Thanks to the Marine who mistook Molly’s Taylor Swift costume for A Clockwork Orange, Molly and I decided that our second round of Halloween would include our own rendition of Burgess’ brilliantly effed up masterpiece. For those of you who haven’t read this book, it’s one of my favorites, and uses an invented slang that is a cross between Cockney and Russian. As we were going to be attending a Halloween party hosted by a Brit in Russia, it seemed appropriately inappropriate to dress up like the malevolent and murderous teens from the novel.
Despite the fact that a Russian guy recently told me I should stop taking gypsy cabs as I am “likely to get shot,” Molly and I decided to take one for the short jaunt across the river to our fete. However, I am now firmly against gypsy cabs, not because they might be dangerous, but because the drivers usually rip me off. Having taken the reverse route in a real taxi last Saturday night for only 290 roubles, I was highly incensed when our gypsy cab driver charged us 500 roubles and tried to say that was the normal price. Luckily, Molly dragged me away before I could start attempting to argue with him, as that would have been a surefire way to really get us shot. I resolve to only take licensed taxis henceforth, even if I find the prospect of calling a taxi dispatcher more daunting than getting into a stranger’s car.
The party was a lot of fun, and we danced the night away with friends and other costumed club-goers. It’s nice to be settling into life in Moscow, but I’m a little terrified by how quickly my time here is passing. If not for the fact that the Russian government really would arrest me if I tried to overstay my visa, I might never leave.
|Ready for a bit of the old ultra-violence|
|Our American and Russian droogies|