About five years ago, I was crazy in love with an Iranian girl. She was the only one who was legally entitle to be called “Honey”, since this was her given name in Persian. We had a lot of issues, the whole 6 month throughout we were a sort of “together” (more in my fantasy than real). There was not a single book, no movie, no music, not even a particular type of food or drink that we both liked. At least this was the state before we met. We could only shake our heads or shout out loud or objection, when we told each other our preferences. Helpless my attempt to introduce her to Lars Gustafssons book, the music of Jimi Hendrix or Frank Zappa, or good homemade light food. Helpless her intentions to revert my musical taste back to Michael Jackson or The Bangles, and her complete rejection of any literature in favor of super-Hero movies left me just speechless, not to mention her suggestion to watch “Sex and the City” in the movies. I successfully caught her interest to watch “Women without Men” (by Shirin Neshat) by promising her that this is an Iranian feminist movie (which in fact it isn’t). Since I accepted that after impolitely enforcing my will first, I agreed to go with Honey to KFC, her favorite restaurant chain, simply ’cause it had recently opened some stores in Tehran (why the hell would Iranians with their excellent traditional cuisine spend money for the shit at KFC ????). At least I learned from this evening that you can visit every place, as long as it makes the girl happy and as long as your learn where to go never again).
But apart from the bad experience with each others food preferences (which consolidated over the years more and more), some of the recommendations from both of us appeared to be really valuable additions to our life. One year later, HONEY wrote me an enthusiastic letter about the first book she red in her life (apart from biology text books): it was Jane Eyre by Emily Brontoe, which we than red simultaneously and exchanged inspiring thoughts via e-mail.
But which of HONEYs recommendations fell on fertile ground with me I always hesitated to tell anybody. I not even revealed to her that I almost became addicted to Sex and the City, which I saw in TV two years ago just by confusing two channels. Now I think that SATC is not less cultural valuable than Jane Eyre, and it is of fine intellctual spirit and deep philosophic thoughts as Mrs. Brontoes novel, simply a few centuries later.
HONEY, on the occasion of your 30th birthday today will tell you how deeply I feel in debt to you for opening my eyes to this fine stories of human psychology. I swear I will never again be ungrateful to benevolent recommendations (if they come from an individual person, not from a internet shop).