Memphis Pizza Cafe

I'm coming home to you.

Soon. Very soon.

Homeward Bound- The Playlist

Otherwise known as a way of procrastinating while using other people’s creativity to attempt to express my complicated relationship with that odd concept of “home.” And for anyone who ever wondered what I listened to beyond the endlessly quoted Soundgarden and Depeche Mode.

Yes “American Idiot” would be on here, if it had ripped correctly from my CD. Alas, it did not. Although, perhaps, it would have been redundant.

1. “Homeward Bound” Simon and Garfunkel
(Maybe I should add “Keep the Customer Satisfied” – “I get slandered. Libeled. I hear words I never heard in the Bible.”)
2. “South is Only a Home” The Fiery Furnaces
(This song perfectly expresses my relationship with the South – nonsense, with an odd overlay of perceived meaning.)
3. “Runnin’ Blue” The Doors
(“Back down, turn around slowly, try it again.” I should add this to my mirror I think.)
4. “Honky Cat” Elton John
(I may have quit those redneck ways, but I want some redneck food.)
5. “Be Yourself” Audioslave
6. “Otherside” Red Hot Chilli Peppers
7. “Barrel of a Gun” Depeche Mode
8. “Graceland” Paul Simon
(No, I still refuse to actually go to Graceland until I no longer live in Memphis, or have visiting guests to use as an excuse.)
9. “Soul Man” Sam and Dave
10. “Big Machine” Goo Goo Dolls
11. “A Pain that I’m Used To” Depeche Mode
(Please?)
12. “Dirty Business” The Dresden Dolls
(Yes, if I ever get slings in Paris – they will be from the dumpster.)
13. “An American Prayer” The Doors
(I love the lyric “I touched her thigh and Death smiled.” I don’t exactly know why.)
14. “Vincent” Don McLean
15. “You Could Have It So Much Better” Franz Ferdinand
16. “The Bitch is Back” Elton John
17. “Rush” Depeche Mode
18. “Green Onions” Booker T. and the MGs
19. “Broken City” Audioslave
(So what if it was actually written about Detroit? I can make it about Memphis.)
20. “You May Be Right” Billy Joel
21. “Pretty Noose” Soundgarden
22. “Laughing Out Loud” The Wallflowers
(Cause things are so ridiculous in my life, that laughing is the only correct response. Perhaps followed by crying. People known to be sane agree with me.)
23. “Seven Nation Army” The White Stripes
(Perhaps, when the inevitable crack-up does occur, I will go be a welder in Wichita.)
24. “Rusty Cage” Soundgarden
25. “Carry on Dancing” Savage Garden
26. “Flagpole Sitta” Harvey Danger
(“...to see a little bit clearer, the rottenness and evil in me...”)
27. “Mississippi Squirrel Revival” Ray Stevens
(one can only hope)
28. “A Little Less Conversation” Elvis Presley
(yes, the Ocean’s Eleven remix)
29. “All Apologies” Nirvana (Maybe this should follow “Dirty Business.”)
30. “Bright Lights” Matchbox Twenty
31. “California Dreamin’” The Mamas and the Papas
(As much as I love Memphis, I hope to be relocating to California at some point in the near future.)
32. “Smile Like You Mean It” The Killers
(Someone is, in fact, playing a game in the house that I grew up in.)
33. “Mean Town Blues” Johnny Winter
34. “Evil” Interpol
(Cell mate? You mean, I could have a cell mate instead of talking to the wall? Surely you must jest. No seriously.)
35. “The Dead of Night” Depeche Mode
(I will be jet-lagged. This will be fun, fun, fun.)
36. “Manic Depression” Jimi Hendrix
(Self-explanatory.)
37. “Curbside Prophet” Jason Mraz
38. “What a Scene” Goo Goo Dolls
39. “What You Live By” Harvey Danger

iTunes tells me that this puppy is 2.4 hours worth of music. Should get me through at least part of the flight. Will probably add more as I goes along. It is a ten hour flight from Frankfurt to NYC, I think. Hopefully, no obnoxious little boys this time around.

Notes on Russian Rock

So I recently managed to massively expand my Russian music collection. (Still am failing to find Provoda’s album. Maybe I should try rereading the news section of their website with my improved reading comprehension. But I’m pretty sure it was released. And, yes, I’m too scared to just ask some dude in a music store. Okay, and I don’t know if liking Provoda – which is certainly pushing the beautiful emo boy stereotype – means that I have lost my hard rock cred, but that probably went out the window when I decided I loved Depeche Mode, anyway.)

A general note – the rolled “r” works incredibly well in rock and roll.

So, here’s the preliminary run-down.

Akvarium: F’ing amazing! Happy folk rock. Paul Simon is a fairly apt comparison but I do believe that Boris Grebenshikov, the lead singer, for Akvarium has a much better voice than Paul Simon ever did.

And I just saw a poster for a concert in Petersburg before I leave. If I can get someone to go with me, I might just shell out what I’m sure will be a decent amount of money to go.

Kino: Definently likable. I don’t dig Victor Tsoy’s voice nearly as much Grebenshikov’s. But the eighties stuff I’m listening to at the moment has some nice synthetizer action (and I have a thing for synthetizer and electric organs). Moving on later Kino . . . late eighties as Tsoy died in 1990. Ooo...nice guitar – country/western sound, but paired with a heavy rock and roll drum. One of the things I like about Russian rock is that they seem to feel freer to cross genre boundaries, than American rock bands do. (Probably not a Russian thing, Russia just happens to be the only foreign music I’ve really had a reason to look into.)

So, I’m not feeling the immediate blown-away love Akvarium inspired, but Kino has (well, had) a lot working in their favor.

Mumii Troll’: I took a walk today so as to not acquire cabin fever, and decided to check out a CD to give my walk a purpose. Picked up a 2 CD greatest hits number, because the guy who wrote Lonely Plant mentioned this as a good band. Musically, I like it. It’s not the type of music I love, but not bad. Again, the voice is slightly grating, but something I probably just need a bit of adjustment to. I will listen with more care later – bit overwhelmed with music at the moment.

Unfortunately, one of the photos in the album art is the lead singer holding a chihuahua. I now find it impossible to fully respect anyone who owns a chihuahua. Or well, to look at a chihuahua without thinking violent thoughts.

Nautilus Pompilius: Hardly a new find for me, but it fits the topic. This is the first Russian band I heard (T.A.T.U.’s brief foray into the US does not count), while watching Brat (Brother) and falling in love with Sergei Bodrov Jr. Then I promptly got on the internet, found out that Bodrov had died in an avalanche was briefly sad, and then went to find out what group was responsible for the amazing soundtrack of that movie and secure a CD in my grubby little, trembling music junkie hands.
I bought Kryl’ya, a later album of Nautilus’s, because that’s the one mentioned in the film, and I had nowhere else to start. This album isn’t particularly hard, but you can’t quite call it soft rock. It opens with violins, a synthetizer droning in the background. And then, enter Vyacheslav’s ---- strong vocals, and then a beat of a single kettle drum. Ah. Lovely. And that’s just the beginning of the album. Nautilus uses a lot of elements from jazz, it has the effect of making their songs incredibly catchy.

Second CD I purchased was the earlier Chelovek Bez Imeni, which is a harder, darker album – which, I might add, ended up being played on repeat at Burger King several nights in a row during my tenure, because my co-workers liked it – that on the whole, I think is stronger than Kryl’ya. The first track has resulted in me wandering about singing that I’ll never again trust women’s eyes, while describing a rather impossible scenario. (I can’t knock up a girl I don’t love.) The second track starts slow and then becomes a becomes a driving ballad with great drums. The highlight, however, is track five – Kras’naya List’ya. Many different tempos, different moods – it alternates between recalling a industrial scene, a circus, has a great jazzy interlude that I swear is the metro, and then the end just fades into longing. All in all, a gloriously haunting piece of hard rock.

DDT: Another vocalist that takes a little getting used – and unfortunately, the vocal type I associate with chansons, which I don’t care for in the least. But instrumentally, another amazing group. Catchy goodness.

So, in conclusion, Russian Rock – particularly that from the eighties and nineties – lots of good stuff to be had here. (I suspect that has something to do with all of the above bands starting out as very underground, but were hugely popular by the fall of USSR. So they weren’t produced by a music industry, and when the fledgling music industry picked them up, it didn’t have creative rules and boxes like the US industry.) The closest thing I’ve heard in mainstream US music is – surprise, surprise – Gogol Bordello. And they mostly share an infectious exuberance and the ability to blend genres to great effect. Gogol Bordello, however, is a New York band, and there’s a certain difference that I can’t quite describe, since I don’t read enough music reviews to know how to write them.

Chansons, on the other hand . . . let’s go with a no. I think I might have to go pick up a Delfin album; the idea of Russian rap amuses me. (And he actually seems rather talented, from what I’ve listened to on the internet.)

And, being that I am indeed a music junkie, leave suggestions (for whatever – however, I have a distaste for country – blame going up within the Nashville sphere of influence) should you feel so inclined. I’ll be needing another fix sooner or later.

Quick Pity Party

*hands around the cupcakes and the vodka -- Русский Стандарт, конечно*

How can a country have 1/6 of the globe's space and still not have any room at all? Oh yeah, most of it is virtually uninhabitable. Need study space. Need study space badly.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled program. Or rather, we will when I have figured out how to say the things I have to say.

Addition: It's good to know that I can pretty much keep my self amused forever with religious studies. Unfortunately, wanting to write up and analysis of the portrayal of Saint Mary of Egypt in an icon at the State Russian Museum is distracting me from doing important things. Like starting work for a paper on Nationalism and religion, and the interactions thereof. And so on and so forth.

Can I just go play in happy gnostic land? No, I can't. :(

Well, I Wouldn't Do It.

But I'm rather impressed by the young woman who was navigating St. Petersburg's icy streets this morning is six inch high heels. Especially given that I nearly fell twice in my combat boots.

And, why on earth is my computer running so slow.

Nudes to Bibles

I didn’t bring a Bible to Russia with me. This is actually the first extended period that I have been without at least one copy of the Bible hanging about in easy reach. Geek that I am, its not uncommon for me to have two or three different translations; although, lately I’ve been relying heavily upon my beloved and running out of marginal space NOAB. But the KJV sometimes draws me in.

Well, I now have a Russian language New Testament and Psalms thanks to the Gideons in Moscow. Unfortunately, it won’t help me revise this paper, because my Russian just isn’t that good. While writing this (obviously not while posting it) I’m staring at my notes, thinking, well, crap, it would be nice to look up the exact verse I’m referring to. I can paraphrase it pretty well, and I’m fairly certain its in 1 or 2 Corinthians, but being a bit OCD about this things...

Anyway, by the time anyone reads this, I will have BibleGatewayed to my heart’s content, looked for an e-book Bible, and will be muttering something about BibleGateway not having the NRSV.

Incidentally, I would also like for my scribbled in copy of Butler’s Gender Trouble to magically appear in my hands for paper revision purposes.

Addition: I didn't know it would be so difficult to find a free e-version of the Bible. Big business selling bibles is, I reckon.

Breaking from Religions to Discuss Sexy Soviet Nudes

I went to the Russian Museum last Saturday. First things first, should you ever find yourself in Petersburg, set aside a day and go to the Russian Museum. Just do it. Maybe even two days, it’s a bit overwhelming – particularly if one is from an art-poor backwater (I love you Memphis, but...)

So, after salivating over the portion of the icon collection that is on display, the less interesting portraits of dead tsars and Russian nobility, and the absolutely amazing late 19^th/early 20^th art, I walked through the two temporary displays up at the Russian Museum.

One titled the Soviet Venus, the other a collection of nude works by a Soviet painter whose name I have forgotten. The latter was a rather banal collection of nude females, several of which were allegories for “exotic” countries such as Turkey and India. Yeah...okay, I wasn’t impressed.

The Soviet Venus exhibit had a little more meat for gnawing on. It was a bit of an awkward experience, in part because a very decent percentage of Saint Petersburg was there to see it, and the gallery it was crammed into had very little space to begin with. Then there was the factor that I couldn’t quite decide whether I was looking at Soviet art or Soviet soft porn.

Female athletes losing their clothing while competing – while a young man with a gleeful smile looks on. Bit of an awkward ideology there. The piece doesn’t just assume an audience, but actually supplies the prototype of the ideal audience. Also, not exactly a good piece of art to begin with, but I’m not a fan of Soviet Realism to begin with. I preferred the female machinists in varying degrees of jumpsuitedness, but that could just be me.

Oddly enough, I found that the best art pieces in the exhibit were the ones that were furthest into the boundary zone between art and pornography. There were two photographs from a series titled Romance with the Theater. They were beautifully composed and dramatically lit, with a great sense of tension and plot even. The two figures were a young, artsy, fully clothed young man, and a completely naked woman, depicted as tied up in one of the photos. It was certainly art. Sex was an element. And, yeah, I was slightly disturbed by the photos, but disturbed in same way I would be by a good Chuck Palahniuk novel or David Foster Wallace.

The setting might have had something to do with my indecision. The good photos were surrounded by bland, disembodied breasts, and the like – no where nearly as compelling. Philosophically, I don’t know why allegorical figures are almost always nude females, but at least this one was intriguing rather than the “exotic nations” in the other exhibit.

I’m still processing.

However, it seems that classic art does teach that all heroic acts should be performed in the nude.

Foriegn Country or High School

So, I keep having this strange feeling that I'm back in high school, and all the pretty girls are laughing at jokes in a language I don't understand.

That, and the library keeps running out of printing paper.

St. Petersburg is gloomy, St. Petersburg is bleak...

To everyone who just finished that off in your head -- congratulations, you are roughly the same age as I and infected with historically mangled, song and dance, animated versions of the Russian revolution.

Fortunately, my underwear is not frozen, because I am a smart young thing who put it on the radiator to dry rather than hanging it out on the enclosed balcony after doing laundry in the bathroom sink because my host mom is gone for the week and neither I nor my host grandmother knows how to operate the washing machine. Laundry is further complicated by everything on the machine being labeled in German.

And actually, the weather isn't too bleak to day. There is some sunshine and one of the fabulously blue Petersburg skies.

But lets talk about some other than the weather. Let's talk about something Russia and the US have in common, shall we? Entirely, f'ing disturbing advertising for feminine hygiene products, or whatever they should be called. Because, they do in fact have most anything you could possibly desire in the way of products to deal with your period now.

Of course, recently in the US we had Always' enlightened "have a happy period!" campaign. And I've seen tampon commercials that just make me think, what on earth? No, I'm just not that happy on my period -- I'm cramping and cranky.

Russian tampon/maxi pad advertising is a little different. Always is a generation or two behind, declaring that they are now "with gel action!" Gel action? What is that? Do I really want gel taking action next to my vagina? The bathrooms at the institute were recently invaded by ads for Tampax tampons, relying on the old trope of a woman on her period being unclean, but Tampax tampons will give you a clean feelings every day. Oh yes, my friends. Sprinked over the poster were little declarations: Я чиста! I'm clean! (Sarcastically, I think to myself that increased access to toilet paper would be nice as well.)

So, here's the question: Which type of advertising annoys me more? The upbeat US marketing that ignores the actual problems that many women experience from their periods. Or "the use our product to clean yourself up because you're dirty" marketing.

Just in Case you though the blues and rock and roll weren't enough...

Appreciate the Pig. And no, I don't mean the Beale Street BBQ joint. I mean PigglyWiggly. One of the great contributions of Memphis to the world.

You see, if I have my story straight, Piggly Wiggly (which is not, as a Yankee recently asked me, just a joke from Driving Miss Daisy) was the first grocery store, where you walked around, picked out what you wanted and then went to the cashier and checked out, instead of having to ask the clerk for the items you wanted to purchase. And Piggly Wiggly started in Memphis. We have the Pink Palace to prove it.

In Russia, the old system is still in place in about fifty percent of produkti (little groceries) and some larger stores. And while I'm sure that shopping there would be easier if I were used to the system and could speak the language, I now have a greater appreciation for the Pig and all of it's offspring. (Except Wal-mart, which I haven't really missed.)

So, don't let anyone ever say Memphis ain't paid her dues.

The Rich Young Metra

There's something about packing and moving that inspires the ascetic in me. It's a weak inspiration and one that has yet to make it to maturity, but it's there. It was there in spades as the sister, the friend, and I tried to fit a bit over two years worth of dorm room accumulation into a Camry and a Scion. (I haven't moved off-campus since the end of freshman year.) At such times, I begin to contemplate getting rid of oh, say, 75% of the things I own. Maybe knocking it down to essential clothes. And then, like Saint Jerome, my attempts at simplicity die in the face of my love for my library. My preciouses, my babies, my books.

I'm leaving the state of Tennessee the day after tomorrow en route to Russia for the next four and a half months. I have a goal of taking as luggage: one 32 inch rolling duffel bag, one small carry-on bag, and my backpack (also as a carry-on). And, I think I'm going to be able to pull it off, but I'm having to get pretty creative. The heavy, canvas outer layer of my coat is now rolled up and strapped to the backpack -- that helps. Sweaters have been compacted in ziploc bags. Books are cut down to some necessary plane reading, Russian texts and dictionary, and my collection of Blok poems in translation. And I'm still struggling to make things fit into the bags. It's a game of Tetris -- I'm confident that things will fit, but I'm pretty certain that there is only one possible way that they all will fit.

And then, there's this weird awareness in the back of my head that many people don't have enough to fill up the bags I'm taking, and a separate awareness that I probably all of what I'm packing to live out the rest of my life, much less the next four months.

I'm hoping that living out of a 32 inch duffel bag for four months will convince me to let go of most the rest of my stuff. At least, the majority of the remaining clothes. The books won't happen -- I've just accepted that as a fact of my current existence and fact of cycling through another few rebirths before hitting true enlightenment.

I have already packed my brain...

I've been running around like a chicken with my head cut off for the past few days -- thus the lack of pontification. Packing to spend four and a half months in a foreign country is exhausting (and I'm trying to pack in one checked bag, one carry-on, and a backpack -- I need to work on being an ascetic -- it would be much simpler).

And, any preaching points were used this morning to compose a letter to the editor of the local paper regarding adding sexual orientation and gender identity the hate crimes legislation. (There was an opinion piece which caused Metra's blood to boil, but she made the sister read the letter to filter the snark.) Cross your fingers, and it might get in. Which would be -- interesting -- to say the least.

The Biggest Obstacle in Getting to Nashville is Nashville

Out of the past 36 hours of my life, I have spent roughly 1/3 of them on the interstate. I have gone from Memphis to Spring Hill via I-40, then highway 100, then highway 50, picking up 412, around to the travesty of farmland growing houses where my mother now resides, then I-65 on up to Nashville where my sister and I proceeded to sit in traffic for an hour or more, and further up 65 through Loiusville to Columbus, Indiana, and then west of highway 46 to get to another Nashville in Indiana for a family reunion (of sorts). I have a couple of observations.

First, the malicious part of me (that bit that will keep me rotating about the wheel of samsara for a while longer), hopes that the individual responsible for the design of the interstates in Nashville, TN has to spend eternity trying to get through the city during rush hour.

Second, every time now I feel less than charitable about Rhodes, I shall remind myself that professors from back in the Southwestern days are partially responsible for there not being interstates plowing through the middle of Memphis. Which makes Memphis so incredibly superior Nashville (which it is anyway). I shall bless them. And perhaps this shall make me feel better about the current admins.

Third, everyone commuting in and out of cities by way of cars is extremely dysfunctional. I knew this before, but the traffic reminded me. So, everyone in America, listen to me (because you should, you know, I have so, so credentials) stop living in suburbs. Oh, and how about some functional public transportation? Sound good, maybe?

I have no idea what's in Nashville, Indiana. We shall see. I'm expecting something like Hohenwald, but I shall perhaps be pleasantly suprised.

Ugh...too much car time. And, oh, lovely, my sister just found a spider in the hotel bed. Murr....