More real estate drama – this time in the Moscow region

A nightmare that dates back to 2004 – and refuses to go away.

What I found truly shocking when speaking to people about this story was the fact that because of some kind of pissing contest between the local authorities and the construction company, residents couldn’t get ambulances to come out to their location. Because the location technically didn’t exist. And while I use the phrase “pissing context” here, it’s very obvious that the health and safety of the residents its ultimately the responsibility of the local government in the town of Oktyabrsky. This is a classic situation of Russian bureaucrats gone wild. These people don’t have the slightest notion that they’re public servants.

Zombies, Goethe, peen. Also, Moscow.

I have reviewed Alexander Sokurov’s “Faust” for The Moscow News, as promised.

For a person who mostly stumbles around groggily in between caffeine sessions, I’ve had a very productive week. Hell, I even saw Putin. Though perhaps the best sight wasn’t Putin: it was journalist and author Anna Arutunyan, being lifted by a huge, factory worker-type in the air, all to get a better glimpse of the aforementioned prime minister at Luzhniki stadium.

Later, Anna and I went in search of food and my husband, and had a long conversation about physics, primal energy and politics, some which we even taped. It referenced everything from frescoes in the historic Kirillovskaya church in Kiev to Vladislav Surkov. Snow flurries drifted to the ground. The air in Moscow was rapidly warming. We must have sounded like two idiots to anyone who caught even the briefest snatch of our rambling discussion.

On our way home to the baby that night, my husband and I dropped into the Gogol night club, our Kilometer Zero. Maybe. The bouncers were still polite, the crowd was still refreshingly human. Outside the dressing room, a lantern styled like an old street lamp still burned.

In the summer’s, Moscow’s swanky Stoleshnikov pereulok attracts rent-boys who discreetly advertise themselves to passing ladies and gentlemen. But when we came out of Gogol, it was cold and dark and the wind had changed directions, hinting, also discreetly, at spring.

An observation through the general haze

Director Anastasia Patlay took this picture of us at a party celebrating ten years since the creation of Moscow’s Teatr.doc (which is a whole separate story, when you think about it – the role that this theater has played in both of our lives is just weird to contemplate. Weird, but awesome as well. It’s a great place, and if you’re ever in Moscow, you have to go. It gets lambasted for being “too political,” because art in Russia must be “safe,” you see, and not make any bureaucrats nervous, but all of that is pretty silly.), and when I saw it, I noticed two things: we look happy, and we look like we’re about to die.

I like marriage and parenthood and work – and I just need a leeeeeetle bit of rest. OK? OK? Please? Well, FINE THEN. FINE.

(You’re probably going to say that exhausted new parents don’t go to parties. And I’ll tell you that you just haven’t been to Moscow. Maybe.)

"I love you." *yawn*

I’m a stereotypical yuppie parent

Despite 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.