According to some reports, Vladimir Putin has been dead for a week, and a dvoinik (a double) has been standing in for him. Others, including the ever-present, irrepressible Kremlin spokesman, Dmitry Peskov, vehemently deny the rumors.

Of course, these rumors are nothing new; they’ve been circulating for years. “He’s being treated for cancer.” “No, he isn’t.” “He was visibly shaking during a meeting.” “No, he wasn’t.” “He looks pale.” “Of course he does; he’s White!” If any of these rumors had been true, he would have been dead years ago.

According to 2020 statistics, the average life expectancy of the Russian male is 71.34 years. Putin celebrated his 71st birthday last month; so by that standard too, he should probably be dead . . . that is, if he were an average male. But he’s far from average, in more ways than one.

On the positive side, he’s always been very athletic. As far as is publicly known, he doesn’t smoke or drink. He maintains a healthy weight. So, barring any genetic anomalies, the odds for a long life are in his favor. On the other hand, his stress factor is off the charts, but maybe he’s one of those people who thrive on stress. I don’t know him personally, of course, but it seems pretty obvious that he’s a Type A personality — AA, if there is such a thing. He’d probably die faster from the boredom of retirement than the anxiety of being President of Russia.

But there’s an election coming up in March, and he’s been a little cagey about stating exactly what his plans are. The general consensus is that he’ll run again — and win again — keeping him in charge for the next six years. And, based on constitutional amendments that he himself instigated a number of years ago, he could run for yet another six-year term after that. That would put him into his early 80s . . . which, by American standards, seems to have become the norm for presidential and congressional candidates these days. But in Russia, that’s pretty old.

And there’s also the question being asked of what would happen if he were prematurely removed from office . . . in a coup, for example. So it’s quite natural that people should have started wondering: After Putin . . . who?

Good question. And a scary one, when you consider the slate of likely contenders. Since there’s little hope of Alexei Navalny being released from prison in time to start a campaign, let’s be realistic and look at who’s lurking behind the curtains at “Elsinore” — or, in this case, the Kremlin.

Of course, there have been mentions of the Prime Minister, Sergei Lavrov; the Defense Minister, Sergei Shoigu; Chief of the General Staff, Valery Gerasimov; and a few with whom I’m not that familiar . . . all, unfortunately, hard-liners in the mold of Putin himself. But there’s one who’s at or near the top of the list of contenders who frightens me the most: Dmitry Medvedev, Deputy Chairman of the Russian Security Council.

Medvedev. The man who — when Putin’s first two consecutive terms as president ran out in 2008, forcing him to step down for one term — smoothly moved in for four years as Charley McCarthy to Putin’s Edgar Bergen; and who became Prime Minister when Putin resumed the presidential office in 2012; and who now sits so close to Putin’s right hand he may as well be seated in his lap, like the puppet he is. And the same man who has gone so far off the rails in the past couple of years, he is hardly recognizable as the same Medvedev who played the role of a kinder, gentler president little more than a decade ago.

What do I mean by “off the rails”? I think that can best be demonstrated by Medvedev’s own words:

Speaking on his official social media platform regarding Ukraine: “Scumbags and freaks understand only cruelty and force. Apparently, the strikes on Odesa, Izmail, and other places were not enough for them.” [Andrew Osborn, Reuters, Aug. 5, 2023.]

Later, on Telegram: “Ukrainian criminals announced that they received approval for any strikes throughout Russia, for example, Crimea. If this is true (and there is no reason to doubt it now), then this is direct, legally significant evidence of the West’s complicity in the war against Russia . . . and the opportunity for Russia to act within the jus ad bellum against everyone and everything in the NATO countries. Sad, unfortunately. The prophecies of the Apocalypse are getting closer.” [Ukrainska Pravda, Aug. 29, 2023.]

And, again on Telegram: “The special military operations will continue until Kyiv’s Nazi regime is annihilated and historically Russian territories are liberated from the enemy. The victory will be ours. More new territories will become part of Russia.” [Ukrainska Pravda, Sept. 30, 2023.]

Just last month, when the chair of the Defence Committee at the German Bundestag urged the German government to give long-range Taurus missiles to Ukraine because, she believes, Ukraine has the right to attack targets on the territory of the Russian Federation, Medvedev — clearly not pleased, to state it mildly — lashed out: “In this case, attacks on German plants where these missiles are made will be entirely within the norms of international law. These imbeciles really are pushing us towards the Third World [War] . . .” [Ukrainska Pravda, Oct. 1, 2023.]

Russia vs. Germany again? Where are Molotov and von Ribbentrop when you really need them?

And this week, in a lengthy article published in the November 2nd issue of Rossiyskaya Gazeta, he included a warning to Poland — which he denounced as a “dangerous adversary of Moscow” — of a possible “loss of statehood,” and cautioned that “history has warned the Poles on multiple occasions that their ambitions, no matter how ambitious, could lead to the collapse of the entire Polish state.”

And I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s off-handedly tossed out the nuclear option in various contexts.

*. *. *

I’m sure you see what I mean. This is clearly a man with a short fuse, and not to be lightly dismissed; nor is he the one you want with his finger on Russia’s nuclear button. When I hear his pronouncements and outright threats, suddenly Vladimir Putin doesn’t look quite so bad. So don’t be fooled into thinking things couldn’t possibly get worse than they are today; that’s probably what you believed yesterday.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/4/23

No, he hasn’t been revived; he’s still dead and buried. Just, perhaps, reincarnated . . . sort of. You see, there’s his 25-year-old son, Pavel Prigozhin, who now has stepped forward as the possible successor to his late father, Yevgeny, as head of the Wagner Group of mercenaries. Remember them?

Of course, you do. They’re the ones who began a march to the Kremlin last June in support of Yevgeny’s criticism of the Russian military’s handling of the war in Ukraine. They didn’t quite make it, though; the march was mysteriously halted, Yevgeny more or less fell off the radar for a while, and no one could figure out what to do with the suddenly leaderless Wagner troops. Thousands of violent, brutal, military-trained thugs, many of them hardened criminals recruited from Russia’s vast prison system, more or less at large somewhere in Russia. Or Belarus. Or maybe Crimea, which is either part of Russia or Ukraine, depending on whom you ask. (It’s Ukraine, actually.) Some of the Wagner troops were already on various assignments in Africa and the Middle East, which is a whole other part of the story, but totally relevant to today’s news.

And today’s news is that, according to the Wall Street Journal, U.S. intelligence has reason to believe that the Wagner Group may be about to provide anti-aircraft weaponry to . . . are you ready for this? . . . Hezbollah! Yes, that Hezbollah: the Lebanese, Iranian-backed equivalent of Hamas — the same Hamas that recently invaded Israel and started a war.

So how does this concern a Russian PMC (Private Military Company)? Well, they’re mercenaries. Which means they’ll work for anyone who will pay them. And the dirtier the work, the better. This raises two disturbing questions: first, who actually controls Wagner now; and second, why are they so interested, and involved, in the most recent Arab-Israeli conflict?

Apparently, Pavel Prigozhin will inherit much of his father’s substantial wealth. It has also been rumored for some time that he will stand as successor to the Wagner Group. Wagner has begun openly recruiting fighters again, three months after the unexplained private plane crash that killed its leader. According to a report from 59.RU, a regional news outlet based in Perm, Russia, and as confirmed by a Wagner member in Perm, the fighters are led by young Pavel. A similar report has also come from news outlet NGS.RU, based in Novosibirsk, citing a source inside Wagner’s local branch. And a Telegram channel affiliated with Wagner, Prigozhin 2023, has also spoken of Pavel as the future leader of the organization. [Business Insider, Nov. 2, 2023.]

But . . .

Remember, this is Russia, where there is always a “but.” But . . . “recruitment was suspended on Wednesday evening [November 1st], according to the accounts, which did not specify why.” [Business Insider, Nov. 2, 2023.] It has for some time been expected that the Russian Ministry of Defense would assume control of the Group’s men and resources, and Western intelligence has reported that the Ministry is trying to restructure Wagner.

However, both NGS.RU and 59.RU have reported that Wagner has been absorbed into the Rosgvardiya, the Russian National Guard, which reports directly to Vladimir Putin on matters of internal security. And the Russian news site Military Review has likewise reported that Wagner would continue its operations as a division of Rosgvardiya, with Wagner’s Perm office writing the same on their social media accounts as further confirmation.

Ministry of Defense . . . National Guard. Potato . . . potahto. Whichever one takes control of Wagner Group, how will it affect Pavel Prigozhin’s position vis-a-vis his leadership role? That does not appear to have been clarified as yet . . . at least, not publicly. Does he even have the experience, the training, or the toughness required to do the job as his father did? That, too, remains to be seen.

*. *. *

As for the second question — what Russia and Wagner have to do with two Islamic terror groups and their war against Israel — that’s easy: Russia needed a distraction from its “special military operation” in Ukraine in order to pull worldwide military support away from Ukraine, thus easing the way to a Russian victory there. In addition, Russia and its current best friend China have welcomed the opportunity to offer their services as arbitrators of a peaceful settlement in the Middle East. To accomplish this, Russia has long built up its relationships with numerous countries in both Africa and the Middle East, and most recently with Iran, with whom it has forged agreements for the swapping of advanced, military-grade weapons and technology. And Iran, of course, is a known supporter of both Hamas and Hezbollah. Strange bedfellows, indeed.

On its part, China has been busily attempting to expand its economic and diplomatic influence abroad. President Xi Jinping recently welcomed to Beijing a gathering of world leaders and delegations, notably excluding the United States, but at which Vladimir Putin was the honored guest and keynote speaker. It was a rare travel opportunity for him in many months, as he has stayed close to home while under threat of an arrest warrant issued against him by the International Criminal Court following his invasion of Ukraine. China, of course, would not honor the warrant, and the visit — which gave the two leaders a unique opportunity to meet privately — speaks to the growing closeness of the two nations.

And why do Russia and China want so badly to step into the Middle Eastern quagmire that no one else has been able to resolve? Well, simply to lay the groundwork for the first steps to their proposed “New World Order,” displacing the Western nations — and particularly the United States — as world leaders, with themselves at the helm of their own, supposedly Utopian, version of a peaceful, orderly world. Goodbye, Democracy; hello, Big Brother.

I can’t speak for you, of course . . . but this scares the hell out of me.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/3/23

I’d been thinking about doing it for 25 years — even started a couple of drafts in a variety of formats, crumpled them up, and tossed them into the “circular file.” The truth is, I was afraid I might inadvertently reveal information that could still be considered sensitive, or even classified, which I had promised not to do. And I didn’t want to open another can of worms by inquiring. So I hesitated. But time passed — lots of it . . . and far too quickly, I might add. Finally, three years ago, I decided it was time: I sat down at my laptop and began writing for real. It felt good, and right . . . a sort of catharsis. And now I have a 300-page manuscript, and a proposal — in draft form, at least.

So, what next? I sent the proposal, as sort of a test drive, to a literary agent I knew from years ago through a mutual acquaintance. Got an email acknowledgment, and then . . . nothing. So I bought a book on how to submit a proposal, including a listing of what has to be every publisher and literary agent, living or dead, on this and every other planet. And I’m telling you: there are thousands of them. And each and every one of them has their own requirements for submission.

Obviously, I had never heard of most of these folks, so I began with the best-known — which also means the biggest — of them. The advantage of that is knowing that they’re reputable, and also are able to pay the biggest advances to their authors. The downside, of course, is that they’re literary snobs; they can afford to be. Most publishers won’t even consider a writer who isn’t represented by a literary agent, unless you’re already famous (or infamous) for some other reason. And if they will deign to look at a manuscript or, more likely, a book proposal (and more about those little devils later), they caution you that it can take weeks, or even months, before you can expect a response.

So you start checking out the lesser-known publishers. Some will tell you they only represent authors who specialize in certain genres, which is very helpful to the elimination process. Then they tell you whether they want the proposal or the whole manuscript, or sometimes both. And I don’t know about you, but I hesitate to send my life’s work — my intellectual property — to an unknown individual who may or may not like it enough to agree to publish it, without first having that individual sign an ironclad non-disclosure agreement . . . which is just one more aggravation and not likely to succeed in any event. So, eliminate that pile of names.

Of course I had also bought and studied a book by a successful author on how to write my book proposal. Omigod! Do you remember those end-of-the-school-year term papers? They were nothing compared to a book proposal. It’s not just a two-page summary; it’s a book in itself, with sections titled Background, The Story, Purpose, The Theme, Approach & Style, About Me, Format & Delivery Date, A Market For This Book (I always thought that was the publisher’s job!), then the Chapter Summaries . . . a brief outline of each and every chapter, with an actual chapter attached, a description of any photographs or drawings to be included, etc., etc., etc. The worst section was “About Me.” It was kind of like a job interview: how much is too much? When does self-confidence become bragging? Or, conversely, when does modesty become a sign of incompetence? I’m never quite sure.

Oh, and don’t forget the cover letter — oddly called a “query letter” — which has a requisite format of its own. Putting the whole package together was actually more agonizing than the three years of research and writing of the book itself. You know those old movies where the young aspiring writer puts his typewritten manuscript into a brown envelope with a short cover note saying “Dear Mr. Publisher, I hope you like my book, I put my whole heart and soul into writing it,” and drops it into a nearby mailbox. The publisher reads it, loves it, buys it, it becomes an immediate best-seller, and the young writer finds fame and fortune, marries his childhood sweetheart, and they and their two-and-a-half kids all live happily ever after in their little vine-covered cottage with the white picket fence. Yeah . . . like that’s ever going to happen.

Well, no, it’s not — because there’s also the matter of the prescribed method of submitting your work. A hand-addressed brown envelope will never even be opened. Some publishers want a paper copy, but most want a flash drive or electronic transmission, and a few even require two or all three formats. And don’t forget that the query letter has to be customized for each publisher. This is not only getting logistically nightmarish; it’s also getting expensive, if you’re going to submit to multiple publishers. Do you know what it costs to send 300-plus pages by overnight courier, receipt requested? Paper is freakin’ heavy . . . and those little flash drives aren’t free either!

Then you decide that maybe it would be best to try to retain an agent after all. Wow! Talk about your literary snobs! They’re even tougher to get to than the publishers. They do provide very worthwhile services, of course, in that they are able to shop your masterpiece to multiple publishers where they already have a foot in the door, and they can schedule book signings all over the country, and arrange the kind of publicity that will sell hundreds of thousands of books. And not incidentally, they receive a standard 15% of your advance and all royalties for their services, including — if you should happen to have that best-seller on your hands — ancillary income from the likes of movie and TV rights, videos, games, comic books, tacky souvenir items like mugs and tee shirts, and whatever. Of course, by that time you’ve generated so much income you’ll be happy to pay the 15% just to avoid the extra taxes. But let’s face it — most of us will never have a best-seller. How many Harry Potters are there? So I should probably quit the Walter Mitty dreamfest and get back to the real world, where I can barely afford the printer paper and ink cartridges, let alone the UPS charges.

Then a well-meaning friend suggested that I might consider self-publishing, so I looked into it. They’re kidding, right? Depending on the number of copies you want to produce, that can cost you thousands of dollars out of your own pocket — the pocket you were hoping to line with an advance from a publisher. And the process of designing, creating, and marketing the book itself . . . well, forget that; it’s not one of my areas of expertise.

But English is. I’ve read a couple of self-published books, and the first thing I noticed was that they’re also self-edited, or possibly done by someone for whom English is a second language. The glaring errors and typos were excruciating to someone like me who was schooled in the old days when we were required to learn proper grammar, spelling and punctuation. But it’s probably not that important, because the absence of any publicity will guarantee that your work will forever remain in relative obscurity. So, self-publishing? A total non-starter.

*. *. *

Of course, while I’m stressing over all of this new information, I’m also still working on my book. I’ve got a fairly complete first draft, which I print out and begin to review because I’m old-fashioned in some ways and I prefer reading from paper and editing with a red pen, rather than staring at a computer screen for hours at a time. And it all starts off pretty well. I like my introduction and my preface, and I even have a great epilogue to cap it all off. The first few chapters are good, the middle needs a little bit of work, and then . . .

Oh, shit! I realize at this point that I’ve completely lost my sense of direction. You see, this is a non-fiction work, and — though it all happened a long time ago, back in my “Russia days” of the early 1990s — it still might ruffle a few feathers if it ever gets published. No, it’s not about any famous people, or anyone’s sexual adventures; and I’m happy to say I’ve never slept with (or even met) Donald Trump, Jeffrey Epstein, or any member of the British royal family. It’s not that kind of book. But it does name names. No, what I have lost is the sense of where I want to go with my story, how much I have to include in order for it to be worth reading, and how much I’m willing to risk in order to tell it properly.

And, to make matters more complicated, since I finished — or thought I had finished — my draft, I’ve come across additional, potentially contradictory information from other sources. So there’s a bunch of reading and rewriting to be done, and that will require some changes to the book proposal as well, so I’m nowhere near ready.

And there’s that little nagging thought — that not-so-slight possibility — that when . . . or if . . . I do finally put the last finishing touches to it, I’ll read it one more time and discover after all that it is, to quote the immortal bard, “A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” Every writer’s worst nightmare.

*. *. *

So do you see my problem? I’ve got this book that I’ve nearly written. Now what the hell do I do with it? Do I devote another year of my life to it? Will it still be relevant in another year? Do I just call it a learning experience and file it away? Or maybe I’ll just buy a parrot and line its cage with those marked-up pages. Then I could teach the bird to call me “Dummkopf,” because that’s how I would feel at that point. It’s not writer’s block; it’s a G**damned roadblock!

Seriously . . . I need help.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/2/23

How the world loved him! We couldn’t get enough of him: that dear, sweet man — a professional entertainer, charming, witty, outspoken, honorable, instantly likable. Suddenly thrust into a presidency for which he was only partly prepared; faced with an invasion that no one foresaw until it was gathering on his doorstep.

Suddenly he was everywhere: in a bunker, in a hospital cheering up the wounded, in the streets encouraging his people, in the trenches encouraging his soldiers. Discarding the suit and tie, living in his now-signature khakis, growing a beard. Visiting the countries all too eager to help out, to save his beloved Ukraine from the Russian invaders . . . from the hell of war. Stepping up and doing the job with a courage and fortitude few had believed possible. Inspiring a nation and a world.

It all began in February of 2022. It was supposed to be over quickly. The Russian leader bragged that the Ukrainian people would welcome him as their “saviour,” that he would “rescue” them from the “Nazis and fascists” that only exist in his mind; and that within days, or a couple of weeks at most, he would have “reclaimed” the Ukraine he believed was rightfully Russia’s. But he didn’t count on Volodymyr Zelensky, or on the Ukrainian people’s determination to hold onto the country they love. Nor did he count on the unity of the West, the NATO nations that banded together to help an ally that wasn’t yet a member of their alliance. Vladimir Putin had seriously miscalculated. And so, twenty months later, Russia’s “special military operation” — Putin’s war of attrition — slogs on, mired in a bloodbath of their own making.

And where is Zelensky today? Still there, still standing strong against his enemy, still resolved to save his country from the invaders. But twenty months of war will inevitably bring changes. Daily bombings, missile strikes, death, destruction, hunger, privation. Optimism vanishes, hope fades, weariness settles in. Cities are decimated, families are broken — what is there left to fight for? Can even the strength of their President keep them going? Does he have any strength of his own left to share with them?

As long as he had the Western nations standing firmly behind him, he was a bastion of strength, of determination, of hope. But what is happening to the support he depended upon all these past months? Where are the Ukrainian flags flying in neighborhoods and town squares all over the world? The civilian groups collecting food, clothing, household goods for the refugees? The borders opening to admit those refugees? The world’s anger at this unnecessary suffering? Have we simply wearied of a war that isn’t “ours”?

And where is the international support from all of those allied nations? Why is it slacking off? Are countries simply running out of missiles, and planes, and tanks, and weaponry . . . and money? Or are they just running out of interest in a war that isn’t “theirs”?

And where is the daily press coverage? The live reports from the front, the brave men and women of the BBC, CNN, Al Jazeera? They haven’t suddenly gone chicken, have they?

Absolutely not. But here’s what has happened:

Hamas invaded Israel; and Israel retaliated. That’s what is different from just a month ago. The focus has shifted. The world suddenly has more of its children to care for, and we’re all spread too thin. The money, the weapons, the aid workers . . . they can only stretch so far. Our attention is divided between two fronts; we’re desperately needed in two places at once, and we’re having trouble handling it.

There are those — even in the U.S. Congress! — who want to give Ukraine short shrift, rationalizing that the war in the Middle East will have more far-reaching consequences and is thus more important. But they’re wrong. Because the two wars are not disconnected. Behind both lurks the ominous presence of a terrifying triumvirate: Russia, China, and North Korea. Determined to rule the world, to create a “new world order” based on their demented vision. And countries and organizations such as Iran, Syria, Hamas, Hezbollah, are all too willing to be the pawns on their global chessboard. And too many people just . . . don’t . . . get it.

And caught in the squeeze is President Volodymyr Zelensky, who, after 20 months of living in hell, must surely be nearing the limits of his strength, his optimism, and his hope. He is said recently to have changed. He is “angry with allies and no longer optimistic, but continues to believe in Ukraine’s victory.” [Simon Shuster, Time, as reported by Ukrainska Pravda, Oct. 30, 2023.] Mr. Shuster tells of a conversation with a longtime member of Zelensky’s team, revealing that Zelensky’s “usual sparkle of . . . optimism, his sense of humor, his tendency to liven up a meeting in the war room with a bit of banter or a bawdy joke . . . [are gone]. Now he walks in, gets the updates, gives the orders, and walks out.” His team members feel that his convictions haven’t changed; in fact, they’ve hardened. Some believe that he is deluding himself, that “We’re out of options. We’re not winning. But try telling him that.”

*. *. *

So that’s where Zelensky is now. Not missing, but lost in a different sense. And if he cannot stay the course, and Ukraine is ultimately lost to the red menace from the East, it is we in the West who have allowed it to happen. It is we who have been misled, who have incorrectly read the signals that have been in front of us for years.

It is not Zelensky who will have failed his people; it is we who will have failed Zelensky.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/1/23

I am not the biggest fan of former Governor Chris Christie. But even the least of us will do something right every now and then; and that is precisely what happened recently in an interview on CNN’s “State of the Union” when he spoke about Donald Trump, and about what Christie called Trump’s “bad worldview.” Quite an understatement for one not in the habit of soft-pedaling his opinions.

Christie has thrown his hat into the ring in opposition to Trump (and others) for the 2024 GOP presidential nomination, and would be expected to be less than complimentary in speaking about any of his opponents. But in this case, he avoided blatant name-calling, and instead reminded listeners of a few already-known facts. Disturbing ones . . .

Like Trump’s intention — should the country go totally batshit and reelect him in ‘24 — of doing exactly what the new GOP House Speaker Mike Johnson wants to do: divide U.S. aid to Israel and Ukraine, expedite a stand-alone bill for Israel, and postpone a decision on continuing aid to Ukraine pending a resolution on a reduced amount to be allotted. (My blog post of Oct. 30th expounds on that very subject.) Christie attributes Trump’s view on this to a desire to “coddle” Vladimir Putin; and considering Trump’s cozy history with the Russian dictator . . . er, president . . . Christie is probably right on target.

He goes on to explain — as have so many others — why Trump’s view on Ukraine is not just wrong, but treacherously so. Yet Trump continues to scream to the world, from his imaginary throne on Mount Olympus, that only he knows best. And he does so while in reality he sits — right here on lower Earth — in court, charged with numerous crimes and misdemeanors, including fomenting the January 6, 2021 insurrection in Washington . . . and while under a gag order to boot, which he has already violated, resulting in a court-ordered fine. The man just cannot shut up. Where most people would, by now, have sensed the inevitability of defeat, he just keeps fuming.

I’m not here to campaign for or against anyone; I don’t do that. I simply feel the need to express my frustration at the constant barrage of misinformation, disinformation (yes, there is a difference), anger, hatred, and outright stupidity spewing from this one individual’s little rosebud lips. But unfortunately, Trump is news, and we are stuck with him, at least for a while.

I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad if his rhetoric were at least benign. But his pronouncements — such as his promise to withdraw from NATO “when he is reelected” — are inherently dangerous. And no one knows that better, or is more anxious to take advantage of it, than Vladimir Putin. But what’s the solution? Can we plead with the press to stop writing about him? Nope; First Amendment. Do we lock him in a rubber room until 2025? Kidnapping. Whack him with one of his own golf clubs? Assault and battery. Ask Melania to . . . oh, yeah. Never mind.

It seemed hopeless until I discovered that Pulitzer Prize-winning editorial cartoonist Ann Telnaes had already gotten it exactly right:

Now, who wants to hold him down while I wield the cork?

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
10/31/23

On Friday, the little known but already controversial new House Speaker, Mike Johnson, urged President Biden not to lump together his proposed aid allotments for Israel and Ukraine, but rather to bifurcate the two by creating a stand-alone bill in favor of Israel, while essentially leaving Ukraine — albeit temporarily — dangling in the wind. His rationale? First, to remove aid to Ukraine from the continuing resolution that was passed at the end of September to keep the U.S. government running, since Congress seems incapable of doing that in any normal fashion; and additionally, to give consideration to a reduction in the amount of aid to Ukraine in order to “make sure that the White house is providing the people with some accountability for the dollars.” He did say that he “still supports the Ukrainian war effort versus Russia,” but added that “the House should focus on limiting spending.” [The Hill, Oct. 27, 2023.] I saw no mention of a stand-alone bill in favor of Ukraine.

So, if Mr. Johnson has his way, and if I understand him correctly, it appears that Ukraine will essentially be placed on the back burner for an unspecified amount of time. Aside from the obviously calamitous effect on the Ukrainian people, what does this say to our NATO allies — who have also been making enormous contributions to the defense of Ukraine against Putin’s war machine — as to what their continuing obligations should be? And what does it say to the entire world about America’s reliability in terms of its commitments to its allies?

But that’s not all. Because on the same day, in Telegraph’s podcast, “Ukraine: The Latest,” it was reported that:

“Yesterday [October 26, 2023], Russian officials met with Hamas, who praised them for taking an active role in the war [with Israel] and released several pictures of the meeting [in Moscow] between Russian officials, Hamas and Iran’s deputy foreign minister.” And further:

“Some [Western-leaning nations] . . . have asked whether it shows Russia is forming an axis of terror with Hamas, mediated by Iran, which already of course supplies Moscow with drones for its war in Ukraine.”

What more do we need? Pictures? Well, here you go . . .

Don’t they look like three old poker buddies, retired businessmen, some lucky children’s doting grandfathers? Yet here they are, plotting the fate of the Middle East and, for starters, Eastern Europe. And make no mistake . . . that is precisely what they are doing: First we wipe Israel off the map, and bring Ukraine back within Russia’s borders. Then we’ll let the world know what we’ve got lined up next. And behind it all, the man in the Kremlin. Else, why were they brought together in Moscow?

But oh, no-o-o, Mr. Speaker . . . there’s no need to give Israel and Ukraine equal consideration. Well, perhaps that’s true in your parallel universe, but in the real world — the one in which the rest of us live — the truth is something entirely different. And we need a government that understands that. Perhaps we could start by “bifurcating” a few members of Congress from their jobs in the coming election.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
10/30/23

While surfing the news headlines the other day, I ran across this little gem: “English speakers, here’s how to pronounce ‘Qatar,’” by the delightful AJ Willingham, a Senior Writer for CNN Digital who “covers internet subcultures, religion, positive news and various obsessions.” [CNN Profiles – AJ Willingham – Senior Writer, Culture] . . . just the sort of oddball stuff I find it impossible to resist. So I knew this was going to be good.

She began by telling me something I already knew, which was that most English speakers will pronounce “Qatar” something like “kuh-TAR.” This, of course, is what I had always done until fairly recently, when I heard from some so-called expert that it should be pronounced more like “cutter.” That never sounded quite right to me, but hey, it’s the Qataris’ name, not mine, so who am I to disrespect them?

But AJ is apparently a stickler for accuracy, and she had dug much deeper. Here is the explanation — or most of it, anyway — that she unearthed (and you never know what treasures you might unearth once you start digging in that ancient part of the world):

Now, I love languages. I’m not actually a linguist, sadly; but the nuances, the similarities and differences do fascinate me. And I studied Russian, which I believe entitles me at the very least to a medal for bravery. And I can say “yes,” “no,” “please,” “thank you,” and “bathroom” in several languages. Just the essentials.

But I’ve read the foregoing explanation of “Qatar” three times now, and I even tried making that guttural sound with water in my mouth and directed my tongue to touch the roof just behind my teeth. That simply resulted in my choking on the water . . . or the part I didn’t actually spit out all over my iPad. And after all of that, I have come to one conclusion, and one only: I will never study Arabic. That is not in any way a political decision; it’s simply that I know my limitations.

A lot of people are impressed by my ability to have learned the Cyrillic alphabet, and to decipher words like человеконенавистничество. (That’s one word, 10 syllables, 24 Cyrillic letters — 26 in English, but please don’t ask me to explain why the extra two.) It means “misanthropy,” and I’m quite proud of having conquered it, even though it doesn’t come up in conversation very often. So I’ll stick with what I know, and if the Qataris don’t mind, I’ll probably just continue saying “kuh-TARR.” And if they like, they’re welcome to mispronounce “Worcester.” Most Americans do, anyway, except those from Massachusetts and nearby Rhode Island.

*. *. *

All of this has started me thinking of the confusion I encountered when living in Prague back in 1991. I’ve told this story before, but even those who did read about it have probably forgotten it, so I’ll take a risk and repeat myself. If you do happen to recall it, just skip to the end, okay?

I don’t speak Czech. But Russian and Czech are both Slavic languages, so I figured it wouldn’t be that difficult to learn. However, since I was working long days there, and spending my evenings wining and dining, and weekends sightseeing, there wasn’t a lot of time for actual study. I managed to learn to communicate with shopkeepers, waiters, and taxi drivers, at a time when most locals did not speak English yet, and I got along just fine.

On one of my early days there, I was walking to work when I spotted a sign in the distance that read “OZ.” There didn’t seem to be a yellow brick road in the vicinity, but I was curious and kept walking toward it. And when I got closer, I saw that it was a sign on a produce shop, and that “O” and “Z” were merely the initials for “Ovoce” and “Zelenina.” Now, in Russian, “Ovochi” (roughly the same pronunciation) means “vegetables.” There is no “zelenina” in Russian, but the word “zelyoniy” means “green.” So I reasoned that I was looking at a place that sold . . . vegetables and green things? Uh . . . nah. I knew Prague was quirky, but that was just silly. So when I got to work, I asked one of my local co-workers who did speak English, and she told me that, in Czech, “ovoce” means “fruit,” and “zelenina” are indeed vegetables. So much for the two Slavic languages theory. And so it went, for three lovely months in Zlata Praha (Golden Prague). For the most part, I spoke Russian, they spoke Czech, everybody made a lot of gestures, and we all muddled through.

*. *. *

I also had fun with words once at a local theater performance in Virginia, where a young comedian was asking the audience for the first words that came to their minds in different categories. He would select one word and write it down to be used later in his skit when he built a story using the chosen words. I was uncharacteristically quiet, until he asked for a nonsense word. For whatever reason, no one in the audience came up with a response, until I suddenly blurted out into the silence: “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.” My sister was seated next to me, and did one of those sliding-under-the-seat things she always did when I opened my big mouth in public . . . though the young man on stage did a very funny double-take and pretended to try to write it down. At which point I, of course, proceeded to help him out by spelling it for him, and received a very satisfying laugh, from him and from the audience. That’s 34 letters, by the way — ten more than that Russian monstrosity.

*. *. *

I have had the pleasure, throughout the many decades of my life, of knowing quite a few highly intelligent people, a number of whom spoke several languages. I’ve never understood how they keep them straight. One woman I worked with had even mastered Chinese and Classical Greek. I’m not sure why she did, but it was impressive as hell. I am not one of those people. My English skills are quite good, but I have only studied one additional language, and that is Russian. So when I try to remember how to say something in French, for example, the only thing that comes to mind is the Russian equivalent. Once in Montreal, when I tried to answer “oui” to a question, it came out “da,” and “non” of course became “nyet.” I’m hopeless.

But the fascination is still there, and I appreciate AJ Willingham’s attempt to explain “Qatar” to me. Sorry to disappoint. And thanks for the effort.

So, “do svidaniya” — goodbye, or more accurately, ‘til we meet again,

Брендочка (Brendochka)
10/29/23

He’s not missing. We know when he visits the United States, Canada, and elsewhere. Today he is in Malta, engaged in a third round of peace talks with representatives of 50 countries. Fortunately for the people of Ukraine, he continues to seek support for his beleaguered nation throughout the free world. He hasn’t disappeared.

Except from the media. Not completely . . . but not far from it. Quite simply, Ukraine has been upstaged by yet another global disaster: the war between Israel and Hamas. And that is so wrong. Yes, the eternally screwed-up situation in the Middle East has horrendous, far-reaching implications. It always has. And yes, it needs — and deserves — to be at the forefront of the news, and a focus of all the nations of the free world. There should be no doubt of that.

But not — I repeat, not — at the expense of Ukraine. Do we now relegate that war to second place in the belief that it is less important? Are we now to overlook what havoc has been wrought, and continues to be inflicted, upon Crimea, Donbas, and cities like Mariupol and Avdiivka?

And have we forgotten that — while Hamas and much of the Middle East wish to wipe Israel off the face of the world map — Putin sits in the Kremlin, planning, in concert with his cohorts Xi Jinping and Kim Jong Un, to bring their contorted version of peace and order to the entire world? Can we not see that this is exactly what they want us to do?

As Ukraine prepares to enter its third winter of this brutal invasion, we in the West complain of being weary . . . of having spent so much time, and effort, and money to help our non-NATO ally. But we overlook the domino effect that the loss of Ukraine would engender: Moldova, Poland, Slovakia, Hungary, the Czech Republic, the Baltic states . . . We forget the lessons of the Cold War, and ignore the prospect of a second, hotter one.

We cannot afford to do that. Israel and Ukraine need and deserve equal billing. You do not ignore a sick child just because a sibling has also become ill.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
10/28/23

All right. So I won’t make it to the Australian Outback, or pet a penguin in Antarctica, or watch the sun rise over mystical Stonehenge. I’ve never strolled along the Champs Elysees in Paris either, or marveled at the Angkor Wat Temple in Cambodia, or been skiing at Zermatt in Switzerland. So what? I know a few people who have been everywhere — people with unlimited funds and lots of free time. But I know a great many more people — the vast majority, in fact — who have never been anywhere exciting, or been able to step outside their own little worlds, even for a while. And just look at what I have been able to do.

Nope, not the ski thing. But I once climbed a mountain in Czechoslovakia.

Sound familiar? It should. It was the introduction to my very first blog post, back in December of 2022, titled “This Is Me.” It went on to tell of my strolls through Moscow, Prague, Budapest, London, Helsinki, Berlin, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Tallinn . . . wonderful, magical, incredible places, all of them. It described riding the White Pass Railway along the edge of a terrifyingly steep ravine in Alaska; and being transported in the luxurious King’s Elevator in the Royal Palace at Stockholm. And it told of being nearly — but not quite — mugged in St. Petersburg, Russia. And of a boat ride up the Danube to an artists’ village called Szentendre, and playtime with a friendly jellyfish in the Black Sea at Sochi, and a visit to a hospital in Kyiv for child victims of Chernobyl.

Oh! The places I have been.

And stories I haven’t mentioned. Like the one right here in the U.S.: the cross-country drive in 1962, when I saw the wonders of New York City and Chicago, Mt. Rushmore, the Black Hills, Yellowstone Park, the World’s Fair at Seattle, the hills of San Francisco; rode the ferry from San Diego to Coronado Island, then back east through the Grand Canyon, the Texas Panhandle, and the vast midwest plains all the way home to Virginia. Along the way, we encountered a sudden sandstorm in South Dakota that we rode out in our car by the side of the road; the friendliest people in Cody, Wyoming; and surely the world’s biggest, crunchiest bugs in a gas station rest room in Oklahoma.

*. *. *

And there have been other places and other things — adventures, great and small — that I haven’t mentioned. Little memories that pop up, unbidden, from time to time when some word or picture or smell brings them back from the dimmer recesses of my mind. Such as . . .

Food. The best steak, aboard each of the Holland America cruise ships I sailed on to Eastern Canada, Alaska, and along the Baltic Sea. The best salmon, in landlocked Prague, of all places. The best Dover sole, in a little restaurant in Stockholm. The best meat and potatoes en cocotte in another little eatery in Kyiv. The tenderest fried clams on Cape Cod, of course. And the most decadent desserts, seated outdoors at a bakery in Budapest. I’m gaining weight just thinking about them.

People. The ten years I had the privilege of working with the attorney who, in his earlier days, had been the chief legal draftsman of both the Marshall Plan and the NATO Treaty; and how during those ten years I chatted with the remarkable widow of the late Shah of Iran, attended social events at the Embassy of the People’s Republic of China, and made a lifelong friend of an official at the Soviet Embassy. And the famous singer in Prague who pointed me out as his “new American friend” in the audience at one of his performances; the not-so-nice Soviet official who wanted me to be his “new American friend” in London; and the KGB officer who became my unofficial guardian in Moscow. The adorable tour bus driver in Stockholm who didn’t speak English, but loved it when I asked him for a “boost” to help me up onto that first high step. And the waiter on the cruise ship Maasdam who remembered our names and the fact that I drank tea instead of coffee. Odd friends; unexpected friends.

Little things. The warmth of the people who “adopted” me in Moscow: the women who worked with me, and the neighbor who looked after me and my apartment on behalf of the apartment’s owner. Bumping into an American acquaintance at a concert in a city of nine million people (Moscow again). Placing a rock on a headstone in the Old Jewish Cemetery in Prague. And doing the same at a concentration camp outside Berlin.

And sad things, losses. People loved, and then gone. Family, friends, bosses, doctors, my masseuse, the sweet guy at the gas station up the road who took such good care of his customers and then drowned in a boating accident. Heart attacks, cancer, old age took them. And others lost due to the circumstances of life: people retiring, moving away, or just drifting away. Children growing up — no more little kids around the Christmas tree.

*. *. *

But I’ve decided to concentrate on the happy times; dwelling on the losses doesn’t bring them back. It’s too easy to allow ourselves to sink into the sad memories; and it’s not necessary, when there are so many happy ones. I’ve said it before: a life without tales worth telling is a life only half-lived. Everyone has them, though they may not have seemed exciting at the time; we just need to let them come forward.

Maybe I’ll write another book.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
10/28/23

You’ve heard it before: “Getting old ain’t for sissies.” I don’t know who said it first, but he or she sure nailed it. I’ve written at some length about the aches and pains, physical changes, and emotional adjustments we have to deal with as the years slide by. Those of us who are fortunate enough to retain most of our mental faculties still want to do the things we used to do. But we can’t, and so we are told that even though we can no longer climb a mountain, we should be grateful that we can walk at all; and although a bowl of chili would set our digestive system on fire, there’s always a nice serving of oatmeal to warm our tummies.

Crap!!!

I don’t just want to walk around the block . . . again, and again, and again. And oatmeal isn’t chili. I want to keep traveling, and dancing, and eating exotic foods in exotic places with exotic people. And there are so many places I still want to see, and probably never will, before I give up the ghost. Places like . . .

Antarctica, before the ice floes shrink and the penguins become extinct. I want to see those adorable little critters in their headwaiter suits, sashaying around like Charlie Chaplin’s “Little Tramp.”

The North Pole. I want to see Santa Claus. If he’s not there, never mind.

The Swiss Alps. I want to learn to yodel, and make cheese, and sing like Julie Andrews. But realistically, I want to see the beauty of the mountains, the clear lakes, the picturesque towns, and the inside of a Swiss bank vault. (Just kidding on that last one.)

Australia: the Outback, the Sydney Opera House, kangaroos, a pangolin. I want to go walkabout, and sing “Waltzing Matilda” while sitting by a campfire and waiting for my billy to boil. And I want so badly to hold a baby koala. They are simply too cute for words.

*. *. *

I also want to get a look at some of man’s greatest creations:

Stonehenge. Right at the top of my list is this magical, mystical, manmade monument to . . . what? There are lots of theories, but will we ever know for sure? I want to be there at sunrise on the summer solstice. Surely, then I would learn the meaning of life, or something equally wonderful. Maybe.

The Pyramids. How on earth did they do it with no heavy lifting equipment? And why? What’s inside?

The Wailing Wall at Jerusalem. Not the safest place to vacation just now, but some day. I want to write my prayer on a little piece of paper, roll it up and insert it into a niche in the wall. I just want to stand where my ancient ancestors stood.

The Great Wall of China, and the Terra Cotta Army at Xi’an. China may be politically touchy right now, but there’s no denying the awesome scope of its history and the skills and talents of its people. Did you know that the Great Wall can be seen from space? Or that the Terra Cotta Army is still only partially excavated? I saw a few of those incredible carved soldiers at a National Geographic exhibition in Washington a number of years ago, and now I want to see the whole vast expanse of them, and to walk at least a small part of that Great Wall.

Machu Picchu. Again, how did they do it? And at that altitude! I have a friend who climbed it, and she said she nearly expired from the effort and the thinness of the air. She also said it was worth it. In the 1940s, an entertainer named Jimmy Durante sang a nonsense song called “Inkadinkado.” I wonder whether he was singing about the same Incas. I doubt it; but the real ones sure did do something great.

*. *. *

I’d also like to see a few things happen while I’m still here to appreciate them:

Peace in the Middle East. I’m sure I don’t have to explain this one. That conflict has continued for centuries, and I doubt I’ll live long enough to see it resolved. But I can dream, can’t I?

Donald Trump apologizing . . . to anyone! (All right — you can all stop laughing now.)

Congress approving the annual budget without threatening to shut down the government . . . year, after year, after freakin’ year! (You’re laughing again, aren’t you?)

And last, but definitely not least . . .

The Terrible Trio: Vladimir Putin, Xi Jinping, and Kim Jong Un. If you’ve been reading my blog, you already know my views. I want these three to disappear from the political scene; all peace-loving people do. Perhaps we could entice the three of them onto one of their rocket ships — preferably one that actually works — and send them to establish the first colony on Mars. Elon Musk can help them with that. And without the Triple Threat around to cause trouble here on Earth, maybe we could then concentrate on clearing up our other problems and once again make this a beautiful, happy world to live in.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
10/27/23