A Russian Master

ALBANY, N.Y. - I'll cop to putting some unusual things on the blog this week. Poems, old articles and weird pictures. That's just the way it's going to be sometimes on here.

This morning I had tea with a Russian woman, Irina. Irina is in her middle 40s and came to our meeting in a full-length formal coat and black slacks. Her wavy hair was recently highlighted.

I wore a mint colored button down shirt with a yellow and blue band near the shoulders that said "RedEx: Redhot Express" across the front. It cost $5 at an export shop in Hong Kong.

We met at Border's Books and Music in the Albany suburb of Colonie. My father was there, and so was Irina's daughter, Tonya. Tonya, 15, is a ranked chess player, future AP student and anime fan. By coming to Albany today, she missed anime festival in New Hampshire. She made an elaborate costume for Halloween this year, a hooded warrior that took more than 20 hours of sewing between Irina and Tonya, and plans to wear it at future anime gatherings. I told her about my recent trip to an anime festival, where I saw a number of people walking the hotel event room floor with eight-foot keys from the game Kingdom Hearts.

"That's a very popular game," Tonya said. Apparently anime tastes in the Northeast aren't terribly different than in the Heartland.

Tonya and Irina live in Montpelier, the tiny capital of Vermont. (Tonya said it only has 8,000 people, Wikipedia says 8,035, which is pretty damn close.) They're originally from Moscow. I'm not sure why they came over here: I was too busy talking about anime to ask.

Irina and I met because I've recently begun planning a trip to Russia. I tentatively thinking about flying to Moscow from New York in early February, and making my way to language school in Beijing by rail. Paul Theroux, the chronicler of train journeys, has convinced me to take this long trip. Irina's never been on the long train, but she had some advice on the Moscow leg of the trip.



"The plane food was O.K.," she said. The best part about Aeroflot - the Russian airline - was the free rubber duck provided in coach.

Moscow has terrible traffic. It always moves, just at a slow pace. Obviously Irina does not travel with the blue light buying sect in the city.

I shouldn't travel places at night, it's not good. What will happene, I'm not sure, but Irina didn't get into I didn't want to ask.

There's a cool chocolate factory near the riverside monument to Peter the Great. Sounds yummy.



And best of all, Irina agreed to hook me up with an American friend living in Moscow to be a companion, guide, friend and possible host while in the city. For the price of a cup of Pomegranate Green Icea Tea, I learned quite a bit.

The Woes of September

WICHITA, Kan. – My last month here in Kansas began with three unpleasant surprises, all related to the calendar and all happening on the first of the month (I was too distressed to write about them yesterday, hence this entry's appearance on the second).

I have my pleasures and vices here in Wichita, the main one being fountain drinks from QuikTrip. I might have been somewhat skeptical about the place several weeks ago, but I've grown to love it. I don't take coffee breaks from work, I take QuikTrip runs. There I grab some concoction made of soda, syrup and frozen drinks and bring it to the counter. Friday, around 11 a.m., I did just that.

"That will be 85 cents," the clerk said. I was confused. I go to QuikTrip a lot. My debit card account is three-quarters under a dollar purchases from QuikTrip. A 32 ounce soda costs 63 cents with tax. I looked over the price wall for confirmation. But there, I saw that the "59 cents" sticker had been removed from the 32 oz. sign. Instead a plain-looking 79 cents was revealed behind it.

The answers came back at the office: QuikTrip lowers the price of its 32 oz. drinks during the summer. And apparently Sept. 1 is the corporate-designated end of the summer.

I came home from work, looking to celebrate the end of a long week with a beer and some "Entourage." I turn on the television, only to find Channel 15 full of static. Channel 16, Cinemax, was also dead. Then I remembered a tiny strip of paper posted on my door a couple weeks ago: "We can no longer offer HBO service. Starting September 1, you will have to make outside arrangements for the channel." And come September 1, it was gone.

I went to the gym to cool off and get rid of some of those QuikTrip calories. After I returned, I finally opened that beer and decided to read a bit. Not in the mood for the latest Paul Theroux book, I cruised over to the Economist Web site. I love the Economist. It's international, serious, funny and a great read. It also costs more than $150 a year, so I can't afford the print edition. I access it through a proxy server at my old school. I enter in my PIN number, nine magic digits that were all-important for four years, and access is granted.

But there's a problem. "That PIN is invalid."

I guess Tufts believes September 1 is far enough after graduation to close the knowledge spicket. I eventually did manage to get on the Web site, but was not happy.

That was my first day in September. I certainly hope better things are coming for the rest of the month. After all, aren't months supposed to taketh and giveth in equal measure?

The Sound of a Gun

WICHITA, Kan. -- Until 24 hours ago, I'd never heard the sound of bullets leaving a handgun.

I've lived a pretty sheltered life. The places I've lived, Boston, Albany and Hong Kong, primarily, are all pretty safe, especially in the areas of town that I was living in. Wichita, as I've written before, is different.

Yesterday I had a wonderful evening out in Wichita. There's a local bar that screens old movies outside in the summer, so some colleagues and I went over after work for a couple drinks and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. I returned slightly after midnight, and was typing a quick entry for this blog when I heard a loud bang. It came from the north, but sounded really close and echoed. Closely behind that first noise were four more.

I hit the deck - or at least jumped off the couch and onto the floor. My apartment's small, and there's precious few places to hide. I wished for a hidden annex and/or a root cellar. But I had none. I wasn't sure what the noises were, but it didn't sound terribly good.

I grabbed my handy book -- still reading Paul Theroux, by the way -- and spent 20 minutes on the floor, nervously reading about Welsh trains. Then I decided that since I was due at work before 7 the next day, it was time to go to bed. After all that excitement, I fell asleep quite easily, until ---

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

My first thought was that I'd overslept, and that my editors were banging on the door for me to come into work. (I'd just woken up, go with me.) I stumbled over to the door, my now rather long hair standing several inches into the air and squinting without my glasses. The man introduced himself as a Wichita police officer, I was far too tired to remember his name.

He wanted to know if I saw anything that evening.

"I heard some shots, just after midnight. But I didn't see anything.'

He didn't say anything.

"By the way officer, what happened?"

Turns out there was a drive-by right across the way, on a little street that runs past my side of the apartment complex. The home was literally across the street, not more than 60 feet from where I'm typing this now. There were flashing lights when I peered out the door. The officer said no one was hurt, took my name and phone number for possible follow up, and woke up Oscar next door.

One of the blessings and curses of being the sometime police reporter here at the Eagle is that I get to find out exactly what happened in incidents like these. The story as it stands now is that there were two shootings last night, both gang-related. The second shooting -- the one by my house -- was actually a walk-by shooting, and no one was hurt, thankfully. But teenagers are in the hospital for a related incident uptown.

I know this stuff happens in Albany and Boston and Hong Kong, but I managed to live 21 years without seeing it. Now I've been here two months and been involved with two violent crimes.

So, do I feel safe and sound in the Heartland? Not likely.