It's just a bunch of superficial bull shit and I can usually spot it. There is a difference between the person who is naturally out-going and the person manipulating the situation for personal ego-gratification. One of these people is a lot happier - guess which one?
Anyhow, these are just my observations this cold, rainy February evening - coming to you (half) live from the land o' the fez, lahmacun and ass-grabbing Turks! (Bitter night - ed)
(I edited out a weird bit on the marvels of the human hand - full of a lot of strange observations about swivelling...I don't know what I was thinking. - ed)
I don't have any scary stories. Last week, we all sat in awe as we listened to Tina's tale of a collapsing canoe and hanging on for dear life in the murkey rivers of Indonesia, while onshore, murderous locals plotted to scare the bejeezus out of unsuspecting tourists...
Speaking of shopping, Catharine and I were in the Grand Bazaar on Saturday. They (touts) come at you from all directions there. Multi-linguals buggers, they are. Damn the Canadian politeness factor - I couldn't just blow them off - some of them had cousins in Canada. I didn't want to hurt their feelings. On one brave attempt to appear mean so as to dissuade the touts, I ended up consoling the guy who thought I didn't like him. I broke down and explained that it wasn't personal - I just couldn't talk to everyone who approached me - I just didn't have the time!
He wept. I wept. I went home with him, and had dinner with his family and bought a little vase. I'm going bowling with his grandfather next week.
There is a story of one particular North American Indian group who had devised a torture corridor by forming two lines and forcing the victims to traverse its distance. En route, of course, the torturers would throw knives, rocks, insults, maybe something on fire. All in all it was an unpleasant journey.
I wonder if the torturers on one side ever misjudged the distance and overthrew their projectiles, taking out their own men. That would piss me off, as a member of that Indian's clan. I'd pull the knife out of my thigh, march over there, and have a serious discussion with my comrad of his minor sensory depth perception problem. But later on, we'd forget about it, and share a nice piece of moose testicle - unshaven of course.
Anyhow my point was the the Grand Bazaar reminded me of that North American torture corridor because we had to walk down the middle of an aisle with touts lined up on both sides, often holding projectiles of some kind...After some time, I just turned to Catharine and said "Run!". She nodded - it had been a long day, and together we ran like gazelles, dodging crafty merchants, rug dealers, made a left at the gold store, and pushed our way outside. Ah, sweet victory! The streets of Istanbul neer smelled so good! Or was that just my exciting new cologne?
Everyone should experience the Grand Bazaar of Sultanahmet at least once in their lifetime. You can always pick the Canadians out of the crowd. They're the over-weight ones gently explaining to each merchant that they couldn't possibly talk to everyone who approached them, now could they? It really wasn't anything personal.
(Apropos of nothing...-ed) I fear that people will walk in on me when I'm in the bathroom. It's a fear that I've had ever since I was a child and someone walked in on me when I was in the bathroom. The source of my fear shall remain one of life's great mysteries. My fear is greatly intensified when there is no lock, or a faulty lock on a bathroom door. I mean, what kind of a deranged pervert doesn't have a lock? What kind of uncivilized, bean-eating ignorant jerk doesn't lock his bathroom door. Sometimes, a bit of anxiety can be assuaged by a simple dead-bolt.
I know that some people think that God is always with them and they take comfort in that, but I don't want God in there when I'm sitting on the can. Sometimes you just got to be alone. And what would God be doing in there anyway? Discreetly turning His head, whistling hymns, trying to occupy Himself while you did your thing?
It's been a strange day. (no kidding - sometimes I have to wonder that was going on in my head back then. But then again, I tended to let my journal be a stream-of-consciousness exercise on occasion. Be thankful I've edited out the evil Inspector Gadget bad-guy reference and an odd desire to want one of Gadget's invention do Penny in. I don't recall ever having disliked Penny before that...ed)