Glasnost in Lil' Minsk

Well, my commentary on my handy abilities did not turn out to be the hornets nest of controversy I'd anticipated, as the lack of comments would indicate. I thought my ability or non-ability with be a lightening rod, along the lines of Roe v.Wade, but I was wrong.

Anyway, to review, Bubba and I are stationed in West Hollywood. West Hollywood, for those that don't know, has a reputation for being exceptionally, er, "festive." (For a point of reference for "festive," see Chelsea, NYC). That said, we live in what you might call EAST West Hollywood, or "Little Minsk" as I call it. My buddy and I were discussing this just the other day actually, and we determined that from La Cienega west, is the line of demarcation between "festive" and "non." At the risk of completely reinforcing stereotypes, I'd say it's almost perfect that east West Hollywood where I live is an old Russian neighborhood, for few folks are as contrastingly non-festive as old-school Russians.

Truth be told, I find the Russian expatriates fascinating to observe. I've had not a lick of trouble with any of them, and they seem like pretty nice folks. There's a lot of little, Russian versions of Satriale's style shops in the neighborhood. Deli's, book stores, liquor stores, nail salons, etc., but all really small scale. No chain stores. No "McIvan's" or anything like that. Just real, authentic Russians, selling real, authentic Russian wares.

So a few weeks ago, we were out and about, and realized we were out of "slops" (our code word for snacks for Orville), and I saw out of the corner of my eye, some cherry tomatoes in a box on the sidewalk at the Russian Deli on our corner. I go inside, and there's all this hard looking produce and whatnot. Like, at the Whole Foods, you'd see, I don't know, pomegrantates and kiwis. Here, you see like only root vegetables. Beets, Cabbage. Carrots. But beyond that, there were these insane looking Russian candies. Then there were all kinds of starchy, prepared dishes in the fridge. Then there were all kinds of fatty meats and cheeses for sale. Just like, everything in there was stuff you get when you're gearing up for that long Siberian winter or something.

Anyway, I get my lil' bag of 'matoes for the Big-O, as well as a head of cabbage, and I make my way towards the counter. When I'd first moved here, I'd noted the phenomenon of laid back "California Time." This, as opposed to say, "New York Time," "CPT," and a few others I've observed over the years. Well, now I can add "Russian Immigrant Californian Time." This was a new level of slow. Like, this was born out of a lifetime of people living genuinely hard existances who decided long ago, "You know what, take your sweet time because I'm in ZERO hurry to get back to my dreary life. In fact, I'd appreciate it if you slowed down even." Even here and now on the sunny shores of California, it's a hard habit to break.

I must say, the Russians in my neighborhood LOVE Orville. Genuinely. A surprisingly large number of them have commented on how seeing Orville reminds them of the pig they had, or the farm they grew up on. I'm happy he can be such a catalyst for nostalgia, just so long as they're not looking at him like he's a ham steak.

(Editor's note: To the People Magazine faction of readers of mine, I had my first celebrity sighting in some time the other day: George Wendt, aka "Norm Peterson." Exciting for me, but not exactly Brangelina, hence the lack of coverage.)