Nonconformist Art

Short form:

Tuesday--ballet at the Pushkin Academic Dramatic Theater (longer in Russian, I'm afraid); an adaptation of Chekhov's "Chaika," described by someone who knows about ballet as "outdated avant-gardeism." Even I could see this, and I know nothing about ballet.

Wednesday--went on one of the ubiquitous excursions "along the canals and river of SPB." This is a lie: we only saw one canal and the river. Featured some of the worst dancing I've ever seen, perpetrated by members of our group, but otherwise boring.

Thursday--went to see the Center for Nonconformist Art, which was interesting in a boring kind of way and as grungy as postmodernism; apparently, it was some sort of hotbed of political discontent. Featured a book store with more pseudo-Soviet posters; these are apparently very popular.


Beyond that, I think it's safe to say that I have a routine now, which involves getting up every morning and going to classes and activities until I can come home, read a little, and sleep. Unfortunately, this routine involves barely staying awake during my first class, and always falling asleep during the afternoon lecture. There's some continuing frustration there: the lectures are all about interesting topics, if I could just understand them a little better. And, you know, stay awake. It's not really like I'm not getting enough sleep.

And now, because I haven't said anything else interesting, a few small things:

Culture is somewhat bigger in Russia than it is in the US. Today, one of our professors was telling us about how all Russian high schools force their students to read all the great Russian classics, and a lot of other good literature besides. Also, I notice that there are more street-side ads for ballet, theater, museums, and the philharmonic than anything else. I can't say I disapprove.

Doors tend to be double, and they open out instead of inwards. By double I don't mean side-by-side, though; you have to go through one door, then open the next. Windows likewise tend to be double: two glass surfaces separated by three or four inches. This leads me to suspect that winters are as bad as advertised.

Finally,

Well, I stopped to talk to Ross for a while and forgot. Ah well.