I read the newspaper regularly. That is why I was shocked when I recently discovered that MySpace, the social networking site with which I have an account that I seldom check, is owned by arch-nemesis to humanity Rupert Murdoch. MySpace has been owned by Murdoch’s News Corporation since 2005. Where have I been? I intend to make up for my oversight with this blog.

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I like documenting my days and doings with pictures. I’ve never been committed enough to keep a journal, and I’m not a fan of useless souvenirs – so photos will serve me throughout my life to recall the people and places I’ve been fortunate enough to know. I consider photography a useful tool in reflection and appreciation for all I’ve been able to do. The albums I collect, reminders. During a recent trip I got into an argument about different photo taking philosophies. The depth and intensity of our discussion made me realize how defined my ideas are about amateur photography.

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Living abroad one invariably will notice differences between their mother country and their host country – be they cultural, social, religious, political, economic, etcetera. For me, one of the most significant of my daily routine is the presence of an intense and pervasive bargaining culture here in Turkey, it is truly polar-opposite to the ‘everything labeled and posted’ consumer system we have in the States. Having grown up in Southern California the system of economic transactions was based largely around explicit, specifically written, rules – menus with prices, correctly labeled shelves, accurately priced products, a general uniformity in price for similar goods, and corresponding trust between consumer and merchant. The Turkish system is not like this, it is wonderfully and horribly different.

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As a child I used to be absolutely enthralled by the animal kingdom. In addition to saturday morning cartoons, I’d watch endless amounts of nature documentaries; the Amazon, the Dessert of Namid, the Serengeti, etcetera. I could tell you about the eating habits of the capybara (don’t know what that is? Loser!) When I lived in Monterey, California, next to the spectacular Monterey Bay Aquarium, I was determined to be a marine biologist – even dedicating some school projects to that effect. To put it shortly, I consider myself an expert on nature documentaries. Perhaps I am not a ‘trained scientist’ with a ‘PhD’, or know anything about ‘film-making’, or even have an IQ over 80, but nevertheless, you could still regard me as the preeminent expert on nature documentaries.

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Set in the mid-1990s Bosnian and Chechen conflicts, this non-fiction first-hand journalistic account of war and heroin addiction is wonderfully tied together by philosophic self-examination. Anthony Lloyd tackles all sorts of existential questions regarding humanity, the need for violence, familial relationships, bonds of kinship forged in war, nationalism, opportunism, idealism, and morality. Best of all, the book is not a self-righteous polemic from the moral-high ground; his self-degradation throughout the account adds credence to his insights and conclusions.

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Peter Hill is unlike anyone I’ve ever known. I doubt that there is a person on this planet who knows Peter and does not like him. If they feel otherwise, they simply haven’t taken the necessary time to appreciate Peter’s genius, or, they are offended by nudity – either way they are missing out. The Middle Hill (Peter has older and younger siblings) will always say yes, I can’t stress how much I love this about Peter. It is truly a great attribute in a friend. Ok, sometimes it has taken Peter some convincing – “Don’t go to work Pete, Danish American Farms doesn’t need you as much as I do,” but he always comes through. He is loyal, fun-loving, kind, tough-as-nails, virile, and laughs at everything. But his character is only the beginning of why Pete is a dear friend.

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I am still a young man, I turn only twenty-eight next year. Yet an accumulation of observations has led me to conclude that I am officially feeling aged. Please don’t think I consider myself old in any way, but rather the changes about myself and my lifestyle have converged to make me acutely aware that I am leaving my youth.

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When I was a child my mother would try to encourage, threaten, and bribe my brother and I into reading books, which, of course, we resisted. As an adult I have come to enjoy reading; I especially enjoy non-fiction, and read the newspaper everyday, usually the Guardian Weekly and less often the Economist. So when I came across The Book of General Ignorance by John Lloyd and John Mitchinson, I was excited. The premise is that the authors briefly cover and debunk wrongly-held common beliefs (which number to about 200, hereafter these will be referred to as Facts). Here are a few examples of the Facts;

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When I was eighteen years old I visited my brother in Madrid and travelled to several other european cities, completing the perfunctory right-of-passage European trip Americans feel obliged to do (for more on this topic see Steinbeck’s America and Americans, written mostly when he was old and crotchety). Anyway, we found ourselves in Rome on New Year’s Eve and the following entry is equally a description and an inquisitive request regarding the custom practiced at Piazza del Popolo every year.

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Every friday I walk a few blocks to the local vegetable market to meet the villagers who come to sell there weekly harvest. It’s a misnomer really, because it also consists of vendors of fish, cheese, fruits, seeds, spices, breads, oils, many plastic Chinese-made household items, clothes, and delicious gözleme (a pancake-like treat with potatoes, meat, or parsley and cheese inside). The food products are fresh and delicious, I can’t rave enough, and the non-food items are, well, very cheap. Every neighborhood in Izmir has one, and in Kahramanlar, it is the place to be on fridays.

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