король епископ массивный

Guadalajara!

2007-12-21T12:21:00.000-06:00

Hello friends! I recently returned from a trip to Guadalajara, Mexico. I visited this city (mexico's 2nd city with a population in excess of 6 million!) for business, but luckily there was time for a bit of leisure as well. Our kind business associates took us to the city center we we visited the "Hospicio Cabanas," home to some amazing murals painted by Jose Clemente Orozco between 1936-1939. Along with Siqueiros and Diego Rivera, Orozco was one of 'the big three' of the Mexican Mural Renaissance. Orozco had communist tendencies and the influence of the Russian revolution can be seen in his murals here. They are massive, foreboding, and savage.

Here I am in business mode in front of the Hospicio building. It was originally built as an orphanage. Thats an impressive looking orphanage no? The fountain in the foreground gave a dancing water display nearly as impressive as the one in front of the Hermitage in St. Petersburg...nearly.

Now, observing frescoed rotundas can be a recipe for a neckache. However, the Mexicans were thoughtful enough to place a highly polished copper plate beneath the main rotunda. In this manner you can look down at your feet to see the detail painted 100 feet above. Ingenious! I've never seen the like in any other country!

Enjoy the following photos of Orozco's magnificent work! If you have the opportunity I would highly recommend visiting them yourself. Though intimidatingly large, I found the city of Guadalajara hospitable and its inhabitants, 'los tapatios' extremely open and friendly. Make the trip!

And with that, I wish you all a happy holiday season. Enjoy your rest, and most of all enjoy your time with loved ones and friends.

I Return!

2007-12-07T20:02:00.000-06:00

Whew! Well, after nearly a year hiatus I have returned to blog again! Lets see. Quick update. I returned from Russia in May, spent the summer in Austin dividing my time between Micro/Marcoeconomics courses at ACC, a defense policy course at the LBJ school at UT, and as much work as I could get at the Texas Association of Counties (shout out to my HEBPeople!). I am now living in San Antonio working as a sales rep in the depths of old Mexico. This isn't my ideal job, but its a great opportunity to refresh my Spanish after over a year focusing solely on Russian, and it never hurts to get some international business experience. My overall goal though, is to attend grad school with a focus on international affairs in Washington D.C. That being said, I recently took a trip up to investigate potential masters programs and have thanksgiving with the lovely Star Silva.

Speaking of the lady Silva, there she is now. She was a most gracious host, and we had a wonderful time as winter began to settle onto our nations capitol. Here we are overlooking the national mall, and the many smithsonian buildings it contains.

After visiting the (relatively) new WWII memorial (in the background just at the base of the Washington monument) I walked up the reflecting pool and was able to catch a nice shot of the pool from the steps of the Lincoln memorial.

Luckily, while I was in D.C. the Major League Soccer championship match was held at RFK stadium just a few metro stops from Star's apartment! I've been following the season intently this year and was extremely excited to catch the match. The Houston Dynamo defended their title, beating the New England Revolution (for the second time!) in the MLS cup final. It was a great match and a fun time. Here are you champion Houston Dynamo!

Everyday struggle.

I felt the art in this room at the Hirschorn Museum of Contemporary Art was bland enough that it needed outside element to liven it up. Here i am an outside element. Lines on a canvas? How much did he make on this piece? Hmmm...how much can i sell the photo for?

Mark Hanson, Minnesotan, and onetime roomate in St. Petersburg, Russia. Mark is a current resident of Samara, Russia, and is returning soon to attend university there. He just so happened to be in town and we shared a happy if unexpected reunion.

The National Cathedral. I had no idea D.C. contained a church as majestic as this. I suppose i've seen it's interior for state funerals, but i'm not sure i've ever seen the full exterior. I was able to catch a Sunday evening choral prayer service and the voices ricocheted about the chamber, creating a immensely soothing environment.

I won't make any promises like 'the next post will come much sooner!' But I'll do my best to be put something up at intervals more regular than a year. Until then, be well! and enjoy December.

Helsinki!

2007-02-11T06:23:00.000-06:00

This weekend I travelled to Helsinki, Finland to renew my Russian Visa. I had passed through Helsinki before, briefly, but had never had a chance to walk around and familiarize myself with the city. I was impressed. Those Finns have really got it together. Here are photos to document my journey.

This is the Helsinki Railway Station. It is imposing, handsome, and well kept...easily the finest train station I have seen in Europe, maybe in my life.

Need to do some shopping, quickly? No problem...ascend from the efficient Helsinki Metro directly into the mall. While I was walking here, a fire alarm went off. There was no panic. Instead, a friendly voice on a loudspeaker in Finnish and then English, told us 'not to panic yet, an investigation is underway as to whether or not this is a legitimate alarm...until a true emergency has been established, please enjoy your shopping"....and we did.

I must say the Finns have a truly exceptional sense of design and style. The city is divided into the charmingly antique, and, as we see here, the ultra-modern. The impressive thing is how smooth the merge between the contrasting styles is accomplished.

Here we see the classi Helsinki. It's a dream! This is what St. Petersburg must have looked like 200 years ago when the paint was still dryin on Peter's dream town. The Finns know how to maintain!

A well kept, brilliantly white, orthodox church just opposit the row of houses from the previous picture. If you notice, the Finns have even shoveled clean a little walkway up the snowy steps. How considerate.

Of course, every culture has it's eccentricities and the Finns are no exception. Here we have a delightfully odd window for a second hand clothing store downtown. The manequin is wearing a garbage-bag dress.

Probably the most Russian thing I saw in Helsinki was this stone mural. I don't know what the Finnish means, but the style seems rather socialistic. However, its much too well kept to be a Russian monument...that's the giveaway.

For a European capital, Helsinki is actually not a large city. If you walk all the way to the edge of the center, you will find the vast frozen expanse of the Nordic Sea. An hour to the south lies, Talinn, Estonia. I contemplated jumping a barge and sailing there, but alas, time was not on my side. Enjoy the photos...

Winter has come!

2007-01-30T12:30:00.000-06:00

I returned to a Russian winter in half-swing, which promptly kicked itself up into full-swing, just as I finished unpacking my suitcase. My moustache freezes from every time i hit the street, the moisture from my nasal exhalations collecting on the frozen whiskers. The stray cats are bountiful in this city, and I always wondered how they could possibly survive in such a climate, come winter. One night I spied the secret of their survival.The floodlights that illuminate the arches of the Kazan Cathedral also provide the nightwarmth that keeps the streetcats of Russia alive. They huddle here and wait for the sun.In addition to keeping the cats alive, the lights to create a handsome sight when one (huddled in scarf and coat) approaches the cathedral. Essential and proper winter attire. One must be prepared for the elements. I will be back in Texas in March for my brother's wedding. Until then, my love to you all, and keep warm!

С Новым Годом!

2007-01-17T03:53:00.000-06:00

Happy new year to you all! It's been a whirlwind couple of weeks as I ventured forth from the cold north to pay a visit to my dear friends and family in Texas. It was a great surprise for my Mom, who had no idea I was coming, and a real treat for me, as I hadn't anticipated returning until March. So first off, thanks to my Dad for gifting me a ticket to come back. Despite losing my Russian work visa somewhere along the way, and scrambling to replace it at the embassy in Paris, it was an alltogether joyous trip. Here are photos.Here's my friend and sometime roomate (and editor of effing press) Scott Pierce crossing Shoal Creek. Though the buildup of massive skyscraping loftblocs troubled me more than a little, it warmed my heart to see old Austin sights, like the thundercloud lightning bolt glowing in the window.In Dallas, a happy reunion with Ben Berger and Greg Martin. We walked Oak Lawn and Greenville, and visited the new Good Records location (its polyphonic!). Ben and I thrashed Greg and some drunk guy in foosball (though the blame for the loss lies on the drunk guy and not Greg, who played quite valiantly) and doubting bartenders scrutinized my passport before aquiescing to serve me lone star.After a harrowing day in Paris, running about, documents and money in hand, visa concerns filling my brain, I recline in the pre-boarding lounge at Charles De Gaulle airport. It's 10:30, and I'm waiting for a plane to Helsinki, and losing my mind a bit. So this is the ceiling of the terminal....it seemed beautiful to me at the time. Suppose it still is.I arrived back in Russia just in time for Old (Gregorian) Russian New Year. The Russians celebrate whenever possible, and fireworks are of course a necessity. A group of us found an exit out to the roof, and shot off bottle rockets with champagne and cheering. We were saluted by other rooftops in return. In this photos we have two Englishmen, Liam and Craig (head sticking out the window), two Russian ladies, Luba and Yana, and Dan the Wisconsonite. We stepped carefully up there, as the snow was falling and the metal roof was quite slick. Dan nearly lost it here.Star with sparkler!Sparklers for everyone!
A Russian new year roofscape. This is the top of St. Petersburg. May you all enjoy the new year and all it brings. I send my love from Russia.

Autum, Otono, Осень!

2006-10-04T13:32:00.000-05:00

It's been an inexcusable amount of time since my last post I know. I was quite occupied, teaching summer intensive courses (5 days a week 4 hours a night with the same students) and recieving visitors from all parts of the globe. That includes Texas Association of Counties' own Morgan Holkesvik. I'd like to send love to all my friends at TAC who check in with this blog from time to time and apologize for the long absence (what up HEBP!), I would also like to thank TAC for letting Morgan run off to Russia to see me, it was wonderful seeing an old friend again, though it made me miss home dearly! Without further ado, here are images!

This is a babbon near Red Square in Moscow. Yes, he is indeed wearing not only a t-shirt and rather fashionable cargo pants, but what appear to be birkenstock sandals. Of course, this fascinated both Morgan and myself.Here we stand, amidst the thronging Russians, taking a moment to appreciate the novelty of a fully clothed baboon on a leash in front of the Kremlin. It know seems Morgan is a bit more amused than I do, but I've had several months of training in the Russian stoneface now - never let wonder touch your face on the street here. A massive, bronze statue of the pioneering, Petersburg founding, mutated fetus collecting, Swede and Finn defeating, Peter the Great. This statue is a few dozen feet taller than Lady Liberty and is situated on a man made island in the middle of the Moscow river. Many Muscovites resent having such a monument to the man who moved the Russian capitol from Moscow to St. Petes (until the Revolution of course). But no one can deny he has played a significant role in the shaping of the Russian world. Peter deserves a place in Moscow too.Interior of one the centuries old churches that lie within the massive red walls of the Kremlin. This church dates back to the 12-13th century and the walls are completely covered in amazing, ancient Russian iconography. Somewhere in this church there are a few icons painted by the great master, Andrei Rublev, inspiration for one of Tarkovsky's greatest films.A celebratory moment in front of the Russian Foreign Affairs Department, the equivalent of the U.S. Department of State. This is one of Stalin's "Seven Sisters." Seven, massive, skyscrapers that epitomize (and actually began) the architectural style, "neo-geothic imperial." Yes they are aggressive, dark and menacing, thrusting needlesharp spires and hard edges at the heavens as if to say, "God who?" Oh, Stalin....when will you learn. Perhaps, someday I will visit this building as a foreign dignitary and not a vagabond in a threadbare jacket and worn out sneakers.A claustrophobic moment on the St. Petersburg metro. Breathe in the smell of those Russian commuters, arms raised, grasping the oily metal of the overhead bars, while working Sudoku puzzles. This is a daily chore.Old Vladimir Illych pointing towards Revolution and (relative) freedom on the front steps of the (former) soviet regional government building in St. Petersburg. Unfortunately, Morgan and I didn't get to see his corpse in Moscow, but to be honest I prefer the statues in noble plazas to waiting an hour in line to see a 60 year old wax body. Just me.A strange, sad, little frog I found painted on the walls of a music venue in the Petrograd district of St. Petes. I liked his cap.Navy Day! Fellow teacher (and minnesotan) Mark Hanson and I walking with our (former Russian Naval Officer) companion Alexander. Alex (a former student of mine) gave me the striped navy shirt I'm so proudly sporting here as a gift. All day long as we walked and drank with the sailors I was constantly hugged, shaken hands with, and coerced into Russian Naval sing-alongs because of said shirt. It was a great day.

Rise Up

2006-07-14T02:14:00.000-05:00

The bridges of St. Petersburg go up at night in the summer. The big boats crawl through the Malaya Neva (the little neva river) then, the sailors on their decks, leaned against sterns and masts, returning from long voyages or maybe heading out for months, watch the revellers on the river bank hurtling fire through the ever-dusk of the white nights, drinking, smiling, and dancing their celebration.These photos were taken during the summer solstice. It was the longest day of the year, though due to some unexpected cloud cover, the night wasn't near as bright as I had hoped. Still there were many of us out at 3am that night, including busloads of Mexican tourists who i chatted with about Russia for a while. This is this view of St. Petersburg State University across the Malaya Neva. The bridge, Dvortsovy Most (Palace Bridge) is set to raise in minutes.
The anticipation builds....the bridge inches upwards to cheers and hoots by the hordes of spectators nearby. Small tourist vessels flood through the gap, their passengers afforded an ants eye view of the massive soviet coggery in action.
The bridge, along with its comrades across the city, is fully upright now, effectively shutting vasilievsky ostroff off from the city center and mainland. We are distinct boroughs for the rest of the night. Krystoffsky Ostroff, Petrogradskaya, Vailievsky. No metro, no cabs, no cars, no tramvias will cross water 'til morning.

Kronshdat

2006-06-26T04:05:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I went to Kronshdat, and island in the gulf of Finland reachable only by hydrofoil or a treacherous bus-ride over a 10km man-made spit, roughly 30 metres wide. Kronshdat was an essential in the Red Army's victory over the Nazi's during the siege of Leninigrad. Allied supplies were secreted into Leningrad through Kronshdat. It has always been a naval city. Before the war, The Russian Navy built a large installation there, which remains today. Some of the tiny islands that surround it were used for bubonic plage research facilities...you can see the ruined shells of the research buildings on the bus ride in. During the cold-war, Kronshdat was a submarine dock and repair facility. It was off limits to all but non-residents of the island up until 1996. It was quite strange to be walking in a place once forbidden to me. Had I found myself in Kronshdat in 1980, I would've been arrested if not shot on the spot.Our old friend Vladimir Illych Lenin, standing proud in the park. Very interesting. Kronshdat seems trapped in the soviet era. There has been little development on the island, save upgrades to the naval installations. It hasnt seen the kind of commercial movement and advances that St. Petes and Moscow have.Furthermore, Kronshdat is home to scores of sailors. Some live at the academy, others find less conventional homes amongst the trees and greenery of the island.Russians arent a particularly religous people. It seems though, that sailors (despite their coarse tongues) like to feel the warm light of providence on their shoulders as they set out for a long sea journey. Who can blame them? Kronshdat is a small island, but it boasts two amazing churches. The first, this quaint Orthdox church nestled near the island's Gostinny Dvor.And this, "the Church of the Sea." This is said to be based on the design of one of the largest churches in Constantinople and is the best example of Byzantine architecture in all of Russia. It sits atop a hill that descends into the Letny Sad (summer garden) and overlooks an old docking pool for ships, and later subs. The handles of the doors to the chapel are actually fish. AmazingNearby, the father of the Russian Navy steers his fleet towards their destiny, braving the icy northern seas, his beard frozen, cold waves licking his feet.

When will the sun stop?

2006-06-21T03:14:00.000-05:00

The white nights have fallen upon this city. This means that the sun doesn't ever really set.For example, this picture was taken at 4 am a week ago. It is even brighter now!

My curtains are thin and sleep is a phantom I chase every night. These days, I often find myself walking out into the night, hopping the fence in front of the Kazan Cathedral and sitting on the lawn there until 3 or 4 am, watching the fountain with the drunks and lovers. It's hard to feel danger in a city with no shadows. Though my eyes are heavy dark bags now from lack of sleep, I'm happy. They say in Seattle and London people get SAD; the seasonal depressive disorder that results from a lack of sunlight. How can you not be happy after months of cold and grey and wet and white, to finally step into a neverending sunny day? We sit on the river and drink and watch the boats on the canals, listening for canadian accents, or french, or japanese. The city is flooded with toursists. Theyve come for the sun.This is an interesting public health warning about venereal disease I found near the 10 Pushkinskaya non-conformist art collective. Gets the point across quite nicely I think.View out my flat of the decaying building next door. This picture was taken at 11pm. I love this building. The color patterns the years of wear have left on its facade keep my eyes busy.Last weekend I went to an Aikido demonstration on Ligovsky Prospekt. A master from Japan had come to give a demonstration at a local martial arts school. I must admit, after all the xenophobia I have borne witness to here in Russia, it was somewhat satisfying seeing 300 lb russian fighters bowing and groveling to a 5'5 140lb japanese man, who then proceeded to toss them through the air 3 at a time. It was quite a sight.
God bless these dogs and the ease with which they sleep under the light of the ever-present sun. May the rest well, and find food when they awaken.

Тучка Котлетевна

2006-05-27T05:01:00.000-05:00

I agree I agree, over a month is too long. But rest assured, there is good reason. Life in Russia in this massive city is busy beyond my expectations. I have moved. I now live roughly one block away from fabled Nevsky Prospekt. This is akin to being a block off of Broadway in NYC. Its amazing, convenient, and bustling. A few nights ago I spied a lively knife fight on my way home from work! We bought a kitten, a dear little russian blue named Tuchka (rain cloud). Unfortunately kittens from the pet market have a tendency to be parasite ridden as poor little Tuchka unfortunately was. We took her to the veterinary university and treated her as best we could, but in the end we had to call a house vet to put her down....it was a sad day. So here is to little Tuchka! RIP.She was a dear kitten, but she was just too small and too sick. She was a fighter though, and made it through several days of treatment and countless bumpy Mashrutka rides up and down Moskovsky Prospekt to the Veterinary university. This is Meagan and I in a Marshrutka with little Tuchka riding box seat. Photo courtesy of the lovely Star Silva who was visiting at the time, and bore witness to the short brilliant life of our kitten.Victory day was May 9. In Russia, World War II is known as "The Great Patriotic War." Considering the fact that 70% of Hitler's forces where diverted to the eastern front, and that almost no family in Russia was left untouched by the massive losses the Red Army incurred, I would be inclined to agree with them. So "Victory Day" is a massive massive celebration here. Here is a shot of Palace Square filled to the brim with proud Russian Sailors in tight formations.While Star was here, we made a visit to the Peter and Paul fortress, which marks the site of the beginning of St. Petersburgs rise from swamp to Capitol. It was there the first outpost was established to protect the Northwestern Russian territory from Swedish invasion. Today there is an odd statue of Peter in this place. The bronze body was shaped large and regal, but the head was taken from an actual Peter-head-sized casting taken while he was still alive...as you can see the proportions are a bit out of whack...but its quite endearing in a way. The children at the fortress that day all sat in his lap, laughed and rubbed their fingers on his tiny black face, polishing it with their grubby russian kidhands.Star and I also took the (self-imposed) Baltika challenge. Baltika is a Petersburg based beer with 9 varieties. There is Nol (0), a non-alcoholic beer, and then 2-9 which range from light lager, to dark porter. Number 9, Baltika "Krepkoe" (strong) is 9% alcohol and is rumored to be mixed with vodka at the brewery. I've reccomended my father invest in this company, as I believe it will soon become a powerful global beer brand. Mark my words. Baltika is coming to a stadium or grocery store near you! One evening we decided to taste and rate each variety. It was a trying task, but some expatriate had to do it...might as well be me no?More to come...and the time wait will be much less next time. Thanks for your patience, my love to you all, as all is well in Russia.

2006-04-16T09:11:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I treated myself to a fine Glenfarclas 10 year scotch and a pint of the house stout at The Telegraph, a local pub where fans of the St. Petersburg Zenith Football club gather to watch european premier league matches. As the pub became concentrated with pint-pounding russian hooligans, I made a quick exit to a relatively sunny, exhaust filled, Nevsky Prospect in search of some other kind of saturday afternoon action. As I walked, I passed one of the many high-end fashion boutiques that line the prospect. This one was dedicated to modern men's fashions. Standing on display, staring at me out the window was this...

I'm not exactly sure what this haircut means. I haven't seen many (strike that, ANY) Russian men with this style in effect. I suppose I should give it a few weeks though. Nevsky shops are tastemakers. If I spot this 'do on an actual head, rest assured I will capture it and report.

I continued walking. The scotch warm in my belly, I hoofed parts of the city previously unexplored. Behind the Moskovsky train station, on the other side of an auto repair/salvage yard, I found this old castle (church) boarded up and fenced in. Nearby two Turks in leather jackets who appeared to be undertaking some sort of street negotiation frowned at the sight of my camera, so I chose not to linger and read the sign you see posted on the fence there. Though its origins and purpose remain unkown to me, I still find the building quite striking.

After leaving the Turks and their business (whatever it may have been), I proceeded southwards until I encountered this small church. It doesnt look fit to hold more than 40 people, yet again, the design struck me, and demanded to be recorded and reported. The way it seemingly stacks layers upon each other reminds me of the old scandinavian wooden stave churches and also the massive wooden church (over 28 onion domes, and only wooden pegs used to hold the thing together!) on the island of Khizi (which I intend to visit soon). It was a quaint sight in an eyesore of a behind-the-railroad-station kind of a neighborhood.

In this same neighborhood, I found a small club (the Red Club) advertising live rock n' roll; a band called "cartoons." After a brief interrogation at security, (where my pens (I always have at least two on me) were checked to make sure they weren't actually knives) I was ushered into a small, dimly-lit smoke filled, people packed room. It was sparsely decorated and there was an air of anticipation. Cartoons it seems, are local favorites and roughly 85% of the kids in attendance knew the words to every song. They were ecstatic. Leaping, shouting, sweating, pulling hair, screaming, yelping, shouting requests, skanking, sliding, twisting, dancing, and shrieking like the beatles had just come back to the USSR. It was really amazing to see people reacting so strongly to music. In America, Austin especially, were all so jaded it takes a really great performance to get us enthused. These kids were probably seeing their favorite band for the 18th odd time, and they were freaking out! What a joyful outpouring.

On the way home, I chanced a quick photograph of the elegant subterior of the Ploschad Vosstaniya/Mayakovskaya metro station. Few are the pictures taken of the Russian underground, so please enjoy! Thats all for now...hope all is well in America. I send my love.

2006-04-08T13:37:00.000-05:00

Its been a good weekend. I found some good music, and some bootlegged dvds in english. I also took new photos to share with you all. Ive seen some interesting things recently. Im in my kitchen, listening to the cure and guzzling Molodovan wine after a tasty spaghetti meal. It seems Russia isn't too happy with Moldova and Georgia's recent western leaning policies and in retaliation have decided to ban importation of the delicious wines that those regions produce. Its very sad as Russia is there biggest market and there isnt much coming out of poor Molodova besides wine. /Raises glass/ "Heres to you Moldova, and to you Georgia!"

Times change, and some people have trouble accepting that. This surly Babushka is protesting the fact that Russia is no longer the Soviet Union. She is holding the flag of the USSR, and her sign reads, "President Putin-Oligarch Man-Thief and Lackey of Washington." I do admire her handwriting though, this sign was painstaingly created! She snarled at me when she saw me take the picture, but I just had to. Seeing babushkas like this, walking the streets, caressing photos of Stalin, makes me more than glad I chose my own apartment over a home stay!

Seasons also change, and winter is finally, fully, leaving this slushy burg. These decaying ice plates on the surface of the once-solid Neva river are tell-tale signs of the approach of spring. If you take the time to enlarge this picture youll notice an orange, tank-like, conveyance rolling over the bridge in the background. They call that a tramvia here. I was surprised to here the word tramvia used in Russian, as my only point of reference is the graceful, gliding, tranvias of Bilbao, Spain. They were a light green, the interiors wafted the sterile smell of perfumed sanitizers and classical music drifted down upon the passengers. Russian tramvias are full of drafts that admit fierce patches of icy winter air as they chug, sludge, and rattle through the streets. I like them a lot. Its like riding in the biggest volvo ever made with 30 strangers who may or may not be drunk.

This is a poster for the cat expo I went to today. I couldnt find a cat that spoke to me with its eyes and paws that cost less than 300 dollars (6000 some odd rubles). Meagan and I are becoming known in the Russian cat circuit as the Americans (and sometimes Hungarians) seeking a Russian blue. There are many things I imagined for myself when I was a boy. Never among those things was notoriety in the elite Russian cat breeders circuit. Wonders never cease.As I mentioned in my last post, as the season truly shifts, the ice melts. Things that were long buried by the white blanket re-emerge, much to our collective dismay. Dog shit, broken bottles, baby booties, socks, gloves, frozen chunks of bile, as well as bones originating from various meats. However, the most abundant thawed treasure appears to be cigarette butts! Russians do love their smokes, and why walk to the garbage receptacle when there is a perfectly good snow bank right at your feet! This photos is the result of just such a mentality! Russia! Love it!

Swamp Gas

2006-04-06T07:46:00.000-05:00

I know, I know its been some time since the last post. I make no excuses. Time moves strangely here, and Im working/studying alot. There were a number of days when I was commuting nearly four hours between my home in the northern suburbs (if they can be called that) and the southern village of Pushkin, home of one of the outlying summer palaces...also home of the small school where the young poet Pushkin honed his craft before claiming fame in the great northern capitol. Those days of heavy commuting are over for the time being, and I am settling in quite well. However, the ice and snow that once blanketed the city and its many footpaths is melting. Melting into cesspools of long, winter-buried dogshit and swampy mosquito wombs that threaten to unleash swarms of the tiny predators upon us all come the warmer days of spring. I've also been warned of excesses of swamp gas that escape from the warming earth (plaguing asthma sufferers to no end) as the cold leaves us. We must remember that St. Petersburg was built on a swamp. The many canals that crosscut the city weren't constructed for their aesthetic value, but rather they are the one-time sites of the excavations that provided earth enough to solidify Petrogradskaya, Vasilevsky Ostroff, and the other islands. Peter was admirably mad in his ambition to make this city what it is.

Some picutres then?

This television apparently fell from the sky. That, or it was kicked, hard, from a speeding van. No one paid it any attention on the street, but its shining, snowy, vacuum-tubed innards drew my eye. Where did this come from???? One of Russia's many mysteries that will remain unsolved.

This small onion-domed orthodox church lies a few hundred meters from my flat. I went there one Sunday morning hoping to hear a sermon in Russian and smell the incense and perfume of the babushkas I knew must be in attendance. No one was there. I'm not sure if this church is much more than decorative.

Walking down this alley one night, I was anticipating Ol' Raskolnikov himself to turn a corner nervously and dart away at the sight of me. Him or some other nimble foopad or cutpurse. It may not come across in this photo as I felt it that night, but the antiquity of this city often renders it beautiful in the manner of an old, poisonous, reptile, beaded and decorated to the hilt, but armed with fangs. There is often an undercurrent of malice in streets of aging splendor.

The merchant stands built up around the Pionerskaya Metro Stop on a snow Friday night. I was so happy to be done with the workweek on this night, I took a moment to document the joyful bustle that sometimes envelops this (often dreary) place of commute. Across the street, drunks stumbled into the Aladdin casino and sports bar. Immediately in front of me and to the right, thoughtful husbands and young paramours bought (odd numered) bouquets of flowers from the Oranj greenhouse for their sweethearts. This was a nice moment.

A taste of the glory of fabled Nevsky Prospekt. Here we see the dome and spire one of "Piter's" many churches. Gostiny Dvor, where oligarchs buy fine aged scotches and their wives carry chihuahas in handbags and debate Prada vs. Dior, lies a few steps away.

Avast!

2006-03-22T15:04:00.000-06:00

Its been some time since my last entry I know. Russia keeps me busy. Churchill once called this land "mystery wrapped in a riddle wrapped in an enigma." Politicians do have a flair for the dramatic, and said quote may go a bit too far, but it does hit the mark in some ways. I find myself, at times delightfully confused, and at other times, simply frustrated. This morning i was sick. Las night I ate something from a street vendor. It was a 'blini.' The blini is a Russian amalgamation of the crepe, the empanada, and the burrito. The one I ate was delicious, and was a meat of some kind (please let it not have been dog). I paid dearly for that roadside delicacy though my guts and spit and time this morning. However, please all of you know that

1. I am alive and well
2. I am happy, and engaged in my work and studies
3. I still dont have a working key to my building

Without further ado here are some photographs of St. Beautysburg

The Kazan Cathedral. A five minute walk from my office. Nina, our office manager was taken aback when after telling me it was her favorite building in the city, I replied, "it looks like a government buidling" It seems government architecture has quite a different connotation in Russia then it does in America.

The Church of Spilled Blood. This is one of the few Onion Dome churches in St. Petersburg, as the Czar outlawed them in order to give the city a more classical, european appearance. It is modeled after St. Basil's cathedral in Red Square, Moscow.

Namesake of Nevsky Prospect and Russian Folk Hero, Aleksander Nevsky. This is his plaza, where hippies play bongos and fire-dance, and the elderly walk the snowy grounds and reflect on Russia's (and their own) past.

The Partially frozen Fontanki Canal. People walk there dogs and ice fish on this thing. It warms up cracks, and then days later in a sudden snowstorm (like this one) refreezes. Immediately they return to the ice, walking without fear. Ive not walked far on it, but I have tested its strength.

Big, beautiful, bronze, horse butt, Nevsky Prospect, St. Petersburg, Russia.

until next time...

yours,
Lucas

Sankt Peterburg

2006-03-07T08:53:00.001-06:00

Hello All! After a brief visit to my dear Star and various and sundry friends (Eric, the Chemali family) in France, and a quick revisitation of my old stomping grounds in Bilbao, Spain, I have arrived in Russia. I dont have a lot of time to write today. However I will post a few photos to speak for me. A textier update will soon follow. My love to you all!

An old soviet science and math academy in my neighborhood

My building! Look how new and clean!

View across winte the (partially) frozen Neva River of the Winter Palace (aka Hermitage Art Museum)

More to come soon. Sorry for the long wait! Un gran abrazo for you all!

Know your enemy

2006-01-12T13:09:00.000-06:00

The hunted has become the hunter.
Will you be ready?
Are you ready now?

This spring, death has wings.

Eid ul Adha

2006-01-11T14:05:00.000-06:00

Persuading a goat to travel by rickshaw is tricky business.

"One goat is to be sacrificed for one person," says Mullah Javed Anwar.

This guy is a participant
in a muslim goat fair
in northern india.
I really
really
really
like his style.
You glare on goatman.
Glare on with your heartsong
Searing through the horns and
bleats.

"You can tell if it's a good goat by its size and number of teeth," these boys say.

thanks to the bbc for photos and captions

Beakskin

2006-01-10T10:30:00.000-06:00

So much, I havent had time to write.

That's all the apologizing I will do. Many people in my life are leaving lately. Star has gone on to France. Ben has gone on to ummm...well, he's gone to the horizon as far as I know (he's elusive). My good friend Eric left this morning (also for France). Did we send him off well? We did indeed. It was a night of really warm feelings, heartsongs, succulent lamb,

children learning, laughs, fire, hugs, fine belgian ales, and sleepy beings holing up behind bookshelves like elven cobblers.

Eric I will see soon however, as I am leaving too. Turns out my contract leads me to Saint Petersburg (Leningrad)

instead of Moscow. I will skulk through Raskolnikov's alleyways

and eyefuck the winter palace. Its going to be much colder than Moscow, but I am Minnesotan....

I fear no chill. Besides, from what I hear, the Russian longcoat industry

is second to none. I've felt strange of late. Disconnected. When you've made up your mind to go somewhere, and the departure is imminent, it feels like you've already gone. Im phantomally these days...

wispy. Selling my possessions, packing boxes, smashing confetti eggs (sorry Star) in my distraction. So it goes. My friends are present a lot of late, and though it sometimes seems as if there is already a spiritual distance wall being erected between us, they are supportive and congratulatory. It is a wonderful opportunity we leavers have. To see another way of living. New worlds in the old world. Hope all ye who read this find happiness and peace today. Embrace your dear ones, for ye know not when they too may leave.

New Developments

2006-01-04T11:12:00.000-06:00

The new year has come! With it danger, hipster fights, old friends, plans for covert operations, and the loss of prized possesions.

My dear friend Ben Berger, a known vagabond and wanderer made a visit to Austin to ring in the new year with myself and our other friends down here. Ben knows how to enjoy life, that much is for sure.

He agreed to join my campaign against the peeper. At one point during the weekend, our ears trained to the slightest leafy disturbance in my backyard, we rushed out lights, clubs and pistols ready, only to find an extremely startled husky.

We are ready at any moment. My good friend Mateo Bruns also opted to join our elite anti-peep squadron and immediately leapt into the control chair.

This man makes his own bows and arrows from tree limbs. He is a powerful ally. The new year was rung in beautifully and love, warmth, and enthusiasm were shared by all. Nick, Bop, their respective ladies, MCP and his lover, Morgan and Jenny, Ben and myself all shouted and drank with gusto. I heard the day before that I have officially been offered a postion in Moscowtown Russia.

There was a toast to that as well. Afterwards, Ben and I went to another party where we encountered a drunken Turbo,

and the aftermath of a wicked, neck-slashing, hipster party. Who know the fey dandies of this town would go that far. Funny how people that profess the same (counter)cultural ideologies are prone to throw down on a moments notice.

My bike is stolen.

What with the recent car break in, peeper attacks, bike thefts, and general disarray in mi barrio. I feel like the city of Austin is rejecting me like a bad organ transplant.

It is time to leave. However, operation peepstun is still underway, and I will see it through to its bloody, burning, charred completion.

Peeper in the Night

2005-12-28T14:25:00.000-06:00

Months ago my home was visited by a peeping tom.

The peeper caught a female friend of my roomate as she stepped from the shower. I heard her alarm and dashed into my backyard, steak knife in hand, chasing him into the night. He escaped, but I thought he had learned his lesson. I was wrong. Last night, the peeper returned. I was preparing myself for sleep. I sat, enjoying a movement, mentally focused on the interview with Moscow that awaited me in the morning. Suddenly, outside, I heard the crunch of dry leaves underfoot. My landlord wasnt home, neither was my roomate...the cat was inside the house. Beyond all that, the weight of the steps screamed 'human being.' I knew the peeper was approaching. I turned to face the window, and waited as he stepped ever closer, and the noise he made became (to my now hyper-alert ears) deafening. I watched, frozen, as two sets of fingers reached the windowsill, and then ever so slowly a face raised itself and a pair of dark frightened eyes met my own.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?!?!?" I screamed my loudest hatest shriek at him and raised my fist, as if it could penetrate the glass of the window and somehow punish him for violating the sacnticty of my zone. The police came, we searched for hours, but I spooked him good, and he was long gone. Next time the peeper will not be so lucky.

I have devised a plan, and given a formal pledge for vendetta. The peeper will know my wrath.

I have procured essential tools to exact my revenge, and bring this criminal to justice.

1. 500,000 volt stun baton

2. Police Strength Pepper Spray

I will be victorious. I am patient and determined. I am the patron saint of partywood.

Blurred Highway Vision

2005-12-27T14:02:00.000-06:00

Christmas has passed. I spent the holiday with my mother, brother and step-family in Waxahachie, Texas.

The hateful little town I grew up in has changed for the worse. Once merely closed-minded to the point of despair, it is now a closed-minded consumer wasteland teetering ont the brink of incorporation into the DFW metroplex. Years ago, when I still lived there, you could at least attribute the ignorance to how small and rural the town was. Now its just sad and stubborn and paved. Seeing my mom was a treat though, and the same goes for my brother dear. We had fine sweat meats, soft rolls, delicous pies, and smiling laughing chats. Our peaceful reverie was broken only by periodic dogfights

between tiny Arlo (yorkshire terrier, and lord of the house), Belle (playful yellow lab puppy), and Rylie (chocolate lab goofus). I've always been more of a cat person than a dogfan, and this stance was only strengthened by watching the three snarl, leap, bounce, yelp, whimper, simper, drool, paw, scratch, and generally disrupt. I had pie in my belly
for god's sake. I had no patience for dogfights....(annoyed).
Later, I saw Syriana with my mom. The film featured a bearded, portly, George Clooney
speaking Arabic and Farsi the majority of the movie. I really enjoyed it. Some other moviegoers walked out, anticipating Oceans 13: Saudi Arabia!! I expect. I normally don't enjoy films with an immediate and obvious agenda, however when the agenda is to inform and educate about impending crises, I can make an exception.
I have an interview bright and early tomorrow morning with Moscow. If they like what they hear, I will have a postion and a date of departure for my Russiaing.

Scotch Rat

2005-12-21T14:57:00.000-06:00

Last night I went and saw my friend Scott Pierce (of effing press) read at 12th st. books. Also there was Charles Potts, a wise old poet from Washington state. The reading was quite nice and I talked to Potts for a good while about language, words, and symbols. He lived in China and Japan for a while roughly 10-15 years ago, and I was quite curious to hear his impressions of those places. After sneaking scotch and a number of beers, hunger struck me so my friend Doug Warriner and I left for the (formerly) open 24 hours G/M steakhouse run by Korean war vet Gus Vargas, only to find it closed!!?!?! We had a hankering for G/M sliders, but settled for soup at whole foods. After soup we reunited with the poetry contigency at Opal Divine's where the scotch flowed freely and I got a chance to chat with Dale Smith (one half of Skanky Possum books). It was a nice night only interrupted by some NIN reject named Josaiah

who demanded that we scream like fratsters for the benefit of the caller on the other end of his cellphone call. Its nice to hear great poetry and know its power immediately.

The disparity between what is good,

and what is self indulgent

becomes increasingly apparent in the face of such a display.

Im glad Ive had an opportunity to be exposed to the good.

Later, drunk on Scott's porch we dug a dead rat that Philip Trussel killed out of a garbage can and investigated it in order to give Scott some insight in to the size of the enemies hiding within his walls. It was sizeable. Philip is rat killer numero uno.

Slackjawed Vagabonds

2005-12-20T10:59:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I helped my father with his house. After laying on my back in an attic on a rolling auto shop cart, sliding through the vaulted crawlspace stringing wires and cables, I returned with him to the Drury Inn where he is staying until the renovations on his house are complete. At this hotel, dinner is served every night, along with coctails, beer, and soft bread. Unfortunately (and much to my dismay), several derelicts (of the I'm too lazy to work, drag rat variety) have decided to take advantage of the tragedy in New Orleans to get some free food and lodging. I actually heard these punk kids bragging about how they came from Omaha, or Dallas or even New York to fool FEMA and steal benefits that rightfully belong to the displaced of the big easy. They were huddled outside in a pack smoking cigarettes. One girl to five greasy young men, she had a wicked shiner on her eye. I pitied them and was repulsed by their arrogance and sloth. Their fraud weighs our system down....our already troubled system. They will (or already have) become dependent on the system of public benefits this country offers, and subsequently, they will be the first to suffer when their abuse (among other factors) helps to topple said system. I hated them last night, hated that they are of my generation, and to a great extent are representative of the sense of entitlement that many of my generation possess. Then I wondered how they came to be where they are...how they came to have the attitudes they have. They arent entirely responsible for the way they live their lives. We all are to an extent. Oh America America. Oh my generation! We are going to lose. We are losing. I am sad for it.

Glisten Hard

2005-12-19T08:33:00.000-06:00

So my band, Parque Touch, finished recording on our debut LP this weekend. Big thanks to Bop English and Nick Mallard for all the work they did on production and arrangement! The final product sounds great, and this would certainly not be the case without the many many hours those two put into recording it correctly. The next step will be to ship it on to New York were Joel will touch it and put it into hands that will make us famous.

Our bassist Stuart Blankenship was also an integral part of the process as you can see here.

Im soon (in minutes) to go help my Dad with renovations on his new home in San Antonio. Honor thy father and mother they say...and I would agree! Warm thoughts to all, especially my paramour, Estrella, who presently finds herself in the wonderful (albeit cold) city of lights! She's so ephemeral (watch her flutter and disappear below)...I miss her.

Parque Touch CD release shows will be coming soon. Stay tuned for dates and venues!!

Pursed Whiskers

2005-12-15T10:51:00.000-06:00

истребитель!

I want to post some funny cats I've seen around lately. Please enjoy.

бочкообразный

кошмар

громадный

I found the new Destroyer album. Its pretty spectacular, and today I feel the excitment of a fresh morning with new music by my favorite band and journeys and opportunities ahead of me. I even felt some nostalgia for the the ritual of the nativity as I passed an old church's stain glass facade today on my way to work. I remembered playing a shepherd at First Baptist Church when I was 12...which in turn made me remember changing into victorian attire in the bathroom of Dunaway Elementary School for the school's choir (the Barcus Bunch...aptly named for music teacher Eileen Barcus, whose lawn I often watered for 3 dollars a day) production of Scrooge (a pretty tacky modernization of Dickens' classic). I almost tried out for the lead role of that play. To this day I can remember one of the songs. It was called "I hate people." That was the chorus of the song, and it was a call and response with the body of the choir. Scrooge would sneer, "I hate people," and the choir would answer back, "he hates people." That went on for a while. Scrooge's monologue was something like.

Pharisees and parasites
squanderers and fools

calculating swindlers
prevaricating frauds
perpetrating evil as they roam the earth in hoards

feeding on their fellow man
reaping rich rewards
contaminating everything they see
corrupting honest me.....like me.

my memory is spotty as I learned this song when I was 10 or so...the refrain has been going through my mind all morning though, so I thought I'd share it.

радостный рождество

Oh Christmas! you're so expensive!

Help Me Destroyer!!

2005-12-14T11:40:00.000-06:00

Ive been searching for new songs from Destroyer's next album, Rubies. So far, I've found one "European Oils," it's quite nice! Mr. Dan Bejar has been singing my heart song for the last 2 years or so, and each new release tends to be better than the last. Alas, this information age has spoiled me, and I now feel entitled to a copy of this record (due out in mid february) immediately. I don't wanna wait for our lives to be over, I want to destroy right now. So if any of you readers happen to have a copy....Ill make you a batch of Lefsa for it!

So, Kong was amazing! Ill refrain from going too deeply into it, just know that it's massive, massive adventure. It seemed to me, the main focus of Jackson's take on the Kong story is man's fascination with the mysteries. The fewer they become in the world the more fervent is our desire to seek them out. Unfortunately, just as Kong, awash in the spectacle of his many struggling girl dolls, unwittingly smashed the bones of woman after sacrificial woman, so too does man destroy the mysteries he is lucky enough to behold. Rooooooooooar! Fight back mystery, fight back!!!!

Not a whole lot more to report today. Ive begun using the "Rosetta Stone" language software for help in my Russian studies. I find it to be a very effective tool! From what I understand, it's what the Department of State and the Military use for ultra-rapid language aquisition. Its intent is to replicate the learning process of an infant through repetition, and complete immersion (in this instance, an absolute lack of your native language). Though it's a bit pricey it seems quite useful.

I wanted to also mention a great resource I found for global folklore. This site is organized according to theme or subject. Each topic will contain tales from peoples the world over. It's an interesting way to get a taste of how different cultures treat a variety of diverse issues. I've always been drawn to old folk addages and stories. There is something resonant about them that humbles and settles me. It's the same feeling religous folks get from their ancient texts, I suppose. Here it is! Enjoy! http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/folktexts.html

Stones in my lungs

2005-12-13T09:38:00.001-06:00

Im drinking mate this morning. I remember once, entering Barton Springs I saw a dude (a true dude, in boardshorts and all) who was carrying a thermos and a gourd. Happy to see another mate enthusiast, I said, "ahhh sipping mate are you?!" He said "it's maté dude!" Of course it wasn't, maté means "i killed." It is not something you drink. Goes to show you can't rely on dudes for data. He was so adamant in correcting me. I nearly felt sorry for him. But fuck him, he gave me an eyeful of boardshort that I didn't ask for, and he spurned my friendly greeting.

Drinking mate always reminds me of Argentina. It's a visceral reminder of the smells and cold and faces of that place. I think back to the exhaust choked streets of Salta, 24 hour bus rides through Patagonia, and the bustle and high heels of Buenos Aires. Mate is an institution in Argentina, you can go to any corner of that vast nation and never escape it....then again, why would you want to.

Tonight Im going to see King Kong. I am a Peter Jackson fan, and I trust that this will be a spectacle in the truest sense of the word. I remember being captivated by the original Kong (the '33 version) as a child during my infatuation with giant monster movies (which continues to this day I might add). It was back then that I saw the original Godzilla for the first time and cried my eyes out when he was vaporized by a massive underwater nuclear explosion (fuck you and your ingenuity Raymond Burr).

I always favored Godzilla to Kong, and was quite upset when I purchased King Kong vs. Godzilla at age 7 only to realize I had, of course, bought the american cut of the film, in which, Kong is triumphant. I've still never seen the Japanese cut. Though Kong was not the beast I championed, I still have a soft spot for the giant beast pictures.

A-Russiaing we shall go...

2005-12-12T09:18:00.000-06:00

Добрый день,

Im leaving the country again soon. It looks as if there may be work(study) for me in Moscow. Ill take your Vodka drinks. Ill walk on the IceLakes. Eventually Ill speak the language and ride the trans-siberian railroad to lake baikal where I may commune with the old shamans and watch their icey mushroom dance.

I figured Id get this blog going (i created and abandoned it over a year ago) in order to document my journey. As for today, Im still in my office, feeding XXXSMEADLINKXXX insurance documents and helping retirees make the transition to Medicare D!

Hoozahten! Its true there are small adventures every day, and certainly those deserve documentation.

My beard resents that I shaved it. Its making its hate known with needle sharp whisker pricks.

Ra-ra-rasputin, lover of the russian queen, he was a cat that really was gone!
Ra-ra-rasputin, Russia's greatest love machine, they put the poison into his grog!

It comes to the best of us eventually....

2004-10-25T13:39:00.000-05:00

I too have grabbed a space to gab and post and host mine own creations. I thank you all in advance for coming to visit me here. I will put up sounds utterances words in writ and photos as they become available to me. Be well and a safe journey back to your home(page).