birthday party 38-2: presents

It is now a proven fact that to write, “to be continued” is a jinx, and I can never continue if I was foolish enough to say it. I put the birthday photos on facebook and they created quite a stir and many comments so instead of writing things about it on my blog I ended up reading and writing on facebook. As they say an image is worth how many words was it?

In order to break the jinx I will be very vain and list all the presents I was given on my birthday, rather than go in detail about who came and what happened.

Banu, who was once a postgraduate student of mine (a “mature student” as the incredibly stupid phrase goes, which is meant to ‘oh so very delicately’ convey the fact that the person in question is older than you might expect for a student. In Banu’s case it meant she had spent her life earning shit loads of money and was now determined to spend it on things that gave her pleasure: writing an MA thesis on film being one and travelling around the world being the other, which she is now in the process of doing) gave me a rainbow maker, which when adjusted to your window, is supposed to cast rainbows in to your room. I have yet to check it out, but it seems quite an ingenious little device with a solar panel and a crystal and all that.

Ceren who is another old student (and no one would ever accuse her of being mature:) gave me what she referred to as “the hypertext par excellence” though I would rather call it “the coffee-table book par excellence”. The title of the book is “Pick Me Up” and its cover is made up of extremely bright colours, with a 3-d effect that scream “pick me up” all over again. The subtitle: ‘stuff you need to know’, sort of tells you all you need to know about the book and as you might have guessed already none of the stuff inside has anything to do with knowledge of the necessary kind. To give an indication, there are pages entitled “Who on Earth was Columbus? We Cornered His Ghost to Find Out” and “Why is the Roman Empire Like McDonald’s?” the answer to this being: “Both are (or were) set on world domination (of sorts)” I am sure you get the picture. It is fun and stupid and a perfect gift!

But as far as books go Harun’s present has a special significance: a beautifully illustrated 1916 edition of Longfellow’s Evangeline would have been significant on its own right but it came attached with this unbelievable story: Harun, it turns out, bought the book five years ago for my birthday but it coincided with the time when he was quitting his job at the university and in all the hassle this entailed he could not give it to me. Then he forgot all about it until two nights ago when he was talking to a friend at home about what he should buy me as a present while the friend in question was roaming through his library. The friend promptly took out the Evangeline Harun had brought for me five years ago and thus the book finally ended up in my hands.

I had yet another book as a present from Selim a fellow film scholar, although it was sent by Esen, a designer friend of mine who could not make it to the party, and sent a book she designed instead. The book is actually a work of art by the artist Leyla Gediz and is called K-141 Kursk, after the Russian submarine that sunk in 2000. The one that became famous because the authorities just left the soldiers to die in it refusing to launch a rescue mission. Leyla Gediz looked at a photo of one of these soldiers, then made a drawing of him, from memory. Then for 118 days (the number of soldiers in the submarine), every day, she drew him again from memory. The result is recorded in the book and apart from anything else it is a very interesting case on memory distortion.

So these were the presents dedicated to my intellectual persona. There were also presents to satisfy the crazy in me. Gencay once again outdid everyone in this respect and gave me a t-shirt that writes ‘eat pussy’ underneath what is the universal traffic sign indicating a restaurant, with fork and knife and plate with the addition of a little cat on the plate. There is no way I could describe it and do it justice you simply have to see it and laugh. More importantly he hand painted it! There is a story behind this one as well: On facebook I saw a friend’s photo with the exact same t-shirt and commented on it indicating how much I adore the t-shirt and asking where I could find it. The answer was that the photo was taken five years ago and she had brought it from Holland. Being on facebook the entire exchange was of course public and did not escape Gencay who proceeded to replicate the t-shirt and got it ready for my birthday. How nice is that??? Of course I ended up putting it on and it is on me in most of the photos of that night.

Now that I have mentioned hand-made presents I have to take the time to salute Gozde who made an oil- on -canvas painting for me: a naked female butt, in front of a purple wall, holding a black whip. Actually she had claimed it was in exchange for me helping her out with her Phd thesis but since, my birthday was when she finally let me see it ,I believe it ended up being a birthday present. I am yet to bring the painting back home since it hasn’t dried! It is so nice to have friends that can make their presents rather than buy them!

Another piece of neat clothing I got was from Feride who happens to be the actress who has portrayed one of my favourite characters in the history of Turkish film: a very-angry-punk-butch in “Iki Genc Kiz” by Kutlug Ataman (who you might know more as a Turner prize winning contemporary artist rather than a Turkish film director and you won’t be wrong) However Feride doesn’t see herself as an actress and would not appreciate this description of her self. She is currently a film critic and if hse were ever to be involved in practical side of cinema I assume she would prefer to do that as a director not an actor. What she gave me was a bright purple tie with a sexy cartoon girl on it carrying a sign that says “school sucks” I put it on immediately (well actually I first gave it to Hakan, so he can tie it for me, since I have no idea how to go about doing that and although I have never once in my life seen Hakan with a tie I know the knowledge is ingrained into men at a very young age) I am yet to wear it to school but the idea of having it on during a lecture is very appealing.

As far as clothing as presents go Faith was, once again, over the top. Fatih is a film scholar and film critic and a short story writer. However, for me, before all that, he is the very best translator in Turkey and has translated people like Borges and Nabakov, as well as, books like American Psycho. He is also partly responsible for the jinx I mentioned since, although everyone knows him as a shameless exhibitionist, he told me not to write about some of the things that happened at the Rainbow Party. And this certainly contributed to my inability to continue relating what I had started! And this censorship plea comes from the man whose present to me was: two pairs of matching lace underwear. This also means that he is the only person who gave Seda (love of my life) a present on my birthday, which is kind of neat. Accompanying the underwear was a candle in the shape of a wine bottle. Kind of obvious what we are supposed to be doing with that one.

Hande, another ex-student who is nowadays working her ass off at a production company which happens to be situated at the building right across my house, so I can actually watch her sweating away, gave me a beautiful enamel brooch with a bear in a dress is dancing with a boy: a picture out of some fairy tale that still manages to look kinky.

In fact it was only with the addition of these presents that I finally completed my costume for the night. I had a pair of wonderful jeans on, a present by Seda (love of my life) and a frilly, lacy, very Goth looking black shirt I had brought from Camden Town. Once I wore the pink ‘eat pussy’ t-shirt under it, leaving the front of it open and pinned my brooche to it and wore the purple tie on top of it all I was looking really good. So much so that Milen, who came at the very end of the night since she had audaciously gone to another party first, told my costume was unbelievably good, and since she has an MA in fashion and not only designs, but also actually tailors very groovy clothes, is more than just a compliment.

Birthday party 38-1: how and where

Wednesday was my birthday and last night I had a birthday party. There has been times when I had birthday parties at my house and times when I simply invited my friends to a restaurant or a bar or a club. There was even this one time when I had my birthday at my girlfriend Seda’s (love of my love) club. At the time she was not my girlfriend, but we were already in love by then, although neither of us admitted it yet. She had rented a striper for me and gave me a book called ‘desire’, so I guess everything was already very obvious, but it still took us a while before we got there. All the same last night was the first time I had a private party at a club closed to random customers for my birthday.

To explain how this happened let me rewind. It all started last Saturday. Seda was at Edirne (another city!) and Gencay came over to cheer me up in my girlfriends absence. We first cooked, then had diner and chatted throughout which brought us to the subject of my immanent birthday. Gencay decided I simply had to have a birthday party. I claimed it was too late to organise. I also refused to do it at home and spend my birth”day” preparing for the birth”night”. But we made a list of people I would like to invite and Gencay promised to take on all the necessary work. Of course I ended up arranging the club but there would never have been the party if it wasn’t for Gencay’s insistence so I am very grateful.

As to the venue: A fellow film critic and a fellow member of the governing board of SIYAD (Turkish Film Critics Association) Deniz, owns a club at Beyoglu that is in fact quite fashionable. It is called DIRTY and clubbers know it well. All the same Thursday’s are slow nights for clubs. They make most of their profit on Friday’s and Saturday’s when there is an entrance fee. But they also open on Wednesday’s, the only midweek night when there is action. However since they open up on Wednesday they keep it open on Thursday, although they know it will be a slow night. Anyway I knew that a party would be welcome for Deniz on Thursday, which meant guaranteed clientele. So I called and he agreed. Then I called Cenk who is not only a great DJ but also someone who wants to start doing this seriously and hopefully profesionaly. So I thought it would be a great opportunity for him to try it out and would guarantee that we would have very good music. Thanks to Facebook, invitations could be sent out easily and Gencay made one of his legendary photoshop collage pictures for the invitation: a photo of me imposed on “The Godfather” film poster seamlessly and the name of the film changed to “Godmather”. There was quite a bit of scandal when two of my friends, Cem and Feride turned up at the club on Wednesday, which was my actual birthday and had to go back. But apart from that I believe it was the best night out I ever had.

Let me elaborate on that: I love dancing but usually hate the places one has to go to dance. Since I quit smoking one and a half years ago it is unbearable to try and breath in a closed place where everyone is smoking. I usually don’t like the music or the music system and the combination makes my head ache. I don’t like the hours you have to keep in order to dance. Such places only start to kick after midnight more like around one in the morning and continue until four or five. It has been years since I could stay out that late. Two in the morning is my limit and if I rarely exceed this limit it is definitely not at a club, but at home engaged in heated discussions on some obscure topic with a few friends. And most importantly I rarely like the kind of crowd in such places. The type of people that regularly club are not the type of people I feel at home with. And these places get so crowded your dancing space is limited to elbow length and can’t really freely move and dance to your hearts content.

Yesterday however there was something around 50 people in a space made for 150 people and this made ample space for any kind of dance move. It also meant you could breath since the place wasn’t filled with smoke. The party started around 21.30 and ended at 02.00 as pre arranged and announced on the invitation. More to the point every single person in the club was a dear friend. Also it contained a very high concentration of gay and lesbians more than you can find anywhere outside a gay club. There was even a foreign photographer who was in Istanbul to shoot photos for a project on “sexual minorities” who took the party as an opportunity to work on this very project.

It is time to move on to a list of everyone who was there and the presents they gave me and the events of the evening but I have to take a break. To be continued.

ode to Beyoglu or the free zone I call home

After the SIYAD (Turkish Film Critics Association) Awards on Monday night when we came back to Taksim square and finally ate something after six hours of hunger, at midnight, at the famous dinner Bambi, which happens to have the same name as the famous Disney character, we (Seda –love of my life – and me) wanted to go home and crash since both of us had to lecture in the morning. Cenk and his friend who spent the night assuming the imaginary personas of Carlo and Bruno, the foreign producers who came to Istanbul to sniff out some lucrative talent to exploit, wanted to go to the after party at the club Dirty which is owned by Deniz, a (actually I should say ‘the’) fellow member of the governing board of SIYAD.

However being sad people who live on the Asian side of the Bosporus they were not quite sure where the club is. So I started to describe: “You know Yesilcam street? It is the street on which both Emek and Sinepop cinemas are located the one where there is that huge construction sight at the moment? Well on the opposite side of that street, is a street that has the Garanti gallery on one corner and a shop that sells Converses on the other corner. Thats the street you should enter. It’s a very short street with uninviting bars on the left and the Majestic cinema’s entrance on the right. Whenyou reach the end turn right. The new street you have thus entered is a ‘cul de sac’ that ends with the back door of the Atlas cinema it is the door from which you exit the cinema when the films are over. It is also the street where Yeni Melek is situated: surely you must have gone to some concerts there.” I would have gone on, although I am sure they had got the picture by then, just for the fun of it. However Cenk interrupted and said “did you loose your virginity on this street or what?”

This is the question that has motivated me to write this entry. I was not aware that the information I was giving was anything special. I would have thought anyone who did not live on the other side of Bosporus would have as easily given the same amount of detail. But Cenk’s question made me realise that this is not quite true that after all not a lot of people passed that street 3 times already that day like I had. Of course I did not loose my virginity on that street, at least not literally. However I have spent a considerable amount of my life at and around Beyoglu. I know every side street that branches off of Istiklal street like the back of my hand. 20 years ago I used to spent a lot of time drinking in the various bars and pubs and what nots. (I no longer drink) Now that I live around, I do my shopping and meet people at its cafes and of course I go to galleries and cinemas around here. Most importantly, however, I walk from one place to another in the entire vicinity every day withouth exception: Istiklal, Taksim, Galata, Taepebasi, Tarlabasi, cihangir etc. because, Cihangir where I live, is in the Beyoglu municipality and my adily needs and transactions make it necessary for me to walk about. For instance, on the very street that I tried to describe to Cenk, is situated the SIYAD headquarters. In short I know every nook and cranny around Beyoglu since I have had some occasion to know over the years, even if the occasion in question was never the loosing of my virginity.
However this doesn’t strike me as a specific knowledge. Beyoglu after all is the centre of the entire city everyone has occasion to come there. Everyone I know, seems to know Beyoglu as much as I do. But at choice moments I realise this is not so true and Cenk’s comment made one such moment. Yes every one knows Istiklal street but not every one knows the side streets and especially the short cuts and the easiest roots to get from one place to the other. In fact since Istiklal street is a place to promenade nearly everyone takes the longer roots and never learns there are shorter versions of the same journey.
This brings me to the second reason for this entry. On Tuesday night with a group of SIYAD members I had dinner with the Mayor of Beyoglu. Although I am aware that this seems to hold some news value, I am not interested in that side of it. The mayor, although very young for the office, is a typical politician whose urge for rhetoric is mostly boring. There was eight film critics at the table and every one started asking their questions by referring to how long they have known Beyoglu, how well they know it and how much they love it etc. Alin (a dear, dear friend whom I genuinely love and believe is one of the very few journalist left who actually make an adorable job out of it) even had the opportunity to refer to the legendary old times of Beyoglu, the time of her grandmother, since not only her but even her grandmother was born in Istanbul which is a very rare thing in deed. However I soon realised that I was the only person at the table who actually lived at Beyoglu. Consequently I was the only member of the Mayor’s constituency. I barely talked during the dinner and merely listened. But when we were about to go and the Mayor asked if we need to be dropped off anywhere, I couldn’t pass the opportunity to say, “I live within walking distance”. The mayor’s eyes lit up and we had a little chat about Cihangir and the new park that just opened there.
I don’t think I ever say “I love Beyoglu” because I think “well, duh, who doesn’t”. I never say to myself “I know this place” because, again, who doesn’t. And I certainly don’t say “I belong here” or “this is my home” because the whole point of Beyoglu seems to be that it is a place that one visits and only those who ‘don’t belong’ live. It is where you go to entertain, to engage in cultural activates, to find blind dates and one night stands, even to work but after the hub and hustle you go back to your quite homes. As the mayor himself called it, Beyoglu is a free zone, which is in its connotations the very opposite of the concept of home. But after these two incidents got me thinking, I realised I love this place precisely because, only a free zone can I call home.

preapering for the siyad awards

OK I admit life overtakes me quite a bit. I wrote the below entry Monday afternoon just before I went to attend the SIYAD (Turkish Film Critics Association) Award ceremony which was going to be broadcasted live and where I had to go on stage to give an award. However I didn’t even have time to post it let alone write a new entry about the ceremony itself. What I did instead was to write a comment about the huge arguments the awards created for the Sunday supplement of the daily newspaper Radikal where my very old friend Nilgun is an editor. Actually I don’t know if Nilgun will be able to find a place for it. All I know is that a blog entry would not have sufficed for this purpose. So here is what I wrote on the afternoon of the 3rd of March:

Already had a hectic day. I started of by going to the gym and if I had known the day was going to be like this I would have postponed it to another day. Anyway, there I saw Bahadir, who is a famous cartoonist. I have known him for ages, from the times I worked at Gunes daily newspaper with Bahadir’s, now wife, Mine. I have already mentioned Mine on this blog, she is the one who writes novels. Anyhow he told me, he and Mine are going to Kathmandu tomorrow. Mine is going to observe and eventually write a book on a group of Turkish hippies who went over there during the 60s and stayed. I am not sure if the book will be on and about this group or if Mine is merely going to use her observations to write a novel. She writes in both genres so it is difficult to be sure. Anyway when I went out of the gym, which is situated at Taksim square (overlooking Taksim square actually) and started walking on Istiklal street towards Beyoglu, who did I happen upon? None other than Mine! We decided that the moment she is back, her, me, and Erel will meet. If there is anyone who has read my very first blog entry, they will know that I had met Erel at the opening gala of the !f independent film festival and made the same promise to her. Let’s see when we will actually meet, accidentally somewhere at Beyoglu, more likely than not.

Then things became complicated. I had to drop by the SIYAD (Turkish film critics association) headquarters to get some invitations for tonight’s big event but no one answered the door, which is not so curious, since most likely every one is at the venue where the event will take place busy with the preparations. Since the headquarters is very near my house (15 minutes walk) I didn’t mind. I came home, ate lunch, which consisted of a self-made tuna and avocado sandwich, then I saw the message from Gencay, asking if I could arrange an additional invitation, since a guy he has been interested in for some time (entirely my doing but that’s another story) wanted to go with him if there was. Actually he already had an invitation and had already promised Inanc he would go with him and had every inclination to dump Inanc if there were no invitations, Inanc being merely his heterosexual friend while the other is a date potential. I said I’ll do smtg.

Then the phone rang and it was Gulengul she wanted to know if there was an invitation since she was thinking of coming. Then she said Cenk was being very gay and putting suits on and off trying to decide what to wear and generally making Gulengul nervous. She on the other hand was claming that film critics usually go around in jeans and t-shirts with cigarette burns in them. The observation is very accurate and I ensured Gulengul a nice shirt on her jeans would be sufficient although there would be people in formal wear as well. Then we gossiped about Cenk and Gencay the details of which I have no intention of disclosing. All I will say is I have decided that I will from now on refrain from giving my opinion to any gay man when they start there endless speculations on who to date and who not to date and whether they should date and what not. I will patiently listen and nod and that is all. I will not get entangled in this mess nor be seen anywhere near the cross fire. Gulengul thought this decision to be very wise.

However then she started asking me questions I had no answer for like will we party after the ceremony, when exactly does this start, aren’t you supposed to be the deputy head of this association, do I need to go higher to get answers etc. Gulengul has a reason for asking so many questions. If she is to leave her baby girl (elfe whom I already wrote an entry about) she has to make the most of it. she can’t just go to the ceremony she has to drink party everything the one and only night a month she goes out. So I called the head of the association Mozer (another very old friend) to ask him where to get invitations etc. he said I should call the headquarters and the moment there is somebody there, go get it. if this doesn’t work, I should give the names of the people to the guy at the door! (this is a classic I have to write about as a separate entry one day) So I called and they said they would be there for half an hour so I had to rush back out. Then just as I entered the damn place, my mobile rang and it was Cenk who had called to ask, surprise surprise, if there were additional invitations!. Thank god this is the kind of event you worry might not be full so its not a big deal to keep on providing invitations if only I didn’t have to run around Beyoglu to get them.

Then I went to my hairdresser (I already told you about him because of Alisa) and told him: “I actually love the way my hair looks at this very moment however I have this thing tonight and everyone says I have to get my hair done and I hate my hair done but … as long as I don’t end up looking like my mom”. Now that it is done I can assure you that I look nothing like her but now I have to get dressed. We (Seda –love of my life- and me) will be meeting with Gencay, Emrecan, Inanc, Cenk, Gulengul and who ever Cenk is bringing at six in front of AKM (Ataturk Cultural Center) where hopefully there will be buses to take us to the venue. So I have to rush.

latent lesbians on facebook

I wanted to write on the phenomenon of facebook for sometime but I thought I would be writing on ‘facebook phobia’ and relating it to my never-ending musings about ‘blog phobia’. However another point has struck me today. On facebook what you do mostly is to look at who has written on whose wall or commented on whose photo or wrote what message to which egg or plant or what not. After a year of facebooking I realised that a considerable amount of my female friends are, for all practical purposes, writing love letters to each other without the slightest a hint of self-consciousness. Actually, to be honest, it was Seda who brought it to my attention and she also said it makes her very angry. Let me try to explain what the situation is and why this angers my beloved.

These people use an exaggerated amount of terms of endearments when they address each other. They say things like: “my darling”, “my beloved”, “love of my life”, “sweetheart’, “I miss you so much I can’t breath” “I will kiss you until you are breathless”, “why don’t you marry me”, “don’t send that woman your love and kisses be mine and only mine”, “You are so sexy”, “you are delicious”, “you are scrumptious” etc. I think you get the picture. I am not sure if this is a Turkish thing or more universal or even if it is something specific to my group of friends. (though since my friends number smtg like 300, it is safe to say that this is not a specific group we are talking about.)

Now Seda is angry because she sees here an appropriation of love terms for smtg that is not a love relationship based on the firm belief that the usage of them will never be taken as such. For instance, in this blog, I keep referring to Seda as ‘love of my life’ and when I say this, it is to convey a simple truth (as simple as any truth can be) so when people who are only friends start using it for one another, without actually meaning it literally, they turn the very usage into a joke. And no doubt the assumption here is that it could never be taken literally and seriously because they are used, among women (heterosexual women to be precise though as you know heterosexual is never qualified) None of them would ever use such words for a man, and if they did it would be taken seriously, and if not by the man in question, then definitely so by their boyfriends.

At first I thought Seda was being overly sensitive but as time goes by and the exaggeration continuous I have started to see her point. I have a feeling they don’t use such terms to their boyfriends or if they do, they do it privately, not publicly. So either these terms have shifted in such a way as to apply not to love relationships but only to same sex friendships -in which case we should better find new ones for love relationships or soon there will be no love in them- or all these women are latent lesbians that have become symptomatic and very loudly so.

Umberto Eco said that in postmodern times you can no longer say “I love you” but have to put the declaration in scare quotes and say something like: ”As Barbara Cartland would say it: I love you”. I guess part of this situation is due to this condition. However when this inability to take declarations of love seriously because they have been used so much is canalised into same-sex friendship relationships I believe there must be smtg more at work. While I was writing on “Tipping the Velvet” I suggested heterosexual love has become an overused cliché and only lesbian love seems worth the bother of the romance writer. Outside fiction it looks as if heterosexual love is indeed dead and all is left is a mockery of love between “friends”. To put it in other words we have an exaggerated show of love with the possibility of seriously loving and, most importantly, making love nonexistent. And Seda is right it seems like our very serious love, that is no doubt a sexual love, is being belittled in the process albeit inadvertently.

getting back in blogging form

I was supposed to write the lgbtt workshop at !f, The rainbow party, the TV studio event for SIYAD (Turkish film critics association). I also wanted to write the night I watched the Oscar ceremony until six in the morning with my two gay friends Gencay and Cenk. However life overwhelmed things happened one after another with no time in between to write. Especially late nights three nights in a row shook my system and left me staggering to regain my balance the whole week.

I was confident I could keep up the job of posting on this blog at least every other day because I am not a very social person. I take care not to pack my days with events and I hate to party till I drop and when I do party it is never more than once a week. Alas things piled up and I got crushed. Now I can’t seem to pick up the thread. I might not have attempted if my dear friend Gulengul hadn’t motivated me by writing a long comment to one of my entries. How should I restart? Should I go back and write the events that I thought I would or should I just skip them and go on. I don’t know. This entry is meant to be a form of flexing my muscles, trying to get back into form.

So let me start by relating what I am doing right now. Obviously I am blogging. Behind me Seda (love of my life) is playing a stupid game on Facebook and simultaneously chatting with Cicek, a dear friend of ours. Gencay who spent the night at our place is reading an article, I wrote ages ago, on Star Wars. We just had breakfast, which consisted of whole grain bread, white cheese (also known as feta cheese), black olive paste, honey, pineapple, green tree and P.J Harvey. Now we are all drinking coffee. We are taking it easy and in half an hour we will go to the organic farmers market for our weekly shopping. We plan to meet Cicek and then Seda and I will go to the gym. The weather outside is sunny and clear: the best kind of spring weather.

Seda just decided we should watch a music video directed by Spike Jones for the song ‘Praise You’ by Fat Boy Slim and it is hilarious. I didn’t know we had this in our house and I really don’t know what prompted her to make us watch it. Now we are about to watch the wonderful music video in which Chrisopher Walken dances like crazy. I adore Cristopher Walken and on this high note leave you to it.