Tuesday, July 28, 2009
No, seriously, it's not a problem
I recently sent out an email to several of my enginerd friends begging for help with a project I have at work. I got several hilarious responses; most notably, "I'm sure someone in computer science would jump at the opportunity to do some extra programming for fun (not sarcasm). " What was also funny about this email was that another sender apologized for the "delayed" response: he replied 3 days after my original email. I often go for 3 days without any internet access and in fact only really check my email regularly because I procrastinate at work. I'm starting to have a sneaking suspicion that there is some kind of hole in the time-space continuum between Russia and western Europe (just as invisible as but no less real than the Iron Curtain). More on this to come as I continue to gather evidence.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Macho, macho man...
aka Bryan "Bion" Billings....
A few weeks ago, my former program director, Bryan ran a marathon. He signed up the day before and was participant #281, which means there were about 278 more runners than I had expected, given that in all my time here I've only seen two people jogging distances greater than 100 m. Anyway, Bryan recruited several of us to help him out by providing Gatorade and juice at strategic points around the course, so I had the opportunity to take some pretty fantastic pictures.
Getting excited for the big start!
Participants of all ages
And just in case runners were unable to discern for themselves what the long tables full of food were...
The best part was that we got weird looks for standing on the sidelines with bottles of Gatorade and juice, yet it was somehow normal for marathon runners to stop and eat black bread with salt. Wouldn't be my first choice for nourishment during a marathon, but what do I know.
A few weeks ago, my former program director, Bryan ran a marathon. He signed up the day before and was participant #281, which means there were about 278 more runners than I had expected, given that in all my time here I've only seen two people jogging distances greater than 100 m. Anyway, Bryan recruited several of us to help him out by providing Gatorade and juice at strategic points around the course, so I had the opportunity to take some pretty fantastic pictures.
Getting excited for the big start!
Participants of all ages
And just in case runners were unable to discern for themselves what the long tables full of food were...
The best part was that we got weird looks for standing on the sidelines with bottles of Gatorade and juice, yet it was somehow normal for marathon runners to stop and eat black bread with salt. Wouldn't be my first choice for nourishment during a marathon, but what do I know.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
“We only have one night in St. Petersburg, so we decided to go to a Britney Spears concert.”
Note: pictures to come.
Meeting other native English speakers almost makes up for the inadequacy I feel when I meet other foreigners — while my Russian is nothing next to, say, that of the Polish girl I work with, at least I can get a full sentence out, which is more than I can say for most of the Americans I meet. Two cases in point:
The other day, I received a phone call from an unknown number. The conversation went something like this:
Him: “Allo? Sara? Allo?”
Me: “Da, da, eto Sara.”
Him: “Ah! Sara! Privet.”
Me: “Privet.”
Long silence.
Him: “Kevin.”
Me: “Kevin?”
Him: “Kevin.”
Long silence.
(at this point, I start getting excited — my friend Katie and I were recently drinking on the embankment of the Neva when a guy who supposedly neither drinks nor smokes (go figure why he wanted to talk to two devushki drinking at 5 pm on a Tuesday) tried to pick us up. I ended up giving him my number, mostly to get rid of him, and he’s been calling me every day since. Unfortunately, neither Katie nor I can remember his name, so we’ve named him Ruslan. Ruslan is kind of awkward and sometimes has trouble getting a full sentence out, so I figured maybe Kevin was actually his name — mystery solved!)
Me: “Ah! Privet!”
Him: “Privet.”
Long silence.
Him: “Uhh po-angliski?”
Me: “Uhh da…?”
Him: “Oh, ok, hi, is this Sarah the Canadian?”
What this kid, who can’t even say, “this is Kevin” (TWO words, one of which is his own name, in Russian: eto Kevin) is doing in Russia, God only knows.
Then on Sunday was one of the many highlights of the summer: the Britney Spears concert. I figure that, having been here 6 months and having gone to the ballet three times, the theatre, the symphony, a Duran Duran concert — I’m entitled to a guilty pleasure in the form of some good old fashioned American pop. This does not apply, however, to the Australian and South African guys I met at the concert.
How did I meet them? Katie and I were standing in the popcorn line (Britney’s theme is Circus so popcorn is obligatory) and heard someone say, “does anyone speak English?!?” These guys were looking around hopefully for someone willing to translate the beer menu. Turns out they were on a cruise and, rather than take advantage of being in Russia’s cultural capital, and one of the most culturally/artistically interesting cities in the world, they chose to go to a Britney concert. In retrospect, this may have been a cunning move on their parts: they were able to witness Russian women in a natural setting and saw a variety of outfits, ranging from prom dresses to a 7-year old and mother wearing matching leopard print outfits.
One quick note about the Circus theme: maybe her performers’ tricks are exciting in America, but this is Russia for crying out loud — the Russian circus is renowned for its dangerous acts including but not limited to no safety nets or cords, animal abuse, anti-Semitism, and so on. After a horrifying display in Moscow of chimps involved in a Jewish wedding, it’s tough to be impressed by Britney’s mediocre performers.
Meeting other native English speakers almost makes up for the inadequacy I feel when I meet other foreigners — while my Russian is nothing next to, say, that of the Polish girl I work with, at least I can get a full sentence out, which is more than I can say for most of the Americans I meet. Two cases in point:
The other day, I received a phone call from an unknown number. The conversation went something like this:
Him: “Allo? Sara? Allo?”
Me: “Da, da, eto Sara.”
Him: “Ah! Sara! Privet.”
Me: “Privet.”
Long silence.
Him: “Kevin.”
Me: “Kevin?”
Him: “Kevin.”
Long silence.
(at this point, I start getting excited — my friend Katie and I were recently drinking on the embankment of the Neva when a guy who supposedly neither drinks nor smokes (go figure why he wanted to talk to two devushki drinking at 5 pm on a Tuesday) tried to pick us up. I ended up giving him my number, mostly to get rid of him, and he’s been calling me every day since. Unfortunately, neither Katie nor I can remember his name, so we’ve named him Ruslan. Ruslan is kind of awkward and sometimes has trouble getting a full sentence out, so I figured maybe Kevin was actually his name — mystery solved!)
Me: “Ah! Privet!”
Him: “Privet.”
Long silence.
Him: “Uhh po-angliski?”
Me: “Uhh da…?”
Him: “Oh, ok, hi, is this Sarah the Canadian?”
What this kid, who can’t even say, “this is Kevin” (TWO words, one of which is his own name, in Russian: eto Kevin) is doing in Russia, God only knows.
Then on Sunday was one of the many highlights of the summer: the Britney Spears concert. I figure that, having been here 6 months and having gone to the ballet three times, the theatre, the symphony, a Duran Duran concert — I’m entitled to a guilty pleasure in the form of some good old fashioned American pop. This does not apply, however, to the Australian and South African guys I met at the concert.
How did I meet them? Katie and I were standing in the popcorn line (Britney’s theme is Circus so popcorn is obligatory) and heard someone say, “does anyone speak English?!?” These guys were looking around hopefully for someone willing to translate the beer menu. Turns out they were on a cruise and, rather than take advantage of being in Russia’s cultural capital, and one of the most culturally/artistically interesting cities in the world, they chose to go to a Britney concert. In retrospect, this may have been a cunning move on their parts: they were able to witness Russian women in a natural setting and saw a variety of outfits, ranging from prom dresses to a 7-year old and mother wearing matching leopard print outfits.
One quick note about the Circus theme: maybe her performers’ tricks are exciting in America, but this is Russia for crying out loud — the Russian circus is renowned for its dangerous acts including but not limited to no safety nets or cords, animal abuse, anti-Semitism, and so on. After a horrifying display in Moscow of chimps involved in a Jewish wedding, it’s tough to be impressed by Britney’s mediocre performers.
Mmm...kolbasa
I originally started working at Bellona translating texts from Russian to English and vice versa. This included the summaries for their quarterly journal, Environment and Rights. However, it was only in this most recent edition that my work was noted with “Translated by Sarah A. Kopper” directly under the following piece of text:
EKOLBASA: Myth or Reality?
Who here loves kolbasa? A sandwich with a thin slice of smoked kolbasa on the holiday table is beautiful and delicious. And although doctors never tire of repeating that kolbasa is not the healthiest of foods, the number of its fans is not decreasing….
I do my best to put things in a context English speakers can understand, but really — is there any way to make “a sandwich with a thin slice of smoked kolbasa on the holiday table is beautiful and delicious” sound sensible to an American? I can only hope that this is published on the website so that a google search of my name turns up the aforementioned summaries.
EKOLBASA: Myth or Reality?
Who here loves kolbasa? A sandwich with a thin slice of smoked kolbasa on the holiday table is beautiful and delicious. And although doctors never tire of repeating that kolbasa is not the healthiest of foods, the number of its fans is not decreasing….
I do my best to put things in a context English speakers can understand, but really — is there any way to make “a sandwich with a thin slice of smoked kolbasa on the holiday table is beautiful and delicious” sound sensible to an American? I can only hope that this is published on the website so that a google search of my name turns up the aforementioned summaries.
The best way to see St. Petersburg...
...is, without a doubt, from the back of a scooter, at sunset, sitting behind a guy who looks like he’s straight out of the Lizzie McGuire movie. Speeding along, I thought to myself, true, I’d rather not die young, but what a way to die.
Americans are weird.
Hmm, long time no post. Luckily, I have about seven posts to add, so get excited for some major blogging.
Part of this whole study abroad thing has made me realize that Russians aren’t the only ones who were weird. This was especially salient when I was trying to get Sasha, a guy I work with, to do the gallon challenge (incidentally, with a gallon of fresh, unpasteurized, super fatty milk he bought from a milk truck that stopped outside our work). Not only did Sasha not understand the point of the gallon challenge or why anyone would ever choose to do it, he didn’t even understand the point of a dare (“Wait, so neither of us gets anything if I do it? And neither of us gets anything if I don’t?”). I tried to explain that it’s about the Glory but he just didn’t believe that drinking a gallon of milk and vomiting was worth it.
A couple of days later, Katie was telling me who from her high school went to Cornell: “It’s, like, all Asians and JAPs,” and it occurred to me how redundant that sounded when (I’m making a gross and unfair generalization here) in acutality the two groups couldn’t be more different.
By the way, Felton, if you’re still reading this: after your very kind compliment regarding my blog, I seem to do my best to prove you wrong. I’m going to go out on a very shaky limb here and suggest that you are responsible for my increasing inability to write coherently.
Part of this whole study abroad thing has made me realize that Russians aren’t the only ones who were weird. This was especially salient when I was trying to get Sasha, a guy I work with, to do the gallon challenge (incidentally, with a gallon of fresh, unpasteurized, super fatty milk he bought from a milk truck that stopped outside our work). Not only did Sasha not understand the point of the gallon challenge or why anyone would ever choose to do it, he didn’t even understand the point of a dare (“Wait, so neither of us gets anything if I do it? And neither of us gets anything if I don’t?”). I tried to explain that it’s about the Glory but he just didn’t believe that drinking a gallon of milk and vomiting was worth it.
A couple of days later, Katie was telling me who from her high school went to Cornell: “It’s, like, all Asians and JAPs,” and it occurred to me how redundant that sounded when (I’m making a gross and unfair generalization here) in acutality the two groups couldn’t be more different.
By the way, Felton, if you’re still reading this: after your very kind compliment regarding my blog, I seem to do my best to prove you wrong. I’m going to go out on a very shaky limb here and suggest that you are responsible for my increasing inability to write coherently.
Friday, July 17, 2009
My new archnemesis
Cockroaches, scuttle aside and make way for the mosquitoes.
Yes, it is true — the cockroaches I shared a kitchen with for 5 months have now been replaced by mosquitoes as my most hated living creatures. Why? Because I woke up yesterday morning with 28 bug bites spanning my legs and feet. (What kind of mosquito goes after feet that walk 6+ miles per day and haven't seen a shower in over 36 hours? St. Petersburg mosquitoes, that's what kind.)
As if these 28 reasons weren't enough, I give the mosquitoes full credit for my latest injury. I considered last night's shower to clean off my muddy legs a perfect opportunity to justify scrubbing the shit out of my bug bites but had forgotten my special banya scrubber in my bedroom. I dashed out of the shower, naked and dripping wet, and promptly wiped out, banging up my leg in the process. Were it not for these damn bites, I would have had little motivation to bother with the scrubber and my legs would be in fine shape. On the bright side, no one was home to witness my downfall.
Another event in contention for Low of the Day was when, on my walk home, I saw a man strolling around, holding a beer, and projectile vomiting. The lack of enforcement of open container laws is exhilirating at first but trust me: it gets old real quick.
Yes, it is true — the cockroaches I shared a kitchen with for 5 months have now been replaced by mosquitoes as my most hated living creatures. Why? Because I woke up yesterday morning with 28 bug bites spanning my legs and feet. (What kind of mosquito goes after feet that walk 6+ miles per day and haven't seen a shower in over 36 hours? St. Petersburg mosquitoes, that's what kind.)
As if these 28 reasons weren't enough, I give the mosquitoes full credit for my latest injury. I considered last night's shower to clean off my muddy legs a perfect opportunity to justify scrubbing the shit out of my bug bites but had forgotten my special banya scrubber in my bedroom. I dashed out of the shower, naked and dripping wet, and promptly wiped out, banging up my leg in the process. Were it not for these damn bites, I would have had little motivation to bother with the scrubber and my legs would be in fine shape. On the bright side, no one was home to witness my downfall.
Another event in contention for Low of the Day was when, on my walk home, I saw a man strolling around, holding a beer, and projectile vomiting. The lack of enforcement of open container laws is exhilirating at first but trust me: it gets old real quick.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Dear Grace and Elise,**
i actually kind of miss america. who would have thought?
this was brought on by my incredible sloppiness this morning. went to bed around 7 am, woke up at 9:30 and left for work. i bought coffee to go at mcdonald's and started drinking it on the subway. still wearing the clothes from last night but i had the foresight to bring my running clothes (which i theoretically could have slept in but instead chose to wander around sergei's apartment in my bathing suit bottom (more about that below) and cardigan). the shoes i'm wearing with my outfit aren't great for a lot of walking so i put on my running shoes while on the metro. as i'm sure you can guess, this is a big no-no, and i received several glares of disgust that someone would dare put on shoes while on the metro, sipping a coffee no less.
so then i get to the street my work is on and take off power walking, swinging my arms appropriately. i am now wearing a black dress and running shoes and am holding a cup of coffee. this is a look that i think is pretty chic in america, the connotation being that i have important meetings to look nice for, and so many of them that i need sensible shoes to run from one to the next. the coffee look ("so much to do i haven't even slept yet!") is also pretty mod.
not so in russia. i was intensely judged for the shoes, while the coffee cup brought on looks of curiosity and wonder ("we have that here?!?"). this made me miss america, where my grunginess would be mistaken for chic.
back to the bathing suit part. i haven't been home enough to do laundry and am out of clean underwear. so i'm wearing a bathing suit bottom in lieu. considering buying some underwear on my way to dinner tonight.
**I'm too lazy to actually write a post, so I'm just copying and pasting an email I sent my roommates. Apologies for the absence of the capitalization and eloquence that characterize my usual posts.
this was brought on by my incredible sloppiness this morning. went to bed around 7 am, woke up at 9:30 and left for work. i bought coffee to go at mcdonald's and started drinking it on the subway. still wearing the clothes from last night but i had the foresight to bring my running clothes (which i theoretically could have slept in but instead chose to wander around sergei's apartment in my bathing suit bottom (more about that below) and cardigan). the shoes i'm wearing with my outfit aren't great for a lot of walking so i put on my running shoes while on the metro. as i'm sure you can guess, this is a big no-no, and i received several glares of disgust that someone would dare put on shoes while on the metro, sipping a coffee no less.
so then i get to the street my work is on and take off power walking, swinging my arms appropriately. i am now wearing a black dress and running shoes and am holding a cup of coffee. this is a look that i think is pretty chic in america, the connotation being that i have important meetings to look nice for, and so many of them that i need sensible shoes to run from one to the next. the coffee look ("so much to do i haven't even slept yet!") is also pretty mod.
not so in russia. i was intensely judged for the shoes, while the coffee cup brought on looks of curiosity and wonder ("we have that here?!?"). this made me miss america, where my grunginess would be mistaken for chic.
back to the bathing suit part. i haven't been home enough to do laundry and am out of clean underwear. so i'm wearing a bathing suit bottom in lieu. considering buying some underwear on my way to dinner tonight.
**I'm too lazy to actually write a post, so I'm just copying and pasting an email I sent my roommates. Apologies for the absence of the capitalization and eloquence that characterize my usual posts.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Nice, uh...sweater?
Today I saw an argyle tube top.
Here's the thing about Russian women: while some are very well dressed, and others very badly dressed, the majority of them have outfits that have potential. Except then they go wrong. Fatally wrong. Be it the leopard print dress with a zebra print belt, the blinged out jeans, or the fishnet stockings with an otherwise classy dress. Granted, these poor women don't have many options, Russian clothing being as overpriced, poorly made, and just, well, cheap-looking as it is. That said, some of these women could use a lesson in the beauty of simplicity.
Case in point: the owner of said argyle tube top was neatly dressed in a cute, flattering skirt, with a well-fitted button-down shirt. The two together would have been more than adequate. Instead, this girl looked at herself in the mirror, thought, "hmm, it's just missing that little something," and added the tube top.
Call me a purist, but if it's cold enough to wear wool around your torso, it's cold enough to wear sleeves.
Here's the thing about Russian women: while some are very well dressed, and others very badly dressed, the majority of them have outfits that have potential. Except then they go wrong. Fatally wrong. Be it the leopard print dress with a zebra print belt, the blinged out jeans, or the fishnet stockings with an otherwise classy dress. Granted, these poor women don't have many options, Russian clothing being as overpriced, poorly made, and just, well, cheap-looking as it is. That said, some of these women could use a lesson in the beauty of simplicity.
Case in point: the owner of said argyle tube top was neatly dressed in a cute, flattering skirt, with a well-fitted button-down shirt. The two together would have been more than adequate. Instead, this girl looked at herself in the mirror, thought, "hmm, it's just missing that little something," and added the tube top.
Call me a purist, but if it's cold enough to wear wool around your torso, it's cold enough to wear sleeves.
Shoes...let's get some shoes!
After walking 12 miles to and from Peter and Paul Fortress and e
ffectively ruining my final pair of non-sneakers walking shoes, I realized that it was, at long last, time to really invest in a pair of Sensible Shoes. I'd been putting this off for a while, because it seemed like a shame to spend so much on inevitably ugly shoes, but realized that failing to do so would significantly impede, well, everything (I walk a lot). If the pain in my feet hadn't convinced me, one look at my heel, which had turned into one big blister, would have done the trick.
So off I went. My roommate and I had found a mall that seemed to consist entirely of shoe stores, so this seemed like a good starting place. At the first store, I found some promising shoes but decided to use my free time to go to every single store in the mall in search of a better price. In the end, my enterprising capitalistic ways paid off: while it took almost two hours, I ultimately found the same shoes for 600 R less! Even better — when I looked the shoes up online, I discovered that I had saved $35!
ffectively ruining my final pair of non-sneakers walking shoes, I realized that it was, at long last, time to really invest in a pair of Sensible Shoes. I'd been putting this off for a while, because it seemed like a shame to spend so much on inevitably ugly shoes, but realized that failing to do so would significantly impede, well, everything (I walk a lot). If the pain in my feet hadn't convinced me, one look at my heel, which had turned into one big blister, would have done the trick.So off I went. My roommate and I had found a mall that seemed to consist entirely of shoe stores, so this seemed like a good starting place. At the first store, I found some promising shoes but decided to use my free time to go to every single store in the mall in search of a better price. In the end, my enterprising capitalistic ways paid off: while it took almost two hours, I ultimately found the same shoes for 600 R less! Even better — when I looked the shoes up online, I discovered that I had saved $35!
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