Bar 25 Attire

This is what I wore to Bar 25 on my 25th birthday. Trashy!

BavARia

This is my friend Michael, who is Bavarian. He wants you to know that not all Bavarians are elitist. Although some are.
[Photos taken at Ankerklaus KanalBar after lots of coffee]

Depeche Mode & The Writer From New York

So the first thing I did this morning was watch this video and eat toast:

I figured it would cure me of this feeling I woke up with.

It's difficult to explain, but long story short is that I'm beginning to think I hate other writers and maybe I don't want to pursue a career in journalism because the more writers I meet the more I realize what talentless, self-absorbed jerks they are.

Take for example this writer I met yesterday, whose name I've purposefully forgotten. I was introduced to him by a good friend of mine who told me he'd flown in from New York for a couple weeks.

This sort of thing happens all the time. New York artists are always popping up in Berlin, crawling out of the sewers or dropping out of the sky. We're practically being candy bombed with them.

Which is not to say we're the only ones in the NY Artists receiving department. Some other cities on the route include: Paris, Copenhagen, Barcelona, Madrid, San Francisco and, for some reason, Portland, Oregon. I'm not sure why this is. Call it the kuntsler migratory pattern. But for whatever reason the New York kunstlers are the loudest and seem to be the most abundant.

Anyways, I figured I'd be friendly, introduce myself, ask what line of kunstlering he was in, and so on. He answered that he had been working for the Advocate for 3 years and was now freelancing, looking forward to traveling, writing some travel articles for the New York Times, maybe if he had time, and wanted to go into an MFA program in the future. I asked him where and he said Hollins University, which I told him I hadn't heard of. And then, get this, he actually guffawed.

Now, never in my 25 years of life have I seen someone actually guffaw before, though characters in novels seem to guffaw all the time. So I was a little taken aback to see one in real life.

"Oh, you wouldn't know unless you were in THAT kind of circle," he said. "That's where the real writers are."

Now I had already told him by this point that I was a writer, but perhaps he'd forgotten or hadn't listened or didn't care. Or maybe I just wasn't a "real" writer considering I never worked for the Advocate or wrote for the New York Times. But by this point in the conversation I was about ready to toss my drink on the guy and walk away. Instead I asked him if he was planning on moving here.

"Oh I definitely want to. I'd love to do some writing for _____ and ______ and _______. There's probably a lot of money in it."

I politely suggested that Berlin was not a great place to make money, and that if he wanted to move here it would be better to do so when he had a good bit of savings to live off of. He took offense and insisted that I was "crazy" and that any real periodical would pay $2 a word for a 3,000 word feature from him and that would give him $4,000, which was more than enough to live off of in Berlin.

I decided to jump ship and go back to find Carlos at the bar and tell him how much I hated New Yorkers. And even though I did this, at great length, I still felt... annoyed.

Part of it was obviously annoyance that someone in New York had given so much work to a writer who can't even do basic multiplication while the rest of us in Berlin are sitting around starving to death, and part of it was anger at the publication process in general. But along with this there was this anger, this extreme disgust with how much networking has become a part of the art and writing world, and how good ol' fashioned talent has become at best unnecessary and at worst undesirable.

Okay okay, I'm not that naive. I know networking has ALWAYS been important. I suppose I've only been saved from it up till now because I only recently started to write for cold, hard cash. In the end this is probably why I settled on Berlin, hoping to avoid the constant, necessary mingling that occurs in busy cities like San Francisco and New York.

But in truth networking probably happens here more among the expats than it did back home. After all, as an artist you have a smaller potential audience here so you have to make every person (who speaks English) love you and want to come to your next show, see your next film, read your next article, etc. etc.

Lately I've begun to feel used. And, simultaneously, ignored. I'm really worried I'll be forced to become a smarmy, self-absorbed jerk in order to make a name for myself, make a living doing what I want to do instead of teaching Business English to the kind Leute at Deutsch Bahn. I hope this isn't the case, but the deeper I get into the business of writing the more I find myself wanting to run away screaming or stay and chew off my own fingers.

Yes We Camp!

So I'm throwing a little shindig for the 4th of July, you know, because I love big, sweaty Americans. So if you happen to be a big, sweaty American, come on down and bring your cute, fashionably emaciated girlfriend with you. Free cowboy hats for the first so many attendees!

Oh and the event is at a special secret location. Partially because I like to keep things underground, and partially because the place where we're throwing it wants us to keep our numbers low- to around 80 or so. So hit me up to find out the when and wheres!

Germans Don't Date

A few days ago, miss Paula Varjack--ever with her finger to the pulse of pop culture-- sent me this:

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
And it got me thinking about the subject of German dating. To be honest, I've never seen two Germans on a date together. All the couples I see out in public have obviously been together for a while.
So I asked Brian's roommate Jahn about this and he says, "No, no we don't date."
"But you have sex, right?" I asked as a follow up.
"Yes."
"But then how do people wind up in relationships?"
"Well maybe you have sex a few times and then if you like someone you go out for a date."
I was stunned.
So then I asked my friend Mella about this and she confirmed it.
"No, you have sex first. That's how I met my last boyfriend. We had sex and then after we were having sex for a while we decided to start dating."
I was aghast.
"It's not like that in the states?" She asked.
"No," and then I proceeded to explain to her about how in the states you go on a date and the guy buys you dinner. You're not expected to put out AND you get free dinner. Then after 4 or 5 dinners, you maybe sleep with him.
"Really?" She asks.
"Yeah, of course. Although sometimes instead of just dinner you go to the movies or to clubs or something. Some guys don't pay for you but many still do."
"That sounds great!" She says. "I'm moving to America!"
...

Berlin Expats Online

Because I enjoy the idea of Toytown and not necessarily the wankers who are on it all the time, a year ago I decided to create my own community called Berlin Expats. The community is on Livejournal, so you'll have to create an account if you want to post. You can read the posts without joining.

http://community.livejournal.com/berlinexpats/

And now I leave you with the trusty livejournal mascot, Frank the goat:

Silvester

So I started seeing signs up for Silvester parties as soon as I got home. I didn't know what Silvester was. I thought it might be linked to New Years as all the parties were on the 31st. Turns out Silvester is the German equivalent of New Years. But why call it Silvester? Carlos found this equally confusing and asked his hair dresser about it. "Silvester?" He asked, while the hair dressed took away ribbons of black and white shiny curls from his head. "Yeah, you know, like the cat," is what his hair dresser replied, hoping this would somehow explain things.

Our new years was kinda shitty. The good part was before we left the house. Brian and his friend Eduardo, who looks like Mr. July in a gay men of South America 2009 calendar, came over and had some champagne with us. Carlos's cousin Aude and her friend Marine are in from Paris so we had a nice little mini party watching drunk people shoot off M80s in the street. Then it came time to go out and Brian and Eduardo left to go to a gay club that has a labyrinth below it, you know, for sexual exploration. Aude and Marine and Carlos and I started to walk to the Ubahn, despite the fact that Brian had warned us about people setting off fireworks in the ubahn trains. Getting to the train station (which is all of a block away) was frightening enough. As we ducked and weaved among the random bursts of soot, ash, and cinder, the 20 degree frozen air shook with booms and bangs. But the worst was yet to come. In the subway it turned out people were setting off fireworks at the feet of the crowds gathered to take the night train out to Alexanderplatz. It is a miracle no one was injured. Everyone was scared shitless except for the drunk people who were too busy setting off the fireworks to notice fear. There was another group of drunk people who were actually tossing fireworks down from the street into the subway stations, blindly. It was like being mini bombed. Carlos freaked out, and we ended up taking a cab to Ritterstrasse 42, a warehouse that excels in throwing banging electro parties. The line for eintritt was about 100 people long, and the cover was a whopping 25 euro. Having gone through so much to get there, we decided to fork over the cash. In return we were granted entry to 8 different rooms and over 30 different musical acts. There was techno, electro, and hip hop performed by muppets. There were also swarms of drunken tourists. Two of the tourists were nice enough to share their drinks with the front of my blouse. Soaked and not nearly drunk enough to be passive about such a thing, I forced myself to spend a miserable 3 hours attempting to dance in a crowd of 6 ft. somethings who kept elbowing me in the head before giving up and going home. It's 5 now. Aude and Marine are still at the club. I hope they are faring better than we did. Carlos and I took a bath and ate some fancy cheese. Tomorrow I think I'm staying in. I have no new years resolutions to speak of, aside from finishing up the myriad of projects I started this year. Carlos has two resolutions. 1) To Not Die 2) To Figure Out Why He Is Living In Berlin. I already solved the second one. I'm living in Berlin to figure out why I wanted to live in Berlin so badly. I haven't quite put my finger on it. Sometimes I think the answer is pure insanity, sometimes a lack of direction, lack of money, abundance of creative spontaneity. Not quite sure. Nights like these make me hate Berlin, make me feel like a permanent tourist, like I'm living in an expat playground. I still don't think the U.S. is better, but it is definitely, in some ways, more comfortable. And I miss my friends.

How was everyone else's Silvester? Any resolutions made? Mysterious strangers kissed?

Gypsies

I just recently decided to boycott a forum here in Germany on account of a particularly racist thread on gypsies. The thread started because there are some women around Alexanderplatz (downtown Berlin) who will come up to you, baby in arms and ask you "do you speak English?" If you say yes, they will show you a card which tells their tragic tale, and ask you for some money. Now, granted, I understand this is annoying. But it does not deserve the kind of comments made in this thread. To boot, I have some evidence that the women in question were not Roma (the accent they spoke with, their dress, and several other factors) but even if they were, this sort of thing is not acceptable. Now then, even though I know better than to feed the trolls, I had to comment with something. My grandfather was of Romanian gypsy decent. He was the first to come to America and went from having a traveling bear act to almost becoming one of the three stooges! So anyway, I told these racist idiots what anyone on the defensive side of a racist attack would- that they were ignorant and should all be ashamed of themselves. I doubt this did much, except make them more indignant and protective of their racist views and have since decided to abandon the conversation. It's hard for me to sit by on this issue and I've had to more and more while living in Europe. People tend to lump anyone of ethnicity who is a beggar or prostitute under the "roma umbrella" and considering the horrendous loads of shit people like my grandfather and his parents had to go through, it is almost intolerable for me. Among other things, an estimated one million five hundred thousand Roma and Sinti were murdered during the holocaust, frequently the victims of gross experiments and unnatural forms of torture. More recently, the Italian government has been accused of burning Romani camps in order to get rid of the "gypsy problem." All this, and yet Berlin has not completed the monument to the Sinti and Roma that was planned at the same time as the Jewish memorial. You can go to it now and all it is is a vacant dirty lot with a plaque. When asked why a proper monument has yet to be built 47 years later, they say there isn't enough interest. They mean tourists. Tourists associate the Sinti and Roma with beggars, thieves, and prostitutes. Never mind that they are also a culture from which several notable artists, musicians, and other professionals emerged, including my grand father. Yes, there are people in the Roma / Sinti culture who are beggars, thieves, and prostitutes, just as there are white people who are beggars, thieves, prostitutes, just as there are black people who are beggars, thieves, prostitutes, and just as there are people of every ethnicity who have had to do what they have to do to make a living. To label an entire culture based on a select group of individuals is racism. It is no different than the racism that has been faced by people of any other ethnicity. So to everyone who feels they have been "annoyed" by a Gypsy, and wishes they would just "go away" or get kicked out of whatever country, or starve and die in the streets until there are none left, you should perhaps realize that people like Adolf Hitler thought exactly the way you did, and do you really want to share the opinions of a mass murdering fuck head?

This post is in loving memory of my grand father.

-M

The Shit Shelf

Much as I hate blog entries which include instant messaging conversations, I feel this one adds a unique insight into my life as an expat...

Brian: my roommate went out to buy a new toilet
me: that's random
just now?
it's like 8 almost
and what happened to your old toilet?
Brian: i know weird huh? he was taking measurements for it a few min ago
it's still there
me: o.0
Brian: he said he wants a toilet without a shelf because he doesn't want to look at his shit

me: o.0
um what???
Brian: hehehe
me: a shelf?
there is a shelf in your toilet?
Brian: you know how most german toilets have a shelf?
the shit drops and rests there
so you can examine it
then you flush it and it goes away
i guess people like to find out if they're gesund
i told joscha we don't have that in the us.
me: wait wait.. you are lying right?
Brian: and he said "yeah they don't have it in france either"
no, the germans are known for being so anal retentive as to check their own shit
anyway, he's apparently rejecting his cultural mandate
i'm not lying there was an even worse on in my old apt
because it would always leave skidmarks
so you have to brush it every time...or at least i would
me: ....
this is insanity.
Brian: that would be a fun article to write!
me: that is a good way to look at it
Brian: hehe
me: yes, this is insane and disgusting. But I can write about it!
Brian: you want to do it? ok
me: no no, you should do it. i don't have a shit shelf
Brian: oh ok
me: nor do i have any shit shelf experience.
Brian: pity

German Women Don't Want To Cook Your Dinner

"“What are we eating today?” is the most annoying question German women frequently answer, according to a new survey by women’s magazine Bella. Two-thirds of the 1,051 women surveyed said this question threatened their sanity, while some 59 percent said “I can’t do everything,” was their least favourite male commentary.

“She’s your daughter after all,” and “How much longer do you need in the bathroom?” were also on the list of questions that disturb relationship harmony, the magazine reported.

Men would do well to repeat compliments like, “Dear, you always look great!” in order to restore a happy balance in their homes, 34 percent of the survey’s 35 to 60-year-old women said."

From: The Local
http://www.thelocal.de/14883/20081014/

Secret Club & Bi-curious Open Mouth Night

A couple days over-due. And with reason.

1. Saturday - 2 AM arrival @ Zementgarten located just foot steps away from the middle of f---ing nowhere / Lichtenberg. After wandering around dark streets lined in dilapidating apartment buildings for 10 min. am lucky enough to find boy on Ecstasy aimlessly searching for the sbahn. Wir fragen re: secret entrance to warehouse club. He points to an almost person-sized break in a sheet metal gate. Across huge former parking lot in dead warehouse city lit only by single street lamp we pull a security door. Enter moist, red dungeon of a squat party dotted in hippies dancing with drugs. Despite aversion to fusion music, manage to move feet significantly to the sounds of computers, vocoder, kazoos, and plastic bottles. Dragged butt home just shy of daylight.

2. Sunday - The Berlin poetry release of Paula Varjack aka: my friend sara from London / New York / & Washington DC- featuring: others. Others consist of: Germany's first "Mid-western mid-eastern blue grass band," a drunk girl who was supposed to MC but showed up halfway through the event to slur some words into a microphone, a British comedian whose jokes consisted mainly of using the words "cunt" and "crisps" in succession, and a band of Romanian minstrels dressed in druidic-looking robes. This madness (survived by no less than 2 gin and tonics) was followed by a trip to nearby 8 mm where the very bad man of a DJ encouraged sara's unruly throng to dance on chairs, have a make-out huddle, and sing along to "Roxanne." There was much making out between the girls and f*ing in the bathrooms, especially after my group converged with a gaggle of blond Danish 20-somethings who were impressed with our belligerence. I alone abstained and was subsequently told by the bartender that I didn't look like I was having a good time. 3 bottles of beer later I had made friends with everyone, but holding strong to my promise not to catch mono refrained from the all-girl tongue lashing. None-the-less, an Olympicly persistent Swedish girl insisted upon giving me her phone number and myspace "just in case I come to Stockholm for sexy orgy." Did not beat daylight on the long, cold bike ride home. And am still haunted by the memories.

Dr. Pong: The Ping Pong Bar

Later I'm going to a Ping Pong bar in prenzlauerberg. Everyone stands around a ping pong table with a paddle hitting it back and forth until only two people are left- they then have to run from one side of the table to the other hitting the ball until somebody gets out. Then everything starts over again. Whee!

Dear Maria am Ostbahnhof

You suck. Every time I go to see a show, the cover is too much (12 euros is the least I've ever paid) and never announced beforehand. Your bartenders are rude and mix crappy overpriced drinks. Your second room is always lame, with the same lame DJs spinning the same lame industrial goth music regardless of the lineup in the main room. I could put up with all that if I could only get to enjoy the musicians I go to see. But no. Your sound system is badly arranged. You let too many people in most nights and so the main room gets crowded to all hell and no one can dance or see anything. You either have the headliner go on at 11 p.m. or 6 a.m. (whichever time you think will be more inconvenient). As a result, I paid my 12 euros last night to see Doppler Effekt and only got to see 5 minutes of them because you put them before every other musician in the line up, a time when most people haven't even left their houses to go out. What gives? I'm done with you. Go to hell.

Fury in the Slaughterhouse: Lightning Fields: A Pirate Bar

We've been busy the past couple days because my good friend Avri and his friend Cliff came to stay with us on Thursday. The main goal of their trip (in addition to seeing me/Berlin) was to go to a concert for a band that Cliff has been a huge fan of for many many years called Fury in the Slaughterhouse. The concert was on Friday and we rented a car and drove for hours in traffic and rain (or I should say Carlos drove for hours in traffic and rain) to Hannover. The concert itself was maybe not my biggest cup of tea. But I think Cliff at least had a good time as the band dedicated a song to him for coming all the way from America (and the drummer's wife later called him insane). Carlos and I had a pretty miserable time as we did not have backstage passes and spent much of the time after the concert dodging drunken Hannoverins and trying to figure out where the car was in the rain. We didn't get back until 5 and fell asleep upon arrival. After returning the car the next day, we realized we had paid over 200 euros for the whole experience, which is about 75 dollars each. This morning on the table there was a note written to Carlos from Avri stating his gratitude and suggesting that we had all gotten into more than we had bargained for.

On Saturday, Los and I went to the Sugimoto exhibit at the Neu National Gallery. Sugimoto was at the De Young Museum last year so a lot of the works on display we had already seen. But his newest segment, Lightning Fields, is simply amazing. Negatives of photos of lightning bolts were hung in front of a lit screen (much in the same way x-rays are observed by doctors). The result is that you can see all the "fibers" of the bolts, and the intricate root-like patterns mirrored in other bolts. It was pretty amazing. We took home a poster of his picture of the diorama at Madame Tussards of Henry the 8th. Sugimoto's website is here in case you want to take a look: http://www.sugimotohiroshi.com/ We also saw a temporary exhibit on Rupprecht Geiger who is now 100 years old and experimenting with bright neon colors that are almost too much for human perception. Take that young people.

Sunday we tried to find fun stuff in Berlin amuse our visitors with, but as it was raining not much could be found. We mostly ended up wandering trying to find the Jewish Museum but never did. We stopped at Yaam (a reggae club that was supposed to be having a festival) which was nearly vacant and infested with bees. Los went home. The rest of us went to a pirate bar and had drinks while waiting for a band featuring a violin, guitar, drumset, accordian, and a unicycle (or so we thought) to set up. While waiting, one of Berlin's colorful locals with a bit too much alcohol in 'em came over and started talking to us about the Police. He started off by singing "Sending out an SOS" (which was the song currently on the itunes shuffle lazily abandoned by the bartender). Then he crouched down in front of the table so he was eye level with us and told us how he had seen Sting play at the Ziegman Sea (?) in Overalls(!) And do you know what he was singing?" he asked us incredulously. "No, what?" "He was singing..." his voice escalated rapidly to the point where he was screaming, "about the RHINE!" The small, disinterested waitress came over and with a wristful series of hand gestures told the gentleman to leave. We decided at this point to leave and went to Burgermeister (a sub-metro hamburger joint where railings with padding = seats) for dinner where we overheard a festival band doing covers of "Jump, Jump" "Just Like A Pill" and other songs featured in "NOW" CDs. We went back to the Pirate Bar to see if the unicycle band was up an running. It was, but only in the usual way bar bands are. We left. Went home. Fell asleep.

My Marriage to the Berlin Wall

This is interesting. And weird. And interesting:
http://www.berlinermauer.se/BerlinWall/tragedy.htm
Full explanation here: http://www.algonet.se/~giljotin/explan.html

I've heard more than a few people say they preferred things when Berlin was divided, and have heard many say the opposite as well, but I've NEVER heard of anyone going so far as to declare the wall, both seriously and passionately, is their husband.

Fussball Madness

Turkey won the game. At least, I assume so from the fireworks, the frantic screaming, and the overwhelming chorus of honking horns. Luckily, I'm still alive.

Sportscrazy

It is fussball season and the fans out on the street in front of my house have just gone crazy. Turkey won the game and now very car within a 5 mile radius is honking, people are screaming, and the sounds of fireworks ripping through the air like gun shots disturbs the storm moist summer night. Is this really the end of a fussball game or the start of a war?

May Day

Today is May Day. A day when young people fill the streets in celebration, angst, and comradery- throwing bottles and punching each other in the face. I just saw about 40 cops go by on motorcycles, in cars, and vans. We leave for Praha in a couple hours. It is rainy.

Ich bin Auslander und spreche nicht gut Deutsch.

So I started school this week. It is interesting... The VHS (Volkshochschule) is something like a community college where people come to learn everything from knitting to cooking to, in my case, intensive German.
Today we sang a song to the tune of "She'll be coming around the mountain when she comes..." which went:
"Ich bin Auslander und spreche nicht gut Deutsch...
Ich bin Auslander und spreche nicht gut Deutsch...
Ich verstehe nicht was sie sagen
Bitte, sprechen sie mehr langsam
Ich bin Auslander und spreche nicht gut Deutsch."
Half of the class is Italian, and half are Turkish, and a small percentage are various other things (yes, there are three halves to my class). There is only one other American and native English speaker in the class, but all the Italian folk speak English quite well. They also seem to hate me. I think it is because I am borrowing Carlos's camo-print bag until I can afford to buy my own. Perhaps they think I'm some kind of war loving crazy?
That's not all. Yesterday the teacher asked me how many states were in the United States now (because it is plural - DEN USA) "56?" She asked. "More!" I said, making a joke about her overestimate. "No, no," she responded, "Iraq doesn't count."
Another faux pas was made earlier this morning when I suggested to one of the Italian students that they install a good ol' cafe / restaurant in the school, preferably one serving scrambled eggs. The joke was not responded to in kind. He said, "But you are in Europe now and we don't eat those things. If you want scrambled eggs then maybe you should go to London."
The Italian students are somewhat hard to relate to. For one, the Italian breakfast consists of cigarettes and black coffee. I think if I was from New York maybe I'd be able to fit in a little more. At least we both share a love of abstract art and electronic music. Oh yah, 30% of the class are electronic musicians. Apparently you can't call yourself an electronic musician in Deutsch because "musician" only applies to people who play classical instruments: piano, guitar, etc. Instead, you are supposed to refer to yourself as an "electronic music producer." Sure, sure.
I ran into one of my fellow classmates at an Indian restaurant today. Apparently he is a chef there. He gave Carlos and I 2 rounds of free highly alcoholic drinks, some extra naan, and changed the price of our normal dinner to a "kinder dinner" knocking off about 50%. I will buy him coffee tomorrow as a way of saying thanks.
Travel plans: 1. I'm going to Prague May 1 - 4. May 1st is a disaster in Kreuzberg, the somewhat more angsty / punky part of Berlin where I happen to live. It is a kind of "hate day" where people parade, riot, party, and generally EXPRESS their angst over whatever it is they are angsty about. Bottles are thrown. Cars are tipped. And so I intend to get the fuck out. I'll be visiting my friend Tom who I haven't seen in a bunch of years. He's super chill. It'll be good to see him.
2. I'll be in the states from May 11 - May 18th (or around then) as it turns out I have no school this week due to Pentecost. See you soon meinen freundin!

Dirty German Bed Designers

Was innocently looking for bed frames when I came across this (warning not safe for work!!!):

http://www.etage7.com/product_info.php/info/p95_JAILHOUSE-FUCK.html