The Ukraine – party central, from what I hear from my friend Alex – is also privy to some of the worst melancholy the Slavic spirit has to offer. Witness this calendar with a matchstick per day. When you wake up – or go to bed with a comely young dzevotchka – simply rip out a match, light that first or last papierosa of the day, and stare glumly at the ceiling thinking about Pushkin. Then drink a lot of vodka.
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