The Moscow Diaries

Crisis

2009-01-15T17:33:00.005+03:00

This is a chart of the exchange rate between U.S. dollars and Russian rubles. The vertical axis is a measure of how many rubles are worth one dollar on a given day. You'll note that the rate has gone from just over 23 rubles per dollar to 32 rubles per dollar over the course of this graph. That means that the dollar is worth 40% more in rubles at the right end of the chart than it was at the left end of the chart. And how much time is represented by the horizontal axis? Six months.

B.S.

2008-12-27T21:47:00.003+03:00

I study a kind of music that is variously labeled "authorial song", "bard(ic) song", and/or "guitar poetry depending on the context and the person doing the labeling. Usually I just call it "бардовская песня (bardovskaya pesnya)" because that combination of words seems to generate the least confusion in conversations with people about the music in which I'm interested. Somehow I never once considered abbreviating any of these names for the topic of my research.

An acquaintance here in Moscow recently gave me a book that describes itself as a "Russian-English Cultural Dictionary." She thought that perhaps this handy guide would help me acculturate. I thanked her, flipped open the cover, and was immediately confronted by a one-paragraph definition of authorial song on page 17:

АВТОРСКАЯ ПЕСНЯ ж (бардовская песня) bard song. A special musical-poetic genre that appeared in the USSR in the 1950s and has developed ever since. B.s. is a socio-cultural phenomenon especially typical of the Soviet period...

B. s.? Wait a second... what are you calling b.s.?

B. s. has its own 'sacred places': the Vostok Club in St. Petersberg (founded in 1961) and the Grushin Festival in Samara (since 1968). Their purpose has been to popularize b.s. in the best traditions.

This certainly isn't the first time I've worried that I might be writing my dissertation about b.s.. I just wasn't expecting a reference book to say so.

Wise Words

2008-12-27T14:56:00.002+03:00

Whether I achieve the secondary purpose of my journey—to escape the deadly melancholy of the Christmas season—remains to be seen.

—Walter Benjamin, Moscow Diary, 20 December

Blending

2008-12-26T00:41:00.002+03:00

Merry Christmas to me. I'm told that these shoes make me look more Russian...

Get Real

2008-12-22T20:49:00.008+03:00

It's been a few weeks since I posted anything to this blog, and for my own sake as much as yours, gentle reader, I should summarize what's been happening since my last entry.

I should mention, by the way, that I haven't been avoiding my blogging responsibilities by choice. Things were going just wonderfully here, and I was all set to write a big blog entry about how I had somehow dodged all the small pitfalls that other anthropologists complain of when they begin their fieldwork. What luck!

But then, a little over a week ago, without any warning whatsoever, my brand new laptop died. Remember that laptop that I was sent by a certain company as a replacement for the machine that they ~~lost~~ failed to repair over the course of a month? Yeah. I'm not kidding either. This company's flagship machine--loaded with their state-of-the-art technology--, this beautiful baby computer suffered the microelectronic equivalent of SIDS after just one month.

To be clear, we're not talking about some minor inconvenience like, say, a hard drive failure, or a screen that stops working. This is more like a bad motherboard. I've talked with the company's tech support staff via e-mail and long-distance/Skype/conference-call, and after describing the computer's symptoms they replied that it sounded like a serious hardware failure and asked if I could please send it in for repair... from Russia... at my expense.

Grand.

So there I was, an academic in Moscow without a computer (which for 21st century scholars is kind of like being a drug addict without a fix). But I realized that most anthropologists don't have the luxury of computers and gadgets in their fieldsites, so why was I complaining? Who was I to wimper about a stupid computer when I've got the things that really matter: a roof over my head, a great research project, and my health?

And of course, as soon as I felt thankful for these things, I saw them each crumple before my eyes. The apartment in which I'm living suffered a minor flood when the upstairs neighbors left the water running in their bathroom tub, filling the air with vapour that smells suspiciously like the twelve inches or so of late Soviet-era flooring, insulation, dirt, dust, and mold that you might find between two levels of an apartment building in Moscow. No big deal, I thought. I mean, after all, the same sort of thing happened to me in my apartment not long ago in the states. This stuff happens. And then a couple of days later, I started to feel as though a sheet of fabric softener had somehow been stuffed down my windpipe without my notice. At first I didn't think much about it, but after about 24 hours I was coughing violently and feeling as if my sinuses were attempting to escape their captivity behind my face through my eye sockets. Naturally, my optimism about my research began to take a tumble at this point as well.

That was about a week ago. Things are a bit better now: I've got a new computer (thanks to ridiculously generous support from two readers of this blog who will go unnamed); I was able to get all my notes off of the old machine's hard drive; I'll be sending my old computer back home with an American I met recently; my health is improving thanks to lots of Russian soup; and as for my research, well, it's at least interesting.

After all, how can you NOT find this interesting?

This is a spot on the Old Arbat, a fairly famous Moscow street and tourist destination. It's not insignificant as cultural real estate. The Arbat is a great place to take a stroll. There are some lovely buildings, there are no cars, you'll find artists and musicians and performers everywhere... And here we have, on the right, a statue dedicated to Bulat Okudzhava, one of the pioneers (if you'll excuse the term) of Russian bardic song. And on the left, standing only a few feet from the revered Mr. Okudzhava, is a large cow. Not just any cow, actually: this is the mascot (or the mas-cow?... the Mos-cow?...) for a chain of restaurants called "Mu-Mu".

I can't quite explain how well this image represents my impression of contemporary Moscow. It's not just that the ridiculous and sublime live side by side -- that could be said about the world in general. Nor is it just that the artifacts of the Soviet past and the post-Soviet present stand side by side. It's something more about how the past and present don't seem to be able to take one another seriously, despite genuine efforts to the contrary. This goes beyond nostalgia or irony. This is... this is...

This is a statue of a cow standing next to a statue of Bulat Okudzhava.

I feel like at this point, a real ethnographer would know how to read such an image. I don't. But I'm hoping that since I'm experiencing some of the problems that real ethnographers encounter, perhaps soon I'll begin to think like one as well.

Enjoying it while it lasts...

2008-12-04T17:04:00.003+03:00

One Week

2008-12-03T12:47:00.005+03:00

One week. I've been here one week. Since I've managed to accomplish more or less all I could have hoped to accomplish in my first seven days, I suppose that this bodes well for the next fifty one weeks of real honest-to-goodness ethnographci field research to come. On the other hand, every day I am reminded that my Russian is nowhere near adequate to the task of capturing a shred of nuance about anything, and that I am playing the socioculturally equivalent role of a character from some bad sci-fi about an interdimensional traveler who has just made the jump from life with only three physical dimensions to live with five dimensions within the same universe. This is a long and confusing way of saying that this time in Moscow, I'm haunted by the strange feeling that everything is the same and yet everything is different.

The same: my favorite foods and places are still here; my everyday survival Russian is slowly coming back to me and seems to be serving me well enough that I don't get too many weird looks when I ask people for directions or talk to store clerks; and Moscow is still a wonderfully busy, strangely beautiful and intimidating place.

Different: I've arrived at a time when one cannot turn on a radio, open a newspaper, or walk five paces without encountering the word "кризис (crisis)"; the sky is grey grey grey all the time; and for some reason people seem to understand the theme of my research even though I feel more detached from my project than ever.

There's a lot that could be said about all of this... but I've got work to do.

More to come...

Irony?

2008-11-23T09:04:00.002+03:00

For everyone who keeps telling me that I need to prepare for the coldest weather of my life, consider this:

Shaken, Not Heard

2008-11-21T22:42:00.004+03:00

For those following the aurality/perception/aesthetics/media angle of my research, you may find interesting this story of a woman unable to identify any voice other than Sean Connery's:

http://bodyodd.msnbc.msn.com/archive/2008/11/18/1679578.aspx

Maybe things aren't so bad...

2008-11-21T03:56:00.004+03:00

Huh. OK, maybe I don't need to freak out about the transition from Chicago to Moscow just yet...

Хоyли Крап!!!

2008-11-07T03:39:00.003+03:00

After months of haggling with the agency that will be funding my researcher, the broker who is managing my visa, and the Russian university that will vouch for my status as a student during the next year, I woke up this morning to find one of these in the mail:

Technically, this is good news. This means I'm going to Russia to do my dissertation fieldwork. Why, in that case, am I feeling so terrified?

Victory!

2008-10-26T21:32:00.004+03:00

Yeah, I know, it's not May 9th. But I'm celebrating a few victories of sorts right now, so let's call this a personal Victory Day.

First and foremost: I've finally cleared the hurdles that kept me from getting a 1-year Russian visa. Doing so required me to enroll as a student in a Moscow university, which is not especially cheap. This in turn required me to request additional funds from the organization that's given me a grant for my research. Much to my surprise, the additional funds were approved, and I'm now making final preparations before leaving for Russia. If my current run of luck continues, I'll find housing in Moscow and get final approval from my university to begin carrying out my formal dissertation research in the next few weeks. (I never thought I would be quite so alarmed to see myself weeks away from fieldwork rather than months, years, or an indefinite wait.)

Meanwhile, I'm also celebrating victory over the customer service department of a computer manufacturer that shall go unnamed. To protect myself and this company, I'll skip most of the details and just share that I've been trying to get a stuck key on my laptop repaired since April. I was finally able to send the computer to this company for repair in mid September, and after another month of waiting I was then told that they weren't sure when they would start repairs, nor why they had not already started repairs, nor when I would see my computer again, and by the way, they couldn't do anything at all at the moment because they'd been experiencing some computer problems of their own with their customer service database.

It was at this point, more than five months since this stupid key became stuck, that I began to talk about going to the Better Business Bureau or to the local TV stations' consumer affairs reporters or to a lawyer in my family. Within a week, I received a call asking me if I would be satisfied if they just replaced my old computer with a new top-of-the-line notebook. I asked about the computer's specs, and was told it would have...

a dual-core, Intel Placation Class Processor, with a unique Class-Action-Lawsuit-Preventing subprocessor
a 14 inch anti-glare widescreen display, with a state-of-the-art coating that prevents the user from seeing red
4 gigabytes of ultra-fast memory, capable of remembering just about anything except for bad customer service experiences
an innovative CYA graphics card
and much much more!

I'm not entirely sure that it was worth this much trouble, but I'm certainly overjoyed that this company is saving me the cost of upgrading my three-year old computer, and that I'll be going to the field with a brand new machine. Let's hear it for customer service!

Perils of The Information Age

2008-08-12T03:45:00.002+04:00

Far Away, So Close...

2008-07-06T06:18:00.003+04:00

The good news: I have funding for a year of ethnographic research in Moscow. Woohoo!
The bad news: Russia's visa policies have made it ridiculously difficult to stay in
Russia for more than 3-months out of every 6-months.

A Belated "Happy 142nd Birthday" To Erik Satie

2008-05-18T08:38:00.013+04:00

I'd like to give a shout out to a composer who died about 72 years, 10 months, and 16 days ago. Erik Satie haunted me when I was a child, because one of his melodies appears twice on a 1969 Blood, Sweat and Tears album for which one of my sisters had a great fondness. Before I can remember anything visual, I can remember hearing their variations on Satie's "Gymnopedies No. 1" -- a song with which I've been more or less obsessed all my life.

Бардовской хип-хоп

2008-05-18T03:49:00.002+04:00

The last time I was in Moscow I had the pleasure of accompanying a friend to a hiphop concert. Little did I know that the concert was actually only half hiphop, and that the other half would be devoted to "authorial" or "bardic" song, which is the genre I study. The emcee for the evening explained at the start of the show that authorial song and hiphop were "twin brothers -- two forms, one content."

This was more than a little astonishing to me because, despite their shared focus on narrative, many people would say that there are no two genres that are more different than bardovskaya pesnya and hiphop. Indeed, even I had my doubts... until I saw this:

Vova poked you. Do you want to return Vova's poke?

2008-04-15T02:53:00.003+04:00

I'm seriously considering joining the Russian Facebook clone, ВКонтакте.ру . The only thing keeping me back at this point is the fear that this would mean that I'd be procrastinating in two languages.

Old School Lo-Fi

2008-04-08T08:37:00.004+04:00

I've mentioned here previously that I'm somewhat preoccupied with sound, music, and noise. For this reason, even though it's been mentioned in several venues and at length, I feel like adding my own voice to the chorus of audiotechnogeeks who are singing the praises of a team of researchers who managed to reconstruct a ten-second audiorecording from the year 1860.

It sounds marvelously, marvelously awful:

There was an internet rumor (and a pretty funny episode of The X Files) a few years ago about how the voice of Jesus Christ had been captured in the soft clay of a spinning dish on a potter's wheel near Jesus. This is, of course, ridiculous... in its details. But the general idea that sound s could be recorded prior to the advent of sound playback technologies is actually not so far fetched.

Enter this ingenious little creation, the phonautograph:

If you want the whole story behind the phonautograph, you should really pick up a copy of Jonathan Sterne's brilliant book The Audible Past. In a nutshell, though, this invention recorded sound waves as scratches on a membrane. I know, it doesn't seem all that big a deal these days, but in the middle of the 19th century, it was no small feat to document sound visually.

As it happens, one day the phonautograph was used to record a person singing "Au Clair de la Lune." About one hundred and fifty years later, some very smart people with computers realized that they could reconstruct the sound of that voice by carefully reading that phonautograph recording and cleverly compensating for the uneven speed of the hand that cranked the machine. The result is ten seconds of almost unrecognizable singing... and it's music to my ears.

Where Is My Mind?

2008-01-20T05:58:00.000+03:00

(Today's blog entry has a soundtrack.)

Hi there again. It's been a while since I last posted anything to this blog. Come to think of it, the last time I posted anything was just prior to my doctoral proposal hearing, which seemed at the time like the sort of thing over which I should get really stressed out and melodramatic. In retrospect it really wasn't that big a deal, but it did provide me with a wonderful excuse for relaxing and turning off my brain afterwards.

Admittedly, I haven't completely slacked since then. In between episodes of Battlestar Galactica, I filed a bunch of grant applications to fund my field research, I've kept up with my various side jobs at my university, I've been working as a teaching assistant... but sheesh, I really feel like my brain has been in sleep mode for the past couple of months. Shouldn't I be a little more excited and confident about my career path now that I've cleared this major hurdle?

It's strange. I've been thinking a lot lately about why I decided to go to grad school and what I hoped to get out of it at the time. I really don't think I had any idea what I was getting into, but then again, I suspect that few 23 year-olds have much clarity about major career choices in general. At the time I just knew that I liked what I had been studying in college and I thought it would be nice to get a degree that would allow me to contribute to public discussions about media and society with some academic credibility. I know: what was I thinking?

Maybe it's because I've been thinking lately about my initial goal of becoming a "public intellectual" that I've become strangely fascinated by Jonah Goldberg's most recent book, "Liberal Fascism: The Secret History of the American Left From Mussolini to the Politics of Meaning.". Jonah Goldberg, to the best of my knowledge, doesn't hold a PhD or any degree higher than a bachelor's from Goucher College, so I don't think it's unfair to say that he doesn't have the traditional qualifications of what would usually be considered a "public intellectual." From what I can tell, he's best known for being the son of Lewinsky Scandal veteran Lucianne Goldberg, and only incidentally recognized as a pundit, columnist and contributing editor for the National Review and its online publication.

What interests me about Goldberg's book isn't its outlandish cover art depicting a smiley face with a Hitler mustache or the losing arguments Golberg has offered on his promotional tour in support of the book. Instead, what captured my interest in "Liberal Fascism's" was the book's previous working subtitles. Over the last year, Amazon.com had listed the book as "Liberal Fascism: The Totalitarian Temptation From Mussolini to Hillary Clinton" and then as "Liberal Fascism: The Totalitarian Temptation From Hegel to Whole Foods" before eventually settling on the comparitively benign title about "Mussolini and the Politics of Meaning".

Now, I haven't read the book yet (though I'm eagerly awaiting its arrival at my library), but from what I've gathered it seems that Golberg's argument is that contemporary American liberalism is an offshoot of the same ideological lineage as Italy's National Fascist Party and Germany's Nationalist Socialist Party, better known as the Nazi Party. Goldberg is quick to point out that the word "Socialist" appears in the title of Hitler's political party, and therefore proves a common ideological foundation with American liberals because they are branded "socialists" by their political opponents. Brilliant, huh? I mean, you have to overlook his logical fallacy that the same word always implies the same meaning regardless of context, and then you have to ignore the fact that Hitler denounced most socialist and communist political movements because he saw them as the perverse ideological products of Jewish intellectuals, but once you do that...

Hmm. Alright, maybe I'm not giving the guy a fair shake. Here, let me offer you Golberg's own explanation of his argument in his own words in an interview with Salon.com:

To sort of start the story, the reason why we see fascism as a thing of the right is because fascism was originally a form of right-wing socialism. Mussolini was born a socialist, he died a socialist, he never abandoned his love of socialism, he was one of the most important socialist intellectuals in Europe and was one of the most important socialist activists in Italy, and the only reason he got dubbed a fascist and therefore a right-winger is because he supported World War I.

Wow! Call me crazy, but all this time I thought that Mussolini was labeled a fascist because of his role in creating the Partito Nazionale Fascista!...

OK, so Goldberg's book is probably a laughably weak attempt to smear his political opponents masquerading as rigorously researched intellectual historiography. But here's what gets me: at one point, Goldberg conceived of this book as one that would critically engage with Hegel. How often do you see THAT kind of intellectual ambition from American political pundits? Call me crazy, but I actually want to applaud that kind of chutzpa. I know I'm going to regret saying this in the morning, but right now I actually feel like this kind of crap is actually healthier for the public sphere than the usual political dumbfuckery that I see on the shelves of Borders and Barnes and Noble.

Sonic Saturday

2007-10-21T08:08:00.001+04:00

This weekend I found myself listening to the Police while working to finish up a section of my dissertation proposal that attempts to put Jacques Derrida into a productive dialogue with Pierre Bourdieu -- something that the two had difficulty accomplishing in life. In the midst of this task, I was more than a bit horrified to discover that I was quietly singing to myself:

Bourdieu-dieu-dieu, Derrida-da-da,
That's all I want to say to you.
Bourdieu-dieu-dieu, Derrida-da-da,
They're meaningless and all that's true.

In case you need to wash out the bitter aftertaste of these butchered lyrics, you can enjoy the original here.

Follow up

2007-10-09T01:05:00.001+04:00

An update concerning my last post: a year after her murder, Politkovskaya's death is still linked to Vysotsky -- at least, by Tomáš Vršovský of the Prague Watchdog...

Music Monday: Politkovskaya and Vysotsky

2007-09-24T23:05:00.000+04:00

About a year ago I was in Vienna at a conference concerning the history of self-published texts (samizdat) in Eastern Europe during the Cold War. My paper addressed the legacy of a particular genre of music that circumvented Soviet censorship by circulating on illegally copied audiotapes (magnitizdat). The genre goes by many names, but the singers are usually known as "bards." I argued in my paper that there's a lot to learn about the way Russians think of the history of Soviet to post-Soviet political history by examining the way they talk about the bards and their music. For instance, if you want to get a Russian of a certain age to tell you about what life used to be like and how it's changed in the last half century, all you need to do is mention that you've heard of Vladimir Vysotsky, the most famous of the Soviet-era bards.

Anyway, the conference ended with a discussion about the state of "free speech" in Eastern Europe. One of the panelists was a Russian journalist named Anna Politkovskaya. I remember very little of her talk, except that she seemed to me to be a remarkably thoughtful and powerful speaker. To be honest, though, I was fatigued from a week of papers, round-tables, and hobnobbing with strange academics, and I was far more concerned with heading back to my hotel than I was with listening to the dreary and dubious subject at hand.

Less than one month later, on October 7, 2006, Anna Politkovskaya was shot and killed in the elevator of her Moscow apartment complex. Reports of her murder described her coverage of Chechnya, her work as a human rights activist... and how mourners had left CDs of Vysotsky's music at a makeshift memorial for her at newspaper's offices. But that was all: no elaboration, to remarks about how Russians might find a connection between Vysotsky and Politkovskaya, no reflection... as though CDs spoke for themselves.

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2007-09-12T08:01:00.001+04:00

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Version 2.0

2007-08-23T22:12:00.000+04:00

I feel I should take this time to address the figuratively thousands of e-mails that I've recently received, pleading for an update to this blog. Why no new enlightening entries? Why no witty commentary and sensitive introspection? Why no new videos of Russian guys electrocuting women in bathtubs?

Well, the short answer is that we're moving. Yes, we are currently in the process of relocating The Moscow Diaries' official ~~headquarters~~ ~~offices~~ apartment. And I we see this move as an auspicious opportunity to renovate this blog. So in a few weeks, you can look forward to The Moscow Diaries 2.0: bigger, better... um... and interesting-er.

I don't want to give away the master plan and spoil the surprise, but I will say that I'm going to try to restructure the blog so that it reflects the broader range of interests that motivate my research. So, for example, you may not have gathered from some of my ramblings that sound recording technologies and recording "aesthetics" figure prominently in my research. But since this blog has been limited to vague discussions of my ethnographic research in Moscow, I've felt that it would be inappropriate to link to really interesting and relevant stories about trends in recording aesthetics like this:

Wouldn't it be great, I thought, if there were a regular feature on this blog... like Music Monday... maybe Sonic Sunday?... Phonic Friday? Clearly I'm going to need a few weeks to work out all of the little regular featurettes and their appropriately clever titles.

Anyway, the point is: watch this space. Good things are coming.

Linux, Russia, Africa

2007-06-23T22:23:00.000+04:00

Hello again, Gentle Reader. Please forgive the last month or so of radio silence. I've just come back a fantastic vacation in South Africa and Botswana -- places which, I thought, would be wonderfully restful since they have absolutely nothing to do with my project or Russia in general. And with few exceptions, I was right. I saw a lot of people in southern Africa sporting trendy "Soviet" brand bags, and the Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg touches on how the anti-apartheid movement was branded as a Soviet front of sorts... but for the most part, I've enjoyed almost no sense of continuity among my everyday experiences of travel in Russia, southern Africa, and Chicago over the last month or so.

That said, I've become increasingly aware of and interested by cultural images of Africa and Africa-ness in Russia and America. For example, on one warm spring day in Moscow I encountered a group of musicians at Chistye Prudy, dressed as crocodiles, lions, and bears, performing for a crowd of children and parents. They were singing this popular children's song, which is, from what I can gather, a kind of Russian Jabberwocky:

Маленькие дети!
Ни за что
на свете
Не ходите в Африку,
В Африку гулять!
В Африке акулы,
В Африке гориллы,
В Африке большие
Злые крокодилы
Будут вас кусать,
Бить и обижать,-
Не ходите, дети,
В Африку гулять.

В Африке разбойник,
В Африке злодей,
В Африке ужасный
Бар-ма-лей!

Он бегает по Африке
И кушает детей -
Гадкий, нехороший,
 жадный Бармалей!

Little children!
Don't, for any
 reason under the sun,
Don't go to Africa,
Go walking to Africa!
In Africa there are sharks,
In Africa there are gorillas,
In Africa there are big,
Evil crocodiles.
They'll bite you,
Beat and insult you --
Do not, children,
Go walking to Africa.

In Africa there's a bandit,
In Africa there's a villain,
In Africa there's a terrible
Bar-ma-lei!

He runs around Africa
And eats children --
Nasty, no-good,
 greedy Barmalei!

Fortunately for me, the Barmalei must have deemed me too old to make for a tasty snack, because he never menaced me during my walks in Africa. Nor did the sharks and crocodiles. I did meet a few gorillas, though, but they were quite friendly and even agreed to pose for a family photo.

When I returned to the U.S., I decided it would be nice to spend some time doing something totally unrelated to my research and to my visit to Africa. I eventually settled on what seemed to be the furthest possible thing from my travels: installing Linux on an old laptop.

(I'll wait for you to stop chuckling before I continue. Yes, I know. Linux. The supremely nerdy but cost-free operating system. I try very hard to hide it, but at heart I really am an ultratechnogeek.)

It turns out, though, that I was wrong. While searching for which "flavor" of Linux would best suit my aging Hewlett-Packard, I came across a popular version called Ubuntu. What does Ubuntu mean? Here's what the makers of this version of Linux have to say:

Ubuntu is an African concept of 'humanity towards others'. It is 'the belief in a universal bond of sharing that connects all humanity'. The same ideas are central to the way the Ubuntu community collaborates. Members of the Ubuntu community need to work together effectively, and this code of conduct lays down the "ground rules" for our cooperation.

Where to begin, huh? I mean, there's nothing terribly extraordinary about the cultural image of Africa -- not a country, nor a nation, nor even really an actual continent, but an ideal of Africanness -- used in the service of marketing a product, even in the case of computer software. Rhetoric by non-Africans about African knowledge, rituals, legends and proverbs has a long and rather distasteful history. Suffice it to say that whenever I hear someone talk about "African concepts", I'm immediately reminded of Calgon's "Ancient Chinese Secret."

And maybe this is just more of the same, with these Linux programmers and users casting themselves as more than mere nerds but ethical and socially conscious nerds undertaking a revival of the Ancient Chinese Secret... excuse me... the African Concept of fairness, sharing, and humanity that is Ubuntu. But I must admit that even after installing Ubuntu on my computer, I was not prepared to discover that the system came preloaded with a video file about the relationship between Ubuntu the software and Ubuntu the concept... featuring Nelson Mandela!!!

OK, really, what gives?

Hedgehog in the Fog (Ёжик в тумане)

2007-05-25T16:57:00.000+04:00

For the film buffs among my readers, here's something to make up for my last post: the award-winning Yozhik v tumane (1975), directed by Yuriy Norshteyn, and based on a story by Sergei Grigoryevich Kozlov. As a foreign researcher in Russia, sometimes I feel a lot like this little hedgehog...

Tide: Safe for Fabrics, Dangerous for Russian Women

2007-05-21T23:36:00.000+04:00

Um... anyone care to explain this to me?

Can you hear me now?

2007-05-12T23:59:00.000+04:00

I know I'm a graduate student and that I'm working towards a PhD. I know that I'm supposed to be thinking about big questions, writing papers on important problems, and tackling projects that take years of careful study and difficult research. But truth be told, I would much rather write about the little things. Like this ad that I stumbled across for the Russian mobile phone service company МТС (Mobile TeleService):

Allow me to provide some translation and commentary. The commercial opens with a hand sweeping over a bookshelf and pulling out a collection of poems by the late 19th / early 20th century Russian symbolist, Aleksandr Blok. The next shot reveals the man who picked out the book and is now speaking to someone on a mobile phone. The man says, "I'll dictate, you take this down," and then proceeds to read Blok's rather well-known 1912 poem, "Night, Street, Lamp, Drugstore".

As he reads, the words of the poem appear in white letters and drift out of the apartment window, wandering across Moscow. Here's the original text with my translation:

Ночь, улица, фонарь, аптека,
Бессмысленный и тусклый свет.
Живи еще хоть четверть века -
Все будет так. Исхода нет.

Умрешь - начнешь опять сначала
И повторится все, как встарь:
Ночь, ледяная рябь канала,
Аптека, улица, фонарь.

Night, street, lamp, drugstore.
Meaningless and dull light.
Live on for another quarter century -
All will be as such. No outcome.

You'll die - start again from the beginning
And everything will repeat, as long ago.
Night, a canal's icy ripples,
Drugstore, street, lamp.

We watch as the text of the poem sails up into the window of a classroom, and it's at this point that the ad's "punchline" emerges. We see a student copying down the poem as he listens through a cellphone headset. An announcer explains, "We're doing everything so that not one word is lost," as the cheating student finishes, stands up triumphantly, and hides his cellphone headset. The ad concludes with the company's slogan, "МТС: People Talk."

Considering the esteemed position of Russian poetry and poets here, I was more than a little surprised to see a cellphone company advertising--even in jest--that their network's clarity and fidelity is so good that it could help students from having to learn the great Russian poems of the past by heart. (It would be a bit like T-Mobile running an ad in which they say, "Thanks to our advanced network, you kids will never need to memorize another Robert Frost poem ever again!")

The second thing that stood out to me was the ad's soundtrack, which is a so-called "sound-alike" imitation of The Verve's "Bittersweet Symphony." The song used in the commercial is nearly identical to the original in rhythm, structure, and instrumentation, but dissimilar enough to avoid the cost of licensing the song. The choice to use a sound-alike of "Bittersweet Symphony" is, if not ironic, certainly noteworthy, since that song in particular is famous for violating copyright laws by using a longer-than-approved sample of an orchestral recording of the Rolling Stones' "The Last Time." And "The Last Time," in turn, is said to be an uncredited adaptation of a gospel song by the Staples Sisters. All of this for an ad about how the sonic fidelity of a cellphone company's network is so good that it can be used to copy a poem word for word and cheat the system.

Nevermind

2007-05-08T18:23:00.000+04:00

I just spent the last couple of hours trying to write a blog entry concerning all the ways in which the world seems to be going totally bonkers on me these days. But I realized, somewhere around the 20th paragraph, that this really isn't the forum for such a rant.

Suffice it to say that this week there really is nothing important to report from Moscow. I think I burned through the bulk of my enthusiasm in my first couple of weeks here, and now I find myself frustrated with my inability to communicate fluently and wondering how I make the best use of my remaining time in Moscow.

Acculturation is a combat sport

2007-04-26T14:10:00.000+04:00

A quick update: the last couple of days have been mighty encouraging.

After another round of e-mails between the director of the museum and myself, I decided to go visit the museum in person yesterday to drop off a form and to repeat, politely, that I would be leaving soon, and therefore I would like to start my research sooner rather than later. I decided to bring along a fellow student from my class as linguistic back-up. He's a young guy from the States who decided to spend a year learning Russian in Moscow and living with a Russian host family before returning to the U.S. and entering college. He arrived here last year without knowledge of a single Russian word, but he's a fast student. I probably read and write better than he does, but his conversational skills tower above mine.

To make a long story short, the museum director met me and quickly agreed to give me a research permit and to let me start working in their archives in two weeks. Woohoo! My fellow student and I spent the next hour touring the museum, during which time my ethnographic dreams came true and I had a chance to observe an argument between a Russian museum visitor and a museum guide about the cultural value of one of the people featured in the photographs on display.

Better still, this morning I received some confirmation that I'm conducting research on the right subject and in the right institution. The young student who came along with me told me that his host mother, who had previously thought of him as someone with no interest in Russian culture, was shocked to learn that he had visited this particular museum. "I never would have expected YOU to go there? What could YOU know about that music?" she asked him. Her mood then changed, and she began to invite him to listen to old recordings and watch movies about this genre with her. Right on.

One other bit of encouragement I've received has been less pleasant: I'm beginning to feel comfortable enough to argue about Russia and Russians in Russian. Allow me to explain:

A rather, shall we say, stubbornly nationalist foreign student has joined my class. 'G' has lived in Moscow for several years with her husband and children since immigrating from her native country, but has been a wee bit resistant to learn the Russian language, read Russian literature, or accept what she thinks of as Russian culture. When I first met her, she seemed friendly, eager to talk with English speakers and compare experiences of Moscow, and a little insecure about being a non-Russian speaking resident of Moscow for so long.

After a few days, though, I began to notice that at some point in each class, she made a point of criticizing Russians in general. On the first day it was a benign comment about how Moscow is a particularly dusty city. During our next class, she mentioned how dangerous it is that a driver's license can be 'purchased' if one has enough money, rather than earned. The following day, she mentioned that Russians seemed a rather cold people to her.

Fine. Whatever. Then the comments became more pointed. When our teacher was reflecting on how life in Moscow has changed, G somewhat angrily remarked: "Why do you talk about your childhood during Soviet times as if it was good?" My teacher, puzzled, asked what G meant. G explained, "It was terrible! Communism! Socialism! Bread lines! No choice!" At this point, I began to feel like G was crossing a line between forgivable national pride and crude chauvinism. We talked a bit about how the Soviet era, though certainly worthy of criticism, shouldn't be judged solely on the basis of its Cold War-era representations in America and Western Europe. She agreed, grudgingly, and moved on.

Today she bulldozed through the limits of my tolerance. Out of nowhere, she explained that Russians don't like non-Russians, that Russians don't or can't speak other languages, that they certainly don't speak English, that they lack any curiosity about the rest of the world, and that the grammar of their language is deviously designed to express complex ideas in as few words as possible so as to deter people from having nice long conversations and getting to know one another. I don't even remember consciously deciding to argue with her, and I certainly didn't plan to give her a mini-lecture on linguistic ideology and nationalism. Nor did I plan to tell her that perhaps the reason Russians seemed cold and terse with her was because she was meeting Russians exclusively in commercial contexts. It just sort of happened. Within seconds the conversation transformed into a heated, three-person debate among my teacher, G, and myself, about the history of censorship, public and private discursive practices during the Soviet period, economic transformations, and the effect of social life on "the Russian soul". In what felt like a matter of seconds, the next hour of class flew past me at supersonic speeds.

It seems somewhat perverse to feel good about fighting with someone... but in this case, I can't help but feel more than a little proud.

No News is No News

2007-04-19T00:57:00.000+04:00

I'm tempted to say that nothing much has happened since my last blog entry, but that wouldn't be accurate. It would be more precise to report that the exciting, frustrating, novel, banal, transcendent and vulgar events of the last week or so have canceled one another out in my memory. A few sample highlights and lowlights include:

Meeting an American graduate student who is working on a research project that parallels my own, but is dissimilar enough not to make me uncomfortable. This fellow scholar -- let's call her 'Vera' -- invited me to come with her to a club where she planned to record a concert and conduct some honest-to-goodness microethnographic investigation.
It sounded like fun to me at the time, but by the end of the night, I started to question whether or not doing research on music in Russia was such a bright idea after all. For starters, Vera has been studying Russian and living in Russia way longer than I have. So while she had no problems getting past the guys at the door, ordering drinks and mingling in the crowd, I found myself totally overwhelmed by the loud music and fast talking. I was unable to figure out how much the cover was or how to check my coat on my own, and apparently I said something to piss off the bartender within the first three seconds of my attempt to order beers for Vera and myself.
Then there was the smoke. Let me try to give you an idea of how thick the cigarette smoke in this club was. Vera had brought along a couple of high-end digital video cameras to record the concert, and I had volunteered to record the show using one of them. Unfortunately for Vera, her tapes aren't going to reveal much detail of the performance, because the autofocus couldn't get a lock on the people on stage through the blankets of smoke in the air. By the end of the night, my lungs were screaming for fresh air, and part of my brain was shouting at the other that doing research on music in Russia probably wasn't the best idea considering that I sound to most Russians like a dimwitted preschooler. (-5 points.)
On the other hand, three days later, Vera introduced me to her adviser at Moscow State University: a professor who happens to be extremely knowledgeable about the kind of music I work on, and who was more than happy to talk with me for half an hour about my project in English. The guy was encouraging, generous, and best of all, seemed to be one of the first Russians I've met who thinks my project has merit. (+10 points)

One of my big goals for last week was to get a university library card so I could check out a book on the genre that I study which is unavailable in the U.S.. The library card turned out to be the easy part: I filled out a form, gave the librarian a passport photo, let her photocopy a page from my passport, paid 50 rubles, and presto! (+1 point) Then I tried to get the book. Turns out that the card catalog is wrong, and the book I want isn't in library #10, it's actually in #18. (-1 point) No problem, since #18 is right around the corner from #10... and, oh dear, it's the library that has a half-hour long line of students waiting to give their book request slips to the librarian. (-1 point) After waiting for half an hour, I give the librarian my request slip and my brand new library card. She glances at the card, shakes her head, and says "No." I'm confused. No? Why? She says something too quickly for me to understand, gestures at my library card, and then calls for the next person in line to come up. I'm still not sure what went wrong, but I have a feeling that as a visiting student, I might be entitled to reading books but not to checking them out from the library. Or something like that. (-3 points)
The other big goal was to get a letter of affiliation from Moscow State University that I could bring to the museum where I want to conduct research so that I can get a research permit. To this end, I decided to write the letter for the folks at the university myself so that they wouldn't have to do anything but print it and stamp it with the university's official seal. How long could it possibly take to print and stamp the letter? 15 minutes? An hour? A day? Two days? Do I hear one week? Sold! (-1 points)
The moment the letter is printed and stamped, I take it from the university and deliver it by hand to the museum. By the time I arrive at the museum, though, the building is closing and my contact at the museum has already left. Fortunately, a friendly-seeming guard offers to take the letter and give it to my contact. Great! I'm on my way to getting a museum research permit. (+10 points)
Wait a minute... that was too easy. After all, the librarian needed my passport and a photograph just to give a library card, so surely a state museum would need something like that. Well, I'm sure that if they need anything they'll call me. I mean, I did put my phone number in the letter, didn't I? Or at least my e-mail address? As it turns out, I did indeed put my contact information on the letter... but the university employee who edited, printed, and stamped my letter of affiliation for me kindly took the liberty of deleting my phone number and e-mail address before hitting 'print'. Grand. (-5 points)
So I spent today writing an e-mail to my contact at the museum, explaining that if there's anything else I need to give them for my research permit, I'll be happy to supply it. The problem: I have no idea whether or not this person will get this e-mail, since my contact has less than a stellar track record when it comes to answering my e-mails. (Uncertain score, but provisionally: 0 points)
Today I wake up feeling like someone has emptied a can of silly string down my windpipe. Yesterday I had a little case of the sniffles, so I was prepared to feel crappy today. But this? This is unlike any cold I've ever had: I'm sharp mentally, my ability to communicate in a foreign language is better than it's ever been. my mood is good and I've got energy... but someone has replaced my sinuses with an open spigot. And who did this to me? When I get to class, I'm greeted by my teacher and one other student in my group, and both of them are sniffling and coughing. My teacher explains that one of the Thai students in her other group 'got sick' in front of her last week, and she's afraid she's passed some sort of Thai virus to us. (-5)

I'll post another entry as soon as something comes along to disrupt the equilibrium...

What it feels like

2007-04-09T20:56:00.000+04:00

I still don't feel like I've really captured a sense of life here at Moscow State University in these blog entires. But it occurs to me that perhaps I'm going about this all wrong. Since words are failing me, I invite you to take a look at this video clip:

Sometimes it snows in April... I mean, апреле

2007-04-08T17:05:00.000+04:00

Show me the funny money

2007-04-02T23:26:00.000+04:00

Yesterday I went to the student cafe in MGU for a late dinner. Usually the place is open until 11pm, but a guy came out from behind the counter and explained to me that the kitchen was closed early on Sunday night, and that the restaurant would soon be shutting down. I had a bit of a sore stomach and all I wanted was a Coke, so I asked the young man if I could just have a soda. He nodded and told me to take a seat.

A few minutes later he came by my table with a Coke and I handed him a hundred ruble note -- which, thanks to the dollar's decline, is worth about $4 USD. He takes the bill and walks away, and I flip open my laptop to check on rumors that the cafe has a free wireless internet connection. Two minutes later the guy appears at my table, holding a bill with a missing corner. He says, "Sorry, but this bill is no good. The bank won't take it. Do you have another?"

Immediately I recognize that I'm being played. I didn't get a good look at the bill I gave him, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't missing any pieces. Even if it was, he's heard me speak with a limited vocabulary and knows that I don't have the linguistic capital to spend on an argument about this. And any lingering doubts I have about whether or not this is a scam are erased when the young man's face contorts into a wide, mischievous grin. Now I know that instead of getting change for me, he's spent the last minute swapping my 100 ruble note for this invalid bill. As best as I can reason, somebody must have pawned this bill off on the student cafe earlier in the day, and ever since the wait staff has been looking for an easy mark who won't protest when the exchange is made. I look him in the face, promise myself that I'm going to find a way to make him pay sometime in the next two months, and hand him another hundred.

I'm left with one question about this little scam, though. Maybe one of my dear readers, experienced travelers that they are, can explain to me why somebody tore off the corner of this bill to begin with. The bill is older than most now in circulation, but it doesn't look like a fake: it's got all the watermarks and microprinting that appear on authentic currency. What I don't understand is how someone would profit by ripping the corner off of this thing, whether it's the real deal or not. Any ideas?

Back in the Former USSR

2007-03-31T18:16:00.000+04:00

Hi there.

So, a few words of introduction and explanation are in order. I’ve decided to start blogging for a couple of reasons: 1) it seems a good way to let people in my life know what I’m up to without sending out annoying mass e-mails; and 2) I might as well start getting into the habit of recording my ethnographic impressions of and reactions to Moscow before I need to keep formal research notes. I plan to begin this blog with some very informal ramblings and sprawling notes to myself. But even though this is only a blog, in the interests of protecting my career, I’ll be changing names and obscuring the details of my research.

The title of this blog, “The Moscow Diaries,” is a tip of my cap to Walter Benjamin. Unfortunately, “The Moscow Diary” was already taken by someone in a position that resembles mine uncannily: a visiting scholar living at Moscow State University (MGU) and logging onto the internet at “CafeMax,” a 24-hour café with banks of computer terminals, a new wi-fi system, and seriously overpriced food.

I arrived in Moscow on Thursday afternoon, and so far the trip has gone very smoothly. In my first three hours in Moscow I accomplished more than I had in the first three weeks of my last visit to Russia in 2005. I bought a new SIM card for my cellphone, set myself up with a wireless internet account at CafeMax, and made contact with a visiting American professor and my former roommate from my first stay in the MGU dormitories.

In the nearly two years since my last trip to Moscow, I’ve only noticed minor changes, most of them for the better. Moscow’s subway system now uses convenient “touch” farecards; CafeMax has installed a wi-fi system and has begun selling cheap and somewhat drinkable “student coffee” (i.e. a cup of hot water with a little packet of powdered Nescafe) for only 15 rubles; and the hackers in the MGU dormitories have refined greatly their informal, grey-market internet service. The system works like this: you call the head hacker and ask to get internet access in your dorm room. The hacker will ask you if there’s an Ethernet cable in your room or not. If there isn’t one, then a pair of hackers will be dispatched to fling a cable out from the window of the nearest hub room and in through your window. Looking up at the dormitory, you can see a loose webbing of Ethernet cables connecting students to the local file sharing networks (for free) and to the internet (for paying subscibers). I’m told that I can buy handy “pay as you go” cards at one of the stores in the university’s main building.

I’m now working up the courage to call the head hacker and arrange for an appointment so I can get online this week. I’m more than a little nervous about my linguistic competence at this point. Actually, the word “competence” seems inappropriate. We’re talking about simple brute force utility for now. In the last two years, I haven’t taken Russian classes at my university in the United States, and I’ve only read and talked in Russian sporadically. I’ve been working with a basic survival vocabulary, and I have disregarded my usual concern about using proper grammar. My sentences are short, simple, and blunt.

Surprisingly, this seems to make me a more effective speaker of Russian. In previous trips, I would try to say, “Excuse me, but if you have bliny with ham and cheese, I would very much like one” only to be met with puzzled looks and angry shouts. Now I say, “Bliny with ham and cheese,” and seconds later I have lunch. Getting my cellphone’s SIM card took an hour when I tried two years ago. This time I said something like, “Hi. I want a MegaFon SIM card. How much?” and five minutes later I was taking calls and sending text messages.

I mentioned this to another American student today over lunch, and she replied that in Russia, brevity is the soul of more than just wit: it’s how people prefer to talk in general. She offered an example: “I was dating a Russian guy for a little while, but before long I realized it wasn’t going to work out. In English I would have had to have spent a while telling him that it wasn’t his fault and that we were different people at different stages in our lives and that we each had to follow our own paths or something stupid like that. In Russian I could just say, ‘I don’t really want to be with you anymore’ and it saved a lot of time.”

Anyway, there is much more to say, but in my attempt to adapt to local customs, perhaps I should just keep this entry short and sweet…