Uçuş puan kazanmanın en kolay yolunu keşfedin

I have no idea what the title of the post means. I could google translate, but I'd rather not. You see, early this year, I went on an amazing trip through Turkey, which involved making bookings on budget (?) domestic Turkish airlines, like THY and Pegasus. Both were a pleasure to fly, and I have wonderful memories of the trip, the airports, the train stations, the newspapers, the TV channels, the food, the colours, the food, the food, the sea, the sea, the sea, the sea, and the sheer kick one can get from travelling in a country where most people dont speak English as a matter of course.

Anyway.

In making these bookings, I used my primary email address to create an account, and I must have inadvertently clicked on the 'Send me a newsletter in a strange language with vivid yellow pictures' checkbox, because every other day, Pegasus emails me in Turkish enticing me to oh, I dont know, fly from Antalya to Bodrum maybe, or announces rapid fire sale tickets on flights from Selcuk to Ankara, (I think) or strongly urges me to sign up to a Pegasus Plus membership.

Usually, I delete the emails, but sometimes I read them carefully, particularly on days when I need a little cheering up.  I imagine the Pegasus email telling me I'm getting too cushy in life and I should use artillery and wage war (punlar ve artilar var...), or that I should really go back to learning magic (I used to know some pretty good tricks as a child) (Uçuş puan kazanmanın en kolay yolunu) or that I should feel free to sin, lie and since its winter, go ice-skating and glide (Sizinle ilgileniyoruz...) or that the world is a wonderful place so I should stop sulking (Dünyanın En Güzel Hediyesi).

Sometimes, I'd like to believe, like so many people I know, it too has taken its responsibilities in the world seriously, considers me to be the definitive girl whom people send poetry to, and regularly sends me yearning love poetry.

(Kart yok, vergi yok, karmaşık mil hesapları ve kontenjan sınırı yok ...)

Maybe its not yearning love poetry though, that one has the potential to be a koan. One can always hope.

***

I started reading the Player of Games yesterday, and at about 1:08 am (Yes, I checked the clock), I became so unsettled by the book that I had to take a walk around the room, then that walk being unsatisfactory, I walked into the living room and then into the kitchen, drank a glass of water and tried to calm myself down. The Culture seems to be everything I thought it would be. Everything.

The book is much better than Consider Phlebas, and I can't wait to read the third one (chronologically only, as apparently the reading order isn't particularly relevant).

The best writing for 2011

The FT has come up with its list for 2011's best writing, and I mostly agree, though there are some fantastic surprises here. You must take a look.

There's a recco for an Eric Brown SF book (The Kings of Eternity), but given Engineman (fairly revered) felt quite ordinary, I'm not sure if I should take the plunge.  Suggestions, comments?

And that is the longing, and this is the book

I'm reading some wonderful poetry at the moment.

If you could write a poem to hum to yourself should you walk down La Ramblas, towards the docks, then this is what it would be:
(You'd have to make allowance for many of the brilliant bars that dot the place, especially one such as this: Obama, and Obama) though what the reviewers dont mention is the life-size statue of Obama sitting on a bench about 2 feet from our table.

***

You'd sing too

You'd sing too
if you found yourself
in a place like this
You wouldn't worry about
whether you were as good
as Ray Charles or Edith Piaf
You'd sing
You'd sing
not for yourself
but to make a self
out of the old food
rotting in the astral bowel
and the loveless thud
of your own breathing
You'd become a singer
faster than it takes
to hate a rival's charm
and you'd sing, darling
you'd sing too

At the end of a week-long series of events to celebrate a milestone, of sorts, (the milestone, not the events), a great many things have happened. One, is that the blog and its existence has repeatedly come into question, its ability to put me in touch with strangers, (though, gentle readers they may be) has also come into question. The purpose of existence, as it were, has come into question, albeit gently and casually and in a much more nuanced manner than one could have hoped for (nuances being ever so tricky to negotiate). Publicly admitting to trials and tribulations, (the kinds involving staplers, smoothie bottles and fingers, workdays that sap you of the will to be social and active, thick nib fountain pens, exquisite headaches from glasses of fine champagne at very many kinds of christmas parties and approaching nri-in-christmas- dejection, the days when more bots or clients email you than real people, or the days you reason with yourself if milk can really _not_ be used beyond the expiry date on the bottle, trays 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 on the printer, the unignorable red blinking light on the blackberry, the dreaded cough-y cold-y, sneezy voice of a parent many miles away, the stray full weekend of time slipping away gently in unordained and nonpremeditated morsels of virtual connection, the misery inducing time difference, dirty dishes, lack of cute men, ripped buttons, eyeholes and eyelets of  disappointment, the unavoidable scraping away of grand dreams, replaced instead by regular sized bites of achievable goals and grand (in name only) no sugar, double shot, cappucinos) has come into question, and mostly, the I-blog-because-I-need-to-write-in-one-way-or-another approach has come into question.  As you may perhaps know, one is generally more sensitive to these questions around a birthday. One has spent a lot of time over fourth glasses of martinis looking for answers to these questions in the faraway sparkle of xmas decorations and the closer up tart in the shiny sequinned dress.

Was there a list? (An 'everything I will have achieved by 25' list.)
Yes, yes of course there was, and it was (in retrospect only) a highly unrealistic, overly simplistic, list compiled in the most confident and cocky of moments.

Fall in love, Be famous, Travel, etc.

Looking ahead, I have decided I am not going to make a five year plan. I know what I need to do, and I am going to go do it, and if I fail, I shall have done it, and I shall do it no more. And I will find something else to do. And its as simple as that.

The crucial life lesson learnt, I think (and I did think about this deeply) is that there is time. And it will work out. It has to.

***
I'm continuously tweaking the template because I am looking for some measure of personable identity here, and it is rather elusive in its design.

***
Over this happy happy birthday week past, one of the best memories I have (not withstanding the stunning walks down the docks of Barcelona, the dazzling cocktail bars in succession, the food and the food and the cake and the books) is the BFF directing me downstairs in the midst of a busy Thursday afternoon at work for a belated present of angel cake cupcakes with creamcheese frosting and a vivd green birthday message. Definitely a bookmarkable moment for life.

***
I went to the opera! They sing when they speak! All very magical!