According to Soviet tradition (though perhaps originating elsewhere, historically – probably religiously oriented), children do not get their hair cut until 1 year of age. Similar to orthodox Jewish tradition where it is 3 years, I believe. Thus, and to the chagrin of my wife, I have been insisting that we do not cut his hair. No trimming, no nipping, no plucking, no clipping. Let it grow, let it grow, let it grow (like one of my favorite Eric Clapton songs).

Of course, I’m not Russian or Ukrainian or even close. If anything I think there’s some Polish and German in the heritage. But since we are in Ukraine, and since our baby was born here, I think it is appropriate to honor some of those traditions. My wife thinks I’m crazy. She wants sooooo badly to cut the bangs because they are hanging in his eyes. But my MIL says it is absolutely a tradition to not cut a child’s hair until their first birthday. I kinda like it.

So we’ve turned to hair gel. Just a couple of days ago I was wondering why my boy looked like a 50’s “greaser.” I was told by my wife that she couldn’t take it any longer, and his hair had to get out of his eyes. So… here is a picture I took today of the little dude. Oh, and still no teeth as you can tell. We are thinking about baby dentures unless they come in soon. Are there such things as “toothless babies?”  I don’t think so… but supposedly hyperthyroidism is a potential cause of very early or very late tooth appearance.  But no other signs of this, so… Enough of the medical talk… here’s a pic from today.

A little hair gel goes a long way when you don't cut their hair!

Oh, and HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY – if you like in that kinda stuff…

Even though I have a bit of a head cold, I still woke up with this song in my head. Lionel Richie’s All Night Long. I love this song. It just makes me want to dance and sing along. OK, don’t think about me doing it… here are some original visuals (and sound) while you read along. (Click the video below to have it play along while you read).

So, why might I post a video from Lionel Richie, you ask? Because I felt like celebrating today. Even with a bit of trouble sleeping on my own because of a minor bug I picked up while traveling, it was one of the more comfortable nights in the last year.

One day before he turns 10 months old, Mikey was an Angel!

HE SLEPT ALL THE WAY THROUGH THE NIGHT,

(FOR THE FIRST TIME)

* * *

Oh Lord, please allow this to last… please let this be the first of many, many more restful nights for the whole family.

* * *

Also, and I promise to not provide all the details, but he pooped in his potty like a professional this morning. Supposedly he had done this a couple of times before, but this was the first time I had seen it. Honestly, I cannot remember the last time (if ever) I was so happy to see a little pile of human shit – that I stared at and analyzed for at least 15 seconds – trying to figure out why the two lumps were so different. Obviously it’s due to what we feed him at different meals, butt…….   either way, I need to give huge thanks to my mother in law. She sat there with him, holding him up with his legs in the air, positioning his butt over the light blue plastic potty, while making “grunting, pushing, pooping sounds” for about 10 minutes… and lo and behold – he did it.

Anyhow, the sleeping through the night is (seems like) the real MIRACLE today!!!!!

He slept All Night Long… (all night)…

All Night Looooooong!

Now if we can just get him out of the bedroom….  we’re gonna have a party… All Night Looooooooong!  Feel good, feel good…..

Recently my son has been eating real food. We give him blended mixes of all kinds of stuff: meats/vegetables, fruits, etc… (consequently, things have really begun to smell – but that’s for another day).

Unfortunately he doesn’t always want to eat. Well… even when he does, there comes a point where he simply, without warning (generally), decides NO MORE. This is the first indication that The Hand is about to be unleashed.

Because we want him to grow up strong and healthy, we generally force-feed him the rest of his food whenever possible. It has nothing to do with my wife painstakingly slaving in the kitchen to produce this gustatory bambino delicacy. Really – we do NOT use the turkey baster on him more than once a week.

But seriously folks, we don’t like wasting food – and that really fresh stuff just doesn’t seem to last all that long. Moreover he definitely likes the fresh food more than anything that’s been stored – so we try to get him to eat it all when it’s fresh. When he does finish it, it’s a BIG молод`ец! (Well Done!).

Still… we’ve come to notice a consistent pattern. He stops being interested in the food unless you distract him with something else – at which point the innate feeding behavior returns for another bite or two. But then, it’s…

Resistance!

Inevitably he begins to resist. We counter-attack.

This leads to rubbing of the eyes (глаза), and concomitant blocking of the mouth (рот) (pronounced rrot).

At the first sign of weakness, we again try to slip the spoon in – perhaps after a 10 second lull in the fun and games, and while faux posturing as if we wouldn’t dare try to feed him even one more bite – we usually try one more time.

If we are very lucky, we get ONE MORE scoop in.

But then watch out…

The next attempt will be countered by a right cross, that not only takes out the spoon, but leaves the food that was on the spoon strewn about. Now this, in and of itself, wouldn’t be so impressive or hazardous, because the food stops moving – and in this case, the good eats are easy to clean up.

Unfortunately for us, our son (as I imagine most other babies) has become an expert at precisely hitting the spoon (almost while looking the other direction), splashing food all around the table, and still, miraculously, keeping at least 1/2 of the food somewhere on his hand. And Voila… we have…

Hand on the Loose!

This hand is now capable of contaminating: the chair, the face, his clothes, the table, his hair, the cat, your glasses, your clothes, your hair, the walls, the floor (not the ceiling yet, thankfully), your food, his eyes, your face, the couch, numerous toys within reach, seat cushions, windows, mirrors, and everything else you forget to keep at least one foot away. He flails – We counter. He whines – we grab a napkin. He screams – we go back and forth trying to catch… the Hand on the Loose.

I now think he simply likes the battle. He thinks it’s a game. Thinking to himself, “why should I eat that when I can play with it for at least 30 more seconds!”  To add insult to “injury,” more recently I’ve noticed that Mikey has become more calculated in his decision making – often waiting for that moment when Daddy tries to deliver a really big spoonful, so that the precious offspring can really get a full handful of ammunition…

Ahh… the joys of fatherhood. How can you resist that face

It's hard to tell, but it's blurry due to the food on the mirror…

So it’s a beautiful day in Kyiv. Well, maybe I can say that because I like the snow. But the trees aren’t very happy. On my short walk into work, around and between the brick an mortar domiciles which represent older Kyiv (as opposed to the new fancy storefronts that line many of the streets downtown), there were 2 trees that fell. The Kyiv Post story is here.

Sure it was windy, and we got about 6-8 inches of heavy snow. But trees falling down? Yes, sure, I know it goes hand in hand with precarious weather… but I never thought the trees right out in front of our building would be falling down. Shows you what I know…

The snow was apparently really heavy (wet). As it piled higher and heavier onto the leafless branches, and in combination with the soggy ground surrounding the unseen part of the tree, gravity and wind took caused havoc. I’ll try to post some pictures later, if I can get them off of my phone.

Of course, this didn’t stop the now 2-day tradition taking place in the small “parklet” (a wanna be park in front of our building). There were 5-6 individuals today (only 3 yesterday) partaking in breakfast. It was difficult to tell if they were eating anything, but the [first] bottle of vodka was about 2/3 empty. Ahhhh…. the holidays.

* * *

That reminds me of another little story that took place a couple of weeks ago. We had a little get-together at our house for my wife’s birthday on a Saturday evening. A boyfriend (who is a driver) of one of my wife’s grade school friends tagged along. I will focus on him, as it was his behavior was most captivating. He strolled in, in his mild-mannered demeanor, and made himself at home – playing with Mikey at every opportunity. It was a welcome reprieve for my wife and I, and Mikey seemed to like him too. Within 5 minutes he (let’s call him Alex) asked “do you have any vodka?” I said “sure,” pulled an ever-so-slightly acquainted bottle out of the freezer, and offered a shot glass in tow. To make a long story short, over the next 3 hours Alex drank 2/3 of a bottle of vodka. NO problem. His girlfriend said “oh, he really likes vodka.”

What?

How can anyone “really like vodka?”

I’m guessing he likes getting pissed as a sailor on leave (every night he’s not driving, and some nights when he is) more than he likes “vodka.” Anyhow, the only scary part was the fact that he was playing with Mikey more and more as the vodka took effect. Granted, the effect was not as dramatic as it would have been for those of use not constantly maintaining upregulated alcohol dehydrogenase levels, but it was still apparent. He was getting drunk. And the more he did so, the more he wanted to play with Mikey, and the less he wanted to talk to adults.

It was one of those bizarre, somewhat socially uncomfortable situations where you want to interrupt and take your child back – but it would be incredibly insulting, potentially damaging to a very long-standing relationship, and potentially unnecessary (as long as Mikey is not being lofted around the room as if he were manning his own private aircraft – which he did, occasionally). Nevertheless, after several glances with the wife, I chose to hold Mikey for a while. Then she did – and then I did again.

The [not so] funny part is that this is normal behavior for lots of Russians. They drink a LOT… and it is totally normal to drink whole bottles. Crazy.

Woke up today and Dr. Winter definitely prescribed some cold. Approaching the solstice, we have our low temperature for the season thus far, for sure. The thermometer said approximately -11 to -12 °C. And for you math wizards out there, that’s approximately the same temperature in Fahrenheit, without the minus sign (somewhere around -11.428°C = 11.428°F).  There’s your trivia for the day.

It’s crisp and cool, and the sun is hanging quite low on the horizon. Looking out at the construction zone from our windows, the brave crew seem to be uninfluenced by the conditions: cranes a swinging, trucks are hauling, workers are welding, and the winterized dogs are meandering around the site begging for scraps to get them through the (now harsh) winter.

Definitely time to don the hats, gloves, and scarves. The recent snow on the ground isn’t melting, only swirling and landing in a new, temporary resting place, until the wind changes direction once again. The 10-day forecast shows much of the same – so I think we’re officially in Winter. That’s OK, it will make the Spring oh so wonderful – in about 5 months!

It seems as though I’m beginning to lose my baby-face,

and I’m starting to look more like a big person.

* * *

More like Mom? More like Dad? Hard to tell… but either way, you know I’m cuter than… !

Chillin' in my little "nest" (гнездо)

also…

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHARLIE!!!

Go Vikes!

Courtesy: americanprogress.org

Yep, really! I’m 6 Months old today!

I’m sure you know that my Dad has been real busy with work, school, and me. But I convinced him that everyone deserves to see a few pictures of me spanning my first 6 months of life. Bear in mind, this is not all of my photos. If you are interested, you can see some more at: http://www.mikegeller.com

Nevertheless, I asked for a few photos to be posted here, just to tempt you to go to my site.

Enjoy!

Can you all tell I’ve been busy?

Haven’t posted in over a month… Ugh.

Anyhow, I thought I’d show you a bit of architecture. I passed by the Ukrainian National Library on my way back from Odessa a couple of weeks ago. I snapped this photo from inside the van… but it turned out OK. Classic Soviet architecture. I haven’t been inside, but Helen says it’s a “cool library.”

and I zoomed in on the text… so that you know I’m not lying

It says “National Library Ukraine.”

I’ll try to get over there on my motorcycle and have a look inside sometime soon, and I’ll report back, of course.

Cheers!

I’ve been meaning to write this for a while, but just never got around to saying it.

Short and sweet… Here I go.

THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS A SIX-PACK

(6-PACK, 12-PACK, CASE, or otherwise…)

OF BEER IN UKRAINE.

It’s the strangest thing. I mean, I would think that it would foster higher beer consumption when you bundle beers together, no? It should lead to more beer being sold, no? Not to mention the basic fact that using a bit of cardboard to bundle beers together makes them SIGNIFICANTLY easier to carry and transport.

Instead, every beer is sold individually. I’m not kidding! And they sell minis (0.3L), standards (0.5L), large (1.0L), and very large (2.0L) beers.

Instead of this:

You have this:

Strange. Really. Especially because there is so much beer being consumed.

I see a business opportunity here.

Maybe someone else knows something about the market that I don’t.

No, not like the TV show.

We had a real house call. Strange, but true. Kinda like the “olden” days…

It was time for Mikey’s HepB innoculation, and so we called the clinic. What do you know, they provide “house calls!”

The doctor (pediatrician) showed up with his “black bag,” and a still-cold HepB vaccine, and proceeded to give our son an injection into the anterior aspect of his right thigh, probably between vastus lateralis and rectus femoris, perhaps just a hair proximal to mid-femoral shaft.

He whined for about a minute, but no problem.

The doctor (врач) spoke excellent English, filled out the paperwork, and packed up his bag. He was in and out within ~15 minutes.

A House Call – in Ukraine. How nice….

So I was in my room, in my new apartment, with both my wife and my baby. It was time to feed Mikey, and we were laying on the bed.

All of a sudden, we hear our new fancy-shmancy stove beep at us. But wait, we are all in the room – what the ?

Our new stove top is smart like Einstein. It knows when something inappropriate is on the stove. Strange, but true. Even if it isn’t hot, somehow the stove senses it (it’s one of those electric stoves with a completely flat top surface).

So my wife goes to check it out, and jokes that it’s the cat. What do you know, it WAS the cat. Whitey, you little Devil!

But why? Oh yeah… the pan of fried chicken that’s sitting open on the stove.

She shrieked.

And then after I inquired as to what had happened, she said:

“it WAS Whitey!”

“… and now he’s licking his chops!”

I cannot tell you how many times I’ve seen food out on the counter. Countless. And now all I can think about is how many times the damn cat was licking our food when we didn’t even know it.

Damn it!

I’ve told (asked)  them (wife and MIL) a “million times.” Don’t leave food out in the open, please. It’s a weird thing – the Ukrainians cook and then just leave the food, sitting there, cooling, cold, frozen, etc… In America, we generally cook and clean up not toooo long afterward, and store it in the fridge.

Anyhow, I want to strangle him — but after all — it’s really our fault. I’m just trying my best right now to not think too much about all the food that my cat has likely enjoyed before me. Ugh!!!

Yes, I absolutely love Pink Floyd. Dare I say it, they are my favorite. Am I stuck in a time warp? Maybe. But something strikes a chord (pun intended) with my inner being.

But this post is not about Pink. It’s about what happens when one has a crazy busy day. Sure, sure… we all have them… and many of us (particularly if we are “accomplished”) have had quite a few of them days.

But just to recap mine, because it’s my blog…

Last night I got to bed by ~1:30. My wife woke up and started to feed the baby until 2:15am. I woke up at 4:30, and then showered at 6:30am. Oh, when I got to the shower, the hot water was off. O JOY!

So, I was forced to use our micro water heater attached to a separate shower head. It sufficed, but the pressure was a trickle compared to the usual. Fine. Shit happens.

I dress (it’s a suit and tie day), eat, and leave by 7:45. Exit the house… the elevators aren’t working. We live on the 16th floor. O JOY! At least going down ain’t that bad… just a bit dizzying.

I’m out of the building, listening to some Los Lonely Boys on the way to the Metro. I’m tired, but hey, what else is new. The caffeine from the cup of morning black tea is beginning to kick in. It’s the usual walk, about 10 minutes, and I enjoy it. It’s a good time to chill, enjoy a bit of music, and get ready for the day.

Walk into the Metro Station. Normal. Head down the escalator as usual (I’m in the fast lane, walking down the steps as the escalator descends a good 100 meters underground. Now that I think about it – I’d really like to know how far down we go. Besides the point… for the first time, the escalator STOPPED, Mid-Sprint. O JOY! Let’s just say that I’m sure it has happened that people have gone head over foot when this has happened in the past. A bit scary, actually. We all proceeded to walk the rest of the way. Why it stopped is a good question. Either the operator (who sits in a clostrophobic booth at the bottom of the escalator and watches people go up and down all day long) turned it off, or someone hit the emergency stop.

On to the train – all is normal. The crowds, the pushing, the persistent violation of personal space, and the staring because I don’t quite look like a Ukrainian. No worries. O JOY!

I arrive at work. I’m the second one in the office @ 8:15am. Alex always beats me into work – he, too, tries to avoid the rush hour – but him moreso than me!

By 8:30 I’m in the car, going over to a meeting not too far away with a Director of an Institute. Great meeting!

Back at work by 10am, and have got another meeting at 10:30. Just enough time to plug in the laptop, grab another cup of chai, check email, and begin thinking about what actually needs to get done at the office. I won’t bore you with the exciting details. 10:30 meeting goes until nearly noon.

Again I return to my desk and approach the tasks of the day — many of which are scribbled onto my whiteboard.

Then a 3pm meeting (teleconference with USA), a 4:30 meeting (teleconference with USA), a 6pm meeting (teleconference with USA), and a 7pm meeting (Skype videoconference with USA). I get outta work by about 8:10pm. O JOY!

Just before leaving the office I call home. The hot water is still not on, and the water purifier is not working properly. Wonderful. I’ll pickup another 6 liters of water on my way.

I leave the destination Metro station and hit the supermarket. Man – have I told you how much I love going to the market. Almost like wisdom teeth extraction. I don’t know why, exactly – but I think it has something to do with having to relate to the rest of (IMHO, retarded) humanity. I pick up 6 liters of water, a liter of beer, bread, cheese, ham, and sour cream. What a combo! Yum! O JOY!

I leave the supermarket, and… it begins raining on me. O JOY! The wind picks up, the rain soaks me, my arms are stretching because of the bags I’m carrying, so it wouldn’t even matter if I had an umbrella – which I didn’t, obviously. But luckily, when I got home, the elevators were working again. But I got home at 9pm. Holy Moly. 13+ hours, and I’m burnt. Now I need to play with the baby, be a good husband, eat, and start my nightly studying. Exhausting, I tell you.

Oh, and the moment I walked in the door, the baby started crying. O JOY! No, Really… because as soon as my son saw me, he piped down, and got a little smile on his face.

ALL IS WELL!!!!!

Tomorrow I’m heading into work a bit later than usual… after rush hour subsides.

Break out the sweaters again, plug in the electric/oil radiators, stoke those wood burning stoves (not really).

The heat is off. It happens around Easter each year. There’s governmental control, if you didn’t know, over a vast majority of the heating supply to the city. Gas powers boilers, which heat water, which run through radiators in most every part of every building. I’m sure you can imagine how large an operation this is. And it’s all powered by natural gas. You remember, don’t you? — the gas that “we” weren’t paying for, that caused parts of countries to our West to go without heat for a few weeks in January? The gas “we” were being accused of stealing from Russian pipelines? Yep – the very same gas has been turned off to the big boiler rooms.

When there’s a certain number of days (10, I believe) in a row above an average specified temperature, they close the valves. Don’t quote me on this. My wife just said she thought it was governed by a specific date, irrespective of the temperature. Either way, I guess it makes sense… why heat when it is generally warming up anyway. And practically speaking, it has been warming up to the point where I’ve was beginning to wonder when it was going to happen. I doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that the heat coming from the radiators is unnecessary. The transition is a rolling one, meaning that they can’t just shut off the entire city by flicking a switch. Different areas (suburbs) are switched off at different times. Our apartment is now off, but the family home is still on – supposedly until 19 April.

I also noticed, for the first time, this year, another sure sign that Spring was officially considered to have arrived. Sure, sure, the blooming plants are a dead giveaway that greenery is right around the corner. But another indication that the Ukrainian Government also recognizes the fact that it’s getting warmer is the storage of the inner set of doors at the Metro Stations. Normally there are 2 sets of (heavy) swinging doors that one must pass through in order to enter or exit the stations. As I walked out of Luk’yanivska yesterday, I was surprised that the entire set of inner doors were removed and apparently stored for the summer. Probably ~24 doors, although I was told that there would be no math.

Let’s hope for warm weather ahead, and no freak snowstorms –> which are known to happen every now and again.

Now if I could only figure out how I can manage to go to the office in shorts, T-shirts, and flip-flops, I would be truly stoked for Summer!

I’ve determined that Soviet culture either doesn’t mind, and maybe even encourages, spitting. Yep –> whoever, wherever, whenever, whyever.

Why is whyever not a word?

It’s quite surprising to me because I was brought up in a culture where spitting was shunned – frowned upon. Only disgusting animals spit – like monkeys, camels, and snakes, among others. But here in a former Soviet Republic, I see humans doing it routinely – in the Fall, in the Spring, Winter or Summer – no matter.

Historically, chewing and spitting has been a part of everyday life for eons (I’m guessing). Just as a single example that comes to mind, nowadays it isn’t too hard to find a spitting contest – particularly of things like cherry pits. But please be careful, spitting can be dangerous.

There’s something raunchy, rough, tough, and overall “masculine” about the ability (and willingness) to spit. Am I right? In general, it seems to me, you are perceived as a “tough guy” if you can spit. For example, if you have power over someone else, you can exert that power in an absolute way: spit in someone’s face, and they can’t/don’t do anything about it. Gross! And Insulting!

However, at least based upon my upbringing, there’s something disgusting about noticing people spit. It’s considered impolite, and generally inappropriate if you can avoid it (particularly in a public place). Personally I really struggle with all the spitting that goes on here. Knowing what I know about disease and germs and such, having people walking in front of me when I’m downwind, and they go off, turn their head 90 degrees, and proceed to spray saliva into my headwind makes me gag. YUCK! It’s happened more than a few times. With the incidence of tuberculosis here, I’m sure I’m seropositive by now.

Sure… everyone feels the desire (once in a while) to gargle one up, snort one back, scratch one off the back of the pharynx, mix it up in the tonsil area, and hurl it (preferably downwind) through semi-pursed lips, creating enough force to eject the scourge as far from oneself as possible. Well, at least I think everyone does that once in a while – maybe not. But I admit it, I too enjoy it occasionally – and there is something satisfying about picking a target that’s outside of your normal range, and hitting it as if it were a laser-guided projectile.

To get to my point… it’s one thing to see a burly construction worker release a lung cookie after working up a sweat.. but what I find particularly disturbing is witnessing a finely dressed, attractive, young, apparently sophisticated woman hocking a loogie that would tip the scales at a solid 20 grams. I’ve always considered women to be a more refined version of men. I guess I’ve always thought that women had the mental capacity and restraint to do it when others are not around and/or watching. But that opinion has changed upon living in Kyiv. Here I see women doing it all the time. Old ladies, young ladies, babushkas, nuns, teenagers and supermodels. It’s bizarre to me. I don’t know — maybe I’m overreacting. I’m thinking you have to see it to believe it. But seeing apparently sophisticated women spit, and not giving an iota of thought as to what they just did in front of a crowd of people, is seriously bizarre to my Western Eyes.

For whatever reason, there is just something about spitting (expectorating) that is generally acceptable here. People also do it to be gross, and to demonstrate their semi-intentionally unrefined (peasant-like) nature. Indeed, there are a lot of immigrants from the country. Nevertheless, we-all-live-in-a-yellow-submarine, yellow-submarine, …. whoa, stop…. sorry, I digressed. We all live in a capital city, with millions of people, in big buildings, public transportation, personal vehicles, plenty of infrastructure, glass, concrete, etc…  With this in mind, I would like to think that we don’t live in the wild anymore. But obviously, some people still do.

It sucks that while walking to and from the metro station I find myself avoiding off-colored saliva bombs that litter the sidewalks. Green, yellow, clumpy and/or loose – there are all kinds of expectorations. Also, I’m sure a lot of this “spitting business” has to due to the absolutely ridiculous number of smokers here. Regardless, looking down and seeing phlegm littering the sidewalk is kinda gnarly, don’t ya think? I mean, if you are gonna spit, why not spit into the street, or off into the bushes/dirt? Why spit right on the sidewalk directly in front of oneself? There’s something to it, I tell you. Something ingrained in the culture that makes it both acceptable and “normal.”  I really don’t think the majority of people even thing about it for more than a split second – it’s part of the culture.

But referring back to the title of this post, seeing women do it just boggles my mind. My view has changed.

I’m telling you, it’s not hard when you see babushkas hocking loogies.

Fine, getting sprayed by spit undoubtedly elicits a sense of disgust by anyone in the way. But now, even the thought of stepping in it sends shivvers up my spine. From my perspective, whatever is on my shoe generally ends up very close to, or in, my apartment. Damn… maybe I’m gonna start leaving my shoes outside – or maybe I’ll create a sanitizing door mat hmmmm….

Nasty.

Enough for now, back to studying…

Hello World!

My name is Michael Anthony Geller. I was born on March 18, 2009, which means I’m a Pisces, like my Dad. Though my parents desperately wanted me to turn upside down, I was insisting to sitting like a little Buddha in the cozy little womb I called home… and consequently, my birthday was (sorta) picked for me.

Here I am showing them where to stick the bottle…

My name was chosen because my parents like the way it sounds. But the more I think about it, I think there is some correlation with some of my forefathers. Specifically, my Dad’s grandfather was named Milton – which I think led to the Michael; and My Mom’s father was named Anatoliy – which I’m pretty sure resulted in Anthony. According to Wikipedia, Geller comes from German, Yiddish, and/or Russian. It also means “one who yells,” so my parents are in for a special treat!

Speaking of my parents, here they are again:

Mom

and Dad

On that great day last Wednesday, March 18, we were at a nice private clinic called ISIDA in Kyiv, Ukraine. Yep, I’m a Ukrainian! But wouldn’t you know it, even though I’m proud as hell to be born in The Ukraine, Dad has already insisted that I become an American – and so I’m supposed to get my picture taken sometime in the next week or two, and then I get my first passport from the American Embassy. Nice people over at the U.S. Embassy in Kyiv, I’m told. I guess that means I’m not allowed to be President of the USA, huh? Oh well… those guys are tight-asses anyway.

The birth was fairly easy, and my Dad took a lot of pictures (and some movies). Yes, he was in the room at the time with the camera in hand. It’s sort of embarrassing, but I think he even got a picture of me peeing all over the nurses when I was about 2 minutes “old.” One of the nurses even screamed a bit in surprise. The others giggled. Pretty soon thereafter, the nurses poked and prodded a bit, and noticed I was gaining color quickly. My lungs obviously worked. I tested them out about 10 seconds after leaving the womb.

Here I am, about 2 minutes old. Kinda gross, but kinda beautiful too!!!

Look, my cord is still attached!

I think Dad was amazed to see a live baby come out!!!

They put me on the scale and I weighed in at 3.44kg. Not too shabby since the doctors were saying I was average/small during most of my development. It just goes to show you how accurate those stupid ultrasound thingys are. For you non-math majors out there, that’s about 7lb 9oz. The nurse wasted no time in measuring me too… I was 54cm long and my head was 38cm in diameter. Also, not so bad. Not quite a Kareem Abdul Jabbar or anything, but I think I should be able to hold my own when I’m all grown up. Of course these measurements were taken over a week ago now (by about 12 hours), and I’ve probably put on a good half cm and at least 100-200 g.

I was immediately given to Dad and was taken out of the delivery room, and Mom showed up in the recovery room about 20 minutes later. I was quite comfortable being wrapped up like a little worm. They also left that little bit of “white stuff” on my face for a little while – I guess it has some protective qualities.

Though I didn’t want to leave my folks, the nurses took me away to where the other babies were gathering that evening; something like a “meeting of the minds,” I believe. I overheard my parents conversing the next day about what had happened. Mom needed to sleep, and Dad went home because he wasn’t allowed to stay. That was my first day… and the rest is (proverbial) history!

We spent a few more days in the hospital, learned all about baby care, and enjoyed round-the-clock attention. I’m now at home, and I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Whitey the Cat. I understand why they named him that — but I’m sure glad they thought about it more when they named ME!!!!!

Maybe I’m being sensitive, but I think Whitey is a bit jealous already. I hope to be better friends in the future.

That’s all for now. I’ll keep you updated whenever I (or my parents) do something cool 

Cheers, and thanks for reading,

– Michael

It is pure joy to announce the birth of our son, Baby. We have not named him yet, as Russian tradition does not demand such. We have some solid choices, but we will wait to make sure the name fits

The funniest thing about this is that there are, more or less, like only 10 male Russian names to choose from !!!

Anyhow, I wanted to let everyone know that Mom, Dad, and Baby are doing well.

Everyone is happy to be alive and so far, quite healthy. We are ecstatic about being part of a growing new family.

We will be posting more soon, obviously. But TODAY is the first day of our son’s life, and I wanted to post a picture or two. Even as I write this, he’s still not even 12 hours old!!!!

With Much Love, from Kiev,

Scott, Helen, and ???

Baby!

Mom!

and, Dad!!!!

We were on our way to the hospital this morning, and I was sitting in the back seat of my BIL’s car. My MIL was next to me. We were having the usual chit-chat, exacerbated by the anxiety-provoking fact that we were all on our way to drop my wife off at the birthing center (tomorrow is the big day). I could have stayed there all day, but I have “important” stuff to do at the office . Anyhow, I can’t really recall how the conversation came up, but my mother-in-law asked me, straight up: Are you a Spy?

Of course, playing it up, I refused to directly answer the question. For the record, I am not a spy, in any sense of the word. Nevertheless, I got a kick out of being questioned. There’s no escaping that it is/was a reality here: there were/are spies around. These people grew up with the notion of spies trickling through everyday culture. This is in contrast, at least in my naive sense of reality, to my experiences growing up in California. People here are not exactly trusting of the government. KGB/SBU do follow people. I can only imagine what it used to actually be like, 20+ years ago in the USSR days. The government wants/wanted to know who is where, when, and why they were there. Oh yeah… and how they got there, and where they came from is also quite important, not to mention where they are planning on going. And perhaps, what are they doing, who are they meeting, which kinds of food do they like, what books do they read, who do they work for, and how many times do they wear their underwear before washing, etc…

Hmmmm… the more I thought about it, the more I could see (sorta) why she might consider the possibility that her son-in-law was actually an American Spy – in Kiev. I just had to laugh, because I’m so far from a spy that it’s not even funny. So, I chuckled while staring out of the moving car at the new “higher speed railway” that’s being built – and I made a mental note to write about me, being a spy   !

I think the closest I got to a spy (knowingly) was meeting this guy. I knew his son, Sean, in high school (yep, Beverly).

I’ve been around for a while now. I’ve had my share of changes: opportunities, adventures, lifestyle fluctuations, monetary challenges, academic pursuits, travels, residences (in different cities, states, countries), etc…

I’m changing again: and this time it’s the most radical transformation of my life so far — and I thought I’d share it. I feel as if I have begun reinventing myself once again.

1) I reached a milestone last week –> I turned 40. Though I’ve been expecting it for a while now, the transition into my 40’s has brought more age-related considerations than any my previous birthdays. Mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, I feel as if I’ve truly become a man. It’s probably similar to what Neanderthals experienced at about 14, but that’s another story. I’m no longer willing, nor able, to be shaded by the umbrella of youth. I am 40 years old. Nobody else can or will ever claim me as a dependent. I am to be the dependable one. Although I still follow in the footsteps of leaders, I, too, am expected to lead. I am now 40. FORTY. And for all intents and purposes, I have lived the first half of my life (pretty well, I might add). No, no mid-life crisis just yet – just the realization that 40 years is a significant amount of time to be wandering around this small planet.

2) I have taken on a new job. I won’t bore you with the details (though it’s quite intriguing, to be honest), but suffice it to say that in many ways (though I’m still putting my skills and training to work) I’m changing my professional direction. I guess I could more accurately say that I’m learning more about what it will take for me to really do the things I want to do in life, scientifically. Yes, I will be utilizing my scientific expertise, but I’m hired into an executive management position – more of a desk job, really. Who would’ve thunk it? Certainly not me, not even 3 months ago. But, indeed, it has happened. I’m both excited and nervous, and I’m encouraged by the challenges that lie ahead. I have some good people around me, and a lot is being asked of me: two ingredients that should blend well together, and will hopefully react to provide me with the encouragement and skills necessary for me to develop my capacity to manage and produce results.

3) I have returned to academia. No, not in the research sense… and no, not to simply perpetuate the sometimes delicious lifestyle of the college student. I have entered a specialized master’s program in management, online (most of the time). An MBA if you will, specializing in biotechnology. It’s for sure one of the more academically demanding (and challenging) pursuits I’ve faced; a situation most definitely inflated by the fact that I have avoided business, and the study thereof, for my entire life. Nevertheless, here too, I am excited by new challenges. I have met a really wonderful (small) group of freinds/colleagues/students, and together we are all going to learn about business, and the business of biotechnology and biotechnology’s related fields (pharmaceuticals, health care, etc…).

4) Finally, I’m having a baby this week. Yep, my boy is due any day now.

Man – can I pile it on any thicker? Am I ever going to sleep? Am I going to be able to study? Will I contribute to my own growth, or will I get so worn down that I fail at one of the above (or all of the above)? Do I have it in me? Is this what normal people do? Will there be any time to stop and smell the roses (and lilacs, here in Kiev)?

I’ve got a hundred more questions swirling around in my head right now, but I don’t think I need to spell them out for you. Most of you probably have (had) some of the same thoughts, feelings, experiences at one point or another.

So, I just wanted to lay it out here on Snotty’s Blog, and say –>  PLEASE excuse me if I don’t find too much time to write. I will do my best, as I have really found this to be a fun exercise, and a good way to express myself – without asking for or requiring direct feedback. Just a way to share my thoughts and feelings. I know my wife will be equally busy with the little guy, but she has expressed an interest in contributing to the blog too. So — maybe you will see some posts from Helen in the not too distant future. Maybe even a picture of the baby, if you are lucky!!!

Regards from Kiev,

Snotty

I was on the metro yesterday and I noticed a big yellow sign (advertisement) on the inside wall of the train car (actually, several different train cars). It said “earn 19.5% interest, guaranteed” at XXX bank. Hard to believe, eh?

First of all, almost nobody here puts their money into the bank. Only people that have to, for tax reasons at their job, leave/put any money into bank accounts. Nobody trusts the banks! It has happened oh so many times… you go to your bank to withdraw, and POOF! –> it is gone! Yep, the “bank” just up-and-left, WITH YOUR MONEY of course!!!

So, why would anyone deposit any money there? Well… for one, they offer 19.5% interest rate (APR). And now, in times of complete global financial turmoil, it seems even more surprising that these “institutions” can offer such a whopping return. But they advertise it. In a year you’ll be lucky if the bank is still there.

Speaking of turnover, there are tons of little banks here. No, not even as big as the independent, “Main Street” savings&loans like in the good ol’ days in America. But teeeny, tiny, questionable, unscrupulous, sleuthy, sneaky, curious, fly-by-night businesses. Did someone say laundering?

Anyhow, back to the 19.5% sticker-shock. I’ve seen these ads before, but for some reason, I never really took them “to heart.” I just ignored them. However, yesterday I couldn’t tear my gaze from the ads. I couldn’t believe they were boasting about being suck “scammers.” Sure, sure, that’s probably not fair for me to judge because I really don’t know if it is, or isn’t, a scam. Nevertheless, I’m confident in saying that I believe, to the best of my ability to understand how money works on this planet, that there is no way that little [shitty] banks can provide such a return while maintaining the utmost integrity with respect to the law. Plus, if this were really the case, and they could in fact guarantee a near 20% return on your investment in 1 year’s time, then WHO WOULDN’T give them their money? People would be flocking to these little banks from across America, Europe, Iceland, etc…

I mean… where else are you GUARANTEED a ~20% return? Stock market – no way. CD’s – not EVEN close. T-Bills – Ha! Startups – not a chance. Hmmmmm……  makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

Finally, I found it incredibly amusing to see that they are offering 5-day and 7-day CD’s at the same high rate! No shit! So if you are stupid enough to give them your money, EVEN FOR JUST A WEEK, they can turn it right around and give you 0.375% on your money (19.5%/52 weeks). In other words, give them $1000 and they will give you $3.75 in one week’s time. And of course, if you leave it there for the whole year, you’ll get $195. NOT TOO BAD! (Again, hopefully the bank will be there in a year to give you YOUR money.)

Oh yeah, there’s also the problem of the bank simply NOT GIVING YOU YOUR MONEY. Yep, it happens ALL the time. You deposit money. This time let’s say it’s $100,000 into a 7-day CD at 19.5% APR. Well, in a week you should get your $100,000 back, plus $375. Well — good luck getting your money. It has happened:  you go to the bank, and tell the teller that you want to cash out your 100K. They say “I’m sorry sir, but we can’t give that back to you right now…”  Remember this?

Ha!

I think they’re all crooks. But I’m a pessimist. Inflation (check this, and this) is huge here, and they are predicting that the dollar is going to get stronger and stonger (making the grivna weaker and weaker). At some point, it may just collapse. It has happened before. And no, I seriously doubt the 43 BILLION $ that the world bank gave to Ukraine to stem the collapse of her financial system is going to do anything. I think it’s probably already in the pockets of the politicians. What a joke….

Nevertheless, the banks are quite desperate now. Especially now. They will offer anything to entice grandma to pull out her ~$1000 life savings, that is stuffed in her mattress, and deposit it into the bank. But people know, and People fear, and People simply don’t do it here. It’s just TOO RISKY to give some [questionable] bank their hard-earned, mattress-scented cash!

I think I might buy a safe, and bolt it to the concrete floor I live on.