Moscow burning

There's a scene near the end of the novel Master and Margarita where the devil sits on top of the Vorobyovi Hills in Moscow and watches fires burn in different parts of the city. Apparently Bulgakov originally planned to have the entire city go up in flames (perhaps as a statement about Moscow, the guardian of Orthodoxy, the “Third Rome, never to be a fourth”).

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about that almost-scene in the last couple of weeks. I can’t describe what it’s like to walk along the street and not be able to see the trees or buildings you know are just a few hundred yards away. What it’s like to feel an itchy sensation at the back of your throat and know that all kinds of particles are filtering into your lungs each time you take a breath. What it’s like to be so hot, -- so very, very hot -- and so tired, so ready to drape yourself on a chair and just sit and stare. It’s still around 100 degrees every day, no air conditioning, and I’m starting to feel a little crazy. Especially now that I’ve closed my window so as not to breathe in air that I’m told approximates smoking four packs of cigarettes a day.

From what I understand, this is all due to a number of forest fires and peat bog fires in the Moscow region and across Russia. Apparently many of the peat bogs were drained in Soviet times in order to harvest the peat, leaving a situation where the peat can spontaneously start to burn if the temperature gets too high. And Moscow has had record-breaking temperatures with no rain for over a month. Depending on which way the wind is blowing, the smoke from the peat fires can cover the city. And let me tell you, it smells awesome.

But I don’t want to let a little smoke get in the way of my summer, so a couple days ago I set off in search of a modern art gallery that I’d been wanting to check out. I came up out of the metro and walked for something like two miles trying to find it, spending more than an hour in the smog. The city felt so desolate, so apocalyptic. I tried not to think of the treeless, hazy end-of-the-world scenario in The Road by Cormac McCarthy. I tried not to think of the anti-smoking ad in the metro here that pictures a hand squeezing a lung and a thick stream of greenish gook oozing from it, tried not to picture my own lungs and what they might now resemble. I tried not to hear Robert Frost’s lines about the world ending in fire echoing in my head. The music in my headphones was like a soundtrack to an apocalyptic film, blocking out all street sounds, and everyone seemed to be moving in slow motion.

I finally got on a trolleybus, not knowing where it was going, but hoping it would deposit me at a metro stop, any metro stop. It did, and I got on a train heading for home, sank into a seat, put on my headphones and closed my eyes, pretending to be anywhere else but there. Pretending I wasn’t covered in a thin film of salt and dust and moisture, pretending everyone else around me wasn’t either, pretending I wasn’t breathing in smoke, even inside the metro – trying to go somewhere, anywhere else in my mind.

I think that was the first day I came home and put my head in the freezer to cool off.

Photos from the Moscow Times.

Read more here http://www.themoscowtimes.com/news/article/medvedev-fires-5-as-moscow-chokes/411735.html

and here http://www.themoscowtimes.com/news/article/moscows-smog-worsens-as-wildfires-rage/411872.html#no

Overanalyzing the Polar Express

I have a sore throat.

So, I just made some chicken soup and found myself curled up in front of the ABC Family Christmas movie of the night: The Polar Express.

Am I the only one, or does anyone else ever feel like the kid in the Polar Express who is running around on the top of the train in the freezing cold, having run-ins with a hobo who fills your mind with questions and doubts, chasing after golden tickets that actually belong to someone else that you accidentally lost, jumping between train cars, delivering cups of hot chocolate, singing cheesy songs and looking at the northern lights -- oh, and nearly dying several times? And then, just for a moment, you go back to the regular coach full of the all other kids who are completely oblivious to the danger and complexity of the journey, who are just enjoying the ride and looking forward to the destination?

I mean, who are those kids, just hanging out in the coach car, sipping their hot chocolate and looking placidly out the window -- while for others, the entire journey is a mighty wrestle within themselves for the meaning of everything? Do I envy those kids in the coach? Pity them?

I can think of real-life counterparts to those kids. But now I'm asking myself, if I really got to know them, would I realize they are all fighting top-of-the-train battles of their own? Is it the human condition to have to struggle through things, to face challenges -- or are there people who really do just get to ride in the coach?

"One thing about trains: It doesn't matter where they're going. What matters is deciding to get on."
-- Conductor, The Polar Express

Big Fat Loser

So, my excuse for not posting for more than a month is that I am a big loser. No, seriously. Just when I got rolling with this blog, I also became involved in an intense Biggest Loser competition. Who knew trying to be more healthy could be so time-consuming?

This is the point in the conversation where people start in with, "Oh, you don't need to lose weight! Why are you doing this competition? You look great!" And I want to say, "Spare me," but instead I explain that it's not just for weight loss, it's to be more healthy.

I say, "See, there are these eight things that you try to do every day (like eating five fruits/vegetables, working out for 30 minutes, sleeping seven hours, drinking 6-8 glasses of water, not eating after 8pm, and so forth) -- and you get a point for each one. So you can get eight points a day, and at the end of the competition, you get a little bonus for any weight you lose. So really, it's more about being healthy than losing weight."

(I always say that last line, but let's be honest, it's not really true. It really is more about losing weight, and about competing with other people. Especially in the moment when you're chugging two glasses of water before bed just to get that point for the day. And hoping your seven hours of sleep won't be too interrupted by it.)

At this point, people often interject one of two things: 1) "I could never do that. There's no way I could not eat after 8pm," or 2) "Oh, I would love to do this! Is it too late to sign up?" (The answer is yes. Sorry. We do have about 60 people participating -- and with each person putting $10 in the pot, it makes for some serious high stakes!)

Anyway, my point is that this competition has taken over my life. Sleeping seven hours a night takes a long time! Plus trundling back and forth to the gym all the time ... which brings me full circle to where I started this post. If you'd like to see what I've been doing instead of updating my blog, check out my progress here. And stay tuned for The Big Reveal, coming up next week ...