Wow. I had always thought I lived in a dynamic, economically booming and flourishing city, albeit one with extremely corrupt police. But now that I have read Perry Anderson, I realize what a fool I was. My eyes have been opened. I actually live in a vale of misery presided over by cruel overlords.
Just so you all can get a good luck of what life is like in Putin's Russia (TM), here is how I spent my day. I warn you -- this may not be easy reading. Not many who have not seen it with their own eyes will believe the level of horror and injustice people have to endure here every day of their lives.
Since I was up late last night ruminating over the wisdom of Perry Anderson, I woke up late today. The sky outside was overcast and grim. I blame this on Putin. I was afraid to go out lest I be attacked by Hitlerite thugs, so I stayed home for a couple of hours playing Civiliation (the original version from way back when), which I downloaded as freeware off the Internet. Then, I finally mustered up my nerve and dared to leave my apartment.
First of all, I had to go to the bank. On the way there, I noticed that the market and gaming hall I was walking past were not really a market and gaming hall, but rather a vast shanty-town full of paupers living in horrible oppression that had been made up to look like a market and gambling hall, probably to fool foreign journalists.
Once in the bank I had to wait for 20 whole minutes in line to get my money, since those bastards at Sberbank do not allow foreigners to get a bank card for some reason. I am so switching to Raiffeisenbank. The bank was full of horribly oppressed bank employees giving money to horribly oppressed customers. The sense of oppression was so thick you could have cut it with a knife.
Then I realized I had to go to the office of the horribly oppressed art auction house whose catalogue I edit to get paid. So, I got into a cab driven by a horribly oppressed driver from Georgia who said lots of nice things about Saakashvili.
En route we got stuck in one of those awful Moscow traffic jams that so plague the city. Putin apologists might tell you that these jams are a combination of the city layout and the economic boom and credit reform leading to a huge number of cars being bought, but I strongly suspect Putin is doing it on purpose to be mean. I admit I have no evidence for this, but so what? There's no evidence connecting Putin to Litvinenko's death either. Who needs evidence?
After getting my money from the horribly oppressed graphic artist, I went to Shokoladnitsa to have coffee and a quiche. The place was full of the microscopic stratum of Muscovites rich enough to pay 3 dollars for a cup of coffee. The waitress was clearly bent by oppression -- she was so weak she could barely carry my quiche. So, while there I met a horribly oppressed screenwriter, who gave me a copy of the synopsis of his newest film to read, and I read my mystery novel by Ruth Rendell, which I got at a horribly oppressed English-language bookstore, probably not coincidentally located near the Lubyanka. I am sure the FSB keeps an eye on all foreign-language bookstores for fear they are dispersing subversive material.
That done, I walked up to my favorite bar by my apartment, Zolotaya Vobla. That is, it had been my favorite bar until I realized that its employees and patrons were horribly oppressed and just too dumb to realize it. (You can see pictures of this dark dungeon of woe here: http://www.vobla.ru/foto/vobla02.htm ). I tried to tell them about Perry Anderson and enlighten them, but they just wouldn't listen.
Then I went home, on the way buying a DVD of Vacancy from a no doubt horribly oppressed street vendor who looked like he was from the Caucasus somewhere. (A street vendor from the Caucasus? Imagine!)
Now I am going to watch Vacancy and try to put my horrible day of oppression out of my mind. Perhaps alcohol will help.
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