Story time--Part 1

August 26, 2009—Story time—Part 1.

I just had a goose come after me like some goofy heat-seeking missile, not scary at all, just kind of weird. Something about the threatening manner of approach mixed with a complete lack of a perceived violence made me smile. Life is funny.

So I read my first book in Russian. “Book” is not the right word but it’s the first word to come to mind. Let’s call it a short fairytale, albeit it took the time of a short book to translate: the little чёрт. It was called «Маша и медведь» or “Marcia and the Bear”—yes it felt like one of those Big Boy strikes again moments. Contrary to what you might think, it was a riveting tale about a girl not catching up to her friends quick enough and getting lost in the forest. Eventually she stumbles upon a hut, specifically one of those huts in which you knock and the door opens all by itself. Fairytale characters are always stupid, I have found, no matter what culture they are from (Much like the Crazy Cat Lady-referenced in an earlier post). Curiosity, of course, got the best of my little Marcia «маша-чек» and she entered the hut and waited for the owner to return.

Here is a picture of the bear’s return to the hut:

I believe that маша-чек should have known better. She should have seen the Mushrooms¹ drying and realize this guy is probably out of his mind exploring the recesses of his brain somewhere out in the forest. She should have seen whatever this thing² is, surely it is used for more than its prescribed use in the fireplace. The bear—even with the loving, goofy look on his face—walks in and essentially says “you are going to be my slave and cook my food and never leave this house again.” Luckily, after crying for a sentence or two, маша-чек realizes that Bear is not the brightest bear in the woods, Bear has obviously explored those recesses a tad too much. She convinces the bear to carry a huge crate of Perrogies (A crate of potato and cheese dumplings, come on Bear!) to her grandparent’s house. Goof Troop begins this task not realizing that there is actually a little girl in the huge crate with only a plate of Perrogies resting on her head. He didn’t notice when he picked up the crate that a little girl was missing from his spacious studio apartment that he resided in. I suppose I’ll forgive him his pupils were pretty dilated.

Long story short, the bear gets to the grandparents house and is chased off by the ferocious neighborhood dogs (evidenced in the above picture) that smell him when he sets down the gigantic crate of Perrogies in front of their house. I don’t mean to be critical but he isn’t doing the image of bears any justice by getting the boot from a couple of lapdogs.

As you can see my Russian reading skills have taken leaps and bounds in a mere two-and-a-half-month span here in Moldova. I don’t usually throw the prodigy child jargon around very often but I think the evidence speaks for itself in this case. I bought a mug a few years back for my mother. The mug has a really amazing picture of myself on it (Smiling a prize-winning smile with a trucker’s hat, long oily hair, and a nasty inch-and-half goatee hanging off my chin) and says “World’s Greatest Genes.”

Don’t hate. I’m just living up the great expectations bestowed upon me at birth! J

Peace, Love, Aaron