On politics

An acquaintance heard this joke on the radio today halfway accross the globe towards Antarctica. It's a bit dated and you might have heard it before but still it was so funny for the listener listening to it on air and for me reading it while still hot off the email :

"George: Condi! Nice to see you. What's happening?

Condi: Sir, I have the report here about the new leader of China.

George: Great. Lay it on me.

Condi: Hu is the new leader of China.

George: That's what I want to know.

Condi: That's what I'm telling you.

George: That's what I'm asking you. Who is the new leader of China?

Condi: Yes.

George: I mean the fellow's name.

Condi: Hu.

George: The guy in China.

Condi: Hu.

George: The new leader of China.

Condi: Hu.

George: The Chinaman!

Condi: Hu is leading China.

George: Now whaddya' asking me for?

Condi: I'm telling you Hu is leading China.

George: Well, I'm asking you. Who is leading China?

Condi: That's the man's name.

George: That's who's name?

Condi: Yes.

George: Will you or will you not tell me the name of the new leader of China?

Condi: Yes, sir.

George: Yassir? Yassir Arafat is in China? I thought he was in the Middle East.

Condi: That's correct.

George: Then who is in China?

Condi: Yes, sir.

George: Yassir is in China?

Condi: No, sir.

George: Then who is?

Condi: Yes, sir.

George: Yassir?

Condi: No, sir.

George: Look, Condi. I need to know the name of the new leader of China. Get me the Secretary General of the U.N. on the phone.

Condi: Kofi?

George: No, thanks.

Condi: You want Kofi?

George: No.

Condi: You don't want Kofi.

George: No. But now that you mention it, I could use a glass of milk. And then get me the U.N.

Condi: Yes, sir.

George: Not Yassir! The guy at the U.N.

Condi: Kofi?

George: Milk! Will you please make the call?

Condi: And call who?

George: Who is the guy at the U.N?

Condi: Hu is the guy in China.

George: Will you stay out of China?!

Condi: Yes, sir.

George: And stay out of the Middle East! Just get me the guy at the U.N.

Condi: Kofi.

George: All right! With cream and two sugars. Now get on the phone.

(Condi picks up the phone.)

Condi: Rice, here.

George: Rice? Good idea. And a couple of egg rolls, too. Maybe we should send some to the guy in China. And the Middle East. Can you get Chinese food in the Middle East? " ...

So whilst we are still on the subject, have a mathemagical one on Malaysia.

Model for the extrapolation of Malaysian Prime Ministers. Take the name of the first prime minister and plug in subjects with suitable names so that it spells RAHMAN.

Illustration:

R A H M A N =

R for Rahman, the name of the first chief.

+ A for Abdul Razak his successor

+ H for Hussein Onn next successor

+ M for Mahathir the PM before the current

+ A for Anwar. No wait, obvious traitors to be excluded from formula. Put Abdullah the incumbent at least he wasn't so obvious.

+ N for Najib the deputy PM. Najib was meant to be in place of the second A but that would not make the algebraic sequence right.

Like any self respecting model there are host of accompanying assumptions but the most important abracadabra underlying the above, shared by politicians in their work, is this:

All care no responsibility.

Questions one wished one never asked

One of it, what happens to foreskins post circumcision?

Call it ennui or call it being eminently exposed to an ingrained religious custom in Turkey. Where one sometimes hears a tumult in the far distance accompanied by a musical apparatus that resembles a snake charmer's flute made merrier by drums and gongs. The sound encroaches nearer and nearer till it becomes so loud one has to scurry out like bees being smoked out of their hives to ensure one has not missed anything of importance. One finds out later that these individual parades are celebrations for each newly circumcised boy.

So back to the question earlier, yours truly has not obtained an answer as the better half was too polite to tell. But that was by no means an end to this tale.

One day the mother in law returned from a visit to the Yalikavak in laws. The in laws are born and bred in various villages of Bodrum and are permanently woven into the town and culture like ancient rugs that magically renew themselves through the birth of their offsprings. I devised an identification of each group of family by their locality otherwise I would get lost without this internal in law map. They have met me and I am somewhat of an enigma due to inability to converse in Turkish yet am able to comprehend and punctuate conversations with some clever phrases learnt back in Wellington, New Zealand, in the days of hosting at a Turkish restaurant.

I did not go this trip round, where the mother in law showed the Yalikavak family units of results of the photographs taken in our last trip. To give you some idea, even the brother in law has not visited these relatives for three years though he always has lived in Bodrum. So it was ok for me to skip this trip though it has been four crescents since I visited and photographed them. Being photographed can be as rare as the visits to each other, the former activity often reserved for important events where a photographer from the photo shop would come in and do an imaged record of the event.

Work tends to be the reason of lack of visits compounded by the usual organisation of around half a dozen more relatives to travel the distance on the dolmus (mini bus) outwards from central Bodrum. Yalikavak is two hours from door to door, one way, and visits to the in laws are full day events rivalling major annual bank conferences I have attended. It is not unusual for five hours to pass in a single sitting accompanied by an eight course main plus Turkish coffee or tea, sweets and fruits. This is only catch-up visit.

Now back to the story, mother in law said that the relatives were over the moon with the photographs I took of them. My photographs included the great grand aunt in law, a tiny blue eyed Turkish woman, plus three generations down to her great grand children. And then boom, I was expected back in Yalikavak, not only because they wanted to see me again but for the 'sunat' or circumcision event of her great grand son.

At first I thought sure, loved making pictures. I could find out then where the spare bit(s) went post removal from its owner. The more I thought of it however, the more apprehensive I became. For one, there is this issue of haematophobia. If I had fainted I might take the spotlight away from the boy to myself and that would not be right. Never mind trauma to the poor child, he would grow to appreciate his lack of excess in later years. But me, what good would it possibly do me having that in an attention-to-detail memory.

Restlessness settled in. The curse of taking acceptable pictures, one becomes the default designate for future jobs. I decided to consult via an s.o.s. text message to my father, whose father had a photo shop in the black-and-white-glass-plate-age of photography, who promptly told me to just capture the celebration part. I thought that was a reasonable idea. By then dinner was difficult to keep in and I no longer cared what happens to foreskins. Ashes to ashes dust to dust, why care how it is assimilated to earth.

In the meantime I am 'wikipaedia-ing' circumcision, in order to better understand the legacy of the practice without having to witness its haematic process. As to when the event actually happens, one did not think to ask. It could be interesting though, as the would be answer to the original question.

Happy 80th Birthday

Belated Happy 80th Birthday to Tun Dr Siti Hasmah Mohamed Ali and welcome to Bodrum. Where also Dr M is observing with an invisible binocular on the happenings of home.

A script on Bodrum to share with you

I am in a town where people ski both in the waters and in the skies regularly,
the roads are as winding and long as the Rivers of Sarawak
a man climbs telecom poles military style with nothing but rope to get to the top
where the hills wear necklaces of gold at night
where I have become an oriental novelty of town
where a cat is seen eating flowers as if part of its beauty regime.

I am a long way from home
yet for now I feel this is where I belong
welcoming tourists to the town
speaking rojaks of Russian, Dutch, French, Turkish, German and English
giving directions and solutions to their leisurely needs
and handing back forgotten cameras at the counter..

This is the moment in life, where characters unfold like a play
in the vast carpet of life.

Dated June 15, 2006

Thought of the day

That one moves in one's orbit practicing careful maneuvering i.e. avoid hitting or getting hit. Unless, despite the caution things purposely obstruct or hit you.

When it does one wonders if the stars had misalligned and that it is just another weird course of nature to say something or switch route.

Absent of other stellar meanings, restrain (or release, one's personal choice) swearing at the hapless object and keep moving on.

For the journey is over too soon.

Long live King Henry

My own highlights of World Cup 2006

It was a long day but I knew I had to wait in town till 10pm to watch the mother of all matches. I went to this place with a projector screen 45 minutes before kick off. The sign outside the bar said "Live BRAZIL vs FRANCE at 2200hrs".

But at 2200 hrs the club still did not put on the match. Ten minutes after, would you believe it, the whole town suffered a power outage. Two minutes later the club I was in got back on their generators, as did the other shops who have generators. The rest had to do business in the dark.

Even when the generator got put on there was still no soccer at 2220 hrs. I was getting very agitated but decided to ask the staff myself to put on the match.

They had technical issues with the LCD TV, which I think was why they did not put the soccer on earlier... but I stood there looking all hopeful. Soon, they got the LCD TV to work.

The waiting and the asking (including having to defend myself when the husband insisted on going home) was well rewarded when Henry - almost dreamlike - scored! Brazil could neither match nor beat the single yet precious score until it was all too late.

Not that I was a big France supporter but Thierry Henry (who plays club soccer for Arsenal and I am a fan of Arsenal) made me take France's side. And to see old faces of the French team like Vieira, Zidane and the bald goalie who collectively won the Cup for France in 1998 is like seeing familiar faces you haven't in seen a long time.

My dad and and an Italian descent Australian's dad, a friend, said that Australia should have won against Italy, that the latter got a goal in due to an unfair referee judgement. Last night's match goes to show that even though Ronaldo got a joker card kick for his team from acting (falling on himself but making it look like France caused it) they can't get a goal in. That is, one still needs skills to kick a goal or defend it if opportunity comes. Luck itself is not enough.

So, it's all left to the Europeans now. I wonder who would covet the Cup. Arsenal had not won against Barcelona at the UEFA Final, but Henry certainly evened the score with Ronaldinho (club soccer Barcelona), at a more important game that proves he is King.

So this is a fairy tale poem for sisters

Angels
Sent from above
for me
To my right is the mighty Marianne
To my left is gentle Joyce

Are all I need in times of despair
And is a reminder that God is fair
For all the worries and the cares
dissipates when they are there

The tide comes when one grows up
And adulthood makes me forget simple things
But they remind me with their super 'kowaiya' ways
That is super cute in Japanese

I may have lost my way
And I may have made mistakes
No one there to tell me
But only the two sisters to hold me

The END

PS God can't put angels everywhere, that is why there are sisters; Lucifer can't dispatch devils everywhere, that is why there are mother in laws.~~cf~~