No Pain, No Gain Pt. 2

There is an expression in Russian - Какая муха тебя укусила (ka-kaya moo-kha tib-ya oo-koo-seal-ah) - which literally translates as "What bug bit you?" but means something closer to "what's the matter with you? or "what bit you on the ass?".

I wish I knew what had sunk its fangs into me while I was walking around the Moscow Country Club's golf course one evening last summer, because it surely couldn't have been an insect, or букашка (bu-kash-ka). One potential suspect is the слепень (sleh-pen) or horsefly.

Go away

Getting bitten by a horsefly isn't pleasant. I last encountered these assholes back in Sarapul, my friend's Siberian home town, several years ago. Unlike a mosquito (комар - koh-marr), which just sort of stings a moment after it's long since buggered off, you can actually feel (well I certainly did) these arrogant bastards digging into your flesh. A victim's vengeance can be swift, however, as they don't fly very fast.

Nonetheless, it didn't seem as though a horsefly was the culprit, because I ended up feverish that night. A couple of days later I had to go to the doctor's for antibiotics (антибиотики anti-biotiki) as my right hand (правая рука - prah-va-ya roo-ka) ended up swollen to the point where my knuckles were no longer visible. So yeah, don't go anywhere near Russian nature.

Also contributing to last summer's countryside hijinx was a trip out to a place called Ruza. It's roughly a hundred kilometers west of Moscow, and you have to grab a train out to the small town of Tuchkova first before getting a taxi the rest of the way.

Once at Ruza, the local kids summer camp, or лагерь (lah-ger), was hosting a tango marathon called "El Huracan".

There some other bloodsuckers decided to feast solely on my feet, which is exactly what you want when you're dancing for three days straight. Regardless, the three days I spent there were marvelous and exactly the kind of weekend I needed. If it's not clear from the previous video, the dancing was all outdoors in a marquee at this summer camp.

But not content to limit my injuries to mere insect bites, I managed to screw up my left shoulder (левое плечо - leh-vo-ye pleh-cho) briefly. Way back in 2003, I did a magnificent job of yanking my left arm out of its socket (вывих плеча - vy-vikh pleh-cha) with the help of a cartwheeling pratfall on a dry ski slope. For those who live in countries with snow, this is what a dry ski slope looks like.

Yup

Dry ski slopes are a series of hard plastic spikes arranged in a diamond lattice with water sprayed on top, letting you (barely) slide over them. They are also the most miserable things you'll ever see and nothing like proper snow (снег - snyeg). 

Since that time, like Mr. Pringle said, once you pop, you can't stop, because dislocations don't work the same way as broken bones do. In most cases when a bone (кость - kost') is broken, it grows back stronger, but dislocations don't get that Wolverine luxury. The glenohumeral joint is not load-bearing, which makes it inherently unstable. Get yourself into the right position like, I dunno, tumbling face forward downhill after tripping over a slalom pole and breaking your fall with your left arm, and ta-dah! Your muscles in that arm are now screaming in agony and you're not allowed any morphine until the x-ray is done. To top it all off your muscles are now weaker, increasing the chances of it happening again next time you decide to windmill your arms about.

I did eventually get surgery, leaving me with an awesome scar, followed by months of physiotherapy not unlike in the previous post. Of course, in my idiocy I ended up popping my arm out again a few years later.

Since then there's been one or two close calls - at tango class of course - but nothing requiring a trip to the hospital with me screaming like a girl. As much fun as it is, I think I'll stop talking about my medical ailments for now.

I'm on instagram nowadays. I don't post anything artsy. Mostly posters for shitty bands who - as mentioned in the U2 concert post a while ago - can only make money nowadays by touring countries who for some baffling reason still have some misplaced nostalgia in them. 

Go on  - name ONE of their songs, and no googling

Failing that it's pictures of my neighbor's sweet ride.

Periodically I end up leaving my umbrella hanging on the handlebars while I unlock the front door and then forget to pick it up again. To date, the umbrella (зонтик - zon-tick) has still not been stolen away from me those nights I've forgotten about it, which only goes to show how bad ass his bike is.

Summer has come... I almost wish it hadn't

Yes it's incredibly lazy to just embed YouTube vids haphazardly, but it saves me time because I'm awfully lethargic. Since the last post I've been in between jobs - which actually means I've been doing two jobs until the latter is done with - so the prospect of coming home to read and write more stuff (that I won't get paid for) has been a little unappealing. That and the year-long honeymoon period of keeping a blog has nearly ended. But fret not, I shall endure!

Coming back to Martha and The Vandellas, it's been hot. No really. It started off as fun, but then came forest and turf fires, thick smog from the infernos completely blanketing parts of the capital, people's dachas (country houses) burning down in the Moscow outskirts, crop failures, and states of emergency being declared in 20+ regions of Russia. The past three weeks of drought have been hellish for a lot of people, but it's finally cooling down.

As a result it has added to the whole being idle thing. I have mostly hidden away indoors because there are only so many sunbeams the Northern Irish tan can take, as well as the fact that I am being less wild with my money - though what I would be spending on eating out is now being spent on keeping my air conditioner working overtime (my bedroom window faces the setting sun). On top of all that, the student loan Sword-of-Damascus over my head has finally made me paranoid enough to start paying it off.

So what is there to say? Well, my friend Mitya (formally Dmitry; Russians have various diminutives, e.g. Benjamin = Ben/Benny/Benster etc.) has finally released his first book, called «Секс в саду камней» (Seks v sah-doo kahm-neigh) which means... umm... "Sex in the Stone Garden". It's an erotic satire consisting of a collection of short stories, of which I've read the first four, which revolves around Japanese culture.



The huge irony is that, while Mitya spent a lot of time in China in his formative years, he has never once set foot in Japan, and instead bases his stories on various stereotypes and his own perverted mind. With each passage, I begin to look at him in a slightly different light, as they get ever more extreme in content, but all the more hilarious.

Pending his approval, I'll eventually put pictures of the book presentation, which took place at the Mayakovsky Museum, on my flickr account. It should be noted that in order for any book to be printed in Russia, the publishers must have a letter from what is ostensibly the propaganda ministry declaring that it does not contain extremist material. I would have been interested to see the expressions on their faces upon seeing the cover of Mitya's opus land on their desk.

Aside from potential book pics, a lot of (mostly untitled) photos have been added to the new Moscow 2010 flickr album They feature sunshine, and there are some ladies contained therein. Enjoy.

Update: Moscow continues to be enveloped in smog. There was brief respite on Friday afternoon, but it came back with a vengeance at the weekend. I took some pics last Wednesday, which more or less show what it's like currently.

But if that's not enough for you, someone made a video on YouTube of what it's like.



Thankfully I have an air conditioner in my apartment, as well as some surgical masks.

Sun, Soldiers and Motorcycles

Summer has finally hit the streets Bulgakov once strolled, and with it the Russian character changes dramatically from the cold, gruff exterior, to just a gruff exterior with an occasional smile. It's entirely welcoming, given that the winter was not-cold-enough-to-be-inhospitable but just-cold-enough-to-depress-you, except for the fact that my flat is west facing, meaning the place now turns into a greenhouse. Swings and roundabouts.

Tomorrow is Victory Day (День Победы - Dyen Pobedi) so lots of St. George's ribbons have been handed out via young volunteers forced to sit in blazing heat wearing hazard vests, which everyone wears happily on whatever they can attach them to, yours truly included. There has already been a practice parade for the military, which meant that nearly all of Moscow traffic yesterday was brought to a standstill because they closed off the main road in the centre (Тверская Улица - Tverskaya) so the tanks could trundle down and ruin the roads, like they did last time. Pundits in the Western media will likely bitch about how it's a provocating show of military strength and how the whole Medvedev-Obama reset relationship blah blah blah...

Anyway, because the weather has defrosted the roads, many Russians, who were pedestrian bound beforehand, have suited up and mounted several CCs of unnecessary engine power. It's kinda fun watching them drive by, because it shows that they're actually enjoying themselves, throwing the whole stereotype of Russians having no emotion out the window. My balcony affords me a view of one of the major roads, and yesterday some bold maniac sped off from the lights and pulled off an insane wheelie over several yards with his biker friends on either side.

In other news - To nobody's surprise Moscow is due to host the Eurovision Song Contest, following 2008's abysmal performance by Dima Bilan. Russian's are not known for being particularly tolerant of gays or non-European Russians - European Russians are called Русь ('Roose' pronounced like the word 'moose') - so it's interesting that Bilan (a combination of both) has become so popular with the masses. Some kind soul (me) has arranged all the 2009 entries on YouTube into a playlist.

Germany's entry Alex Swings Oscar Sings will have Dita Von Teese dancing alongside them during the final. It's already the best song out of the lot, and, combined with Marilyn Manson's ex, this can only be seen as Western Europe's last-ditch attempt at wrestling the Eurovision title out of the grimy hands of Eastern Europe Bloc voting. Bookies are saying 2-1 Norway, tho.