The Edge of Europe.

Istanbul is beautiful in a way that’s hard to describe. Imagine if you took Rio, filled it with broken bits of every civilization since the Hittites, and then plunked it down in place of San Francisco.

I got off the plane and took the Metro to…well, somewhere or other. I got lost and confused, and ended up trying to explain “Western Union” to a bunch of Turkish cabdrivers, who didn’t know what the hell I was talking about, but insisted I sit down and drink strong, wonderful sweet Turkish çay (or “chai”, or “tea”) while they tried to find somebody who spoke English. This didn’t work, but we had fun.

I finally just broke down and caught a taxi to Sultanahmet, which is the historic district. I sat for two hours and talked and ate caviar with a young Russian couple and a middle-aged British couple, and lost (twice) armwrestling to Lenny, the Russian guy. (I’ve never had orange caviar. Tastes like sushi.)

Then I found my way to the Terrace Guesthouse, which is a perfectly gorgeous little hotel not three blocks from the Hagia Sophia, and extremely reasonably priced…particularly since I can stand on my balcony and look out across the Bosporus, which is the channel that divides Europe from Asia.

Western Union is not open on Sundays, so I’ll leave tomorrow for Göreme, where I plan to stay in Cappadocia. This afternoon is just relaxation and a tiny bit of cheap trinket shopping (evil eyes for everyone!)

I am extremely happy, in a way I haven’t been extremely happy in a long time.

Simple Useful Technology

Here’s what technology is actually good for: I found an excellent site with information on how to get from the airport in Istanbul to the area with the cheap, good hotels. I copied this into a text file, and sent it via Bluetooth to my new Nokia e61i. Also a Turkish PDF phrasebook.

I leave in two hours for the U-Bahn to the airport, to get to Istanbul.

In Frankfurt

I’m in Frankfurt, in the Hotel Europa, where I stayed last year. (I like this hotel very much.)

Here is what I see out my window:

11172007001.jpg

Long trip, and I’m leaving for Istanbul tomorrow morning very early. So I’m not up to much here tonight — Joe and I went shopping and met up with the lovely Ginger Wang (a friend and colleague of ours). Joe gave me his old Nokia e61i phone, which I used to take that picture, and we also picked up a Bluetooth GPS unit to go with it — I’m gonna try and figure out if I can download maps to it, and — failing that — if I can use the Nokia GPS with the Macbook. I really like this Nokia on short notice — it’s got wifi capability, so I can use it even without a SIM card. It’s got the weird German QWERTZ keyboard though, which is kinda funny.

And I had Iskender kebab in a Turkish restaurant, which made me immensely happy. It’s colder than hell here, easily fifty degrees (Fahrenheit, thank you, Vanessa) colder than Vegas. But I love it. I like Frankfurt more and more every time I come here. It’s not as cool as Berlin, but it’s still an interesting city.

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Off to take a hot goddamn shower. I’ll try to blog from Istanbul, when I figure out where I’m going to be.

You Don't Use Words Like That, St. Louise Is Listening

via Coilhouse: happy birthday, Lulu.

Louise Brooks

On this day 101 years ago, Louise Brooks, patron saint of unrepentant flappers, was born. By all accounts, she was a fiercely intelligent and complicated woman who would not suffer fools in an industry that consists of nearly nothing but. She made only 25 films before being blacklisted walking away from Hollywood at the height of her career, and remains both one of the most iconic, (in)famous starlets of all time.

Louise Brooks is my dream woman — gorgeous, intelligent, strong-willed, and deranged to the core. We may never have another.

Naked City Story # 931,258

Unnerving experience this morning.

I spent all night at Starbucks, redesigning Zenarchery, and headed for the bus stop (and home) around 6:30 am. The 24 hour Starbucks I go to is at the corner of Flamingo and Paradise, and the bus stop is a half-block east on Flamingo, directly in front of Terrible’s Casino. (You can see exactly where I was here, courtesy of Google Maps.)

As I approached the Terrible’s sign, I noticed something white and red lying on the grass. As I got closer, I saw what it was: a dress shirt, crumpled on the grass, and absolutely covered with fresh blood. I was so tired, I took a picture of it, thinking it was just odd…and then I realized what I was actually looking at, and what it implied.

Bloody shirt

Another man was walking up with a Terrible’s custodian — he had noticed it and had brought the custodian to throw it away. The man walked off and I told the custodian “Dude, you might want to call Metro. That didn’t come from a nosebleed or anything.”

He went to get his supervisor and I waited. When the supervisor got there, I told him the same thing — the amount of blood on the shirt suggested that somebody got hurt, bad. He tried to play it off — “Maybe somebody fell down drunk and cracked their head” — but he obviously didn’t believe it, and neither did I.

Finally, he just had the first guy throw it away, using latex gloves. (“And throw the gloves away, too, when you’re done.”) As he picked it up, I could see that there were several spots where the blood hadn’t even begun to dry — it was shiny and moist.

So I called Metro’s non-emergency line myself as I waited for the bus. I explained the situation, but the operator told me there wasn’t much they could do about it, unless they had a stabbing in the area. “Well, if you do discover a stabbing in the area, check the trash at Terrible’s,” I told her. And that was that.

But I thought about it on the bus ride home. There was a lot of blood. And it wasn’t droplet blood, like it would be from a scalp wound or even a heavy nosebleed. There wasn’t a drip pattern, or a spatter pattern. It was sprayed. It looked like somebody cut somebody else’s artery and got hit with the spray. And the blood was bright red, like fresh arterial blood. (It was blood, by the way, not paint or some foodstuff. I know what fresh blood looks like. It was too thick to be cranberry juice or anything like that.)

I think somebody fucked somebody else up really bad and then ditched their shirt, either on foot or throwing it from a car window. It wasn’t an expensive shirt, but I noticed that it had metal snap buttons, not push-through buttons like you’d normally see. I’d guess it was about a medium or a small, though I never saw it stretched out.

I guess we’ll never know. Metro wasn’t interested, neither were the Terrible’s custodians. But I think somebody out there is dead or hurt real bad.

Welcome to Vegas.

Coilhouse » Blog Archive » What made you weird?

The lovely ladies over at Coilhouse ask the question: what made you weird?

What made me weird? Being a prodigy nerd child. Douglas Adams. Stephen Hawking. Reflex magazine. Mondo 2000. The movie Pump Up The Volume. Nine Inch Nails. Clive Barker. (Specifically, seeing Hellraiser when I was about eleven or twelve.) Stephen King. Psychedelics. Growing up around musicians, F/X artists and performance artists. Moving all the time. Living in Turkey. Mister X comics. Unpleasant Ways To Die. Liquid Television, and also 120 Minutes. (Thanks, MTV, for being cool back in the day.) The B-52s. The Real Ghostbusters cartoon series. 80s teen horror movies. Sandman. D’Aulaire’s Book Of Greek Myths. C.S. Lewis. Piers Anthony. William Gibson, definitely. Zork. Ridley Scott movies. Asterix The Gaul.

How ’bout you?