| When people make you really mad or are mad at you, you... |
Just deal with it.
Seek active vengeance.
Curse them out publicly.
Use creative energy to mock them.
|
Go home and bang on stuff.
Get really depressed.
Drink vodka.
|
| You get most of your creative inspiration from... |
Fairy tales and legends.
Literature.
The events of the world around you.
|
Your own imagination.
Vodka.
|
| You prefer... |
Large-scale orchestral works.
Chamber music and solo repertoire.
|
Both.
Vodka.
|
| In big social situations, you... |
Are fully involved in the party.
Hang out exclusively with your friends.
|
Would rather not be there.
Drink vodka.
|
| Your temperament is... |
Bipolar and oddly aligned.
Loud, rude, and pretentious.
Generally pleasant and good-natured.
Introverted and sensitive.
|
Logical, precise, and formidible.
Versatile but relaxed and melancholy.
Scholarly, thorough, and determined.
Drunk on vodka.
|
| When you're gone, you want your "monument" to be... |
That you are forever associated with the holiday season.
An actual stone or bronze monument.
A Broadway musical based on your works.
Just your work, because it stands for itself.
|
Your house and desk, kept as organized as you did.
The fact that only a select few can tackle the difficulties of your work, and many unworthy people have been carted off to the funny farm trying.
A prestigious school named after you.
A vodka brewery named after you.
|
| Considering you know English (because you can read this) and Russian (because you're a dead Russian composer), how many other languages do you know? |
Two.
One.
|
None.
You lost track because of the vodka.
|
| You prefer the sound of... |
Lower instruments.
Higher instruments.
|
Either one.
They all sound the same after that much vodka.
|
| Do you have bad eyesight? |
Yes.
No.
|
It's blurred because of the vodka.
|
| When you're not composing, you're... |
Traveling.
Playing chess.
Performing complex chemistry experiments.
Reading.
|
Cleaning.
Conducting.
Teaching.
Drinking vodka.
|
| What is your worst fear? |
Losing your passport.
Being imprisoned.
All of your pets dying.
Endless harsh criticism.
|
Pure and utter chaos.
Hurting your hands irreparably.
Going deaf.
Running out of vodka.
|
| Are you the real Chaikovsky? |
Yes.
No.
|
What?.
Vodka.
|
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