Sinanation

It has finally arrived. The metropolitan guy living with the “high” standards of capitalism and materialism was not complete until now. All those feverish nights when we were reaching for the bedside drawer, we must have been thinking “what will she think of my condom??? if only there was a cooler brand out there to push the centuries-old mating session to the next level…” Going out with Tod’s, CKs, RLs, Armanis, Zegnas, Gabbanas and getting into bed stripped with an ordinary plastic cover by Durex or Trojan. We had no choice although we must have known it was simply unacceptable.

The wait is over and we can now take the “ridiculous” to the next level. So, next time you visit the shop for a wallet or a bag do not forget to get your very own LV condom. I wonder if the most-cherished repair service will also be available for this new product.

Here is the photo Yasmin sent me yesterday with great enthusiasm (let’s not question how she got it in the first place). Familiarize yourself with it before we hear it pumping through the lyrics of the next top-of-the-chart Hip hop song.

CNN, like all the other media outlets, started its full coverage on the royal wedding last week. Since then I have been seriously thinking about how I could put my thoughts into words on the injustice we have willingly created in this world. For the past few days I have watched myself read the details on the wedding preparations of Prince William and his fiance Kate Middleton: horses getting groomed, Rolls-Royces getting waxed, suits getting tailored, cakes getting creamed. The so-called precious blue blood is spattered all around the tabloids for the “everyday men” to drool on.

The monarchy, like so many outdated concepts imposed on and cherished by us today, should have been revisited after the world wars. The reason that it wasn’t is a most difficult analysis to take on. The human instinct forces us to choose the easy way out. The ancestors created the monarchy out of necessity because they needed to gather under the strongest to protect the way of life. The titles provided order and enabled prosperity within communities. The monarchy was functional for centuries until the territories expanded beyond reach and politics moved in to preserve the peace. Yet we were all too mesmerized by the ostentation of the kings, queens, princesses and the princes that by the time the parliament came into power we couldn’t let go of need to “look up to somebody”.

Centuries ago it was power, order and strategy that rightfully handed the monarchy its privileges. Today it is nothing more than publicity, glamour and the influence of the past that hands it the undeserved franchise. Despite the current discrepancy in the existence of the monarchy, we continue to feed on its unearthly image, shivering with the thought of not being so fortunate. We sit behind TVs and iron bars, watching the priceless armors and diamonds pass, easing our minds with the fact of not being born into this “blue-blood” world we created.

Come Friday, I will be behind the TV for a while, watching the royal wedding ceremony pass through the dustless streets of London. I will once again question how we brought so much injustice to this world and how we have fed with its imbalance. How with the tip of a sword we named a human “sir” and how with the tip of another we forced the very same human to be a “slave”.

I have written an interesting spread on my most favorite DJ, Claude Challe, in the most recent issue of the Turkish music magazine Mix (on page 24). The new issue also has exclusive interviews with up & coming artists such as Can Bonomo. I say have a look when you need a break from work.

Steps away from and overlooking the legendary Eiffel Tower, this 205 m2 Champ De Mars apartment has the potential to be one of the best bachelor pads in Paris. One master bedroom with its own bathroom and walk-in closet opening into the cozy living room and 2 more bedrooms with their own bathrooms. A big dining room to entertain large parties. The kitchen in this one is a definite favorite. Going for USD 6.5m.

I would kicked my ass as a child (despite the sugar-coated looks – displayed below-).

I am still amazed by my parents’ decision to pop out a completely messy, shitting, crying, splurging, disrespecting Bastas Jr. a few months into their marriage. I don’t want to dive into a competitive debate because it is somewhat unethical to look for reason in this particular decision. I guess once married, one is splashed with this completely unselfish need to produce little ones that do nothing else but ask for more.

Still, think about it, I have:

• woken up throughout the whole night just to get a ride around the house and burp my way out of it
• cried a zillion times to get those toys I wanted
• been sick to the bone and swam inside antibiotics
• been disrespectful and ungrateful in completely wrong settings
• been a nightmare with my uneasy mood on flight on the way to a “vacation” my parents have been dying for
• constantly taken advantage of my parents’ emotions to get what I wanted
• been clueless on so many levels, having no logical reason for my bad attitude
• been a dark box of unsolvable problems during the teenage years from weight problems to bullies to friends to desperate love triangles

So my conclusion is: I would have strangled my baby version, slapped my kid version and get into street fights with my teen version on a regular basis (I guess its easy to say when the offspring is not yours).

I am glad I made it to the late 20s in one peace. Thanks to my parents limitless patience, sacrifice and encouragement. I know I don’t yet have a grain of the care they provided me and my sister.

She Left Home (Instrumental) – Jane Birkin

It might be an age thing: it is a common rumor that the older you get the wiser you “should” get. That change shouldn’t always be a good thing and actually in my case it is not a good thing at all.

It was a sweet deal to be a kid. I realize how tasteful it was to “just do” and cry the heck out of it if “you can’t”. Now that I am over the 20s, every action weighs 200 pounds heavier.

I do not enjoy being wiser because most of the time it means being more cautious. I do not enjoy analyzing every bit and piece and trying to fit it into reality. You approach the subject from every angle, smash it, mold it, break it, put it back together just to finally be comfortable that you can completely relate to it. This new me is somewhat bearable when it is my own thoughts I mingle with. Yet when I am sitting in a social setting, listening to other people’s thoughts and approach, smoke comes out of the engine. The presenter lays down a harmonious picture, but I can’t put its puzzle together because of the numerous missing pieces. I want to clear the facts, start the debate and sweat the idea generator, but then I hate to be the party pooper.

And when I can’t put the puzzle together, the image at hand seems like nothing more than a white lie thrown out to entertain and feast upon. I sit there looking more occupied yet blank than a chicken figuring out the next move (at least until someone at the table yells out “dude why so quiet” or “what’s on your mind again”). Once I am pulled back in I make the unavoidable eye contact, give the easy smirk and reply “I’m just listening” when the actual answer at that point should be “dude I am trying to find the logic behind all the gaseous shit that just filled up our ears”.

Yeah, it was a sweet deal to be a kid when the ideas and the lies were as big as today’s, but the need for logic was as small as a pea.

I feel like we are at a certain point in the movie industry where the audience can almost always predict the ending of a story. There must be only a few movies out there that break the precedent and make the viewers bite their nails, scratch their heads until the last scenes. So what makes us watch the rest lies in how well they depict a predictable story. In that aspect Rio is one of the best animation movies I saw so far this year.

Rio is the story of an exotic Brazilian bird called Blu smuggled to America at young age. We are introduced to the amazing Brazilian vibe as he tries to make his way back home and mate with the last female survivor of his kind. This movie is a 3D burst of color and fun. It made me want to pack my bags, fly to Rio, go crazy at the carnival and squeeze the heck out of the fluffy birds getting jiggy all around the streets. It simply switched on the “happy” mode I have been yearning for all day.

I am still humming the intro song. Don’t hesitate and go see it.

I am becoming one of those few Turks that no longer understand the merits of marriage (other than providing a stable environment for the kids) and I have yet to find the reasons to prove otherwise.

I have relatives, friends, acquittances who married young, old, late, for a wonder, planned, unplanned, for love, just because, for money, to block the pressure, after the “accidental” baby, for family, for title, for beauty and/or to disguise sexual preferences. I met the wiser husband. I met the reasonable family man. I met the dedicated love guru. I met the extremely happy father. There is almost always a complaint, a lack of satisfaction, a need to touch fresh boobs, a drive to hear unconditional sex stories, a regret, a wish to go back and do things differently. I met the loving wife. I met the unselfish mother. There is always a drive to hang out with a bigger spender, the wish for a break from the family worries, a need to wine & dine with a more charismatic guy, a wish to have made a better decision. The ancestors insist marriage is a blessing, a miracle, but I question whether its sanctity remains the same given all the cultural changes in our modern age society. And given my background I will only speak for the Turkish society.

The first change is visible on the new generation’s dependence on the maternal family and vice versa. Today the couple forming the new family does not cut their financial and emotional dependence from the parents. The husbands rely on the fathers (both theirs and their wives’) if ever there is a shortfall in money. The wives depend on the safety of their mother’s house if ever there is a quarrel. So the new house built with the marriage is cursed to be nothing more than a theatrical stage used by the performers only if there is a well-choreographed “happy” play at hand. The stage is evacuated in the light of any tough disaster and things are tried to be worked out away from it. In the old Turkish times, marriage meant the complete departure of the husband-and-wife-to-be from their maternal homes. Unlike the modern age, the notion of the maternal home as the crisis center would not be valid in the old times. Yes, there would be similar instances of infidelity, disrespect and disagreement, but all those would stay between the wife and the husband until they could no longer be worked out.

The second change is apparent on the new generation’s sympathy over self-dependance. The fortunate teenager who is blessed with all the technological means to a global life no longer finds comfort in the social, communal attractions, but in isolated exclusive activities. The able adult who collects the fruits of a well-paying job finds the sweet satisfaction of self-reliance unexchangeable. The luxury of privacy overrules the altruism of sharing. The blown-up self respect occupies the room supposed to be shared by the patience and self-denial required to make the “couple” work. The diversity of the means to consumption and the limitless drive to dress-to-impress gives way to ultimate egoism. The need to observe and listen compensates the need to talk, making the silence the preference. Thus, when the wedding bells ring it becomes a hell to sacrifice and submit to sharing.

Unlike today, marriage in the old times meant a higher social standing for both the wife and the husband. Almost all the marriages would be completed before the 30s with the consent of the parents. The girl would usually be much younger than the guy. She would be inexperienced, well-educated, talented and financially dependent (as she would have almost no work history). She would have a limited say in her parent’s home and would be socially active only within strict boundaries, making the marriage a much sweeter deal for her in terms of independence. The guy on the other hand would be fresh on his job partially supported by the father until he can be fully independent. The sex-driven teen wouldn’t be as lucky as today’s playboy as almost all the decent family girls would choose to wait until the wedding night. The drive to reproduce and the continuity of the family tree would be a priority for the son, thus making the marriage his ultimate goal.

We live in an era where both the men and the women have the means to be intractable and aggressive. That is why things have gotten much harder for the new age marriage where none of the sides agree to submit to one another. The sharp cut of divorce is just a few words and the sweet comfort of the maternal home is just a few blocks away. The divorced guy is still luckier in terms of finding a fresh mate and it is not as bad as it used to be for the divorced wife.

The only subtle thing that tames the two stallions of the modern age is the responsibility over and the love for their kids. These juniors seem to be the ones that provide the parents with the means to let go of the sweet life before marriage and give into the necessities of parenthood.

It is clear that marriage, like all the other ancient systems, needs a touch-up to make it a sweat deal also for the new generation, yet I have yet to find out what kind of a change is required to make things work in harmony.