Lex Libertas

This year’s Oscars are, without doubt, the best overall crop of performances that I have seen in a while. While it may seem as though last year was pretty bad for movies, the good ones were truly outstanding. Unfortunately, in making my decisions, I’m handicapped by not having seen all the contenders, Mystic River and Master and Commander foremost among them.

That said, I think that by far the two best films of last year were Pirates and Lost in Translation. If I had to pick one of the two, I would be torn. I think Lord the Rings deserves a special place in history, and I think it deserves an Oscar, but so do the others. LOTRs greatness stems from the fact that it is one movie in 3 parts. The movie as a whole deserves an Oscar, but I don’t think that any of the three discreet films do. LOTR will be remembered for a long time, even without an Oscar (just look at Star Wars, or Indiana Jones), so I don’t feel like I’d be shortchanging it by not giving it best picture.

Since Pirates isn’t nominated for best picture, I would give it to Lost in Translation. However, I would definitely give Johnny Depp the award for leading actor. It seems common knowledge that comedy is harder than drama, and Depp practically invented someone from another planet, and did it so believably that he (with Geoffrey Rush’s help) carried the whole movie. I would only hesitate in my decision because of Bill Murray’s performance. While not detracting anything from his world class performance, I would attribute much of his success to Sofia Coppola’s writing.

For directing, I think that Peter Jackson deserves it hands down. Direction is bringing all the parts of a movie together, and while Lost in Translation was beautifully rendered, LOTR was a project of hurculean proportions. To command not only the actors but all the CGI (cities whose beauty is matched only by Blade Runner and 5th Element), and to create so seamlessly the environment of Middle Earth outpaces all the others.

I haven’t seen enough of the other categories to speak with any confidence to their merits. In any case, it’s exciting to have so many worthy films nominated. It’s been quite a long time since I could say that not only am I torn between which films are the best, but that I don’t know which films the academy will select.

Starting on Monday, I will be teaching English at the Philological Faculty. I’ll be in charge of conversation classes for the last semester students who are studying to be English teachers. Essentially, I have the job because my native language is English, and not because I’m qualified. Although, for a conversation class, I guess that is qualification enough.

Additionally, their big final exam is a debate between two students, in front of their exameners. Now, debate is an area where I actually have something to offer the kids. Of course, we won’t be getting into too much debate theory, but there are some basics I hope to give them, ie. how to structure a case, how to semi-flow a debate.

Also, teaching at the St. Petersburg State University’s Philological Faculty will be excellent on my resume for any future teaching jobs in Eastern Europe. It’s the best language institute in the former Soviet bloc. Perhaps that will make up for my lack of TEFL qualifications (Teaching English as a Foreign Language). Of course, there are online courses where I can get a certificate, but this one month course in Prague or Madrid seems like so much more fun.

Russian holidays seem to be packed into the begining of the year, and they come in rapid succession. First is New Year’s, the mother of all holidays, on January 1. Then, January 7th, is Orthodox Christmas, although increasingly Western Christmas is recognized and psuedo-celebrated as well. Then, Jan 13 is Old New Years. To finish off January is Student’s Day (Tatyana’s Day). This is about the end of finals for Fall quarter, so it is well timed for end of exams festivities.

Russians also celebrate Saint’s Days * (like all good non-Protestant Christians). For those of you in America who didn’t take Spanish in High School. Every day of the year is tied to a particular Saint, and you celebrate the one whose name matches yours. This is easy enough for the common names, but I don’t think there is an Owen’s Day.

Then, in February we have the standard Valentine’s Day on the 14th. Only recently adopted here, it’s not nearly as popular as Women’s Day on March 8th, which is when all the gift showering, etc, occurs. Today, the 23rd, is Men’s Day. Though I think that it’s technically “Homeland Defender’s Day.”

Additionally, there is some sort of Spring/ Mardi Gras festival going on where everyone eats Russian crepes (blini). I’m not exactly sure what this is, and would love to hear from Russians. The holiday page I linked to earlier says it starts on the 27th, but I was under the impression that it already had. I’m a bit confused as to why we’re celebrating Spring when we still have half of Winter to get through.

This weekend was downright balmy. The temperature got almost up to zero Celsius (32F), and there was sunlight. Today we’ve delved back into the minuses, with snow. But for a while there I was walking around without gloves (hands in pockets nonetheless). It’s amazing how much your sense of normal can readjust itself. Whereas back home it’s 11C (52F), I used to consider that the depths of frozen hell. Now, I’d be tempted to sunbathe on the beach in that temp. And I don’t even like sunbathing.

We all knew Rummy was about raising hell on the battlefield with a lighter, faster force. But did you know that this macro philosophy comes from his years of martial arts training? Just take a look at some of his more well practised moves. Here are but two examples:

Drunken Temple Boxing
Sleeping Dragon

As mentioned previously, I went the the Mariinsky and saw a ballet performance of Don Quixote. Overall opinion, I wouldn’t do it again. The people I was with loved the show, so my tepid reaction probably just reflects my lack of enthusiasm for the activity as a whole.

For starters, the only reason it was called Don Quixote was so they could do Spanish costumes. DQ was maybe in the action for a grand total of ten minutes. He showed up on a horse, everybody loved it, but then spent most of the ballet on the sidelines, watching everyone else dance. And there were way too many intermessions. Three to be exact. One between each act (4).

The costumes were good all around. They started out as Spanish dresses, then went to the obligatory pink tutus, then Spanishy tutus. The men were always in tights, usually black - with psuedo-knight looking trappings. The sets were very well done, ranging from a harbor boardwalk, to a moonlight plain (with the familiar windmill, the only part of DQ I actually know) and then city square. My favorite was a dream sequence set in an autumnal forest.

The ballet got progressively better, with the final act far and away my favorite. Perhaps it was simply my being habituated to the activity that made it more pleasant, but I think it was because in the final act they let loose with all the standard ballet stuff that I wanted to see - eg. spinning alot, hopping around with one leg perpendicular to the other, bent at the knee to form a plane, etc. Before that it had been mostly lots of prancing, running around, and jumping in the air. On a sidenote, it seems that the way to make a move “cooler” is do it on one’s toes.

The theatre itself was amazing. Small enough that even in the back you could see fine, and very ornately decorated. I understand why it has the reputation that it does. Not that I think I’ll be going back anytime soon. Although the tickets are reasonable enough ($15) that I might be tempted by an opera or a play once my Russian improves. Now when I go to Moscow, I have to see the Bolshoy to compare the structures.

It’s about time we updated our tactics. These two campaigns have been a huge learning experience:

The officer, Lt. Gen. David W. Barno of the Army, said that in the past three months, American units down to the level of 40-soldier platoons had been dispatched to live in villages where they can forge ties with tribal elders and glean better information about the location and activities of guerrillas.

“That they’re confronting the tribal elders and they’re holding them accountable for activities in their areas of influence is a major step forward,” General Barno said.

You are an enzyme. You are powerful, dark,
variable, and can change many things at your
whim…even when they’re not supposed to be
changed. Bad you. You can be dangerous or
wonderful; it’s your choice.

Which Biological Molecule Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

I’ll take that. Thanks Kim, for the heads up.

A great observation by a reader to the National Review Online:

“I know a lot of conservatives may view the photo as just a knee-jerk selection by an organization keen on portraying the U.S. as a cruel attacker of an innocent father. No doubt, to those who are sympathetic to that view would see the picture that way. To me, however, the picture is a testimony of just the opposite. What kind of country would capture what it viewed as an enemy combatant, assure his inability to wreak harm, yet allow him to remain with and comfort his young son? To me, the picture shows not cruelty, but humanity. Of course, that’s probably not what the French photographer had in mind. ”

UPDATE: Actually, that’s almost exactly what the photographer was thinking:

The photo was made during a rare moment of humanity in a war zone, Bouju said, when a father who had been taken prisoner by American troops was allowed to hold his 4-year-old son who also was taken when the man was arrested.

The boy, Bouju said, was panicking and crying, so an American soldier cut the plastic handcuffs off.

Thanks Andrea, for the Google savoir-faire.

“Of course, it’s impossible to control the experiment — to factor out individual strengths and weaknesses that have undoubtedly shaped these young lives. You could argue that Shipp, Johnson and Flicking were no worse off than their friends who didn’t play ball, that they merely suffered the disadvantages of poor people the world over — the terrible narrowing of possibility so early in life; existences so fragile that all of life’s cruelties, not to mention the self-destructive impulses that afflict us all, hit with extraordinary force.

The question is whether basketball, instead of strengthening their immunity to misfortune, only weakened it further. When they were in high school, Shipp, Johnson and Flicking had the boundless energy that comes from the expectation of great things. Twelve years later, Johnson could hardly find words to express the exploitation he’d experienced in the ju-co leagues, or the dissonance he felt when, broke and facing eviction, he rode around Coney Island one day in Stephon Marbury’s limousine. Shipp, meanwhile, was laughing at his naive belief that the college coaches would have his best interests at heart, and wincing at the memory of watching his Seton Hall teammates take their places in the pros while he hobbled around on busted knees.

And basketball, instead of widening their horizons, seems only to have narrowed them further. In the wake of his accident, Shipp kept returning to the game until — having slid from top-ranked Seton Hall to second-rate C.W. Post to third-rate semi-pro ball in Kansas — he finally abandoned the sport altogether. Flicking, too, was full of regret. In a letter to The Press-Enterprise, a newspaper in Riverside, published not long before he died, Flicking wrote: ”While I was still playing basketball, I was miserable. The pressure of living up to people’s expectations of going to the pros was unbearable. When I stopped playing basketball, I found myself excluded by others. I was portrayed only as an athlete, nothing else.”

Even Johnson, the most freethinking, iconoclastic kid to put on a Lincoln uniform in years, rues the way the game encouraged him to betray his ”real self,” his ”writing self,” as he puts it, because of the social pressures to play ball. ”Growing up in the projects, all you ever heard about was the fast money you could make dealing drugs or in sports. The options were so limited. I used to tell people I wanted to be a writer. They’d look at me, like, ‘You can’t be serious!’ Now I think about it all the time, especially late at night: what would have happened if I’d gotten as much support and encouragement for my writing as I got for playing ball? Would it be as much of a struggle for me today?”

Each year, 500,000 or so young men play high-school basketball in this country. Each year, less than 1 percent of them get a Division I scholarship. The bitter disappointments of players like Shipp, Johnson and Flicking are the norm, but you wouldn’t know it from reading the sports pages or from tuning in to ESPN. There, the myth of basketball as the Great Way Out continues to thrive, uncomplicated by the stories of the young men who never made it. Those players are quickly forgotten, left to show up at the playgrounds where they curl their fingers around the chain-link fencing and peer at their younger selves out there on the asphalt, wondering what happened to them at such a tender age in their lives.”

Tomorrow, I have tickets for the Ballet at the Mariinsky Theater. Supposedly, what with St. Petersburg being the culture capital of Russia, the Mariinsky is the best theater in the country. Unfortunately, I’m not a big fan of ballet, so I’m afraid its merits might be lost on me. The show I’m set to see is Don Quixote. With a running time of 3 hours, I’m preparing for a marathon.

This weekend I’ve been really sick, and I don’t think I’ll be that much better by tomorrow evening. I’ve spent the past two days alternating between bed and desk, only venturing outside my room once, to buy groceries. I’m taking tons of Emer’gen-C. Normally, this stuff serves me well, and people over here call it the crazy Californian medicine. Just take a look at those nutrition facts - 1666% of daily Vitamin C. Forget these wimpy looking baby tangerines I’ve been eating, my C is covered, for the next several months.

On my weekend of lying in bed watching TV (a form of studying, I swear), I had a chance to see some ballet, only further confirming what I have always thought. It’s basicly a bunch of people, in tights, prancing about the stage, occasionally turning and/or jumping. Yes, I’m sure it’s hard to do. Yes, sometimes it looks cool and they seem to hang in the air (but so do basketball players). No, I’m not afraid to stare at men in tight clothes, it’s just not one of my preferred ways to spend time. Couple that with the fact that most of the women are way to skinny to be attractive, and I can think of lots of better ways to spend a couple of hours.

For instance, I love figure skating and rhythmic gymnastics. Heck, even ballroom dancing is fun to watch. These are also activities that are strenuous and show off the grace and skill of the human body, but are far more interesting for some unidentifable reason. Unfortunately, the Mariinsky is not equiped for skating or gymnastics. And ballet, opera, and theater have pushed ballroom off the schedule. I sincerely hope that the ballet tomorrow does not meet my expectations of boredom, I want to enjoy it. Since it is a Spanish story, I’m hoping it will have a little more latin flavor, ie. butt shaking and extravagant clothes. However, seeing that it was choreographed in 1902, I’m not too hopeful. I’ll give you my review after the show.

One man’s love for the Republican party.

Everything a story could want, good music, characters, even a Nazi crab. Oh, and I’m serious about the music. I like it.

This is what I imagine the Loveparade would be if held in the Soviet occupied East Berlin.

These guys are gonna be huge.

Alf Garnett?

Who said I was easily amused?

Just spending quality time at Rather Good.

Today I finally broke down and bought a keyboad. I have a laptop, so it’s not essential. However, I wanted to a) sit farther away from the screen b) type in Russian, and c) type easier on a larger layout. Of course, I could have bought stickers to put on my laptop keys to identify where the Russian letters are, but I had trouble finding them and they look really chintzy.

Now, my laptop is augmented with external speakers, an external mouse, and an external keyboard. All I need is a monitor, and my laptop will be a travelling hard disk/ processor. Additionally, I want an external DVD burner. Although they’re still a bit out of my price range.

All that’s left is to actually learn the Russian keyboard. I was able to adapt to the French keyboards in France, but they only have a couple of letters different than QWERTY. Instead I have to learn ЙЦУКЕН. I guess switching over to the Dvorak will have to wait.

My internet hasn’t been working for the past couple of days. Hence, no posting. It just came back online, and I hope it holds.

As is to be expected, Russian television plays a lot of American shows and movies, and some from other countries as well. I’ve even seen Spanish language soap operas. Are those things shown everywhere? Forget Halliburton and Bechtel, Telemundo is the real basis for world domination conspiracy theories. I wish I had stock in them.

All these shows are dubbed into Russian … poorly. My real problem with them is that they leave the english language track, and just put Russian on over it, slightly louder. This makes watching television over here a very frustrating experience. The english and the russian mix together into an incomprehensible mess. I can’t understand either language, so neither can I enjoy the english nor attempt to understand the russian. As such, I tend to stay away from most tv shows, watching mostly the two music video stations.

Occasionally they play Russian movies, which I try to watch, understanding the occasional “hello” or “thanks.” The commercials though, are all in Russian, so that counts. I mean, how cool is it that watching tv counts as “studying.”