Why I hate Fashion TV, Chapter 17

My loathing for Fashion TV has reached a level that I didn't even anticipate. I rant against Rashion TV on average, once a week. When I see Fashion TV on display on any TV, I feel my heart pumping loudly and an uncontrollable desire to punch one or more models, especially the skinny ones. In short, obsession with Fashion TV is but one sign of the horrific value placed here on being skinny, rich, and important. It makes me want to fight or throw up. At the gym this morning I was about halfway through my workout, having a pleasant time watching beach volleyball from the Olympics on the TV on the left side of the gym. There are two TV's, about 5 yards away from one another. On the other TV was the aforementioned Fashion TV, piddling on about some kind of special model cruise in the Mediterranean featuring some special collection of emaciated women wearing raccoon-style black eye shadow. Sighing with relief, I continued to watch Team USA battle some respectable team from Brazil. Suddenly, an overweight lady who I see quite often at the gym arrives at the treadmill in front of me and proceeds to grab the remote, which does happen to be at her treadmill, and click aimlessly for several minutes around the 400 or so odd channels that the cable features, before settling on, you guessed it, the vile-inducing Fashion TV. What really outraged me about this incident was not that she didnt ask me to change the channel (unheard of with the cavemen-type ethics employed at this gym, and for these situations in general), but that Fashion TV was ALREADY playing on the other TV, and there was an OPEN treadmill in front of said TV where the lady could have easily walked briskly in her tight pink work-out suit and watched her beloved Fashion TV. I looked at my workout time...11 minutes to go. So, for the next 11 minutes, as I ellipticled (sp??) faster and faster, I practiced in my head the speech I was going to deliver to this lady, and I hoped the Cro-magnon steroid-using instructor would hear it too. I gleefully watched the seconds tick down...I took off my headband, wiped my head and hands with my towel, and approached the woman...
Me (In Ukrainian): "Tell me please, why do you need Fashion TV on two televisions?"
Fat Lady in Pink: "Goodness me!" (I startled her as she had been concentrating on her workout)
Me: "You changed the channel from sports to Fashion TV, and Fashion TV was already on the other television!"
Fat Lady in Pink: "Whaaaat?" (Pretending to not understand my Ukrainian and not caring in the least bit...
Me: "I'm just asking..."
So, I blew it. I shook my head and walked to get a drink of water, and didnt feel good about any part of the morning and exchange. Fashion TV, how I hate thee!

Wait a minute, that's my tractor!

Traveling for two weeks in central Asia, even in mostly urban areas, produces a lot of interesting moments and stories. I made friends with Kazakh uncles, consumed several pounds of meat pockets, saw a sleep getting slaughtered,

tasted horse meat for the first time, visited a park that featured miniature versions of all famous Kazakh landmarks and buildings, sweated and rinsed in a Kazakh bathhouse, swam in the world's second largest alpine lake, sang Russian karaoke with my friend Maya, and performed the chicken dance, aka "Little Duckling." One story that stands out in particular is Maya and I's journey back from the alpine lake in Kyrgyzstan, Issyk Kul, which means "warm waters" in Kyrgyz. Maya and I stayed an extra day at the lake to chill out and swim while Ellen's family went further around the lake for more sights. After a morning at the beach and a swim in the lake (which isn't quite "warm", but isn't really cold either, come to think of it) Maya and I tried to find a shared taxi back to Bishkek, which we heard was about 4 hours away. We were approached by a taxi driver who offered to take us back with 2 other people that she was going to find. I would describe our driver's outfit as urban sailor. After wandering around the bus station for 30 minutes without finding anyone, I offered to pay for the rest of the taxi to be on our way. Now, a disclaimer: I have been in many, many taxis in Ukraine with fairly crazy drivers, some of whom frightened me considerably. However, Captain Crazy wins the prize. Please see my one picture with Captain Crazy and Maya, watching as local authorities pushed a rock off the mountain highway.

Captain Crazy managed to reach past 140 km, approximately 90 mph, on the straightaways, and consistently tried to pass 4 cars in a row on curves on the mountain highway. My buckled seat belt didn't give me much comfort. And I didn't feel much better even as we cleared the mountains and traveled on a straight, flat road to Bishkek. Captain Crazy passed most cars from the left, driving in the center of the highway, and frequently going head to head with approaching cars, swerving at the last minute back to the right lane. About 20 minutes from the static heaven that Bishkek now represented, our lady Captain swerved to the side of the road, exclaiming, "Wait, that's my tractor!" Apparently some tractor that she owned was parked on the side of the road, having been driven there by a male associate, who proceeded to cross the road and give a big smooch to Captain Crazy. We left the tractor and associate and sped the rest of the way, swerving in and out of city traffic until pulling up mercifully back to our apartment building.

Saber Rattling with Rocket Launchers

Even though it was technically the last day of my vacation (more on that later) I stopped by the office to delete some of the 2000-odd junk emails I accumulated during the break. Just before closing time, I heard some extremely loud rumbling outside on Chervonoarmiiska. Looking out my window, I actually was a little frightened, especially after recent events in Georgia, to see a column of armored personnel carriers driving up the street. I then remembered that Ukrainian independence day is over the weekend, and our staff confirmed that the APC's were part of a dress rehearsal of sorts. Which struck me as a bit strange, considering that last year President Yushchenko decided to do away with the old military-style parades that were common during the Soviet Union and that they continued up until the end of President Kuchma's era. In fact, I remember watching the 2000 parade of military troops strutting down Khreshatik. So why bring the military parade back this year? Clearly, Ukraine is among those countries very unsettled by Russia's conflict with Georgia, and even modest and calm Yushchenko is feeling the need to

let Russia know that Ukraine is in no mood to tolerate a Georgia-style creep when it comes to Crimea and Sevastopol. Or at least this is what it seems to me. And there is the domestic audience of course, which is perhaps more important. The Ukrainian government wants to show it will stand firm in the face of possible bullying. So that means a big ole military parade, including huge columns of tanks, rocket launchers, anti-aircraft missiles, and massive 200 mm self-propelled vehicles, probably the biggest land military vehicles I have ever seen in person.

The rehearsal I witnessed today would have probably been the most thrilling thing ever to me as a 12-year old. But now, it just saddened me that the government needs to resort to old-fashioned patriotic military demonstrations to bolster domestic support against possible Russian foreign policy bullying.

The Hippie, Hippie Shake

Two friends of a friend were visiting from Switzerland and wanted to see the "real" Ukraine. And to go a place that we could drive to in a day. Luckily, about 4 hours from Kyiv is an annual folk festival that has been growing in popularity and sophistication over the past few years. The festival itself is less than 5 years old, but has gained a national reputation in Ukraine. I expected a somewhat larger version of what I have seen many times at Ukrainian folk museums and holidays. There was certainly that element represented here. Many people were dressed in at least the traditional Ukrainian shirt, a "sorochka," and many had the full outfit or dress going. What I did not expect was the large number of young people who were somewhat dressed up in traditional folk clothes and somewhat resembling American hippies. And by American hippies I am referring to the recent generation of "hippies" which, at least in America, have much less of a political ideology and much more of a "lets go get wasted and walk around in clothes that should have been washed two weeks ago" thing going on. After conducting half a day of extensive ethnological research, I've determined that American modern hippies and Ukrainian "hippies" share some things in common.
1) Long dresses on women. Long dresses on Ukrainian women were common for hundreds of years, but based on the past 20 years of the uber-mini-skirt that barely hides a girl's ass here, you'd think the long dress would have completely gone out of style. Not so. These back-to-basics Ukrainian hippie chicks are bringing back the long dress as a fashion statement. I am conflicted, obviously, about what to think of this.
2) Barefeet. You cant pretend to be any kind of hippie without walking around at least part of the day without shoes and socks. End of story.
3) Drugs/alcohol. Although, based on the lack of weed vapors circulating around the Ukrainian hippie fest, as is the norm at American hippie fests, it's clear that at least a sizeable portion of the young Ukrainian hippies had been either consuming some illegal substances and/or drinking heavily since breakfast. If they had breakfast at all. And if they did, it probably consisted of two sausages and several pieces of black bread with some ketchup. Followed by a beer.
4) Pieces of nature and string and crap in your hair. To become one with nature, one must put flowers, weeds, and pieces of string, ideally stained with natural dyes such as dandelion juice, in one's hair.


5) The "hippie shake". The legendary hippie shake originated in the early 60s in response to the unrelenting onslaught of rock n' roll music. In the late 60s the hippie shake was perfected into the uncoordinated flopping, undulating of one's body in response to electric guitar and the influence of eight beers, three hits off a joint, and a couple hits of acid. The modern "hippie shake" shares not only its substance-fueled component with the older generation, but also its complete lack of rhythm or purpose. This can also be plainly attributed to the demographic most often represented at hippie festivals...the spoiled white, middle to upper-middle class brat. No rhythm, just the desire to escape into the "moment."

And certainly, the Ukrainian hippie festival was composed of 99.99% white people. The only person of color, if you don't count the Georgians who performed, was the guy from Senegal who now lives in Paris who performed at 9 PM. Surprisingly, this guy sucked. Nevertheless, true to the hippie spirit everywhere, no one seemed to mind the general suckiness of that particular performance. Conga lines, wedding procession dances, and great mobs of hipper shakers took over the field in front of the stage. Quite a spectacle.
Overall, I will give the organizers and the Ukrainian hippies their due. Their main message, at least from what I have heard from conversations and others, is their desire to champion their agrarian Ukrainian heritage, before it was spoiled by industry, commercialization, and other sucky developments. Living more simply, eating local and natural foods, and celebrating nature and music and dance arent bad things to be doing. Molotsi.

Day o' Dude Fun

It started out very innocently, really. A few of the poker buddies decided to go out to the suburbs of Kyiv to go go-carting. The go-cart place is within a new shopping center/complex. The go-cart place is very high-tech, and also fairly expensive. You get to ride for about 10 minutes, but that is about all of us could take. You have to really hold on tight to get cleanly and quickly around the corners. Before you head out to race, you are given helmets. The assistant took one look at my huge noggin and pointed to the "L" section, which, of course, was too little. The "XL" barely did the job. My crash at the bottom of the first hill earned me a warning from the "green meanies", the young dudes regulating the track. I came in last among our group, both in overall time and fastest lap. While analyzing our 10-minute race for the next 30 minutes, one of our group suggested that we go out to a nearby shooting range and shoot some skeet. I had heard about this range before and had always wanted to try it, and I had nothing to do for the rest of an overcast Sunday afternoon, and my ride wanted to go, so out we went.
We started out at the range with skeet-shooting. Two shotguns, both double-barrelled, and about 60 shells between four guys. I was among the second pair to shoot. During the first 15 pulls, exactly zero skeet had been successfully blown from the air. I combined with my friend to hit the first skeet. I finished with 3 successfully-destroyed skeet, including one "rabbit", in which the skeet is sent rolling along the ground. 3 skeet proved to be the winning tally. Having smelled a bit of gunpowder, we decided to spend some more money on the rifle range. We were given the option of shooting from 100 or 50 meters, and chose 100 meters. We decided to shoot ten bullets from the AK-47, 5 bullets from a WWII, Soviet-made rifle, and 5 bullets from a Remington sniper rifle. You pay by the bullet, about 50 cents to $1 per bullet. And let me say this right off the bat....shooting an AK-47 is immensely satisfying. And very easy actually, which why it was so popular. The WWII rifle definitely had the biggest kick, and was the most challenging. The small Remington rifle, which we shot at the end, almost seemed like cheating, especially given the scope on the top of the rifle. After having completed a thrilling round of firing at paper targets, we walked out to the targets and saw how we did. Further adding to my day's accolades, I had struck the bullseye more times than anyone else. Next time around we plan to shoot the handguns and the automatic weapons.

Dreaming of kishka...

Okay, I wont go into the great details of my parents visit, as my mother's blog (how dare she!) details most of it, but for those of you who dont visit her blog (which is 95% of you), I had to also mention the most memorable moment of their visit. Between 8 and 9 AM I began to wake up and notice the sounds of a dog going crazy, chickens going wild, and what appeared to be the sound of a pig squeeling. After 10 minutes or so the pig sounds stopped, so i dozed off again for a few minutes before waking up. Just to check, I happened to look out the window and notice the newly-murdered pig laying on the concrete in the backyard of my friend's neighbor. The neighbors were working hard with a blow torch and other tools to burn off the pig's hair and clean the pig's skin to be ready for butchering. Who wants kishka?

Party Trolley

I had high hopes for the party trolley, I really did. A friend here was talking up the "party tram" for quite some time, and, because his sister was visiting, he thought it would be a good time to check it out. Rental of the party tram wasnt as expensive as I would have imagined, and I soon found out why. The actual tram is a renovated tramway car, which follows the 19th century tram tracks around the neighborhood of Podil in Kyiv. I would have actually been much more impressed with a full tram tour of Podil, but sadly, that was not to be. The party tram is outfitted with booths and tables that can seat 2 and 4 people. There is a back part of the tram, separarated by a curtain, which i assumed was the make-out room or emergency bathroom, seeing as how the tram didnt have a bathroom, which soon turned out to be a problem for the majority of the party tram goe-ers who had purchased upwards of 2 liters of beer to drink. We boarded the tram in high spirits and waved to those poor souls who hadnt thought to rent the party tram like us. Unfortunately, though, the route of the party tram turned out to be a bit disappointing. The tram proceeded to putz down the river track past the Riverboat Casino (made famous by a certain New Zealander who won $4000 there one night and was promptly arrested for public intox...but i digress) and the metro bridge. Once past the metro bridge the tram turned around and headed right back. This small loop took almost an hour, which was just enough time for everyone's bladders to fill with excess liquid and request an unscheduled bathroom break. Everyone emptied the tram and found refuge in the unisex bathrooms of Double Coffee. With everyone relieved, the tram filled up again and proceeded to head down the same route as the previous hour. Following the second hour, same result: full bladders, but Double Coffee was now closed. Fortunately, the women were saved by a tram goer with a nearby apartment, which also featured an extrememly fluffly white dog.