Andrey Mirkin - this is how Sergei Minaev called his hero of the "two-volume" book - The Tolki. Videos are the second volume of "Chicks", which I want to tell you about. In the first part, the hero of the novel turned out to be played out by the girls, for whom he played the one they wanted to see as their boyfriend. In the second part, Mirkin returns to Moscow and becomes a star presenter, with a bunch of female fans, taverns, stellar adventures. In parallel, there is a story about a television get-together - envy, hatred, constant play on the camera, setups, overloads and constant breakdown of nerves, which the hero, according to the tradition of all Minaev's works, drowned Dewars in whiskey. Suddenly, the hero falls in love with the school history teacher Natasha, an irresistible intellectual and the daughter of wealthy parents. Naturally, a love triangle appears or, I would even say "the many-sided "fatal man Mirkin, jealousy, love letters, heart-to-heart conversations … All this is very skillfully described by the author with his characteristic irony and talent to keep the reader in constant tension. But, unlike Minaev's previous work, at the end we are not waiting for Mirkin's apocalypse, but a happy ending, a small warm ending in which love, no matter what, wins.
Because a book without pictures (except for the cover and the author's photo), then you involuntarily ask yourself the question - what kind of hero is he. And for some reason, from the first pages in the role of Mirkin, I see the author - Sergei Minaev. The image is especially vividly drawn in the plot, where he is in slippers and a T-shirt riding through Moscow streets on a Vespa motor scooter.
The most interesting statements of the hero
By the way, about the fans. The most utter bastards among us, celebrities, groan from the alleged impossibility to go out into the street unnoticed. Even if it is, even if your life is like a madhouse - change your profession, man! Become happy - start living the shitty life of the common man again. Or don't you fucking complain!
My wardrobe consisted almost entirely of dead jeans, stretched sweaters and wacky prints T-shirts made by unknown designers but bought either from Harvey Nichols or Camden Market or elsewhere on the island. This deliberate negligence was, of course, carefully maintained. Do not believe the suckers who claim that "millionaires and celebrities walk around dressed like homeless people, because they don't care what they look like." All this teenage trash is worn with only one purpose - to show that you care. And you wear practically the same sneakers all year round, not because you have nothing to wear, but because you have thirty-five pairs of them. In fact, it turned out that looking like a homeless person is more difficult than looking like a Russian millionaire. This requires more than money.
Love and migration
I had a job that I did with pleasure, a rhythm of life that did not make me rush at breakneck speed, make a thousand acquaintances, make an impression and achieve something there every day. I even had a few friends with whom I could sometimes spend weekends. Everything was calm and arranged. The main thing is that I was incredibly lucky with the girl. It wasn't Helen's beauty, her slender legs, her eyes the color of the Hague sky, or her hair the color of flax. Although, why grimace, I was frankly flattered that my girlfriend is a reference North European beauty. The main thing in it was not presence, but absence.
The absence of this damn spirituality of a Russian woman. Helen did not strive to be a mother-friend-companion-lover-wife, she did not fill absolutely all my space, did not breathe with me "one breath of air." She was not very forgiving. And she didn't want to save. In general, salvation is the life mission of a Russian woman. Whom to save, it doesn't matter: a beloved dog or a loved one. I find some hypocrisy in this, if you will. The rescuing Russian woman uses this sacrifice to cover her craving for over-possession of the object. The urge to make someone your complete property. Falling into such an embrace, according to the script, you must once and for all turn into “her own state of Idaho” (although most of my Russian girls were not familiar with the work of Gus Van Sant, they perfectly brought his ideas to life). Helen aspired just to be with you.
Moscow - you are not evil, no. You are kind of indifferent. Maybe we made you like this ourselves? The fact that everyone tried to snatch at least a tiny piece of your sundress in the pseudo-Russian style? And scrap your gilding onto rhinestones or shoulder straps? And now you're like a professional whore - you give to everyone, but you don't love anyone.
Happiness is when you constantly want to kiss in the elevator. And when you don't want to do it in the elevator for the first time, then happiness is over.
I could not even imagine that there are so many lovers in the city. Where did they all suddenly come from? Have you come from other cities? Flocked from the sickening grayness of the sleeping areas to the city center, to the light of these vulgar rhinestone-shaped lanterns, like moths during the mating season? Or did this landing of lovers just get to know each other on Odnoklassniki, Contacts, Facebook and now spilled out into reality? Are all these people sitting and looking at each other in the light of the lights of evening Moscow, comparing the materialized flesh with the high-quality digital photo that each of them showed during the day?
Probably, some couples, not finding in each other the slightest hint of their virtual dreams, will part the same evening. Others tomorrow morning. Some fragments of the landing force will last for weeks, months or years. Only a few will live happily for the rest of their lives. However, what's the difference? Today, all these people are passionate about each other for various reasons. "Kolya has sent you an invitation to be friends," "Masha confirmed your request for friendship." "Masha has rated your photo." "Kolya has sent you a virtual gift." Fast internet, photoshop of the latest version, lightning-fast message bombardment. Moscow-2010, in which everything is so simple … click-click: "Masha and Kolya are now friends." And everyone is happy. Only I am not. I can not. Maybe it’s because I don’t have a VIP account in my life? Or I somehow missed the number to which I had to send an SMS,to connect a paid service "happy together"?