Re: For Captain: A Canadian calls for Russian aid

The Canaduhhhians are lining up at the visa office even as we read this.

Har-har-har !

"Vladimir Makarenko" <makarv02@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx> wrote in message
news:2pqdnXo_Sbv6NmrenZ2dnUVZ_sKdnZ2d@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
for fun:

http://www.gazeta.ru/2003/09/03/kz_m97476.shtml

A Canadian calls for Russian aid




Our 'Only in Russia' section is normally devoted to an individual incident
relatively unique to the Russian way of life. However, with the arrival of
a foolhardy young Canadian on an internship here at Gazeta.Ru we have
decided to let him convey his own personal insight into life in the
Russian capital. After a two-month stint here in Russia, he came to the
following conclusion:

'A CANADIAN CALL FOR RUSSIAN AID'

I have always been proud of how frequently the U.N. has ranked Canada as
the best place to live in the world. This title signifies that we, as
Canadians, enjoy the highest quality of life there is.

However, after having lived the past few months in Moscow, I feel it is my
patriotic duty to report that we have been gravely deceived. I now
understand that our high ranking and other international honors have all
been part of a Kremlin-led conspiracy to keep us ignorant of our own
suffering while its people secretly indulge in their many excesses.

The illusions end here! The following report will highlight just a few of
the disparities I have uncovered, between Russia and Canada, while living
here in the Russian capital.

FOOD and DRINK:

Muscovites have better access to healthy food. Farmers' markets abound
and, in them, produce is sold at a competitive or negotiable price and
without the added expense of colouring or preservatives.

Their fast food selection is also superior. A Canuck stuck for time will
likely grab a burger or nuke something in the microwave. A Muscovite cooks
up some wholesome Pelmini (the little dumplings that began Russia's fast
food tradition) or visits one of the million kiosks that sell either
stuffed potatoes, pitas filled with every food group (Sharma), or anything
one could hope for in fried pie form (Piroshki).

The latter may back up one's internal plumbing, but never fear they have
Kefir, which works like 'Drano'. In Canada there is a myth that milk
eventually goes 'bad'. In Moscow they know that milk ages like fine wine
and that when it tastes sour, smells strange or curdles it is only
'maturing' into Kefir.

Of course, 'sour milk' isn't the only beverage Russians enjoy in greater
quantities than Canadians. In Canada (excluding Quebec) you can only
purchase alcohol at licensed bars/restaurants or directly from the
government and you can be arrested or fined for drinking on the street. As
if these restrictions weren't enough, the taxation is ridiculous.

When their government tried to restrict drinking rights in the late
eighties, Russians had the good sense not to stand for it. Nowadays, it
would be remarkable to walk 10 minutes in Moscow without noticing someone
exercising his or her drinking freedom. Drinkers can be found on the
street, the metro, at the office or on their way to school. Beer is a
common choice for public drinkers. Cocktails are also becoming popular and
are sold, pre-mixed in 1 liter bottles or cans, at thousands of kiosks
throughout Moscow. They are advertised in the way that energy drinks are
in Canada.

WORDS:

On a metro ride home from work, the only thing Russians consume more than
drinks are books. Russians are always reading, and when they're not, they're
talking. Their 33-letter alphabet has born billions of words. In English
Canada we try hard not to choke on our tough, dry little words, as we
mutter them bitterly in monotone accents. Russians relish the taste of
their big, soft and succulent words, savoring them on their palates as
they would the finest caviar and, when released, their voices bubble from
their mouths like Russian champagne.

As if their own was not enough, many Muscovites elect to study foreign
languages. Not only the so-called 'new' Russians strive to be linguists;
the poorest of the poor have asked me for change in English, German,
French and Spanish. One time a small boy appealed to me in all five
languages, rendering my claim of not understanding him utterly
implausible. At which point he reverted back to his mother tongue, which I
then learned has more swear words than the other four combined.

SIZE:

Language is but one of the many colossal items to be found in Russia.
Culturally, they boast an immense history filled with huge revolutions.
Russia is also the largest country in the world and its streets, buildings
and monuments are all gigantic. Within the great walls of the Kremlin,
Russia proudly displays the world's largest canon and one of the world's
largest bells.

One might add that the Russian love for language, with all its words and
structures, leaves little time in the day for much else, that their
history of revolutions has kept the people in a constant scramble to
re-organize, that 75% of Russians live within the one quarter of their
vast land known as the fertile triangle (in contrast to the infertility of
the rest), that the world's largest canon cannot be fired or that their
great bell cannot be rung.

However, one must not dwell on such trifles and miss the crux of the
matter, which is that bigger is better. Besides, Russians have never been
burdened by our Western obsession with efficiency, which brings us to my
next point:

FREEDOM:

Of course, I am not speaking of freedom as the U.N. defines it (having
already explained their part in our deception). Russians have the freedom
to be politically incorrect, brazen in every way, discourteous and, at
times, completely inept. Most of all they are free from order.

In particular I have observed the following acts of liberty: Apparently, a
man can sneak up on a group of schoolgirls and successfully grasp not one,
not two, but three breasts (and be reprimanded only by soft giggles).
Children can dive from high caf? terraces into one-meter deep fountains,
while amused adults applaud their most daring leaps. A slightly disturbing
freedom I myself have experienced is the Russian Banya. In which
heterosexual naked men can feel comfortable getting sweaty together,
swatting each other with twigs and cooling off with a romp in the snow or
by sharing a pool or shower.

As well, Russian strangers need not feel awkward in staring menacingly at
each other; in fact, I think they enjoy these staring contests quite a
bit. Whereas we strive to avoid eye contact with strangers and nervously
smile at one another when we fail.

SECURITY:

Clearly our tendency to smile, in particular, at times when we are not in
ecstasy, is a sign of insecurity. Any Russian will tell you, as they have
me, that this is the case. Our anxiety is also evident to Russians in our
inclinations to apologize to one another over minor transgressions, to
thank each other for things already paid for and all the other frailties
we unconsciously suffer while thinking we're acting 'civil'.

Unlike us, Muscovites are strong and fearless, primarily because the
population is toughened by rigorous daily exercise. The Metro serves as
their main training ground. First one must overcome the entrance doors
that swing wildly in both directions knocking any unworthy would-be
passenger unconscious. That first hurdle overcome, one is faced with the
crowds. During my sojourn in Moscow, I have not stood in a single line. At
times, I was naive enough to think that I was in one but soon realized,
while airborne, that I had simply chosen a random spot to stand.

The Metro mob spares no one, doors are rarely opened for the old or
invalid, seats are not sacrificed and I'm certain if I ever collapsed
indifferent feet would trample me. Back home in the land of lines, order
and apologies, the weak stand with the strong and our whole population
grows soft. In Moscow, aside from family and friends, with whom Russians
share everything, the socialist concept ''one for all and all for one''
never stuck. A much more appropriate adage would be ''one for one and all
get out of one's way''. Thus, the weak are weeded out of the populace and
only the strong remain.

We also lack formal security precautions such as conscription, police
checking passports at random 24/7 and a Metro deep enough to double as a
bomb shelter. So, of course we are insecure. The States backs us at the
moment, but deep down we know that if they ever decide to march north in
search of fresh water, timber or beaver hats we would not be able to fight
like 'Hero-city' Moscow. Likely we would smile at them like idiots, thank
them for their visit and then ask them to please go home.

WOMEN:

I should note the strength of Russian women. While young, they are
beautiful. They flaunt this fact with all the clothes, perfumes and
mannerisms that are known to excite male senses. They are not shy about
their beauty and thoroughly enjoy all the attention it attracts, in part,
because it is a great source of power in Russian society. They use this
authority fully while it lasts and, when it fades, they undergo an immense
transmutation. They shrink several inches, loose their silky curves in
favor of solid muscle, dispense with their pointy high heels, buy a pair
of work boots, fill some plastic bags with whatever can knock a man
senseless, wrap their hair in a bun or hanky and become, the virtually
indestructible, ''BABUSHKA''.

These terminator-like grannies put ours to shame. While most cultures are
respectful of their frail matriarchs, only in Russia is there reason to
both respect and fear them. If you open a door for one, she will thank you
whole heartedly and your safety will be ensured but, if you dare to stand
in one's way, be prepared to have your legs knocked out from under you,
your bag torn from your hand and aimed squarely at your crotch. These
tough old broads are street fighters.

I was once tag teamed by two. I hesitated for a brief moment while
considering how to escape their path at an upcoming metro stop. When the
train doors opened, they bowed their heads forward and I knew all hope was
lost, they charged at me, hoisted me up off the ground like linebackers
and carried me out into the station. Russian women were built to last. In
point of fact, the oldest woman in the world has lived her 124 years in
Chechnya (a region in which this young Canadian male would be proud to
have lasted a weekend).

So, there it is Canada.

Having considered the evidence, I think all will agree that we are in a
desperate state and that Russia owes us for its deceptive behavior. In
closing, I propose Canada submit a call for Russian aid demanding the bare
essentials: Pelmini, Kefir, canned cocktails, seven extra letters, and the
world's biggest anything. As well as teams of scholars to complicate our
language, police to complicate our days, architects to make our subway
trips a violent journey to the center of the earth, some straight men
armed with twigs and vodka, a beauty school for our young women and a boot
camp for our grannies.

Herb G. Terry


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