Funner and Lighterer

(Matt)

Thanks everyone for your encouraging and thoughtful responses to my last post about the pervasive "gravity" here in Moscow. I was uplifted in reading your comments and I'd like to continue thinking "out loud" about this topic--but in future posts, not now.

Since it's now 10:06 and I wanted to go to bed at 10, I have -6 minutes to present a topic I've been wanting to present for a long time: survival tips for Moscow. I think it's worth the time. Here are some of my most important pieces of advice for living in the big city:

• Dress in the height of fashion. You all know how thoroughly I pay attention to my wardrobe ("City Creek" is my trademark style, according to fashion experts), but I look like "late 90s boy" (I really wanted to write "City Geek") here in the crowd at the metro stations. If you're not wearing "Rave Girl" or "Jump Flight" brands (or at least carrying a bag from these stores), then you're just not cool. It also seems fairly common to wear jeans with some kind of "white-out" looking writing on them. Occasionally, the writing will present recognizable words (mostly English), but more often Russians seem to like white shapes on their blue jeans (stars, triangle, etc.). I'm not yet sure why, but I'll keep you posted. Oh, and they LOVE Cosmo, GQ, and all the other fashion magazines, so those of you who read these (and you know who you are!) would feel right at home here.
• Know how to give directions. I was proud of myself today when someone asked me where the "Leninski Prospekt" station was and I was able to point and tell him "to the left" (it was actually to the left and THEN to the right, but I'm sure he managed OK). Before today, I have usually been overwhelmed when someone starts barraging me with Russian words, and in such situations I usually just nod and point somewhere with my eyes. I suspect that such actions have left many a frustrated Muscovite jumping out of the Metro train only to find that, in fact, they were NOT at "Pushkinskaya" station, and I am quite sure that other direction-seekers have, on the confidence of my nod and eye-point, happily trudged off in the complete opposite way of their destination, unsuspecting of my treachery. Also, I have until recently confused the word "na-prava" ("to the right") with "ne-pravda" ("not true"), which has resulted in some very stilted conversations:
  UNWARY DIRECTION-SEEKER: "Tell me please: where is Tverskaya Ulitsa?"
  ME: "Ne-pravda" ("not true")
  UNWARY DIRECTION-SEEKER: "How can a street be 'not true'?"
  ME: "Oh, I meant 'na-prava' ('to the right)"
  UNWARY DIRECTION-SEEKER: "No, let's take up your earlier thought--are you trying to suggest that, epistemologically, the 'street' in Russia today is radically different from what it was twenty years ago and, thus, essentially unknowable?"
  ME: "I lament the day that someone decided to forge the common phrase 'to the right' and the inevitably complicated phrase 'not true' out of the same words. Aaargh."
  (Many of my conversations end with an audible or inaudible "Aaargh.")
• Obtain the balance of a ballerina. As far as I can tell, the Metro trains are operated by 15-year old videogame addicts who get a sick pleasure out of watching people fall down. Just when you think you can predict the next motion of the train, steeling yourself at the perfect angle to absorb the shock, the train moves in a completely unexpected direction on a different axis, precipitating an inevitable and inevitably embarrassing tumble. Just last week, a sudden jolt sent me flying into the arms of the man behind me, who, with the appropriate amount of tenderness, shoved me back aright and cautioned me with an unmistakable glance not to fall in his direction again. For you see, Russians NEVER fall--this is one national operation they use to identify foreigners. While I have my feet spread apart, knees bent, at the ready, the passengers around me are (impossibly) standing flat footed, vertical, and feet together. I think they wear special magnet boots that keep them locked to the floor. There's no other way to explain it.
  (Oh, actually one Russian did fall into ME yesterday, but it was because the train made about a 60-0 mph stop, and this young man's fall was compounded by the falls of four other people behind him, who flew into him, domino-style. I happened to be holding onto a nearby handrail, and was able to absorb the tremendous force of all 5-10 people launched into my ribcage. I was proud of myself afterwards. A man of steel, I thought).
• Get to like "кефир" ("keefeer"). I'm not sure what it is, other than some kind of milk-product drink. But Russians love it, and Makinzie's Russian teacher told her very sternly that it must be good for you, since Russians have been drinking it forever and have (characteristically, I guess) very good digestive systems. We haven't tried it yet. I'm afraid it's liquid sour cream.
• Get to like new varieties of potato chips. Yes, Lays here come in the usual flavors (sour-cream and onion, cheese, and "natural") as well as in "Bacon" and "Crab" flavors. The Bacon Lays were immediately palatable; the Crab Lays not so immediately, but now I find them quite tasty. Just be sure not to talk to anyone for awhile afterwards (if you thought "dorito breath" was bad . . . Oh, and one more small comment, "честер" (as in "Chester the Cheetah") is very popular here.
• Don't wear Dallas Cowboys paraphernalia. (Sorry, Dad!) A student informed me that "cowboy" translates most literally in Russian to "smelly manure stable boy"--hardly fear-inspiring or laudable. The Russians I've encountered don't really know anything about the NFL anyway, so any attempts to remind them of the glories of Aikman, Emmit, Landry, Dorsett, etc., only meet with blank stares. Best to just stick with soccer jerseys, or Reebok (which seems to be very popular here).

OK, now 50 minutes later I really need to go to bed. I hope these tidbits of advice help demonstrate something my last post tended to overshadow: that there is still much to laugh about and enjoy in the city.

--Matt