Rashn for Dummies

What are the kids saying these days? Free weekly Bolshoi Gorod published a double plus good lexicon of newspeak in Moscow’s dangerously jaded fashion community. Can’t say I’ve heard many of these neologisms in the wild, but then again this is a rarefied crowd we’re talking about. Below are MDBIT’s official summary translations.

Блядопровод — Blyadoprovod
Literally “ho pipeline,” in the oil & gas sense. Used to refer to fashionable Moscow establishments frequented by professional women looking to pick-up johns.

Вертушка — Vertushka
A Vertu cellphone. Also the name of an old Soviet phone network system connecting government lines.

Деревня — Derevnya
Literally “the village,” referring to Baravikha Luxury Village, a focal point for the fashion crowd.

Данила — Danila
Synonymous with freak, a “strange passenger.” The term derives from red-haired Danila Polyakov, who successfully models both man and female lines. Possible to use in the neuter gender — i.e. “polnoe Danilo” (completely Danila) — which is extraordinarily convenient in our new gender-ambiguous world.

Дяга — Dyaga
Russian national nightclub Dyagilev decorated with the Order of the Red Banner. Frequent visits lead to rehab.

Минигарх — Minigarch
Also know as “Oligarch Lite,” “mini-oligarch” or “ruble millionaire.” The term refers to men worth somewhere in the vicinity of $50 million. Not really hip Russian newspeak, since it can already be found in Webster’s dictionary.

Рубль — Ruble
Rublevo-Uspenskoe highway and the surrounding area, which is a natural reserve for Forbesmen (those listed on Forbes Magazine's 100 Richest list).

Тюнинг — Tuning
The main past time of women in the “antique erotic” category. “Zhetskii” (hard) tuning indicates over-saturation with Botox.

У Дини — U Dini
Nickname of Denis Simachev’s bar-café-store on Stoleshnikov Pereulok. Also doubles as a password for feis kontrol — “Is Dinya there?” categorically disarms guards.

Russian — Russian
Describing grandeur and flamboyance, rarely of a constructive type.

Again, THEY SAID IT, NOT ME!

Photo: denissimachev.com

Neverland Ranch

When it's not occupied hosting concerts for aging divas whose stars fell in the rest of the world a long time ago (Gloria Gaynor, David Guetta), elitny megaclub Dyagilev can't resist a good theme party. Here's the Top 5 of the Fall 2007 club season. (Note: these aren't my made-up titles. Like a depraved creative writing summer camp, no theme is too abstract for a game of Let's Pretend at Dyagilev.)

1. "Betty Ford Clinic" (Nov. 9), in which all the skank nurses from Halloween night rise again.

2. "Candidate for President" (Nov. 4), in which Putin's Plan has something to do with bras and shitty techno.

3. "Seven Princesses and You Under a Blanket" (Oct. 26), in which I can only count six princesses. One must be suffocating under the blanket.

4. "Oxygen Boom" (Oct. 18), in which gusts of O2 send maidens into raptures.

5. "Rock & Roll Forever" (Oct. 12), in which the euro humps all other currency. No need to rub it in!

Photos: Geometria.ru

Ochen Horrowshow

Given the city's predilection for Bacchanalian excess, it makes sense that Moscow would take to Halloweeen, a non-organic holiday, like a street dog to an abandoned toddler. Russian girls have embraced a fundamental truth known by American sorority girls for quite some time: Halloween is a great excuse to dress like a ho. With enough care, even the most banal costume can be skankified.

Skank Nurses

Bride of Skankenstein

Skangel

You don't understand the infinite sadness that comes from spending hours meticulously wrapping yourself in Ace bandages treated overnight in black tea for that special 2,000-year-old mummy look, only to be turned away from XIII in favor of this girl.

In general, guys come up with better costume ideas, as they're not afraid to experiment with different world cultures.

I refuse to believe he went there. Perhaps its a bad tan. Perhaps he was out of conditioner.

Perhaps the star got stuck to his uniform in the dryer.

But Halloweening as Holodomor victim? That's tasteless.

Finally, Russians spend years trying to undo a black PR campaign that bears roam freely on the streets of Moscow, then this guy fucks it all up.


Club XIII, 13 Myasnitskaya Ul., Metro: Chistiye Prudy, Tel. 925-3550

Photos: Geometria.ru, moscowfaces.ru

A Very Special Episode

With magical blogging, you can wish things into being. Such as Fresh Art’s Russian Fashion Week party last weekend, which assembled 4 out of 5 of our plastic surgery train-wrecks in the same room, plus a handful of other recurring MDBIT characters. If Danila Polyakov had shown up, I would have shut down down this dangerous, dangerous voodoo doll of a blog.

This is Fresh Art. They used to go to my gym. Now they look sort of human, but there was a time when they ran around in ass-length gold dreadlocks and blue contacts. They are a Russian design trio. What do they design? Oh, everything.

Homo-erotic underpants.

Butt-ugly shoes.

Babies.

They also excel at soft lens photography of backwards multiculturalism; shooting music videos with wax figurine Liza Sharikova; and hella socializing. When Fresh Art threw a party — a Fresh P-Arty, hehehe — at Elysium, the concert hall wing of Rai, on October 20, everyone came.

Rai promoter Andreas pays homage to Fresh Art's early-'90s, irony-less cool by shaving patterns into his flattop.

Holy crap, those Dyagilev chicks weren't even famous before, just an Internet meme. Now they're hanging on the corpse of Sergei Zverev.

Fresh Art can't leave home without Sharikova's mummy.

Even Sasha Feis Kontrol heeded the call.

Some new stars of the plastic surgery world were born.

Looks a little bit like the last days of Hitler's bunker.

I guess I'll round this off with photos of one of the Fresh Artists mauling a dancer. Don't call him gay!


Rai, 9 Bolotnaya Nab., Metro: Polyanka, Borovitskaya, Tel. 767-1474

Photos: freshart.ru, geomteria.ru

The Old Man & the Cheese

Haven’t you heard? Looks like we’ve been eating poo (a lot of it). Good one, Moscow.

But mastication stopped being fun a looong time ago. I, for one, lost my appetite somewhere around Etazh, a nasty little cafe chain that’s managed to harness the city’s worst restaurant tendencies: face control, tacky design, shameless misrepresentation of the rich culinary traditions of Japan, Italy and Mexico. Also, it’s loud, and the waiters are mean.

Screw you, Etazh.

When eating is a constant struggle, it’s easy to lose hope. For guidance, many turn to an expat eating club. Such as:

Journo Clusterfuck Thursdays — When you were young, energetic and could still fit into size 4 jeans, you went to Propaganda Thursdays to make friends. Some of them were even Russian. Now that you can’t be bothered with new people and all you want is a chimichanga and a margarita, you go to Hemingway’s, even though chances are high you’ll be trapped at the end of the table with “Francis” from “Element.” I mean, "Matt" from "Jew News." I mean, I love you guys.

Wednesday Evening Food Critics Association of Moscow — The Skull & Bones of the Moscow expat social world, WEFCAM is governed by intricate set of dining rules, such as “Teresa must always pay 1,000 rubles.”

Turkish Women’s Association — Rumor has it they eat tartines at Le Pain Quotidien on Mondays.

Cheezeburger Klub — I’m not only the president, I’m also a member. The club generally convenes at McDonalds Pushkinskaya, Starlite Diner Mayakovskaya or my kitchen Aeroport. Contact me if you want in.

Then again you may not want to eat with expats. They’re mostly cheap, fussy bastards, like this joker who did amateur undercover reporting into Hemingway's lack of chili cheese.



If you really want to lose your lunch, check out his riveting "Four Russian Hookers" documentary. It's like Spike Lee's "Four Little Girls," except starring an aging expat loser and his hookers.

Hemingway's, 13 Komsomolsky Prospekt, Metro: Frunzenskaya, www.hemingways.su

Field of Dreams

You remember Kolomeskoe from Afisha Picnic (You remember it all very clearly because you were wet and sober). On the expansive grounds of this historical park, Russia's No. 2 investment bank Troika Dialog managed to do what a bunch of lazy hipsters could not: throw a fucking party.


To be fair, Troika Dialog had more funds to play with. A long time ago, CEO Ruben Vardanyan promised that if the company's worth exceeded $1 billion, he would give away $10 million in bonuses to everyone from top executives to the cleaning ladies. Everyone was real thrilled about that. What they didn't know was that Crazypants McGee also planned to parachute into his own killer party if they hit the mark.

Well, they did, and he did.


On the last Saturday of September, Kolomenskoe was transformed into Troika Dialog's "Gorod Mechty" (City of Dreams). Life at an investment bank sucks — you work like a dog, do a lot of stimulants and then blow your entire 75K bonus on a stupid green watch. Some people think you've become a sociopath. But it all becomes worth it when you get to go to a company party and send your friends text messages that say, "Holy fucking shit Prince is on fucking stage."

Prince, the world's most erotic diminutive pop star, at a Moscow corporate party. You'll have to visualize that yourself though, because the only photos from the event to be found in the Internet ether are promo shots of "human decorations," and the above party snaps from what looks to be an arty secretary. Russian business lacks transparency?

SCRATCH THAT. A MDBIT reader who wishes to remain anonymous just sent in this hazy cellphone pic of what appears to be Prince in some sort of concert venue. Rock-solid evidence, My work here is done.


Photos:elite.ru, youha.livejournal.com, that one guy

Wazzup Rockers

Shit, I thought I had my finger in every hole of teen culture. But I missed last weekend’s Trendy Candy 2 party at Proyekt Fabrika, which is some unholy union of White Trash for Cash, 9 Lines internet magazine and a bunch of arty LiveJournalists, to say nothing of Trendy Candy 1. For shame, MDBIT.

Hey, you misspelled, ah — nevermind.

An old-fashioned high school party in an industrial warehouse, where people are staggering around drunk, snapping each others underwear and shotgunning Sovetskoe Shampanskoye, makes for great Larry Clarky photography. In fact, the entire party was staged in order for people to take high-contrast photographs for their blogs.

Like this:


What I like about this party is that it’s overrun with gay guys and riotously drunk, well-dressed chicks, both of whom would be unwelcome in any other nightlife establishment in the city. Maybe that’s why they’re partying in a paper mill. If I were a boy, I would be all over this scene. By 3 a.m., it must be like shooting fish in a bucket.

I mean, shit.
Cheers to the chick in blue vinyl, because there are definitely not enough of her in Moscow. I was going to lie and say she was me, but I already said I wasn't there. Rats. Brother of mine, you have my blessing to marry fair Abnormal Circus. Let's look at her some more:


Photos: 9linesmag.com, abnormal-circus.livejournal.com

Proyekt Fabrika, 18 Perevedenovsky Per., Metro: Baumanskaya, Tel. Uh...