That's what I want.

Enhance.

Enhance.

Enhance.

A bear with a halberd on the thousand ruble note?


Motherfuckin' Russia, man.


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"But oh, that magic feeling..."


-D.

A Serious Note: Part Deux

Today I explore the problems associated with living in Moscow.  


And spend an inordinate volume of the post bitching about my flatmate.

7.  Random shit. Yeah-you know the sort: you get back home from work on a Friday, do a wash for your work clothes while you cook dinner (the superlative combination of a fine French wine and a meat-feast pizza) and then, without rhyme or reason, the electric cuts out. 

Um.

Did I just travel back to the 40s?  

I thought we were in the world's most expensive city?  And on that note...

8.  World's most expensive city.  Nearly six quid for a pint of Stella?  Get tae fuck.  Shitey leather jackets with ridiculous fur appendages that you wouldn't wear as a Halloween costume for upwards of £400?  That'll be shining bright.       

9. My flatmate.  I should have known on the initial meeting.  I'd just arrived the night before and had absolutely no food whatsoever in the apartment the following morning.  He sat, eating breakfast, and didn't even think to offer something.  I disregarded it at the time, but as time goes by, I'm coming round to the idea that he may be a bit of a 'tard (to the point that I think he may genuinely be a bit of an asspie).  I tire of feigning interest in his consistently wank chat and his "eccentricities". 

Case in point: he told me not long after I'd arrived (and when he was unaware that I'm actually qualified as a teacher) that an Honours degree is apparently equivalent to a Masters and that as the school was considering opening a private university at some point down the line, he hoped he would be in line to work there as a Professor in Physics.  

Nice try, dickwad.

Unfortunately, this is not exactly impossible to rule out because other countries aren't quite as stringent as we happen to be in the West regarding academic credentials.  

Anyway-bear with me.  When I asked if he was qualified in ICT in any way, shape or form-he replied that 'it's easy for me because I did Physics at university and ICT is just Maths, so we're like better at it than people who study ICT.'  I had to choke back the crippling urge to give him a smack in the mouth since my sister actually has an undergraduate degree in Maths, a Masters in Computing Science (which she undertook without any prior training), is currently in the second year of her PhD and is in the process of being fucking published in academic journals.  I may not see eye to eye with my sis on certain things, but she knows her stuff and her stuff ain't easy.  So yeah, you gargantuan fuck-pig.  You Physics graduates really have changed the world with your rad programming skills.  

Add to these few traits his complete inability to have a properly sequenced conversation:

D: Hey, how are you doing?  Are you going out later as I was thinking about maybe nipping downtown to see some people?

F: Yeah.  Do you know what my Russian girlfriend calls me?

D: Um.

F: Her "man-rabbit" (cue laughter which induces me to politely laugh, too).  So, anyway, you were saying?

D: Um.        

It's like talking to a child who hasn't quite mastered the concept of introducing a topic relevant to adult conversation and is so ridiculously self-absorbed that he only sees other people as a conduit for which to further his own stories.  My brother has to suffer a similar fate with his flatmate and coincidentally, both his and my flatmates are avid sportsmen.  Asspie gene=Jock douche?

And as the final coup de grace:  I can suffer the unwashed dishes that he'll leave for a day when I need to use them, but the man is completely unable to close a door/cupboard door behind himself.  I mean, like, he opens cupboards all over the place and it ends up looking like this:

Maybe he's scared monsters hide in there.

For the record, I'm not someone who will claim to have OCD (and, while we're at it-fuck you if you claim to have OCD because you like to be clean; have you ever known anyone diagnosed with it?  Not the same fucking thing, I can assure you), but repeatedly opening cupboard doors and leaving them open is within the realms of the bizarre-just close the thing behind you; don't wait for me to do it then post about it on a fucking blog.

He's the loudest person in the world first thing in the morning (particularly when eating), is unable to leave the slightest bit of room in the fridge or freezer for any food that I buy and comes across all privileged when talking about our apartment.  The truth is that it is effectively my apartment: you see, qualified teachers are entitled to an apartment on their own, but I got shafted and landed with him.  Nevertheless, he's got fuck all teaching experience bar a month or two of ESL and no teaching qualifications whatsoever (oops, I forgot-he's got an Honours degree in "Astrophysics") and he thinks that in some way this qualifies him to allow his fucked-up Russian girlfriend ("Maybe you should clean the place?", she chastises) to move stuff into our bathroom and strut his stuff chez moi?  

Nah, nah, nah, nah.  GAME OVER!

  

David is going to be hunting for a new apartment soon, methinks. 

Oh, and if none of that is really illustrative of what an asspie he is-he contends that the Wii is the greatest gaming console, like, ever.  

Ever.

9.  Actually, I can't do this anymore.  No, not the job-the diatribe.  The school is new and I'm fully well aware of the sheer logistics that are involved in the setting up of a school-particularly with so few qualified staff.  In foreign countries, many things that would seem instantaneous in the West can take days, weeks or even months to resolve.  It's true that some things are really inconvenient and truly baffling (materials, mainly), but I think that I've gone past the point of worrying about anything.  The kids, while sometimes rambunctious, are actually a pleasure to teach as they are intensely interested in learning and eager to please.  The Russian staff can be a dour lot, but are nevertheless terribly polite and try to put me at ease.  The international staff are all relatively young and there are some really funny fuckers (particularly the older qualified teachers).  So...What-me worry?  

True, I have absolutely no interest in spending any more time with the Asspie, but I'm not going to let that fuck up what could be the most bodacious time to be had in Moscow.  Just look at this photo I took when I visited Red Square on my oddy-knocky a few weeks ago:

Can anyone else hear the Russian national anthem?

Ain't it purty?

Yes, the disgruntled man-goat you once knew is dead.  Or, at the very least, lying in wait till a certain Asspie leaves one cupboard too many open.  The epiphany, as many of you probably are already aware, occurred not long before I left the old country and is more than perfunctorily summed up by the quote:

"If the problem can be solved then why worry? If the problem cannot be solved worrying will do you no good.” – Shantideva

There is very little I can do in the situation I am in right now other than wait it out and try my best; by screaming, shouting and being negative about the situation, I will never enjoy my time here and will end up becoming too fixated on minutiae that could take a year or two to sort out.  Of course, if things don't improve within a few months, I will look to pastures green, but denying myself the opportunity to explore Moscow on a fairly decent wage and (what I consider) relatively little stress would be a fool's errand.  

Plus, the vodka is worth it alone.

So, in essence: shut it, Pint.

Whether you're unhappy with life, liberty or even simply the pursuit of happiness, the picture below is bound to bring at least a smile to your miserable mug for at least a few seconds, and if it doesn't...I'd consider professional help: 

I don't think I've ever seen a dog look so proud.

And now you're going to spend the next half an hour looking up dog pictures on the net.  

You can thank me later.

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"Within your 'purview'? Where do you think you are, some fucking regency costume drama?"

-D.

A Serious Note

I said a serious note.

So, yes.  According to a pint-sized (and likely pint filled) pal of mine, my posts aren't quite boiling over with the bile and venom that's come to be expected of me over the years.  And ostensibly this blog.


I had three options with which I could formulate an appropriate response:


(1)  Ignore the Pint.
(2)  Write an amusing diatribe of the failings of the company I'm working for and how these serve no other purpose than to infuriate, irritate and confuse me.   
(3)  Shit in a package and send it to the Pint.


After learning from Russian Customs guidelines that packaging must be posted with a senseless and overly complicated form, it seems, unfortunately, that my hand has been forced.

The Failings

1.  There is no paper (i.e. if you want to do a mind mapping task with a group of pupils, there is no paper available-pupils are required to buy their own jotters).  If you can believe it, this is actually the least of the school's problems.

2.  There is no stationery.  

For teachers or pupils.  

Teachers who have been afflicted by a crisis of conscience have rushed to the nearest hypermarket to load up on stationery in order to ensure that they have materials, but it's highly unlikely they will be reimbursed for the trouble.  

How the school expects teachers to facilitate learning with only a blackboard (not even a whiteboard, let alone an interactive Smart-board), a jotter and that most precious of all classroom commodities, the teacher's brain™, is well and truly beyond the reasoning of this author.  

Of course children (and people in general) have learned with little more than these few basic tools for the past two millenia; nonetheless, we live in an age where the sheer volume of information available to children is truly staggering and the effort needed to sustain interest in an activity these days can be, at times, Herculean.  Between MTV, Pac-Man and New Coke, students can be easily distracted and stationery is one of the few (relatively cheap) resources at a teacher's disposal to invigorate a stagnant lesson through Carousel activities and the such.  

But nope.  

The International Manager is paid enough to fly to Paris and Switzerland for the holidays with his bit of young Russian fluff (and to pay for finest fur coats for her, to boot), but we can't afford some colouring in pens.  

Join me in a loud "Hurrah" for capitalism! 

3.  I have no teaching materials to hand.  There are set books the school has for certain classes, and despite the administration knowing that I was arriving two months ago, nothing has been ordered.  And it's likely to be a while before anything arrives.  I'm currently winging most of my lessons with materials I've devised over the years.  Obviously this comes far easier at this stage in my career after spending two years in China producing all my own ESL lessons and then one year in the UK building up a sizeable set of resources.

That said, it wouldn't really matter if I had a book or not, because...

4.  No one much seems to care what I teach. Other Russian teachers merely tell me, "we teach students grammar, writing and vocabulary-you should just get them talking."  This would be fine if I were merely a "foreign face"-on a working holiday with nary a qualification to my name-but I'm fully qualified and have several years of experience.  


Being told that my objective is to "get them talking" feels a bit like the Russians have figuratively let loose a huge throbbing, dangling Teacher penis and slapped me repeatedly in the face with it.  This is especially irritating when I've got more experience and qualifications than the Russian teachers.  And, of course, the fact that I'm not particular to cock in the face.  

5.  Classrooms.  Whomever was in charge of time-tabling must have had a frontal lobotomy somewhat recently.  Either that or they were just heavily stoned.

Cue heavily stoned Russian Administration.


Fyodor: You see timetable?  Look ver' funny.  Have 15 class changes ever' day. Hu-huh-huh!  Do not bogart joint, fucker!  
Ivan: Fuck you, fucker.  Get own! (inhales deeply)
Vladimir: You know rule, Ivan.  Pass, pass, puff.
Ivan:  I know, I know, fucker.  Wait...what?  

"And must take my axe!"

Whilst I don't necessarily expect my own room, five room changes in a day gets to be a real pain in the sack.


6.  I was not hired as an ESL teacher.  That hasn't changed the company from effectively using my white, white face to placate a gaggle of runt-bastard Turkish and Russian children.  The unrelenting "How are you?" (replete with handshakes) from teens who are pleased to now have a 'Foreign Friend', reminds me of the same repetitive strain disorder that I was afflicted with in China.  But at least the Chinese have good food.  


Still: I'm a real teacher-unlike others in the school-and they've lied to me out and out that I would be teaching the British curriculum. 

Anyway.  I've run out of steam for today, so check back tomorrow for "A Serious Note: Part Deux" where I bemoan less work related issues and focus instead on the trials and tribulations of living in Moscow!


________________________________________________________________


"Huh-huh.  Your butt sucks."


-D.

Some day...

I'm gonna own one of these.

________________________________________________________________


"No you don't, you like Taco Bell!"


-D.

Dave Gorman unchained.

I hadn't heard about Dave Gorman until about two years ago.  After a couple of years spent working in China, I emerged relatively unscathed, but more or less in a cultural wasteland with regards to the UK-bereft of anything that had transpired in my home country during the time I'd spent abroad.  In an attempt at slow reintegration, I was treated one evening not long after my return by my brother to my first taste of Dave Gorman through the eponymously titled "Dave Gorman's Googlewhack Adventure."

Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was the joy of seeing my brother after such a long time, perhaps it was that Dave was genuinely funny, or perhaps it was a combination of all three that found me wholeheartedly enjoying the routine so much so that I later re-watched it alone.

Fast forward around a year and whilst aimlessly browsing Amazon for films (as is my wont) happened upon another of Dave's titles: "Dave Gorman in America Unchained."  The basic premise of this documentary-style adventure, is that Dave tries to cross the States in an old station-wagon whilst attempting to not give money to "The Man" (any major corporation or brand name) and instead to patronise "Mom and Pop" businesses.  Wow, I thought, this guy has been reading my dream-wish book.  Since an early age, one of my major ambitions has been to drive from coast to coast across the U.S. and concluded that the film would be at the very least entertaining due to Dave's lovable personality and unique style of narration, if not necessarily informative of the task I will eventually undertake (because I will do it).

The film itself is entertaining enough: Dave gets himself into various scrapes and situations which serve to prove that the cultural hegemony the U.S. is often lambasted for isn't as far reaching as it would at first appear.  The people he meets are at times zany, off-the wall caricatures-the kind foreigners often stereotype Americans as being-and yet all are exceptionally kind and helpful towards Dave on his adventure (though it could be argued they're motivated by the camera, I'd levy that it's actually an example of human nature at its best).

Whilst these are adequate reasons for watching the film, I felt a little empty when it had finished.  Afterwards, on a slightly related matter, I looked up a clip of Dave on Youtube and found a sketch of a little known British comic duo parodying Gorman and his former flatmate and published author, Danny Wallace.  The sketch portrayed Dave as lovably eccentric, but at heart money grubbing-purposefully concocting adventures from "drunken bets" that always somehow served to further his career.  The sketch itself was not particularly funny, but it did get me to thinking about the film in question: when it comes to travel documentaries, is the creating of drama to be encouraged?

This was a pertinent question as one of the major holes in the film, it had occurred to me, was the distinct absence of real conflict.  At one point, Dave ends up creating it by caving in to the demands of the corporations-eating a McDonald's, Burger King and Wendy's in one sitting and then opting to stay in a chain-hotel.  Now, disregarding that I, who can probably eat my own bodyweight in food, would have difficulty eating the three massive burgers in a row and also the fact that Dave Gorman is a devout vegetarian, the whole scene rankled with me.  


Why? 


Well, within seconds of seeing Dave tucking in to the burgers, we're treated to footage of him vomiting into the chain-hotel's toilet.  Footage that Dave himself shot, as the original director had left the production (and country) by this point.

I can't imagine how difficult it is to film while painting the toilet with the contents of your stomach.
Oh no, wait: scratch that. Dave accomplishes it with gusto AND manages to cash his huge paycheck for the film at the same time-Cha-CHING!

This leaves a rather sour taste in my mouth (pun entirely intended).  Documentary-makers sometimes have to take liberties in order to make a film more interesting (take the excellent docu-drama 'Pumping Iron', for instance) but footage of an induced vomiting session seems far too contrived as a means of spicing up the film.  The same argument can also be aimed at Dave's insistence on travelling 1000 miles out of the original path in order to see a town which he saw as being appropriately named for the adventure (Independence), or his complete lack of foresight in filling a jerry-can with gas when he even commented on film how difficult it was to find an independent gas-station on the state highways.  If any insights were really gained by these contrivances, I would perhaps be less willing to heap scorn upon the film and yet, there's no epiphany, no real sense of Dave having overcome struggle in order to accomplish the trip.  Furthermore, having seen Ewan McGregor's and Charley Boorman's unparalleled 'The Long Way Round' again recently, I'm not sold on Gorman anymore.

"So, if I take the wheels off the car, I'm guaranteed instant drama?"

Wait, says you, Gorman's meant to be a comedian, he's not trying to match McGregor or Palin or any other travel documentarian.  Okay, I'll allow you that but on the other hand, the film isn't particularly funny.  Wait, you interrupt again, he's exhibiting a sense of adventure by taking the road far less travelled and this helps to motivate us to look at life in a completely different way.  Hmm.  Perhaps I'm being rather cynical as I've had far more interesting "adventures" that needed neither a quirky premise to set me off, nor drama created for the purposes of the trip.  Drama needs to be organic; stemming from a natural source-this is what helps to give the viewer real insight into the narrator/traveller.  Although it may be permissible to exaggerate or inflate the importance of certain events, stray too far down that path and the audience will start to become cautious. That's why I think 'The Long Way Round' succeeds where 'America Unchained' ultimately fails as a film: McGregor and Boorman stay with peoples from a variety of cultures, eat local foods, get into real conflict and, as a team, are genuinely funny together.  'America Unchained' doesn't really offer any of this-merely glimpses of a few of the small townspeople they encounter and vast stretches of American interstates. 

That being said, Gorman's film does show that brands and corporations rule America to a greater degree and that something fundamental is being lost by homogenising every convenience store/gas-station/motel across the nation.  Although, as this is not a political documentary, his message is nowhere near strong enough to be relevant and, let's be honest, it may be a moot point as most people tend to acknowledge the pervasiveness of corporations anyway.  It's a real shame, too, since the potential for a much more powerful message does exist in the film when we meet genuinely kind American families and are afforded a glimpse of how their lives are being transformed by the corporate behemoth; instead, it seems like Gorman treated it more like another drunken bet and accomplished little more with the film than a conversation piece for his friends on his return home.   


________________________________________________________________


"And they'll lay you down low and easy..."


-D.

Warning: A Geek Moment Pt. 2

I should just 'fess up right here and now: I've been watching a lot of Star Trek: The Next Generation lately.  I'm not a Trekkie (no, really), but I do have quite a soft spot for Sir Patrick Stewart.  A good friend of mine worked with him a few years back and the good Captain was heard to remark when the production wrapped, "Barney-we'll have to go for a drink sometime when I get back from the States."  I can hear that rich baritone course through my veins every time I read that quote.  


Although it's nigh on impossible to not have some love for the man, I think I fell in love with him even more when I saw this, this and this. 


And, of course, he starred in one of my favourite Simpsons episodes.


As far as I'm concerned, the James Corden incident never happened.  Either that, or Stewart was trolling to the nth degree.  I haven't quite decided yet.

Mere coincidence that they're both bald and wrinkly?

Anyway, after the little Soviet surprise I was treated to a few days ago, another familiar face appeared:

I experienced a little nerd-gasm.

I really need to get round to watching Season 4...
___________________________________________________________


"You're so stolid. You weren't like that before the beard."


-D.

Warning: A Geek Moment

I was watching an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation the other day and was pleasantly surprised by a guest-star appearance.

Michael Pataki (January 16, 1938 – April 15, 2010)

And before I'm chewed out for it-yes, I'm well aware of how much of a sci-fi geek I happen to be and offer no apologies.
________________________________________________________________

"Whatever he hits-he destroys!"

-D.

False advertising?

Urm.  Please don't mistake me, I'm well aware of the subterfuge the advertising industry dabbles in (I watched 'How to Get Ahead in Advertising'.  Twice.); I'm also no stranger to the endemic corruption manifest in ex-communist states, which usually entails justice being regularly served through more...surreptitious means.  


That said, how in the name of fuck is this packet: 

An accurate depiction of this?:

Mmm.  Oval.

________________________________________________________________
"She who fills her basket."


-D.

Wait...did I...just hear...?

I live on the 22nd (and top) floor of my apartment building.  Picture, if you will, my face when I made my first journey to the bottom floor.

Clearly Nintendo have been using Koji Kondo to make undisclosed advances into the lucrative and booming Russian elevator sound effects market.  Subliminal advertising at its best?   


_______________________________________________________________


"Oh, look at the time…. The big hand says 'Fuck', and the little hand says 'Off'…Good thing there’s not a second hand."


-D.