So today, being Saturday, I had to go to school for a mandatory meeting of some kind with some director of ACTR who doesn't actually even have an official title in the organization. Whatever. Anyway, I had to waste my Saturday afternoon to come into school and get yakked at by some dude who didn't really know what the fuck was up with anything.
Basically, I think he just wanted to make sure that we were all okay and that we didn't have the program and were going to flip the fuck out and kill somebody. However, but the end of the meeting, I might have flipped out and killed him. I dunno if he was jetlagged or incompetent, or what the deal was, but god damn. Anyway, there's also another good Claire moment in here. I feel like that's all I've been writing about, but she's just been in such good form this week. And it gets better! Just wait! So, this meeting is taking place all in English and the dude is asking us if we're being fed and how classes are or whatever, and Claire, as usual, speaks only in Russian.
In this case, I got pissed off because I felt like it was rude, rather than just because it was obnoxious. I dunno. If someone is asking for your honest opinion and feedback, conducting the conversation in your native language, I really feel like you're being an asshole if you dick around with all the "um, uh..." that you have to do when you look for a word or grammar construction in a language that you're not as familiar with. And I don't care how good you think you are: you still can't express yourself as fluently and fully as you could otherwise. She was saying something about walking home alone in the dark, and I was definitely not the only one doing the "dude, it totally serves her right if something happens" eye-roll.
But moving away from Claire for a little bit, the rest of the meeting was for the poor suckers who are here for a year. We have the option of doing an independent research project, culminating in a 20+ page paper in Russian. And Russian pages are not 8.5x11. Russian pages are fucking huge. Anyway, he was supposed to make us a presentation about the paper, but then he just asked if we had any questions. Uh, yeah. How about you describe what it is that we're supposed to do? Maybe what the process is like? And maybe what sort of expectations you have? It was like pulling fucking teeth.
The upshot is that basically it will be like writing another thesis (except in Russian), complete with the disappearance of whatever non-existent social life I had here anyway. The bitch of it will be that probably most of the material that I want is in photocopies or notes somewhere at my parent's house or on the internet (which I will have to pay to use and pay again to print shit). Plus, there will probably be fees for archives and libraries that the program won't cover. And Russian libraries are pretty whack anyway. You can't check the books out, so you have to read them there. Fucked up, and a pain in my ass. Luckily, if I want to continue my thesis romance, I can buy all my books myself and read them from the (un-)comfort of my very own desk.
I'm still totally unsure what I want to do, but I have a few vague directions. I'm looking at continuing working with Vladimir Sorokin, but with a different text. I could translate, although I'd have to also do an analytic component. I'm okay with this; it's just another thesis. Only maybe bigger and badder because it'll be in Russian. Anyway, Sorokin wrote the words and story for a very controversial opera a couple years ago and I'm playing with the idea of translating the opera and then writing about it. I have yet to read the opera, so I'm not sure what I'd write about, but probably just like what I did with my thesis: what's happening in the text and how it functions within the framework of conceptualist art. Only minus most of the historical crap that I had to do my second chapter on. I have a few days to knock things around and come up with some type of proposal.
After getting minimal information about this project out of the dude from Washington, the meeting degenerated into talk about visa and registration. This is Meg's first year and I don't expect her to know everything. However, this dude from Washington has been a top mucky-muck in the program almost since it was founded. And he can't tell us how many entries we have on our visas or where we could get registered if we came back to Russia before Meg. In Russia, there are these great things called "immigration cards" that the happy people at customs take from you when you leave the country. When you come back, you have to get a new one and be re-registered at the place you live within three days of returning to the country. Talk about a pain in the ass. And why did this dude not know how any of this stuff works? They deal with it every fucking year. Anyway, I guess I really just wanted to express my astonishment that this guy was so worthless. But really, I shouldn't be surprised.
After the meeting, I went to the ygol and did a little bit of GRE crap with Reid while we waited until 6pm, which is when Pheobe said that it was okay to come over. Pheobe's babyshka frequently goes to the dacha for the weekends and Pheobe invites everyone over and we all get drunk and talk shit, and it's generally a pretty good time. But first there was GRE, and then McDonalds and the totally bizarre experience of talking to Reid's boyfriend from home. I really hate doing shit like that. I really really hate when people either hand the phone to you, like "Hey, please talk to this person that you don't know while I'm busy being a dickhead" or even worse, when somebody passes the phone on you and you have to talk to the other random asshole who just happened to be standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. So guys, unless I happen to know the person you're passing me to—don't fucking do it. Especially since I have to spend a small fortune to talk to your ungrateful asses.
Then it was Phoebe's. And Phoebe was greeting everyone with the "You can't come into the kitchen unless you've had your two shots of vodka!" And let me explain that Phoebe's kitchen is about the size of the one at Rob's. And we somehow fit twenty people in there. Crazy. Anyway, I can't even remember ever even taking a shot of vodka, and I don't think that I've even had any vodka since that one night that I got so sick that the only things I remember are Éva holding my hair out my puke and looking at the shoes of the CSO's and vaguely wondering who was seeing me passed out on the floor of the bathroom. So I was, shall we say, a little apprehensive, about the vodka. But a shot is only a shot. And chased by a huge beer, another shot seems like an okay idea. And then maybe another of each, but who's counting at that point anyway?
At some point in all of this, Claire showed up, although I know for a fact that Phoebe had not actually said, "Hey, I'm having a party and you should come." The expression on Jessica's face was absoultely priceless when she answered the phone... Anyway, I vaguely recall needing some more of something to keep me busy and maybe on the other side of the room. I don't place a lot of faith in my ability to control my mouth these days, and it's way worse when I'm cranky. But things were fine and I stayed on the other end of the room. And at some point, I did hear her speaking English. And the weird part of it was that she sounded totally normal and actually like she might be kinda cool to hang out with. Although, I'm very inclined to just chalk this up to being drunk and in a good mood.
Whatever. I got successfully and happily drunk on my one drinking night. And as long as it's only one night a week and I'm still not smoking, I'm not even going to feel bad about how much I think about other extracurricular activities, which I will leave to your imagination, because this is the internet and everybody can be found.
Basically, I think he just wanted to make sure that we were all okay and that we didn't have the program and were going to flip the fuck out and kill somebody. However, but the end of the meeting, I might have flipped out and killed him. I dunno if he was jetlagged or incompetent, or what the deal was, but god damn. Anyway, there's also another good Claire moment in here. I feel like that's all I've been writing about, but she's just been in such good form this week. And it gets better! Just wait! So, this meeting is taking place all in English and the dude is asking us if we're being fed and how classes are or whatever, and Claire, as usual, speaks only in Russian.
In this case, I got pissed off because I felt like it was rude, rather than just because it was obnoxious. I dunno. If someone is asking for your honest opinion and feedback, conducting the conversation in your native language, I really feel like you're being an asshole if you dick around with all the "um, uh..." that you have to do when you look for a word or grammar construction in a language that you're not as familiar with. And I don't care how good you think you are: you still can't express yourself as fluently and fully as you could otherwise. She was saying something about walking home alone in the dark, and I was definitely not the only one doing the "dude, it totally serves her right if something happens" eye-roll.
But moving away from Claire for a little bit, the rest of the meeting was for the poor suckers who are here for a year. We have the option of doing an independent research project, culminating in a 20+ page paper in Russian. And Russian pages are not 8.5x11. Russian pages are fucking huge. Anyway, he was supposed to make us a presentation about the paper, but then he just asked if we had any questions. Uh, yeah. How about you describe what it is that we're supposed to do? Maybe what the process is like? And maybe what sort of expectations you have? It was like pulling fucking teeth.
The upshot is that basically it will be like writing another thesis (except in Russian), complete with the disappearance of whatever non-existent social life I had here anyway. The bitch of it will be that probably most of the material that I want is in photocopies or notes somewhere at my parent's house or on the internet (which I will have to pay to use and pay again to print shit). Plus, there will probably be fees for archives and libraries that the program won't cover. And Russian libraries are pretty whack anyway. You can't check the books out, so you have to read them there. Fucked up, and a pain in my ass. Luckily, if I want to continue my thesis romance, I can buy all my books myself and read them from the (un-)comfort of my very own desk.
I'm still totally unsure what I want to do, but I have a few vague directions. I'm looking at continuing working with Vladimir Sorokin, but with a different text. I could translate, although I'd have to also do an analytic component. I'm okay with this; it's just another thesis. Only maybe bigger and badder because it'll be in Russian. Anyway, Sorokin wrote the words and story for a very controversial opera a couple years ago and I'm playing with the idea of translating the opera and then writing about it. I have yet to read the opera, so I'm not sure what I'd write about, but probably just like what I did with my thesis: what's happening in the text and how it functions within the framework of conceptualist art. Only minus most of the historical crap that I had to do my second chapter on. I have a few days to knock things around and come up with some type of proposal.
After getting minimal information about this project out of the dude from Washington, the meeting degenerated into talk about visa and registration. This is Meg's first year and I don't expect her to know everything. However, this dude from Washington has been a top mucky-muck in the program almost since it was founded. And he can't tell us how many entries we have on our visas or where we could get registered if we came back to Russia before Meg. In Russia, there are these great things called "immigration cards" that the happy people at customs take from you when you leave the country. When you come back, you have to get a new one and be re-registered at the place you live within three days of returning to the country. Talk about a pain in the ass. And why did this dude not know how any of this stuff works? They deal with it every fucking year. Anyway, I guess I really just wanted to express my astonishment that this guy was so worthless. But really, I shouldn't be surprised.
After the meeting, I went to the ygol and did a little bit of GRE crap with Reid while we waited until 6pm, which is when Pheobe said that it was okay to come over. Pheobe's babyshka frequently goes to the dacha for the weekends and Pheobe invites everyone over and we all get drunk and talk shit, and it's generally a pretty good time. But first there was GRE, and then McDonalds and the totally bizarre experience of talking to Reid's boyfriend from home. I really hate doing shit like that. I really really hate when people either hand the phone to you, like "Hey, please talk to this person that you don't know while I'm busy being a dickhead" or even worse, when somebody passes the phone on you and you have to talk to the other random asshole who just happened to be standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. So guys, unless I happen to know the person you're passing me to—don't fucking do it. Especially since I have to spend a small fortune to talk to your ungrateful asses.
Then it was Phoebe's. And Phoebe was greeting everyone with the "You can't come into the kitchen unless you've had your two shots of vodka!" And let me explain that Phoebe's kitchen is about the size of the one at Rob's. And we somehow fit twenty people in there. Crazy. Anyway, I can't even remember ever even taking a shot of vodka, and I don't think that I've even had any vodka since that one night that I got so sick that the only things I remember are Éva holding my hair out my puke and looking at the shoes of the CSO's and vaguely wondering who was seeing me passed out on the floor of the bathroom. So I was, shall we say, a little apprehensive, about the vodka. But a shot is only a shot. And chased by a huge beer, another shot seems like an okay idea. And then maybe another of each, but who's counting at that point anyway?
At some point in all of this, Claire showed up, although I know for a fact that Phoebe had not actually said, "Hey, I'm having a party and you should come." The expression on Jessica's face was absoultely priceless when she answered the phone... Anyway, I vaguely recall needing some more of something to keep me busy and maybe on the other side of the room. I don't place a lot of faith in my ability to control my mouth these days, and it's way worse when I'm cranky. But things were fine and I stayed on the other end of the room. And at some point, I did hear her speaking English. And the weird part of it was that she sounded totally normal and actually like she might be kinda cool to hang out with. Although, I'm very inclined to just chalk this up to being drunk and in a good mood.
Whatever. I got successfully and happily drunk on my one drinking night. And as long as it's only one night a week and I'm still not smoking, I'm not even going to feel bad about how much I think about other extracurricular activities, which I will leave to your imagination, because this is the internet and everybody can be found.
posted by hillary at 3:41 AM
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