The word for “someone of the same age” in Russian is ровесник when applied to a man and ровесница when applied to a woman. We have a similar word in English, coeval, but I don't think I've ever heard anyone use it out loud. If the question «Кто из вас старше?» “Which one of you is older?” is directed to a couple of men of the same age, they may respond «Мы ровесники», and if the question is directed to a couple of women, they may respond «Мы ровесницы». If the question is directed to a groups of mixed gender, then the masculine form is used, «Мы ровесники». (By the way, that's generally true in most Indo-european languages. The masculine form of a word often has two roles: the gender-specific masculine meaning, and a generic meaning that can be used for mixed groups.) There is another pair of words, masculine сверстник and feminine сверстница, which mean the same thing and can be used the same way, however they are not quite as common as ровесник/ровесница; they are still pretty common, though.

Of course, if those were the only ways to express the idea, Russian wouldn't be very interesting. Here are some alternatives:

The «Мы одного возраста» phrase is perfectly good written and spoken Russian. The phrase with masculine однолеток or feminine однолетка is conversational; I don't recommend writing it. The same holds true for the phrase with masculine одногодок or feminine одногодка.

The phrase with «по» may be the most natural sounding in response to «Сколько вам лет» “How old are you?”, but you wouldn't expect it in response to «Кто из вас старше?»

A подъезд is an entrance hall of a multi-storey house through which all inhabitants pass on the way to their apartments. It’s basically a lobby that usually includes an elevator and has a stairway leading from one floor to the next. Подъезд is composed of two parts, под “under/up to” and езд- “ride.” Here are some example sentences:

A подъезд is a very important part of the building. Each one has its own distinct attributes that ultimately create a special kind atmosphere that never repeats itself. It can be good or bad, creepy or safe. You can have a roomy apartment with tall ceilings, new windows and a spacious balcony, but that might not be enough to convince someone to buy or rent the place if the подъезд is a mess. Most likely the price will have to drop. How many ordinary people would want, especially at night, to step into a dreary подъезд with one flickering light bulb hanging from the ceiling and barely illuminating the mutilated floor tiles, graffitied walls, bruised mailboxes, and rank, piss-stained stairs?

I grew up in a building with this particular drawback. The six-story structure, built in the Stalin years, was in fair overall condition and at a convenient location: subway station within walking distance and Red Square just a couple of train stops away. For the most part my neighbors were regular people with families and everyday jobs. There was one severe alcoholic living with his mother a floor above my apartment, but he wasn’t the boisterous type and rarely caused trouble. The only real problem was the подъезд that scared visitors and inhabitants alike. One fifteen-year-old girl’s grandmother would not let her come in alone out of certain fears. Of course I thought she was being paranoid, but looking back at it now, it makes a lot more sense. When you have depressed drunkards randomly hanging out by the doorway and occasional junkies shooting up in the shadowy corners, the instinct of caution switches on automatically.

All efforts to bring the подъезд into decent condition failed. Calling the cops didn’t help much either: they got bored—no major disturbances. The neighborhood wasn’t poor by any means, and the house to the left had a nice, clean подъезд, as did the one across the street, but for some strange reason everyone liked to hang out at ours. I also remember a neighbor complaining about having to lower the sale price of her apartment too much. This problem existed in other neighborhoods throughout the city and was eventually acknowledged by the administrators. About four years ago the walls were repainted, new floor tiles laid out, broken mailboxes replaced and, most importantly, a steel door with a phone system was installed. Now there are no uninvited visitors or obvious signs of vandalism, but the urine stench is as strong as ever.

Today's word is свет, a lovely small word which has a couple of meanings. Today we explore its meaning in the sense of light, that radiant energy that makes things visible. Its declension has all the regular forms that you would expect:

But in this meaning you will also occasionally find an alternative genitive singular свету and an alternative prepositional свету.

The word also means “a light,” that is a source of illumination. In this sense it is usually only used in the singular, not the plural:

"Cпортзал" is made up of two words, спорт (sport) and зал (hall). It is used to describe various fitness clubs and gyms. Lately more and more Russians have begun to use the English terms but спортзал remains the most dominant. Here are a few examples for this two-part word:

Finding an affordable "спортзал" has become a bit easier for Russians, or at least for Muscovites, than before.

A few years ago it came to me that I should visit a “спортзал” once in a while to stay active, or at least try to, so I got a membership at a decent Arizona gym that had all the basic equipment and a pool for a good $30 a month. When I went to Moscow for the summer I decided to sign up at a “спортзал” there too, just in case I’d continue with this new healthy habit of mine. But as I soon realized… this goal was too naive.

Unlike in the States, fitness clubs are fairly new to Russia and began to emerge only in the late nineties. Sure, every school had a gym and physical education was important but those gyms were different, nothing like 24 Hour Fitness, and for students only, unless you knew the security guard or the principal. As a result, parks and swimming pools tend to be the most popular spots for healthy Russians. But parks and crowded pools were not on my list; I was already spoiled by my American “спортзал.” So I searched out a couple fitness clubs not too far from my apartment and went down to check them out.

The first one was your typical gym—weights, treadmills, yoga, aerobics. A manager with a joyous smile gave me a tour around the place, describing everything in detail, except for the rates, and convincing me to sign up. To me it was an average gym, just what I hoped for, nothing special. When I finally got the rates sheet and glimpsed at it, I was first bumped by slight confusion and then hit hard by sudden alarm. The cheapest plan with which you could visit the gym only four days a week was $500 a month, after a membership fee of $4000. Certainly wasn’t prepared for this. I looked at the manager, her smile faded, made the usual excuse about needing more time to think the decision over and quickly left.

The other place was not any prettier—$50 a day. This made me lose my gym motivation for the summer and suddenly going to the park didn’t sound all that bad.

The word замечание means “a comment, an observation.” Sometimes the word is entirely neutral:

At other times the word has the sense of “a comment containing criticism.”