Some of you may remember the phenomenon of the koshka, but as most of you most likely do not, let me explain. Do you remember back in 1998 and 1999, when beanie babies first became popular? Now, I am certainly never one to worry about following fads, and as fads go, I pretty much think that collecting beanie babies is one of the most ridiculous. However, on my birthday in 1998 (my Sophomore year of college), my roommate gave me a beanie baby cat. Do you remember what the beanie baby cats looked like when they first came out? (I say this because later they changed their design.) Anyhow, in spite of myself, I thought the beanie baby cat was adorable. I cut off the stupid Ty label from its ear, removed the beanie baby tag from its ass, and designated it the koshka, after the Russian word for kitty.
On my birthday, when I received the koshka, I was feeling depressed (about a lot of things that I need not get into here), but for some odd reason, looking at the koshka cheered me up. I took it with me when I studied for tests, so that when I felt down or otherwise distracted, it could cheer me up. I began to bring it with me when I took tests, and I aced every test the koshka was present for. I took the thing everywhere, and I became rather convinced that the thing had magical test-taking powers. Okay, so you think I am a freak, right? Well, I was not alone in the koshka fad; I managed to spread this nonsense to my group of friends. My Sewanee friends A, E, and S all got koshki, and I think B may have had one as well. I have numerous pictures from the length of my Sophomore year wherein I or my friends are posed with koshki (most often atop our heads or resting upon our shoulders). I even have pictures of members of the band Jimmy Eat World (before they became famous) in my house with koshki upon their heads. No, we were not shy about this weird practice.
Members of Jimmy Eat World. The fellow with the koshka on his head was the bass player.
In the summer following my Sophomore year of college, A and I, along with my Russian professor and six other Sewanee students traveled to Russia for a six week language and culture program. A and I brought our koshki. (Somewhere I have a photo of the two of us posing in front of a Russian sign that said KOSHKI, with our koshki on our shoulders.) We spent two weeks in Moscow, and then took the overnight train to St. Petersburg, where we spent our remaining four weeks.
My Russian professor was always trying to get the members of our group to speak in Russian to complete strangers. Granted, one of the main purposes of our trip was to improve our Russian, but I have never been much of one for starting up conversations with complete strangers. Hell, I often have a hard time starting up conversations with people I know really well. A (like our professor) is one of those people who can have a conversation with anyone, anywhere, about anything, and he was always willing to practice his Russian with whomever came along. While on the overnight train to St. Pete, as I snuggled down in my bunk and prepared for bed, A and our professor went to the dining car to purchase booze and snacks, and came back with a Russian chick.
The Russian chick in question was roughly our age, and she was nearly identical to Uma Thurman’s character in Pulp Fiction. In other words, she was hot. And she was perfectly happy to meet two attractive American men and go back to their train car to drink booze with them. (She was also perfectly happy to chat with me too!) Anyhow, her name was Ludmila, she was a Mormon (although apparently not a very good one!), and as I said, she was really quite attractive. She was also very much they type (physically) of girl that A gets attracted to. We talked, drank and laughed late into the night. Anyhow, at some point, A brought up his love of monkeys. (This might have been because at that point he had only studied Russian for two semesters, and was at the level where it is really easy to talk about colors and animals, but not too much else. Of course, the dude also has quite a monkey obsession.) Anyway, as soon as we mentioned monkeys, Ludmila told us that just that very day, she purchased a giant purple monkey. In fact, since A liked monkeys so much, she wanted to give him her monkey. Would he like to accompany her to her train car?
Austin followed Ludmila out the door, but immediately darted back in to grab his koshka. He was gone for a while, so our professor decided to follow, ostensibly just to make sure he was okay, although I expect he wanted to spy. The two returned shortly thereafter. A’s face was flushed, and he held a gigantic (and hideous) purple and yellow monkey. Apparently he had gone to her compartment, and she gave him the purple monkey and began kissing him, at which point he panicked, tossed his koshka at her, and ran. Thus A lost his magical koshka.
And perhaps I have found it. Tonight, as we gathered in the large room to introduce the students to the new teachers, I saw a girl sitting in the crowd of students. She looked to be roughly my age, and (to the best of my memory), was a perfect doppelganger for Ludmila. And then it turned out that not only was she in my last (and best) class of the day, but her name was also Ludmila! I do not remember where Ludmila was from, although I do not believe she was from either Moscow or St. Pete. Could this be the same Ludmila? Surely not. That would be an absolutely insane coincidence. Nonetheless, all through class I kept wondering how I could ascertain whether or not she was in fact the keeper of the koshka. I wonder if I get to teach the Have You Ever Been to St. Pete unit? I can picture it now: Have you ever taken the night train to St. Petersburg? Are you now or have you ever been a Mormon? Do you like monkeys?
On my birthday, when I received the koshka, I was feeling depressed (about a lot of things that I need not get into here), but for some odd reason, looking at the koshka cheered me up. I took it with me when I studied for tests, so that when I felt down or otherwise distracted, it could cheer me up. I began to bring it with me when I took tests, and I aced every test the koshka was present for. I took the thing everywhere, and I became rather convinced that the thing had magical test-taking powers. Okay, so you think I am a freak, right? Well, I was not alone in the koshka fad; I managed to spread this nonsense to my group of friends. My Sewanee friends A, E, and S all got koshki, and I think B may have had one as well. I have numerous pictures from the length of my Sophomore year wherein I or my friends are posed with koshki (most often atop our heads or resting upon our shoulders). I even have pictures of members of the band Jimmy Eat World (before they became famous) in my house with koshki upon their heads. No, we were not shy about this weird practice.
Members of Jimmy Eat World. The fellow with the koshka on his head was the bass player.
In the summer following my Sophomore year of college, A and I, along with my Russian professor and six other Sewanee students traveled to Russia for a six week language and culture program. A and I brought our koshki. (Somewhere I have a photo of the two of us posing in front of a Russian sign that said KOSHKI, with our koshki on our shoulders.) We spent two weeks in Moscow, and then took the overnight train to St. Petersburg, where we spent our remaining four weeks.
The Russian chick in question was roughly our age, and she was nearly identical to Uma Thurman’s character in Pulp Fiction. In other words, she was hot. And she was perfectly happy to meet two attractive American men and go back to their train car to drink booze with them. (She was also perfectly happy to chat with me too!) Anyhow, her name was Ludmila, she was a Mormon (although apparently not a very good one!), and as I said, she was really quite attractive. She was also very much they type (physically) of girl that A gets attracted to. We talked, drank and laughed late into the night. Anyhow, at some point, A brought up his love of monkeys. (This might have been because at that point he had only studied Russian for two semesters, and was at the level where it is really easy to talk about colors and animals, but not too much else. Of course, the dude also has quite a monkey obsession.) Anyway, as soon as we mentioned monkeys, Ludmila told us that just that very day, she purchased a giant purple monkey. In fact, since A liked monkeys so much, she wanted to give him her monkey. Would he like to accompany her to her train car?
Austin followed Ludmila out the door, but immediately darted back in to grab his koshka. He was gone for a while, so our professor decided to follow, ostensibly just to make sure he was okay, although I expect he wanted to spy. The two returned shortly thereafter. A’s face was flushed, and he held a gigantic (and hideous) purple and yellow monkey. Apparently he had gone to her compartment, and she gave him the purple monkey and began kissing him, at which point he panicked, tossed his koshka at her, and ran. Thus A lost his magical koshka.
And perhaps I have found it. Tonight, as we gathered in the large room to introduce the students to the new teachers, I saw a girl sitting in the crowd of students. She looked to be roughly my age, and (to the best of my memory), was a perfect doppelganger for Ludmila. And then it turned out that not only was she in my last (and best) class of the day, but her name was also Ludmila! I do not remember where Ludmila was from, although I do not believe she was from either Moscow or St. Pete. Could this be the same Ludmila? Surely not. That would be an absolutely insane coincidence. Nonetheless, all through class I kept wondering how I could ascertain whether or not she was in fact the keeper of the koshka. I wonder if I get to teach the Have You Ever Been to St. Pete unit? I can picture it now: Have you ever taken the night train to St. Petersburg? Are you now or have you ever been a Mormon? Do you like monkeys?
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