Sorry Mom, you get second bill -- the reviews I've been reading of Betty White on SNL are AMAZING! What can I say? I'm your son, and I was taught to value a good bit of bawdiness.
American TV is something I am missing. I haven't beeen an avid TV viewer for years. There are some shows I would watch religiously - like Top Chef or Project Runway, which was viewed with my queer friends in Dan, Frank & Craig's gorgeous apartment in Brooklyn, or The Daily Show and the Colbert Report. Otherwise ... I'm a take it or leave it kinda' viewer.
But TV events have always been a priority. Betty White hosting Saturday Night Live -- that would have been a priority. Golden Girls is one of my all-time favorite shows, which I watched when I was kid, and then re-discovered in constant reruns on Lifetime (every now and then me and my former roommate, Chris, would sit in our DC apartment and get drunk and pig out on snacks while watching the Girls on TV). Great writing, great actresses ... just great great great!
But I'm not in the US -- so I can't even watch the clips here. Ah well. I can read the reviews and think up my own sketches in my head -- I'm quite sure Ms. White will not disappoint when I finally return to the States and get to Hulu the whole shebang.
I guess Betty White was hosting the "Mother's Day" episode. I was reading an article on it, and it said that traditionally the Mother's Day weekend episode of SNL features a female host and predominantly female sketches -- and many SNL alum come back and make appearances. Very cool to have traditions like that, I think.
Today, though, was not Mother's Day in Russia. Nope, it was Victory Day. Classmates and I went to go watch the "parade." For the first time in its history, Americans and other NATO members would be marching in the review of troops that takes place on Red Square.
The review of troops is different from the Parade, though. The parade, down Tverskaya -- which is the main avenue of Russia -- was nothing like we know and love. There were no marching bands or even military bands. There was no music, period. There were no Shriners driving around in tiny cars or other social organizations. There were tanks. And rocket launchers. And ballistic missiles. And terribly old tour vans that contained soldiers of one form or another that tagged along at the end.
By and large, it was an inhuman parade down Tverskaya.
Metal, machinery, and might were the ruling themes of the parade. It wasn't a joyous affair but an impressive one. But what was that impression, exactly? I'm not quite sure. I turned to Laura, my classmate, after about thirty minutes of the parade and remarked that it was boring. Her response: "Yeah. And disturbing -- some of these machines were used to kill people."
As my classmates and I have observed througout the past few days, as rehearsals for the parade took place, parades in the US involve the local fire department polishing the firetruck and wearing their dress uniforms. The Inaugural Parade has some troops in it, but no missiles or tanks or other objects capable of oblivion. Our parades seem more celebratory ... these parades? More ... what?
We were very silent as we watched the tanks roll down Tverskaya. Across from us, a twenty-somthing Russian was waving the hammer and sickle. He was alone in doing so -- Russian flags surrounded him. Some people cheered as the plumes of diesel fuel choked air. I waved at a car load of troops, and "oohed" at the fly over of the fighter jets that sky-wrote the Russian flag in the air ...
but I can't say I smiled. Smiling came later in the day when I Skyped with my Mom (and Dad). Having taken their plates from the kitchen table, they gathered around their desktop in the "family room" so we could have a "meal" together - for them: breakfast; for me: dinner. It was odd, but so was so much about today, and so is so much of life.
While I'm sure the oddities of life will be abundant this summer (they are never far away for my family), sitting in my parents' house, having a "meal" at the same table, no matter how awkward, will be lovely. Tolya asked us, last Friday, if any of us four dramaturgs could see ourselves living in Moscow. I honestly answered "yes." I have my gripes and complaints about Moscow, but I could live here; however, for right now: I want to go home.
In 34 days I will.
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