I never thought I would be eating fried salty pickles.

I never thought I would be eating fried salty pickles.

Can you recommend some interesting books to bring (or order) from Russia to the USA, considering my interests (popular science, primarily local non-translations from English, as I can read the originals in English, and perhaps drawing) and various other intriguing things (see part of my collection)?


657 new words were added to the RAN orthographic dictionary — for instance, “smoothie,” “TikToker,” “powerbank,” and “SVO.” I decided to check out their complete list. Let’s head to the Akademos website and type “2025” in the search.
(Putin’s advisor wrote that “SVO” is correct, but anglicisms are unnecessary. In my opinion, anglicisms are perfectly fine, but with everything else — they truly break the Russian language. Check it out)
Noble-metallic, Bodrich-style and Radimich-style, Byzantinizing, suitable-for-vine-growing, humanizing, icy-frosty, two-strap, Dregovichanka, jacaranda, children-foreign-phoned, “Devo: Virgin Mary Devo” (that’s an entry in the dictionary), fear-of-women, back-of-the-chair, koin, literature-centricity, petty-little-thing (is it describing a woman or a coin?), over-door-woman, Nibelung-esque, nonillion (I guess needed for fining Google), deaeration, Palaiologos and Pantalone, varicolored, petrosphere, to preexist, family-preservation, strongly-fleeing and moderately-fleeing, scrambled.
Interestingly, there is an entry “firmly promised,” written with a space inside.
And there is Sloboda Ukraine there.
There’s offline-messenger! and proxy-list. And torrent-client.
In 2025 “FIFA (International Federation of Association Football)” and “Dictionary of Modern Russian Literary Language” were added to the orthographic dictionary. There’s separately, “Doomsday: Doomsday plane”
There’s taphophilia — a fascination with cemeteries.
And there is philosemitism. As I understand it, it’s the same as Judophilia — manifestations of interest, respect for the Jewish people, their historical significance, and a positive appraisal of the influence of Judaism in history. Where do they even get such words?
Added to the dictionary were west-northwest-er (apparently, a direction slightly west of northwest) and west-southwest-er.
There’s late-developing and later-developing.
If you go on a diet, know that there’s a word for de-fatting. And then there’s a chance that you’ll become an ectomorph — also a word in this dictionary.
There are also drone and pilot-borehole.
Yet among the new words of 2025 there’s “coup d’état”.

Postmodern Jukebox really lit it up today
I have two weeks of concerts. Today — Pink Martini! Next week Postmodern Jukebox, and this past weekend was a great piano concert (Beethoven, Shostakovich, Chopin, Rachmaninoff at the Washington Piano Festival). Facebook cuts out the sound from concert recordings, so I’m attaching a cool video that’s already been cleared (or missed) by Facebook from some Pink Martini performance, featuring Thomas Lauderdale with Hunter Noack, who is either his wife or husband, and I’ll try to add my own in the comments
I read about a fly on my windowsill, it’s a predatory critter, and its face is described on Wikipedia. Just like that, face. It got me thinking, is the word “face” applicable to animals other than humans (let’s skip the discussion of whether the term animal applies to humans). On the same Wikipedia, but on the face page, the face is only human. Yet, it is written that in professional terminology (veterinary, ornithology, entomology) it is quite appropriate to speak of the “facial part of the head” of an animal. For example, ornithologists at Cornell University use the term “face” specifically in descriptions of owls. Well, fine, we have a face, others have a snout. And birds? A snout in feathers? A beak is something else entirely.
In English too, by the way, things are not so simple. Even a cube has faces. In other European languages, the boundary between a human “face” and an animal one is more or less clearly drawn. Italians use faccia only for humans and muso for animals; faccia for a cat or dog would be inappropriate and even offensive. In French, visage usually means “human face,” and for animals, it’s gueule, museau, tête, etc. In Polish, there’s twarz for people and pysk/morda for beasts; moreover, the word morda in relation to a person is a crude insult (and in Russian too, only adding nationality to it). In Scandinavian languages (“ansigt” in Danish, “ansikte” in Swedish) “face” is also almost always human.
There’s also the word “physiognomy.” Interestingly, it only later came to denote a face. Essentially, this word means “the study of facial features to determine character.” It consists of φύσις (physis) – “nature, essence, character” and γνώμων (gnomon) – “indicator, determining.”
And then I remembered the word “unflattering.” Strange word, right? How can a conversation be unflattering? Turns out, its definition is as follows: “not based on flattery, the desire to please someone; impartial, fair.” So formally, Vitsyn could exclaim, “long live the most unflattering court in the world!” I’m not joking, for example, Saltykov-Shchedrin writes: “At the present time, in all corners of Russia, even the most backward people are beginning to recognize the vital need for a lawful and unflattering court.” “I must confess, I was very nervous, handing my brainchild over to the unflattering judgment of the editorial staff” (D. N. Mamin-Sibiriyak, “Features from the Life of Pepko,” 1894).
Actually, an interesting word. In Russian, its only decent synonyms are snout, mug, phiz, physiognomy, dial, and very memorable indecent ones.

I haven’t posted anything about artists in a while. Today, I want to talk about an Impressionist you’ve probably never heard of, yet he deserves to be ranked alongside Degas, Manet, Monet, and Renoir. His name is Peder Severin Krøyer, a Danish painter from the second half of the 19th century.
Interestingly, a film about his wife, Marie Triepcke, was released in 2012. She was considered the most beautiful woman in Europe, and he — at least in Denmark — the most talented painter. She was an artist too, but eventually stopped painting entirely in his shadow. According to some sources, not without the influence of her brilliant husband, who actively convinced Marie of her lack of talent.
Posts like this are grouped under the hashtag #artrauflikes, and on beinginamerica.com in the Art Rauf Likes” section you can find all 152 entries (unlike Facebook, which forgets — or ignores — nearly half of them).












Indeed

Here you have the real “fast-walking boots” or, as they were called in Europe, “seven-league boots,” France/Germany, 19th century. Remember, Mr. Ogre in “Sleeping Boy” wore them. You wouldn’t be mistaken to say that they were difficult not only to run in, but even to walk in. Why are they called “seven-league” then?
This is interesting. Actually, their original name in French is „bottes de sept lieues (seven-league boots), and in German — Siebenmeilenstiefel (seven-league boots), from which the name came into Russian.
Regular postal communication in France started in the 15th century when postal stations with horses for exchange were built. The distance between the stations initially was 7 leagues/lieues (about 30-35 km).
Transportations were performed by coaches that had from 4 to 6 horses. The coachman managed them, and on the lead horse sat the ‘fourrier,’ who set the pace of the journey. The work of the fourrier was more dangerous, as in the event of an accident he had more chances of being injured, falling under the carriage wheels or being crushed by a falling horse compared to the coachdriver.
Therefore, fourriers were entitled to special tall and sturdy boots, which, according to some data, were attached to the saddle (but this is not certain). When mounting, he would wear these boots. That is, in these seven-league boots they didn’t even walk, but sat.
These boots were sewn from several layers of treated leather, with wooden soles and iron inserts. In such boots, it was difficult to fall from the saddle, even if one fell asleep, and if one fell sideways, they could withstand the weight of a horse, protecting the rider from serious injuries.
Naturally, such large and heavy boots, which were often dried by the fire, raised questions among children, and the fourriers, smoking their pipes and smiling, would tell them about the magical seven-league boots that one could put on and leap seven leagues in a blink. Undoubtedly, one of these children must have been Charles Perrault 😉

You know, 99.9% of Americans have never tried blackcurrant. It was legally banned here in 1911 because blackcurrants carried a disease that killed pine trees. And along with it, gooseberries and Kinder Surprise were banned too. It even got to the point where in the USA, purple Skittles are grape-flavored, while in Europe, they taste of blackcurrant.
But today I am thinking about something else. I wondered why in Russian blackcurrant is called ‘smorodina,’ and in English, it’s called ‘currant.’ It turns out that ‘smorodina’ is related to the word ‘smrad,’ which meant a strong smell because, according to our ancestors, it smelled bad. ‘Smrad’ used to mean any strong smell. I don’t know how unpleasant it was for them, but this differentiated it from gooseberries, both of which grew along rivers, hence in Ukrainian and Polish, it’s also called ‘porzeczka’ and ‘porichka,’ especially the red and white varieties. To me, gooseberries even smell stronger.
The English name is also interesting. The English ‘currant’ stems from the Middle English ‘rayson of Corantes’ (‘grapes from Corinth’), where ‘Corantes’ is a distortion of the Greek city Corinth. In the Middle Ages, small dried grapes were actively imported into England from Greece (specifically the region around Corinth) and these dried berries were called ‘raisins of Corinth,’ which later shortened to ‘currant.’ Originally, ‘currant’ referred specifically to raisins, dried grapes (essentially, small raisins). And it still means that in some places.
But then a shift in meaning occurred. Later, when shrubs of the Ribes genus (currant bushes), specifically Ribes rubrum (red currant) and Ribes nigrum (black currant), began to be cultivated in Northern Europe, they were given the same name, since their berries were also small and dark like the Greek raisins. Thus, the word ‘currant’ came to be used to denote both currants and gooseberries 🙂 but later on they were differentiated. Yes, gooseberries and currants turned out to be related both biologically and etymologically.
And do you remember the fairy tale about the good heroes and warriors Dobrynya Nikitich, who fought the three-headed Chudo-Yudo on the Kalinov Bridge spanning the River Smorodina? Well, that river, Smorodina, marked the boundary between the world of the living (Yav) and the world of the dead (Nav).
