That’s a great question. I’m loving these great questions I’m now getting.

The fall of the Berlin Wall meant nothing. It was in the same category as Princess Diana, a thing you saw on TV.

I had very politicized parents. Starting in 1987-8, they’d act like Evangelical preachers of sorts. We’d be walking down the street or strolling through the park and suddenly either my dad or my mom would stop and start ranting loudly about the need for democracy, Ukrainian independence, all sort of anti-Soviet stuff. A crowd would gather, listening , asking questions, arguing. My father looked very Jewish and I was perennially afraid that somebody would sock him in the face. But no, it always went very well. I’ll never forget two old babcias whispering behind me, “What’s that Jewish boy saying?” “He said we, Ukrainians, should be proud of our history.” “Really? Well, you know Jews are smart. He must know what he’s talking about. What does it mean, though? What history?”

But even for our very anti-Soviet, highly vocal crowd the Berlin Wall wasn’t a big deal. We never perceived Germans, even the East ones, as being anything like us. We saw them as fabulously well off compared to us. Wall or no wall, they had a charmed life. We weren’t sure what they even had to complain about. The few very lucky people who were allowed to visit East Germany shared whispered stories about the magical existence in that land of opulence.

We never thought that, oh, well, now that the Berlin Wall fell, we’ll also be free. We knew that they can let Germans go but they’ll never let us leave.

And we were right, weren’t we? They are still not letting us leave.

And then she’ll fall in love with a 5’6 serious, sweet, timid dude with no money and no Ivy League diploma but honest and kind, and they’ll be enormously happy together with their three children and two dogs.

I’ve seen it a million times.

Signed: a woman who was very certain she’d never date, let alone marry, a Russian guy.

This is dedicated to all the incongruous, unexpected but rock-solid couples.

One of the commenters on today’s show said that hearing me speak makes her want to genocide the entire Ukrainian nation.

I kind of feel almost proud to have such a colossal effect on people. I have a newfound appreciation for students and colleagues who hear me speak daily and have managed to abstain from any acts of violence.

We have a rarefied environment on this blog, so I forget what it’s like out there in the wilderness of the Internet.

“If you aren’t going to vote anyway, mommy,” Klara said with a sly look, “then vote for me in support of Donald Trump.”

I told her honestly that her favorite singer Taylor Swift supports Harris. Klara is a hardcore swiftie.

“I have my own opinion, mommy,” Klara said loftily. “Taylor is wrong. She’s a singer, she doesn’t get these things. The man was shot twice! I need you to vote for him since I’m too young. Can you do that? Once I turn 18, I’ll do it myself.”

People in the comments are saying that I have a very strong accent but excellent vocabulary and grammar.

I always hear that I have an accent in my own language. Sometimes, people hear me and just start to laugh. I don’t mind because it’s a spontaneous reaction. But I don’t hear my accent in Russian. In English, I do. I even cringe sometimes in the process of saying something when I hear the accent.

I also really slaughtered with my joke that, for Ukraine, Trump represents a horrible end and Harris represents unending horror.

P.S. I’ve also been called an unwashed person of color in the comments. I’m fascinated to find out of which color I am a person because I’d love to bolster up my BLM credentials.

I’ve requested to be invited with another guest the next time, so there can be a debate and we can yell at each other. There was a lot of yelling during the Polish debate right before my appearance and I really wanted to participate even though I know absolutely nothing about the subject. And I understood no Polish beyond “Russian hedgehogs” and “I have a different opinion.” But I want drama, screaming. More Montel, less Phil Donahue.

On the positive side, the plan we collectively created on my segment has been already communicated to the Office of Zelensky. If it wins us the war, I’ll want credit.

Seriously, Polish speakers, what does this phrase that sounds like “руські їжачки” mean?

The teacher in third-grade social studies class:

“Children, there’s going to be a presidential election soon. One candidate is Kamala Harris.”

Children: “Boo!”

Teacher: “Another candidate is Donald Trump.”

Children: “Yay!”

The teacher didn’t reveal her support for either candidate. I asked. I’m glad because I despise teachers who inflict their politics on students.

I must now be prepared to do a public appearance at any moment, so I’m always overdressed, heavily made up and bedazzled with all sorts of jewelry. Colleagues and students look at me like I’m weird, and I probably am in this ready-for-TV getup at 8 o’clock in the morning.

I always secretly wanted to be a pundit, and the dream is coming true in this unexpected way.