The feminism / cheeseburger correlation

I think I might be going to hell. I'm getting a C on a 30-day trial and I don't think Jesus would accept a mere confession or 3 "Hail 30 day trials" as penance. Today we made the decision to sacrifice a piece of our no-sugar trial to the devil. In exchange for the ability to eat one sweet a day (you get 10 consecutive minutes to eat it, then you turn into a pumpkin), we've signed up for an extra 30 day trial. Yuan Yuan will do 10 minutes worth of planks / wall sits / handstands, and I will do 5 minutes of wall sits / horse stance. Why do I get away with 5 minutes while she has to do 10? You see, in China we have this wonderful thing called gender inequality. It's a time honored tradition. Back when America was young and still on track, before the great invention (the cheeseburger) vanguarded the Renaissance of our midsections and set our national inertia so high, that at the enormous speed we had amassed, we flew right off the serpentine tracks of the Transtranscendental railroad, before all that apple-bottomed glory, men ruled the world and women sat at home tending to the children and waiting for Jane Austen to come along so there would be some proper motive for learning to read. And God saw that it was good and rewarded us with Amendments to the Constitution and feminists. That's called divine irony, because there's nothing God loves more than to throw everyone completely off balance with the introduction of balance. Meanwhile, China hasn't even gotten to the cheese part of cheeseburger, so their women aren't going to be voting any time soon. What I mean is that it was Yuan Yuan's idea, was it my fault I snatched up the opportunity when the first 5 minutes of my wall-sits came out of her mouth and didn't wait for the next 5?

Getting sidetracked aside, this might end up being harder than not eating sweets at all. I've already stifled most of my urges, and though I can't eat 99% of the edibles in any store on the planet, I've accepted my fate and hung my head and set up a little tent in the eggs and produce aisle of life. Finding myself in this new permissive world, I'm bound to be completely miserable, where before I was only hopeless. Now when I go to the store I have to wander around the mountains of sticky treasures and pick one thing to sate my mutinous appetite. It's Sophie's choice all over again.

Vysotsky can only show you the door, it's up to you to hit someone in the ear with it

Haven't written a song in a while, and I was listening to Vysotsky today and felt a bit inspired. The song turned out pretty cynical and didn't really go in the originally intended direction, but I think it turned out decent anyway. I've borrowed (heavily) from his song "Мой друг уехал в Магадан" (My friend left to Magadan), but I don't feel too guilty about it because apparently a lot of Vysotsky's song melodies borrowed heavily from the "standard" folk melodies. So it's not like I'm stealing from the rich, I'm stealing from poor, it's ok.

Here's a decent translation of the Vysotsky song My Friend left to Magadan:

(translated by Margaret & Stas Porokhnya)

My friend has moved to Magadan
Play him a fanfare, play him a fanfare.
He went himself, his own free man;
He wasn't sent there, he wasn't sent there.

It wasn't that his luck turned bad
Or done to make somebody mad;
It wasn't part of some big act:
He simply packed

If someone asked him: "What's it for??
Why just abandon your life at random?
That place has killers by the score
That's where they crammed "em, that's where they crammed' em!"

He'd shrug - "Whatever people say
There's more in Moscow anyway"
Then pack up everything he can
For Magadan

I wouldn't say my race is run:
I'd jump the night train like in the old days
But I won't go to Magadan
Leaving my old ways, starting a new phase

I'll sing, my guitar on my knee,
Of all the things he's going to see
Of all that's left unseen, undone,
Of Magadan

My friend had nothing left to lose
It's his decision, it's his decision
He won't be beaten by the screws
He's not in prison, he's not in prison

But God made me another plan...
Or should I go to Magadan?
And like my friend just go to ground
And make no sound


If you don't speak Russian, Vysotsky can be hard to appreciate because he's not translated, nor is he easily translatable, so you'll have to take my word for it that he is an absolute genius lyricist and performer. He wrote 800+ songs/poems before he drank himself to death at age 42, and they range from hilarious, to mysterious, to romantic, to cynical anti-establishment provocations. He has tons of songs about the criminal element, songs from the point of view of inanimate objects and animals, songs about love, science, war, love, betrayal, sports, the mentally ill, you name it. Most of his songs he performs with just his slightly out of tune guitar, but some have been pretty well orchestrated and might be easiest for the non-Russian-speaking crowd to appreciate. You can try these:

Дом Хрустальный (Crystal House)
Белое Безмолвие (White Silence)
Баллада о вольных стрелках (Ballad of the free archers - a song he wrote for a Russian movie about Robin Hood)
Песня о вещей Кассандре (Song about the clairvoyant Kassandra - not for the faint of heart)

Every once in a while I try to translate one of his songs for the benefit of Mario or Yuan Yuan and I'm always disappointed with what comes out. It's mostly lost on Yuan Yuan, but Mario seems to appreciate it, either out of the goodness of his heart, or maybe because he was enamored with Russian previously and subconsciously adds colors to my grey translations.

The song I wrote today is tentatively titled Compromise

Am Dm
you started out pure, of intention
Dm6 E7
you were never gonna be like them
Am Dm
your life, (your own), your invention
G C B
you'd be damned if you'd be someone else

Am Dm Am
but then a splash of milk fell in your coffee
Dm Am
you said alright, but just tonight
Dm E7
and then one day you pushed away the cream
Am
and your coffee's white

you said, you wouldn't age a day
you'd never let yourself get fat
you'd stay sharp as a tack
you'd be the blackest black of cats

but you were young, you didn't know
and now your hair's seen its first snow
you've learned another word for lies
it's compromise

it's not that you, lost your ideals
you just lost your baby teeth
they thought they had it all figured out
before they ever had any meat

you shouldn't be so hard on yourself
that optimism comes off the shelf
you're still a wonderful guy
some day drop by

If you think the last chord sounds dissonant, it is a bit. It's a Am6, with the 6 not in the key of the song. Vysotsky loves to throw in at the end of his songs, just in case you thought you had his song figured out. And when Vysotsky says drink yourself to death, I jump off the bridge without a second thought.