bring you "The Quote Edition"

The combination of translation issues and being in Russia has lead to some pretty worthwhile quotes. I thought I would share them with my lovely blog readers. WARNING: some of these quotes border on the inappropriate, that's what makes them so funny. Consider yourself warned.

QUOTE:"Think about it Craig, why can you buy a baseball bat in Russia, but not a ball or a glove"
SPEAKER: Vanya
CONTEXT: baseball and self defense

QUOTE:"then you must ask question: how come all these people who forced to take theology in schools then take pistols and going around killing all the priests? this big problem, yes?"
SPEAKER: History professor (voice similar to borat)
CONTEXT: rise of the intelligentsia

QUOTE: "I hope that you will let me stay in your house and not discharge on me."
SPEAKER: Russian student of Elizabeth's
CONTEXT: Writing a paper to a "host family" about living at their flat. Student didn't want to be kicked out of the apartment for smoking

QUOTE: "The minister of the region promised to provide them with three millions Jews"
SPEAKER: ME
CONTEXT: In class after reading an article on an Italian earthquake. The words Jews and Euros are very close in Russian.

QUOTE: "This is history, you much be precise and factual. We are not sociologist, toying around will silly intellectual masturbation."
SPEAKER: History Professor
CONTEXT: the factual content of my essay on silver age art

QUOTE: "Why you take picture like that? Look normal!"
SPEAKER: Asian family who wanted to take a picture with me at halftime of my football game.
CONTEXT: so i may have taken the first picture with a goofy grin, rocking peace signs with both hands, but come on. who tells the sports star how to pose in a picture.

I promise I'll post at least once or twice more this week. I owe you guys. I might even put up some pictures if you are lucky. There is a good one of me running from security at a park, HQ stuff.

ramble on,
craig

Being "That Kid"

In life there are a lot of "That Kid"s. They can be found in most aspects of life and exist in both negative and positive forms. For example, as a freshman in college you are warned not to me "that kid" in regards to over-drinking the first week of school or "that kid" who burns too many girls too soon and earns a reputation. Fortunately this trip is affording me a once in a lifetime chance to be "that kid" in a positive sense.

Anyone who went to high school in the suburbs post-1950, or went to a prep school ever has met at least one of this particular brand of "that kid" It usually goes something like this: the coach approaches the team on the first day of practice holding a kid by the collar as if to release the death grip would mean to lose him forever.

Coach: This is (insert name here). He just transferred here from (insert name of large urban high school) since his father changed jobs. He'll be playing (insert most athletic position on team) for us this year. Make sure you make him feel welcome.

Your "that kid" has no business playing with you and your team. He should be at home designing his signature sneaker and preparing for his press conference with Nike. Instead, for whatever reason he has come to your high school to be all-state at three sports, a killer with the ladies, and all but invisible in the classroom. Every year suburban teams are made and broken by the acquisitions of "that kid."

I know it may shock some of you, but I've never been "that kid". I was the "that kid" that everyone knew and thought was smart but still didn't ever do quite as well as anyone expected. I was "that kid" who didn't try as hard as you in class but beat you on all the exams. I know you hated "that kid" but you were vindicated, you got better grades in the class and anyways, somebody had to be "that kid".

I bring this up because on my new football team, the Neva Lions, I am "that kid." Most of my teammates actually believe that if I wanted to I could play in the NFL. I am no way joking either, they genuinely believe I am a good enough player to compete with Adrian "All Day" Peterson. I'm more like Craig "Rarely, if ever, but occasionally on alternating Wednesdays, before 2pm" Zevin. I I tried explaining to them that they are much closer to my skill level than I am to any NFL player, but they will have none of it, because I am "that kid".

The coach has already pulled me aside and asked me to call the defense from the field and help him with teaching. The only problem is people keep telling me that I pronounce things wrong. This astounds me considering they are all American words, but why would anyone believe me. I've installed a sexy gap control defense and a spongy, at best Tampa-2 in back. Its just easier to install defenses where the directions are "don't let them run the ball here, that's all you have to do. just look right there, and make sure that's not where the ball is. if the ball happens to be there, run AT it and do ANYTHING. I'll come help."

Our next opponent has three players who played semi-professional football in Europe, all of whom are skill position players. This is an added bonus for me because game time I wont have to actually match up with any of them 1v1. Our game plan is to put me a Nose Tackle (yes I have come full circle back to that position) and try to kill the QB every play, and if that fails, at least cause as much destruction as possible. According to coach, their QB likes to run the ball a lot and wears an inordinate amount of padding. Oh yah and he was a practice squad player in NFL Europe, but does he really stand a chance? After all, I am "that kid"

ramble on,
Craig

A Blog for Roman

LA needs to get a grip. For a city that spent the last too-long celebrating the life and death and possible, but maybe not entirely, but debatably ambiguous funeral of Michael Jackson, their pursuit of Roman Polanski is down right ludicrous. We get it LA, there is a chance that the man knowingly or unknowingly engaged in sexual activity with a minor. We know instead of facing it he ran away to Europe making him look that much more guilty. But don't you think after thirty years it might be time to give it up

Here's the way I see its: If you explained the situation and asked the average American what should happen, I see the average answer coming out something like this:

"he should be brought back to the States, put on trial, and have his pervert ass thrown in jail."

However if you asked that same sample of average Americans how they would feel about taking all of our rapists and pedophiles and sending them off to Europe for ever I imagine the answer coming out something like this:

"sounds good to me. better there than here. by the way isn't that kinda how they roll in europe?"

Therefore I think we got the better end of this deal. Leave him in Europe, its not like he can get any more of our children over there. And to tie this all together, the parents of the girl who let her go not once, but twice to Jack Nicholson's house for a photo shoot in the 1970's and didn't see a possible negative outcome were clearly the people who taught parenting classes to the parents of all of Jack-O's victims.

Now you might be wondering to yourself "where is this coming from Craig? Is there something you are trying to tell us?" Yes, in fact there is. For the sake of novelty I'm going to pull a "Memento" here and tell you the punch line first and then work backwards. Here it is "Two 13 year old girls saw me completely naked today for no less than 30 seconds while in a public school" Since you all have enough time to read this blog pleasure me here and get a watch and time out 30 seconds. Its a lot longer than you think. Now think about being naked, in a public school, in front of some minors for that long. Heres what happened.

I had football practice today at a new stadium (I am using that term increasingly loosely). My friend Коля met me at the metro station and we took a bus to the field (also used loosely). We get there and the coach tells us that there is no locker room so we can just change on the street. I give the one eyebrow raise saying "either you were joking or you are now. do better." He responds with "well there's a school there, you can probably change inside." We walk towards the school.

Now about Kolya. Great guy, but the only thing worse than his English is his sense of sarcasm and jokes. As we walk towards the school we are walking in behind two very young girls, say 13 or 14. The look back at us and then keep walking. Коля has this to say "We change inside, they may watch us." Lets dissect this broken English for a minute. "May" has the meaning of both possibility and allowability. "Watch" has the meaning of see, glance at, or stare in a fixated fashion. There is a lot of room for error with my man Коля's English, and this is a cause for concern.

We go inside and get permission to change in the hallway. There is a large lobby and then hallways leading from either side, so if you are on one side you can be seen by, say two girls on the other-side, but not the old lady in the lobby. We begin to change. The girls stare. Now I could be wrong on this one, but usually when young teenage girls see a moderately attractive (Коля not me) 20 something year old guy they giggle or blush or something. These girls just stared. And not in a "I just saw a car accident and can't look away" way either, this was a "those men will soon be naked and by God I will bear witness to it" way.

I see Коля drop trow and pull his compressions on so I follow suit. I gingerly pull my boxers down and before I know it I've been jumped. Коля, who already had clothes on grabbed all my stuff and ran down the hallway. The two girls can see this, the old lady cannot. I am stranded and bound by the time-worn adage "the only thing more obscene than a naked man is a naked man on the run" Seconds tick by. If I cover myself, I am only further acknowledging my nakedness. I am a deer in the headlights. I can't look up and face the beady eyes of the teenage girls, but I know they are there.

Finally some compressions are tossed my way and I can exit the limelight. I look down the hall, across the lobby, and into the other hallway at the girls, expecting chatter or a giggle. Nothing. No emotion, just a monotonous, deadpan stare. I may have just ruined sex for those girls for many, many years. Worse things have happened in the history of the world. Like the recent arrest of Roman Polanski, don't even get me started on that.

ramble on,
Craig

The Hangover

Went to Peterhoff yesterday. Probably the prettiest looking place I've been to in Russia. The fountains are amazing....too bad I forgot my camera at school or else I would have some awesome pictures.

Post Peterhoff, Dasha and I went to SPBGU (St Pete's State University) to visit her friends. Dasha Travels an hour and a half each way to get there three times a week. I complain when I have class on the far side of campus, but really we have tons in common. So Dasha figures that she'll introduce me to her friends, we'll talk for a minute and then head home. What she drastically underestimates is the inter-molecular man-force that I like to call "beer bonding." The law of "beer-bonding" states that "where by any two men drinking beer, sharing more than five words of a common language, and a sporting event meet in concurrence, friendship is guaranteed to ensue." We spent three hours there watching the Zenit match, drinking beer, and watching reruns of "How I met Your Mother", which is a hilarious show I should add. If you like sex-pun driven rom-coms about successful but emotionally inept thirty-somethings, you should really check it out.

So we head home around 5 because I need to grab my stuff from school so I can do bits of HW today. Кирюша and Артем come with us on the train back into the city. On the way they ask me if I want to go out for a beer. I sigh heavily and feign indifference for Dasha's sake (she's uber-Orthodox and dislikes when I drink...did I mention how much we have in common?) and then obviously, cordially agree. We find a nice Georgian bar to grab some shashlik and beer. We also manage to find the only bar in town where ЦСКА fans are hanging out. CSKA is one of the major Moscow clubs and the sworn enemy of Zenit. Now regardless of your fandom, would you really want to spend time hanging out in the only bar with Red Sox fans in the Bronx, or Yankees fans in Southie? (by the way that's some horrible New-England sports bias there, but I cater to my readers, what can I say?).

We order some beers and a big platter of shashlik. Shashlik is essentially just grilled meat and potatoes, but the beauty of it is that each of the post-Soviet countries that makes it makes it differently, with different herbs and sauces. This shashlik was Georgian and absolutely bomb. The problem is that service in Russia is horrible because so one tips. No one tips because service is horrible. Any way we go through three rounds of beer before the food comes, one round during and two rounds after. That's a good amount of beer.

During that time, a few really awesome things happen. I will put them in order numerically for you:

1) We make good friends with the CSKA fans and they decide that since we don't care who won (in reality we all rooted to Zenit, but white lies save black eyes) that they would pick up our tab. This was great.
2) I had enough beers that conversation between me and my two non-English speaking friends became more natural. I speak better, freer Russian when I'm drinking.
3) We realized that this Georgian beer was like 9% alcohol by volume and that if any of us wanted to make it home we had to cut ourselves off.
4) My program director called me. This happened immediately after number three, which is fortunate since had number three not happened I might have made the jump from jovially tipsy to well and good drunk.

Marina was calling me to tell me that she had gotten in contact with her former student who plays American football for the Neva Lions, who have invited me to come practice with them today. Obviously I agreed because it seemed like a good idea then. I'm not as sure of that now, but that's not the point. The rest of my night went smoothly, went to McDonald's for free wifi, got some salty beer snack and listened to the first half of the Colby game. Unfortunately none of that was able to put off the inevitable:

I am currently curled up in my warm bed with my laptop defending myself against the bright lights and loud noises of the outside world. My head feels like it weighs a ton and my tummy just feels sad. Its 11:30 so I think its time I brave out into the world. Fortunately Valentina is cooking up a storm of salty starchy food to ease my woes. I'll just keep fighting the good fight.

ramble on,
craig

Russia Proper

Russia has spent much of its lengthy history trying to find itself. Some of its rulers tried searched in eastern, Asiatic cultures while others looked for it in western, European cultures. Many of them looked for it in the Orthodox church, but to this day Russians only define themselves by very ambiguous ideas. These ideas can be split into one of four categories: Asiatic Russia, European Russia, Communist Russia, and Russia Proper. The first three are fairly self explanatory, however the fourth is just as ambiguous as the ideas it contains.

Asiatic Russia is Rurik and the unification of Russia, and the early wars with the Mongols. Russia was an ugly, outcast cousin of the booming European monarchies. It hadn't found itself yet as a European state, even though the feudalist system of Serfdom mimicked it quite nicely. The Orthodox church held a great deal of power but in a more cultural than political context.

European Russia came with the building of Saint Petersburg by Peter the Great. It was going to be, in addition to a strategic port city not controlled by Turkish straits, Russia's "window to the west". The Romanovs brought meaning to the double-headed eagle as their crest; one head looking east, one head looking west. This was the time of Romanovs, Orlovs, and Stroganovs. Of massive palace's and intense decadence. To be a viable writer or artist in this time you simply had to mimic the west. These are the times that spawned Pushkin, Tolstoi, and Fabrege.

Communist Russia needs no explanation. Communism was not just the government but also the law, the culture, and the religion. What it could not understand or control it simply crushed. Those who stood against it were relegated to any number of less than desirable fates. The strange thing though is the way people talk about it now, as though it was worse than they realized but not as bad as they thought. For a nation know, for its oppressive cultural regime it did manage to pump out Проковиев, Кандинский, Шагалл, Блок, Горкий, Ахматова, Замятин, Бульгаков, Пастернак, и Маяковский. Thats an impressive list of writers, composers, and artists to come from what was often looked at as a culture-less society.

But it is Russia Proper that is the heart of this enormous country. It is an elusive thread that has stretched it self from the first Moscovy in Kiev to the day I first set foot in this country. It is an indelible mark that survived losing 20 million of its sons during WWII. It survived almost equally devastating loses against Napolean, the Mongols, and the Turks, even though they were "victors" in all of these wars. It survived Serfdom, Stalin, Gulags, Purges, and a three year blockade of Leningrad. Furthermore, it will survive regardless of whether or not its current government is a democracy, because it is not a rule or form of government. It is not a single idea or concept. Rather, Russia Proper is birch trees and borsch. It is onion dome churches and fur-lined hats, gold capped teeth and scarf covered women. It is слава богу, no matter when you last when to church. It is both peasants and intelligentsia but never Tzars or General Secretaries.

Russia Proper is not something you discover in history books, but an idea hidden deep within late nights drinking vodka or giving a cigarette to a homeless war vet. Its appreciating the tales told by relics of an older time, even if everyone's great-grandfather was an advisor to the Czar who lost everything during the revolution. It is sharing whatever you have with anyone you meet, even if its just a tall tale or bit of history. Its woven in the fabric of revolutions and crumbling governments,the icy winters and unforgiving land. Its woven most deeply in the culture's ability to endure through the hardest of times.

Unfortunately, the same Russia Proper that endures all the world throws at it, is the cause of much of its own problems. The same vodka drinking that warms the soul on a frigid Siberian night also leads to rampant alcoholism. The same dedication to Russian Orthodoxy that silently endured seventy years of Communism also breeds religious intolerance. The fierce nationalism showed during they most trying times in Russian history is also the cause of fierce xenophobia.

Russia Proper is something I long to understand, but even more to be a part of. Its is a way of life and ideology that is equal parts self-sustaining and self-destructive, but yet unsurpassed in curiosity. Russia Proper, as Potter Stewart would say; I can't define it, but I know it when I see it.

ramble on,
Craig

Back On Subject

I know the last two blogs were unrelated to my trip to Russia. Frankly nothing interesting is going on and I'm not feeling particularly funny right now. There is something about living in a foreign country and speaking a foreign language that just sucks the funny out of you. But here is a brief update on what I've been up to.

Visited Pushkin yesterday. This was were Pushkin studied as a child and was the summer residence of the Tsars. Wheres your summer palace Gil Kerlikowske? First thing we saw was the hunting lodge part of the palace, which was underscontruction. Great example of a Craig-Zevin-Auto-Response here, "looks like we aren't supposed to go in there, wanna try to break in?" This is great statement because its clearly rhetorical, but the answer is unclear. How you might ask. Well the person responding is either going to say "yah of course" in which case it was rhetorical in that we were clearly going to, or they are going to say "obviously not" in which case they think it was a joke. Great way to feel people out and not look like a degenerate. Any who, Dasha and I obviously snuck and and got some great picture of Peter the Great's hunting lodge.

Literally this stuff was original from when he built it. Untouched at all by history. It's this type of thing that blows my mind. Knowing that I touched a chair that was built for and possibly sat in by Peter the Great. Un-fricken-believable. I've touched two chairs that I know for a fact that Stalin has sat in. I could go on for hours, but I just can't explain how much that both boggles my mind and excites me.

Everything else there is beautiful. It has gold walls, silk wall, granite walls, marble walls, and best of all amber walls. The amber-room was amazing, however it is forbidden to take photos. Dasha and I snuck one anyways. For those of you keeping track at home, thats Craig-2 Museum Babushka's-0. Rastrelli built and designed the whole and also painted much of the original wall and ceiling art. I imagine the conversations going something like this:

Builder: Oh, I like that painting a lot, where's that going?
Rastrelli: Oh that? Thats nothing, just something I painted while I was on lunch. I was bored.
Junior Architect: The room for Catherine's foot servant's daughter's shoes is still missing something, lets hang it on the ceiling in there.
Rastrelli: Yeah whatever I'm going to go find more places to put gold stuff. You figure it out.

Unfortunately much of the museum, including the Amber Room. are no longer original. During WWII ze Germans pitted the entire museum and took anything of value that wasn't taken during the Russian revolution. To this day the entire original Amber Room is missing. Some one stole an entire room out of a palace with 20 ft ceilings and has is hidden in their basement. Probably where Tupac and Osama are. Michael Jackson may be on his way there now. This theory has potential. Any ways, in a typical Russian, passive aggressive move the curators of the museum have in every room a picture of the original and then a picture of what it looked like after ze Germans looted, ransacked and pillaged it. You may have stolen our Amber, but we'll make you feel really really shitty about it for as long as possible. So there.

The Communist party spent 30 years and many millions (probably billions, and theoretically trillions depending on the exchange rate at times) rubles restoring there. The logic of restoring an icon of the old regime and wealth is beyond me but I can't say that I'm disappointed. They managed to save 80% of the original parquet floors (which is why you are force to wear footie slippers in the museum) and ceiling paintings, and through research and picture hunting they believe that most rooms appear almost exactly as they did before the war. It should be noted that while the Communists may have missed some of the big-picture ideas in life, through bureaucracy and minutia were able to get some pretty amazing things done.

that seems to be enough for now
ramble on,
craig

Apologies

Some I'm buying. Some I'm not. Some haven't been given yet.

Tila Tequila:
ESPN Report
That's a pretty serious allegation she laid down against a guy with a history of drug and violence issues, and is not something that was taken lightly. I wasn't there and cant say exactly what happened but it clearly didn't go anything like she said. Shawne is a guy who by all accounts is trying to get his life on track and doesn't deserve this. Good for you Shawne for taking the legal high road and ignoring her, APOLOGY DESERVED.

Kanye West:
Video
Apology
Setting aside my unabashed love for Taylor, or TayTay as she lets me call her, this was just rude. It makes sense, Kanye is an insensitive meglomaniac. Its not like it hasn't happened before. Apologies usually include sincere statements of regret, not references to Ben Stiller movies. Thats like adding insult to insult. Kanye, its 2009 and you aren't relevant anymore. Go hang out with Dane Cook. APOLOGY DENIED

Serena Williams
Meltdown
Apology
Let me be the first to say this. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that shes bigger and frankly blacker than most tennis players. I'd be a lot less scared if I was threatened by her, for example, than Serena. That being said what she said was out of line and she deserved to be penalized, however the foot fault call was bogus. Thats like calling an NBA player for breaking the plane on a inbounds pass; yeah it happens but is it really a necesary call? Doesn't make it less illegal, but its about the spirit of the game. The officials should have handled it better, and so should Serena. Obviously shes apologetic since it cost her the match and she has gotten better in that regard. APOLOGY ACCEPTED.

Tom Brady
To bad he doesn't duck the DL this well.
I know its been a while for you Tom, but after you put together a game winning drive you have to talk to the reporters. Matt Barkley knows it and hes only 19 (we share birthdays). Brett Favre knows it and hes debatably senile. The fact of the matter is you are back on the turf and that means you're back in the spotlight. Deal with it. NO APOLOGY NECESSARY, just do better next time.

Think some one else owes or is owed an apology. Let me know.

ramble on,
craig

On a More Serious Note

Today is a day of remembrance in this country. A day to remember lives that were taken as a direct result of the gift that is America. The way we Americans live our lives was the direct cause of that attack on our country. That holds true even if you give in to the idea of radical conspiracy theorists. Be it oil, freedom, land, or power something about American life made us the target.

But like all days of this magnitude it slowly fades from memory or importance. So much has gone on in the "war on terror" in the past eight years that its hard to say anyone feels the way they did about anything eight years ago. Regrettably, someday this date will have faded into just another historical point, just like the firing on Fort Sumpter, or the the attack on Pearl Harbor, the USS Cole or the USS Maine. In due time all wounds heal, but always with scars.

While this day of days is still fresh in our minds I would like to challenge the readers of this blog. Many people today will stop at 8:46 to remember the pain, the loss, and the courage that was shown on this day eight years ago. I challenge you to stop at some point today and come up with one or two reasons why you truly love America. Why you would rather live here than anywhere else.

While this may seem like an exercise in blind patriotism fueled by crisis, I vehemently disagree. I think its important to recognize the freedoms that brought the attack on us. Even its the freedom to drive gas guzzling SUV's and use more than our share of the worlds resources. The freedom to live in comfort while others in less fortunate countries go to bed hungry and scared.

No matter how sick your are of the health care debate, how scared your are about the Socialization of America, or how bitter you still are about the 2000 election, you benefit from America. If you have the time in your day and the internet capability to read this blog you benefit from America. If you are too busy at work to read this you benefit from America. If you have to walk to your local library to get internet to read this, you benefit from America.

For one day, lay down your politics and search inside yourself for what it is that this country gives you and appreciate it. Tomorrow you can go back to complaining.

ramble on,
Craig

I appreciate America because:

I live in a country where I am allowed and encouraged to travel, live, and study in a country that was formerly our Public Enemy No. 1.

I live in a country where I can write blogs like this and have discussions like this without landing in prison or a mobile death van.

If you feel Inspired, feel free to post some of your thoughts and ideas in the comments section.

Craig Introduces Man-Canomics to Russia

I have few unique skills in life. I'd like to think that I have at least a few general skills as well, but all in all few of them are genuinely unique. One of these unique skills is the ability to draw a crowd. I have to imagine its due in some part to a combination of my loud voice, my large stature, and my gregarious personality. I some how forgot to check this skill at customs on my way into the country and I can only imagine it might get me deported.

As I noted earlier, St. Petersburg is made up of 42 interconnected islands, due in large part to the number of canals and rivers that transverse the city. Naturally, there are three islands, however, in draining the swampy marshland of a city, it was compulsory (favorite phrase of Russians to convey the idea of necessary) to make a number of canals. This plethora of canals and rivers means that one of the fastest ways to see all of the major land marks of the city is to take a boat cruise. This is a logical choice considering I'm a foreign student visiting the country, so Dasha and I make this one of our "cultural excursions"

Anyone who has ever been on a boat trip of any kind knows that there is one thing that is inextricably linked to boat travel, and that is Drinking. Fishing trips, cruises, party boats, white water rafting... okay bad example.This is a cultural phenomenon, not just me being Joe College (Lets be serious here, its not like I invented the Booze Cruise). So pre-boat ride Dasha and I head to the Магазин to get some snackies. She gets cookies and a water, I get a can of beer. Alright it was a man-can of beer. Fine, and if you want split hairs here man-cans in Russia are technically one liter. The Conversation goes as follows:

Dasha: Isn't that a bit much for a boat ride.
Me: No, I'm thirsty. And furthermore I have a responsibility to have a man-can.
Dasha: Thats dumb. How could you possibly be "responsible" to drink that.
Other Guys Near By: Yeah explain that dude, that doesn't make any sense.
Me: Allow me to enlighten you. First I'm too thirsty for just a regular can, this isn't a classy enough event for a bottle, and I wouldn't deign myself to buy a 2-litre plastic bottle. Thus etiquette in this situation dictates a man-can. (this is where I break into broken russian/english and gesticulations) Second, the carbon-footprint of a can comes not from the can but the production of the can i.e. mining, transport, refining, transport, production, transport. etc. Therefor the size of the can is irrelevant. So if I am going to put the burden of that can, regardless of size, on the environment I should derive as much pleasure from it as possible in order to offset the environmental cost (GDH > Carbon Emissions). Thus I am responsible for drinking this can in order to save the environment.
Other Guys: Wow thats amazing logic. Man Cans for Everyone!
Me: My job is done Here.
Dasha: You're an Idiot.

While many of you may agree with Dasha on this argument, it should be noted that during the course of my lecture on Man-Canomics I drew a crowd of easily 15-20 people. At least ten of them chose to buy or at least upgrade to man-cans after hearing my thoughts. All of those people left happy, and the shop owner made better business. If all of those people go out and share Man-canomics with their friends, it would spread so fast that we could make a Kevin Spacey, Haley-Joel Osment movie out of my story. Lets do this people, lets change the world one beer at a time.

ramble on,
Craig

Frontloaders Aren't Just for Construction

Strange things happen to me when I travel. Its like a become a different person. I do things I would never do in "real life" because some how I feel more adult on my own and thus do things that I presume adults do. Like floss. I never floss, ever. Ask Christine, my dental hygienist. I bleed like the French in WWII when she goes at my gums. Since arriving in St. Petersburg I have flossed six times. Once for each time I've brushed my teeth. I also fold and rehang my clothes after I wear them, clean my room and make my bed every morning upon waking. If you know me at all, (which I hope you do because if you don't you are a total blog creeper) then you know this behavior is nothing short of revolutionary. There's nothing to say I won't slip back into naughty behaviors of neglecting my gums and laundry, but for now at least I'll continue the charade of being all growed up.
Saw the city yesterday. Ready for a bombshell? Its way better than Moscow. Every building is colorful. Its like instead of dropping bombs in WWII, Hitler loaded his planes with tanks full of pastel paints and bombarded the city*. Everything is a former palace bathed in pastels of blue, yellow, green, and pink. Think Anastasia meets the Easter Bunny and the design a city together. St Petersburg is made up of 42 islands connected up hundreds of bridges small and large. The largest of which is over 100m wide, the smallest taking only foot traffic. Wide side walks make for pleasant strolling down even wider boulevards. Shops line the first floor of every building only to yield to lofts and studios above. Seldom are the street vendors and beggars, becoming more of a surprise than a normality. Gone are the grays and steels of St. Petersburg's sister to the south, replaced by granite, greening copper, and the fading paint of plaster facades. You are never more than a street or two from a new bridge, crossing a new river, bringing you to a new island, each with its own character and history.
Ok enough with my new love affair with this city down to the nitty gritty of my adventures so far. In short there have been none. Where as my trip to Moscow was a jolting and rough adventure in a lawless city, this trip is more like a pleasurable, jaunty stroll. Everything is done on a relaxed timetable, with constant attention to Обедь and Отдых. Sight seeing is done with Марина who is equal parts Fromer's Guidebook and Donovan** sister. She talked with out stopping for two and a half hours as we toured the city. You know how they say "if these walls could talk"? Well apparently in St Petersburg they can, and Марина is their PR.
Evening was spent seeing the city пешком with my rent-a-friend, Даша. According to the program she is technically a "student assistant" but rent-a-friend makes me look lonely and incompetent, so lets just call a spade a spade. All in all we walked for almost two hours, briefly using the metro but mainly stopping at her favorite stadiums, movie theaters, museums, book stores, coffee shops, and other relevant points of interest. Даша is great. Fun, chatty, knowledgeable, more than willing to laugh at me, especially when I'm speaking Russian. In short the perfect friend for me, although the fact that someone is paying her makes me feel a little cheapened...but I digress.

Got a new phone and changed my dolla dolla bills to rubles, looks like there's no turning back now.

Ramble on,
-Craig

*Note the second WWII reference in this post. I just finished a WWII biography courtesy of Uncle David. If you've read or seen Band of Brothers and got anything out of it, I highly recommend "The Biggest Brother", its phenomenal.

**Mother's family. You truly need to know them to understand...unless you have a cousin who set a US record for constant speech in a car ride from Iowa to Connecticut.

A Myriad of Thoughts

Wow is all I have to say. After a day of travel and a night of rest all I have to offer is "wow". Last year I made two traffic laden trips to the airport in order to leave the country. This year, one trip traffic free. Last year I sat on a plane with a broken arm-rest covered by a blanket and flew ten hours to Moscow. This year we had personal TV's and free movies(I watched the Hangover again and Angels and Demons (missed the ending of it due to landing, not that upset)), free booze, and a travel companion*.Last year I paid a fortune to have a smelly man in a taxi drive me around moscow and get lost to find my apartment. This year Marina** picked my up in her new BMW 1-series hatchback, which is an awesome car and should increase production in America. LONG LIVE THE HATCHBACK. Needless to say this seems like the dream life to me.

My layover in Heathrow was long and awkward. For no reason other than, for the most part,the massive terminal was entirely empty. We crossed through security at 4:00 am London time as the last flight in for the night. Security there wouldn't let me bring a drink I got on the plane through, even though it was unopened. I was pissed. Until I walked through the medical detector and the little old man on the other side said...and I quote... "pop the cap off ye knoggin' me old mate...lets grab a look see there." That one quote and the joy it brought to me makes up for the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812. I was ecstatic.

From my egg-shaped chair at the round-the-clock Starbucks of Terminal Five I had the opportunity to watch two distinctly unique phenomena occur. One was the opening and filling of a giant airport terminal in the morning. The other was the sun rising over all of Heathrow Airport. The east facing wall of terminal five at Heathrow is almost entirely glass and faces much of the rest of the airport. Hundreds of yards wide and a few stories tall it provides a tremendous view for a sunrise. Unfortunately, it also precludes almost all sleeping.

Fortunately the DutyFree shops in Heathrow give out free samples of booze. I made friends with the Bailey's Gold girl...solid decision made on behalf of my morning coffee. According to Beth we were good "mates" since I helped her throw some "rubbish" in the "bin" (no joke she said that, it was awesome). Every time I said and Americism she would look at her friend, the Patron girl, and laugh and repeat whatever I said with a giggle. (I'm sure many of you are wondering how I turned down the Patron girl for the Baileys girl. However it was 5 am so Baileys seemed like the responsible choice for free booze.)

Food is good and Бабушка/Хозяйка is great, especially when I brought her gifts from mom. There's something about gifting dishtowels from Marshall's that just gets some people going...beats me. I'm off at noon for a first round sight-seeing tour of the city...and so we begin.


*Elizabeth Rattey, Colby '08, and I, through random chance, wound up on the same flight. She lives and works as an English teacher here and figures to be a fixture in my blogging of adventures

**One of the heads of my school/program.

Quote courtesy of British Airways employee: "Now boarding all zones for British Airways flight 878 to Leningrad...I'm sorry I meant St. Petersburg" Miss the Motherland much?

The Saga Continues

Quick Pre-Travel Post:

Tomorrow I return to Mother Russia. One year and one month to the day from when I last left. I'm traveling alone again, but this time I"m studying. Time to actually learn me some Russian. Colby did all of my visa and travel arrangements for me...score. I'm sure I'll run into some problems traveling to post about when I arrive in St. Petes.

Shout out to P. Diddy for providing me with a title for my blahg post.

-Craig