Albert Hoffmann, discoverer of LSD, died yesterday at 102.
LSD culture (which for better or for worse has informed popular culture in more ways than might be apparent to many) is about as far from my life as for Muskogee, Oklahoma residents. Still, I couldn't help remembering the factoid that the accidental discovery of this still unexplained substance happened in the course of research into a class of pharmaceuticals that bring on uterine contractions. That was just a blog topic yesterday, along with doors opening into the other side on the old pagan April 30 holiday. Pure coincidence. But are the pharmacokinetics coincidence -- that something so related to a facet of the birth process is also related to consciousness? Some people think not, and not all of them seem to be wacky hippies, though they certainly have trouble getting government funding to take them seriously.
A loss it is. The 1960s were filled with various pied piper figures, cult leaders and lost youths, but Hoffmann was a decent man of science (whose life work was something completely unrelated) who provided balance and unlike certain Harvard psychologists remained true to the scientific method -- needed in an age that tends to get hysterical/messianic about religious topics, let alone mystical experiences.
Some opnion leaders might have said "drop out", but I imagine Hoffmann might have told kids: Don't use drugs and stay in school. A mind is terrible thing to waste, and so is consciousness.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Overtime
Regulation time has ended. We're in stoppage time. (Leave it to a guy to use a sports metaphor for the birth of a baby.)
"Our" official due date was April 27 (May 2). That's not a Julian-Gregorian thing. It means the baby is due on April 27 but the attending physician added a couple days based on the size of the baby, so May 2 is the de facto due date and April 27 is the de jure.
Everyone is healthy but there is a feeling that the nine months are up and there could be a resolution now.
Tomorrow, since it's Walpurgis Night and a lot of doors will be open between this and the other side, we'll go through rituals (perfectly syncretical ones, mind you; we'll say a prayer too) to try to intimate to the baby that it is time to start the descent.
When we first learned the news, I predicted May 1. It could still happen.
"Walpurga" is not on the short list of names. Nor is "Hedwig". I do all of a sudden like a name based on "Bealtaine". But Lorna is leading.
I still joke, though it has become tiresome already, that it is twins, because she is really active, much more than Morgan was.
Anyway, I am conflicted about writing too much more for now, so I will draw a curtain on the scene. Back to political potshots and venting ire as I am able.
"Our" official due date was April 27 (May 2). That's not a Julian-Gregorian thing. It means the baby is due on April 27 but the attending physician added a couple days based on the size of the baby, so May 2 is the de facto due date and April 27 is the de jure.
Everyone is healthy but there is a feeling that the nine months are up and there could be a resolution now.
Tomorrow, since it's Walpurgis Night and a lot of doors will be open between this and the other side, we'll go through rituals (perfectly syncretical ones, mind you; we'll say a prayer too) to try to intimate to the baby that it is time to start the descent.
When we first learned the news, I predicted May 1. It could still happen.
"Walpurga" is not on the short list of names. Nor is "Hedwig". I do all of a sudden like a name based on "Bealtaine". But Lorna is leading.
I still joke, though it has become tiresome already, that it is twins, because she is really active, much more than Morgan was.
Anyway, I am conflicted about writing too much more for now, so I will draw a curtain on the scene. Back to political potshots and venting ire as I am able.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
How does a president decide?
(news seems slow in Estonia this week)
Interesting piece on US presidents from Achenbach, with this reminder:
It would be important, for the public's interests, to get candidates in a situation where they couldn't resort to words, to waffling, or coming up with yet another memorable sound bite. Put them in a hypothetical ethical dilemma -- at what point do they rob the pharmacy?
Even if we could just confront them with a chess puzzle (in the actual game of chess), that could speak volumes. (Candidates would have the choice of go besides chess.)
Unfortunately, despite increased fascination in and power of the office, the cynical view is growing that presidents as individuals don't even get to decide, that they're just figureheads. Remember the confusion and 20 different versions about when Dubya learned about 9/11 and how he was told. Fact remains that he didn't even express emotion or basic reassurance to Americans independently; or perhaps he was instructed to wait for a cue.
And that sadly makes efforts by pocket historians like Achenbach quaint.
Interesting piece on US presidents from Achenbach, with this reminder:
Experts on the presidency repeatedly returned to a central premise: A president needs to be good at making decisions, lots of them, on complicated matters. This may seem screamingly obvious -- but consider how little most of us know about the decision-making skills of the three people still running for president. We know more about the way they dress than the way they decide.Instead of, or in addition to debates, I wonder there could be a kind of Model Executive Branch or mock-government game for candidates. Perhaps stick them in a nuclear crisis simulator, see how they fare.
It would be important, for the public's interests, to get candidates in a situation where they couldn't resort to words, to waffling, or coming up with yet another memorable sound bite. Put them in a hypothetical ethical dilemma -- at what point do they rob the pharmacy?
Even if we could just confront them with a chess puzzle (in the actual game of chess), that could speak volumes. (Candidates would have the choice of go besides chess.)
Unfortunately, despite increased fascination in and power of the office, the cynical view is growing that presidents as individuals don't even get to decide, that they're just figureheads. Remember the confusion and 20 different versions about when Dubya learned about 9/11 and how he was told. Fact remains that he didn't even express emotion or basic reassurance to Americans independently; or perhaps he was instructed to wait for a cue.
And that sadly makes efforts by pocket historians like Achenbach quaint.
Friday, April 25, 2008
A memory
Other than being mighty pissed off in a petit bourgeois way that my Tallinn neighbourhood was going to the dogs last April, what I remember is a trip I took to Keila the week before the riots.
A crew from Swedish TV4 had contacted some friends of mine about making a short segment on the Bronze Man. I questioned the Swedes' motives -- I thought they might take a sensationalist approach. Signing aboard as their guide and translator, I felt some responsibility for steering them in the right direction. What if, I said, I could line up an interview with the girls, now active women in their 70s, who blew up the original wooden monument in 1946? The Swedes seemed excited, as if already structuring a piece in their minds -- maybe Estonians had a long tradition of removing monuments?
Not quite, of course. Regarding what the girls did, I think recently some news organizations, and even the Wikipedia entry, have missed an important detail. It wasn't just that the girls were "angry" that Estonian monuments were being razed by the Soviets at that time. I think it's an important distinction. It wasn't a tit-for-tat vengeance deal. From the girls' perspective, it was even more simple and direct -- they had been eyewitnesses to the fact that some squatters in a nearby building that was to be requisitioned had been summarily executed by the Soviets and buried hastily under the monument -- not military, as claimed by the Soviets. So much, in other words, for "unknown soldiers" -- unknown yes, but soldiers no. To say nothing about heroic liberators.
Ageeda Paavel was not available on the day the Swedes were to arrive so she referred me to her friend, Aili Jõgi (nee Jurgenson), who like her was tried as an adult and sentenced to long terms in Siberia.
Things fell together perfectly. We rode a taxi cab out to Keila. The Swedes had wanted to speak to local Russian-speaking people, too, and the driver was Russian and they chatted and I translated what little I could.
I felt a little embarrassed when we got to Mrs. Jõgi's place. I realized only when we got there how seriously ill her husband of many decades, Ülo Jõgi (then the last surviving member of the ERNA recce group), was. She had just been to the hospital that morning where he had had a tranfusion for leukemia -- and then come back home to talk to foreign camera crew about her country!
I had to translate the cameraman's endless instructions on where to stand -- I didn't know so much scripting and blocking went into a 5-minute TV news segment.
She was so full of life and so optimistic. She referred to it as her Hollywood star turn and complied.
She produced nothing but perfect sound bites, I thought, explaining it perfectly from her POV -- her outrage at what was going on in Estonia after the WWII was officially over. I didn't see the finished segment but spent the afternoon helping the Swedes edit it. The cameraman in particular seemed leftist as hell, but they were journalistically conscientious.
I had the feeling, and I don't think it's a conceit on my part, that they expected a doddering pensioner whose story they would have to salt liberally with moral relativism, but what they got was compelling, lucid and heartfelt TV.
A crew from Swedish TV4 had contacted some friends of mine about making a short segment on the Bronze Man. I questioned the Swedes' motives -- I thought they might take a sensationalist approach. Signing aboard as their guide and translator, I felt some responsibility for steering them in the right direction. What if, I said, I could line up an interview with the girls, now active women in their 70s, who blew up the original wooden monument in 1946? The Swedes seemed excited, as if already structuring a piece in their minds -- maybe Estonians had a long tradition of removing monuments?
Not quite, of course. Regarding what the girls did, I think recently some news organizations, and even the Wikipedia entry, have missed an important detail. It wasn't just that the girls were "angry" that Estonian monuments were being razed by the Soviets at that time. I think it's an important distinction. It wasn't a tit-for-tat vengeance deal. From the girls' perspective, it was even more simple and direct -- they had been eyewitnesses to the fact that some squatters in a nearby building that was to be requisitioned had been summarily executed by the Soviets and buried hastily under the monument -- not military, as claimed by the Soviets. So much, in other words, for "unknown soldiers" -- unknown yes, but soldiers no. To say nothing about heroic liberators.
Ageeda Paavel was not available on the day the Swedes were to arrive so she referred me to her friend, Aili Jõgi (nee Jurgenson), who like her was tried as an adult and sentenced to long terms in Siberia.
Things fell together perfectly. We rode a taxi cab out to Keila. The Swedes had wanted to speak to local Russian-speaking people, too, and the driver was Russian and they chatted and I translated what little I could.
I felt a little embarrassed when we got to Mrs. Jõgi's place. I realized only when we got there how seriously ill her husband of many decades, Ülo Jõgi (then the last surviving member of the ERNA recce group), was. She had just been to the hospital that morning where he had had a tranfusion for leukemia -- and then come back home to talk to foreign camera crew about her country!
I had to translate the cameraman's endless instructions on where to stand -- I didn't know so much scripting and blocking went into a 5-minute TV news segment.
She was so full of life and so optimistic. She referred to it as her Hollywood star turn and complied.
She produced nothing but perfect sound bites, I thought, explaining it perfectly from her POV -- her outrage at what was going on in Estonia after the WWII was officially over. I didn't see the finished segment but spent the afternoon helping the Swedes edit it. The cameraman in particular seemed leftist as hell, but they were journalistically conscientious.
I had the feeling, and I don't think it's a conceit on my part, that they expected a doddering pensioner whose story they would have to salt liberally with moral relativism, but what they got was compelling, lucid and heartfelt TV.
My career as a Eurovision pundit
I am a few entries into my stint as a commentator on an enjoyable UK Eurovision blog.
It's a long story, but I hope the young proprietors' trust in my critical discernment is not misplaced.
I feel somewhat like I imagine Dennis Miller might have felt when he took his Monday Night Football gig. Do non-Americans know Miller? This was a hilarious chapter in broadcasting history -- Monday night is ordinarily the rowdy province of such philosophers as the late Howard Cosell ("see that monkey run"). But Miller, who was, I think, in earnest, either saw something that wasn't there on the field (like the French Revolution, say) or saw something that the rest of us didn't see.
Of course I don't have Miller's erudition.
A couple days ago I watched a neighbouring country's Eurovision entry. It left me shaking my head with dismay. It was the most overwrought, soulless thing I have ever seen, delivered in a bad accent. I would watch Sanjaya (who was not this weak), I would watch Kristjan, or Viljandi's own torch song god Timothy Jarman on Estonian Idol much more gladly.
I tried to come up with something semi-charitable to write, and initially I could only produce: "T--- ma ei või". 3x.
Which oddly enough, I think, was actually also a Kreisiraadio line.
OK, "the night was dark and stormy." P---, kui piinlik.
Some people produce weighty tomes on Kalmykistan's latest entry (I could read writing like this for hours). It's like watching Greil Marcus deconstruct a particularly laden Dylan verse.
It makes me feel like I am really missing something in most songs.
Hopefully I do have some sort of sensibility for Northeastern Europe perspective (?) and I can bring it to bear on the blog in a readable way.
It's a long story, but I hope the young proprietors' trust in my critical discernment is not misplaced.
I feel somewhat like I imagine Dennis Miller might have felt when he took his Monday Night Football gig. Do non-Americans know Miller? This was a hilarious chapter in broadcasting history -- Monday night is ordinarily the rowdy province of such philosophers as the late Howard Cosell ("see that monkey run"). But Miller, who was, I think, in earnest, either saw something that wasn't there on the field (like the French Revolution, say) or saw something that the rest of us didn't see.
Of course I don't have Miller's erudition.
A couple days ago I watched a neighbouring country's Eurovision entry. It left me shaking my head with dismay. It was the most overwrought, soulless thing I have ever seen, delivered in a bad accent. I would watch Sanjaya (who was not this weak), I would watch Kristjan, or Viljandi's own torch song god Timothy Jarman on Estonian Idol much more gladly.
I tried to come up with something semi-charitable to write, and initially I could only produce: "T--- ma ei või". 3x.
Which oddly enough, I think, was actually also a Kreisiraadio line.
OK, "the night was dark and stormy." P---, kui piinlik.
Some people produce weighty tomes on Kalmykistan's latest entry (I could read writing like this for hours). It's like watching Greil Marcus deconstruct a particularly laden Dylan verse.
It makes me feel like I am really missing something in most songs.
Hopefully I do have some sort of sensibility for Northeastern Europe perspective (?) and I can bring it to bear on the blog in a readable way.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
The long bright days
UPDATE: After writing this, actually stuck my head out, picked up child from kindergarten, walked around. Very nice -- and even some tender green leaves. It's been warmer than last year.
I'm homesick for the other continent this time of year. These are, as far as I'm concerned, the worst times to be outdoors in Estonia. Much of the open low country is still waterlogged, to say nothing of riverside trails. The trees are bare. The cities are dusty and drab. Until recently, there was so much sand in the air that sometimes, when the yellowish wind blows by an example of socialist architecture just right, Tallinn looks like an African provincial city on the edge of the sahel.
Despite the sun beating down day after day since Monday, early spring drags on and on in Estonia. Like a primitive worrying that the sun won't rise tomorrow, this time of year always seems like touch and go for me, that this might be the year that spring doesn't take root at all -- that seedlings will go into shock from the sudden sunlight. Then add the realization that in less than two months, the days will start getting shorter.
Like flora, cafes around Tallinn seem to operate entirely by the sun, not temperature or calendar. They're quick to enter vegetative growth. Overnight, the outdoor tables come out, and people sit down and start vegetating, even though the mercury may still read 8 or 9 degrees C. If only plants were the same way.
At our Estonian sets of parents and in-laws, it is possible to enjoy temperatures of up to 20-- their backyards and the silikaat and white siding of neighbouring houses seem to catch and concentrate the sun.
Still, for me, this is a time to be anywhere else -- in the south of Europe, or skiing in Sapmi.
Last year in May I took a bicycle ride to Aegviidu and there was still nothing on the trees. Aegviidu is a little bit of an energy centre, but it was a gruelling trip against a headwind and a dun landscape past limestone quarries.
The willow shoots are developing little woody buds, but nothing feline or furry yet.
In Virginia, the air would have long been full of redbud, dogwood, and azalea and oak pollen, or at the least, the smell of last year's unraked oak, tulip poplar and maple leaves matted around the old home place. A breeze coming off of the lake.
I did get a whiff, running past the Metsakalmistu the other day, of pine sap roasting in the sun, but it only made me think of 7000 ft lodgepole forest in the West and I longed to be climbing higher into the Christmas-tree fragrance of the high country, which of course is hard to do here.
I must say the sea looks inviting around Tallinn. The biggest visual perk to life in the capital has shaken off its sludgy green grey colour, and in the light it is dark blue like the sky through a polarizing filter, with crisp contours.
I'm homesick for the other continent this time of year. These are, as far as I'm concerned, the worst times to be outdoors in Estonia. Much of the open low country is still waterlogged, to say nothing of riverside trails. The trees are bare. The cities are dusty and drab. Until recently, there was so much sand in the air that sometimes, when the yellowish wind blows by an example of socialist architecture just right, Tallinn looks like an African provincial city on the edge of the sahel.
Despite the sun beating down day after day since Monday, early spring drags on and on in Estonia. Like a primitive worrying that the sun won't rise tomorrow, this time of year always seems like touch and go for me, that this might be the year that spring doesn't take root at all -- that seedlings will go into shock from the sudden sunlight. Then add the realization that in less than two months, the days will start getting shorter.
Like flora, cafes around Tallinn seem to operate entirely by the sun, not temperature or calendar. They're quick to enter vegetative growth. Overnight, the outdoor tables come out, and people sit down and start vegetating, even though the mercury may still read 8 or 9 degrees C. If only plants were the same way.
At our Estonian sets of parents and in-laws, it is possible to enjoy temperatures of up to 20-- their backyards and the silikaat and white siding of neighbouring houses seem to catch and concentrate the sun.
Still, for me, this is a time to be anywhere else -- in the south of Europe, or skiing in Sapmi.
Last year in May I took a bicycle ride to Aegviidu and there was still nothing on the trees. Aegviidu is a little bit of an energy centre, but it was a gruelling trip against a headwind and a dun landscape past limestone quarries.
The willow shoots are developing little woody buds, but nothing feline or furry yet.
In Virginia, the air would have long been full of redbud, dogwood, and azalea and oak pollen, or at the least, the smell of last year's unraked oak, tulip poplar and maple leaves matted around the old home place. A breeze coming off of the lake.
I did get a whiff, running past the Metsakalmistu the other day, of pine sap roasting in the sun, but it only made me think of 7000 ft lodgepole forest in the West and I longed to be climbing higher into the Christmas-tree fragrance of the high country, which of course is hard to do here.
I must say the sea looks inviting around Tallinn. The biggest visual perk to life in the capital has shaken off its sludgy green grey colour, and in the light it is dark blue like the sky through a polarizing filter, with crisp contours.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
EVOLUTION OF A TRADITION: I'm feeling environmentally conscious
Earth Day 2001 -- There's another Earth just like this one, in case we screw it up too bad.
2002 -- But what if there isn't?
2003 -- In fact, the rest of the universe probably looks like this -- and is already taken.
2004 -- Fortunately there are still places like this out West...
2005 --...though most of us live here, with only squirrels and blue jays and the odd tree.
2006 -- Saving the environment can be unsightly, but companies should do their part.
2007 -- Another day...another ice shelf...(it was a depressing year for the environment, so who cares about the price of GOOG).
Time for a new tack - think green but Zen. In the end, flowers cover everything again.
Newspaper ranks the most livable cities
I've been lucky -- I happened to live in America's most livable city, Charlottesville, Virginia (according to Frommer's 2004 and 2005), for the three years before it received the title. As with many of these things, the title is a mixed blessing and it means the city will have to work all that much harder at balancing development and conservation.
Eesti Päevaleht published its reader poll of the most livable cities** in Estonia yesterday. What do you know, I live in the ninth most livable city in Estonia, the much maligned Tallinn. I expected to find it somewhere between Narva (which is surprisingly in the middle of the pack) and Karksi-Nuia (byword for "the sticks" in my book, but also quite high on the list).
Rakvere, which I enjoyed very much on my visit (which I undertook knowing that it had a theatre and a meat plant but not much else), placed sixth.
Buried lead: Tartu placed first; respondents cited something about the spirit of the place.
Haapsalu and Pärnu, often thought of in comparison, are next; here the smaller Venice of the North (the reference is most likely to the shared ultimate fate of both) beat out the Capital of Summer (no, parliament does not hold sessions in Pränu in July) for number two.
Kuressaare, one of my favourites, is fourth.
Speaking of towns in Estonia, an unrelated question -- are there any fictional ones creaed by Estonian writers? That is, has any novel or series been set in a town that is an addition to the landscape, and is not just a real town that is disguised, roman a clef?
** 301 readers could give each town up to 10 points each. So I guess the minimum score for any town was 301.
Eesti Päevaleht published its reader poll of the most livable cities** in Estonia yesterday. What do you know, I live in the ninth most livable city in Estonia, the much maligned Tallinn. I expected to find it somewhere between Narva (which is surprisingly in the middle of the pack) and Karksi-Nuia (byword for "the sticks" in my book, but also quite high on the list).
Rakvere, which I enjoyed very much on my visit (which I undertook knowing that it had a theatre and a meat plant but not much else), placed sixth.
Buried lead: Tartu placed first; respondents cited something about the spirit of the place.
Haapsalu and Pärnu, often thought of in comparison, are next; here the smaller Venice of the North (the reference is most likely to the shared ultimate fate of both) beat out the Capital of Summer (no, parliament does not hold sessions in Pränu in July) for number two.
Kuressaare, one of my favourites, is fourth.
Speaking of towns in Estonia, an unrelated question -- are there any fictional ones creaed by Estonian writers? That is, has any novel or series been set in a town that is an addition to the landscape, and is not just a real town that is disguised, roman a clef?
** 301 readers could give each town up to 10 points each. So I guess the minimum score for any town was 301.
Monday, April 21, 2008
ID
Today I picked up my Estonian ID card. Besides buying bus tickets, I can use it to vote over the Internet (though not immediately -- I have to wait until the next elections!), travel within the European Union, digitally sign documents, and get free refills on coffee, though I'm not sure about the last one. It is based on public-private key encryption, which means that when combined with the data on the chip implanted in my head, I can keep my rants safe (not that I wouldn't share them on the blog, anyway).
OK, seriously. It is quite nifty. I did notice onereal problem. Hanza.net (Hansabank's online interface) still requires you to enter your code card or PIN calculator code, which seems to defeat the whole purpose. They've even produced a Fkash tutorial which explains what codes to enter. Sure enough, you have to get out your PIN calculator, which is a little code generating device, and enter the old code.
Despite knowing that the ID card is not actually some sort of slippery slope to a one-world plot as some have alleged, I was a little nervous upon noticing that I had left the card in the reader and had been surfing on the Internet for 20 minutes. I wonder whether my browsing history was saved anywhere.
But who has time for monitoring citizens' every move. That's so, like, old.
OK, seriously. It is quite nifty. I did notice one
Despite knowing that the ID card is not actually some sort of slippery slope to a one-world plot as some have alleged, I was a little nervous upon noticing that I had left the card in the reader and had been surfing on the Internet for 20 minutes. I wonder whether my browsing history was saved anywhere.
But who has time for monitoring citizens' every move. That's so, like, old.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
REVIEW: Bucket List
Went to see the Bucket List at the multiplex. I was thinking Horton Hears a Who, mainly because I'm curious how the hell they could stretch a Seuss story into a full-length feature. Judging from some of the wire service stories, Horton would have also made a good Baltocentric Review.
But we've recently had too many animations, children's films and movies where characters burst into song for no reason. So it was Bucket List. Despite being panned as schlock and other choice "sch" words, we were quite touched by it.
Much of the criticism of the movie involved "unrealistic portrayals of cancer", and coming from Roger Ebert, they have to be given credence. Yet a good part of the film involves scenes of distress, nausea, loose catheters, that how much more can you really stuff into two hours? It is a film, after all. Too much verite sometimes gets in the way.
Another criticism is that Jack Nicholson as a hospital executive would surely not have to share a room for PR purposes, as hospitals are well-known to have special concierge services for rich bitches such as he. My wife had a clever way out of this, suggesting that maybe Ncholson's long-suffering private secretary made the arrangements.
Verdict: contrived, but if approached with a good heart, enjoyable. It cemented my conviction that I don't have any special interest in seeing Cairo or the Pyramids, but that I do want to go to the south of France. I was again reminded that I do want to be buried on a mountaintop but it didn't send me reaching for the yellow pad and pencil to make up my own list. I also liked the product placement for Chock Full o' Nuts.
But we've recently had too many animations, children's films and movies where characters burst into song for no reason. So it was Bucket List. Despite being panned as schlock and other choice "sch" words, we were quite touched by it.
Much of the criticism of the movie involved "unrealistic portrayals of cancer", and coming from Roger Ebert, they have to be given credence. Yet a good part of the film involves scenes of distress, nausea, loose catheters, that how much more can you really stuff into two hours? It is a film, after all. Too much verite sometimes gets in the way.
Another criticism is that Jack Nicholson as a hospital executive would surely not have to share a room for PR purposes, as hospitals are well-known to have special concierge services for rich bitches such as he. My wife had a clever way out of this, suggesting that maybe Ncholson's long-suffering private secretary made the arrangements.
Verdict: contrived, but if approached with a good heart, enjoyable. It cemented my conviction that I don't have any special interest in seeing Cairo or the Pyramids, but that I do want to go to the south of France. I was again reminded that I do want to be buried on a mountaintop but it didn't send me reaching for the yellow pad and pencil to make up my own list. I also liked the product placement for Chock Full o' Nuts.
Two northern lands
Iceland is at once apples and oranges with Estonia -- an island largely dependent on fishing and not a member of the EU -- and something very similar -- with a small population, a big bank and services sector that sometimes seems to be propped up largely on air, and a current account deficit of over 10% of output.
Iceland, which is incidentally probably the next great place we plan to visit when the kids are at the right stage, has had an economic downturn. According to a NYT article , people aren't buying cars anymore, the horror, and a carton (a pint?) of Ben and Jerry's is up to $10, even with the dollar also weak.
Life outside of the EU sure is a lot more volatile. I don't think Estonians, who panic whenever the rate of growth of the rate of growth tapers off, would be able to cut it if they were cut adrift in the North Atlantic without any trees.
As such, Iceland could be seen as a cautionary tale of what could have happened if we had voted against the EU. Instead of being in the cozy safety of the bureaucratic limited liability company that is the EU... Iceland goes it alone, and despite nationalist gumption and smart financial decisions, still gets burned. Instead of having the Estonian kroon, which does absolutely nothing to deserve its currency-board backed stability, Iceland has the krona, its pride and joy as well as the world's "worst-performing major currency".
Or, given how similar the symptoms are -- inflation, and higher cost of living on what some have termed a northern Hawaii -- are we that different? Maybe Iceland will be the first domino in a mainland crisis.
On a more cheery note, Sigur Ros is expected to release their new album by summer after all. And less driving of motor vehicles would only be a good thing in Iceland, which is as addicted to it as are we Estonians.
Iceland, which is incidentally probably the next great place we plan to visit when the kids are at the right stage, has had an economic downturn. According to a NYT article , people aren't buying cars anymore, the horror, and a carton (a pint?) of Ben and Jerry's is up to $10, even with the dollar also weak.
Life outside of the EU sure is a lot more volatile. I don't think Estonians, who panic whenever the rate of growth of the rate of growth tapers off, would be able to cut it if they were cut adrift in the North Atlantic without any trees.
As such, Iceland could be seen as a cautionary tale of what could have happened if we had voted against the EU. Instead of being in the cozy safety of the bureaucratic limited liability company that is the EU... Iceland goes it alone, and despite nationalist gumption and smart financial decisions, still gets burned. Instead of having the Estonian kroon, which does absolutely nothing to deserve its currency-board backed stability, Iceland has the krona, its pride and joy as well as the world's "worst-performing major currency".
Or, given how similar the symptoms are -- inflation, and higher cost of living on what some have termed a northern Hawaii -- are we that different? Maybe Iceland will be the first domino in a mainland crisis.
On a more cheery note, Sigur Ros is expected to release their new album by summer after all. And less driving of motor vehicles would only be a good thing in Iceland, which is as addicted to it as are we Estonians.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Poll results, illustrated
Play by play of the (poorly attended) steel cage match between Lou Reed and Bob Dylan, who will be coming to Tallinn:
In Round 1, Lou Reed rode in on a Metal Machine. "Come, you master of war," Dylan taunted.
Dylan went down immediately. "It's all right, I'm only bleeding," he said, though, getting to his feet.
"I'm waiting for the man," taunted Reed, "but I don't see him."
In Round 2, Dylan went electric but well-meaning folk purists cut his power and Lou attacked again with a blaze of White Light/White Heat, leaving a hypnotic splattered mist which slowly lifted to reveal that it had been a knockout blow.
"It's all over now," said Dylan. "I'm going back to New York City, I do believe I've had enough." But Lou had the last words: "No, I'm going back to New York City. You're from Minnesota."
In Round 1, Lou Reed rode in on a Metal Machine. "Come, you master of war," Dylan taunted.
Dylan went down immediately. "It's all right, I'm only bleeding," he said, though, getting to his feet.
"I'm waiting for the man," taunted Reed, "but I don't see him."
In Round 2, Dylan went electric but well-meaning folk purists cut his power and Lou attacked again with a blaze of White Light/White Heat, leaving a hypnotic splattered mist which slowly lifted to reveal that it had been a knockout blow.
"It's all over now," said Dylan. "I'm going back to New York City, I do believe I've had enough." But Lou had the last words: "No, I'm going back to New York City. You're from Minnesota."
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Maclean
I started reading Fitzroy Maclean's memoirs, Eastern Approaches -- he was a Scottish diplomat posted to Russia in the 1930s. It's an old Time Life series book and as such has turned incredibly brittle, but most of the books in the series are good literature and worth the detritus in your living room. Not too many Baltic references, but it's a useful "approach" to travel writing about Russia and dangerous places in general.
What's refreshing is that he's a young, upper-class but unstuffy guy, with a major thing for Central Asia (would that make him a youthful Hedinist?), who sees things under Stalin pretty much as they are. Clearly he's a Russophile, but there's no fellow-traveller element as there is with many 1930s journalists and diplomats.
His pattern is basically to pull desk duty in Moscow for a few months, then, when he gets some time off, make yet another attempt to get to far side of the Caspian, which other than Alma Ata is still very un-Sovietized at this point and off-limits to everyone.
The Central Asia parts are glamorized but there is no bombast as you would get from a T. E. Lawrence.
Wikipedia says Maclean was an inspiration for Bond. This early stuff is breezy, a series of minor misadventures.
What is particularly amusing is that he keeps on popping into the local N.K.V.D. offices, as if they were tourist info outlets, and in fact they are invariably helpful, and because he wanders so far afield at times, his handlers turn almost into sidekicks and he has conversations with them about where to eat in the countryside.
What's refreshing is that he's a young, upper-class but unstuffy guy, with a major thing for Central Asia (would that make him a youthful Hedinist?), who sees things under Stalin pretty much as they are. Clearly he's a Russophile, but there's no fellow-traveller element as there is with many 1930s journalists and diplomats.
His pattern is basically to pull desk duty in Moscow for a few months, then, when he gets some time off, make yet another attempt to get to far side of the Caspian, which other than Alma Ata is still very un-Sovietized at this point and off-limits to everyone.
The Central Asia parts are glamorized but there is no bombast as you would get from a T. E. Lawrence.
Wikipedia says Maclean was an inspiration for Bond. This early stuff is breezy, a series of minor misadventures.
What is particularly amusing is that he keeps on popping into the local N.K.V.D. offices, as if they were tourist info outlets, and in fact they are invariably helpful, and because he wanders so far afield at times, his handlers turn almost into sidekicks and he has conversations with them about where to eat in the countryside.
Ühisteenused
I had my first run-in with Ühisteenused (Joint Services), Estonia's euphemistically entitled public transport ticket inspectors and performers of other odd jobs. I probably owe the system close to one fine's worth ($60) in free rides, so I had been waiting to pay them that sum of money and see the inside of their paddy wagon for gonzo journalism purposes (as well as for the fact that it seems to be a Berlingo type LAV). There continue to be complaints of occasional controller brutality so this would be a service to the community, I tell myself.
I know. Irresponsible -- and did you know, I jaywalk, sometimes, too? Estonia has trouble balancing its state budget and then you have people like me. No doubt it's a rather unthought-through attitude -- perhaps paying a fine would have negative aspects I haven't considered, like an administrative fine on my record, if they keep records of such things. But I'm just used to not paying. In Portland, there's a "fareless square", which I never had the need to travel beyond. In most other cities, you pay as you board. In Tallinn, if you ride with a child under 3, which I occasionally do, you ride for free legally. So I have grown used to not buying tickets and frankly, with kiosks having grown scarce, I wouldn't know where to buy them. Piletilevi, maybe?
So, anyway, this tram I was on yesterday stopped short of the stop. There was a paddy wagon waiting. And men in windbreakers.
The windbreakers looked much like my jacket.
I noticed when my wife gave me this jacket that it looked somewhat similar to the one worn by the ticket inspectors and the meter maids. (Though it is clearly a cut above the Ühisteenused jackets.) I wonder if it played any part in them ignoring me.
These ticket inspectors were very efficient. They boarded the tram and went about their business, it seemed, silently. In the old days (1990s) I remember a lot of hectoring and intimidation by people who might or might not have been controllers.
I guess it pays to outsource to G4S. This raid looked like a drill, with both sides -- transgressors and controllers -- going through a choreographed ritual they had performed many times. It was almost as if the "bad guys" weren't even told to leave the tram. They knew the jig was up and took their seats in the paddy wagon for processing.
I stood there by the doors of the tram like a beanpole. I nodded professionally to one of the controllers as he passed and he looked up blankly. I would like to say that he complimented me on my jacket, but he did not.
Within a minute or two the controllers had rounded up their quota and left and the tram continued on its way and I hadn't moved or been asked to do anything.
I know. Irresponsible -- and did you know, I jaywalk, sometimes, too? Estonia has trouble balancing its state budget and then you have people like me. No doubt it's a rather unthought-through attitude -- perhaps paying a fine would have negative aspects I haven't considered, like an administrative fine on my record, if they keep records of such things. But I'm just used to not paying. In Portland, there's a "fareless square", which I never had the need to travel beyond. In most other cities, you pay as you board. In Tallinn, if you ride with a child under 3, which I occasionally do, you ride for free legally. So I have grown used to not buying tickets and frankly, with kiosks having grown scarce, I wouldn't know where to buy them. Piletilevi, maybe?
So, anyway, this tram I was on yesterday stopped short of the stop. There was a paddy wagon waiting. And men in windbreakers.
The windbreakers looked much like my jacket.
I noticed when my wife gave me this jacket that it looked somewhat similar to the one worn by the ticket inspectors and the meter maids. (Though it is clearly a cut above the Ühisteenused jackets.) I wonder if it played any part in them ignoring me.These ticket inspectors were very efficient. They boarded the tram and went about their business, it seemed, silently. In the old days (1990s) I remember a lot of hectoring and intimidation by people who might or might not have been controllers.
I guess it pays to outsource to G4S. This raid looked like a drill, with both sides -- transgressors and controllers -- going through a choreographed ritual they had performed many times. It was almost as if the "bad guys" weren't even told to leave the tram. They knew the jig was up and took their seats in the paddy wagon for processing.
I stood there by the doors of the tram like a beanpole. I nodded professionally to one of the controllers as he passed and he looked up blankly. I would like to say that he complimented me on my jacket, but he did not.
Within a minute or two the controllers had rounded up their quota and left and the tram continued on its way and I hadn't moved or been asked to do anything.
Lorna?
Picking a name for my future daughter has been difficult, because I don't have that many favourite female names, and many of the ones that I like don't work in either Estonian or English. I'm partial to those lyrical Welsh names like Gwendolyn.
Of Estonian names, I like Elo, which has been nixed by my wife because of an negative association.
I have a pretty neutral relationship with names starting in K, which are the most common ones in Estonia (Kairi, Karin, Kristina...).
And the whole Grete-Maigret-Marga spectrum has some OK options (though perhaps the very peasanty Krõõt is a no-go and can you imagine that in English).
For a while, we were thinking about a traditional, imperial name like Catherine or Elizabeth but in the end I thought it might be too pompous (especially when combined or hyphenated) and my wife noted that both those women (the historical monarchs) had issues with men.
We're leaning toward Lorna. Though some may dimly remember Lorna as a domestic 1950s name like "Betty Crocker" -- Lorna Doone is the name of a shortbread cookie -- I think it is quite pretty. It is a name that is easily pronounceable in Estonia and can also be worn proudly in the Virginia mountains because of its Scottish roots.
Since we used alliteration with Morgan Matthias, perhaps we'll do Lorna Louise or Lorna Linda. (Tell me in a nice way if you think this is cheesy.)
The etymology is this. Unlike Lorne (which is connected to a Scottish place name) Lorna is fictional, from a Victorian romantic adventure novel called Lorna Doone (expect usual themes of love triangle, villains, escapes from castles).
Since it was at one point the favourite novel of Yale students, I figure it can't be complete fluff.
Of Estonian names, I like Elo, which has been nixed by my wife because of an negative association.
I have a pretty neutral relationship with names starting in K, which are the most common ones in Estonia (Kairi, Karin, Kristina...).
And the whole Grete-Maigret-Marga spectrum has some OK options (though perhaps the very peasanty Krõõt is a no-go and can you imagine that in English).
For a while, we were thinking about a traditional, imperial name like Catherine or Elizabeth but in the end I thought it might be too pompous (especially when combined or hyphenated) and my wife noted that both those women (the historical monarchs) had issues with men.
We're leaning toward Lorna. Though some may dimly remember Lorna as a domestic 1950s name like "Betty Crocker" -- Lorna Doone is the name of a shortbread cookie -- I think it is quite pretty. It is a name that is easily pronounceable in Estonia and can also be worn proudly in the Virginia mountains because of its Scottish roots.
Since we used alliteration with Morgan Matthias, perhaps we'll do Lorna Louise or Lorna Linda. (Tell me in a nice way if you think this is cheesy.)
The etymology is this. Unlike Lorne (which is connected to a Scottish place name) Lorna is fictional, from a Victorian romantic adventure novel called Lorna Doone (expect usual themes of love triangle, villains, escapes from castles).
Since it was at one point the favourite novel of Yale students, I figure it can't be complete fluff.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Two culinary epiphanies
One is that no one makes bratwurst like the Germans. Occasionally you will hear anti-pork and quasi-vegetarian sentiments voiced in this blog -- it is true that I do tend to eat low on the food chain. But as grill season heats up, I hereby semi-repudiate them a little bit until September (besides, the best oil for a cast iron skillet for non-grill use is said to be pork fat) . Yesterday I bought a package of four brats with a Finnish label which said they contained no preservatives or curatives. But as soon as I bit in, I said, this can't be right. As in, I have had some mighty fine makkarat but there was no way this could be a Finnish sausage product. The texture was too fine, the taste was pure summer -- specifically backyard deck grill ca 1980, when our family would buy bratwurst and an equal amount of weißwurst from a local German deli. Sure enough, the maker of these scrumptious sausages bought at Stockmann turned out to be Brennecke. No one makes brats like the Germans (and descendants of German immigrants in Wisconsin).
The other thing is that local Estonian companies are making great cheeses and confidently marketing them under AOC names. Don't think Lithuanian Parmesan (which is actually serviceable, though it doesn't have the "flavour crystals") or Latvian "Roquefort" (which was also fine, equal to the Danish and Maytag blues). The real find for me -- and I literally found it today in my fridge -- is Breti Brie from a dairy down in Tartuland. This is no sterile waxy soft cheese that never ripens (I thought it was a commercial President or something and avoided it) -- it's oozy, buttery, clearly some nurture and nature went into it.
The other thing is that local Estonian companies are making great cheeses and confidently marketing them under AOC names. Don't think Lithuanian Parmesan (which is actually serviceable, though it doesn't have the "flavour crystals") or Latvian "Roquefort" (which was also fine, equal to the Danish and Maytag blues). The real find for me -- and I literally found it today in my fridge -- is Breti Brie from a dairy down in Tartuland. This is no sterile waxy soft cheese that never ripens (I thought it was a commercial President or something and avoided it) -- it's oozy, buttery, clearly some nurture and nature went into it.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Capital fever
It's not America's team, or Canada's team -- it's "Russia's team" -- but I can't stifle my excitement. The Washington Capitals of hockey led by the "next Great One" Alex Ovechkin are in the playoffs after a red-hot run.
I feel slightly sheepish for even spending time on this, searching the Net for the dates of NHL playoff games I attended, letting myself catch a little of the bug I vowed to never succumb to again... For a long time, I was immune -- I just gave up on the Capitals, who were good only for springtime heartbreak. I didn't even blink at the "Great One" rhetoric (remember the next great one Reggie Savage? Of course not.) Plus, my view of pro sports in general has become a lot more cynical over the years. What does this organization, or hockey in general, have in common with the Capitals teams I followed in the 1980s and 1990s? Very little.
It must be the excitement of watching a young talent rise to the occasion in the clutch. The universal sports narrative -- in the purest, fastest team sport.
That's probably what drew me to hockey in the first place, which is an unlikely sporting choice when you grow up just south of the Mason-Dixon line and don't have a mullet or rattail. Maybe it is that way in Saint-Tite, too, but redneckiness seems to be one requirement for following the sport, with many of the fans in the South seemingly recruited from NASCAR (stock car racing) or WWF aficionados.
But soccer (football) -- the "other game" with goals -- seemed like a war of attrition waged on the moon. Not that it was really broadcast on TV but occasionally public television would show a spectacle of motes circulating pointlessly on a huge green field in Germany. Perhaps once every few hours of game time, if you were lucky, you would see the ball "ballooning" in what appeared to be a harmless lob but finding a corner of the goal which the goaltender appeared in fact too short to defend. This always prompted puzzlement in me.
What I liked about hockey, especially as played on the narrower North American rinks, was that the proportions of the field and number of players were perfectly matched (much like the case of baseball). The result was that, in hockey, a goal had just the right amount of excitement -- enough for a standing ovation and a siren to be sounded in the arena, but not enough to prompt apoplexy or outbreaks of war between Latin American countries or something.
And while it was physical, it was rarely cruel or violent -- the simple truth was that you are less likely to be injured if you "met" the opposing player's check, and the ice acted as a cushion rather than a surface that could catch a cleat and destroy a knee.
When I started watching the NHL, some players like "Secretary of Defense" Rod Langway, wore no helmets but never got seriously injured. They had some kind of inner radar and caginess. Nowadays, you have stars that have to be kept in an incubator when they aren't playing. You also have more freakish injuries, like skates cutting throats. And just this Game 1 in the Capitals game on Friday, a player was hit by a hard slapshot and he may have to have a testicle removed. Here is the video, not out of prurient interest, but sheer awe at seeing someone skated off (as opposed to being carried off on a stretcher with a morphine IV) after having something like this happen.
Agony. The game 7 that launched the annual pastime of watching the Capitals lose painfully in the playoffs was almost twenty-one years ago, on April 18, 1987. It was the second hockey game I attended. Alas, I was coming down with the flu and only lasted for the first two overtimes. (I think my mom would have stuck it out and then driven back home through the District at four in the morning.) So only when I woke up the next morning, I found out the news that Pat LaFontaine had scored for the Islanders in quadruple overtime. I had left the radio on, prompting a bunch of confused dreams about a Caps victory. This game was dwarfed by later overtime marathons, but then it was the first such game in a long time.
LaFontaine's goal seemed to do something to the team. Year after year, the Capitals would win or nearly win the division, usually but not always beat the hated Philadelphia Flyers, and then find new ways of blowing series to the Penguins or Devils.
Mike Gartner, one of the most consistent 30-goal-scorers of all time and a boon to the community, was traded away for a much less well-rounded player, Dino Ciccarelli, who (after the Caps advanced to the conference finals) promptly found himself accused of a dalliance with a 17-year-old in the back of a limousine. This was not the same team.
For years, the GM flailed around. The Caps always had seemed to be about good offensive defensemen. But this gradually ceased to be so. The core of the team was gutted in rash and expensive decisions, such as acquiring Jaromir Jagr from our nemesis the Penguins, in the magic hope that he would be a viable player when surgically separated from the fellow Czechs who fed him assists. Even the Caps top scorer on the opposite line, who was a Slovak, was sympathetic to his situation. With the game getting tighter-checking, chemistry was all-important.
Now it seems the Capitals have a team carried by their dream - the franchise offensive player who is not a recycled player from another franchise. Even if he is Russian.
I'm kidding, of course -- I have nothing against the Russians. But the economic logic is that with rising standards of living, the Russian leagues may lure Alex Ovechkin back at some point.
I feel slightly sheepish for even spending time on this, searching the Net for the dates of NHL playoff games I attended, letting myself catch a little of the bug I vowed to never succumb to again... For a long time, I was immune -- I just gave up on the Capitals, who were good only for springtime heartbreak. I didn't even blink at the "Great One" rhetoric (remember the next great one Reggie Savage? Of course not.) Plus, my view of pro sports in general has become a lot more cynical over the years. What does this organization, or hockey in general, have in common with the Capitals teams I followed in the 1980s and 1990s? Very little.
It must be the excitement of watching a young talent rise to the occasion in the clutch. The universal sports narrative -- in the purest, fastest team sport.
That's probably what drew me to hockey in the first place, which is an unlikely sporting choice when you grow up just south of the Mason-Dixon line and don't have a mullet or rattail. Maybe it is that way in Saint-Tite, too, but redneckiness seems to be one requirement for following the sport, with many of the fans in the South seemingly recruited from NASCAR (stock car racing) or WWF aficionados.
But soccer (football) -- the "other game" with goals -- seemed like a war of attrition waged on the moon. Not that it was really broadcast on TV but occasionally public television would show a spectacle of motes circulating pointlessly on a huge green field in Germany. Perhaps once every few hours of game time, if you were lucky, you would see the ball "ballooning" in what appeared to be a harmless lob but finding a corner of the goal which the goaltender appeared in fact too short to defend. This always prompted puzzlement in me.
What I liked about hockey, especially as played on the narrower North American rinks, was that the proportions of the field and number of players were perfectly matched (much like the case of baseball). The result was that, in hockey, a goal had just the right amount of excitement -- enough for a standing ovation and a siren to be sounded in the arena, but not enough to prompt apoplexy or outbreaks of war between Latin American countries or something.
And while it was physical, it was rarely cruel or violent -- the simple truth was that you are less likely to be injured if you "met" the opposing player's check, and the ice acted as a cushion rather than a surface that could catch a cleat and destroy a knee.
When I started watching the NHL, some players like "Secretary of Defense" Rod Langway, wore no helmets but never got seriously injured. They had some kind of inner radar and caginess. Nowadays, you have stars that have to be kept in an incubator when they aren't playing. You also have more freakish injuries, like skates cutting throats. And just this Game 1 in the Capitals game on Friday, a player was hit by a hard slapshot and he may have to have a testicle removed. Here is the video, not out of prurient interest, but sheer awe at seeing someone skated off (as opposed to being carried off on a stretcher with a morphine IV) after having something like this happen.
Agony. The game 7 that launched the annual pastime of watching the Capitals lose painfully in the playoffs was almost twenty-one years ago, on April 18, 1987. It was the second hockey game I attended. Alas, I was coming down with the flu and only lasted for the first two overtimes. (I think my mom would have stuck it out and then driven back home through the District at four in the morning.) So only when I woke up the next morning, I found out the news that Pat LaFontaine had scored for the Islanders in quadruple overtime. I had left the radio on, prompting a bunch of confused dreams about a Caps victory. This game was dwarfed by later overtime marathons, but then it was the first such game in a long time.
LaFontaine's goal seemed to do something to the team. Year after year, the Capitals would win or nearly win the division, usually but not always beat the hated Philadelphia Flyers, and then find new ways of blowing series to the Penguins or Devils.
Mike Gartner, one of the most consistent 30-goal-scorers of all time and a boon to the community, was traded away for a much less well-rounded player, Dino Ciccarelli, who (after the Caps advanced to the conference finals) promptly found himself accused of a dalliance with a 17-year-old in the back of a limousine. This was not the same team.
For years, the GM flailed around. The Caps always had seemed to be about good offensive defensemen. But this gradually ceased to be so. The core of the team was gutted in rash and expensive decisions, such as acquiring Jaromir Jagr from our nemesis the Penguins, in the magic hope that he would be a viable player when surgically separated from the fellow Czechs who fed him assists. Even the Caps top scorer on the opposite line, who was a Slovak, was sympathetic to his situation. With the game getting tighter-checking, chemistry was all-important.
Now it seems the Capitals have a team carried by their dream - the franchise offensive player who is not a recycled player from another franchise. Even if he is Russian.
I'm kidding, of course -- I have nothing against the Russians. But the economic logic is that with rising standards of living, the Russian leagues may lure Alex Ovechkin back at some point.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Пapaнoйя (or is it)
I figured as much. With two weeks to go until the anniversary of the Tallinn riots, the (Internet) press is beginning to sound the ominous drumbeats. To me, it seems like paranoia. In the 1990s, foreign visitors would visit Estonia and say things like "gee, Estonia really does deserve its freedom" and it would be front page news. This seems like the same kind of thing, though I agree vigilance is good.
* It has been reported that the trains from Moscow to Tallinn are sold out for 25 April. (Well, it is a Friday night before the May 1 holiday.)
* Night Watch -- the Russian group that glorifies the Soviet occupation -- will be holding a rally in a park in Tallinn. Dum-tum.
* One of Night Watch's biggest fans, Mi(k)hhail Stalnu(k)hhin, left the Centre Party today, possibly to start a new, ethnic Russian party in Narva.
* On the headline in the pic, it is reported that one of the simulations the Russian army is running through is invasions of Georgia and Estonia.
* A survey has been conducted 71% of Estonians say they would fight for their homeland if it came to it.
* But apparently the Ministry of Defence's plans call for only a force of 16,000 to be mobilized, not the "optimum" 100,000.
* People like Edward Lucas and Rein Taagepera have written this year that had Russia not miscalculated and overreacted back in April of last year (such as having a fascist youth group attack the Estonian ambassador), the West would not have come to the support of Estonia -- by which I suppose they imply that, I don't know, a coup or something would have occurred. Really?
People, people. Let's try to relax. I realize Estonians have the 20-year itch about their independence, but we are now a member of Schengen. What will it take to reassure us? Maybe we need one more, new pan-European organization -- call it the League of the Western Lands or something -- to be a member of.
Kid post
Kid update. Morgan (2 years, 7 months) has reached the "why" stage. Kids must be programmed that way. Just like at a certain age, infants will grab things and refuse to let go. Every infant; no exceptions.
Though with Morgan, sometimes I think maybe we just asked him "why" he wants to do something one too many times, and instead of coyly replying, "sellepärast" (because) -- which was his habit for a few weeks -- he decided to turn the tables on us. Now all of his questions start, "but why is/are/does..."?
And of course, we adults don't always know why.
A couple times I have been sent nearly running to the encyclopaedia, before staging a quick recovery. For example, I am particularly proud of my performance when asked "why we shouldn't eat salt in mass quantities": sucks the water out of your cells and you wither away and Emme and Issi would be very sad.
You can't shelter the young uns too much. Science is a harsh, harsh world. Often the answers to scientific questions end in a certain way -- for example, what happens if you go into space without a space suit? Well, I'm not going to lie to them.
Life in the 21st century...it's tough. Life in space -- that's tough, too. But at 2, kids are or should still be such receptive love sponges that you can't mess them up this way. You'll just get one more "why" on top of your last "because" .
I was a little worried at M's glibness with a stranger on a tram when someone asked him where he was going, and he practically gave our home address. Luckily it was a older woman, not an old drunk like the one I encountered last year when I was picking M up from a toddlers' song and dance class. This one was a weird bird.
But it will soon be time to have a talk about strangers.
We don't expose him to any TV -- just one DVD, Lotte, an Estonian cartoon, which seems pretty clever and safe. I am a little cautious, as it seems a little obsessive, as with most things 2-year-olds do. Watching the one-hour film sometimes seems to be the highlight of his day. But he incorporates the scenes from the animation into his playing.
Morgan's English is not keeping pace with Estonian, I am sorry to say. Father tongue (I speak exclusively English with him) is not keeping pace with mother tongue. To an increasing extent he will talk Estonian to me, and I sort of prod him gently to reformulate it in English. It's kind of hard to take a stand. I understand him perfectly in Estonian; so why go through the masquerade? But we read a book about bilingual children a while back, which held that the proper way was to keep the languages segregated.
There is English audio on the Lotte DVD, BTW. Unfortunately, the producers hit on the ludicrous idea of having Anu Lamp, who is the grand old lady of Estonian cartoon voices and really talented, ALSO do the voices in English. Her accent is a weird Finnish-Russian combination that is all but incomprehensible to me and will threaten to seriously fuscrew up Morgan's English.
Though with Morgan, sometimes I think maybe we just asked him "why" he wants to do something one too many times, and instead of coyly replying, "sellepärast" (because) -- which was his habit for a few weeks -- he decided to turn the tables on us. Now all of his questions start, "but why is/are/does..."?
And of course, we adults don't always know why.
A couple times I have been sent nearly running to the encyclopaedia, before staging a quick recovery. For example, I am particularly proud of my performance when asked "why we shouldn't eat salt in mass quantities": sucks the water out of your cells and you wither away and Emme and Issi would be very sad.
You can't shelter the young uns too much. Science is a harsh, harsh world. Often the answers to scientific questions end in a certain way -- for example, what happens if you go into space without a space suit? Well, I'm not going to lie to them.
Life in the 21st century...it's tough. Life in space -- that's tough, too. But at 2, kids are or should still be such receptive love sponges that you can't mess them up this way. You'll just get one more "why" on top of your last "because" .
I was a little worried at M's glibness with a stranger on a tram when someone asked him where he was going, and he practically gave our home address. Luckily it was a older woman, not an old drunk like the one I encountered last year when I was picking M up from a toddlers' song and dance class. This one was a weird bird.
But it will soon be time to have a talk about strangers.
We don't expose him to any TV -- just one DVD, Lotte, an Estonian cartoon, which seems pretty clever and safe. I am a little cautious, as it seems a little obsessive, as with most things 2-year-olds do. Watching the one-hour film sometimes seems to be the highlight of his day. But he incorporates the scenes from the animation into his playing.
Morgan's English is not keeping pace with Estonian, I am sorry to say. Father tongue (I speak exclusively English with him) is not keeping pace with mother tongue. To an increasing extent he will talk Estonian to me, and I sort of prod him gently to reformulate it in English. It's kind of hard to take a stand. I understand him perfectly in Estonian; so why go through the masquerade? But we read a book about bilingual children a while back, which held that the proper way was to keep the languages segregated.
There is English audio on the Lotte DVD, BTW. Unfortunately, the producers hit on the ludicrous idea of having Anu Lamp, who is the grand old lady of Estonian cartoon voices and really talented, ALSO do the voices in English. Her accent is a weird Finnish-Russian combination that is all but incomprehensible to me and will threaten to seriously fuscrew up Morgan's English.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Pillars of the Earth
(long post mainly about the food situation)
I recently finished a big "sprawling" novel from many years ago, Ken Follett's Pillars of the Earth, a BBC Big Read and Oprah's Book Club selection. It's not like many books I read -- that is, it is much less preoccupied with literary style. In other words, it isn't like Fowles's French Lieutenant's Woman, or Barth's Sot-Weed Factor, which are not only fine historical novels but also imitate their respective period's literary style so pitch-perfectly to the point of being somewhat satirical about it.
Pillars of the Earth is like an adventure comic book set in medieval times, almost pulpy at times. Follett has no qualms about writing a sentence like "the monk walked down the aisle holding a (some obscure term), which is a (definition of the obscure term)" or "Jack had a brainwave" -- which sounds futuristic rather than old. Still, I enjoyed every bit of it, and it broadened my big view of the Middle Ages, because Follett is fascinated by economic dynamics as well as the deals made between its characters (politics) and their inner lives (superstructure).
One thing I thought about was that insular England in the 12th century, with squabbling "city-states" occupied and beset by the more developed and sophisticated Normans, could not have been too different from 13th century Estonia (well, leaving out the matter of conversion to Christianity). Andrus Kivirähk may take a dark view of Estonian peasants in his novels but the view is of human nature. We all do the same sorts of things in hard times, and perhaps the more conscientious of us develop an elaborate mythology for purposes of theodicy.
Interestingly, there isn't a single "good" character in Pillars of the Earth who lacks major flaws or who isn't willing to resort to some duplicity. And towards the end, Follett suggests that quite a few of the book's "evil" characters, some of who repent, are actually devout Christians who simply believe that the end justifies the means and that they are "God's hand".
Hmm, now that seems awfully familiar thinking of some of our leaders. I hate to use a cliche, but the book does well as a parable for our times, much more than, say, Lord of the Rings. Rather than simplistic good vs evil dualities, this book is more important.
**
As it takes place in mediaeval times, some of the book is set in times of famine. As in the case of most famines, the environment is only partially responsible. Mismanagement and greed do the rest. Peasants are forced to sell to processing plants far away, or they are tempted to do so by higher prices, just as they are now.
Now you know where I'm going.
I wonder what a pandemic famine would be like today. Would everyone suffer equally, as in Ursula LeGuin's Dispossessed, where the exile settlers on the semi-utopian moon society band together communally until the rain comes again? The answer is obvious. It would probably be more like Pillars, where the lords do just fine and even develop nice cases of gout (in these days we get heart disease and cancer), while the forests fill with outlaws and the highways with itinerant workers dragging bedraggled families.
Are we aready facing a globalized famine (as opposed to one confined to an ethnic group or region of a politically unstable country)?
Right now the world's granary is down to a couple weeks worth of corn and wheat. Those are the stats from the FAO. It keeps on dropping. Much of the food resources has been "promised" to biofuel interests.
Now, if food prices begin to outstrip fuel prices, I think the situation will start returning to normal by itself as suppliers sell to food plants. But as much as I love pure capitalism, it doesn't care about odd deaths in marginalized segments of our world, whereas my Western upbringing teaches me that every life is sacred. And some people are already close to the unsustainable mark (euphemism for starvation).
As of about February, the poorest of the poor (Haiti; Cairo slums) are beginning to run out of food, but they still have enough calories per day to riot. That sounds clinical, but is probably a fair assessment. As they get even less food, the rioters' organization will break down and they will start fighting each other instead of the government, until a strong leader crystallizes and they begin to fight for him, for food. If it doesn't start swinging back, the same scenario will play out in country after country up the economic food chain. This is going to create a feedback cycle of disruptions that will make it harder for the situation to turn back around. Taagepera was just talking about the effect of harder times on Estonia's minorities today. He also said that he doesn't believe the current crisis will get really bad this time, but it is time to think. By the time it reaches Estonia, it could be too late.
There is no point blaming capitalism -- it is human nature. People are fickle and go where the money is. The problem is, how did it get so out of whack, and how to get it to swing back?
Governments in some poorer grain exporting countries -- Vietnam etc -- have stepped in. (In fact government intervention seems to be in vogue everywhere.) In effect, what they are doing is forbidding companies to sell on the free world market, because they are aware that there may not be enough food to go around at home. I don't know if this is very wise in the long term.
Like most people, I do believe that there is enough food in the world to feed the world. The problem is one of distribution and concentration. It's like the classic bleeding-heart example - enough food is thrown away in New York probably to feed one African country for a year. (I am just making this up; but probably true for Cape Verde.)
There is nothing to be done about that specific problem, but the problem is partly a matter of distribution.
But I'm short of ideas. I'll only repeat simple things, like we should all be eating a lot more local fruits and vegetables and avoiding (grain-fed) meat and refined food. Indeed prices for these produce items remain relatively stable. That should be a powerful argument in itself. It is probably a start. Maybe half of us should limit meat and the other half, who simply can't do without a good steak, should limit driving?
Free market principles hold that everything should turn out right if we just follow our self-economizing instincts. Things will return to equilibrium.
The problem with this is, what if things are getting so congested and broken in our world, like atherosclerotic tissue, that we have no choice but to encourage government intervention, like stents, even "authoritarian capitalism", the latest buzzword?
I recently finished a big "sprawling" novel from many years ago, Ken Follett's Pillars of the Earth, a BBC Big Read and Oprah's Book Club selection. It's not like many books I read -- that is, it is much less preoccupied with literary style. In other words, it isn't like Fowles's French Lieutenant's Woman, or Barth's Sot-Weed Factor, which are not only fine historical novels but also imitate their respective period's literary style so pitch-perfectly to the point of being somewhat satirical about it.
Pillars of the Earth is like an adventure comic book set in medieval times, almost pulpy at times. Follett has no qualms about writing a sentence like "the monk walked down the aisle holding a (some obscure term), which is a (definition of the obscure term)" or "Jack had a brainwave" -- which sounds futuristic rather than old. Still, I enjoyed every bit of it, and it broadened my big view of the Middle Ages, because Follett is fascinated by economic dynamics as well as the deals made between its characters (politics) and their inner lives (superstructure).
One thing I thought about was that insular England in the 12th century, with squabbling "city-states" occupied and beset by the more developed and sophisticated Normans, could not have been too different from 13th century Estonia (well, leaving out the matter of conversion to Christianity). Andrus Kivirähk may take a dark view of Estonian peasants in his novels but the view is of human nature. We all do the same sorts of things in hard times, and perhaps the more conscientious of us develop an elaborate mythology for purposes of theodicy.
Interestingly, there isn't a single "good" character in Pillars of the Earth who lacks major flaws or who isn't willing to resort to some duplicity. And towards the end, Follett suggests that quite a few of the book's "evil" characters, some of who repent, are actually devout Christians who simply believe that the end justifies the means and that they are "God's hand".
Hmm, now that seems awfully familiar thinking of some of our leaders. I hate to use a cliche, but the book does well as a parable for our times, much more than, say, Lord of the Rings. Rather than simplistic good vs evil dualities, this book is more important.
**
As it takes place in mediaeval times, some of the book is set in times of famine. As in the case of most famines, the environment is only partially responsible. Mismanagement and greed do the rest. Peasants are forced to sell to processing plants far away, or they are tempted to do so by higher prices, just as they are now.
Now you know where I'm going.
I wonder what a pandemic famine would be like today. Would everyone suffer equally, as in Ursula LeGuin's Dispossessed, where the exile settlers on the semi-utopian moon society band together communally until the rain comes again? The answer is obvious. It would probably be more like Pillars, where the lords do just fine and even develop nice cases of gout (in these days we get heart disease and cancer), while the forests fill with outlaws and the highways with itinerant workers dragging bedraggled families.
Are we aready facing a globalized famine (as opposed to one confined to an ethnic group or region of a politically unstable country)?
Right now the world's granary is down to a couple weeks worth of corn and wheat. Those are the stats from the FAO. It keeps on dropping. Much of the food resources has been "promised" to biofuel interests.
Now, if food prices begin to outstrip fuel prices, I think the situation will start returning to normal by itself as suppliers sell to food plants. But as much as I love pure capitalism, it doesn't care about odd deaths in marginalized segments of our world, whereas my Western upbringing teaches me that every life is sacred. And some people are already close to the unsustainable mark (euphemism for starvation).
As of about February, the poorest of the poor (Haiti; Cairo slums) are beginning to run out of food, but they still have enough calories per day to riot. That sounds clinical, but is probably a fair assessment. As they get even less food, the rioters' organization will break down and they will start fighting each other instead of the government, until a strong leader crystallizes and they begin to fight for him, for food. If it doesn't start swinging back, the same scenario will play out in country after country up the economic food chain. This is going to create a feedback cycle of disruptions that will make it harder for the situation to turn back around. Taagepera was just talking about the effect of harder times on Estonia's minorities today. He also said that he doesn't believe the current crisis will get really bad this time, but it is time to think. By the time it reaches Estonia, it could be too late.
There is no point blaming capitalism -- it is human nature. People are fickle and go where the money is. The problem is, how did it get so out of whack, and how to get it to swing back?
Governments in some poorer grain exporting countries -- Vietnam etc -- have stepped in. (In fact government intervention seems to be in vogue everywhere.) In effect, what they are doing is forbidding companies to sell on the free world market, because they are aware that there may not be enough food to go around at home. I don't know if this is very wise in the long term.
Like most people, I do believe that there is enough food in the world to feed the world. The problem is one of distribution and concentration. It's like the classic bleeding-heart example - enough food is thrown away in New York probably to feed one African country for a year. (I am just making this up; but probably true for Cape Verde.)
There is nothing to be done about that specific problem, but the problem is partly a matter of distribution.
But I'm short of ideas. I'll only repeat simple things, like we should all be eating a lot more local fruits and vegetables and avoiding (grain-fed) meat and refined food. Indeed prices for these produce items remain relatively stable. That should be a powerful argument in itself. It is probably a start. Maybe half of us should limit meat and the other half, who simply can't do without a good steak, should limit driving?
Free market principles hold that everything should turn out right if we just follow our self-economizing instincts. Things will return to equilibrium.
The problem with this is, what if things are getting so congested and broken in our world, like atherosclerotic tissue, that we have no choice but to encourage government intervention, like stents, even "authoritarian capitalism", the latest buzzword?
Dylan thinks twice
Not to be outdone by Lou Reed, Bob Dylan thought it over real good and decided that Estonia was too important a destination to pass up. He will be performing here in Tallinn on June 4, according to his website, right in our own beloved Sakey Hall.**
Speaking of Sakey Hall, now Neil "Shakey" Young should play Saku Suurhall, too. Lou Reed and Dylan will. Icon status is on the line. I see it now -- a wikilist of Seminal American Roots Rock Figures Who Have Not Played the Baltics.
Joking aside, Dylan's decision leaves me feeling very silly having bought a ticket to the show at the Crapwall Arena in Helsinki.
Maybe I will give it away in a raffle; stay tuned. That is, if anyone's interested. Maybe Kiss and Lenny Kravitz are the big draws this summer and I am completely misjudging the zeitgeist.
Interestingly, Dylan is playing Vilnius the day after Tallinn, which means that unless he adds an early morning show on Thursday, he may skip Riga. I notice there is a growing trend of ignoring the existence of Latvia, which is probably not merited, even though Estonians do begrudge the Baltic Paris its central position. I'm sorry -- Kiss is playing there.
P.S. There's been a bit of confusion about the when and where. Dylan's homepage didn't even list the European tour last time I checked. One source has Lou Reed playing at Linnahall, not Saku Suurhall.
**How does this sort of misspelling happen? Do they confirm by telephone? "Mr. Dylan will be arriving on the afternoon of the fourth. You said it's Sockeye Arena, right? How is that spelled?" Or do they shout it across it the room to the guy who updates the website?
Speaking of Sakey Hall, now Neil "Shakey" Young should play Saku Suurhall, too. Lou Reed and Dylan will. Icon status is on the line. I see it now -- a wikilist of Seminal American Roots Rock Figures Who Have Not Played the Baltics.
Joking aside, Dylan's decision leaves me feeling very silly having bought a ticket to the show at the Crapwall Arena in Helsinki.
Maybe I will give it away in a raffle; stay tuned. That is, if anyone's interested. Maybe Kiss and Lenny Kravitz are the big draws this summer and I am completely misjudging the zeitgeist.
Interestingly, Dylan is playing Vilnius the day after Tallinn, which means that unless he adds an early morning show on Thursday, he may skip Riga. I notice there is a growing trend of ignoring the existence of Latvia, which is probably not merited, even though Estonians do begrudge the Baltic Paris its central position. I'm sorry -- Kiss is playing there.
P.S. There's been a bit of confusion about the when and where. Dylan's homepage didn't even list the European tour last time I checked. One source has Lou Reed playing at Linnahall, not Saku Suurhall.
**How does this sort of misspelling happen? Do they confirm by telephone? "Mr. Dylan will be arriving on the afternoon of the fourth. You said it's Sockeye Arena, right? How is that spelled?" Or do they shout it across it the room to the guy who updates the website?
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Luu Riid
Dylan is coming to Helsinki but fellow 66-year-old Lou Reed is coming to Tallinn on July 11. Being a fan of the Velvets songbook, I'm a little intrigued. Like a lot of older icons/contemporary lit figures, he's no great shakes musically. But he surrounds himself with all sorts of people on stage, whereas Dylan usually just has a tight rock band, and it seems like a bit of a carnival atmosphere ("and the coloured girls go"). Certainly he has mellowed from back when Warhol was forcing him to share a stage with Nico.
Car ordered
I inked the deal on the Skoda -- or actually I didn't ink anything. No one inked anything. I figured I and the car salesman and the leasing guy would all get together and sign a tripartite document and have a tasty celebratory beverage. Instead I got an invoice for the deposit/prepayment by e-mail. I hit some buttons on my computer and forked over a 5% prepayment. The car dealer will now order the car from Mladá Boleslav. And maybe pool the prepayment into a COD along with the money from other customers and earn some interest.
Since there don't seem to be any binding documents, I guess in the next six or seven weeks, we hope that Skoda does not go on strike, that the leasing guy does not quit his job, that the car arrives on time, and that world financial markets and supply lines do not collapse, etc. Then we ink the tripartite deal.
I wasn't totally naive. I waited until the salesman got back from vacation and dealt only with him. I pestered the salesman for a long time, to the point of telling him how to do his job. I insisted on a receipt or a document that said that we had made the prepayment and that if the car doesn't come at the promised time, we get the money back no ifs and buts. He got all defensive and protested that the Estonian Skoda distributor needs the prepayment to cover their risk of ordering a customized vehicle, which was, like, well duh, and completely missed the point -- no one was trying to weasel out of the prepayment, I just wanted the dealership to provide some kind of guarantee, too.
He had seemed like a decent sort, but I saw the same arrogance coming through that we encountered from a Citroen salesman, who wasn't even capable of talking about the relative merits of his vans, but who just sat there smugly as if the currently low prices were the only sales argument anyone would ever need.
Of course I don't think anyone is going to scam us. They want to sell a car. There are records, e-mails, etc. But it's still a little surprising there isn't an established system of preliminary agreements -- Estonia is the home of what is known as "JOKK" -- which means making sure all of the technicalities, the letter of the law, are obeyed.
And there was an incident a couple years ago, which is why I pressed the salesman in the first place. Some reputable real estate companies asked for downpayments for lofts. Customers who paid up found out the hard way that the developers, who were teetering on the verge of insolvency, used the downpayments to finance the construction work, which dragged and in some cases was never finished. (Developers have gotten even more brazen since then, even to the point of asking for extra money.) That seems to have been the case with some lofts across the street from the place we ended up getting. We forfeited our $400 reservation fee that time and cut our losses, and it was probably the smart thing. Almost three years later, there has yet to be a light on across the street.
Since there don't seem to be any binding documents, I guess in the next six or seven weeks, we hope that Skoda does not go on strike, that the leasing guy does not quit his job, that the car arrives on time, and that world financial markets and supply lines do not collapse, etc. Then we ink the tripartite deal.
I wasn't totally naive. I waited until the salesman got back from vacation and dealt only with him. I pestered the salesman for a long time, to the point of telling him how to do his job. I insisted on a receipt or a document that said that we had made the prepayment and that if the car doesn't come at the promised time, we get the money back no ifs and buts. He got all defensive and protested that the Estonian Skoda distributor needs the prepayment to cover their risk of ordering a customized vehicle, which was, like, well duh, and completely missed the point -- no one was trying to weasel out of the prepayment, I just wanted the dealership to provide some kind of guarantee, too.
He had seemed like a decent sort, but I saw the same arrogance coming through that we encountered from a Citroen salesman, who wasn't even capable of talking about the relative merits of his vans, but who just sat there smugly as if the currently low prices were the only sales argument anyone would ever need.
Of course I don't think anyone is going to scam us. They want to sell a car. There are records, e-mails, etc. But it's still a little surprising there isn't an established system of preliminary agreements -- Estonia is the home of what is known as "JOKK" -- which means making sure all of the technicalities, the letter of the law, are obeyed.
And there was an incident a couple years ago, which is why I pressed the salesman in the first place. Some reputable real estate companies asked for downpayments for lofts. Customers who paid up found out the hard way that the developers, who were teetering on the verge of insolvency, used the downpayments to finance the construction work, which dragged and in some cases was never finished. (Developers have gotten even more brazen since then, even to the point of asking for extra money.) That seems to have been the case with some lofts across the street from the place we ended up getting. We forfeited our $400 reservation fee that time and cut our losses, and it was probably the smart thing. Almost three years later, there has yet to be a light on across the street.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Fire rollerblade with me
Going back to this torch thing, sometimes reality is sillier than fiction:
"French torchbearers will be encircled by several hundred officers, some in riot police vehicles and on motorcycles, others on rollerblades and on foot. Chinese torch escorts will immediately surround the torchbearer, with Paris police on rollerblades moving around them. French firefighters in jogging shoes will encircle the officers on rollerblades while motorcycle police will form the outer layer of security." (CNN)
"French torchbearers will be encircled by several hundred officers, some in riot police vehicles and on motorcycles, others on rollerblades and on foot. Chinese torch escorts will immediately surround the torchbearer, with Paris police on rollerblades moving around them. French firefighters in jogging shoes will encircle the officers on rollerblades while motorcycle police will form the outer layer of security." (CNN)
Dyläni
My recent late-night spate of nostalgia for American culture led to a decision -- I will see Bob Dylan at Hartwall Areena (sic) in June. I may not have seen the Stones at the Beacon, or James Brown at the Apollo, but I will see Dylan in Helsinki.
Since Bob is playing places like Brno and Stavanger on this tour, I was hoping he would come to Rock Cafe in Tallinn. The upside is the acoustics at Hartwall could function as a kind of soft focus, if he decides to tackle a "Subterranean Homesick Blues" or a similar uptempo number.
Since Bob is playing places like Brno and Stavanger on this tour, I was hoping he would come to Rock Cafe in Tallinn. The upside is the acoustics at Hartwall could function as a kind of soft focus, if he decides to tackle a "Subterranean Homesick Blues" or a similar uptempo number.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
INTERVIEW: Torch attacked in London
The Olympic torch was attacked and nearly extinguished in London, according to the Guardian. We asked our journalist on the ground in London what was going on.
What is the scene? Where is the torch?
Apparently the torch was uninjured. The only comment from the torch was a irritated "fft, fft" and witnesses reported that the flame turned various colours for a few seconds. Kris, the torch continues on its way.
What is the reaction from the officials so far?
They're tight-lipped, Kris, but this was a serious blow to Britain's pride. The country has placed great hopes in promoting itself as a safe place for torches in 2008 -- not only British flashlights but open flames -- despite criticism that it confines open flames in enclosures such as hearths and furnaces like much of the Western world.
There's been word that there was a personal confrontation with an athlete...
That's right. Unbelievable as it sounds, athletes are directly involved in providing torch security. Western countries are conscripting athletes away from training and gyms to carry the torch in the hopes that they can outrun protesters, with the police forces serving only to provide blocking interference. In fact, many of the police are ensconced on horses, a relic of the past.
Is it true that the path the torch was supposed to take was diverted? That it had to ride a bus?
No, this is partially incorrect. The centrepiece of the procession of the torch through London was that the torch was to ride inside a double decker bus, symbolizing one of the symbols of the city. While the part of the ceremony involving a Beefeater hat was cancelled, the bus ride did occur. Although some people on the upper deck were seen uncomfortably shifting their feet and perspiring, the bus was not badly singed, possibly sounding a victory for Britain's small flame-wielding lobby. Will it also benefit the smaller but explosive disgruntled laid-off sociopathic welder lobby? It remains to be seen.
What is next for the torch in terms of the security situation?
The official line is that business as usual in San Francisco, the next leg. But behind the scenes, there have been comments about the torch being shaken by all of this. There is a rumour that the torch had already expressed trepidation before London, because of a rumour that it would have to ride on a single scull on the Thames to avoid protesters. Spokesman for the torch denied this, saying that the only sentiment the torch has ever expressed is "light the passion".
Now wait a second, isn't all this a little ridiculous, attributing emotions to the torch, and getting off the real issue, which is the Olympics and China?
Absolutely. We have to remember that if the torch is extinguished, the Olympics in China are called off.
But the torch has to be pampered, too. If you look at the San Francisco leg page, you'll see jpgs posted which show how complicated a creature the torch is. The torch is incredibly sensitive and thin-skinned as well. The Chinese, knowing that the West has become soft in terms of security and anti-fire, have done all they can for security, stacking the itinerary with more fire-friendly countries such as Russia and Turkey -- and for extra measure, flying it across larger expanses of water. And San Francisco, let us not forget, was originally a Chinese immigrant city.
Kris, the Chinese have been preparing for these Olympics for a very long time.
I'm afraid we're going to have to leave it there.
What is the scene? Where is the torch?
Apparently the torch was uninjured. The only comment from the torch was a irritated "fft, fft" and witnesses reported that the flame turned various colours for a few seconds. Kris, the torch continues on its way.
What is the reaction from the officials so far?
They're tight-lipped, Kris, but this was a serious blow to Britain's pride. The country has placed great hopes in promoting itself as a safe place for torches in 2008 -- not only British flashlights but open flames -- despite criticism that it confines open flames in enclosures such as hearths and furnaces like much of the Western world.
There's been word that there was a personal confrontation with an athlete...
That's right. Unbelievable as it sounds, athletes are directly involved in providing torch security. Western countries are conscripting athletes away from training and gyms to carry the torch in the hopes that they can outrun protesters, with the police forces serving only to provide blocking interference. In fact, many of the police are ensconced on horses, a relic of the past.
Is it true that the path the torch was supposed to take was diverted? That it had to ride a bus?
No, this is partially incorrect. The centrepiece of the procession of the torch through London was that the torch was to ride inside a double decker bus, symbolizing one of the symbols of the city. While the part of the ceremony involving a Beefeater hat was cancelled, the bus ride did occur. Although some people on the upper deck were seen uncomfortably shifting their feet and perspiring, the bus was not badly singed, possibly sounding a victory for Britain's small flame-wielding lobby. Will it also benefit the smaller but explosive disgruntled laid-off sociopathic welder lobby? It remains to be seen.
What is next for the torch in terms of the security situation?
The official line is that business as usual in San Francisco, the next leg. But behind the scenes, there have been comments about the torch being shaken by all of this. There is a rumour that the torch had already expressed trepidation before London, because of a rumour that it would have to ride on a single scull on the Thames to avoid protesters. Spokesman for the torch denied this, saying that the only sentiment the torch has ever expressed is "light the passion".
Now wait a second, isn't all this a little ridiculous, attributing emotions to the torch, and getting off the real issue, which is the Olympics and China?
Absolutely. We have to remember that if the torch is extinguished, the Olympics in China are called off.
But the torch has to be pampered, too. If you look at the San Francisco leg page, you'll see jpgs posted which show how complicated a creature the torch is. The torch is incredibly sensitive and thin-skinned as well. The Chinese, knowing that the West has become soft in terms of security and anti-fire, have done all they can for security, stacking the itinerary with more fire-friendly countries such as Russia and Turkey -- and for extra measure, flying it across larger expanses of water. And San Francisco, let us not forget, was originally a Chinese immigrant city.
Kris, the Chinese have been preparing for these Olympics for a very long time.
I'm afraid we're going to have to leave it there.
Good life
Life gets better all the time. I don't know if Tallinn seems like the centre of the world on some days, as one blog commenter put it, but it is getting to be a reasonable approximation of cozy city life with a human face. Not that you should think about greeting strangers -- we're not ready for that, yet -- but the city is certainly richer in chillspaces. There are new options that aren't just the stereotypical cafe but are mashups of different types of establishments (and luckily not casino/cafeteria or hookah bar/aerobics class or anything random like that).
Then again, with the line between food shortage, sticker shock and...I'll be the second to say it...famine hazy in many parts of the world, a post about the good life would have to be from a centre-of-the-world perspective, wouldn't it?
*
A type of establishment I loved from back in the States is the bookstore-cafe (which allows reasonable browsing of unpurchased stuff at tables). Back home in the US, when I was still working college-type jobs, I would start just about every day at the Barnes and Noble's with an Americano, espresso brownie, and the latest Harper's Magazine or something.
So I was very glad when the Rahva Raamat bookstore opened a couple years ago, adding more class to the shopping mall. Now that they have added a "non-fiction" English-language section, it is even better-suited for an expat. When the bookstore expanded to a second floor more recently, they added a very similar cafe -- why not.
It has plateaued since then. Imre Kose, the chef behind the Bestseller cafes (as well as fine dining), has overexpanded his empire a bit -- people joke he must be in three places at once, but the point is he can't be -- but it's still a great place for lunch and a book. I have never spilled a drop of Moroccan fish soup on a book -- it's much too good.
--
Another kind of "mashup" I like is the corner grocery/cafe. This is the one I wanted to blog about -- the new NOP Store (Neighbourhood, Organic, Practical) in Kadriorg, a pleasant and kid-friendly place in the oldest building on a quiet street just off the main tram lines. It's run by people who have spent a long time in the UK and US and are no doubt familiar with places like Proper Eats in North Portland. Not that the corner store with a few tables is peculiar to America. It only opened a month or two ago. Open from 8am to 8pm, seems to sell some wine, though it's not really prominent. I had the lamb soup with a hummus crostini. The magazine rack contains the New Yorker, Vanity Fair, TLS. One guy said to another, "Great stuff. It's not in Estonian yet, is it?" "No doubt it will be, though." No doubt it will.
""
The trend around 2006 (as I date it) was an opening of wine bars and wine stores. The best enoteca -- a wine bar with a small busy kitchen -- I have come across (or would that be "estoteca" -- is Tigu, also on the edge of gentrified Kadriorg. They fly in fresh fish from France and the menu is ever-changing, with three or four dishes each night Tuesday to Saturday. Had our Christmas office party there, so admittedly they might have pulled out the stops that night.
***
Now if we could only get a waterfront fish market and a couple independent butcher's shops...
Then again, with the line between food shortage, sticker shock and...I'll be the second to say it...famine hazy in many parts of the world, a post about the good life would have to be from a centre-of-the-world perspective, wouldn't it?
*
A type of establishment I loved from back in the States is the bookstore-cafe (which allows reasonable browsing of unpurchased stuff at tables). Back home in the US, when I was still working college-type jobs, I would start just about every day at the Barnes and Noble's with an Americano, espresso brownie, and the latest Harper's Magazine or something.
So I was very glad when the Rahva Raamat bookstore opened a couple years ago, adding more class to the shopping mall. Now that they have added a "non-fiction" English-language section, it is even better-suited for an expat. When the bookstore expanded to a second floor more recently, they added a very similar cafe -- why not.
It has plateaued since then. Imre Kose, the chef behind the Bestseller cafes (as well as fine dining), has overexpanded his empire a bit -- people joke he must be in three places at once, but the point is he can't be -- but it's still a great place for lunch and a book. I have never spilled a drop of Moroccan fish soup on a book -- it's much too good.
--
Another kind of "mashup" I like is the corner grocery/cafe. This is the one I wanted to blog about -- the new NOP Store (Neighbourhood, Organic, Practical) in Kadriorg, a pleasant and kid-friendly place in the oldest building on a quiet street just off the main tram lines. It's run by people who have spent a long time in the UK and US and are no doubt familiar with places like Proper Eats in North Portland. Not that the corner store with a few tables is peculiar to America. It only opened a month or two ago. Open from 8am to 8pm, seems to sell some wine, though it's not really prominent. I had the lamb soup with a hummus crostini. The magazine rack contains the New Yorker, Vanity Fair, TLS. One guy said to another, "Great stuff. It's not in Estonian yet, is it?" "No doubt it will be, though." No doubt it will.
""
The trend around 2006 (as I date it) was an opening of wine bars and wine stores. The best enoteca -- a wine bar with a small busy kitchen -- I have come across (or would that be "estoteca" -- is Tigu, also on the edge of gentrified Kadriorg. They fly in fresh fish from France and the menu is ever-changing, with three or four dishes each night Tuesday to Saturday. Had our Christmas office party there, so admittedly they might have pulled out the stops that night.
***
Now if we could only get a waterfront fish market and a couple independent butcher's shops...
Friday, April 4, 2008
A fandango that should have been skipped
The Court of Appeal (UK) has issued an appalling, philistine decision in deciding to award all royalties for Procol Harum's "Whiter Shade of Pale" to the lead singer (in the video, the run-of-the-mill soul singer vamping on the piano) and not part to the organist (the cool guy in the black hooded robe).
I used to play in a band. No, this is not going to be a long war story. It was not a long career, just a couple years of gigs in college town pubs for $60 divided two or three ways. But, for the sake of background: it was a folk-rock duo.
I played a Korg M1 keyboard (which is not much used in folk-rock but was the industry standard for synth-sequencers back in 1991 and, I hear, is still favoured by Latino wedding bands in the LA area).
My bandmate was a guitar player, who was related by a distant cousin to Bob Dylan. He wrote wonderfully articulate, personal songs, but like Dylan, whose G.E. Smith-led band in the 1980s called him the Scanmaster because of the way his hand would zoom up and down the neck of his guitar looking for the chord when the band was just jamming improvisationally, my friend didn't have the eartraining to follow any but his own chord progressions.
Who contributed the little musical riffs and countermelodies that made a chord progression into a full-band vehicle, rather than just a singer-songwriter with a rhythm guitar? I have to say that it was I, the keyboard player.
We both knew our roles. He was front man, I was not. He was a compelling vocalist in his way. I was glad if the band played one or two of my songs, George (Harrison)-like, or, I suppose, Brent-like.
Now I never sued my friend for royalties. But I think if a publisher had picked up one of his songs, in the recognizable form in which we played it at gigs (if anyone had heard it over the noise of the college senior mating rituals), I think we would have shared credit. It was just that way. I also don't think I would have sued him if I found out he was getting 100% of the royalties. But after 30 years, enough might be enough.
The point is, this is common: keyboard players are often unsung, and musicians make significant contributions to each other's songs, which if they're smart and close enough a team, they have the good sense to enshrine in a mutual credit pact, as Lennon and McCartney did.
So, what do you think of when you hear the song? I think of "sixteen vestal virgins" and "last fandango". But the first thing I think of is the organ theme (not to be confused with the piano which the lead singer is playing). Co-authorship indeed -- at least. Forty per cent is too little.
What I really thought was appalling about the ruling was that the keyboard player was found "guilty of asserting his rights too late"...
I don't know who wrote, say, some of the Beatles' more memorable guitar riffs. "Day Tripper", and "And Your Bird Can Sing" are probably Paul and John respectively, for example, but I'll bet George made at least a couple "distinctive and significant contributions" to Lennon-McCartney songs.
So should George have sued John and Paul, with whom he was nominally friendly, or missed the boat on future royalties for ever?
Past royalties is one thing. Future royalties is another. I find it crazy that the lead singer of Procol Harum can go on playing the song at old-timer shows -- the song is unimaginable without the organ solo -- and not have to pay his former keyboardist a dime.
I used to play in a band. No, this is not going to be a long war story. It was not a long career, just a couple years of gigs in college town pubs for $60 divided two or three ways. But, for the sake of background: it was a folk-rock duo.
I played a Korg M1 keyboard (which is not much used in folk-rock but was the industry standard for synth-sequencers back in 1991 and, I hear, is still favoured by Latino wedding bands in the LA area).
My bandmate was a guitar player, who was related by a distant cousin to Bob Dylan. He wrote wonderfully articulate, personal songs, but like Dylan, whose G.E. Smith-led band in the 1980s called him the Scanmaster because of the way his hand would zoom up and down the neck of his guitar looking for the chord when the band was just jamming improvisationally, my friend didn't have the eartraining to follow any but his own chord progressions.
Who contributed the little musical riffs and countermelodies that made a chord progression into a full-band vehicle, rather than just a singer-songwriter with a rhythm guitar? I have to say that it was I, the keyboard player.
We both knew our roles. He was front man, I was not. He was a compelling vocalist in his way. I was glad if the band played one or two of my songs, George (Harrison)-like, or, I suppose, Brent-like.
Now I never sued my friend for royalties. But I think if a publisher had picked up one of his songs, in the recognizable form in which we played it at gigs (if anyone had heard it over the noise of the college senior mating rituals), I think we would have shared credit. It was just that way. I also don't think I would have sued him if I found out he was getting 100% of the royalties. But after 30 years, enough might be enough.
The point is, this is common: keyboard players are often unsung, and musicians make significant contributions to each other's songs, which if they're smart and close enough a team, they have the good sense to enshrine in a mutual credit pact, as Lennon and McCartney did.
So, what do you think of when you hear the song? I think of "sixteen vestal virgins" and "last fandango". But the first thing I think of is the organ theme (not to be confused with the piano which the lead singer is playing). Co-authorship indeed -- at least. Forty per cent is too little.
What I really thought was appalling about the ruling was that the keyboard player was found "guilty of asserting his rights too late"...
I don't know who wrote, say, some of the Beatles' more memorable guitar riffs. "Day Tripper", and "And Your Bird Can Sing" are probably Paul and John respectively, for example, but I'll bet George made at least a couple "distinctive and significant contributions" to Lennon-McCartney songs.
So should George have sued John and Paul, with whom he was nominally friendly, or missed the boat on future royalties for ever?
Past royalties is one thing. Future royalties is another. I find it crazy that the lead singer of Procol Harum can go on playing the song at old-timer shows -- the song is unimaginable without the organ solo -- and not have to pay his former keyboardist a dime.
"Our" personal midwife
A couple days ago, we had "our" midwife over for dinner. She is a cheerful, solid young woman from Viljandi County. She had been a positive part of the otherwise happy but overly long birth of our son, and we made arrangements to reserve her services.
I liked her all over again. Tallinn has not changed her for the worse.
Supposedly it's typical for husbands to be more cavalier about subsequent pregnancies. I have felt like I am a little out of touch where I should be especially attentive. In fact, by last summer, when Morgan was a toddler, I discovered I had forgotten how to hold a newborn (the whole supporting the neck thing).
I had an idea that after dinner with the midwife, we would proceed to the living room for various breathing exercises. but as it turned out, we just chatted about stuff, asked her personal questions, too, not to vet her or anything but out of curiosity, and she was happy to respond to the questions.
The US system has a wider spectrum of approaches -- on one hand a fairly clinical hospital experience which arguably (even if it doesn't actually culminate in a Caesarean) views the process in terms of a technical challenge -- of overcoming physics. Way on the other hand places like the Farm, which use a system based on intuitive instinctual principles. Both are quite effective.
Estonia is more of a happy medium between the two. This is one of the best places to have babies -- and the generous state benefits don't hurt either -- but I have a slight pang when I read Ina Mae Gaskin's book about idyllic births in the countryside after wholesome full-fat vegetarian diet and how verifiably effective and pleasant these methods can be. Of course not for me to decide.
As it is with organic produce, for example, the natural (metsapoolne) element is more marginal -- most people don't go in for home births, for example. I haven't heard of traditional sauna births taking place. I don't know what percentage of births in Estonia are at home, but probably less than 2% (UK) rather than more.
I noticed that our midwife didn't quite know what to make of talk likening the birth process to processes involved in sexuality, which of course is a very valid connection. But they do a good job making women comfortable in the hospitals andclinics birth centres, such as Fertilitas.
Unlike the US, C-sections are strictly performed when the life of mother or child is in danger. Yet "our" midwife said something surprising, that even at Fertilitas, which we see as a place where people go for a more personal experience and a high patient to staff ratio, the C-section rate rose to 26% last year.
"Women are afraid of giving birth," she said; doctors are getting looser about calling for Caesareans.
"We'll" give it an old-fashioned go this time.
I liked her all over again. Tallinn has not changed her for the worse.
Supposedly it's typical for husbands to be more cavalier about subsequent pregnancies. I have felt like I am a little out of touch where I should be especially attentive. In fact, by last summer, when Morgan was a toddler, I discovered I had forgotten how to hold a newborn (the whole supporting the neck thing).
I had an idea that after dinner with the midwife, we would proceed to the living room for various breathing exercises. but as it turned out, we just chatted about stuff, asked her personal questions, too, not to vet her or anything but out of curiosity, and she was happy to respond to the questions.
The US system has a wider spectrum of approaches -- on one hand a fairly clinical hospital experience which arguably (even if it doesn't actually culminate in a Caesarean) views the process in terms of a technical challenge -- of overcoming physics. Way on the other hand places like the Farm, which use a system based on intuitive instinctual principles. Both are quite effective.
Estonia is more of a happy medium between the two. This is one of the best places to have babies -- and the generous state benefits don't hurt either -- but I have a slight pang when I read Ina Mae Gaskin's book about idyllic births in the countryside after wholesome full-fat vegetarian diet and how verifiably effective and pleasant these methods can be. Of course not for me to decide.
As it is with organic produce, for example, the natural (metsapoolne) element is more marginal -- most people don't go in for home births, for example. I haven't heard of traditional sauna births taking place. I don't know what percentage of births in Estonia are at home, but probably less than 2% (UK) rather than more.
I noticed that our midwife didn't quite know what to make of talk likening the birth process to processes involved in sexuality, which of course is a very valid connection. But they do a good job making women comfortable in the hospitals and
Unlike the US, C-sections are strictly performed when the life of mother or child is in danger. Yet "our" midwife said something surprising, that even at Fertilitas, which we see as a place where people go for a more personal experience and a high patient to staff ratio, the C-section rate rose to 26% last year.
"Women are afraid of giving birth," she said; doctors are getting looser about calling for Caesareans.
"We'll" give it an old-fashioned go this time.
Weather observation
As of 3pm, it's 4 degrees C (39 F) in Tallinn, 15 degrees (near 60) in Tartu. Not a record difference, but pretty big. (It's as little as 2 degrees (36) in Kärdla.) Nice weather in both cities.
Yet I thought there was a yellow, sooty tint in the sky -- EPL reported that fine particles are, ouch, 170 ug/cu m and increasing. The standard is the US for fine particles is 35 and for coarse particles, 150 ug/cu m. So I hope this is an editing error. Cause is said to be forest fires in Russia and dry air from a high pressure system.
Yet I thought there was a yellow, sooty tint in the sky -- EPL reported that fine particles are, ouch, 170 ug/cu m and increasing. The standard is the US for fine particles is 35 and for coarse particles, 150 ug/cu m. So I hope this is an editing error. Cause is said to be forest fires in Russia and dry air from a high pressure system.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Insomnia
Man, I don't know. I was sleeping really well for a while. Eight hours, even, with nice dreams, the kind I like -- continuing episodes about travelling in strange northern lands. What could be better, sleep-wise?
I've always had trouble falling back asleep after nighttime interruptions (kid, etc). I don't know if it was a wrong combination of these wakeups, or maybe I just quit using the Philips Bright Light too early this winter. I'm now on day 5 of...chain reaction insomnia. A saga of ever-diminishing returns. Last night was a new low, with only two or three hours toward dawn. Followed, all day long by the usual bouts of mild euphoria alternating with mild dread.
Yesterday I gave up being stoic about it and started complaining around the house -- while noting how stoic I had been by not complaining for a couple days. This is low.
Then, in the evening, if I'm in bed at 10pm, I get a brief feeling of sleepiness and might even doze off, but on day 3 I realized this is just a sick cosmic joke. I resurface like five minutes later and over the next hours I gradually get more and more agitated.
Tonight I again gave it an earnest go, and lay in bed from 11pm to 1:30 am doing relaxation and breathing exercises, creative visualization etc. As of 5 minutes ago I have said screw it and uncorked a bottle of wine -- one of the new strong global warming California ones. Insomnia, meet my enforcer -- Mr. Mondavi.
Yeah, well, this is probably SAD-related, or some close relative like "spring exhaustion".
I did eat some mouldy Finncrisp -- could it be ergot? I'n clean otherwise.
Of course, it could also be fatal familial insomnia. If the islets in your pancreas can decide to go without warning and bang, you have diabetes, then the melatonin part of your brain could conk out, too. Couödn't it?
Some expat named Jake who wore beads and used to hang around Fat Margaret's in Tallinn used to talk about some Sioux or Winnebago mystic and how fasting and sleep deprivation were the ticket. I actually bought it. I must have been crazy. Yes, there are subtle perceptual illusions. I just looked down and my keyboard looked like a honeycomb.
But this is not anything I would wish on anyone.
**
There are interesting things that you can do at 2:30am, uh, "all wrapped up in a bottle of wine". Catching up on My Morning Jacket, watching it complete its transition from an alternative niche band from Kentucky to such epithets as the hardest rocking band in America. Somewhat surprising, when you consider the early stuff. Then again, they have always rocked, and flirted with the metal trope where you would expect only bluegrass. There is something that is Ramonesish, cartoonish about them (the hairbanging, obviously). In terms of sheer intensity, this old one here is very impressive. It's not just loud (and believe me, this is probably in 120 dB territory) or extremely in the pocket, it's like you have just stumbled on to the climactic fanning part of the Gtateful Dead's 1977 Cornell Morning Dew -- except that it's a four minute late night talk show set. WTF. Conan's reaction is probably genuine, I would say.
I've always had trouble falling back asleep after nighttime interruptions (kid, etc). I don't know if it was a wrong combination of these wakeups, or maybe I just quit using the Philips Bright Light too early this winter. I'm now on day 5 of...chain reaction insomnia. A saga of ever-diminishing returns. Last night was a new low, with only two or three hours toward dawn. Followed, all day long by the usual bouts of mild euphoria alternating with mild dread.
Yesterday I gave up being stoic about it and started complaining around the house -- while noting how stoic I had been by not complaining for a couple days. This is low.
Then, in the evening, if I'm in bed at 10pm, I get a brief feeling of sleepiness and might even doze off, but on day 3 I realized this is just a sick cosmic joke. I resurface like five minutes later and over the next hours I gradually get more and more agitated.
Tonight I again gave it an earnest go, and lay in bed from 11pm to 1:30 am doing relaxation and breathing exercises, creative visualization etc. As of 5 minutes ago I have said screw it and uncorked a bottle of wine -- one of the new strong global warming California ones. Insomnia, meet my enforcer -- Mr. Mondavi.
Yeah, well, this is probably SAD-related, or some close relative like "spring exhaustion".
I did eat some mouldy Finncrisp -- could it be ergot? I'n clean otherwise.
Of course, it could also be fatal familial insomnia. If the islets in your pancreas can decide to go without warning and bang, you have diabetes, then the melatonin part of your brain could conk out, too. Couödn't it?
Some expat named Jake who wore beads and used to hang around Fat Margaret's in Tallinn used to talk about some Sioux or Winnebago mystic and how fasting and sleep deprivation were the ticket. I actually bought it. I must have been crazy. Yes, there are subtle perceptual illusions. I just looked down and my keyboard looked like a honeycomb.
But this is not anything I would wish on anyone.
**
There are interesting things that you can do at 2:30am, uh, "all wrapped up in a bottle of wine". Catching up on My Morning Jacket, watching it complete its transition from an alternative niche band from Kentucky to such epithets as the hardest rocking band in America. Somewhat surprising, when you consider the early stuff. Then again, they have always rocked, and flirted with the metal trope where you would expect only bluegrass. There is something that is Ramonesish, cartoonish about them (the hairbanging, obviously). In terms of sheer intensity, this old one here is very impressive. It's not just loud (and believe me, this is probably in 120 dB territory) or extremely in the pocket, it's like you have just stumbled on to the climactic fanning part of the Gtateful Dead's 1977 Cornell Morning Dew -- except that it's a four minute late night talk show set. WTF. Conan's reaction is probably genuine, I would say.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Dead air
Estonia's airwaves -- make that pre-telescreens -- became yet another Finnish channel poorer yesterday. I'm not a big TV watcher, but these are where the good (English-language) films are, as opposed to the not so good (English-language) films. Not always, but usually.
The irony is rich. Back in Soviet times, northern Estonia could pick up channels from across the gulf with an antenna. Depending on whom you ask, Finnish commercial television channels such as MTV3 helped ensure Estonia a cultural edge over its Baltic neighbours.
But now that things are tightly under digital control pending switchoff, MTV3 bowed to pressure last year from American groups (probably the usual gang of idiots like the RIAA and Co.) to get technical.
Today another Finnish channel, Nelonen, followed suit on its mini-switchoff. The Estonian lobby had no chance. Negotiate your own separate licensing agreements with the holders of the rights, the Estonian cable distributor was told, and then you can use our feed.
**
There used to be a commercial where a customer asks the receptionist at a motel what the en suite entertainment options are. The reply: every movie ever made, any time of day. Something like that.
The digital age was supposed to make all this possible. And I guess it is making it possible -- for some. Except for an odd thing -- national borders. What were those?
I wasn't worried for a while. DVD region encoding, for example, was so easy to override, with all the shareware and firmware patches out there.
And I certainly didn't think regional restrictions would affect old releases. Surely Hollywood is all about product placement and money and the more people that see a film, the better?
I guess I should realized it a couple years ago, when I tried to download some audio content from Rolling Stone magazine, from this side of the pond, and I was told basically, sorry, wrong country. I took it as an insult against Estonia and resented them knowing where I was physically.
I'm used to paying extra for living in Estonia in various ways, such as not being able, for the longest time, to send 3-day priority mail to the States, even though Portugal, say, could send overnight.
What got me was that there seemed no quick way to bypass the Rolling Stone IP detection.
In February, I set up a Netflix account, also from an Estonian IP, and paid my $8.99, (or signed up for a free trial, which I guess they charge your card $8.99 in perpetuity until you send a cancellation notice to a working e-mail). But I couldn't rent movies. I then went through a proxy service, and that seemed to fool them, but every movie would have been the End of Days -- that's how long the download would have taken.
**
For now, I can rent movies from the iTunes store. They, too, like Paypal, wouldn't accept my Estonian-issued Visa credit card, a common problem with online purchases, but luckily I had a US issued Simon Gift Card in the drawer (thanks, Dad and family). Considering Apple is the company that made the iPhone, I'm surprised they aren't pickier over IP addresses and regionalism.
The irony is rich. Back in Soviet times, northern Estonia could pick up channels from across the gulf with an antenna. Depending on whom you ask, Finnish commercial television channels such as MTV3 helped ensure Estonia a cultural edge over its Baltic neighbours.
But now that things are tightly under digital control pending switchoff, MTV3 bowed to pressure last year from American groups (probably the usual gang of idiots like the RIAA and Co.) to get technical.
Today another Finnish channel, Nelonen, followed suit on its mini-switchoff. The Estonian lobby had no chance. Negotiate your own separate licensing agreements with the holders of the rights, the Estonian cable distributor was told, and then you can use our feed.
**
There used to be a commercial where a customer asks the receptionist at a motel what the en suite entertainment options are. The reply: every movie ever made, any time of day. Something like that.
The digital age was supposed to make all this possible. And I guess it is making it possible -- for some. Except for an odd thing -- national borders. What were those?
I wasn't worried for a while. DVD region encoding, for example, was so easy to override, with all the shareware and firmware patches out there.
And I certainly didn't think regional restrictions would affect old releases. Surely Hollywood is all about product placement and money and the more people that see a film, the better?
I guess I should realized it a couple years ago, when I tried to download some audio content from Rolling Stone magazine, from this side of the pond, and I was told basically, sorry, wrong country. I took it as an insult against Estonia and resented them knowing where I was physically.
I'm used to paying extra for living in Estonia in various ways, such as not being able, for the longest time, to send 3-day priority mail to the States, even though Portugal, say, could send overnight.
What got me was that there seemed no quick way to bypass the Rolling Stone IP detection.
In February, I set up a Netflix account, also from an Estonian IP, and paid my $8.99, (or signed up for a free trial, which I guess they charge your card $8.99 in perpetuity until you send a cancellation notice to a working e-mail). But I couldn't rent movies. I then went through a proxy service, and that seemed to fool them, but every movie would have been the End of Days -- that's how long the download would have taken.
**
For now, I can rent movies from the iTunes store. They, too, like Paypal, wouldn't accept my Estonian-issued Visa credit card, a common problem with online purchases, but luckily I had a US issued Simon Gift Card in the drawer (thanks, Dad and family). Considering Apple is the company that made the iPhone, I'm surprised they aren't pickier over IP addresses and regionalism.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Internet comment crisis gets nifty tech solution
(Note date.)
The Estonian government today took a big step toward resolving the perceived problem of anonymous (and sometimes offensive) Internet comments. It's a combination of a basic quota of comments -- linked to your ID card -- and a pay-as-you-go scheme.
An executive-level decision by Prime Minister Andrus Ansip signed today at the government session will allow blog commenters to purchase vouchers that allow their holder to make a fixed number of comments each month -- without fear of legal backlash.
Estonians and legal residents will get up to 30 comments per month for free (you have to have an ID card). That will make you street-legal for commenting on anything in Estonia. Up to ten comments can be traded to other people for future comment rights (if, for example, you simply have less to say in a given month but you know that you'll have a lot of insight when an event such as Eurovision is held the following month).
As said, you can also buy additional comments. They cost 20 kroons each, about as much as a day of WiFi at some providers. You can get back credit for replies to people who reply to your comment.
I personally don't know quite what to make of this decision. Personally, I have long been suspicious of ID cards. And is free speech, then, something that is to be bought and sold in units, like public transit tickets?
Then again, the emissions trading system in the field of environmental law seems to be working OK. And isn't commenting often a form of hot air?
In any case, the system, which was designed by Rein Lang, will require that an actual website for buying the credits is set up soon. Pay-by-mobile-phone functionality is also promised.
The Estonian government today took a big step toward resolving the perceived problem of anonymous (and sometimes offensive) Internet comments. It's a combination of a basic quota of comments -- linked to your ID card -- and a pay-as-you-go scheme.
An executive-level decision by Prime Minister Andrus Ansip signed today at the government session will allow blog commenters to purchase vouchers that allow their holder to make a fixed number of comments each month -- without fear of legal backlash.
Estonians and legal residents will get up to 30 comments per month for free (you have to have an ID card). That will make you street-legal for commenting on anything in Estonia. Up to ten comments can be traded to other people for future comment rights (if, for example, you simply have less to say in a given month but you know that you'll have a lot of insight when an event such as Eurovision is held the following month).
As said, you can also buy additional comments. They cost 20 kroons each, about as much as a day of WiFi at some providers. You can get back credit for replies to people who reply to your comment.
I personally don't know quite what to make of this decision. Personally, I have long been suspicious of ID cards. And is free speech, then, something that is to be bought and sold in units, like public transit tickets?
Then again, the emissions trading system in the field of environmental law seems to be working OK. And isn't commenting often a form of hot air?
In any case, the system, which was designed by Rein Lang, will require that an actual website for buying the credits is set up soon. Pay-by-mobile-phone functionality is also promised.
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