the truth untold.

I wanted to call this bit "Odds and Sods", as that's all it is. A collection of musings. (Which is all a blog is supposed to be, I guess) But anyway, I said "Odds and Sods" out loud today and I started thinking about The Odds, one of those Canadian indie bands from the mid 90's that just died a natural death. So this post is dedicated to my favourite tune of theirs. Maybe it's the only good song they ever wrote, I don't know.

It's time to get a little personal, as I'm on my second glass on beer. We're leaving our neighbourhood in a few weeks and moving in with some folks from Oz. As pathetic as it sounds, they've become the only people here who've bridged that gap between acquaintances and friends here is the 'bul. Is that pathetic? I don't know. I suppose I was extremely spoiled in Poland to have found a good, tight-knit group of people to drink beer with until the sun reared its ugly head. And here, we've been kind of starved for, well, normal folks.

Well, that's not true. Most people just don't drink alcohol. So it's kind of hard to get to know someone when they keep shooting you looks of disdain as you reach for another bottle. I don't know. Anyway, carpe diem and all that shit. The school which me and lady luck work for sucks on many levels, as does the area. I think I've made this comparison before, but I'll make it before. If Istanbul was Toronto, we live in Mississauga. That just ain't any way to roll. So we found a place in, well...I dunno. The hipper area of town. Less moustaches, more beards. I'll split my time between a few schools and write for a few rags here and there.

The school lauded us with compliments when we gave our notice. We heard things like "Yer our best teachers. Please think of the students." and "Forget what we said about asking you to shave. You can mop the floor with yer beard if you feel so inclined." The school's lost 9 teachers in the span of less than a month. And damnit, it feels good t'be part of a revolution.

So come the new year, we'll be residents of Kadikoy. "Koy" means village in Turkish. I forget what "Kadi" means. But, as soon as I heard that I was reminded of one of those beautiful Heritage Moments commercials that are permantly entrenched in my subconscious. You know the one, where the missionaries land in Canada, and the natives invite them to the village. And the young dude maintains that "Kahnahda" means village, while the asshead priest is confident that "Kahnahda" means the country. Those commercials are all that is right with TV and Canada. Really.

Anyway, I tried to spin that commercial into a story with a class of mine. When they told me "Koy" means village, I told them about the commercial, the story. So I had them convinced that as "Koy" means village, and "Canada" means village in some kind of native language. So therefore, "Koy" means "Canada". Hah. Once they finally got that shit, I had them rolling. And wouldn't you know it, that whole episode took up most of my lesson. So I guess everyone was a winner that day.

Uh, what else.

Italy in 8 days, for 8 days. Goddamn. It's about time we found our way onto a train again with a big bag hunched over our sweaty backs. I am incredibly excited, but even that doesn't do it justice. I keep getting the same thing though-"Oh Italy for Christmas, that'll be so romantic."

While I'm sure there is a certain air of romance to it, I'll have you know something else, since lady luck rarely reads this thing anyway. I've found the perfect crime. She thinks we're headed to Italy for a romantic getaway, while I know I'm only in it for the heaps and heaps of authentic 'za. Yes folks, it promises to be magically gluttonous.

Six of us caught another football match a week ago. Galatasaray. Apparently the rowdiest team in Istanbul. No shit. They went down 2-0 at half and most of us were fearing for our lives. With every goal, the fans behind us took to smashing the shitty seats and tossing them onto the field. It was strangely compelling.

They liked to call their home stadium "Hell", and here they were down 2-0 to an inferior team. Here I was ready to title my next blog entry "Hell has frozen over". But persistence is righteous like that and Galatasaray fought back in dramatic fashion. The seats stayed in tact, as did most of our limbs. That's the best part of watching live football here. You get so caught up with the fans that you forget there's a game in front of you. As big a fan of the beautiful game as I am, 90 minutes is a long time. It's really something else.

Hmmmm. What the fuck else.

Oh, Of Montreal is coming to Istanbul tomorrow. If yer not into 'em, you should check 'em out. Imagine Bowie with a bit of higher pitched voice, relying a little more on electronics to get his point across but at the same time, a little more dramatic. That was for you indie kids out there.

Anyway, they're gonna be in town tomorrow and I'm gonna meet with Kevin Barnes, the madman behind the whole deal for an interview and hopefully, a drink. I say hopefully becos this dude's a bit of an eccentric. Check it-http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whQ31Z0zBfI

Anyway, I don't think I could do the thing sober. But I guess all I'm just after a few quotes. It's just a lot easier to sit down with bands that look more haggard than you do and can out drink you all the same. That's my idea of work. But Of Montreal, they make some pretty far-out albums. Like real wild shit. You stop and wonder how they put that together, and yet it all sounds so condensed. I couldn't pass up a chance to write something on them.

All that being said, fucking no one comes to Istanbul, so you takes what you can get.

So. That's it for now dudes.

Oh. I wanna end this on a sour note. You know what I hate? People who wear their glasses low on their loses. Like really. What's up with that. Do you actually even need glasses? Or are you too lazy to just bring them off the top of yer head, like everyone else? Or d'you just enjoy looking like a genuine asshead? Anyway, I've noticed a lot of them lately. And as someone who wears corrective lenses to survive, I am extremely offended. OK. That's it, I suppose.

It's almost Christmas time. And I won't be home for Christmas. And that's the only Blink 182 song worth listening to.

As rabid as the other fans were, these kids know that no one messes with a hat like that. Bad ass.


Whatever happens in this city, there's nothing a narghile can't cure.