on russia and booze

Michelle's brother Sam is in the Peace Corps in Moldova, and in July she and her parents are going to visit him. They're going to Russia, too. Michelle's family are Fun and Exciting, and enjoy traveling and trying new things. My family -- much as I love them -- are frankly not of this ilk. We are usually a very morose vacationing group, woefully convening for Meals, and some of us (excuse me if I flatter myself with an exemption from this description) are not so into new places or new things. When I was working in the Czech Republic and my family came to visit me, I think I can safely say that every one of them was completely miserable. I have a feeling that if we traveled in small groups it would not be this way, but somehow the six of us together always manage to make things predictably dreary when away from Maryland or Ohio, where, although certainly never outright Fun, our Drear is kept to a remarkable minimum.

It never occurred to me to try to convince my family to go on a trip to Mother Russia, though it seems like it would be a sensible idea -- Visiting Jewish Roots and whatnot, though probably no one in my family would drink the vodka except for my sister and me (and maybe my 17-year-old brother, if left unobserved). Maybe we could wear head wraps and lead bears around by leashes, wield scythes. I have a feeling I would be great with a scythe. I understand that's not really what happens in Russia, and that wasn't what our ancestral peoples did there, either, but it makes the whole thing seem extremely appealing, especially when picturing my next-oldest brother, white New Balances gleaming, Jew-fro tamped in a head wrap, leading a bear around.

Michelle has been reading up about Russia in preparation for her trip -- particularly about this traditional way of taking vodka shots with bread, pickles, and some other items -- and last night in her kitchen, she, Josh, and Rudy tried it out while I, placidly medicated across the counter, drank water and observed them. The process involved breathing in extremely deeply, taking a shot, breathing out extremely forcefully, eating this bread, breathing, drinking, breathing. The whole thing seemed extremely dramatic and I doubt anyone having a snack in Russia does this, though all three of them -- after several shots of the vodka as well as an experiment with the dregs of some Hennessy (I don't make the rules) -- seemed very pleased with the technique and claimed it got them "into a flow." (Ha. Ha. I love Californians.) Starting tomorrow I'm allowed to drink alcohol again, though I have to say that this month-plus without alcohol has been remarkably entertaining. I haven't missed it. Talk about getting in touch with your roots.