On the Prospect of More International Flights.

Pam and Simon, say those with French accents. Even as there is no reason to have to say it, Pam would mandate stating that I forced the picture after we had been up watching films starring Matt Damon or German in them all night and there was no preparation for taking pictures. No point. Second take is some of the Christmas dinner.
I'm tossing around making my credit account feel more seaworthy this spring. I could use a good match at Sicilian cards.

And such.

Shit, today was really difficult! The occasion of me just waking up as evening is covering the city is not the difficult part, sleeping all day was really great actually and I am taking full advantage at least once in every 24 hour period of the non-Soviet bed in which I am stretching for nightly, or today, daily unconsciousness. It is a great step to slowly ease me back to my IKEA bed and comforter winking at me from my closet over there in Minneapolis. The difficulty today laid in departures, the absence of some good people from a good place. There are still great good people around, and more sure to be flowing in and otu of the hostel, though this one flash in and out of faces is strangely melancholy. Pam, the French-Italian, Simon, French-Swedish, and Rogan the Australian, which are actually all of their superhero names as well, all dispersed for varied travels. Pam and Simon are off to the dark land to the east for several weeks, taking them slowly to China and then circling back around through India and NAfrica and such, on this research project they just set up for kicks. Rogan is working down south, somehow to Bucharest and chilling around the Balkans for a bit before back to Aussie, he just finished working around 10 months or so around pubs in the UK. All of this influence around, the brief breath of seeing such possibility lived and living, well, I'll say that I'm starting to save tips straight off after I start working at the 'Buck again. The next time, with a backpack and not these fucking suitcases. Airport handles and wheels over cobblestones, not so much. Even having all of such that I overpacked, the task of actually opening up my suitcases and rifling through the items seems not worth the effort to cycle out the clothes which I have been sporting around for a while. The excuse that I was planning earlier for over 6 months out of the States, settled into a far off frozen city covered in Soviet and buried in East Asia, was shit. So crazy, Pam and Simon are out of Europe though sometime in June, making contacts for this research with NGOs in a semi-professional atmosphere at times, and they still took just a pack each for the travels. Really, I'm just kicking myself now and this rant on it is a bit useless and just going on to counter other things, but that is a recent fresh, more intense minimalist sort of view on things.
Last night was cards, drinks, conversation, and movies to the morning light. Tried going out after the sale of liquor and beer had ceased at 11, though our venture into the spired streets only took off around 3am already after cards, Indiana Jones with that kickass Chinese kid from the Goonies, and finishing the supplies we already had around. It was me Pam and Simon, Rogan was trying to come off on a break from his last, well, close to 10 months of working in pubs in the UK, you fill in the backstory on something like that. The first place we took down into, following a massive group of non-Italian Italian-speakers, was this really dark cavernish underground place, bit overfilled on smoke but promising, until the order from us for a few White Russians was met with blank stares, then offers of either the complicated and sophisticated mixture of gin and tonic, or beer. Tried going into Hellhunt next, which was open, then after an extended conversation between myself and the bartendress where I tried in various approaches to carry across my main point that no, I don't speak Estonian, we found out that regardless of the open doors, sign saying it was open for a while, and people at tables, it was closed. Some more night wandering around found us later with bread, cookies and juice, then a return to the hostel for movies off my laptop, sadly both McGyver and Walker Texas Ranger had already played their time out on the Estonian channels.
So after a day filled with sleep, that catches up to me sitting here now with some coffee and toasted sandwiches, with Dutch and Aussie accents in the air. The atmosphere around ranges from different levels of inability for verbal or communicated description, with both ends of surreal experiences to the warm flowing indescribable conversation and tango track of accent lined interaction.

On nothing, and everything really.

I walked to the end of the world yesterday. Following the line of the coast west, weaving through shipyards and spurts of visible economic growth, I made it. Started off the journey a bit lateish in the day, so my time was limited from the dispersing of the sun around 5, though it was already a bit scarce from the thick sea clouds. There is a part in the bay which Tallinn sits on, the left side stretches up and portrudes out into the gulf, constantly shrinking until it winds into the waves in a single point. I was followed by a swan for a bit, walking down the shore. It was sort of surreal until I realized it was probably just waiting for food from the likewise dispersed crowds of varied European tourists. Further up the point as the land shrunk in width and the sands moved into rocky outcrops for the crashing waves, one dirt trail interwoven with imagined paths over the tundra. A few abandon buildings rose and crumbled farther in, one rising hill covering half-submerged stone arches. The end of the point submerges into stone and sea and wind. Waves come in from all sides save that which you emerge from. It feels like the end of the world, waves in front and to all visible sides washing over your perception.
Unmitigated tiredness has been carrying me today, my nights extend to early morning conversations from over the world, hopeless flirting, followed by sleep and reemerging in coffee.

Between glögi and fruitcake.

From Spires and Sidelight.

Brisk morning, clear glowing skies over Eesti and myself making love to a cup of real coffee. Spent a while talking with a middle-aged Australian guy here working in some sort of stock exchange deal out of London, ranged from the ridiculousness of Russian visas to the crazed wave riding of Finnish ferries to stag parties and their participants. Christmas Eve could not have been expected to resemble such, and the realizing of such hasn't begun to surface as yet. Travelling really takes away from awareness of holidays, if the travelling is not holiday based. To start off, Russia doesn't really celebrate Christmas at all, so even as ёлки, yolki, the Russian New Years trees, were arising suddenly with their decorative strobe lights, fucking strobe lights, nothing else had the coming holiday feel. There was one chain of cafe I used for wireless that randomly would start running a collection of some Western Christmas tunes, though this was interspersed with angry shouting between people in Russian and with techno-remixes by Russian girls, paid for production from their fathers working in one of the state-controlled energy fields. Digressing though, it is sort of a sudden hit for me to feel that it is the day before Christmas now.
Estonians have a bit quieter, more subtle approach to decorating for the holiday than in the States. Given, I haven't been around much as yet, though my expedition to the market for food yesterday was layered in such Christmas tunes playing overhead. In the main square of Old Town, which is the medieval part of most Baltic, Scando, or European cities, ringed by the same walls and filled with the same winding cobblestoned streets, right now is a massive Christmas tree surrounded by wooden booths with people selling Estonian scarves and woolen such, I'll try to prop some pictures up of that later. Walking through that on my refreshing evening stroll yesterday from the bussijaam where the bus came in, dragging along everything I brought for an expected 6 month stay abroad, over cobblestones, in complete and totally planned disregard for the shortest path to the hostel as I 'remembered' the shortcut, the one thing that really caused me to stop for something other than my map was that view. With torches burning on the buildings around and the sharp air encasing the view, I felt like I was in some crappy holiday greeting card bought in cases of 30, and it was fucking grand. Some sort of tradition is placing a candelabra in windows with I think 7 candles on it, in the inverted non-Hannaukah way. That's the official name for that, remember it. While it is all really sudden, it is sinking in smoothly and probably in just the right way. After my Return Stateside I'll be over at Sam's for a few days, drinking wassail and playing Euchere in the Wisc, so the extension of holidays should play out to a decent length. I am finding a lack of solid piano- or just traditional Christmas music as I look through my iTunes, so some Brad Mehldau is carrying what it can of the holiday atmosphere. Not even Vince Guiraldi Trio appears, and me butchering the name suprisingly does nothing to make it appear, I'll deal though. This is what my worries revert to, which is fucking great to realize. There are mounted showerheads with hot water, drinkable water from a tap, connection to the outside world, transparency and democracy, and I'm shagging on about Christmas tunes. As my full comprehension of all this incredibiliciousness comes around I'll be dropping some recollections from the dark land to the East, the coffee in my hand and the view from the window lined with empty wine bottles calls first.
Shower, sauna?, BBC!, a bit of time facing the rushing waves from the Baltic. Tere, onward.

Living on a Lai.

The air flows smoothly into my perceptions, the lights glowing and soothing my waves of conscioousness. Water is from a tap, I drink Saku between. My visa is done, this is a Return to Westish. More sharpish.

This really is, nothing in the faraway.

Far, far to great a length between these posts, though I comfort that with the thoughts that in a bit over the span of a week I'll be overloading whoever still finds their way around this dusted blog listing to the side off of some shoal with plotless, pointless, prepositionless, and obscure posts on the subcultures of various comprehensions regarding Russian national identity and affirmation, not even touching on the glowing views of Tallinn which I will be carrying across. Shit.
I've started on the insomniac phase of realizing the small amount of time I'll endure in these parts. That sort of thing has happened before the day before a journey for possibly an hour or something like that, or if I finished draining 12 shots of espresso over some jumbled paper regarding the theory of time in post-modernist impressions. This is a bit strange, I really am tossing around for a few hours on the Soviet relic of a sack strung between two bits of wire. Thoughs half in another language and usually horribly conjugated, ending up repeating some irrelavant phrasing which I will forget in a cloud of fog given any actual direct conversational contact with someone speaking the language fluently. There is a striving to lock down all of these words and constructions, and I can comprehend close to most of anything, save really horribly done dubbing, which is about all dubbing and the integral concept of dubbing itself, though when it comes around to replying or stating positions my grammatical intricacies and expressive phrases turn into shit. Really aggrivating, that is. A few minutes after walking away from the situation I find around 4 or 5 other possible ways I could have put things, or brought up other debatable concepts, though for that span of a few minutes silence is the best revertation, letting the other person air out their xenophobia or reasons why their culture trumps any other conceivable because that is what they have been worked into thinking and fully hold true to themselves.
Really stoked to return, to step away from such for a very extended time to return to everything that makes sense in civilizational aspects because it is not based on the principle of contradiction, stoked to sort it all out and be surrounded with good people, the skyline and the clear air and sound waves surrounding it, decent beer, a sight of the horizon in the day. Cкоро.
The holidays approach, along with views of a deserted glacier strangled land of blue and gray below as a transatlantic flights rushes me to there.

I'll show you a sissepääs!

Some takes from Eesti.

Reaching in with the outt of onn in Eesti.

Focusing and shifting shades of reconsciousness in time with Eesti electro vibes from the radio cause the comforting gray skies to shine in ecstisity. This is a place where I can be.
After drawn out unsuspected? battles with the Russian transportation system, I let off the plans for circling around starting in Helsinki for this break we are on now. I'll elaborate more on that in another post, one where I am fully indulging in the Russian tragicissity again under that sort of martial law. Now, here, is Tallinn and only thoughts and expressions of such.
This is the first time I have spent in a hostel, and from words passed around I hear that the ones here in Eesti trample most other definitions of the like. The one I am lounging and living in is completely revamped, few offs like a broken sink and loud doors, but the price in krona is low and the people are great, and, a sauna?! Coming in in the late afternoon with the new shifting faces settling in and residing ones comfortable under the glow of VH1 Euro 80's hours just presents the full amalgation of imaging that engulfs you in the space. I had a few Estonian Saku darks and some hardcore 10% beer in another hostel sort of party last night, that one was greatly larger and more of the party type, great to go to and then return. Great to spin through the winding, rising and falling medieval cobblestones and courtyard walls in the lit, sharp night Baltic air in transition between the spaces.
The chilled out sort of strut through life that carries the scarf clad faces of Eesti through those streets only makes a sharper definition between This and the Russian East. Lack of any smile, hostile emotion showed if any, drunken brawling in the streets, and shifty out of place interaction is a strikingly harsh sign of most Russians in the city, taking a few days out of spending roubles on Russian vodka to somehow landing a visa and spreading their flavour of havoc around the peoples and hills on this shore. Again pause off of that, I feel myself pushed to find and voice that negation too often of late. There are, and have to be a selection of the population of Russians that are contrary to such, it is just incredibly tiring experiencing it as a possible majority and standard of that population. There are some negatives to the Eesti, there are in every culture and peoples. These seem to fade with the tolerance showed however, and the positive of direction and action which follows from Eesti.
The constant thick fall is invigorating. The strong winds from the sea inspiring. Kohvi and stressed first syllables intensifying. The waves setting a rhythm of sponse and response.
Eesti electro is going to make shambles of the krona in my hands, check out kohviradio.com for lines to lay over studies or papers or cartographing or whatever is taking the tone of your concentration.
So off for a bit to balance the city walls, breathe in the swirling such. Palun.

Москва.

Incredible. I'll expand on that in a bit.

Tere!

Palun. Ilmtingimata.

Awake, asleep.

Europe. I haven't fully informed myself if the sort of ecstatic state I resided in last weekend was from mounted showerheads, Euro espresso, clean streets, maintained buildings, facial expressions, multiple languages, personalities, smooth roads, cars that stopped in crosswalks even with more emphasis than in the States, or a lack of being in Russian. Tallinn is a city I could live in. It would be fucking incredible to carry out the rest of the program in Estonia, and I sort of wanted to misplace the Russian visa for a few months. Border controls took a bit, there is a stamp out of Russia and another into the EU, and the two bits of ink took around 3 hours. The price of a steady standing and a smooth skyline. The drive in resembled a sort of Scandinavian Ireland, the ruins of castles and such in the shape of Soviet retreat. The difference is striking between the ageing monuments to suppression in the two countries It still comprises some sort of life in Russia, on the last shakes and unending. The few Soviet ruins, ruins and not buildings, flashing past the bus did not grind at the eyes as in the daily encounters in SP. Everything about the ruins seemed almost maintained, a reminder instead of the desolate crumbling masses spilling over the Russian soil. Nothing was forgotten, only held in the past to allow the years to do the washing away of its traces. There are other Soviet sort of ruins along the road, though tragic ones, signs of strain felt under the system. Structures which were comfortable and alive, then probably caused to disappear of any activity through purges and control. Held.
Tallinn encompasses everything that is possible of Baltic Europe. Scandinavian in ways, though infused with its own elements and Balticness. I am going to take on speaking Estonian. The language sounds a bit Scando, emphasizing the first end of every word and creating unending strings of characters with dots and õ over them, all creating a sudden lack of lefsa. Some of the words are transposed Russian or Slavic, though few. The language is sort of the same as Magyar, no solid connection to anything else. Then there are the 14 fucking cases of every word. I'm still taking it on. Estonia and Russia sort of seem to resemble a cute, intelligent and witty Baltic girl and the dirty sort of creepy husky guy at the bar trying to get a bit closer and intimate than either end really need.
Russia carries on reaching and justifying its influence and the subordination in response to such. Given the Baltic states made the smoothest and speediest transitions to EU standards following release from the clutching grasp of the Soviet structure, and most explain such as the inherent Europeaness of its people. The other post-Soviet republics are possibly the same, the constant pull of multiple identities sometimes with an underlying, residing identity comprised of these other varying elements. These characteristics seem to key Russians off to a sort of right to the qualities, a bit ironic in what is a pirate cove of DVDs and music. Seriously, you can purchase 8 or 12 films on one DVD, and all with horrible Russian dubbing which is inseparable from the original language. Elements of cultural travel to Russians are not only a few words or ways of taking alcohol that can be passed off, they take on an unspoken cycle of domination and acceptance in the Russian view. These bits of Slavic culture have a significant sort of tax stamp which should be collected, even as those on the other side of the 'deal' have moved on and looked inward if they ever realized and took in the elusive agreement itself.
The drive is around 6 hours, including the strenuinity at the border. There are no Russian-Estonian books around these parts, and few have ever seen the country. Visas are a bit difficult and when Russians obtain these, it is evident on the streets of Tallinn and in the stores selling the vodka. Most of the population in Estonia no longer even speaks Russian, and the number of Eesti speakers around SP are probably lower than the number of decent places to get salads and Pumpkin Spice Lattes, nonfat 5 pump PS .5 pump cinnamon 4 shot light whip with a bit of cinnamon and nutmeg sprinkled on the top. Think about that for a bit.
As it always is, I'll stream off some other bits in time. Sharpish if I land some tickets to Eesti or Vilinus this weekend, set myself in a bit of calm and raise a collar to the Baltic sky. The government flying fast to a few people for the clearance and such, cheers Jancsi!, fly off in conversationon me as you want just hold back if they call you comrade with a thick Russian accent and reference this post between shots.
For this, a rise of a mug of trance.en. Jah, hoian end poliitiliste arengutega kursis.
See sobib mulle hästi.

Espresso grinds of grey.

Who didn't tell me that it was going to be a bit cold in Russia? They should buy me a beer in a lit, smokeless US pub on the return to the New World. Not that it is anything past my ability to take, it is actually nothing at all. Takes me to feelings of late November in the Cities.
Metro in the delayed light of the early Russian days sort of captures any sort of interest and disuninternonest which I hold for the country. The selling into the iPod generation was a great, great fucking idea and monotony would take hold far more intensely with the hour long escapades. The masses of people flowing through the system are incredible, and cause feelings of disgust and concurrently a lack of such. Crazy. Every train is stacked and smashed with residents of varying levels of hygeine and appearance, and no acceptance is displayed for the weak. Seriously, MTV and the Real World bit, send all of them through St. Petersburg metro каждый fucking день. I take three transfers in the early hours surrounded with sounds of Miles and John or Moby and Thievery, and iintake the tradeoff of rushing and hanging on the edge, momentum withheld. Although the greatest part is the tunnels, shit. There are these long, white curved tunnels between some of the transfer points where cascades of commuters pick up motion towards the varied ends, and I ride it like a rapid every time. It's sort of like MarioCart, less explosive objects that I can drop for people to trip over and get to the slamming doors of the trains a bit slower, though cutting off and tripping up is the central spark of satisfaction in the experience. In and out and along and aside, sort of a rush. The lights of the previous bomb shelter architectural integrity flash and slash past overhead, as collectivized individuality fights and breaks through the waves of рано direction. Incredible, though the sort that you need a few showers after the experience and feel immesurably more comfortable with intimate airport security encounters.
The skies have clouded again, the espresso is decent. Descent?
Следующий скоро.

Antarct,ic.

An hour in the process, and all replaced with a line of various Russian phrases with an unmitigated strike of a key. Fuck.

Scandinavian tensions, floating through morning masses under Moby and Thievery, the Cold, and the sidelight of the sun to follow in time.

Ещё.

Off of anything необычно.

Sitting in the one US cafe in St. Petersburg, almost feel a bit low for sinking smoothly into the atmosphere though it is the sort of place I would frequent in the States. Across from the US consulate, bit of Miles Davis and a rough Brooklyn owner, and some strong тёмное in a half liter. And not even touching on the free wireless opened up today, the second ever in the city. Top fucking notch, and a sort of weakness I can fit in.
Registered with the US consulate here a few hours previous, actually all within a few blocks of the ostracized university buildings which the ridiculously low level classes are held in. After four separate checks of my documents, partial as my passport is still being processed for my second of a 3-part visa, and a few close experiences in various areas with Russian US consulate guards, I made it through to the area of US State Department employees separated through bulletproof layers of glass and steel from the Marines, still processing the alcohol from the consulate party a few days past. Carries over an intense, seriously intense, excitement for spring and the vibes from such. If I had higher levels of USD and some select personalities from the States around, nothing against some select people on the trip, this would be intensely incredible. Classes are slow so I picked up some Russian book with a great cover, figured out it was written under a Russian pseudonym to avoid government strands and the roubles were flat on the always present plastic changeholder deals. I'll start that off in a few hours, possibly with a Балтика 3 тёмное on the side.
One for the Baltic waves.

Life through a Crowd of Transitory Flows

The techno backbeats spread through the post-Soviet scenes is great for the long, incredibly far distances I have been covering on foot and stacked in place within the Metro. Things are far smoother in this end of Russia from those in Kiev. The contrast pervades everything, but in a less powerful and more Baltic sort of air. The atmosphere is rough, and the people fall within the same sort of expanse. Again there is the other end of things and incredibly high possibility of the other end, though that isn't something to expect.
The apartment which I am in takes the crumbling 5-foot Soviet expanse in Ukraine down with no comparison. The apartment is close to the centre, a bit underkept though the Russian language lacks the words 'fun' and 'maintenance'. The other people in the apartment are high on travelling, I just met the hostess yesterday as she and her husband were in Germany for a wedding in a castle. The 27 year old daughter and her 5 year old half-Egyptian girl have been living in the place with me, decent English and a bit of class.
Dealings with foreigners are still incredibly closed from attempts to hold Russian cultural cohesion. The reach of the West is visible everywhere in the stores, особенно in the smart part of the city I am in, but the force of it is restrained. The first run I took on metro, I was roughed up by militzia for my passport and a lengthy fucking рассказ on my presence out of the States.
Few things are possible for foreigners without a passport or the copy of such and my visa I have now while it is being processed for my long term visa. The Russian culture is the only thing available to people, anything else is legally distanced. Response to Western visa restrictions and such, or just the enigma of Russia lengthening its lack of possibility for definition? The multiculturalism of the city is around every end, though it is covered through layers of distrust and straight hostility from some sources. Foreigness is taken in and spread, and feared.
The lights of the city splash over the waves of the canals and the Baltic waters in the West, it is dark and cold, and deeper in fathoms than the extent of expression.
И так.

Скоро и так.

The sky is darkening, and the cold is pressing in. Sort of excited for the full atmospheric resonance of the city complemented with the tossing waves of the Baltic. Settling into the culture was a bit smoother, less constantly distracting this bout. It is progressive in differences from Kiev, and any emerging connections are usually Soviet based. Everything is старый, a few сто лет. Complexity. Intensity.

Всё сейчас, всё скоро. Это же просто так.

Ну, так.
Things are resounding incredibly, immersing into the north of Russia and everything such. The clouds which press inland from the Baltic are of a type only possible over a sea. The air is fresh, the people speak solid Russian, everything contrives in contrast, and drinking Балтика 3 Тёмное is fucking smooth.
Half of the week after flying into LED я проводил в Репино на береге Балтика. First words with some of the people in the group inspired some alternate of great feelings, most of them are shallow tools. Deeper into the group, around 50 something, and there are a few of those which provide some great feelings to cover the loss and then some to float. Exchanged some cash into roubles, the rate has sort of thrown me into disarray with the currency. It is complex, 27 some roubles to fill each dollar, and inflation has thrown prices into some completely distraught level of randominity. Most things are over 100 roubles. and pulling cash out of ATMs is dealt mostly in thousands. Intense.
My квартира lies blocks from the center, and I am assuredly pre-Soviet. Contrasts emitting into my stretched eyes are mostly dealing with the Eastern Europeanity of Kiev striking against the красивая, intensely Russian and Westernish Санкт-Петербург blurring into focus.
Finland appeared from some sea fog over the Bay of Finland, and the shrouded scenes were drawn into focus with 4 люди, the waves the wind and some пиво. Всего пока.

Dialectics and Dionysos

Месяц с половиной, а тогда.

Dispersed into the Fray and Such Trifles

The skies have grayed, again, after an extened lack of lack of colour. It is calming to me, not in any way that clear skies do not allow a reduced frenetic state of my consciousness but it allows things to be just, так. Bit of a lapse in posts in a while, in part from my again frenz.ied working and non-working blocs of time composing the days, in part that there aren't as many inspiring experiences rivalling those possible across borders of culture and of comfort. Summer has again become the mundane.
I have just felt a bit unsettled, really. When conversing with people I don't feel like launching into talk of work as it dominates an absurd proportion of my waking hours already. Recalling the constant fresh perspectives in Украина when not around Andy or Lindsay seems to drag on most, it becomes repetitive in setting and most people have no way to really relate to it. Aside of such points, I have the levelly unrelated and ominous embarking to Санкт-Петербург to apprehensively shine within, and such talk is mostly a strained expression of that apprehension at the full immersion into Eastern Europe. I will be без passport for the first month after I land in Россия, as the application for a extended multiple-entry visa requires the Russian Federation playing футбол with my official US documents for a bit and there isn't even any chance of me throwing any head butts or red cards at them. It is probably a solid disopportunity to not be in posession of my passport for a bit though, as in one end of things I will only be allowed a single-entry visa for the first month and the possibility, as low as it seems in sobriety, of a non soberous personal excursion around the Baltics relying on bribes or self-constructed seagoing vessels to pass through international lines remains a possibility. Digressing, the expanse of Russia accessible without my passport once I am within the borders should be overfilling for at least that month.
The afore lines show exactly the point I started off on before I lost and refound and then misplaced, or something of the sort, and if anyone is even lacking in anything else to do and reading this is probably making sleep, or any other activity seem a Strong Alternative to Such. So conversations or monologues resort to the mundane. As if it is something to resort unto.
Unsettled. Who needs a drink. Things are sort of right, and at the same instance not so. I am listening to a resounding amount of electro, now transitioning into much Radiohead and Apparat. I have been absorbing Waking Life. I have watched French movies on emotion and searched for a tango track to sound through my days. Всё это же так, а не так. I am holding a sea weathered eye to the horizon.

On the Smoke Throughout Fire in the Skies

So. I just проводил close to the entire day wakeboarding, wakesurfing, and importing an intense amount of sun that time in coordination with an espresso bar fails to provide, it was sort of incredible. I feel as on a constant expanse of rising and falling waves, and it is fucking great. I really miss that feeling, when I worked as a camp counselor and misled youth on 5 day, 52 mile canoe trips with no external contact down the Namekagon I would fall asleep каждый night

feeling a rise and fall continuous. This entire weekend has been great, a solid turn from the monotonous expanse of the 'Buck and the shifting issues surrounding. Last night was a brilliant time at Ian and Birgit's, and Mette's I should include, a round of Settlers of Catan, few shots of перцева, and a French movie titled 'Le Haine'. Black on white movies with white subtitles are a strenuous combination to fall short of description, although the resounding French grip on film production is unendingly present and the film is really great. Day following out on some lake around the Cities on an incredible boat with a stand for wakeboarding and wakesurfing, and I am shot. Circle the sharks ensue. The take surrounding this post is a shot from the Metro in Україне, around the transfer station onto the зельёный line at the Хрещатик station. Follow a lapse in active consciousness.

Давай.

Dusk Logging and Carpathian Intricacies

Standing is a great effort, I don't think that I fully informed myself why I am even embarking on expressing myself in a post сейчас. The firm stamp of summer as usual comes across in the dialectic of frenzied work at the 'Buck, or the blank possibility of inactivity which usually ends out in mulling around the apartment squeezing door hinges apprehensively at the next run of shifts. The last few 32 something hours were dominated with a solid 24 of servitude shelling out various coffee related beverages and shaking my fist at the bank that Starbucks runs through, unable to enact the skills necessary to count out exact rolls of change. The пиво on my left side is taking its part in counteracting these frays of ineffectivity.
Tomorrow is off of corporate responsibility, and a solid morning of unaided unconsciousness should smooth out the final ticks left in jet lag. Opening the last few days at work sort of set me back in the process, the time waking up to douse myself in a shower and amble over to the East Bank in the early air rounded out to around noon in Україна. Sort of a reprieve to the readjustment in time structures, I'll figure out if it misled the body in a few hours. Probably hit up Mapps in the hours after waking and hand off the map I picked up for them in Eastern Europe. Sort of жалко to part with it, it's a topographic and political map of entire Україна and shows the edges and topography of corners of the surrounding states. Still have a map that I recieved in Kiyv of the city, I'm tossing around the prospect of defacing it to ensure recalling the inebriatedly influenced places and 4am excursions. Trace the walk from some streets in the centre to our apartments some 5 metro stations away I took with Andy one night without enough grivna to even land a beer, cheaper than water or most other beverages, for the distance. When we were trying to orient ourselves at the start of the fucking journey we stumbled onto a massive lighted map of the city around the centre. Had to sit and split out some tragic laughs, as our location well into the centre of the few metre map was a distraught distance from the target of the run we were to take, a bit off of the map. The start of any solid night in Eastern Europe!
Failed Orange coalition talks still can't hold back another pint and a viewing of Huckabees. Although it seems to top down throwing more pictures onto the post. Без blurred Metro shots and a darkened, pedestrian filled 8 laned Sunday Хрещатик. It's all from Timoshenko.

Nationalist Hackey Sacking for Lenin.

The thing to load pictures on the blog is taking a break from hassling me in the process, here are a few more. The first inspired the title of my last post, the Arc of friendship between Soviet Russia and Ukraine, few blocks down from the Ukrainian monument to independence in Independence square. The blindingly colourful dedication to the Soviet workers and producers is celebrated by the next generation of such, responding to the Soviet era with the best of capitalism.

Ukrainian contrast in any direction possible, fucking incredible. This take is from a bridge in Маринский парк, the enitre structure is filled with writing to stake the flailing love between couples and tied with bits of cloth and string for the same. Random public populative art, sex, struggle, and alcohol!
Some crumbling pre-Soviet architecture. Takes its place in line with the crumbling Soviet architecture.
The Ukrainian struggle for and with itself and Europe, all raised on a Soviet monument. For the people? Direction of those bits of thoughts are a bit distant for my conscious state after the first shift back in the coffee shop corporate hijacking of my economic state. Lagging of jets is fucking imminent.
За всё!

On Dusk and the Soviet Colours, or 400 Takes on Gray and Red on Colourless Tiles.

So dealing with the joyality, spectacicus of jet lag the second time around isn't as smooth as the previous. There were so many things to rest my eyelids from blinking as much after landing in Ukraine that the time shift took a second stand to anything else possible, back in the cities it is a faster transition to the usual and few things to spark any sort of excitement and hold myself fully conscious. Almost makes it seem full consciousness is only possible if everything in the most outward seeping sense of the concept is in a perspective inherently aside from what you are most adjusted toward. Few extended months in Kiev, a trip to the Shetlands for a bit and then a return would probably land me in the same sort of state as I am now, just with a more accessible source of alcoholic counters to the experience.
The transatlantic trip from Amsterdam to MSP was the best from any of the other flights, and wasn't really any competition for the outward to Amsterdam run as the plane was a fucking pensioner of Boeings and even lacked individual seat belt signs. This flight wasn't just a kick up from the prospect of Western culture again, although possibly that is true as one of the sweetest parts of the 8 something hour dragging out of a 13 hour morning for us was the individual screens in the back of each seat. Movies and an actual semi decent NWA music selection! The movies were all mid range for enjoyment, with the stark exception of Peter Jackson's latest reel of shit which would have sent me into utilizing the ever present fold-down bag in the seat pocket in front of me, wedged between the untold wonders of duty-free capitalism and diagrams of pacific passengers fitting their oxygen masks to the most comfortable form for their 90 degree descent. I sort of want to find out if there was ever a specific event that triggered the usual command of 'make sure to adjust your own mask before assisting others' that caused the commonality of the demand. So before everyone else died the two had an argument over the mask situation and pissed off enough of the other passengers to complain post mortem? Someone lodged a legal battle against the airline over someone else risking themselves over the safety of someone else struggling to suck down some straight oxygen and soothe their nerves for a ride in a rubber boat with their seat cushions?
Digressing, the music selection was decent in parts and you can set up a playlist of a few 40 songs while throwing back some high altitude beverages. One of the Euro sets had some Royksopp and Sigur Ros, which were sweet for the pass over Greenland. I scored a window seat next to Jenny and when I intermittantly cracked open the shade to the unending 8 hours of blinding morning light, there were a few decent airscapes. Airscapes? If I have ever tried conjuring up an image of what Greenland looks like before, it would probably be around what the bits I spotted through clouds came out to represent. True that there isn't really anything around the barren, cartographically manipulated stretch of rocks, but it would be sweet to frolick around in sometime. Iceland was all under clouds and the flight only toppled over the tip, so some of Greenland was a decent compromise along to Scandinavian vibes.
Every interaction I have the last day I have to hold back an, 'эти, пожалуйста' or a 'нет, спасибо' from setting everything into Russian the last three weeks, and it slips out every few phrases. Figure that approaching semi fluency will have a grand scale of up-sides and the few turns into a usually distant language could be a smooth way to opt out of conversations with people who don't know my national backgrounds and who I would want to disperse from a language barrier. Most of the fresh words I picked up in Україна and am able to remember are all slang, and most deal with drinking, figure that one out yourself. Eskimos have a thousand words for snow, Ukrainians and Russians have threeve million for drinking and the state of not so sober.
Loaded up the Nalgene and set out to take on the first bit of Huntington today after I landed a new phone charger for 25 fucking USD as my usual one didn't take the plane ride from US to Kiev in the exact way I expected. I probably could have picked up a cheaper one in Amsterdam, even priced in Euro. Again trailing back to my struggling line of thought, I'm sort of excited to dive into the Clash of Civilizations. That excitement isn't a struggle, as the prospect of hours working this summer are bleaker than a Frenchman ordering cognac in the Kashtan bar around Шулявска station in western Kiev, and a decent amount of time is going to be spent on undirected academia. Grad school on the horizon? Fuck.
The lack in imminent random experiences in a familiar culture where the boundaries usually are stable boundaries is flaring up a bit of missing Eastern Europe. I dropped some sort of line about hackey sacking oranges in a Cільно store last time, figure I'll finish out with cutting out the suspense. After watching the Ukrainian junior football leage getting trampled by Netherlands in the non-ventilated sports bar connected to Сільно and a few hours short of our required 3am preparations to kick out to the airport, we figured a last beer to level out the hours before our flight after the few we had in the bar would land well. Needed something to flatten out the smoke in my ventricles anyway, there was enough smoke in the bar that when Andy was finishing off a cig the smoke dropped straight down from the pressure. As it usally plays out in Ukraine, the 24 hour market was partially closed for an hour as the one person working the register was on a spontaneous break. The bottles from Сільно are usually cooler and decently priced so a few of us took the opportunity to ramble around until the register reopened after the ringer probably had a few beers, a pack, and some варенники to slip out of the disillusionment of a retail job paying a few grivna a day. Drunk eyes Jenny tossed around through the oranges for a while before finding the perfect one and after inspecting the raw, probably naturally chemically induced fish from the Dniepr, and restraining urges to have an orange-schooner race in the open fish tank we took randomly to the aisles. Lacking in sobriety from our 25 grivna tabs, Jenny dropped the orange somewhere in the chocolate and tea aisles, around four aisles down from the 4 stretching aisles of wine, cognac, vodka and beer respectively, and one of the Ukrainian Andrei's flipped it up with his foot to start of the match. With all the security around the aisles and their indiferrence or lack of restrictions at the sort, it was a stellar time, and one of the oranges still resides around the teas.
So a few Белі Ноч bottles later it was a bit of a better story, I'll drag some more captivating ones up for other Ukrainian relapse postings. 22 days straight of alcohol intensified cultural experience, as Ukrainian culture is inherently part alcohol constructed, there are a few decent ones in the stock. Narcotic taxi drivers, maybe not so добрый mornings, three weeks in Ukraine provides the possibility for the Crime and Punishment of intoxicated ramblings, and the summer is just breaking in.
Break open the smuggled bottle of Ukrainian vodka with honey and pepper? Topping out at 24 days straight is just reworking the culture, правда?
За всё.

Первая.

Хрещатик and the main square downtown Kiev around Day of Kiev or Europe or some fucking day. Подожди.

The hour divide connecting East and West, and a на встречи to the skies of Украина.

It's intensely messed up to take close to an hour of sleep following a few beers and watching the Netherlands trample Ukraine in the low level smething something футбол, European that is, match, and then break out to Boristopol aeroport to take to the skies out of the one terminal for international flights. The flight took out at 6, приземлились in Amsterdam at 10 something in the Netherlands time zone, then out to an 8 hour flight in a fucking topplingly great transatlantic plane to come down into the Cities at 11.20 Minneapolis time. Some 12 fucking hours and it was still morning.
I'll tap in some shit on Chernobyl, Metro station Cold War weekly dealings, hackey sacking oranges in the Сільно market, and the British accents of Ukrainian Russian speakers shredding through some attempts in English. Precluding all of that shit is the full reimmersion into the unspeakable experience of Western residential infrastructure. За Україну!

50 Kopecki Out and a Mile Down

The air in the city and around any establishment which offers beer, that includes every one of them with the exception of any directly from the States, is thick with the exhaust and fumes from the national art of smoking, and it is ripping the shit out of my lungs. Aside of being intensely annoying that the coughing takes over around every ten minutes, which actually provides a great opportunity to side out from tour guides shooting out nationalist propoganda on the 'Great Patriotic War', known as the Second World War in one or two other states, the breaking diaphramatic displays that the atmosphere provides me aren't horrible. On the Great Patriotic War bit again, some of the shit in that museum was really interesting with shot out planes and a large German cross pyramid stacked out of actual German crosses. The overall focus of the tour was mostly shot onto the artistic depictions of scenes and attempted storyline to connect them, entirely passing over the actual rusting items in cases around the central objects of the rooms. One of the main points of the tour was, seriously, that the German soldiers in -this- picture appear proud and determined to take down the Soviets, while the 'same' soldiers in -this- picture, viewed through a hole in a fence during winter, do not carry the same appearance as they did a few years before. The run of the presentation sort of forgot about the non-agression pact signed between Germany and the CCCP before the war and how the Germans broke it to open up what they had avoided as a two-front war previously. Nothing really needed to be mentioned in the presentation, only that the war began and, after a few years of a massive game of Risk, the Germans decided that it was too fucking cold and turned back with the Russians throwing things at them the rest of the way back into Germany. The view of everything was so closed, and fucking great to listen to and cough my way out of every while!
The last few days are ahead, and then a departure from Cossack Россия. Do the people reflect the colour and the state of the skies and the nation-state around them, or is it the other way around? Ukraine was, and in many ways is, dominated by Russia and it shows in everything, but did that residually work itself into the faces of the people and the falling buildings around them? Is it really anything to oppose? It all makes me really stoked for Russia, for some culture closer to the source.
Stoked for some Бальтика in Россия also, Russian пиво and anything else cultural is a bit scarce around Україна. Вперёд в Россию.
Take to the skies.

The rains of Киев and the skies from which they find themselves

These scattered transmissions from inside the hideout of Ukraine's demographic group comprised of the wave of youth which the fall of communism sparked off have been a bit scattered in the последные days, as the most reliable of these internet cafes ridden with post-communist youth washing away the social and political troubles with video games is in the centre of Kiev. Some techno.electro washing over the broken Russian and Ukrainian and the best direction apart from beer, which is a social faux paus to not walk the streets without in your posession, is probably one of the most inspirational locations to reside in for attempts to carry across the struggling identity which is Україна.
The disillusionment is everywhere, and all you have to do is order anything from Мистер-снак or any sort of кафе to any range of the word to get a full view of the resonance. Service with a kick in the face and some vulgarities is the highest sort of interaction in most places, which on the other end of things has increased some of my understanding of the rough colloquialities. Although the harsh treatment when ordering a beer or a Кок is smooth to translate when you view any instance of the other ends of interaction with waitresses or anyone else, initiating with shouting девушка!, interchangeable for girl, female, girlfriend, or server in the culture. The sort of unbelieving looks are great to recieve after you drop a thanks or спасибо after anything, that is if you drop it after they try to scratch increased grivna out of you if the US accent slips into Russian. Eastern European personal interaction doesn't swing from sides of the range, it just fucking is or is the negation of that. While the blankness in faces and unexpected dives into full scale arms races and open conflict over the 20 kopecki that you don't have to make even change for a пирожок are inherently an excpected element with Ukrainians, the full scale sexual escapades between a Ukrainian couple on the steep descent to the metro are another side of peoples. It almost seems that in Ukraine there is an inherent inner divide which is never merged or bridged, which causes conflict and is openly recognized and taken into the unconscious internalized display which is culture, and at the same time functions and unites the population. Individuals selling bunches of flowers to the bubbling couples in passing, decrepit and worn already in contrast to the vivid colours representing a fresh view and furthering of life, leaning against the side of a building with a Mercedes parked on the sidewalk before it. Divide and unity in the distant relation. Fucking brilliant.
So the last week has actually been a bit farther from complete concentration on cultural assimilation, and пиво with increasing occurences of водка have been closer to the actuality. Hit up a place называется Art Club 44 a few days past, fucking excellent times and fucking extended hangover! The place has live music every night from a few bands, the stage is directly across from the bar and there is almost a metre space between the two, all in the dark understructure and arching brick columns under a building around the centre of Kiev. The place is usually filled so we laid down a reservation which also included paying an 80 grivna tab in advance and 30 at the door for the bands in the smoky abyss. Bogdan came around for the night and furthered the Ukrainian drinking experience by fucking miles. The take on a bottle of chilled bottle was 50 grivna, and after that was dispersed into the previous sobriety of 4 люди in the depths of Ukrainian nightlife another two half bottles and a few вольшое пиво followed for the trip around. Felt that one the next day. So followed it with another night, not as rampant but taking in the Ukrainian strategy of if you are hurting from something the night before, fight it with the same thing the next day. We landed out at a great terrace at a pub close to the opera house and Театральна станция and the sounds of Day of Kiev echoing around a few blocks fromt he centre. Started off on some Ukrainian vodka with honey and pepper in it, hardcore fucking vodka! Few Murphy's and a shot or so past that and everything was in its right place. After a few other events and the dispersement and lack in returning of some parts of the group I ended out dropping 100 grivna between myself and Andy to take a round trip cab ride, on that if you want a good fucking time try getting to a random apartment you are staying at from downtown Kiev with limited ability at directions and a пьяный друг and then the return!, and then getting myself into a club to try to find some other people in the group and after no return on that attempt walking from the centre to the apartments with no grivna for another cab! One street in the centre we found a map of Kiev and the prospect of our location as off the edge of the map.
Into the rains Киева.

So in Russian, Yes in Ukrainian. Interchangabilitishnessity?

Ой.
The randomness of randominity around the streets of Kiev have been great, if you ever come around the city just dropping around random corners will take you to better places than most tour guides. Top off with a few beers from the Оболонь tents or the kiosks everywhere and you'll get some thrills, I'll fucking tell you that. It can be anywhere on the range on high end to sketch in any place with no transition, and the sketch end is usually more Ukrainian конце концов. Not sketch like in the states or like a stroll around Cedar, just ethnic. There are parks everywhere and some towering, fading monument overarching the scene, always scattered with people everywhere. The city is compacted into itself, when you finally crest hills that you had no idea you were climbing and the Dniepr opens itself up in front of you with nuclear cones and straight highways packed miles into the distance you sort of grasp the concentration to a point. 8 something million, if I translated the broken Russian anywhere close to the meant significance, and all folded into itself. The skyline is empty into the distance. One outcropping a bit away with the Soviet housing raising its fist to the West, which one Ukrainian actually told me is still an isolated part of Kiev. The metro shows it, always packed with a solid mixture of demography from the Kievan population, all the time. The last Soviet era train lets out at exactly midnight, and even without rushes from work to flats people are still shoving themselves into the spaces that aren't really there but which you still provide.
Tomorrow is the first club night, sort of stoked for that. I'll look fucking gorgeous tomorrow. Everyone should come and see how good I will look. There is a bar right across the residential street from where most of us live and a store next to that which sells bottles for a few grivna, will hit that up before the экскурсия into multitudes of incredibly dressed and heeled up девушки. Off of some extended I'm-going-to-take-you-and-give-you-all-of-the-Minnesota-accented-Russian-that-you-could-handle-in-a-Ukrainian-flat-without-all-of-that-одежды-that-you-are-wearing-now looks with a few passing Ukrainian girls, there's been nothing yet of extended mingling with them. Наверно, у меня ещё нет жени или девушки здесь.
Пора мне to lock down a pint of something and work through some hundred pages on some of the tsars for this presentation I'm carrying off tomorrow. The usual night in Ukraine. Всё равно.
Так.

Water, and the search for an absence of carbonation in life.

Утро и я ещё не принимал дущ, что это!
Brilliant time last night, brilliant! This trip covers two days where instead of 3 million people walking around the streets of Kiev at a time there are around all 8 million. Вчера was the Day of Europe in downtown Kiev, they set up this massive stage and played the Kiev anthem and Europe anthem and had all of these country Kiosks of Europe down Хрещатік street, the main street through the центр. One of the host brothers in the families is a great guy named Bogdan and he took a selection of us around parts of Kiev that we hadn't seen with a few beers as it's totally savvy to do that in these parts. Bogdan is a brain surgeon. At 23. I talked to him a bit on that, he started training at 16 for it. Bribes are inherent in the medical field, as he makes only 100 or so USD a month from the government, so people pay him a sort of bribe-tip after an operation.
After a fucking marathon roll around the center had some time at the Russian-Ukrainian frienship arch, really sweet Soviet arch that is high up and the view stretches out over the Dniepr and the hills in Kiev, and surrounded by some post-Soviet kids hackysacking, techno, beer, and rides. If I find any wireless in Kiev I'll drop some pictures. Hit up this bar close to the center in a great area, that you drop into this alley really fast off of the designer name submersed population of the street. There is an unmarked door and you drop down some stairs to the lower level, all brick pillars and walls under one of the buildings and fucking filled with smoke. You'd have to rise about 2 miles from Kiev to take yourself out of the smoke anyways, so this just pooled under this building. Took down my first Ukrainian vodka shots, huzzah!, and some raw fish right after it. Bogdan was talking a bit about the Slavic drinking style, chase it with food, which is a great idea and the consistency of the vodka is already comparable to Gray Goose so it is a smooth fucking experience.
One part of the night around the parks Bogdan dropped his bottle on a sidewalk to leave it, not in a trash anywhere. He came up for it though, he said it is actually better to leave around beause the poorer old Ukrainians can pick them up and cash them in for something. So most people follow around in this, and it is something close to truth, as the streets are usually the cleanest.
Пока.

Украиїна, or the space thousands of miles from Там.

Так. Приехал.
Incredible and then some. It's not possible to fit everything into words and such that I can't even work into thoughts and spaces of sobriety. The two day something flight was a few days ago and this is the first time I've been able to land myself in an internet cafe or anywhere close to a technichally complex object. I am now an expert at pipes. More on that in a bit.
So around 8.5 hours to Amsterdam, 2 hours surrounding myself in the mix of German and some sort of Swedish mix of a language, few Heineken, 3 hours to Kiev. Sleep? Fuck no. The Heineken held me in a semi conscious state, KLM flights out of Amsteram all have a good amount on board. One of the first things you figure out after the hour wait in line through customs for the single worker, who without warning decided it was a great time for lunch and left a bit of a gap in service, at the аэропорт is that bathrooms, separate from rooms with sinks that is, are incredibly rare. Great sentence there, that's the Russian working itself in. Seriously. So much to drink and eat, and not a great amount of space for the results of such activities.
Пиво or beer is everyflippingwhere. Out on the sidewalks, in the thousands of kioski lining the sidewalks where people park their cars or drive down if the roads are full, fucking, everywhere. In America it would probably be a problem. Здесь, where the cost is around 3 grivna and the exchange rate is 5 to 1, the only problem is restraint. Not so much through, the intimidation of the kiosk workers and my struggling Russian is enough to counter most of the urges, that and the lack of bathrooms again.
The paradoxes in society are everywhere, one glance at someone walking past and you have figured it out. Figuring out the reasons behind it are a bit more obscure, but it slaps you in the face every four seconds and then gives you a bit of a kidney punch. Nothing apart from heels on girls. Suits for all the человеки. Walking around in anything short of that is a bit intimidating. Ukranians and Russians are all emotional people, seriously. Figure that out and most else falls into place. You deal with someone at a counter to get a метро pass or fight for some non-carbonated water and it's either an incredible experience or you sort of wish that the stray dogs, or wolves, not much of a line, circling you will decide that its time for a bit of Ukranian колбаса.
Western plumbing is fucking incredible. This is ancient Rome. This is Kiev. The water shorts out every while, usually later at night. The toilet you flush by pulling the bit of wire sticking out of the top and with that actually opening the water to stream in. Using the sink means you open the valve to the pipe on the wall, and in that turn off the water to the kitchen. Hot water means you light the water heater on the wall in the kitchen, haven't exactly figured that one out yet and I usually drop some broken Russian to the host family to work that out, especially as the mother sleeps in the kitchen under that space and mostly lives in that room. Her son-s? and daughter or son's girlfriend or something share what is the main living room to sleep, and I am in the other room with two solid Soviet beds and one of the guys from UM Morris. Incredible.
Things are at great prices around here if you get local or close European and if they don't figure out that you aren't Ukrainian. There are some modern shops in the non-Soviet mall sort of thing in the center of Kiev, all US or main brands, and all priced in grivna with American prices. This doesn't defer anyone from buying these, конечно. They just don't pay rent or upkeep anything else. Soviet is everywhere. Metro stations all have grills on the side with the sycle and hammer, and the whole scene matches the 19th century trains which careen along the probably unmaintained tracks, and always jammed with people. Right. No space bubbles, lost that one a while ago already. Probably on the upside of most third world countries at the same time, as most of the people do the basics for hygiene and the wost is the heat or some old decrepit person shouting at you in Russian and shoving you to the side to get a better space.
Russian is spoken in most places, from the slower bits of conversation that I can figure it from. Everything is written Ukranian which isn't a problem, add a few і ї and it all works out. The languages are similar sounding so I work it down to that if I can't understand more than every 4 words, it's Ukrainian.
Я устал. I'm tired from the overconcentration of differentness, and usually thirsty from the fine edge of drinking, and it's incredible.
Extended flashes of randomness and pictures and such will follow. Time to drink. Пора выпить.
Through all of that, rain still falls the same in Ukraine. За всё.

On Oligarchs and Caucus Coalitions

Six days remain and drawing closer. So stoked! Finally figured out where we are meeting at the airport and the address that our prof will be staying at in Kiev. It'll be really interesting to see how the program runs and such with all the prelim bits of information trickling in slower than my hand-eye coordination after five pints and four shots. Maria Georgievna - our Russian prof the last three semesters - wasn't exactly suprised at any of it, its all recurrences of the Soviet system. Almost everything is going through in straight cash when we are in Ukraine. Not just that there aren't a multitude of ATMs dotting the horizon, but that is just how everything is done around Eastern Europe. The cash has to be crisp as counterfitting is about as well paid a job as accounting, if I had more time I would borrow somebody's iron and sit around ironing the cash I have saved from tips for this trip. After watching that scene from 'Lock, Stock', I sort of decided that is what I want to do if I retire rich some day. Wake up every morning with Kiera Knightly in my house floating on a lake, have some coffee, watch some BBC, iron some money.
Setting this post out from Nolte, the wireless is down in Bordertown again. Probably in hindsight better for everything as I would give into buying a scone or something if I had spent more time around there today. Had their soup and sandwich thing again. Soup is hardcore underappreciated in society, especially by myself until around a week ago. Is this really what I have digressed into talking about? Fuck.
I really am hoping my plan of landing an mp3 player in Ukraine works out, I'm not sure my pension-recieving CD player will last the 11 something total hour flights on the way to Kiev. I have to burn off some music to actually play in it, and then remember batteries and such. Realized sometime last night in my cascading apprehensions of the trip that whatever I pick up in Kiev will probably all be programmed in Ukrainian or Russian or some sort of crazy mix with an English or Flemish word thrown in to spice things up, so I sort of have to lock down Ukrainian to listen to music in a week. Listening to mostly acoustic Russian reggaeish lately - this group called 5'nizza, pronounced Пятница which is 'Friday' по-русски. Sort of crazy random noises every few tracks but the beats are all really sweet and beatboxed, and the guitar lines are great. Russian copyright laws aren't exactly solid and you can download most of the shit for free, another upside of reading Cyrillic. I'm going to land an incredible amount of Slav music over the ocean, haven't figured a solid budget on anything that I should limit myself to but maybe that is all for the best playing it off by whatever comes around. After the USD 250 to my host family and the USD 500 to Vira - our prof - , everything else is going to my part in picking up the Ukrainian economy. The Ukrainian Grivna is at around 5.1 USD now and from some Ukrainian friends I can sort of figure costs of things from prices of alcohol. Half a liter of domestic light or dark is around 3 GRV, imported light or dark around 4 GRV. Again, 5.1 USD to the Grivna. За здорове!
Finals are looming and I am dropping way too short an amount of concentration on them. Starting Thursday around 6.30 I launch into the bucket of fun which is 3 finals within 24 hours. After that it's chilling around with my Russian class at our prof's house for most of Saturday, work the last shift at the 'Buck for a month on Sunday afternoon, pack that night, hit up the physician for the first time in a few years Monday morning to fill out a form for studying in Russia, fax it, shake hands with the Starbucks regional manager and reassure him that I'll email him pictures and Lenin statues and whatever the fuck he wants from Kiev, kick it back to my apartment, sit around and act paranoid over leaving anything, then Ayaka - our ASM at the 'Buck - picks me up and drives me to Lindbergh around 3. The flight leaves at 7 and we all meet as a group for the first time at 5. So there's a few hours between meeting the group and my arrival at the airport, which I sort of planned. I fucking love airports. Especially hanging around the international terminals. It's intensely relaxing watching the shifting crowds for me. Figuring that within hours all of the varied faces will disperse thousands of miles apart and never reform in the same way as in that specific lingering light. Amsterdam is going to be incredible. The airport is supposed to be a massive hub for most of Europe, and we have a two something hour layover before we take off for Eastern Europe. Shots, brownies, Euro, flurrying people and possibility and all concentrated in my short acquaintance with the Netherlands.
I could use a sip of that now - or some Thompson and tequila within a fortified compound on the sea, even if without a camera. Oi, Jancsi? That's an experience close enough to call a conflict between the entirety of Magyars and those gun carrying non-bag thieving heathenistic bastards. Take to the hills!
Looming storm clouds make the day too possibly incredible to sit in a room constructing contentless discourses any more than I have already. The only solid excuse for standing under a solid roof today would be ironing bits of paper. Brilliant.

Intransivtivity?

Hit one of those calm, sort of comfortable feelings today again. It always feels off actually saying it or identifying it, sort of in apprehension of it disappearing and some sort of pre-finals frenzy setting back in with its recognition. Trekked over to Bordertown for a while to actually lock down that paper I was frolicking around in my last post - ended out at 5 pages in place of the 3 planned for. I sort of feel that nobody is going to actually read it or analyze it, as most of the lecture is turning it in during this last class for 5-some-percent of the grade in the class. Few pages, assurance that it wasn't an article copied from BBC on the transfer of Hungarian airports to the bids of EU companies, and a full 5 percent toward passing the class is all it took. The articles were actually a bit interesting and moreso the second time around. I think that this is the pull of 'academia' and the shit that stealthily convinces people into the grad school trac for some more papers with university stamps on them and the absence of a few thousand more dollars and years of your twenties. Fuck.
More semi-coherent digressions on that in later posts, probably. Sort of a fresh prospect I've been tossing around as intelligence posts or internships take some of that competitive edge thing I heard of from Carlson 'people' last year. I'll probably find myself a few years off working at a coffee shop in Odessa or something and ridiculing this entire contemplation of more studies, but I'll let it fly for a while.
Picked up a new bag yesterday - one of those Timbuk2 messenger ones. Really miss the old messenger one, but the strap frayed off past any recognition of repair after a solid year and a half, and a load of use and abuse from myself. Almost sounds like domestic abuse. At least I was sober through most of it - or is that worse? Either way it's a solid hundred some dollar donation to Midwest Mountaineering and my bank account shaking its head at me and making angry sounds. Paying rent will be a great time this month. Fuck.
The Coldplay and coffee are running down and night class is looming. Ahhhh - some Parachutes just came over the speakers so its a few minutes more and more random glances around the coffee shop. Crazy how coffee shops and restaurants are totally acceptable places for that. Everyone is sort of focused on their own столик and into their own shit, but the rest of the atmosphere is such an inherent part of whatever you're doing and random glances or conversations is skivvy. Carrying on.
Ukraine in a bit short of a week and a half. So stoked! So many things to land before the final walking to the gate. So much alcoholic tolerance to increase before the first syllabus-directed excursion to Kiev nightlife. So much Russian to lock down - so I can offend an entire population not just by being a foreigner, but by speaking the language of the country that they are finally turning from after the sorry-we-were-sort-of-drunk offences of Russian imperialism.
So much fucking life.

Rain and espresso make finals disappear, right?

This is in place of a three page paper covering some rando articles on the integration of European identity throught the EU and Transatlantic relations. I figured, as I just finished splashing my share of corporate salary back into the corporate economy and landed a suitcase from Target, I should carry on preparing for flying out to Kiev in - oi - two weeks! The suitcase was the largest in the obscure brand that cost the least from the selection, I about bought the size under it but figured even as I might fill half of it on the way out, it will be filled with random legitimate and possibly pirated Ukrainian items on the way back through US customs. I should snag a drink or some snacks for the customs officers in the airports. It'll have some effect on the other side of the border at least.
So I landed tickets to St. Petersburg a few days ago - made some use of my credit limit again. That hasn't happened for a few weeks - that's right - since I landed the Kiev tickets. I'd feel worse if the money wasn't forwarded to flying. Something really comforting in that, I actually am excited about the 8 something hour flight. And then the three something one after my few hours of misadventure at the layover in Amsterdam. I've got one Euro and a few eurochki that I commandeered from tips that random Europeans passing through dropped, and they are leaving my posession somehow in those two hours. Amsterdam. Heineken?
Most of the week is clouded in work and such, figure I should leave this and flip the discourses of Eco and Vattimo back into focus and turn up the Mum. First day of the week, and a bit of Transatlanticism to set it off - things are on the up and up.