I am all about killing and eating tasty chickens but I draw the line at shaving them!

Russian Police, known as Militia or Militsiya doesn’t enjoy much respect among the people. They are known for corruption, ignorance, skirting the law, unfairness, carelessness, disrespecting the people they’re supposed to protect and periodically arresting some of the people when no laws had been violated.

Since not too many of you will ever come face-to-face with these guardians of law, you may find these photos entertaining. Pictured are reportedly the new Militia uniforms, continuing in the fine traditions of the old Soviet ugliness and institutional design. Looks like the models are the real men and women of the Russian Militia; it’s hard for anyone else to imitate the indifferent, self-important faces, with dead eyes and no sign of mental activity.

For today’s musical number I present the song “We Are The Moscow Militia”:
We have one tradition we can’t forget – We are the people’s Militia, people are our friends.

httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2nEJZEUV11Y

I guess I am closing in on the age when people around me start dying off. When I was younger these people already seemed old, now that I reached their age that seemed so ancient to me not so long ago, I find myself attending funerals more often than I’d like. And this is just the sad beginning, many of my relatives and relatives of my few friends are in their 70s, 80s and 90s. As the new immigrants these are the people who will be the  first in their families to be buried in the New Country. They had the courage to leave everything, including many generations of their ancestors buried in the old Motherland, and they will be the first to be laid to rest here. And we, the younger generation, will be the first to have our loved ones separated by the ocean, the old gravestones there will eventually be forgotten after we are gone.
The people we are losing now had truly legendary lives: they were born in the young new country, they fought in the war, they came home to rebuild, they raised their kids, they lived, they loved, they suffered, lost friends and relatives, lived through lies and propaganda, managed with very little and lived to see their children and especially grandchildren prosper in this country. Their eulogies will be said in the language they don’t understand, and Rabbi will pray to God they were taught didn’t exist. The Rabbi will talk about their lives, struggling to pronounce their names and places they lived in, knowing that most of the mourners do not understand a word of Hebrew, but still love the sound of it and a feeling that the same exact words were said for millions of people for thousands of years, for a moment bringing them in touch with all the generations before them.

Jewish Cemetery,
Brown dirt frozen
With millions of tears

Photo: Rose Hill Cemetery, Kansas City, MO 

This morning couldn’t come fast enough. I haven’t had a date for a long time and ever since I saw the sign with his name on it I couldn’t get it out of my mind. When it was finally lunchtime I ran downstairs with my car keys in hand and within a few minutes I was approaching the building where it was going to happen.

O, how I longed for this minute. My heart was beating faster and faster. There was no way this date could go wrong. With the name like Reuben, I knew he wouldn’t disappoint. All the signs where pointing to the place where we will finally meet.

My heart was pounding and the things happening with my mind and body could only be understood by an experienced medical professional. I timidly approached the counter and whispered: “Reuben, please”. The wait was becoming unbearable. I had to run outside to see if he was ready.

He was getting dressed. My lips were smacking in anticipation. I ran back inside.

Then out again.

This was starting to feel like torture. Sweet, sweet torture. I was ready to explode. Finally he was mine. I stared lustily, he was all there – seductively spread in front of me, on a slightly grilled hoagie roll, covered with slices of thick-cut pastrami, cheese, sauerkraut and topped with the thousand island dressing, so hot, steamy and beautiful.

His smell took over my car turning it into a prison of anticipation and impatience. We still had to get back to my place. I couldn’t keep my eyes on the road.

I couldn’t think of anything else, I just wanted to touch this hot mess with my lips, swollen with desire. I don’t remember much of the ride. Finally we were alone.

The short ride helped me regain my senses. I wanted this to last as long as I could, and this I could control for a change.

I could, of course, dig in face first, impatiently devouring my beloved Reuben, tearing into the hot dog, pastrami, roll, taking greedy bites until nothing was left. Or I could take it slow, savoring a bite after delicious bite. The choice was hard. Maybe I should’ve made it a threesome so I could experience it in every way. I chased impure thoughts out of my head.

Slowly I started to cut it in small pieces. Sauerkraut juices mixed with dressing were getting me even more excited. O, what a pleasure every small bite was. I could do this for hours.

Finally it was over. I thought about smoking a cigarette but then remembered that I quit 13 years ago. Reuben almost made me get back to the old habit. I listened to the music instead.

“The best four dollar date I ever had” I thought to myself making imaginary smoke rings, “I wouldn’t mind doing this again”
Hot Dog Haven, Armour Rd. Kansas City,MO.

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I’ve always wanted to drive along the Pacific Coast. Many times at work I would look at the breathtaking images taken from the California State Route 1 and make a mental note to make it there, so I can add my own photographs to the enormous pile that already exists. So as soon as we got off the train we proceeded to rent a car and spend the next 36 hours exploring the Coast, Monterey, Big Sur an everything in between. We returned the car the 450 miles later, 450 miles of the best-looking scenic drive in the country. Even though we had to hurry through the area pressed by the vacation plans, we weren’t disappointed. We drove through a cloud, ate ice cream in Santa Cruz, spent a night in Monterey where we visited the Cannery Row and the best Aquarium in the country, stopped to take photos of elephant seals and a waterfall. But most of all it was about enjoying the view and loving the ride.

On the unrelated note, cars that don’t use ignition keys are highly overrated and annoying. I hope it’s not a trend.