In the past two weeks I’ve seen three movies: Music and Lyrics, Reno 911!: Miami, The Lives of Others (Das Leben der Anderen). Because my opinion, like that of all bloggers, totally matters, I will share it with everyone on the world-wide internets.

Music and Lyrics
This film was a cinematic masterpiece worthy of an Academy Award nomination for Best Picture of 2007.
OK, obviously that’s total BS. The movie’s plot is thinner than a coked out Nicole Richie. But let’s be honest, comrades…no one sees a Hugh Grant movie for the plot or groundbreaking cinematography. We go for the eye candy and that adorable British accent.

Hugh Grant still looks as adorable as ever even though he is 46. WTF!? Hugh Grant is 46!? That’s effin’ crazy! He’s soooo old. I mean, it seems like just yesterday he was cruising around Sunset Boulevard in his BMW looking for prostitutes. My, how time flies.

Anyways, Music and Lyrics follows the typical Hugh Grant movie plot: Sarcastic British Boy lives in Big City. Boy becomes attracted to slightly bizarre Girl. Girl also becomes attracted to Boy (well, it’s Hugh Grant, so obv). Boy does something stupid that pisses Girl off. After much introspection, Boy realizes he was a dumbass and begs Girl for forgiveness, employing some cute antics that usually result in public embarrassment of Boy. Surprise! Girl forgives Boy. Boy and Girl live happily ever after in Big City. Blah blah blah.

The weakness of the plot is excused, however, because this particular film is inundated with Hugh Grant dancing a la Love Actually. I, for one, could not get enough of Hugh Grant shaking his ass to the Pointer Sisters and dancing around 10 Downing Street. Yeah, the movie isn’t brain food, but it’s nevertheless entertaining.

Be forewarned, however, that an ultra-cheesy song in the movie called “Pop! Goes My Heart” will be stuck in your head for days – nay, weeks! It’s effin’ painful. I suggest blasting some Rage Against the Machine after leaving the theatre in order to rid your head of that pop nonsense.

And in somewhat related news, Hugh split with his girlfriend, whatshername, oh yeah, Jemima. Dude, call me!

Reno 911!: Miami

There’s not much to say about Reno 911!: Miami other than…it’s hilarious. If you’re a fan of the Comedy Central show, then you’ll love it. If you’ve never seen the show before you will probably still enjoy it, and perhaps be motivated to rent the DVDs of the actual TV show.

The Lives of Others (Das Leben der Anderen)
The Lives of Others is the Academy Award-winning (Best Foreign Language) German film exploring the role of the Stasi (Ministry for State Security) in East Germany – a country that, in many respects, did its best to “out-Soviet” its Soviet patrons. Yeah, I know, quite a change from the mindlessness of Hugh Grant and Lieutenant Dangle’s hotpants. I loved this film (I’m a huge Cold War buff, obv) and thought it did an amazing job of showing the viewer how the Stasi pervaded every facet of East German society – bugging each room of your tiny apartment, opening your mail, and turning your wives, husbands, friends, and co-workers into informants who would report on your alleged “crimes” against the state.

If you don’t get in line, we’ll lock you away

If you have any interest in the Cold War, I would highly recommend this film. Afterwards, pick up a copy of Timothy Garton Ash’s fascinating book, “The File: A Personal History“, which details his own efforts to locate his personal Stasi file and track down his “friends” who informed the Stasi about every detail of his life while he studied in East Berlin.

Not many other movies out right now that I want to see…well, except for “Breach”…I heard that one is good. But “Norbit” and “The Number 23?” Who in their effin’ mind greenlights this stuff?

I spent four effin’ hours watching The Real Housewives of Orange County on Bravo. For someone who only watches 2-3 hours of TV per week, this was completely effin’ bizarre behavior on my part.

It started snowing this morning, kinda heavily at times for this Californian, so I parked myself on the couch, turned on the TV, and looked for something to watch. As usual, there was nothing of interest, not even on the gazillion movie channels, so I settled on a show I’ve never seen before, Real Housewives. After the first 10 minutes, I was instantly hooked. While I can’t really identify with many of the characters (A BMW on your 16th birthday? Plastic surgery for a 20 year old? Seriously, WTF is wrong with these people?) I found myself longing for sunshine, gated communities, well-manicured lawns, golf courses, marble kitchen countertops, flip flops, beaches, palm trees, and poolside margaritas with bowls of guacamole. The four inches of snow outside slowly disappeared as I became immersed in the 80 degrees and sunny Orange County fantasyland of excessive consumption. Oh, it felt so good. So, so good.

When the last show ended and some other boring Bravo show came on, I moaned “Nooo! I want more Housewives!” Obviously this is a sign of some mental disorder.

Goddammit, I just need to move back to California.

Last Friday I had to purchase a snow scraper thingie to remove the 3-4 inch layer of ice that covered my urban assault vehicle. I had to remove the ice by Saturday morning, as the XTerra was going to be very “XTerra-ish” and haul us up the mountains to go snowboarding, like it does in the TV commercials and magazine ads (although the part about the Hagerstown hospital emergency room is definitely not in the ads). It took me two effin’ hours to get rid of that ice, and cost me a quarter of a tank idling the damn thing to speed up the process. Guess I melted a few glaciers and thus killed a few polar bears by doing so. Sorry, guys.

Anyways, to get to my car I had to walk around the block and into the back alley, as the steps that lead from my room to the alley were covered in a thick, slippery layer of ice. I had no desire to plummet to my death, thankyouverymuch, so opted for the longer route to my car. While walking to my car, a man stopped me and said “Darlin’, can I have a quarter?” This happens quite often in Columbia Heights. I’ll be waiting to cross the street and the guy next to me will ask for a dollar. I’ll get to the top of the escalator at the metro and someone will ask me for a dollar. Very bizarre. I tell the guy sorry, but I don’t have anything (true, I wasn’t lying this time…didn’t have my wallet on me). He then looks at the weird ice scraper contraption I am holding and squeals “Please don’t beat me” and scurries off.

Aha! For once I am the intimidator in this ‘hood! I’m gonna start carrying this thing with me all the time. Guns are for newbs. OXO Good Grips Twister Snow Brushes are the new hotness.

Fear it.

I went snowboarding for the first time in my life yesterday. Actually, I’ve never been skiing, either, so it was my first attempt at a snow sport that didn’t involve a cheaply made plastic saucer you buy at Target on your way to the mountain house. I don’t know why I haven’t been snowboarding before now. It’s not that California lacks ski resorts – we’ve got plenty of them, in fact. Just never got around to it, I guess. We were always more of a “let’s avoid anything resembling an actual winter” family. The beach was our scene.

Olga, Masha, Grace, and I went to Whitetail Resort, which is about an hour and a half from DC. Since I’ve never been to a ski resort before, I cannot comment on the quality. There was, however, snow, mountains, and lots of people. We picked up our rental boots and snowboards (Olga was skiing, Grace has her own snowboard equipment) and Grace taught us how to strap the board to our feet. We then got in line for the ski lift and we dragged our boards along, with one foot strapped in. The whole thing seemed entirely ridiculous to me, yet I somehow managed to hop onto the ski lift. I found the actual ride on the ski lift to be quite scary, and I clung to it for dear life, while my snowboard dangled from my foot.

“Dude, Olga, this thing is heavy, it’s gonna drag me down!” I thought I would plummet to my death, and perhaps earn a Darwin award.

Well, it didn’t drag me down, but the snowboard was a lot heavier than I expected, especially when compared to the weight of my 6’10″ surfboard, which weighs next to nothing.

The whole process of getting off the ski lift was not so easy, and I basically flung myself off the bench when we got to the top and stumbled/crawled to the side (all with this effin’ board strapped to my right foot). It was not at all graceful, but I’m a newb so what do you expect?

With the scary ski lift experience over, it was finally time to attempt actually going down the slope. Grace gave us a few pointers, like on how to actually get up with this bizarre contraption strapped to your feet.

Once I mastered that, I was going down the slope at a very fast speed (well, fast to me at least).

This is totally not me. There are pics of our snowboarding adventure, but they are on Masha’s camera.

“Eh, this ain’t so hard!” And then, inevitably, BAM! Lindsay loses her balance and tumbles down the mountain. I did much better the second time going down, but took a particularly hard fall in which my stocking cap flew off my head and landed five feet from me. I laid there in the snow for a minute while eight year olds sped past me. Maaaan, I just dunno about this sport.

When I told some friends that I was going snowboarding, their reactions ranged from “Be prepared to spend most of the time on your ass” to “You surf, so you’ll probably be pretty good.” I’d like to think that I was somewhere in the middle. I could stand up and balance fine after a few runs, but my control was practically non-existent, and my stopping needs some major work. Stopping, as it turns out, is something you should definitely master.

On our last run down the slope, I looked behind me to see Masha holding her arm.

“Hey, you alright?

“My wrist!”

A guy riding the ski lift above shouted down that he would send for help. Ski patrol showed up shortly thereafter, put Masha on the stretcher, and headed down to first aid. I put my snowboard back on, but was so exhausted and sore that I half flung myself down the slope. Once we had found all the members of our group, we headed off to the Hagerstown hospital emergency room. Spent about four hours there. Ever been to Hagerstown? Not much there. Turns out she broke her wrist. Freakin’ sucks. Finally got back to DC around 1am. Woke up the next morning and every muscle in my body bitched at me.

I had a lot of fun at Whitetail and would definitely be up for trying snowboarding again. I thought it would be quite similar to surfing, but besides the fact that you are standing on a board and moving at a fast speed, the two sports are nothing alike. To me, snowboarding seems a lot easier than surfing. Learning to surf can be a very frustrating experience, while with snowboarding you can see yourself progress much quicker. Then again, the ocean is much more forgiving when you make a mistake. Fall off your board, and you’re in the water, not landing on a patch of hard ice. The whole ski resort environment felt like a snowy Disneyland.
Expensive, lots of people, long lines, and bad food. I much prefer the solitude of the ocean. Yeah, the breaks in SoCal can get very crowded, no doubt, but there have been countless times when I’ve found myself alone at the South Jetty in Oceanside, the waves all to myself, enjoying a beautiful sunset. You really can’t beat that. Uh, is it spring yet?!

We got a bit of snow down here in our nation’s capital. Just a few inches, but you woulda thought it was worse than upstate NY if you watched the local news. ICE! SNOW! PRECIPITATION! COLD! Still, I somehow managed to drag myself out of bed, from the safety of my warm blanket burrito, in order to navigate the treacherous snowbanks of Columbia Heights, sans crampons and ice axe. I was convinced that I was the only person in the city who was actually going to work today, as the streets were eerily empty of people.
The Federal government delayed its opening for two hours, but I think a lot of Uncle Sam’s finest were taking the day off. Probably sleeping in, drinking big mugs of hot chocolate with little marshmallows, and burning through their Netflix queue like whoa. “Effin’ government workers! ALL THESE SIDEWALKS BETTER BE CLEARED BY THE TIME I GET HOME! I’m not paying taxes so you can sit at home and watch ‘I Love the 80s’ reruns.” No, I wasn’t bitter at all.

Inevitably, while trudging through the snow, the question of “WTF am I doing here?” will arise. Damn, I coulda been laying by a pool in California, drinking margaritas, eating some chips and oh-so-creamy guac from Las Casuelas, listening to Jack Johnson…but noooo, you had to move back to D.C., didn’t you? Idiot! Is it cold enough for you yet?

The upside of this horrible weather is that I now own the most kick-ass pair of North Face boots in the world. After hopping over countless puddles of nasty DC street slush (and nearly falling an equal number of times) I decided to head over to City Sports in Chinatown and purchase some proper winter footwear. No more pole-vaulting over puddles for me…hell no, now I can just plow through ‘em. They’re rated for -25F or something, so I’ll be prepared if I ever find myself, say, exiled to Siberia.

I tried shoveling our portion of the sidewalk when I got home but gave up after realizing the nice, soft snow of the morning had turned into impenetrable ice by nightfall. Apparently, it’s DC law that you have eight hours after the snow stops to clear your sidewalk. Uh, yeah, arrest me for not doing so, I guess. By the way, great job you guys did clearing the streets and sidewalks around Union Station…because that’s not, like, a high traffic area or anything.

John F. Kennedy once said that Washington was a city of “Southern efficiency and Northern charm.” Truer words were never spoken.

We’ve all had the hilarious “cow-based” explanations of political systems/corporations/nations e-mail forward show up in our inboxes at one time or another. Crystal recently forwarded this new one by Mark Gilbert over at Bloomberg. A few of my favorites:

Currency Market
You have two cows. China has 1 trillion cows. Guess who sets the price of milk?

Hedge Funds
You have two cows. A guy in an open-necked shirt drives up in his Bentley and offers to take care of them for you in return for a year’s supply of steak and 50 percent of their milk. They won’t be allowed to leave his compound for two years.

Six months later, you have half a cow, producing sour milk. “You have to be willing to lose rump today to get rib-eye tomorrow,” the hedge-fund guy mumbles through a mouthful of sirloin and champagne.

Carbon-Emissions Trading
You have two cows. They produce 1.2 tons of methane gas per day. After a hefty donation to the re-election campaign of your local representative, the government gives you enough emission permits for six cows. You sell three permits, buy another cow, and apply for a European Commission grant to build a methane-gas power station.

Microsoft Corp.
You have one old, tired cow. A recent heart transplant may have come too late to save the beast.

Google Inc.
You have no cows. You slap advertisements on everyone else’s cows. The milk floods in. You use the proceeds to reinvent the cow.

Apple Inc.
Nobody wants your cows. You design the cutest little milk bottle. Now, everybody wants your cows.

Commodities
You have lots of stocks and bonds, but no cows. Are you crazy? Cows are the hot new market. Here, buy this exchange- traded cow futures contract. It can’t lose. It gained 40 percent in the past six months.

Gold
You have two cows. You wear a cap you made out of tin foil so that the tiny black helicopters can’t read your thoughts. You spend your days blogging about how the government’s decision to abandon the cattle standard in 1933 was part of a global conspiracy by the world’s central banks to destroy the value of your herd.

And, of course, my personal favorite:

Russian Energy
You have two cows. Comrade, those cows are an environmental hazard. We suggest you hand one of them over to us.

(A cute little reference to Russia’s propensity for “Oh, hey, (insert Western energy company’s name here, i.e., Shell), looks like we’ve found a few environmental problems with your project (i.e., Sakhalin-2), might have to revoke your permits for that nice, big LNG facility you’re building. Better to just give us a stake in that, yeah?)

It is a very rare instance when I don’t have my mp3 player with me. Even for a three block stroll to the local CVS, I need my own personal soundtrack. Sometimes, for whatever bizarre reason, I might find myself on the metro sans iPod/iRiver and think to myself, “Oh my god…no music…I might actually have to just sit here and think.” Thankfully, that doesn’t happen very often. So, taking a cue from another recent post by Cincy (dude, you just blog and I’ll follow) here are my top five remakes of great songs:

5. “Smooth Criminal” – Alien Ant Farm (originally by Michael Jackson, before he was effin’ insane). “Annie, are you OK? Are you OK? Are you OK, Annie?”

4. “99 Red Ballons” – Goldfinger (originally by Nena). “99 Luftballons” has been covered by several bands, but IMO, Goldfinger’s cover is the best. It also helps that I absolutely adore Goldfinger. And yes, their cover of “Just Like Heaven” is great as well.

3. “Hotel California” – Gipsy Kings (originally by the Eagles). Lindsay, surely you must be joking? A cover of Hotel California? The song is already perfect as it is! Yeah, yeah, I know…I love the original as well. I first heard this song while watching “The Big Lebowski” (RENT IT NOW if you haven’t seen it) and downloaded the mp3 ASAP. The Gipsy Kings speed up the tempo and throw in a nice little Spanish twist (because any song that seamlessly transitions between English and another language is pretty sweet in my mind). This song just works…trust me.

2. Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) – Marilyn Manson (originally by Eurythmics). I’m not a big Marilyn Manson fan at all. Like a few of his songs, but never got into him. I looooove his remake of Sweet Dreams, though. He covers the Eurythmics’s 80s song with a much darker and heavier tone (as to be expected, this is Marilyn Manson after all). I actually think that if you read the lyrics to the song, his cover makes a lot more sense mood wise.

1. “Renegades of Funk” – Rage Against the Machine (originally by Afrika Bambaataa). This was a really hard one, as I could have filled this entire list with songs from Renegades, Rage Against the Machine’s album composed entirely of covers. I’m a big fan of their covers “The Ghost of Tom Joad” (Bruce Springsteen), “Street Fighting Man” (Rolling Stones), and “Maggie’s Farm” (Bob Dylan), but if I had to pick one, it would be “Renegades of Funk.” Goddamn, this song wakes me up in the morning. I don’t need that overpriced Starbucks brew (ok, lie…caramel macchiato, please), I just need me some good ol’ RATM. Whenever “Renegades of Funk” starts playing on my iPod in the morning, I want to start jumping around the metro car I am riding in while shouting “NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY, YA CAN’T STOP US NOW!” I restrain myself from doing this, however, as I am often packed in there like a sardine and do not want to be the subject of a craigslist rant (“MC with idiot who bumped into me while dancing around metro car and singing along to RATM”)

Any suggestions on other covers I might enjoy, let me know. I will admit to having a ridiculous amount of punk covers. Who ever thought that “Build Me Up Buttercup” could actually sound good?

This recent post by Cincy prompted me to write about my own experience teaching foreigners English (albeit, in my case, indirectly).

Back in the summer of 2003 I took Russian language classes at Moscow State University’s Center for International Education, a division of MGU formed to teach Russian to promising young foreign Communists back in the days of the Soviet Empire. As for me, the American, what better way to spend my summer than sitting in a stifling hot classroom (no air conditioning, comrades!) cramming my head with verbs, vocab, and cases for five hours a day, five days per week.

Moscow State U. – breeding ground for future party bureaucrats

Our only respite from this constant barrage of language was our lunch period, which was spent in the stolovaya, or cafeteria. The decor was strictly Soviet – this was, after all, an educational center for the proletariat. The food, as you could imagine, thoroughly sucked, yet the Russian teachers, police officers, and soldiers seemed to enjoy it. We instead chose to purchase chips, candy, and soda from the outside kiosks, much to to the chagrin of the surly cafeteria ladies. I usually opted for a Fanta and large bag of bacon or chicken flavored chips (yes, they really have chips with those flavors). Nevertheless, it was a time for us to just relax and speak some damn English without our teachers yelling at us. We were an odd bunch – a few Yanks, some Brits, a couple of Spaniards, a south Korean, and a pair of Pakistani diplomats. Most of us were college students with an academic reason for spending the summer at CIE, while others were there because their oil executive or stockbroker fathers thought it best they learn the local language.
So one day we were sitting there when a CIE staff member comes barreling through, speaking so fast I could barely understand. Something about a computer, I dunno. Liz points her finger at me, and the next thing I knew, I was being dragged to the director’s office.

“They want you to fix a computer or something. I told them you knew stuff about computers.”

“WHAT! Windows is going to be in freakin’ RUSSIAN!!”

I got to the office and there was no computer for me to fix. I was thoroughly confused, until they introduced me to a representative from a language software company. She said her company was developing a new program to teach young Russians the vocabulary of their American counterparts and they would just need my help for an hour, hour and a half tops. I agreed, still unsure as to what exactly I would be doing, until she e-mailed me a list of subjects we would possibly be discussing. Oh man, I thought, they’re going to record me?!

I had spent the following weekend in St. Petersburg, and arrived back in Moscow on Monday morning, stumbling off the train and rushing to make it back to CIE, all while ridiculously low on sleep. Oh yeah, I could already tell that this “interview” was going to be stellar. I met up with the software representative and we hopped on the metro. The “studio” was located in a stereotypical crumbling office building/factory of some sort. Man, that place must have been buzzing with economic inefficiency back in the day.

They sat me down in front of a mic, gave me a mug of scalding hot tea (it was July, mind you), completed the sound check, and the questions started to roll in. The interviewer was a very nice fellow, and explained we would be discussing sports. Sports, hey! I can talk about sports!

Q: What are your favorite sports?
My favorite sports are soccer, baseball and surfing.

Q: Do you go surfing in Washington?
No, no opportunities for surfing in Washington, only when I go back to California.

And so on and so on. They had me explain the equipment you need to go surfing, so I covered the various types of boards, talked about the importance of a leash, and mentioned that wearing a wetsuit was probably a good idea. This was critical information that young Muscovites needed to know.

The next set of questions centered around a typical day in the life of Lindsay Fincher, student at George Washington University:

Q: What is your favorite place to eat?
We have a favorite place, called ‘Lindy’s Red Lion’, and it’s a bar and restaurant, and they have some… some very, very good hamburgers. I eat a lot of hamburgers, so, if a place has good hamburgers, then I like it.

Brilliant, Lindsay…just brilliant. If hordes of young Russians descend upon “Lindy’s Red Lion” while strolling around Foggy Bottom, now you know why.

Q: Do you have a vacuum cleaner?
I don’t have a vacuum cleaner myself, but each dorm has a vacuum cleaner in it, and if you want to use it, you can go downstairs and get it.

What kind of bizarre question is that?!

Q: What time do you go to bed?
I usually go to bed at two in the morning.

Q: Is this time enough to sleep?
Yeah. It’s enough time.

After the interview was finished, they handed me a nice, crisp 500 ruble bill (around $15 back then) as payment for my time. Ooh yeah, I ain’t reportin’ this to those suckas at the IRS. I promptly spent it on cheesy Russian souvenirs, like Soviet leader stacking dolls and propaganda posters.

I hadn’t given the program much thought after I left Moscow. I never knew if they had actually made it until, out of curiosity, I checked the company’s website about a year ago and found that it had indeed come out under the title “Frankly Speaking: Real American” (cue theme song from Team America: World Police, please). You can even buy it online for a mere 816 rubles ($30), just make sure you have at least a Pentium 200. Or, you can read the script that I found online (and from which I grabbed all the dialogue from while simultaneously reminding myself of what an idiot I must have sounded like). I’m listed as Lindsay Fincher, USA, George Washington University, студентка по специальности Political Science and Russian History in sections Спорт от софтбола до серфинга and День, как день. (Sorry if you can’t see the Cyrillic, but whatev, download the language pack if you are so inclined).

You know, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone about this…except for my friends at CIE, obviously…but not even my parents. It’s just one of those things you forget about, and then remember and think to yourself, “That was pretty odd.”

Nevertheless, I hope that at least one Russian learned something from this program…maybe picked up a hint of a California accent, got a craving for a Lindy’s Hawaiian burger, or is now poring over a map looking for Russian surf spots. I dunno, surely the oil and gas mecca of Sakhalin has some waves? Just gotta watch out for those ice floes.

I’m definitely going to Coachella. Just gotta get my plane ticket. Gonna listen to some RATM and RHCP and eat some In-N-Out and Mexican food with my SoCal friends.

RATM guitarist Tom Morello was recently interviewed regarding the impending reunion:

The star said that there was a political element to the band getting back together.
He said: “Is it a coincidence that in the seven years that Rage Against The Machine has been away that the country has slid into right-wing purgatory? I think not.

“It occurred to all of us that the times were right to see if we can knock the Bush administration out in one fell swoop, and we hope to do that job well.”

Do you realize what this means? When I go back to DC on April 30, apparently BUSH WILL NO LONGER BE PRESIDENT THANKS TO RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE! This is gonna be the most amazingnest concert evah!!!

“Rock music, along with other elements of Western culture, is part of an arsenal of subversive weapons aimed at undermining the commitment of young Russians to Communist ideology.” – Konstantin Chernenko, General Secretary of the CPSU