OK, one last Florence restaurant post, but wow. This was really five stars plus. Do believe the (mainly word-of-mouth) hype. It would be hard to see how a Cibreo (the four-restaurant empire that takes up a whole block in San Croce) or a somewhat pretentious foodie shrine like Olio & Convivium could do any better while remaining tipico -- the quintessential Tuscan restaurant.
This kind of place restores hope in civilization and makes other restaurants appear to be living on some kind of plane of stupidity. It nails the whole point of going out to eat, and going out should be an important social pastime, less associated with decadence than a true valuing of food and life in relation to each other.
The best thing of all is there are no qualms about reviewing a place like that. To hell with "well-kept secrets". Places like this should be visited and learned from, and every restaurant in every city should aspire to it, especially in Tallinn, which approaches it only fitfully.
Coming off a good but crowded meal at a market stall with a lot of elbow rubbing, I was mildly skeptical of the concept of Il Latini, as described in some of the Internet reviews: you get seated at long tables with a bunch of strangers -- half tourists, half Florentines -- and allegedly "that's part of the fun".
But it is. It can work. I'm not sure if it was intended to be the concept of the place, but that is what it has turned out to be.
I made reservations by phone at 4pm and they seemed happy to have an extra solo diner, which is already unusual in Italy. But the proprietors appear to be geniuses when it comes to seating people. All of staff have energy. There is an intelligence and friendliness; they dote on you. Hams hang from the ceiling, hams get sliced in front of you. These people know how to make you feel at home. They sincerely like having you over. There don't seem to be any prima donnas or wiseasses among the servers, which has been the case at every place so far, along with a certain discrimination against "tourists" or non-Italians that I can only describe as "creeping French".
It was another rainy night in old Florence. Outside the restaurant in a dark alley by the river there was a flock of umbrellas waiting impatiently. It was enjoyable, though, watching the staff through the window, setting the tables and cleaning up before the 7:30pm seating. There was some pushing under the umbrellas when the doors opened, but all of it in good fun (I think). The proprietor would reach through the crowd and personally pull in the trailing members of larger local parties.
At my international table: a Korean-American brother and sister from Pasadena; an Italian local; a young guy from the UK; two German marathon runners from Cologne, one of whom, Marcello, had an Italian father; and a Chinese telecommunications manager.
By the end of the night, everybody had exchanged e-mail addresses and in some cases, addresses. It was like a youth hostel, and I never thought I'd say that in a positive light -- a youth hostel where the main course was a bifsteca fiorentina that weighed in at one kg and measured 5 cm thick. If steak were something I were an authority on, I could say authoritatively it outdid Wyoming or Texas by a country mile. Seriously, it's hard to imagine something as pure-tasting. I may be prejudiced by the fact that I hadn't really eaten since the marathon. It's very hard to say. At this point, conversation fell off markedly as people savoured the steaks. It cost 50 euros for that kilo, but I split it with the Chinese guy, who was of vast appetite, even though he did not run the marathon.
It's also super value (bottomless wine for 5 euros cover plus port and grappa thrown in free at the end), though the quality and amount of meat in the second course could make the final bill seem (but only seem) a little steep. Of course, you have the right to decline anything they want to serve you. I counted four antipasti and that turned out to be only 10 euros. In the end, they rang me up for a side that I did not order and they took it right off along with an additional discount for their mistake.
Do I deserve this? Well, maybe not, but I did run a marathon, and there's only so much mediocrity you can take. I'll fast a couple days during Advent.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
UPDATE: Looks like two Estonians did well, Rein Valdmaa with 3:14 and surprise, a guy named Erala Ranno starts in the back of the elite pack and posts a world-class time of 2:33. Too bad he's my age, or we could start talking about heirs to Loskutov.
I didn't hit a wall, as marathoners call mile 20 and beyond. I hit a sharp pain in my gut. An ulcer? Too much tripe? I had just finished with the Duomo and the centro storico and hit the dreaded green of the out-and-back finale along the river.
It was after km 30 and I had been cruising along a good ways ahead of the 3:15 pace (a raft of yellow balloons). Maybe not cruising, but up to km 25 I had felt fresh. Up to km 16 I had wondered whether a 3-hour time were possible, though it seemed physiologically impossible right now. Weather was perfect for running in shorts and T-shirt -- 9 degrees C and light rain.
I guess the pain wasn't a medical emergency, and it finally went away, but it wasn't a typical side pain. It felt herniated, and it forced me to walk for a while, then for 30 seconds each kilometre for a few km and I thought I would have to drop out.
Somehow I rallied and got back on what felt like a 3:30:00 marathon pace for the last 6-7 km. Overall, a far more painful race than 2006, when only the last 7 km were hell.
Around km 35 I felt sorry I hadn't applied Estonian face paint or something.
I still managed a 250m finishing kick though I had to walk for 10 seconds in the middle of km 42 (lame!). The announcer called out the name of the countries of the runners as they finished and I heard a second "Estonia" 10 seconds behind me; I will have to wait to see who it was. I didn't catch the towering figure of Toomas Gross, who is a 3:15-er, and we were pushed along the corridor so fast that I couldn't really slow down. Firenze is not a common destination for Estonian runners, but there are always a few complete strangers.
I didn't see or hear a single American. Big difference from two years ago. Lousy weather, or simply declining US tourism (widely reckoned here to be 60% down). But an airborne unit of the Army and an AIDS charity group accounted for most of the Americans in 2006.
And I think my time was 3:22:30, subtract 1:55 for the time from the opening gun to when we oozed past the actual start of the distance.
Without the pain, I don't think I would have broken 3:15, but it might have been 3:17/3:19, is my honest evaluation. The last miles were brutal, I felt like I lacked all forward drive in my legs. I just stared at the back of the guy in front of me, not his legs, and tried to "float".
I didn't hit a wall, as marathoners call mile 20 and beyond. I hit a sharp pain in my gut. An ulcer? Too much tripe? I had just finished with the Duomo and the centro storico and hit the dreaded green of the out-and-back finale along the river.
It was after km 30 and I had been cruising along a good ways ahead of the 3:15 pace (a raft of yellow balloons). Maybe not cruising, but up to km 25 I had felt fresh. Up to km 16 I had wondered whether a 3-hour time were possible, though it seemed physiologically impossible right now. Weather was perfect for running in shorts and T-shirt -- 9 degrees C and light rain.
I guess the pain wasn't a medical emergency, and it finally went away, but it wasn't a typical side pain. It felt herniated, and it forced me to walk for a while, then for 30 seconds each kilometre for a few km and I thought I would have to drop out.
Somehow I rallied and got back on what felt like a 3:30:00 marathon pace for the last 6-7 km. Overall, a far more painful race than 2006, when only the last 7 km were hell.
Around km 35 I felt sorry I hadn't applied Estonian face paint or something.
I still managed a 250m finishing kick though I had to walk for 10 seconds in the middle of km 42 (lame!). The announcer called out the name of the countries of the runners as they finished and I heard a second "Estonia" 10 seconds behind me; I will have to wait to see who it was. I didn't catch the towering figure of Toomas Gross, who is a 3:15-er, and we were pushed along the corridor so fast that I couldn't really slow down. Firenze is not a common destination for Estonian runners, but there are always a few complete strangers.
I didn't see or hear a single American. Big difference from two years ago. Lousy weather, or simply declining US tourism (widely reckoned here to be 60% down). But an airborne unit of the Army and an AIDS charity group accounted for most of the Americans in 2006.
And I think my time was 3:22:30, subtract 1:55 for the time from the opening gun to when we oozed past the actual start of the distance.
Without the pain, I don't think I would have broken 3:15, but it might have been 3:17/3:19, is my honest evaluation. The last miles were brutal, I felt like I lacked all forward drive in my legs. I just stared at the back of the guy in front of me, not his legs, and tried to "float".
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Florence
I bought Mizuno Aero running shoes -- "the one shoe you probably don't have to break in", the guy at the Marathon expo told me, confirming something I had held true. I tried a pair on in Milan before a marathon I was planning to run and found them very comfortable.
Rain is my main concern. It poured yesterday and it will again on Sunday. It's cold. There was even some snow on the ground between Parma and Bologna. I took the Mizunos down by the river where the US Consulate has generously provided a traffic-free zone for joggers. I ran for about 35 minutes, enough for the Aeros to double in weight from rainwater from their listed 280 grams.
When I bought the shoes, my credit card didn't go through. The merchant at the fair represented a store in Verona and had a little handheld POS device. Ditto for my debit card ("transazione negata"). So I paid in cash. When I got back to the hotel, I noticed the transactions were listed on my bank account. I have all the receipts, so should be no problem.
But you have to wonder what is screwed up in the system if the merchant is told that the card was declined yet the customer is effectively charged anyway.
I suspect a person who translated a banking interface is to blame.
But the other question I have is, how frequently does the opposite happen -- the merchant is informed of a successful transaction and the customer is not charged?
Unexplained holds on funds seem to be a common problem on the Italian-Estonian axis. A rental car security deposit took three months to be lifted a couple years ago.
**
My Italian food phase is showing signs of coming to an end. Not where I'm so hard-core where I'm going to dine alone in pursuit of the perfect dish. Tonight, rather than try to get on the waiting list for Cibreo, I think I'm just going to eat pasta in the big tent and talk to some marathoners, though the expo is a little far from the centre.
It's not that I have had any unpleasant gastronomic experiences, but I am bored of overcooked things getting elevated to the status of art or delicacy.
Tuscans have a “soup” called rebollita. It’s always thick enough to stand on end. Brunelleschi could have built the Dome out of it, I swear. It looks like Salvest rassolnik from a jar but it’s not concentrated. It’s good -- perfectly balanced proportions of potatoes, white beans, celery, peas, and bread. Vegetarian, as far as I can tell. But it’s simple stuff and no one dares vary it. It also bothers me that I can’t tell whether peas were frozen, canned or fresh -- if they were fresh, it’s a shame they cooked them so long; if they were canned, that’s just tacky. Not one restaurant or café has offered any variation on it, unless you count the ones that forget to remove the bay leaf.
I tried the tripe. From a trippaio, the fast-disappearing tripe cart vendors… Or maybe not, as they seem to have made a resurgence in the form of permanent stalls at markets. Tripe is another delicacy, which fetches a pretty good price in prepared form, considering its peasant origins. I would call it cattle calamari, except unlike calamari, which it resembles, it is not initially tender – you have to cook it for a long time. (I wonder if, in places with really hardcore peasant traditions, they have bone vendors – people who sell bones that have been stewed to the point of tenderness.) Lampredotto, one type of tripe, seemed dependable. Like a very rich tomato sauce. Actually much like an osso buco sauce in terms of flavour. Rich but not greasy. So this was a positive thing.
When my train pulled into town on Thursday night, I felt really run-down, so I also had a meat-heavy meal -- crostini alla fiorentina (liver pate on bread, broiled) and a second course of osso bucco alla ortolana. OK, it’s a sort of Milanese dish, but I had Tuscan food in Milan, so we’re even.
I was pleased by the fact that the osso bucco I made last year from Stockmann beef was pretty close to this. The meat here wasn't as tender, and the gremolata (lemon and parsley condiment) wasn’t served separately but it was incorporated into the thing.
I’m still clueless about marrow's exact composition. It is not the grainy red coral thing you find when you crack open a chicken bone. It is like fat, but it is not. I ate the hell of that thing. My grandfather, who couldn’t stand me picking at meat, would be proud.
Rain is my main concern. It poured yesterday and it will again on Sunday. It's cold. There was even some snow on the ground between Parma and Bologna. I took the Mizunos down by the river where the US Consulate has generously provided a traffic-free zone for joggers. I ran for about 35 minutes, enough for the Aeros to double in weight from rainwater from their listed 280 grams.
When I bought the shoes, my credit card didn't go through. The merchant at the fair represented a store in Verona and had a little handheld POS device. Ditto for my debit card ("transazione negata"). So I paid in cash. When I got back to the hotel, I noticed the transactions were listed on my bank account. I have all the receipts, so should be no problem.
But you have to wonder what is screwed up in the system if the merchant is told that the card was declined yet the customer is effectively charged anyway.
I suspect a person who translated a banking interface is to blame.
But the other question I have is, how frequently does the opposite happen -- the merchant is informed of a successful transaction and the customer is not charged?
Unexplained holds on funds seem to be a common problem on the Italian-Estonian axis. A rental car security deposit took three months to be lifted a couple years ago.
**
My Italian food phase is showing signs of coming to an end. Not where I'm so hard-core where I'm going to dine alone in pursuit of the perfect dish. Tonight, rather than try to get on the waiting list for Cibreo, I think I'm just going to eat pasta in the big tent and talk to some marathoners, though the expo is a little far from the centre.
It's not that I have had any unpleasant gastronomic experiences, but I am bored of overcooked things getting elevated to the status of art or delicacy.
Tuscans have a “soup” called rebollita. It’s always thick enough to stand on end. Brunelleschi could have built the Dome out of it, I swear. It looks like Salvest rassolnik from a jar but it’s not concentrated. It’s good -- perfectly balanced proportions of potatoes, white beans, celery, peas, and bread. Vegetarian, as far as I can tell. But it’s simple stuff and no one dares vary it. It also bothers me that I can’t tell whether peas were frozen, canned or fresh -- if they were fresh, it’s a shame they cooked them so long; if they were canned, that’s just tacky. Not one restaurant or café has offered any variation on it, unless you count the ones that forget to remove the bay leaf.
I tried the tripe. From a trippaio, the fast-disappearing tripe cart vendors… Or maybe not, as they seem to have made a resurgence in the form of permanent stalls at markets. Tripe is another delicacy, which fetches a pretty good price in prepared form, considering its peasant origins. I would call it cattle calamari, except unlike calamari, which it resembles, it is not initially tender – you have to cook it for a long time. (I wonder if, in places with really hardcore peasant traditions, they have bone vendors – people who sell bones that have been stewed to the point of tenderness.) Lampredotto, one type of tripe, seemed dependable. Like a very rich tomato sauce. Actually much like an osso buco sauce in terms of flavour. Rich but not greasy. So this was a positive thing.
When my train pulled into town on Thursday night, I felt really run-down, so I also had a meat-heavy meal -- crostini alla fiorentina (liver pate on bread, broiled) and a second course of osso bucco alla ortolana. OK, it’s a sort of Milanese dish, but I had Tuscan food in Milan, so we’re even.
I was pleased by the fact that the osso bucco I made last year from Stockmann beef was pretty close to this. The meat here wasn't as tender, and the gremolata (lemon and parsley condiment) wasn’t served separately but it was incorporated into the thing.
I’m still clueless about marrow's exact composition. It is not the grainy red coral thing you find when you crack open a chicken bone. It is like fat, but it is not. I ate the hell of that thing. My grandfather, who couldn’t stand me picking at meat, would be proud.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
My first thought upon hearing about the Mumbai attacks was: what would Gregory David Roberts make of it?
He's the novelist -- a very non-literary one -- who wrote Shantaram, a big sprawling book about Mumbai. Leopold's Cafe is mentioned, of course; it's ground zero for expats, no pun intended. Roberts is a fugitive in Australia who immerses himself in doing good works for the local community.
Halfway through, the book takes a sudden turn and Roberts ends up, thanks to a connection to organized crime, fighting with mujahedin in Afghanistan. At the time this episode seemed less than semi-autobiographical, a bit fanciful. Now I don't know. Who knows, in Mumbai.
If you read the news reports, it sounds like the Deccan muhajedin or whoever they were, came from outer space -- the official version is the odd-sounding "they came over the water" -- but I think there is undoubtedly more to it.
What I, a know-nothing, see in these terrorist attacks is the same economic, capital vs. ordinary people theme that there has been in every terrorist attack. That usually gets overlooked by the mainstream media in its demonstration of moral outrage.
Once again the attackers were well-to-do, sort of well-groomed and young, which is also misleading. They don't seem like ragged communist or anarchist radicals such as might be found 100 years ago. But I think if you're looking for a word, those two might be a good bit better than "Islamofascist" to describe the roots of the cause.
He's the novelist -- a very non-literary one -- who wrote Shantaram, a big sprawling book about Mumbai. Leopold's Cafe is mentioned, of course; it's ground zero for expats, no pun intended. Roberts is a fugitive in Australia who immerses himself in doing good works for the local community.
Halfway through, the book takes a sudden turn and Roberts ends up, thanks to a connection to organized crime, fighting with mujahedin in Afghanistan. At the time this episode seemed less than semi-autobiographical, a bit fanciful. Now I don't know. Who knows, in Mumbai.
If you read the news reports, it sounds like the Deccan muhajedin or whoever they were, came from outer space -- the official version is the odd-sounding "they came over the water" -- but I think there is undoubtedly more to it.
What I, a know-nothing, see in these terrorist attacks is the same economic, capital vs. ordinary people theme that there has been in every terrorist attack. That usually gets overlooked by the mainstream media in its demonstration of moral outrage.
Once again the attackers were well-to-do, sort of well-groomed and young, which is also misleading. They don't seem like ragged communist or anarchist radicals such as might be found 100 years ago. But I think if you're looking for a word, those two might be a good bit better than "Islamofascist" to describe the roots of the cause.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
I'm in Bergamo, Italy's version of Toompea with no mediaeval lower town but instead the same Italian matrix of motorbikes and dense urban development, kind of like Hoboken squared. Hopefully I will have time to go up to the Citta Alta today and peer over the Venetian walls, but finally I got a good night's sleep, so I am satisfied. I'll be coming back here on the way back from Florence. A little disappointed that I have to go through Milan to get to Florence -- going through Verona and Bologna would have required five changes of train -- but maybe I will use the layover to shop for marathon running shoes... Kind of left that till the last minute...
Friday, November 21, 2008
Snow reveals a child-like sense of delight in Estonians -- everybody turns into a snow fan, and that's great -- as long as the certain percentage who should not be driving in any conditions stay off the road. I doubt there are any official statistics, but I'm sure if you polled the population, most would be strongly in favour of 24 degrees F all winter long, even as preferable to really warm winter weather. "Balmy and dark" just doesn't sound good.
It's a winter wonderland out there, big fluffy flakes falling as in a dome, even the finest twigs coated.
I'm tempted to go out and buy skis. Last time I did it was 1994 and they were cheap.
People are saying things like "winter is here", "now we're going to make up for the past couple years", "nosireebob, the winter don't stay in the sky."
Not to dampen the enthusiasm, but I've noticed but there's typically a satisfying cold snap with significant snow accumulations in the fall, in 2003 there was snow in September, in 2006 before Hallowe'en. Then, after it melts away, it's just months of soggy grey. If any sizeable storm system moves in, the temperature will always rise. So I have a feeling this is just the early cold snap, and global warming has just pushed it back. I'm not predicting anything, but we'll see. So enjoy it while you can, hopefully through Tuesday, with additional accumulations on Sunday.
UPDATE: The geniuses at Apple managed to restore almost all of the data on the drive. High-fives all around. Then I got home and checked it out. I need a little Maxwell's demon. I'm not quite sure if the recovery was worth 2000 EEK. It's a holy mess, the content is there but some file names have changed to numerical codes and the data for programs like iTunes and iPhoto, which generate proprietary libraries, are in three different places. The Windows data (a FAT-format partition) is completely gone or unrecognizable. And worse, because of the complex linkage of the raw recovered data, the new hard drive is corrupted and must be backed up and formatted before I can set up Windows again. I should just go back to the Mac store, but since time is of the essence, I may just go and buy that external hard drive. I'm sure this is not going to be the last of it. It's going to be a hell of a weekend.
MARATHON UPDATE: I guess I'm still going, I can't decide whether spending 6000 EEK on transport and hotels and race registration is a good deal or pointless spending. I think it's important for my sanity and I can get some Christmas shopping done. I managed to run 26 km eight days ago. That was my big run. Should have been 30. I did 16 km on a treadmill with some race-pace kilometres yesterday, very scientific but probably overdid it. Probably 80% chance of finishing under 4 hours, 40% chance of equalling the time of 3:30 or so from two years ago, 10% chance of getting the goal of 3:15. There's not much I can do at this point. Walking a lot (Venice) seemed to keep me limber last time. I also slept better at night.
It's a winter wonderland out there, big fluffy flakes falling as in a dome, even the finest twigs coated.
I'm tempted to go out and buy skis. Last time I did it was 1994 and they were cheap.
People are saying things like "winter is here", "now we're going to make up for the past couple years", "nosireebob, the winter don't stay in the sky."
Not to dampen the enthusiasm, but I've noticed but there's typically a satisfying cold snap with significant snow accumulations in the fall, in 2003 there was snow in September, in 2006 before Hallowe'en. Then, after it melts away, it's just months of soggy grey. If any sizeable storm system moves in, the temperature will always rise. So I have a feeling this is just the early cold snap, and global warming has just pushed it back. I'm not predicting anything, but we'll see. So enjoy it while you can, hopefully through Tuesday, with additional accumulations on Sunday.
UPDATE: The geniuses at Apple managed to restore almost all of the data on the drive. High-fives all around. Then I got home and checked it out. I need a little Maxwell's demon. I'm not quite sure if the recovery was worth 2000 EEK. It's a holy mess, the content is there but some file names have changed to numerical codes and the data for programs like iTunes and iPhoto, which generate proprietary libraries, are in three different places. The Windows data (a FAT-format partition) is completely gone or unrecognizable. And worse, because of the complex linkage of the raw recovered data, the new hard drive is corrupted and must be backed up and formatted before I can set up Windows again. I should just go back to the Mac store, but since time is of the essence, I may just go and buy that external hard drive. I'm sure this is not going to be the last of it. It's going to be a hell of a weekend.
MARATHON UPDATE: I guess I'm still going, I can't decide whether spending 6000 EEK on transport and hotels and race registration is a good deal or pointless spending. I think it's important for my sanity and I can get some Christmas shopping done. I managed to run 26 km eight days ago. That was my big run. Should have been 30. I did 16 km on a treadmill with some race-pace kilometres yesterday, very scientific but probably overdid it. Probably 80% chance of finishing under 4 hours, 40% chance of equalling the time of 3:30 or so from two years ago, 10% chance of getting the goal of 3:15. There's not much I can do at this point. Walking a lot (Venice) seemed to keep me limber last time. I also slept better at night.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Hard disk crashed today on the Macbook after only 14 months. Most things are backed up in cyberspace and the last backup to disk was two weeks ago.
Could have been much worse -- I could have been in Italy. It came during a lull after a busy period.
But apparently there's bad news: 1) they don't sell XP anymore 2) the digital photograph I took of my old laptop's product key was stored on the Macintosh partition, which is naturally also gone now -- and I didn't back up odds and ends like iSight pictures. I guess I figured it was safe as the computer was fairly new. I was always worried that something would get corrupted on the Windows side, as it is sort of foreign to Mac.
So now what? Get a pirated copy from somewhere? I can't possibly run Vista with 1 GB. The whole point is that XP is mean and lean and gets the job done. Microsoft Word for Mac is clunky (there's even a keyboard delay) and cannot be used for my purposes.
This is the third hard disk replacement for a Mac. The other two were on my wife's aluminium Powerbook, which she bought used.
Could have been much worse -- I could have been in Italy. It came during a lull after a busy period.
But apparently there's bad news: 1) they don't sell XP anymore 2) the digital photograph I took of my old laptop's product key was stored on the Macintosh partition, which is naturally also gone now -- and I didn't back up odds and ends like iSight pictures. I guess I figured it was safe as the computer was fairly new. I was always worried that something would get corrupted on the Windows side, as it is sort of foreign to Mac.
So now what? Get a pirated copy from somewhere? I can't possibly run Vista with 1 GB. The whole point is that XP is mean and lean and gets the job done. Microsoft Word for Mac is clunky (there's even a keyboard delay) and cannot be used for my purposes.
This is the third hard disk replacement for a Mac. The other two were on my wife's aluminium Powerbook, which she bought used.
Cultural observation #27
what I was typing today when the hard drive died:
Paris would be unthinkable without rues and Germany -strasser. It's part of the culture. When Lance Armstrong wins the Tour, he will not ride on the Elysian Flds. -- heaven forfend -- he will ride down the Champs-Elysees.
Even smaller nations have their traditions. To me, that square in Prague is Vaclavske namesti. "Wenceslas Square" is something from a Christmas carol.
So what is this Estonian habit of translating iconic street names into English whenever possible? I see such Anglic monstrosities as "Pikk Street" or the incorrectly abbreviated "Pikk Str". I even saw, briefly, "Green Meadow" for the location of the free 2-hour parking lot in Kadriorg. It's a street with the unusual name of Roheline aas. But Green Meadow sounds like parking in a hayfield.
It's especially odd considering that locals usually just leave off the "tänav" for many tänavs. An address like Pikk 67 is just fine. Especially for those who live there, of course. The mail will get there, is what I mean, though.
Not only do local street names have a certain style of their own but translating them is also misleading. This is a true story: a foreign visitor reads about a museum on Vabaduse Square and decides to check it out. He doesn't have a tourist map; being an intrepid motorist he has the main Regio atlas. He guesses from the index it's Vabaduse pst. He ends up in Nõmme, heading out of town.
And what is this "Tartu Road" and "Narva Road" business? These are "Highways", not roads. Where I come via (Virginia), a "Road" (Military Road, Rugby Road) is typically a larger suburban route with a few stoplights, speed limit 50-70 km/h. Smaller "Streets" often branch off "Roads". Beyond city limits a "Road" is a winding two-lane route, speed limit 70-95 km/h. A "Highway" is a modern road between cities, and if you take a highway into the heart of town, where it turns into a busy street, it is still called a highway.
These things are different everywhere, of course, but the point is this: don't translate street names into English, unless you want to get into a concordance. You need a book to explain the nomenclature -- why a certain kind of commercial artery in the US could be a "Drive" or a "Road" but not a "Street".
Paris would be unthinkable without rues and Germany -strasser. It's part of the culture. When Lance Armstrong wins the Tour, he will not ride on the Elysian Flds. -- heaven forfend -- he will ride down the Champs-Elysees.
Even smaller nations have their traditions. To me, that square in Prague is Vaclavske namesti. "Wenceslas Square" is something from a Christmas carol.
So what is this Estonian habit of translating iconic street names into English whenever possible? I see such Anglic monstrosities as "Pikk Street" or the incorrectly abbreviated "Pikk Str". I even saw, briefly, "Green Meadow" for the location of the free 2-hour parking lot in Kadriorg. It's a street with the unusual name of Roheline aas. But Green Meadow sounds like parking in a hayfield.
It's especially odd considering that locals usually just leave off the "tänav" for many tänavs. An address like Pikk 67 is just fine. Especially for those who live there, of course. The mail will get there, is what I mean, though.
Not only do local street names have a certain style of their own but translating them is also misleading. This is a true story: a foreign visitor reads about a museum on Vabaduse Square and decides to check it out. He doesn't have a tourist map; being an intrepid motorist he has the main Regio atlas. He guesses from the index it's Vabaduse pst. He ends up in Nõmme, heading out of town.
And what is this "Tartu Road" and "Narva Road" business? These are "Highways", not roads. Where I come via (Virginia), a "Road" (Military Road, Rugby Road) is typically a larger suburban route with a few stoplights, speed limit 50-70 km/h. Smaller "Streets" often branch off "Roads". Beyond city limits a "Road" is a winding two-lane route, speed limit 70-95 km/h. A "Highway" is a modern road between cities, and if you take a highway into the heart of town, where it turns into a busy street, it is still called a highway.
These things are different everywhere, of course, but the point is this: don't translate street names into English, unless you want to get into a concordance. You need a book to explain the nomenclature -- why a certain kind of commercial artery in the US could be a "Drive" or a "Road" but not a "Street".
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Soap opera at the G-20. (Newspapers must still be doing well if they can afford to put a reporter on this angle.) Highlight: "Russian President Dmitry Medvedev was the only one out of two dozen leaders whose security would not allow U.S. Marines to open the door to his limousine for him...A Russian security agent jumped out of the front passenger side seat and opened the door for the diminutive Mr. Medvedev, who bounded up the flight of steps to while he buttoned his suit jacket." ("To while"? Sadly the copy editor has been canned.)
My son Morgan is three and also diminutive. Today we went to the Kumu Art Museum and he allowed me to help him push open the heavy doors without any insistence that he do it himself.
But what can you say, the Soviet doorman-security agent is a tradition.
And if you get into the party (what's with this two dozen leaders anyway, who said it was G-24?) here is the wine list. Some, like that Richard Quest, might jump to the obvious conclusion that the economy is flagging because the world's leaders are spending it on good wine. He has a point, especially if non G-20 leaders are crashing. But realistically, I think it's more likely that there's not enough lubrication. People are afraid to drink at that price. Everyone's uptight.
At some point, Medvedev's overzealous people will make a grab for the trays and try to take over the serving themselves, naturally to prove that Russians can serve hors d'oeuvres just as well as any American girl in a black dress; no one thought to just throw them a bottle of Stoly out by the limousines.
It's a shame. This crisis deserves Two Buck Chuck. Give all twenty leaders a bottle. No glasses. Start talking about halfway into the bottle.
**
I also enjoyed the hard-hitting reportage from the vice-presidents' meeting. Highlight:
"Hey folks, how are you?" Joe Biden said to the press after exiting the rear passenger-side front door of the SUV.
Biden greeted Cheney, "Mr. Vice President, how are you doing?"
"Joe, how are you?" Cheney replied.
A statement was issued later that day -- with no answer to any of the questions or indication of the condition of the press or the VPs! Tell me this stonewalling is not going to continue under Obama!
**
Snow should be flying in Tallinn before Monday. It's about time. There was a hailstorm one day but I haven't seen any flakes. This should bring welcome relief. It's been a dismal autumn...shootings (school in Finland, domestic in Estonia), constantly a high wind and rain.
My cousin called me on Skype from China, where he is doing something -- one of the hundreds of thousands of Estonians, if you go by the Savisaar estimate, who are working abroad. He keeps his cards close to his chest. Said it is 13 degrees in his room -- they haven't turned on the heat for the year -- and that the air is clean where he is. He asked me if I had bought gold yet. This is a guy who used to work for Hansabank and his LinkedIn profile lists him as derivatives trader. On Orkut, his friends include the crown princess of Sweden and he has had chats with her on Orkut in which they refer to non-Orkut exchanges. He's also evangelical Christian, so I handicap talk of crisis a few points. But I figure he is more on the lightning rod side, not just slowly catching up with old news. I told him I have and would still flee to USD. The graph of gold for the long term looks like it could come down a ways yet. I've always been unclear on what mechanism you would use to spend your bullion if things really collapse and there are blackouts. Or would the crisis spare the assaying lab? He stroked his chin and said nothing. He gave me good advice about the incredibly implausible weekly Tampere to Bergamo flight. It's good to have these secret-agent type relatives, even if you know the information they give you isn't really insider.
**
To my knowledge, there's still no one from my high school graduating class who's certifiably famous. One guy who after 8th grade defected to the other, "alternative" high school (where you could choose a free class schedule without mandatory attendance) is now a well-regarded cinematographer. My mainstream high school has, over the decades, given the world Olympic champion Tom Dolan (now roundly eclipsed by Michael Phelps, who does not even have asthma but just eats 12,000 calories a day), Katie Couric and the late Paul Wellstone. Not too bad. The high school next door produced Sandra Bullock and Jim Morrison, and what have they done for the world next to a Wellstone?
I don't have much interest in class reunions, but a couple of times a year, I'll Google likely suspects -- the guys named Darius and Cyrus.
It seems like more than half of the people in my class are just happy to be living in the suburbs, doing the exact same thing their parents did. I usually find them in real estate notices in local papers or listed as a survivor in an obituary for a grandparent. There might be an old helpdesk email from 2001 and that is about it. Apparently they got promoted from the helpdesk to a position where they were more shielded from having to deal with people, and bought a nice house.
A good many other people moved away and lived in places like NY when it was safe and cool again to do so in the 1990s. A lot of them are now in LA or Seattle. I think it's a significant trend, a definite reaction against the suburban upbringing, there was even a little 1960s thing about it (even though the class of '89 two years ahead of us was the only druggie class - that's what a Grateful Dead video on MTV in freshman year and older siblings will do to young impressionable minds).
I'm glad to see Drake Witham is getting some exposure for his standup on the West Coast. He was one year ahead of us, class of '90. He grew up in the same neighbourhood from my friend Josh Brown (try and disambiguate that name) who is also in LA.
I don't watch much stand-up and can't judge this except on basic human interest. It helps right off that I know he was never a class clown or attention-seeker, or even a stage star, but a fairly serious guy who took writing and journalism pretty seriously. Which begs the question of why the career move. It's subtle, riffs on itself but doesn't get carried away. You get the feeling his writing might be pretty good, too. I'm sure he'll get back into journalism eventually.
My son Morgan is three and also diminutive. Today we went to the Kumu Art Museum and he allowed me to help him push open the heavy doors without any insistence that he do it himself.
But what can you say, the Soviet doorman-security agent is a tradition.
And if you get into the party (what's with this two dozen leaders anyway, who said it was G-24?) here is the wine list. Some, like that Richard Quest, might jump to the obvious conclusion that the economy is flagging because the world's leaders are spending it on good wine. He has a point, especially if non G-20 leaders are crashing. But realistically, I think it's more likely that there's not enough lubrication. People are afraid to drink at that price. Everyone's uptight.
At some point, Medvedev's overzealous people will make a grab for the trays and try to take over the serving themselves, naturally to prove that Russians can serve hors d'oeuvres just as well as any American girl in a black dress; no one thought to just throw them a bottle of Stoly out by the limousines.
It's a shame. This crisis deserves Two Buck Chuck. Give all twenty leaders a bottle. No glasses. Start talking about halfway into the bottle.
**
I also enjoyed the hard-hitting reportage from the vice-presidents' meeting. Highlight:
"Hey folks, how are you?" Joe Biden said to the press after exiting the rear passenger-side front door of the SUV.
Biden greeted Cheney, "Mr. Vice President, how are you doing?"
"Joe, how are you?" Cheney replied.
A statement was issued later that day -- with no answer to any of the questions or indication of the condition of the press or the VPs! Tell me this stonewalling is not going to continue under Obama!
**
Snow should be flying in Tallinn before Monday. It's about time. There was a hailstorm one day but I haven't seen any flakes. This should bring welcome relief. It's been a dismal autumn...shootings (school in Finland, domestic in Estonia), constantly a high wind and rain.
My cousin called me on Skype from China, where he is doing something -- one of the hundreds of thousands of Estonians, if you go by the Savisaar estimate, who are working abroad. He keeps his cards close to his chest. Said it is 13 degrees in his room -- they haven't turned on the heat for the year -- and that the air is clean where he is. He asked me if I had bought gold yet. This is a guy who used to work for Hansabank and his LinkedIn profile lists him as derivatives trader. On Orkut, his friends include the crown princess of Sweden and he has had chats with her on Orkut in which they refer to non-Orkut exchanges. He's also evangelical Christian, so I handicap talk of crisis a few points. But I figure he is more on the lightning rod side, not just slowly catching up with old news. I told him I have and would still flee to USD. The graph of gold for the long term looks like it could come down a ways yet. I've always been unclear on what mechanism you would use to spend your bullion if things really collapse and there are blackouts. Or would the crisis spare the assaying lab? He stroked his chin and said nothing. He gave me good advice about the incredibly implausible weekly Tampere to Bergamo flight. It's good to have these secret-agent type relatives, even if you know the information they give you isn't really insider.
**
To my knowledge, there's still no one from my high school graduating class who's certifiably famous. One guy who after 8th grade defected to the other, "alternative" high school (where you could choose a free class schedule without mandatory attendance) is now a well-regarded cinematographer. My mainstream high school has, over the decades, given the world Olympic champion Tom Dolan (now roundly eclipsed by Michael Phelps, who does not even have asthma but just eats 12,000 calories a day), Katie Couric and the late Paul Wellstone. Not too bad. The high school next door produced Sandra Bullock and Jim Morrison, and what have they done for the world next to a Wellstone?
I don't have much interest in class reunions, but a couple of times a year, I'll Google likely suspects -- the guys named Darius and Cyrus.
It seems like more than half of the people in my class are just happy to be living in the suburbs, doing the exact same thing their parents did. I usually find them in real estate notices in local papers or listed as a survivor in an obituary for a grandparent. There might be an old helpdesk email from 2001 and that is about it. Apparently they got promoted from the helpdesk to a position where they were more shielded from having to deal with people, and bought a nice house.
A good many other people moved away and lived in places like NY when it was safe and cool again to do so in the 1990s. A lot of them are now in LA or Seattle. I think it's a significant trend, a definite reaction against the suburban upbringing, there was even a little 1960s thing about it (even though the class of '89 two years ahead of us was the only druggie class - that's what a Grateful Dead video on MTV in freshman year and older siblings will do to young impressionable minds).
I'm glad to see Drake Witham is getting some exposure for his standup on the West Coast. He was one year ahead of us, class of '90. He grew up in the same neighbourhood from my friend Josh Brown (try and disambiguate that name) who is also in LA.
I don't watch much stand-up and can't judge this except on basic human interest. It helps right off that I know he was never a class clown or attention-seeker, or even a stage star, but a fairly serious guy who took writing and journalism pretty seriously. Which begs the question of why the career move. It's subtle, riffs on itself but doesn't get carried away. You get the feeling his writing might be pretty good, too. I'm sure he'll get back into journalism eventually.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Two solutions
I think our society desperately need some recategorization. No, that's not a euphemism for redistributing wealth. I mean we need new categories for things.
There's been discourse about whether Estonia is Nordic or Baltic. Some are even dropping the capitalization, I think, in the hopes that Nords and Balts will not notice Estonia ensconcing itself on the perimeter. I have long said: create a new category called the Boutique States -- countries with many shopfronts and services, and glass and chrome. Or the Batik States, if we go the more earthy/treehugger route with lots of crafts to sell to tourists.
And if we look at the economy, the whole "is it a recession yet" thing is fatiguing. Clearly things move too fast nowadays, and we're not going to wait around for two quarters to see what some central banker says. We don't trust them anymore anyway. We need a new noun to indicate the conventional wisdom that the economy is in the toilet and it's time to explore other options, like batik.
But I didn't really want to talk about Estonia or the economy today.
There's two more practical issues in the news right now where recategorization could come in handy.
1) Liberals are always talking about expanding definitions, and conservatives about keeping them pure. Sometimes you need a new category to break an impasse. Take Prop. 8. Mean-spirited? Sure, in my opinion. But no amount of respectable Republican gay couples who have owned real estate together for forty years in San Francisco is ever going to persuade a pig farmer in Bakersfield that they should be "married". And until the Big One mercifully sets the liberal part of the state free, it's the pig farmers in Bakersfield who call the shots. Since (as I understand) the pig farmer is not trying to take away the right of the gay couple to live together (just as he would not stand for anyone regulating his right to nightly visits to the sty) I would advise this: make a new category for gay marriage.
Marriage is a wonderful institution, but it isn't that good a word anyway. It ends in -age. Do you know any other words that end in -age that are positive? Off the top of head, I can only think of bondage, rage and cage. So make up a new concept -- call it gayring -- and turn it into an institution. It sounds noble and dignified -- exactly what its enemies charge gay love is not. Whatever. Put it in the state constitution: "Gayring shall only be between two people of the same sex." Sorry, people in Bakersfield. Gayring is not for you.
2) Obama. He's building his cabinet, and he's got a problem. Should he appoint Hillary Secretary of State? If he does, it looks more and more like a version of another administration from the 1990s. I say make up a new title for her. We all know that Obama promised change? So how about some new cabinet positions...even Bush gave us the "Secretary of Fatherland Security" and the "Ombudsman for Guantanamo" (planned). How about a "Secretary of Change"? There could be also Secretary of Hope. Bill CLinton could be Secretary from Hope.
There's been discourse about whether Estonia is Nordic or Baltic. Some are even dropping the capitalization, I think, in the hopes that Nords and Balts will not notice Estonia ensconcing itself on the perimeter. I have long said: create a new category called the Boutique States -- countries with many shopfronts and services, and glass and chrome. Or the Batik States, if we go the more earthy/treehugger route with lots of crafts to sell to tourists.
And if we look at the economy, the whole "is it a recession yet" thing is fatiguing. Clearly things move too fast nowadays, and we're not going to wait around for two quarters to see what some central banker says. We don't trust them anymore anyway. We need a new noun to indicate the conventional wisdom that the economy is in the toilet and it's time to explore other options, like batik.
But I didn't really want to talk about Estonia or the economy today.
There's two more practical issues in the news right now where recategorization could come in handy.
1) Liberals are always talking about expanding definitions, and conservatives about keeping them pure. Sometimes you need a new category to break an impasse. Take Prop. 8. Mean-spirited? Sure, in my opinion. But no amount of respectable Republican gay couples who have owned real estate together for forty years in San Francisco is ever going to persuade a pig farmer in Bakersfield that they should be "married". And until the Big One mercifully sets the liberal part of the state free, it's the pig farmers in Bakersfield who call the shots. Since (as I understand) the pig farmer is not trying to take away the right of the gay couple to live together (just as he would not stand for anyone regulating his right to nightly visits to the sty) I would advise this: make a new category for gay marriage.
Marriage is a wonderful institution, but it isn't that good a word anyway. It ends in -age. Do you know any other words that end in -age that are positive? Off the top of head, I can only think of bondage, rage and cage. So make up a new concept -- call it gayring -- and turn it into an institution. It sounds noble and dignified -- exactly what its enemies charge gay love is not. Whatever. Put it in the state constitution: "Gayring shall only be between two people of the same sex." Sorry, people in Bakersfield. Gayring is not for you.
2) Obama. He's building his cabinet, and he's got a problem. Should he appoint Hillary Secretary of State? If he does, it looks more and more like a version of another administration from the 1990s. I say make up a new title for her. We all know that Obama promised change? So how about some new cabinet positions...even Bush gave us the "Secretary of Fatherland Security" and the "Ombudsman for Guantanamo" (planned). How about a "Secretary of Change"? There could be also Secretary of Hope. Bill CLinton could be Secretary from Hope.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Travel blues
I'm a little annoyed. It might seem in bad taste to be complaining about limited travel options in the middle of a world economic crisis, but there are three trips on tap. The simplest one is to Finland to visit an Ikea for some kids' furniture. I stayed in a wonderful hotel, Helka, for about 60 euros during the Dylan festivities in May. It was a double room with free morning sauna and the best Nordic breakfast I have had anywhere. But Helka wants to charge Morgan and me 150 euros. Is this the norm? He's 3, for God's sake. At worst, he'll probably order room service or activate the pay-per-view for a 10 euro surcharge. I remember the three of us going to Italy two years ago and staying in double rooms for 70 euros, even in Venice. They didn't even charge extra for the kid's bed.
Another trip would be to Iceland. Good time of the year to go. Good time of the economy to go. We recently read about great deals to Iceland. $699 for airfare from NY and five nights at the Radisson. Iceland is one of my wife's great dreams. With Barcelona visited, that would leave only Edinburgh and New Zealand (one-way, I suppose we will eventually retire) on her list. But the great deals to devalued Iceland () don't extend to Estonia. One local travel agency advertised packages starting at 9900 kroons ($850), which seemed almost decent, but after some digging, the best they could offer was an airfare that wasn't better than the one at icelandair.se -- basically 7000 or 8000 EEK for the adults. The hotel situation seemed decent. But the rental car would torpedo the whole undertaking at 5700 EEK for the week. Even before the krona lost almost half its value, the New York Times reported that an economy car would run about $400 per week. So what the hell.
And finally, I need to get to FLorence for the marathon. Besides Brussels and neighbouring countries, I don't even know where Estonian Air flies direct anymore. Certainly not anywhere near Florence. It turns out that EasyJet has cancelled its Berlin route for the winter. My cousin suggested I try Ryanair from Tampere, of all places. Sure enough, the Tampere flight to Milan-Bergamo was a nice price, although it will be impossible to get to Tampere from Tallinn on the same morning in time for the flight. That will mean lodging as well as the ferry and train -- 100 EUR added to cost of the flight. Factor in Ryanair's handling and baggage fees and it all comes out about the same as taking a bus to Riga and flying to Milan. About the only good deal I see anywhere is to the US -- under $500 again for round-trip airfare to NY. Of course, right now I have no reason to go there.
Another trip would be to Iceland. Good time of the year to go. Good time of the economy to go. We recently read about great deals to Iceland. $699 for airfare from NY and five nights at the Radisson. Iceland is one of my wife's great dreams. With Barcelona visited, that would leave only Edinburgh and New Zealand (one-way, I suppose we will eventually retire) on her list. But the great deals to devalued Iceland () don't extend to Estonia. One local travel agency advertised packages starting at 9900 kroons ($850), which seemed almost decent, but after some digging, the best they could offer was an airfare that wasn't better than the one at icelandair.se -- basically 7000 or 8000 EEK for the adults. The hotel situation seemed decent. But the rental car would torpedo the whole undertaking at 5700 EEK for the week. Even before the krona lost almost half its value, the New York Times reported that an economy car would run about $400 per week. So what the hell.
And finally, I need to get to FLorence for the marathon. Besides Brussels and neighbouring countries, I don't even know where Estonian Air flies direct anymore. Certainly not anywhere near Florence. It turns out that EasyJet has cancelled its Berlin route for the winter. My cousin suggested I try Ryanair from Tampere, of all places. Sure enough, the Tampere flight to Milan-Bergamo was a nice price, although it will be impossible to get to Tampere from Tallinn on the same morning in time for the flight. That will mean lodging as well as the ferry and train -- 100 EUR added to cost of the flight. Factor in Ryanair's handling and baggage fees and it all comes out about the same as taking a bus to Riga and flying to Milan. About the only good deal I see anywhere is to the US -- under $500 again for round-trip airfare to NY. Of course, right now I have no reason to go there.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
22 days to go
Just over three weeks to go until Firenze, a marathon I ran in 2006. I'm in decent shape but the goal for 2008 of 3:15 seems doubtful. I'm good for 20 km at a 13 km/hr pace every other night. Beyond that, it gets a little iffy, like there's not much left in the tank. A 20 km distance probably sounds like a lot to some. (My mom,, who lives 20 km away is probably like, if it's that close why don't you visit more. Well, Morgan is heavy.) But it's a little thin. If I'm going to get anywhere below the previous time of 3:30 I'm going to need to 1) run at least 30 km at least once at any pace 2) cross-train a lot more 3) put in some tough back-to-back workouts. Basically I have only one more week, then I have to taper it off. I guess I could run Milano instead, which is usually in early December, but that's almost as polluted as Beijing.
Oh well, Florence is still a beautiful city in any case. I remember the architecture and the long loop by the river and the wood smoke and "Forza podisti!" but I will especially remember picking off members of the US military from a local base one by one from about the halfway point. Something petty in me that revels in oneupmanship.
Oh well, Florence is still a beautiful city in any case. I remember the architecture and the long loop by the river and the wood smoke and "Forza podisti!" but I will especially remember picking off members of the US military from a local base one by one from about the halfway point. Something petty in me that revels in oneupmanship.
Honeymoon ends
I saw a picture of Obama sitting at a table. It was in an online newspaper and I would link to it but I can't find it anymore and I think national security interests would contraindicate publishing photos of ailing leaders. Judging from the picture, I would guess he had been president-elect for about six years. His skin had an unhealthy pallor. What have you done to my president-elect, I wanted to shout at no one in particular, with your infernal real-world concerns?
A lot of fuss was made when Newsweek ran a cover picture of Palin with no retouch. People magazine, on the other hand, ran a picture that made her look like her Madame Tussaud double, and some fun was poked. But to paraphrase Colbert, this is how I want my Obama -- like a doll that I don't want to take the wrapper off of.
Of course the real reason is that the days of carefully staged/blocked entrances and lit sets is over. We're going to get shots of Obama at podiums and tables. How iwll the booming voice sound at a press conference?
**
We all nodded along to the concession speeches by Republican leaders, but did anyone notice a subtle shift in the narrative, as if all of a sudden this entire chapter had become about not Obama or change or righting the last eight, twelve or sixteen years, but about America, i.e. America is such a land of opportunity that even this "undesirable" thing can happen?
I don't agree with many of their policies and clearly they're in a crisis as a party, but Republicans should not forget to be Republicans and that they opposed this candidate and his policies, too; this is not a textbook example of American-ness carefully ushered in by Republicans.
Otherwise everything will fall apart. THere needs to be a healthy tension in the air.
To an extent it's damned if you do or don't, of course, but I don't want to see, say, Dick Cheney tripping over his words in an effort to be gracious. It's not really in his nature, at least the nature of his political persona.
For example, it's very nice that Bush invited Obama and family over for dinner and the grand tour on Monday and I understand it's a tradition, but why so early? These are not people who ordinarily would mix. Obama played it right, accepting the too-early invitation, then making some really hawkish, over-the GOP's-dead-body style appointments, reminding people he is all about brass-tacks. He has been issuing more public policy pronouncemnts than Bush, also.
So I would just urge vigilance against a creeping noblesse oblige. Bush is already so irrelevant -- reading about the darkened White House with local Obama suporters yelling "Pack your sh*t" makes it seem sad. I suspect that rather than this being either gracious or urgent, such an invitation could be viewed as a sign of a disconnect, that Bush finds it hard psychologically to quit the White House and is actually asserting his territory. Or does he fancy himself Teddy Roosevelt dining Booker T. Washington?
So don't be openly friendly or overly gracious, you're too out of touch for it work, even if you mean it.
Now that I have told Republicans how to act, I will also tell Americans how to behave. I have read some pieces -- by Americans in Estonian newspapers -- that come dangerously close to producing nausea.
Americans have nothing to pat themselves on the back over -- we're just slowly getting back to where we should be. Never forget that it took a war to end slavery in the US -- democracy and diplomacy failed to do so -- and that most of the same states are still voting a certain way on fundamental issues.
The day such an election result is not surprising -- that will be the milestone.
And the day a Native American is elected President will be the milestone to measure everything else against.
A lot of fuss was made when Newsweek ran a cover picture of Palin with no retouch. People magazine, on the other hand, ran a picture that made her look like her Madame Tussaud double, and some fun was poked. But to paraphrase Colbert, this is how I want my Obama -- like a doll that I don't want to take the wrapper off of.
Of course the real reason is that the days of carefully staged/blocked entrances and lit sets is over. We're going to get shots of Obama at podiums and tables. How iwll the booming voice sound at a press conference?
**
We all nodded along to the concession speeches by Republican leaders, but did anyone notice a subtle shift in the narrative, as if all of a sudden this entire chapter had become about not Obama or change or righting the last eight, twelve or sixteen years, but about America, i.e. America is such a land of opportunity that even this "undesirable" thing can happen?
I don't agree with many of their policies and clearly they're in a crisis as a party, but Republicans should not forget to be Republicans and that they opposed this candidate and his policies, too; this is not a textbook example of American-ness carefully ushered in by Republicans.
Otherwise everything will fall apart. THere needs to be a healthy tension in the air.
To an extent it's damned if you do or don't, of course, but I don't want to see, say, Dick Cheney tripping over his words in an effort to be gracious. It's not really in his nature, at least the nature of his political persona.
For example, it's very nice that Bush invited Obama and family over for dinner and the grand tour on Monday and I understand it's a tradition, but why so early? These are not people who ordinarily would mix. Obama played it right, accepting the too-early invitation, then making some really hawkish, over-the GOP's-dead-body style appointments, reminding people he is all about brass-tacks. He has been issuing more public policy pronouncemnts than Bush, also.
So I would just urge vigilance against a creeping noblesse oblige. Bush is already so irrelevant -- reading about the darkened White House with local Obama suporters yelling "Pack your sh*t" makes it seem sad. I suspect that rather than this being either gracious or urgent, such an invitation could be viewed as a sign of a disconnect, that Bush finds it hard psychologically to quit the White House and is actually asserting his territory. Or does he fancy himself Teddy Roosevelt dining Booker T. Washington?
So don't be openly friendly or overly gracious, you're too out of touch for it work, even if you mean it.
Now that I have told Republicans how to act, I will also tell Americans how to behave. I have read some pieces -- by Americans in Estonian newspapers -- that come dangerously close to producing nausea.
Americans have nothing to pat themselves on the back over -- we're just slowly getting back to where we should be. Never forget that it took a war to end slavery in the US -- democracy and diplomacy failed to do so -- and that most of the same states are still voting a certain way on fundamental issues.
The day such an election result is not surprising -- that will be the milestone.
And the day a Native American is elected President will be the milestone to measure everything else against.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
Hat tip to Inner Monologue (who is that guy?) and Karla for the recording of the conversation between Sarkozy and Palin. They brought it to my attention almost before it happened. What is truly shocking is that the worst is confirmed -- Palin already assumes that Stef Carse is the guy who wears the pants in Ottawa. And maybe even in Toronto, the capital. Not Avril or Celine, who are much better-known to Americans. And Avril practically an evangelical!
Clearly Palin is working closely with Carse to advance the C&W agenda in national politics. International politics. Harper isn't "cowboy" enough for her or something. Carse is prettier.
These are the sort of provincial special-interest politics that we were warned about.
--
Here's some enjoyable creative writing from the Guardian about imagined scenarios. Highly recommended.
Looking at the polls, Estonians are split 35-21 towards Obama with 44% undecided. I think it's the Nordic thing of not venturing one's opinion glibly. I'm a little disappointed by the 21% but it appears that these are the same people who were in favour of the war against Iraq. It's definitely a blue country, not a battleground. Estonia is not a battleground. That is one of the first times in history that has been said.
Clearly Palin is working closely with Carse to advance the C&W agenda in national politics. International politics. Harper isn't "cowboy" enough for her or something. Carse is prettier.
These are the sort of provincial special-interest politics that we were warned about.
--
Here's some enjoyable creative writing from the Guardian about imagined scenarios. Highly recommended.
Looking at the polls, Estonians are split 35-21 towards Obama with 44% undecided. I think it's the Nordic thing of not venturing one's opinion glibly. I'm a little disappointed by the 21% but it appears that these are the same people who were in favour of the war against Iraq. It's definitely a blue country, not a battleground. Estonia is not a battleground. That is one of the first times in history that has been said.
ALIEN DISPATCH: Plan
TO MOTHER SHIP -- Please note that this is not our final prediction. We have not been caught up in this Earthling game. This is a plan of action.
We propose that the mother ship should land in the square district in northern Maine tomorrow. If it is as hard to pinpoint the landing area as it was to double-click in the newspaper's pick-your-president game, this may pose a technical challenge. Please also note that we have not performed reconnaissance and the area is said to be heavily wooded, despite the efforts of the acting American leader.
This occurrence in this remote area of northern Maine would tip the populace toward voting for the Red American candidate, and possibly produce a tie in the electoral college between the angry man and the grinning radical, the ideal scenario for our purposes, deepening divisions and leading to extended internecine conflict between Blue America and Red America.
Long day's journey
Sometimes my vision of Estonia is of a bunch of very tenuously linked islands and peninsulas in a giant bog. I had the flu on a long Estonian road trip this weekend, and the idea was followed by the absurd but logical notion that instead of being drained as wetlands often are, they could be filled in with more water, creating, in effect, navigable bodies of water, an extension of the western archipelago.
Going from Tallinn to Tartu is fairly straightforward -- you just take what is known as the Highway of Death. But if you want to cut over from the Tallinn-Tartu highway to the more mystical, blue-road Piibe maantee that also takes you there, there are only a few options.
That was what happened. We decided to start driving to eastern Tartu County via Jõgeva (which would mean the Piibe mnt was the better option) but I absent-mindedly found myself past the airport, forgetting that Piibe maantee splits off from the Narva highway, not from the new Tartu highway.
Anyway, crossing the country from alev A to alev B is like jumping an especially complex series of puddles or crossing a creek on stones. You're pretty sure to have to take a very crooked red (paved) route and try to beat the house with short-cuts on yellow (gravel) roads, which can vary quite widely inquality. basic parameters.
We got a late start and since it now starts getting dark at 3 or 4pm, we decided to stay on a tourist farm in Jõgeva County and then go to Alatskivi the next day, Sunday.
The tourist farm called Mokko was in drumlin (hill country) outside Palamuse. It didn't look promising at first but was quite lovely -- the grounds look like a Japanese garden and it is really an Estonian manor. Unfortunately I came down with a bad flu.
Alatskivi was a wash. We were there to look at a property but it turned out to be not so much a farm but in the middle of a "Russian-style" village with the houses close together. Indeed, the neighbours peered at us suspiciously, as if to say, what are you doing so close to our house? We didn't get a good vibe.
We proceeded to Nina on Lake Peipsi for some R&R, or in my case, as much as you can have with the flu, where we saw a bunch of lakeside plots for sale. No doubt for about 15 times the price of the farm.
But finally we agreed on something -- us being my wife (a sea person) and me (oceanfront is OK if you have a yacht and good insurance) -- the Peipsi is wonderful, even in 6 degree weather.
Not seeing Russia on the other side -- priceless. We can pretend it doesn't exist, should we so choose.
Going from Tallinn to Tartu is fairly straightforward -- you just take what is known as the Highway of Death. But if you want to cut over from the Tallinn-Tartu highway to the more mystical, blue-road Piibe maantee that also takes you there, there are only a few options.
That was what happened. We decided to start driving to eastern Tartu County via Jõgeva (which would mean the Piibe mnt was the better option) but I absent-mindedly found myself past the airport, forgetting that Piibe maantee splits off from the Narva highway, not from the new Tartu highway.
Anyway, crossing the country from alev A to alev B is like jumping an especially complex series of puddles or crossing a creek on stones. You're pretty sure to have to take a very crooked red (paved) route and try to beat the house with short-cuts on yellow (gravel) roads, which can vary quite widely in
We got a late start and since it now starts getting dark at 3 or 4pm, we decided to stay on a tourist farm in Jõgeva County and then go to Alatskivi the next day, Sunday.
The tourist farm called Mokko was in drumlin (hill country) outside Palamuse. It didn't look promising at first but was quite lovely -- the grounds look like a Japanese garden and it is really an Estonian manor. Unfortunately I came down with a bad flu.
Alatskivi was a wash. We were there to look at a property but it turned out to be not so much a farm but in the middle of a "Russian-style" village with the houses close together. Indeed, the neighbours peered at us suspiciously, as if to say, what are you doing so close to our house? We didn't get a good vibe.
We proceeded to Nina on Lake Peipsi for some R&R, or in my case, as much as you can have with the flu, where we saw a bunch of lakeside plots for sale. No doubt for about 15 times the price of the farm.
But finally we agreed on something -- us being my wife (a sea person) and me (oceanfront is OK if you have a yacht and good insurance) -- the Peipsi is wonderful, even in 6 degree weather.
Not seeing Russia on the other side -- priceless. We can pretend it doesn't exist, should we so choose.
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