YES WE CAN, FUCKER

Today has been one of those days that is better to forget than to dwell on and to remember, yet I feel there's something special about this particular day of one catastrophe following another that I have to let loose. Actually, come to think of it, today was not apocalyptic, emotionally crippling or even one of the best of the worst Mondays. It's just that all day I kept getting jabbed in my side by little annoying things that gradually started to throw off the flow of my day. These "fuck ups" if you will, got more and more personal, and I kept failing little tests that in my mind were the perfect opportunity to prove myself and get over self-critical things and emotions that tend to run through my mind all day. The reason this really shot me down is because I spend a lot of time imagining myself in a perfect place and go through my days by reminding myself to be positive and breed good thoughts to eventually wind up in my imaginary World of Awesome . I keep telling myself things will work out, because they always have in the past, but this time it's taking its goddamn time. I've been feeling afraid for myself sometimes when I think about whether my abilities and ideas can stand ground. Worse than that, I feel afraid when I think about how those things can crumble and take down the people around me.

I want to make a digression (more or less) and talk about my dream. I had a dream that I was spending the day with aquaintances. The dream is very patchy, but I definately remember needing to climb this big dresser for whichever reason, and that there was a TV occupying the whole surface of the dresser. After I climbed it, I had to stand on the outer edge with the device between my legs. Throughout the dream, the dresser seemed to be growing, and I as I reached the top, it had grown to about 20-30 feet in height, and gotten a lot slimmer and wobblier. I was very afraid looking down and saw my family and close friends' faces, thinking I was going to fall and die in front of them. I woke up in cold sweats.

Yeah, today was weird. I was so distraught that I started speaking to my Obama magnet on my locker. Barak would understand, I think. I bet he'd like my piano playing.

Gypsies

Dear Friends,

I am saddened by the recent events in the news about the conflict between Georgia, the country native to many gypsies and lifelong drifters in Western Eurasia, and Russia, the land of my mother. As a Russian, I find it disappointing and conflicting to chose a side between the two, and think that somewhere along the way Russians forgot where their true roots lie. Soviets must not forget that it was the gypsies that taught us soviets our values and traditions, that are passed down from generation to generation. Who drinks vodka at night around fireplaces? Gypsies. Who dances with knives between their teeth at parties? Gypsies. Who plays balalaikas and wore gold teeth ages before Vice magazine decided to exploit my father's dental treatment? Gypsies. The truth of the matter is, Russia and all the former Soviet countries owe these gypsies their people's history, alongside royalties or at least acknowledgment for "Russian" folk music.

Stop the bombing and start the dancing! To show an excellent example, please look at my mother, here seen at my best friend's parent's Christmas party last year. No matter where you are, on the field or in a westernized townhouse in an Ontario suburb, forget your troubles and love life!

Dear Friends,

It warms my heart to know that I can finally be part of my friend's quasi-anonymous online blogging community. This is an ode to all my relatives past and present who would have loved to blog but under strict and watchful Soviet rule did not have the means to do so. Za zdarovye!