OK, I admit… I’ve been lagging on the pictures
I guess there’s a desire from family and friends to see more pictures of Mikey.
So, here you go…

They are more or less in order, from January (~9 months) until July (just over 16 months).

All seems to be going well.

Enjoy.

It’s a holiday weekend in Ukraine. Constitution day today. That means a long weekend. Nice.

We went to the dacha, as has been the norm ever since early May, on the weekends. We usually spend the night, and last night was no exception. It was particularly fun because it was just the immediate family (my wife, my son, and me). Mom is at a sanatorium. No, not for a crazed individual – in Ukraine it means more like a spa (see here). That’s not to say that she doesn’t sometime seem to be in need of one of those other facilities – but that’s for another day (he he he). Anyway, we did the usual gardening, watering, weeding, berry-picking, bbq, etc. I will post some pictures soon, I promise — some cute ones of Mikey, for sure.

But today’s post has more to do with my ride home. Yep, the motorcycle (Dnepr MT-11) is still running well (though someone stole my gas out of my tank – AGAIN – a couple weeks ago). Jesus – does it ever end?  Whatever…. it’s a bit warm for long pants, boots, and a leather jacket, but I still wear it all – because I like keeping my skin intact if I happen to come off the bike for some unexpected reason.

I’ve learned to deal with most Russian (Ukrainian) drivers pretty well. More or less – they all suck. Most feel entitled to the road, and if anything gets in their way, they simply drive around the obstacle if possible. Literally, they drive off road, on sidewalks, through parks, across parking lots, around trees, on private property, on highway shoulders (and beyond), and more. They honk, flash their lights at you, drive about 2 feet behind you, etc. Indeed, it is frustrating sometimes when you are patiently waiting in a queue for the traffic to subside, and the morons in their Land Rovers are passing you on the left, right, and center. Idiots. Pure and simple.

I’ve concluded (with the aid of discussion with my wife) that their behavior is really the immediate result of “new found freedom.” Such freedoms have been cast upon people – quickly and widely – and have been abused in many, many ways. I could give lots of examples, but let’s just say that corruption is rampant, the veil of democracy has been exploited by those in the know, and personal success and individual liberty is often flaunted, over-emphasized and/or abused.

So why do I mention this today? I’m glad you asked.

I made the motorcycle ride all the way into Kyiv; the dacha is about 50 km away. All was well – it was a nice temperature and I didn’t see a single cop on the road. Remember, it’s a holiday – they all must have been on vacation, getting pissed – like most other Ukrainians.

I was riding on one of the “ring roads” that speeds my journey to the city center, though it is less direct. Again, it was a holiday today, and I was riding mid-day, so traffic was relatively light. However, on the ring road, both lanes (in this particular spot) were filled with vehicles.

What do you know, there was a guy riding my ass as we went over an overpass. There were cars all around, and in front of me for as far as the eye could see. He honked 2 or 3 times at me. I put up my hand as to say “what do you want – there are cars in front of me?”  He got a bit pissy and passed me on the right – honking again.

Well – it pissed me off, and so I “flipped him the bird.”

Yep – the finger; up yours; the fuck you and the horse you rode in on…

…………../´¯/)
…………./¯..//
…………/….//
……/´¯/’…’/´¯¯’)¸
…/’/…/…./……./¨¯\
.(‘(…´…´…. ¯~/’…’)
..\……………..’……/
…’\……………. _.·´
…..\……………(
……\……………\

He obviously didn’t like this very much – even though he was being the unnecessarily aggressive typical Ukrainian prick driver that occupies all too much of the asphalt in this country. I’m guessing he is one of those assholes that looks for fights, beats his wife, gets shit-assed drunk every night, doesn’t have a job, still lives with his mother, steals from others, and thinks he is God’s gift to the planet. Typical scum around here. If you lived here, you would know what I mean. No, no, no – there are lots of good people too – but unfortunately, there are LOTS of these shit-for-brains too.

Anyway, this dickwad proceeded to get in front of me and slow down.

Fine. I’ve dealt with these losers before. I just stayed behind him.

Then he pretty much slammed on his brakes. Unfortunately, the brakes on the Dnepr aren’t so good, and with the sidecar attached they are even worse. Nevertheless, I locked up the front, and stopped before hitting the fucker.  (can you tell I’m a bit pissed?)

So, what do I do?

…………../´¯/)
…………./¯..//
…………/….//
……/´¯/’…’/´¯¯’)¸
…/’/…/…./……./¨¯\
.(‘(…´…´…. ¯~/’…’)
..\……………..’……/
…’\……………. _.·´
…..\……………(
……\……………\

and…

…………../´¯/)
…………./¯..//
…………/….//
……/´¯/’…’/´¯¯’)¸
…/’/…/…./……./¨¯\
.(‘(…´…´…. ¯~/’…’)
..\……………..’……/
…’\……………. _.·´
…..\……………(
……\……………\

again.

This really pissed the guy off. Clearly.

I stayed behind him, again, as he crawled forward. After about a hundred meters, he pulled forward and into the right lane.

He lowered his window and hit the brakes again. I came up on his left side, and what did I see?

A 9 mm handgun, pointed straight at me.

Holy shit man. Holy shit.

I ducked, out of instinct, hit the brakes, and just about shat myself.

I must have said WOW! about 100 times to the inside of my helmet over the next 5 minutes.

*********

My exit was only about 200 meters ahead. My heart was pumping like mad. I got into the right lane and watched him pass my exit. Before he was out of sight, and as I was exiting the ring road, what did I do?

I stood on my footpegs and…

…………../´¯/)
…………./¯..//
…………/….//
……/´¯/’…’/´¯¯’)¸
…/’/…/…./……./¨¯\
.(‘(…´…´…. ¯~/’…’)
..\……………..’……/
…’\……………. _.·´
…..\……………(
……\……………\

I was hoping he didn’t come hunt me down (and I regretted doing this after it was done – but I was so angry).

It just goes to show you that there are crazy people everywhere. And that gun control doesn’t mean shit here. Supposedly very, very few people have guns – but I’m not so sure. And what do you know, I saw this article in the NY Times about gun control today.

Whatever. I learned my lesson: do not brandish the finger lightly around here. It’s just not worth it. To them, in a country where it’s relatively cheap to “get rid” of someone, and where people are craving to display their power and authority wherever, whenver possible (because they virtually had none for the previous 70 years) – it’s better to keep the finger in my thoughts rather than in their rear-view mirror.

I mentioned it to my wife as soon as I got home. She knew something was up — as I parked in our parking garage she clearly saw and heard in my voice that I was disturbed by something. She had made it home about 5 minutes before me (in the car). She said that she has heard of similar stories happening to other ex-pats.

I guess the story goes that many ex-pats (like me) feel as if they can express their discontent with other drivers on the road – e.g., “flipping the bird.”

Sure, sure… road rage happens everywhere – I know. And yes, I’ve even seen it and been privy to it in the past. But somehow (if I’m allowed to contend) I feel that there’s a greater acceptance of such displays in the U.S. (for example). I mean that, in the U.S. (or at least many parts that I’ve driven in), when someone does something really stupid or ignorant, that person may get “the finger.” I’m not saying this is a wise thing to do – but gestures like this are more common – and often result in a return (similar) gesture.

Not, per se, with a gun pointed at you.

Regardless, again… I learned my lesson. It is seriously scary looking down the barrel of a gun and into the eyes of a 20-something year old who doesn’t really appreciate life yet.

I’ve learned, again, that I’m in another country which harbors some serious “loose cannons” that have very little to lose (or gain). Life isn’t respected as much as it should be. Really.

As I rode up the elevator of my building with my beautiful wife, adorable baby, and our summer house weekly booty – I realized that I had just escaped death. That fucker could have easily just pulled the trigger, and I’d be dead – or clinging to life – in a Ukrainian hospital. And he would have simply driven off, and nobody would have ever known really what happened – but I would have widowed my wife and son. And the guy wouldn’t have cared.

So… I think I’ll be keeping all my fingers in check from now on. It’s just not worth it!

I’m looking forward to coming home to America. And after today, the sooner the better.

I’ve been traveling a bit, and I’ve seen a restaurant (chain) in Ukraine. There aren’t a lot of them, but I’ve seen a couple. They are called:

CCCP

Now, I’ve always known this as “C” “C” “C” “P”. Yet, the funniest thing happened the other day, and I had an epiphany regarding the spelling (born out of my naivety about the spelling).

To the average English speaker this spelling appears perfectly “normal” (standard). But it just so happens that these are also standard Cyrillic letters. In the Russian alphabet there are 36 letters, and the majority (or at least it seems like the majority) of them look different to Latin characters. But in Cyrillic, “CCCP” actually transliterates to “SSSR” (Latin).

CCCP stands for “Союз Советских Социалистических Республик”

Again, when transliterated, it would look (in Latin) like SSSR. When translated, it turns into USSR due to it being the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.

I guess I find it funny that I always thought of the Soviet Union as the U.S.S.R., and I always wondered why it had also been occasionally (in my part of the world) referred to as CCCP. I figured CCCP was Russian, but I didn’t know why or how it translated. I suppose I would have expected CCCP to LOOK different if it were written in Russian (Cyrillic letters)… but alas, it does not – and the characters look “normal” to me.

Are you seeing where I’m going, or am I losing you?

Anyhow… the funny part of this story is that I openly displayed my ignorance in front of some Ukrainians (this, after being here nearly 3 years): I said “How about we go to the “C” “C” “C” “P” Cafe for lunch. The Ukrainians looked at me — obviously, and COMPLETELY, confused. You could see in their eyes that this stimulated persistent signaling from one side of their brains to the other – like an Olympic ping pong match – over and over again: they just couldn’t figure out what in the world I was talking about. Literally 10-15 seconds later……….  someone finally put it together.

“Oh, you mean ‘SSSR’ Cafe.” And I said, “no, I mean ‘CCCP’.” Again they looked at me puzzled… and after about 5 seconds I realized my complete and utterly embarrassing blunder – I felt like a total idiot. You know… one of those frail moments that strikes usually capable individuals every now and again – and you realize you have just made a complete fool of yourself in front of people you would really rather have not done that in front of.

I didn’t put together that    CCCP = SSSR.

With good reason, this has turned into a long-standing joke, and even the Ukrainians for the rest of the ~2 week trip began referring to the Cafe as “CCCP”.  Each time they said it, they laughed, and then looked at me.

Fantastic. I love that feeling. A(nother) Stupid American in a [former] Soviet country – sounding like an idiot.

Ahhhhhh……….

I suppose everyone has silly moments. This was definitely one of mine…

I caught four random individuals standing in front of the CCCP Cafe

… Cuz you know when we sleep aloooone, [it means] Mikey is sleeping all by himself.’

It’s the first time. We moved Mikey into his own room.

13 months, 10 days, 10 hours, 2 minutes (or so).

The first real significant phase in our child’s life is complete.

He has grown, he has matured, and he has taken to his own room like a true champion, too. We moved the crib out of the Master Bedroom, we warmed up the kid’s (or kids’) room, we bathed and cleaned him, and then we dressed him for bed in his own little room. We fed him his pre-sleep milk, and helped him into the crib. Some 20 minutes of rocking and cooing later, the boy was asleep, the nightlight was on, the curtains were drawn, and we were free.

He was a champion. He slept all night long without a peep! He woke up and not a peep! Very Amazing. About 10 hours of near total separation (except for checking on him before going to bed ourselves), and the entire family woke up in the morning – happy as can be imagined.

The best part, we didn’t have to be quiet in our room any more, we could turn the lights on if we wanted to, we didn’t have to tip-toe around OUR own bedroom, etc, etc.

Thank you Mikey.

Thank you.

What a little angel, most of the time.

We just opened a jar of tomato juice, and I just wanted to share the flavor…

Rich, aromatic, full-bodied, chunky, sweet, pulpy, ruthlessly red with off-yellow seeds, and very-very healthy. I could taste it. Anyone could taste it. It is undeniable. So fresh and alive, it’s easy to tell that it leads to good life.

It contained nothing but tomatoes: crushed from our own vines, and canned according to ancient Ukrainian tradition. OK, I made that part up – but it sounded good. I’m sure it’s just ancient tradition that has been (also) passed down, generation to generation, in this Ukrainian locale.

It was real, it was wow, it was freshly delicious – without a doubt, there’s nothing malicious. Chilled in the refrigerator and straight into a glass – it tasted as if we had canned some pizzazz. It didn’t need pepper, didn’t need salt, didn’t need sugar, and definitely not malt. No additives, no preservatives, not fortified, not mortified. It was sunshine in a glass – pure – with class.

I have to admit that I noted some impurities. Actually… perhaps, there were small specks of dirt-uities. Nope, there was not grit or crunching – thankfully – just a few tiny black flecks, for palatable munching.

My wife said it was flavor, and I believe her.

So fresh, so real, so full of life… should I have more?

I think I just might…….

Long live the помидор

I’m back!

Wow… I think I aged 5 years in this one year. What a long, strange trip it has been.

Most importantly, my son is now [just over] 1 year old. What a transformation this has been. He is both happy and healthy – touch wood (no, not your wood).

Anyhow, I’m now a “Master” in Biotechnology Management from IE Business School. I suppose it’s another notch in the proverbial belt of education. Admittedly, though, I learned a hell of a lot this year! It was more challenging than I had anticipated, which I suppose is a good thing.

Finally, my job is both demanding and arduous – but I’m apparently doing a pretty good job at it. From this perspective as well, I have learned quite a lot about business and corporate project management, not to mention maintaining my connection with the scientific community and science world. All good and interesting stuff…

So — I’m going to just catch my breath for a few more days, but then I will be getting back to blogging a bit more routinely about [just] one American’s life (and times) in Ukraine.

Here’s a pic just before we cut his hair. Looking forward to the next year!

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!