Woanders.

Aus Menschen im Hotel von Vicki Baum, 1929

“Aber”, so sagte Kringelein, “wo ist das wirkliche Leben? Ich habe es noch nicht erwischt. Ich war im Kasino, ich sitze hier mitten im teuersten Hotel, aber es ist immer noch nicht richtig. Ich habe immer den Verdacht, das richtige, das wirkliche, das eigentliche Leben spielt sich ganz woanders ab, das sieht ganz anders aus. Wenn man nicht dazugehört, dann ist es gar nicht so leicht, hineinzukommen, verstehen Sie?”

“Ja, wie stellen Sie sich das mit dem Leben vor?” erwiderte darauf Doktor Otternschlag. “Gibt es das Leben überhaupt, wie Sie es sich vorstellen? Das Eigentliche geschieht immer woanders. Wenn man jung ist, denkt man: Später. Später denkt man: Früher war es das Leben. Wenn man hier ist , dann denkt man, es ist dort, in Indien, in Amerika, am Popokatepetl oder sonstwo. Aber wenn man dort ist, dann hat sich das Leben gerade weggeschlichen und wartet ganz still hier, von wo man davongerannt ist. Mit dem Leben geht es, wie es dem Schmetterlingsjäger mit dem Schwalbenschwanz geht. Wenn man ihn fortfliegen sieht, ist er wunderbar. Wenn man ihn gefangen hat, sind die Farben abgegangen und die Flügel lädiert.”

home.

I am lounging on my little island, the world famous green couch, between a hundred pillows waiting for me to rest my head on them.

My thoughts circle around the feeling I’ve  been allowed to have these past couple of days: being exactly where I should be, on this little island, surrounded by people I love.

It was warm and cozy and an overall feeling of trust and comfort and accepting each other with all our flaws and nerves and whatnot…exactly the way home should feel.

I don’t have all that much family or at least not family ties and that’s why it means so much to me -

I am blessed to have you, darlings, and all the happier now that you made friends with my other friends.

Thank you for a fantastic weekend full of tea and food and fun!

My singing bookseller.

I’ve got my heart back!

I haven’t posted anything in ages, shame on me, shame on me! One of the reasons might be the fact I haven’t been home much, at least not with time to think about anything not University-related. 

So, a couple of weeks ago I went back to where my heart was. I was really scared of it, thinking that very likely I wouldn’t be able to go back to Berlin without falling into deep depression. 

Getting to NYC I was thrilled and excited, with a sense of something big happening. Approaching Manhattan on the plane I started crying, like I had finally found my great love and we were going to be happily ever after. Euphoria lasted until I got into the cab that was supposed to bring me “home” . Sleazy MoFo was trying to fuck me over for $ at the tollbooth and I got slightly disappointed. Getting out of the cab, I realized it was really really cold in NY, nothing like the 25 degrees in Berlin. 

Slowly realisation kicked in the the cold wasn’t only temperature. 

My beloved NY who I thought I knew so well, was in fact a coldhearted, cheap, dirty egomaniac who turns everyone into neurotic psychopaths!!!

And my heart, my happy, fuzzy, little heart, jumped right into my bag and said: “Take me to Berlin! That’s where I’ve been wanting to go for a year now! And you stupid girl just left me here!” 

So I did. But before, I calmed my heart down a little bit and spoiled it by buying some adorable dresses and eating a lot of happy food. We bid farewell to NY, the places, people, smells and sounds of the busy streets and went home. 

H-O-M-E. 

Home is now a strange big city where people speak with a funny dialect and are über-cool.

Home is the place where I have a lovely apartment and a nice, comfy couch to sit on and write.

Home is where I study and when I look at my University I feel a sense of pride. 

Home is where people’s behavior confuses me yet I feel utterly rooted in the way of life. 

Home is where my heart made a little jump because Anna picked me up from the airport and lit a cigarette for me. 

Home is where I light my candles and forget to wash the dishes. 

Home is where my heart is, and that is now officially BERLIN. 

Welcome heart, it feels really good to have you here. 

 

I bow to you, Frau Thalbach

Some of my biggest fights have been about the fact that I am an actress who doesn’t appreciate Shakespeare as much as expected of someone in our craft.

However the idea of seeing ‘As You Like It’ played by an all female cast and directed by Katharina Thalbach appealed to me, so I went to see it. 

This performance changed my view on Shakespeare and solved the question whether it can be brilliantly performed and grasping all of the wit in any other language than English. The answer is: YES and YES. 

Two and a half hours I went from laughing out loud to almost crying, at points actually  feeling the confusing attraction to a women dressed as man- because the acting in combination with fabulous costumes was just incredible. The staging was as wonderful as it was hilarious. — I could go on for pages about it, but in essence: theater like this is the reason I’m an actress.

I bow to such enormous talent.

If you’re in Berlin, go see it!!!

http://www.komoedie-berlin.de/repertoire/wie+es+euch+gefaellt.htm

mitternachtsspaziergang

This is a great song… thank you Oli!

blue skies

Oh, what a beautiful morning! With the sky a bright NYC blue, I am in the best mood I could be in on a Monday.

The buildings are beautifully reflecting the sunlight and the tower of the synagogue is shining golden and blue…even the University looks appealing! 

I guess Berlin can be pretty pretty after all. 

There must a relation between Mr. Berlin writing this song and the city I call my home these days.

Have a good day folks! 

What separates the men from the boys

Saturday night in Berlin, a.k.a. the Manhattan of the 2000′s a.k.a. the place to be a.k.a. hipster capital of the world (yes, it actually is worse than Williamsburg) — after a semi-satisfying day of shopping and studying I was dying to go to White Trash and have a burger with my Berliner-to-be friend Anna…unfortunately a business meeting delayed this idea and I was left zapping the channels of German Trash TV instead, Obama-Day  still hours away. 

Eventually Anna came home to Anna an we got dolled up to go out. My mood brightened with every bite of the anticipated cheeseburger and the following hot fudge sundae accompanied by comments on my rocket bra Tigerlily outfit…but even a couple of Baby Long Island iceteas didn’t do shit about the claustrophobia, so we left to go somewhere else: Scala. 

The place is my 80′s junkie dream come true. An old apartment building, paint peeling of the walls, graffiti everywhere, loud music pulsing in the hallways, a fashionably hot crowd dancing and mingling >>>>>>>> REWIND! 

Huh? Where is my fashionably hot crowd? 

As we enter the very smoky, dark club my eyes need a minute to adjust to the light. A guy with a dubious haircut and a moustache passes me, looking confident – even proud. I wonder if he is aware that this do has gone out of style after a certain person of Austrian descent started WWII. I look around and recognize more strange people around me.

All of a sudden I feel very uncomfortable in my Bettie Page outfit – Alice in Wonderland gone very very wrong.

Chubby girls in short dresses, leggings and ballet flats seem to have stolen Amy Winehouses hair, while their boyfriends for the night in tie-dye T-shirts are dancing to a melody I cannot hear. They must have found the acid-caterpillar before I have.

The discomfort grows as I start sweating balls from the unbearable heat. I can now feel every single item of clothing I am wearing, the seams on my skirt and every bone in my corset. Hello claustrophobia,  there you are again!

How are all these people wearing beanies? Aren’t they warm? I stand there, ready to pass out, while everyone else seems to enjoy themselves.  Also I am suffering from a major case of hiccups that won’t go away, so I do what I do best.

Watch people. 

Almost every male person in there seems to have a beanie, facial hair or big big glasses. Then I spot another Hitler-do, this time on a very drunk Japanese guy. I am not sure he can pull it of any more than the German dude, but it makes me laugh. 

I stare and stare and find that there is a complex system of Mitte-hipness among guys, which I am just beginning to grasp. If you are underage or for some reason can’t grow a beard, you have to wear a beanie. If you’re still too cool, you wear as many layers of sweaters as you can take without fainting (this also makes your arms look a little bigger). The very hardcore even wear a scarf, despite the temperature inside. This all goes with a bohemian attitude of: I am too poor for the coatcheck but also my jacket is too designer to just toss it in the corner. (Of course nobody can EVER know about this.)

If you’re able togrow facial hair, this means you’re not underage – a man so to speak – and you mean it. You grow a beard or a moustache. If your beard is not very thick, you have to cover more of your face by putting on glasses. Big fat Buddy Holly glasses. The same kind you wear during the day as sunshades: you’d even wear them now, had you not done that during your raver phase–which you do not wish to be reminded of ever again. As for the clothes- rinse, repeat. 

Bottom line: I don’t know since I am too tired right now, but I will deliver one as soon as the mad hatmaker lets me go back home.

hipsterpatrol

 

 

 

 

Self Pity and the City

Metropoloneliness

Thursday night in a big city, somewhere in the world. The annual self-pity tsunami is hitting single-girlville with full force once more. 

This usually happens around dinnertime, but only if you somehow forgot to go grocery shopping.

Here are the first warning signs: 

3 pm: Your friend cancels the dinner date second evening in a row.

4pm: You leave class with the intention of going to the supermarket and buying yourself some healthy veggies and  fish for dinner.

6pm: For some reason you still haven’t left the house, eventhough you really wanted to go to the gym and then hit the grocery store.

7pm: You make a list of what you’re going to do tomorrow, check the TV programs for later on tonight and think about what you want for dinner. Weirdly all you can come up with is stuff they serve at restaurants you would never go to alone, especially not in the evening. 

7.15pm: You consider skipping dinner for various reasons: a) you’re too fat anyway b) you don’t want pizza delivery again c) you don’t want to go out in the cold, alone, again d) you don’t have any cash at home, so even if you  skipped on a), b) and c) you have no option. 

7.30pm: You know better and realize you’ll probably regret not eating dinner by 10pm because you’ll raid the fridge and kill your secret stash of chocolate.

7.35pm: You put your jacket and uggs over your sweatpants and leave the house looking like shit, hoping you won’t run into somebody you know. 

From now on it can go many possible ways. Here is mine, tonight.

Inspired by a facebook post I go on a quest to find summer rolls somewhere in my neighborhood. Instead of going to the little Vietnamese place on Mulackstraße I decide to try the other one which is closer. 

Since they don’t have a menu outside I am forced to go in and ask for a menu. As I look around I see couples sitting there, talking and eating. The two people who are there by themselves are men. Unfortunately there are no summer rolls on the menu and everything else is fried, which is not good for my diet, so I leave. 

I walk down the street and see a pizza place. For a second I consider just getting something carby and greasy in order to get back home a.s.a.p. and watch Law & Order. The tiny spark of discipline I have left isn’t having it. Come on, you already went outside, might as well go get something halfway healthy. 

While I am walking I remember I haven’t called my food-friend Jan in ages. I call him because I am thinking of food and we should go have dinner again soon. As I am telling him this he goes: Yes hun, absolutely, but not tonight. Of course not! What do you think, I am spontaneous or something? I mean, I have to study anyway. 

Somehow this makes me a little sad. I try to cheer myself up, thinking that other people are just getting off work and probably a lot of them are eating by themselves tonight. Nobody will know, nobody will know. 

I walk by my favorite bookstore and see Kurt, my literature critic of choice sweep the floor inside. I say hi. He seems in a hurry to get out and is not really into having small talk right now. I am bummed, for no reason at all. He is your bookseller, come on. 

The idea of noodlesoup hits me, but I don’t remember exactly on which corner the place is, before or after my Vietnamese. I decide that I’ll go for whichever comes first. 

Noodleplace is first. The place that is usually empty is now crowded with happy, international people. I am standing in the way a little arkward, asking to see the menu. The mute waitress hands it to me, I feel watched. Somehow Sex and the City, Miranda, chocolate cake and chinese takeout come to mind. As I order with the other waitress she tells me that the wait is going to be 20 minutes or more. I can’t bear standing here for that long, so I say thank you and turn around. She says: Sorry! and I feel caught. She knows. She felt it. She felt that I am lonely, and now she made it come out. 

As I exit the restaurant, still sans food, I start crying. The little tear rolling down my cheek feels hot in the cold air outside. I turn the next corner to get away from people. Through the  misty window of the candle-lit Italian place I see happy people on first dates. I start feeling pathetic. The usually dim street seems bright and there are too many pedestrians for my taste this minute. I hear a mother yelling at her child and think to myself: I wish i had your problems. Then I pace myself, forcing rationality into my brain, but somehow it’s not quite working. I am embarrassed for being lonely and something tells me it’s ridiculous. This is the catholic in me, not allowing a thing as self-pity. Other people are worse off than you. Think about the shit thats going down in Israel right now. Yet, I can’t help it and keep walking and crying to myself. The world is such a sad, sad place. The argument inside goes on. I want to go home, but not without dinner!

I get to the Vietnamese place and discover something I had never noticed before. It is split in two! A restaurant and a take-out bar. Hope on the horizon. Two people are sitting inside, both by themselves, each drinking a glass of wine. The man is reading a magazine and the woman is reading a book. Hello fellow loners! I feel like I’m in heaven when the owner greets me without sympathy. We’re all alone by choice the atmosphere seems to say. The two guests seem perfectly content. Being by yourself is not a shame. I wish I had brought my book so I could stay as well. Creative people stick to themselves! But I have not, so I operate according to plan. I get my food and realize I’m not hungry but I want a cigarette. I quit smoking a while ago, but after all this it seems like I deserve an unhealthy drag. 

Pretty cheerful I walk home. Nice, I think, this is a good place. Maybe being a bookworm isn’t so bad after all. 

On the last 100 meters to the deli I have another argument with myself. Should I really buy smokes? Why? What will the deli-guy say? – Who is he to say? He wants to make money, so he won’t judge you for smoking! He’ll judge you for not smoking! – Oh God, Mel would be so disappointed! – Everyone has their vices…

As expected, he greets me saying: I haven’t seen you here in a while! – Well I don’t smoke much anymore…do you have yellow Gaulo—-he interrupts me with a smile: Are you pregnant? 

This is more than I can take, yet I laugh. He apologizes after I tell him that he can never ask a woman that unless he is absolutely sure. And if I was, he shouldn’t sell me smokes. For a split second I imagine what it would be like.

I catch myself and summarize the lesson learned tonight. 

Never put your wallet, keys and cell phone in your jacket pocket. You’ll look fat. 

Peace kids, I’m out. 

http://www.manngo.de/

 

much ado about nothing