This is really happening somewhere.

(----) 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.


.....


"Dudes roll."


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.


Obedience fail.


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:
--Ghostface Killah
--Russian cougars
--Balalaika solos

Until then...

Let's Talk Kanye

So Kanye wrote a book. And he claims that he hates books. This quote right here from a recent interview kinda sums it up:

"Sometimes people write novels and they just be so wordy and so self-absorbed," West said. "I am not a fan of books. I would never want a book's autograph.
"I am a proud non-reader of books. I like to get information from doing stuff like actually talking to people and living real life," he said.

Me too, Kanye. Me too. Well, wait, not the "proud non-reader" part (as if to non-read is an active verb -- "Hey, did you non-read that book I loaned you?"). And I definitely don't want a book's autograph either. But I am increasingly subscribing to this guy's philosophy on Kanye.


I mean, even Pepper Keenan (above), formerly of Corrosion of Conformity, called Kanye retarded. Although, why he feels the need to weigh in across genres is a little puzzling. And also, shit, the bass player from C.O.C. was one of the most retarded individuals I ever encountered working at a rock club. I overheard him telling his girlfriend that the speakers of his bass amp were "where the sound comes from." And not in a condescending or confident tone; it was more of the tone of a child who is amazed at all the pretty colors coming from the TV. So I would consider Pepper an authority.

Discuss! Also, BACKGROUND WIN.

You are

Is it me, or can you kind of see faces here? Actually, wait. No, actually, never mind.

(----) in Russia Vol.22

You know you're in Moscow when the sweet light of salvation is green.


Or there's a leopard-print backhoe digger on your street at midnight on a Friday.


Or a pigeon in the metro.


Or a giant man-beer outside the metro.


Or this assortment of lunch items at the neighborhood grocery.


Or this cat in said grocery, who you just saw taking a shit in a litterbox behind the lunch counter.


Speaking of cats — hey kitty, kitty, why are you crying? Can I do something for you?


NO. FUCK OFF. I'M BUSY HATIN'.


Bottles.


Members of the Israeli Eurovision posse kickin' it.


WARNING: This is not a strip club. It's a normal one. I mean, relative to the surroundings. It's not considered normal in a lot of places to have white Grace Jones look-alikes dancing in what looks like a shredded trash bag.


Disembodied head person crossing.


This car was parked by the dumpster near our place. The stuffed rabbit inside looks pretty dead. The creepy thing is that its eyes are still open, as if it died of fright. Not surprising given that it's by the dumpster.


Dragon lady, let your animal-patterned light shine.


It's springtime and the livin' is easy in Moscow. Easy enough to post up on whatever bench may be available. I'm not sure what I'm more curious about: the purse or the jacket.


A few blocks away (same day) was a more conservatively-dressed bench sleeper.


The view out our front door's peephole.

(----) in Russia Vol.21

A very short entry this week, only because you don't need more than these two clips. Be attentive when you watch them; a lot of shit happens in a very small period of time. Especially the drunk guy who does the split about 1:25 in to the first clip. You definitely know you're in Russia when this shit is going on outside of the metro.

(----) in Russia Vol.20: On Location in St. Petersburg, again

You know you're in Petersburg when there's this kind of sky. Moscow has no such thing, only a gruel-colored layer of factory smog and car exhaust and the smoke of millions of daily cigarettes occasionally punctuated by what some people refer to as "the sun."


This dude's snoring kept me up all night long on the train.


Ad for a pet store. Might as well get the animal imagery out of the way early.


Ad for a maternity store.


Ad for an energy drink called Burn. This extremely creepy-looking individual, DJ Smash (just note how close those eyes are set together, not to mention how far back they are already set....[shiver]), is promoting the drink. If you look closely enough, you can see that someone has actually "smashed" the glass on this kiosk. Which is a meta-burn on many levels.


Ad for a strip club on the main street in Petersburg. I like how it doesn't pretend to contain any subtleties: "Simplified entrance for the foreigners." But they don't let you know how complicated the exit is...


Anticon Records' Themselves playing at a club in St. Petersburg. I've heard these guys' recordings and was impressed, but this show was pretty off the hook. Instead of running a sequencer or a cd of their backing tracks, they just brought all their samplers and played each sample individually like drummers. Note the life-size cutout of Depeche Mode singer Dave Gahan posted up behind them. They brought him out at the beginning of their set and referred to him as their manager, then proceeded to try and make him drink.




My camera ran out of battery power 30 seconds in.


Someone has taken the airbrushed stencil aesthetic too far.


A post-wedding ceremony on the Neva river. It's some sort of tradition to have doves representing the happy couple, but it was really uncomfortable watching these doves squirm in this dude's hands as the newlyweds posed for photos.


So I was in Petersburg the weekend of Victory Day, the celebration of Russia's defeat of the Nazis in WWII. It's especially poignant for Petersburg, since Leningrad was under siege for over 900 days by the Nazis during the war. The day before the Victory Day Parade, the military decided to show off a little muscle in anticipation.




At the parade itself, the veterans brought the noise.


This little boy was pretty damn cute with his red star balloon.


The parade. If you make it all the way through, pay attention to how the music of the marching band fades into some creepy ice-cream-truck music from a vehicle that comes after the band.


At a Beatles-themed bar called Liverpool, this band, whose name I failed to get, kicked out some serious classic rock jams, not just Beatles, either.


Their singer's face tells a hard story. His voice, as you can see below, tells a harder one. Rikk says he thinks this guy sounds like David Lee Roth; I can see that, which makes this version of "A White Shade of Pale" better than the original for me.




When the band kicked into "Honky Tonk Women," this guy in the white shirt set the dance floor on fire, urging the rest of the crowd to join him. The bald thug in the leather jacket in front of me was not moved.


Rapture.




Nevsky Prospekt.


The moon over the Neva River.


Graffiti on the ground: "Who am I without you?"


There was a soccer game in the city, which meant that the metro was closed and no one could buy any alcohol or glass bottles of any kind anywhere near the stadium. It also meant that the riot police were out and about (the dudes in the blue camo).


Somehow, I always manage to find that one dog hanging out of a window, checking out the scene. And it always makes me think of Rikk.