I wasn’t really “with it” when I was a teenager. I’m still not with it, despite impressions you might get from this here quasi-hip blog.

For example, one day at school, some kids were talking about rap. We were probably outside at recess smashing snow in each other’s faces. A majority of the kids in school were children of US Diplomats, meaning they all lived in Virginia. So when one kid asked me if I knew where Compton was, I answered, “Virginia.”

Any reaction by the other kids you can imagine is probably accurate.

but i know exactly where you need to be on the weekend of july 22nd-24th. lousiville, kentucky. before you scoff, here's why.

please pick me up a poster while you're there.

I mentioned in the last post that I lived off of Tverskaya. That street was lined with various office buildings and hotels, some home to snazzy shops on the bottom floor. While walking down the street one day, I noticed that many of the buildings were made of a very beautiful reddish-brown granite. I asked around and found out that the granite once belonged to the Nazis. After taking Poland, France, Belgium, and Holland, Hitler invaded Russia in 1941. In December of that year, the Nazis shipped granite to Moscow by rail to build a monument honoring the German soldiers. Russia intercepted the train, took the granite, and used it to build pretty buildings on Tverskaya.

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The Nazis ultimately failed to take Moscow. Their advance stopped just several kilometers from the capital. One of the places their troops were stopped lies on a road between Moscow’s airport and the city. On arriving at Moscow when I was 14, I remember a lot about the car ride to the city. I remember that everything was grey and drab; there was no color, no life. The sky was filled with grey clouds, the massive apartment buildings on the outskirts of the city looked like dilapidated government housing from the 40s, and everything seemed slathered in an ancient layer of mud and dirt. But I also remember something of a monument. The Russians marked the final steps of the Nazi advance with three enormous steel structures. They looked like gigantic three-dimensional asterisks. In retrospect, I think they were structures used in the war to stop tanks.

I managed to find a picture of these things. Pretend like the Ikea isn’t there, visualize more clouds, and make everything black & white. That’s basically what I saw.

I’ve mentioned in passing here and there that I spent two years in Moscow. I was only 14 and 15, so I don’t remember that much, but I figure it’s worth a post or two. And since skorloff had control of the blog for a while, I had the time to sit and scrape the edges of my brain for what memories I can remember.

The company my dad works for had an office in Moscow and they wanted his help there, so they sent my family over for a two-year assignment. We lived on the 14th floor of an apartment building on a narrow residential street called Bolshaya Bronnaya. It runs directly into a major thoroughfare called Tverskaya, which leads to Red Square and the Kremlin. At the corner of our street and Tverskaya was a McDonald’s – a neighbor I found particularly loathsome as the traffic (human and motorized) around us was always nuts. Also, it was exactly the kind of American culture that I didn’t think should have been allowed out of America. Heading away from Tverskaya on our street, there was a small orthodox synagogue. More on that later though.

Remember that sorry excuse of a coup that happened in 1993? I was there when it happened. It’s one of the few things I remember well, probably because it was so whack. Politics in Russia has never exactly been a stable affair and 1993 was no exception: old man Yeltsin wanted to make changes barred by the constitution, so the members of the parliament declared Yeltsin’s presidency unconstitutional and holed themselves up in the White House until the military forced them out.

My school, the Anglo-American School of Moscow, was then on the American Embassy, which was strategically located across the street from the White House. The Embassy was in the middle of the city. Students were immersed in Moscow’s hustle and bustle – a cultural experience to say the least. With that, though, came certain dangers. Russians built the embassy before the fall of the iron curtain and thoughtfully placed bugs in the walls of one, if not all, of the buildings. That building was abandoned, of course, but it loomed over the school as a symbol of how things used to be.

I don’t remember the details of what happened that day, but I remember we were at school when the siege on the White House began. Everyone was evacuated and told to go home, which I can’t imagine was the wisest thing to do as who knows what was outside waiting for us. We might have been safer in the school’s underground areas. At either rate, I don’t remember anything during the evacuation.

The memories that have remained come from my room on the 14th floor of our apartment. The White House sat squarely in my view and the damn thing was on fire. Literally, black smoke poured out of it. It was shocking. Russians had set fire to their own White House. There it was, the symbol of their government, being blown apart by tanks and burned from the inside out. Coupled with that view was the sound of gunshots ringing out day and night for several days thereafter as the military drove out the stubborn politicians and other skirmishes broke out in the city. Meanwhile, I probably had some Led Zeppelin or Nirvana playing on the stereo, something a 14-year-old have been listening to 1993, which is consequently what this 25-year-old listens to in 2005.

And that’s what I remember of the 1993 coup. Since Skorloff allowed himself to use the “stuff” category for just about anything that didn’t fit in the other categories, I will follow suit. Good idea, dude.

one more pre-move post.

are we all aware that Lance won again? for those of us without cable who are swamped with packing, this news came late. you are all now aware.

carry on.

Just kidding. You’ll only get mono if you click the back button.

I’ve spent the past three weeks not doing a whole lot. I have been going to work, but I’m only logging five hours per day and I take naps when I get home. I’ve been drinking plenty of water and getting plenty of rest. In short, despite your wishes, you terrible person you, I have been taking care of myself.

Which brings us to now. Skorloff, for whom we are all very thankful for enlightening us with that mumbo-jumbo about wine and movies and bathrooms, mentioned that I’d be regaling you with stories of my “past present and future,” all without the commas. He’s right. I’ve been working on some stories about my past, cloaked in mystery as it is, but for right now, I’m here to tell you about my future (the present is oh so boring).

1. My last day at the firm was yesterday. I’ll be starting a clerkship with a judge that will last six weeks. The plan is that I’m to return to the firm after the clerkship, i.e., when school starts. Let’s hope everything pans out.

2. My roommate and I were hanging out at a bike shop for no reason whatsoever the other day and saw one of these:

It’s the Schwinn Sting-Ray. I decided I had to have it, but it wasn’t for sale. So, both of us resolved that we each have to buy one because they’re so freaking cool. I mean, look at that thing, it screams cool. And since I need as much help as I can get, I’m down with it. We’re scowering ebay for vintage (old) models from the late 60’s to late 70’s that are either in near-perfect shape or restorable shape. The tentative plan is to buy Sting-Rays for cheap, restore them as best we can with what limited skill we have, and sell them off. Failing that, we’ll just buy one for ourselves. If you know anyone looking to sell an old Sting-Ray (not a Sting-Ray Junior) drop me a line.

With that, I leave you to enjoy your July 4th weekend. Eat, drink, get sun, drink more, and don’t drive.

I need a break from Moscow posting. Presenting the Sporadically Presented List of Nonsensical Referrers from my Website Stats:

how to apply for a job at h.e.b grocery store in burnet texas
What are you smoking? Not sure how or why you’d want to do that, but more power to you.

94 ford mustang ground effect
Contrary to popular belief, it’s not spoilers that make your crappy ‘sports’ car go faster, but unnecessary, tacky, and otherwise completely pointless ground effects. If speed isn’t what you're after, you’ll at least score more chics.

moms booty
What? Get the hell off my website.

h-town booty dancers
I guess that’s better.

San Antonio pictures drunk
Sounds about right. Hope you found what you were looking for.

The theme of this blog is “behind the curve.” There’s “ahead of the curve” and “on the curve.” We here at particleman.org pride ourselves on being firmly planted “behind the curve.” That way, we can keep an eye on everyone and see what’s worth accomplishing well after when everyone else has. We feel this is more efficient, less time-consuming, and better-fitting to our lifestyle. For “on the curve” web content, please visit websites run by people who run websites that are more “on the curve,” better written, more funnier, and less redundant.

I just finished Harry Potter. No, not the new book. Not even the fifth book. Not even the fourth book. Please lower your expectations. Yes, it was the first book. Impressive, no? Yes. I borrowed it from a friend last week and finally sat down and read it. I’m thoroughly impressed – it was a great read. The plan is as follows: buy every Potter book and read them all before school starts on August 15th. Whether or not I welch on this promise and in fact fall behind my own self-set already “behind the curve” curve is beyond me. But remember, keep your expectations low and you won’t be disappointed.

I also finished two other books recently, both of which were excellent. Crossing California and Into The Wild were similar in that both deal with youth passing though the classic and well-worn paths of growing-up that we all go through. Except that some did worse than we did, some better, and some were completely off the charts.

Crossing California finds us in the late 70s and early 80s following the paths of (mostly) Jewish pre-teens and teens grappling with life in an America riddled with hostage crises, lingering prejudices, and poorly rolled joints. Their parents, perhaps more jaded than the typically jaded 17-year-olds, struggle to keep their marriages and psyches together amidst unfulfilling jobs and lost loved ones. Bands are started and extinguished. Virginities are lost. Chess pieces are stolen. The writing is fluid and the stories captivating. Give it a try.

Into The Wild reminded me of myself. It follows the journeys of an Emory graduate searching for answers, or just experiences. I didn’t go to Emory and I didn’t take off and hitchhike my way to Alaska. I did, however, entertain a properly timed fascination with Russian authors. The true story of Chris McCandless was terrifying and illuminating. He took the writings of Tolstoy and Gogol to heart. He buried himself in Thoreau and London. In college, I read Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Nabokov, Kafka, and Conrad. These books meant a lot to me – and in a way, they still do. But Chris McCandless shunned our civilization and sought an existence that he thought would bring him more satisfaction. Unfortunately, it lead to his premature death at 24. I think all of us will see a little of ourselves in Chris. Into the Wild’s author, Jon Krakauer, does a fine job of writing a book that will help most any reader identify with its tragic hero.

And now I get to pack my apartment for a move this Friday. I’m moving to a safer part of town and getting a roommate – one of my old high school buddies. No posts for a while.

Down the street from my apartment sat a small synagogue that supplied one indelible memory among other generally good though less memorable memories. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how much you feel like learning about Judaism, I have to preface this story with some background info for you to understand its significance.

Orthodox Jews are stationed throughout the world to support any Jew or anyone in general that might need help, usually of a spiritual or nourishment-nature, but other times they help with humanitarian aid. These Jews spend all day giving to the needy and studying the Torah (Jewish Bible). It’s an ancient and traditional way of Jewish life.

But there are negatives. Orthodox Jews are extremists, and like any extremist, they are rarely open to discussion on most theological issues as they relate to history, politics, science, and daily life.

As you may know, Jews believe that the Messiah has not yet come. The day he returns is the day when we will all be sent to Heaven or something along those lines. Everything will be great, the tax code will make sense, Texans will be able to buy liquor on Sunday, and no more Bushies will be allowed in politics. Heaven on Earth, basically.

Aside from his death itself, something bad happened when the head Lubavitcher Rabbi (called “The Rebbe”) died in 1994. The issue, as far as I understand it, is that Orthodox Jews thought The Rebbe was the Messiah in disguise. They were just waiting for some kind of announcement that he was indeed the Messiah. When he passed away in 1994, that theory ran into trouble.

I hung out at the Orthodox synagogue down the street a lot because I had little else to do, and the guys there were usually pretty cool. After The Rebbe died, I went to the synagogue to hang out as usual and went upstairs.

This is what I remember: an Orthodox guy standing at the window in full Orthodox garb looking outside at nothing in particular. He said that the Rebbe was the Messiah, and that since he was now dead, the world was going to end – now or very soon. He said that this was not the way things were supposed to happen and that something huge was on the horizon. He said this with as much conviction as you or I would say: “I wish I didn’t have to work to make a living.”

And that’s my shpiel about the synagogue down the street.

I think I’m pretty much done with the Moscow posts (now that I haven’t posted about Moscow in six days nor posted at all in four). I hope you liked the posts. Russia was in a state of flux when I was there and appears to still be experiencing growing pains.

OK, I just really wanted to say the word flux. What of it.

In other news, Karl Rove is a weasel, Dubya nominated a Supreme Court justice I know almost nothing about, and it’s been raining in Houston for like eighteen days. Comments on any of the aforementioned issues are welcome.

I’ve also managed to read two books this summer that need to be written up and I’m in a third book now. I miss reading. I had forgotten how nice it is to read text without words like “aforementioned” and “foreseeable.”

Last thing – I went to jail today. But got to leave. Lesson learned? Don’t do bad things. Jail is a scary place.

Only a couple years behind the curve, I just downloaded my first song from iTunes. It was Fanfare by Eric Matthews, a song I first heard on Hang All DJ’s by 2manydjs, a group that sliced, spliced, and blended all kinds of songs into 40-something head-spinning tracks no longer than three minutes each (most are only about one minute).

iTunes worked like a charm. I searched for the song, found it, clicked Buy, entered my info, and the song was mine. Sweet! I played it in iTunes right away and felt the thrill of instant gratification. But then I tried to play it in Windows Media Player and WMP choked on the song. If WMP couldn’t handle it, then neither would my non-Apple mp3 player.

On closer examination, I discovered that iTunes songs are not “.mp3”. They’re “.m4p,” so they only play in Apple products like iTunes and the iPod. Frickin’ Apple hippie bastards. I knew some PC hacker dude out there in internet-land had to have created a conversion program, so I combed Google and found Hymn Project.

It works like a charm. If you’ve got a PC and are downloading songs from iTunes, download Hymn Project’s program called JHymn. It’s got a GUI (pretty pictures and buttons to click) and everything, so you don’t need any computer-savviness to use it.

Ok, sales pitch over. Oh, and I should also mention this thing is free.

i live in a 75 year-old house.

this holiday weekend will be spent finishing a bathroom remodel. prior to me moving in, the bathroom had only received a single upgrade, and what a pos it was. the previous owners had laid down some sort of super-thick outdoor floor tile and spread thick coats of plaster on the wall and then run their fingers through the plaster in an apparent attempt to mimic a van gogh sky. the floor tile was so thick that the friggin' door wouldn't close completely (my house isn't level, but that's another story). the floor tile was brown, so they painted the walls brown to match. that might have been fine if the wall tile wasn't green and blue (a 1930's green and blue, if that helps). some of the wall tile was cracked or broken, so they painted those brown as well.

prior to moving in, the inspector indicated that there was evidence of prior water damage under that bathroom. if you're keeping track, the walls were a huge problem and the floor was a huge problem. did i mention that the sink was cracked and the toilet was an embarassment to the sink?

i hired a guy to remodel; let's call him tony. i bought all the fixtures and supplies (i'm very picky), and paid him just for the labor. he completely gutted my bathroom; took everything out except the tub. replaced the floor joists and subfloor. at one point, i didn't have a floor for three days. open the door, and it was a three foot drop to the dirt. he indicated that all the work would take 7-10 days. it took six weeks. the quality of his work was outstanding. he speaks english, but not the same english i speak so i compensated by talking louder.

fast forward to two months later. i still haven't finished painting. or putting the fixures up. or the shower curtain rod. basically, once he left, the project was put on hold because i'm a lazy sob.

this weekend that's all changing.

this weekend, that room becomes a bathroom once again. my project to make a cruddy 75 year-old bathroom into a new 75 year-old-style bathroom will be complete. it's funny. all the work and effort just to end up near where the house started. mosaic floor tile. subway wall tile. pedestal sink. matching crapper. all of this stuff is different than what was installed 75 years ago, but it feels right and it looks fresh.

soon i will have a party where everyone will be invited to come use my bathroom. i even installed a magazine rack. feel free to bring cheese. maybe i can get v to post some pics.

well, after an uneventful blogging week (thanks EnormoCo!) it's time to announce the end of my pinch-blogging for pman.

make no mistake about it, blogging, like pimping, isn't as easy as it seems. at least good blogging isn't. i had no idea how time consuming it would be to draft a quality post with just the right amount of snark and just the right amount of funk. next time you see pman, ask him why he has so much free time to spend blogging and get back to me.

pman will be back soon regaling you with stories from his past present and future.