Hey.  Could one of you people buy me a pro-account?

We can make it a trade.  You sign me up for a pro-account, and I'll stop talking about book bullshit for a week.

Or, y'know, whatever.

-

I'm going to the movies tonight!  We're seeing No Country for Old Men.  I'm really excited.  I saw Beowolf two or three weeks ago, but that's the first movie I've seen in theatres since coming back from foreign parts in July.

And I got free tickets to the Dewey Cox opening this Thursday!

It doesn't give you a hangover.  It's not habit forming.  You can't OD on it.  It makes sex even better.  It's the cheapest drug there is.

-

Here is a game I've heard of called "Spot the American":  Go to a busy public place, like a restaurant or bar.  Watch the entrance to the place.  When a new person enters, watch their hands.  If they make it to the table/bar without touching their face or clothing or cellphone, they're either not American, or from Los Angeles/New York/Miami.

There's a lot of other fun tricks/stereotypes you can use to guess a person's nationality, but that's the only one I know of which almost always works.

It's always interesting, when you're in a country which relies on tourism, how adept the local salesmen are at guessing your country/language.  The "Spot the American" game was taught to me by the owner of Mavi Guest House in Istanbul.  He explained that you negotiate prices differently for each different nationality.  It used to be that he set the highest prices for Americans, next highest for British/Koreans/Japanese, next highest for Western Europeans/Australians, with Eastern Europeans at the bottom of the ladder.  He said that now the American's were much closer to the middle of the price range.  Recently, he'd been losing business because most Americans couldn't afford his hostel at the high price, and they didn't know how to negotiate to make it affordable!

So far, my vacation has been the repeated process of climbing hills, looking around, then reading a book under a tree.

I guess I'll be seeing all my back-home-friends in a few days. How strange. I'm not sure I remember how I used to act around various people. I've probably mentioned this before, but I'm a huge fan of travel. I think it's useful to occasionally divorce one's personality from the personality built by others' perceptions. I've been spending too much time watching the sun set. That's why I'm talking like this, I mean. I sat down on the bay around the second half of eight-ish, and I only meant to stay there while I had enough light to read, because it was cold, and because I figured sitting on rocks would eventually be uncomfortable, but I ended up staying until ten-ish, long after Istanbul had gotten as dark as it ever gets, and they lit the bridge lights, and the nightly fireworks burst over Uskadar. Then I found some kids to play Jenga with. They've only just imported it to Istanbul, and lots of the bars actually keep copies of the game for their patrons, the same way that traditional tea gardens usually have a few backgammon boards laying around.

I'll upload the picture tomorrow. Currently sort of sideways.

---------------------------------

I've been feeling great during the day, not so great at night.  Not sure why.

I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not, but my days seem to be increasingly dividing themselves into "time that I'm writing", and "everything else".  They say that the great writers are obsessive about their work, and I do want to be a great writer, but this is the first time I've experienced anything close to an obsession.  Somewhat frightening.

A technique which may be useful to other writers out there:  I keep a few documents open at a time, and switch between them when I start to run low on "writing steam".  I think it's been very useful.

I'll probably be spending tomorrow writing and mailing postcards.

Things that will be discussed through the post:

1) the weather, concepts of heat, humidity of my crotch
2) food, the food I miss, effects of various food on my crotch
3) friendliness of Turkish citizens, how this friendliness does not tend to extend to my crotch
4) aesthetics of trees n' flowers, crisis of public space in Istanbul, how I might trim crotch hair for the greater good
5) Turkish architecture, video games, ways in which my penis may be used as a board on which planitarium style laser shows are presented in order to delight families

See, the stuff before the first comma is for basic strangers like my extended family.  The stuff before the second comma is for my friends.  And the last group of topics is for anyone I've had an embarrassing/uncomfortable sexual relationships with in the past.  I like to keep my ex's on their collective toes.

Want to figure out what category you're in?  Send me your address!  Unless it proves horribly expensive to mail everything.  Or I get too bored to finish.

Really, as long as the readers of this blog are forced to contemplate what philosophies lie behind my pubic hair maintenance, I'll be happy.

I've spent the day wandering from place to place, and sleeping on them.

Places slept on today:

1) park bench
2) rock
3) bunk
4) couch
5) chair outside hostel

You'd think that, being on vacation, I'd be getting more sleep.

I think, the number one way you can tell you've spent too much time in Turkey:

You think to yourself, "Goddamn it's hot.  I could really use a cuppa tea."

Apparently, the Thai also follow the "hot kills hot" philosophy.

I've been writing some things.  That review of Turkish candy I mentioned earlier is almost entirely finished, I just need to upload pictures and edit text.  I'm thinking of some sort of essay + series of photos about dumpster diving/recycling culture in Istanbul.  I've sort of given up on that time travel thing, as I realized it wasn't really a story at all.  This is something I've been working on today:

 

There is a girl here with "snake bite" studs below her lips, dreaded hair (pretty damn long too), who wears black skirts over those goth pant thingies.

It is hilarious.

I think, if I could read her tattoos, she would be even funnier.

It is like she is trapped between four different subcultures, all equally stupid.

I'm not sure if I was laughing at or flirting with her more.  Either way, hijinks should ensue.  If possible, I will videotape whatever physical violence happens.  It will be great.  Currently taking bets on back tattoos.

I'm thinking... angel/devil wings, at least five "anarchist" stars... and, if we're lucky, Bob Marley in a cloud of smoke.  Mebbe an ironic picture of an animal as well, though those are usually saved for shoulder/wrist.

Ben.  When people tell you they're married, the appropriate response is not "Oh.  Why?"

You remember that picture of the beach paradise I posted?  It was paradise until last night, when the bartender told me their cheapest whiskey was 10 lira per shot.  That is like 7 usd.  That is bullshit.

I'm trying to figure out if I have time to visit Diyarbakir before I leave.

The bartender here refuses to play some Ramones.  Asshole.

Um.

I'm writing something, but it is shitty and juvenile.  Darn.

I met someone from LA for the first time in a few months, and was reminded of how deeply and completely disturbed that city makes people.

Huh.  It's 90 degrees, and I'm wondering why the weather's gotten so suddenly cool.

I live a bit to the left, a few hundred meters down that little river.



(Bitches)

Hello again.  I'm a student, currently backpacking through Turkey.  I was studying in England a few weeks ago.  Then I went to Istanbul.  Then Goreme.  And now I am in Olympos.



I like new friends, but I also like people who can tell me things.  If you'd like to be my friend, please comment with a thought or idea you hadn't realized/understood until today.  If you don't want to be on my ultra-exclusive flist, and just want to comment, please say whatever the hell you want.

As always, feel free to ignore or modify these requests.

Dear  bushidobrown

Thank you for submitting your manuscript, “Ambulance,” to The Pebble Lake
Review for consideration. Unfortunately, we cannot accept this story for
publication at this time. Given the volume of submissions that we receive,
even quality work has to be rejected. Please be assured that your
submission was read thoroughly and given careful consideration by our
staff.

We wish you the best of luck in placing your story elsewhere, and hope you
will submit again in the future.

Sincerely,

Manuel Gonzalez Jr.
Fiction Editor, PLR

-----------

Ouch.  My first form letter rejection.  It burnssss.

I think I'm gonna go swim.

Another night bus South tonight, this time to Olympus, which apparently has a mountain I should climb.

Have a feeling I'll be spending more time gettin' drunk on the beach, but we shall see.

Also, haven't really written anything for a few days, and I'm not sure why.  Perhaps its just exhaustion from all this running around during the daytime.  As mentioned earlier, I have taken many pictures of rocks and flowers, and they shall be posted in THE FUTURE.

Currently reading STEphen KINg's The Cell, which is crap.  Surprisingly crap.  Also, a complete ripoff of I Am Legend.

Speaking of which - I watched Omega Man a few months ago, and it was unbelievably bad.  I'd post a hilarious still from the movie, but the connection here draaaagsss, and I've got a date to sit on this hill with these people.

I don't want to go home.

I am currently in Goreme, a town in Turkey's Cappadocia region, about 12 hours bus drive from Istanbul.

I don't like this town much.  It's so small - reminds me of Oxford, where the only roads out of town are in the cardinal directions, and only South and East are interesting.  Except, here, the road out of town is also the road into town.

In theory, there are interesting things, but I can't seem to get the hang of walking around and saying "oh look.  I see some nature."

I mean, I do it anyway, and my feets and hands are permanently caked with white powder from climbing the sandstone formations and crawling through caves.  But I'm starting to exhaust the supply of cool stuff I can see within 2.5 hour's walk (2.5 to get there, lunch and maybe a nap, then 2-3 hours back, depending if I get lost).  I'll post pictures sometime.

It's pretty, but what isn't?

I want ugly in interesting ways.

Bitch bitch bitch.

There were some people I was supposed to talk to about beers, but I don't think it's gonna happen.  Feel terribly ackward for the last few days.  Second day of new haircut.  Did not speak barber's language.  Was able to indicate desired style only by gesturing and curse words.  So he just said fuck it and shaved the whole thing.  Damnit.  Maybe I'll just go back to the mohawk.

There's a friendly dog here, but he is not friendly in a pushy way.  Awesome.

Also, a few days back, I tried my hand at writing reviews of various Turkish candy.  It was mainly an excuse to have chocolate bars for lunch.  But!  What does it say about ones reviewing abilities, if one makes three seperate references to Thai hookers over the space of six paragraph long reviews?

Answer:  It says you're only half the reviewer you could be.

In Istanbul, I have become a crotch grabber.

I meant to stay sivilized, but, at this point, I might as well change my email address to g.a.kurtz@heartofdarkness.org.

To be (slightly) more correct, it hasn't gotten to Kurtz level insanity yet. But, walking along Ankara Caddesi at 2 in the sweltering afternoon, feeling sweat gather at every one of my body's crevices, I must constantly fight my desire to emulate the Istanbulites around me in their casual crotch-grabbing.

Grabbing? More like preforming long and complex surgery. These Turks put serious thought into the simple act of scratching an annoying itch. The other day, I arrived at a pedestrian crossing just as the “walk” light had changed. This was at the bottom of Ankara Caddesi, right next to the ferry and train station, so the traffic was too heavy for even a seasoned Istanbuli to cross. On the opposite sidewalk, I noticed a tea seller putting down his thermos of tea to wait for the light. Then, as I and a small family of Italian tourists watched, he began scratching his crotch. If I had the time, I would describe this process in the epic terms it deserves. Instead, let me just note this: he scratched his crotch until the light changed again. As I hurried across, I noted the expression of disappointment on his face, and was sure that the scratching process would resume once he crossed.

Anyway. The temperature hit 102 degrees yesterday. I was on a quiet street. No impressionable Italians were watching. Five minutes into a long and satisfying crotch-grab/scratch, a hundred and thirty year old woman rounded the corner, disturbing me in mid-scratch. Aiming my sight towards the heavens, I continued scratching long after she had left. And I was not ashamed. Because that is how we roll in Istanbul.

 
-------------------------------

Whaddaya think?  I'm trying my hand at comedy-writing. 

I wasn't sure what I should use for my "Kurtz" email address.  My "business" address is b.v.grad at g mail dot com, so I wanted something pretty close.  In Heart of Darkness, Kurtz's full name is Georges-Antoine Kurtz.  Though the company he works for is never named, the character he's (probably) based off of worked for "Societe Anonyme Belge pour le Commerce du Hault-Congo" - I didn't think g.a.kurtz@SABCH-C.com would work as well.

So there's this girl who's related to one of the staff-members (possibly the owner) at my hostel.  She appears to hover somewhere between the ages of 17 and 19.  She has developed some sort of crush on me, and attempts to inform me of her feelings (since she doesn't speak English) by sitting across from me while I'm reading and fluttering her eyes.  Then I say something to her in English or my horrible Turkish, and she doesn't understand, but laughs and flutters some more.  It is frustrating, both physically and spiritually.  Also, I fear, if I ask one of the staff who she's related to, the staff member may answer "Me, asshole".  And then I will be beaten up.

Um.  At least I'll have a funny story to tell back home?  Mebbe another cool scar?

I'm being dragged to a club tomorrow evening.  I can pretty much predict how this night will go.  A hint: it will involve drunkeness, and, either stories of fighting the police, or stories of fighting whoever I can trick into keeping me company for the night.

Oh!  I forgot!  I picked up a selection of cool looking Turkish candy bars yesterday.  If I have a slow evening, I will write a comparative candy review.  The next few days look EXCITING.

8ish - wake, take a quick hobo shower (minus wadded up toilet paper loofas)
9 - grab sleepy Frenchman, extremely excited Algerian, and British Brit.  Begin walking to ferry.
Later - pick up fish sammiches, begin walking across bridge to the Golden Horn (part between Asian and European side of Istanbul)
11 - Reach ferry, tired, and hop on boat for "The Prince's Island"
A bit before 12 - arrive at Island, witness several million Turks crammed onto a single snaky rocky beach.
Seconds later - begin hiking to other side of island, stop and pick wild plums for snack
12 to 2 - Swim.  Lots.
2 - eat fish sammiches for lunch, notice thirteen thousand Turks converging on a single spot, learn that someone has died/is dying.  I wander over.  Guy is dead.  Ambulance comes.
2ish to 3 - more swimming.
3 - Convince sleepy Frenchman that we must leave the joli filles sitting near us, go wandering further down the beach.
Later - There's a lot of clambering over rocks.
4 - reach optimal beach; containing joli filles, big rocks jutting from water, not too much seaweed, and no dead guys.
5:30 - leave beach to wander island, decide to keep walking until we reach islands highest peak.
From then till several hours later - get stabbed by trees, eventually give up finding a working trail, see many amazing vistas.
8ish - take ferry back to Sultanahamet and drag selves back to hostel.
10ish - write this thing

Good morning Internet!

I'm an American student, currently living in Istanbul, "City of Surprises". I got into town three days ago, and I'll be here for another month.

This is the first day of my vacation.

 

( 58 pictures, 3 sleeping dogs, and lots of mosque-porn )

I'm trying to upload pictures of Istanbul to ye olde internet, but it's taking a long time.  Thinking of leaving computer to do its' work while I have a siesta.  Is the possesive correct there?

My bunk is next to this balcony:



Whenever I meet an Istanbulite (as they like to call themselves), they tell me that Istanbul is "a city of surprises", or, when their English is rusty,  "Surprise City".  It is somewhat surprising, but mainly very very hot.  Gloriously hot.  I've missed it so much.  Hot enough that the city noticably slows down between noon and 4.  Water sellers run between cars carrying buckets full of ice and bottled water.  Every shadow has been claimed by a Istanbulite or a dog.  Policemen lie across the back seats of their patrol cars and sleep with their feet poking out of the window.

A map of my wandering around Istanbul today.

I'm really glad I came here.  It is like the anti-England.  Not that England's bad - I enjoyed it as well; I just miss being around people who put serious effort into "taking it easy" or "chilling".

Please, if you manage to get this far, tell me something which will make me nostalgiac about wherever the hell you currently live.  Even if I haven't been there.