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