Beg for Mercy, Hail The Queen

Times Square, home of BB King's and my mortal enemy; New York cabs.

I'm going to make a conscious effort to update this more and to bring back the focus to my "muses." Or else the title of this blog is just stupid. And by muses, we just mean anything that I love and that brings me joy, as well as stuff that inspires me. We're kind of veering away from the traditional definition of muse and what drove me to start writing this blog but anything that allows me to go on and on is pretty muse-worthy. These are my musings. Yes, I did just refer to the singular me as we. It's the royal we. How annoying would it be if I started referring to everything as we. We looove metal. We just ate the most delicious pho. We do not bring the computer into the bathroom with us because then we would wee all over it.

I just got back from a 24-hour trip to New York. Okay, I have issues with New York. I'm gonna try to be tactful about this as it is half my family's new home, including my sister's, but I just don't like New York. Everyone keeps telling me I'll feel differently if I knew the city and wasn't in a constant state of confusion on the streets and could use the subway as comfortably as I do in Boston but, well, they're wrong. New York is rude. Boston is actually ruder. We are the rudest, bitchiest city in the States currently. But while our rudeness is nothing personal, in New York you kind of take it personally. And it's not "organic," rudeness like if someone is being an asshole on the train and you tell them to shut up because if they don't, they're getting off at the next stop whether they want to or not, no it's different in New York. It's like just because it's New York, they have the right to act that way. Well you know what? If a city is known for having an attitude then here's mine back; fuck you. It's a fucking city. There are millions of cities in the world. There is absolutely nothing that separates you or makes you the creative little unique butterfly you think you are. Get over it. And don't call me a fucking idiot when you can clearly see me getting in the cab you dumbfuck, stupid, bitchass jerk cyclist. You're lucky I'm quite attached to my belonging because if not, I would have had no problem hurling something into your spokes and then we'd see who'd be in whose way as you crashed into oncoming traffic.

Oh, and New York makes me too angry. At least in Boston when we yell, it's a general exclamation to the heavens akin to Italian housewives haggling with market vendors over the price of cheese. In New York, it's just malicious. I don't understand how neurotic New Yorkers can be, ahem excuse me Woody Allen, have you ever actually walked on the streets? The rate at which people hurl abuse, it's like they don't even wait for the words to form in their brains. It's a city that doesn't bottle up anything which is why it baffles me that people would actually need therapists, what would there be left to rant about?

Probably us awesome Boston folk.

But anyway, I'll be back in October New York and if you dare cross me I'll show you that though us Bostonians also use our words, we're quite adept with our fists as well.

This is all hot air you realize, the only person I've ever hit was my sister when we were kids and I still feel really, really bad about that.

That's also the first time I've ever referred to myself as a Bostonian. I guess after 8 years it's pretty true.

But anyway, the whole reason for the trip was to see Accept. I love Accept. They're like muses to me. Eh that's stretching it but I did just say we, sorry I, would try to call more attention to the untraditional muses. They're like AC/DC mixed with The Scorpions with a heavy dose of Motorhead who are all among my favorite bands. I actually got to interview the guitarist for MetalSucks and my boyfriend and I had the best time at the show. They played all the classics as well as some new hits which I quite liked and they even gave me, "Princess of the Dawn." I always pick a song I really want to hear whenever I go to a show and I rarely ever get it (unless it's a really obvious one) but I got this one and I was thrilled. Though the original singer, Udo Dirkschneider, is no longer with the band, the replacement did the songs more than justice. It was so wonderful to see a whole band who all looked genuinely excited and happy to be performing together. I'm not gonna say any more because I'm writing a review for it soon but I'll just leave you with this song.

Task 23: And You Can Dance, For Inspiration

I went to my first belly-dancing class last night and I have never felt like a more awkward idiot. At first. The place, The Dance Complex, is in Central Square in Cambridge and it's this rickety old building made up of various rooms where every imaginable kind of dance has a class. From hip-hop to Bollywood to tap. It was so loud when I walked in. Just booming music and slamming feet. Yeah, I felt like I was in Fame. If I'm to be completely honest, it was kind of thrilling. Every girl secretly has some dance aspirations and it was such a new feeling being in that environment. I was a little early so I just sat in the stairwell listening to all the various beats while I read my book. A man walked by in clomping heels.

When it came time for the class, I was a little apprehensive. You see, I have this thing about classes. I hate them. For as long as I can remember, I've had an aversion to taking a class with a group of people. I don't mean like school and college, I mean extracurricular. From my math tutor in middle school to SAT classes in high school (which, I eventually really loved because we had a hilarious teacher and it was with friends from school that I normally wouldn't hang out with outside of school), to this, belly-dancing, I've always balked. I signed up twice in grad school for belly-dancing on-campus and never went. I didn't go last week to the first class either. It was mostly because I was sick and every one of my face orifices (orifi?) were either blocked or dripping, but a tiny bit because I sort of, maybe, chickened out.

So I walked in and there are about ten other girl all stretching and doing various dancer things. Yup, they were all dancers. They could do the weird bendy things I'm always envious of, like splits, and were all doing them right smack in front of me. Oh, whatever. I have no one here I want to impress.

The instructor, now she was kind of amazing. Carolisa is an older woman anywhere between the ages of 60 and 180 and she had just finished teaching a Zumba class (I have no idea, we'll look it up later). I introduced myself and she acknowledged me and then announced she had to go change her shirt. No, not because the event of meeting me caused her to soil herself upwards, she was just sweaty from the previous class. Water was basically dripping off her. Unfortunately, yesterday had to be one of the hottest, muggiest days ever. And this is an old Boston building so no air conditioning, just a fan valiantly attempting to stir the air.

We started out with a warm-up of moves she apparently taught the previous class but they were fairly easy so I caught on pretty quickly. It was just basically twirling your hands in circles in time with your hips. I'm a Turk. And an Iranian. We dance with our hips to begin with anyway so I already can do the figure eights with my hips. Which sound more impossible than they actually are. It's basically going from side to side gyrating. Okay, here's the thing with belly-dancing, or any other dancing for that matter, when it comes to describing them, they're gonna sound ridiculous. Well, they pretty much look ridiculous too but we'll get to that.

As the class progressed, we had to do various movements thrusting our hips and hands and bobbing our heads. This is the part where I felt like a moron. I am not very graceful. When it comes to mimicking someone's motions in movement, I am even less so. Especially when we have to undulate back and forth and do the "camel walk." Or gallop around the room in a circle whilst popping our hips out. You could really dislocate something doing this.

I think at one point I gave up trying to do what Carolisa was doing, too many fast steps and twirls. But when I did it to my own speed, it made more sense. Plus, I was doing the moves anyway so it just worked. But oh God, the shimmy. You have to keep shimmying your hips, not your chest, not your butt, your hips, while you do the various steps and thrusts and it is goddamn tiring. Plus you look like an oriental retard.

It was only an hour, but a sweaty one. We had the oh-so-hilarious dingle-dingle music (as I like to call it) playing, and at one point the song switched to a Turkish one and I had to stifle giggles because I could understand the words. They weren't dirty but just silly. Something about mountains and looking past them? We also danced to a Bollywood number which I, personally, enjoyed most. Carolisa said it was from her Zumba class- all right, pause to look it up:

Zumba is a dance fitness program created by dancer and choreographer Alberto "Beto" Perez in Colombia during the 1990s. The program combines Latin and international music with dance in an effort to make exercise fun.


She said she liked more traditional music for belly-dance though. Boo, I like Bollywood.

Anyway, I have another 5 classes left and I will be sticking to it. Next week, we dance with veils. Hooo boy. Who knows, maybe I'll be a belly-dancing savant that needs two classes to really shine and then I'll move on to Bollywood. Screw writing, I'll have a new career!

I also had quite a poignant moment when I was riding the train back home. Just as it emerged from the tunnel to cross the bridge over to the Boston side, flickering lights highlighting the Charles River in the dark, Berlin's, "Take My Breath Away," started playing while on shuffle on my iPod. It was a very romantic moment for me and all the other weirdos on the red line at 10 pm.

Like A Muse's First Award

A fellow blogger and someone I'd like to call a good new friend, Sw Vesaire, recently awarded me with this honor:


The rules:

Save the image above and post it to your own blog
Pass the award on to 12 fellow bloggers
Link the nominees
Let nominees know they have won this award by commenting on their blog
Share the love and link to the person you received this award from.

I can't pick from all the blogs I read so if you stop by my little corner and see this, by all means, consider yourself awarded. I know all the ones I follow put in as much work and effort and thought into their blogs as I like to think I do.

The Weekend of ME

My brain keeps making these drastic 180 degree spins and it's making me dizzy. But good things first.

My birthday weekend and day were pretty great. On Friday, the boy and I went to our friends as usual and we ended up at the usual hipster bar that has slightly better music (INXS, Twisted Sister, and Bon Jovi all made an appearance) than the others. The bars and nightclubs close at 2 am here and one of the last songs was Lady Gaga's, "Bad Romance." My friend, who is very tall and noticeable, just stated moshing to it for fun. You know what moshing is right? When you throw yourself around to music at concerts and get others doing it too? Well, halfway through the song the entire bar decided this was the best thing ever and joined in. A tidal wave of Red Bull hit me and the table we were at was pushed from the middle of the floor to up against the wall. It was insane. And hilarious. My friend got escorted out even though he really didn't instigate anything bad, it was the rest of the people taking it too far, but since he's so tall he kind of stands out and it was easy to blame him. Luckily, he's allowed back in next time.

Saturday, Elliot went to a concert which I didn't really feel like attending. I was going to spend the night reading my friend's script. He's out in L.A. and is slowly making headway in the "business," and wanted my feedback for his new draft. Through some happy interference though, I wasn't left alone all night. A few friends came over and we spent the night lazily watching delicious food shows until we couldn't take it anymore and ordered Thai food and then cheesecake. They all left (un)comfortably full and after a really nice low-key night.

I spent Sunday at home with Elliot, reading the aforementioned script and making notes, and we discovered Housesitter starring Goldie Hawn and Steve Martin was available for free and since Elliot had never seen it, we settled down to watch. It's one of those silly '90s comedies that make you feel all happy and content and it was so nice to curl up and watch it. Even Egglet our kitty jumped up and snuggled in between us. The clock struck midnight in the middle of the movie and we paused so that I could open my birthday presents.

My boyfriend has amazing taste. He got me three books I can't wait to read, a silly t-shirt from this Japanese label we both loved when we were there (it has a cartoon monkey with a red cape and fangs trying to catch a floating dagger), and a trench coat and fedora. Yes, that's right. He got me a coat that fits so well, tight on top and flaring out in a full bottom, with a cool hat and proclaimed every classy lady needs this outfit. I agree. Now I can be a 40s dame. He even made sure the model wearing the hat ad curly hair so that it would look good on me.

On the day of, I got so many emails, texts, and Facebook messages, it was overwhelming. I've never felt so loved and touched and I appreciated every single one of them. I had lunch with Elliot in Chinatown (mm delicious pho) and we spent the day at home watching this weird anime called the Tatami Galaxy. My friends had organized a dinner at an Indian restaurant for later but I was a little blue because Elliot had to go back to Austin.

I admit I got a little teary-eyed when I said bye and then promptly started cleaning and putting away things because I am Monica from Friends and I clean when I'm anxious. I trudged to dinner, still a little down, and it was pouring down rain. There was a small group of us there and while we were waiting for appetizers I felt a big smack on my cheek. I looked up to see Elliot's grinning face! He had tricked me and was back for good, no more Austin. Haha, he totally got me and I had a delightful rest of my night which culminated with drinks and ice cream at my apartment while we all watched Death Becomes Her.

Again, thank you to everyone who made this day so nice for me. I tend not to have good birthdays and this was exactly what I wanted. Thank you so much.

But then comes the day after and I woke up with a cold. The rest of this week I've been feeling kind of yucky from the cold and from other stuff on my mind. I keep applying to places that never respond even when I send follow-ups and I'd really like more work from my literary agency but they haven't responded to my email today either. I should be happy that I'm not "struggling" per se, that I can spend this time writing but my head feels so empty and at the same time clogged (both because I'm sick and metaphorically) that I can't bring myself to do much. I hope this funk passes with my cold and I can get going on my book. I'm starting to outline how I want it to play out and I emailed my agency asking if I can start submitting things in January when I'll have been with them for a year. I always need a basic outline before writing because even if I don't stick entirely to it, it feels safe to have that "skeleton."

I was thinking about writing a letter to Christopher Moore. He's the most active of the authors I enjoy and because of Facebook's new features, I get updates from him. It might help to hear from someone who is a writer and how to handle the long days that seem to stretch on forever.

Also, I wrote a really long piece about how Bon Jovi has been in and out of my life since I was seven years old and it got posted on MetalSucks. This link will take you to it.

Music House Opening Feb. 2010

I found this on my camera when I was uploading pictures. It's the opening of the Borusan Music House with Carlito Dalceggio painting to Mercan Dede's music. I've uploaded it to Youtube and added tags so now the world will be able to see it too. Except Turkey and China and Iran. If I may paraphrase the Soup Nazi, "NO YOUTUBE FOR YOU!"

Brain Goes See-Saw

Turning a complete 180, I had a really nice second half of the week with my parents and boyfriend. My parents got here Wednesday and Elliot surprised me on Thursday (I walked into the apartment with my mom and noticed the TV was on and ventured into the living room to see someone sitting on my couch. I had a small heart attack as my brain tried to process this and try to figure out if I needed to find and snatch up my cat and protect her and my mom. But then it clicked and I realized it was Elliot) and we all got to spend some nice, relaxing time in the new apartment. My dad got to enjoy his tasty beers with Sopranos on the big-screen, my mom got do some winter shopping at Elie Tahari her "trademark," store, and Elliot and I partook in delicious food with them and fun times with our friends.

Friday night we took my parents to the North End because they never venture to our little Italian neighborhood. We ate at Assagio which is Elliot and my preferred restaurant there with coffee and dessert at Cafe Vittoria. Everyone flocks to Mike's Pastry because it's the famous dessert place there but I think it's overrated and not that good. Besides, I really don't like cannolis. Cafe Vittoria has a nice, old-timey feel to it with it's decor and furniture plus really good coffee. I had chocolate almond gelato with my capuccino (after angel-hair pasta with chicken and mushroom in Alfredo sauce with some really excellent wine because my dad can choose it well) and was pretty ready to just fall over from excess food. But we went off to our friend's house as is our Friday custom and had some silly TV watching time there. Afterwards, Elliot and most of the group headed out to a bar while I kept my friend who was sick, company. We watched a movie called Zombie Strippers. It was possibly the most hilariously terrible movie I've ever seen. I mean, the premise is pretty self-explanatory (it's about a strip club that has zombie strippers) but all these philosophical conudnrums and theories were thrown in there which made it so weird! The town was called Sartre, Nebraska, there was a Major Camus character and Jenna Jameson, yes the famous porn star (who, by the way, has the scariest fake boobs. They're so large and hang so low that they made my own modest chest ache), was reading Nietzsche at one point. It also had the unforgettable line, "Vaya con Ronnie James Dios," combining racism and metal in the most cringe-worthy way.

Elliot left today and my parents went back to New York for my sister on Saturday but tomorrow, I'm also going to New York for a couple days. My mom's still there (my dad had to go back home to Turkey) and my aunt and cousin who also goes to NYU will be there. I'll be back on Thursday in time to greet Elliot as he arrives Friday- yay! The shortest time we've been apart; four days! He's coming specifically for my birthday as he refused to be absent for it again and though he leaves on the day, Monday, I'll get him for most of the day and I'm sure I'll get some nice beer and movie times with my friends which is all I really want.

I'm starting my dance classes next week as well as a rigorous writing schedule, not to mention a few more interviews and pieces for MetalSucks. I'm going to keep stubbornly sending my resume out too. As we discussed on Friday night, "America is the only place where you can mold yourself and what your dreams are into something that pays off." I'm lucky to be in the position I am and I will start writing that damn book and my damn scripts and finish them and submit them to Gersh. Even if it is to get my boyfriend and parents and sister to shut up and stop bullying me about writing for now.

I've started takine some pictures of the new apartment so I'll post them as they come in. Here are some experimental shots as well as a bonus shot of my ohm tattoo just because I really like how my nail polish (Atomic Orange from OPI) mnatches my watch and contrasts with the purple. Some are blurry as I have shaky hands and don't really know how to use my camera still. Oh well, I have no deluded visions of myself as a photographer and I never have.



Oh, Egglet just walked into the room meowing with her ball in her mouth. Now she's looking at me expectantly. My cat is wonderful and requires my hugs. I love her so much. Elliot says I'm obsessed. I think it's just because she has the exact cat personality that would mesh the best with my owner personality; she needs love and hugs and attention all the time and I'm willing to give it. We make a good team.

Ganeshji at the entrance to my home.


My corridor with my collection of weird pictures and Turkish/Iranian/Egyptian-inspired art. The pictures are mostly from the vintage photo and picture shop I visit in Istanbul. I have plans to add more as I find them.



My bedroom with my glorious bed. The long blue fabric draped across is an Indian sari my mom and I found in a store in istanbul. The store no longer exists but it used to carry a lot of Indian-made items. The shimmery polka dot fabrics at the head and foot were found in the Covered Bazaar and were originally cut to hang as curtains/doors to my tiny closet in my first apartment in Boston. It was so small it didn't have a door, unlike my two other roommates' closets. I just folded them and hung them up on the bed as I still really like the fabric but don't have any use for it.


The steps lead up and out to a deck. I have a desk and chair in the corner as well as a dresser with my small TV directly across from the bed. It's so nice to have TV in my room again. I feel it makes it cozier though some might disagree. Egglet's basket is in the room too so she usually sleeps with me at night and naps while I hang out in the room during the day.


Yes, I now have a jewelry bookcase. Most of it is kitschy stuff I found in cheap little stores and on Istiklal street. There are some nicer things scattered about or stored carefully but the "real," real stuff that I would worry about is back home in Istanbul.



My closet.


Don't you love my hand-made AC/DC skirt above my AC/DC shoes?


It's so organized!


My first kitties, I even took them to college with me :)


The Madonna pop-art corner. I can't cut in a straight line to save my life so I used zig-zag shears and neon borders. They're still crooked and it annoys the OCD part of me but it looks good enough and I'm not in here that much anyway! Heh I have a Madonna corner as well as a Hello Kitty toaster... alongside Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, Misfits, and Megadeth framed prints.


My living room.


The back of my old couch. This is too short to be a sari but was also purchased in the same place as the blue sari above my bed.

Ch-ch-cherry Bomb

One of my livejournal friends is doing a 30 day meme. Yesterday she wrote about herself, today she wrote about her first love, and it's something for everyday for 30 days. Reading about her first love made me realize, for probably the 9th time this week alone, how very different everyone else's middle and high school years were from mine. I don't want to write another long entry about feeling like I missed out on everything because that's self-indulgent and whiny and there are many parts of my life that I wouldn't trade the memories of for the world. But it just seems clearer and clearer to me that people who can and do write do it because they have experience and adventures to draw from. Maybe, I am meant to be just a reader? I've buried myself in books since I could read, perhaps the rest of my life should just be that too? I mean, technically I am a reader though we're going on month two of barely any books. Maybe that should just be the end all. It wouldn't be too much of waste, helping others tell their stories?

The Runaways is showing on my On Demand. There's another story about little girls who acted like much older girls and lived crazy, amazing lives. Putting aside all the sex and drugs and drama- er, rock 'n 'roll, just look at them. I've been hunting for old pictures because man, they had great style. Short shorts and leather catsuits might not really work in my daily life but hey, I work from home for now. I could totally start dressing like them.









Actually, I just remembered I recently got a pair of leather shorts. No, no not like lederhosen. Great, now I have that image in my head.

Bawww

Today I submitted my resume to publishing companies in New York. It will be very funny if after making my shaky peace with being in Boston (therefore, not in L.A. or not in New York), I actually get a response from a New York house. Oh how I will laugh. How I will chortle.

Bah, no one responds or bothers to looks at resumes and cover letters outside of in-house ones. Not fair. I will curl up and just watch crappy sitcoms. Bah to writing, bah to working, bah, bah, bah. It's not even Christmas and I'm not a sheep or other crabby-voices farm animal but BAH.

I am 25 in two weeks and I have wasted my early twenties. Wait, I went to grad school. Oh how it's helped me! Sing, chorus of angels, sing!

Aren't emo entries like this usually reserved for high schoolers? Apparently I am a late bloomer when it comes to everything.