What goes around..

You know what? A rare treat. That's what. And nothing else. So don't ask for anything else. Alright, you can ask. Go ahead. I'm waiting.

Fine. The treat – me writing on a subject that concerns day-to-day life in this ice-encrusted corner of the world called Eesti! Might even make it into a habit. I'll leave it open to supposition.. been a while since supposition has had a good airing-out, and best to keep everyone on their toes. Or heels. Not on their arches. I don't have any, and if that makes me racist, then so be it. Flat-footers will prevail.

Today – public transport. I suppose one of those multiple reasons that keeps to the shadows for why I vote for the majority of Europe over the US in terms of public services. I do admit that the only real brushes I've had with public transport in the States has been the wonder of mankind that is Metro Transit (far less shudderific than Chicago, and the nicest bus drivers in all of the world.. is that the spring of Minnesota Nice?), a small sampling of Chi-town's smelly/greasy/don't-want-to-think-about-what-I'm-touching-or-breathing-or-who's-been-touching-and-breathing-on-me, and a failure of a bus and train in NYC. Thus, I refrain from declaring myself an expert from the rooftops. Also, I don't have roof access in this café. The owner is nice, but it's also a four- or five-storey building, and I'd rather not leave my double stout alone. There is a play corner, I guess.. but I'm a jealous bastard, and don't want that stout making friends with anyone but my gullet. As I was saying.

Even though the Minnesota Nice is brimming in the Metro Transit system (and who can forget the UMN Campus Shuttle driver, who would blast jazz over the speakers and sing along?), bus' timing is horrible. Light rail as well. Especially given the frigid temperatures that grace our great Northern Star, even the sparser routes could run every ten minutes or so. And stops? Please, obesity supporters. A stop on every block is not in the Constitution. Nor should it ever be. Walking three, or even four blocks to the closest bus or light rail stop will not cause a spike in heart attacks. In anything, it will cause a spike in fit-ab attacks. Fabacks, if you will. And the whole system of letting in one person at a time from the front door... yes, money is guaranteed, but when you have a line of ten people or more wanting to enter through the same door, not even swiping a card over a sensor can be just to the other waiting passengers.

I made that mistake a few years back when traversing the city in order to make it to a friend's house, and from there on to the majestic wedding of the illustrious couple Shannon and Stuart Gates (which Thor even graced with tornado warnings and lightning), by expecting to get from South Minneapolis to past Como area in an hour and a half. Haha, the naïveness of a customer long forgotten in the ways of any buses not being the 16 or 3A/B coming from Stadium Village to Cedar Ave. I made it from Diamond Lake Rd. to downtown in an hour, and had to frantically cab it from there. Lesson learned.

Now, I'm not saying that Tallinn's transportation system is perfect, or anywhere close to that, or better than others of its kind in Europe. I do miss having bike racks on the front of buses in Minneapolis – that is a device more brilliant than locals can imagine. Here, I was even thrown off of a bus one time (i.e. the driver refused to leave the stop until I got off) because in midwinter, I tried bringing my bike, the frame of which was split in half and had been inside of my apartment and subject to my grieving for months, onto the said public transport vehicle. Bikes not allowed on buses, the explanation being officially that they could "dirty" the floor. I'm sure half of the residents of Kopli (only half – there are some fantastic folk on the end of the peninsula) do much worse.

On the other hand, however, it is hard to find a bus that does not run on at least 15-minute intervals. Oh, and there aren't only buses. We have trams. And trolleys. Trams run about every five minutes during the day, on two separate lines. Electric fuel over diesel.. that's a win. Not looking, of course, at the proportion of energy produced using oil shale in the country... but we do have our share of wind turbines. Secondly, all doors open when the given vehicle comes to a full and complete stop. Enter and exit as you please, just curse the faux cops that board every once in a while to check tickets and delay your trip. Even before now, where we have free public transport (an issue I'd best discuss in a different post entirely, given the political circumstances surrounding it..), a passenger was able to purchase a one-hour (or one-day) ticket on his or her mobile phone, which would validate in a two-minute period (another angry post should come on that topic later... first-world problems, regardless).

With the advent of said free public transport, however, I've developed an inner conflict. I want to use/misuse/whatever the system as much as possible. And I do, to a certain extent. However, I was just in the height of enjoying my lack of a need to use the functional transport system. Namely, I live a good eight-minute walk away from Vanalinn (the Old Town). It's winter and I've been strapped for hours and hours to my laptop daily (take this very minute, for example), so movement is a must. When it's not possible to strap on skates or skis for traversing the sidewalks, my 5-ton Swedish army bike takes me from point A to point farthest-western-point-of-the-country, or wherever else I'm headed. In short, public transport challenges my laziness.

I love the fact that this is an issue. It's something, towards which every functional urban city should strive.

Edasi, вперёд...

Literally literal

Working as a translator, words are at the absolute center (centre, if the customer desires the Queen's English) of my day-to-day-to-day-to-day life. The variable lodged in all of this concerns the medium of the given words. In my case, obviously, this is written. Oh fate, you fickle fragglerocker. I am literate (and damn proud of it), and my level of literacy has improved incredibly since becoming involved in the translation field. Thankfully.

That said (written)...

Well, point in case. All of my words, the massive imperial portion of them, are written, not spoken. This is odd for me, to put it lightly. Not simply unaccustomed, but focusing on the lesser side of my nature. True, it has resulted in self-improvement, in honing a less-developed skill, even in high self-satisfaction. And yet, it fails to fulfill the entirety of me. Spoken word, I've discovered, is of lofty and irreplaceable importance and cruciality for me. My career, which I love, is fundamentally different in its nature. Go figure. Love is a bitch – good call, whoever coined that one.. And Alanis, I think this is that irony you were searching for. You have my permission to use it in Bitter Pill Vol. 2.

And it pains me that the most accessible and convenient opportunity for conversing with the familyfriends dearest to me in MN and elsewhere is ultimately through writing as well. That the most accessible and convenient way to express myself is precisely what I am doing at this very moment – typing it out, casting it into the boundless netherworld of my age-old and somewhat dusty blog. Even with the fantastic possibilities bequeathed by Skype and Google for having that verbal and visual contact.. it's different from the face-to-face proximity, the verbal resonance through air waves and not sound waves or waves of other varying composition.

So that's my eloquent excuse for not updating this as often as I so much as would like to. It's the medium. And I just want to get a beer with you, Minneapolis. Grab a growler and sit by the river, talk of times and travels and translucent trapezoids with tantalizing THB trannies. Alright, that got a bit out of hand. But what else would you expect?

Edasi, вперёд..