Giant hogweeds on the rampage, that one rape movie you should watch (if you can stomach it), and the general state of Russia’s film industry

I have been writing for your benefit, dear reader. This is for you – all for you.

First of all, stay away from the freaky plants that look like Queen Anne’s lace that had been watered with bovine growth hormone (and find out what they have to do with the worst dictator in Russian history).

Second of all, here is a review of “Twilight Portrait.” No, it has nothing to do with sexy vampires who enjoy stalking underage girls. Instead, it’s probably one of the most well-made films to have come out of Russia in recent years. It’s also not the kind of movie you watch if you don’t think you can handle some pretty horrific depictions of rape.

And speaking of rape and such – here is my take on why Russian dramas are not doing too well at home. I think it’s a combination of a lot of factors, including the general state of the market, and I really hate the simplistic explanations of the cultural elite that amount to, “Well, people are just stupid nowadays, and can’t appreciate good cinema.” Not quite.

Notes to the wannabe Carrie Bradshaws – from the raggedy edge

Taylor Cotter, the author of this gem, is hurt and surprised by the amount of vitriol the Internet has now dumped on her. I’ve got no desire to join in a public pile-on at a time when someone is already upset by the negative attention, but I did feel serious secondhand embarrassment upon reading her lament that life is just not “adventurous” enough now that she has a full-time job, a car and a 401k – and all at the age of 22. I think it’s perfectly normal to bitch and moan about a general lack of adventure – even I do it sometimes – and it’s not that I find Cotter to be “ungrateful.” I don’t think she’s a bad person, she just wrote an unfortunate post that managed to combine just the right amount of popular misconceptions about the age we’re living in that felt like a slap in the face for a lot of people who are genuinely struggling – in the U.S. and beyond.

First of all, equating financial stability with adulthood is ridiculous in this day and age. There are plenty of people who are decades older than we are, who’ve lost their savings and/or their homes. Some have had spells of living out of their cars and “bathing” in rest area bathrooms. For some, those spells have become day-to-day reality. This isn’t happening because those people are immature and silly and spent too much time playing Xbox.

Second of all, we don’t choose financial stability – most of the time, it chooses us. I think it’s healthy to pat yourself on the back every once in a while, but guess what? Being able to do internships that translate into a well-paying job out of college is a mark of privilege for most people, as most internships tend to be unpaid. That’s just one example of how kids from poorer families tend to get screwed even before they enter the job market. I think it’s fine to say that “Hey, I worked my ass off to get where I’m at right now.” But not acknowledging the element of luck – and luck is a capricious thing, darlings – just perpetuates the same damn stereotype of some people being “good enough” to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, and others “not good enough.”

Also, there’s nothing romantic or adventurous about financial instability – or downright poverty. Hey, I got a little adventure for ya – how about losing teeth in your 20’s due to lack of access to preventative care? Sexy, huh? How about people who pile on the pounds because they have no time or energy or money to be able to eat a balanced diet? Can you still be Carrie Bradshaw if the Dior don’t fit? That’s not the worst of it, really, some people, for example, blow their brains out when faced with a mountain of debt, unpaid medical bills and layoffs. I’m sure that those closed-casket funerals are awesome, character-building experiences for their friends and relatives to attend.

And what’s up with this ridiculous notion that adventures are easy? I live a life of intrigue and danger – mostly not by choice, I might add – and let me tell you, I shed copious amounts of sweat and tears (and blood too – like the time I cut myself while trying to eat at a movie festival, because I flew in after spending most of the night up with a fussy baby, was tired as balls, and had no one to hold my steak knife for me.). Just because something makes for a good story doesn’t make it a good experience. An adventure is not a shampoo commercial – though that doesn’t mean that it’s not worth having. It’s just also worth having it in perspective.

And while we’re at it, can we please recall that Carrie Bradshaw is a fictional fucking character? And while fairly admirable as far as fictional fucking characters go – nobody could afford those clothes on an average journalist’s salary.

I’m just sayin.

Orhan Pamuk got even better

After he won that Nobel Prize.

Which is sort of encouraging, isn’t it? I mean, if I were him, I would make a nest of my laurels and not so much rest upon them as grow completely catatonic for the next decade or so. I guess it’s a good thing that the most famous living Turkish writer is not secretly a post-Soviet American lady who specializes in modern drama and screeching about judicial reform.

And as far as Pamuk’s work goes, I’m talking about “The Museum of Innocence,” of course. I’ve never known a book to be so delightfully geeky and yet sensual at the same time. Sensual geekdom – Pamuk has managed to achieve it. If I wore hats, I’d throw mine in the air.

As such, I just have a cool headband that I bought specifically for the festival in Istanbul that I want to advertise at this time:

Istanbul’s public transport in May. It was a happy time. It made me feel more mysterious than I actually am. It’s the same feeling I get when I read Pamuk – that whole notion that people are secretly complicated, and most rules of decorum were established to hide this fact.

Of course, “The Museum of Innocence” is a catalogue of ignorance first and foremost. The objects displayed in the museum are like stand-ins for character flaws: lack of self-awareness, stunted emotions, and so on. When you think you’re taking possession of love, what you really end up with, in the end, is flotsam.

Thank God we can’t afford Burberry Baby

… I guess?

Then again, I can’t imagine most well-adjusted parents buying novachek booties. And by this I don’t mean that Alyosha and I are particularly well-adjusted. We just happen to find sanity an admirable quality.

I am amused, and slightly petrified, whenever I observe so-called helicopter parents from a distance. And by this I in no way mean stay-at-home moms and or dads (whom I envy sometimes). I don’t necessarily believe that I don’t fall into the same emotional traps with Lev. I miss him at work, for one thing, and constantly want to overcompensate. We just can’t afford to spoil him rotten. Maybe that’s a good thing? Because I do fret about it, I really do. You want what’s best for your child during the best of times – and you’re especially sensitive to such issues when the world economy falters.