tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-139131492011-04-22T00:12:04.005-04:00Postmodern, Post-communist, trying to post weeklymischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.comBlogger371100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1138132600666518742006-01-24T14:56:00.000-05:002006-01-24T14:56:40.670-05:00

I had my students design a trip to Russia for a foreign visitor as part of my “I’m back from Thailand” lesson. The first part of the task was to choose a few cities and sights in Russia and give reasons why they should be visited. The second part involved giving advice on how to survive Russian culture shock. Much to my surprise, all three groups said you should absolutely never cuss in public.

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1138132440700665652006-01-24T14:53:00.000-05:002006-01-24T14:54:00.703-05:00

There are a few rules everybody needs to know before going to Thailand. The first one is that you should never show the bottom of your feet to anybody. The second is that you should never touch the top of someone’s head. The third is a little less concrete, but it’s important. You should always smile and be friendly. I broke the friendly rule first. While trying to negotiate a cab from the

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1138132292063556532006-01-24T14:50:00.000-05:002006-01-24T14:51:32.076-05:00

For our farewell dinner we went to Bangkok’s Bed Supperclub. It’s a lot like the restaurant in my favorite episode of Sex and the City (“They’re not strangers! They’re our new friends with pot!”). You sit and eat in bed while a DJ spins and every fifteen minutes or so there’s a performance art act in the dining room. I compare the building to a suppository. It’s a big cylinder on its side with

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1137773584773885852006-01-20T11:10:00.001-05:002006-01-20T11:13:04.776-05:00

So Russia is cold...it goes without saying. If you ask anybody what they know about Russia, they will say that it is cold, just like they'll say that the French eat a lot of cheese and wine. This being said it is fucking cold. Temperatures were down around -30C today and don't show any signs of letting up. This is in no way common from what I'm told. The newspapers are saying that this is the

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1137773430521225182006-01-20T11:10:00.000-05:002006-01-20T11:10:30.576-05:00

Just before leaving on my fabulous Thailand vacation my friend Bannister urged me to be cautious. “You might pick up one of those boys who’s actually a boy.” True to the stories, the lady boys came out as soon as I got off the plane. I saw one on Khao San road, albeit she wasn’t very convincing. Me and Chad, our group leader, were sitting on mats in the street celebrating the gloriously

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1133107707033089542005-11-27T11:08:00.000-05:002005-11-27T11:08:27.036-05:00

An old Austrian-American boyfriend of mine told me about the argumentative nature of eastern Europeans. He was actually talking about Austria, but earlier in his conversation he’d rambled on (as he tends to do) about how the Austrians are more Slavic than Germanic. I don’t honestly know if this is true, but I’ve always remembered it. He told me about how his father used to behave whenever he

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1133019366446457092005-11-26T10:35:00.000-05:002005-11-26T10:36:06.456-05:00

The first story I ever read in Russian was Tyomny Alley by Pushkin (I think, at least). I complained about it quite a bit in class. I said that it didn’t make sense and it wasn’t really a story. I felt like nothing was resolved, The man was still an ass, and the woman was still screwed. Another student in the class, an older woman who took Russian for fun, told me simply that it was just a

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1131701274356528392005-11-11T04:26:00.000-05:002005-11-11T04:27:54.373-05:00

I’m extending an invitation to spend a day in the swirling vortex of weird that is my life. I’ve reached a point in my life as a traveler where I can no longer tell what is truly interesting from what is just plain mundane. Finding things to write about seems to get harder and harder, as it’s all just become a fact of life to me. Even worse, working round the clock seems to have deprived me of

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1131275898504505302005-11-06T06:17:00.000-05:002005-11-06T06:18:18.513-05:00

Friday was a holiday in Russia, but I had trouble figuring out which one. At first, I thought it was Glorious October Revolution day, which sounded like it had the potential to be an awesome party. Russians have this great way of treating their communist past as kitch. A couple days ago I went to a bar on Staryi Arbat that was decorated with life sized wax statues of former Russian leaders guilty

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1131042784033170022005-11-03T13:32:00.000-05:002005-11-03T14:01:16.163-05:00

So, I had just gotten off the trollybus that goes all the way from my apartment to metro Novoslobodskaya (terribly convenient, don't know why I didn't start using it sooner) when I realized that I hadn't eaten anything substantial all day. I decided to stick to habit and went to the Teremok to get a deliciously fatty blyny with bacon and cheese. I made a bit of an ass of myself at the register (

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1130675689800898322005-10-30T07:07:00.000-05:002005-10-30T07:34:49.813-05:00

I asked a student if her hair was real. She's white, as are most of the people I teach, but she has black braids that hang down below her butt. She always wears a trucker cap turned sideways and a large FUBU ski jacket. She dresses like a rapper.She laughed at my question and told me that it wasn't real. She laughed and then asked me if people in America do that too. I thought long and hard about

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1130673675773325282005-10-30T07:00:00.000-05:002005-10-30T07:01:15.780-05:00

I awoke at 5am on the morning of October 17, 2005 intent on beginning a new chapter in my story of Moscow. I’d officially given my notice to BKC, found other, more lucrative jobs, purchased new ties and shone my black oxfords to a brilliant shine worthy of only the most professional of teachers. I was no longer dealing with bratty rich twelve year olds. I was a teacher of business English,

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1130673577447962252005-10-30T06:56:00.000-05:002005-10-30T06:59:37.463-05:00

Teaching English for Business has proven to be very different from general English. The contexts are even more boring and the students generally do not want to learn the material in the book, but rather to sit and chat about politics and other things I don’t really care to talk about. Nevertheless, I still get priceless glimpses into how business in Russia is handled and what these button-down

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1129313006724386352005-10-14T13:47:00.000-04:002005-10-21T14:09:10.653-04:00

Ah, love! Is there no pain in the ass more glorious? Don’t get me wrong. I’m a fan of love. I’m all about people destined to be together and the pain and all the stupid little things that love makes people do. Every day I walk up a pereulok where some love-stricken individual took a can of white spray paint and wrote “Zekai ya tebya lyublu!” in giant letters so that some lucky soul could see it

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1129311980460122082005-10-14T13:30:00.000-04:002005-10-21T14:23:34.553-04:00

I don’t think I had any real ideas about Riga before I arrived, and I’m not sure what I think of it now that I’ve left. I was told while I was there that the topless bars are among the best in Europe, but (silly me) I forgot to check those out. One of the teachers at school told me it was her favorite city in Europe and that she would go live there in a heartbeat. I don’t know what she was

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1128072362682016682005-09-30T05:23:00.000-04:002005-09-30T05:26:02.690-04:00

A couple weeks ago I had my first experience teaching younger learners at BKC. Having just lost my beginner session to a long vacation, I was very happy to take the class. Dasha, the girl from timetabling, told me that they were two boys and three girls, ages 8-9 meeting from five to six o’clock on Mondays and Wednesdays. When I went to talk to my ADOS about the class, I discovered that she

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1127550428047505122005-09-24T04:26:00.000-04:002005-09-24T04:27:08.050-04:00

Living in the land that gave the world the H-bomb and the periodic table and genetically engineered two hundred pound mustached female Soviet shot-putters I find that I meet a lot of people well versed in the sciences. It seems that every person I meet is an engineer, an IT specialist or a doctor. Though the people I meet seem to know quite a bit about the higher principles of science, the

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1127550343677041532005-09-24T04:17:00.000-04:002005-09-24T04:29:08.520-04:00

I seem to be running into one Russian word in particular this week. That word is normalno. It bears a striking resemblance to a rather common English word, and is somewhat of a cognate. Normalno can mean normal, but it can also mean okay, acceptable, or standard. Whenever I look at an apartment for Maureen and Jade, the first question I am asked upon leaving is normalno?It sometimes becomes

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1126260344393376882005-09-09T06:04:00.000-04:002005-09-09T06:05:44.396-04:00

It had been so long since we last met when I saw Patrick floating up the Moscow River early one morning. I was coming home from a club, and I wasn’t sure how he’d come to be there or if he was okay, but living here had taught me not to ask questions about those in trouble and I continued on my way. A few days later one of my friends took me out to dinner at a French restaurant to pay me back

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1126260264487474772005-09-09T06:03:00.000-04:002005-09-09T06:04:51.670-04:00

One of my favorite memories of Charleston is of me and Haley running errands and spreading joy. It was usually through second hand conversation. A person would overhear our inane conversations and get a laugh. We always noted it after it happened by leaning in and saying in a low voice, “Spreadin’ joy.” We even talked about how we could be superheroes whose power was a superhuman ability to

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1126260188373960262005-09-09T06:01:00.000-04:002005-09-09T06:03:08.380-04:00

There’s a club here called Petrovich. It’s a membership club whose walls are covered with old communist propaganda. My new Russian friend Tatiana told me it made her think of her childhood. I couldn’t help but think, “What a childhood to have.” We went as celebration (the second night in a row) for the end of the latest CELTA course. The food was decent. I managed to get my first taste of

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1125398706994170842005-08-30T06:44:00.000-04:002005-08-30T06:45:07.003-04:00

Ah, Moscow by night. What the capital seems to lack in sight seeing it more than makes up in clubs. Everywhere you go you can see new Russians dressed to the nines waiting in front of less-than-imposing bouncers to get into the hottest new spots. Casinos bathe most of the grand boulevards in a sultry neon glow and there always seems to be a party in the street. The summer is short, so

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1125398667468064602005-08-30T06:43:00.000-04:002005-08-30T06:44:27.480-04:00

I’ve had it explained by many a high school science teacher that lightening never strikes twice. I’ve heard many reasons, but I think that the lightening might just feel it’s not in its best interests to pop back in after making such a fool of itself. This occurred to me at Maureen’s birthday party while we were trying to decide where to go. We were sitting in the basement club of

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1125398622028894922005-08-30T06:42:00.000-04:002005-09-24T04:35:58.760-04:00

I returned home at about 5:30 Sunday morning to see a pair of pink shoes sitting in the hallway. I noticed light coming from the crack beneath Zach’s door and simply assumed that he’d had some luck with the girls Mike and he had been talking with the night before. Annoyed with the outcome of my evening, I went into my room and pondered how to lock the door. After about ten minutes, I managed tie

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1124890056630764982005-08-24T09:27:00.000-04:002005-08-24T09:27:36.636-04:00

Today was a milestone in my time in Russia. I have lost my corrupt police force virginity! If you can’t tell, I’m very excited. It all happened around ten o’clock in the Sokolniki metro station. I teach there on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Zach actually just picked up an upper-intermediate class on the same nights. After we finished teaching, we decided to celebrate not

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1124890017406049502005-08-24T09:26:00.000-04:002005-08-24T09:26:57.410-04:00

Zach’s friend Kensey has lived in Moscow for three years. Last Friday was his going away party. Zach had been talking about this for some time. I had only met Kensey once so I just tagged along. I was however excited at the prospect of meeting some other gay people. The party itself was huge. Tons of people, all having fun, all quite nice. Naturally, I wasn’t very quick

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1124889979664268952005-08-24T09:25:00.000-04:002005-08-24T09:26:19.670-04:00

I was walking near my neighborhood and happened to notice a giant billboard that said “Stereo.” It advertised Chinese, Russian, Korean and Japanese food. Conveniently enough the café itself was right underneath it. I poked my head in and looked around. The walls were all stainless steel and the floors were a glossy dark brownish-red. Like most places in Moscow, it was ridiculously

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1124889917449479762005-08-24T09:24:00.000-04:002005-08-24T09:25:17.456-04:00

Zach has gotten onto me once or twice for using the word “cute.” None of my Russian friends seem to have noticed and I’ve never been called out on it by an American either, but it is true that whenever I like something I say it’s cute. I think it’s a good term for most things pleasing to the eye. It’s a lot better than seeing a puppy on the street and saying, “Aw, that puppy is hot.”

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1124283790429767132005-08-17T09:02:00.000-04:002005-08-17T09:04:23.563-04:00

Russians are a lot nicer to you when you make yourself look like an idiot. Something about childish incompetence really brings out the smiles. I’m not talking about mildly polite smiles or big toothy grins, but genuine kind smiles. The kind of smiles you see in commercials for herpes medication. It’s almost as if your acting like a fool has cured them of some terminal disease that

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1124283649324388312005-08-17T09:00:00.000-04:002005-08-17T09:00:49.336-04:00

I went today and sat beneath the statue of Peter the Great on the Moskva. I was there for about ten minutes before, through the reflected sunlight glimmering on the fountain, I saw Patrick. He was sitting opposite me, looking detached. I’ve come to think this is his look. Some people are punk. Some people are heroine sheik. Patrick seems to rule the aloof. I debated not

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1124126338739723522005-08-15T13:18:00.000-04:002005-08-15T13:18:58.743-04:00

So here I get to talk about the CELTA. For those of you I haven’t told, it’s a course administered worldwide by Cambridge. It stands for Certificate in English Language Teaching to Adults. It goes from noon to eight every day with teaching practice starting at 6 and lasting until the end of the day. The day begins with feedback, in which your tutor encourages your fellow teachers to call you

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1124126260282524412005-08-15T13:16:00.000-04:002005-08-15T13:17:40.283-04:00

I met a young man on the subway today. He wasn’t that much older than me. Though he looked young, there was something about him that implied age beyond his years. He hadn’t cut his hair in a long time, which made him look like somewhat of a feral child. He began talking to me, I don’t remember how, but he told me a little bit about himself. He’s an American. He said that he’d never been

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1124126206618657572005-08-15T13:15:00.000-04:002005-08-15T13:16:46.623-04:00

Motivation is an always an important thing in language teaching. It is important to know why students are studying English and what they hope to achieve. Usually it’s an attempt to get work in England, to become a model in LA, or to get a foreign husband. One of my favorites came from one of my students, who confided in me (in Russian) that he was taking English, “Because [he] works with a bunch

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1124126134863403052005-08-15T13:14:00.001-04:002005-08-15T13:15:34.866-04:00

Ironically, Moscow has quite a statue commemorating Peter the Great. It sits on an island in the Moscow river facing south-west. It’s a little confusing when you first see it. There are old fashioned sailing warships stacked one across the other like building blocks. Peter himself stands on the statue, hanging on and leaning out into the wind. It is my understanding that Muscovites hate this

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1124126067284938132005-08-15T13:14:00.000-04:002005-08-15T13:14:27.286-04:00

When I got here I was dying to know what Russian food is like. One word sums it up: bland. The only spices that they seem to have access to are dill, onion and garlic, and they don’t seem to use anything but dill on a regular basis. Wheat is bad, so you have to buy imported pasta or risk either breaking a tooth or having your noodles turn into some sort of weird porridge. There are however a

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1124125920961238102005-08-15T13:10:00.000-04:002005-08-15T13:12:00.970-04:00

I bitched for months about having to take Intro to Communication Studies my last semester of college, but I’ve found some of it to be very useful. There was one theory in particular that has been on my mind for the last few weeks. I don’t know what it’s called or who wrote it unfortunately, but it goes something like this; People are like onions. They have many layers. In getting to know someone

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13913149.post-1119580796014683322005-06-23T22:23:00.000-04:002005-08-17T08:58:22.506-04:00

I found myself thinking of one of my father's favorite stories. It's a History Channel trivia blurb. The kind of story the narrator reads off a single slide before commercials. In the early days of space exploration, American Scientists spent millions of dollars inventing a pen that could write in zero-gravity. The Russians simply used pencils.I share my father's fondness for the story and am

mischahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13765909126716705305noreply@blogger.com2