Last summer, the blockbuster of the year, Lafghanistan, made you split your sides. This winter, get ready to laugh again, and even longer. Laughagainistan: Director's Cut...
Scene I: Operation McCrevice press conference
(a crowded briefing room, cameras pop and flare)
BRITISH GENERAL: Philip McCrevice. (Laughter) No really -- Philip McCrevice. (More laughter.) Could we have some order in here? As I was saying, the operation was designed by Philip McCrevice --
(Laughter.)
-- and Philip McCrevice happens to be one of the best operations designers in Britain.
AMERICAN OFFICIAL: He's worked with Benetton. Did the Lynndie England ads. Very edgy stuff.
BRITISH GENERAL: When we requested a plan to penetrate presumed terrorist networks in this country, logistics had only one thing to say to us: 'Philip McCrevice, sir.'
AMERICAN OFFICIAL (nodding): Philip McCrevice.
BRITISH GENERAL: And we followed their advice. And it has been mutually satisfying.
(uproarious laughter)
JOURNALIST #1 (wiping tears from his eyes): Sir, how did this latest arrest go down? Was the public ever at risk?
BRITISH GENERAL: Our crack team apprehended Amon Dul at an upscale fish and chips restaurant. Mr. Dul was in the act of surreptitiously emptying out a basket of complimentary matchbooks by the door. I should note the investigation was brought to a climax by the Home Office's own Operation Panopticome, which had filmed Mr. Dul buying socks earlier that day in an area even we did not know we had cameras in.
AMERICAN OFFICIAL: The socks were not in his foot size.
BRITISH GENERAL: We believe that he intended to use the matches to set fire to his socks in a public place. Or that he intended to extract a volatile ingredient from the after-dinner mints, which were also stolen from the restaurant, and use the socks as a wicking device. It could also have been that..
AMERICAN OFFICIAL: We treated it on the same level of seriousness as last month's Pillow Fight incident where Bed, Bath & Beyond received suspiciously large orders for potentially flammable soft cushions. As in that case, I believe we were one step ahead of the public.
BRITISH GENERAL: That is, we firmly believe the public was never at risk from the Sock Bomber or the Pillow Fight plot.
(murmuring from the press corps)
AMERICAN OFFICIAL: One at a time, please.
JOURNALIST #2: There's been much concern about blurring of the boundaries between military and civilian authorities. Should the Sock Bomber should be brought before a military tribunal?
BRITISH GENERAL: We're aware of that, and that's why we've taken action in the most stringent, meticulous and relentless civil instance available to us -- libel court in London.
AMERICAN OFFICIAL (holding a finger to his ear): Speaking of slander, I'm just hearing this from the networks. An Operation McCrevice informant named Abdullah Jizza has just led to the arrest of a Guatemalan national for talking. This is breaking news, folks.
JOURNALIST #2: Is the Guatemalan also involved in the sock bomb plot?
BRITISH GENERAL (looks over at the liaison, then puts his finger to his ear as well): No, he was talking. (Pause.) He was...yes. We're waiting for a Spanish interpreter from the Americans to see what he is saying. He worked as a dishwasher at the fish and chips restaurant. Perhaps 'arrest' would not be the right word.
AMERICAN OFFICIAL: Mr. Ramon Martinez is being held preventively for his own safety.
BRITISH GENERAL: As is Mr. Jizza, because my colleague here has just publicly disclosed his name. Abdullah Jizza.
AMERICAN OFFICIAL: That's 'Jizza'. Yes. J-I-Z -- More on that as it develops. We're out of time, folks.
(The men hurry together, holding hands, to a waiting helicopter.)
(Camera zooms out to reveal the press conference and helicopter are part of a film set.)
DIRECTOR: OK, that's a wrap. We'll do the chopper crash first thing tomorrow.
NEXT: Scene 2 -- Helmand's Mayonnaise!
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Balloon boys, meteorites and golden opportunities
I don't want to be hasty, but it looks like Latvia really is doomed -- doomed to be led by a humourless bunch of bureaucrats who insist on doing things by the book when they aren't taxing books at exorbitant rates. Just yesterday, the government was handed a golden opportunity to create or burnish a legend, and maybe even ultimately earn some tourist dollars in the process. Reports came in that a meteorite had landed, creating a crater eight meters in diameter. While it did make international news, it was only a blip. The whole story was over in less than 24 hours, dismissed as a hoax. But it didn't have to be over.
The meteorite theme has resonance here -- this part of the world happens to have the highest concentration of meteorite activity anywhere, at least over the last couple thousand years. The debris might be random rocks, of course, but can anyone really resist the notion that someone somewhere might be crashing space junk into southern Estonia to see if bogs really contain methane and water? I can't. There's the whole matter of why the local bus stop near our country home looks like a eight-legged landing craft and why some people in local villages don't talk when you speak to them. All this deserves to be better publicized.
To be frank, the crater was rather impressive. I'm aware that digging a hole doesn't take the skill of flattening grain without damaging the stalks, but there weren't any glaringly obvious signs of a hoax -- no pile of dirt next to the hole -- and there was even some authentic-seeming charring at the bottom of the pit, though I suppose it might just as well have been the remnants of a campfire. In any case, experts seemed dismissive but not completely sure. Radioactivity experts were called in just to be safe, possibly on the assumption that if it were an alien spacecraft it would probably have a nuclear reactor on board. All this was very well. Nor could it have squandered too much of the taxpayer money that the government is otherwise so careful to avoid spending. I looked forward to a week of news, visits by international experts.
But it all ended too soon. The whole story ran its course in less than a day. A wireless operator took credit for it as a marketing stunt, and the government muttered that it would look into starting a criminal case, which is government's answer to everything, especially any sort of non-conformism. I suppose if Orson Welles had operated here in 1939, he would probably have never worked again. Certainly don't think of claiming to have seen a strange creature in a bog -- look how damaging that whole Loch Ness thing has been to Scotland's economy, tourist sector, and the reputation of its institutions.
The thing is, unlike the company that carved out the crater, Latvia itself (or Estonia) doesn't seem to realize that it needs harmless stunts like this, not only to give people some fake reality entertainment during the recession, but also to create an international commotion. I would even say the Baltic governments need to look into a PPP partnership in this area -- folk costumes and bogs only go a limited distance. I actually think this -- not the absence of copywriting talent or miscommunication -- is why the best Estonia could come up with for a marketing slogan one year was a shield emblazoned the words "Welcome to Estonia" (Look at us, our country does typographic clip art. Come stay with us.) A spaceman narrative, even if it were fake and most of the world thought so, is so much better.
Government takes itself too seriously; I guess it can't be helped. But I think we should be a little buffoonish. Sometimes it seems we are just as anti-Boratist as the government of Kazakhstan. We hate to be the fools too much, we insist on setting the record straight. But since the real estate boom ended, big holes in the ground don't open up everyday, not perfectly round ones.
If I were king for a day, I would have kept up the game much longer. I would have taken it out of the hoaxers' hands and made it my story. I would have sealed off the entire site immediately and deployed military units in the countryside to suggest that perhaps something more than a chunk of hot rock fell from the sky. Perhaps I would have even put in a request for Estonia to do the same on its side of the border. I would have made it hard (though not impossible) for the public to get close to the site at first. A big radius is the operative word. Make the population think something big is happening. Such actions could veer off into sowing mass panic, but with a little skill, the seeds could have been laid for a Roswell-type story that would persist for years. Sure, the wireless operator could feebly insist that it had dug the crater, but people would be much more attracted to the option of believing that something unexplained happened and that the government tried unsuccessfully to cover up. And the government can always ham it up; it is best in the role of incompetent bumbler with rival agencies with different agendas.
**
In the US, you had the balloon boy, another relatively harmless stunt, especially since, as we all know now, the boy was not in the balloon. Without trying to affect morally superiority here, I think people got sidetracked by a kind of mob mentality -- it became more enjoyable to pillory the father while the story should have arguably produced is a sense of wonder. Hello? This family was building balloons! I don't know about your neighbours, but my neighbours don't build balloons you can ride in. They just mow their lawn and watch TV. I don't even know anyone who flies model rockets; maybe they have been banned in most municipalities. So I thought this was highly significant. No matter how nutty the family or what caused them to do what they did (maybe they waited too long to 'fess up) it conjured up images of Goddard and Wright. In this case, they were believers in flight -- they at least pretended to believe that their son might have been carried off in a balloon, and pretense is a start.
The meteorite theme has resonance here -- this part of the world happens to have the highest concentration of meteorite activity anywhere, at least over the last couple thousand years. The debris might be random rocks, of course, but can anyone really resist the notion that someone somewhere might be crashing space junk into southern Estonia to see if bogs really contain methane and water? I can't. There's the whole matter of why the local bus stop near our country home looks like a eight-legged landing craft and why some people in local villages don't talk when you speak to them. All this deserves to be better publicized.
To be frank, the crater was rather impressive. I'm aware that digging a hole doesn't take the skill of flattening grain without damaging the stalks, but there weren't any glaringly obvious signs of a hoax -- no pile of dirt next to the hole -- and there was even some authentic-seeming charring at the bottom of the pit, though I suppose it might just as well have been the remnants of a campfire. In any case, experts seemed dismissive but not completely sure. Radioactivity experts were called in just to be safe, possibly on the assumption that if it were an alien spacecraft it would probably have a nuclear reactor on board. All this was very well. Nor could it have squandered too much of the taxpayer money that the government is otherwise so careful to avoid spending. I looked forward to a week of news, visits by international experts.
But it all ended too soon. The whole story ran its course in less than a day. A wireless operator took credit for it as a marketing stunt, and the government muttered that it would look into starting a criminal case, which is government's answer to everything, especially any sort of non-conformism. I suppose if Orson Welles had operated here in 1939, he would probably have never worked again. Certainly don't think of claiming to have seen a strange creature in a bog -- look how damaging that whole Loch Ness thing has been to Scotland's economy, tourist sector, and the reputation of its institutions.
The thing is, unlike the company that carved out the crater, Latvia itself (or Estonia) doesn't seem to realize that it needs harmless stunts like this, not only to give people some fake reality entertainment during the recession, but also to create an international commotion. I would even say the Baltic governments need to look into a PPP partnership in this area -- folk costumes and bogs only go a limited distance. I actually think this -- not the absence of copywriting talent or miscommunication -- is why the best Estonia could come up with for a marketing slogan one year was a shield emblazoned the words "Welcome to Estonia" (Look at us, our country does typographic clip art. Come stay with us.) A spaceman narrative, even if it were fake and most of the world thought so, is so much better.
Government takes itself too seriously; I guess it can't be helped. But I think we should be a little buffoonish. Sometimes it seems we are just as anti-Boratist as the government of Kazakhstan. We hate to be the fools too much, we insist on setting the record straight. But since the real estate boom ended, big holes in the ground don't open up everyday, not perfectly round ones.
If I were king for a day, I would have kept up the game much longer. I would have taken it out of the hoaxers' hands and made it my story. I would have sealed off the entire site immediately and deployed military units in the countryside to suggest that perhaps something more than a chunk of hot rock fell from the sky. Perhaps I would have even put in a request for Estonia to do the same on its side of the border. I would have made it hard (though not impossible) for the public to get close to the site at first. A big radius is the operative word. Make the population think something big is happening. Such actions could veer off into sowing mass panic, but with a little skill, the seeds could have been laid for a Roswell-type story that would persist for years. Sure, the wireless operator could feebly insist that it had dug the crater, but people would be much more attracted to the option of believing that something unexplained happened and that the government tried unsuccessfully to cover up. And the government can always ham it up; it is best in the role of incompetent bumbler with rival agencies with different agendas.
**
In the US, you had the balloon boy, another relatively harmless stunt, especially since, as we all know now, the boy was not in the balloon. Without trying to affect morally superiority here, I think people got sidetracked by a kind of mob mentality -- it became more enjoyable to pillory the father while the story should have arguably produced is a sense of wonder. Hello? This family was building balloons! I don't know about your neighbours, but my neighbours don't build balloons you can ride in. They just mow their lawn and watch TV. I don't even know anyone who flies model rockets; maybe they have been banned in most municipalities. So I thought this was highly significant. No matter how nutty the family or what caused them to do what they did (maybe they waited too long to 'fess up) it conjured up images of Goddard and Wright. In this case, they were believers in flight -- they at least pretended to believe that their son might have been carried off in a balloon, and pretense is a start.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Me and Savisaar
I have been asked to write a fairly straight blog entry specifically devoted to the winner of the Estonian local elections, Edgar Savisaar -- a "personal encyclopedia article" consisting of my memories of him and the personal significance. Though he's made many a cameo appearance, I've never spat out 1000 words before on what he means to me and what I know about Savisaar. So enough sideways sniping and satirical jabs. Here it is.
It's important to remember Savisaar is a major figure in modern Estonian history. If there were an Estonian branch of Madame Tussaud's, Savisaar would definitely deserve a statue there. The question of which public square is appropriate for the bronze version, on the other hand -- that question is still open.
Savisaar is best known for his major role in the Singing Revolution era 20 years ago, when he represented the mainstream movement -- some might say the broad road -- between nation-state purists on one hand, and communist hardliners on the other. In other words, a very, very, very broad path. Oddly enough, the descendants of the hardliners now tend to vote for Savisaar. No one said Estonian history is not complex and fluid.
Back in 1991, Savisaar may have saved the government castle from being overrun by communist hardliners by rallying the public, but something never felt right about the whole event, even to people who were there. I have to get everyone's version, Rashomon-style, before I comment on that.
And then, just like that, the singing was over. Not that the singing ever really ends in Estonia, but the revolution was over. Mart Laar came along. Laar made history for running the first successful course of economic shock therapy anywhere in the world, a fact that Naomi Klein and other critics of Friedman are paid good money to try to cover up.
As Estonia gained slowly in affluence, Savisaar's tenure as PM in 1992 was remembered chiefly for food vouchers and instability. (The whole prospect of a repeat of that situation -- some shabby half-assed version of the command economy, basically -- remains a potent weapon for Savisaar's opponents. Even now, infinitely more than with Obama, I think of Savisaar and I think of some sort of feckless socialism, an economy of kiosks where there are either no potatoes to eat or no fuel to cook them with because it was all given away for free. I can't help it -- that's what I think of.)
So Savisaar became a bete noire. That's not French for anything good to eat, but for Christmas 1994, I ate Savisaar in effigy. I was not behind the idea, but I did partake of him. He was in the form of a sticky bun. His snout was a piece of candy. Savisaar tends to resemble a certain animal -- at least in the American cultural space, he would indisputably be that animal or a bulldog -- so it's always been strange to me that Savisaar's moniker is the "rhinoceros". Personally I think it reflects very highly on Estonians and their sense of Nordic restraint that they named him after an odd-toed ungulate.
In the 1990s, Estonia generally had a succession of reform-minded governments, but centrist technocrats were always in the mix (with names like the Coalition Party, nearly as dumb as Savisaar's Centre Party) and they provided the apartment (privatized for cheap) for the free-market Reform Party who slept with everyone, even Savisaar.
Savisaar always polled well, but he never became prime minister again, though, prompting him to title his autobiography a couple years ago, "Prime Minister". The book's sub-title was "Not".
Sometimes he would be nominated as PM but then his minority government bid would crash and burn in the parliament. It seemed to me that Lennart Meri spent half his presidency nominating Savisaar and then chuckling wryly when Savisaar got his fingers burned again.
Savisaar was never friendly to the press and the press responded in kind, naming him the least friendly politician. Journalist Enno Tammer wrote an expose in book form revealing that Savisaar not only had a Russian mother but that she had slept with another Russian nine months before Savisaar was born. All this seemed really important at the time, especially for Tammer. (Tammer has faded into obscurity, though he did author an excellent Studs Terkel-like book about Soviet life, so he's obviously capable of good interviewing.)
In 1995, I wrote a back page for The Baltic Independent about a situation where Savisaar cloned himself, with terrible consequences for Estonia's demographic situation. He also figured heavily in that year's satirical Christmas issue. That was the year Savisaar found himself embroiled in a pretty serious scandal, one of several that have proved that he is coated in, if not Teflon, then at least some sort of fly-paper-like medium that traps and then, through the wave-like action of hundreds of ciliate hairs, manages to rid itself of most of the ick. Well, anyway, that was a metaphor we played with but never got quite right. It was just that there was nothing "phoenix-like" about Savisaar, and "comeback kid" seemed totally out of place. Savisaar denied journalists comfortable cliches, but he was a survivor all right.
My editor at the Baltic Independent was a Centre Party booster and would raise an eyebrow at these pieces but they always ran. I don't vouch for their literary quality but presumably our emigre readership nodded approvingly.
This dialogue more or less took place one day: "Come on, this is Savisaar," the editor would remind us as he toned down objectionable content in a news article. "This guy IS the singing revolution to Western journalists."
"They still want Gorbachev, too, but he's irrelevant," I said.
"No one's ever heard Savisaar sing!" someone said. "Or seen him with a baton. How can he really lead a singing revolution?"
"Castro couldn't dance and yet he was Cuban," pointed out another expat journalist.
There is a definitely authoritarian streak to Savisaar. If memory serves, he was voted by Itching for Eestimaa readers as most likely to be Päts, Estonia's 1930s-era soft dictator.
If my politicians must be involved in scandal, I would prefer they be sins of the flesh (though I'm not sure I would be OK with even this in the case of Savisaar). Under no circumstance should it be something involving abuse of public funds and surveillance on citizens. Savisaar pulled off a trifecta in 1995, with elements of nearly everything you don't want in government.
The press did the public a disservice by reducing the scandal to a catchword as they often do. It made it sound like Savisaar was some Nixon, Jr., with a penchant for recording his conservations with rival politicians, but the fact was that he had used a private security company to gather information, things that in the pre-Bush era required warrants. The people at the company had long-standing KGB links. They were scary, unsavoury characters.
Savisaar also had links to another security firm, ESS, which was always making the news in the 1990s for exceeding its power and acting like the police, granted generally in purse-snatchings...and firing shots into tires to issue drivers speeding tickets, which may have been a little over the top, actually.
From about 1993 to 1996, I would have a tremendous opportunity to spy on Savisaar, and, presumably, for Savisaar to spy on me. We were neighbours! The former Estonian SSR government complex in Keila-Joa had become the property of the new government and many people rented there -- foreign journalists, members of government, honorary citizens. His rental there would later end up the centre of a new scandal -- as I remember, he ended up buying it for a suspiciously low price.
I never caught Savisaar up to anything. In fact I didn't see him at all. I lived a couple doors down, in identical 1930s houses for a number of years, and I never saw him. I have never seen him in person.
All this is history, anyway. 1995 was a long time ago; odd to think now that it was less than four years after the putsch in Moscow.
There seems to be an implicit trade: Savisaar gets Tallinn and the rest of Estonia goes to his opponents. Reform now indicates openly that it will no longer sleep with Savisaar. Interestingly, although he is still the surliest bastard in politics anywhere, Savisaar has reinvented himself, showing some media savvy and blogging (only in Estonian, though), and often surrounded by girls. If Letterman slept around, it's also remotely conceivable Savisaar is also doing well in this category.
He also has a sideline cooperating with Putin's party in Russia and meeting with Russian regional officials and infrastructure bosses -- very unusual for an Estonian politician. Perhaps he is being groomed for a second-in-command post in an autonomous territory.
Besides pursuing this sideline, there's talk of him making a bid for the presidency, and the Estonian, not the Russian one. Personally, I don't quite understand it -- it's not like the presidency is some sort of rotating lifetime achievement award.
The narrative seems to be less patriotic than the culmination to some sort of personal revenge saga. But with Savisaar, the political damage to him always appeared to be self-inflicted, so the premise of the revenge saga would appear to be lost on many.
It's important to remember Savisaar is a major figure in modern Estonian history. If there were an Estonian branch of Madame Tussaud's, Savisaar would definitely deserve a statue there. The question of which public square is appropriate for the bronze version, on the other hand -- that question is still open.
Savisaar is best known for his major role in the Singing Revolution era 20 years ago, when he represented the mainstream movement -- some might say the broad road -- between nation-state purists on one hand, and communist hardliners on the other. In other words, a very, very, very broad path. Oddly enough, the descendants of the hardliners now tend to vote for Savisaar. No one said Estonian history is not complex and fluid.
Back in 1991, Savisaar may have saved the government castle from being overrun by communist hardliners by rallying the public, but something never felt right about the whole event, even to people who were there. I have to get everyone's version, Rashomon-style, before I comment on that.
And then, just like that, the singing was over. Not that the singing ever really ends in Estonia, but the revolution was over. Mart Laar came along. Laar made history for running the first successful course of economic shock therapy anywhere in the world, a fact that Naomi Klein and other critics of Friedman are paid good money to try to cover up.
As Estonia gained slowly in affluence, Savisaar's tenure as PM in 1992 was remembered chiefly for food vouchers and instability. (The whole prospect of a repeat of that situation -- some shabby half-assed version of the command economy, basically -- remains a potent weapon for Savisaar's opponents. Even now, infinitely more than with Obama, I think of Savisaar and I think of some sort of feckless socialism, an economy of kiosks where there are either no potatoes to eat or no fuel to cook them with because it was all given away for free. I can't help it -- that's what I think of.)
So Savisaar became a bete noire. That's not French for anything good to eat, but for Christmas 1994, I ate Savisaar in effigy. I was not behind the idea, but I did partake of him. He was in the form of a sticky bun. His snout was a piece of candy. Savisaar tends to resemble a certain animal -- at least in the American cultural space, he would indisputably be that animal or a bulldog -- so it's always been strange to me that Savisaar's moniker is the "rhinoceros". Personally I think it reflects very highly on Estonians and their sense of Nordic restraint that they named him after an odd-toed ungulate.
In the 1990s, Estonia generally had a succession of reform-minded governments, but centrist technocrats were always in the mix (with names like the Coalition Party, nearly as dumb as Savisaar's Centre Party) and they provided the apartment (privatized for cheap) for the free-market Reform Party who slept with everyone, even Savisaar.
Savisaar always polled well, but he never became prime minister again, though, prompting him to title his autobiography a couple years ago, "Prime Minister". The book's sub-title was "Not".
Sometimes he would be nominated as PM but then his minority government bid would crash and burn in the parliament. It seemed to me that Lennart Meri spent half his presidency nominating Savisaar and then chuckling wryly when Savisaar got his fingers burned again.
Savisaar was never friendly to the press and the press responded in kind, naming him the least friendly politician. Journalist Enno Tammer wrote an expose in book form revealing that Savisaar not only had a Russian mother but that she had slept with another Russian nine months before Savisaar was born. All this seemed really important at the time, especially for Tammer. (Tammer has faded into obscurity, though he did author an excellent Studs Terkel-like book about Soviet life, so he's obviously capable of good interviewing.)
In 1995, I wrote a back page for The Baltic Independent about a situation where Savisaar cloned himself, with terrible consequences for Estonia's demographic situation. He also figured heavily in that year's satirical Christmas issue. That was the year Savisaar found himself embroiled in a pretty serious scandal, one of several that have proved that he is coated in, if not Teflon, then at least some sort of fly-paper-like medium that traps and then, through the wave-like action of hundreds of ciliate hairs, manages to rid itself of most of the ick. Well, anyway, that was a metaphor we played with but never got quite right. It was just that there was nothing "phoenix-like" about Savisaar, and "comeback kid" seemed totally out of place. Savisaar denied journalists comfortable cliches, but he was a survivor all right.
My editor at the Baltic Independent was a Centre Party booster and would raise an eyebrow at these pieces but they always ran. I don't vouch for their literary quality but presumably our emigre readership nodded approvingly.
This dialogue more or less took place one day: "Come on, this is Savisaar," the editor would remind us as he toned down objectionable content in a news article. "This guy IS the singing revolution to Western journalists."
"They still want Gorbachev, too, but he's irrelevant," I said.
"No one's ever heard Savisaar sing!" someone said. "Or seen him with a baton. How can he really lead a singing revolution?"
"Castro couldn't dance and yet he was Cuban," pointed out another expat journalist.
There is a definitely authoritarian streak to Savisaar. If memory serves, he was voted by Itching for Eestimaa readers as most likely to be Päts, Estonia's 1930s-era soft dictator.
If my politicians must be involved in scandal, I would prefer they be sins of the flesh (though I'm not sure I would be OK with even this in the case of Savisaar). Under no circumstance should it be something involving abuse of public funds and surveillance on citizens. Savisaar pulled off a trifecta in 1995, with elements of nearly everything you don't want in government.
The press did the public a disservice by reducing the scandal to a catchword as they often do. It made it sound like Savisaar was some Nixon, Jr., with a penchant for recording his conservations with rival politicians, but the fact was that he had used a private security company to gather information, things that in the pre-Bush era required warrants. The people at the company had long-standing KGB links. They were scary, unsavoury characters.
Savisaar also had links to another security firm, ESS, which was always making the news in the 1990s for exceeding its power and acting like the police, granted generally in purse-snatchings...and firing shots into tires to issue drivers speeding tickets, which may have been a little over the top, actually.
From about 1993 to 1996, I would have a tremendous opportunity to spy on Savisaar, and, presumably, for Savisaar to spy on me. We were neighbours! The former Estonian SSR government complex in Keila-Joa had become the property of the new government and many people rented there -- foreign journalists, members of government, honorary citizens. His rental there would later end up the centre of a new scandal -- as I remember, he ended up buying it for a suspiciously low price.
I never caught Savisaar up to anything. In fact I didn't see him at all. I lived a couple doors down, in identical 1930s houses for a number of years, and I never saw him. I have never seen him in person.
All this is history, anyway. 1995 was a long time ago; odd to think now that it was less than four years after the putsch in Moscow.
There seems to be an implicit trade: Savisaar gets Tallinn and the rest of Estonia goes to his opponents. Reform now indicates openly that it will no longer sleep with Savisaar. Interestingly, although he is still the surliest bastard in politics anywhere, Savisaar has reinvented himself, showing some media savvy and blogging (only in Estonian, though), and often surrounded by girls. If Letterman slept around, it's also remotely conceivable Savisaar is also doing well in this category.
He also has a sideline cooperating with Putin's party in Russia and meeting with Russian regional officials and infrastructure bosses -- very unusual for an Estonian politician. Perhaps he is being groomed for a second-in-command post in an autonomous territory.
Besides pursuing this sideline, there's talk of him making a bid for the presidency, and the Estonian, not the Russian one. Personally, I don't quite understand it -- it's not like the presidency is some sort of rotating lifetime achievement award.
The narrative seems to be less patriotic than the culmination to some sort of personal revenge saga. But with Savisaar, the political damage to him always appeared to be self-inflicted, so the premise of the revenge saga would appear to be lost on many.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
REVIEW: Sushi Cat
As we entered this manga-themed hole-in-the-wall on Roosikrantsi, I made a comment about the pink scooter parked out front, asking, "is that just decor?" and my wife heard two words that are homonymous with "decor" even though that would not make any sense in the context. She has a mind in the gutter even when we are indoors, but that sort of set the tone.
On the screen inside were music videos, but instead of ho's or 1980s retrospectives, all featured chorus lines or dance squads of Japanese schoolgirls in uniform, some acting underage, some actually around the federal age of consent in Japan. The name of one ensemble was G-Child, which is somehow a pretty disturbing pairing though the whole thing does suggest that Japan is a possible if not the only asylum candidate for Polanski.
A similar revue of people dressed as schoolgirls than appeared in a short clip. I thought they were in drag until I realized the setting was the front entrance and the girls were in fact the employees of Sushi Cat. All of them attractive Nordic women, mind, but so leggy -- they can't do the nymphet thing without looking grotesque.
Anyway, vive la difference, I guess. The atmosphere was refreshingly different -- I've found places like the Narva mnt Silk to be very desolate. I enjoyed poring over a copy of the Hiragana Times (where little hiragana in superscript are written above kanji for people learning Japanese) and drinking warm sake at rock-bottom prices on this rainy day.
The magazine rack also had a Tallinn tourist brochure, all in Japanese, with a message from Edgar Savisaar, in which, if my limited Japanese serves me correctly, he talked about giving away free seaweed from the Bay of Tallinn and the Centre Party's plan for a Schoolgirl Video Resource Centre. I'm still glad I didn't vote for him.
The sushi (all offered as sets with different feline names from kitten to lion, $6-18) was good, even excellent, though the fish species are limited, even more than most places. Tuna was long-haul, of course, but still good, only it was somehow a little a bit more like good raw beef than fish. Salmon was fine, cold-smoked eel was excellent, with a lovely browned glace on its skin.
Sake and plum wine were not top-shelf but as said, cheap - less than a pint of beer at any pub in Tallinn.
The house threw in complimentary miso soup and tea. The miso was the best I've had, the tea had some sort of roasted sesame flavour going on.
On the screen inside were music videos, but instead of ho's or 1980s retrospectives, all featured chorus lines or dance squads of Japanese schoolgirls in uniform, some acting underage, some actually around the federal age of consent in Japan. The name of one ensemble was G-Child, which is somehow a pretty disturbing pairing though the whole thing does suggest that Japan is a possible if not the only asylum candidate for Polanski.
A similar revue of people dressed as schoolgirls than appeared in a short clip. I thought they were in drag until I realized the setting was the front entrance and the girls were in fact the employees of Sushi Cat. All of them attractive Nordic women, mind, but so leggy -- they can't do the nymphet thing without looking grotesque.
Anyway, vive la difference, I guess. The atmosphere was refreshingly different -- I've found places like the Narva mnt Silk to be very desolate. I enjoyed poring over a copy of the Hiragana Times (where little hiragana in superscript are written above kanji for people learning Japanese) and drinking warm sake at rock-bottom prices on this rainy day.
The magazine rack also had a Tallinn tourist brochure, all in Japanese, with a message from Edgar Savisaar, in which, if my limited Japanese serves me correctly, he talked about giving away free seaweed from the Bay of Tallinn and the Centre Party's plan for a Schoolgirl Video Resource Centre. I'm still glad I didn't vote for him.
The sushi (all offered as sets with different feline names from kitten to lion, $6-18) was good, even excellent, though the fish species are limited, even more than most places. Tuna was long-haul, of course, but still good, only it was somehow a little a bit more like good raw beef than fish. Salmon was fine, cold-smoked eel was excellent, with a lovely browned glace on its skin.
Sake and plum wine were not top-shelf but as said, cheap - less than a pint of beer at any pub in Tallinn.
The house threw in complimentary miso soup and tea. The miso was the best I've had, the tea had some sort of roasted sesame flavour going on.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
ELECTION SPECIAL: The last piece of populism ever
In a dream I had, a politician for a major party admonishes the population to vote.
He goes on for some time. Vote, or someone else will vote for you. Vote, or else face the dire consequences. You are a fascist if you don't vote. You must want a dictatorship, you dictatorship-lover. (He's basically hectoring the people now.) Vote or I'll pretend I have bananas in my ears at all other times. Vote, because this is the one big chance in a couple years we give you to influence what we do and who does it. We even gave you e-voting, so you could have a pretty interface to vote with -- and different ballot "skins".
Finally, he's fed up and says: Vote, or I will take your goddamn vote and give it to my opponent myself.
*
Well, well.
It's one of those absurd dreams. It isn't clear what party or country he's from. There was much cursing in the original dream -- perhaps influenced by In The Loop, which I saw recently, one of the most vicious films made about the military-industrial-bureaucratic complex. Still, the dream haunts me.
I can't take a call to vote seriously -- not when the vote takes place only every couple years, not when the politicians talk about "democracy," not when there is Internet in practically every home.
When I hear "vote!", I just hear desperation. A dying institution's fear of not making the quorum for credibility anymore.
I hear desperation and I hear inertia -- the force of our multiennial electoral habit, an atrophy of imagination thinking that we still necessarily need elected representatives, that it is intrinsically better to have middlemen.
We've all been taken in by the line (in all its variations) that conventional democracy is the lesser evil or the best of many bad options. It's one of the most insidious catchphrases of the modern age, I think. But is it even true anymore?
So who conducted the experiment that proved that letting people vote directly on the issues was more evil? And was that research government-funded?
We are told that the only other option besides dutifully voting is creeping dictatorship. Or, if the people were to be given the chance to vote on everything -- the original town hall ideal, for God's sake! -- anarchy would result. Mob rule.
I'm not so sure.
*
If you don't think everyone SHOULD vote (even every few years), that there should be a property ownership requirement, or that suffrage should only be extended to people with a certain amount of pigment, or that each vote should be multiplied by a IQ-based coefficient, do me a favor -- just quit reading after this section.
But then do me another favour and push just as consistently for constitutional change, too -- a repeal of all those famous lines about how all powers not expressly reserved for the government are devolved to the people, and an outright deletion of phrases like "we the people" from the world's basic laws. Replace with "some of us".
*
Now, I'm a fairly discerning citizen. I'm not Joe Stupid, but I'm not Joe Intelligentsia. I'm Joe the Translator. But so is everyone in a sense.
As a translator, I'm more urban professional than farmer, but I often have the situation in my work where I have to get immersed and become conversant in some horribly obscure subject that makes me feel that I should be wearing overalls, such as dosers in a grain hopper in a silo. At least it seems horribly obscure, but as I study it, eventually it becomes almost interesting, and proves, like all things in the universe, to be reducible to smaller units governed by logic.
I think deciding about life is within anyone's grasp.
People are smart these days, even the stupid ones.
We know that things are interrelated, and often we know exactly how things are interrelated, at least along our own segment of life. How a decision can impact other fields.
Yet we still have this situation where do the grunt work, then every couple years we are asked to give an oversimplified yes or no, and then let ourselves essentially be strapped to a corrupt structure with inscrutable clockwork. It starts winding down until the next elections. Occasionally we can call out public comments, or a cry like "Those poor people in that country! I'm not sure we should have killed them!" But really, everything takes place in the halls of power.
I'd rather play with time bombs than strap myself to such a political machine.
*
Maybe there's consolation to be taken here, that in all that proverbial singing in the shower that's been going on the last ten years -- the now-pointless-seeming Usenet debates and flame wars, the wry comments on Facebook, the concise takes on Twitter -- the public has been honing their rhetorical and thinking skills.
Maybe it's a necessary process.
But patience is wearing thin. People are ready, politicians are getting obsolete, but they're not ready for change.
Ultimately, though it is a bit of an ultimatum, a key argument for direct democracy is that electoral system isn't making politicians more ethical or better. Many are highwaymen. Another few decades, they'll just be thugs and murderers.
*
Though some elections are apparently being held this week here, this isn't really about Estonia.
Estonia is a perfectly ordinary, not-so-little, fairly innovative nation. Like any Western country, it's not a democracy, but a republic, in this case with a two-party system -- well, with a few half-weights to make the scales tip in one direction or another to make things interesting in a slightly different configuration from the last election.
Here, too, the Internet is king, revolutionizing everything from banking to data retrieval, not to mention being a powerful social networking tool in the name of "democracy". Here, too, not a single substantive change has taken in the direction of actual direct democracy.
We have a situation where the Internet can be used to sell things, make things look pretty, get incredibly accurate and comprehensive information.
The thing is, there's no doubt it's a quantifiable, verifiable medium. Look how much of it is free, powered by advertising, while in the outside world, things are far more fuzzy and expensive.
But the Internet still isn't used on a daily or even weekly basis by citizens to vote. That is mind-boggling.
**
If you look at certain other Western countries, any sort of electoral reform can start seeming pretty hopeless. Some may even deny electronic voting is possible, citing security concerns.
That's right, the same Internet that allows government to get a pretty good idea of who is who and doing what is declared unreliable as a means of measuring results if the people are using their free will.
Because what if the people overthink their decision? What if someone -- other than the government -- sways their vote? Horrors -- a decentralized system of people voting inside their homes all the time -- why, why, it's practically asking for skewed results and stolen elections, isn't it?
Other countries -- the ones that proved that e-voting works - see it as the end of the road and crow about it. The only possible progress now can be in introducing new technologies -- now you can vote (once every couple years, of course) from your cell phone. Now from your Kindle, unless you were just reading propaganda. Who knows what it might be next year. Your toaster.
We need a country to show that the Town Hall ideal of decision-making is possible. This is where this post could be about Estonia - in a positive way.
Look at the positive press Finland has received this last week for announcing - somewhat meaninglessly, in my opinion -- that all citizens have the right to a broadband connection.
Couple that right with the right to vote on actual initiatives and issues over that same 1 mbit/s connection...and it would be revolutionary.
*
The practical ways to implement direct democracy are many -- starting from reserving half an hour each evening to vote on the issues. Think of it as jury duty, except legislative duty. And it would be voluntary.
There will be a lot of concern about who will set up the issues in an articulated format.
It's not my place to outline how. I'm a populist. And it's way beyond the scope of this piece. But the person who takes these ideas and runs with them has a Nobel waiting for them, and I mean that sincerely.
If society can boil down an electoral choice to two candidates who were determined financially, I have faith that it will also be able to boil down important matters to the actual issues in the form of many yes-no questions.
Oh sure, there will be functionaries, special interests will not disappear, nor will would-be politicians -- functionaries, agenda-setters.
But as the first step, the public can take over the actual voting on issues from their representatives, who will remain in the same capacity. Except (think of members of the US electoral college) they will have to vote the way their constituency feels. No other choice. To otherwise would be a deep political taboo.
Above all, I have faith that ultimately, direct democracy will be far more efficient, better for the environment and the planet, the world community, than the current wasteful system of campaigns and candidates and artificial energy whipped up based on a false choice. It will also have value added in that it will actually lead to a citizenry that is even more politically intelligent.
That is my other dream.
He goes on for some time. Vote, or someone else will vote for you. Vote, or else face the dire consequences. You are a fascist if you don't vote. You must want a dictatorship, you dictatorship-lover. (He's basically hectoring the people now.) Vote or I'll pretend I have bananas in my ears at all other times. Vote, because this is the one big chance in a couple years we give you to influence what we do and who does it. We even gave you e-voting, so you could have a pretty interface to vote with -- and different ballot "skins".
Finally, he's fed up and says: Vote, or I will take your goddamn vote and give it to my opponent myself.
*
Well, well.
It's one of those absurd dreams. It isn't clear what party or country he's from. There was much cursing in the original dream -- perhaps influenced by In The Loop, which I saw recently, one of the most vicious films made about the military-industrial-bureaucratic complex. Still, the dream haunts me.
I can't take a call to vote seriously -- not when the vote takes place only every couple years, not when the politicians talk about "democracy," not when there is Internet in practically every home.
When I hear "vote!", I just hear desperation. A dying institution's fear of not making the quorum for credibility anymore.
I hear desperation and I hear inertia -- the force of our multiennial electoral habit, an atrophy of imagination thinking that we still necessarily need elected representatives, that it is intrinsically better to have middlemen.
We've all been taken in by the line (in all its variations) that conventional democracy is the lesser evil or the best of many bad options. It's one of the most insidious catchphrases of the modern age, I think. But is it even true anymore?
So who conducted the experiment that proved that letting people vote directly on the issues was more evil? And was that research government-funded?
We are told that the only other option besides dutifully voting is creeping dictatorship. Or, if the people were to be given the chance to vote on everything -- the original town hall ideal, for God's sake! -- anarchy would result. Mob rule.
I'm not so sure.
*
If you don't think everyone SHOULD vote (even every few years), that there should be a property ownership requirement, or that suffrage should only be extended to people with a certain amount of pigment, or that each vote should be multiplied by a IQ-based coefficient, do me a favor -- just quit reading after this section.
But then do me another favour and push just as consistently for constitutional change, too -- a repeal of all those famous lines about how all powers not expressly reserved for the government are devolved to the people, and an outright deletion of phrases like "we the people" from the world's basic laws. Replace with "some of us".
*
Now, I'm a fairly discerning citizen. I'm not Joe Stupid, but I'm not Joe Intelligentsia. I'm Joe the Translator. But so is everyone in a sense.
As a translator, I'm more urban professional than farmer, but I often have the situation in my work where I have to get immersed and become conversant in some horribly obscure subject that makes me feel that I should be wearing overalls, such as dosers in a grain hopper in a silo. At least it seems horribly obscure, but as I study it, eventually it becomes almost interesting, and proves, like all things in the universe, to be reducible to smaller units governed by logic.
I think deciding about life is within anyone's grasp.
People are smart these days, even the stupid ones.
We know that things are interrelated, and often we know exactly how things are interrelated, at least along our own segment of life. How a decision can impact other fields.
Yet we still have this situation where do the grunt work, then every couple years we are asked to give an oversimplified yes or no, and then let ourselves essentially be strapped to a corrupt structure with inscrutable clockwork. It starts winding down until the next elections. Occasionally we can call out public comments, or a cry like "Those poor people in that country! I'm not sure we should have killed them!" But really, everything takes place in the halls of power.
I'd rather play with time bombs than strap myself to such a political machine.
*
Maybe there's consolation to be taken here, that in all that proverbial singing in the shower that's been going on the last ten years -- the now-pointless-seeming Usenet debates and flame wars, the wry comments on Facebook, the concise takes on Twitter -- the public has been honing their rhetorical and thinking skills.
Maybe it's a necessary process.
But patience is wearing thin. People are ready, politicians are getting obsolete, but they're not ready for change.
Ultimately, though it is a bit of an ultimatum, a key argument for direct democracy is that electoral system isn't making politicians more ethical or better. Many are highwaymen. Another few decades, they'll just be thugs and murderers.
*
Though some elections are apparently being held this week here, this isn't really about Estonia.
Estonia is a perfectly ordinary, not-so-little, fairly innovative nation. Like any Western country, it's not a democracy, but a republic, in this case with a two-party system -- well, with a few half-weights to make the scales tip in one direction or another to make things interesting in a slightly different configuration from the last election.
Here, too, the Internet is king, revolutionizing everything from banking to data retrieval, not to mention being a powerful social networking tool in the name of "democracy". Here, too, not a single substantive change has taken in the direction of actual direct democracy.
We have a situation where the Internet can be used to sell things, make things look pretty, get incredibly accurate and comprehensive information.
The thing is, there's no doubt it's a quantifiable, verifiable medium. Look how much of it is free, powered by advertising, while in the outside world, things are far more fuzzy and expensive.
But the Internet still isn't used on a daily or even weekly basis by citizens to vote. That is mind-boggling.
**
If you look at certain other Western countries, any sort of electoral reform can start seeming pretty hopeless. Some may even deny electronic voting is possible, citing security concerns.
That's right, the same Internet that allows government to get a pretty good idea of who is who and doing what is declared unreliable as a means of measuring results if the people are using their free will.
Because what if the people overthink their decision? What if someone -- other than the government -- sways their vote? Horrors -- a decentralized system of people voting inside their homes all the time -- why, why, it's practically asking for skewed results and stolen elections, isn't it?
Other countries -- the ones that proved that e-voting works - see it as the end of the road and crow about it. The only possible progress now can be in introducing new technologies -- now you can vote (once every couple years, of course) from your cell phone. Now from your Kindle, unless you were just reading propaganda. Who knows what it might be next year. Your toaster.
We need a country to show that the Town Hall ideal of decision-making is possible. This is where this post could be about Estonia - in a positive way.
Look at the positive press Finland has received this last week for announcing - somewhat meaninglessly, in my opinion -- that all citizens have the right to a broadband connection.
Couple that right with the right to vote on actual initiatives and issues over that same 1 mbit/s connection...and it would be revolutionary.
*
The practical ways to implement direct democracy are many -- starting from reserving half an hour each evening to vote on the issues. Think of it as jury duty, except legislative duty. And it would be voluntary.
There will be a lot of concern about who will set up the issues in an articulated format.
It's not my place to outline how. I'm a populist. And it's way beyond the scope of this piece. But the person who takes these ideas and runs with them has a Nobel waiting for them, and I mean that sincerely.
If society can boil down an electoral choice to two candidates who were determined financially, I have faith that it will also be able to boil down important matters to the actual issues in the form of many yes-no questions.
Oh sure, there will be functionaries, special interests will not disappear, nor will would-be politicians -- functionaries, agenda-setters.
But as the first step, the public can take over the actual voting on issues from their representatives, who will remain in the same capacity. Except (think of members of the US electoral college) they will have to vote the way their constituency feels. No other choice. To otherwise would be a deep political taboo.
Above all, I have faith that ultimately, direct democracy will be far more efficient, better for the environment and the planet, the world community, than the current wasteful system of campaigns and candidates and artificial energy whipped up based on a false choice. It will also have value added in that it will actually lead to a citizenry that is even more politically intelligent.
That is my other dream.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
AD COPY: Alienation
Dear Mr. Rebane:
Here is the revised copy. I agree: the first line IS fairly flat -- I understand you wanted something with more pop than "one more place to shop". But I think it could work and if you continue reading, you'll see that it leads immediately into the whole consumerist dystopia theme, which we thought was fairly clever. Thank you -- I agree, the rest of our work is top-notch!
Best,
Kris
BB&W Ad Agency
PS. In light of today's mishap in the cinema, our team came up with an addition to the rotating slogans: "Solaris. Now with even more cool exposed ductwork." What do you think?
__________
BROCHURE:
The new Solaris Centre in Tallinn -- just one more place to consume merchandise.
Or is it?
Don't be fooled: it's not a shopping mall. Solaris is an entertainment and lifestyle centre.
Ah, but whose entertainment and lifestyle: yours or that of the sociologists on a distant planet who are monitoring you as you shop for the contents for your next round of landfills?
We're not telling.
Sure, we may not throw in a good mood for free like the competition, but we do promise self-insight. And that is far more valuable and unsettling.
**
Don't take the entertainment and lifestyle bit too seriously, of course -- we've also gone to great lengths to make Solaris recognizable as a shopping mall.
When we built Solaris, we started with a building that was once called a Marxist-Leninist cathedral. We tore as much of it down as we could. Then we contracted it out to the lowest bidder and rebuilt it at a cut rate.
Like the Viru Centre shopping center next door, there's a food store anchor tenant on the 0-level, designer goods stores on the next two levels, and a large book store.
Cinamon, which we'd again like to point out is a pun and not a misspelling, offers a selection of many of the same films shown at Coca-Cola Plaza, and modular construction techniques.
On the upper levels, speciality shops and a second, arthouse cinema are elusively inaccessible, manifesting an artistically ephemeral quality, because we didn't get them ready in time for the opening of the rest of the centre.
That's right -- in a world of brand-new shiny obsolescent things, we went one step further and opened something that is so brand-new that it isn't even finished.
Like the chefs in the foreign-chain eateries, the open concept extends to the glass elevators, where you can catch a glimpse of workmen welding important metal pieces and counterweight assemblies.
"We gave these people jobs," is what we are trying to tell you. "Look at how we're working to get things right -- even on your time."
Tired of bored security guards at other malls? The lack of signposts or a site map in Solaris also encourages you to talk to our staff.
*
When you enter Solaris, you're not in the darkest autumn of the recession anymore. Safe inside the stable, 1980s-style hull -- in one of the cafes, shops or construction areas -- you'll be anchored in some sunnier cove of the galactic sea, where jobs are plentiful and distances are compressed by warp drive.
We carry almost the complete catalog of a small southern Estonian organic dairy. And then we fly in Ben and Jerry's every week. Not because it's better and Estonian dairies can't, but because we can, and Estonian dairies won't.
You'll still be puzzling that last sentence over as you ride the escalator to the level 3 food court, where Lido -- Estonia's Latvian Nokia -- brings you a food court unto itself, with 156 comfort food options, all labelled with a price and a weight in grams. How do the servers know that they are giving you the right weight? Do they have bionic scales? No -- Solaris Centre's variable gravity environment automatically makes adjustments to bring the mass they dish out to the proper weight.
Solaris. Now with even more visible ductwork.
Here is the revised copy. I agree: the first line IS fairly flat -- I understand you wanted something with more pop than "one more place to shop". But I think it could work and if you continue reading, you'll see that it leads immediately into the whole consumerist dystopia theme, which we thought was fairly clever. Thank you -- I agree, the rest of our work is top-notch!
Best,
Kris
BB&W Ad Agency
PS. In light of today's mishap in the cinema, our team came up with an addition to the rotating slogans: "Solaris. Now with even more cool exposed ductwork." What do you think?
__________
BROCHURE:
The new Solaris Centre in Tallinn -- just one more place to consume merchandise.
Or is it?
Don't be fooled: it's not a shopping mall. Solaris is an entertainment and lifestyle centre.
Ah, but whose entertainment and lifestyle: yours or that of the sociologists on a distant planet who are monitoring you as you shop for the contents for your next round of landfills?
We're not telling.
Sure, we may not throw in a good mood for free like the competition, but we do promise self-insight. And that is far more valuable and unsettling.
**
Don't take the entertainment and lifestyle bit too seriously, of course -- we've also gone to great lengths to make Solaris recognizable as a shopping mall.
When we built Solaris, we started with a building that was once called a Marxist-Leninist cathedral. We tore as much of it down as we could. Then we contracted it out to the lowest bidder and rebuilt it at a cut rate.
Like the Viru Centre shopping center next door, there's a food store anchor tenant on the 0-level, designer goods stores on the next two levels, and a large book store.
Cinamon, which we'd again like to point out is a pun and not a misspelling, offers a selection of many of the same films shown at Coca-Cola Plaza, and modular construction techniques.
On the upper levels, speciality shops and a second, arthouse cinema are elusively inaccessible, manifesting an artistically ephemeral quality, because we didn't get them ready in time for the opening of the rest of the centre.
That's right -- in a world of brand-new shiny obsolescent things, we went one step further and opened something that is so brand-new that it isn't even finished.
Like the chefs in the foreign-chain eateries, the open concept extends to the glass elevators, where you can catch a glimpse of workmen welding important metal pieces and counterweight assemblies.
"We gave these people jobs," is what we are trying to tell you. "Look at how we're working to get things right -- even on your time."
Tired of bored security guards at other malls? The lack of signposts or a site map in Solaris also encourages you to talk to our staff.
*
When you enter Solaris, you're not in the darkest autumn of the recession anymore. Safe inside the stable, 1980s-style hull -- in one of the cafes, shops or construction areas -- you'll be anchored in some sunnier cove of the galactic sea, where jobs are plentiful and distances are compressed by warp drive.
We carry almost the complete catalog of a small southern Estonian organic dairy. And then we fly in Ben and Jerry's every week. Not because it's better and Estonian dairies can't, but because we can, and Estonian dairies won't.
You'll still be puzzling that last sentence over as you ride the escalator to the level 3 food court, where Lido -- Estonia's Latvian Nokia -- brings you a food court unto itself, with 156 comfort food options, all labelled with a price and a weight in grams. How do the servers know that they are giving you the right weight? Do they have bionic scales? No -- Solaris Centre's variable gravity environment automatically makes adjustments to bring the mass they dish out to the proper weight.
Solaris. Now with even more visible ductwork.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Hope and pay
By now, you've heard a range of speculation about why or how Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize. Perhaps you've added to the discourse yourself. I haven't yet heard anyone try to tie the bombing of the moon to the story, and frankly, I'm relieved. I wouldn't have put it past anyone. You see, people lack hope. They will scoff at the possibility that crashing space junk might raise a plume of water. But as we know, the moon came out of the Pacific Ocean -- so what's the chance it isn't at least coated with moisture. One day there will be a water pipeline to Earth. And you can be sure a Nobel in science will be waiting for the guy who initiates the brainstorming process. Then, of course, the hard work of figuring out how to install the flexible couplings on the pipe so it doesn't break off when the Earth spins and the Moon doesn't. That's why you've got to have hope, I say. Look where faith got us during the Bush years.
Some of the Obama/Nobel theories listed below occurred to me; others are slightly more sophisticated. I just wanted to lay them out here in one place so we can see how ridiculous it all is. I mean, they can't all be true, right? Wouldn't the far simplest explanation be that it was a message of hope? It's a beautiful concept. You might still be saying: "Hope, that's not for me! That's wishy-washy stuff." Or you might say, "Hope, huh. Nope, I prefer faith." Yeah, well, think of hope as faith's mathematical and economic cousin. Hope is faith with a college degree. Think of hope as a self-fulfilling prophecy. If we hope hard enough, and pay... That's right, I said pay, not pray. In fact, I say we should create an InTrade market right now that Obama will be successful and pay into it. My question is, why would anyone bet against Obama? I see Obama as a futures derivative. We got it all wrong last autumn: it's not the people who make derivatives, it's the people who bet against them. Our biggest enemies in fact are the speculators who would bet against Obama. Let's put it another way, if I created a derivative based on your chances of being alive tomorrow, would you not invest in it? And if you knew Obama was your only way out of the fix we've all got ourselves into...well, it doesn't take a Nobel prize winner in math to figure it all out.
Anyway, the other alternatives in the order in which I thought of them or heard them, for pure entertainment.
1. The Nobel Committee is brainwashed!!
2. Obama made a personal secret trip to Oslo to lobby for his case before the Nobel Committee.
3. Obama promised to vote for Norway in Eurovision. (OK, a bit silly. The US doesn't even compete in Eurovision. Then again, who would have thought the US would elect a black president?)
4. Event marketing bait. Rather than wanting to increase Obama's moral authority, the Nobel Committee actually wanted Obama present at the award ceremony to increase TV ratings. Actually awarding the prize to Obama is the best way to ensure this.
5. "Peace" is to be understood in the Orwellian sense of the Nobel War Prize. After all, Arafat and Kissinger have won the Peace Prize.
6. The Nobel Committee is crazy -- crazy like a fox. It's trying to send Obama on a guilt trip for doing so little (nothing, actually) in the hope -- there's that word again -- that he'll shape up.
7. Alfred Nobel's will says the Peace Prize shall go to the person "who SHALL HAVE done the most" for a number of good causes. Being non-native speakers of English, the members misunderstood this to mean that the Nobel is to be awarded for future deeds, or that it is to be given to the person who is ordained by the Lord to have done the most when all is said and done.
8. Nobel's will specifically mentions "abolition and reduction of standing armies". Drone airstrikes on villages in Afghanistan and Pakistan have nothing to do with standing armies and represent a step toward automated warfare. More civilians have been killed in 2009 under Obama than were killed in all of 2008 under Bush, and thus Obama is doing the best work for fraternity between the nations.
9. The Nobel Committee is a wise, cognizant body that realizes there's not much that can be done to prevent the US from starting to bully Iran, and figures that it might as well sacrifice credibility by awarding the Nobel to Obama in the chance that it might postpone the carnage.
10. Russia requested it for unspecified reasons. They're always so enigmatic.
Some of the Obama/Nobel theories listed below occurred to me; others are slightly more sophisticated. I just wanted to lay them out here in one place so we can see how ridiculous it all is. I mean, they can't all be true, right? Wouldn't the far simplest explanation be that it was a message of hope? It's a beautiful concept. You might still be saying: "Hope, that's not for me! That's wishy-washy stuff." Or you might say, "Hope, huh. Nope, I prefer faith." Yeah, well, think of hope as faith's mathematical and economic cousin. Hope is faith with a college degree. Think of hope as a self-fulfilling prophecy. If we hope hard enough, and pay... That's right, I said pay, not pray. In fact, I say we should create an InTrade market right now that Obama will be successful and pay into it. My question is, why would anyone bet against Obama? I see Obama as a futures derivative. We got it all wrong last autumn: it's not the people who make derivatives, it's the people who bet against them. Our biggest enemies in fact are the speculators who would bet against Obama. Let's put it another way, if I created a derivative based on your chances of being alive tomorrow, would you not invest in it? And if you knew Obama was your only way out of the fix we've all got ourselves into...well, it doesn't take a Nobel prize winner in math to figure it all out.
Anyway, the other alternatives in the order in which I thought of them or heard them, for pure entertainment.
1. The Nobel Committee is brainwashed!!
2. Obama made a personal secret trip to Oslo to lobby for his case before the Nobel Committee.
3. Obama promised to vote for Norway in Eurovision. (OK, a bit silly. The US doesn't even compete in Eurovision. Then again, who would have thought the US would elect a black president?)
4. Event marketing bait. Rather than wanting to increase Obama's moral authority, the Nobel Committee actually wanted Obama present at the award ceremony to increase TV ratings. Actually awarding the prize to Obama is the best way to ensure this.
5. "Peace" is to be understood in the Orwellian sense of the Nobel War Prize. After all, Arafat and Kissinger have won the Peace Prize.
6. The Nobel Committee is crazy -- crazy like a fox. It's trying to send Obama on a guilt trip for doing so little (nothing, actually) in the hope -- there's that word again -- that he'll shape up.
7. Alfred Nobel's will says the Peace Prize shall go to the person "who SHALL HAVE done the most" for a number of good causes. Being non-native speakers of English, the members misunderstood this to mean that the Nobel is to be awarded for future deeds, or that it is to be given to the person who is ordained by the Lord to have done the most when all is said and done.
8. Nobel's will specifically mentions "abolition and reduction of standing armies". Drone airstrikes on villages in Afghanistan and Pakistan have nothing to do with standing armies and represent a step toward automated warfare. More civilians have been killed in 2009 under Obama than were killed in all of 2008 under Bush, and thus Obama is doing the best work for fraternity between the nations.
9. The Nobel Committee is a wise, cognizant body that realizes there's not much that can be done to prevent the US from starting to bully Iran, and figures that it might as well sacrifice credibility by awarding the Nobel to Obama in the chance that it might postpone the carnage.
10. Russia requested it for unspecified reasons. They're always so enigmatic.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Mastering the art of joy
(maybe some spoilers, but the food won't be)
There's a scene in Julie & Julia where Julie (the contemporary woman) is having lunch with her girlfriends and she's suddenly mortified at how grotesquely plastic they are, trying to "fit her in" to their schedules with their walls of PDAs and cell phones. Julie and her husband are in comparison pleasantly mild, normal people -- they don't even live in Manhattan! Commercial audiences are supposed to identify with them -- I've probably seen characters like Julie and her husband in dozens of 1990s and 2000s films. Yet over the course of the movie I slowly soured on them just as Julie soured on her overambitious friends. To paraphrase Julie herself, I wondered: is it OK to not like these people (Julie and especially her husband)? Is that what the film-maker intended?
I'd be interested in hearing what others think, but I think yes, it was what was intended. Or at least, the film can work on two levels: as a pure ode to cooking and food but also as a deeper comment on how insipid and derivative modern life can be, from our little micropublishings to the void, even to sex lives. And it points to a very simple one-word recipe for making it less so: joy.
Julia Child and her husband would almost be material for a full-length biopic, especially with the good acting and the Streep factor, so the whole second Julie story line is pure conceptual art -- with allowances made for the possibility that it was a commercial calculation to try to draw younger audiences. The risk pays off, the two threads are woven well.
You can practically tabulate the contrasts: Julia Child is all about joy and "freedom to"; Julie is all about "freedom from". Julie lives in Queens and feels trapped because she's not in Manhattan, even though she wouldn't be comfortable with the lifestyle that would presumably entail, either. If Julia were in Queens, of course, we'd see her shopping at some ethnic greengrocers and making strangers drop their guard on the A-train. Watching Julie struggle to channel her muse, it's all gentle fun, with some physical comedy, but there's certainly dramatic irony watching her misplaced determination and conceit at becoming a writer (by riding on Julia's coattails!).
Julie & Julia has some pointed things to say about ideal husbands. There's a world of difference between Julia Child's husband, whom we want to cheer -- not just because he defies our expectations that be will be a stolid 1950s male or chauvinist or milquetoast -- and Julie's husband, nothing culpably chauvinistic, but always seen just eating or loafing or providing a verbal veneer of support, a thick-skinned loser who's got it made and is ready at the first minor quarrel to walk out (!). In his own way, this guy is actually as bad as the DiCaprio character in Revolutionary Road and I wanted to throw tomatoes at him, if this were not a waste of good food. (I've become sensitized to movie portrayals of schlubs of all stripe. A man who never cooks is already highly suspicious to me, even if he's just celluloid.)
If I had one misgiving about this movie, it might be that the Julie side of the quotient (and by extension many members of the target audience) still might not have "got it" at the end, as a still star-struck Julie, having finished her derivative re-enactment of all of Julia's recipes, makes a Graceland-style pilgrimage to Julia's kitchen and deposits a perishable offering on the shrine to the chef she never met. The film-makers use this to set up another great segue, smooth as hollandaise, to a final Julia-in-the kitchen scene, but I have to wonder about what Julie is thinking.
There's a scene in Julie & Julia where Julie (the contemporary woman) is having lunch with her girlfriends and she's suddenly mortified at how grotesquely plastic they are, trying to "fit her in" to their schedules with their walls of PDAs and cell phones. Julie and her husband are in comparison pleasantly mild, normal people -- they don't even live in Manhattan! Commercial audiences are supposed to identify with them -- I've probably seen characters like Julie and her husband in dozens of 1990s and 2000s films. Yet over the course of the movie I slowly soured on them just as Julie soured on her overambitious friends. To paraphrase Julie herself, I wondered: is it OK to not like these people (Julie and especially her husband)? Is that what the film-maker intended?
I'd be interested in hearing what others think, but I think yes, it was what was intended. Or at least, the film can work on two levels: as a pure ode to cooking and food but also as a deeper comment on how insipid and derivative modern life can be, from our little micropublishings to the void, even to sex lives. And it points to a very simple one-word recipe for making it less so: joy.
Julia Child and her husband would almost be material for a full-length biopic, especially with the good acting and the Streep factor, so the whole second Julie story line is pure conceptual art -- with allowances made for the possibility that it was a commercial calculation to try to draw younger audiences. The risk pays off, the two threads are woven well.
You can practically tabulate the contrasts: Julia Child is all about joy and "freedom to"; Julie is all about "freedom from". Julie lives in Queens and feels trapped because she's not in Manhattan, even though she wouldn't be comfortable with the lifestyle that would presumably entail, either. If Julia were in Queens, of course, we'd see her shopping at some ethnic greengrocers and making strangers drop their guard on the A-train. Watching Julie struggle to channel her muse, it's all gentle fun, with some physical comedy, but there's certainly dramatic irony watching her misplaced determination and conceit at becoming a writer (by riding on Julia's coattails!).
Julie & Julia has some pointed things to say about ideal husbands. There's a world of difference between Julia Child's husband, whom we want to cheer -- not just because he defies our expectations that be will be a stolid 1950s male or chauvinist or milquetoast -- and Julie's husband, nothing culpably chauvinistic, but always seen just eating or loafing or providing a verbal veneer of support, a thick-skinned loser who's got it made and is ready at the first minor quarrel to walk out (!). In his own way, this guy is actually as bad as the DiCaprio character in Revolutionary Road and I wanted to throw tomatoes at him, if this were not a waste of good food. (I've become sensitized to movie portrayals of schlubs of all stripe. A man who never cooks is already highly suspicious to me, even if he's just celluloid.)
If I had one misgiving about this movie, it might be that the Julie side of the quotient (and by extension many members of the target audience) still might not have "got it" at the end, as a still star-struck Julie, having finished her derivative re-enactment of all of Julia's recipes, makes a Graceland-style pilgrimage to Julia's kitchen and deposits a perishable offering on the shrine to the chef she never met. The film-makers use this to set up another great segue, smooth as hollandaise, to a final Julia-in-the kitchen scene, but I have to wonder about what Julie is thinking.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
LEAN TIMES: Kitchen advice column
I am sitting on a large quantity of oil which I don't want to go rancid. I expect to do a lot of baking this winter, so I was thinking of hydrogenating it. But I've heard that it's hard to do at home and not that good for the health?
Far from it. Don't be put off by what you read in the news about trans fats; when done right, hydrogenation can improve the quality and taste of oil and keep it in a waxy solid form that will last years, even when used daily for deep-frying.
Long a mainstay in the food industry, more and more consumers are choosing to harden their own fat at home, especially with the recession crimping food budgets. Although there are companies and labs that will hydrogenate fats for you, prices vary and you can't be sure that they specialize in culinary hydrogenation -- equipment being used now to hydrogenate a winter supply of oil may have been used for methanol in the spring or petrochemicals in the summer.
At the same time, many hobbyists have found that fat hardening can be a feasible and rewarding weekend project. Not only does DIY save money on by-the-gallon batch jobs, people who have a favorite flavoured oil they don't use every day might opt to harden it into an "heirloom margarine" for special occasions for generations to come.
To turn that messy, unwieldy oil into that beautiful, lustrous hard fat fit for the table or the next batch of melt-in-your-mouth (and only in your mouth) confection, you'll need to pass hydrogen through it at extremely high pressure. The two essential pieces of equipment are a hydrogen tank (here zeppelin hobbyist shops can be a good resource) and a piston compressor that is capable of compressing the gas to 30-40 bar. That may sound like a tall order, but if you live in a university town or larger city, you may be able to scrounge around the academic labs -- also keep your eyes peeled when a university advertises a new equipment procurement; sometimes piston compressors are disposed of.
Some contrarians like the New York Times' Mark Bittman say dihydronaphthalene or dihydroanthracene can be used just as well for hydrogenation, but most feel the pure bottled hydrogen gas gives the best flavour.
When Jamie Oliver "hydrogenates for his mates", he uses a Haug piston compressor with a nickel catalyst. Emeril -- who makes a "Cajun Crisco" from local artisan oils, prefers ruthenium and a much lower pressure. Whichever recipe you try, remember to play it safe. A mass spectrometer, if you have one in your kitchen, can be a good way to check to see if you have hydrogenated the right chemical bonds, and that the output is not toxic. Although it's inevitable that most of the catalysts and residues will end up in your first couple batches, don't be overly worried about these -- just be sure to use them only in lower-fat recipes. Most people find that their second or third batch is already quite successful.
As well as delicious.
Far from it. Don't be put off by what you read in the news about trans fats; when done right, hydrogenation can improve the quality and taste of oil and keep it in a waxy solid form that will last years, even when used daily for deep-frying.
Long a mainstay in the food industry, more and more consumers are choosing to harden their own fat at home, especially with the recession crimping food budgets. Although there are companies and labs that will hydrogenate fats for you, prices vary and you can't be sure that they specialize in culinary hydrogenation -- equipment being used now to hydrogenate a winter supply of oil may have been used for methanol in the spring or petrochemicals in the summer.
At the same time, many hobbyists have found that fat hardening can be a feasible and rewarding weekend project. Not only does DIY save money on by-the-gallon batch jobs, people who have a favorite flavoured oil they don't use every day might opt to harden it into an "heirloom margarine" for special occasions for generations to come.
To turn that messy, unwieldy oil into that beautiful, lustrous hard fat fit for the table or the next batch of melt-in-your-mouth (and only in your mouth) confection, you'll need to pass hydrogen through it at extremely high pressure. The two essential pieces of equipment are a hydrogen tank (here zeppelin hobbyist shops can be a good resource) and a piston compressor that is capable of compressing the gas to 30-40 bar. That may sound like a tall order, but if you live in a university town or larger city, you may be able to scrounge around the academic labs -- also keep your eyes peeled when a university advertises a new equipment procurement; sometimes piston compressors are disposed of.
Some contrarians like the New York Times' Mark Bittman say dihydronaphthalene or dihydroanthracene can be used just as well for hydrogenation, but most feel the pure bottled hydrogen gas gives the best flavour.
When Jamie Oliver "hydrogenates for his mates", he uses a Haug piston compressor with a nickel catalyst. Emeril -- who makes a "Cajun Crisco" from local artisan oils, prefers ruthenium and a much lower pressure. Whichever recipe you try, remember to play it safe. A mass spectrometer, if you have one in your kitchen, can be a good way to check to see if you have hydrogenated the right chemical bonds, and that the output is not toxic. Although it's inevitable that most of the catalysts and residues will end up in your first couple batches, don't be overly worried about these -- just be sure to use them only in lower-fat recipes. Most people find that their second or third batch is already quite successful.
As well as delicious.
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