SNOREZOPOLIS

I posted a bunch of pictures on my flickr account of that semester I spent eating and feeling sorry for myself in Vladimir. You can look at them HERE. There are a lot of sad Russian winter pictures: sunless days, grey nights, dirty snow and homeless dogs. But there are also a lot of Russian fall pictures of miraculously blue days and beautiful churches and crap. What a weirdo country.



I took woodcarving lessons from an old dude who lived in the outer regions featured in the above photo. His house was even more intense. Every inch of it was carved. He had two grandchildren who lived with adopted parents in Indiana and had American names like Nick and Steve or something. The parents sent him long emails, which someone would translate into Russian for him. I told him if I was ever in Indiana I would look them up, but I haven't even written him a letter. I am a shitty ex-student.



I've been reading Craig Thompson's Carnet de Voyage lately. It's different than his other, more thought-out works, but also the same. Same borderline neurotic, self-effacing romantic sensibilities. It makes me want to return to my old Russian journals and drawings and compile them into a body of work that I wouldn't be ashamed to show people. I'm afraid I'll look back and find nothing but whining.

Boy has this blog been unhumorous recently. Here's an offensive joke:

What's the difference between a blonde and a mosquito?

Look to the comments section for the horrendous answer!

Sometimes I think about getting rid of comments, to delude myself that I have a myriad of avid readers and just don't have to time to respond to them. But I'm too desperate for human interaction. HAHAHA no, really.