For his radicalism.
In case you were wondering.
Should have a review of “Faust” coming out in the The Moscow News this Friday. Oh man. I am going to town.
Archive for the ‘fandom’ Category
I’m a stereotypical yuppie parent
February 18, 2012Despite being broke and living in the jungles of Novogireyevo.
Lev and I listen to the Marriage of Figaro on Saturday mornings.
At night, I can leave Lev with daddy and go trudging through the snow. The soldiers outside the barracks near the ponds still offer me their cigarettes. Nikolay Khomeriki still tells me all the same things when he’s drunk (and he still doesn’t know who I am).
Most of the time I’m just bloated with bags under my eyes, and with high blood pressure, and with distant plans to “get myself together” one of these days – but I also don’t hate myself. I wouldn’t have the energy to do so even if I tried.
I walk by the frozen ponds in the dark, and listen to the sound of the highway mingling with the sound of the winter woods. The birches and oaks are asleep and, at the same time, they are watching. I come hope and peel off layers of clothing, and Lev is asleep in his crib, and we drink discounted wine and make no plans for the future. We’re learning to live in the here and now.
On a lighter note
December 22, 2011Lyovka’s new nickname is “little buddy.” I’m an old “Lost” fan, so when we’re together I sing “you are little buddy” to him.
Money and the (pregnant) ladies: song and dance
June 12, 2011I fell for you jiving and I too you in
Now all you’ve got to offer me is a drink of ginWhy don’t you do right?
Like some other men do
Get out of here and get me some money, too
Unlikes some other women I know, I have no problem admitting that I want a guy to pull his weight – and then some. Especially when you’re expecting a baby, geez. It sucks being a hugely pregnant breadwinner, when you’re not “winning” that much “bread” to begin with – and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. It sucks going to the readers of this blog, cap in hand, because your cashflow issues are about to ruin your credit history – and much worse. I mean, what’s a credit history when you’re going, “Hmmm, do I buy meat or do I buy prenatal vitamins?!” Though I am incredibly grateful to the readers of this blog – both ones I know, and ones I’ve never spoken to before – who have been so generous in these last few weeks. I used to get very embarrassed when accepting gifts, but now I am just absurdly grateful.
As I have found out, cashflow can also hinge on communication. When we found out about my pregnancy, my theater director husband expressed his wish to remain in film school – but said he would do odd jobs to help out. My response? I initially talked him out of it. I thought I could do alright on my own financially, considering the stuff I had lined up, and I thought that film school was ultimately more important. Which it is – especially if you want more contacts and job offers down the line – but it’s not the end-all, be-all of existence. Especially not with a baby on the way. This is what I’ve had to learn the hard way.
There used to be shame, for me, in admitting that I want to be financially dependent and taken care of every once in a while. That shame is loooong gone, baby. I don’t need to strike a pose and cock my gun and act badass – when I’m not actually badass. I feel rather like a girl in her mother’s too-big pumps and some clown make-up, playing a role. I suppose this is why so many women dread pregnancy to begin with.
The actual physical state I’m in, though, I don’t find dreadful. It’s been an amazing process, from the first flutterings to the karate kicks. “I am a little barge, bouncing on the big ocean waves, with a little passenger on board,” I tell my husband when I’m being particularly wistful and passive-aggressive. “I am a little barge. Water splashes on my deck.” Sometimes, I go full-on Linda Hamilton in “T2,” when she’s having one of her moments: “You think you’re so creative. You don’t know what it’s like to really create something; to create a life; to feel it growing inside you…” She did have a point.
And all of that taken into consideration, I still don’t think that greater happiness is possible – when it’s just me, my husband and The Globe, and The Globe is all animated, making his father laugh. I’m glad I realize that now. It would be hard to look back on this years and years down the line, and go, “Well, damn. We were so happy. Funny how I never realized as much.”
Yes, a fighter and NOT a mage
June 1, 2011I have walked into D&D games and had some snarky asshole male gamer ask me where my chainmail bikini was, or give me shit for wanting to play a fighter rather than a cleric or a mage…
Ren, Sexism in Gaming series
I like drawn out, single-player RPGs with a bunch of side quests – games I come back to for months on end, which are an entirely private experience (private, in the sense that I’ll have an amused member of my household stand over my shoulder and say things like, “Just give up on the Deathclaws* already”). I don’t really want to interact with other gamers most of the time; hell, I don’t even connect much to the “Little Big Planet” network. I’m a lone wolf, goddamit, and I just don’t want to deal with douchebags. And even if you don’t have voice chat, the douchebags will pick you out if you happen to have a female-sounding nickname in particular.
Still, because I invest so much time and energy in my characters, I do, occasionally, want to share them in some way or another. When I was playing “Elder Scrolls”, I was particularly proud of my character – a female Dark Elf I named Mido (I named her after my then-boyfriend’s brother, because I bought the game around the time of his high school graduation, as corny as it sounds). Mido was a warrior character, specializing in swords and heavy armour. Some of that heavy armour made her look a little bit ridiculous, but I still give props to the game designers - no stupid chainmail bikinis for my Dark Elf.
Now, there are plenty of cool spells and the like in “Elder Scrolls,” but I always felt more confident with a sword. And what I found is that many people viewed the mage-type characters as having been designed exclusively “for girls.” Why? A whack of the sword indulges my inner bloodthirsty savage, dammit. In “New Vegas,” I similarly enjoy blowing the heads off various people and creatures. I can’t wait for the inevitable bloodshed and doom of “Skyrim.”
I don’t think there’s anything inherently “girly” about a mage character either. In “Elder Scrolls,” I found magic trickier to pull off, truth be told. I could never aim my spells right, for example – and I was often pretty lax about acquiring the more complicated ones (until I got to the Mages Guild storyline, I suppose). I always felt that battle magic in “Elder Scrolls” required more work, and as such, was more challenging.
Same goes for sneaking and archery skills in “Elder Scrolls” in particular. The former I eventually mastered, the latter I pretty much consistently sucked at. In analyzing why, I’ve come to the conclusion that these activities weren’t nearly as useful to me in channeling my own aggression. Like Ren points out in her series – gaming is often about being able to be someone you’re not, someone you want to be. I’m not good when it comes to anger issues – wiping out a nest of vampires in a cave somewhere does actually help, even if all of the action occurs on a television screen.
Snobs dismiss gaming as mindless escapism, but the act of escaping is never particularly mindless. It tells you a lot about yourself – as you get busy lovingly putting down a bunch of frag mines in order to appropriately welcome an approaching Deathclaw or get ready to finally say goodbye to Umaril the Unfeathered, the Liberace to Dagon’s Rob Zombie. I have found the escapism especially useful while pregnant, because it’s not as if I can run a few kilometers right now in order to deal with rage. Angry pregnant ladies, take note: gaming can be good for you.
hey bitch
As a writer, I pay special attention to plot arcs in RPGs, and I find the whole structure of games to be very useful when it comes to writing fiction, though that’s a whole other story. For now, I’m just grateful that the medium exists in one way or another – and I’m glad that it’s evolving. And being an asshole to women because more and more of them are also claiming it as their own will, hopefully, get old eventually. I mean, look at it that way – my husband likes me way more after I’ve just killed a bunch of zombies. I become a more pleasant person. Everyone wins.
* – For those who aren’t familiar with the Fallout series, Deathclaws are bad motherfuckers, and not in an endearing, Samuel L. Jackson way either. They look like Satan on dinosaur legs, and repeatedly hand your ass to you.
Sweet Lord, there is no such thing as an “illegitimate child”
May 27, 2011Even a cursory glance at the coverage of the Schwarzenegger cheating-and-paternity scandal shows that WAY too many people still believe in the whole idea of “legitimate children” and “illegitimate children.” It goes beyond mere word-choice. The “illegtimate child” has an aura of embarrassment attached, at best. Oops, your parents messed up, and produced you! If only your dad had kept it in his pants and/or wore a condom! Or else, the child is viewed as an oughtright inconvenience. Some people even think that laws should be rewritten, so that the little “bastards” in question should not threaten a “legitimate” family’s finances.
This gif sums up my feelings on the matter:
I think it's nice, no? And oddly subtle, for a gif of this nature.
I’m not one of those people who can honestly say that she loves her neighbour (especially not when he’s blasting really bad techno at 2 a.m.) or turns the other cheek. Like any person, I’d be pretty pissed off if my husband went off and had a kid with someone else, and I was in the dark about it. The reason why so much aggression and discomfort centers on the child has to do with the fact that the child serves as living, breathing “evidence” of a betrayal. People often project their own insecurities about their relationships onto children like that, without even knowing the child personally or consciously acknowledging what it is they’re doing. All of that is perfectly understandable.
None of it excuses the ridiculous label of “illegitimacy.”
Arnold
May 20, 2011So I was in a bad mood – because I’m on too many drugs, because I’m paranoid about being able to choose the right hospital to give birth in, because a film synopsis is not coming along, take your pick – and then I was reminded of how much I love Arnold Schwarzenegger:
There’s been too little Schwarzenegger in my life as of late. Maybe it’s because I married a dude who’s obsessed with Jim Jarmusch and Lars von Trier (oh, and speaking of that – um, yeah, Cannes…). Or because getting older means, to a certain extent, letting go of past joys. Or maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones. I suppose everyone has an excuse for having too little Schwarzenegger in their lives, and mine are all good ones, but still. In times of crisis, a lack of Arnold only makes your problems worse. Don’t let it happen to you.
Glory to Gagarin
April 12, 2011
Image: Boris Kaufman (copyright: RIA Novosti)
Odd to think that my grandfather apparently met him, once upon a time. Or maybe not so odd, all things considered. I realized this while going through some of my grandfather’s old pictures just a few years ago. There, among faces I didn’t know, or else faces that seemed slightly familiar, shots of one unmistakable smiling face, glowing predictably at the heart of what appeared to be yet another Soviet military function.
Among other, slightly more important stuff, Gagarin is probably directly responsible for my eventual falling in love with “Star Trek.”
Life, death and pomegranate therapy
January 27, 2011If times are not good, it may be a good time to eat a pomegranate. Not only is that thing rich in iron, when in the process of devouring it, you may begin to understand why it’s symbolic of spring. I don’t believe that there is a “proper” way to eat a pomegranate – just make sure to devote your attention to it as you’re doing it. It’s a messy fruit, which means that it demands your concentration. It has to be you and the pomegranate. It can’t be you, the pomegranate and the internet, for example. It really oughtn’t be you, the pomegranate and your problems. You can cast those aside for the time being, so that you can give the pomegranate your full attention.
It was probably meant to be eaten while naked, but if you’re like me and still trying to get over the flu and are mostly in bed, then you can eat it in your best, worst clothes. The sort of clothes you wear when you’re not even trying. Sometimes, not trying is good.
If you struggle with being good to yourself, like I sometimes do, a pomegranate may be a good place to start. It’s the colour of rubies – but way cheaper and more useful. It’s sweet but not too sweet. It inspires a dedication to gratifying yourself. It stands out against the backdrop of a Russian winter – even one as fluffy and white and crystalline as we’re having this time around in Moscow.
“Nadia, what do you live for?” – Is a question from one of my favourite plays by Anna Yablonskaya. If you ever find yourself even asking yourself that question, try getting your hards on a whole pomegranate. Cut it open slowly and eat it just as slowly, and think – I live for me.
Every once in a while, you just need some Shakira
January 16, 2011A classic from my high school years:
