I think for a man, there is a strong sense of wisdom in kissing a not spotlessly beautiful woman. How life wears a woman's body, the faults and even more, how she handles these; her fragility makes a woman attractive.
If Istanbul is the chubby, middle aged next door woman with large breasts, then -say- Paris is the photo-shopped beauty on the cover of Sports Illustrated - in a continuous state of narcissistic masturbation.
If there is no other woman in the world when you're making love, then you know you are in love and probably being loved - this way or another. And at some point, as irrational as it is, if the city you live in is the most beautiful city in the world to you; then you know you truly live in that city and that city, I assure you, is and will be breathing with you - wherever you are.
IG Nobel Prizes is an actual scientific award that was designed around a very interesting concept.
Wikipedia's definition is: "The Ig Nobel Prizes are an American parody of the Nobel Prizes and are given each year in early October for ten achievements that "first make people laugh, and then make them think".
... Ten prizes are awarded each year in many categories, including the Nobel Prize categories of physics, chemistry, physiology/medicine, literature, and peace, but also other categories such as public health, engineering, biology, and interdisciplinary research. With the exception of three prizes in the first year (Administratium, Josiah Carberry, and Paul DeFanti), the Ig Nobel Prizes are for genuine achievements."
I think this approach - I mean - bringing humor into the area of science is something we deeply need. Because somewhere I think, without humor, we tend to decay; things where humor isn't involved tend to become inhumane.
And here is my favorite research topic that was awarded in 2008:
ECONOMICS PRIZE. Geoffrey Miller, Joshua Tybur and Brent Jordan of the University of New Mexico, USA, for discovering that professional lap dancers earn higher tips when they are ovulating.
(This discussion on Eksi Sozluk was opened to criticize Turkey's entry selection for Eurovision.)
Assuming that Eurovision is really a place to present an identity - an interesting thought though I must say -, right away, the question that comes to one's mind is what Turkish identity that is not well presented in Eurovision is like. We, as a nation, love to live at the peaks of a reactionary attitude. But, don't you think that slowly we need to start to understand that this land we live in has a history and that we didn't land here from space or even more absurdly from Central Asia? Our essence is a mixture. Only 7% of our genetic pool is originated from Central Asia while around 30% is from Middle East and another around 30% is from Europe.
We have made ourselves so deeply condition that we Turks have to be the center of the world, that we are a very special race crowned by the contemporary fact that we are a Muslim nation, we tend not to understand or see that we are owners of this also in terms of civilizations highly fertile land . Being cut from history other than the official one, we tend to forget what really matters is the LAND. Cultures flourishing on it don't vanish but only change form by interacting with each other. Have no illusions: We are Urartu, we are Hittite, we are Sumer, we are Persia, we are Antic Greece, we are Troi, we are Byzantine, we are Armenia, we are Seldjuk and we are Ottoman.
With this certain stupid idea what a real Turk is like (encoded by official and still too nationalistically oriented education system) in our head, we struggle to find whether we fit into that image. But the minute we try to fit ourselves into something is the actual moment where we put a distance to our true selves.
Manga, Mor ve Ötesi, Hadise, Kenan Dogulu - all of these artists are rooted from this land. They grew up here and they were loved here.They are PART of this land. They reflect this land. Without any complexes they should be accepted.
And if really needed - I don't see why we should it need it though - we shouldn't refrain from looking directly into the eyes of our sarcastic foreign friends and say "hey - we are this, I don't fucking care about the rest, really."
Don't think we are pure. Nobody actually is. But living up to the idea that we are mixture can be really nice - creative, passionate, joyful. And we have an opportunity where we could realize this state of mind more easily than most of the other nation states.
A sentence designed to continue like this: "... therefore incidents where 1.5 Million Armenians were killed cannot be called a genocide."
Numbers quoted might be correct or not. Incidents that happened could be called a genocide or not - this actually isn't the point. Far from it. But the claim that the suffering party has to be 100% the victim like in the Holocaust to call it a genocide is utterly foolish to me.
In the end, while until only 100 years ago, "Kurds, Armenians, Turks etc." lived in this land, now "Kurds, Turks etc." live. Find the difference between the two pictures.
When I think of Pancho, the most predominant feeling that comes to my mind is patience. Patience I would preach myself seated in bed whenever he would cry in the middle of the night for maybe fourth time because he had diarrhea and wanted to go out. Or patience I would preach myself whenever he would want to spend more than 10 minutes sniffing at the very same tree on our walks. (later on I developed a very cunning strategy where I was actually able to read my morning paper while walking him.)
I'm not sure if he loved me. I wasn't maybe the ideal care giver for him. But I loved him. Not only for his cute nose but also for things I have learnt from him. I think, thanks to him, I'll struggle less about being a father if I ever come to that point.
Enjoy the winds and sunshine there. The cookie pool too, of course.
