7:00am: woke up, had breakfast, showered
7:45am: being e-mails and other things
8:30am: continue reading Dostoyevsky's "Notes from the Underground."
11:15am: lunch
11:45am - 12:15pm: complete "Notes from the Underground"
12:15pm: walk to school.
1:00pm: class with Igor
2:30pm: check schedule for tonight, go grocery shopping
4:30pm: make dinner
5:00pm: eat dinner
5:30pm: dishes, begin research on Opus No. 7
6:15pm: walk to school to meet Nastia to go to Opus No. 7
7:00pm: meet Nastia
7:20pm: coffee
8:00pm: Opus No. 7
11:15pm: return home
Midnight: blog, read for class tomorrow, answer e-mails, some leisure time
1:30am - 2:00am: bed?
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
37
The theater is the opiate of the people, or so Comrade Lenin believed. What we learned today in our theatre history lecture was that as Lenin closed the churches throughout his newly constituted Soviet Union, he established theatres. Icons wrought from wood were replaced by icons wrought from make-up and good lighting; the ethereal was replaced with the real; epistles were replaced with propaganda.
Tonight the ballet began at 7 and few people were there to watch. The solace and peace of Chekhov's CHAIKA, transfigured into ballet, was lost on one-half of the house -- because one-half of the house was not there. Tonight, the people stayed home to count their blessings. What these multitudes missed was not a polemic on society; not a treatise on human dignity or bourgeois excess; not a homily on capitalist evils. Tonight the ballet began at 7, as scheduled, and presented an elegant exploration of Chekhov's characters. Tonight was an accidental escape.
As Anatoly Meronovich continued his lecture on Lenin and his relationship with the Moscow Art Theatre, he gave a nod to society's progress. Well, it was more of a shrug: Russians are beginning to view theatre as theater. 95% or so of Ruskis hold views similiar to those of Americans: you go to the theater to see pretty things, not to think. The theatre exists to entertain.
CHAIKA was a beautiful expansion of Chekhov's psychological nuance. It created new scenes, inspired by the play, that showed the humiliation and pain of Chekhov's beautifully flawed characters. A short but stunning duet between Masha and Medvedenko -- a woman "settling" for the also-ran of her heart -- stole the show (in my opinion). It was simple but complicated, it was plain but inspired, it was painted in gray but conveyed a spectrum of ache, love, and longing.
Sitting in the plush seats of the Moscow Musical Theater in honor of Stanislavski & Nemerovich-Danchenko, the world outside evaporated. The emotional beauty of Neumeier's explorations erased, for a moment, the stress of some. I'd venture to guess that Nastya, our Angel for the evening and our outstanding daily administrator, was someone who was releived. Her shoulders were raised and her voice quivered as we walked briskly towards the theater building. The stories tumbling from her lips had everything to do with alarm and worry -- like many of the stories we shared in DC or NYC after 9/11. The magnituted of injury was far less today, but the magnitude of vulnerability was equal: Nastya was shaken, but we were not; her country was attacked, but ours was not.
Today 37 people got onto the Moscow Metro but never got off. We didn't think about them as we left the theater. We talked about the humor and wit of the "Swan Lake" parody; we talked about the ache of the Masha-Medvedenko duet -- a duet never really seen in Chekhov. Tonight we did not talk about the two unseen women and their thirty-five faceless victims. Tonight we escaped.
Tonight the ballet began at 7 and few people were there to watch. The solace and peace of Chekhov's CHAIKA, transfigured into ballet, was lost on one-half of the house -- because one-half of the house was not there. Tonight, the people stayed home to count their blessings. What these multitudes missed was not a polemic on society; not a treatise on human dignity or bourgeois excess; not a homily on capitalist evils. Tonight the ballet began at 7, as scheduled, and presented an elegant exploration of Chekhov's characters. Tonight was an accidental escape.
As Anatoly Meronovich continued his lecture on Lenin and his relationship with the Moscow Art Theatre, he gave a nod to society's progress. Well, it was more of a shrug: Russians are beginning to view theatre as theater. 95% or so of Ruskis hold views similiar to those of Americans: you go to the theater to see pretty things, not to think. The theatre exists to entertain.
CHAIKA was a beautiful expansion of Chekhov's psychological nuance. It created new scenes, inspired by the play, that showed the humiliation and pain of Chekhov's beautifully flawed characters. A short but stunning duet between Masha and Medvedenko -- a woman "settling" for the also-ran of her heart -- stole the show (in my opinion). It was simple but complicated, it was plain but inspired, it was painted in gray but conveyed a spectrum of ache, love, and longing.
Sitting in the plush seats of the Moscow Musical Theater in honor of Stanislavski & Nemerovich-Danchenko, the world outside evaporated. The emotional beauty of Neumeier's explorations erased, for a moment, the stress of some. I'd venture to guess that Nastya, our Angel for the evening and our outstanding daily administrator, was someone who was releived. Her shoulders were raised and her voice quivered as we walked briskly towards the theater building. The stories tumbling from her lips had everything to do with alarm and worry -- like many of the stories we shared in DC or NYC after 9/11. The magnituted of injury was far less today, but the magnitude of vulnerability was equal: Nastya was shaken, but we were not; her country was attacked, but ours was not.
Today 37 people got onto the Moscow Metro but never got off. We didn't think about them as we left the theater. We talked about the humor and wit of the "Swan Lake" parody; we talked about the ache of the Masha-Medvedenko duet -- a duet never really seen in Chekhov. Tonight we did not talk about the two unseen women and their thirty-five faceless victims. Tonight we escaped.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
yesterday's post this morning
Ah, the joys of waking up drunk in a dorm full of artists! I woke up to the sounds of Shakespeare in recitation. Not a bad way at all. Some nights, I fall asleep to the sounds of Russian folk tunes being sung in the hall. Gorgeous! Trust me, I love it! After years of falling asleep to the sound of trucks rumbling down Ocean Parkway, or waking up to garbage men on F Street, this is heaven.
My choirs of angels are a chorus of young actors.
Last night was someone's birthday. I'm not sure who's, but it was his. A Russian; an actor; a comrade. Vodka and hookas were passed around. Cigarettes and beer, songs and stories, laughter on the stairs of the dorm. It was fantastic!
It is a little painful this morning, but so much the better -- good things should have a bit of a knife's edge to them. It is the sharpness that keeps them novelties and not routines.
Shakespeare in the morning; waking up drunk. Brunch in a few hours with some fabulous gay men ... Mass even sooner (I need to shower!).
I love Moscow.
My choirs of angels are a chorus of young actors.
Last night was someone's birthday. I'm not sure who's, but it was his. A Russian; an actor; a comrade. Vodka and hookas were passed around. Cigarettes and beer, songs and stories, laughter on the stairs of the dorm. It was fantastic!
It is a little painful this morning, but so much the better -- good things should have a bit of a knife's edge to them. It is the sharpness that keeps them novelties and not routines.
Shakespeare in the morning; waking up drunk. Brunch in a few hours with some fabulous gay men ... Mass even sooner (I need to shower!).
I love Moscow.
Friday, March 26, 2010
A Knife in the Back
"Joseph, your temper." "Yes Mom, I know, my temper; my temper, I know."
Some people are not meant to keep blogs. I am one of them. I hate blogging because there is a public element to private thoughts. Blogs are not diaries, but I treat them as one. I have to correct that; I have to start writing in my diary.
Today was a stressful day for stupid and personal reasons. It began with someone leaving my milk out to spoil -- accidentally, of course, but it angered me. If you're going to bang around the kitchen at some hour of the day or night, at least have the common decency to put other people's belongings away. Especially if they involve their morning ritual. Morning rituals are sacred in my family, they ease us into the trivial and stressful minutia of life. They are small personal moments -- moments that are increasingly valuable when you must live in communal housing.
In place of my soothing coffee in my bedroom, I had to head to PrimeStar. I spend money I didn't want to spend, but the walk and soothing moments reading Gogol in a cafe calm my nerves. All is better, until I get to Anatoly's class.
We sit at Anatoly's luxurious table, he at the head, and he announces his concern. It had been relayed to him that we were not understanding what we were seeing; we were not taking the intiative to find out about the plays we are sent to, and thus not understanding what was going on. He was relying on hearsay; he was wrong. He made me angry -- not at him, but at the perceived source of the hearsay.
My anger came forth in my blog. My remaining personal ritual for the day. In retrospect, I was too harsh. In retrospect, the majority of the day was a series of missteps and miscommunications.
Some people are not meant to keep blogs. I am one of them. I hate blogging because there is a public element to private thoughts. Blogs are not diaries, but I treat them as one. I have to correct that; I have to start writing in my diary.
Today was a stressful day for stupid and personal reasons. It began with someone leaving my milk out to spoil -- accidentally, of course, but it angered me. If you're going to bang around the kitchen at some hour of the day or night, at least have the common decency to put other people's belongings away. Especially if they involve their morning ritual. Morning rituals are sacred in my family, they ease us into the trivial and stressful minutia of life. They are small personal moments -- moments that are increasingly valuable when you must live in communal housing.
In place of my soothing coffee in my bedroom, I had to head to PrimeStar. I spend money I didn't want to spend, but the walk and soothing moments reading Gogol in a cafe calm my nerves. All is better, until I get to Anatoly's class.
We sit at Anatoly's luxurious table, he at the head, and he announces his concern. It had been relayed to him that we were not understanding what we were seeing; we were not taking the intiative to find out about the plays we are sent to, and thus not understanding what was going on. He was relying on hearsay; he was wrong. He made me angry -- not at him, but at the perceived source of the hearsay.
My anger came forth in my blog. My remaining personal ritual for the day. In retrospect, I was too harsh. In retrospect, the majority of the day was a series of missteps and miscommunications.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
March 24
11:00am: Class with Igor Vishnevetysky on Russian History [The Life of Avaakum]. Discussion was brief, and veered into current cultural life in St. Pete, and then talking about the role of "Old Believers" in Russia's Silver Age (1890 - 1910, or there's about)
1:30pm: Class with Anatoly Smeliansky. Discussion of upcoming productions, already seen productions. Not sure what I want to write about ...
2:45pm: Gym. Easy work-out, but good.
5:00pm: Changed for the theater
7:00pm: Mark Morris Dance Company at the New Opera.
11:00pm: watched "The Man With A Movie Camera" in 2x speed and then wrote my response.
12:00am (March 25): e-mailed response re: "The Man With a Movie Camera"
1:30pm: Class with Anatoly Smeliansky. Discussion of upcoming productions, already seen productions. Not sure what I want to write about ...
2:45pm: Gym. Easy work-out, but good.
5:00pm: Changed for the theater
7:00pm: Mark Morris Dance Company at the New Opera.
11:00pm: watched "The Man With A Movie Camera" in 2x speed and then wrote my response.
12:00am (March 25): e-mailed response re: "The Man With a Movie Camera"
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
My Russian Diet
"You're never going to be able to do it," Whitney sneered. "Why?" I responded. "Because, Russians put meat in EVERYTHING." Ok, yes, Russians do put meat into just about everything - vegetable soup is actually beef and vegetables; potato pancakes have chicken in them; cold carrot salad will have bits of chicken in it ... and so on. But keeping vegetarian hasn't been too bad for me.
You see, I've given up eating meat for Lent (except for fish, but even then I don't eat very much of it). This year, I am especially lucky because the Orthodox and Western Easters are on the same Sunday, so Lent is the same 40 days for both faiths, so Moscow is filled with "Post" [Lent] menus. These astrixed options on the menu have been my get-out-of-meat free cards for the past few weeks. So, instead of the meat soup - fish! Instead of carrot salads with chicken in them - beet salad! Instead of chicken-filled potato pancakes - regular potato pancakes! I'm in heaven.
My paradise of meal options has less to do with my reading Russian, and more to do with my ability to look at pictures. Teremok, a chain of crepe stands that can be found on many Moscow streets, serve great "e-mail" crepes [mushrooms and cheese] and ikra [red caviar, probably salmon] crepes. Delicious -- and easy to order because their larger than life pictures are on the McDonald's-like menu.
And there is McDonald's here! I went once - probably will never go again (it was a MADHOUSE), but there are some great McD's options here that you can't get in the states - like CHEESE McNUGGETS. Think chicken McNuggets, but filled with cheese instead. Yum! The strawberry-cranberry "dipping sauce," though ... um, no, not yum.
And of course there are the potato chips: sour cream and onion flavored, cheese, bacon, lamb, caviar, leek and cream, chicken, jalepeno ... and others. Why are these exotic Lays chip varieties not in the States???
Why must I use the term "exotic Lays chip varities?" That says something about our tastebuds, our American tastebuds. I don't know if Lays would have a run on caviar flavored potato chips in the states, or if fat-obessed America -- now super-sizing it criticism of McDonald's -- would buy deep friend cheese. Our tastes, and culture, are different.
I pondered this difference this afternoon as I ate my lunch -- a delicious eggplant spread (probably a sauce, like Ragu or something) on soft slices of bread with some Russian cheese and pickles, and a glass of kvas [a low-alcohol beer brewed from bread]. It's a "French lunch," as I call it, because I was watching a French film years ago, and the couple in it were going on a road trip to some country estate. On the morning of their road trip, their early lunch consisted of pickles, cheese, and bread. They were probably just emptying out their cabinets before their departure, but to me it seemed elegant. No fussing with bread slices, lettuce, slabs of meat; instead, delicate eating of small tasty bits. A kind of crude refinment.
As I continue to wander supermarket aisles -- making new discoveries like "hatchipurri" [Georgian bread - filled with cheese!] or mushroom pancakes, or chocolate flavored cream cheese -- I keep my American tastes in mind. While much of what I buy is just like home (Russian frozen vegetable mixes, or frozen lasagne) I try to venture out into something new, like pickled mushrooms [never again!]. Hopefully, as I learn what I like and make more use of my gym membership, my Russian diet will expand my perspective and not my waist.
You see, I've given up eating meat for Lent (except for fish, but even then I don't eat very much of it). This year, I am especially lucky because the Orthodox and Western Easters are on the same Sunday, so Lent is the same 40 days for both faiths, so Moscow is filled with "Post" [Lent] menus. These astrixed options on the menu have been my get-out-of-meat free cards for the past few weeks. So, instead of the meat soup - fish! Instead of carrot salads with chicken in them - beet salad! Instead of chicken-filled potato pancakes - regular potato pancakes! I'm in heaven.
My paradise of meal options has less to do with my reading Russian, and more to do with my ability to look at pictures. Teremok, a chain of crepe stands that can be found on many Moscow streets, serve great "e-mail" crepes [mushrooms and cheese] and ikra [red caviar, probably salmon] crepes. Delicious -- and easy to order because their larger than life pictures are on the McDonald's-like menu.
And there is McDonald's here! I went once - probably will never go again (it was a MADHOUSE), but there are some great McD's options here that you can't get in the states - like CHEESE McNUGGETS. Think chicken McNuggets, but filled with cheese instead. Yum! The strawberry-cranberry "dipping sauce," though ... um, no, not yum.
And of course there are the potato chips: sour cream and onion flavored, cheese, bacon, lamb, caviar, leek and cream, chicken, jalepeno ... and others. Why are these exotic Lays chip varieties not in the States???
Why must I use the term "exotic Lays chip varities?" That says something about our tastebuds, our American tastebuds. I don't know if Lays would have a run on caviar flavored potato chips in the states, or if fat-obessed America -- now super-sizing it criticism of McDonald's -- would buy deep friend cheese. Our tastes, and culture, are different.
I pondered this difference this afternoon as I ate my lunch -- a delicious eggplant spread (probably a sauce, like Ragu or something) on soft slices of bread with some Russian cheese and pickles, and a glass of kvas [a low-alcohol beer brewed from bread]. It's a "French lunch," as I call it, because I was watching a French film years ago, and the couple in it were going on a road trip to some country estate. On the morning of their road trip, their early lunch consisted of pickles, cheese, and bread. They were probably just emptying out their cabinets before their departure, but to me it seemed elegant. No fussing with bread slices, lettuce, slabs of meat; instead, delicate eating of small tasty bits. A kind of crude refinment.
As I continue to wander supermarket aisles -- making new discoveries like "hatchipurri" [Georgian bread - filled with cheese!] or mushroom pancakes, or chocolate flavored cream cheese -- I keep my American tastes in mind. While much of what I buy is just like home (Russian frozen vegetable mixes, or frozen lasagne) I try to venture out into something new, like pickled mushrooms [never again!]. Hopefully, as I learn what I like and make more use of my gym membership, my Russian diet will expand my perspective and not my waist.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
