And here is a fun series of posters for those who think Ukrainians are not worthy of supporting because they have contributed nothing but borscht to the world civilization.

After the death of over 40 people in the Ukrainian city of Odessa, murdered as a result of Russian terrorists invading the city and shooting into a peaceful crowd, it has become clear that the Russian Federation has become an unapologetic sponsor of terrorism. Let’s get the White House to overcome its inertia and recognize this obvious reality.

We can all help Ukrainians who are dying today to defend their right to live free of foreign invaders. Let’s sign this petition:

WE PETITION THE OBAMA ADMINISTRATION TO:

Designate Russia as “State Sponsor of Terrorism”

In its unannounced war against Ukraine, Russia relies on covert operations which fall squarely within the definition of “international terrorism” under 18 U.S.C. § 2331. Specifically, armed operatives of Russia, acting under disguise, attempt to influence the policy of Ukrainian government by intimidation or coercion. They also try to affect the conduct of a government by assassinations and kidnapping, taking by force government buildings, police posts and military bases of Ukraine. This activity is being conducted on large scale and over prolonged time period, despite condemnation by the USA, G-7, NATO, EU and UN.

Accordingly, Russia must be officially designated as “State sponsor of terrorism”, per http://www.state.gov/j/ct/list/c14151.htm

Click here to sign the petition!

So my best friend from California is visiting. Last night we went to a very nice restaurant and in the bathroom I saw an announcement for a book fair being held at a local church. So of course I immediately Googled the cause they were holding the fair for because I don’t want to support some horrible cause, like “Homophobes Unite!” or “Let’s Chase Unwed Mothers Out of Town.” But it turned out to be for a great cause (cancer research), so we went.

At the entrance to the book fair, I started talking to the greeters. However, they looked past my undeniably Slavic face, bright blue tights, and a noticeable Russian accent. They also paid no attention to N’s very typical mysterious silent Russian persona. The greeters looked straight at my Californian friend who is fifteenth generation American and said, “You are not from around here. Where are you from?”

“Who, me??” asked my friend, shocked to be so easily identified as a stranger.

It was somewhat of a relief not to be singled out as the greatest misfit in every group for once. At the same time, it’s a little disturbing to have become so Midwesternized that a Californian eclipses me in the exoticism department. Maybe I should start rethinking my wardrobe.

By the way, I bought a huge biography of Dreiser at that fair and I’m loving it already.

So the name of this great household object you can see in the previous post consists of two words. The second word is reminiscent of the title of one of the greatest (maybe the greatest) American Bildungsromane.

In the photo you can see a crucial household item I just bought at an antique furniture store for $10. Can you guess what it is?

It is truly something no household can go without. I have no idea how I’ve manged to live for so many years and not have it.

At Kharkiv State University, I was majoring in English and German. There were two tracks, pedagogy (for girls) and translation (for boys). This was a remnant of the old Soviet tradition where translators had to be part of the military and, hence, couldn’t be female. I was a translator even before I got accepted to the university, and it bugged me beyond what words could tell that some ridiculous ancient tradition had to be applied to me and circumscribe my life.

One of the courses we had to take was Cultural Studies. There were rumors circulating that our professor, Tatiana Fedorovna, was a feminist. Nobody was entirely sure what that meant, but people were discussing this strange eventuality in hushed whispers.

Tatiana Fedorovna was very effective at explaining to us how different the issues facing women in our country were from those that Western women cared about. But what I found most useful from her teaching was the phrase, “We have to remember that men are people, too.”

At that time, the only man I knew who was worthy of respect was my father. He worked, read, and always brimmed with enthusiasm and ideas. The rest of men whined, moaned, got depressed, and got a bunch of women to feed, clothe, service and coax them out of their endless funks. So the idea that they could be considered fully human was revolutionary, indeed.

Dear Anonymous Person who sent me the Thomas Pickety book,

thank you so much! I’ve been talking about this book since I discovered its existence, dying to read it. It was really great to find it lying on my doorstep. Thank you, you are phenomenal. The book is lovely. This is an amazing gift.

I guess I now owe everybody a thorough review.

The semester is over and I will have ample time to read it. And use it in my research.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Administering student evaluations is very tricky and requires the kind of athletic prowess I don’t really possess. The professor’s body is supposed to be completely out of the classroom by the time students begin to write. So I leave the forms on the table and sprint towards the door. And of course, there are always people who want to ask me one last question, hand something in, or strike up a conversation.

So I yell, “Don’t write! Don’t write! Out of my way!” as I negotiate my way around desks and students, trying to leave the room.

You’ll laugh but a colleague got into serious trouble because a student wrote on the evaluations that the prof was still partially in the classrom when he or she started writing the evaluation. Then the colleague had to undergo a humiliating reenactment of the situation in the Provost’s office, showing which percentage of her body was still inside the classroom when students started writing.

I’m putting in for tenure and promotion this summer, so I can’t take any risks.

Another professor who influenced me back in Ukraine was Irina Mykolaivna (I forgot her last name.) She was the most beautiful and stylish professor of all and was known for being principled and never accepting bribes. The rumor was that she had a rich husband, and that allowed her to be as principled as she wanted.

I discovered, though, that there was no rich husband in the picture. Irina Mykolaivna worked on the side, selling vegetables at the market. She didn’t run the risk of students catching her at what was considered a very shameful job because fresh vegetables were expensive and students never came to the market. Except me who was rich. Of course, I never told anybody about her secret.

Irina Mykolaivna taught Ukrainian history and shocked us all during her first lecture by speaking perfect Ukrainian and telling us, “I wake up every morning, listen to the national anthem on the radio, discover that “Ukraine isn’t dead yet”* and that gives me the energy to go on.”

She was a passionate Ukrainian patriot, and her lectures were mesmerizing. She was also the only professor ever to give me a B in her course. After I got my grade, I showed up in her office with a huge bouquet of white roses.

“What do you want?” Irina Mykolaivna asked in Ukrainian. “I’m not changing your grade, so you can keep the flowers.”

“No, the bouquet is not for the grade,” I babbled. “It’s for you. You are such an inspiration, you changed my life. Thank you, thank you.”

I shoved the bouquet in her hands and ran away.

I spent the next year in the archives, learning about the history of my country. It was the most emotionally ravaging intellectual adventure in  my life. Every time I worked in the archives, I’d have to make efforts to avoid destroying the documents with the tears that were streaming down my face. The workers of the archives thought I was trying to trace relatives who’d disappeared during Stalinist purges. But I wasn’t looking for relatives. I was looking for an entire civilization that had been stolen from me.

* This is the first line of Ukraine’s national anthem.

My Bildung series doesn’t seem to be extremely popular, but Jonathan says he likes it in spite of the nightmares I’ve been having about him and I enjoy writing these posts, so the series will continue.