Reshuffle: A Vladimir Vladimirovich™ Trilogy (the full story)

I've translated the three most recent posts on Vladimir.Vladimirovich.ru, all of which deal with last week's promotions of Sergei Ivanov and Ramzan Kadyrov. Scroll down or use the links in this post to access these tales of Kremlin hijinks:

Part one, wherein impatience with a satirist leads to a rash decision.

Part two, wherein the new Defense Minister's background as a furniture salesman and as Tax Minister is explored.

Part three, wherein Vladimir Vladimirovich™ begins to understand what he has wrought.


Obviously, these stories are all fictional, and I've already volunteered to take them down if it turns out that their original author, Maxim Kononenko, doesn't like the translations.

click to expand

To break up the monotony of screen after screen of text, here's a comic strip from the old Akimych and Vladimir Vladimirovich series, which I blogged about long ago. The two-year-old link there no longer works, but if you go here and are patient with slow downloads, you can access a couple of archives of these old comics.

And if you really liked the translations above, I did one more item from Vladimir.Vladimirovich.ru last week.

Reshuffle: A Vladimir Vladimirovich™ Trilogy (part 3)

This is the final installment in this trilogy of translations. The original Russian of this episode, dated February 16, is available here. Parts one and two of the trilogy appeared earlier in this space, and I'm going to do one final post linking to all three of them in a minute. Without further ado, here is part three, wherein Vladimir Vladimirovich™ begins to understand what he has wrought:

Once upon a time, Vladimir Vladimirovich™ Putin was sitting in his Kremlin office and watching a direct broadcast from the offices of the Russian Government Building on his presidential television.

One of the channels showed Prime Minister Mikhail Efimovich Fradkov. Mikhail Efimovich was sitting at his desk. In front of Mikhail Efimovich was a box of Kinder-Surprise chocolate eggs. Mikhail Efimovich took an egg from the box, removed the foil wrapper, broke the egg in two and took out the plastic container with a toy inside. Then Mikhail Efimovich ate the chocolate, opened the container, and, laughing merrily, put together the toy. Having assembled the toy, Mikhail Efimovich took another egg from the box.

Another channel was showing Finance Minister Aleksei Leonidovich Kudrin. Aleksei Leonidovich was sitting on the floor in the center of his office. Before Aleksei Leonidovich was was an open chest, filled to the brim with gold coins and precious stones. Aleksei Leonidovich was moving his outstretched hands slowly over the top of the chest and whispering something inaudibly.

A third channel was showing the Minister of Civil Defense Affairs, Emergency Situations, and Natural Disasters, Sergei Kuzhugetovich Shoigu. Sergei Kuzhugetovich, with the help of a large red fire extinguisher, was putting out a big fire he had set in the middle of his office.

Vladimir Vladimirovich™ clicked the remote, and the next channel appeared on the screen. In one of the offices, First Deputy Prime Minister Sergei Borisovich Ivanov and Acting President of the Chechen Republic Ramzan Akhmadovich Kadyrov were sitting at a table. On the table were a plate of blini; a perspiring decanter of vodka and a shot glass; a platinum saucer with black caviar; a large wooden board containing an underground-baked leg of mutton; a sheepskin container full of something or other; and a large curved horn with a silver rim.

Vladimir Vladimirovich™ turned up the volume.

"Well, bro," said Ramzan Akhmadovich, filling up the horn from the sheepskin and standing up from the table, "Here's to our new appointments!"

Sergei Borisovich poured himself a shot of vodka and also stood up from the table.

"We deserve it," said Sergei Borisovich, downing the shot quickly.

Ramzan Akhmadovich drank the contents of the horn to the last drop.

"But Muslims don't drink," said Sergei Borisovich, pointing at the horn.

"This is Chechen oil," said Ramzan Akhmadovich. "Pure as a teardrop. This is what gives Chechens the strength to resist. You want to try some?"

"Not really..." muttered Sergei Borisovich, taking a bite of blini with caviar. "I'm a traditionalist."

"You know," said Ramzan Akhmadovich, slicing off a large hunk of the mutton leg with his Chechen sword, "I've actually decided to change my name. From now on, I'm going to be known as Shamil."

Sergei Borisovich choked on his blini.

"Shamil?!" he exclaimed in horror. "Are you nuts? I knew I was right - we never should have made you president. There's gonna be another war."

"Silly man," answered Ramzan Akhmadovich, smiling condescendingly. "The name Shamil doesn't belong to that jackal Basaev. I'm going to change my name in honor of Imam Shamil, who was the first to make peace between the Chechens and Russia!"

"So you'll be Shamil the Second," answered Sergei Borisovich, pouring himself some more vodka.

"There can be only one Shamil'," said Ramzan Akhmadovich, filling the horn with oil from the sheepskin. "But he can live on in different people."

"I'll change my name, too, then," said Sergei Borisovich, and quickly took a drink.

"To Vladimir Vladimirovich™?" asked Ramzan Akhmadovich.

"What does Vladimir Vladimirovich™ have to do with anything?" Sergei Borisovich waved his hand dismissively. "To Peter."

Ramzan Akhmadovich choked.

"Peter?!" asked Ramzan Akhmadovich in surprise. "Why?!"
"First of all," answered Sergei Borisovich, "Peter was a great Russian tsar. And second, President Peter Ivanov sounds really nice."

"Peter the Fourth," said Ramzan Akhmadovich. "It doesn't bum you out to be fourth?"

"Ivan the Terrible [Grozny] was a Fourth," answered Sergei Borisovich, "which means I can be President Peter the Terrible [Grozny]. Eh?"

"Grozny," said Ramzan Akhmadovich sternly, "is a city in the Chechen Republic. Are you saying you're a Chechen?"

"And actually," continued Sergei Borisovich, as though not even hearing Ramzan Akhmadovich's words, "what do tsars have to do with anything? Tsars don't count. So I'll be the first. Peter the First. You like the sound of that?"

"I knew I was right," muttered Ramzan Akhmadovich, filling the horn from the sheepskin. "They shouldn't have made you First Deputy Prime Minister. Here we go again with the imperial ambitions..."

Sergei Borisovich silently poured himself a shot.

Vladimir Vladimirovich™ watched his presidential television with his eyes wide open.

Unoriginality

Russian Kafe ("Something Interesting About Russia") has a great post with some photos of Soviet soda-water dispensers. So I decided to scour my archives for the best examples of these dinosaur-machines, and found surprising diversity.

The most presentable gazirovannaya voda machine I've ever seen. Disposable cups; bilingual signage (the Russian tag line, "не дай себе засохнуть" - "don't let yourself dry up" - is taken directly from a Sprite ad campaign in Russia); a friendly bunny rabbit - this one has it all.
Chisinau, Moldova, August 1, 2005.

A ramshackle bank of machines, still apparently in use.
Tiraspol, Transnistria, Moldova. Aug. 7, 2006, shortly before 5pm.

A bank of brightly repainted machines serves as a gathering point for some of Chisinau's down-and-out.
August 7, 2006, shortly before noon.

Bukhara, Uzbekistan, July 22, 2005. Smartly redone in pastel shades, this machine offers different prices for water with flavored syrup and without. The sign on the building in the upper right-hand corner offers an amazing array of services: umbrella repair, artistic engraving, and license-plate painting.

Reshuffle: A Vladimir Vladimirovich™ Trilogy (part 2)

Part 2, wherein the new Defense Minister's background as a furniture salesman and as Tax Minister is explored. Original Russian version is here - my translation follows:

Once upon a time Vladimir Vladimirovich™ Putin was sitting in his Kremlin office and impatiently waiting for new stories to appear on his favorite website, vladimir.vladimirovich.ru.

All of a sudden the tall doors of his presidential office swung open, and a wide-faced man wearing an expensive suit entered cautiously.

"Hey, bro," Vladimir Vladimirovich™ asked, "who are you?"

"I'm Serdiukov," answered the man, "Anatoly Eduardovich. The new Minister of Defense."

"Really?" Vladimir Vladimirovich™ marveled. "But where's Ivanov?"

"Not for me to know," answered the man, "but you appointed me yourself."

"I just don't get it..." muttered Vladimir Vladimirovich™ in confusion. "Well, come on in, I guess. Have a seat. What's your..."

"Anatoly Eduardovich," the minister prompted.

"Anatoly," nodded Vladimir Vladimirovich™, "Eduardovich. Sit down, sit down. Tell me what your plans are for the army."

The Minister of Defense sat down in the chair in front of Vladimir Vladimirovich™'s desk and placed an expensive leather portfolio on his knees.

"I have a plan," said Anatoly Eduardovich. "A two-step plan."
"Two steps?" asked Vladimir Vladimirovich™, somewhat disappointed. "Why so few?"

"It's not many steps," the Minister of Defense agreed, "but they're very good ones. Take the first one, for example."
"Go on," nodded Vladimir Vladimirovich™.

"I propose we introduce a tax on compulsory military service," said the minister.
"I don't get it..." said Vladimir Vladimirovich™. "Military service is the duty of every citizen. How can we tax someone's duty?"

"It's an honorable duty!" Anatoly Eduardovich grinned. "And honor is something that should be taxed."

"Well, all right..." muttered Vladimir Vladimirovich™. "And what's the second step?"
"I propose we begin re-equipping our military immediately," said the minister.

"Aha!" exclaimed Vladimir Vladimirovich™ and brightened up. "That's another thing entirely! I'm ready to sign off on the money right this minute. What are we going to re-equip first?"

"I was thinking we could start with the bedside tables," answered the minster.
"The what?!" Vladimir Vladimirovich™ was amazed.

"The bedside tables," repeated the minister. "And if that works out, then we can take a crack at the beds, too."

Vladimir Vladimirovich™ stared in amazement at his new minister of defense.
The minister of defense smiled back at Vladimir Vladimirovich™

The photos that might have been

In late June of 2004, we took a trip to visit a friend who was working in Irkutsk at the time. It was a whirlwind long weekend, involving a day trip to and a dip in Baikal on the hydrofoil, strolling in downtown Irkutsk, a night of karaoke at a tent bar named "Simba," and a dive or two into the Angara where it flows through the city. Lots of fun.

Sadly, this was before we had our own digital camera. We borrowed one from a friend, but all of the pictures we took with it are tourist-type pictures of us grinning delightedly at various points on the itinerary mentioned above. We took a disposable camera along, but it was tragically lost in the shuffle at Simba. The best photos lost with that camera would have been the ones taken from the hydrofoil.

We had arrived on the redeye from Moscow and got the first boat of the day, so the mist was still on the water. I did have the good fortune to snap one photo (this one) during the later part of the boat ride with my cell phone camera - no mist on the water, but in its place a mirror-like reflection of the sky. You can see the boat's wake in the lower right-hand corner.

Reshuffle: A Vladimir Vladimirovich™ Trilogy (part 1)

I have to say that I find the Vladimir Vladimirovich™ sketches uproariously funny in the original Russian. I'm talking about so funny that you can't browse them in class for fear of laughing out loud and revealing to the professor that you're surfing the internet and not engrossed in his/her explication of the finer points of whatever. They used to be available in English, and even appeared in the Moscow Times for awhile a couple or few years ago, but no more. Quite possibly, laughing at them is already passé in trend-conscious Moscow, but if that's the case then I guess I can live with being behind the times.

They're funny because although they're cartoonish, it's not hard to imagine some of the dialogue actually taking place. And because many of them are littered with subtle and not-so-subtle references to political personalities and scandals past and present, which means that some of them can't be fully translated without resorting to footnotes. Anyway, I translated one a couple of days ago, and a couple of readers confirmed for me that the humor translated OK, so I figured I'll keep going. I did attempt to reach the author, but was unable to do so. Because I know people can be sensitive about having their work translated by strangers, I'll be glad to take these down if he doesn't like them, or to let him use them elsewhere (with a translation credit, of course!).

Anyway, as some of the less lightweight Russia bloggers have been discussing, there's been a momentous shuffling of bigwigs in Moscow. The genius behind Vladimir.vladimirovich.ru has his own take on these events, which unfolds in the format of a trilogy. Here is part one (original Russian, dated Feb. 16, is available here):

Once upon a time Vladimir Vladimirovich™ Putin was sitting in his Kremlin office and furiously hitting the "refresh" button on the internet browser on his presidential computer. The browser was open to vladimir.vladimirovich.ru. The most recent story was dated February second, 2007.

"Two weeks!" cried Vladimir Vladimirovich™ angrily, continuing to press the "refresh" button. "Two weeks and not a single new story! Now he's really being rude!"

Vladimir Vladimirovich™ quickly pressed the call button for his deputy chief of his administration, Vladislav Yur'evich Surkov.

"Hey, bro," said Vladimir Vladimirovich™ quickly. "What's up with that jackass of yours, has he no decency at all?"

"What's the deal?" wondered Vladislav Yur'evich.

"Two weeks and not a single new story!" exclaimed Vladimir Vladimirovich™. "You tell me, how am I supposed to run the country?!"

"It's just that..." muttered Vladislav Yur'evich, "He says he like, doesn't have anything to write about anymore. That everything in the country is, like, OK, and we even got some snow, finally. But this really is a disgrace, of course..."

"Oh he doesn't have anything to write about, eh?!" sputtered Vladimir Vladimirovich™. "And my speech in Munich?! Who does he think I made that speech in Munich for?!"

"Oh I understand," answered Vladislav Yur'evich, guiltily. "But after all, you can't force an artist... they're like children, after all...

"I'll show him children," growled Vladimir Vladimirovich™. "Children, are they?... Give me two names!"

"What?" Vladislav Yur'evich didn't get it.

"Name two people!" repeated Vladimir Vladimirovich™.

"We-e-ll," Vladislav Yur'evich took a moment to think. "Let's say...uh...Kadyrov. And Ivanov."

"So, Kadyrov and Ivanov," muttered Vladimir Vladimirovich™, suddenly grabbing a stack of the special paper used for writing presidential decrees. "He's got nothing to write about, has he?... Oh, I'll give him something to write about."

And Vladimir Vladimirovich™ took his presidential Parker out of his suitjacket pocket.

Two-year-old snow pics

I am trying to clean out some of my old draft posts as I revive this blog. Turns out that lots of the things I saved to write about later have become less relevant after one or two years, or the links are stale, or the blogs I had found are no longer "the only blog" on this or that topic. But the photos don't grow stale, and as luck would have it the very oldest unposted draft I found contained these pictures from Feb. 14, 2005 - I promised to post them two years ago; here they are now. Click to expand.


5:17pm, Ploshchad' Tverskoi Zastavy (near the Belorussky train station)
Note the traffic jam.


5:28pm, abandoned refrigerator and pedestrian on one of the Brestskie streets
(1-aya or 2-aya, I can't recall which).


7:33pm, shoveling snow along Tverskaya.

Vladimir Vladimirovich™

I decided to take a crack at translating something funny. Humor often gets lost in translation, but I think this one will be funny to English-speakers who are versed in the lexicon of post-Soviet politics and aware of recent environmental happenings in Russia. The original Russian version is here, so those of you who do know Russian can check my work. Apologies to Mr. Parker - I'm going to email him and will take the translation down if he doesn't like it.

Friday, Feb. 2, 2007

Once upon a time, Vladimir Vladimirovich™ Putin was sitting in his Kremlin office and waxing his Presidential skis.

All of a sudden, the tall doors of the Presidential office burst open, and in rushed the deputy chief of Vladimir Vladimirovich™'s administration, Vladislav Yur'evich Surkov.

"Hey, bro," said Vladislav Yur'evich, "Whaddaya doing there?"
"Waxing my skis," answered Vladimir Vladimirovich™. "I'm gonna go skiing. There's a lot of snow, it's real nice."

"Hold off on the skiing," said Vladislav Yur'evich. "We got something strange here."
"Whazzat?" asked Vladimir Vladimirovich™ with alarm.

"They had orange snow fall in the Tomsk, Tyumen and Omsk regions," said Vladislav Yur'evich quietly.
"Orange?!" shouted Vladimir Vladimirovich™ in horror.

"I think it's begun," nodded Vladislav Yur'evich.

"What are we going to do?" fretted Vladimir Vladimirovich™. "But you promised me there was no threat! That nothing orange would happen."

"We're doing our best," said Vladislav Yur'evich calmly. "Look, we kept those tangerines out of the country. But who could have known that it would come down in the snow...we're going to melt it."

"Melt it," said Vladimir Vladimirovich™ tensely. "Melt it ASAP!"

"We'll get it melted," said Vladislav Yur'evich confidently, and quickly left the room.

[Update] - Mr Parker's email address bounces, his LJ blog is "suspended," and the guest book on the vladimir.vladimirovich.ru site was closed almost two years ago, with the comment, "Homophobes, anti-Semites, revolutionaries and other lowlifes can tell their mothers everything they've been writing here." I'm trying one more email address, which I don't think will work. The only reason I'm doing this is because I know there used to be a regular English translation of this column, so maybe the author would rather not have translations published randomly. But since the last English-language translation on the website is dated last March, maybe I'm filling a void here.

Happy valentine's day, Moscow!

Tseluem, skuchaem.

August 13, 2005 - from the balcony of our second Moscow apartment, on
Leningradsky Prospekt near the Aeroport metro station (but not near the airport).

For a hilarious spoof valentine that's circling the Russian section of LiveJournal, check out Neeka's recent post.

Picasa-Blogger breakdown

Trying to save time often backfires. I've used the Picasa "Blog This" feature on a couple of recent posts to upload photos, but noticed that the pics had disappeared from this recent post - where the photos were the whole point - after just a day or two of being up. I have reposted them using the same method, hoping it was a one-time glitch. But if it wasn't, I guess I'll have to go back to the manual Blogger upload, or perhaps think seriously about transferring to another host.

[Update]

The photos disappeared again, so I just uploaded them using Blogger instead. The integration between provinces of the Google empire is not all it's cracked up to be.