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The new format of this blog is really ugly. Ugly! And I haven’t cared. I find the joys of microblogging on Facebook (and more occasionally, Twitter) more rewarding. Follow me there!
Do check out this photo of my new bicycle, though. It’s on these wheels that I’m spending most of my time. Though today I’m headed to Istanbul then Ankara for a week, so I’ll be leaving my pink-and-blue Puch behind … 
Not that the weather in Budapest has been so hot for cycling, anyway. Yesterday I went downtown carrying an umbrella in one hand to beat the rain … not the safest I know. Need to invest in a rain jacket.
Anyway, here’s the bike:
So great!!
Starting now and going backwards in time, snipits of life and thought.
It’s day two of hiding from the government inspectors touring the expensive, private international school I teach at in Istanbul. The other illegal English teachers and I are hiding in the drama room. If he comes too close, we’ll head out back to disappear off campus. While the official is allegedly on “friendly” terms with the administration, if we’re seen the school will be fined.
Or worse, we’ll be deported.
Obama’s arrived in Turkey just in time to catch a free exhibition on time. Of course, I doubt he’ll be going, though he is pictured above with the Turkish president (who speaks English, unlike the PM), with a grand 19th century clock between them. (Photo: CNNTurk).
The most moving part of the exhibition for me was learning that Ottoman time, or Islamic time, was actually set based on the light available, and not standardized like European time. So 5am in July had the same amount of light as 5am in December, while in European time I think most of us will agree that there is no light at 5am in December, or at 8am for that matter.
Obama’s timeless message ways rings true with the “can’t we all just get along’ maxium. As Twitter writer Thandelike surmised: “I’m not naive,” Obama said to Turkish univeristy students today, ”but what things we all share are more important than what makes us different.”
Agreed. I wish that we could all just adjust our clocks back to Ottoman time frame. Standardization of time may have led to more meetings being arranged and better understanding, but who wouldn’t love to keep their biological clock adjusted to the amount of light.
How’s that for a loose association between time, standarized time zones, Turkey, free events in Istanbul and Obama.
Don’t know. But the question certainly gets your attention.
Another point worth pondering: fantasy is said to be an integral part of the human experience, yet why do so few women have sexual fantasies? Charlotte Roche, author of the erotic book Wetlands, talks about this and more in an interview with Salon.com, here.
There’s nothing more provokative than a discussion on female sexuality and inequality, which has intrigued, disgusted, provoked and annoyed scholars, activists, and women and men for centuries. I think Roche enters the disucssion, and attempts to disrupt the pink Chick Lit genre, with quite a bit of conviction. Whether or not that’s well earned is yet to be said, since I haven’t read the book yet.
Has anyone else?
See, there’s Obama in the Taksim metro station. It’s time for this blog to wake up. The world is moving quick, as usual: the G-20 summit finished with mixed reviews, another mass shooting in the ol’ States, Hungary’s government is collapsing, so is it’s currency – the global financial crisis in full throttle. Meanwhile, spring is here and the sun is finally shining.
So where have I been? Why haven’t I been writing? Let’s contextualize that. I have three poor excuses for reasons:
It’s cold. It’s dark. It’s lonely. The season passed without so much of a public carol and now I’m in the thralls of the bitter winter.
I just want to fold into a little clam like the five-year old boy on my mini bus. Every afternoon he does, without fail. His eye lids slide down. His arms fall slack. And his small body slumps over into a complete yogi fold. He’s closed up, resting. Hibernating until he gets off at the second to last stop.
Her heart was beating into the palm of my hand like a drum. So incessant I wondered if she would pop out of her thin, fuzzy skin. She was shaking. Bleating echoed down the hallway. As I walked down the corridor carrying her in my arms, I wondered if she would wet herself.
I love Zadie Smith. Her thoughts on context and the language we speak are beautiful and really hit home. Plus reading this some how makes me feel like I’m part of the smart set.
Left to my own devices, I can be a very sentimental person. When writing greeting cards, for instance, I don’t make jokes, I write sensitive things. And also when around sad things. For instance, there are these five puppies that live behind a concrete barrier nearby and seeing them makes me want to cry a little bit, rub them a little bit and then adopt them. And I don’t even like dogs.
Countering my emotional sensibilities, Istanbul – city of overwhelming emotion – has made it necessary to harden up a bit. Bitch bitch, slap slap. Don’t cry. Move on. Get going. I have to have the strength to walk past things like homeless puppies, homeless people, abuse of power, rundown houses and not want to sit on the curb and bawl. Better yet, I should do something about it but I cannot really think of what I could do that’s in my immediate power that would actually make a difference, and somethings thinking like that can be as depressing as the thing I’m looking at. But even if I could, it would be hard to cuddle the puppy, fix the pipes, or feed the homeless, as I’m usually in a minibus, or some other form of transport.
Besides, here, if I spent too much time thinking about things, I’d end up crying for years and years and years. Big Alice in Wonderland drowning in her own tears. Yes, this is how I feel in one easy-to-remember clichéd image. A lost, grown-up little girl in outdated clothing who is also a cartoon character. And who likes the color and mood, blue. I’m blue I’m blue da ba dee da ba dee…
