Wednesday, July 01, 2009
(----) in Russia Vol.23--Special Edition: Deep Zeke, Part the First
You know you're in Russia when shoes end up forlorn and unclaimed on someone's gate.
Zeke Graves kickin' it up in the lab, aka my windowsill.
Ok, so you guys have seen the sneak preview, presumably (if not, it's a few posts down). Context beach: Outside of the Novokuznetskaya metro station was this band called Akuly ("Sharks") that plays every weekend. They attract a large crowd of onlookers -- bums, drunks, policemen snapping photos with their cameraphones, distinguished gentlemen, teenagers, foreigners, etc. This dude, who our party dubbed "Splitso" for his ability to do splits upon command, was incredibly inebriated. He fell on his face at least twice while we were there, to the point that his face was bruised and bleeding, but he refused to let that stop him from splitting. Or stumbling. (P.S. to RB....there was a dog running around, too.)
Akuly in action.
There was also my man here, who apparently just got off the set of David Lynch's new movie. He had some extremely distinguished moves but unfortunately was super-creepy. When the one woman who would dance with him took a break, he wandered around the crowd attempting to solicit dances from any woman he saw. He sent a couple of 15-year-old girls screaming into the night after attempting to beckon them on the "dance floor."
"Oh! A female! No matter that she's already with some dude...I'll mosey my way in there somehow, Dracula-style."
These people were, amazingly, not drunk. Akuly's oeuvre of classic rock covers had moved them enough to get down.
Splitso and Dracula. Drac, being the distinguished gentleman that he is, noticed Splitso's injuries and suggested they leave together. Which they did. One can only imagine the strange uber-paternal bond they formed later.
Zeke and our friend Yegor debate the "sleeveless vs. sleeved" issue while our roommate abstains from the heated argument.
AND NOW....DEEP ZEKE TRAVELS TO ST. PETERSBURG:
This ad is for flooring. But it asks you to imagine your floor as the intro to a James Bond film, all busty and willing to unzip itself. In Russia, floor seduces you.
Nothing out of the ordinary here. Other than Dmitry Bedderhead looking for a handout.
Statue by a canal in Petersburg.
Zeke by a canal in Petersburg.
So we ended up at this bar called Fidel, where on a Monday night the place was fucking jam-packed, and the DJ was this really big dude with a ponytail who started the crowd off with the usual American Top 40 hits of the past few years: Britney, Rhianna, etc.
Then my man got really animated.
He started spinning Russian hip-hop, and the place went kinda nuts. Which was crazy, because the floor in this place was so warped that you would literally trip on it if you attempted to dance.
Asserting his superiority.
This is an ad for ice-skating bears.
This is the former throne of Peter the Great. I did jowl in front of it, but it was on Zeke's camera and it has not yet reached my grasp. Perhaps this is for the better, but I think not.
Truth in advertising.
What? The packaging had me at hello.
There's so much more, but not enough time (or patience on your part, I would imagine) to deal with it all in one post. Next time: