Thursday, July 21, 2005 12:12 pm

I am ashamed to say that, yes, it has been a week. At first I was too busy, then too tired, then daunted by the enormity of the task. Now I will have to try to remember it all properly.

Thursday--a week ago--Dasha had plans for the Modern History Museum. However... the office had decreed that we would have three lectures, not two. We didn't finish until after 3:30. It was horrible. The lectures themselves were interesting--we watched a movie, listened to music, and looked at slides, but they were long. I liked particularly a painting called Bathing the Red Horse or something. I can see how the artist and others of the period (Chagall) were influenced by the icon.

I don't remember exactly, but I think I went home afterwards. I was reading some sort of trash. I changed clothes and ate supper, and then returned to campus. Faith was there, so we talked for a few minutes. Then we all walked to Muzey Kuskovo, which is, of course, lovelier than ever now.

In the concert hall of the great house, we sat in rows in plastic folding chairs. I sat by (Old) Kelly and Erin. There were no programs, and it wasn't announced who the performers were, but they appeared to be a youth orchestra of some kind. It was to be "a night of Mozart". I amused myself by looking at the paintings, mirrors, and gilded lions. Everything is gilded there, except the marble urns and the carpet.

I also amused myself by listening for musical form. But Mozart, as I would have known had I thought a bit, was not very adventurous formally. Every sonata was sonata allegro-sonata allegro-minuet and trio-rondo, and every concerto was allegro-romanza-rondo. It was very predictable. Erin and I were rather confused when, after intermission, they performed an allegro movement that sounded exactly like the one before intermission, down to the cadenza. Perhaps it was an encore of some kind; I don't know.

The soloist for the concertos was a flautist, very young (eighteen?), who was very expressive. Kelly (who plays the saxophone) said that his technique was terrible, but I couldn't hear it in his playing. He was really very good--no mistakes, only a little hesitant at first. He did, however, do that annoying thing that woodwind players often do--instead of standing striaght, breathing from the abdomen, and sending forth dignified tones, they dance, bobbing up and down and twirling their instruments in circles. I think it looks silly and sentimental. Other than that, I enjoyed his playing very much, especially as he grew less nervous and began to enjoy himself; he even started singing quietly along with the ritornello passages. As to appearance, he looked exactly like one would expect of a passionate, perspiring young minister from an eighteenth-century novel. He had a lock of matte, damp hair that kept falling over his high forehead, and he had large, sheepish eyes. In a novel, his name would be the Rev. Nathaniel Hezekiah Lovegood, and he would be cowed by the board of eldars.

I was pleased with the rest of the orchestra in general--there were too many violins, as usual--and the conductor was fine, and, happily, deferential to the soloist. I was proud of the oboists, who made not a single squawk out of tune, and were two young men who looked decidedly sane and normal for oboists. The two horns, though, were another matter. They were often out of tune, and it was certainly the first horn's fault. The second horn tried, poor girl, but there was nothing she could do about it: the first horn was simply awful. He could not have been listening at all, and as that is his responsibility as first chair, I must say that he was acting a pretty poor leader.

I also noticed a peculiar-looking viola player with long red hair and mutton-chop sideburns. He reminded me strongly of a young Jean Valjean. However, aside from that, I knew I'd seen him before, only I couldn't think where. No one else recognized him. Soon, I found out--he rides my bus. His face is very distinctive and not easily forgotten.

After the concert I went home and read. It was a very hot day on Thursday, and I simply wanted to go to bed before I melted.

Friday was also unbearably hot. After class, which was literature and therefore more or less fun, I went with a large group to the Armed Forces Museum. It was open this time, and I'm glad I went; I had to hurry through, and I think that made it better, because I only looked at things that were interesting.

Then I went back to Taganskaya to the American Center. Abby and I had a "chat" at 4:00. Fewer people than usual were there, and that made it better. A slightly younger crazy guy was there, as well as the nice old lady, Anton the philosophy student, and Daria.

Abby and I decided to go downtown to the toystore (Detsky Mir). We looked a long time through ridiculous piles of toys before finding the board games. We bought two; they are for Abby's teacher at home. We went to the top floor of a strange-looking mall in order to eat, but the restaurant looked way too trendy and expensive for us--there wasn't a single man without a jacket and tie--so we went to Okhotny Ryad and ate at McDonald's. We went to the internet cafe afterwards and stayed very late. I was trying to get all my pictures off Kelly's disk, but it was taking forever, and I only got about 1/4 done. I returned home very late.

On Saturday morning--also ridiculously hot--I awoke very early (6:30) and got to campus exhausted. I brought a pillow to sleep on the bus. I got some money at the ATM, then visited Sobaka's puppies. He was sleeping a way off, and Mrs. Sobaka was not aruond, so I played with all eight puppies alone. They are very friendly, and seem exceptionally healthy and clean. Someone has been feeding them--there was a dish. I gave them my sandwich. They founght over the bread, sausage, and cheese first, but eventually ate the lettuce and cucumbers also.

There are kittens on campus, too--two tiny, alert gray babies who look a lot like Hildegaard. The (formerly) pregnant cat is their mother. They are rarely seen and are not allowed to play with people. They have become very adept at hiding in the tall grass.

The bus ride was over four hours, and we didn't reach Suzdal until afternoon. (We decided not to go to Vladimir.) I tried to sleep, but wasn't very successful. I began a book by Arthur C. Clarke and Stephen Baxter (called The Light of Former Days, possibly) which contains a philosophy I object to very much. Actually, I hated it--it was foul and obscene--it was self-righteous--yet I didn't want to run away from it simply because I disagreed with its premise. It is good for my mind to read books with which I disagree, and good for my will to do things I find unpleasant.

Suzdal was packed with people--it was Cucumber Festival. We ate in a banquet hall that hurried us, then waited outside in the heat. Some Russian men tried to talk to me and Sasha.

Sasha is having a bad time--her room is infested by bedbugs, and her understandably embarrased hostess refuses to believe her. Sasha is covered by large red welts and everything she owns is crawling with tiny bugs.

We toured Suzdal with an English-speaking guide, and saw the beautiful old churches and museums. Suzdal, which has 12,000 people, had a comparable population a thousand years ago, when it was one of the largest cities on earth, larger than Paris or London. Its churches were not destroyed in the Revolution, because the population was agricultural, not industrial.

While we were there, it began to simply pour--it was insane. I don't know if I have ever seen so much rain. It stopped soon, though, and we visited a museum with a medieval wooden church and houses for rich and poor peasants.

There was a group of folk singers, and people were teaching folk dances. They were comfortably familiar--eight steps in, eight steps out, to the right, to the left, repeat. Abby bought some cucumbers and radishes.

We drove home, exhausted. There was no food--we stopped at a gas station, but they really had nothing. I ate half a loaf of bread and some Pringles. I love French loaves. I'm never eating cheap 29-cent grocery store bread again.

A group of us, upon returning, went downtown to buy the Harry Potter book, but it's not in yet. (Naturally.) I got home very late again.

Sunday morning I intended to go to church, I really did, but I was simply exhausted and stumbled back to bed. In the afternoon I went to teh internet cafe and spent several hours getting pictures off Kelly's disk. In fact, I think I may have spent more than fourh ours there. I came home, did homework, watched "Lost" (in Russian, "Left with the Living", as near as I can translate) on TV, and went to bed.

On Monday, I was still exhausted. I had spent all Sunday night being sick to my stomach, and hadn't slept. I decided to skip class and sleep. This means I've missed three days, all Mondays. However, I showed up around 1:00 to get my assignments and check on everything.

Abby and I had one-on-ones at the American Center. This time, it worked properly, with no extra people showing up. I talked for an hour with tow students whose Chinese names I couldn't pronounce. Then Abby and I talked for a long time with Anton, who I learned is a graduate student in ontology. He walked to the metro with us and seemed very normal. Then he asked me if I wanted to see a movie or go to the park, which I of course declined. This makes me sad, because he seemed so safe and normal and interesting, and now I shall have to be careful with him. He has promised to bring some short stories containing his "feelings" for me to read. I'm dreading this.

Abby and I went to Pushkinskaya to the book store, but Harry Potter was still not in. So we browsed in the Esleevsky Store (beautiful, ridiculously expensive, and gilded--why is everything here gilded?) and then went to T.G.I. Friday's for dinner. It was very expensive, and I am running out of money. I really shouldn't have paid 255 roubles for a strawberry daiquiri, only... frozen drinks are the closest things I can get to ice here. I miss ice.

After dinner, we went home. We were too tired to return to the bookstore to see about H.P.

Tuesday was normal--class was long... too long to sit still, especially with the weather like iti s. After class I returned home and did all the homework that I was behind on. I curled up with a book of Dostoievsky's short stories. This man must have been a lot like me. Anyway, his characters make sense to me and seem to uncannily echo my own thoughts and inclinations. Many people seem to think that his characters are weird or crazy, but they seem so normal, so real, to me. What other author can so perfectly capture the self-righteous, self-centered martyrdom of the true intellectual? Who else can so realistically detail the flawed logic that we use to justify our wrongdoing and turn it into glorious, world-changing self-sacrifice?

Wednesday was a long day. Class was long and boring, although we did not have the threatened verb test that we all studied for. I have to take tests on Friday, though, before I "graduate".

After class, I went downtown to the bookstore. HP costs 980 roubles!!!!!, which is absolutely not feasible. I bought Jane Eyre and Sons and Lovers instead (95r each). I put away Crime and Punishment (too much Dostoievsky is depressing and will make a person crazy) and began Jane Eyre instead. But I promise I will save the D. H. Lawrence for the plane!

I went to St. Basil's, which is beautiful and very, very old. I got in trouble for taking pictures--I should have known a license was needed.

I sat for a couple of hours in the Alexander Gardens, reading. Two very silly and stupid teenage girls were smoking and mocking tourists. I would have liked to shove their cigarettes down their cute little fourteen-year-old gullets, but ignored them instead. What will I do if I have airhead daughters? This is why I only want sons.

Then I went to McDonald's and couldn't pay because they don't take credit cards. I keep thinking I should be embarrassed, but really, by this point I was just melancholy. It wasn't a particularly good day.

Without supper, I went to our excursion--a concert at the Catholic Church. The service was still going on when we arrived. Dasha thought it odd that the liturgy was sung. Sasha, who is using chemicals to kill the bugs herself, and I amused ourselves by reading the church bulletin board in various languages. We also made fun of Polish. I feel very sorry for Catholics in Russia; they are not very well liked.

The concert was entirely Vivaldi concertos for flute, oboe, violin, 'cello, bassoon, clavichord, and sometimes organ. It was very lovely, although I wasn't sure what to do with my eyes as I couldn't see the performers and the church was elegantly simple. The acoustics were strange, too... They echoed a bit, which made the strings sound fuller, like there were more of them, but had a rather disconcerting effect on the woodwinds. The bassoon I could hardly hear, though I know he was playing loudly; I could see him puffing away like the Little Engine That Could.

The form of the movements (and the harmony, too) was veyr simple, so I listened for orchestration instead. I found that the oboe and violin, two instrument which I often dislike, blend very well together and, at times, sound so similar that it is difficult to tell them apart. I liked their blended sound veyr much, and will have to remember it. I was very pleased with the flute player--his tone was neither harsh and shrill, nor breathy and babyish, as flutes often sound. It was mellow and dark, yet strong and full, and if the flute can be played in this way, then I like it much more than I thought I did. The organ player seemed to fumble occasionally, although it may have been the strange acoustics. However, he was a substitute--a Sergey Kazarin, or something--not the woman listed in the program.

The worst, and funniest, part of the concert was the applause. It was embarrassing. Nobody was sure how many movements were in a Vivaldi concerto. Someone guess four, so we clapped uncertainly after the fuorth movement. However, it was soon obvious that there are three, as the next movement was a slow one, obviously Movement Two of the second concerto. Those of us in the audience with brains figured this out immediately, and knew exactly when to applaud. However, some in the audience apparently thought that concertos begin with slow movements, and insisted upon clapping wildly after each Movement One. The 50% of the audience that was afraid to offend the performers with weak applause followed suit. Thus, there was loud clapping after two of every three movements of the concerto. It was very, very embarrassing and disconcerting; and yet it's comforting to know that the U.S.A. does not have a monopoly on cultural idiots.

I arrived home alte. I rode the metro with Masha to Novogireevo, then got on a bus where at least half a cup of beer was tossed into my lap. I smelled like beer all through supper. Then I took a shower and went to bed.

This morning (Thursday) I slept in--until 11:30. Our lecture today starts at 2:40 (whose stupid idea is that?), and Abby and I, who scheduled a chat at 4:00, don't have to go. I spent the morning journalling, as you now know, and now plan to go to the American Center and the internet cafe. Then I hope to go to a grocery store and buy some candy and things to take home. Nina made me try kvass, and it's not bad--it tastes like raisin juice--so maybe I'll take some of that home, too.

Other than that, I'm not sure of what I will do today... It seems strange to be preparing to go home already.