August 10, 1999
Missing Southern California, Missing Moscow
Y'know, as every writer can tell you, the hardest part of writing is starting. Whenever I sit down to write one of these files, I begin with a general idea of what it is I want to write about. Then I sit in front of my computer and stare at the screen, wondering how to start off on my riff in a way that captures the reader and also properly sets up the piece. Usually it takes me an hour or two before I can actually start (that usually includes a visit to any random cyber-porn site to relieve stress). This introduction is a perfect example of what I mean. I plan on talking this week about how I missed Southern California when I was in Moscow, and now how I miss Moscow. But for the life of me I can't think of some beautifully organized way to start this missive off. So, instead, you get this rambling load of bull. But now that I've written this opening paragraph, though, I can start on the main piece.
As I'm sure anyone who has moved away from home can attest, no matter how much you hated where you came from and how much you love where you have moved, one cannot help but to think back and miss things about home. You think about your friends, your family, your old house. But as I've heard a million people say a million times in various forms of media, it's the little things that I missed the most. No, not how easy it was to do laundry, or being able to get a cheap burrito, or even sitting in my favorite local café. Whenever I would feel nostalgic for home, and images of what I had left behind would flitter across my brain, invariably I would be in a car, driving.
And not just driving anywhere, but specific places, routes I had taken a thousand times, and routes I had taken but a dozen times. Three routes in particular kept creeping into my mind. (Now here it's going to get specific, so you non-inland Southern California types might feel left out. Sorry. But I hope you get the point.) The I-210 freeway going eastward into Pasadena, the I-15 heading from the I-10 into the Cajon Pass, and my daily drive from my apartment to downtown Riverside.
For a year before we left for Europe, Carolyn and I were taking Russian language classes at Pasadena City College, about an hour drive from our home. Twice a week we would make that drive, and even on the other side of the world, I couldn't help but think about that final stretch to the campus. Driving through Irwindale, with the Miller brewery on one side of the freeway, and the massive open gravel pit on the other. At one time they were supposed to build a football stadium on that pit, where the Raiders would play. And at that spot there was always an anti-smoking billboard, which I found ironic considering RJ Reynolds, one of the largest tobacco companies in the world, owns Miller.
As the freeway skirted the San Gabriel Mountains, past the Duarte Auto Center through your basic LA suburban sprawl, eventually you enter Pasadena city limits, home of the Rose Bowl and January first Rose Parade. You could just feel the property values rising. On one side of the freeway you can see into downtown LA, on the other side, the mountains shoot up in elevation. Then we would get off on Lake St., drive past the ubiquitous fast food stops and mini-malls, until we would pull onto campus.
And on the drive home, late at night, there was the crossing of the bridge back into Riverside, signaling that we were back home.
The oddest of the three routes that I remembered was that I-5 trek north into the Cajon Pass, which leads eventually through the San Bernardino Mountains out to the Mojave Desert. What makes it odd are the two vastly different things I remembered the most. Once you pass the I-10, there is, from what I've read, one of the largest malls in the world, Ontario Mills. This I did not miss in the slightest (except for the el-cheapo discount bookseller inside). It was the shopping center about a mile pass that I missed. And not because I ever went there, but because of the In and Out Burger that was just off the freeway. I don't remember if I have ever patronized that particular outpost of the fast food chain, though I'm sure I have. It was just driving past it, the large sign standing tall, a sign that anybody from Southern California would recognize anywhere. It was familiar. A symbol of home. And then soon, a couple miles after you passed that, the subdivisions would fizzle out (although soon they won't), and there would be a nice stretch of open road gently climbing in elevation, the last remnants of the wine grapevines that use to cover this area spreading out on both sides until they reached the hills. At sunset, with the sun behind you and darkness ahead, you would make that climb, passing the semis, the foothills growing on either side, until you hit the merge with the I-215. Sometimes it's so windy on this road that the semis get blown over, or a big signpost would be knocked onto the road, and then there's traffic and hell. But more often than not, it was a brief drive into solitude and relaxation.
And that leaves us with the one drive that I missed the most, the one I made everyday. Every morning I had this routine. After I checked my e-mail, I would hop in my car and go to the post office in downtown Riverside, to check my P.O. Box and see what Budget Press had got that day. Sure, often there would be nothing there. But I couldn't start my day until I had done it. I'd pull out of my apartments, make a right on Canyon Crest, a left on Martin Luther King, pass the University Experimental Farms, followed by a half-mile of a low-rent minority neighborhoods. As one neared downtown, the street name changes to 14th Street (sure, the city can name a street after the man, but it can't go into the business district). Then I'd make a right on Lime, pass the County Administration Center, a left on University, pass the Life Arts Center, where Budget Press began, then a right on Orange to the post office. Not the most exciting drive in the world. No mountain views, no beautiful homes, no breathtaking landmarks. But it was a drive I took everyday, with anticipation. And living in Russia, it's the one thing I missed the most about home.
I find it interesting, but not surprising, that all three of the things I missed the most involve driving on freeways. I think this truly proves that I am a native of Southern California, where nearly half of every inhabitant's life is spent driving on freeways. Through in the mini-malls and fast food joints as scenery, and you have basically every American city. I just realized that freeways, mini-malls, and fast food, are the three things that I have spent my entire hypocritical life hating with all my heart. Whoah. I'm having a crisis here.
* * *
So now I'm back in Southern California, though not Riverside. And now, after six weeks or so of being back, I'm really starting to miss Moscow. To think that not that long ago I was living in one of the great cities of the world, the center of a largest country there is. There is something about the energy of a major city that is impossible to recreate in the suburbs. I miss being where the action is, where news is made that affects every corner of the globe. I miss being squashed on the metro between a gorgeous babe and a rancid drunk. I miss Pushkin Square, with the massive neon billboards and newspaper offices. I miss taking the metro over the Moscow River. I miss the wide 10 lane boulevards with crazy drivers and screeching traffic.
Whenever I see a talking head on TV, talking about Russia (which they are doing a lot of this week), I can't help but look past the commentator and noticing the city backdrop behind him. 'Look! That's Kutozovski Prospect going over the Moscow River leading to the White House!' 'Look! That's the Duma Building on Okhotny Ryad!' 'Look! That's the Kremlin from Manezh Square!' And every time it almost brings me to tears. On the Russia Today news website, you can access the Kremlin Cam, which has real time pictures of Red Square. I find myself checking it a couple of times a day.
There are two things I miss the most about Moscow. One shouldn't be as any surprise to you, my patient readers, considering what I have said earlier. It is my everyday walk from my flat to the metro station, and back again. Through the apartment blocks, past the soccer field, past the open air market and liquor kiosks. Past what Carolyn and I called 'the cool kids', the group of long haired rockers who would hang out at this one particular spot every day, working on their bikes, listening to Nirvana, flexing their tattoos. 'I betcha we could get some weed there,' I said more than once. Or late at night, walking out of the metro station, and the babushkas sitting on crates selling cigarettes. For nine months this was my home and my daily routine. It became comfortable and familiar, as familiar as anything in Riverside.
And I miss coming into the office of the company I worked for. While I was teaching, almost every day Carolyn and I would travel 40 minutes into the center and go to this office to make our lesson plans. The actual school we taught at was only 10 minutes away from where we lived, and we could have made our lessons at home, but we nevertheless would travel into the center to do our work. I don't think the real reason we went there was to work, though, but instead just to hang out. We would sit in the small office with our fellow teachers and talk while we worked. Make jokes, laugh at our students, bitch and moan, whatever. I miss going there and the people I hung out with in that office.
When I went to Russia, I knew it was only temporary, a short chapter in my life. I'd go there for a year or two, do some traveling, do some writing, have some cool experiences, then I'd come back to So Cal and resume my life. But now, everything has been turned upside down. Now I feel like So Cal is just temporary, that my real life is back in Russia. That there is where I belong, not here. That here at home I'm just killing time before I return. Like THAT is really my home, where I belong. What saddens me, though, is that I don't know when I'll return. I could go back there now, but in my heart I know that where I am now is truly where I need to be. But I know, don't ask me when, I will return there, and no matter what I do between now and then, I will be thinking about Russia, and working on a way to get back there.
* * *
So there ya go. Just had to get out that first paragraph, and then the rambling could ensue. I also wanted to touch on all the stuff that's been happening in Russia this week, from Dagestan to Vladimir Putin, but I've babbled on long enough. Maybe next week. Just wanted to share this with you. The North County Times, the local crap rag that my mom gets, has a picture of the new acting Russian PM on it's front page, with the name under it Ras Putin. Doh!
* * *
But as long as I'm in the blessed USA, I'll catch up on Budget Press stuff. Which leads me to once again announce that Budget Press is elated to publish yet another great new chapbook, CATASTROPHE! by Steve Conway. Included is 14 new poems contemplating various (believe it or not!) catastrophes, both man made and not. From fires to mine explosions to the sinking of the Andrea Doria, he weaves poetic tales that place you up close to what happened. These are strong pieces that make you sit back and think. Y'know, off an a tangent, one of the great things about publishing is that you get to put out voices that really say something me, and hope they stick to the people who read them. I truly believe that anybody who orders this chapbook will not be disappointed. Check out the cover and one of his poems at http://www.angelfire.com/ca/bpress, and then send two stamps to Budget Press, 2764 Caminito Cedros, Del Mar CA, 92014. You will not regret it.
* * *
And now, off to letter land. This first letter touches on one London paper's response to the day-trader killing…
* * *
Put this in the file for the "best (?)" headline on this story:
Daily News, July 30 -- "Loser Kills 12"
Saying it like it is.
Donovan Rinker-Morris
Reply:
Leave it to the Brits to say it how it is.
* * *
Dear J.B.B.
Yeah, It's funny how that whole shot up Mayor thing skipped my mind when we hung out in the 'cide last month and drank like Vikings on a mixture of Viagra, PCP and speed. What was that stuff we busted out at four a.m.? Aqua Velva strained through bread? I didn't even hear about the failed assassination till I had been back down for a couple of months. Someone mentioned it casually in passing as I was listing off the atrocities that have plagued our fine town to some French girl of an exchange student at 'The Grind'. It wasn't like the moment I got back from my frozen, NW, hippie hell, that someone said, "Hey the mayor got shot-up!" If anything it was, "Some asshole pulled a Brinkley and wasted a perfectly fine bullet without scoring the kill shot." Just goes to show how numb our fellow Rivercidians are. The mayor gets blasted and we don't even bat an eye. Just another day in the OG's paradise.
THE I.E. BABY!!!
Richard Tater
(Ed. note: Riverside glossary-
'The Grind'- local café
'the 'cide', 'Rivercidians'- word play, off of Riverside, as in old Budget Press t-shirt 'Suicide Homicide Genocide Rivercide'
'I.E.'- abbreviation for the Inland Empire, the geographical term used for the Riverside-San Bernardino-Ontario metropolitan area, the east-lying inland suburbs of LA.)
* * *
RE: Budget File #24
The Most Racist City in America
A note. One of the most racist cities is Honolulu; another is Tokyo and most cities in Japan for that matter.
Lanny
* * *
Until next time…
#27
August 31, 1999
Ramblings
Yeah so I guess it's been a few weeks since my last file. Been busy trying to figure out what I'm going to do for the next year. I spent a week trying to get into grad school at the last minute, getting my transcripts together, taking the GRE computer test, getting letters from professors, meeting the dean. Needless to say, applying two weeks before school starts is a little too late, but I had to give it a try. So it looks like I'll have to wait until next fall before I start working on that Modern Russian History degree. I guess I'm going to have to (shudder) get a job.
I've tried a couple of times in the last week to sit down and do this 27th file, but I got a pretty massive writers block messing with my mind. I just don't know what the hell to write about. I mean, even with all the stuff that's been happening in Russia in the last couple of weeks, it has been impossible for me to formulate all my ideas into a something. I read the papers and watch TV and the only conclusion I can come to is what somebody told me back in Moscow 'You couldn't fuck up a country this bad if you tried'.
I mean, pocketing 10 or 15 billion dollars of IMF money. That takes some balls. But you can not tell me that Clinton or whoever didn't know this was going on. America controls the world's financial organizations, and it wasn't about stabilizing the economy or creating free and open markets or modernizing factories or whatever. It was paying of Yeltsin and his boys so they would keep a lid on the populace and serve American interests. It was pure political bribery.
If anyone involved in this outside of Russia says they're surprised at these latest revelations, they are lying. Russia is one of the most corrupt governments in the world, and they don't even try to hide it. I few months back someone found that the Russian Central Bank was laundering government money through off-shore accounts in the Channel Islands. Was anything done by the Yeltsin or the IMF or anyone? Of course not. It was in the paper for a couple of days and then it disappeared. But now everybody's in a huff and incredulous about the latest financial misdeeds. Probably because this time the money went through American banks. Do you think all this could have went down with out the US government knowing something about it, but ignoring it because Yeltsin was our man? But now Boris is on his way out, and it's time to offer him up as a sacrifice to placate whoever takes his place. And then we'll do whatever it takes to prop up the next corrupt regime.
* * *
I know it's been a couple weeks, but I want to throw in my two cents about this Iowa straw poll thing that went down recently. I have to give props to John McCain for not participating. That was a smart move. Instead of taking part and coming in fifth or sixth, he passed it up and is still being taken seriously. I watched C-SPAN that entire weekend, and not once was McCain mentioned. He wasn't even mentioned by all the wonks who analyzed the results afterward. But a couple days later, after Alexander had dropped out and Buchanan and Quayle and the others were written off, McCain had returned to the news and is still taken seriously as a candidate. I've never voted republican in a presidential election in my life, but this McCain guy intrigues me.
* * *
Just right now heard on the news about a bomb going off in a mall in Moscow. Hey, I've been there. I know exactly where the bomb went off. Crazy.
* * *
So Budget File #17, 'Just Another May' has been published in issue #15 of bANAL PROBE, a fine zine out of Austin. bANAL PROBE is a particularly well done zine with essays, comics, stories, and the like. In my mind, any zine that calls itself 'the rectal thermometer of a dying planet' has to be good. Right now they are taking submissions for their next issue, with the theme being 'Things to do in high school when yr dead,' stories about your high school days, and all and anything that entails. If you would like to order a copy of the zine, send $2 to PO Box 4333 Austin, TX 78765. You can send submissions to that address, or e-mail them in to lainie@mindspring.com. The deadline for the next issue is Oct. 31, 1999. And tell them johnnie b. sent ya. And now, off to letter land…
* * *
This is a measure of how much I miss Russia:
The other night, I was coming home from class and fiddling with the radio stations because the car my grandparents have lent me doesn't have a cassette player. And then, I could not believe my ears. It was Cher, crooning to me, "Do you believe in life after love?" And I had to answer, "Yes, Cher, I do believe! I do! I do!" And so I sung along with Cher, trying to do that weird distortion with my voice that she does and waving my arms and twisting my torso along with that infectious beat. Now, I have not recently seen the light and now recognize the greatness of Cher's musical genius. I merely miss Russia and will even sing that stupid song if it makes me feel like I'm walking past a Metro kiosk in Moscow.
Cheers,
Lisa
* * *
i read your ramblings on missing moscow- i used to go through that sort of thing all the time, it was terrible. i never seemed to miss america, but the sights and smells of moscow just wouldn't let me sleep at night. i still have that, but i'm already used to waking up every morning, wanting to go back- been that way for several years now.
anna arutunyan
* * *
I find that the things I miss most about the places I've been are always the people that I spent the time with while I was there.
Just a thought.
D
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Until next time…
Budget Files
