#Coffee Shops in St Petersburg | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

izloveshorses · 1 year ago

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before you came into my life, i missed you so bad

one | two |

Anya is the movie star the entire world is in love with. Dmitry is some broke owner of a dying bookshop in St. Petersburg. Her face is on every billboard, he couldn't care less about the latest blockbuster. But when their paths cross, somehow their differences-- nor half the globe separating them-- don't seem to matter.

Or a dimya Notting Hill au no one asked for.

chapter 1 under the cut, otherwise read the rest on ao3!

Anastasia Romanov may have been a graceful star on film, but she wished the paparazzi knew Anya was actually rather ordinary.

In the last week of filming, she managed to slip away out of the city center of St. Petersburg and into a more quaint residential area. She wanted to explore on her own for a bit after a rather grueling schedule, maybe get a pastry and some coffee, and otherwise just live anonymously for a few precious moments. The locals left her alone. But the paparazzi, somehow, always found her. She wondered if they had bloodhounds on leashes on their payroll.

Anya didn’t think much of it when she quietly slipped into this bookstore. Hadn’t paid attention to what kind of shop she was entering, just saw a door and a way to escape the parasites with their cameras for just a few moments of reprieve.

She hadn’t expected everything to change.

Once inside she beelined behind a shelf with her back to the door and the collar of her jacket pulled up even higher. It was overkill, she knew, with her black beret and sunglasses indoors, but she just. She just needed a break. Growing up in this industry made her a little more than paranoid, and lately they’ve been relentless.

“Is there anything you’re looking for?”

She hadn’t noticed the man until he spoke. He was sitting at the cash register, thumbing through stacks of papers and typing buttons on a calculator, using a friendly customer service voice but not really looking at her, his tone implying he hadn’t seen her yet. Maybe she hadn’t run out of luck today.

“Just browsing,” she said quickly. To prove it she made a show of brushing her fingers over the spines along the random shelf, ducking her head so he couldn’t get a good look at her if he decided to lift his head.

She finally allowed herself to really study the bookshop, and decided she liked it. There was a quiet charm about it that you just didn’t see very often anymore. Hollywood had all of those shops that were manufactured to look vintage and rustic and trendy— decorated with distressed furniture, selling new releases, hiring handsome men who also worked at the coffee shops that were just the same, in buildings that were torn down and rebuilt a year ago— but this place actually was old. The smell was musty and thick, it reminded her of her grandmother’s apartment in Paris and her father’s study all at once. There was a hush that suggested she was one of few, if not the only, customers in here at this hour.

An old clock ticked on the wall. Seven more minutes in here should be enough to throw the paparazzi off her trail. To keep up the pretenses, she selected the first random book her hand could grab and opened it without looking at the title.

“Oh, that book is terrible.”

The voice made her jump, eyes snapping up to him. He was still looking down at his paperwork but there was a teasing smile on his lips. “The author definitely has never been east of Strasbourg, let alone to Saint Petersburg,” he explained, looking up at her finally and his grin widening, dimples poking through his cheeks. Anya decided she liked his smile more than the bookshop.

Her eyebrows rose. He had surprised her, but she wouldn’t give him much more than that. And then, trying to understand what he was saying, she read the title. Travel Guide: Saint Petersburg, the Heart of Russia. Oh. He was making a joke.

In her silence he stood from the desk. It was a small bookshop so it only took two strides for him to join her in the aisle, reaching for a different title. He was tall. Like, really tall. Granted, everyone towered over her, especially when she was working with actors like Zachary Levi, but still. He was broad and carried himself with confidence that rivaled the men in Hollywood. In just a button up and a t-shirt and jeans, his presence would still command a room. She noticed he had a paperback folded in his back pocket. His dark hair flopped down into his eyes and curled behind his ears. She decided she liked that, too.

“If I may,” he started, casually, like he didn’t care about her opinion even though he was clearly working very hard to influence her purchase. “There’s a much better one… ah, here it is!” He hastily slid a different book from the shelf. “I can assure you this author has at least been to Russia. Definitely knows what he’s talking about.”

Without warning a smile tugged the corner of her mouth. She still couldn’t decide if he recognized her or not. But he was so charming that she felt comfortable humoring him, taking the book from his hand to examine it. It wasn’t part of a dull and surface-level series from a famous publishing company like the one she had inconsiderately chosen, but something lengthier, something more personal. “You care an awful lot about what kind of book I’m buying from you,” she finally said.

“Oh, you’ve got it wrong,” he said, his playful voice making her look back up at him, “I care because if you buy this and think, ‘this is the most god-awful book I’ve ever read,’ you’ll never want to come back to my bookshop. Or worse, you’ll think, ‘Saint Petersburg is the most god-awful place,’ and never want to return.”

“Hmm…” she couldn’t help it, her smile spread. “Well, I appreciate the commitment, then.”

“I’m just doing my duty as a bookseller, ma’am.”

She opened to the first page. “I see it’s signed by the author.”

“I couldn’t stop him.”

That did it— that made her laugh. It was just a short huff of air through her nose, but still, that didn’t happen very often anymore. Not with strangers or anyone outside of her family, anyway. She shook her head. When she looked up again he seemed pleased, not in a predatory way, not in a gotcha way either, but genuinely delighted by her, for her. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at her like that.

His eyes found something behind her and his whole expression changed. “Ah, shit,” he muttered, “sorry— hang on.”

And he disappeared to the back section she didn’t even realize existed. Curiosity made her scoot down away from her hiding spot to watch what had soured this very nice and very normal man. There was another customer in here after all, an even more normal-looking guy. “Hey, man,” her new friend the bookseller said. “If you would like that book you stuffed into your shirt, you can buy it.”

The customer just stared. “I don’t have a book stuffed in my shirt.”

“You do. There’s a security camera back here and the monitor is behind my desk.”

Anya found the camera he was pointing to. Impressive. She made her way to another aisle, still pretending to browse while she eavesdropped.

“Look, man, it’s embarrassing enough to steal from a bookstore. But stealing from a travel bookstore? Come on. I’m probably more broke than you are.”

His back was to her, but he had his hands on his hips, his tone more disappointed and annoyed than threatening. She wondered if he knew how far he could get with such powers of persuasion. How he would do wonders in the film industry.

They went back and forth a few more times before the bookseller guy won out. She was facing the register so he gave her an aggravated yet humored smile, an inside joke smile, as he walked behind the desk. She didn’t know why she was still lingering here, now that she had been inside long enough.

But maybe she had overstayed because on his way out, the wannabe thief muttered, “Can I have your autograph?”

She winced. She should’ve seen this coming, but a lot of what had happened today disarmed her. His expression was shy yet unblinking. Staring at her with that strange want. He was already holding out his new book for her to sign. Without her control her eyes glanced over at the cashier, trying to read him. His brows were pulled together in puzzlement. It was nice while it lasted, she thought.

She accepted the pen with a sigh. “To…”

“Peter.”

When she handed the receipt back to him she started walking toward the register so she could speed up this part a bit. But the guy still lingered. “What’s the note at the top?”

Her sigh was thin. She looked up at him. Her handwriting was perfect, there was no way he couldn’t read it, but maybe he didn’t believe it. “It says, ‘To the shitty book thief, Peter’.”

Poor Peter’s face flushed red. “Thank you,” he muttered before nearly running outside.

The cashier’s smile was wide, surprised, his eyebrows high. But he moved slower now, more cautious, like he was trying to decipher the interaction that was daily for her and bizarre to him. “Just the one?” he asked gingerly as he scanned the barcode of the book and hit a few numbers on the register.

She fumbled in her purse for some cash, but she must’ve left all of that back in her hotel. Debit card it was, then.

Up until then she wasn’t sure, but now she definitely knew he wasn’t playing dumb at all when he acted like he hadn’t recognized her. Because he didn’t until now. As the receipt printed his eyes widened and he did a double take, up to her face and then down at the name printed out, the nearly imperceptible intake of breath making his chest expand. Almost reflexively his hand came up to push his bangs away from his face.

“Uh… I just need you to sign…”

She grabbed a little pen from the cup in front of the register and carefully signed her name above where it was printed. And then he surprised her again.

“This isn’t some gimmick to get your autograph, though, I promise.”

She smiled up at him, almost apologetic. “Thank you for your devoted assistance.”

She thought the joke fell a little flat but he still smiled, though she couldn’t tell if he was just in shock or was embarrassed he didn’t recognize her sooner or if he was genuinely laughing. She made sure to pick up a business card on her way out.

She didn’t look at the card until she was outside again, a bell ringing as the door shut behind her. Dmitry Sudayev, the card said.

Even though she knew she’d never see him again, somehow she found she had already memorized the shape of his name without trying.

~~~

Dmitry was an idiot.

No, worse than an idiot. Dumbass wasn’t even strong enough of a word for someone who met Anastasia Romanov in his own bookshop and didn’t even recognize her. For god’s sake, he flirted with her! Right to her face!

Not that he wanted her autograph or anything. He just… probably would have behaved more appropriately. And not pretend that a girl like that would ever give him a chance. Vlad had warned him his lack of pop culture engagement would bite him in the ass one day. Maybe this was it. Karma or something in the universe was laughing at him. Her face was plastered on every billboard and film poster and TV commercial and Oscars recap footage and he was so out of touch with the world he didn’t even realize one of the most famous Hollywood actresses in the world was standing right in front of him. She probably thought he was some loser.

Then again, she had smiled up at him, and it seemed so genuine…

The door chimed. “So sorry I’m late!” Vlad whistled his way through the shop, some tune Dmitry recognized from the radio. “The metro workers were on strike again, so the line was down.”

He looked up from his desk, where he’d been staring at his pile of paperwork in misery, hands folded in his own hair.

Vlad hung up his coat on the rack. “Did I miss anything?”

Usually, the mornings at work were so uneventful that this was their joke— that they would miss something exciting if one of them was late. But Dmitry didn’t know how to answer that in a way his coworker would believe him.

He stood from his desk, the chair nearly tipping over from the force of it. “I— need coffee,” he explained, shrugging on his own jacket. “Want anything?”

Vlad didn’t seem to notice Dmitry’s odd behavior and happily requested a latte— unless he was going to that place around the block, then he would rather have the tea, since their lattes sucked.

On the way back, drink carrier in hand, Dmitry was so lost in thought he wasn’t paying attention as he turned the corner and literally collided with someone.

“Oh my god— sorry—” he fumbled, and then his heart stopped when he realized who was now wearing his drink. She had her sunglasses on, but there was no mistaking it. It was her. “Shit— I’m so sorry, can I—”

“Don’t,” she said when he reached for her. Right. Fair. He uselessly handed her a paper napkin.

God. Could this day get any worse?

“Look— don’t take this the wrong way, but my flat is nearby if you want to change.”

She leveled a glare at him. How starkly different this was than their meeting this morning. Well, he would glare too, if their roles were reversed. “How near are we talking? Give me a numerical distance.”

He had to fight a smile. “Literally across the street. Look,” he pointed to the door of his townhouse. “See that maroon door? That one’s mine. My roommate isn’t home.”

Her expression remained the same. “If this is a trick—”

“No tricks,” he held up both of his hands. “Scout’s honor.”

She pursed her lips, looking left and right, then down at her stained top, weighing her options. “Don’t let anyone see.”

“Got it.”

They crossed the street when traffic broke, and he fumbled with his keys before pushing the door open, letting her walk inside first. He hoped she knew this wasn’t some play, he just wanted to make up for being so clumsy this morning.

“Bathroom is just up the stairs,” he said, locking the door behind them. “Take as long as you need. The sink works, but you need to turn on the hot and cold at the same time…”

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” she said, brushing past him up the stairs.

“Do you need— clothes? Or something?”

“I’ve got some,” she dismissed. “I was going to change eventually anyway. To ditch the photographers.”

“Right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling more and more idiotic by the second. When he heard the door shut he scrambled to straighten up.

His flat wasn’t a mess, exactly. His roommate was tidy. Dmitry was tidy too, but the space felt a little too lived-in for company. He couldn’t remember the last time a guest stepped foot inside. His bike was by the door instead of in the closet, the throw blankets hadn’t been folded, a handful of dishes sat in the drying rack. He stopped racing around when he heard her quiet tread on the steps and he tried to lean as casually as possible against the counter.

Anastasia had changed from her black ensemble to something brown and patterned, still too stylish to blend in, in his opinion, but appropriate for the October weather. With her sunglasses off her eyes were the bluest thing in the room.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, then cleared his throat because his voice was strangely out of tune.

“No, thank you,” she answered. Her annoyance with him had dissipated a little, thankfully.

And then the lock of his door was turning and he bit back a groan. “That’s— my roommate,” he explained, “he’s harmless but— there’s no excuse for him, I’m so sorry.”

She raised her eyebrows, confused, before the door swung open. Gleb Vaganov had moved in about a year ago— there was no way Dmitry could afford the place without him— and could not have been stranger. He walked in without so much as a glance up from his phone. He literally walked between Dmitry and Anastasia, opening the fridge, like he didn’t notice either of them.

“I think the lady next door has stolen my package again,” he finally said, opening a bottle of kombucha.

Dmitry rolled his eyes. “Did you remember to check the tracking info?”

“Yes, it says it arrived this morning.”

“Sometimes they’re wrong. Or they dropped it off at the other neighbor’s again.”

“Hmm.” Gleb’s frown deepened, and he literally had to step around Anastasia to go back outside. Her smile was widening. Like she was biting back a laugh. The feeling was contagious.

“He seems nice,” she said.

Dmitry scratched the back of his neck. “He at least keeps things clean.”

“Important.”

“Right.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, unsure what to do now. “Are you sure you don’t want anything? I have tea, I think, and…” he opened the fridge. “The kombucha is off limits, I’m afraid, but we’ve got… uh, orange juice? Or leftover stroganoff if you’re hungry, or some peaches— no, those are rotten, actually— umm—”

“I’m really okay,” she insisted, her hand on his shoulder sending electricity through his body down to his toes.

He met her eyes and shut the fridge. “You sure? I feel like I’ve been a complete jackass to you today.”

“Hmm,” she stepped closer. “Other than dumping your coffee on me,” she started, and he laughed, ducking his head, embarrassed, “you’ve been quite lovely.”

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “You’ve been too. Lovely, I mean.” What was happening to him? Even as a teenager he didn’t bumble around this much. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

She tilted her head. “You as well.”

Still, she made no move to leave, and he made no move to show her the way out. A clock ticked.

“If…” he searched for something to say, groping for a chance to keep her here, just a second more. “If you ever need a travel book again, you know where to go.”

She gave him a smile. “I appreciate it.”

For a moment neither said a word. And then Anastasia rose up on her toes to press her lips to his.

He froze, eyes wide, gasping through his nose, completely surprised. It was quick, but his skin burned at the invisible mark she’d left, his cheeks undoubtedly red. When she dropped back down to her heels she was flushed too, perhaps just as surprised by her own actions as he was.

Well.

He tried saying something cool and funny, like, Is this how you say goodbye to everyone you meet? But all that came out of his mouth was, “Uhhhhmm…”

She took a wide step back, like stepping out of a trance. She tucked a loose hair behind her ear. “Thanks again, for the… Bathroom.”

Somehow he found his voice. “Anytime.” He blinked. “See you around?”

She gave him an odd look, and then he remembered he would probably never see her again. “Have a nice life, Dmitry,” she said instead. And then let herself out.

Dmitry didn’t know how long he stood there in the middle of his kitchen. A clock ticked. His fingers rose up to trace his bottom lip, feeling stupid and oh so giddy.

Gleb came back in with a box. “It was on the wrong doorstep!” He stomped through the kitchen with a satisfied smile. “We really ought to repaint the number on our door, that may prevent this mistake from happening again…”

Dmitry, understandably, didn’t return the enthusiasm.

He walked back to the shop in a daze, not even realizing his jacket fell in a limp pile on the floor when he tried to hang it on the wobbly rack.

Vlad frowned from behind the register. “Hey, where’s the coffee?”

#anastasia broadway #dimya #fanfiction #my writing #notting hill au #another wip!! let's go!!!!!#at least one that's presentable enough to begin sharing lol #but anyway #something light and fluffy to start our october <33 #i do appreciate Just Some Guy dmitry sudayev and Famous Person anya it has to be said

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america-oreosandkitkats · 3 months ago

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The Places We Call Sacred

Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Artemiy Burakh | Artemy Burakh/Daniel Dankovskiy | Daniil Dankovsky, Artemiy Burakh | Artemy Burakh/Laura Ravell | Lara Ravel, Daniel Dankovskiy | Daniil Dankovsky/Andrei Stamatin | Andrey Stamatin Characters: Artemiy Burakh | Artemy Burakh, fem!Artemiy Burakh | Artemy Burakh, Isidor Burakh, fem!Isidor Burakh, Ersher Burakh, Gryph | Bad Grief (Pathologic), Laura Ravell | Lara Ravel, Daniel Dankovskiy | Daniil Dankovsky, Ospina | Aspity (Pathologic), Original Characters Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Worldbuilding, i will love you in every universe, what if the plague was grief?, and what if the panacea was love and friendship, Gender or Sex Swap, slow burn

Chapter 7

You ain’t from ’round here.”

“I reckon I ain’t.”

“Where’s home for ya, cuata?” He dragged his syllables like a savored cigarette pull.

“Far, far away.”

“I can hear that.” He smirked. “Where exactly though?”

It was a tossup with Americans. Some took her country of origin as an interesting piece of trivia, and the others would launch a barrage of questions about her opinion of politics, both domestic and abroad. Given that this was a small town in a small state, Artemiy figured chances were on her side with the former, so she told him.

“And are St. Petersburg autumns as beautiful as Pushkin describes them?”

She had to admit that she’d never gotten this sort of response before. “You know Pushkin?”

“I’m as strong a cosmopolitan as I make ’em.”

#pathologic #pathologic 2 #burakhovsky #pathologic fanfic #in which we reflect a bit on home and belonging #i had an absolute blast writing this chapter im excited for you guys to check it out

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dystini · 2 years ago

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Indycar Driver Lore

Indycar Driver Lore Masterlist

Patricio "Pato" O'Ward Junco

Birthdate: May 6, 1999 Hometown: Monterrey, Mexico Residence: Monterrey, Mexico/San Antonio, TX Height/Weight: 5’8”/155lbs

Rookie Year: 2019

Team: Arrow McLaren

Follow him on: Instagram Twitter YouTube

Career Stats

2018: 1 race with Harding Racing - 31st Overall 2019: 8 races with Carlin - 26th Overall 2020: Arrow McLaren SP- 4th Overall 2021: Arrow McLaren SP - 3rd Overall 2022: Arrow McLaren SP - 7th Overall 2023: Arrow McLaren SP - 4th Overall

2018 Indy NXT (formerly Indy Lights) Rookie of the Year and Season Champion 2021 and 2022 several F1 tests with McLaren 2022 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix F1 free practice with McLaren IMSA 2017 Youngest driver ever to win Daytona 24 and Sebring 12 hour in Prototype Challenge (PC) class 2017 Prototype Challenge drivers championship, North American Endurance Cup Championship. 2018 Daytona 24 8th, Sebring 12 hour 13th 2022 Daytona 24 (LMP2 class) 1st.

-Doesn't drink coffee. -Has a list of acceptable restaurants around every track Indycar visits -Although a native of Mexico, attended high school in San Antonio, Texas. -Lists karting, fitness training - especially boxing and weight training - as his hobbies. -He loves Eggo waffles and sushi. -2020 Indianapolis 500 Rookie of the Year.

Iconic/memorable moments

Pato O'Ward reveals helmet design for Indianapolis 500 to James Hinchcliffe | Motorsports on NBC INSIDE THE RACE // PATO O'WARD AT WEATHERTECH RACEWAY LAGUNA SECA PUSH TO PASS | EP. 1 - "So Close, Yet So Far" This or That with Pato O'Ward and Indy 500 Friends TikTok: Pato Likes Food RACER: Pato O'Ward Texas IndyCar Walk and Talk CHEVY PACE CAR // FELIX ROSENQVIST AND PATO O'WARD Felix and Pato interview Alex Rossi in their own languages: AMSP Unlocked 2020 AMSP Unlocked 2021 AMSP Mic’d Up 2022 Pato O'Ward and Felix Rosenqvist Play-Fighting Then and Now | Pato O'Ward & Felix Rosenqvist - Part 1 Then and Now: Pato O'Ward Part 2 Midnight Snack Chocolate covered Pato Lobster papi.

Happy Valentines Day Love/Hate relationship with pre-race ice baths Guess the song Tiny Cars with James – Pato O’Ward Pato O’Ward sings “Feel This Moment” Felix and Pato wrestling Don’t touch the cones!!! How tall are McLaren drivers? Arrow McLaren: Red Flag Green Flag Arrow McLaren: Red Flag Green Flag Again Measuring noses Wakeboarding Pato Wink and Kiss Pato Barbie Nashville Cowboy hat shopping Indianapolis Motor Speedway Fair Imitate Famous Landmarks Phone Flip - Drivers in the Paddock Part 1 Part 2

Driver Superlatives Part 1 Part 2 Holiday Tree Blindfolded Challenge Holiday Family phototshoot Behind the Scenes Baking Challenge: Part 1 Baking Challenge: Part 2 Rainy day activities Spill your guts game Intro Part 1 Part 2 Off Track with Hinch and Rossi – The Papaya One Area Codes Our cinnamon rolls Go-to Karaoke song

Team Penske hit with penalties over Push to Pass use; O’Ward declared St. Petersburg winner

Excitable and exuberant, Pato wears his emotions on his sleeve. If he’s happy, you’ll know it, and if he’s not, you’ll know that too, just by looking at his face. Full of energy, Pato is hardly ever still, fidgeting if he can’t do anything else. A self-proclaimed foodie, his social media often shows off what he’s eating. And if it’s not pics of his food, it’s pics of him in the gym, puddles of sweat and all. He’s said that he works out to eat the foods he loves. His devoted fanbase has recently has exploded into near rock-star-like proportions with suites and a grandstand at Texas Motor Speedway devoted to his fans through special giveaways and promotions.

Fanfic Lore

Paired with former teammate Felix Rosenqvist

Frequently paired with Colton Herta. The two raced together in IndyNXT (formerly Indy Lights). Ship name O'Herta

Paired with Alex Palou. Ship name O'Palou

Paired with teammate Alex Rossi

#indycar rpf #indycar #fanfic #driver lore #pato o'ward

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amatrudalab · 1 year ago

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Meet the Amatruda Lab!

James Amatruda, MD, PhD

www.chla.org

Dr. James Amatruda is the Head of Basic and Translational Research for the Cancer and Blood Disease Institute at Children’s Hospital Los Angeles. He’s the inaugural holder of the Dr. Kenneth O. Williams Chair in Cancer Research. Dr. Amatruda is a Professor of Pediatrics and Medicine for the Keck School of Medicine of USC. He attends on the Solid Tumor oncology service at CHLA.

Dr. Amatruda received his MD and PhD from Washington University School of Medicine. He completed his internship and residency in Internal Medicine from Brigham and Women’s Hospital. He was a Visiting Fellow at the Institute of Cell Biology in Consiglio Nazionale delle Ricerche in Rome and completed his Medical Oncology fellowship at Dana-Farber/Partners Cancer Care in Boston, Massachusetts.

When not in the lab, Dr. Amatruda enjoys running, reading, music-making and exploring around Los Angeles.

Ashley Jean, MD

www.chla.org

Dr. Ashley Jean is a Clinical Fellow in the Amatruda Lab. Dr. Jean graduated from Tufts Medical School in Boston and completed her Pediatric Residency at Maine Medical Center. Dr. Jean started her Pediatric Fellowship at Children’s Hospital Los Angeles in 2019.

Her research focuses on pediatric Ewing Sarcoma. She is currently studying the TAK1 pathway in the tumor genesis of this condition.

Dr. Jean likes to spend her free time outdoors. She enjoys activities such as hiking, paddle boarding and snowboarding.

Christopher Kuo, MD

www.chla.org

Dr. Christopher Kuo is a Clinical Fellow in the Amatruda Lab. Dr. Kuo received his Medical Degree from Rush University and completed his Pediatric Residency from Children’s Hospital Los Angeles. Dr. Kuo started his Pediatric Fellowship at Children’s Hospital Los Angeles in 2020.

His research interest is in osteosarcoma. He is currently working on a project that involves the investigation of the tumor microenvironment of Ewing sarcoma.

Dr. Kuo’s hobbies include breakdancing, swimming and going to coffee shops.

Adam Marentes, MSc., PhD Candidate

www.chla.org

Adam Marentes is a Graduate Student Researcher in the Amatruda Lab. Adam received his Bachelor of Science in Neuroscience from the University of California, Riverside. He then completed his Master of Science from California Polytechnic University Pomona. Adam is currently attending University of Southern California Keck School of Medicine to earn his PhD in Cancer Biology and Genomics.

Adam’s research focus is in mitochondrial DNA variants in Ewing Sarcoma. He is currently working on a collaboration that involves editing mitochondrial DNA in cancer cell lines in zebrafish.

Adam enjoys baking, playing video games with his fiancé and catching a show at the local comedy club.

Tanya Mosesian, MHA

www.chla.org

Tanya Mosesian received her Bachelor of Science in Public Health from California State University of Northridge. She then completed her Master of Health Administration at the University of Southern California.

Tanya is Project Associate for the Amatruda Lab. She provides on-site support for all administrative matters and project facilitation.

Tanya enjoys spending time with her family and friends. She likes to play tennis and hike during the weekends.

Elena Vasileva, PhD, MSc.

www.chla.org

Dr. Elena Vasileva is a post-doctoral fellow in the Amatruda Lab. Dr. Vasileva received her Bachelor of Science and Master of Science from Peter the Great St. Petersburg Polytechnic University in Applied Mathematics and Physics. She received her PhD in Molecular Biology from the Institute of Cytology, Russian Academy of Sciences.

Dr. Vasileva is interested in studying the molecular mechanisms of cancer development and progression. She has developed an inducible zebrafish model of EWS-FLI driven Ewing Sarcoma as a platform for biologic discovery and preclinical testing of novel therapies.

Dr. Vasileva enjoys running and hiking in Los Angeles.

Mona Wu, PhD

www.chla.org

Dr. Mona Wu is a post-doctoral fellow in the Amatruda Lab. Dr. Wu received her Bachelor of Science from the University of British Columbia, a Master of Science from Université de Montréal, and a PhD from McGill University.

Dr. Wu is interested in understanding the cell of origin for pediatric neoplasms because she believes that this knowledge could lead to better early biomarkers and more effective treatment. She is particularly interested in understanding how aberrant ncRNA (especially miRNAs) may play a role in pediatric disease.

Dr. Wu likes reading and visiting different libraries. She enjoys “foodie-related” activities including trying restaurants, cooking, baking and watching (far too many) cooking shows.

#amatruda lab #long post

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chipotle · 1 year ago

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A year back in Florida

About a year ago, I moved away from the San Francisco Bay Area, back to Tampa Bay, Florida, where I’d lived for (mostly) all my previous life.

Florida is not the same place it was when I left. The metros feel more urban, more alive, than I remember. Some of that is undoubtedly on me, on my failure to explore them adequately back in the 1990s. But a lot of what I’ve been finding now simply wasn’t there two decades ago. St. Petersburg now has blocks of walkable downtown, starting from the waterfront museums and moving west through the Edge District, on to Kenwood and Grand Central, where they recently held one of the biggest Pride festivals in the country. Tampa’s downtown no longer feels like they roll up the sidewalks at five (a problem that San Jose struggled to solve for years as well). Just like St. Pete’s Central Avenue reminds me—a little—of K and J Streets in midtown Sacramento, smaller towns like Gulfport and Dunedin remind me—a little—of the smaller walkable towns back in California like Danville, Campbell, and Livermore.

Some of the areas that were truly nothing twenty years ago have become, well, something. The town I’ve moved to, Ridge Manor, is an unincorporated area a few miles north of still-tiny Dade City, on a state road that goes straight east-west between I-75 and Orlando. The next “big small town” over, Clermont, has blossomed from a near-abandoned downtown into a genuinely interesting suburb, even if it’s hard to figure out just what it’s a suburb of. Wesley Chapel, about a half-hour south along I-75, is a surprisingly large suburb of Tampa now.

A year ago, I wrote that you can find great coffee shops and craft breweries and cocktail bars in any metro area, and that’s true here, too. Dade City itself has a great craft brewery and a solid coffee shop, and there are far more throughout Tampa/St. Pete and Orlando. Great cocktail bars are the hardest to find here, I’ve found, but they are here.

Florida is not the same place it was when I left. It was, back then, a relatively purple state overall. There are still Florida liberals and leftists, but the Florida of 2023 is a one-party state. And, not to put too fine a point on it, Florida Republicans lead the charge to make that party indistinguishable from the far-right fascist parties plaguing Europe and Central America. Every day brings a new attack on the rights of people DeSantis and his supporters have identified as The Enemy. Trans people. Queer people. Drag queens. Immigrants. Teachers. Librarians. Disney.

A drive around rural Florida a quarter-century ago would have certainly taken you past houses and farms flying confederate battle flags; the state’s panhandle has long been an epicenter for the neo-confederate movement. On a similar drive today, though, the flags are almost exclusively for Trump. And there are many, many flags for Trump. Flags and bumper stickers and banners, and an ugliness I can’t remember seeing in America in my lifetime. When I left Florida, Jeb Bush had just won reelection; I’ve returned to a state where Republicans would consider Jeb too suspiciously liberal to elect him to a municipal utility board.

I am not in the same place in Florida as I was when I left. Politically and culturally, I’m more Left Coast than I had been two decades ago, to be sure—but I spent most of my previous Florida years in Tampa or its suburbs, or the wealthy, culturally rich city of Sarasota.1 As someone who presents as a cishet male, I have little to worry about in most interactions here yet—but that yet slowly gathers weight. I’ve been open about my beliefs, moderately open about my not-so-binary, fairly asexual identity. I write queer, often political, furry fiction under my own name. So far, this has only resulted in lost friendships, but the potential for worse is real.

Yet my worries don’t center on me. The majority of my friends are queer, too. Will any trans friend, including my BFF/partner, be safe here even for a visit? They’re certainly not going to move here. More and more, I’m hearing of people moving out.

I am not in the same place in Florida as I was when I left. All my adult life, both in California and previously here, I could reach dozens of choices for shopping, eating and drinking in under fifteen minutes; some were just a nice walk away in good weather. But Ridge Manor’s several thousand residents spread out over rural half-acre lots. A few businesses cluster in a couple of strip malls around the I-75 interchange. There’s a grocery store, three or four decent restaurants (and three or four fast food places), so-so Chinese takeout, and a few gas stations. Anything else is twenty minutes away at a minimum.

That might not sound like a big deal. It didn’t sound like one to me, either. I’d come home to this house every Christmas from California; I knew where it was. And, I’ve always enjoyed driving. For years, my BFF and I took Saturdays out, exploring towns hours away. How bad could this be?

The answer, it turns out, is worse than I thought. In all my adult life, I’ve lived where I could reach dozens of choices for shopping, eating and drinking in under fifteen minutes, often in places where some were just a nice walk away in good weather. Now, hitting even most standard suburban chains is no longer a whim, it’s an excursion.

Sometimes I’ve dreamt of living in a cabin in Big Sur. I don’t anymore. I want to be in walking distance of something, a short driving distance of anything. Markets, coffee shops, a neighborhood bar, an ice cream parlor. Ridge Manor is not a place where that’s possible, and despite the construction and development around the area, it never will be. Yes, it will get hundreds of new tract homes, but the people who move in there will find that they, too, are a half-hour away from everything.

But do I regret moving? No. I moved to be with my mother, to help take care of her and the house. Our relationship isn’t frictionless, but it’s good, better than many such relationships that I see among my own friends and, for that matter, among hers. I know her better now than I have at any previous point in my life. It’s not just a solid, loving parent-child relationship, it’s a solid, loving friendship. That’s invaluable.

I still take Saturdays out, albeit mostly by myself now, and I’ve discovered or re-discovered plenty of cool places, many of which weren’t here before and all which have changed. There are places I could truly feel at home in, if I lived closer to them, and if Florida’s politics ever become less fraught. And if I can still deal with Florida summers.

The what-ifs remain, though, no matter how much I try to shunt them away.

First what-if: My ability to carve out my own time has been markedly impaired over the last year, from writing to TV watching to reading. Perhaps I am not good at setting boundaries, or perhaps I am just not used to living with someone who wants a lot of attention compared to past, undemanding housemates. Would it have been better to live in the suburbs a half-hour down the road, drive up here a few times a week for dinner, spend the night every other week?

Never say never, but I’m doubtful. The connections I’ve been making with my mom couldn’t have been made if we weren’t living together. Beyond that, I wouldn’t be here to be able to help with routine small things, and helping with large ones would be that much more challenging. She’d be markedly lonelier, and despite my penchant for solitude, I would be, too.

And there’s the cost of living. Despite the isolation, there are many things to like about this house—it’s on over an acre of wooded land, for a start—but the number one thing is, simply, that it’s fully paid off. A year ago, I wrote, “I won’t miss paying as much in rent share [in California] as I would pay for an entire two-bedroom apartment in Tampa.” That turned out to be optimistic; a decent one-bedroom, not two, apartment in Wesley Chapel would be hundreds more a month than my rent share in Santa Clara was. The median rent in Sacramento is, as of this writing, lower than both Tampa and Orlando.

Second what-if: my mother and I could move somewhere else, somewhere that checks off more of my boxes and, ideally, more of hers. She’d like to be closer to amenities, closer to medical care, closer to the water. We’re both concerned about the heat, too. As I write this, Florida swelters in record-breaking heat. The SF Bay Area and Sacramento are at unusual highs, too, but the old “it’s a dry heat” joke hits home. Sacramento’s projected high of 103°F tops our projected 94°, but our heat index hits 116° compared to Sac’s 164°—and our low will be 74° (with a heat index ten degrees higher), whereas Sacramento will make it down to a comparatively arctic 58°. If this is the new normal, it may be untenable for both of us.

Housing prices anywhere we’d want to live are likely to be challengingly high even with our resources pooled together, though, and I don’t know what place we’d both agree on. Stay in the state, or leave it? She thinks about going back to Baltimore, where she grew up, or around Asheville, where Floridians seem to be moving to when they want to leave this state. I have no personal affinity for Maryland or North Carolina, though; the places I do have affinity for—most of California and the Pacific Northwest, parts of the Southwest—aren’t places she does.

The thought of moving anywhere, though, leads to uncomfortable thoughts of mortality—both my mother’s and my own. When will I find myself living alone once more? Will I want to stay where I’m living then? If it’s still here, still in this house, the answer is likely no. But if my mother and I move to a new place, she’ll push for a bigger house. I doubt I’d want a bigger house by myself, or even with a housemate. (And if it’s in Florida, the current politics all but ensure my trans BFF won’t be that housemate.)

Of course, maybe a bigger house still makes financial sense; with luck, having a more expensive house means I get more money if I sell it and do move somewhere else, ultimately. The money isn’t being lost. Objectively, I know that. But I don’t feel it.

So, where does this leave me? It leaves me with a loving parent and great finances; it leaves me isolated, frustrated with my inability to manage my own time, wondering why I’m even worse than I used to be at coordinating with friends. It leaves me in a good and bad place. It leaves me in limbo.

I’ll check back in after another year.

Sarasota is now ground zero for not just Florida’s culture wars but all of America’s, as the home of the neofascist Moms of Liberty and epicenter of QAnon conspiracy nonsense. My college, New College, is the one that DeSantis is in the process of transforming from a nationally-recognized liberal arts school into a national laughing stock. [return]

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europeposts · 10 months ago

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Old Town Square Estonia

Tallinn, Estonia - ‎12 ‎April ‎2020. Corner of the town hall square in the old town, where the oldest pharmacy in Europe is located. The most picturesque places in the city. Medieval architecture.

Why you need to visit Tallinn, Estonia

Tallinn may once have been famed as a cheap go-to destination for rowdy stag parties, but there is so much more to this beautiful city than that. Filled with pastel coloured houses and pretty squares, Tallinn is a photographer’s dream. Tallinn’s old town is incredibly well-preserved and absolutely beautiful, with some of the best examples of medieval architecture in northern Europe. Read on for what to see in this charming Baltic town:

Wander Around the Old Town Square

The best thing about Tallinn’s old town is that is all doable on foot, so you can relax and wander around pretty cobbled side streets in peace. Everything centers on the Raekoja plats (old town square), where you’ll find bars and restaurants aplenty, surrounded by the distinctive tall merchants’ houses on all sides. Visit in winter and you’ll find the town Christmas tree and a vibrant Christmas market.

Walk the Town Walls

Tallinn is a city best enjoyed from above, and what better way to see it than to climb up winding spiral stairs to the top of the city walls? From here you’ll be able to look out over the distinctive red rooftops that make the Estonian capital so charming.

Alexander Nevsky Cathedral

This stunning Russian Orthodox cathedral was built in 1900, when Tallinn was still part of the Russian empire. It was almost destroyed at one point as some Estonians see it as a symbol of oppression, however the beautiful cathedral has now been restored.

Kohtuotsa Viewpoint

The perfect place to get your bearings, the Kohtuotsa viewpoint affords stunning views over the pretty red rooftops of Tallinn’s old town. Only a short walk from the main square, you can’t miss it.

The view from the Kohtuotsa Viewpoint

Kadriorg Palace

A short tram ride from the city centre will take you out to Kadriorg Palace, an impressive 18th century estate complete with colourful facade and exquisite gardens. Built for Peter the Great in 1718, the Russian Tsar used to use the palace as one of his summer residences (although rumour has it that the Tsar didn’t actually stay in the palace, preferring more modest accommodation!).

Coffee and Pastries

Tallinn is a cafe-lover’s heaven, with cute little coffee shops hidden away all over the city. I can highly recommend RØST (they do the most divine pastries) and also the Kalamaja area, where you’ll find the Telliskivi creative city, a former industrial area that now houses Tallinn’s coolest bars, cafes and restaurants.

How to integrate Tallinn into a longer trip

But, did you know that Helsinki is only a 1.5 hour ferry trip away from Tallinn? And that from there you can continue on to St Petersburg, where you can get a special short-term easy Russian visa as a ferry passenger? Or, head in the other direction and hop on a bus to Riga – it’s only 5 hours and the journey goes quickly if you have some good series on Netflix pre-downloaded.

If you’re thinking about visiting Tallinn then why not get a copy of the Estonia Lonely Planet here. Please note that I receive a small kick-back if you purchase a book through this affiliate link (the price of the book remains the same). This allows me to continue providing travel advice for free!

Why you need to visit Tallinn, Estonia - Call of the World

doeeme

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adservedotstore · 1 month ago

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Mushroom coffee for mental health Sale in St. Petersburg

Shop Mushroom Coffee in St. Petersburg

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petnews2day · 6 months ago

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New Cat-Themed Cafe Serves NY Bagels, Coffee In St. Petersburg

New Post has been published on https://petn.ws/P9vR9

New Cat-Themed Cafe Serves NY Bagels, Coffee In St. Petersburg

ST. PETERSBURG, FL — A new cat-themed cafe has recently opened its doors in St. Petersburg. Doakes N Doodle Cafe at 2930 Dr. MLK Jr. Street N. is named after the real-life black cats of the shop’s owner, Amanda Ventura. Subscribe “Love cats. Big cat fan,” the New Jersey native told Patch. “Cats are a […]

See full article at https://petn.ws/P9vR9 #CatsNews

#Cats News

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findinginga · 9 months ago

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A Dark, Cold Wednesday in St. Petersburg…

...time to refocus and prepare to return home

It had been my intention to visit the Hermitage Museum without Inga. There seemed to me that there would be little to gain by having Inga and Eva make the trip. Afterall, I would not be deprived of Inga's company as her previous physical presence had not translated into warm memories. Given her announcement of the previous evening that it was both a financial and emotional burden for her to make daily trips to visit me, perhaps it was best for us both to just let it go. Inga texted many times to express her displeasure with my decision.

Despite her previous declarations that the decisions others made were of no consequence to her, Inga was clearly triggered by my decision. Her words were angry and purposefully cruel. Early in the afternoon, she texted that she was sending a taxi to the hotel in order to collect some photos that were taken of the three of us the previous day at Smile Park. She angrily declared that she could not trust how I would use the photos; therefore, she asked me to send them with the driver. I could not fathom as to why this would be a worry for her. What could I possibly do with these photos that would cause harm or create danger other than to post them on a public forum? This, I concluded was her concern - being exposed (pun intended). The photos were of no consequence to me; therefore, I bundled them together with a few gifts that remained in my luggage. To the package I added 6,000 rubles I retrieved from a nearby ATM. Irrespective of Inga's nonsensical reasoning as to why she kept me at a distance the entire visit, it was important for me to reimburse her for travel expenses. I dutifully handed the package off to the driver upon his arrival and returned to my hotel room.

I had little motivation to do more than spend a few hours working. I thought of what I might do the following day. Thursday would be my last full day in St. Petersburg. Inga and Eva were leaving for Pskov in the early afternoon. I needed to locate a reputable clinic or lab to perform a COVID-19 screening which would be required as I transited through Helsinki and London and then to reenter the US.

As afternoon gave way to evening, I ordered dinner and then texted Inga asking if we could meet on Thursday prior to her departure. At the very least I wanted to say good-bye to them in person. There is no doubt that my visit served as a stressor for all parties. Perhaps Eva enjoyed her visits to the indoor amusement parks and Inga and Eva shared some good moments visiting with family. I doubt that Inga found much joy in my company while my overall experience with her was a bitter disappointment. Regardless, I thought it only appropriate to recognize and thank Inga for making the trip. Initially Inga resisted the idea of meeting but she eventually relented as she recognized that she and Eva would have to make the trip to the city center to board the train. Inga wrote that she would text me when they were leaving the home of Nikita.

Thursday, my last full day in St. Petersburg...

I awoke early on Thursday morning and after showering and dressing I made my way to the hotel restaurant which featured a very nice breakfast buffet. I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and coffee while catching up on news. It was slightly after 9:00 am when I returned to my room to collect my coat, scarf and the necessary documents I would require for the testing lab. As it was a crisp but partly sunny morning, I decided to walk to the testing lab. Besides, it would be likely be my last opportunity to view some of St. Petersburg.

My selection of this lab was quite deliberate as it was close to the central business area and an easy walk to Galleria which, was my next destination as I awaited word from Inga. While in the mall I did a little shopping for Eva at the Lego Store. Based on Inga's previous comments, Eva enjoyed Lego blocks so I was not worried that Eva would be disappointed. I purchased a challenging set for her along with a pink backpack bearing Lego branding. I descended the escalators to the main level and entered Starbucks to order a coffee.

More passive-aggressive behavior...

It was 11:30 am and then noon and then 12:30 pm. Finally there was a text from Inga asking me to meet her at a coffee shop in 20 minutes. She provided a screen shot from her phone but, unfortunately, the name of the shop as well as the address were in Cyrillic. Inga provided no directions. I used what tools I had to translate the message into a usable form in order to obtain directions. I was finally able to locate the shop but the distance was too great to walk in that 20 minute window Inga prescribed. I managed to order a car to get me to the location just minutes before Inga and Eva were to leave for the train station in a taxi.

I had only moments with Inga as she was standing at the counter preparing to pay for for a few snack items she purchased for the train trip to Pskov. I was put off by her passive-aggressive demonstration but I did not want to make an issue of it in the last few moments I would share with her. I plunged the remaining rubles I had into her coat pocket as I knew I would not need them after today and I gave a very excited Eva her gift. We left the shop and I walked her to the waiting taxi. I wanted very much to accompany them to the train station but Inga emphatically rejected my suggestion. As we said our good-byes I embraced her and attempted to draw her in to hug her. She vigorously pushed me away and then disappeared inside the taxi.

This was to be my last face-to-face encounter with Inga who, once again left me behind, alone.

#relationship #pskov #dating scam #narcissistic sociopath #npd #ingeborga #scam #reshetnikov #jewellerysiren #ingaborgia #lopatyuk #sankt petersburg #passive aggressive

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america-oreosandkitkats · 5 months ago

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The Places We Call Sacred

Prologue

“Earlier this month, I got a phone call from a Novosibirsk area code. I don’t have any clients outside of Piter and have never had any reason to ever think of the steppe, so I actually didn’t pick up the first few times the guy called, but eventually I did. Guy tells me he’s looking for Daria Dzhokharovna Shovkhalova or her next of kin. There’s a property to be developed, but the mayor won’t let him while there’s a deed and a rightful owner.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Daniil asked.

“This, my boy, is a matter of your inheritance.”

“I already — ”

The old lawyer handed Daniil the contents of the plastic sleeve — a final will and testament. Daniil scanned the document, catching names he did not know and places he had never been. The fourth page was bisected by a subheader, Section IV. The Wonderbull Cafe.