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On station, again...
Nov. 23rd, 2004 12:06 amWeather took center stage on the tube yesterday as heavy rains fell and threatening storms tripped gaily across the flat Texas landscape during what the Russians would call "the second half of the day." Fortunately, most of the action was going on north of us; the skies above Pearland were cloudy, but not threatening.
When I lay down to try to sleep around 6 pm, the newsies were predicting that some of the yellow/orange/red areas on the televised weather maps would pass over our neck of the woods. Despite the threat of impending doom (and more important, despite not feeling much like sleeping) I managed to catch a couple of winks, awakening at 9 pm to the warble of my Palm computing device.
The weather predictions on the idiot tube continued to be pessimistic, so I left for the MCC about 15 minutes early, in case I had to go around any flooded regions (I didn't). In the end, I got to where I needed to be about 30 minutes ahead of schedule (instead of the target 15), and settled down to read while I waited for the Russian controllers to arrive.
* * * I first ran across the songs of Vladimir Vysotsky (1938-1980) during my early experiences in Moscow, back when I was in the throes of arguing with Intourist on a daily basis and assimilating the language. I was given a tape of songs that I eventually ended up playing so many times, the cassette literally fell apart. I understood something like every sixth or seventh word, which for me was pretty good (considering the language barrier), as I am one of those poor souls who just naturally can't make out most words when they are sung anyway, even in English.
While visiting the "gorbushka" during my abortive "weekend in Moscow" earlier this month, I picked up a CD of Vysotsky MP3s, which I come to realize -- upon listening to the thing -- is merely one of a series of disks. (After all, Vysotsky wrote more than 1000 songs, though I suspect one needs to know only three or four chords on a guitar to play them all.)
Listening to Visotsky is an acquired taste, methinks. I cannot believe anyone listens to Vysotsky's singing detachedly, as one might listen to, say, Pavarotti singing something from the Italian opera. When Pavarotti sings, you don't need to understand Italian to derive enjoyment from the music. No, the reason you listen to Visotsky belt out his words -- and the recordings only hint, to me, at what it must have been like to listen to the man do his thing in person -- is the story he is telling.
And in my case, the insights you derive into his world and the new words that you learn.
* * * The daily report has just been handed to me for translation. Duty calls. More later... maybe.
Cheers...
When I lay down to try to sleep around 6 pm, the newsies were predicting that some of the yellow/orange/red areas on the televised weather maps would pass over our neck of the woods. Despite the threat of impending doom (and more important, despite not feeling much like sleeping) I managed to catch a couple of winks, awakening at 9 pm to the warble of my Palm computing device.
The weather predictions on the idiot tube continued to be pessimistic, so I left for the MCC about 15 minutes early, in case I had to go around any flooded regions (I didn't). In the end, I got to where I needed to be about 30 minutes ahead of schedule (instead of the target 15), and settled down to read while I waited for the Russian controllers to arrive.
While visiting the "gorbushka" during my abortive "weekend in Moscow" earlier this month, I picked up a CD of Vysotsky MP3s, which I come to realize -- upon listening to the thing -- is merely one of a series of disks. (After all, Vysotsky wrote more than 1000 songs, though I suspect one needs to know only three or four chords on a guitar to play them all.)
Listening to Visotsky is an acquired taste, methinks. I cannot believe anyone listens to Vysotsky's singing detachedly, as one might listen to, say, Pavarotti singing something from the Italian opera. When Pavarotti sings, you don't need to understand Italian to derive enjoyment from the music. No, the reason you listen to Visotsky belt out his words -- and the recordings only hint, to me, at what it must have been like to listen to the man do his thing in person -- is the story he is telling.
And in my case, the insights you derive into his world and the new words that you learn.
Cheers...
