If You Have an Hour to Spare and Are Really Bored…

For the sake of fleshing out my blog with more content, I have decided to post my senior thesis. Feel free to read it if you are woefully underworked at your job and have nothing better to do. It deals with the New York City Ballet’s 1962 tour of the USSR, which coincided with the Cuban Missile Crisis.

An American in Moscow- Ideological Clashes on a Soviet Stage


Packing it Up

Packing is an exercise in discipline, strategy and foresight. Will I need this hot pink leotard from American Apparel? Is it ok to bring twenty-five pairs of shoes? What about my “haters gonna hate shirt”? Probably going to need that…

You would think that having moved an average of twice a year for the past six years that I would have this down to a science. And honestly, I am almost there but this time around I faced an added burden in my task– an existential crisis. Why am I going to Russia and who will I be there? The adventurer with few belongings ready to pack up and move on at a moment’s notice? Or a moskovskaya devushka trying to pass for a native Russian, stilletos in the dead of winter and all. Considering the luggage restrictions on Lot airlines I knew I had to choose just one….hopefully its the right one.

I’ve got my bags packed up, my boots tied tight, I hope  this time my visa’s right. Back to Russia, ooohh back to Russia.

An Open Love Letter


I have an unhealthy infatuation with The New York Times. Every morning I wake up to it on my doorstep and most every night fall asleep with one of its sections lying next to me in bed. I often find myself at the end of my subway commute with ink smears on my face. Though I pride myself on trying to have an unbiased view of the world, gleaning and digesting information from a variety of news sources, I can’t seem to get away from constantly quoting and referencing my beloved New York Times.

When I develop such a close relationship with a publication (it used to be The New Yorker) its only natural that I begin to view the authors and columnists as close friends and allies in the arena of enlightened thought. It’s comforting to see the same names delivering my news every day, and unlike the television news anchors who stake their careers on the public developing such a communal fondness for them, this relationship feels personal and private. When I open the Arts Section and see a review of a recent New York City Ballet performance, chances are that Alastair Macaulay is the man behind the print. The review will be highly critical as New York Times critics are wont to do, and I’ll chuckle to myself thinking “Oh Macaulay you ole dog you. Back at it again. I’m sure that ballerina is plenty thin.”

Similarly, whenever I see an article about Russia, I immediately look for Clifford Levy’s name. For five years he was the foreign correspondent in Moscow and the man I looked to for information on all things Kremlin– one of the longest relationships I’ve had with a man. Needless to say, I was ecstatic to see that this week’s magazine preview is about sending his children to a Russian grammar school in Moscow with little previous Russian language training– Here kids, go off into the world of elementary education with just wits and tenacity and you can make it! My dad calls this the “Abraham Lincoln Style” of doing something: total immersion with no preparation.

The article is an interesting look into the history and evolution of Russian education and the story of an American family trying to adapt to the system. My favorite part surrounds the character of Bogin and his teaching method, including the following passage:

“Does 2 + 2 = 4? No! Because two cats plus two sausages is what? Two cats. Two drops of water plus two drops of water? One drop of water.”

That is the classic Russian intellect that drew me to study the country in the first place; the searching nature to look for new answers to old problems and to never settle on the easy way out.

I highly recommend that you read the article in its entirety as it is both inspirational and enlightening. I will probably be re-reading it when it arrives at my doorstep on Sunday.

P.S. The smile and nod is a classic tactic for avoiding admitting that “I have no clue what you just said to me.”