Turkey has a touching problem. They touch... all the time.
They try to exceed the volume of anything with wheels. They emphasize their Eurasianness with enthusiastic air kisses to both cheeks. They insist on not staying the distance of a properly viewable television away.
Hey, man -what's the problem? -just don't make friends/ride a bus/stand in line/share a phone booth/a public toilet/let an old lady selling flowers come near you, and you can indulge in your tactileanthropophobia all you want, right?
No, not right: wrong, very, very wrong. Why? Well... (deepintakeofbreath)
It starts with, I suspect, poorly adapting to American culture. Our first example: Cheese Cake. Turks eat Cheese Cake -some, in fact, ARE Cheese Cake- they have their own words for both Cheese and Cake -Peynir and Pasta, respectively- but react with disgust and horror when the Turkish words are combined to express a desire for, or offer of, a creamy sweet confection. This is not because of some syntax or dialectic gymnastics that results in a grossly-rude miscommunication: oh no-that would be to easy. It's because of a miss-wired imagination gene; Cheese is great, Cake is great- BUT GOD FORBID you should put peanut butter in their chocolate without changing what you call it to something foreign that doesn't challenge them to accept something familiar in a new or different form (humm.... doesn't this sound like it was lifted directly from the Turkish Press: "Zealot Politicians Win Battle with Secular Intellectuals in Turkish Parliament -Military Intervenes: Peanut-Butter-Cup will be know as a 'Reace's'"). Let's review: foreign influence is met with disdain -but easily accepted, regardless of quality (frick'n Burger King on the Bospherous)- while domestic genesis is a point of contention and discord. Weather or not this is actually true isn't important -I'm ranting; for the limited context of this essay work from the presumption that changing tradition=bad, while alien="you disgusting amoral swine eater -may I have fries with that?"
Right, you say, but what does this have to do with excessive touching? Well, I'm glad you asked -give your self a cookie. Turks love foot ball. NO, of course not that pointy one! -they adore the round one with all the rules about NOT TOUCHING. It's a fact: just ask any Turk what they think about Foot Ball Players touching each other: TOUCHING BAD (but exciting). What was that last bit? Let's hear it again (but exciting). Ah... now we have it, the true allure of Foot Ball: the drama, the excitement of almost touching -but then not. One would then think that American Foot Ball would be warmly embraced (with an uncomfortable pause before separating) by Turks everywhere. Given their penchant for gratuitous contact, you might conclude that they could overlook a little thing such as the the object of the game being the struggle for control of a pointed pig skin -and you would be wrong. However, not to pass up a great opportunity to express self loathing by emulating the object of enmity, they have seamlessly incorporated the battle formations of American Foot Ball in their every-day, pedestrian lives.
To point: Turks have to touch while in motion. It's like some static-electric effect: they move, they build up a charge, and BAMB! -two Turks are stuck together. Quicker than a pro Quarter Back can call a play, Turks will form up into offensive and defensive lines. The key word here for the uninitiated is FENCE. Weather it is the narrowest passage or the broadest avenue, Turks will lock arms to form impenetrable social clicks moving headless of any other foot traffic. Walking to the market or running for the Vapor is like a Metropolitan-level game of Red Rover. believe you me: any joy presented by pert young women in school uniforms of skirt and stockings is lost when a gaggle of giggling maddens forms a wall between you and THE LAST BUS HOME. This habit has led many a new expatriot to misidentify the copious numbers of coupled males chatting conspiratorially as they walk, as gay.
They're not gay: they're Turkish.
They try to exceed the volume of anything with wheels. They emphasize their Eurasianness with enthusiastic air kisses to both cheeks. They insist on not staying the distance of a properly viewable television away.
Hey, man -what's the problem? -just don't make friends/ride a bus/stand in line/share a phone booth/a public toilet/let an old lady selling flowers come near you, and you can indulge in your tactileanthropophobia all you want, right?
No, not right: wrong, very, very wrong. Why? Well... (deepintakeofbreath)
It starts with, I suspect, poorly adapting to American culture. Our first example: Cheese Cake. Turks eat Cheese Cake -some, in fact, ARE Cheese Cake- they have their own words for both Cheese and Cake -Peynir and Pasta, respectively- but react with disgust and horror when the Turkish words are combined to express a desire for, or offer of, a creamy sweet confection. This is not because of some syntax or dialectic gymnastics that results in a grossly-rude miscommunication: oh no-that would be to easy. It's because of a miss-wired imagination gene; Cheese is great, Cake is great- BUT GOD FORBID you should put peanut butter in their chocolate without changing what you call it to something foreign that doesn't challenge them to accept something familiar in a new or different form (humm.... doesn't this sound like it was lifted directly from the Turkish Press: "Zealot Politicians Win Battle with Secular Intellectuals in Turkish Parliament -Military Intervenes: Peanut-Butter-Cup will be know as a 'Reace's'"). Let's review: foreign influence is met with disdain -but easily accepted, regardless of quality (frick'n Burger King on the Bospherous)- while domestic genesis is a point of contention and discord. Weather or not this is actually true isn't important -I'm ranting; for the limited context of this essay work from the presumption that changing tradition=bad, while alien="you disgusting amoral swine eater -may I have fries with that?"
Right, you say, but what does this have to do with excessive touching? Well, I'm glad you asked -give your self a cookie. Turks love foot ball. NO, of course not that pointy one! -they adore the round one with all the rules about NOT TOUCHING. It's a fact: just ask any Turk what they think about Foot Ball Players touching each other: TOUCHING BAD (but exciting). What was that last bit? Let's hear it again (but exciting). Ah... now we have it, the true allure of Foot Ball: the drama, the excitement of almost touching -but then not. One would then think that American Foot Ball would be warmly embraced (with an uncomfortable pause before separating) by Turks everywhere. Given their penchant for gratuitous contact, you might conclude that they could overlook a little thing such as the the object of the game being the struggle for control of a pointed pig skin -and you would be wrong. However, not to pass up a great opportunity to express self loathing by emulating the object of enmity, they have seamlessly incorporated the battle formations of American Foot Ball in their every-day, pedestrian lives.
To point: Turks have to touch while in motion. It's like some static-electric effect: they move, they build up a charge, and BAMB! -two Turks are stuck together. Quicker than a pro Quarter Back can call a play, Turks will form up into offensive and defensive lines. The key word here for the uninitiated is FENCE. Weather it is the narrowest passage or the broadest avenue, Turks will lock arms to form impenetrable social clicks moving headless of any other foot traffic. Walking to the market or running for the Vapor is like a Metropolitan-level game of Red Rover. believe you me: any joy presented by pert young women in school uniforms of skirt and stockings is lost when a gaggle of giggling maddens forms a wall between you and THE LAST BUS HOME. This habit has led many a new expatriot to misidentify the copious numbers of coupled males chatting conspiratorially as they walk, as gay.
They're not gay: they're Turkish.
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