My computer is broken, but Misha's brother is here with his, and I borrow it every night.
I don't really remember how to write anymore.
Not knowing Turkish hurts - we've been coming here for ten years, and I'm still pretty much clueless. Last night I learned a polite way of asking someone to fart: "Osurunuz lütfen!"
Marta at first seemed intimidated by the two foreign languages that all of a sudden replaced those that she does understand, but she's getting used to it now, and her cousin is here, too, so she's no longer facing the friend-making problem. Last year, when she was two and a half, it was much easier: she didn't yet understand how much she didn't understand when only Turkish and English were spoken around her.
Reading about Ukraine is making me sick. First, Hanna Herman's son, who got himself killed in a car accident: it's terrible to have mixed feelings about stuff like that, but I can't help thinking that too many people back home don't understand that traffic laws are there for a reason. Then there is the Victor Lozynsky Affair. And the shooting at a Kyiv restaurant, in which Yushchenko's son is allegedly involved: the cops are saying he's not involved, of course, but out of the Soviet-time habit I automatically believe the opposite, sort of. And since Lozynsky is Yulia's man (one of the defectors from Yanukovych's camp), Yushchenko's people are now saying that the rumors of Andriy Yushchenko's shooting incident are Yulia's attempt to take revenge for Lozynsky. I can't wait to hear Lutsenko's don't-get-the-kids-involved-in-your-political-battles spiel.
Reading about Russia leaves me more or less indifferent. The attack on Yevkurov is something of an exception.
Reading about Iran - I haven't done much of that. I follow it on Twitter. And, as always in such situations, I hope no more blood is going to be shed there.
And yes, I am sad about Michael Jackson's death.
That's it for now.
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