The sky is high. The Czar is far.
And have a great band-name. And make me smile. And make me not even mind the bad acoustics inside Kiev’s history Golden Gate building.
Here is their official website. Even if you don’t read Ukrainian, their music starts playing the minute you click on the banner. And that music is cool. As my friend put it – it’s Ukrainian folk laced with quite a bit of good humour and a 1920’s-style playfulness. Also, they do a mean derivation of Bob Marley.
“Gift-shaped bruises” – me on the anti-domestic violence campaign in Ukraine.
Good recent headline on Questioning Transphobia: “Lady Gaga’s Genitals Are Not Our Business.” Nope, they sure aren’t.
Mmmm, abstinence. It’s only “sexy” for a girl to be abstinent, of course.
JO Magazine has responded to criticism of its piece on Western female sex-tourists – and very gracefully, I think. It’s a fraught issue, both for me as an individual and in its larger context, but there was a compelling story there and JO chose to explore it.
From Jezebel: Sexual Harassment is a Crime of Power, Not Passion. “Where are the anti-harassment guides aimed at men?” Latoya Peterson asks. Indeed.
“Enter Little Foot”!!! Dw3t-Hthr gives birth!
And finally, I don’t know WTF is going on at Daisy’s, but it looks pretty odd. Next thing you know, we’ll be finding out that Daisy shot Kennedy, or something. Hardy har har.
I could go on, but it’s been a long day (about which I will hopefully have occasion to tell you later), and I still have work to do.
Today is my cousin Vova’s 26th birthday. From a really lovely boy, he has turned into a really lovely man. I’m really lucky to have him in my life, in whatever capacity (we don’t see each other as often as we should). So this one is for him. Because it’s a special occasion and because Caroline has tagged me in a music meme again, this one will include 21 songs.
There was a gorgeous sunset over the Kiev neighbourhood of Obolon’ today. I don’t very much like Obolon’, but I find that all of the concrete and all of the people drinking beer in summer slippers outside certainly match my mood. Vova grew up in Obolon’ too, and still lives there, so all of it will always be tied with him for me. Obolon’ itself goes down well with Patrick Wolf’s latest album, The Bachelor:
Who Will? – Patrick Wolf
Push It – Garbage
Overcome – Live
Straumnes – Sigur Ros
Kon’ – Lubeh
Nap Rico Van – Jon Swihart
Billie’s Blues (If I love my man) – Billie Holiday
Girl Friday – Beat Crusaders
Forgive Them Father – Lauryn Hill
Cemetery Gates – the Smiths
Lovesong – the Cure
I’m Down (Take 1) – the Beatles
Zombie – the Cranberries
Piemo-piemo – Mariana Sadovska
Catfish Blues – Muddy Waters
Na Sever – Melnitsa
Fuck You – Lilly Allen
Go Square Go – Glasvegas
Mr. Tambourine Man – Bob Dylan
Shining Light – Ash
Djivaen – Vassilis Tsabropoulos
Here’s Patrick Wolf with the video for “Hard Times,” off the The Bachelor:
Sufficiently glam for a birthday, I would imagine.
And if these are hard times (and I have no doubt), here are some old times, the ones that were still going on when Vova and I ran away from our great-grandmother and hid in the sandbox:
Well, this is hardcore vintage. Before either one of us was born. But still. It counts.
“And the fight continues again. And the heart is unquiet in the breast.” And so on.
(I love the CPRF – Communist Party of the Russian Federation – slogan at the end, it’s so adorable)
I rushed out to meet my friends on Livoberezhna metro station last night, to see the new Almodóvar film (we all got the sense that we were watching some sort of illegally downloaded version, judging by the quality; also, I HATE DUBBING; also, “Broken Embraces” is pretty awesome, even if it leaves you feeling a little, well, broken). It was late on a cool evening, and the sun was going down.
At the Dnipro metro station, the train emerges from the underground and runs over a bridge onto the other side of the river. At Hydropark, a young man got on the station and sang about “colours fading” in a beautiful, happy voice, a plastic bag swinging from his wrist as he played his guitar. There was a very glamorous woman sitting next to me, a tiny Yorkshire Terrier with a polka-dotted bow on its head peeking out from her white leather purse. When the young man began to sing, the Yorkie climbed out of the purse and onto her mistress’s arm and wagged her tail happily. “You like music, don’t you, my sweet one?” The woman cooed.
We were headed for Livoberezhna and the dying light of the day gave even the most ravaged faces on that metro car the quality of icons. I remembered Paustovksy on his partying days in Kiev as a young man: “…And the morning light made faces look muted and beautiful.”
I dropped a ghrivna into the black plastic bag, and the young man played up to me for a while. The dog was ecstatic. The train ground to a halt at my stop, and as I exited, I felt as though someone had attached little flapping wings to my feet.
Here.
I’m one of those odd people who despised her period until she became sexually active. I’m not sure just how exactly my body chemistry changed back then, but periods went *poof* and became more bearable. Something I don’t even think about unless it’s my second day, which is the worst. Considering the amount of work I do at home, I am definitely thinking of buying a DivaCup now. Re-using things is always good.
I personally find it interesting when men in particular freak out over menstrual blood and ask you to “please don’t talk about it, PLEASE!” I think it goes back to those days when we were all living in caves and looking for lice in each other’s back hair, and men had to observe how a woman could just bleed for days and not die, whereas if they bled like that, they’d surely not survive, and it must have caused a great deal of confusion and weirdness and accusations of showing off.
Natalia A. 