I Want My MuzTV

You might think that all Georgians listen to is traditional Georgian music, straight from the 6th-century Caucasus and into their CD players. While they do listen to their share of traditional music-- a practice I'm 100% in favor of because their traditional music sounds cool and old and has lots of chords that resolve into fifths-- there's other stuff around, too. If you think a little harder, you might smack yourself in the forehead and realize that, of course, they listen to American pop, as well. What red-blooded Georgian wouldn't want to hear "Stars Are Blind" by Paris Hilton five times a day? I could probably count the number of students in my classes who don't have at least one Pussycat Dolls song on their cell phones with one hand.

Now think a little harder. Georgian pop, you say? Yes, it exists. Georgian rap, even, and Georgian R&B, all of which gets played on the radio station Ar Daidardo; the name translates to "Don't Worry," and since the station only plays Georgian tunes, I can only infer that the true meaning of the station name is "Don't worry about foreigners."

Let's dig a little deeper, though. If you were a post-Soviet republic, where would you look for pop culture? The Soviet Union! But since that dissolved over fifteen years ago... Russia!


Enter MuzTV, the cornerstone of my Peace Corps television-viewing experience. In those rare moments between the five hours of Latin American soap operas in the evening and the five hours of Latin American soap opera reruns the next morning, sometimes I can sneak downstairs and put on my dear sweet MuzTV, bastion of all that is recent. Perhaps we get our American pop songs a few months after you do. Perhaps most of the songs are Russian, anyway. It's music videos! It's new! It's (occasionally) English!

During my visit to the US, many conversations went like this:

My sister: Man, Minnesota stations don't play any good jamz.
Me: Speaking of jamz, did you see that new Timbaland video?
My sister: WILL YOU STOP ASKING ME IF I'VE SEEN MUSIC VIDEOS?!?!
Mom: Be nice to your sister.
My sister: But Mom, she always--
Mom: She's just a little out of touch. She'll come out of it.
Me: Like in that Fallout Boy video.


But the secret love that I couldn't share with my family and friends, no matter how many burned CDs I distributed, was my love for Russian pop. I walk around the house singing the first line of "Bostochnaya Skazka" because I don't know enough Russian to understand the rest. I find Valeri Meladze's machismo to be tolerable because he's representin' for the Georgians on the Russian pop scene. I wish I knew what the song "LML" was about, though Via Gra's better song is definitely "Tzvietok i Nozh."

The women are identical, blonde and gorgeous, and the men are portrayed as sex symbols of a kind we usually don't see in the US. Case in point...



DIMA BILAN! Most of his latest hits have been in English, which makes me think that maybe he's shooting for a crossover. For the record, he is a very pretty man, and some of his songs are catchy, especially "See What I See." He's a pop star in Russia of the same mega-level as Justin Timberlake in the US, and if he continues to pronounce "won't you" as "won'tcha" in his songs, then maybe he does stand a chance in the American market... except for one thing. The mullet.


Dima Bilan, if you read my blog: lose the mullet. PLEASE. The mere presence of this mullet makes me wonder if maybe his English songs are only in English because it sounds cool; I refuse to believe that any kind of PR handler would put so much effort into making his English sound believeable, and then send him onstage with a mullet. Of course I'm projecting American culture to an excessive degree by writing here that mullets are unacceptable in any form-- especially since the mullet is popular among Georgian teenage girls (ladies-- the above mullet message applies to you, too)-- and if he's planning on sticking around Moscow, his mullet waving in the breeze next to Red Square, then that's fine. I'm just saying, if the man is looking for a crossover, business in the front/party in the back is not the way to do it.

In abrupt sum, MuzTV is a godsend. Except for those countdown shows it airs in the evening, where I can't identify the overarching theme of the countdown because it's in Russian with no cognates, so I have to wonder how Bruce Willis, Paris Hilton, Jennifer Aniston, and Antonio Banderas all fall under the category of "Something Something Love Something." But other than that, ochin liubliu MuzTV.

Movin' on Up

Living in a country like Georgia gives new, visual meaning to the term "developing nation." In many cases, it may seem like it's just a moniker that academics use to label broken-down dictatorships that may or may not be developing but whose non-fundamentalist leaders they want to avoid offending for some reason. Georgia, however, is developing.

Every time I visit Tbilisi, I get lost. While this is partially due to the fact that I have no sense of direction and have been known to get lost in Chik-Fil-A parking lots, there's another insidious factor at work: people keep building stores everywhere in an intentional bid to obscure the landmarks I need to find my way to the office. Today, I turn left at the crumbly concrete wall with the "Giorgi was hear" graffiti. Next week, I turn left at the glass-faced DVD emporium. Today, I find the good khachapuri stand by disembarking from the marshutka (mini-bus) when the road fills with potholes. Next week, I disembark at the newly-painted crosswalk to find my way to the creperie with free Wi-Fi (try the 3-lari ham sandwich next time you're there).

It's not just Tbilisi, either (even though it's mostly Tbilisi). I am here to announce to the world that proud little Samtredia hosts not one, but TWO doner stands, my precious and beautiful source of non-fried fast food, which didn't exist before six months ago. We also offer scoop ice cream (chocolate and vanilla), DSL internet, and American cheese.

This kind of mega-development is helped along by two things, mostly: Georgia is actively pushing toward the West with dobermanesque determination, and the foreign aid flows like agriculturally-subsidized honey. It's all enough to make one wonder how apt the comparison is between American/Western culture and the Borg, if one happens to be a giant nerd.



(For the uninitiated, the Borg is a race in Star Trek that forcibly assimilates other races into its own, erasing their former identities and taking their best qualities as its own. Key quotes include, "I am the Borg," and "Resistance is futile." Consider yourself informed.)


So, the Borg. It's not difficult for many countries to see American culture as a hostile, conquering force, sweeping away centuries-old traditions like cobwebs that are blocking a television. First comes English-language sitcom reruns and McDonaldseseses, then before you know it your fellow countrymen are rapping away in the language of your ancestors, sporting FuBu shirts that are neither for them nor by them.


Unfortunately, I can't deny these charges, other than to say that we're not doing it on purpose. In fact, many of us would prefer that travesties like American Idol remain dirty little domestic secrets. I would, however, like to thank all the cultures we've usurped over the past almost-three centuries. It's pleasant and conscience-easing to think of this in terms of the law that matter is neither created nor destroyed-- while teenage girls in one small country exchange their country's traditional wear for skanky, drug-promoting Western fashion, a musician in America fuses Byzantine drum beats into his latest single. When a city-block full of little old ladies selling spices is displaced to make space for construction of a European mega-market, an organic food store in the US discovers the chic health value of Serbian yogurt.

Where does it end? Don't read that as a statement of despair. As I've said earlier in this blog, my identity as an American somewhat hampers my ability to understand the choice of ethnic history over development. I'm just wondering where it ends. H.G. Wells (and Gary H. Kah, but with a more conspiratorial lean) suggested that the end comes in the form of a one-world government. Samuel Huntington predicts a clash of civilizations. Naysayer historians-- and my Dad-- predict the inward collapse of the American "empire," as Americans follow the path of ancient democratic constituencies and learn that they can treat their government as a teat. My friend from college, unhindered by political correctness, maintains that American culture will "win" because it's more competitive and inherently "better." Would you condemn him less if you knew he was a naturalized citizen?


In the interests of not expressing a political opinion, I'll dodge my interpretation of that question for now. Just a couple last observations that piqued this post in the first place: 1) My host family and I watched a Georgian-language sitcom on Sunday evening, complete with a live studio audience and a minimum of five laughs per minute. 2) There's a new Coca-Cola commercial airing with a Georgian jingle playing in the background, in which the underline of the Coca-Cola outline is outfitted with plates and people to resemble a supra.

Did I mention the number of Diet Coke vendors in Samtredia has tripled since I've been here? That brings us to three...

Thanks for your money!!

Thanks to all the wonderful, generous, well-dressed people out there who donated money to SELF Camp (Self-Esteem and Leadership through Fitness), even those of you who filled in your own acronym to change the lovely, inspiring title of our camp for preteen girls into something creepy. It's the money that counts, not your misanthropy, Mr Main. Another special thanks to those of you who tried to donate, but who found that the link didn't work because-- guess what?-- we got fully funded! Woohoo!


So SELF camp was largely put together by Catherine, Lyssa, Amy and Ariana after the last group of volunteers left. My being in the US didn't lead to much of a contribution from my supposed role of "curriculum coordinator," but I had the privilege/mandatory-volunteered-choice of being a counselor at two of the camps.


See the pictures of the girls you helped? See them?!?!


Three camps took place, one in Kobuleti (west), one in Surami (central), and one in Telavi (east). I was at the latter two. The girls got to learn how to play various playstuffs, like basketball, volleyball and soccer, and they were taught exercises like running and weight-lifting. At both of the camps I attended, we learned ultimate frisbee from tall blonde male volunteers-- who didn't stay overnight; don't worry, Georgian parents!-- which was much fun for me too, as my incompetent self had just mastered the art of basic frisbee-throwing 6 weeks earlier. Furthermore, expert guest speakers came and talked with the girls about issues of women's health and women in sports, answering the campers' anonymous questions about what you might expect girls aged 11-14 to be asking about.


The most absolutely delightful part of the camps for me was that I got to partly achieve my service-long goal of teaching taekwondo to young girls in danger of bridenapping. Now, whether we're going to count the 4 hours of total instruction I gave as sufficient background for effective self-defense-- it's not, which is why I didn't suggest it to them-- is a different story, but at least they've got the idea in their heads. And they liked it! Either it will inspire me to do further taekwondo instruction in Samtredia, or I'll slack off and put a rubber stamp on the SELF camp sessions as the realization of all my dreams.

In addition, we all got to eat piles and piles of Telavi watermelon, which was delicious. A few days earlier, Catherine and I were gifted from heaven by the sight of our well-funded supplies flying out of the back of the marshutka as a door blew open while we rode down the street. Heidi and I also had the unique experience of tag-teaming an ancient hotel toilet with simultaneous buckets of water to get it to flush. It's those special Peace Corps moments that you carry with you in your heart for the rest of your life.

In short, a giant gracias (or madloba, if you please) to everyone who donated; for anyone who attempted to donate but couldn't, don't worry about it-- there's plenty of months left for PCPP donation panhandling.

26 Days Later...

So, America-- pretty sweet. Everything on my self-centered Agenda o' Fun was accomplished, and certain acquaintances even deigned to add to the list. Huzzah! I would not, however, assume that a wrap-up of my little tour would be fascinating for anyone, so I'll just let these few pictures speak for themselves.

















And after that, back to Georgia. I'd like to apologize to anyone in my vicinity on September 6th, the day after my return, as I was about as sociable and perky as that one woman who keeps staring at Americans as they walk by even though they've lived there for a year already. At that point, the idea was sinking in that, unlike in the past month, I wouldn't be able to see my friends whenever I wanted, or to walk through town anonymously. No more constant English speaking, no more variety of delicious food from various locales...

Then, praise the Lord, SELF camp started. You'll recall my plead for money earlier with regards to this camp; there'll be an entry about it soon. This sounds out-of-character for me*, but teaching sports to the girls and living with them at camp made me feel a lot better. So now, I would say my happiness level is approximately where it was during April or May. I wouldn't say we've risen to July 2006 happiness levels, but neither have we fallen to somewhere February-esque.


School actually started today, and things are still optimistic. In other news, my neighbor gave me four avocados. If my neighbor gave me four avocados in the US, I would thank her politely and put them in the fridge. When my neighbor in Georgia gave me four avocados, I shrieked my thank yous, and then called my guacamole-crazed friends to inform them of this development. One friend swore me to secrecy and set up a meeting point so we could make guacamole in Tbilisi without having to share with 30 other volunteers. Then, I arranged the four avocados (and one mango) into a smiley face so I could take a picture and remember. Then I put them in the fridge, though I noticed this morning that the refrigerator is again unplugged, as per usual.

Here we go again! ~~slaps knee~~



*Here's something I said in the US, which falls on the other end of the out-of-character spectrum: "Man, I gotta lose weight when I come back to the US; there's so many clothes to wear!"

I'm Still Here

It seems like a lame way to celebrate my 50th post, but just for the record, I didn't quit Peace Corps and then hide my shame by deleting Blogger from my internet favorites... I'm just doing some girls' sports camp stuff now that I intend to regale you with later, which pulls me away from internet access for the time being. Didi bodishi (sorry).

Happy 50th Post!!!