Last night (now two nights ago) I shared a few bottles of wine with friends. (The perogies saved me from a hangover.)
We were treated to the best live entertainment I'll likely see in Russia this winter. We were at a karaoke bar.
I started writing this post at 4:11 p.m. in Vancouver. Calculate the time difference and you'll know how close I was to the seeing the sun rise over the Black Sea.
At the karaoke bar with a Scottish punk rocker and a London-based tennis writer, we sat affixed by the jubilant ruckus erupting around us. Men and women were belting out songs from their youth. One was apparently about the Three Musketeers.
Another was this anthem about Vladivostok.
A woman in a purple embroidered track suit wore a t-shirt with an imprint of large, jiggling breasts. Another woman, wearing jeans and a loose top, had the real things.
The same pudgy singer gripped the mic and sang each song from the edge of the crowd. Men hugged and danced in circles. They whistled. One lifted a woman on his shoulder and twirled around the room while she clung to composure.
They made a conga line and eventually formed a happy, non-violent mosh pit, which was when I joined in.
I don't have any pictures from this glorious occasion. But I have a video from a bar (a fabricated, impromptu live site) and the proud Russians who cheered their Olympic team at the opening ceremony.
