Tag Archives: Russia

Czar

Czar: (n) the former emperor of Russia

I keep anticipating an outbreak of acne.

I haven’t heard Russia discussed this much since I was thirteen years of age, with oily skin.

I know that everything that comes around goes around, to reappear not that much different than it was on opening night.

For the life of me, I do not understand why Russia is regaining such interest, except for the fact that they willed themselves back into prominence.

When you live in a world where a threat has more thrust than a gift, you have to be careful not to be drawn away by false advertising–Chicken Little reprising his role as the proclaimer of falling skies.

At one time, Russia had a czar.

More or less, their rendition of a monarch. Tired of monarchy, they overthrew the czar and instituted communism.

Communism lasted from 1918 until just around 1989—seventy-one years.

During those seven decades, wars were prevalent, poverty was the normal status of the Russian citizen and those who objected to government programs were toted away to Siberia, never to be heard from again.

It was a continual Reign of Terror—from Lenin to Stalin to Khrushchev—until Gorbachev grew weary of leading an impoverished nation—only rich in nuclear weapons.

So from 1989 to approximately 2014, the Russians did their best impersonation of democracy, adding their personal touches of felony murder, graft, money laundering and drug smuggling.

Now, sporting a whole new tyrannical leader named Putin, they are beginning to believe they should be back in the game again. (Back, back, back in the USSR…)

For some reason, the United States has chosen to take them seriously instead of mocking their ever-lengthening bread lines.

Sometimes the best cure is to refuse medication to the dying patient.

There is no Russia without the United States.

If the United States were suddenly eliminated, Russia would not be able to springboard off our country’s prominence and spit in the eye of our more powerful nation.

Contrary to popular belief, the best way to handle a bully is not to stand toe-to-toe, giving him credence and making him believe that he is worthy of attention.

Sometimes the best way to handle a bully is to run away with all your friends—leaving him all alone to complain about his isolation.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Baize

Baize: (n) a coarse, felt-like, woolen material that is typically green, used for covering billiard and card tables and for aprons.Dictionary B

Rich people own a lot of things.

I suppose that’s a rather obvious statement. But I would like you to stop and analyze what it really means.

It’s not that rich people own things they like or that rich people acquire things so they can enjoy them and share them with others.

No, rich people often just like to own things so they can prove they possess them, flaunt them and to establish their indifference to them.

Long ago, when I had even less integrity and brain power than today, I was invited to the home of a very rich man because he took a liking to me, saying he “thought I had great potential.”

Upon arriving at his palatial mansion, I was given the full tour, which was extremely extensive, with stop-offs along the way to reiterate to me in vivid detail how much each piece of marble in the floor cost, and how the wallpaper in this particular room was ordered from Italy from a family who were direct descendants of the Medici clan.

I produced an adequate amount of “oohs” and “aahs” necessary to let him know that I was in full groveling mode.

While dinner was being prepared, he asked me if I would like to play a game of billiards. (Yes, he called it “billiards” while I knew it as “pool.” But looking at my surroundings and smelling the fresh air of opulence, I realized that “billiards” was more appropriate.)

And the billiard table was equally as over-stated, expensive and elaborate as everything else in the house. Matter of fact, he told me it had been specially ordered from Russia, where of course, the best billiard tables are from, and that it was worth $50,000.

He handed me a pool stick which was made out of some sort of wood from the rain forest of Brazil, and said, “You break.”

I placed my hand on the table, shaking and nervous. The baize covering of the table was lush and thick, like grass. But it also felt a little bit…fragile.

Terrified, I wielded back and hit the cue ball, striking the eastern coast of it, while the tip of my cue stick slid across the table, leaving a three-inch rip.

Time stood still.

I couldn’t breathe, even though I knew it was necessary to do so.

My rich benefactor walked up, looked at the table, shook his head, and said, “That’s going to cost a pretty penny.”

My mind was racing.

Did he want me to come up with that gorgeous amount of money?

I also had this crazy thought of suggesting that some Super Glue might fix it, but caught myself before blurting.

He did not charge me for my transgression, but the dinner was tense, and I was out of there much more quickly than originally proposed… since he no longer deemed that I had potential.

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Andrew, St.

dictionary with letter A

Andrew, St.: An apostle, the brother of St. Peter. He is associated with the X-shaped cross because he is said to have been crucified on such a cross, and is the patron saint of Russia and Scotland. Feast Day, November 30.

Long before he was nailed down on a multiplication symbol and they started a special holiday in his honor, Andrew was a fisherman in a little town called Capernaum.

His prospects for being prosperous or well-known and his aptitude for upward mobility were less than promising–actually, comical.

Living in a village of less than five hundred people and a partner in a business in which his brother, with a more boisterous personality, took over the entire room, Andrew had little chance of surfacing socially, or even generating a jot and tittle in a history book.

Yet he possessed one powerful personality trait–he was curious.

While his brother probably took the time to sleep off the latest fishing jaunt, which included heavy wine drinking, Andrew was out and about, looking for possibilities. In the process, he met another unlikely earth-shaker named Jesus of Nazareth.

We don’t know why Andrew was impressed or why he was so moved by the Nazarene’s message. But we do know that he was one of Jesus’ early followers, and ends up bringing his brother to the cause.

As often is the case, there is no Peter without Andrew. There are no five loaves and two fishes for the five thousand fed without Andrew bringing the little boy’s lunch for consideration.

And even though after all the smoke cleared of the posturing and shuffling, he did not end up being one of the inner-three best friends of Jesus (positions held by Peter, James and John), we are never made aware that he is slighted or offended in the least.

He did three things that gave him personal salvation and a place for all time:

  1. He stayed interested.
  2. When he found something important, he got excited.
  3. He stuck with it to the end.

In many ways Andrew is the hero of the gospel story simply because he brought the right people at the right time … to the right person.

 

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Abakan

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter AAbakan: an industrial city in south central Russia, capital of the republic of Kaskaskia, population 154,000.

For me, it was my grandfather’s root cellar. Now, if you don’t know what a root cellar is, it is an unfinished basement in an old farmhouse where they used to keep potatoes and various produce to make it last longer before rotting.

It was a scary place. It had stone steps that wound around a corner into the darkness, and as a child I was frightened to death to even open the door and look within. Matter of fact, my Grandpa died and the house was sold before I ever worked up the courage to know what was around the bend in the darkness.

Likewise, being raised in America during the time of the Cold War, I have much the same feeling about Russia. It is my geopolitical root cellar.  When you mention ANYTHING in Russia–like Abakan–I immediately get visions of the Soviet Union with wild-eyed, crazed Cossacks, hunching over big, red buttons, trying to decide whether today is the day that they will murder the imperialist Americans.

Now, I now know this isn’t true. I am a fairly sophisticated, intelligent person who has read a newspaper or two, and has even occasionally perused a news magazine. I understand that Russia is not out to get James Bond, nor is it trying to murder young children–or for that matter, brainwash us through socialist media to become communists ourselves.

But still, there is a chill that goes down my spine when I hear the word “Russia.”

I feel ashamed. I think it’s time for me to give my own version of “To Russia, With Love.” But I am reluctant. I still fear that around the corner there is a dark place lurking to swallow young boys who shouldn’t have been there in the first place.

Aren’t we all silly? But after all, silliness is often just belief that has not yet been exposed.