Holy damn

Me and Commrad went to this fancy-as-balls restaurant for our anniversary (we got a $50 coupon through bartering) -- it was an Italian-Greek sort of thing and it stunned me from the first second with it's... well, fanciness. We went to eat outside and I kept being afraid I would drop my food on their nice tablecloths or something. It was the kind of restaurant where they have truffles and truffle oil and aioli. The waiters describe the specials and such to you -- it's like listening to food porn or a very intense commercial. Apparently the waiters themselves make the food. We got a very tall and un-fancy-looking waiter, thank god (or I would have sank into my chair from fear of... erm... something) though he still did kind of take our breath away with rapid food porn-like descriptions of salads and roasted garlic and wine reductions. I got some roasted tomato thingie with pesto, fresh mozzarella, and roasted garlic, all on bread, and even Commrad liked it despite his hate of non-smushed tomatoes, and he got some odd octopus dish. And THEN we got even more food -- some meatball thing that Commrad couldn't finish, and "beggar's purses" which really did look like little old-fashioned purses, only made of pasta, stuffed with different cheeses and with some pink sherry cream sauce. We were bursting. The waiter complimented me on my dress (which I am indeed quite proud of owning, thanks Zoe!) and when he learned it was our anniversary he said the desert (which was a piece of baklava-crusted cheesecake and another piece of a chocolate mousse cake) was on him -- we haven't tried either yet, though, since we are ridiculously full, so they are in our fridge -- and when we were paying the tax and tip part of the meal, he brought us two small glasses of champagne as a treat, which was awesome, and then we went home.
And I don't usually blabber on like this, but it was just awesome. That's the nicest waiter I've ever met (is it a fancy restaurant thing?) and the food was delicious, and I have a nice full belly so I didn't have to eat the utter failure of a soup that I made earlier today. It was an awesome anniversary.
/end excited blabbering

Sickliness, snow

I found a dead bird, the only signs of death being an unnatural twist of the head and some blood around the beak.
The next day it snowed, so I put it out under a tree. It was too cold to dig a tiny grave, anyway.






























































---
Perhaps tomorrow, when the snow melts completely, I will make it one. I can't figure out what it died from.

I am kind of sick -- there are tissues scattered everywhere. I was a bit miffed yesterday because I forgot to buy chocolate, and when I decided to make cinnamon muffins for dessert (a recipe I've made multiple times without trouble), they collapsed into soggy, hollow messes when I took them out of the oven. Probably because our kitchen is so cold. When I was out of our single heated room today, I saw little tendrils of steam coming off of my skin. Now, I'm used to little clouds coming out when I breathe, but skin steam? What the hell? Must be my unbearable hotness and such. God knows people at Ingles all practically dropped at the sight of my hotness, last time I went to the store -- well, it was either that or my weird combination of skirt, cape, scarves, shawls...

I woke up very whiny and promptly took it out in my dA journal. I've since cheered myself up by turning my pine-needle syrup into an alcoholic drink -- at least, I hope that's what it will do. It kind of molded, so I had to boil and strain it, and then I boiled together some honey, water, and sugar, added that to the pine syrup, and threw in some yeast and raisins. Also, a little bit of my hard cider, so I guess it will taste a tad appley.

My hard cider has turned a bit dry (too much yeast, I guess -- it just keeps fermenting like crazy) so I guess when I make spiced cider, I'll add in a little honey. I like sweetness, so I guess I'll never be a wine connoisseur. I drank a little bit of it today, unheated, and it wasn't too bad despite it -- I like the fizziness (you can see the bubbles in the picture). It's too bad they stopped selling un-preservatived cider in the store -- I should have stocked up when they still had it, and experimented with the amount of yeast.

Translation of some Kino songs for an English speaking friend

The star called Sun -- Zvezda po Imeni Solntse -- Звезда по Имени Солнце

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=anURcEjDUbI

White snow, grey ice

On the cracked earth.

Like a patchwork quilt on her—

A city in the loop of the road.

And above the city, clouds float

Hiding the light of the sky

And above the city – yellow smoke

The city is two thousand years old

Spent under the light of the star

Called Sun.

And a war for two thousand years—

A war without much reason

Wars are a thing for the young,

A medicine against wrinkles.

Red, red blood

After an hour, it’s just earth

After two, it grows flowers and grass

After three it’s alive once again

And is warmed by the light of the star

Named Sun.

And we know it was always this way,

That fate loves those the most

Who live by other rules

And who will die young.

He doesn’t remember the words “yes” and “no,”

He doesn’t remember ranks or names.

And he can reach the stars

Without thinking it is a dream

And fall, burned by the star

Named Sun…

Blood Type -- Gruppa Krovi -- Группа Крови

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dFUUTE58nDQ&feature=related

A warm place, but the streets wait

For our foot prints.

Star dust on the boots,

A soft armchair, a plaid blanket

A trigger pressed too late.

A sunny day in dreams too bright.

My blood type on my sleeve

My ID number on my sleeve,

Wish me luck in the fight, wish me

To not be left laying in this grass

To not be left laying in this grass

Wish me luck, wish me luck!

I have something to pay with, but I don’t want

To win with all I have

I don’t want to put my foot on anyone’s chest

I want to be with you,

Just to be with you,

But the star high in the sky calls me on my way.

My blood type on my sleeve,

My ID number on my sleeve,

Wish me luck in the fight, wish me

To not be left laying in this grass

To not be left laying in this grass,

Wish me luck, wish me luck!

Cuckoo -- Kukushka -- Кукушка

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACKHcIMlEcM

How many unwritten songs?

Tell me, cuckoo, sing to me.

Shall I live in the city or in the villages?

Lay like a rock or burn like a star?

A star.

My sun – look at me,

My palm turned into a fist,

And if there is gunpowder, give me fire.

And that’s that…

Who will travel the lonely path?

The strong and the brave

Bowed down their heads in the battlefield.

Not many are remembered lightly,

With a sober mind and a hard hand in the line,

In the line.

My sun – look at me,

My palm turned into a fist,

And if there is gunpowder, give me fire.

And that’s that…

Where are you now, freedom?

With whom are you now

Greeting the tender sunrise? Answer me.

It’s good with you, bad without you,

My head and patient shoulders under the whip,

The whip.

My sun – look at me,

My palm has turned into a fist,

And if there is gunpowder, give me fire.

And that’s that…

The Romantic’s Walk -- Progulka Romantika -- Прогулка Романтика

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ytWCCHLObGE

A storm behind the window, a storm

On the other side of the window,

The street lights burn and the shadows are strange.

I look into the night,

I see that the night is dark,

But this won’t prevent the walk of

The romantic

The romantic.

The spaces under gates are frightening,

I hear doors slamming shut.

Black cats cross my road.

Let them cross,

I don’t believe in those fables.

And this won’t prevent the walk of

The romantic,

The romantic.

It’s hard to walk,

I came out a long time ago,

And the evening with friends was so nice and fun.

I drank wine,

I do so love wine,

But this won’t prevent

The walk of the romantic.

I woke up in the subway

When the lights were being turned off,

I was woken by a man in in a red hat;

This is a ring

And there is no train back.

But this won’t prevent

The walk of the romantic.

Every Night -- Kazhduyu Noch' -- Каждую Ночь

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Gy19dZjYRo

It’s the third day the water’s dripping off the sky

So much water dripping down

They say it should be so, here,

They say it’s always been like this.

You know, every night

I dream of the sea.

You know, every night

I dream of a song,

You know, every night,

I dream of a shore,

You know, every night…

We come back to our homes

People walking from house to house,

We sit at the window together,

If you want, I’ll tell you…

You know, every night

I dream of the sea.

You know, every night

I dream of a song,

You know, every night,

I dream of a shore,

You know, every night…

Making things

So far today, I have made a rye bread starter (dunno if it will work...), rye cookies, and a painting. Except I am still not done with the painting. Here is what it's like so far:

























Let's hope I finish it. It's still not very detailed, and the window needs to be touched up a lot.

Da Ling and Siao Ling - Chapter 2 - The King's Law

Without stopping for breath, Ling the Younger ran exactly ten li*. Turned around-- the Monster wasn't chasing him. Then he stopped, caught his breath and started loudly calling for his older brother:
"Gege! Gege!"
But now he remembered that they had run in opposite directions. Who knows where his brother is now! Ling the Younger's eyes filled with tears. He wanted to cry but was too tired, and so he got comfortable in the grass and immediately fell asleep.

A crescent moon came up. In its pale glow, Ling the Younger's tears, not yet dried, shown like pearls.

Ling the Younger sleeps, he has slept for three hours now; how could he know that a new misfortune is already on the road and heading his way in the shape of two pompous noblemen!
One of the noblemen is a dog named Pip, and the second -- a fox, his name is Pippin. Both are dressed very tastefully. Particularly elegant is the hat on mister Pippin's head, looking much like a chrome bucket turned upside down. Perhaps that hat was made of silver, so strongly it glowed in the moonlight.

"I'm lucky today, my friend!" said mister Pip to mister Pippin, "Can you imagine it, this morning I found a completely new wallet on the road!"
"What was in it?" asked Pippin.
"You wouldn't guess for the world. A wallet full of flies!"
"Bother, a wallet with flies! That's not very tasty," answered Pippin, who was known as a rather learned fox and, of course, was very knowledgeable in all things gastronomical.
"Well then, what would you like to find, mister Pippin?" Pip asked, offended.
"In any case, something more edible than flies, mister Pip. Perhaps a small human."
"That's not all that difficult. I have a wonderful sense of smell. If there's any human around, I would definitely smell him out!"

And so conversing, they reached the very place where Ling the Younger was sleeping.

Pip actually jumped with pleasure.
"Mister Pippin! Mister Pippin! I told you we would find something edible! Ha ha!.. Well, of course! Here, look!"
Pippin scratched himself behind the ear and looked at Pip with envy.
And the latter was already sniffing over the sleeping boy and throwing looks full of obvious superiority at his friend.
"What do you think, mister Pippin, how much would I get for him if I sold him by weight?"
Ling the Younger didn't open his eyes.
"I want to sleep," he mumbled sleepily, "who's barking here?"
Pip laughed loudly:
"Well! You're unhappy that we bothered you? Then know: since I found you, you belong to me from now on. I can do whatever I want with you."
Ling the Younger got frightened, his sleepiness vanished -- things were getting bad!
"What do you want from me? I was just sleeping..."
"What do I want? I found you, and now you're mine. There's nothing more to it!" interrupted Pip.
"What do you mean -- found? What do you mean -- yours! I'm not yours, I'm my own."
"Well then! Don't believe me -- ask anyone you want, ask him!" and Pip nodded towards Pippin.
The latter jumped at Ling the Younger and dragged him by his ear, along the ground, towards mister Pip's feet.
"Our nation does have that law," said Pippin in a didactic tone of voice, forcing Ling the Younger to bow to Pip. "If someone finds an object on the road, and he likes this object, it then belongs to him. Mister Pip found you, so now you are his belonging. It's very simple, nothing to argue about."

Ling the Younger rubbed his eyes and, not understanding a thing, stared first at Pip, and then at Pippin.
"Well, I don't believe that a law like that exists!" he cried.
Pip answered:
"Whatever you want. You can believe it, or not believe it, but that's what's written in our law book. I found you, now you're mine. If you don't want to be mine, pay the ransom: a thousand gold bricks. Then I might let you go free."
Ling the Younger desperately tried to tear out of Pippin's prehensile hold, but Pippin was a lot stronger.
"I don't belong to you!" shouted Ling the Younger. "I don't have any gold bricks! I don't believe that law and I don't want to listen to it!"
"Then let's go and ask someone if such a law exists or not. Agreed?" offered Pip.
"Agreed! Let's go to the king!"
"Alright, if it's the king you want, we'll go to the king."

And so they went. Pip held Ling the Younger tightly in his paws, still worrying that me might run away.
"I appreciate your carrying me, mister Pip," said Ling the Younger, "but really, I'm not very comfortable: I can move neither arm nor leg."
Ling the Younger's calculations turned out to be correct. Pip had a lot of strength, but after walking several kilometers, he felt deathly tired.
"Poor mister Pip! Your legs are giving way!" cried Ling the Younger when the dog loosened his grip slightly. "Allow me to walk myself."
"Well, I guess that's alright."
But as soon as Pip let Ling the Younger down on the ground, he shot away from him as though he had grown wings.
In surprise, mister Pippin's ears, hidden under his hat, lifted so suddenly that his precious hat flew into the sky and hung off the crescent moon, not in a hurry to return to its owner. Pippin started crying.
"Oh! My ha-at!" he whimpered, looking entreatingly at Pip, "I have lost such a wonderful hat!"
But mister Pip didn't have time to look for anyone's hat. On all four feet, he set out to chase the boy. Pip ran, of course, much faster than Ling the Younger -- after all, he was descended from hunting dogs.

Oh no! Mister Pip's paws are stretching towards Ling the Younger. He's closer, closer!...
"Come one, Siao Ling! Go faster!" Ling the Younger encouraged himself.
The crescent moon ran along with them in the sky, not a step behind. And on its edge hung mister Pippin's hat, clanking in the wind. Only now did Ling the Younger realize that it was a regular tin bucket, and a toy one at that. He looked back, and in that moment Pip grabbed him by the collar.
"Consider yourself the best runner," said Ling the Younger sighing heavily.
"Talk, talk some more! You're going with me to the king. Let the king himself say whether you're mine or not."
And the dog dragged Ling the Younger to the city. The crescent moon with mister Pippin's hat floated after them.

And pipping was still whimpering. He was looking at his hat with sad eyes and squealing pitifully:
"What should I do? What should I do no-o-w?.."
"What are you whimpering about?" Pip attacked him, "This isn't worth an eaten egg: wait about two weeks until the moon becomes full again, and then your hat will simply fall down."
(tired of translating, will edit and finish later.)

Nocturnal

One of the bad things about depression is not just the worst days -- when you feel like it would be better to never wake up again -- but moderate moments when you feel that you COULD be happy, but for no reason you just aren't, and you can't reach that place. I know I SHOULD be happy, I could be -- I could dance like whirling dervish or research herbs or go to the meadow and make a broom out of tall flowers, but it is as though there is a sleepiness, a cloudiness, and I can't tear out of it. maybe it's this night, or my meds. I had to take a large amount of Midol earlier due to early menstrual cramps...
Speaking of, I wish herbs helped me with that. I love herbs -- I love picking strong smelling flowers and hanging them up to dry, and collecting nice jars for them, and putting together teas for myself -- but the three biggest problems for me are rarely helped by herbs. Those are cramps, insomnia, and depression. Granted, drinking motherwort tea once made me pass out from sleepiness, but it also almost made me throw up from the disgustingly bitter taste. Nothing is strong enough to do much to my depression except hard to obtain things that shouldn't be taken regularly (like kratom), and as far as cramps, well... the only thing that has ever helped was acetaminophen. Not aspirin, tylenol, aleve, motherwort, evening primrose -- it seems my cramps are all powerful. And it's not like I'm all that unhealthy, either...
I know I'm complaining a lot, but it's only because I just don't feel well lately, and it's something I can't seem to do anything about. When I am happy, I am probably happier than "regular" people because I have so much energy to do things -- unfortunately, most of that happiness is concentrated in the times me and Zoe used to hang out in Athens together. whatever odd, sad things happened, we could still stand by the train as it passed us, inches away, or walk down the train tracks pretending the sand is fairy dust, or walk around downtown and collect coins from the fountains to get lunch. It's better to be hungry, cold, or worn out with a friend and a purpose to your day than be full, warm, and relaxed alone inside a house with nowhere to go. Well, I'm hardly warm, but still, that's the gist of it.
I wish there was somewhere to go, and a friend... Zoe is miles away, and while me and Commrad have fun, he would be bored going down the street just talking. He would rather play a video game...
It feels like a have several homes, and I'm homesick for all of them. Moscow, dacha with all its flowers, NYC with its noise and interesting people, and Athens. But I can go to none of those places. If anything, it will end up worse -- I will be forced to move to some suburb and there will be no flowery meadows, no huge oaks; but no interesting people either, just SUV-driving Christian families that think I am "weird" and don't have a shred of imagination in their heads, only Happy Meals in their stomachs.

Interesting mushroom names

In the last couple of weeks, we have had no internet, which means I have spent most of my time reading books and wandering around the new house. In my wandering, I found “The Audubon Society Field guide to North American Mushrooms”. I’m proud to say I can identify Russian mushrooms, at least – I grew up with regular mushroom hunts and can pick some for dinner without poisoning myself. American mushrooms, though – not so much.

The names of the mushrooms range from plain and descriptive (“Firm Russula”), to something that sounds like a disease (“Shingled Trich”, “Blue-Toothed Entoloma”), to just plain odd (“Big Laughing Gym”). In my boredom, I actually categorized and compiled several lists of the more interesting and odd names, which you can now read and enjoy. So, here we go:

The food-related names:

Alcohol Inky

Peppery milky

Sweetbread mushroom

Poison Pie (yum!)

Fried Chicken Mushroom (apparently it does taste like it)

Chocolate Milky

Chicken-fat Suillus

Apricot Jelly

Carnival Candy Slime

Witch’s Butter

Rooting Cauliflower mushroom

Animal-related names:

Salmon Unicorn Entoloma

Imperial Cat

Leaflike Oyster

Pig’s Ear Gomphus

Goat’s Foot

Yellow Rabbit Ears

Wolf’s Milk Slime

Stinky Squid

Lizard’s Claw

Parrot Mushroom

Panther

Fairy Tale and Folklore related names:

Witch’s Hat

Stuntz’s Blue Legs (assuming Stuntz was some folkloric person that I don’t know about)

Prince

Gypsy

Jack O’Lantern

Slippery Jill; Slippery Jack (Two different mushrooms, but I imagine them to be sort of the Bonnie and Clyde of the mushroom kingdom)

Old Man of the Woods

Angel’s Wings

Yellow Fairy Cups

Devil’s Urn

Elf cup

Pyxie Cup (yes, it was spelled like that)

Swamp Beacon

Velvety Fairy Fan

Dryad’s Saddle

Various Objects:

Fuzzy foot

Sulfur tuft

Yellow Oyster mop

Common Fiber Vase

Black Trumpet

Hemlock Varnish Shelf

Artist’s Conk

Indian Paint Fungus (apparently it was used to make war paint)

Hairy Parchment

Red Tree Brain

Velvet Blue Spread

Bladder cup (oh dear)

Tree-ear

Barometer Earthstar

Carbon balls

Wrinkled Thimble Cap

Yellow Tuning Fork

Shaggy Parasol (the best kind, really – that’s why Robinson Crusoe had one)

White Dunce Cap

Personification in some shape or form:

Dung-loving Psilocybe

Bleeding Mycena

Blushing Fiberhead

Sweating Mushroom

Pinecone Tooth

Bearded Tooth (aww…)

Many Headed Slime (sounds evil)

Brown-toothed crust (and disgusting)

Velvety Earth Tongue

Elegant Stinkhorn

Blue-toothed Entoloma

Morbid-sounding names:

Deadly Lawn Galerina

Death cap

Destroying Angel

Strangulated Amanita (probably killed by the Destroying Angel)

Poison Pie (again)

Lead Poisoner

Corpse Finder (according to the mushroom guide’s comments, the name is well deserved – it helped bring a murder to light and also grew on a buried box full of dead baby remains)

Dead Man’s Fingers

Others:

Tawny Grisette

Abruptly-bulbous Agaricus

Big Laughing Gym

Blewit

Pigskin Poison Puffball