The past two days have been highlighted by one of my favorite movies on TV. Miracle is a heartwarming tale of the 1980 US Olympic Hockey Team, a ragtag bunch of young hockey players who beat the odds to win the Gold Medal and prove that the formidable Soviet Team is not indestructable. It always makes me want to bake an apple pie, go buy things to support Capitalism, and track down the incredibly attractive young men they cast to play the hockey players, all while singing the National Anthem.
In the mean time, I have come across a couple of posts by other bloggers detailing their readership and the number of hits they get on posts. After grabbing chocolate, wine, a teddy bear, Celine Dion music, a copy of the movie He’s Just Not That Into You, some leftover pizza, my slippers, a box of tissues, and my snuggie, I decided to look into my own blog’s statistics. Good news! The tissues, movie, and music were not necessary! (I still ate the chocolate and pizza, drank the wine, and cuddled with my teddy under the snuggie because, well, I just really love those things.)
Besides my fairly consistent number of views per page (Thanks guys!), I only learned one surprising thing. While 99% of my readers view my page from the US, I’ve had 15 views from…Russia.
Suddenly, my life became very complicated. My patriotism that had been inspired by sweaty hockey players (with all their teeth) was in direct conflict with my loyalty to my readership. My entire identity flashed before my eyes. There was hyperventilating, a few tears (I grabbed the tissue box again), and a moment of guilt over my copy of The Nutcracker— performed by American dancers but written by a Russian musician.
That’s when the tiny, quiet, almost never present voice of reason spoke to me: “Jillian, the Cold War is over. The Russians and Americans are friends now.”
Oh my God! Yes! I am, once again, a whole person, not torn two ways from Sunday due to cultural and ideological influences out of my control!
Then the tiny, quiet, almost never present voice of reason left the room. I began imagining who these Russian readers are, what their daily lives would be like, how I could connect with them. Obviously they speak Russian, but the only Russian I know is from the movie Anastasia. I know that Anastasia probably actually died when the rest of her family did, but I think the movie is pretty great. I know that Crime and Punishment is really long and that is the primary reason I haven’t read it. Also because it just sounds depressing. I know that there are trees in Russia. (Side note: a girl in my history class in high school once actually asked that question. She believed that the entirety of the largest country in the world was barren of plant life. She’s going far.) I also know that I would love to travel there, but I should buy warmer clothes because flip flops just aren’t going to cut it.
Also, the Russians still have a Space Program. Sure, we technically have a Space Program, but with the Space Shuttles officially grounded with no future launches in sight, Americans will be jettisoned into the great unknown (hopefully in the general direction of the tiny little Space Station that we have placed in the endless abyss of the Universe and not on a path of certain doom) in Russian space ships from Russian launch pads.
So it’s obvious, isn’t it? My readers are, of course, Russian rocket scientists. There is no other option; they are the most intutive audience for my humorous American blog. This is excellent news because I just happen to want to be an astronaut.
I know what you’re thinking. But Jillian, the lack of gravity in space will cause your hair to frizz! I don’t care, people. I will be a space explorer. I will view the Earth from thousands of miles away. I will appreciate the beauty of creation through the tiny port window in a space ship. My observations will change the nature of science as we know it, despite the fact that I can no longer do simple arthmetic in my head. I will be the first writer to blog while eating potato chips in mid “air.” Rats will squeak my name in celebration from their anti-gravity test chambers. I will be more famous than…everyone.
So Dear Russian Rocket Scientists Who Naturally Work For The Russian Space Program,
My name is Jillian. With this shout out to you in my highly successful blog and no experimental physics experience to speak of, I believe that I should earn a spot in your prestigious program. I am fully committed to American-Russian relations, especially the friendships that are created outside of the Earth’s atmosphere. I do not apologize for our previous superiority in the great sport of hockey, but I do also admit that since my true loyalties lie with baseball, I will no longer begrudge you a hockey win. You have lovely tea cakes. And ballet. Please accept this application to allow me to someday travel to space in one of your impeccably constructed space crafts. Thank you for your consideration.
Jillian, the Author of this Post