Saturday, October 24, 2009

Moscow Metro . . . This Time It's Personal

I'm sure you are tired of hearing me rave about The Beauty of the Moscow Metro.

But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends. . .

Are you also done with the Unnecessary Literary References. That aren't accurate references. Because I actually thought that was Emily Dickinson. Ha! My bad. I should be forced to return my Master's diploma.

Last night we went to see The Bright Stream at the Bolshoi. I recommend it. The sets were incredible (with a reference to the Friendship of Nations fountain at VDNK). And I actually got to have a glass of bubbly at the Bolshoi Bufet.

Well, it was Asti Spumante because I couldn't bring myself to pony up over 1000 rubles for a tiny glass of real champagne. I had just decided it was bubbly water for me, when I realize that the woman in line in front of me bought a glass of something Fun-N-Bubbly PLUS a little plate of nibbles, paid for it with a 1000-ruble note AND got change back. So I got all brave and pointed to her glass and asked in my best Bad Russian, "Hey! What's this? How much? Um, please."

I guess there is something wrong with the universe when my report about the ballet focuses on the glass of spumante I scored and NOT on the actual performance. But the dancing was great, the sets were stunning, the plot involved dogs on bikes and men in dresses (ALWAYS funny . . . just ask my children what I tell them: "A man in a dress is ALWAYS funny"), our seats were good, and it didn't run too long.


Except for The Spouse who had to GO BACK TO WORK after.

I got to go home and watch Mamma Mia! on the teevee and sing along and cry. It always makes me cry. It must be some sort of weird girl-y thing. Because I love Momma Mia! But when Meryl Streep shouts, "You wanna hear another one?" and the fellows all join them in those ridiculous outfits and then the girl sings I Have a Dream over the credits . . . well, it's just a three-hankie weeper for Ol' Beets here.

The Spouse finally came home, and we watched a little of Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay, which was stupid, but funnier than I expected. I only wanted to watch until they drop through the roof of Prairie Chapel Ranch and find President Bush hiding from Dick Cheney.

Yeah, it's juvenile, but it makes me laugh. It is a VERY funny scene, and you should look for it on YouTube.

But by 2:00 in the a.m. I hadn't seen that scene yet, and I know I can see it on YouTube any time I want. Which is how I ended up with barely six hours of sleep in spite of the fact today is a Saturday. Thankfully, here in the Russian Federation, we change the clocks tonight. So I can "fall backwards" for an extra hour of much needed beauty sleep.

The reason for the sleep deficit is that today Skittles went off the Sports Camp which required that we present her at the pick-up spot at 10:00 a.m.

Then the Baboo and I went on a tour of the Metro. (The Spouse went to the office . . . poor Spouse.) My camera sucks, but the Metro is a Great Photo Op. I'll post more pictures on the blog Facebook page. But following is a little taste of the the Fabulous-ness that IS the Moscow Metro.


Tomorrow, Baboo and I will take a tour of the Cold War Museum/Secret Shelter at Taganka, so stay tuned for more blogging and photos coming soon.


Tina in CT said...

I don't remember seeing that beautiful artwork in a metro stop so I must not have been in the station.

You were up late. I was too and didn't get to sleep until around 1:30 and my alarm went off at 6:00
I kept hitting the snooze button until 7:00 as I was too tired to turn on the light move over and
the alarm to 7:00. The dog was right next to me and so cozy.

Isn't the Bolshoi hall/building just magnificient?

hka said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Anonymous said...

I thought that the men in tights are the ones that are always funny.
When do the men in dresses are coming from?
As funny as it is, every time we are at the Met, we have the same things going on with a bubbly question. I just wander why it is so hard to make it simple. Must be the influence of all that high art that mushes up your mind and render you uncapable of ordring a glass of wine.