Happy New Year!!!

Although I didn't write every single day in December, I managed to make it look like I spent entire December blogging about anything from James Last to shoe sizes. So, this is my post #31, and, naturally, it is about the New Year.

New Year is always about dotting the ‘i’. 2006 has definitely made me stronger, as within the first six months I had experienced two losses in the manner more direct than ever before. This has also made me more empathic and appreciative of every moment we spend with those who are dear to us.

2006 was also an amazing year. I’ve met and spoken to many interesting and talented people, the connection with some of whom, I hope, won’t disappear in 2007. I’ve been involved in many different projects, acquired tons of experience, and am looking forward to make it all ever more applicable after 1 January. I also began to publish my poems, and the reviews prove that I didn’t spend time in vain, trying to find my way of putting my thoughts and emotions across.

And in August I began to blog. I noticed some advanced authors have examined the most visited/searched items on their blogs. I must be honest, I cannot always understand, whether I’m creating the interest, or whether I’m accommodating it. But these are the top labels and articles on my blog, some of which, I admit, I expected to be more of an interest to myself. Instead, like with Auden’s villanelle or Last/Zamfir’s Lonely Shepherd, people constantly visit these pages. May I also thank The Independent and Ogonyok for keeping the online copies of the articles, to which I linked in one of the posts on Bondarchuk’s film.

Quiet Flows the Don

If I Could Tell You (W. H. Auden)

Lonely Shepherd

Chidiock Tichborne (1558-1586) Elegy

Mishka

My Fair Cabbage

Slaughterhouse Five

Berkeley University Video Lectures

Adaptation of Maxim Gorky’s Mother

Various keyword combinations leading to Prévert's poem Cortège

Latte Art

Most wonderfully, someone has been searching for my Russian nom de plume, obviously landing here. I’m very surprised, intrigued, but kind of happy, after all.

Hence here are some of my resolutions:

• To keep creating/accommodating interest of my visitors
• To go and see my parents in Moscow. I don’t know, when I go and for how long, but this must happen. I even vowed to blog about my visiting Moscow. I’m being told certain things have changed considerably. I’ve also changed considerably. So, it will probably be too considerable an experience to miss.
• To travel
• To find further ways and means to express my creativity
• To meet interesting and talented people and to continue to know those whom I already met

Although I’m not generally superstitious, there are certain things I prefer to do or to make happen, instead of to talk about. This is why my resolutions end here. However, if any of my unannounced resolutions come true, I promise to let you know.

I’d love to send my New Year wishes to my parents, to my
University in Moscow, to CSV Media Clubhouse and QT Radio, to the BBC Radio Manchester, to Cornerhouse, and to the IWM North. I’m wishing to every single person I met, spoke, wrote to and worked with a very Happy New Year. In particular, the wishes go to: Richard F, Robin H, Linda K, Steve B, Paul R, Andrei R, Victor G, Ian C, Ian H, Daniel J, Constantine C, Manchizzle (who was the first to link to me), Mancubist, and the anonymous American who lives in Moscow and who was the first person to leave a comment on my blog. Happy New Year also to Tony Richards at Lakelandcam, to Ian and Minako at Art in Liverpool, and to everyone who’s been clicking through Notebooks since August.

In Russia, people normally go with a long list of wishes, which include health, wealth, love, success, etc, etc. For many years, I’ve been wishing peace. Let us have peace, let us give it a chance, let us be dreamers, and let us prove that we can make our dreams come true.

Happy New Year! С Новым Годом!

(the Russian phrase reads as 's novym godom')

PS – The images used are Soviet postcards. They all say ‘Happy New Year’ in Russian and are courtesy of www.davno.ru

Historical Comebacks

The reports are coming in that Saddam Hussein has been executed at a secured location in Baghdad. You see, it seems like we're constantly being compelled to contemplate on global issues at the turn of the year. In 2004, it was a tsunami, and in 2006 it is the well-understood fear of the escalation of violence not just in Iraq, but anywhere in the world.

As the comments on the BBC's Have Your Say plainly manifest, most people, even when they agree that Saddam should have been executed, still cast doubts about the fairness of his trial and about the future of relations between the West and the East. Most importantly, as some visitors remark, the West has shown a total indifference to the Eastern way of life:

Out of all the days, why did the U.S. pick the day of Hajj to hang Saddam?

This comes as almost a historical comeback. In 1099, having finally entered Jerusalem, the brave Western knights had begun to kill almost every living person in the city, including children and women. They killed 'Sarazens' (Muslims) in the mosque, and burnt Jews in the synagogue. One should obviously be careful with such parallels, but the indifference to 'alien' religion seems to be persistent, despite today's devotion to political correctness.

Some other comments were very much in line with Le Goff's observation about the Arab's feeling about the Western anti-Islamism back in the Middle Ages. So, is this the longue durée, or not? One thing to look at may be the consolidation of the East against the West. The Ottoman Empire wasn't as powerful or integrated at the beginning of the Crusades, but things changed dramatically by the time of the 'counter-Crusades' of the 14th c. However, today the East may become more consolidate against the West, especially because what used to be called the Crusades in the Middle Ages, may now be hailed by some as drang-nach-Osten.

Communication and information at that time appear almost prehistoric in comparison to our use of the wireless technology. And if we speak in terms of military challenge and response, it would take many months in the 12-13th cc. not only to furnish a campaign, but also to get your army to the enemy's land. Needless to say, it takes less time now, and, thanks to the advance of the media, we can follow both challenge and response in real time.

If this is the longue durée, it certainly comes with massive technological, as well as ideological (in the broadest sense of the word), differences. But underneath those differences one can see the *good old* opposition between the West and the East, the almost inexplicable necessity to put two civilizations (again in the broadest sense of the word) on the two opposite ends of an ontological axis, to make them two poles, one good, another evil. If anything seriously bothers me, as both historian and individual, it is this determinism, the conviction that one can actually say with confidence that something is good and something is not. Some link this to Christian dichotomy of good and evil, light and darkness, but long before Christianity Herodotus had spoken about the barbarians, who by no means were as good as the Greeks.

It has become a commonplace in popular historical studies to tell about the European knights who, having lived in cold Europe, which scents were not at all wholesome, had come to the East, discovered the silks, the baths, the aromas, and so decided to stay. Those who didn't want to stay began to trade with the East, and so gradually the West started amassing all sorts of Eastern delights, forgetting, by and by, where those had come from. The Great Geographical Discoveries and colonization, not to mention the progress in arts, added to the Western sense of uniqueness. But it is exactly this sense that drives empires and states to parochialism and subsequently - to their fall.

This is not to say that no justice can or should be served to those who deserve it. But I unanimously agree with those who believe that, if we're speaking of crimes against humanity, then Saddam should've been tried by the Hague Tribunal. Humanity comprises the entire world, and not just the parties concerned. It remains to see, what resonance today's event will have. One thing is certain: with the UN's vote against Iran and the execution of Hussein during the Islamic religious holiday, the East has got every reason to feel under assault. The complete opposition of the West and the East may only exist in ether, after all. Yet in fact, the two poles are much closer today, than during the Crusades.

Links:
Said, Edward (2003) Orientalism. Penguin Books.

On Sneezing

Do you know how helpless you feel when you have a full cup of coffee in your hand and you start to sneeze? (Jean Kerr)

Do you know how it feels when you sneeze and your specs almost drop right down from your nose? And all this is while you are walking dowstairs in the dark?

Why am I walking downstairs in the dark? Because I was a cat in one of my previous lives, I believe. And also because I'm trying to be energy-efficient.

World Cinema Day

On December 28, 1895, at the Grand Cafe on Boulevard des Capucines in Paris, the Lumière brothers screened their first film. Since then, cinema has entered our everyday life.

Today different directors speak differently of their art. Some say that cinema is in a rut; some assert its potential to influence the audience. There is a grain of truth in both views. A film must contain something that may influence the audience, and these days it's hard to predict what this may be. On the other hand, whatever it may be, the audience must be prepared to receive their gospel.

I'm reading Miller's Big Sur in Russian, so I cannot quote the passage about the real and the imaginary, but I'll try to summarise his thought. Our life, he writes, is a dream. We move from one phase of this dream to another, from the dream of sleep to the dream of awakening, from the dream of life to the dream of death. He means, simply, that we aren't always aware of what is happening, of the boundary between certainty and uncertainty. But the ultimate beauty of the dream is in its transforming force. Every object, animate or inanimate, the entire world, has got an aura, which becomes fluid in the dream and can transform itself.

Cinema is a dream. Moreover, it is a play, and, as everyone would agree, it aims at constructing its own space with its rules and agents. And here is where we sometimes stumble. I don't quite like it when in Russia, for instance, some people are trying to invent a new word to describe an actor's performance. Simply, where in English there are two words, game and play, which are used differently and sometimes strictly in a collocation, in Russian we've only got one word, igra. Whether you're speaking of a sexual foreplay, or political games, or children games, or an actor's playing, you're using the word igra. And some people want to put in a divide between woeful life and beautiful art - as if the two can really be separated. At worst, they say that acting fools people.

It does. I read recently that a certain lady had stopped her romancing with Anthony Hopkins because in her mind he was strongly identified with Hannibal Lecter. And there are scores of women who think that a certain actor is just as sexually wild in life as he is on screen. But Hopkins is not Lecter, and a heartthrob can be a very modest man. So, the actors are playing, and, if this gives enough consolation to anyone, they fool themselves just as they fool us. In real life, they are nice and gentle parents, and on screen they kill in cold blood. Indeed, it looks like they use their talent against us. In truth, they give us an image of life that we're craving for - like in The Purple Rose of Cairo. Or they make us see something we'd rather not look at. Or they try and show us a new dimension to life, which otherwise may have consisted of four walls of our room.

The world is a dark cinema hall, says Jean-Luc Godard in Notre Musique, and cinema is the ‘light’ that shines upon it from the screen. Cinema manipulates with the imaginary objects, but only imaginary is certain; reality is uncertain.

And so we're living a dream. We're living it in real time, if one agrees with Henry Miller, and we're living it, when we watch films. Admittedly, as techniques and resources improved, the dream has become longer and brighter. The very first films shown at the Grand Cafe in Paris were only about 90 sec long. These days they can last as long as 4 hours, or even more.

The point is not that someone on both sides of the screen is constantly pulling our leg. If we think that art only reflects life, then we're being fooled when we listen to the music, and when we read books, and when we look at the paintings. All that is a dream. But we need its transforming power to learn about ourselves, to see our aura being modified, if only slightly or very gradually.

More on the Lumière brothers films - here.

History progresses at the speed of its weapons systems (Paul Virilio).

Gimme Me Some Snow After Midnight...

Frankly, any time of the day will do, for as long as I don't see it raining again. This is what it looked like in the Lake District another day.

I would happily go to the Lake District, had I not gone down with a cold. I've only got a sore throat so far, and hopefully it won't go any further. Then, of course, it's developed overnight, so I'm open to all scenarios. Strangely, though, I'd rather prefer to stay in bed, watching snow falling, instead of listening to the rain.

I'm taking some medicine, a lot of honey, and later in the evening it will be time for some hot milk. It's amazing, how things have changed over the years. When I was in Russia, I absolutely hated milky tea and hot milk. These days I drink milky tea, and hot milk with honey has become the favourite treatment against cold. In fact, when I went to London recently and had a lunch there, the dialogue with the waiter went, as follows:

Me: Could I please have apple pie and tea with milk?
Waiter: Ok. [Memorises and repeats, to make sure] So, it's apple pie and milk with tea, yes?
Me: Yes, it's tea with milk.

Better yet, there's a cafe at the shopping centre not far from where I live. It's owned by a guy who looks a typical Italian, but in fact is half-Yugoslavian and half-Chinese. They make a delicious lemon tea there, but always serve it to me with a milk pot. Obviously, I don't use it, but I wonder, if anyone would actually have milk in lemon tea?

Anyway, I'm just writing this to say that I'll now retreat to bed where I'll continue to battle this flu and also to read Big Sur and The Oranges of Hieronimus Bosch, and, hopefully, I'll be back in time to wish you all a happy New Year. Hopefully, as well, I won't have flu by then.

[The photo is courtesy of Tony Richards at www.lakelandcam.co.uk].

The Plants of Shakespeare

This is the title of the first chapter of Umberto Eco's Mouse or Rat: Translation as Negotiation (L.: Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 2003). The plants (or factories) in question are, in fact, the works. At the beginning of that chapter Eco briefly studied the potential of a computer program to recognise synonyms in different languages and to translate them accordingly. So, he used Babelfish, the automatic translating tool provided by AltaVista, to translate the works of Shakespeare into Italian and back into English. The works became gli impianti to then become the plants. Interestingly, it's not altogether wrong, because work, according to Webster's, can be an activity, a literary work, a duty and also a place of industrial labour. So, the problem is not in that Babelfish has got too many synonyms to juggle, but rather that it doesn't know that Shakespeare was a poet, and not a capitalist factory owner.

Now, I recently came across a text in Portuguese that I needed to translate. I don't actually know Portuguese (except for when the words are distinctly Romanic or otherwise familiar), so I turned to Google Translate. The text was about music, and the English translation generally made sense, except for when Google translated a Portuguese baixista (bassist) as stock exchange operator. I tried to translate the Portuguese word on its own, but the result was the same. I think this should make us forever abandon any hope to achieve a total equivalence in translation, when using an automatic tool.

Henry Miller (Tropic of Cancer)

I started reading Big Sur and The Oranges of Hieronimus Bosch by Henry Miller, and the waves of admiration engulfed me, which I had to share.

I discovered Miller's prose in 2001, thanks to my mother, who's got a knack for *discovering* things. On her way home from work she bought three books by him - Tropic of Cancer, Black Spring, and Tropic of Capricorn. I vividly remember that I was sleeping when she came home, because when I woke up I saw my mother reading one of the books. I enquired. She was reading Tropic of Capricorn, but quickly admitted that she wouldn't be able to read it in full. I think I was reading something else at the moment (it was Maugham, probably), so I suggested she'd give the books to my granny, who has always been an avid reader.

We expected a fiasco, and we had it. Usually not avert on using an occasional strong word, my granny was deeply offended to read all sorts of four- and five-letter words and their derivatives in the text of Tropic of Cancer. She literally threw the books back to me, and I had no choice but to finish off with Maugham as quickly as possible, so as to start reading this horribly offensive Henry Miller.

The fact that it's a "dirty" and "filthy" narrative cannot be refuted. But what about the context of the work? Miller was leading a life of an ex-pat in mid-war Paris, most of the time literally from hand to mouth, trying to see through the mist of people and events. That Paris was no longer strictly "bourgeois", but the imminence of another war was palpable, which made people hide behind chimeric hopes and images. That mid-war reality needed a new language, neither too complicated, nor too refined. The swearing words have always been used in the literary works to create a certain impression or effect, but on my then memory they have never been used so beautifully, sumptuously and ruthlessly as in Tropics. Miller used slang as a living language, which in Russian translation was subjected to all relevant grammar rules. And that made me adore the books and the author ever more, because for all its "filth" the book was marked by an unrivalled artistic taste.

As I was still a student, I was reading the book mostly on the bus and on the metro, sometimes standing in a crowd during the rush hour, sometimes sitting between two men, almost always squeezed, which meant that anyone with a habit of reading over the shoulder would have read all those "dirty" words. What would they think of me? Did I honestly care? No.

If anything else, Tropics must have been the ultimate books that taught me a lesson of the necessity to delve deeper into the narrative, instead of being instantly offended by its exterior. The first lesson was definitely in the reading the works of marquis de Sade, especially 120 Days of Sodom. From the point of 'offensivity', Tropic of Cancer and Tropic of Capricorn simply took de Sade's initiative further and - perhaps - ad finem.

One thing, however, I feel some readers may be missing about Tropic of Cancer is that it was written in the 1930s Paris, which was the Mecca for all innovative tendencies in art, especially surrealism. The book in fact carries a strong spell of surrealism. Some readers observe that the book has no structure, but by the time he embarked on it, Miller was already able to use the modernist technique of 'stream of consciousness' and the surrealist technique of automatic writing. Throughout the book he is preoccupied, among others, with the topics of sex and death, Eros and Tanatos, which again were deeply explored by surrealists. And the breakneck speed of the narrative, when everything seems to be happening at the same time, strangely reminds one of the simultaneity of events in medieval paintings, from which surrealism had often taken its inspiration. In this light, the sumptuous, disturbing and revelatory descriptions and passages in Tropic of Cancer are very much like the otherworldly panoptical visions of Hieronimus Bosch.

I devoured Tropics and Black Spring, then I read The Time of the Assassins: The Study of Rimbaud, and shortly before I came to England I started The Rosy Crucifixion. I still haven't finished it. Partly, I didn't have much time for it because of everything I had to do before leaving for another country. In part, however, it had to do with my coming across another book, much smaller in size, which presented Miller from a totally different angle. It was The Colossus of Maroussi, and, God knows, it is probably one of my favourite travel books, if not the favourite. In fact, as far as travelling is concerned, my ultimate dream is to travel to Greece by Miller's route. Admittedly, I'd need time and money to do that.

As for my granny, after a year and a half of my paeans to Henry Miller, she finally gave in and agreed to have another go. I saw her one summer day in 2003, fallen asleep, but keeping a page of the book with her finger. When she was half-way through Tropic of Cancer, I carefully asked her opinion.

'Well, my girl', she said, 'there's nothing that he writes that I didn't know, but, of course, he's a good writer'.

And I know she liked The Colossus of Maroussi.

More on Henry Miller - http://www.henrymiller.org/

Happy Christmas!!!

This picture contains all objects I associate not only with winter festive season, but with cosy living in general. Many years ago in one Russian book I saw a picture of a Scot, wearing a kilt and stockings, sitting by the fire, knitting a sock. A dog lay at his feet. That image has entered my memory forever, except for that sock is usually substituted by a book or a notepad. The picture has never come to life in full, as yet. In Moscow I had a dog (who sadly passed away in January 2006), but no chimney. In Manchester, I've got a chimney and even two dogs, but the picture still remains my imagination. Admittedly, the room in my mind doesn't quite resemble the one on the picture, but that's not important, obviously.

I must admit, I'm not religious, hence Christmas for me is rather a folklore holiday, than anything more serious. This goes for both England and Russia. But I appreciate its culture (especially being an historian), and I do take some part in celebrations. And so I gladly say to all my visitors and readers who celebrate this holiday today - Happy Christmas!

[You can confidently expect more from me on New Year].


Update: This is a slideshow of the images of Christmas celebrations from all over the world, prepared by Le Figaro. The images come from the following places: the UAE, Indonesia, India (2 photos), Pakistan, Indonesia again, England, Peru, Slovakia, China, Palestine, Iraq, Philippines.

And, sadly for many music lovers, the "Godfather of Soul", James Brown, has passed away this morning. This is his obituary from the BBC. 2006 has been a strange and difficult year, but maybe it's because one's outlook grows bigger and incorporates more people, who, even if you never met them personally, come very close nonetheless.

The Art of Shaking

This is an extract from the film Grand Hotel Excelsior, starring Adriano Celentano as the hotel manager. I thought it would raise our spirits amidst cooking turkeys. I also thought it could provide some inspiration to those who're short of ideas for their ultimate Xmas cocktail. Or for those who'd want to add that extra something to their cooking routine. Now, unless the kitchen is spacious enough, it may be difficult for a lady to perform her part, but nothing prevents you, gentlemen, exercising your sense of rhythm, stamina, and talent for improvisation. And ladies shall watch in awe...

Many thanks and Happy Xmas to Rivoluzione!

Fashionistas

So, I was writing that daunting text about Sikh martyrs. Until then I hardly ever realised how difficult it is to write about something, on which you only hold *second-hand* information. Since I cannot read any of Sikh sources in their original language, virtually every piece of information that I find is second-hand, in that it represents another scholar's point of view. So much easier to be on my familiar, mega-European, territory.

Whilst researching into those martyrs, I came across this website, which aim is plainly put across in the title - Rate My Turban. Ash Singh, the website's founder, thus describes his entreprise:

Having visited or lived in Canada, Africa, UK, Hong Kong and Singapore, I noticed most Sikhs living outside India have a pretty boring turban life (they wear 1-2 colours and usually tie the same style turban as their fathers). I wanted to showcase turbans as an art form and try to revive the majestic roots of turbans. Furthermore, todays Sikhs are commonly confused for Muslims and I wanted to think of a creative way to showcase Sikhs and their royal turbans in a positive way to the general public, and also show Sikh youths that wearing a turban is cool and fashionable.


I'm sure I've seen some nicely tied turbans in Manchester. Have a look at the pictures on the website, some turbans are really a piece of art. Furthermore, you can navigate to the section of the website, where there'll be audio and video guides to help you to learn to tie your turban. But - don't blame me or my blog if after Christmas turbans become the next big thing in fashion on both sides of the Atlantics.


And, since Christmas is really close and we've been talking about religion in this post, this is a conversation on the bus that I've been told about. I won't make any comments because it's got a serious faux pas in it. However, the observations made are quite peculiar - especially considering that The Da Vinci Code is still being sold.


Nowhere in the Bible does it say that Joseph went to Bethlehem on a donkey. And also, according to the law of the time, Mary could be stoned to death because she was pregnant. Imagine what difference that would make.

Futuresonic Memories - 2

I noticed a lot of Futuresonic-minded people at Simple Bar in late July, where Lee Gosnay & Co presented the performance that earned them a place in the coveted EVNTS section of Futuresonic 2006. The performance's title, Persona, reminds me of Ingmar Bergman's film, first and foremost. In it, Lee brings together many individuals, like DJ Neo (scratching) and Tony Watts from Manchester School of Samba (live percussion), and Ju-X5 (live vj-ing). The music styles vary from jazz, through funk and soul, to electronic music.

Now, if you've been to this performance and would like to visit again, or if you haven't been and would like to go, Persona will be at Simple Bar on New Year's Eve. DeadWasps will be on the warm-up, after which Lee and his team will take the stage. Tickets cost £7, and you can either phone 07723 357 792, or email info@broad-minded. com, for booking. Many other parties will obviously be coming up on New Year's Eve, but this one will surely put you in good mood for 2007.

You can check out more of Lee's activities and projects at www.broad-minded.com (via the Moon).

Futuresonic Memories - 1

Whilst looking for something recently, I came across the Art in Liverpool blog, which in 2005 was chosen the Best British Art Blog by The Times. Bearing in mind that Liverpool will be the European Capital of Culture in 2008, it makes every sense to bookmark the site to keep track of what will be happening there (perhaps, this is what you're already doing). The site is edited by Ian Jackson, and I was nicely surprised to have discovered that I knew this gentleman - I saw him and his lovely wife in Manchester during Futuresonic 2006 in July. I can't marvel enough at my memory.

And this is the Christmas message from Ian & Minako



The blog will now be in my blog's list, as I'm certainly cherishing plans to visit Liverpool in 2008, although I may well do so before. I have been there once, in 2002, looking for The Beatles Adventure, which was quite an adventure in itself. I was going to the city on the day of the firemen' strike. I was woken up by the radio telling me that an old lady had died in the fire somewhere in Wales. A very uplifting piece of news, as you imagine. And in Liverpool it took me quite a while to find the Beatles Museum. I got eventually to the 'right' part of the Albert Dock, where I found myself between two poles with street signs, which both had 'Beatles Museum' arrows. The arrow on the right pole was pointing to the left, the arrow on the left pole was pointing to the right. One would assume, of course, that the destination point would be in the middle. In the middle there was a Royal Mail post box.

At the end of this Magical Mystery Tour I did find the Beatles Museum.

2006 Xmas

Richard Fair wrote on BBC Radio Manchester Blog about his annoyance at sites that are permanently under construction and also at bloggers, who take a Christmas break. I'm jumping up and down with joy because it's my first year on the blog, and so I created this new label, 2006 Xmas, where I'll be gathering and/or narrating some Xmas and New Year related stories. Obviously, I cannot collect them all, consequently, the choice is purely random.

Now, for years they have been observing the British monarchy becoming *modern*, and today it looks like the institution (or at least those who represent it) has become almost totally advanced, at least as far as the use of technology is concerned. This year Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II is going to podcast her Christmas address, which was recorded at the Southwark Cathedral. The article states that

a Yuletide institution, the 10-minute broadcast is televised on December 25 at 3:00 pm (1500 GMT) in Britain, as many families are recovering from their traditional turkey lunch.

The opportunity to download the podcast will mean two things. First, you can recover from your lunch without feeling guilty that you cannot properly tune in to what your governor has got to tell you. [It's best not to watch TV or to read newspapers while eating, anyway]. Secondly, you can enjoy Her Majesty's address whenever and wherever you want, and for as many times as you may wish. I think this is even better than a one-off chance to see and to listen to your monarch.


I didn't hear President Putin considering a podcast of his New Year address. The Russian New Year address happens shortly before midnight 1 January (Moscow time). Most people celebrate the New Year at home or with friends, but some go out to the Red Square and other open places. Wherever they decide to celebrate the New Year, they gather solemnly with the glasses of champagne to listen to the address. The address is followed by the traditional striking of the clock on Spasskaya Tower at the Kremlin, during which you make your New Year resolutions. After the last (12th) strike of the clock the New Year has officially started, and so you drink your champagne and carry on watching your entertainment TV.

There is one thing some people do whilst listening to the clock striking. They write their resolutions on a piece of paper, immediately burn it, mix the ash with champagne, and drink it. I know it sounds weird, but this is considered to be the way to make your wishes come true. I never did it - because I'm pathetic at using a lighter. Every other time I'm using it, I end up burning the tip of my thumb's nail. So I just repeat my resolutions to myself.

From Blogger to Julia

As I told Richard when we chatted on Radio Manchester, I wasn't keen on blogging initially. At first, I was totally against the idea, then in late July 2006 I began to contemplate on it (it must've been Futuresonic influence). Eventually I saw myself one August night signing up for an account. I've chosen Blogger because I had a Google email, so it made sense. And I've been generally happy with the service, bearing in mind that I've never blogged before. The only thing I find difficult to get my head round is the multiple changes, which may not be the changes after all, but which put a non-hack on alert.

When I was signing up people were advised to sign up for Blogger in Beta, which I did. Now I note that 'Beta' sign is crossed out, and I'm reading that we've got a fantastic 'Blogger' instead. To say that I'm confused is to say nothing, really. Add to this the whole Christmas fever and attempts to manage the list of presentees, and here you go. From what I've seen in the new Blogger tour, I'm signed up for the right version of software, and my only hope is that the guys at Blogger have some pity for poor journos, authors and non-hacks and don't make us switch to something else. That's our unanimous Christmas wish, and I'm sure all agree.

This Friday I'm hoping to get to this John Lennon Imagine charity gig at RNCM, on which Mancubist blogged some time ago. Which means I'm going to stay up at work until at least 6.30pm. But like I said previously, I've been once to Lennon's commemorative gig in Moscow, so I'm keen to compare my impressions with what they'll do in Machester. If you see a girl in round specs, it's probably going to be me.

And - to answer the question someone has been asking to a search engine - Julia is not a Russian name. To be honest, whoever asks exactly what my Russian name is, usually says next that it's a very nice name. I do agree, but when I was coming over to England in 2003 I reckoned I'd have just enough trouble helping people to spell my surname correctly. I thought I'd do a lot of good to everyone if I use the English equivalent to my Russian name. Besides, I've always been translating my name into English.

Believe it or not, most of the times when I say that my name is 'Julia', people hear either 'Julie' or 'Julianne'. Whilst doing a radio programme, I have had a plenty of chances to listen to myself pronouncing my name, and as far as I'm concerned it sounds 'Julia'. Nevertheless, my effort to solve possible problems didn't bring the desired fruit, as in addition to helping to spell my surname I also have to explain, exactly what my name is.

But after all, I love my name for its versatility, for the fact that it's spelt and pronounced differently in different European languages. I do like being a chameleon, I must admit. The name itself is of Latin origin, and I will never forget this dialogue with my Latin tutor in Moscow.


Tutor: I note your name is Julia.
Me: Yes.
Tutor: Your parents must've named you after Julius Ceasar.
Me: I don' think they remembered him.

New Internet Addictions

Another interesting observation has come from France today - a list of brand new internet addictions. Check it out and amend the list of your New Year reservations accordingly. :-)

EGO-SURFING: When you frequently check your name and reputation on the Internet.

BLOG STREAKING: "Revealing secrets or personal information online which for everybody's sake would be best kept private."

CRACKBERRY: "The curse of the modern executive: not being able to stop checking your BlackBerry, even at your grandmother's funeral." (A BlackBerry is a popular handheld device that can be used for phoning, emailing and web-browsing).

GOOGLE-STALKING: Defined as "snooping online on old friends, colleagues or first dates."

CYBERCHONDRIA: "A headache and a particular rash at the same time? Extensive online research tells you it must be cancer."

PHOTOLURKING: Flicking through a photo album of someone you've never met.

WIKIPEDIHOLISM: Excess devotion to contributing to the online collaborative encyclopaedia, Wikipedia. (Wikipedia even has a page where you can test whether you're an addict: (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:Are-You-a-Wikipediholic-Test)).

CHEESEPODDING: Downloading of a song "so cheesy that you could cover it in plastic wrap and sell it at the deli counter." Cheesepodders are especially vulnerable to soft-rock favourites from the 1970s.

I note they didn't mention blogging as an addiction - it must have entered the realm of common sense, I feel...

Am I guilty of any of these? Well, there is such thing as Google Alert, which allows you to monitor any content you wish - including your name. I won't confess as to whether I'm using this or not, but it can save time Ego-Surfing. Cheesepodding should be renamed into CHEESEYOUTUBING, as far as I am concerned. And, of course, I do a bit of Photolurking now and again, but I doubt that would count as a definitive addiction.

Anyway, at this moment in time I'm in the Vanity Fair mood, having finally seen the film. My opinion - loved it! Loved every single actor's performance, especially James Purefoy (it must be my obscure Francophilia again!), but I can't stop admiring Rhys Ifans. A really outstanding talent.

Jacques Le Goff on History

This is the translation of an extract from the interview with the French historian, Jacques Le Goff, published in Le Figaro on December 7, 2006. The interview was done to mark the reprint of the book by Regine Pernoud, La Libération d'Orléans, 8 May 1429 (first edition - Paris, Gallimard, 1969), to which Le Goff wrote the preface, called The End of the English France. In it, he argued that the siege of Orleans in 1429 had not only been a turning point in the course of the Hundred Years' War, but has also occupied a special place in the French national memory. Much of the interview examines this view, but towards the end Le Goff spoke on historical comebacks and the place of history in the context of today. The French text is by Jacques de Saint-Victoire and is printed in full here.

Don't we also have this obscure interest in the Evil, in the most somber passions?

The comeback of the passions is one big trait of history. One could, for example, research into the history of the Crusades to explain the events in the Middle East. Bush is like one of the Western Crusaders, and the Arabs regarded the Crusaders as the first signs of the Western anti-Islamism. This is how I approached it. I was criticized a lot for being the first medievalist who has had a negative view of the Crusades. But we refer to them these days to measure the negative impact.

This reminds us of the ‘longue durée’, of which Fernand Braudel was so fond. André Burguière has just published his Intellectual History of the Annales. In your opinion, whatever happened to this ‘new history’? Isn’t it in a rut?

I am not the best person to answer your question, since the meetings of the committee of the Annales often happen at my place. But I don’t see the decline of the Annales. Didn’t they exaggerate, or even invent, the crisis of history? Yet its vigour rests within its process. I don’t see it either going backwards or stagnating. Admittedly, it’s a bit banal to say so, but the new doesn’t last forever. For all that, history continues, as Georges Duby would say.

Does it still have the same place it has once occupied?

It’s true that it’s no longer in the newspapers’ editorials, as it once used to be. But do notice that its position in the media interest is different not because history has declined or that it has stopped being interesting for the readers. On the contrary, what for me manifests itself as a real regress in the position of history, is that it occupies a place more and more marginal in the making of male and female politicians and in their cultural level. How could one govern France without taking its past much into account? I take the opportunity to mention an excellent posthumously published book by Yves Renouard, on the character types of France. I also deplore the fact that this historical dimension is hardly present in the making of Europe. History is necessary to give a soul and a foundation to politics.

Links:
You can read more about Jacques Le Goff at Wikipedia.
Pernoud, Regine, La Libération d'Orléans (8 May 1429), preface by Jacques Le Goff, Paris, Gallimard, 2006 (Les journées qui ont fait la France).
Renouard, Yves, Leçons sur l'unité française et les caractères généraux de la civilisation française, édition François Renouard, Bordeaux, 2005.

On Trains, Passports, and Travels

I shall confess - I love travelling by train. Much more so than by air or car. Sure, travelling by air consumes less time (usually), whilst travelling by car allows you to shove all your luggage in the boot and to enjoy some nice landscapes at almost any speed you like. But I still prefer trains. In some inexplicable sense, I find them more comfortable and definitely more romantic. Re the latter, I don't mean exactly a night train, but simply the state of sitting nicely at the window, especially if you're travelling on a Pendolino.

As I said ages ago, I was planning to go to London. Now I can tell you, why. In Russia, we've got two passports - one domestic, another foreign - which every citizen has to renew every so often. The 'every so often' for my foreign passport arrived last November, so I went to London to submit documents for renewal. I was told that it would take approximately 3-4 months to receive a new passport. Having submitted the papers in November 2005, I didn't hear about my passport until August 2006. And for different reasons I only managed to get to the consulate last week - only to find out that my surname has once again been spelt in French (apparently French is still the official transciption language on such documents).

What's the difference, you may wonder? Well, my surname in French is spelt as 'Chouvalova'. Can you imagine me explaining to every English-speaking official that this is French spelling, and that they should pronounce 'ch' as 'sh'? A poor chap (or chapess) will think I'm taking a mickey out of them. I must say, my consulate has made a correction, so my great and hearty commendations to them. Now I will have to tell the officials to look at the penultimate page in my passport for correct spelling. How different is that?

[Gosh, I only just realised something about this French spelling. Remember 'mon petit chou'? I resolve to go to France in 2007, to test their reaction to my surname, he-he. Or perhaps even remake it into something posh, say, 'Chouvalois'...].


Generally, I like travelling to London. Of course, as I was born and raised in Moscow, going to London sometimes feels like homecoming. I've got loads of buses (that come frequently and on time), I've got the Tube, I've got scores of art places, etc. I never got lost on the underground, and I even find the whole tube system quite easy to figure out.

But this time (Thursday, 14th) my journey wasn't half as pleasant. For various reasons, I haven't left Manchester at all since last November. When I read this entry on Richard's blog, I thought I'd do the same. Instead, I made this entry in my real notebook:

'Early morning on the train. Why do I feel like it's not my train? I must have spent too much time not travelling anywhere'.

Later on, another anxiety visited me - I began to feel like I was going to forget something somewhere. I only had one bag with me, and I always had it with me, in my hand or on my shoulder. Yet for some reason I was almost convinced I was going to forget something. Of course, I didn't.

When I first mentioned here that I was going to London, I said that I was planning to visit two exhibitions at the Victoria and Albert Museum. Alas, I didn't. My shoes decided to try and kill me, so walking wasn't always comfy. Then I saw a poster on the Tube about Rodin's exhibition at the Royal Academy of Art. My spirits sank completely. In the end, I took an early train home.

On Friday, Richard Fair at Radio Manchester was inviting us to announce our New Year resolutions. One of mine is - definitely - travelling.

Polnareff's Holidays (Explanations - Part 2)

I also know that someone was looking for the English translation of this song by Michel Polnareff, called Holidays. The song is beautiful, yet melancholic, and carries a very deep meaning. I can imagine Polnareff writing it while on the plain, but I don't know if it's true or not. I didn't attempt to adapt the English text to the music, though.



Holidays, oh holidays
C’est l’avion qui descend du ciel
Et sous l’ombre de son aile
Une ville passe
Que la terre est basse
Holidays...

Holidays, oh holidays
Des églises et des H.L.M.
Que fait-il le Dieu qu’ils aiment?
Qui vit dans l’espace
Que la terre est basse
Holidays...

Holidays, oh holidays
De l’avion, l’ombre prend la mer
La mer comme une préface
Avant le désert
Que la mer est basse
Holidays...

Holidays, oh holidays
Tant de ciel et tant de nuages
Tu ne sais pas à ton âge
Toi que la vie lasse
Que la mort est basse
Holidays...

Holidays, oh holidays
C’est l’avion qui habite au ciel
Mais n’oublie pas, toi si belle
Les avions se cassent
Et la terre est basse
Holidays!...





Holidays, oh holidays
It's a plane that comes down from the sky
And the shadow of its wing
Covers a city below
How close is the ground
Holidays...

Holidays, oh holidays
Churches and council flats,
What is their beloved God doing?
He who lives in the space
How close is the ground
Holidays...

Holidays, oh holidays
The plane's shadow covers the sea
The sea is like a preface
To the desert
How close is the sea
Holidays...

Holidays, oh holidays
So much sky and so many clouds
At your age you don't know
That life is boring
How close is death
Holidays...

Holidays, oh holidays
It's a plane that lives in the sky
You're so beautiful, but don't forget
That planes crash
And that the ground is close
Holidays...

Explanations - Part 1

I had to write this post because a few days ago someone inserted these gruesome keywords into search window. Maybe someone was researching into the types of capital punishment. Or maybe their curiosity was lit by my description of Tudor execution. Whatever - the person was searching for

.............. females hung drawn and quartered..................

Now, females had been hung to death, but never drawn or quartered. They could also be burnt, or beheaded (the latter was, to my knowledge, a noble privilege). But no female had been subjected to the procedure that I described in the post about Chidiock Tichborne. I think it may have to do, above all, with the understanding of and attitude to a female body. Anyone who knows better are welcome to comment on this.


Also, a bientot is a French phrase, which means see you later. It is pronounced basically as it looks, except that you don't pronounce the final 't'.


And also - please forgive me those who were looking for it - another fantastic keyword combination. Someone was evidently looking for Elton John's hit single, and googled

........................don't go breaking my head..........................

Perhaps, Sir Elton uses this as an idea for a new remix.

Lingerie Guide

I must be daydreaming... but there is this article about 'stocking fellas' appointed by M&S. Their special and delicate duty is to help men to buy lingerie for their wives and girlfriends by offering male customers 'man to man' advice.

I know it can be difficult to drag a man into the lingerie section altogether, let alone to make him give his opinion on something. But if a woman cannot do that, how will another man cope?

Better still, it seems like the problem is not just about the choice of a style or fabric. The matter is even more delicate. The article mentions that M&S get 'the highest volume of returned lingerie items after Christmas, often because they are the wrong size'.

This is a phrase from M&S spokesperson:

"If anyone is embarrassed about talking to women then these guys are on hand to help customers".

What puzzles me, is how can a man help another man figure out what bra size the latter's female partner is wearing, if 'another man' doesn't know it himself?

Update. Richard's comment reminded me of a totally surreal experience of buying slippers at M&S. My shoe size is 36-37 European (depending on a manufacturer's country), which in England falls between sizes 3 and 4. With this in mind, I tried size 3 slippers, which turned out to be very small. Tried size 4 of the same model, that was OK. Being a woman, I thought I'd try another model. With previous experience in mind, I went f