What you've all been waiting for

This is ridiculously long, so I divided it into parts and pretended that solved the problem. You still shouldn’t attempt it in one sitting.

Part 1, in which my disjointed thoughts generally involve winter

Reading public, I think you will be hearing a lot from me in the next week or so, because I have 3 papers due soon. And that means procrastination time. As I have no flash drive anymore, however, you may be waiting awhile to actually read this.

Outside the window of our usual classroom in the International Department is a blacktop, where some middle school (I think) has gym class sometimes, while we sit through less interesting classes. Usually they play soccer. Sometimes they try to play basketball in the snow, which is very entertaining. This week, however, they skied. Seriously, they just skied around in circles around the blacktop. It looked very challenging.

I’m having a very hard time figuring out what I’m supposed to cite and what not, in the writing of these papers. As I mentioned earlier, Russians don’t seem too big on the whole idea of intellectual property. Never having read or written a Russian student paper, however, I can’t figure out the level at which it is acceptable to just recopy what one reads. I fear that I will return to the United States and have forgotten American academic standards and try to tell my professors that I, you know, changed a few words from what I copied, so it wasn’t really plagiarism. And then I will be expelled and, as Laurel would say, grow old with cats.

My other academic complaint of the moment is that Russian books don’t seem to usually have indexes.

It’s after Thanksgiving, which means I may listen to Christmas music. I thought this was much more exciting before I realized that I don’t have any Christmas music, other than “Christmastime’s a-comin’.” I do have various winter-themed songs, but they are almost all depressing. I guess this is sort of fitting for a Siberian winter. Maybe by the end of this winter I will figure out what the heck the song “Humidity Built the Snowman” means. You won’t find me walkin’ around your part of town; humidity build the snowman, sunshine brought him down.

New Year’s decorations are gradually appearing in Irkutsk, in the form of the giant plastic banners of the type used to congratulate the citizenry on all public holidays. I wonder if the city will get any more decorated. Private citizens do not decorate, apparently, just government agencies and businesses. I suggested to Nastya that it would be pretty if everyone decorated their balconies; she told me that that would be very silly, because no one does that. Can’t argue with that logic. I heard some New Year’s music on the omnipresent kitchen radio last night. I can’t believe these people think that Santa Claus comes on Dec. 31. By that time he’s already given all the good presents to children in countries with less of a history of repression of religion. Actually I don’t know whether Grandfather Frost came to Russia before 1917, and if he did for what holiday. I guess if he did pre-date the Communists he may have come on Orthodox Christmas, whose date I don’t remember but which I gather is in January. So, if they would have had the foresight to have a government with a less atheistic agenda, coupled with a church with a less stubborn insistence on the Julian calendar...
Part 2, in which my disjointed thoughts turn to more abstract cultural issues, plus Blues Clues and the fashion choices of drunks on the bus

Were you to have been a person involved in religious politics of 16th century Russia, would you have been a Possessor or a Nonpossessor? Think carefully before answering. It is much cooler to be a Nonpossessor, but perhaps more easily said than done. Plus you lose, in the end. Unless you are Nil Sorsky, in which case you get canonized, finally, in the 20th century, but by that time Joseph Volokolansky has been lording it over you for 4 centuries. And it’s too bad of the Possessors to burn people at the stake, really, and their emphasis on the externals of worship and conduct probably brought about the schism of the next century, but don’t you agree that the Church should take some part in the social and political life of the country, instead of encouraging everyone to go be a hermit? Double-space your answer.

I made very good mashed potatoes last night. At least I think they are very good. But I’m having doubts, now, as to the reliability of my taste. I’m so accustomed to the fat/sweet taste divide, to those being the only two available flavors, that I am afraid that I either 1) put way too much garlic and black pepper in these potatoes to compensate for the usual flavorlessness of food or 2) hardly put any garlic and pepper in them and only think that the resulting dish is flavorful. This is a matter of great concern to me. What will happen when I go back home- what if I don’t like the food anymore? Or become one of those weird people who dump hot sauce on everything? This is tied to my more general concern about the reverse culture shock that I can already tell will be intense when I get home. It seems a little early to be worrying about this, but as each day goes by I am more and more accustomed to the basic realities of Irkutsk life. It’s not that I can identify concrete things that I will miss, or that I can think of any reason to be attached to these streets and skies and snows; it’s just the basic shapes that form this world, the tones and textures, are every moment further internalized, in a way that has nothing to do with whether I like them or not. And I remember what a stressful jolt it was to be wrenched from the American shapes and tones to the Russian ones in the first place. ‘Jolt’ isn’t a good word- it is what the Russians would refer to as an однократный глалол- unsuggestive of length of process.

I saw a few minutes of Blues Clues the other day, dubbed into Russian by a less-than-enthusiastic voice-over. It was pretty silly (I mean aside from any endemic silliness of Blue’s Clues) – most of the point of the show is the little jingles and songs and such, and unimaginative, direct translation did little for the rhythm. Most objectionable, however, is that the offstage children’s voices that yell the right answers to various questions to Steve address him with the formal ‘you.’ No, unacceptable. Steve routinely requires the help of 4-year-olds to aid him in the solving of riddles posed to him by his two-dimensional puppy. He does not get to be вы.

Do any men in America wear fur jackets or coats? Probably not. I no longer find it at all ridiculous here- today on the bus I was much admiring the beautiful black fur jacket (mink?) of the man standing in front of me, but when I tried to imagine such a jacket being worn in Middlebury, or Frederick, I just couldn't. I don't understand fashion. I also really like those brown leather jackets, when they're all old and broken in, and look like the guy is wearing a bunch of old footballs around. An old drunk on this same bus was wearing such a jacket. I was very entertained listening to him annoy the self-important middle-aged women behind me.

Part 3, on academic subjects
11/29, or as the Russians would say, 29/11

morning
I can't believe I ever complained about writing papers in America. There was a library within walking distance, and it was open 'til 1 in the morning, and there were books there, and the books were in a comprehensible language. And I had 24-hour internet access; that was pretty key. And I could actually communicate in the language that the papers were to be written in. This is a disaster. What happens if I just fail all my classes? It's not really a propitoius time of year to run away into the taiga.

evening
Test in Baikal Studies today. I apparently don't know much about Baikal. It was a pretty funny test though. For one thing it was written in exactly the style in which Pavel Alexandrovich speaks- an overly-scientific, official diction and grammer that for some reason I find very amusing. And then he had tried to put in funny options on the multiple choice, which were often just bizarre. Where does permanently frozen material occur? a) at the bottommost depths of Lake Baikal b) under the ground of the northern taiga in Siberia c) at the top of the Sayana mountains, south of Baikal d) in the expanses of outerspace.

Part 4, in which holidays are revisited
I asked today about the history of D'yed Moroz (Grandfather Frost, looks and behaves like Santa Claus). I was told that 1) New Years became a holiday under Peter the Great, and he was the one who started the Yolka (like Christmas tree but for New Years) thing; before Peter the Russians considered the New Year to begin in September, which sort of makes sense actually 2) D'yed Moroz didn't show up until the eras of Soviets and of cartoons, so he was never a Christmas character 3) the Orthodox Church doesn't really have any desire to link this ridiculous character, or the pagan character of Snyegurachka (the Snow Maiden) to church holidays of any kind 4) St. Nicolaus would be hard to link to any winter holiday, because he is already too closely associated with the water to pick up double duty as a reindeer handler.

I went to Web Ugol today (despite my residing anger at their stealing of my flash drive) and spent vast sums of money printing out articles about Buryats (Siberian history) and about the activities of the Orthodox Church, in relation to the Russian government, in the 16th century (Russian history, or, as the course is actually titled, Fatherland history). [I had been thinking, all through the process of the history paper, how much I wished I had brough Timothy Ware's The Orthodox Church, and what should I find today, but that some excellent person has put said book on the internet. So I read the appropriate pages. And now I feel informed.] The fact that I paid for these pages of text is making me feel like I should read them. Plus, of course, the fact that I now have less than a week to write about them.

I was asked recently whether Americans celebrate New Years. I wasn't sure how to explain the relationship between New Years and Americans. I guess it's a nice reason for a party, and it provides a sense of new beginnings, but we don't send each other cards, and we are not that upset if we don't get around to celebrating it; it seems like an optional holiday. The only New Years I remember are 1) that totally ridiculous time Jack and I stayed up to see what happened on Animal Crossing at midnight (not much- some confetti fell) 2) one time at Gammie's house when Hailey came over and we watched movies and ate popcorn until the ball fell in New York; then Hailey and I stayed up and read The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe until the arrival of midnight in the time zone in which we actually were 3) babysitting one year, for some fairly large group of girls; we made «New Year's sundays» and ate them on the stroke of midnight 4) the year 2000 when there was a First Night thing in Frederick, and it seemed like they hadn't quite come up with enough activities for the residents dutifully roaming the downtown streets for 4 hours, but everyone still seems to have the buttons (or pins? what do we call those things that you pin onto your clothing?) 5) that was all, but I just heard the song «Rollin' and a Ramblin' (the death of Hank Williams)» and I remembered that last year Mama and I watched a Prairie Home Companion special on PBS and somone sang that song. And Emmylou Harris sang also, in silver cowboy boots. And Brad Paisley or someone like that had to show Garrison Keeler around Nashville, and his practiced TV charm somehow just didn't work at all when it ran up against G.K., and he was clearly very confused.
I'm very excited about New Years this year. Abby and I will probably be in St. Petersburg. I have no idea what we'll do, but I hope we get to watch Ironia Sud'by on tv.

Part 5, on identity
Today in History of Siberia we discussed the words used to describe members of national groups and of citizens of governments. They are often different words in Russian; the word 'rooskii,' for example means 'relating the the Russian nationality;' it is used for the Russian language, and for ethnic Russians. Then there is the word 'rossiski'; it means 'relating to the Russian Federation,' and can be used for members of non-Russian national groups with Russian citizenship. Real people (not in government) don't use this word very often, but I notice that Radio Rossiya is making a big push for it; every day there is this segment called «Ya- Rocciyanin» in which someone tells a touching story about how Russia is so happily multinational. So, I had known about this Rooski-Rossiski division, but I only found out a couple of days ago that the word that I considered to mean «German» as in «relating to Germany» actually means «relating to the German ethnic group, whatever that means, and including most Swiss and Austrians». I found this out when my host sister used a totally different word to refer to beer from Germany (I'm not sure why she didn't consider the beer to be ethnically German). I asked about this is class, and we began a confusing discussion of these terms. Finally Elena Nicholaevna said «Yes, no matter where we live, I am a Russian, of the Russian people, and you will be...» She looked at us in confusion. «Well, what are you?»
We told her that Americans are a country without nation. This makes very little sense in English; what we said is that we didn't have «narod,» this very key but somewhat untranslatable Russian word that means something like 'ethnic group' but is often used to mean 'people' in general, or 'the populace. Is this true, that we don't have a narod? Russians, I don't think, would consider 'American' to be narod, as we demonstratably came from various other narodi, and you can't just change narod. But we do lots of things that narodi do: we make up theories about our 'national character,' we eat sort of similar food, we dress pretty much alike (actually not, but our differences in food and dress are not deliniated along distinguishable nationalistic lines, just social and economic ones), and, most importantly, we speak the same language (ignore the fact that this isn't quite true; people who can be easily grouped into a narod other than 'American' are irrelevant to this discussion).

This language point is obviously very interesting to me at the moment. Is language the only truly important determanent of cultural affinity? Nastya, my host sister, told me that the word I thought meant 'resident of England' actually includes me and is the name of a narod. I don't think everyone agrees with this, or Elena Nicholaevna wouldn't have been so confused about coming up with a label for us. But it's still interesting. I noticed, while I was here, that when I hear about the involvement of England or Great Brittain in world history, I feel like England is «my side.» I'm affronted when they get cheated, and mildly triumphant when they win things. I don't remember whether I felt like this in America, and this is a result of some cultural transference through the American educational system, or whether this affiinity with people who speak my language is new, a result of being thrown among all these Russian-speakers. I remember Dadda telling me one time that the wonderful thing about learning a language is that you automatically inherit its linguistic tradition: anyone who learns English has just as much connection to Shakespeare as an Englishman. Or maybe he said something completely different, but that's what I got out of it. Anyway, I think that it's pretty much true; being able to read the words written by another person is a very, very important link with that person's world and self. But does this translate to the entire culture connected to the learned language? If I learn Russian well enough, will I turn into a Russian? I'm not sure how I feel about that.

I've sort of read everything I have to read for this history paper. The actual writing of the first sentence, however, is proving to be a problem.

Dec. 30
Addendum to narod story. Today we sat down in grammer class, and the first thing Elena Miletovna said was «Sonya, what kind of blood do you have, English or German?» I said I didn't know, and great incredulity was expressed; apparently it is totally impossible that I am wholly unware of where my family is from, everyone knows that. Is that true? I know that many of the students in my middle school and high school were very proud of being «50% Irish, 10% German, 10% Latvian, 12% Brazillian, and .2% Cherokee» or some such ridiculous thing, but I am fairly sure that these students were in the distinct minority, and I assumed that they would grow out of caring in a few years. It still seems rather silly to me; national identity seems like a totally self-invented designation to me, and I refuse to believe that cultural traits are transmitted by blood, or by any process but cultural assimilation. I think all recent scientific findings are completley against me on this, but no matter. It just seems to me that people's connection to the history of any group is totally deturmined by identification with that history, and maybe by the fact of living in a world created by that history, not by genetic link. But maybe my lack of interest in geneology is unusual? I'm starting to think that maybe it is. Anyway, I eventually told Elena Miletovna that my grandmother's family was originally from Scotland, which made her happy, and then she told us that it was a good thing I wasn't from Germany, because German girls are not very pretty. Um, thanks? Later in the class we had our usual discussion about how much better it would be if I «painted my eyes.»

Part 6, in which I pedantically discuss the events occuring in my room at the time it was written; entirely in order to avoid doing work

later
Arg. Katya just asked if I wanted her to wash my clothes. I had to say I had done laundry 2 days ago, so no. I couldn't very well go pulling all my supposedly clean clothes off the shelf. But here is why this is very annoying: of course I didn't really wash them, I somehow just ran much of the color out of them in boiling water, with little actual contact with soap. I have no idea how I am so incompetent at washing-machine use, but this washing machine is evil. More importantly, this means that Katya now thinks I know how to use the washing machine, and I have no hope of clean clothing, ever.

In other news, I have written a paragraph of paper. This is going to take a while. Even though I am using 14 font and double spacing and have also slightly increased margin size. How is Abby writing a 20-page paper? I guess she started at a much more responsibly early date. But I have two 10-page papers, plus a 4-page one, so I might win, because I had to research 3 different topics. I guess this is why American professors demand word rather than page production. I don't think «word production» counts as idiomatic English. Will you all still speak to me if I come home having forgotten my native tongue (but not really developed fluency in any other one)?

Also, do you think this can be my job? Sitting around writing whatever I'm already thinking about? It seems like there are some people who get away with getting paid for that sort of thing, but they have generally earned some sort of legitimacy by doing something more useful in earlier life, like writing works of best-selling fiction or being an investigative journalist or famous sports figure. Those things all sound like too much work. Know what I don't want to be my job? Writting 10-page papers in Russian about church-state relations is 16th-century Russia. My lack of actual information is leading to a very ridiculous stretching of what I have into sentences as long as possible. The one I just wrote, for instance, translates to: «Metropolitan Peter at the beginning of the 14th century preparted for the transferrence of the metropolitan office from Vladimir to Moscow, and under Metropolitan Pheogtost [I know the name sounds impossible, but that's what the book said] in 1326 Moscow became the center of Russian Orthodox administrative affairs and of dogmatic normalization.» Except that it's probably all spelled wrong.

Part 7, in which it is December first

Wow, it's December. I must have been here for a long time. Also, the elections are tomorrow, which is sort of too bad, because it will mean that campaign season will be over; the fascist youths striding fresh-faced through the city with their Putin flags are a very cheerying element among the bleak snows. Okay, I guess Putin doesn't count as a fascist, and I guess that's not very funny, since the real fascists in St. Petersburg tend to do un-funny things like kill foreigners. But seriously, I do like all the colorful political campaigners all over the city, and they're all very friendly and cheerful and colorful. And they give you amusing newspapers to read. The real tragedy of the end of election season, is that the LDPR ads will be gone from radio and television. The LDPR is the communist party, but I don't know what it stands for, or why it's running and not the CPRF (Communist Party of the Russian Federation). The LDPR ads are very, very awesome. The chief candidate, whose name escapes me, just yells things, basically, in very short, almost grammerless sentences, in a gruff, frightening bark. «Power back to the people! Life was better! More money for bread! Vote LDPR! Number 7! 7! Lucky Number! 7 days in the week! Sunday! The future of your family! LDPR! LDPR! LDPR!» I guess it would be alarming except that the rest of the country has also noticed that he is crazy, and the party is currently poling at 16% or something. Surprisingly, Djoros Alfyodor (I am positive I didn't translate that right), this Nobel-Prize-winning physicist of whom I have only heard spoken with great admiration, as he builds all sorts of admirable schools for the nation's youth and whatnot, is also on the Communist ticket. I mean, he must be somewhat smart. And I have read the material distributed to me by the Communist campaigners, and a smart person would not read it and say, «Yeah! This makes total sense! Listing lots of unfulfilled economic goals from 1950 as if they were the actual economic situation of the country at that tiime, and then comparing them with the current economic reality, is a great way to make conclusions about the effectiveness of different economic policies! Also, I am totally convinced by this cartoon of a capitalist who looks like the guy in monopoly trying to drag that upstanding worker into a pit of repression, despite the fact that I have never seen a single Russian who looks like either of those figures!» I can only assume that Alfyodor is so apalled by the Putin administration that he threw in his lot with the only party he thought had a chance of beating them. I can't totally blame him; I know that Abby is now a Putin fan, but I am very creeped out by the omni-present United Russia raging bear. We will have to read Abby's 20-page paper about the party to find any real information about them, because I have not bothered to be informed; all I know is that I find it very suspitious that their campaign posters are all over what I would consider to be public and governmental space, such as above all the water fountains in the state university's library. And how much of their campaign centers around that message that «this is a democracy! It's very important that we all vote! Every voice is important!» when we know that Putin considers some voices to be so important that he has them killed or locked away in jail. Also, having almost all one's campaign posters be on the «go out and vote!» theme shows a sort of startling confidence that everyone who votes will vote for you. But whenever I start wishing that United Russia would somehow lose, the LDPR starts yelling like a crazy person, and I just give up on Russian politics as all the Russians seem to have done.

later
I'm being very productive right now, so I will not tell you the story of my afternoon, but only say before I forg: this evening Sasha, V.P.'s granddaughter, was sitting in the kitchen while Katya was frying some meat, as she asked «кто это?» when she wanted to know what kind of meat it is. This translates to «who is that?» It was so awesome. It makes sense, because in Russian everything living is 'who' and not 'what,' but when the 'who' was sitting in a frying pan it was very funny, but I think only to me. No one knew the answer, by the way, to her question. Who knows what we ate.

Part 8, in which it is still December first but I felt like I had to break it up; cabbages make an appearance

even later
In the middle of the afternoon today I was called away from my pained paper-writing for various cabbage-related activities in the kitchen; then V.P. decided that there was no way we could salt all the cabbage, because we didn't have enough buckets. We had already made Tatiana take one bag away, but now we decided to take another bag to V.P.'s sister, who lives in an old wooden house in the old wooden house district. The mesh bags that these cabbages are transported in are pretty useless, being made more of holes (not the ones meant to be in the mesh but larger-than-cabbage holes) that of material, so there were cabbages rolling all over the apartment building, and then I had to crouch on the curb holding the bag together and then several stray cabbages in my hands while V.P. fetched the new red car so she could make everyone mad by parking in the middle of the street while we loaded cabbages into it. Lots of people stared at me in the crouching-on-the-curb stage of the operation. Driving to Ludmilla's house was even more interesting. I don't think V.P. understands that you can look in your mirrors as you drive, or that backing up often requires looking behind you, and we would often have conversations such as «Susanna, can I turn around here?» «Can you turn around in the middle of an intersection? No.» «Can I turn left?» «No, there's a red light.» But we eventually got there all in one piece. I really liked Ludmilla's apartment in the wooden house; I think wooden houses are lower on the housing hierarchy than «modern» apartments, as they have no running water or indoor plumbing, but it was very comfortable and clean and classy-looking inside. I think I would take wooden floorboards over running water, but I guess it would be rather a lot of trouble in the winter to fetch the buckets of water from the street.

After the cabbage was delivered we went to a preschool Advent party. It was the first time I had been to a preschool Advent party. It was pretty awesome. Apparently there's some cheesy German fable about a priest or monk or something out in a remote village, and a snowstorm, and a little snake with lights all over its back who tells him that if little children do good deeds Christmas will be brighter... I was not paying that much attention to the story-telling phase of the event, as it was in that insufferable tone that made childrens' sermans such a humiliating experience. Anyway, then we sang solemn Advent songs (there's even a specific song about preschoolers waiting for Christmas, it seems) as the children one by one walked through an evergreen arch and into this big, pretty spiral on the floor made of evergreen boughs and such, a apple-with-a-candle-in-it in hand. They lit their candles in the center of the maze and placed them at various points along the evergreen «snake». It sort of took forever, and I was positive that at any moment a preschooler would kick over a candle and we would all go up in flame, but it really was all very pretty, and it was sweet how solemnly they processed, and watched their classmates. I was told that this was a holiday celebrated only in preschools.

Part 9, in which it is: Dec. 2 (my half-birthday) (Chelsea Powell's birthday) (the half-birthays of that kid Jeffery Huggins from KinderKare and of Miss Mary the Jamaican cook) (Election day in Russia)

I'm afraid the history professor is going to be insulted by this paper. I realized that I'm basically saying that the Russian Orthodox Church spent the first half of the 16th century buying the priviledge of owning huge tracts of land and entire villages and thousands of peasants and such at the cost of being shameless flattering snakes and giving up all real independence. Huh. Maybe the grammer will be so bad she won't notice.

Oh man. Katya and Nastya are loudly singing various pop songs in the other song, mostly awful, but they just started singing.... черный кот! If only they knew that they were joining the illustrious company of historical Chorniy Kot singers, and what a great honor it was to be singing the same song that was once sung on the McCoullough stage by none other than Tatiana Eduardovna Smorodenskaya, with accompanying dance. Oh, how I wish I could be at Middlebury International Karioke (sp?) again. No one will ever be as cool as Tatiana.

I have various questions about the cedar. Last year I decided that one of my goals in life is to be able to identify trees, and so far I have made no progress. And it is because of confusing things like the so-called cedar- who can keep up with these things? Irkutskians are always talking about how they're so cool because they have so many cedars, and cedars are useful for everything, and poor families can survive the winter on the cedar (burning the wood and eating the nuts), but I have yet to identify one. All the trees just look like pines to me. I have done limited research on the cedar, and have discovered: there is no cedar! Cedars are complete posers, as far as I can tell! I feel deceived. It seems that there are two kinds of cedars: ones who are actually pines, and ones who are actually cypress. And not all cypress are cypress: the bald cypress is actually a sequoia. What?! I assume that the 'cedars' here are of the pine variety, since they look exactly like pines, but who started calling all these trees the same thing? I am now looking at a picture from World Book Encyclopedia of a cypress swamp in Delaware, and those trees look nothing like the ones here. But now I'm even more confused, because people here talk about «pine» too. Are those different?

Part 10, last and I would say least
Dec. 3
Monday, so no class- but I was at the Mezhfak anyway, from a combination of a great need to escape the apartment and the need for further research for my remaining papers. Joseph was there, typing his History of Siberia paper; the highpoint of the day was when he silently pointed out to me that the girl at the computer next to him was in the process of buying a paper online. Even if I were to be dishonest enough to buy a paper, there is no way my teachers would ever believe I wrote a paper with even the most elemental grammatical cohesiveness.

discovery: The «soothing, cooling, refreshing» quality of Burt's Bees lip balm advertised on the container is less than enjoyable when accidently applied to one's eye. Avoid this. Actually it could sort of a good idea if you're falling asleep in class. Well, maybe not. You would be very awake, but possibly unable to see any visual materials- chalkboard, powerpoint, etc.- presented by the teacher, due to your hopefully-temporary blindness. Back to reading about the repression of Buryat Buddhism. Now I wish I were a student in a secret lamanist school of the 1950s. I bet students in secret schools pay a lot of attention and highly value their education. Not like me in my studies at the Mezhkak. Certainly not like the Russian students, well, anywhere, as far as I can tell. Maybe they should tell the little twirps in my history class that they are now forbidden from studying history, but anyone who really wants to [whisper] can join the new underground university being organized by the political opposition. Then the mp3 players might go away.
Did you know that Bandito-hambo-lami is a word, in Russian at least? It is. It means 'Bandito-hambo lamas.' I don't actually know what that means. Or what the plural of 'lama' is in English.

As much as a pain as these papers are, and as bad as the actual product is, I'm glad I have to do them. In the course of my rather-limited research I have read some actual academic articles, intended for an informed and interested audience, with arguable theses and well-organized arguments. Even though they are a lot of work to understand, they are much, much more fun to read than my History of Siberia for 7th Graders textbook, or the awful Let's Compare Cultural Stereotypes!-type thing we always read for speach practice. I actually feel like a college student, reading them, and I don't mean in an I'm-too-good-for-7th-grade-textbooks sense; I mean, this is the reason we're supposed to be interested in the academic process, I assume, because the pursuit of knowledge is challenging and polemical and inspires many intelligent people to produce the best work they can in its service. I think this is the real reason the kids in my Russian history class are totally uninterested in comparison to my classmates at Middlebury. The Russian students are given nothing to be interested in. It's not just the lack of real academic articles; they also never seem to read primary sources, as we do, as much as possible, at Middlebury. My appreciation of the liberal arts educational system is renewed.