Reader Grace practically challenged me to a hardship-off. In response to my post “How old am I in dog American years?” she writes:

I was born in pre-economic-Tiger South Korea. We had an outhouse, and took baths in a big tub in the courtyard that my mom filled with hot water. In the winter we went to the neighborhood hot baths (I think they have in Russia too, right?).

As a simple answer I am posting artist’s depiction of outdoor plumbing facilities similar to what my grandmother had. The water from the well was poured into a hand-washing device and dirty water was collected below for whatever purposes i.e. mopping, etc. Once-a-week we went to community bathhouse for more thorough hygienic procedures.

To continue the hardship-off submit your own hardship in comments.

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Continuing with the alcohol theme, here are some photos depicting a sobriety test experiment performed in Kansas City in 1941. The cops slowly liquor up a test subject and then perform sobriety tests on him using a precision “drunkometer”.

The rest of the sobriety test photo shoot.

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Few days ago a Russian writer and a blogger passed away. One minute he was discussing something pedestrian, like finding chemicals to develop photo-film, and the next minute he was found dead on his own porch. By some cruel twist of fate his last words weren’t something profound, something to be passed  around as quotes for generations, but something really insignificant like the location of the nearest photo supply. His last post is still gathering comments, where in the beginning people refused to believe the rumors about his death and continued to talk photography. He was popular but not hugely so during his lifetime, thousands of people read his blog and judging from the tearful comments many felt a connection with him. Strangely, so did I. Strangely, because his blog wasn’t really about anything, just his life and observations, mostly short blurbs about being a writer, living in a remote Russian village where he moved few years ago, few photographs, infrequent stories. Nevertheless, maybe for the first time, I found myself tearing up about a person I’ve never met. 46 years old, small child, so much more left unsaid and unwritten.

To me a sudden death like this is always tragic; something unfinished about a person dying in the middle of a conversation, or coaching a baseball game like one of my co-workers, or in a car accident, or on the way to work like my father. No time to say good byes, to reflect on one’s life, to tell someone your deepest secrets before you go. One minute you have a purpose in life, and the next you are neatly packed in a body-bag with a ID tag on your big toe.

What’s left of us when we are gone? People used to leave diaries, neat stacks of letters, photo albums, trinkets and tchotchkes, old wedding gowns, family jewelry and crystal. With every new generation the amount of physical memories shrinks; no one has time or room or desire to move the old junk around, so it gets sorted out multiple times until it fits in a small shoe box somewhere in the back of a cabinet. I still remember the day we were ripping up old photos so we can get our luggage under the weight limit.

My father left two folders of his writings and newspaper clippings, a photo album, a stethoscope and a blood pressure monitor. Even less will be left when I go. This site will disappear when I stop paying for hosting, in a year this space will be filled with links to erectile dysfunction medicine sites. There is no written correspondence and only few photos where I was coaxed into the frame, and even those are not in print form. Nothing material. No grieving widow, no beautiful woman shedding a tear and thinking “he was so good in bed”. No article in the Wikipedia, no chemical element, no star, no book, no restaurant chain. My whole life can fit on a thumb-drive. At least my kid won’t have to haul around a dusty trunk of my moldy possessions.

So what’s the choice here – to drop everything and discover a chemical element, name a star, write myself into the Wikipedia? Suddenly become amazing in bed? Or just continue filling up the thumb-drive of my life with insignificant drivel? Every time someone dies, people project the death upon themselves and sometimes make changes – starт buckling up, or eating better, quit smoking, spend more time with kids, learn something new, have more sex, travel – there are many things we realize we could be doing better or different or not at all.

It’s just unfortunate that it takes one’s death to reevaluate one’s life.

RIP

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Cue the State Song of Kansas

Were buffalo used to roam there is now the Glacial Hills Scenic Byway where no one roams anymore, just an occasional car with passengers who didn’t find anything better to do on a gloomy Sunday. Scenic Byway officially starts at Ft.Leavenworth, passes through Atchison, twists and turns through Troy and stops right before the Nebraska border at White Cloud – a place still recovering from the housing bubble of 1929.

White Cloud is home to the 4-State lookout – a place where you can see Missouri, Kansas, Iowa and Nebraska at the same time.

Panoramic view from the lookout can be seen here.
Miss Teen Kansas lives here (at least until 2010):

White Cloud was voted the best place to dispose of a dead body:

Just don’t forget to “dispose of all head and guts” and leave the work area clean for the next person.

North of the White Cloud you will find an Indian Casino adorned by the symbols of past glory: Eagle Feathers, Eagle without feathers and an unfinished tepee:

At the casino zombie-looking white people are sitting in the clouds of smoke, mistakenly hoping they can fool the Indians again. Instead, their money is financing the modern-day tepees.

On the way back you can cross the river, drive past the Squaw Creek National Wildlife Refuge,and return home via I-29.

Overall, this is a pretty nice weekend trip, but it will probably look more picturesque during the spring and summer months. There is a lot more to be seen in Atchison and there is a 10-mile auto route around the Refuge.

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This year marks the twenty-year anniversary of the triumphant end of my military service. Shortly after my long-awaited discharge from the Engineer Corps in June of 1990, the American Secret Services sensed a weak spot in the pontoon troops where I had served and used it to break up the Soviet Union. Of course, it was unthinkable while I was still in service; my fierce looks used to send the enemy running for their lives.

Today is the Soviet Army and Navy Day – a long-renamed holiday of a long-gone country. 20 years ago I couldn’t imagine being nostalgic thinking about my military service. But here I am – it was a time uncomplicated by work, taxes and raising kids and now it doesn’t seem like such a horrible way to spend two years of one’s life. So instead of rewriting my last year’s post I will share a few music videos on the subject.

This song is called “We Are The People’s Army”:

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ANU2Rz4WNcI

And lastly – world-famous Kalinka, here you can find the lyrics and sing along.

httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C_A7Hu0uKNw

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