No More Swiping for Swiper

Another cartoon that zaiki covet is "Dora the Explorer". I guess it's an ok cartoon, the Map (that  grinds my gears with its whiny nasalness, I want to bite its nose off), but it's fine overall. The cartoon follows chenanigans and adventures of a Mexican girl named Dora. Her best friend, Boots the monkey, assists her in accomplishing various pre-school approved tasks. The cartoon is teaches counting, colors, shapes, and helping. Dora has many friends: Benny the bull, Big Red Chicken, Tico the squirrel (who only speaks Spanish and does various menial tasks like driving the other characters around), Iza the iguana (who also only speaks Spanish and is a garderner) and a faithful Backpack. They all like to have fiesta and eat tacos. No, not a stereotype-building cartoon based on approved archetypes, not at all! *clearing my throat loudly*

Dora also has a nemesis: Swiper the fox. Swiper has really pointy teeth and is sneaky - he is wearing a bandit's mask, gloves and his only goal in life is to steal, or swipe, Dora's favorite things. To stop Swiper, you have to say "Swiper no swiping" three times complete with a special hand thrust and if you do that before he gets his hands on the object, he says "Oh man!" and runs off. Swiper wins, occasionally, and then Dora and Boots have to go on a quest to retrieve the object. Oddly enough, Swiper never keeps what he goes to great lengths to swipe, but either throws it far away or hides it. Not a very practical fox. Maybe just a kleptomaniac? Or a crazy thing hell-bent of destruction for the sake of destruction? Hmmm. I'm inclined to believe the latter.

I think the guy who does the Map's voice also does Swiper's. I wish I knew who it was so I had the address for all the hate mail - super whiny and annoying. I wonder if he (the actor) is married...I guess not or maybe his wife is deaf. No way I could live with someone who is that nasal and high-pitched.

You want to know what he sounds like? Pinch your nose shut, inhale through your mouth and then say, really stretching your vowels: "GOOOO THROUGH THEEE TUNNNEEEL, OOOVER THEEE BRIIIIIDGE AAAANNNNDDDD OOON TOOOP OOOFF THEEE SNOOOWWYYYY MOUNTAAAIN".

I have a beautiful winter coat (a gift from Kevin, the most wonderful, thoughtful husband ever!!!) with furry full fox collar and cuffs. I love it - it keeps me warm and looks festive.


Speaking of gifts and Valentine's day coming up: Ladies, did you know you can create a "wishlist" at Pandora jewelry stores? No? Neither did I, till yesterday!!! Apparently, you just let them know your name, pick the pieces you like, they'll record the serial numbers, and then your loving husband will be able to simply go in and look up the bling you chose. Hey Mari, I think you can do it online as well!! :)

Back to my coat: zaiki love it. They like to bury their faces in the fur and pet it. The other day Sonya asked me what it was. Without missing a beat, I replied "Swiper". Now they say that Mama swiped Swiper. Serves that fox right.

Bargemusic in Brooklyn, or why birthdays don't suck anymore

In order to make me feel better about looming upcoming birthday next week, Kevin took me out to see a piano concert in Brooklyn. The twist was that the concert was happening on a barge tethered pretty much underneath the Brooklyn Bridge (check out http://www.bargemusic.com/). We chose a solo concert, and off to Brooklyn on a Friday night (no kids! No kids! No kids! Have I mentioned NO KIDS!!!!) we went. The girls were abandoned left with their grandmother, aunt and uncle for the night, so we didn’t have to worry about getting back too soon. Kevin looked handsome as usual, I had lipstick on, life was good.

Of course, it had to rain so hard on the way that our car was shaking.

Of course, we got stuck in major traffic in Holland tunnel.

Of course, we left late and made it to the concert 2 minutes before it started.

Of course, we made a few wrong turns around Brooklyn (our GPS didn’t give clear directions for some reason, I guess it was confused that it wasn’t in the suburbs anymore).

But we did make it there in the end. I wasn’t sure what to expect from a concert on a barge: back in mother Russia, you dressed your Sunday best to go to a classical music concert, but here, in the land of whatever-is-comfortable, I just didn’t know. Have I mentioned I don’t get out much?

The concert was fabulous. As someone who is just rejoining the world of occasional kid-free entertainment, I’d appreciate live Sesame Street performance if I’m left along for a few hours and can have half a bottle of wine beforehand, but this was a lot of fun. In my other, more bohemian life, I always liked classical piano music – the sound is clean and effortless, there is not a single false note, provided the player is any good, of course. 

The artist, Julien Quentin, was grand – he played Beethoven’s Sonata #8 in C minor and Liszt’s Mephisto Waltz. He did throw in a couple of improvs that just sounded like adolescent angst and cats to me but I'm an uncooth suburbian, who am I to judge? Plus anyone who graduated from Juilliard School is entitled to experiment and express himself, and we the regular folk need to just sit there and clap our hands together. :)

I love Beethoven and Liszt - they both sound light, crisp and gentle, with the flurry of emotion underneath that lightness, just enough to feel but not to touch and define. I floated away, away, and finally was able to exhale and let go of the last couple of horrible weeks. Stopping for wine and appetizers afterwards made us both feel like our old selves again.

The venue deserves a separate mention: a converted old barge with musty under-the-dock smell and huge glass wall that faces the Hudson and Manhattan; a sign in the ladies' room that reads "If you flush any paper down our toilets, HORRIBLE things will happen"; an old and blackened fire place; a baby grand piano and great acoustics.

There was just a handful of people attending, but they were a colorful mix: younger bespectacled music intellectuals who come off a bit snooty, old Brooklynites who look and smell like dusty fragile library books, a few older couples (men were wearing pleaded shorts and high dress socks which always makes me want to take their hand into mine, gaze them in the eye and ask "why?"), and us.

The music, barge’s gentle rocking and damp semi-darkness, smell of the dock, the rain and lightning outside, lingering effects of the wine – it was perfect to ring in another year of my life. I used to dread birthdays – they always reminded me of things I failed to accomplish, but now I think I’m ok with them. I do my best, I have a lot on my plate and if something falls off, that is fine with me. Or maybe I have simply reached the age (26, always 26, people!! Remember that!!) where it doesn't matter anymore?

A birthday means I survived another year of chaos. J