Reminiscent of a Diary (minus my current crushes and what all the girls said at school today)

A bit early to my evening English lesson today, so I walk around a nearby park. I've got a cold raspberry yoghurt (drinkable of course) to cool me from the recent heat wave in Moscow. A murder of crows (I love saying that) is harassing a dog a few feet away as one swoops down just out of reach of the angry cuss while the others jaw and cackle at the scene. I worked on my thesis defense all day today, and this little break is much needed before work.

After my lesson I come home and throw on my running clothes as fast as I can. It looks like a summer drizzle might start, and if I don't go now I won't get in a run today. About a kilometer into the run what looked like a sprinkle breaks into a microburst downpour. The night sky usually stays light until about 10.30 or even 11.00 this late into June, but the clouds block out all light from the fleeting sun tonight. Explosions of lightning give brief glimpses of the forest path in front of me, helping me dodge any obstacles.

But what may seem like bad luck to most runners is a refreshing break for this one. The rain not only cools the air, but pulls the heavy pollution out of it momentarily. The pollution gets so thick in this heat that it's almost hard to breath sometimes.

Before going home I stop in a grocery store for some chocolate milk (OH YEAH!) and I'm certain that every last eye in the little shop is fixed on my dripping, wet-dog appearance the entire five minutes it takes to get the milk. Despite the glares, today's run was a fantastic way to end a typical Moscow summer day.

The disheveled room behind me really accents the disheveled me after my run.

A piece-of-junk bike is all I need for a good time

In the spirit of juicing life I went on a forest bike ride yesterday. One of my favorite parts about Moscow is that it is dotted with forested parks. When the hustle and bustle of everyday life gets to be too much, I love escaping to these little sanctuaries. We (I) packed some snacks, went to the park ВДНХ, rented some super awesome bikes (these are possibly the worst bikes I've ever seen in my life...they warned us not to push the pedals too hard. I thought this was a joke until halfway through the ride one of my pedals snapped in half), and were on our way to The Forested Island (Лесиный Остров).

You shouldn't try to take pictures while riding a bike at full speed...unless you're awesome.

I love that things just grow here almost on accident...being from a barren desert, I'm used to having to tenderly coax life in vegetable form out of the ground. Here wild strawberries just pop up randomly.

We nicknamed our route 'post-apocalyptic alley'

...and you can see why

The road says 'A sober Russia is a great Russia.' I agree in principle, but this has historically never happened, so no one really knows.

Great day.

But seriously...why run?

Today I'm suffering from post-race pains. I feel sort of like my legs are made of extremely painful jello...or since we're in Russia, kholodets (meat jello, it tastes exactly as good as it sounds). What, you ask, caused this great pain to come about? For the past few months I've been dealing with minor foot injuries, and haven't been able to consistently train. Two weeks ago, I decided that two weeks is plenty of time to prep for a half marathon, and signed up for the Весенний Гром (Spring Thunder). After all, it's only half of a marathon, how bad could it be?

This must be one of those cases of temporary insanity, because no matter how you count it, 21.something kilometers didn't feel like half of anything. In fact, it felt like a whole lot of something. The race started out like most, and I ran out like I was doing a 5k, but around 8k I realized that something was horribly wrong. Like a ton of neatly stacked, well placed bricks, I hit it...THE WALL. The wall is a mental and physical realization that you are, in fact, a moron. It's your body's way of telling you, "Oh, you think you're in great shape huh? Wehehell, I've got some bad news for you tubby, you still have 13k to go." At this realization, I significantly slowed my pace just hoping to finish the race.

This general feeling of wishing death upon the past version of myself that signed up for the race (and actually PAID for this!) continued for quite some time. Luckily, I guess, 21k is a long time, and it gives you the time to have many ups and downs during the race. That's an hour+ time for thinking, and re-thinking. When I had about 4k to go I was finally able to convince myself to run faster, and try to catch some of the guys who had passed me in my pitiful state. I ended up taking 9th place, and feeling pretty crumby about my time, but it all goes into the large, overstuffed folder in my brain of 'lessons learned the hard way.' I know now that I need to prepare for half marathons a bit more than I do for 5ks. A lesson that should really be simple, but for the overconfident Bryce, nothing in life comes easy.

And now a brush with the divine. Also on being a poseur and pastries.

Saturday found me wandering some sites around Moscow, and I eventually found my way into the Christ the Savior Temple. This temple actually has a really fun history, being demolished under soviet antireligious campaign, the area was used as a giant swimming pool for years. Near the end of the Soviet Union, the enormous temple was reconstructed and has graced the Moscow skyline ever since.

Anyway, I dropped by on Saturday and there was a service going on. It didn't seem like anything particularly different than what I've seen before until out of the iconostasis marched a procession of priests, among whom was this man:

 His name is Kirill, and he's the head patriarch for all of Rus'. I was sort of blown away at the beauty of the service. There were two magnificent choirs belting out prayers along with the priests in one of the most impressively gaudy buildings in Moscow. With few exceptions the congregation dropped to their knees as Kirill marched out and began the service. That felt a bit uncomfortable, so I backed away a bit to not interfere. I left the service in a ponderous mood.

This is going to be a bit of a jump in the topic, but watching this procession sort of got me thinking about the individual lives of each of the priests. They each took vows of dedication sealing them to this path for their entire life. What does it take for a person to completely dedicate themselves to one thing? Here's the jump...I can see this same level of dedication  in many of my friends, but in various aspects of life (school, work, athletics). It's one of the hardest things in life to be absolutely passionate about something. I look at my own life and I must admit that I'm equally passionate about, for example, my schoolwork as I am about the pastries they sell in the bakery downstairs (most likely less actually). 

One friend has mentioned her belief that unless you are dedicated to an extreme level, you are only a poseur. When I initially heard this theory I rejected it, and argued vehemently against it. However, as time goes on my opinion wavers, and I find myself wondering what things I really am just pretending to be. What masks have I put on to hide whatever's underneath? This is hardly the forum to take off my masks, but I'd really like to believe that at least sometimes I'm not just a poseur.

I'm not convinced that people who are completely dedicated to something are more genuine, or more real. That's not the point I'm driving at. I think I'm trying to say that it sort of feels empty not having a passion, so that's why I fill the emptiness with sweet, sweet pastries.

Almost Famous

Here's a fun little article about me from the newspaper Moscow News. They just ask me about how I ended up in Moscow, and what my impressions of the city are. The photo's sort of scary, but they can only use photoshop so much.


Sorry if you don't speak Russian. Just imagine my always clever banter, and you'll get the gist of it.

...
The old link stopped working, so as promised, here's the article on the site: http://www.mn.ru/society_edu/20130408/342770642.html

'(Russia) is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an inigma' -Winston Churchill

I may have said this before, but one of my professors here has lived all over the world, and when people ask him why he came back to live in Moscow he just says that it's because it's a funny place. Just when I think I start to understand this city, it throws me some curveballs. Today I had the absolutely most banal errands to run, but they ended up being one tiny surprise after another...

The first surprise was when I woke up and it was sunny (it's been such a long winter). Then nothing happened for a while...but then I randomly ran into my friend Olya in a totally random corner of Moscow. It's crazy, but we run into each other all the time, and it would creep me out if it wasn't such a pleasant surprise. In a city of 15 million people, we see each other all over the place.

Next I went to the post-office, saw the line of 5 people and was overjoyed, a Russian post-office that's not overcrowded? A miracle. After 45 minutes of waiting though, the line didn't move at all. Just when I was about to abandon hope, it turned out everyone else was in the wrong line except me. Do you realize what that means?! I, an American, finally figured out the bureaucracy better than even the Russians! Plus, the normally frightening middle-aged woman at the counter was super nice. 

Finally I went to the store to pick up some dinner and found some odd products. 

For some reason there are a bunch of Ice Age products in Russia - what does Ice Age have to do with chips? I think Russians just really identify with the characters in the movie, apparently particularly the rabid squirrel.

My friend Yulia tricked me into getting this one. She promised it was just a health bar for kids. It looked innocent enough, sort of chocolatey. After I tried it she mentioned that it's made out of blood! How creepy is that? Especially with the scary child on the wrapper...cheeks are not naturally that rosy. I really feel like there are just so many jokes for this one...please just take a moment to think about them, and let your imagination take you there.

Diary of a Madman...a different madman. this one's about Gogol.

On Saturday I went to my first Russian play (I've been to a few in Ukraine), appropriately it was written by Gogol (a Ukrainian). If you've never read anything of Gogol, you really ought to. His stuff is very bizarre, but in an absolutely delightful way. The story of the play is that of the slow descent into madness of a low ranking official in St. Petersburg after he falls for a girl who barely knows he exists. The only way he is able to find greatness in life is through his delusional fantasies of becoming the king of Spain. I certainly can't relate to that even a little bit (quiet Drinky, you'll spoil everything! (that was an inside joke, if you're lucky, someday I'll let you in on it).

Lazy Mornings: Real Life, Moscow

In November I began what I promised would be a series of short blips of my day-to-day goings-on, then got distracted. Well, this is me delivering on what I'm sure you've been dying to read. This entry has a soundtrack, so please sit back and enjoy old slow hands as I rap a tale (I can't really rap, I'm far too white - what I do is more like an episode of Mr. Roger's Neighborhood, without all the explicit language).

On Russian Hospitality and Hospitality in Russia

New Year's Day has come and gone, but the celebrations continue in Russia. On New Year's, I was invited to the house of my friends Vasya, Alyona, and Denis along with about 10 other people. I was in Russia last year, so I knew roughly what to expect...tons of fireworks, tons of food, and a euphoric atmosphere that just won't quit. It ended up being a 24 hour long Russian culture lesson. That's right, an entire day was dedicated to this party. I arrived at 6 pm on New Year's Eve (about an hour late) and got home at 6 pm on New Year's day. In the middle of all this, I fell asleep on their floor for a few hours, but for the most part was drunk on sleep exhaustion by the end of it. I was totally blown away at how much salad was there (and the whole time people were complaining there wasn't enough).

The uhhh, the Nutcracker

 Yesterday I went to the ballet Щелкунчик (The Nutcracker) by Tchaikovsky at the Bolshoi Theater. It was absolutely magnificent, and especially festive. The set, dancers, and especially orchestra were just so incredible...it's no wonder they're the best in the world. Now, some of the readers may wonder, 'How is Bryce able to go so such spectacular things on his modest budget?' Well, there are two answers to that. One, the ticket cost me 100 rubles, or three dollars since I'm a student. Two, life can get pretty manageable when you're only looking after yourself. So the answer to financial stability is maintaining a miserly attitude folks.

And here I am wallowing in my miserly gluttony. It's beautiful isn't it?

The real story though was how we got the tickets. We woke up at 5 am to make it to the theater just as it opened so we could sign a random 'student ticket' notebook that in no way was official, but is enforced by those who sign it. Throughout the day we were supposed to check in to ensure the notebook's safety from others who came later. On the metro ride to the theater, I was fortunate enough to have a very drunk, and very fragrant man sit next to me. We had such an emotionally berserk discussion. First he explained that he really liked me, we shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. At another point his drunk eyes found the curious ability to give me a death stare, and he threatened to hit me in the most unpleasant of places. I told him, 'Sasha, I don't believe you would do that. We've gotten along so well thus far, and I don't think you want to hit me in the яички.' His eyes softened, and began their drunken wander again as he admitted that I was right. He was drunk, not angry, he just got a little confused. In the end, we became fast friends. I think my time in Ukraine really polished my ability to talk to angry drunks, if nothing else.

Whose woods these are I think I know

It's minus 25 Celsius outside on Christmas Eve, what am I going to do? Go running of course. Last year during the winter I often found myself staying inside my apartment to hide from the cold. Well, it turns out that's really boring! So this year I've made a concerted effort to do things no matter what...and it's turned out so great! I went ice skating with new friends, midnight strolls through glittering snowstorms, running in new forests, and there's only 5 more months of these types of activities. Today (Christmas Eve) I went for a run in my forest, Troporyovo, and I had to think of how lucky I am to live in a winter wonderland (even though I've always hated the cold, this time of year it just seems to fit).

Quiet Moscow Night

At the request of several people, I will start a series of small moments of everyday life for me. I have told a few people this, but sometimes when I'm bored, I like to narrate whatever's going on at the moment...the weird part is that it's usually in the voice of Jim Dale , or David Attenborough. Keep in mind, these short blips are naturally quite boring, but maybe a boring post is better than none at all?

On Exploring Peanut Twizzlers

I don't think it's possible to connect the goings on of my last few weeks in any comprehensible way, other than I haven't written a blog post in several weeks. I have been quite busy though. Here's a quick overview of what's been most important.

My friend Olya was in America, and was gracious enough to bring me back a piece, in Twizzler form. Possibly the best form America takes. I mean, except when America takes the form of a sweet dinosaur or something. 

Why run?

Running has played a huge part in my life. Since I was in seventh grade, it has taken the role of my major hobby, and has taken varying levels of meaning for me. Without getting into previous meanings it has been for me, I'll focus on the recent transformations of the significance of running for me. This summer, I came to the realization that as I grow older, it will be harder to find time to really train. So, to take advantage of the free time I have now, I began training for a marathon. I've known that I could run a marathon for a while now, I just wanted to do it right, and haven't had the time to train for it.

Пикник Афиши

Recently in Moscow, there was an event of silly proportions. It's called Afisha Picnic, and it's an open air concert, with artists from all around (but mostly Britain). Franz Ferdinand, Mika, Lauren Hill, Mos Def, и Аквариум were among the bands that performed. My friend Olya turned me onto going, and it was such a blast. Honestly, I was pretty skeptical...it just doesn't seem like my sort of thing. But in the end, I'm so glad I went, and here's why...

The weather was super fun, actually. It rained for about half an hour (out of a ten hour event, that's not too bad), and it just made things more fun. We all huddled under umbrellas, trying to stay  dry and dance at the same time. 

Protect your picinic baskets

It's the moments like this that make up my memories of a place. When I try to remember what it was like to live in city x, or country y, I generally don't remember some of the best parts like the conversations I had, the one time jokes that flopped (but I'm still secretly proud of), or the short-term friends I made. I have an event based memory, for better or worse. It's the trips, the picnics, the race days that I had to plan for that I remember. While it's most definitely a flaw in my memory, I feel like it can be overcome, and used to my benefit. By remembering the events, I can fill in the gaps more easily. Well this picnic/shashlik roast was just such an event...

 Shine, Nastya, Kerry, Wes, and Yulia all ready to eat.

 Everyone has a ridiculous look on their face (as opposed to normally?)

 As you can see, we were all having a pretty wild time...

 It was freezing, and you can tell by my face that I'm suffering.

Sophie, Helen, and Yulia huddling in the blanket.

That's my guitar, but that's not my hand! Creepy

And the best part of every bbq, staring into the fire afterward for hours on end.

*Not pictured: Sophie absolutely losing her mind and running around like a butterfly, Ivan and Ilya beating some local kids (in soccer...and otherwise), and Olga totally losing it after finding out she ate 11 ruble meat.

Brain Fever

As pale sickness does invade your frailer part, the breaches made, in that fair lodging still more clear make the bright guest, your soul, appear. -Edmund Waller

I must have gone outside with wet hair, because I got sick a few days ago (that's how people get sick here, that or catching a draft of wind). Only, as usual, I decided to deny the fact that my body could succumb to something so petty as a virus or bacteria. So naturally, I went running and rock climbing...two days in a row. Before you condemn me as a complete idiot, remember that...no, go ahead, it's true.

The following hours became a blur of only semi-conscious attempts to calm the fire in my throat, and to warm my freezing body. Having a fever is so surreal. It's almost as if you're placed as an observer of life, instead of an active player. I felt completely unable to communicate any substantial thought. Instead, sleeping more than I thought was ever possible, I saw life going by through my sick eyes.

Finally, around 5 am on Easter Sunday (or Palm Sunday, depending on where you live) my fever broke. I was lying in bed absolutely drenched in sweat. It was such a relieving and sudden passing that I could hardly contain myself. Either my eyes were leaking wayward bodily fluids (just like every other facial orifice during my sickness), or I was weeping out of joy. In any case, I made it through the crucible.

The Thaw

The new background on my blog is titled Оттепель by Фёдор Васильев (The Thaw by Fyodor Vasilyev). I saw this painting at the Tretyakov Museum on a recent visit, and it looks just like Russia in the spring, and it feels like Russia for me right now. I've posted fun things that I enjoy about the country, and I really do love living here, but Russia is no 24 hour carnival. Russians like to say that spring starts on the first of March, even though it still very much feels like winter. Though, spring is never really attractive at first. It's muddy, ugly, and cold...

Yesterday I went to the ice rink at Gorky Park, the largest ice rink in Europe, and saw something that turned my stomach and my conscience. A man had died somehow at the rink, and had been placed on a bench by the police. At first, this wasn't such a shocking sight...people die, and in big cities, you're bound to see this happen (I have seen it quite a bit in the past). I don't find death repulsive in and of itself, but the reactions of passers-by is disenchanting. The man, who was in his forties, looked fairly well-to-do, and was obviously just out for an evening skate. He was well dressed, salt and pepper hair, and had a bit of scruff on his face that was just graying at the tips. What perplexed me about this sight then? It is that no one, not even one person, stopped to gawk at this scene.

We stayed at the rink for about 2 1/2 hours, and the only progress that was made in moving him from the scene was placing a tarp over his freezing, pale body. And skaters, seemingly unaffected, continued to have a great date night, night with the kids, or whatever else they were initially doing. I've always found it disagreeable for people to stand around an accident scene guessing at what might have happened, but when I see the opposite, it's equally grievous. Call it vanity, but a large part of me would like someone to notice if I were to die. Something inside me wants society to notice when I'm gone, it wants to believe that my existence, or the lack thereof, makes a difference. What, then, is better, people who stop and stare at an accident like it's some kind of entertainment, or for an accident to be completely ignored? Don't take this as a cry for help from me, but more as as a representation of a thaw. When the cold winter starts to warm, it reveals the filth beneath, causing one to reconsider what's really important. Summer does come though, eventually...and I've always loved the more green seasons.

I guess my point is come visit Moscow.

Hang in there kitty

I have a lot of time to read while I'm sitting on the metro here, and I just finished reading a novel completely in Russian (it was hard for me, so that was my bragging moment). I chose to read The Master and Margarita by Bulgakov. The process of reading this novel was, for the majority of reading time, more interesting to me than the novel itself, but I did manage to gleam a few great ideas out of it by the end. The basic plot of the book is that Satan (Woland) comes to Moscow with his merry crew of hooligan demons Begamot, Koroviev, Azazzelo, and others. While in Russia, the group raises hooliganary among Muscovites including a beheading, a black-magic show, and a witch’s ball. There is a dual plot of the condemnation of one Yeshua Ha-Nozri by Pilate. It includes Matviey the Levite—the somewhat insane, but devoted disciple of Yeshua. I don’t want to ruin the story for any of you, but at the end of the book, I finally was able to grasp some of the deeper themes of the novel. The book puts a twist on familiar stories: the first on Faust, the second on the Gospels.
The first is a conversation between Pilate and the Levite in which they are discussing the already dead Yeshua. Keep in mind that this novel challenges what we may consider as black and white, and doesn’t really apply to religion (in my mind anyway) at all. Pilate says:

"You, I know, consider yourself a disciple of Yeshua, but I tell you that you have acquired nothing of what he taught you…Remember—before he died he said that he blamed no one…You are harsh, yet he was not harsh."

I often see this ultimate flaw in myself and others through self-proclaimed beliefs that are not lived, and ultimately artificial(again, not intending to restrict this conversation to religion). Where bigotry is spoken against, it shows its face in some warped form. Where equality is preached, it is not found. Humans are often so weak in resolution. Yet, there is a dual side to everything as is explained by Satan himself later in the book, again to Matviey:

"What would your good be doing if there were no evil, and what would the earth look like if shadows disappeared from it? After all, shadows are cast by objects and people. There is the shadow of my sword. But there are also shadows of trees and living creatures. Would you like to denude the earth of all the trees and all the living beings in order to satisfy your fantasy of rejoicing in the naked light?"

Thoughts? I have some, but this is getting too long.

Taxidermy, or Conspiracy Theory Unraveled?

Thanks to Helen for the photo.

I went to the Darwin Museum recently, and I had a great time...until it dawned on me that all of the fun animals I was observing were now dead and stuffed. Their skins were peeled off, and altered in unnatural ways for our amusement. The majority of viewers were under 12 (this is possibly the trigger that made me start to wonder about the exhibit). Just imagine little Sasha running up to her mommy, "look mom, a baby penguin. how cute." "I'm sorry I have to tell you this honey, but you need to know...the baby penguin is dead. They found it in the engines of a cruise liner, and used its carcass for a display. I hope you learned a lot from the ultimate sacrifice that little Scamper made." Have we really evolved all that much in all this time? Yes, yes we have...I learned that from the stuffed monkeys in the museum. We stuffed them because we're smarter. Put one down for the human race.

Speaking of Scamper the penguin, it's a cartoon from my early childhood. Out of curiosity I found it online and was shocked at what I found. It was initially a Japanese-Soviet production! The Russkis got to me before I could even speak English. Only, in their version, he's called Lolo. It's all a viscous plot to promote the Soviet way of life, and when little Scamps got out of hand, it was to the Darwin Museum for him. The perfect crime...well I won't stand for it. Check it out for yourselves...or if not for yourself, do it for lil' scamps.