The Virgin Prince's War Journal
The grim and gritty side of things. If everyone had a soundtrack to their lives, mine would be the best.
Thursday, June 10, 2004
Beginning The Systematic Destruction Of My Liver
Cletuses and Claudiuses,
Shortly after entering the dom, dearest Rush Girl and I ran to the stairwell and sat down on the steps. Festival had received a good turnout of Doukhobors and the place was packed, the prospect of finding a proper seat looked unlikely. We sat there watching all the acts do the rousing, boisterous songs of their heritage, there was a men’s choir which I particularly enjoyed- they sang a song that sounded like it would have belonged in the O Brother Where Art Thou soundtrack, had it not been in Russian. At some point, a close friend of my dearest Shmoopy came down the stairs, wearing a Russian peasant’s shirt, bumping into us. His name was Vanya, and Shmoops considers him her “soulmate”, though not in any kind of way where she’s attracted to him, or has any kind of desire to become involved with him romantically. I’m not saying I understand it, I always thought we were about as close and like-minded as you can get, but I always respect my lady.
I think there was brief exchange of “Hi!” and “Hi!” between the two of them before he turned to me and said, “You seem cool!” He promptly ran off before I could get a word in, I assume to go get drunk outside with his buddy Mitch.
We returned to our seats on the stairs, enjoying the rest of the performance, and suffering through four of the younger girls doing a very poor, very off-key version of a Shania Twain song. Shania Twain is bad enough on her own. I decided then and there that the Doukhobors performing should stick to singing in Russian.
When the performance was over, Nads and I walked up to the front of the dom, her parents were sitting right in the front row. Her father was as tall as I remembered him, her mother as blonde. Her sister and her boyfriend were there as well, looking like they fitted in as much as I did. We exchanged pleasantries, Shmoops greeted a whole bunch of family friends, and I sat back, not knowing anyone. We then all took off, all of us kids in one car, Shmoops, her sister, sister’s boyfriend, and I listening to bhangra during the ride back to the house. The best part was about to come. Drinking with her family and family friends.
I love Doukhobor get-togethers.
Into the dining room we piled upon reaching the house, chairs pulled from every possible place to accommodate the large amount of Doukhobors in the minuscule dining room. There we sat, munching on Doukhobor snacks, drinking beer, wine, and screwdrivers. Rush Girl’s sister’s boyfriend, Brian, and I, occasionally sneaking outside for a smoke. My American cigarettes quickly began to vanish, as Shmoopy’s sister, Anna Banana, came to join us. Before long, we young ones started sharing gossip and family stories.
We returned inside, a nicotine glow filling us, to get back to the business of drinking with family. The Irishman within me takes his drinking very seriously.
Oh sure, you’re probably saying, “but I thought you were from Pluto! How can you be part Irish?”
Well I’ll tell you, we from the Royal Family of Pluto have interbred with humans quite a bit over the years. Why, in fact, it makes quite a bit of sense for the Prince of Pluto to be part Irish, for as Doctor Zachary Smith once said, “I am part Irish, and after all, all Irish have royal blood.”
That said, don’t be asking me about my ancestors from the Mayflower.
Anyway, back at the table, all of us were conversing, and knocking back drinks. The great thing about hanging with Doukhobors is, they never know when to quit. They never want to stop drinking, they just continue to open more bottles as the old ones empty out. So we’re approaching an out-of-this-world-mellow-stage and I start to notice that even with my computer-brain and seemingly endless supply of knowledge, there doesn’t seem to be anything I can say to Vanya’s father that he doesn’t already know, be it the United States Military’s involvement with the Mafia during World War Two, or just the state of politics back home. Ultimately, I found it simpler to listen to Rush Girl’s uncle telling stories of his dealings with the border patrol, and the random stories all around of illegal border crossings.
Having noted during a prior visit that my dear Nads’ father has a deep appreciation for chocolate, I had brought up a box of See’s nuts and chews, that being the best chocolate I know California to offer. Admittedly, I’m not an expert when it comes to chocolate, I’ve never cared too much for the stuff; when I want a junk food treat, I go for bacon. As daddy-dearest got up to head for the bathroom, I presented him with the box of chocolates. His bladder was more persistent than his sweet tooth however, and the box was soon handed to his wife, who began to eat the chocolates. Soon, the whole family joined in. Not me though, alcohol is my treat of choice. Not too long after, it was time for bed, and we all retired to our rooms.
I woke up the next morning to Shmoops’ mother knocking on the door to wake us up for molenyie, the Doukhobor prayer meeting. Honestly, I was ready to go, feeling rested enough and always curious to try new things. Rush Girl, however was not having it. Angrily, and tiredly, she protested, her argument ranging from, “I’m too tired,” to, “I’ll go later!” I lost track of time over the course of that morning, but with the many constant returns of knocking and her mother’s voice telling us to wake up over the course of that morning, I was pretty far from being able to sleep. Eventually, I could take no more, and I attempted to wake my fair lady with light, princely kisses, but she would not budge, my magic was lost on this sleeping beauty. After we’d been disturbed more times than I could count, her parents finally left for molenyie. We were left, at last, to rest.
Eventually, we arose, stepping out in our pajamas with strands of scraggly hair standing up to reach the heavens. Like Cthulu waking from a thousand-year sleep, we slowly, and without semblance to humanity, dragged our moss-covered feet along the sea floor, tangled in seaweed, out to the kitchen. There, we found the refrigerator and began the act of slowly scrounging for food to fill our angered bellies. It wasn’t long before Brian came up the stairs from the floor below and briefly joined us in the kitchen, before heading out to watch gladiator films on the television, and lay among the Maxims piled on the couch.
Sometime after we’d had a nice helping of borscht along with other breakfast treats, Shmoops’ parents returned. That was our cue to get ready for day two of Festival.
Be seeing you,
The Virgin Prince
Next time: DAY TWO
Shortly after entering the dom, dearest Rush Girl and I ran to the stairwell and sat down on the steps. Festival had received a good turnout of Doukhobors and the place was packed, the prospect of finding a proper seat looked unlikely. We sat there watching all the acts do the rousing, boisterous songs of their heritage, there was a men’s choir which I particularly enjoyed- they sang a song that sounded like it would have belonged in the O Brother Where Art Thou soundtrack, had it not been in Russian. At some point, a close friend of my dearest Shmoopy came down the stairs, wearing a Russian peasant’s shirt, bumping into us. His name was Vanya, and Shmoops considers him her “soulmate”, though not in any kind of way where she’s attracted to him, or has any kind of desire to become involved with him romantically. I’m not saying I understand it, I always thought we were about as close and like-minded as you can get, but I always respect my lady.
I think there was brief exchange of “Hi!” and “Hi!” between the two of them before he turned to me and said, “You seem cool!” He promptly ran off before I could get a word in, I assume to go get drunk outside with his buddy Mitch.
We returned to our seats on the stairs, enjoying the rest of the performance, and suffering through four of the younger girls doing a very poor, very off-key version of a Shania Twain song. Shania Twain is bad enough on her own. I decided then and there that the Doukhobors performing should stick to singing in Russian.
When the performance was over, Nads and I walked up to the front of the dom, her parents were sitting right in the front row. Her father was as tall as I remembered him, her mother as blonde. Her sister and her boyfriend were there as well, looking like they fitted in as much as I did. We exchanged pleasantries, Shmoops greeted a whole bunch of family friends, and I sat back, not knowing anyone. We then all took off, all of us kids in one car, Shmoops, her sister, sister’s boyfriend, and I listening to bhangra during the ride back to the house. The best part was about to come. Drinking with her family and family friends.
I love Doukhobor get-togethers.
Into the dining room we piled upon reaching the house, chairs pulled from every possible place to accommodate the large amount of Doukhobors in the minuscule dining room. There we sat, munching on Doukhobor snacks, drinking beer, wine, and screwdrivers. Rush Girl’s sister’s boyfriend, Brian, and I, occasionally sneaking outside for a smoke. My American cigarettes quickly began to vanish, as Shmoopy’s sister, Anna Banana, came to join us. Before long, we young ones started sharing gossip and family stories.
We returned inside, a nicotine glow filling us, to get back to the business of drinking with family. The Irishman within me takes his drinking very seriously.
Oh sure, you’re probably saying, “but I thought you were from Pluto! How can you be part Irish?”
Well I’ll tell you, we from the Royal Family of Pluto have interbred with humans quite a bit over the years. Why, in fact, it makes quite a bit of sense for the Prince of Pluto to be part Irish, for as Doctor Zachary Smith once said, “I am part Irish, and after all, all Irish have royal blood.”
That said, don’t be asking me about my ancestors from the Mayflower.
Anyway, back at the table, all of us were conversing, and knocking back drinks. The great thing about hanging with Doukhobors is, they never know when to quit. They never want to stop drinking, they just continue to open more bottles as the old ones empty out. So we’re approaching an out-of-this-world-mellow-stage and I start to notice that even with my computer-brain and seemingly endless supply of knowledge, there doesn’t seem to be anything I can say to Vanya’s father that he doesn’t already know, be it the United States Military’s involvement with the Mafia during World War Two, or just the state of politics back home. Ultimately, I found it simpler to listen to Rush Girl’s uncle telling stories of his dealings with the border patrol, and the random stories all around of illegal border crossings.
Having noted during a prior visit that my dear Nads’ father has a deep appreciation for chocolate, I had brought up a box of See’s nuts and chews, that being the best chocolate I know California to offer. Admittedly, I’m not an expert when it comes to chocolate, I’ve never cared too much for the stuff; when I want a junk food treat, I go for bacon. As daddy-dearest got up to head for the bathroom, I presented him with the box of chocolates. His bladder was more persistent than his sweet tooth however, and the box was soon handed to his wife, who began to eat the chocolates. Soon, the whole family joined in. Not me though, alcohol is my treat of choice. Not too long after, it was time for bed, and we all retired to our rooms.
I woke up the next morning to Shmoops’ mother knocking on the door to wake us up for molenyie, the Doukhobor prayer meeting. Honestly, I was ready to go, feeling rested enough and always curious to try new things. Rush Girl, however was not having it. Angrily, and tiredly, she protested, her argument ranging from, “I’m too tired,” to, “I’ll go later!” I lost track of time over the course of that morning, but with the many constant returns of knocking and her mother’s voice telling us to wake up over the course of that morning, I was pretty far from being able to sleep. Eventually, I could take no more, and I attempted to wake my fair lady with light, princely kisses, but she would not budge, my magic was lost on this sleeping beauty. After we’d been disturbed more times than I could count, her parents finally left for molenyie. We were left, at last, to rest.
Eventually, we arose, stepping out in our pajamas with strands of scraggly hair standing up to reach the heavens. Like Cthulu waking from a thousand-year sleep, we slowly, and without semblance to humanity, dragged our moss-covered feet along the sea floor, tangled in seaweed, out to the kitchen. There, we found the refrigerator and began the act of slowly scrounging for food to fill our angered bellies. It wasn’t long before Brian came up the stairs from the floor below and briefly joined us in the kitchen, before heading out to watch gladiator films on the television, and lay among the Maxims piled on the couch.
Sometime after we’d had a nice helping of borscht along with other breakfast treats, Shmoops’ parents returned. That was our cue to get ready for day two of Festival.
The Virgin Prince
Next time: DAY TWO
