Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Nicks'd
Stevie was at her grovelly best last night, twirling and sauntering around the stage with the rest of whatever that band is. Beachwood something or other? Looking like a confused bag lady banging her tambourine, wandering from post to post on the stage and leaning on the mic like it was a parking meter. She was everything one could have hoped for. I don’t know if she found me, but I could see her scanning the top row of section 203 out from under her top hat to try to sing directly to me. Oh Stevie, you tried.
Meanwhile, the rest of section 203 looked like a PTA torture session. One middle-aged woman sat rocking in her chair with her knees against her chest for an hour like she just watched the entire cast of Dancing With the Stars get gunned down. Another woman in mom jeans and perhaps no bra repeated a dance move that looked like a cross between an inflatable flailing arm man and a person with their arms tied to the ceiling while they’re whacked with a bamboo stick. I think she may have tried to “pan for gold” during Gold Dust Woman.
Me, I just nodded in thorough approval. Great show indeed, Stevie. Great show indeed.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Didn't do a whole heckuva lot today
Just cruised the Bosphorus Straight, the nautical divider between Europe and Asia, soaking in some sun, remarkable world history, and posh Ottoman water-side neighborhoods. One of the three gave my forearms a royal singe. We then sauntered to old town to the Grand Bazaar, bartering with the human equivalent of motion-detecting garage door lights. Except instead of light, they emit a horrificly-broken record: "hello yes please! hello yes please! you like jeans? yes please! you like new jeans? yes please! hello, yes please! new jeans? yes please! hello, sir? sir? hello, please. yes, please! you like new leather jacket? yes please! hello yes please! more inside please, yes please! hello, please! yes, YES PLEASE HELLO!"
Goddam. Raki, please!
Goddam. Raki, please!
Monday, May 11, 2009
Merhaba, lutfen!
"Hello, please!", which happens to be what one hears constantly while walking past the myriad vendors throughout istanbul. At least people who are clearly not from these parts... Turkish is not an easy language to just pick up for an English-speaker. Or, I would imagine, a French, Spanish or German speaker. It sounds very much like Russian meets Arabic - like this region's Spanglish. One of our waiters, one of the few Istanbulus who speaks decent English, said the best way for English speakers to learn how to say "thank you": "tea sugar and dream". Amazing history and brand new culture experience here.
Few early shots:
Around the "New Mosque" - one of the hundred or so around the city that most starkly stands out from the skyline. It's "new", as in 600 or so years old - and extremely impressive inside. As perhaps expected, everyone must remove their shoes before entering and Jean had to cover her shoulders and head. The women worship behind even where the tourists stand inside, with the men up front.
One of the walkway tunnels under a busy intersection. This is one time when I had second thoughts about the swine flu. Also, it smelled like expired cheese. A sharp, sharp cheese. Fermented in old bowling shoes.
The Haghia Sophia has been around since 537 AD - built by Emperor Justinian after the fall of Rome. It supposedly held pieces of the "true cross" and St Thomas' doubting finger - literally - before the Crusaders plundered it (shocker). Those pricks destroyed so many would-be relics around here, but it still doesn't get old to walk around and see the names of emperors and architecture from when this was the world's City.
We found this sweet patio restaurant overlooking the Haghia Sofia and park, along with the Topkapi Palace (the former center of the Ottoman Empire). Took this during one of the regular calls to prayer. They blast them over speakers from every mosque, so it permeates every bit of the city. It's interesting in that it sounds as it probably did hundreds of years ago, but it's obviously pretty unfamiliar and, well, uneasing.
Few early shots:
Around the "New Mosque" - one of the hundred or so around the city that most starkly stands out from the skyline. It's "new", as in 600 or so years old - and extremely impressive inside. As perhaps expected, everyone must remove their shoes before entering and Jean had to cover her shoulders and head. The women worship behind even where the tourists stand inside, with the men up front.
One of the walkway tunnels under a busy intersection. This is one time when I had second thoughts about the swine flu. Also, it smelled like expired cheese. A sharp, sharp cheese. Fermented in old bowling shoes.
The Haghia Sophia has been around since 537 AD - built by Emperor Justinian after the fall of Rome. It supposedly held pieces of the "true cross" and St Thomas' doubting finger - literally - before the Crusaders plundered it (shocker). Those pricks destroyed so many would-be relics around here, but it still doesn't get old to walk around and see the names of emperors and architecture from when this was the world's City.
We found this sweet patio restaurant overlooking the Haghia Sofia and park, along with the Topkapi Palace (the former center of the Ottoman Empire). Took this during one of the regular calls to prayer. They blast them over speakers from every mosque, so it permeates every bit of the city. It's interesting in that it sounds as it probably did hundreds of years ago, but it's obviously pretty unfamiliar and, well, uneasing.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
off to Istanbul
One city, two continents, 3 names, more history than just about anywhere, Jean, the Bosphorus, cheap rugs, roasted pistachios and good beer. The Maiden Voyage is ready for round two.
Can't wait.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
The Chuman Show
A picture may be worth a thousand words, but living a block from Chinatown is priceless. Absolutely priceless. That four blocks of my morning drive to work? Everyone should be so lucky. It's like a condensed, Chinese version of the Super Terrific Happy Variety Hour passing by. Stunts, gags, crazy windbreakers, Tai Chi routines, it's all there.
The nearest Walgreens is at Stockton and Vallejo. It's literally one block away, but always seems like a large chore to walk to, largely because as soon as you cross the street you've entered Chinatown and all bets are off. What you or I would consider common sense and street smarts are out the window and confusion and inertia rule the day.
Recently, I had a headache and needed a new stick of antiperspirant, so I physched myself up and walked into the lion's den. Blank stares to my left, needlessly gridlocked intersection to my right and pink plastic shopping bags all around like some piss-poor-choreographed grand musical number, at least that's what I imagined. They must've thought I was crazy, walking along with some goofy smirk on my face.
I made my way through the old, hunched ladies and uniformed school kids, bouncing off them like bumper cars. There's no "oh, pardon me", or general changing of course in Chinatown. There may be 9 feet of open sidewalk next to you, but if someone gets in your way, you may as well be an ant that had some kid step on the comrade in front of you, destroying all scent and creating utter chaos as you try every avenue but the obvious one to get back on course. I bounced my way into the drug store, maneuvering around the portly old woman who was standing in front of the open "In" door, staring in. Just staring.
I'm going to need to start looking for the tiny, cleverly-disguised Truman Show cameras when I go in this Walgreens. I swear everyone is on a loop. The old Chinese man with the Elvis Costello glasses and walker with tennis ball brakes seems to always be standing over at the cosmetics counter, coughing up a lung when I walk in. The old, egg-shaped woman is always propped on her cane in the toy aisle, facing nothing in particular. The 4'2" clerk in the blue Walgreens smock is always circling aisles 4B and 5A with the sort of frantic hustle he must give when he darts across the street late to his bus in the morning. It all seems awfully rehearsed and suspiciously perfected.
They must have a really high kleptomaniac population in Chinatown that struggles with body odor, because every stick of deodorant and antiperspirant is behind locked fiberglass. I pressed the button that welcomes you to beckon a customer service representative.
*Chime* "Customer service needed in the cosmetics department," came robo-woman's voice on the intercom. Two moments later, the clerk in the smock came speed walking around the corner to assist, almost as if he'd been waiting for it.
I sauntered to the end of the checkout line and watched as some woman demanded in horrifically broken English that her batteries be discounted to the price notated on her coupon, which she had folded 8 times over into her side pocket. I looked down and noticed that a stout woman had positioned herself nearly in front of me, directly in the middle of the clearly-formed line, six people deep. She took three sidesteps left to wedge herself in good, positioning herself straight ahead of me.
Her pal apparently knew the drill and had taken up her place at the end of the line, from where she was now shouting at her friend. The stout woman turned around and appeared to stare into my right breast, almost through it, towards the sound of her friend's yells. This went on for a few seconds, almost as if she was pausing for the tiny button camera on her taupe windbreaker to get a good shot of me... Then she shuffled past, banging my elbow en route to the end of line.
The nearest Walgreens is at Stockton and Vallejo. It's literally one block away, but always seems like a large chore to walk to, largely because as soon as you cross the street you've entered Chinatown and all bets are off. What you or I would consider common sense and street smarts are out the window and confusion and inertia rule the day.
Recently, I had a headache and needed a new stick of antiperspirant, so I physched myself up and walked into the lion's den. Blank stares to my left, needlessly gridlocked intersection to my right and pink plastic shopping bags all around like some piss-poor-choreographed grand musical number, at least that's what I imagined. They must've thought I was crazy, walking along with some goofy smirk on my face.
I made my way through the old, hunched ladies and uniformed school kids, bouncing off them like bumper cars. There's no "oh, pardon me", or general changing of course in Chinatown. There may be 9 feet of open sidewalk next to you, but if someone gets in your way, you may as well be an ant that had some kid step on the comrade in front of you, destroying all scent and creating utter chaos as you try every avenue but the obvious one to get back on course. I bounced my way into the drug store, maneuvering around the portly old woman who was standing in front of the open "In" door, staring in. Just staring.
I'm going to need to start looking for the tiny, cleverly-disguised Truman Show cameras when I go in this Walgreens. I swear everyone is on a loop. The old Chinese man with the Elvis Costello glasses and walker with tennis ball brakes seems to always be standing over at the cosmetics counter, coughing up a lung when I walk in. The old, egg-shaped woman is always propped on her cane in the toy aisle, facing nothing in particular. The 4'2" clerk in the blue Walgreens smock is always circling aisles 4B and 5A with the sort of frantic hustle he must give when he darts across the street late to his bus in the morning. It all seems awfully rehearsed and suspiciously perfected.
They must have a really high kleptomaniac population in Chinatown that struggles with body odor, because every stick of deodorant and antiperspirant is behind locked fiberglass. I pressed the button that welcomes you to beckon a customer service representative.
*Chime* "Customer service needed in the cosmetics department," came robo-woman's voice on the intercom. Two moments later, the clerk in the smock came speed walking around the corner to assist, almost as if he'd been waiting for it.
I sauntered to the end of the checkout line and watched as some woman demanded in horrifically broken English that her batteries be discounted to the price notated on her coupon, which she had folded 8 times over into her side pocket. I looked down and noticed that a stout woman had positioned herself nearly in front of me, directly in the middle of the clearly-formed line, six people deep. She took three sidesteps left to wedge herself in good, positioning herself straight ahead of me.
Her pal apparently knew the drill and had taken up her place at the end of the line, from where she was now shouting at her friend. The stout woman turned around and appeared to stare into my right breast, almost through it, towards the sound of her friend's yells. This went on for a few seconds, almost as if she was pausing for the tiny button camera on her taupe windbreaker to get a good shot of me... Then she shuffled past, banging my elbow en route to the end of line.
Monday, May 4, 2009
V for Very freaking Obvious
V for Vendetta is a pretty decent film, and not just because I have some weird fascination with the 1812 Overture or that there's definitely uglier people to look at for two hours than Natalie Portman. Of course, there's elements of silliness and hyperbole to drive the message home, but even then, I've found numerous people who missed the point of the story entirely and just found it to be some entertaining, weird new take on Zorro. That's fine, and I absolutely don't want to be one of those people. "Oh I'm sorry - so... you didn't see it as a reflective essay on our current administration and an ominous warning for social action? Ah... I see... We were watching the same movie, right?"
Ok, so I am one of those people, but I look in the mirror and hate myself for it.
Good old Condi Rice was at Stanford recently and a student asked her about the torture topic that has been across the news lately, namely about its representation of hypocrisy to the world and its use in Guantanamo. Giving her charming, contorted bullshit smile (which has to be the same face she uses when it's coming out the other end. seriously, look for it.), she replied with the zinger "well first of all, you have to do what's right." She seemed to wait a split second for the laugh track, or maybe it was just me. She was just getting loose though, before giving her best Nixon (sans her Frank Langella impression, unfortunately) saying that if the president authorized it, then it wasn't illegal. She was serious, apparently. She didn't even bat an eye, which is astonishing. Or maybe not. What is absolutely astonishing is that this hasn't been all over the news itself. Drudgereport? Nah. Maybe we're already becoming relatively numb to the closing of this society. Or maybe I just threw that in to come full circle to my V for Vendetta analogy? Nah.
Frost/Nixon moment around 6:00
It remains to be seen if Barry will try to bring anyone to account over this, if it's even possible, but he's off to a start. Recently, he dropped the Churchill bomb (pun intended. too soon?)as a reinstating of the lines from where we are now to where we've been for 8 years.
I'm not crazy enough to think that Americans are better because, well, we're Americans gosh darn you betch'ur Jesus. I just think I, like most people, hold ourselves to a high standard. Higher than we've been, anyway.
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