The Burning Girl

2009-02-11T10:07:00.000-08:00

Excerpt from an interview with Turkish journalist Can Dundar:

Do you believe Kemalism is compatible with Turkey’s EU aspirations and democratisation?

A. It depends what you understand by Kemalism. For me there is no such thing as Kemalism. Mustafa Kemal did not leave us Kemalism before he died. I am a researcher of Mustafa Kemal, I like reading about Mustafa Kemal but from what I read he didn’t leave a legacy called Kemalism. This is merely people’s interpretation, which was produced after he died. His biggest legacy however was positivism. But still, 1930s World and the World of today is very different. If you try to take Kemalism as an ideology from 1930s and apply it today it will not work. In fact to do so is an insult to Turkey. Therefore I don’t believe Mustafa Kemal was a Kemalist.

Read the entire interview here:

http://thecypriotvoice.blogspot.com/2008/02/can-dundar-there-is-no-such-thing-as.html

Posted by Cypriots for Cyprus

The Storyteller, Turkey, and A Few Road Signs

2009-02-07T20:07:00.000-08:00

Turkey has arrived at a cultural crossroads that will determine what kind of a people the Turks will be in the future. To the unaccustomed eye of a foreigner just passing through, there are two big neon road signs, each pointing to diametrically different directions. “Secularists” says one sign, “Islamists” says the other. You can simplify this even more, and read the “Secularist” sign as “West”, and “Islamist” as “East”. It is usually agreed upon that the West leads to the European Union, the United States, Ataturk, the Turkish Army, progress, art, women’s rights, science and so forth. The East, on the other hand, is believed to lead to Iran, the Middle East, Islam, headscarves, the end of Kemalist Turkey, the comeback of the Ottomans…. This is an opportunity, or challenge, not many nations get, and whether Turks will make the most of it remains to be seen.
For the last one hundred years, Turks have redefined themselves in notable ways, and while the new society that emerged after the demise of the Ottoman Empire seemed very much Western, I believe this word has been overused over the years and reveals little about why it was the Turks who decided to ditch the Islamic values they held for hundreds of years. Why did Ataturk emerge in Turkey and not in other Islamist countries? Was he an anomaly, an exception, or a leader who appealed to th Turkish subconscious in some primal ways? If he were a true leader of the people, then why did he ask them to wear Western-style hats and change their alphabet from Arabic to Latin, rather then accepting them as who they were? It is true that Ataturk was unique in many ways – his upbringing, his vision, his rhetorical skills, his determination to stand against the West even though he was defined by the West as the Westernized Turk... Yet in many areas he was one of the people – this is why his reforms took such deep roots in such a short time. His staunchly secular, break-from-the-past, raise-from-your-own-ashes- way of thinking and doing things did appeal to the Turkish subconscious, mostly because he built an enormous social capital by leading a defeated people through a victorious Independence War, but also because Turks saw in him something they identified with easily in a time when Turks were no longer sure about who they were. Ataturk died too soon, and left behind a series of reforms that shaped the new Turkish socio-cultural landscape. If today many Turks no longer even know who the Ottomans were, and if for good or for bad they don’t even consider themselves as Ottomans, it is in no small part because of these reforms.
When Ataturk died in 1938, only 15 years after founding the Republic of Turkey, he left behind a legacy of a secular Turkey whose future lay ahead. I believe he did not leave expecting the Turkish people to idolize him, yet he fought for a cause, and his cause was a progressive, secular, powerful Turkey. 71 years after his death, Turkey is slowly beginning to forget who Ataturk was, and why his reforms were necessary. The issue of women’s rights is especially relevant in the face of a visible increase in the number of women choosing to wear headscarves. The headscarf issue, in itself not big enough to cause a cultural avalanche, is however a telltale sign of where Turkey is heading. When did these two irreconcilable Turkeys emerge? In a country divided by cultural fault lines, is there still hope for Ataturk’s Turkey? I do not like the term “Kemalist Turkey”, as I think it smells of ideology. Rather, I prefer Ataturk’s Turkey, because there is an innocence in it – the innocence of appointing the world's first woman supreme court justice, Firuzan Ikinciogullari. And the innocence of obtaining women’s suffrage in 1934, 10 years before women in France did.

2009-01-27T20:00:00.000-08:00

It snowed today...We woke up early in the morning and all the rooftops were covered with a blanket of snow. The roads were unmarked, like white, fluffy quilts, we had to be the first to leave our foot prints - I hoped no car would drive into our typically quite cul-de-sac. When we finally managed to get out of the house, it was all silence, white, beautiful silence- it wasn't even cold. Snowflakes kept falling like they did in my childhood, not all snow storms are like this - the quite, the warmth of snowflakes slowly covering the soil, it is like nature is meditating, and this is why winter, when it is like this, is my favorite season. It took me back to my childhood days, the first day of snow - yes it always snowed during the night, and as Lara said when we woke up, "Her yer surpriz olmus." So many things have happened here, but we are more hopeful now. These days, I have many thoughts, few of them in writing. I missed writing.

2008-05-13T18:37:00.000-07:00

Larita...

2008-05-04T18:07:00.000-07:00

Went to Lucketts Village near Leesburg, a historic town close to where we live.
Leesburg is delectable in the old, classic, antique sense. It is a small community of renovated Victorian mansions, cottages, roadside cafes and antique shops. My first visit to Leesburg was somewhat surprising. I went there not knowing anything about it for a scheduled ultrasound appointment 2 months before Lara was born. I remember saying to myself "How come this place is so beautiful and I have not been here before?", then we moved to suburbia, and now Leesburg is 15 minutes away. And I still think it is a luscious place- but I am left under the impression it is too slow and perfect for someone like me, it is like a movie set. And this bring me to the Design House, yet another surprise as we visited the antique square in Lucketts Village this weekend. There I saw the Design House - not a furniture boutique, not an antique shop, not a renovated house, all at once - totally fresh, unpredictable when you are inside, very old from the outside, mind-blowing from an interior decor perspective. At least for a novice in this area like me. After Elle Decor, this place made the most impression on me. I will definitely go back. And the real surprise for me, I mean even greater than the Design House, was Levent's reaction when I met him outside the house, where he and Lara were innocently playing with stones. And if you know him, you know how "delicate" his design sensibilities are. Our dialogue:
"You should go and see this place."
"Oh I know this place. Been here before, I know, all rooms are different."
It turns out he discovered this place last year with a programmer friend of his!

Crying Sky Blue

2008-04-14T18:59:00.000-07:00

Hm, I will just have to say this in Turkish, to convey the mood, for a change:):
Bizim burali (burali derken Baltimore/Washington'lu) bir jazz pianist Sean Lane'in Crying Sky Blue bestesi'nin hikayesi cok hosuma gitti, siz de hic diilse demo'larini dinleyin istedim. Hani firtina olur ve gokyuzu mor mavi bir renk olur ve ilk yagmur damlasi dusmeden hemen once bi an olur, sessizlik olur, sonra yagmur damlalari bir bir dusmeye baslar, iste oradan baslatmis, ve dinlerseniz duyacaksiniz yagmurun basladigini, arttigini, bu kadar guzel bir yagmur bestesi dinlememistim. Sean Lake'i dinleyen bir ressam toplulugu bu parcayi dinleyince, "Bu muthis guzel, adi ne bestenin?" demisler, o da "Crying Sky Blue." demis, sonra da "Eminim hepsi kosa kosa studyolarina gitmistir o ani resme dokmek icin." demis icinden.....

http://cdbaby.com/cd/seanalane2

2008-04-11T05:29:00.000-07:00

What to say? Just woke up and stole 5 minutes for reflection. And I am realizing increasingly that my fast-track life is leaving less and less space or what do they call it? Me time. :) We have lots of mommy and me time though. :) And Lara has grown up so much. She is talking. Saying mu for muz, lma for elma, porrrakal for portakal, taaatan for tavsan, parka for parka (as in hadi parka gidelim, when i comes to going out she gets it right), and popomtom for hipopotam....and anne for anne. Yes she is finally calling me anne. And herself? Yaya!

Devil's Highway

2008-03-04T12:26:00.000-08:00

I just finished reading The Devil's Highway by Luis Alberto Urrea. It will haunt me. It tells the story of a group of Mexicans - illegal entrants- who pass the US border and then get disoriented and lost in the desert, and are then abandoned by their guides to be baked in the heat to death. A true story. I would have re-read it, stealing from my scant sleep time, if only I had the courage to do so.

2008-02-07T10:59:00.000-08:00

Lala started doing yoga today. Apparently she learned how to do it by watching me- now when I say "Let's do yoga" she stops doing whatever she is doing at that moment and takes the yoga position. In fact she is doing it much better than me- I guess babies are natural yogi just as they are natural swimmers. Which makes me think- maybe I should register to a yoga class with her.

2008-02-02T17:20:00.000-08:00

Right now I am sitting on my sofa, listening to Teoman's Gemiler . Lara is asleep upstairs, and Levent is working with a friend on the dinner table. It has been a mild February day, we woke up with bird chirping on the pines and oak trees - I went out to the patio and threw a handful of cashews to our American squirrels - they keep overfeeding, and I am partly to blame I am afraid. I am lately enamored with Teoman, I listen to his old songs and what a voice- makes me feel back in Turkey, and I imagine I am in Bodrum, living there and not here in Sterling, and even the thought makes me elated for some inexplicable reason. Deep down I guess I long for the Mediterranean warmth, the labyrinthine streets and even the seagulls and the crowd. It is a world so apart from my world here- and I long for the little imperfections that used to make up my life in Istanbul. Lara is talking, she says ac (open) and also cay (tea) and she is moving at rocket speed. We are literally left breathless trying to catch up with her when we go out to the mall. I do not go to Starbucks that often now, what is the point when I can not sit for even 20 seconds to drink a cup of coffee- instead I am running after Lara who is enchanted by the glittery and shimmery coffee cups, toys etc there. I do miss my barista friends though. It is hard to imagine how they can smile and be so full of energy when they start work at 4:30 am every day- these people are amazing. And funny. And if I happen to go there without Lara they say "Where is my little girl?". Ok, now I am going to listen to some more Teoman.

2007-12-09T19:18:00.001-08:00

Visited the Annie Leibovitz A Photographer's Life exhibit at the Corcoran, and on our way Levent and said to Lara mota-mot : "Today is not about you, we are taking you to places every day and today we are going to have fun." It all turned to be about her at the end- we took turns in viewing the photos while one of us watched over Lara. Well, I can say I saw more than half the photos (luckily I had seen some of them before in magazines) and even managed to read some of the story bylines next to the photos :). I was rushing to finish as people around me took their time. I was most impressed by Susan Sontag's photographs, Annie's partner in life.

2007-12-07T19:07:00.000-08:00

Winter came..We had our first snow fall, it was a quite, dove-white day. I watched the snow flakes fall down, and it was the most peaceful thing I have experienced this year. Soon there was a thick blanket on the pines, oak trees even the four lane road that I drive every day to do my grocery shopping or Starbucks treat was all white, cushiony, and slippery (I had to go out and drive, but was very careful). It felt like I was driving on a road puffed with white marshmallows, they salted the road late in night o the snow on the road was gone. I introduced Lara with snow, she touched it and seemed puzzled, and said krrrrr, of course, trying to say kar (snow). Tomorrow we are going to DC to see a photo exibit of Annie Liebovitz, Levent and I are both fans. He being the photographer, he probably appreciates her art more than I do, but on the other hand, I realized one does not have to be a photographer to look at a photograph...and look...and look...and feel alive in some deep way and know this photographer is good. Fur, the movie was good-in my opinion had nothing to do with the real Diane Arbus -appearance wise or otherwise, she is another favorite of mine. But I think she would have liked the way she was re-created, it looked true to her spirit if I can say so based on what little I read about her. So for the trip tomorrow to DC, I had to go out today and buy Lara a shawl - then I put it on around her neck while she was playing and toddling around the house(yes walking), and she didn't mind. In fact babies, I find, are so open to anything - like there is nothing wrong with wearing a wool shawl in a well-heated house, like it is the most natural thing to do. I should learn from her.

Words are wothless

2007-12-01T15:21:00.000-08:00

I am deeply saddened by the Atlasjet MD-83 tragedy. I am in absolute disbelief and denial. Nothing to say. Words and tears mean nothing.

2007-11-26T20:38:00.000-08:00

Lala took her first step today! She was sitting and playing with her daddy's office supplies, then on a whim as if she remembered to do something, she got up, and very nonchalantly took a step forward like she had always done that - this is the most extraordinary thing I have seen in my life, nothing can compare to this. Also her vocabulary list is growing, fir example: Phone: tetete, hello: tete, guzel: guze, cok cici: cocici, geldik: eeediiik, kotmish: ooottis...

And everything else seems so trivial but here are other things happening or about to happen: We are planning to visit Poly and Doug in New York, a 5 hour trip by car. Our Paris trip plan is still in the air, could not make it happen in such a short time and I want to be there in the fall.

London Bridge is Falling Down...

2007-11-14T07:43:00.000-08:00

I am in my(re)creative mood again - so many things to do so little time! I found a good art workshop teaching the still life painting technique of Chardin and Cezanne among other painters. And teachers are from the Corcoran. I also became a Duck as a mom of a Duckling - registered Lara to another 8 week swimming session, she successfully graduated from the aquatot class. A mom told me about the new class at a recreation center close to our house, and now we take our ducklings there to swim. Today we danced in circle to the tune of London Bridge is Falling Down, Falling down, my fair lady....By we I mean 8 femmes plus the ducklings.
To get to the rec center, I have to drive trough the misty cloak of sky high trees clad in the hues of late fall. Believe me when I say that this morning I was driving in an oil painting of trees- every single dead leaf in its crystal silence, fallen tree trunk, unpredictable sharp turn on the narrow asphalt road made me realize how beautiful our planet is and how lucky I am to be here. I could be in Tralfamador, for all I know, and who wants to be there?:)
Also did I mention I am reading the Second Sex by Simone Beauvoir, just mind blowing - can't believe she wrote it half a century ago. An alpha must read.

Lala

2007-10-31T09:33:00.001-07:00

Our little witch.

2007-10-29T08:22:00.000-07:00

A beautiful fall morning, frost on my car's windows, the oak tree overlooking our patio is changing into a visual feast of mango, amber, ginger colored leaves. And as a linguist, I am completely in love with my daughter's baby language, she has a word for everything and she is consistent in using them. Because I am calling daddy as "babasi" (my dady), she actually started calling him "babasi", rather than "baba" (dady)...and for me, she has annanne (mommymommy).

2007-10-18T10:22:00.001-07:00

My mode today: tired and bored.

2007-10-10T09:10:00.000-07:00

As an antidote to sustaining my bourgeois existence in an American suburbia, I started reading the Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan, and the Second Sex by Simone Beauvoir, planning to read some Kurt Vunnegut too, namely: Slaughterhouse - Five, Player Piano, A Man Without A Country, and the Sirens of Titan. Also, planning a romantic fall in ........Paris in November. Levent thinks it is a great idea. November in Paris. Still working on details. One thing is for sure - I will dress up and be in high heels.

Here is what Umberto Eco said about Kurt Vunnegut in Helsinki Times. Why on earth am I reading Helsinki Times?...Don't ask :)

http://www.helsinkitimes.fi/ht/articles/viewpoints/vonnegut_anti_utopia.php

Suburban Tramp

2007-09-27T19:23:00.000-07:00

What a life! For the last 10 months or so, number of philosophy books I read: 0 ( pleasantly surprised by Flight of the Storks, though, will read other books by same author). I am leading a life so full of seemingly inconsequential stuff - hey who has saved the world by pureeing sweet potato? - but my energy has increased. Lara is now an individual with a character - we are best buddies. Twice a week Lara and I go fishing, oops, swimming. She became an efficient butterflier, according to her instructor, but is reluctant to do the back floats. There she met aquatot pals Jason, the cutest baby boy with deep blue eyes, and Eleanor, who was teething and not exactly in her playful mood first time they met. Being a mom is in itself a philosophical question for me - my closest friends still say they cannot imagine me as a mom(hm try a suburban mom), and I am myself still getting used to the idea that I have a baby girl (who has grown so much that is refusing to be spoon fed anymore). I spend most of my time outside the house, Starbucks being our favorite place. I need to de-caffeinate myself but I am in no hurry. Taking life easy, perhaps for the first time in my life, and enjoying my baby girl (and even contemplating a second one, and why not a third one) feels good. the part I find a little challenging is fitting into the suburban mom culture, I rathr like to see myself as a tramp of some sort, call me a suburban tramp but do not call me a suburban mom.

2007-09-10T11:31:00.000-07:00

Finally, I am back from Turkey after a two month escapade. One more time I wished that my family lived on the Mediterrenean coast, I could enjoy a vacation, anyway, Istanbul was delightful in its own way. I met old friends, one of whom has become a successful businesswoman and a Turkish Daily News columnist. Lara is a big girl now, she is taking her first steps and beginning to understand the meaning of "I want...". Now that she has officially become an aquatot, the name given to the little ones enrolled to a swimming class for 6-12 month olds, I hope she enjoys being one...

Here is 'future biker' Lala, as her daddy likes to call her:

And her daddy:

I have to run but here are two quotes I loved (by the way I just realized that Lara is pronounced as Laha - with that deep husky R in French!).

"If one feels the need of something grand, something infinite, something that makes one feel aware of God, one need not go far to find it. I think that I see something deeper, more infinite, more eternal than the ocean in the expression of the eyes of a little baby when it wakes in the morning and coos or laughs because it sees the sun shining on its cradle." Vincent van Gogh

"Take a sprinkling of fairy dust, An angel's single feather, Also a dash of love and care, Then mix them both together. Add a sentiment or two,A thoughtful wish or line, A touch of stardust, a sunshine ray... Its a recipe, for a Baby Girl truly fine." \

2007-07-22T04:04:00.000-07:00

My idea of a vacation involves the Mediterrenean sea, the color of sand, and a simple place to stay. While I enjoyed my stay in Bulgaria, it was an exhausting, all too familiar experience. Not exactly an exotic getaway. I met many strangers, only one of them inspired me to write his story (a story I will not dare to write, because it will also be the story of why I really am). I tried to distance myself from what this place has become by imagining I were a journalist on assignment, but who am I kidding? It must be scary to see the ghost of a person you once knew, and it was scary to see the ghost of a place which was alive not so long ago. This is the ideal place to experience writers block, even abandon all intellectual pretenses, because you feel that nothing, nothing you write can possibly change the reality of an abandoned town that reminds one of a war zone, only there is no war - rather, the absence of cultural, social or economic development puts this place in the gray zone between war and peace . This is Northeastern Bulgaria. Hard to imagine it is part of the European Union.

2007-07-09T08:27:00.000-07:00

He laughed, laughed and laughed. His mouth was missing front teeth, a single metal tooth glittered in the evening sun. Beauty was gone. In his his hideousness I could see the suffering he had to endure in a post-communist world. This was his world now, sheer poverty, flies, stray cats. Even the cats were ugly. A I watched him from distance, I felt nothing, hope had long left this town. And the wedding was only four days away.

Apocalypto

2007-06-22T03:11:00.000-07:00

I watched what I perceived to be the most powerful critique of our civilized world, shown trough the lenses of an extinct culture. Apocalypto is shocking in the Breaking the Waves sense, a heartbreaking unforgettable theatrical heart stopper. It is a laconic movie, words are scarce, piercing. The viewer is left speechless at the end– transported in a stoic and peaceful state of mind where pretense, bloodshed, riches (precious stones for Mayans) have no place. Jaguars do. Even though the movie was about the decline of the Mayan civilization, I, the cultureless nomad, felt shaken after watching it. The Mayan city - or shall I call it downtown - on the eve of destruction was sickeningly vain, its inhabitants alienated to other cultures, awash in material symbols of status. At the core of the plot was the unbreakable love of one village man for one simple woman, their eldest son, and their unborn baby. But its critical success does goes far beyond its philosophical value. This movie gets the viewer with its stunning cinematography. It shows how good and how bad human beings can be. A classic in the classic sense of the word.

Romance of An Early Morning

2007-05-27T05:49:00.000-07:00

Lara woke up at 6 am, as usual, cooing in her crib peacefully, waiting for me to grab her and hold her. She is the thing closest to peace and perfection in my 31 years of existence. I see no trace of my melancholy in her always smiling face (Smiley face people call her, as she ahguus to them from the safe distance of her BabyBjorn, checking with one hand that her mommy is there). My day will follow the perfect routine of feeding and bathing Lara, and playing our favorite games - before nap times, or sometimes just for the heck of it, we will read our favorite book, "Say Hello on the Farm". Who is that nibbling-half asleep, say hello to the drowsy sheep? Here is the sty, not very big. Say hello to the little pink pig! When we go out, we will mockingly whisper the same lines, likening passers-by to our characters. Early in the morning, I will pack Lara, strap her in her infant car seat, and head for our routine Starbucks treat. I know the baristas and they know me as the exhausted upbeat mom of a kicking 6-months old. The wife of one of the baristas is pregnant. Another takes sneak breaks on the patio to call her mom in a far-away country, talking to her in an exotic language. In a way, their life within the confines of this small upscale corner cafe is as predetermined and rigid as mine, so they all love to talk to people who have no hurry to leave, such as me and the baby. Yes, here comes the baby, they say as we enter. Or, they start shouting in a spontaneous cheerful voice "Laraaa, Laraa" the moment they spot her, to which baby responds with her usual bravado: "yes I am kicking because this is my favorite place to be in the morning", or "yes I love all the attention" . Mommy is the backdrop in an otherwise perfect day, usually unnoticed, her long hair running in all directions. I let my hair express my creativity. Sitting on the Starbucks porch can be lonely early in the morning, when the sun has not risen yet through the misty clouds, driveways host suburban SUVs and humvees, and only the occasional jogger chances the quiet runways. I slowly sip my tall-decaf-no-whip mocha, sometimes skimming the Washington Post, reacting to the news as a formerly critical now complacent political reader. And on a day like this one, when baby is napping, and the birds chirping, I am thinking of Hemingway and his Havana.

2007-05-18T04:12:00.000-07:00

I began to think that people moved to Sterling, our neighborhood, to have babies. The local Starbucks where I go every day at least once, is our meeting venue. Every time I go, I meet a new mom with a cute 7 week old baby, a toddler, or several of them. On the streets, I often see young moms jogging, yes, jogging, with their strollers, babies dozing in them under the warm May sun. Having lived in downtown before, I can say it wasn't that baby-friendly.

2007-05-12T06:00:00.000-07:00

It is a pleasantly cool early Saturday morning in DC today - and Kotmish spoiled me with a richly prepared delicious breakfast (including more menu items than my usual blank canvass butter and bread) on his birthday, I think the reverse should have happened since it is his birth date, but I say a woman can never ask for too much, and Kotmish always says "ask for the world", so I do :).

2007-05-02T15:51:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Kotmish, Lala and I went for a walk in our neighborhood. It was a balmy, beautiful spring afternoon, joggers and their dogs passing us by on the sidewalk...

2007-04-09T18:11:00.000-07:00

Rodos

(bu satirlari bir ada kirtasiyesinden aldigimiz "yunan" not defterime acele karaladigimda, simdi hatirliyorum nostaljiyle, Rodos'un huzunlu Akdeniz kiyisina oturmustuk ve bir gun cocugumuz olsun demistik, batan gunesin, sessiz dalgalarin amfitiyatrosunda...)

Mike, tipik bir Rodoslu. Adi Michail, ancak yabancilara kolaylik olsun diye, kendini Mike olarak tanitiyor. Yanik tenli, ufak tefek, gururlu bir adali. Beyaz gomleginin kollari sivali, bol keten pantlon giymis. Elleri cebinde. Duzgun bir Ingilizceyle, oturdugu yerden kalkmadan, kalacak yer arayip aramadigimizi soruyor. Tam da Kotmish’le nerede geceleyecegimizi konustugumuz anda. Mukemmel zamanlama.

“Nezih, liman manzarali bir odam var, tam sizlik, gorunce bayilacaksiniz.” Henuz, Rodos’ta her odanin liman manzarali oldugunu bilmiyoruz!

“Size ozel fiyat da cekerim.” diyor cok da israrci olmayan bir ses tonuyla. Bezgin bir hali var. Tanistigimiz ilk Yunan oldugu icin, ona guvenemeyecegimizi, hemen karar veremeyecegimizi biliyor. Kotmish, teklifini yabana atmiyor.

“Geceligi kaca verirsin?”

“Size on euro olur”

“Cok istiyorsun, in biraz”. Bir onceki gece, Marmaris’te bu fiyatin bes katini odedigimizi soylemiyoruz tabii. Turkluk damarimiz tutuyor.

“Tamam, dokuz olur. Bizde teklif var, israr yok. Dusunun tasinin.” Son anda aklina gelmis gibi, elini gomleginin on cebine atiyor.

“Alin bu da kart vizitim-pansiyonun adresi, telefon numarasi, hersey var. Olur da karar verirseniz bir alo demeniz yeterli.”

Icimden “Basit bir Rodoslu ama Ingilizcesi ne kadar iyi” diyorum. Mike’in kederli gozlerini uzerimde hissettigimde, mahcup oluyorum, nedense elim ayagim dolasiyor. Mike, tanistigim ilk Yunan. Sayisiz Amerikali, Fransiz, Ingilizle tanistigimda zerre kadar heyecanlanamayan ben, suvasu dokuk bir pencere pervzinda haylaz haylaz oturan bu celimsiz Yunan karsisinda heyecanlaniyorum. Ictenlikle el salliyorum.

“Hoscakal Mike,umarim gene gorusuruz.”

Yabanci turist kaynayan Socratous sokagindan kaleicinin arka sokaklarina dogru ilerliyoruz. Daha dogrusu, bir dalga kiran gibi, onumuzdeki insan dalgalarini yararak yolumuzu bulmaya calisiyoruz. Bir yandan surukledigim bavulla ve yavru gokdelen gibi sirtimdan yukselen sirt cantamla cebellesiyorum, bir yandan beni dort bir yandan kusatan hengameye, hali dukkanlarina, egzotik Hint yastiklarina, filozof biblolarina, el yapimi haclara, ucuncu kalite yagli boya tablolarina kapiliyorum. Alelacele firca darbeleriyle cizilmis bir tabloyu gozume kestiriyorum- Rodos’un rihtimini susleyen uc beyaz yel degirmeni. Ilgilendigimi fark eden satici kosarak yanima geliyor. Bu tablolari oldugu yerde, Rodos’ta, begendigimi soylemek istiyorum ama dilim tutuluyor – Washington DC’deki mobilyasiz apartmanima Rodos’un degirmenlerini asacak degilim ya? Dunyada tablo mu kalmadi?

“Cok pahali, alamam.”

“Sana uygun bir fiyat yapariz. Sen yeter ki begen.”

“Hadi aldim diyelim, koca tabloyu nasil tasirim, yollarda mahvolurum. Yolum ne kadar uzun bilsen. Ta Amerika’dan geliyorum.”

Bu ulkeyi hic duymamis gibi bakiyor. Acaba telaffuzum mu yanlis? Derken, perspektiften bihaber bir boyaci-ressamin uc-bes renkle, kaba firca darbeleriyle (belki de bir duvar fircasiyla!) on bes dakikada cizdigi o korkunc tablo, kalin cercevesinin icinden cikariliyor, ozenle kucuk bir rulo haline getiriliyor, cantamin tepesine sikistiriliyor. Henuz kalacak yerim bile yok, bense mantigimi devre disi biraktim bile. Herkul gibi altinda iki buklum oldugum sirt cantamda, itinayla rulo haline getirilmis minyatur bir Rodos tasiyorum! Cebimden kirisik banknotlari cikarirken, kendime cikisiyorum: “Hayir deme sanatini ogrenmeliyim”! Kendi kendime soz veriyorum, bir sonraki qiosk’a girdigimde, sanatci ruhumu kendime saklayacagim. Birden, Kotmish’i kaybettigimi fark ediyorum. Etrafa bakinmama firsat kalmadan, tanidik bir ses duyuyorum. Gene, mukemmel zamanlama! Mike, bisikletiyle kalabaligi yarmaya calisiyor, bir yandan da, agir agir, yanibasinda yuruyen Fransiz turiste, olaganustu manzarali pansiyonunu methediyor. Rodos kucuk yer! Birden beni goruyor.

“Kocan nerde? Ona soyle, cok sey kaciriyor. Benimle gelirseniz size pansiyonuma kadar gotururum. Begenmezseniz cekip gidersiniz.” Kotmish’i arayacagima-nasilsa bulamaycagim- Mike’in pesine takiliyorum. Bir kac metre sonra, Kotmish, kan ter icinde bize yetisiyor-belki o da ucuncu kalite bir Rodos tablosuna kavustu. Iki yorgun jon Turk, cenesi dusuk bir orta yasli Fransiz ve bir bezgin Yunandan olusan grubumuz yola koyuluyor.

Mike’in pansiyonuna varir varmaz, heyecanla haykirmamak icin kendimi tutuyorum. Belki de haykiriyorum: “Rodos’u Rodos yapan yerlerden biri bu!” Benimki, yillardir gokdelenlerin golgesinde yasayan bir sehirlinin tepkisi.

Her yani kocaman kaktuslerle, kirmizi beyaz sardunyalarla orulu asmali bir avlu. Minyatur bir botanik bahcesi. Masanin altinda, yesil gozlu bir Rodos kedisi, uykulu gozlerle beni suzuyor-geldigime pek de sevinmemis bir hali var. Belki de siestasini boldum. Demek Rodos kartpostallarina konu olan o meshur kedi sensin.

“Pisipisi”

“…..”

“Pisipisi seni guzel pisi. Gel sana Istanbul simidi getirdim.”

“…..”

Mike’a pisipisi’nin yunancasini sorsam iyi olacak. Los avlunun icinde sakli minik pansiyonun hem saginda hem solunda iki dev ayna, hizalarinda duran iki dokuntu masayi yansitiyor. Dortkose, civisi cikmis, ahsap, eski pusku iki esya parcasi. Siline siline rengi atmis musamba ortulerle kapli. Hic bir ozellikleki yok. Varsin olsun, bu Akdeniz kosesini, Ikea’nin en luks mobilyalarina yeglerim. Tuketim toplumu denen olgu, neoliberal – radikal- kapitalizmin icimizde actigi boslugu doldurmak icin ciktiysa, Mike’in liman manzarali pansiyonu, bu hastaligin devasi – burada hic birsey yok, deniz, kedi ve huzurdan baska. Kuresellesme buraya da coktan sicramis, ancak adanin tamamini ele gecirememis. Sessizce, gokyuzunu seyrederek, ruhumuzu dinleyecegimiz yerler hala var. Tuhaf, aklima, siyaset bilimleri lisansustu egitimi gorurken, Environmental Public Policy (Cevre Kamu Yonetimi?) dersinde ogrendigim bir metafor takiliyor. Friedman’in unlu Lexus/zeytin agaci metaforu. Hatta, Ingilizce’nin azizligine ugrayarak birkac kere lexus ve cogulu lexuses’i agzinda geveleyen hocamiz, sonunda pes ederek “Yahu amma cetin cevizmis, lexus’un cogulu nedir cocuklar?” deyince, hinzirca: “Lexi, hocam!”diyorum. Hoca, etimolojik bulusumu begeniyor, araba literaturune boylece yeni bir sozcuk ekleniyor. Derste, profesorumuz, yok olan yerel kulturle, o kulturu tuketerek, koklerinden kopararak gelisen kuresellesmeyi simgeleyen ornekler bulmamizi istedi –lexus luksun, tuketim hayatinin, kuresel olanin, arzu edilenin, Amerikan ruyasinin metaforu. Zeytin agaci ise, koklerini yitirmeyenin, bozulmamis kulturun, yerel ve farkli olanin simgesi. Ayni metaforu, deniz diline, kumsalla bulusan dalga ya da dalgalarla suruklenen cakiltasi olarak cevirebiliriz. Ne de olsa kuresellesme, daha iyi bir hayat sloganiyla fabrika ciktisi mallarin, tekduzeligin, aynilasmanin dilinden konusuyor– oysa Rodos’un kiyilarina vuran her dalga dogal, kendine ozgu, saf. Uzaktan ayni gozukseler de, hic bir dalga, ondan oncekine ve sonrakine benzemiyor. Her dalga, sahile vurdugunda, kumun uzerinde kendi cizgisini ciziyor. Bir anlik. Goz kirpsak o ani kacirabiliriz, bir sonraki dalgaya kaliriz. Her dalga, denizin derinliklerinden surukledigi cakil taslari gibi, kendi oykusunu anlatiyor – sesi, kumsalda biraktigi kopuk izi, kiyiya carptiginda gordukleri, dinledikleri, denize goturdukleri farkli.

Tipki kumu kum yapan cakil taslari gibi. Kimi deniz gibi turquaz, kimi Rodos’un kiremitleri gibi kirmizi, kimi kirec beyaz, kimi mor, kimi yesil. Ufala ufala, buyuk bir kayadan kucuk bir cakiltasina, kucuk bir cakiltasindan da ufacik bir kum parcacigina donusseler bile, her biri kendi ozgunlugunu koruyor – rengi degismiyor. Belki de bu yuzden kumun rengini ifade etmekte gucluk cekeriz, kum rengi deyip cikariz isin icinden. Kum, icinde bin bir renkli cakil tasini barindiriyor. Ne ironik, kumsala vuran her minik dalga, sacimiza yapisan her minik kum tanesi, kendi ritmiyle, kendi dilinde, aynilasmaya meydan okuyor. Kumsalda dalgalara kulak veren rasyonel postmodern insan, neden bu kumsalin dilinden anlamiyor, neden deniz erkegine/kizina donusmuyor, neden balik adam/ kadin gibi dalgalarin icinde kaybolmuyor?...

Tuzlu ter damlalari, inci tanecikleri gibi, alnimdan yanaklarima, boynuma suzuluyor. Gunesin altinda, kendime zoraki bir eglence buluyorum: sokaktan gecen turistlerin hangi dilde konustugunu tahmin etmek. Acaba kum dilinden anlayan cikar mi? Mike’in kohne pansiyonunun onunde, Rodos’u kucaklayip “Zeytin agacim benim” demek isterdim. Ama biliyorum koylarinin masum golgesinde birer vahsi ‘lexus’ gizli: kuresellesmeyle yayilan bes yildizli tatil koyleri, luks oteller, betonlasmis sahil seritleri, aynilasmanin kacinilmaz yuzunu gosteriyor: istihdam- daha cok seye sahip olma-gelisme durtusu, beraberinde yapraklari dokulen bir kultur, ici bosalan bir yasam getiriyor. Bense, o sessiz gozlemciyim, henuz balik kadin degilim, ama denize atmak yerine kumsalda olume terk edilen deniz yildizlarinin farkindayim. Kuresellesmenin piyonuyum- bazen gonullu, cogu zaman gonulsuz. Kurallari ben koymuyorum diye kendimi teselli etsem de, Rodos’a gelis amacim turistik – bir filozofun dedigi gibi, en zor kararlar bile bizim secimimiz. Rodos benim secimim. Aksam olunca, kredi kartlariyla dolu cuzdanim dusuk belli XXI marka kotumun arka cebinde, Nokia cep telefonum elimde, Sony kameram boynumda, Rodos’un yerel, saf, bozulmamis kulturunu tuketmeye cikacagim. Zalim bir isgalci olsam, adaya zorla da olsa kendi degerlerimi, kulturumu getirecegim - oysa simdi? Uygar magarama, gokdelen manzarali apartmanima geri dondugumde adaya armaganim ne olacak, bu adada benden geriye ne kalacak? Cope atilan birkac fatura. Romeo restoraninda yedigim nefis Yunan yemeklerinin, ucak biletlerimin, manzarasina doyamadigim pansiyonun makbuzlari. Bir de kumsala cizdigim kocaman bir kalp. Kum dilinde konusma cabalarimin ozgun urunu. Icinde Yunanca Rodos yaziyor… Ama bir dalga, benden kalan butun izleri yok etmek istercesine, cizdigim kalbi sildi. Gozlerimi kapadigim bir anda. Poseidon herseyin farkinda.

Luks otelde kalmiyorum, tuvaleti banyosu ortak harap bir pansiyonda kaliyorum diye kendimi avutsam da ben de bu adaya basan binlerce “kultur orospusu”ndan biriyim. Ikilemin icindeyim:Geri donerken, lexus tarafim, yaninda kirk bes fotograf, denizati desenli bir album, on bes tane kartpostal, bronz bir ten goturecek. Ama icimdeki zeytin agci/dalga/cakiltasi, coktan kok salmis olacak. Sucluluk duygusuyla, son bir kez kumsala gelecegim, gecenin isiltisinda bir gel bir git diyen dalgalari dinleyecegim, sonra egilip denizden birkac cakil calacagim- bilmemne marka cantamin ic cebini, Rodos’un kumuyla, cakillariyla dolduracagim. Veda etmek zor olacak, ancak programlanmis bir robot Sinderella gibi (yoksa bir Stepford wife gibi mi?), saat on ikiyi caldiginda, eski kabagima, Amerika’ya - gormek istemedigim o ruyaya - geri donecegim.

“Love and Peace”. Tahta kapinin ustunde, misafirleri selamlayan tabelada, tebesirle yazilmis iki sozcuk: ask ve baris. Hemen yanibasinda, buyukce bir tabela daha asili: “Mike’in ve Annesinin Pansiyonu. Guzel adamiza hos geldiniz. Geri donerken, dostunuz Rodos’lu Yunan Mike’i hairlayin.” Bu pansiyonun catikatinda iki hafta kalsam, heyheylerim, cinlerim, seytanlarim alis veris merkezlerini ozleyecek, Starbucks’da buyuk boy karamelli frappucino icmeyi ozleyecek, alti seritli otobanlarda son hiz gaza basmayi, geceleri barlarda “sex on the beach” icmeyi ozleyecek, sonunda dayanamayip kosarak Washington DC’ye donecek – ben burada kalacagim – tenim adayla birlikte yanacak, kalbimin kentlesmis ritmi dalgalarin ritmine ayak uydurucak.

Kotmish, teras katindan bana sesleniyor: “Burayi seveceksin. Kohne ama manzara harika! Gel bak istersen.” Tam o esnada, bizimle birlikte gelen Fransiz turist, homurdanarak cikiyor. Cantalari ic tarafa surukluyorum – yerel kapkac kulturunde yetisen birinin guvensizligi. Bu esnada kabarik kuyruklu Rodos kedisi iki dev nesneyle bogusan bu kisa sacli, sehirli kadini suzmeye devam ediyor. Bu sicakta hangi deli kot pantlon giyer dedigini duyar gibiyim. Once derin bir nefes aliyorum, sonra “Toilets” tabelasini takip ederek, koyu sari binanin ic tarafina ilerliyorum. Tanidik bir cift kedi goz, beni sessizce takip ediyor. Yalniz, manzarali terasa cikmak, gorundugu kadar kolay degil. Ana binaya sonradan eklenen minik bolmeler, pansiyonu spiral merdivenli bir labirente donusturmus. Mike’in pansiyonu, sanki Emir Kusturitsa’nin Ak Kedi Kara Kedi filminden firlamis. Fasulyeyi tirmanarak gokyuzune cikmaya calisan parmak cocuk gibi, ben de kendime bir “fasulye” begenmeye calisiyorum. Hangi merdiveni secsem dogru terasa cikacagim? Koridorun karanliginda, onume cikan ilk merdivende karar kiliyorum. Bir basamam iki basamak, uc basamak… Ahsap doseme gicirdiyor. Burnuma kesif bir kuf kokusu geliyor. Gozlerim karanliga alisinca, daracik merdiven boslugunda yalniz olmadigimi goruyorum: carmiha gerilmis Isa, izdirap dolu gozlerle, beni selamliyor. Iki merdiven daha cikinca: dekoratif bir hac. Uc merdiven daha cikinca, solmus birkac resim: su celimsiz, biyikli genc adam Mike olmali, yaslica olanlar de anne babasi. Karisi, cocuklari yok mu? Kac yillik acaba bu resimler? En az otuz yil vardir, belki kirk. Mervidenler bitince ufak bir surprizle karsilasiyorum- burasi, ancak bes alti kedinin sigacagi buyuklukte minik bir teras/oda:icinde dort sandalye ve bir masadan baska hic birsey yok! Fasulyemin (!) beni yanlis yere cikardigini fark ederek, hemen geri donecek oluyorum ki, Mike asagidan haykiriyor: “Yanlis merdiveni sectin, asagi in, ben seni odana goturecegim!” Hemen iniyorum. Nefes nefese, Mike’i takip ediyorum. Mike, artik bezgin gorunmuyor, daha cok kizgin.

“Anlamiyorum, bu turistleri hic anlamiyorum.” Ellerini havaya kaldiriyor, caresiz gorunuyor.

“Daha ne verebilirim, zaten iki kurus para veriyorlar, onlara dunyanin en guzel manzarasini sunuyorum, bundan iyisini butun Rodos’ta, ne Rodos’u, dunyada bulamazlar, daha ne istiyorlar? Pazarlik yapiyorlar, burun kiviriyorlar!”

Telasla:“Mike, pansiyon cok guzel. Ben bayildim!” diyorum. Mike, beni duymuyor. Duysa da, duymazliktan geliyor. Umurunda degilim. Sonunda, teras katindayiz. Altin Rodos, ayaklarimin altinda.

Mike, gurluyor:“Onlara soyledim, sana da soyluyorum, su manzara dunyanin en guzel manzarasi.” Kafa salliyorum, ama ona katilmama firsat kalmiyor.

“Yok bu manzaradan guzelini bulabilirim dersen, seninle iddialasirim, bundan guzelini bulamazsin, derim.” Kendi kendine konusan bir deli mi, yoksa bir filozof mu? Ikisi arasinda fark var mi? Umutsuzlugundan, karamsarligindan, yorgun bakislarindan, vaktinde bir entellektuel olabilecegini dusunuyorum. Belki de dunyanin gidisati, Rodos’u turistlere pazarlamak, gecim sikintisi, onu bu hale getirdi. Birkac tahtasi eksik, eksi yuzlu bir ihtiyar. Ya da belki de dogustan deliydi. Kestirmek guc. Gonlunu hos tutacak diplomatik bir cevap ariyorum. Mike:

“Yanlis anlama, sitemim sana degil. Senden once gelenlere, bazen boyle tepem atiyor iste. Sana denk geldi. Bulmuslar mis gibi pansiyonu, hala burun kiviriyorlar. Ama siz rahat olun, begenirseniz kalin, begenmezseniz, caniniz sag olsun. Oyle ya, bazilari evet der, bazilari da hayir. Benim isim gonlunuzu hos tutmak.”

Kotmish’e manali bir bakis firlatiyorum. Bu monolog aksama kadar surebilir. Mike’i sevdim. Deli haliyle. Odamiz minik, sirin. Tertemiz beyaz nevresimler buyuk bir itinayla serilmis, duvarlar milattan once kalma hatiralik esyalar, posterler, haclar, mumlar, carmihlarla suslu. Bir zamanlar, burasi gencecik bir evmis, simdi ise yabancilara kendini sevdirmeye calisan yasli bir pansiyon.

“Mike, odamiz harika! Manzaraya bayildim! Burada kalacagiz.” Odaya bakmiyorum bile, Hayata kusmus bu Rodos’lunun yuzunu guldurmek istiyorum. Kotmish’le asagi iniyoruz, dilsiz kedinin yanina.

“Ben begendim, kalalim.”

Kotmish:

“Onunla pazarlik edecegim, birkac gece kalacagimiz icin, uygun bir fiyat isteyecegim. Kabul etmezse, baska bir yer bakariz.” Eyvah!

“Ama bence cok ucuz zaten, daha ne kadar indirebilir ki, ben kalalim diyorum.Hatta ben bavullari tasiyorum, sen de git yuzunu yika, nefes al. Uzun bir gundu.” Sinirli gulumsemem beni ele veriyor: Amacim, dusmanla yuzlesmeyi onlemek. Kotmish usteliyor:

“Gormuyor musun, adam delinin teki. Ileri geri konusuyor Bana neler anlatti bilsen. Ustelik, su yandaki gece klubunu gordun mu, geceleri amma gurultulu olur burasi, beni endiselendiriyor. O yasli Fransiz da o yuzden cekip gitti. Yorgun argin odamiza dondugumuzde, bir de uyuyamamak var”. Kotmish’le tartismak, Mike’la tartismaktan farksiz. Ic geciriyorum.

“Tamam, sen git Mike’la pazarlik yap. Madem gurultuden bu kadar endiselisin. Ben her yerde uyuyabilirim.” Yenilginin dili. Kotmish teras kata cikiyor. Icimden, ona sans diliyorum. Bes dakika, on dakika, on bes dakika geciyor. Pansiyona giren, pansiyondan cikan yok. Yoldan iki Ingiliz turist, elinde haritasiyla adayi desifre etmeye calisan dalgali sacli esmer bir kiz, uc Alman, bir de sisman Amerikali geciyor. Sonunda Kotmish balkondan sesleniyor: “Mike ortadan kayboldu. Onu bekliyorum.” Biraz sonra, nefes nefese, yanimda bitiyor:

“Mike yok. Her yere baktim, onu bulamadim. Biraz daha bekleyelim, sonra gidelim baska bir yer bakalim kendimize. Dedim sana, adamda bir tuhaflik var.” Ikimiz de avazimiz ciktigi kadar bagiriyoruz

“Mike!”

Ses yok.

“Mike!”

Ses yok. Dilsiz kedi, tembel tembel esniyor. Biktim sizden der gibi, buyuk bir amforanin icinde kok salan cingene pembesi sardunyalarin arasina, oradan da terasa zipliyor. Oglen sicaginda, Mike’in Pansiyonu, terkedilmis bir gemi gibi, bizi yanitsiz birakiyor.

2007-04-02T18:28:00.000-07:00

Our Little Miss Sunshine. She now learned her second word, abbu, after her first one, ahguu, and she is a happy baby. She developed an early interest in Vogue magazine, a critical one, I might add, as I found her tearing and devouring the fashion pages with great appetite! Ahgu for now.

2007-03-04T17:11:00.000-08:00

Our Lalita's first time in her pink stroller. We are planning to introduce her to the cultural vanguard and museums in Washington - can't wait for her to grow a little bit more, but not too much :)

Lalita, Kotmich and Me

2007-02-28T13:27:00.000-08:00

This has been a crazy four months for me - and while I have lived under the illusion that my life has not changed all that much - meaning I can still read my favorite political biographies, latest being a 900-page JFK: A Biography by historian Michael O'Brian, meaning I can still go to Starbucks for my soothing mocha session once a week, meaning Kotmich and I still have movie nights once our Lalita falls asleep at the usual time, 7 pm - well, leave aside all that, my life is not the same anymore. I am at home, caring for a kicking and screaming (literally -she is a soprano) baby which happens to be mine :). Among the thousands of things we can no longer do with Kotmich are:
* Dining out in our favorite Adams Morgan or Du Pont Circle or Pentagon City spots, completely aimlessly and wondering what to do next.
*Chilling out inTryste - an entel dantel type of salash coffee shop where you can cozy up unnoticed by anyone on an antique smelly sofa, and enjoy your latte - completely un-Washington type of a rare experience (yup this place is too bureaucratic)
* Movie nights - they were our favorites, especially the shallow science fiction types and James Bond movies, they are down the shute too. The max we can do is rent a DVD and watch it with subtitles on, since the baby might wake up if the noise is too loud.
* Having meaningless excruciating and cathartic philosophical dialogues with spouse - we can only pause from our daily routines for a brief hi and bye accompanied by half a glass of Merlot, and then it is time for our movie, a quick supper, or a Starbucks.... No time for procrastinating and meaningless fluff.
Having said that, baby is growing and beginning to peep into the pages of the book I am reading - she is also learning when it is time for lunch and when it is time for play. She has discovered her hands can hold a rattle and today for the first time we went outside to say hi to Sun and birds and melting snow - she seemed to enjoy it, next time will be more fun.

*

2007-02-21T17:48:00.000-08:00

This was sent to me by a close friend, and of course, this one is dedicated to my female friends:

MAYA ANGELOU'S BEST POEM EVER
>
> WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ...
> enough money within her control to move out
> and rent a place of her own even if she never wants
> to or needs to...
>
>A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
> something perfect to wear if the employer or date of her
> dreams wants to see her in an hour...
>
>A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE
...
> a youth she's content to leave behind....
>
>A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
> a past juicy enough that she's looking forward to
> retelling it in her old age...
>
>A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
> a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black
> lace bra...
>
>A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
> one friend who always makes her laugh... and one who
> lets her cry...
>
>A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
> a good
piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone
> else in her family..
>
>A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
> eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a
> recipe for a meal that will make her guests feel honored...
>
>A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
> a feeling of control over her destiny...
>
>EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
> how to fall in love
without losing herself..
>
>EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
> HOW TO QUIT A JOB,
> BREAK UP WITH A LOVER,
> AND CONFRONT A FRIEND WITHOUT RUINING THE FRIENDSHIP...
>
>EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
> when to try harder... and WHEN TO WALK AWAY...
>
>EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
> that she can't change the length of her calves,
> the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents..
>
>EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
> that her
childhood may not have been perfect...but its
> over...
>EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
> what she would and wouldn't do for love or more...
>
>EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
> how to live alone... even if she doesn't like it...
>
>EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
> whom she can trust,
> whom she can't,
> and why she shouldn't
> take
it personally...
>
>EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW..
> where to go...
> be it to her best friend's kitchen table...
> or a charming inn in the woods...
> when her soul needs soothing...
>
>EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
> what she can and can't accomplish in a day...
> a month...and a year...
>
>SEND THIS TO 3 WOMEN....
> You will have good luck for an entire day.
>
>SEND THIS TO 6 WOMEN....
> You will have good
luck for all of the year or if
> nothing else... you know that you are truly
> loved and thought of by the friend who sent this to
> you...and that she only wishes the best for you and your
life.

2007-02-13T16:57:00.000-08:00

Lara: our baby. And as for what else is going on in our life, today is the first winter day, snowed the entire night and so much snow accumulated that many of our neighbors decided to stay at home. It it is a beautiful crystal snow day, and while I am mostly indoors, this is not stopping me and my baby girl from enjoying the magnificent view out of my bedroom window.

2007-02-09T13:32:00.000-08:00

The Mystique of Life

The few moments I have for myself are dedicated to the other woman who lives within me. For the last couple of years, reading has been my blood and flesh, and I seriously doubt I would feel as strong had I not been acquainted - from books - with some of the most powerful, legendary women profiles of Washington DC. Those are women without whom Washington would simply be quite a different place. Accidentally coming to the place which is famous for its statuesque female characters - literally - tilted my perspective towards female prowess. One woman, for example, Alice Roosevelt Longworth, is so notorious she is also known as "the other Washington Monument". Of course, they were usually born into great wealth and privilege, hence they could be who they are - while most of the rest of us choose to be conformists and followers of our times. So, speaking of the other woman within, I wonder if she exists, and if she does, what is the course of action she would take in this moment of life to achieve her hopes.

2007-02-05T18:22:00.000-08:00

Where to begin? It has been a long time, and my life before Lara (Lala or Yaya as we call her) now seems a distant memory. Our three month old baby girl is growing each day, and I find myself watching her grow with a silent melancholy, thinking of each passing second as a second bygone, a moment lost to time, a moment I shared with my baby. Every day is a new one with a baby, yet it is true that they grow so fast, you can't help but realize even in your sleep-deprived state that the day will come when Lala will no longer be the baby she is now. Right now, it is dark and windy outside, she is sleeping peacefully in her crib, finally able to sleep through the night - more or less. I had read in a book "Just when you think you have become a Zombie, your baby will sleep through the night." How true! I have already started to think of activities for Lala, and swimming seems like a good start. I am planning to introduce her to swimming when she is 9 months old, and if she likes it, we will keep it up. I also cant wait for her to grow for a couple of more months, so that I can start oil-painting again. My idea is to put her in a baby sling facing forward and let her draw along with mommy - using her hands as brushes.

2006-10-18T10:36:00.000-07:00

Lobsters, fine art and me....What an interesting trio. Last night's graphic design class was by far the most enjoyable - I am beginning to get into the "graphic designer" mood, and the only thing I am lacking is the skills :). I think the moment I decided I liked the class was when I realized we were all girls in a class of 20, and everyone looked unique in their own relaxed and creative way. I was so alien to this whole graphic design thing that when I enrolled, I had never heard of something called print design, and assumed all graphic design is digital and computerized. So imagine my surprize when in the first five minutes the instructor told us we would have drawing assignments - using liners, transparent paper etc. I was slightly disappointed because what I wanted to learn was not The Fine Art of Graphic Design (this was indeed the title of the class on the syllabus, apparently I had not paid much attention to it), but software programs used by graphic designers. Something like a class teaching Illustrator for Idiots. This never happened as we started the session discussing typography, the art of creating intelligent visual appeal through the use of letters, fonts, etc. It turns out, mastering the art of typography will help us design brochures and logos. To make sure I understood correctly, I asked the instructor at the end of the first class, and she confirmed this was "print design", and we were going to learn the basics of it. Now that I am in the middle of the course, I made a few friends and one of them told me she was equally surprized, but then a very good graphic designer/instructor told her that the class taught the essentials of true graphic design - the classic approach, if you will. Knowing how to be visually critical and alert is more important than knowing how to use Illustrator, and if you know all fonts from memory and where to use what font, then Illustrator will only be your tool, he said to her.
The next thing we will learn is colour codes, page layout and the print process. For now, I am busy drawing a logo consisting of the letters of a lobster. This is the last assignment our instructor handed out, and it tells all about visual creativity and fun: draw a lobster out of its letters, L,O,B,S,T,E,R. And if this is too difficult for some of us, we are allowed to use all letters in the alphabet. I picked the second option and the lobster is nowhere in sight yet.

2006-10-06T19:13:00.000-07:00

I usually do not feel like writing about hollywood movies such as Spiderman, or King Kong for that matter; let alone write raving reviews on them! But ahem, today I will make an exception. For King Kong. No I did not fall in love with the giant beast. And no, I found the part with the giant animated dinosours, insects and what not totally lacking in mystery, no intelligent design there as far as I could see, only huge parts of teeth, gaping jaws as big as a garage entrance...So, given all this, I must say I was surprized by how delightfully Feminine Mystique the movie was! I was nagged at least several times during the movie by a feeling that the script had been written by a critical theorist - the kind I dont usually see in movies, and imagine my surprize to find it in, of all places, King Kong; and it wasn't even subtle. The beautiful woman who was initially and deliberately portrayet as helpless, jobless and optionless (I had resigned to the fact that I would watch something of the type of Spiderman, so it did not bug me that she would be the heroine to play the mindless happy victim, see, it was a late night and I had nothing to do) is transformed within half an hour into something I had not expected from this movie - a funny, intelligent, self-confident, and VERY powerful woman. More powerful, in fact than the gorilla, which, while male and giant and strong, turns out to be the weakest character in the movie. And the society is portrayed as this unthinking, cheap, cruel place which makes you want to go back to the horrifying, terrible Skull Island, a piece of undiscovered land, full of the most horrifying natives I have seen, they looked like dead people but were alive. This is where the first half of the movie takes place, and it is interesting how both worlds at the end appear so similar, in fact, Skull Island might even be better - with the sunsets, ocean view, uncomplicated and pretenseless cruelty, assuming we are not going to meet the dead looking living skull tribe. Beauty and strenght are interesting concepts, and this movie played them out beautifully.

2006-09-09T18:27:00.000-07:00

I said I was enjoying the cool weather thanks to hurricane Ernesto. Well, I didn't know then that Washington DC was on the direct path, and hence made plans to go to New York. Funny, when I think about it :). Of course, we ended up not going, Old Town and the Starbucks on the waterfront as usually got flooded - this is a miniflood, they close for a few hours, clean up, and reopen, but on the wall of that Starbucks - I think it is one of the few Starbucks Cafes with a soul - hang a few older photos showing people canoing to that Starbucks for their morning coffees! So, yes, it gets flooded regularly, but nothing as serious as that one time shown in the photos. Instead of going to New York, we ended up in a coffee shop in Old Town, watchin the rain pour down, I was reading a boring novel titled the Saint Of Insipient Sanities, the author is Turkish, so I have to give her credit in writing and getting published in English. This week passed by quickly with my childbirth classes, which Levent and I both attent. This is only the first of six sessions. We are both learning a lot, and it is nice to know there is someone who knows what to do besides myself, especially if that someone is your partner. I miss my old friends and I wish there was a way I could meet with them, if only for half an hour, but we are scattered all over the world quite literally and blogging is the only means to communicate. Sad. Do we really not have any time to write letters?

2006-08-31T19:27:00.000-07:00

Heading to New York, one more time, but this time we plan to camp, enjoy the cool weather thanks to Ernesto hurricane - and then do downtown stuff. Ah, it is late, I am really tired, and will write more when I am back!

2006-08-17T17:32:00.000-07:00

How would you describe an ocean wave? As a sound, an event, a fact, a thing? I for one would opt for the sound, because this is what is still with me after a one day mini-adventure at the Atlantic coast, specifically Bethany Beach. That day I discovered that the Atlantic is an "unlucky" ocean compared to the Pasific, because it does not have a sun set. The sun sets on the Western horizon. Yet, the same sun rises over the Atlantic, so if I am on the beach early early in the morning, this means I will finally be able to catch a glimpse of this....eh, no I will not use magical as I overused it in my blog and elsewhere, wondrous.., let me check the thesaurus in a sec, ok, this means I will finally be able to catch a glimpse of this wondrous vastness. For us, a one day trip meant we were at the beach around 5 pm, had only 2 hours to enjoy the ocean, and then felt compelled to leave Bethany Beach for Ocean City - and this is where the wondrous vastness was awaiting us, where we were least expecting it. Behind a barely noticeable roadside restaurant that we randomly picked because we had to eat. There was a long line of hungry vacationers in front of it, yet we were determined to set our foot in. Not just because we were hungry but because we noticed why all these people were waiting. BJ's was on the water, overlooking the West, and on the horizon, right behind the swamp on which our deck extended, was the vastness: it was the perfect time and place to watch the sun set in the wilderness. In the swamp glimmering beneath us, geese and ducks and seagulls were paddling in peaceful coexistence, we laughed at the Canadian geese, which looked elegant and funny and a little lost as they tried to reach the grass at the bottom of the swamp with their long necks - their bodies occasionally bumped into each other, unable to see the traffic above. We had to wait for 40 minutes before a table was ready for us, and by pure chance, it overlooked the red giant sun slowly sinking into the horizon. Next time, I know what I will do - arrive early enough to catch the sunrise.

2006-08-15T08:22:00.000-07:00

2006-08-11T09:59:00.000-07:00

Back on track. I have discovered a nice bookstore in Connecticut Ave, Washington DC, Politics and Proze, which features book reading events every night, I called to inquire about tonight's event and I learned that it is a public event, first come first serve basis, caffee downstairs, and book signing by the author in the end. I look forward to attending the event tomorrow if not this evening, sounds promising and very Washington-esque. There are other events that I am eagerly anticipating. Visiting the National Portrait Gallery is a beginning, in fact I already voted for my favorite portrait online. It is a portrait of a homeless man, titled Portrait of George Guillaume, it touched me more than some other paintings which were technically perfect, but had little to say to me, for instance a portrait of the painter himself standing behind a glass door. Of course, painting so brutally realistically must require great skill, but I stil find it,eh, brutal and cold. I would prefer something that has some level of social warmth in it rather than cruel objectivity. There is so much pain and suffering and what not going on in the world. I guess I am not a great fan of art for the sake of art. I loved the Portrait of George Guillaume because that is the portrait of the man about whom I would love to write a book about one day - and somebody already told the whole story on a simple canvass. Here is what the artist, Kris Kuksi, said about why he painted George:

George Guillaume is a homeless man seen by many but known to few in our community. He has become a great subject for my work many times over. He possesses a distinctive and timeless look that inspires me to capture and celebrate in a great work of art. George is a humble man, always willing to help me in the studio. He has never accepted anything in return, though he is fond of chocolate chip cookies. He is a religious man, often reciting stories from the Bible and passing along words of wisdom as only he can. George truly feels God provides for him despite his woes and lack of personal possessions. I consider George a genuine individual with passion for life and compassion for those he encounters. To many, George may seem easily dispensible to society. I consider him a close friend. It has been a true pleasure making his acquaintance. My approach to this particular portrait was size. I rarely work in this small a format. However, I felt that this was critical in my portrait of George. I considered a realistic take on him in order to capture his weathered appearance. I wanted to accentuate his wrinkles and age as well as the wonderful textures within the beard. This piece, at a size of only 6 inches by 6 inches, lures the viewer into an intimate look at a man like George Guillaume, homeless and humble. The blue-gray negative areas around him suggest a cold world, and create a feeling of isolation. The garment which George wears creates senarios from hospital patient to perhaps a holy man. The lighting could be described as a single bare bulb just above, that further enhances feelings of solitude.

2006-08-06T18:18:00.000-07:00

Freaks was a thing I photographed a lot ... it had a terrific kind of excitement for me... Most people go through life dreading they'll have a traumatic experience. Freaks are born with their trauma. They've already passed it. They're aristocrats. Diane Arbus

Wasn't in the mood today to do much, too exhausted to go out by myself, was expecting to spend a nice afternoon with Kotmish outside, doing something nice, but looks like he has better things to do - like hang with biker friends and so I am stuck at home today, any ideas of how to spend quiality time by yourself? Listened to my favorite CDs, cooked a delicious dinner, dreamed a little, and dressed up even there is no occasion. It is amazing how clothes can transform us, and make us feel better for no reason. I definitely need a cat. In fact, being in Washington, I shouldn't be complaining, since I am %100 sure there are lots of activities to do in the area, open air amphitheatres, world renowned theatres, museums, cafes, what not. Yet ever since I came from Turkiye, I have not felt the smallest desire to go out and socialize as I used to - instead, I have been reading and writing - totally detached from the city I live in.

2006-07-29T08:56:00.000-07:00

We went to the Virginia International Racetrack last week - Kotmish and I, and amazingly, I wasn't bored to death: maybe just a little :) I learned a lot about racing - such as the importance of having clean lines on the track, being consistent, being courteous, no target fixation (this is critical), being fast is not the goal, especially if you are a beginner such as Kotmish is, you need to sacrifice some speed for riding the right way, and if the observer bikers who drive along with you like your performance then you are bumped, i.e. you are promoted to the Intermediate group, and then to the Advanced. Respecting the sport, in other words not being overconfident is paramount, or you may crash. Unfortunately I witnessed at least 5 crashes with my own naked eyes, and there were a dozen others. But Kotmish and his friends told me that this was not normal, they never saw so many crashes before. I noticed just one girl on the track, and she was doing quite well, not the fastest but following all the rules, and she was Intermediate.
We spent two nights at a nearby hotel, we were early birds - waking up at 5:30 a.m., we all (Kotmish, his friends and me) met at 6:00 a.m. at the lobby, where breakfast and coffee was already ready for us. We woke to the first rays of sunshine. The second day - we woke up very early, but there was no sunshine. While we were sleeping that night, we heard thunderstorms and it started to pour down cats and dogs around 4 a.m., so first thing we did when we woke up was to watch the weather channel, and the news was as bad as it could get: %60 of rain, with severe thunderstorms. This meant the day at the race track would be cancelled. In fact, it was raining as we were looking at hotel's beautiful patio with sad eyes. Still, it was a serene summer morning. I could almost feel the grass and greens around me sigh, in the cool of the dawn, I felt for a moment this was the best day of the entire summer, since I never wake up that early and thus miss the chance of seeing drops of dew on the grass. Usually, by the time I wake up the sun is so high up in the sky, it is nothing but yet another freaking hot day.
Anyway, we got lucky that day - eventually it stopped raining and the clouds slowly dispersed by noon. While some bikers left because they felt the day was ruined, most stayed, determined to race - we stayed. As a result, it was one of Kotmish's most productive performances on the track - he almost got bumped from B to I, but this is another story.
Besides that, I am quite busy these days looking for a nice 3 level townhome to rent - hopefully we are finally becoming a large family this year and will stay like that!

2006-07-25T17:43:00.000-07:00

This is a poem dedicated to Bozcaada (Tenedos), an Aegean island for which Heredot said: "God created Bozcaada so that we live longer."

Bozcaada. A place of sorrow, a place of joy.
Somewhere far far away, a piece of land where we came together
the three of us, the lonely, the desperate and the hopeless. We came together and the wind was blowing, and just like waves barely touching their mother-land before returning to the sea, we touched each other briefly and for a painful moment our souls were one, three strangers looking into the endless sea, looking for an answer - why and when did we grow strangers to each other,
and when is that distant wave going to come back to us, to touch the sunburnt sand, and this time not with scorn and not with indifference, but with love? Love that only exists in books...and in the heart of a mother.

2006-07-18T07:32:00.000-07:00

I am back - not sure how I feel about it, my apartment is a mess and I am not sure I can deal with all the chores by myself. And this time I will try not to be critical (but I can't help it being a student of Bulent Aksoy). I don't even mind the deadly heat wave, tand on the good side, I can say I even missed the order here - order as in normal traffic, lack of chaos and absurdity. I realized being critical is a constant in the lives of people like me, most of my friends do it, and life is too short to try to crticize everything we believe is wrong with this world. So, I dedicate this post to all those light hearted blissful folks who live like squirrels (famous Turkish poet Orhan Veli's recipe of a happy life). I guess if I were a squirrel I would criticize all the same, the tree for not beeing tall enough, the nuts for not being soft enough, my fur for not being furry enough etc. Let's just live. Excuse me for a moment, I am going out to drown my consciousness in the river, and pick a tree to live on, will be back in a sec. The girl who doesn't want to burn anymore.

2006-06-12T15:33:00.000-07:00

Turkiye, Ben Senden Vazgectim

Ben senden vazgectim. Bir gun, bavulumu topladigimda, arkama bakmadan seni terk ettigimde ben senden vaz gecmistim. O zaman agladim, evet, ama senden ayrildigima degil, kendi hayatima agladim. Cekip gitmek zorunda olusuma, her gun yabanci topraklarda bin defa olup bin defa dirilisime agladim. Yalnizligima agladim. Kimsesizligime. Orda, o yabanci ulkede, kendim gibilerle bir araya geldigimde anladim yurtsuz oldugumu. Donecek bir yerinin olmamasinin ne demek oldugunu. Bir gun, bir ev yemeginde, seni elestirdim. Onca Amerikali ve Turkun yaninda, gozlerimin onune birden belediye otobuslerinde seyahat eden zayif insanlar geldi. Nerden geliyorlardi? Nereye gidiyorlardi? Camdan yorgun gozlerle bize, sokakta el ele yuruyen asiklara baktiklarinda akillarindan gecen neydi? O aksam, kalbim konustu. Turkiyeyi sudan ucuz tatil beldeleriyle, mavi denizi, altin kumsaliyla taniyan, varoslara yolu dusmeyen yabancilara Turkiyeyi anlattim. Sozde Turk arkadaslarim (!) gozlerime yansiyan tabloyu inkar etti. Agiz birligiyle, Turkiyenin bir cennet ulkesi oldugunu soylediler. Sesimi bastirdilar. Beni vatan hainligiyle, Turkiyeyi sevmemekle, belki yeterince Turk olmamakla sucladilar. Tipki Bushun Amerikanin gidisatini elestirenlere --siz yeterince vatansever degilsiniz --demesi gibi. Amerikalilarsa saskindi. Islerine gelmeyen bir gercegi duymus gibiydiler. O aksam kendimi biraz daha yalniz hissettim cunku o uzak ulkede, ben Turkiyeyi rencide etmistim, rezil etmistim. Belki oradaki Turklerin gozunde, onlara sahsen saldirmistim. Varostakilere degil de onlara yoksul demistim sanki. Evet, yoluma yalniz, yapayalniz devam edecektim.
Ama ne gariptir, icimdeki kok salma arzusuna karsi koyamadim, bir ay once Turkiyeye geri dondum. Simdi, Catalcada, zifiri karanligin sessizliginde, yaziyorum. Burada gecirdigim ilk dort haftayi degerlendiriyorum. Bir yabancinin, kalbine buzdan igneler saplanmis bir yabancinin, gozleriyle, gozlemliyorum. Gorduklerim herseyiyle oteki dunya. Ucuncu dunya demeye dilim varmasa da, bu ucsuz bucaksiz carpikliga anlam veremiyorum. Istanbulun guzelligini anlamak icin turistler gibi saraylari mi gezmeli sadece? Bogazici Universitesinin Guney Kampusune mi hapsetmeliyim kendimi? Bebek Besiktas Etiler ucgeninde mi nefes alip vermeliyim? O zaman, ben de o gece bana karsi cikanlar gibi, inanacak miyim Turkiyenin kusursuz, dokunulmaz bir kutsal toprak parcasi olduguna? Ortakoyde bir banka oturdugumda, kumpirimi yerken, karsimdaki bankta, hic tanimadigim bir erkegin tirnak makasiyla tirnaklarini keserek beni suzmeyecegi ne malum? (Bu gercekten de gecen gun basima geldi).
Burada yasadigim kultur soku, disariya adimimi attigim anda basliyor. Sanki belediye cop servisleri calismiyor, her yer cop dolup tasiyor. Kirli bezler, bos pet siseler, sigara kartonlari, dondurma cubuklari, gofret paketleri... Buna oturup kafa dinleyecegimiz kafeler, parklar da dahil. Kafe sahipleri, o kadar vurdumduymazlasmis ki, musterinin parasini almayi biliyor ama masanin etrafini --susleyen-- copleri toplama zahmetinde bulunmuyor. Kafeye gelenler o kadar cevresinden kopuk ki, o coplerin icinde cayini, mesrubatini icmekten memnun. Bunlar benim arastirmadan, dusunmeden, gunun gundemine dalmadan gorduklerim. Uzaklari degil, kendi cevremi yaziyorum. Catalcanin girisinde, dolmusla her gectigime hayranlikla baktigim asirlik bir cinar yukseliyor. Govdesi belki bes cinara bedel. Bugun tesadufen her zamanki yoldan degil de arkasindan yuruyus yapacak oldum, sok oldum. Cunku uzaktan yemyesil dallari, ucsuz bucaksiz golgesiyle beni buyuleyen cinarin govdesi oyulmustu, ici cop, izmarit, bira kutulariyla doluydu! Sabah yurusume keyifle baslamistim ancak keyifle tamamlayamadim.
Yazdiklarim, bu huzunlu ulkeyi birkac gunlugune ziyarete gelen, isi biter bitmez cekip gidecek birinin kaleminden cikiyor. Belki bu ulke kismen de olsa benim yuzumden bu durumda. Bir suclu ariyorum ama bulamiyorum. Buyuk harfli kulture hic girmeden bitirecegim sozumu, tek istedigim bu birkac gun boyunca, her adim attigim yerde cop gormemek. Keyifle, yalnizligimi paylasan cinarlarin altinda, gazetemi okumak. Belki birseyler yapmaliyim. Birilerine mektup yazmaliyim. Insanlari seferber etmeliyim, en basitinden bir cop toplama kampanyasi baslatmaliyim. Bunu yapmak yerine, sessizlige gomuluyorum. Sanki duygusal bir felc gecirdim, hissedemiyorum...

Ben bu ulkeden coktan vazgectim.

2006-05-27T03:45:00.000-07:00

Still Burning

No I was determined I would not post from Istanbul. Not that there is nothing to tell here on the other side of the world, but simply because I feel all has been said and done. And if I do write, I said to myself, it should be more than just day to day ruminations. For some reason I feel Istanbul, this sad sad beautiful city, deserves an article like the one I read in the Cultural Studies reader. It is titled Building on Disappearance. The author tells the story of Hong Kong and how the dısappearance of the local, traditional and historical in Hong Kong is used by preservationists to actually destroy the city's past by legitimazing this act of destruction and isolating the real city into tiny historic sites. Like putting history in the zoo along with other animals for display. I never looked at preservation from this angle. Before I even read the article, the other day I walked through Old Catalca (Eski Catalca) and I noticed those beautiful konaks, now on the verge of collapse, none restored. Amidst the ugliness of modern buildings, these outdated silent houses stood on their own. I even thought to myself, If I were rich I would buy one of those historic houses, restore it, and live in it. Then coincidentally I read this article on disappearance. This is how I came up with the idea of writing something that will leave trace in Istanbul's rapidly disappearing reality - identity - beauty. I think it is a huge irony that the poor marginalized Roma live in these old cities while we are confined into new cities of ugliness. In apartments that do not breathe.

2006-04-24T08:30:00.001-07:00

Good Bye Washington

I am leaving within a few days for Istanbul. I am planning to stay for as long as I have to, lots of things to do. I would like to say goodbye for a short while with the following excerpt by Sara Veglahn:

I think you are gone perhaps. Going, yes, but you never left, never left often enough, never disappeared from here, never departed, you have gone away, ran off, I am going, I am leaving, I am going away, you could stay here, keep on here, continue, wait, stop.

2006-04-21T19:27:00.000-07:00

Of Scenic Routes, and Holly Techniques.

Today's blog is about Kotmish, aka Tursu as in picles, aka Levent - who besides other things also happens to be my boyfriend, well, technically hubby, but I find the official title a little too formal. Yes I still live in the 90s, in that dove white rambler in Rumelihisarustu. What I really wanted to say is that he transformed himself from the ugly ducklet into quite a handsome...well...biker. I initially watched his flirting with his second hand Honda bike with my female pride and ignorant admiration. He takes me on road trips via panoramis routes in Washington DC, like the George Washington Parkway, which overlooks Georgetown and the Potomac - it is even called the "scenic route", DC is so green it looks like a jungle. I was indeed happy to drive every morning through thick woods, curvy highways - I once even ended up in a restricted zone, realized it is the Pentagon, had to back with panic, another friend of mine ended up in the CIA compound in the same way, and was gently told to back up her car. These small ordeals notwithstanding, I always feel my spirit is uplifted as I enjoy the riverside, grand historic mansions, monuments and bridges on my way. Now, using or discovering similar scenic routes, we ride together to Georgetown, have a quick cup of latte, and ride back home. Well, here is where the fairy tale becomes a cabbage tale: my enthusiasm has been curbed slowly as Levent found fast and furious biker friends. Now they go to race tracks, or ride to perfect what Levent calls the "technique", and what I call "the holly technique", because he seems so taken by his passion to perfect this technique. He tells me about it after every weekend ride with his biker friends. On top of that, now he has two other bikes, and I am afraid my relevance as a non-biker girl has made me a non-participant of those more "technical" rides. I think I picked the wrong hobby. I should have learned how to ride a bike, not how to sculpt Benjamin Franklin's head!

2006-04-13T09:42:00.000-07:00

For the last two days I have been immersed into an unlikely topic: Reading Puccini's life and how each of his operas came into life -- each took 10 years on an average(some 13!), he was a deeply unhappy, melancholic but gentle soul, I think I liked his person much more than his music! Well, I have never been an opera fan, so I am probably one of the last people to apreciate the beauty or hideousness of Tosca, Madame Butterfly, The Girl from The West, Turandot, La Boheme, and his other achievements. I was deeply moved by the utter misery he had to live through until he was 30, when he finally started earning some money to make a living - he was so poor that when he finally bought a bike, he wrote a letter to his boss and publisher, requesting the Publishing House to pay for the bike in installments, and at that time he was well over thirty, had a wife (mistress who abandoned her husband to live with him, to be more accurate), and a kid! His letters are beautiful and the most sorrowful things I have read - he always talks about how lonely and utterly misunderstood he is. The most touching anecdotes in the biography are the result of his down-to-earth character. He was not unapproachable like Verdi, no aristocrat, lived among peasants, communicated with them, and until much later, had no idea how popular he was. In his forties, he had gained world recognitiion, even in America he was announced as the most accomplished and highly paid composer of his time all over the world, all theatres were sold out for astronomical prices, and he had to sign autographs for fans! He was, in short, a celebrity, Giacomo Puccini. Yet when he went to France and met Emile Zola and a few other poets, he was so excited that in his letter to his friend he said--You can't believe what just happened, I met celebrities like Zola and they treated me as their equal. Now, would you expect that from a peasant and a third rate organ player like myself, eh?".

2006-04-07T08:45:00.000-07:00

Spring came at last - it is raining outside, soft breeze is gently ruffling my hair as I type, flowers and cherries blossom. Spring was here last weekend. We went to the Cherry Blossom Festival. We saw Washington DC at its most crowded, young dads and moms carrying on their shoulders the cutest babies I have seen, lovers walking hand in hand, unskilled but extremely handsome artists trying to paint the cherry trees. The city owes this international festival to the Japanese, who a long time ago planted several hundreds of cherry trees alongside the Potomac, transforming this city, which is already reminiscent of ancient Rome, into a rosy, aromatic, even exotic place. All those university students enjoying the scene on the grass, and the cheerful youthful crowd surrounding them reminded me of the Bogazici University reunions, they were also in spring time, we had erguvans - the bright pink blossoms of trees in the campus, and we had the Bosphorus panorama - well, its wasn't ours, but it was free to enjoy. While the scene, and maybe even the reuinon itself is somewhat of a cliche, it brings back memories of tuna sandwich sessions at the Sosyete Kantin (what a funny name), finals, and surprizes.

2006-04-05T19:42:00.000-07:00

Misha's Cafe - I frequent that place so often that I almost started feeling an aversion to it! This is a picture of me reading the daily newspaper after breakfast on a late Saturday morning.

2006-03-30T14:25:00.000-08:00

Yasli Adam ve Benzin Pompasi

Kuf yesili araba, yasli bir adamin yorgunluguyla, US-1 otobanindan guneye dogru gidiyordu. Deposu bostu, on panelin benzin pompasi sekilli turuncu isigi yanali cok olmustu. Her an, oldugu yerde kalabilirdi. Colun issiz sicaginda bir adim oteye adim atmaya takadi olmayan biri gibi. Bu yolu cok iyi biliyordu: iki mil ilerde her zaman alis veris yaptigi carsi vardi, bir strip mall. Uc mil daha giderse, ondan biraz daha buyukce ikinci bir carsi gorecekti. Ancak bunlar, bildigi carsilardan degildi. Her biri, otekinin tipa tip aynisiydi. Dev ciplerin icinden cikan bezgin, besili, hantal insanlar bile ayniydi. O insanlardan bu ulkenin her yerinde vardi, ama bu semtte o insanlar cok daha fazlaydi. Sanki burasi karantinaya alinmis, veba salginindan sonra kendi haline birakilmis, bu betonun icine hapsedilmis bir bolgeydi. Kimi zenciydi, kimi Meksikali, kimi Arap. Kimi kara carsafliydi, kimi turbanli, kimi sortlu. Simdi de belki de o carsilardan birine gidiyordu.
Ilk kirmizi isikta durdu, sola sinyal verdi, U donusu yapti. Saginda, bes yuz arabayi alacak kadar buyuk, bos bir otopark vardi. Otopark, semtin olagan halini yansitiyordu. Terk edilmis, issiz, pis. Nisan gunesinin yalanci bir sicaklikla oksadigi asfaltin uzerinde, kirli bezler, plastik posetler, curuk meyve kabuklari, kagit parcalari, sigara izmaritleri, dunyanin kiri pasi yatiyordu. Otoparkin karsisinda, dort seritli otobanin kenarinda, bir kadin yuruyordu. Kara carsafliydi, onunde bir cocuk arabasi itiyordu. Siyah kiyafetin icinde, yola yansiyan sahipsiz bir golge gibiydi. Dortyola gelince, durdu, yesil isigin yanmasini bekledi, karsiya gecti. Deposu bos yesil arabanin, issiz otoparkin bulundugu yere dogru yuruyordu. Yalnizdi. Belki komsu ziyaretinden geliyordu, belki de cocugu rahatsizdi, ona ilac almaya cikmisti, muhtemelen arabasi yoktu, ehliyeti yoktu, cebinde belediye otobusune verecek para ya vardi ya yoktu, bu semtte yasayan cogu zenciden, kacak gocmenden farkli degildi. Otoparkin hemen yaninda, paslanmaya yuz tutmus bir benzinlik vardi. Bugunku trafigin hedefi iste uzerinde metalik pompalariyla, siyah deri hortumlariyla, kendi halinde musteri bekleyen bu dortgen beton parcasiydi. Ilk gorunuste, dokuntu bir yer olmasi disinda herhangi birsey dikkat cekmiyordu. Her benzinlik gibi, buraya da sadece isi dusenler gelirdi:ya butikten sigara, abur cubur alanlar, ya da kredi kartlariyla benzin alanlar. Ancak biraz dikkatli bakinca, isaretler ortadaydi: Gazoz, sigara, telefon karti satan Pakistanlinin butigi, kursun gecilmez koyu camlarin arkasindaydi. Pompalarin uzerine, gangsterlerin kol gezdigi semtlerde gorulen uyarilar asilmisti -- Odemeden cekip giderseniz, bedelini odersiniz. Yesil araba, son enerjisini bir pompanin onune park etmek icin harcarken, benzinlige bir misafir daha geldi: gercek olamayacak kadar huzunlu bir adam. Kambur degildi ama iki buklumdu, kiyafetleri rengini coktan yitirmisti. Sakali karman cormandi, saci bembeyaz ve daginikti. Yasli adam, salas benzinlikle coplu otoparki ayiran beton yukseklige dogru birkac mekanik, aglamakli adim atti, yere coktu, sirtini benzinlige dondu. Yuzu sanki otoparka bakiyordu ama aslinda hic bir yere baktigi yoktu, basi hafif egikti, hareketsizce oturmak disinda hic bir seye takadi yoktu, hemen onunde yatan kirli bir bez parcasi disinda hic bir seyi gordugu yoktu. Bu benzinlige, isi dustugu icin gelenlerden biri degildi. Gidecek baska yeri olmadigi icin gelenlerdendi.
Siyah carsafli kadin arabalar icin yapilmis asfalt yoldan benzin pompalarina dogru yururken, yesil araba golgede usulca beklerken, herkes kendi halindeyken, ilk bakista kimsenin aciklayamadigi bir sey oldu: issiz parkin, dokuntu pompalarin, gurultulu otobanin uzerinden bir sarki duyuldu. Sozleri, benzinligin icinde yankilaniyordu. You have got to be strong. Eski bir sarkiydi. Bir klasik. Elbette radyo bu sarkiyi defalarca kez calmisti. Ama bu sarkinin o anda, pasli pompalarin arasinda yankilanmasi, bu harap yere sihirli, belgeselimsi bir hava vermisti. Kuf yesili arabasina benzin pompalamak icin disari cikan kisa sacli, kadife pantlonlu kiz, sasirarak etrafina bakindi. O anda, elinde bir fotograf makinesi olsa, yasli adamin, arkasindaki dev otoparkin, cirkinligin, ve yaslinin hemen onunden yuruyen siyah carsafli kadinin fotografini cekerdi. Hepsi, bir saniyeligine, bir kareye sigmisti. Ama fotograf makinesi yoktu. Sihri uzatmak icin, kendi kendine, sarkinin sozlerini mirildandi: Cesur olmalisin. Guclu olmalisin. Sanki muzip bir D.J., gorunmez hoparlorlerden, o anda benzinlige yolu dusen uc yabanci icin bir sarki caliyordu.
Gercekustu, gercek olamayacak, Amerika olamayacak kadar huzunlu bu yerde, sevdigi sarkinin nerden geldigini kestirmeye calisti. Sihire inanmiyordu. Benzinlikte kendi arabasindan baska bir araba yoktu, gorunurde hoparlor falan da yoktu. Sonra gozu, bir kosede, adeta yikilmis gibi oturan bir insan figurune takildi: cevresine bakmayan, kimseyle konusmayan, derdini soylemeyen, dilenmeyen o yasli adama. Sonra, gordu. Yasli adam, buyuk, delik desik montunun eteklerinde, gumus renkli minik bir radyo sakliyordu. Bu sarki, yasli adamin, o anda orda bulunanlara armaganiydi.
Su bir dolari dort ceyreklik yapabilir misiniz lutfen?
Siyah carsafli kadin, Pakistanli adama, cantasindan cikardigi bir dolari uzatti. Siyah camin altindaki ufak delikten altin yuzuklu bir el uzandi, icinde dort ceyreklik tutuyordu. Kadin, dort demir parayi aldi, telasla bakindi, gec kaliyordu. Belediye otobusu, biraz ilerdeki duraga coktan yanasmisti. Kadin, bebek arabasini olabildigine hizli ittirerek, kosmaya basladi. O otobuse yetismeliydi. Sofor, bu sehrin butun otobus soforleri gibi siyahti. Bekledi. Herkes bindiginde bile otobusun kapilarini kapatmadi. Otobuse yetismek icin kosan siyah carsafli kadini bekledi.

2006-03-21T13:01:00.000-08:00

Not much to write about, brag about, or complain about these days - thanks to a winter that always seems endless, I have been reluctant to venture out. Instead, I prefer the coziness of my home, cooking spagetti, almost every night(I love spagetti!), reading Vogue and Instyle, and by the way I bought a few new books - one of them is Hippie - have not read it yet, but I know it is about my favorite era: the sixties. I am making plans to go to Turkey, visit family, Mediterrenean, friends - plunge into Turkey's oriental moments of chaos and tranquillity. I really missed being somewhere - anywhere. Ah, we have also been planning two trips in the US: to San Francisco and Woodstock, the town of Woodstock, which I hear still has something of its unique spirit. Lately, my total lack of interest in political science has been replaced by my interest in cultural studies, mostly inspired by Ilgin - my brother's ex-girlfriend. This reminds me, I promised her I will visit her in New York once winter is over, so I must start planning for a New York escapade as well- this time, on my own. I am dreaming of going back to Cafe Sabarsky - I am really not a fan of cultural icons, or landmark museums. Cities to me have a different appeal now that I am in my pre-culturalist mode - look at things you can't see at first sight, places you don't know about. What is the point of going to MEMO (Museum of Modern Art) and waste time among sculptures and religious paintings that have no connection to the place they belong to - I will definitely take my notebook with me this time.

2006-03-12T20:20:00.000-08:00

Pavlina and Douglas, my old friend from Kansas City, and her boyfriend from upper New York dropped by yesterday to take us flying with their cessna named Juliette. While we had discussed meeting in new York, this was a last moment visit, they flew in from New York, a 2,5 hour flight, to pick us from the Manasass National Airport. The airport is a small one. 4 or 6 seat planes routinely take off or land here. In the waiting room we found a complimentary magazine titled The Elite. It had a price tag on it, $35, but since it was displayed on the shelf as complimentary, we just took it. On our way back, after a long day, I scrolled down the first page. The Editor of the magazine explained why she was bullish on the jet set, and bearish on the carrier industry, meaning she fervently believed everyone must fly jets because commercial carriers are air buses, and when was the last time you were a source of inspiration for the air hostess?, and besides, private jets were getting more and more affordable for everyone. Well, maybe we should get one --- Once a cultural studies student, always a cultural studies student- here I am doing it again!
Anyways, the magazine, drinks in Manassas quaint Old Town, and sad good byes came last. What came first was the extreme anxiety attack. I am speaking on my behalf, for Pavlina is already flying the plane with the assitance of Douglas, including the hardest part --- landing. And Levent, well, the last time I saw him he was on the phone talking with a crazy biker friend of his on base jumping. His crazy friend told him he had already tried base jumping and was almost falling asleep. It wasnt nearly as exciting as speeding on a highway. So, given the facts on the ground, I decided to enjoy the flight, and try not to feel like I was being kidnapped. After a brief orientation which included some coded words and no fly zones, Pavlina and I hopped into the back seats, while Levent and Douglas took the front seats. Seeing Levent fly the plane with his own two hands did not help me overcome my anxiety! Happily, I forgot how scared I was at some point- it is too beautiful up there to really feel down or negative. My stomach was the only part of me that rejected the whole adventure from take off to landing. As for me, I was too happy to be on the back seat with Poly. We joked that with her white blouse and dark sunglasses, Pavlina looked like a congresswoman running for a political campaign, and I looked goofy like her PR manager. This was indeed like a scene from The Aviator, where Cate Blanchett and the aviator romanticaly drink milk at dawn – we had no milk, yet it was a beautiful day, no clouds, gentle wind, nothing but occasional planes flying overhead, and the tiny miniscule shadow of Juliette reflecting on a lake underneath. Our destination was charming Annapolis – a picturesque spot on the East Coast. We landed at the local airport, and walked to a conveniently located crab house. Our gang of four picked a big table outside, ordered Maryland Crabcakes with french fries, and spent the next hour or so discussing Levents newest photography projects, meeting in Albena, Bulgaria and having fun, and generally daydreaming. Wow, was this really happening? It had been ages since I last saw Poly, and I was sitting there with a giant red crab sign over my head. Not really talking, but traying to convince myself that only several hours ago, I would not imagine flying with her in a private airplane and having lunch in a completely different city.

2006-01-18T10:45:00.001-08:00

Last night, we had a classic DC experience: We discovered an exquisite DC-style activity, we got lost en route, we found our way, we admired the historic rowhouses surrounding us, we met the DC intelligentsia of photographers, sculptors, and artists; we left the 60s style workshop building quite exhaused but satisfied and well fed with cheese and wine. This is why I love DC - makes me feel good.

A few things about the location of the Capitol Hill Arts Workshop: Capitol Hill is the ground zero of Washington D.C. All streets start being counted from the Capitol, to the east and west, south and north. From First street to 2nd, 3rd, 14th etc. Streets north and south of the Capitol are marked as north and south, east and west respectively, so a street with a SE mark indicates it is to the south and east of the Capitol. This leads to an interesting observation: all numbered streets have doubles, so you should be careful if the street you are headed to is 7th SE or 7th SW. This explains why we got lost last night before we ended up on the quaint, historic Capitol Hill for our workshop.
The workshop was a real studio, the first I have seen; and three experienced photographers shared their vision, philosophy, technique with us, the audience in the 30 something black leather seats. The first photographer talked about his later fascination with the digital technique, but concluded he loves silver prints and the dark room. His major contribution to the art world was his discovery that you can shoot a thousand or more photos of a place of your choice (a bookstore, a historic bar), then make a single giant picture by combining all these individual small pictures. The result is a birds-eye view of the place, a little distorted, detailed and postmodern in look. Essentially, he took digital pictures of the same floor tiles until he covered the whole floor inch by inch, and when combined, voila, you have the whole floor in one! Like a digital jigsaw. While I can understand the unique perspective value, isn't it a little waste of time to repeat the same tecnhique over and over again? Some 80 hours to take 1100 digital pictures of a bookstore floor, combine them, then move on to a bar's floor, do the same - where is the art in this? Anyway, as s mock-photographer, my opinion doesn't really count.
The other photographer was an Italian who spoke English without an accent, and had his 'Bath Tub' series exhibited at the Georgetown university - he was quite sensual and preoccupied with ghost-like nude body parts (ghost effect achieved by leaving shutter open for days!). At some point, I got the feeling he was making fun of us 'Americans'- the unsuspecting audience. I began to get this feeling when he displyed pictures of the belly buttons of various people he knew, and added that he had to take 800 digital pictures of the same belly button to get the right angle! Him being a European, and me knowing how most Europeans feel about American art, I had my reasons to be suspicious. As for the third photographer, well, he took dull, monotonous pictures of rebels in Burma, and the peacekeepers patrolling the green line in Cyprus - they were ordinary pictures of soldiers with rifles. I wish he would take pictures of the local Cypriots, rather than peacekeepers.

My first photography workshop was at Capitol Hill, and I fell in love with the studio. But I think true art takes much more than trying new techniques or a unique perspective, or even having the courage to shoot in war zones. What it takes, I will find out soon.

The prize of the night for me is an artistic picture I took myself, my first artistic picture ever. It is titled "Stairs", and was taken inside the workshop. To me, it symbolizes the ascend to someting new, untried, and fresh:

and above is a picture of me in front of the red brick townhomes I adore.

2006-01-13T13:25:00.000-08:00

Benjamin Franklin never looked so good!!!!!

My first sculpture ever is that of (all people!!!) Benjamin Franklin, it is hidious, without any proportions and artistic beauty. The instructor tried to be as politicaly correct as possible while commenting on my sclupture, which in my opinion is a working progress (the progress party is debatable, but I assue you I am working very hard on it!). Some if his first comments include:

"Well, looks like the forehead and the chin are not coordinated?" Did you know that there is an "imaginary " line between the chin and the forehead, so everything that falls in between should be in line with this imaginary line??! Well, I didn't.

"Now we are getting somewhere". Then steps back, looks at my sculpture, then at me, and says, quite puzzled "What is your name, again?"

"Well, it is not a good idea to remove all the clay from underneath the head, it will top over- balance is essential in sculpture." Yes, I had removed all the "redundant" clay from under his double chin, it looked not so essential to me.

"The eyes - lets not make them as hollow. Benjamin was not a skeleton, as we all know." Fills in the deep holes with extra clay.

"Did you measure the head proportions with the original? Because yours kinda looks too big?" Then he measures it, and turns out mine is twice as big as the original! Chops away extra clay to fit proportions.

And I thought sculpting was going to be piece of cake! And did I mention that I had to stand for 3 and a half hours on my feet while working on Benjamin Franklin's head - because it is not a good idea to sit while sculpting. Let's do it the professional way, not like a bunch of amateurs, our instructor said!

Now my respect for all sculptors has doubled, tripled, quadrupled.... I don't think I will ever be able to look at Michelangelo's male body sculptures -they will give me too much pain!

2005-12-23T08:11:00.000-08:00

Frida once said: ""I drank to drown my pain, but the damned pain learned how to swim, and now I am overwhelmed by this decent and good behavior." This summarizes how I feel about New Year in D.C. No matter how hard I try to conceal my melancholy this time of the year, it is right there, staring me in the eyes. New Year time is always sweet, magical, and sad - at least for those born far away. Last year, I had a New Year to remember - with my close friend Pavlina, her friend Mark from Germany, and Selmin from Detroit. We came together in my apartment, baked kumpir, a traditional Turkish dish which can be translated as stuffed potato ('stuffed' being the key word here: with olives, corn, diced sausage, butter, carrots, cheese, black pepper, salt, ketchup, shoe laces, pencils, car keys, buttons...haha just kidding, but seriously, a properly stuffed kumpir is three times its usual size, like a volcano about to erupt). Last New Year we made no plans other than being together and having fun.

This year, I have grandiouse plans. My friend Ilgin from New York is going to join us, and posibly another friend of Levent's. We will start celebrating by daytime, by watching the last play of 2005, which is also a meaningful summary of it: Commedy of Errors at the Shakespeare Theatre. After the theatre, we will join the sweet New Years Eve rush and enjoy New Year decorations in downtown DC. Is that all? No! This is just the beginning. At 9:30 pm, we will be in Old Europe. Ohom. This is a quaint restaurant a la old German style (all pun intended- this is Washington D.C.) with a very very intimidating German-sounding menu. The menu is more German than I could possibly bear, with entrees such as Kartoffelpuffer mit Apfelmus, Bauernfruhstuck Fur den kleinen Hunger! See here for yourself. (Could this be the revenge of Old Europe from complacent Washingtonians?)And then, we will be like those stuffed potatoes ourselves -only more German, unable to move, relaxed by the sound of the piano (which will probably play German music), ready for the countdown at 12. Then, we will go back to our place, and spend the first hours of 2006 by simply doing nothing, and getting to know each other - pretending we are complete strangers who just met, telling strange stories, and sharing memories of a distant past. And drink to the future. This, at least, is my plan.

P.S: Once, we celebrated New Year at a place called Passion Cafe, by the Bosphorus.

Happy New Year!

2005-12-07T15:14:00.000-08:00

Habitually, I tend to reflect on shows after I see them. Yet, I will make an exception today and reflect on a show I have not yet seen, and will not see any time soon. The one show I was most eager to see is sold out for all performances before it is even on stage! The show in question is the famous musical Wicked, which will perform at the Kennedy Center starting on December 21. As I was typing these lines, just our of curiosity I searched Wicked on google, and I learned that 2 Wicked tickets were sold for $521 at e-Bay! How wicked, indeed.

A brief review of the musical describes it as "A bona-fide crowd pleaser!" and mentions how "decorated" the musical is in terms of awards: When it appeared on Broadway in 2003, Wicked worked its magic on critics and audiences alike, winning 15 major awards including a Grammy(r) and three Tony Awards(r). Featuring music and lyrics by Grammy(r) and Academy Award(r) winner Stephen Schwartz (Godspell, Pippin), Wicked is directed by Tony(r) winner Joe Mantello (Take Me Out) and is "the most complete--and completely satisfying--new musical in a long time" (USA Today).

What is it about? Basically, it deconstructs the Wicked Witch of Oz.
"So much happened before Dorothy dropped in! Long before that girl from Kansas arrives in Munchkinland, two other girls meet in the Land of Oz. One--born with emerald green skin--is smart, fiery, and misunderstood. The other is beautiful, ambitious, and very popular. How these two unlikely friends end up as the Wicked Witch of the West and Glinda the Good Witch makes for the most spellbinding musical in years. "An irresistible extravaganza of music, magic, artistry, and enchantment" (The New York Observer), Wicked is the untold story of the witches of Oz"!

To compensate for this disappointment, I am planning to actively engage in other intellectual pursuits, starting possibly with the "Film Series: Cine Chileno -- Forty Years of Film from Chile" at the National Gallery of Art. The program features a lenghty series of movies. I will be able to see the two last movies in the events calendar:

The Sentimental Teaser (El Chacotero Sentimental)
The most successful domestic film in Chile's history was inspired by a well-liked Santiago talk-radio host known as "The Sentimental Teaser," famous for candid advice to callers on matters of love and sex.

Machuca
A metaphorical coming-of-age story set in the chaotic moments of the 1973 coup d'etat.

Washington DC is rich in cultural events. Other immediate alternatives include the Comedy of Erros at the Shakespeare Theatre; the Les Miserables Musical at the National Theatre; and Latin Jazz Night, featuring Afro Bop Alliance at the Kennedy Center Jazz Cafe. Well, maybe I should stop complaining and just go ahead and purchase to miserable tickets, i.e. two tickets for "Les Miserables" before they are sold out too!

Next, my New Year plans.

2005-11-30T07:34:00.000-08:00

We had a warm winter day- almost like a cool summer evening. Then a tornado watch. The weather has been weird lately. Thanks to the DC young professionals group, I met many like-minded people with whom I could connect on a professional and personal level. While I have been somewhat passive in socializing the last couple of months, I am slowly deciding to increase my social energy level. I have seen an interesting book at B&N, about Social IQ. I had heard of emotional IQ, but not of a social one. Have not had a chance to read it yet.

2005-11-25T09:17:00.000-08:00

Thanks giving a la Turca

My debut Thanksgiving party/lunch was a day to remember - not to poeticize the whole event, but our hostess was glamorous. The house was shining with decorations for a fastly approaching New Years party, and it was a strange yet unforgettable suburban experience for someone like me - an urban dweller with a quaint idea of how relaxed life is in suburbia. I lived in a suburban ranch house in Kansas City, MO for a year, before I escaped to Washington DC. Yet, I know in my heart this was a trade off- I gave up the seclusion, comfort, privacy of a suburban life to a more urbane instant-coffee all-in-one life style. I guess I missed being a Taksim girl again- strolling down crowded streets, buying posters of Derrida, and spending time in popular coffee shops like Leyla in Cihangir, Taksim. Urban Washington has all this, and so this is why I came here. But yesterday's thanksgiving party reminded me of the good part of having your own well-furnished, -decorated, -kept space, and lots of it! and feeling grateful to have friends who make you feel at home in all this urban wilderness. Yet, in my heart, I know I am an urban animal. Right now, I am savoring the grande mocha I just bought from the Starbucks across the street, and I am contemplating of grabbing my laptop and going to Misha's cafe for a journal/memoir writing spree. Catching the moment, this is what a city is all about.

2005-11-21T09:03:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I attended a fundraising at the George Washington University. The event was organized to compensate for the donation fatigue for the devastating earthquake in Pakistan in the aftermath of Katrina. The repertoire of shows was simply majestic starting with solo bas guitar performances by two young MA students at the GWU whose names I unfortunately forgot. It only got better, featuring a professional Middle Eastern dance group with breathtakingly graceful Oriental dancers, and an exquisite tango performance by two virtuoso tango dancers- the man and the woman mesmerized their audience with the anger, love, passion, drama of their larger-than-life performance. They reminded me of how much I would have loved visiting Buenos Aires. The fundraising also featured Kardelen, a popular Turkish folklore troupe whose mission is to promote the folklore tradition and culture of the Anatolian region in Turkey - laud applause broke as soon as the host invited Kardelen on the scene and they stole the show with the elegance, rythm, and beauty of their choreography. As it turns out, the Kardelen Dance Ensemble is something of a celebrity in the DC area.
Folklore was the forte of the fundraiser: the outfits were timeless and regal. I was taken back into ancient time, when culture was still pristine and authentic. So many of these ornate details are lost now that it makes performances like this one an invaluable contribution to the cultural mosaic of our rapidly shrinking global village.

2005-11-16T09:04:00.000-08:00

Review of "Alexander Hamilton" by Ron Chernov

My latest source of inspiration and admiration is Alexander Hamilton - I was surprized to learn how little I knew about the Revolution, and especially about Hamilton, who might well turn out to be my favorite founding character - the biography is portraying him as a charismatic evil genius (I have not come to the evil part yet, I am still in the 'genius' chapters, and I am curious to see how he made so many enemies). Chernov's style is eloquent, his chapter titles are nostalgic, ex; The Collegian, The Little Lion, etc - reminding me of the last period of the Ottoman Empire for some reason. Of course, some of my interest results from my currently being located in Alexandria VA. As it turnes out, Hamilton had personal aides in Alexandria (so maybe Alexandria is named after Alexander, after all), not to mention that General George Washington's plantation, is located only a few miles from here, in Mount Vernon. The book is not simply about politics. It is about intrigue, love, affairs, mistresses, and character clashes. It is like the American War and Peace- a major political drama unfolding in the backdrop of great love stories, betrayals, and duels. I am still very much in the beginning to be able to say the last word, but I was a little astonished to learn that Alexander was born in the West Indian tropical island of Nevis, and came to New York as an orphan and an illegitimate child. His determination, character, and intelligence made him the persona we know today (yesterday I drove by the grandiose The Hamilton hotel in Washington DC). Also, George Washington too, never finished college, and worked hard to ecucate himself and be part of the "high society". In this sense, he is a self-made man, just like Alexander - and I used to think they were aristocrats in the classic tradition. Even though they became aristocrats, they were not born as such.

2005-11-10T10:55:00.000-08:00

Lem: Bir Broadway sovu icin bilet aldim, hem de on siralardan!
Lev: Manyaksin, gidiyor muyuz bu haftasonu?
Lem: Evet, simdi otellere bakiyorum, uygun bir yer bulmak lazim.
Lev: Bana birak otel isini.
Lem:Iyi.Ama onceki gibi fuhus yuvasi olmasin. Kolumdan tutup beni zorla surukleyen, benim eve gidelim, kac para diyen Meksikali tiplerle ayni yerde kalmam ona gore! (1. Ben, Latin amerikali herkesi hala Neksikali saniyorum, 2. Ispanyolca'da evin 'casa' oldugunu bu sekilde ogrenmek istemezdim!)
Lev: Merak etme. Bu defa en iyi yerde kalacagiz. Son kaldigimiz hotelde. Orayi sevmistin. Bu arada, sovun adi ne?
Lem: Hayat bir Kabare.

Her New York seyahatimizin bir oykusu var- bazen degisiklik, bazen sonbaharin altin sarisi renklerini New York'ta yakalamak, bazen de hayal gucumuze hayal katmak. Her New York'a gittigimizde, neden bunu daha sik yapmadigimizi dusunuyoruz. Geri dondugumuzde, hayatin rutinine kapiliyoruz, araya insanlar, olaylar, kavgalar sokuyoruz, New York'u unutuyoruz. Sonra, hic mi hic yeri degilken- mesela firtina ve yagmur ve sel ortasinda, ikimizden biri- daha dogrusu ben - New Yorku sayiklamaya basliyor. Kac zaman oldu gitmeyeli, kokustuk bu Washington Dc'de. Baydim Tryste'ten. Bir plan yapsak da gitsek. Ne iyi olur?
Bu haftasonu, New York'a gidiyoruz. Bircok rasyonel Amerikali once havadurumuna bakardi belki, ama biz havadurumuna bakmak yerine, duygusal davrandik (bunun agir sonuclarini ilerleyen dakikalarda anlatacagim). Iliskimiz henuz rasyonel cagina giremedi ne yazik ki, hala cocuk gibi duygusal, heyecanli, kaprisli. New York'a onceki gidislerimiz, paldir kuldur, plansiz programsizdi. Sehrin nabzini bilmeyen, dogusuyla batisini karistiran, Manhattan'a ayak bastim diye dunyayi fethettigine inanan, utanmadan sabahin kor ucunde ciglik atan iki insan. Iste o bizdik. Tabi o zaman Kansas City'de, yerlilerin tabiriyle freaking bir suburbia'da, bu da yetmiyormus gibi bir ranch house'da yasiyorduk. Her dunya gormemis Kansaslinin saf heyecani vardi icimizde (ki yerli Kansaslilarin da baskent, New york gibi yerleri gorunce bizim kadar heyecanlandigi bir gercek). Simdiyse, heyecan pragmatik bir duyguya donustu - yilda iki kere New York'a gidiyorsak, bu enerjiyi sarf ediyorsak, bari saglam bir plan yapalim, harita acalim, yonleri bilelim. Zaman kazanalim ki 48 saatte yapabileceklerimizi maksimuma cikaralim. Amerikalilasiyormuyuz ne? (to be romantically continued)

2005-11-03T11:52:00.000-08:00

Washington D.C. is a peculiar place (I keep saying that bu well, it is true!). It is an intellectual hub for knowledge seekers, a truly unique place that brings you in silver plate most extraordinary - and Sherlock Holmes-esque encounters. Yesterday I was in our local Starbucks, devouring a book on the open source movement, scribbling down notes and underlying sections with an appetite. As I was about to leave, someone next to me asked "What are you reading?" in a tone that indicated he already knew. Typical of me, I had forgotten the title of the book, so I had to take the book out and show it to him. He said, "Tell me about it." in a tone that promised I was going to be grilled on the subject. I was no Richard Stallman, the purist open-source guru, but I managed to explain in my own words what the open source (or, as it was first called, free software) revolution was all about. He then made comments that were startlingly relevant, and suggested I look at the First Indistrual Era for analogies. We than chatted for more than an hour on the U.N., the U.S. perspective of the world (not being subtle was the key concept there), Europe (Europeans, they have a tribal mentality, discarding all the layers of civilization beneath them). He later told me he used to be a lobbyist for the House and the Senate at DC. The conversation went on and on, until I said I had to leave to work! But I have a feeling this is not the last time I saw this extraordinarily knowledgeable persona (he recited peculiar details like the full names of all major Greek players in the Cyprus conflicts, including Bulent Ecevit, whome he called a poet. He remembered the full names of the first three UN Secretary Generals - who happen to be from Sweden Norway, and Burma-if I recall correctly!).
Today, I had lunch with someone else - a prima donna, If I can use this description for her. I understand she is famous in her area, in the classic sense - a celebrity, actress- and I was fascinated by her. She is not only beautiful in an artistic sense, she is magnetic. This is strange. You know when you meet your other half and you know this person will be in your life for a long time, this is how I felt when I met with her. We first met at a networking party, it was so crowded, and she was so busy, I only had the chance to say a brief hi and bye. This is when someone told she was famous. Somehow, she remembered me after the event, called me, and we came together at la Madleine's in Old Town. Instantly, we both realized that we were meant to be there, that this was just meant to happen, and that we had so much in common (despite age difference). I wish I could tell what we talked about, so much to learn from it alone, but alas, this is meant to be a blog, not what we call in Turkey a "destan".

2005-10-31T13:37:00.000-08:00

Today I had an interpreting assignment. It is one of the assignments my professors would have been proud of, having the opportunity to interpret in a business meeting that involved the World Bank. I prepared for the assignment beforehand, studying vocabulary, and historical facts. One more time, I felt I am in the right place, in the right time, and that good things might happen.

2005-10-21T08:28:00.000-07:00

A rainy, misty day in Olde Towne, Alexandria. I am beginning to love this place, which is so old you can see Civil War-era colonial houses on your way to work. It is at the same time French and Italian, and Oriental. Amidst all the traffic, busy life of the greater city Old Town is part of, there is silence and peace of mind. More than ever, I am beginning to think of this city as one of the truly amazing place to be. I am drawn into a daily newspaper I once thought vain and couldn't bear to read: the Washington Post. Thanks to the personal history of its publisher and owner Kay Graham, thanks to a close follow up of the internal dynamics shaping the political landscape of this country, I am beginning to believe in the power of chaos and coincidence: decision-making is the result of a chaotic process, and the result is more than often unpredictable. This gives me the reason to be interested, once again, in the day-to-day gossip, scandals, drama of politics. I like reading editorials in the Post, I even find them witty and sharp, and independent (in a peculiar logical way that only makes sense if you take into consideration the unique place ideas were born in). One year after I came to DC, I am still not sure I reached its bottom - I am still learning and trying to make sense, yet I am hopeful and enthusiastic. If anything, mine is the transformation of an outsider who was inevitably drawn into the inner working of a place full of the good, the bad, and the ugly.

2005-10-04T14:29:00.000-07:00

After an eternity, I am back on stage! I mean this quite literally. Today Milliyet published an article by Business Writer Serpil Yilmaz, and I am in it:

She actually joined us in one of our informal round tables in Washington a week ago, up-close and personal. We chatted about what not as she was taking notes and asking questions, both personal and professional: why Turkish businessmen are a rarity in the US, why there are a lot of small businessmen but not 'fabrikators' in the Washington area, our challenges as Turkish-American businesswomen and businessmen... We also did our share of gossip: where does Kemal Dervis hang out in lunch time (in that cozy Italian Restaurant in Bethesda), did anyone met Recep Erdogan at the IMF (he has other circles and plays Turkish football in the area but his circle apparently does not overlap with ours)....

Of course, this is business. As for entertainment, Levent and I attended the absolutely unbelievable piano concerto of Fazil Say, the Turkish pianist, with the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. Suffice it to say that he was elegantly casual, he enchanted everyone, and the audience called him back to stage 6 times. Here is a piece of publicity about the event: Pianist Fazil Say joined Yuri Temirkanov and the BSO to perform Gershwins Rhapsody in Blue to sold-out houses in Baltimore in 2002. The pianists interpretation of this Gershwin work is one of Maestro Temirkanovs favorites, and is beautifully paired on this program with Gershwins An American in Paris and Dvoraks brilliant, American-inspired New World Symphony.

We enjoyed the two elderly primadonnas seated right across us, they were equipped with binoculars. We also laughed at his name: Fazil Say is pronounced in english as FEYZIL SEY. And here goes the magic. :)

2005-08-08T15:12:00.000-07:00

Last Friday, I was lucky enough to attend in flesh the epic Don Quixote performance of the Bolshoy Theatre staged at the Wolf Trap Park for Performing Arts. I was literally in the woods. While my comments would be totally devoid of any musical and theatrical wisdom, I would like to note that the scene was spectacular - we were sitting on the grass (we had $18 dollar tickets), behind and well above the $80 seats in the closed area of the gigantic theatre. It was very much like the amphitheatre where I listened to the lovely Debussy tunes. Yet it was much more casual-with lots of people, including ourselves, enjoying the bright lightenings overhead, the thunders of an approaching storm, and right in front of us, the most beautiful performances of all was unfolding. We drank wine, complemented by cheese, and chatted about how our school back in Turkey were-the four of us-Irem (Marmara- Political Science-French) and Haldun (ODTU Insaat).

2005-08-04T07:22:00.000-07:00

Today, it is going to be 100 degrees outside!

I have become an avid reader of the weekend addition of the Washington Post-turnes out Washington has lots of fascinating social activities. A recent activity I was able to attend: The open air concert of the National Symphony Orchestra in a simply beaituful amphitheatre in the middst of DC. Of course, the repertoire was completely Americanized to include Jaws and the Wizard of Oz. But there were also some magnificent presentations from Debussy. My drive for social activities is in reverse proportion with my availability, so I am simply counting calories when I venture out to meet someone or do something.

In the meantime, I have read an excellent book - The Georgetown Ladies Social Club. I have learned so much from it about Washington DC and US politics that I think such books should be included as course material. I have also completed summer school with an A (not braggin since almost everyone gets As in the US system), and now I am ready to move on.

2005-07-21T20:45:00.000-07:00

Below is a poem I wrote on a napkin for Poly, a friend. I miss her. She lives in Kansas City. I wish we could see each other more often-here there are so few things that remind me I am alive. Pavlina is the only person who continues to enspire me, all the time...

The Third Space is Perfect

The imaginary, the real. Perfection lies in between.
Gypsies, stolen cars, men, cheese, wine, critical geography, Mexico, cheese, more cheese.
Hard to find perfection in this state of mind. Too many mind. No mind!
The 7-minute secret of perfectly undercooked pasta.
(We reached double perfection by cooking the pasta 14 minutes!)
Men. The masters of no-mind.
Some perfect, some not so perfect.
Some real, some unreal.
The real are the dispensable ones.
It is the unreal we find indispensable.
The moment of inspiration
Waiting just around the fridge,
Diluted with a cocktail of Malibu,
well, drops of Malibu (what is the point of getting drunk prematurely) and grapefruit juice, named after one of its inventors-Lemalibu. Near perfect.
Then the sauce with the perfect color, and near-perfect taste.
Named after its source of inspiration. Pavlina (though she is not quite sure the combination of pasta tomatoes and whipped cream is that original).
The movie with more than just the samurai;
the movie with the perfect philosophy,
where my hero- the perfect man - died with the
Perfect words
-They all look perfect in his eyes-.
And Pavlina missed that moment.
How un-perfect of her.
Still, we somehow managed to capture the perfect moment,
She jet-locked, me wine-locked, both cheese-locked.
Ah, the cherries, and the music.

2005-07-09T21:35:00.000-07:00

To Sculpt or Not to Sculpt....

I knew it! I knew those deformed hands of mine are meant for things more meaningful than just typing...like sculpting. I realized that writing is good for my soul, but it is not physical - and hardly an art. As a start, I will transform my small apartment into a studio-I can imagine soft classic music playing in the background, and lots of unfinished sculptures-crude, ugly, but mine! What is life, if not molding reality as you see it with your own bare hands! I am excited!

Today, we went to good-old Old Town. We had ice-coffee at Misha's, then we let ourselves get lost in the crowd of cheerful, good-looking, fashionable tourists who came to see one of the most historic places in the US. I could be one of them (tourists, not historic places!)-with the exception that I live here, so I am almost jealous of their joy and excitement! Life can be strange, two people seeing the same things, eating the same food, walking on the same street, dressed in the same style -yet feeling so different about the place. Maybe I should be glad I live so close to such a dramatically beautiful place, but what I realy feel is the routine of the sameness. While they see the fun Alexandria, I see the boring one. I know it will be lonely in winters-depressing even. I know all tourists do the exact same things, eat in the exact same restaurants, and while they have a memory for a lifetime, I know I am confined to this "beautiful" place. While bombs explode in the other end of the world, life goes on in DC--traffic jams, shopping craze, frappucino madness, and breakfast meetings at the beautiful houses of my new Turkish friends. This is what my life looks like at a distance.

2005-07-07T22:27:00.000-07:00

What is the good life-where can I find it? Do I have to be happy to have a good life? Or do I have to have a good life to be happy? It think it is all inside (sounds like a J C penney ad but well...). Getting older is scary and makes me think of things I haven't been thinking before. Like death. I just read Paula, Isabel Allende's memoir of her daughter's sudden tragic death-her daughter Paula was my age when she slipped out of coma into eternity. So sad.

2005-07-04T19:32:00.000-07:00

Gypsy's Advocate

Who am I? A gypsy, Turk, or Bulgarian? A recent study shows why some Bulgarians think ethnic Turks are "gypsies", why authentic gypsies say they are Turks when speaking to strangers (as a defense mechanism), and why Turks are confused about their identity. Pfew! Complicated indeed. I feel more gypsy and Bulgarian than I feel a Turk, and sometimes I am not at all sure where my loyalties lie when it comes to my "homeland". Do I have one?? I am doing research on the gypsy/Roma cultural rights for a term paper. I will argue that Gypsies are the victims of a degenerative policy-making context characterized by an unequal distribution of political power, social constructions that separate the "deserving" from the "undeserving"; and an institutional culture that legitimizes strategic, manipulative, and deceptive patterns of communication. Of the four categorizations that policy-makers use (contenders, advantaged, dependents, and deviants), I will put them in the deviant category- those who have virtually no political power and are negatively constructed as undeserving, violent, mean, etc). I am immersed into research, and I will also prepare a powerpoint presentation, with a sound track, and slide show. Eventually, this study will lead to the outcome of this degenerative policy-making model - environmental injustice that targets gypsies' cultural rights while stigmatizing them as polluters and trespassers (I will consentrate on the traveller gypsies of the UK-they have been persecuted for polluting communities that they moved in with their caravans).

This is a glaring paradox from the environmental governance perspective - because environmental governance argues that it is the "victims", the deviants, who are subjected to environmental injustice due to their vulnerability (like overexposure to polluting facilities). But in my case study, the gypsies (the deviants) themselves are socially constructed as polluters. In this case of 'reverse' environmental injustice the public constructs itself as the "victim". From this vantage point, the public is the 'advantaged' (those who are powerful and positively constructed). Deviant gypsies are left with little choice but to abandon their gypsy laws and traditions as travellers and settle down in substandard housing facilities provided by the government.

I will also look at the matter from the Thomas Friedman perspective. I will apply his metaphor, the lexus and the olive tree, to the gypsies. The lexus represents the industrialized, globalized world which in Friedmans terms 'creatively destructs' itself to recreate a better, more efficient world of commodities. The nomadic gypsy culture represents the olive tree-the authentic, traditional values.

2005-06-29T13:16:00.000-07:00

For those who share my concern for environment and sustainable development; here is a quote that I copy-pasted from the slide of the environmental governance class I am taking. The class is one of the best classes I took, so rich in content, and for a change, no academic psycho-bubble. Everything I learned I can relate to real world:

Throughput is roughly equivalent to GDP, the annual flow of new production. It is the cost of maintaining the stocks of final goods and services by continually importing high quality matter and energy resources from the environment and exporting waste matter and low quality heat energy back to the environment. Currently we try to maximize the growth of the GDP, but the reasoning just given suggests that we should relabel it gross national cost or GNC. We should minimize it, subject to maintaining stocks of essential items.... To maximize GDP throughput for its own sake is absurd.

The Steady–State Economy in Outline, Herman L. Daly

2005-06-26T19:32:00.000-07:00

What a beautiful day! We went to the National Gallery of Arts for the exhibit of Irving Penn. I fell in love with a black and white photo of his wife, a French model and sculptor, Lisa Fonssagrives-Penn.
We also saw the originals of small French paintings by Monet, Manet, Renoir. My favorites, however, were those by Jean Baptiste Camille Corot "Gypsy Girl with Mandolin". I also discovered that he has a painting titled A Road in the Countryside Near Lake Leman So this explains why everybody keeps asking me if I am French. Maybe I AM French after all.

2005-06-20T11:23:00.000-07:00

I am reading a book, and I am fascinated by it. It is "What is the Matter with Kansas?" by Thomas Frank. A few facts are worth mentioning:
1. The book is the most thorough and brutal critique of declining American values and savage capitalism I have read for a long while. I have been resisting reading it for god knows what stupid reason, and I am so glad I picked it from the B&N shelf! I truly regret not having any litteratis and geeks around me, pointing wisely to the well-written books as soon as they appear on the bookstore shelves. Instead, I have friends who are desperate housewives and/or political/literary ignoramuses (very much like myself, as you may have noticed)
2. The writer is from Kansas. This, too is very significant. No, not because I want to defend my rural 'shady' links to red state Kansas, but because the book showed me very convincingly (I lived there, I have a first hand experience of what he is talking about) that Americans are capable of rigorous, academic self-criticism, and they are very good at it. This is a very challenging argument to come from someone like me, who had lost hope in this 'culture'. It can even be extended to another side argument: that critical theory exists in America. This, for me, in itself and for itself, is a major discovery but about this, later. I liked the book much better than Baudrillard's l'Amerique, for the simple reason that the American writer is not simply "observing" and passively "hating" the place - instead, he is observing with a melancholy that I can emphatize with, with compassion for a place that once was so liberal: and he has a goal: to make this place a better place. I don't see how Baudrillard's book can make this place-any place-better. This may be the difference between a constructive critique and destructive critique - while I truly emphatize with French critical theorists, their muddling through and extreme anti-Americanism is sometimes hard to digest, and much can be said about the American liberals who are trying to do something in conditions much more difficult than their French colleagues. Waiter, a hot kudos to Thomas Frank. Make it double...

2005-06-14T08:35:00.000-07:00

In the comments of my previous entry, Emrah and I started a discussion related to what I wrote in that post. Here is a good quote from a Republican President in 1954:

"Should any political party attempt to abolish social security,
unemployment insurance, and eliminate labor laws and farm programs,
you would not hear of that party again in our political history. There
is a tiny splinter group, of course, that believes you can do these
things. Among them are [a] few other Texas oil millionaires, and an
occasional politician or business man from other areas. Their number
is negligible and they are stupid."
- President Dwight D. Eisenhower(Republican), 11/8/54

"We must be the change we wish to see in the world."
-Audre Lorde

"One of the penalties for refusing to participate in politics is that you end up being governed by your inferiors."
-Plato

2005-06-13T10:55:00.000-07:00

Kotmish, my beloved and only boyfriend, husband, friend and "crying wall", and I spent the weekend searching for nice sweet neighborhoods where we can move in after the contract of our apartment expires in a month - DC is an astronomically unbelievably expensive place - an average house costs $700 000, and well a million $!! This time, we are not buying a house-only renting one (and maybe we should move out of DC to more affordable and beautiful places!). We decided to rent a townhome because we like the feeling of privacy, and in my opinion even the best condo in the liveliest urban neighborhood can't compensate for the comfort of having a home with lots of windows, higher ceilings, Not to mention that we will have our own garage-well, over these deliberations we were of course startled to discover that condos are so expensive in the neighborhoods we wanted to move in (McLean), that we decided to go for townhomes which are slighly more expensive but offer ten time more convenience. We are planning to move to the area in DC that is considered residential, while Kotmish will probably continue to work in his old workplace. at one of the busiest corporate corners in the world- Tysons Corner. Excited, to move, I am !! (just Watched Star Wars and loved it)
Another major development is that I started taking my Environmental Public Governance class at George Mason - only after the first class did I realize that a class taken out of urgent necessity and with the assumption that it will not contribute anything significant to my world knowledge (picked the class randomly to register) can in fact be "quite interesting". Given the "environmental" policy of the US (or its lack), and the university being one of the nationally renowned ones "very close" to the national capital, one can have very interesting discussions indeed. The class consists of professionals seeking to improve their policy making skills-and me-the decorative plant who happens to be there by chance:). The first lesson I learned is that as a policy maker, facts are not relevant because they can be manipulated- environmental scientist are equally unreliable as the oil companies - so what is relevant is how you can shape the policy. This ordinary sentence gives us policy maker THE power, in fact, the only power... I am learning how to be Devil's Advocate.
EX:
Question:
"Is there global warming?"
Environmental Scientist: Yes, of course, what kind of a stupid question is this! Look at the data etc etc!
Oil companies: No, they can't prove it, they work to extend their contracts, obtain research money, and nobody has proven that global warming is happening. So let's not waste time.
Policy Maker: Well, hm, this is not the point, you see. Whether global warming is happening or not is irrelevant (beyond it is not even provable). What is the point is to move beyond this gridlock created by the disputable claims of environmental scientists and the equally disputable claims of the oil companies. So, lets move on to taking realistic actions like adapting, supporting developing nations with funds to educate them agains natural disasters. Etc....

This is on the "I talk for those who I am working for" qualities of the policymaker. The reason I was shocked initially was my belief that I will be taking an environmental class, but no, this is environmental policy and governance! But I also learned how dams destroyed whole Maya comunities, the twilight people of Irar, etc. This is on the "Environmental" aspect. I also learned lots of terms like environmental racism, glocalisation.
So far, I am loving it....

2005-06-07T07:22:00.000-07:00

This post is dedicated to the lost children of the developed countries. I just returned from two second world countries (Bulgaria and the Greek islands), and one third world country (Turkey) - now, this is not the language of the romantic traveller, rather it is that of the aspiring political scientist. But having read all those texts about which godforsaken country stands where on the development scale, I started to look at my experience more "scientifically". Bulgaria: the place has not been repaired for 50 years. Ugly, hideous apartment complexes date back to the beginning of the communist era-nobody repaired or painted them since-why??? is the inevitable question. No public transportation, car rentals, or commutable roads! Highways and local roads feature giant holes that amaze even the most experienced driver. Unbelievable, with all those EU funds, the country is still like a ghost ship-in fact, worse than that. Did I mention that the villages have no street lights, the streets are totally dark at nights-like the middle ages, if not worse! Also, I should mention the unhappy, unsmiling, arrogant "urbanized" waiters who make your already not-too-exciting-fast-food experience a living hell. No knives, bread, or other basic amenities that you need and expect as a hungry and paying customer. At the end, you sneak out of the place, feeling lucky that the gross waiter did not slam you on the face. One wonders where all this unfriendliness comes from-is it cultural, or does it depend on the specific country the loud costumer comes from? Maybe it is because we started to order our food by joking and making loud remarks about this and that: we were too happy for the place I guess! My overall impression: below zero. But there is hope. The name of the hope is EU Funds.
Turkey: Now, where to begin with- the AKP's determination to destroy the secularist Ataturk legacy; the rapidly declining economy, the nonexistent infrastructure, the slums, the dust on the highways, the strange indeed idiotic way people look at you, or the overall pessimisim and "birgun sana donecegim bir elimde gul bir elimde silah" philosophy (read the graffiti at the Izmir bus terminal!). Not sure which is worse: post-communist and proudly underdeveloped Bulgaria; or post-capitalist and blisfully ignorant Turkey. Look at me, born in two places that rank below all kinds of world standards.
The Greek Islands: The thinking girl comes to a philosophical halt: here my rational analytical inclination melts away, and I return to my romantic self- the Greek islands have the cultural formula, the spatial authenticity to make me go back there every year-what I liked most is the simple harmony of kindness, hospitality (non-existent in Bulgaria), Greek mythology, and Ottoman ambiance. Three days spent at Rhodes, Lindos, and Faliraki, plus one day spent at Symi. ....And the warm hug of the loving Mediterrenean.

2005-06-06T11:51:00.000-07:00

The last stop of the lone traveller is always where she wants to be. I am back, and this time for good. The last four weeks were the fastest in my life. We traveled to Turkey, Istanbul with Kotmish. Then we made a road trip to Bulgaria, several villages, towns and cities in just one week! We returned to Turkey, already exhausted, and having stayed only one day, headed to Southern Turkey, first Izmir, then Marmaris, and then the Greek islands. The first time, I fell in love with a place-Rhodes. Forget America, Turkey, Bulgaria. Go to Rhodes. I felt like staying there forever, but my visit was short. I have a nice tan, the first in years, and I have to admit it looks good on me-maybe I should keep tanning until I am completely bronze and get skin cancer in the process….I also managed to squeeze a few friends into my hectic schedule, as well as professor B. Aksoy. He went out of his way to see me, I was late due to a prior appointment with a friend, and he panicked because he doesn’t have a cell phone. He bought me ice-cream at the lobby of the Marmara, and we chatted like good old friends, he is such a sweet academic, the first that I know of his kind. He did his best to help me with ideas, suggestions, and he even called a few publishing houses to establish contact. He also gave me a long list of dictionaries, and we spent the evening browsing all the bookstores in Taksim to find he exact same edition, writer, editor etc that he recommended. Will write more soon, very soon indeed. My impressions of Turkey, Bulgaria, and Greece are mixed, and I need to relax a bit in order to decide which is the worst of all.

2005-05-05T14:31:00.000-07:00

At last! First and foremost, my sincere apologies for ignoring my precious reader communty for such a long time. I am leaving for Turkey tomorrow for 4 weeks!!!! The real news, however, is that I quit my job as a research analyst! I would love to explain the details, but I will do it with those I meet face to face-blogsphere is kind of too impersonal for me-in a nuthsell, my manager and the company created a series of problems related to my vacation request, which led to my resignation letter. Kind of sad, but the way things have been going the last two months, I was expecting it. It took me two minutes' time to make the decision, and for the first time in five months, I feel liberated. And anxious about my future. But anxiety is a feeling I have been living with for years.
Also, the only person I was considering as a friend in DC-or a potential friend- is leaving for Sudan in a month-she has been assigned as the town planner for a post-conflict city in Nairobi.
This is becoming a patterns now. In Kansas City, I had Tracy, but I had to move to DC. In Dc, I met Natalie, but she is moving away befor I even got to know her. I am not despairing. I have been admitted to the on-degree program of George Mason University in DC, I will be taking a PH.D level class for the summer term!
This summer will be a long an exciting one for me-I am planning to go to Latin America with Kotmish. Also, I have been reading a travel book that inspired me to be a freelance journalist covering stories for the Turkish press- not sure if this will work, but I will give it a try. I am realizing slowly and painfully that one has got to do what they feel they are meant to do I owe this vital realization, and so many other ideas I didn't have before-to my ex-job. The job itself did not teach anything in the technical sense. But I learned a lot about corporate America and business, and how things are done here-and I was surprized to see that the major problems are not performance related, but person-related! I feel a little wiser, and upbeat. I also learned how precious freedom is-before I had to resign, I had to argue with my boss for five minutes, or take a written approval for 2 hours that I was going to compensate anyway-and e would not approve the request....So, now that I do not feel that pressure, I am only beginning to realize that I can only be happy if I find a way to make a living with a vocation tat makes me feel useful, without compromising my self-esteem. This is going to happen sooner or later, when I have legal status in he US, or in Turkey.

2005-04-15T13:18:00.000-07:00

Sucede que me canso de ser hombre.
Sucede que entro en las sastrerías y en los cines
marchito, impenetrable, como un cisne de fieltro
navegando en un agua de origen y ceniza.

El olor de las peluquerías me hace llorar a gritos.
Sólo quiero un descanso de piedras o de lana,
sólo quiero no ver establecimientos ni jardines,
ni mercaderías, ni anteojos, ni ascensores.

(for those of you ignorant of Spanish, here is English translation)

I happen to be tired of being a man
I happen to enter tailor shops and movie houses
withered, impenetrable, like a felt swan
navigating in a water of sources and ashes...

the thing is, I feel intellectually divided at this time into little peaces, I am in the incubatin process-and creativity is something I will need by the gallons. This weekend, I am going with Kotmish to New York, to meet friends there, I will do my best to observe every inch of this city and see how it affects my individuality. Spring is here, and good things must happen soon!!!

2005-03-17T20:15:00.000-08:00

The Politics of Eternal Yawning

Today I finally was able to meet two friends from DC- we haven't seen them for ages, and we met at a Thai restaurant in Old Town by the Potomac riverbank- talked life, passing years and moving to New York. A few miles to the north of the river lies the infamous Watergate Hotel, home of the Watergate Scandal that resulted in Nixon's resignation-the only US president to ever resign from his post. Haldun had a birthday, which they didn't tell us until the four of us met, and they brought a mini-birthday cake because Haldun is supposed to be on a diet(Irem, I will not tell you anything about the large buffet meals they are having for lunch with Levent!) It was a late dinner with the four of us too tired to do anything but chat and relax, and tomorrow is workday so I have to go to bed early. Emrah gave me excellent ideas about getting inspired and I look forward to listening to his CDs, I am anxious about writing my experiences-honestly I do not feel I have what it takes to be a writer-people with much less experience than mine have produced masterpieces, and look at me, having added all kind of sights to my experience- from Niagara Falls to Toronto to New Orleans to New York to rural Bulgaria and urban Turkey and what not- I am still struggling to put two words together....ack....anybody knows any writers, let me know how they got started, once I start with the concept and style, the rest will be easier.
Had a lonely lunch today at la Madeleine in my 1 hour break (asked the cashier as I was buying my lunch if they had any newspapers, and since La Madeleine is "rural French cottage" style, she assumed I was French from my accent and said "Sorry, no French newspapers but we have English newspaper if you want")- lonely lonely lonely...Funny how a touristic cozy historic place can imprison its inhabitants after a while-when visiting becomes a routine, how I loved Bethesda when we visited it at nights or for dinner, and how indifferent I am now to all its inviting authenticity only because I work there- this is the same with all places I visited, they lose their magic and become routine once you make them part of your routine---so, at this rate, I am rapidly exhausting all the potentially attractive places. I remember how excited I was only three years ago with the prospect of moving abroad (New York!!!!), how small casual visits and trips made me happy, and now I wonder what it will take to excite me....

2005-03-10T19:22:00.000-08:00

Today I can spare a few moments on meta-blogging; having had a little time to spend on my blog, I would like to make the following observation: of the four blogs I frequently read (Tracy: Batflower; Kudra:an anonymous friend through my brother; Emrah: Trains Sation and Selmin: Lonely Satellite), all four have their peculiar styles of writing. Tracy, who is one of the most creative and jolie people I have met, who has lived on the streets, and who has been struggling to merely survive by keeing her miminum wage job as a waitress/fashion designer/artist, is the one closest to my heart in an emotional way. In many ways, she is my emotional other. Whenever I talk to her, whenever I read her journal, I feel elated, and I also feel deep inside that this could have been me, she is also the one I have spent the least time with, so this must be empathy. Kudra has a bashing style- she is striking, original, frank, and brilliant. I would definitely want to meet her if I were in Istanbul. Emrah's blog I find above and beyond what I can ever write or produce in an intellectual sense- he is this thinking man with an amazing memory, if I ever met a genius in my life, it is Emrah. He would have qualified for a 'precog' if he were in the movie Minority Report. Selmin's blog is the most practical, she is using her blog not to contemplate on the meaning of life but to communicate what she is doing when with whom (since she is doing her Ph.D in communication studies, this is not surprizing, one might say). As for me, I have realized I am using my blog space to think aloud (not revealing too much of who I am, but not concealing either, and certainly writing to relieve myself of my emotional burden)...I also intend to hone my writing skills for an altogether different purpose: develop my authorly skills for my upcoming project...So, the question now is, am I a blogger or not?

2005-03-09T17:41:00.000-08:00

a busy day is finally over, I feel at ease and relaxed at my new work place (not new anymore, I guess). I have my own cubicle, and giant frog that says :kiss me:-a get well soon present from my flue days, I brought it to my work place to remind me of Kotmish as I work secluded in my cubicle, I decorated it with articles and related tips - to do lists, and steps to facilitate my researh tasks...From the window across my cubicle, I can see rooftops of restaurants and work offices, nothing special normally, but a great view when it snows or rains...
The more I discover DC - which residents describe as "taxaton without representation"(DC), the more content I feel I ventured out of Kansas City, not that the two cities are so different in culture and style, but because change is always good, as long as one knows it is not the final destination. I am ok with DC as long as I know I will move on when the moment comes.

Le fin or new beginning or the Pulp Fiction of a Gypsy Woman

2005-03-01T19:57:00.000-08:00

The frivolity of life's frivolousness, the moment when sanity turns into its sister insanity; when vision gets blurred and perspective is shamelessly skewed, when you feel like you turned into a gregor samsa, and nothing to help you out...I have taken a long break from my silent world, contemplating, in an effort to take my fate into reign. the last month I visited Kansas City, spent the best time ever with Pavlina and Sean, my good old friends, to maximize our time together, we did not sleep the last night of our visit at Sean's house - we ordered chinese, Pavlina the ever beautiful showed photos of herself taken by a photographer in Paris (she looks like a Vogue model and the photographer actually works with Vogue models)....I keep myself busy at other times when I am not with them, doing shopping, cooking, WORKING, trying to avoid the nagging questions that pope into my mind like spam pop-ups: The question is: What am I going to do with my life, I feel the shallow vanity of a person who at the age of 28 thinks she has achieved everything she wanted: I have my degree in the area I wanted to specialize ten years ago, I found the starting job that I believed I would never find in the US (after three years of playing the desperate housewife), I enjoy the secluded security of a peaceful life, precious intellectual indulgence, material abundance, the secret joys that one needs to be happy, weekend escapes to New York, nightlife, trekking, the oustanding unique people I have met, the new things I have learned at every inch of my three year quest (no, this is not the word, it is not a quest but a thriller Movie; sometimes- and this is happening increasingly more often- I have hard time believing the moments I am actually making part of me- me, the shy girl who never ventured out of her room - are real, that "I" am real and not the girl from that movie Pulp Fiction), some are too surreal to be true....
And at the same time, I feel I have achieved nothing, and I have nothing. All alone in this vast continent with the never ending high way routes from one coast to another, in Washington DC, miles away from all people I care about, with a career prospect I never felt deeply passionate about (still dreaming of how I will become a writer one day), of the feeling that I am living at the edge because I am afraid of getting old (and sometimes I feel old!), so I am living every moment to the fullest, lest I have no regrets for not having lived when I had the change...At times, I am totaly overwhelmed by melancholy and fear, like a deep frozen nugget, and with this film noir of "what now, what is the next step" comes the inevitable bigger Question: hew gypsy woman ,wake up, find yourself, the gypsy life you have been living, is it going to last forever, is this how you are going to live, how long are you going to drift from one coast to another, the craziness of it all, the inescapable loneliness that crawls in at the end of each -this-is-it-it-couldnt-get-better-moment...when is the time to call it quits, and go home???? American Beauty...Pulp Fiction...U-Turn, which one will it be?
Flash flash flash: Levent has launched his own blog and seeks no publicity, so I am doing him a favor by adding him to my blog list, I am quite sure I will have no visitors:)

2005-02-01T17:15:00.000-08:00

We have scheduled a trip to Kansas Ciy to see Pavlina and other old friends. We are also planning to make the most of this magical crystal-white season(soo much snow, I love it, though I hate the cold and I am getting sick again!). Last weekend was majestic; we had a snow storm, all highways were blocked, we took the metro to the downtown, the National Air and Space Museum is there, and I was eager to see all those space ships. We also bought tickets for the the Space Ship 3D documentary- it played on IMAX at the Lockheed Martin Theatre (this is DC!) just inside the museum. With the heavy snow outside, and the life-sized authentic space ships inside, we had an exhilarating time. We watched in awe how the International Space Ship was constructed in the space by Russian, American and Italian teams (I learned, for instance, that astronauts sleep on their feet!) then, we walked in the snow, enjoyed the snow flakes as they slowly covered all the buildings around, and walked more.... We also decided to go skiing this winter, maybe next weekend, with some friends or on our own. We have affordable resorts around, and it won't be too hard to pick one and have a solitary weekend in the wilderness. ( I guess I am trying to write something fun, something that does not include "I am tired" or "I worked today like all other days:)"). Adios for now.

2005-01-24T20:37:00.000-08:00

burning girl: if you will live a moment, live it to the very end, or just skip it. if you will make a change, go ahead and make it to its fullest impact, do not hesitate. I am back. It is 11.38 pm, late night. We have our snow and inauguration. I hated both at first, DC was nightmare on inaugution eve, we had 500 000 visitors to protest or support W Bush. I seriously contemplated of going to the inauguration- a coworker had good tickets from a senator- but then I decided not to---reason? well, too long to explain. On the day before the Inauguration, we had the triple condition- terror alert, snow storm, and pre-inauguration activity. This equation could result in only one thing: TRAFFIC. The whole week we were stuck in traffic and had to look for alternative routes to get home and go to work. did I mention that DC is really very small, only 15 miles square, and that the "DC area" in fact covers parts of Virginia and Maryland. So, well, we tried Virginia highways, to no avail. A coworker of mine went to inauguaration and listened to Bush as he delivered his historic speech (and had to applaud, a lot!). He had interesting details and shared his experience. My manager, who I find one of the most unique people I met in my life (this is a bold statement but I can back it with evidence:)) - actually worked as a staffer for 4,5 years for Senatator McCain (AZ-Rep); Senator McCain happens to be a respected and dominant figure in US politics, and ran for the Republican nomination. Scott (my manager) is full of anecdotes about his experience as a Congress staffer. Some of them are hard to believe but true; here is one: in DC parking is a privilege, usually you keep looking for an available spot, but I wouldn't imagine the high-level politicians at the White House and the Senate would have the same problem, well, apparently, they do. Scott told us that these people, who write legislation for instance, have to park their cars 6 blocks away and walk to the Senate :). So, when his Senator was running for the Republican nomination, Scott would hope that he would win and even become President, then, no more parking problems! Well, research is mind-buggling sometimes, and one needs to cheer up, what better to do in DC than gossip about politics:)...yawn

2005-01-08T13:02:00.000-08:00

Finally, back to my normal self, well, partly. I am still weak and my voice is still monstrous after the illness, but glad to say, I am much better. This week was unique for me for the simple reason that I wasnt alone. I shared my pillows, moments, dinner, lunch, breakfast with friends Selmin, Pavlina, and Mark. Mark I just met. Selmin is my old-wine friend (red wine) she is getting wiser and more intelligent as she is getting older(Selmin, forgive me for using this word old, I dislike it as much as any beautiful, intelligent, self-confident woman would do!:)) So, of course, there are regrets, but sweet ones, Selmins birthday went without special celebration, I was sick, and no special plans were made. And there are those sweet moments I shall cherish forever, me and Selmin at Madeleines having my favorite coffee and breakfast, eating Napoleon, and chatting.life couldnt getter better than that. Selmin is the last intellectual of our rapidly sinking age. Her wisdom is like her name, deep and flowing to all sides; she could teach me in five minutes the secret of life, the meaning of existence (at least she would recall precious anecdotes quoting personas from her mental library).I promised her we would go to Adams Morgan, to the coffee I liked so much when I first saw it, but I neved had the time to go back. I was hoping to revisit this crowded space with her, alas, I was confined to my sofa as we had to scale down our grandiose plans to visiting the Holocaust Museum; not that it is not a place to see, but rather, because it is not what Selmin and I would have done if I had not been sick. Levent stayed with me as Selmin, Pavlina and Mark visited the Holocaust Museum.
Pavlina is the one friend (closer than friend) I deeply respect and admire, and I have to say, there aren’t many in my book in my old age of 29. I have grown to be more bitter and cynical as time goes by, yet I have in my life this cult personality that reminds me life is really about the moments we spent together with people we adore these moments are so few. And we can still adore and admire someone even we are ourselves not teenagers anymore. I will miss her terribly and I dont know how to manage in DC without these precious people that gave me so much of their energy as they were around.
And Mark.I know enough about him to say he is of those real rare people we keep looking for all our lives, and only get to meet them thanks to the strangest of serendipities.

2004-12-29T18:09:00.000-08:00

back from work, a long day- working could be exhausting for beginners:) we have plans for the long weekend, Pavlina is coming tomorrow, and Selmin is here already. I am trying to pick places for new year. see you burning girl.

2004-12-24T13:13:00.000-08:00

Today is my day off!!! - I can hadly believe how drastically my life changed - from one with plenty of time to waste away, to one in which every minute counts!!! I do not have much time for reflection either, not that I miss it - I have done that for the last 3 years - if not all my life - so now it is action time. The second week on the job was really fast - it is X-mas week, so I received plenty of presents, including one that totally caught me by surprize - something I really really liked, and would not expect from someone who had just met me - turned out the poor girl searched all over DC to find it, and finally her boyfriend- whom I never met- found it. I am glad I will be working with such kind and considerate coworkers.
Also, I am learning that lunch time promises to be among some of the more exquisite moments in my life - I have been invited to have lunch at various fancy places so far, Bethesda being one of the paramount entertainment districts of the DC area. Even if not for lunch, coffee shops are one option. Tel Aviv Cafe could be one interesting option. Also, I have noticed another cafe, Cafe Europa, with all the flags of the European Union mounted to the front facade (UN style), and as I was passing by it yesteray with Levent, guess what - Turkey's flag was among the flags! I sure like the way Americans see the EU:)
Because the neighborhood is so inviting, I have been going out with my coworkers, and this is a first since I have come to DC....I had given up on socializing, so I will probably go out to lunch even if I am not hungry.... Amelia and Kim are the two coworkers I have got to known most closely so far, and I am getting to know the rest of the team.
Selmin and X-mas....
Tomorrow Selmin the nutcracker is coming, and I am so excited, the poor planner that I am - not to mention the busy week I left behind - I didn't make great plans for us. But I am considering driving to the ocean...The Atlantic Ocean is only two hours away from us, and I am longing for the beach. I am looking into non-commercialized spots, and I already have a few in mind. If we decide to take the trip, it will be a series of firsts - the first time I will ever see the ocean, the first time I will ever see the ocean in wintertime, and the firstime I will ever see the ocean in wintertime with Selmin...Levent said "I am in". Selmin said "Muhtesem olur var ya", so let's do it.

2004-12-22T20:55:00.000-08:00

I am tired, I will go to sleep in a while, it is late already. Life has finally changed for me for the good - I couldn't have given myself a better new year gift. I HAVE PEACE OF MIND. I am resolved to make things work and stand on my own feet, for as long as it takes. Feeling my 28 ages on my shoulder, this is how I can describe my exhaustion and determination to succeed. Santa, please do not knock on my door this year - I have not bought any gifts for anyone, and I am expecting no gifts from anyone. BG.

2004-12-21T20:45:00.000-08:00

I found this in Basak's blog> You need chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star. Beautiful.
I also discovered another Burning Girl, who actually is very much like me! I even had the uncanny feeling that I must have created the blog, and then forgot about it, and then created burning girl anew. She even mentions how she likes words. This is me. This reminds me of "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind": two people get together and fall in love, then they erase their memories of each other; they meet again, and fall in love again. Sometimes, we act in certain ways under certain conditions, and we don't even know why. All we know is that, under the same circumstances, we act in the same way over and over. Dedicated to Burning Girl...

2004-12-19T18:05:00.000-08:00

My first day at work is over!
Monday: Orientation. Tuesday: First assignment and training. Wednesday: More training. Thursday: Besides the orientation and the training sessions, the department organized a welcome lunch for me at an Indian Restaurant - I happened to mention I never tried Indian food (because I didn't think I would like it!) and my supervisor decided it is time for me to try Indian cuisine.:) Friday: I came to work to find a surpise on my desk - a Chinese music box! I went to lunch with other colleagues. We chatted about relationships::). When I was back from lunch, the very same day, we went out again to Starbucks. The neighborhood is just beautiful, and it is such an inviting walking area with all these cofee shops..so we feel tempted to go out occasionally to refresh ourselves. I have also started doing my first assignment, overall, I had an extremely productive week - worked hard.
Saturday: Today, we re-decorated out apartment with bright orange, creme and red colors, we also separated the living room from the kitchen with a wooden elegant screen from "World Market". Our apartment is small, and the screen added the cozy feeling I was missing. We attached a cloth lantern onto the screen, and decorated the walls with blinking christmas lights. It was just in time, as today we had our first snow!!! It is still snowing outside, crispy-white snow flakes on our frozen windows...Yawn.

2004-12-14T21:02:00.000-08:00

Emrah, thank you very much for the wonderful, precious and by all means useful tips. I am really concerned about how to take care of myself. I am self-maintanence-impaired. I forget to eat or drink when I immerse myself in work, and then I feel very exhausted, and I wonder why:). Actually, I am like that even when I am not at work. Levent is so anxious for me now that I am away from home that he actually prepares my lunch bag, as if I were a kindergarden kid! Today, he did more than that: because I had this crazy time, I was unable to go shopping or cook - I was soo tired that I collapsed on the sofa yesterday - my first work day (the night before I couldn't sleep because I drank too much coffee Sunday evening - not a good idea, I normally drink decaff, but the coffee at Madeleine's was sooo good that I cheated by mixing decaf with regular coffee!:)) Anyways, yesterday, we were both hungry and there was no food at home (not even bread), so we had to order pizza - we had a quick blitz-dinner, and then I had a stomachache. Not good at all. So, when I was back from work today, I was determined to go shopping for food at any cost. I even told Levent (he picked me with the car at the metro stop) "Let's goshopping first" He said "What is the hurry, let's go home first, relax, then we can go shoping". I said " Are you crazy, I am hungry already. I need food ASAP". He insisted that we go home, so we did. Well, he took off time from work to shop and cook! He cooked my favorite dishes, quite a few of them too, and I was positively surprized (no, he doesn't cook routinely). So much for today. Must go to sleep now.

2004-12-14T20:52:00.000-08:00

After several days "away" from my blog, I am back well and alive! I missed burning girl. My first day at work was a long day, I met a lot of very nice people throughout the orientation - from mid to senior level executives. I chatted with them, and exchanged ideas about the heartland and stuff. They told me I am "more American than they are". Well, I am not in Kansas any more:). Besides this, today I started with assignments. My responsibilities are much greater than I anticipated, and the business logic is equally complicated. I am still learning. Though it is not always fun, I think I will enjoy it because I will be pushing my limits and learning new things every day. Also, I am very excited to meet so many people from different places- Englang, Australia...I hope to go to lunch with them some time. Well, it is only my second day, so nothing much to tell except - I do miss my blog and my dear friends. Do not forget me, I will be back in a day or two.

2004-12-08T20:14:00.000-08:00

It is late, I am exhausted, but happily so. We made a trip to Adams Morgan-normally I do not plan events; I believe in the moment...Today, I planned an evening, for a change; a weekday evening, on top of that. So, I found a French Bistro at Adams Morgan. (PS: Not to be confused with Madam's Organ, an in/famous yet hugely popular blues bar located in the center of Adams Morgan.)
An interesting lesson of my DC quest is that the neighborhood matters.
In a French Bistro at Capitol Hill, one could have dinner in a place densely populated with Capitol Hill politicians. Adams Morgan is a hip district - like the Taksim of DC. Levent was very tired, but he couldn't say no. For one thing, I was ready to go when he came from work! So we followed the directions to the French Bistro, only to find it has been shut down! This is where planning leads - among literally hundreds of "open" venues in Adams Morgan, I actually managed to pick the one that has been shut down. We were hungry and determined; so we continued looking until we picked Meze. An inviting, surprizingly cheap, cozy Turkish restaurant. Most of the patrons and the waiters were Turkish, so it felt like we were in Istanbul. Anyway, the moral of the day was: good thing may happen to you if you don't plan... And vice versa.