My Perestroika

And to kick off my revived blogging, I’ll go back to the earlier post about “My Perestroika”… except this time an actual reflection on the documentary, because it came to Toronto (!) and I went to see it not once, but twice (!!)

The first time I went was with the boyfriend and my parents. I was curious to see their reactions – on the one hand, my parents actually grew up during that time and are the same age as  the five Russian subjects of the documentary, so I would be watching this documentary with people very intimately familiar with all the events described in it; on the other hand, my boyfriend really didn’t know much beyond the basics about Perestroika and the attempted coup of 1991, and knows comparatively little about Russia and living in Russia (other than what he has absorbed from my family over the years), and I was very curious to see his reaction as an outsider. And then there is me, halfway in between – yes, born and raised in Russia, but also so very Canadian, and also not nearly as knowledgeable about the minutiae of Russian history and politics as I should and could be.

The second time I went to see the documentary was with a close friend who has been taking Russian language lessons and is rather delightfully enamored with all things Russian. Yet again, a different lens for the experience.

I won’t get into the particularities of the plot, or a scene-by-scene breakdown. These reviews: New York Times (as well as an interview with Robin Hessman, the director), or Boston Globe, Toronto Star,  or really, countless others do a better job of that. Also, the documentary has a 92% rating on Rotten Tomatoes, which is pretty reflective of its general quality. It really is excellent.

It also sent me through a gamut of emotions.  It was incredible to see the continuum of living through the transition from Soviet Union to present-day Russia, through the collapse of all the ideologies that these people believed in their childhood. The strength of the documentary lies in that it just shows ordinary people and their ordinary lives, without ‘experts’ or politicians or historian talking heads.

It is weird to me seeing Pizza Hut and Starbucks in Russian (Пицца Хат and Старбакс, respectively). The huge lineups outside Pizza Hut reminded me of when a McDonalds opened up near my school and how it was novel, fascinating and exotic, and how I lined up to go inside and get a rare western delicacy – a cheeseburger. Much like when I went back to Moscow  the one and only time since immigration, six years ago, watching this documentary I was derailed by the weird Russian take on Western capitalism. I can’t yet explain what it is about it that weirds me out so, to be honest.

Huge shock was seeing footage of Borya playing Three Musketeers and hearing him lament the fact than no one reads Count of Monte Cristo anymore. I thought I was unique in my love of Dartagnian and swashbuckling! Turns out I was just a typical Soviet child.

The apartments they all live in seem so tiny, the buildings so shabby, and yet nostalgia was strong with this one. It made me thankful that I live in Canada, and yet so incredibly wistful and nostalgic for Russia that I almost cried at the end of the first screening. The abundant use of songs from old movies and cartoons, interspersed throughout the movie, gave me lots of happy-sadness.

Aside from all of that though, My Perestroika really put current Russia in context for me. The documentary makes it clear what an upheaval Perestroika was – not only politically, but also ideologically. Whether it’s “liberté, égalité, fraternité” or the American Dream, every nation needs a belief or creed that anchors its citizens. Perestroika did away with the old Communist ideal, and Yeltsin’s rule ended the short-lived ideas of freedom and democracy, and there wasn’t anything sufficiently concrete and unifying to take their place. Ordinary people were thrust into a new, confusing, conflicting world, a new world order, and had to figure out their way. Some managed well, like Andrei, who now owns a chain of French dress shirts. Others struggled, like punk-rock musician Ruslan, who is a self-declared social outsider. It’s been just over 20 years since the collapse of the Soviet Union, and I think Russia is still figuring out its way, still finding its footing. There is a sort of capitalism, but the discrepancy between the rich and the poor is staggering and there isn’t much of a middle class to bridge the gap. There is a sort of “democracy”, but an authoritarian one.

The documentary ended on an ellipsis, particularly appropriate considering the political events happening in Russia right now. The documentary was shot during the elections that saw Medvedev named President. And every single person in the documentary felt like they had no say in those elections, that their voices did not count, that voting was essentially useless because the decision had already been made for them. As Ruslan said, “We have jeans and gum now, yes… but nothing has really changed [since Soviet times].”

And that’s a very big reason why I have always maintained that I wouldn’t want to go back to Russia to live there. Corruption both overt and covert,  iron control of the press, lack of a real, true democracy… We’re spoiled here in Canada. We may decry Ford and Harper now, we may complain of police brutality during G8 / G20, but we have choices and voices and somewhere to air those voices without fears of retribution.

Yet it’s interesting that years later, Borya’s prediction is coming true. He says towards the end of the documentary that the generation growing up, his son’s generation, will not be able to be shut in and controlled through lack of information and state-filtered news. This generation has access to the internet, online communities, and are “all potential hackers.” And this is what is happening now. A blogger incites public anger, Twitter and Facebook facilitate a peaceful gathering of many thousands strong to protest the elections, and eventually even media has to somewhat succumb to the story that is flaring across Russia.

I don’t know if there will be a “Russian Spring” akin to the Arab spring of 2011. I think its too idealistic to think that, even if the elections are re-done and a different party wins, that everything will become sunny and terrific and democratic in the motherland. Corruption and dishonesty have permeated many levels of social service, police, government and business, and that’s not done away with overnight.

But regardless, this documentary did make me want to go back to Russia soon to visit. That, and watch lots of old-school cartoons.

I’m actually back

I like how my “I’m back!” post was in July… followed by complete silence until today, five months later.

The hiatus was in part due to me reconsidering having this blog at all. I was questioning the specialized aspect of it, debating whether I could keep waxing poetic about Russia and all things Russian and only Russian. No matter how important Russia and Russianness is to me, I was feeling like it was getting hard to bring every subject back to Russia, all the time. Then I realized that it’s my blog and I can do whatever I want with it, and if that means some posts won’t have anything to do with Russia, so be it. So, “This Is Russian” is now technically “This Is Usually Russian But Not Necessarily.” However, still most likely very, very Russian.

Regardless, I’m back for real this time.

I’m baaaaaaack

Wow, it’s been a while. I’ll blame the (delightful, yet time-consuming) new addition to the family, a.k.a. the hedgehog, for the delay in my posts.

And so much Russianness has happened in these two months (oh god, it’s been two months. this is embarrassing). I made kotlety, I’ve eaten bucketfuls of red currants and gooseberries, I started a thoroughly creepy fiction book about Soviet Russia, and so much more. So much more that I don’t even remember what much more.

Anyway, this is just a post to break the barren silence of this blog. An actual post coming up later. True story.

Misha the Hedgehog

Short post just to say, remember this? and this? when I said that I’d really love a hedgehog as a pet because they’re adorable and Russian and delightful?

Well,

I HAVE A HEDGEHOG

(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Best present. EVER.

His name is Misha Pushkin.

Misha because a) it’s a great Russian name and b) because misha is a diminutive form of “bear” in Russian, and he looks like a tiny bear with quills. Pushkin after the great Aleksandr Sergeyevich.

He is tiny and still kind of terrified of me, but I hope will grow to love me soon. Maybe I should screen Hedgehog in the Fog for him.

Photos coming soon!

P.S. Sooooo, thanks to my last post site visits have stratosphered, but only because people find my blog after searching things like “sexy russian school uniforms” and “russian girls last bell fountain sexy”. I think once they see this site they’re vastly disappointed… Maybe I should start having more sexy fun times on this blog. Or not.

Hair bows, uniforms, and Last Bell

Growing up, I’ve always had super-short hair. Page-boy cut, at the longest. And, I don’t remember caring one way or the other about my hair length… until the first day of school, when many of the girls arrived sporting giant, poufy hair bows.  Those ribbony, lacy creation were the size of cantaloupes, and, tied to the bases of pigtails and braids, dwarfed the heads they were decorating.

I was seized with passionate hair jealousy.

I wanted giant bows. I wanted lacy bow blinders. I wanted to have to walk through doorways sideways. I wanted them, damn it.

Unfortunately, it was not to be. At least, I did have a traditional school uniform – a dark brown long-sleeve dress with a white collar and a lacy white pinafore worn overtop – to wear on special occasions, even if the bows were a dashed dream. The uniform and the bows were really a throwback from Soviet days, when that was the mandatory school uniform. By the time I started school, they were only a special-occasion kind of get-up, for little kids.

 Or, so I thought.

Googling this today to look up the origins of giant poofy hair bows (no info on this that I could find), I came across an interesting resurrection of these Soviet uniforms. Creating a continuum from wearing the pinafored dresses on the very first day of school, girls also wear them on the very last day of school, during the “last bell” graduation ceremony (which usually happens at the end of May)

Browsing through Russian last bell photos, I’ve determined that dressing up like little girls while trying to be sexy creates quite a lolitafying effect… Case in point:

(Photos mostly from: http://listen2russian.com/russian-culture/last-bell/last-bell.html and also from http://vishny92.blog.ru/73113939.html)

Heels plus knee-highs is a daring combo. I could post more extreme examples, but this is a family-friendly blog.

Admittedly though, there a part of me that’s a bit sad that I don’t get to go through the Russian graduation ceremony, release balloons, wear a sash that says “graduate”, hear the last ring of the school bell, and then go goof around by jumping into the fountains in Moscow centre (an unofficial last bell tradition).

I sometimes wonder to what extent I would be a different person from who I am now if I never moved to Canada, never learned English, never went through the Canadian school system… If instead I stayed in Moscow, finished school there, spoke only Russian and had only Russian friends.

I would probably have photos of me in an old-school dress and pinafore and knee-highs, cavorting in fountains after last bell.

And, most importantly, I would finally, FINALLY, be able to wear hair bows. I’d get extra-large ones, too, to make up for lost time.

Foggy Hedgehogs

In further evidence of me being a Google appreciator, my search engine is Google’s Chrome. I’ve even installed it at work, foregoing the default option of the messy and awkward Explorer. As I’m not at all tech-savvy, the main reasons for my allegiance to Chrome are that it’s clean and streamlined: no extra icons cluttering up the top bar as all the options are hidden in one or two subtle buttons. Also – and this brings me to the main point of the post – I love the themes option. So, not only is the top bar clean and simple, but it can also be as pretty as I like.

Browsing the themes, I was delightfully surprised that one of them was “Hedgehog in the Fog”… a.k.a. Ёжик в тумане (Yozhik v tumane). I didn’t realize that anyone outside Soviet Russia had any inkling about this cartoon, much less designed internet browser themes around it.

Ёжик в тумане is a 1975 Soviet stop-motion animation about a little hedgehog, who, on the way to visit his friend bear, gets lost in the thick fog and encounters many creatures both frightening and benevolent.

It made quite the impression on me when I first watched it. I was about 3 or 4 years old, and was absolutely, mindlessly, awfully terrified by it. I felt sorry for the poor little lost hedgehog, I was scared of the swooping owl, and I was weirded out by oppressive fog, the silent white horse, the Something in the river. I may have cried. A lot.

When I saw the Chrome theme, though, I re-watched the cartoon… and the grown-up impression is decidedly different from my childhood terror. It’s really, really lovely! The dialogue, the animation, the storyline are very unique and delightful. Instead of terror, it made me feel calm and fuzzy.

(It also reminded me how adorable hedgehogs are and how much I would love one as a pet)

Some Googling followed. Turns out, it was named the best cartoon in the history of animation by the 2003 Tokyo animation festival, and has won numerous other awards around the world. It’s routinely cited as ground-breaking animation, and there is even a statue of the Hedgehog in Kiev, Ukraine.

Conclusion: at 3 years old I was a bloody awful animation critic.

Watch it here, with English subtitles.

Tetris

You know what’s Russian?

Tetris.

Our VCR in Moscow was thanks to Tetris. The guy who invented it, Alexei Pajitnov, worked in the same research institute as my dad (though the two never met). Anyway, when Pajitnov invented Tetris, the institute offered a bonus to everyone working in the computing department, and one of the options was a VCR. So I’ve got Tetris to thank for being able to watch Disney movies.

Tetris is so Russian, the well-known theme music is really an arrangement of a Russian folk song, Korobeiniki.

The lyrics to the original folk song, by the way, are excellently suggestive:

Oh, my crate is so full,
I’ve got chintz and brocade.
Take pity, oh sweety,
Of this lad’s shoulder

I will, I will go out into the tall rye,
I will wait there till the night comes,
Once I see the dark-eyed lass,
I will showcase all my goods.

I paid no small price myself,
So don’t bargain or be stingy,
Bring your scarlet lips to me,
Sit closer to this fine lad.

The foggy night has already come,
The daring lad is awaiting,
Hark, it’s her! The desired one has come,
The merchant is selling his goods.

Katya is haggling with care,
She is afraid to pay too much,
A lad is kissing his lass,
Asking her to raise the price.

Only the deep night knows,
What they agreed upon.
Straighten up now, oh tall rye,
And keep their secret scrupulously!

Oh, my crate is so light,
The strap is no longer cutting into my shoulders!
And all my lass took
Was one turquoise ring.

So, to reiterate, his crate was full, so he met Katya in the rye field at night, showcased his goods and emptied his crate. Some payment may have changed hands, but the rye will never tell.

Tetris!

Gardening

Gardening is pretty Russian.

This will be the second summer of us living in this house. Last year I missed the planting window in spring, and as a result, our backyard was rather… unkempt… all summer. A weedy jungle strewn with arresting garden decor – by which I mean random bricks and, at one point, an old toilet that sat on the deck all August, gathering algae. Yes, gross, I know. Which is why I vowed that this summer I’ll have something approximating a proper garden. At the very least, no more displays of ceramic paraphernalia of the bathroom kind.

Thus, early this May, I dug in with fervour. Through the joint efforts of the bf and myself, the backyard became de-debrised, de-weeded and thoroughly dug up. In the process, we found and removed countless shards of pottery, half a bag’s worth of roof shale, two very giant rusty scissors that were missing handles, some colourful wires, and many, many bricks. It’s basically an archaeological site. The bricks and large stones are now being used by bf to build a path through the garden, and while he’s doing that, I’ve been in charge of garden planning and planting.

Well, master gardener I am not. I know pretty much nothing about soil quality, fertilizer/compost, annuals and perennials, planting zones, etc. My approach is: “Here is plant. Here is soil. Make hole in soil. Stick in plant. Throw soil over hole. Water. Grow plant, grow!”

It doesn’t help that we obviously do have really crappy soil. I’m aiming for a 30% survival rate – a.k.a. that 30% of the things I plant actually survive the planting. However, that hasn’t stopped me from wandering around any garden centre I come across and buying up any plants that catch my fancy. Because of potential soil contamination by lead-based paint due to the outside of the house being painted a few years back, anything edible is out of the question. However, anything that doesn’t require consumption is fair game. I’ve so far planted day lilies, other lilies, a bush with orangey flowers, many other pretty flowers, a lot of low-lying ground-cover kind of plants, some lavender, and other stuff (I’m all about the technical terminology, clearly).

My great-grandmother, who I’m named after, was an amazing gardener. She lived in a little town about an hour train ride from Moscow, and also owned a garden plot a little ways from the town. It wasn’t a tiny garden plot along the likes of community gardens that are found across Toronto. It was sizeable – enough for a small greenhouse, several large garden beds, a few apple trees, and a simple two-storey wooden cottage (which my dad and grandpa, in a Herculean effort, built themselves). She maintained it all herself, spending most of her spring, summer and fall there.

This kind of way-out-of-town garden plot – usually planted with edible things – is as ubiquitous to Russia as cottages are to Canada. Here people go to cottages for the weekend, there they go to their dacha/ogorod.

Anyway, great-grandma didn’t just have a green thumb, she had a green soul.  Every greening thing thrived when she was around. She could make rocks grow. So, I rather wish I could learn gardening secrets from her… but as it is, I guess I’ll have to figure it out trial-and-error style.

Transliterate!

Dear Google:

You probably already have a pretty solid self-esteem going, but I will do my best right now to boost it further: you are so spectacular, I would like to buy you flowers, write an epic poem to you, and name my babies after you.* Specifically, I am praising your Google Labs section. More specifically yet, your genius Google Transliteration.  – Love, mashunya

All of these years I’ve been very hindered from typing in Russian by my utter inability to use a Russian keyboard. I putter along at the break-neck speed of 2-3 words a minute. Maybe 4, if they’re very short words. It took less time to go to a page with Russian font on it (say, a Wiki entry of some kind) and then just copy-and-paste words and letters from it, though that only made sense if I had to do a quick web search in Russian, or type a phrase or two at max. Anything longer was out of the question.

When I write emails to my parents, there is always a slight dilemma – I want to type in Russian, because it feels a bit odd to write to my parents in English. However, I know that by the time I manage to type out an entire email, our Sun will have turned into a Red Giant and incinerated Earth** and all that effort will have been for nothing.

So, instead I use latin letters – a.k.a. these guys that I’m using right now – but sound out Russian words with them. So, privet, dosvidaniya, da, komunism, etc. Approximate at best – trying to adapt 26 English letters into 33 Russian ones is tricky –  and as a result, quite awkward to read. The brain really struggles to read English letters but sound out Russian words… there are neurons crossing that really shouldn’t cross. (Wait, do neurons ever cross? Whatever.)

Until now.

Google Transliteration is my new best friend. I do what I’ve done with the emails – type using English letters – but then it immediately transliterates each word into Russian type. And, what’s best, is it’s scary accurate and intuitive. It takes all that awkward phonetic spelling and somehow knows what word I want, despite the obvious typing constraints. And it’s not only for Russian! You can use it for a whole slew of non-latin-letter-using languages.

Anyway, it still gives me head confusion to type – a lot of Russian letters look like English letters but sound very different (“B” actually makes a “V” sound, “C” is always “S”), so I frequently get all confuzzled and have to retype words. However, it’s still much easier that my old method, and, what’s best, anyone I write to – whether parents, or a letter to grandparents  – can now finish the letter without giving up half way through in frustration.

Also, doesn’t transliteration sound like something that’d be taught at Hogwarts? A flick and a swish and “Transliterate!” (Why, yes, I AM a giant nerd. Why do you ask?)

*I wouldn’t actually burden my hypothetical children with the name of a search engine, but if I did, I wouldn’t be the first.

**IT WILL HAPPEN. In 5 billion years, give or take a few hundred mil.

Adieu to lemons

Today is a black, black day.

One of my favourite things of all time is lemons. I love lemons in all of their mouth-scrunchingly-sour glory, and will frequently cut a lemon in half an eat it with a spoon. When I was little, dad used to cut a lemon into thin slices for me, sprinkle them with sugar, and voila, my favourite dessert.

So anyway, I went to the dentist today. A prodigal daughter returning, as I really don’t recollect the last time I went to get my teeth cleaned or checked (no, I’m not gross. My teeth are fine and I floss and brush regularly). And, the dental hygienist looks at my teeth and says “My, you’ve got quite some acid damage starting there!”

Long story short, my four top front teeth are starting to show signs of acid erosion because of my excessive lemon consumption. While rinsing with water after eating sour things is a way to somewhat combat it, ideally I should be cutting back on direct contact between teeth and lemons.

WHY. WHY. WHY.

Argh.