About
time you broke your rules and poured us both a glass of your favorite Irish
whiskey. Lots to talk about. It’s like this, reader. Take note of the picture
above. The tea is from Malawi, Africa (Cheers, Josh). The mug is from Ohio. The
handsome photographer is yours truly. And reader, the backdrop is Russia. Quick
note: winter is quickly approaching, which means Cold War puns are inbound as
well. So try not to go MAD while I KaGe a Bee or Aldrich Ames some of these
jokes back at you. Apologies in advance.
I’ve
moved in with Ludmila, and she has been nothing but kind, hospitable, and
oddly, educational. She often asks me if I want tea. I often say yes. Exciting
stuff, I know, but those reading this who know me well know that I’m out of my
element when someone asks me if I want tea more than I ask them. Stepping out
of a comfort zone, eh Pat? Regardless, Ludmila’s lovely, and the Behemoth and I
have developed an interesting relationship. It more or less consists of me
executing a task, and him getting in the way of whatever that task may be.
Below, there are pictures of me attempting to read a book, write a paper, sleep, and watch Netflix, —all of which were obstructed
by, well… you get the picture(s).
I had
the pleasure of attending a hockey game the other day. Saint Petersburg’s team
is referred to as SKA, and their stadium is massive. It houses fans who treat
hockey much like we treat…well Blackhawks hockey I guess—better to say that
they love hockey like America loves football. The sport is cold, fast paced and
unforgiving—like Russia. It’s a fun time; the final score was 9-4 SKA victorious.
Two weeks before they just barely beat the same team. Bottom line, if you’re in
Russia, it’s worth your time to check out a hockey game.
It’s
October now, which means two things. One—it’s getting spooky. Two—it’s getting
cold. So I did the only rational thing. I saw a ballet. “Yeah, Pat, that’s SO
rationa—”glad we agree, reader. So before your pretend interruption happened, I
was going to say I went to see Black Swan, or Swan Lake. Two to one odds it’s
the second one but I mean watch the damn thing and you can call it Alfred
Hitchcock’s The Birds for all I care. No no you’re careless! Not because they
both have birds but because they’re both reliant on strong female leads and
phenomenal and incidentally well-timed musical scores and soundtracks respectively.
Yeezy may have jumped over jumpman, but reader, no one jumps over Russian Swan
Lake. All in all, the performance was quite enchanting. I’ve always had respect
for ballet dancers, but I’ve never witnessed the elegance, energy and poise
firsthand. It’s something to behold.
“Ballets,
Pat? You went soft, we all knew this day was comi—” Yeah and the Pope’s not
Catholic, the Sun revolves around the Earth, and Bruce Willis isn’t dead the
whole time too I bet? You see, reader, three times a week, Brad Pitt and I
invite a lot of people to shadowy basements and we all beat each other up in
the name of a vague anarchist agenda. Not really— that’s a gross and unjust
summary of Fight Club with Ed Norton… But I do box here. The team consists of
Russians who don’t speak English save for one gentleman whom I have come to
befriend out of both necessity and common interests. Practice is a bit like the
game charades, but when I guess wrong I usually get punched in the face. On my
first day, I was put in a group with three other Russians. They asked where I
was from. I put on my Rocky Balboa pants and said “America” with my chest. Two
of them were excited, laughed, and praised the States for music and movies. The
one remaining gentleman, Artyom, squeezed out a smile and said “We should fight
very soon.” I told him “I must break you” like Ivan Drago in Rocky IV and he
laughed. Sylvester Stallone to the rescue again. They’re good people and it’s
helping my Russian. Boxing style is different too but that’s another story for
another time or at the very least another glass.
Also,
while I’m here I’m checking out a lot of things, but if you, dear reader, have
any questions or want me to look into anything for you, drop me an email or a
message on the book and I’ll do my best to oblige. Another bit, looking back—my
cousins always included a quote or a dialogue to kick off their posts. Well,
I’ll punctuate mine with a little dialogue because I’m a fan of people more
eloquent than your humble interlocutor too. It’s a long distance and a hard
time difference to manage, but a toast to you all the same, dear reader! Clean
your porch, buy your windows, and until next time, I hope your kettle doesn’t break.
Ken:
[looking at a Bosch painting] It's Judgment Day, you know?
Ray: No.
What's that then?
Ken:
Well, it's, you know, the final day on Earth, when mankind will be judged for
the crimes they've committed and that.
Ray: Oh.
And see who gets into heaven and who gets into hell and all that.
Ken:
Yeah. And what's the other place?
Ray:
Purgatory.
Ken:
Purgatory... what's that?
Ray:
Purgatory's kind of like the in-betweeny one. You weren't really shit, but you
weren't all that great either. Like Tottenham.
Ray: Do
you believe in all that stuff, Ken?
Ken:
About Tottenham?
In Bruges
