Sinanation

Just when Banu Alkan and Ajdar’s effect on the Turkish society was diminishing, a new breed of supposedly naive, utterly inviting and daring barbie doll hits the twittees and the newspapers. She is no other than Hilal Cebeci. A struggling singer out with 3 albums, a mediocre actress with a role in one independent Turkish movie and finally a voluptuous teaser knowing way too well how to expand on her limited media exposure.

It is hard to admit but as a society we have a fetish to see struggling entertainers with nothing to lose come out in the media with the stupidest remarks, display lots of flesh and get into daring bets with their viewers. Like America’s Kendra Wilkinson, Kardashians and Jersey Shore crew, we have our very own absurd entertainers. The Turkish Survivor on TV is a great example to where our credentials lie when it comes to some local living-room entertainment: team players on a tropical island in swimwear fighting with one another for food, fame, love and care. Yemekteyiz (We are at dinner) is another one: 5-6 people who can’t cook at all, but have the worst gourmet caprice, cook for one another and bad mouth each other.

Watching others make a fool out of themselves gives us an incomparable relief and satisfaction because we are immune from all the blame and protected from the judgmental public eye. In return for this no strings attached entertainment, we make the entertainers rich, providing them the fame to qualify for commercials, public appearances and paparazzi chases.

Similar to Ms. Cebebi, Ms. Alkan was also an actress (quite famous in her younger years) turned pop singer with a hit song called “Kaldıramassan Kaldırırlar Gülüm” (others will erect it for you if you can’t my sweetheart). Her erotic song sang with her perky over-glazed lips and massive boobs squeezed in a tiny bikini dipped in cool waters had all the means necessary to climb up the radio charts. Her love and marriage to a mean casanova where she would get slapped once in a while was also a great opportunity to zoom into her personal life on live TV. She was a vulnerable love victim covered with a gifted sex goddess look. She was our entertainment superhero; so close yet so far away from our reserved lives, sucking out all the personal issues from our brains and filling them with her unimaginable character.

After Ms. Alkan made enough money to buy her a lifetime supply of tiny bikinis, we have sent her off with good thoughts and invited in Ajdar Anık. Ajdar was the supernova of entertainers. One of the ugliest singers you could ever see on TV, he became famous after his failed appearance as a contestant at Popstar Turkey. No voice, no looks, no musical background, an engineer turned singer, this guy glued us to TV and YouTube with his bad mouth and humiliating, no rhyme erotic songs such as “Çikita Muz”. Mr. Anık was everything we did not want to be, especially on TV. He was the ever so popular entertainer we wished we never let out of the closet.

It is now Cebeci’s turn to drool us with her unearthly remarks, sexy tweet pics and hilarious nicknames. She calls us “Pampiş” (“Pumpish” a word created by her just for her current fame) and we tease her as our “goddess”. I haven’t listened to a single song of hers and have never seen her on TV, but I am currently following her Pampişizm tweets with much appreciation.

I am a sucker for laughs. I am a victim of naked tweet pics. I am a silent supporter of the ridiculous. There isn’t a single day I yearn for abstinence, but I haven’t been able to help it so far. It is just too good to stare at the screen and ask “is this really happening?”

Pampiş confesses “Guilty as charged.”

Life is an open buffet of limitless selections and varieties. We don’t have the appetite, time nor the belly to try everything, so we narrow down what we put on the plate and try to stick with it. It sucks, especially in today’s world, because we see every damn thing we have been missing out on. We are forced to be decisive and bull headed. The torture is bearable as long as we are satisfied with our selection and if we are not we are left hollow with the disappointment of being overdriven. We lose a bit of time and take on a few unintended calories, but we still have the luxury of grabbing another plate and starting all over again; at least, until we find the right mix.

On a hunt for the most appropriate summer suit (thanks to the summer weddings), I stumbled upon this extremely useful site called The Art of Manliness. This online guidebook will provide you with tips for anything from going bold (yes showers have never been this depressing) to choosing the appropriate length for your socks. I enjoyed the approach and found it useful. Recommend it to all the gentlemen on a hunt for the impeccable dress code in every occasion.

I chose to drive to the office last week instead of taking the metro. The trip started with a bright morning sunshine, through a route near the Bosphorus and ended at a parking lot close by. Good music, lots of light and fresh air instead of the damp, gloomy and claustrophobic metro tunnels: not a single complaint until the trip back began.

Around 18:00, in between the Ritz-Carlton and the famous Inönü Stadium, on the hill that flows into the Dolmabahçe Palace, the pleasurable drive of the morning turned into a nightmare. Clashed in between chunky buses, overdriven cabs and inexperienced drivers I was left with nothing more to do but determine my next move before the opportunity to drive another 2 mt. arrived. Honks and signals mixed to one another, drivers silently cursing, persistent street beggars running in between the cars, I shut down all the nerves and turned into a molded mummy. Ankles tired of pushing the breaks, eyes tired of watching the hours go by, assured that the traffic in Istanbul will only get worse with the amount of new high-rises around, I dreaded the moment I pushed in the ignition key in the morning and yearned for the crowded metro ride back home.

Men’s summer fashion needs an update to accommodate all the essential accessories the metropolitan guy is now required to carry around. In my case these accessories consist of a still somewhat over-sized (despite all the “technological” advances) mobile phone, sunglasses, metro card, iPod with earphones, house and car keys – and sometimes office keys -, a wallet and the most annoying of all, metal coins. Coats and blazers are off the picture during hot summer days, leaving me alone with two unconventional side pockets and a back pocket that bends the wallet like a match on fire. Filling the pants with all these is uncomfortable and the look is extremely messy and unkempt. A kind girlfriend, sister and/or mother with a roomy purse is the best solution to the dilemma. A casual business bag is acceptable during the week, but is still somewhat annoying to carry around. The problem is even bigger during the weekend. The only solution I got for that part is to carry as much as I can in my hands and shove the rest into the pockets.

Isn’t it time for the unearthly fashion designers and the supposedly innovative industrial engineers to come up with more applicable clothing and/or accessories for men? And if they can’t come up with anything they better go beg the technology guys to produce an as-much-as-possible-in-one mobile device. I will do my best to avoid the pockets until the good news arrives.

I try to be an avid hunter when it comes to visiting different parts of the world and experiencing new cultures. Thus I know that even with the current reach of globalization we still have noticeable differences in the way we present and take care of ourselves. Yet there are undeniable similarities as much as the differences. Countries, colors and religions apart there is one fact we shouldn’t deny: we are all nosey and naughty animals at the core and given the right circumstances we will let the beast out. The elevator is one of those places.

My generation and the one right before us seem to be caught in an unavoidable vortex. I keep hearing more and more of my friends and relatives being discontent with their achievements and lifestyle. I can easily relate to these facts because I go through the same blight. There isn’t a single day that goes by without wanting to be somewhere else, with something else. Many of us can no longer find the break to be genuinely thankful for wherever we are. This constant “wish I could” must be one of the most torturous monsters of our time, eating away our energy, focus, goodwill and satisfaction. We hate to be monotonous and prudent and we are constantly afraid that we have already become one. It must be a sin to be as fortunate as many of us are in between millions that are in misery and pain and still want more. It must be a shameful fetish to almost always look up and never down. This writing is not intended to cure the disease but assure that we shouldn’t be the ones to blame. So with this remark in mind I dwell into today’s most overlooked epidemic: the dissatisfaction of deficiency.

I believe that we are in an era of instant, but conditional access to all material desires. It is instant because almost everything we want is just a hand’s reach away. It is conditional because the availability is fully dependent on statute and/or financial strength. The dilemma most of us face today, the continual dissatisfaction of deficiency, begins here: between the instant visual freedom and the restricted ownership. All the things once considered more exclusive, luxurious and/or restricted is now portrayed voluptuously on TV, the Internet and the magazines. The process to be able to “browse” something has decreased to miliseconds, but the final act has not changed a bit: the ability to do, to own is still determined by the same credentials.

The diversity and availability of the media outlets reaching into the personal life have grown enormously since the age of the newspaper. The likes of Expedia closed down the traditional travel agency. Images of tropical islands, luxurious hotels accompanied by the feedback of the people who have been there became too available too fast. The online stores brought the regular shop shelves to our knees. We were once hesitant or too busy to go into shops. We were curious to learn the prices and disappointed by the fact that the price tags were not too easy to reach. The life of the high society, the self-made millionaire, the genius, the mega-rich and the famous was once less available to the public eye. Videos and photos of vacations on private islands, parties on luxury yachts, weddings in 7-star hotels, meetings in designer headquarters were once not just a click away. We once caught up with friends over the phone and now we follow their steps with mobile uploads and 140-character status updates.

With the age of the Internet came an overwhelming access for the public eye, demolishing that loveless, but protective shield of inaccessibility: from exotic travels to cars, from jewelry to clothing there isn’t a single material want now that is reserved behind the curtain. If we don’t have it there is an acquaintance that already does. If we can’t do it there is an acquittance that already can. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, we are bombarded with photos, videos, articles and status updates that force us to say “wish I could”, making it even harder for us savor our own achievements.

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 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.