(----) In Russia Vol.13

You know you're in Russia when this fucking terrifying mannequin is supposed to advertise children's clothing. I can't imagine it outside of some movie a la "Child's Play 4" or "Gingerdead Man 2: The Passion of the Crust." A real movie, people, check it out.


YO CRASH: CHECK OUT THESE LOUIS VUITTON SNEAKERS. I BET THEY COST MORE THAN I MAKE IN A MONTH.


This is a store in the metro. The sign says, "Clothes for dogs." (RIKKK?)


Interior of store.


Interior of bar owned by Denis Simachev, perhaps Moscow's most outrageous fashion designer. Last year he covered a Porsche in gold.


Simachyov had his Fall/Winter 2009-10 opening at his gallery, which is a 10-minute walk from my house. I got an invitation from my job, so me and my roommate got dressed up and rolled up in that piece. It was pretty hype. Free champagne, trays of fresh strawberries on the bar and, in a touch that would frighten Silk Nogg, a baby in a suit. True story.


Apparently, wearing a bass is part of his new line.


Here's what the invitation to the show looked like. It came in a glass frame, and this image was projected onto the wall at the show and featured on the back of several leather jackets featured on the catwalk. This sort of irony can only be found in this country.


Peep the stonewashed denim kimono.


The chick in the headband and big earrings is Ksenia Sobchak, one of the most famous celebrities in Russia. Her father is Anatoly Sobchak, former mayor of St. Petersburg, aka Vladimir Putin's former boss. She was slummin' at this fashion show in some stonewashed jeans and a leather jacket.


And the man himself, Mr. Simachev, in the grey sweater. I couldn't get him to turn around.


The night before the Simachev show I went to see Sergei Shnurov's new band, Ruble (it was kind of a ballin' weekend). Shnurov is the singer of Leningrad, one of Russia's most popular bands. He's known for his vulgar lyrics and for being banned from playing in Moscow by mayor Yury Luzhkov (for those of you paying attention, this is the same mayor whose taint was being rubbed by a fairly large woman in the first photo of the last LOR post). Sergei famously disbanded Leningrad, a 15-person ska-punk band, in December, and formed Ruble, a fairly straightforward rock band that play harsh, extremely blunt rock that sort of blends The Kinks and Nirvana with a very angry, very Russian aesthetic. In some ways, this would be the U.S. equivalent of Nirvana in the 1990s.


Shnurov rockin' the fuck out.


A room full of Russians screaming for Sergei to bring the rock.

NEXT WEEK: Documentation of last weekend's return to St. Petersburg, where all this madness you're reading started almost 3 years ago. Things to look forward to:
1. Broken urinals.
2. Dancing men in elastic workout pants.
3. A centaur.
(all three things occurred in the same place)

Until then.....

(----) In Russia Vol.12

You know you're (back) in Russia when you have this picture of Yury Luzhkov, the mayor of Moscow, having his taint massaged on your refrigerator.


This is an ad on the window of a Rostix-KFC, a fried-chicken chain in Moscow, inviting people from "17 to 60" to come work with them. Notice how this young man's demeanor changes because of his status as a gainfully employed chicken slinger; his world used to be black-and-white while his self-confidence left something to be desired (the photo on the left says, "Before work at Rostix-KFC"), but a few months later (middle photo) the added bonus of a uniform and a bright yellow existence sees a smile creeping into that sallow visage. "Today" (right photo), he's happy as a clam, safe in the knowledge that he's got "flexible hours" and a "happy team of friends" at his greasy, mayonaise-smelling job.


Those after-Christmas sales apparently spread into January in Russia, which apparently means that all those leftover, incredibly strugglin' Christmas trees that didn't sell the first time round are now being sold at INSANE PRICES!!!!!!!!!!






The snow problem is one that starts out beautifully, blanketing the normally filthy city in white, and ends up turning into either frozen brown ice or slushy brown mud. Pictured above is a sidewalk that is too frozen to walk on, so passers-by have created a path in the actual snow.


This path is not immune to freezing, but this isn't stopping this woman from owning it in these high-heeled boots. She did a better job than I did of making her way across the surface.


Jacket.


Teapot.


Aftermath. A passport was lost (not mine) and then found in the cupboard a day later, tucked behind the pasta strainer. A roommate was removed from the club after attempting to grab the microphone off the stage as the band was packing up. A day was spent recovering.


This motorcycle was outside a bar, and as this man ran to catch up with his friends, he hopped on and encouraged me to get his photo.


DJ at a restaurant. For some reason, "Rugrats" is playing on the screen behind him.


Our waiter at the same restaurant could not stop dancing.


I'll leave you with this clip of Russian rapper Vitya AK-47 kickin' it live in the studio until he realizes his homies are filming. Afisha, a popular entertainment magazine in Moscow, refers to Vitya as Russia's answer to Lil' Wayne. I mean, someone's gotta respond to that guy.

Run, Sugarbush, Run!

Need more be said? Probably.

Here's Jowling at You, Kids

Jowl to the left.


Jowl to the right.


Jowl like the dead.


Jowl like Jowlhard Richter


Jowl like you're married.


Jowl like it's your last night in town.


Jowl like you're skeptical this might end up on Facebook.


Jowl like....um..........

Last Day In America Jowl

A return to the void......

A Holiday Message From Silk Nogg

(actual text entered and sent by Silk Nogg; no alterations or corrections applied)

Babies don't know what they are, they just the plastic and then when the eagle comes they try to act all normal. Some babies can't even be trusted with your money or your credit. Give a baby credit and you have invited the repo man to your wedding. He's gonna take it all, that yellow drippy stuff.

Merry Chr-- I mean Happy Hanukkah!

(----) In Russia Vol.11

You know you're in Russia when...fuck, you broke your camera and there's an SUV with jaguars airbrushed all over it right outside your front door. And there's a babushka in the metro swaddled in dirty clothes and pastel handkerchief per usual, but she's augmented this season's style with some huge fake Dior sunglasses with transparent gray-pink lenses. Or you go out drinking with colleagues at "Zolotaya Vobla," which is basically the Russian version of Applebee's, which is to say that it's a total Bizarro-world Applebee's, complete with incredible Bizarro-world Infectious Blues Band.


But at least this hideous behemoth with an eagle was available before the camera was broken.


This is what happens to snow when it doesn't melt initially.


A co-worker exhaling post-work.


Red tunnel.


An ad for fragrances you can use in your car. I wonder if "Extreme" actually smells like a real Russian car: B.O., cologne and cigarette smoke.


This is an ice bar, which is basically a room full of ice in the back of a gourmet grocery store. There's no bartender, not to mention patrons. To get any service you just have to find someone who works in the grocery store and tell them you want to hang out in this freezing room for a while.


Another lost-eye view from the dancefloor. The excited head popping up in the bottom is one of my roommates. This was the last photo taken before the camera was broken.

OK: since the camera has been broken and this will probably be my last post until January, since I'll be home in 5 days, I'll leave you with one of Russia's most fascinating contemporary personalities: Nikolai Valuev, the current WBA heavyweight champion of the world. He's seven feet tall and eats three kilograms of meat every day.


Valuev fighting, or rather, playing with, John Ruiz, who of course lost.


Valuev at home with his wife, Galya, who he apparently wooed with poetry he wrote himself. I don't see how this shit works. Isn't there some sort of law?


Valuev shaving.


LOOK! He's jowling without moving his eyes! A true master.


Another touching shot of him letting some little kid play in the ring.

Now, if you're Evander Holyfield, and you were once the heavyweight champ but now you've got some serious financial troubles, and maybe you saw "Rocky Balboa" a few too many times, what do you do to raise money so that your next $10 million dollar estate won't get foreclosed on?


You challenge Valuev, who is 11 inches taller and 11 years younger than you are, in order to take back your title.


I mean, HOLY SHIT, look how fast this thing moves! Evander, take it back, man, it's not gonna happen for you.


OH SHIT! Last week was this guy's birthday!


OH SHIT AGAIN! Today is THIS guy's birthday!

And they said this'd never fly! LW SUITE

Oh man oh man oh man. It's finally here! Le Weekend presents you, the so-adorably-unsuspecting public, with our debut release: the 6-song EP Suite. Set to media by the golden-earred (it's a condition) Nick Peterson, recorded at Track and Field Studios (RIP) during its last days, and augmented by some of our extremely talented friends (musically by Crowmeat Bob, Dave Cantwell, Kerry Cantwell, Chuck Johnson, Jeff Herrick, and Rob Koegler; visually by Ben Spiker and Lincoln Hancock), it's something the five* of us in Le Weekend are truly proud to present. In other words, you should totally buy a copy and tell us you think we're neat.

OK, so another thing you should totally do is come out to this Thursday's !EVENT! at the Nightlight. We're celebrating in style and with friends.

• Le Weekend- well, that's us and we're bringing you this amazing record, so we're not sweating it. k?


• Actual Persons (Living or Dead) - how can you not love a band with the Cantwells, Joyce V., and Mike Post?


• Crash - So we're not friends on MySpace. We cool in REAL LIFE.


• dj NASTY BOOTS - This guy has the most inefficient iPod I've ever seen, but it makes the people move somehow, like crazy.

*Now the heavy part, remember, where I said the five of us? Le Weekend the organization is losing two stellar talents after this show. Ben and Erin Ridings, having braved the Greensboro-Chapel Hill drive for more than a year now, are stepping down. I miss them already. Thankfully this iteration of Le Weekend can go out the right way, celebrating an amazing musical accomplishment we created together. The remaining three of us plan to forge ahead as a trio in continuation of this grand experiment--Ben and Erin are irreplaceable, so it would be pointless to try to replace them. Godspeed, yo.

So be there.