Yes, it has been more than a month since I last posted, and I thought I should at least explain why for anyone who has bothered to follow the blog. The simple answer is this: I've been too busy living.
For the past few years, it felt like my life was on hold, like I was waiting for something good to happen to me. Now, I did make efforts to achieve this, but my daily life was drudgery at best and torture at worst. But since I have arrived in Ukraine, I feel alive again. I am busy. I am meeting people every day. I am learning the culture and language of this strange country. And so, all I can say is, I've been busy.
A few weeks ago, I saw an amazing fusion jazz performance by a Georgian woman named Nino Katamadze and her band Insight. Energetic, beautiful, and totally satisfying. I went to midnight services for the Orthodox Easter, where you stand for up to four hours listening to the service in Old Slavonic and then wait for your basket of Easter bread and food to be blessed by the priests after the service. I can't say it felt particularly sanctified, what with the high heels and mini skirts, but the sheer numbers of people at the various churches we visited (there were six or seven...I lost count) was amazing. I rolled home at 4:30 in the morning, totally exhausted.
And the people....the amazing people. Shashlik and banya with my football fan friends on the outskirts of town (their version of barbecue); hanging with some amazing graphic artists late into the night; drinking vodka with a couple of great Iraqi guys, one of whom was actually shot during a firefight in the war and who still is as nice to me as my best friends back home.
I'll try to be better about finding time to update the blog. But in the meantime, know that I'm busy living.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
International Women's Day
Today was one of the big holidays in Ukraine, paying tribute to the amazing women of this country. I walked to my Russian lessons and was surprised to find that not only was this important, but it also was a vacation day across the country--nobody was out at 9 a.m. as I strolled up Pushkinskaya St. toward my classes. Usually, the metro and buses are crowded with people heading to work.
Ukraine remains very traditional in many ways, particularly in the patriarchal nature of family relationships. Men should provide the money; women do everything else. They cook and clean and work and take care of the kids, all while trying to look as impressive as they can. But they are not saints. They have learned how to wrest control in many ways, despite this traditional culture, with cunning and often not-too-subtle manipulation. They take boyfriends; they are very demanding; they know their stunning looks and provocative clothing have an impact. I don't wish to judge; the easiest way to fail in understanding a culture is to spend too much time applying our values on their culture. I will first try harder to understand. It is interesting, for sure, and disturbing in many ways.
A friend told me this joke, which has some truth to it:
A man watches his neighbor sit on his balcony every day, strumming his guitar and drinking vodka. In the morning, his wife brings him breakfast, prepares the kids for school, and heads off to work. The neighbor spends the morning playing guitar. At lunchtime, his wife returns home to fix him lunch and clean up after him. And at night, the man sits on his balcony playing the guitar until dinner is served, by his wife, and he goes to bed.
The man watches his neighbor do this for several days. One day, he leans over and asks, "Don't you feel guilty?"
"About what?" the neighbor replies, still playing his guitar.
"You let your wife cook and clean and take care of the kids and work, and the only thing you do all day is to play guitar."
"Ah," said the neighbor. "No, I don't feel guilty. Is it my fault she can't play the guitar?"
So on March 8, the men cook and clean and buy their wives and girlfriends flowers, purses, shoes, phones and the like. Everywhere, I saw men and women with huge bundles of flowers of all sorts. The women seem to love this day. I think I understand why. For once, their many jobs become only one.
Ukraine remains very traditional in many ways, particularly in the patriarchal nature of family relationships. Men should provide the money; women do everything else. They cook and clean and work and take care of the kids, all while trying to look as impressive as they can. But they are not saints. They have learned how to wrest control in many ways, despite this traditional culture, with cunning and often not-too-subtle manipulation. They take boyfriends; they are very demanding; they know their stunning looks and provocative clothing have an impact. I don't wish to judge; the easiest way to fail in understanding a culture is to spend too much time applying our values on their culture. I will first try harder to understand. It is interesting, for sure, and disturbing in many ways.
A friend told me this joke, which has some truth to it:
A man watches his neighbor sit on his balcony every day, strumming his guitar and drinking vodka. In the morning, his wife brings him breakfast, prepares the kids for school, and heads off to work. The neighbor spends the morning playing guitar. At lunchtime, his wife returns home to fix him lunch and clean up after him. And at night, the man sits on his balcony playing the guitar until dinner is served, by his wife, and he goes to bed.
The man watches his neighbor do this for several days. One day, he leans over and asks, "Don't you feel guilty?"
"About what?" the neighbor replies, still playing his guitar.
"You let your wife cook and clean and take care of the kids and work, and the only thing you do all day is to play guitar."
"Ah," said the neighbor. "No, I don't feel guilty. Is it my fault she can't play the guitar?"
So on March 8, the men cook and clean and buy their wives and girlfriends flowers, purses, shoes, phones and the like. Everywhere, I saw men and women with huge bundles of flowers of all sorts. The women seem to love this day. I think I understand why. For once, their many jobs become only one.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Tidbits
Where does all the dirt come from? I am wandering around the city on a daily basis and noticing all the dirt that covers the streets and sidewalks. The remaining spring ice is so covered in dirt that I can't tell the difference between ice and schmuck.
The sole English speaker...at the Adidas store today, where I bought a new pair of shoes, didn't actually make shopping easier, but it sure made me feel more welcome that somebody (a clerk who spent two years studying English in London) would bother to speak to me in English.
Loneliness is easier to accept when you blame it on the barrier of language.
XXL in Ukraine is barely large enough to cover my personal obesity....my friends here want me to wear tighter clothing even though such tightens would be ridiculed in the USA. We try to hide any indication of the beer/vodka gut, but in Ukraine, they seem to accept it and not to mind.
Why do clerks in every store give you a receipt only after they rip it slightly?
The Russian language has a whole other layer of complexity that I haven't even begun to delve into....the next month of language study will be freakin' difficult!!!
New shoes make me happy, especially when they keep my feet from hurting so much.
This American Life is truly the most interesting podcast/PBS program ever...I've listened to three in a row and it makes me feel like I'm doing something worthwhile...
Be well!
srd
The sole English speaker...at the Adidas store today, where I bought a new pair of shoes, didn't actually make shopping easier, but it sure made me feel more welcome that somebody (a clerk who spent two years studying English in London) would bother to speak to me in English.
Loneliness is easier to accept when you blame it on the barrier of language.
XXL in Ukraine is barely large enough to cover my personal obesity....my friends here want me to wear tighter clothing even though such tightens would be ridiculed in the USA. We try to hide any indication of the beer/vodka gut, but in Ukraine, they seem to accept it and not to mind.
Why do clerks in every store give you a receipt only after they rip it slightly?
The Russian language has a whole other layer of complexity that I haven't even begun to delve into....the next month of language study will be freakin' difficult!!!
New shoes make me happy, especially when they keep my feet from hurting so much.
This American Life is truly the most interesting podcast/PBS program ever...I've listened to three in a row and it makes me feel like I'm doing something worthwhile...
Be well!
srd
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Just What is Mine? And Yours?
In America, the concept of personal property is well established, really a fundamental belief system in the system. It extends to intellectual property as well, although this belief continues to be eroded by pervasive piracy, plagiarism and perhaps the moral corruption of American citizens.
But in Ukraine, the legacy of Communism means that the idea of personal ownership of property is vague at best, nonexistent at worst. I did a photoshoot last week for a friend of a friend. She needed some professional photographs for a new job, so I offered to shoot them for her, gratis. I told her up front that I would allow her to select 10 images that I would edit and deliver to her in both small and large resolution formats, for web use and for printing.
After the shoot, she was quite excited about how they turned out (I'm a fair photographer with 20 years of experience doing this as both an amateur and pro in America). She selected about a dozen images, and I even edited several more because I wasn't so busy and thought it would be nice.
But when she arrived to pick them up, she got upset with me that I wouldn't give her all 350 images (the unedited images that I didn't think were of sufficient quality to let other people see). I tried to explain to her that shooting hundreds of images was part of a process to produce the best ones for her use. She had no need for all of them for the job; she just wanted to print a bunch more up to show her family. I have never given out unedited images to my models; it's bad advertising for me, and really useless for any of the semi-pro and professional models I typically work with, anyway. Nobody actually ever asks in the USA.
I ended up giving her the 17 images, plus low-res photos of the rest for her own use on the computer, just to make her happy. But that wasn't enough. She wanted them all, in full resolution, so she could print them up and do who knows what with. I wouldn't go further than that, and even what I did was really a violation of my principles regarding having my work out in the world. But she wasn't happy at all, and she couldn't understand why I wouldn't give them all to her, or even why I had the right to deny her.
And from some perspectives, I understand. If you live in a country without intellectual property rights, then it is hard to argue that my time, experience, equipment, and talent give me the right to control the photos. After all, they are photos of her. But it sure makes me wary about doing trades of any sort in this country. Why use my $60,000 of equipment, 25 years of experience, and whatever "talent" I have just to see my worst photos out there in the world?
Lesson learned.
But in Ukraine, the legacy of Communism means that the idea of personal ownership of property is vague at best, nonexistent at worst. I did a photoshoot last week for a friend of a friend. She needed some professional photographs for a new job, so I offered to shoot them for her, gratis. I told her up front that I would allow her to select 10 images that I would edit and deliver to her in both small and large resolution formats, for web use and for printing.
After the shoot, she was quite excited about how they turned out (I'm a fair photographer with 20 years of experience doing this as both an amateur and pro in America). She selected about a dozen images, and I even edited several more because I wasn't so busy and thought it would be nice.
But when she arrived to pick them up, she got upset with me that I wouldn't give her all 350 images (the unedited images that I didn't think were of sufficient quality to let other people see). I tried to explain to her that shooting hundreds of images was part of a process to produce the best ones for her use. She had no need for all of them for the job; she just wanted to print a bunch more up to show her family. I have never given out unedited images to my models; it's bad advertising for me, and really useless for any of the semi-pro and professional models I typically work with, anyway. Nobody actually ever asks in the USA.
I ended up giving her the 17 images, plus low-res photos of the rest for her own use on the computer, just to make her happy. But that wasn't enough. She wanted them all, in full resolution, so she could print them up and do who knows what with. I wouldn't go further than that, and even what I did was really a violation of my principles regarding having my work out in the world. But she wasn't happy at all, and she couldn't understand why I wouldn't give them all to her, or even why I had the right to deny her.
And from some perspectives, I understand. If you live in a country without intellectual property rights, then it is hard to argue that my time, experience, equipment, and talent give me the right to control the photos. After all, they are photos of her. But it sure makes me wary about doing trades of any sort in this country. Why use my $60,000 of equipment, 25 years of experience, and whatever "talent" I have just to see my worst photos out there in the world?
Lesson learned.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
A Taste of America
The mournful guitar of Mark Knoffler echoed in the marble hall as I strolled among the bundled up patrons and fake trees of the Caravan shopping center. It almost felt like home...McDonalds in the food court, plenty of jewelry shops, overpriced shops like Tommy Hilfiger, Nike, and Adidas, and teenagers laughing and generally screwing around (two young guys sat in the food court connecting about 30 straws into one long pipe for no apparent reason).
Today I finally tackled the metro, heading up six stops from my local station to two mega malls, at least they seem that way in Ukraine, on the north side of town. I needed clothes--three t-shirts, three button-downs, and a couple of sweaters don't really cover the needs of a modern American man--and I was trying to find the last pieces of the XBox puzzle so that I could play online with my son. I succeeded on both counts, finding several shirts, sweaters, and t-shirts at discount prices while also managing to spend way too much money on a wireless connector for my new XBox.
And it felt good to realize that Ukraine does offer frozen pizzas, more than one kind of white-ish cheese (although no cheddar, nor any kind of nacho chip), and even has a pseudo-Apple store (although without the headphones I am desperately missing, after losing mine sometime within the first few days of my arrival).
But it wasn't all familiar. Each mall was anchored by a super-Wal-Mart sort of grocery store, and while the aisles were huge, the selection sometimes baffled me. Here's a photo of one of the complete aisles dedicated to vodka!
But much of it felt very comfortable, like the esclators and marble and fountains.
I'll be back, I'm sure, if only to feel modestly like I am not in a completely foreign world.
Today I finally tackled the metro, heading up six stops from my local station to two mega malls, at least they seem that way in Ukraine, on the north side of town. I needed clothes--three t-shirts, three button-downs, and a couple of sweaters don't really cover the needs of a modern American man--and I was trying to find the last pieces of the XBox puzzle so that I could play online with my son. I succeeded on both counts, finding several shirts, sweaters, and t-shirts at discount prices while also managing to spend way too much money on a wireless connector for my new XBox.
And it felt good to realize that Ukraine does offer frozen pizzas, more than one kind of white-ish cheese (although no cheddar, nor any kind of nacho chip), and even has a pseudo-Apple store (although without the headphones I am desperately missing, after losing mine sometime within the first few days of my arrival).
But it wasn't all familiar. Each mall was anchored by a super-Wal-Mart sort of grocery store, and while the aisles were huge, the selection sometimes baffled me. Here's a photo of one of the complete aisles dedicated to vodka!
But much of it felt very comfortable, like the esclators and marble and fountains.
I'll be back, I'm sure, if only to feel modestly like I am not in a completely foreign world.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Small Victory
Can I just tell everyone how accomplished I feel at this moment? I have been trying for weeks to set up a wireless network at home, and tonight, after six hours of fiddling with the settings, I have actually managed to make my internet connection work wirelessly. Woo Hoo!
This may seem like a small victory (because it is), but I still feel like a king tonight. I can connect to the internet on my computer as well as my iPhone....which means that soon I ought to be able to hook up an Xbox and my remote backup to the network as well. Good times....
This may seem like a small victory (because it is), but I still feel like a king tonight. I can connect to the internet on my computer as well as my iPhone....which means that soon I ought to be able to hook up an Xbox and my remote backup to the network as well. Good times....
Friday, February 19, 2010
Watch for Falling Daggers!
Today I was walking with some friends and they pulled me away from a building, pointed up and warned me about falling ice. After a big snow and some warmer weather, the icicles are huge and sometimes break free, falling three or four stories to the sidewalk. I've seen some monsters on the sidewalk already. And then I read this:
Woman Hit by Icicle
As if the slippery sidwalks weren't enough of a hazard.....but I prefer these risks to the kind of litigious society that requires warnings on coffee that it is very hot :)
Woman Hit by Icicle
As if the slippery sidwalks weren't enough of a hazard.....but I prefer these risks to the kind of litigious society that requires warnings on coffee that it is very hot :)
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