Last night HE was BUILT FOR SPEED!

Eve wrote it down before I did, so I'm going to link to her blog here and just say, I CONCUR!  And I have found my home.

Rosh Hashonnah: Not So Traditional After All

On Thursday Eve and I rehearsed in a small park in Prenzlauerberg.  I don't remember the name of it, but it's a strange little spot on Papalallee that is a park, playground and cemetery with a theater next to it.  I tried on Eve's moustache and became Boris.  I wonder who this guy is.  I think he is part walrus.  I'd be interested to play around inside him and see what happens.  He is either a cowboy or some sort of lazy cop.  In any case, he is confused.

After rehearsal, I went to Eve's place.  She is living on the top floor of an old squat that is now a flat with roof access.  I am hoping that I can move into her room when she goes if I do indeed figure out a way to stay.  The place is amazing, a little gritty, high ceilings, art everywhere.  On the balcony is a miniature/forest, swampland, complete with DIY pond.  The roof is accessible by ladder and gives a beautiful view.

We bask in the sun for a bit and then I have to come back to Neukölln for a tandem speaking appointment.  S-- a friend of B--'s, is working on her English and has agreed to help me with German.  At 6 the bell rings and I invite Simone up.  She is a stout woman with mannish haircut, and a slight left-side deficit.  Her eyes are firey and she has a warm smile.  I like her immediately.  We figure out how we will structure our time.  An hour of English, and hour of German.  Perfect.  She speaks enough of my language to have a conversation.  She asks me about clown and I tell her about the idea of the other.  We talk about Artuad.  She is working on a writing project called "Handi-captured" challenging notions of disability and looking at how every person has deficits and is able-bodied at once.  She says she is an in-between person.  Due to certain things that have happened to her, she cannot do things that she used to with out help, but she is an independent and strong woman, and likes to do most things by herself.  I tell her a little bit about me.  She asks me to write a one-page story for the project.  My deadline is the 12th of Oktober.  Yes!

At 20:30 she goes and Daniel rings the bell.  I get ready to go to this Rosh Hashonnah celebration, trying to look nice, conservative.  I did not bring so many clothes with me, so this is not an easy task.  The woman having the party is orthodox, which makes me nervous, but I will be with my friends, people I trust.  They will keep me safe and comfortable. 
Before we go to meet Sharon at Hermannplatz, which is about 3 blocks away, Daniel looks at the directions in his email.  Of course, they are in Hebrew, so I can't read them.  We walk to Hermannplatz, Daniel chattering playfully and me a bundle of nerves and caffiene.  I begin to smile in spite of myself, and by the time we get to the plaza, I am dancing to music in my head.  Sharon arrives in a huge bicycle with a seat on the front.  "Get on!"  He says in his authoritative tone.  I laugh and decline.  We shove each other around a little bit. 
We try to figure out where we are going.  The directions say to take the U-7 to Nuekölln station and then walk to some address.  It's written in Hebrew.  I have no idea what it says, so I just say, "Okay!"
Daniel and I hop on the train.  Sharon pedals off.  He'll meet us there.  Outside the station, we reconvene under a bridge.  I pull out my map and we look for the street we are supposed to go to.  It is nowhere.  Sharon takes the map, turns it over to the list of street names, stares at it.  "I never remember the order of the letters."  He says, handing me the map, "Can you find it?"
This shocks me for a moment.  Sharon has a brilliant and complex mind, speaks two languages fluently (Hebrew, English.)  But it makes sense. Both he and Daniel grew up with a separate alphabet.  I keep finding myself in these situations where everyone has something separate to contribute of equal importance.  All auslanders (foriegners), we all sort of need each other.
I find the street and the location on the grid.  It is on the other side of Berlin.  What to do?  If we try to go there now, we won't get there until midnight.  We can't call the host because she cannot pick up the phone due to it being the high holy days and her being orthodox.  And we are hungry.  We begin to walk.  "No sausage."  I request.  "I've had enough sausage."
"Oh, but this is traditional food for Rosh Hashonnah." Sharon chides.  (Sausage is pork.  Do the math, goyem.)
We don't want döner.  We don't want shawerma.  We want pizza.  "Harvey,"  Sharon says in his commanding voice.  "Use your powers.  Find us pizza."  We walk along.  I focus on pizza.  After 3 blocks, it appears, but it is pricey. 
"Sorry. " I say.  "I forgot to focus on cheap pizza."
Daniel begins to chant, "Cheap, cheap, cheap."  Too more blocks and voila!  2 euro pizza!

I get a margarita pizza and the Israelis both get salami and cheese.  Our pies come.  "Shana Tova," we all say and laugh.  Not only is salami unkosher, but they are eating it with cheese.  After, I want to go to a park.  I have a few bier in my backpack and, hey, it's new year's.  We walk and talk about all kinds of stuff.  Life, death, the soul, what it is and where it goes, pick up Daniel's bike, which is by my place. Eventually we reach Templehof Freiheit, only to find that it's closed.  We sit on the side of the bike path.  It's woodsy.  Sharon pops open the bier with his lighter, Daniel stretches out on his back.  I here rustling in the bushes and turn to my right. A fox is staring at me!  It is still, we are still.  Sharon moves his leg and the fox darts back to his hidden safety.  I feel magic in the air.  "Shana Tova!' Sharon and I clink bier bottles and Daniel's plastic one filled with water. 
We finish our biers.  Again, Sharon tells me to get on the front of the bike.  I acquiesce and get a ride home.  "Tchuss!"  I yell after the boys.  Daniel has sped off ahead. "Good night, Harvey!"  Sharon's voice trails off as he pedals toward his home at the circus.
My first observance of the Jewish New Year.  Nice!

We have plans to go hiking in the forest for Yom Kippur.

Shana Tova, Artist Visa, Playing To A Dead Crowd

HE: A Genderstranged Clown Duo

Shana Tova everyone!  It's Rosh Hashannah, the Jewish New Year, and tonight, for the first time in my life at age 35, I will celebrate!  The Israeli boys invited me to a dinner party thrown by an orthodox Jew.  I'm a little nervous, hope I can come up with something appropriate to wear.  But I'm also quite excited to finally get a chance to do this high holy days thing, and to do it in Deutschland.

In the park yesterday, Daniel and I talk about life and relationships.  The conversation comes around to Jewishness and our voices get a little hushed.  It feels so liberating and free to be here.  I feel I can flaunt the fact that I'm strange and queer, but I have to talk to someone I good long while before I'll reveal my heritage to them.  I have known Sharon and Daniel for almost 2 weeks, and it's not a long time, and yet we are all bonded.  I think our blood has a lot to do with it.  There is a part of all three of us that is ready.  Ready for it to happen again.  Ready to hide, fight or stand.  We know that if things turn, we are there for each other.  It is our Jewishness that makes it so.  I never thought that these issues were buried so deep inside me, but I guess they are there.  And Berlin pulls them to the surface.  Slowly.

I think about my homeland, the USA, and what we have done.  We have massacred a native people, stolen people from another continent and held them in bondage.  Just last week, an innocent man was framed and killed by our government because of the color of his skin (ref: Troy Davis.)  How are these hundreds of years of systematic oppression different than Hitler's brief reign?  I don't have any answers, and I know these questions are unpopular, but still they are there and keep me awake at night.

Last night I had a small gig at the Kookaburra Comedy Club on Schönhauser Allee.  The night was put together by an eccentric performer and MC from Stuttgart named Otto Kuhne.  Other performers where a cellist and singer of the comic variety named Matthias and an AMAZING beatboxer named Pete the Beat.  I have heard a lot of beatboxing in my life, but I have never heard anything like this.  Pete was in his late 40s and claims to have introduced beatboxing to Germany.  He was a very humble and friendly guy, and completely expert in his craft.  I would believe he was the first one to beatbox here. 
I only made 10 Euro, which is a bummer, but the night was really lovely and I have seldom met three nicer guys.  I didn't even feel weird sharing a dressing room with them.  They were all courteous, spoke English to me, made me feel like a competent and important artist.  Really, I was playing for them, because truth to tell there were about 7 people in the audience including Eve, and during my set, maybe one person laughed one time. 
It was so frustrating!  I feel like I did my job as a clown!  I listened to the audience,  I asked them what they wanted.  Too much?  Not enough?  They gave me NOTHING!  So I just had to go on and get my eight minutes over with.  And then I was done.  And the person who booked me was happy with my performance, and that's the part that mattered.

After, Eve and I go to a store, get a bier.  The cashier opens them for us and we walk out to the street to find a step to sit on outside a closed shop.  "Shana Tova," I clink Eve's bottle with mine. 
"Shana Tova!"  She says to loudly.  I wince.
"Eve, you've got to-"  I stop.  How do I explain this to her.
"What?" 
We talk about our separate ancestries and I learn about the French-Canadians. 
It starts to make sense to me why French and French-Canadians don't want to speak English.

We make a rehearsal plan, talk about busking.  I hop on the train to Alexanderplatz and then transfer to the U-8, getting home around midnight.

Even with all these heavy thoughts, I think I have decided to stay here for as long as I can.  I try to convince myself to come home to the bay area, but aside from friends and family (which I value most dearly) what is there for me  in California?  I've no place to live, no job until June, am a slave to the public transit system (which is quite mediocre) and everything is expensive.  Though the current exchange rate is 1.36 USD to every Euro, food and rent are quite cheap here and, if nothing else, I am respected for my craft.  Also, no one who is part of the circus world has told me I do not belong!  A major life-changing shift. 
So I am trying to find out what the possibilities are for changing/refunding my return flight on November 30th.  Tomorrow or Monday I will go and register for a month long German language program, collect my bank statements, photocopy my passport, buy German insurance and ask Bridge for a signed paper saying I reside at this address.  I believe I can get a visa extension of at least 3 months this way.  It's true, I'm only here until November 15th, but that's plenty of time to find a place.  If anyone knows of anyone in Berlin renting a room for 250 Euro a month or less, let me know. I'm currently seeking an under the table job, too.  Made one inquiry about an English-speaking nanny position I found on Craigslist and am going to find out about stagehand stuff.

Last night people in my dreams where speaking German.  I only understood a few words.  I don't know what they where talking about, but I now it was German.  I have never had a dream in a foriegn language before.  This place, it has seeped into my consciousness.  It wants me to stay.

It's all a little stressful and overwhelming, but I believe I can do this.  If anyone would like to make a contribution, financial or energetic, to the Harvey fund, now would be the time.
http://www.gofundme.com/8y660

To Be Jewish in Berlin

circus studio

At 6 o'clock I have rehearsal with the cake puppet.  I meet Daniel at the Circus at Ostbanhof.  (There are two red and yellow striped circus tents, at least one rehearsal studio, a large kitchen with seating for 50, bathrooms, and a costume shop that also has rooms where people sleep.  Also several caravans.  Unfortunately, there is no heat in the caravans.  I guess they not for winter residency.)
I put the dowels in the puppet, make it stand, stretch a bit and Daniel comes in with his friend Ola, who is from Poland.  We run it a few times.  He has some good suggestions.  Then Sharon, the Israeli clown from Sunday night comes in.  Now we get down to the nitty-gritty!  He's got all sorts of things to say.  I learn from his comments and direction that he really knows his shit.  He begs me to study buffoon. (He is not the first one.)  We work for a total of two hours, after which my body as tired, but not as tired as I would expect. It seems I am getting stronger!  I lost 5 pounds of my body weight somewhere and have know idea where it went.  But one thing is certain, and that is that I am in shape! Daniel and Ola go to the kitchen.  I run the piece for Sharon a few more times.  It is interesting to hear his suggestions and impressions.  He does not understand things like the play on gender and the feminist aspects of my piece, but he does understand comedy and puppetry.  I take in what he has to say.  A lot of it, I will use, some I will not.  I am glad for the fresh perspective.
As I disassemble my puppet, he asks me if I want to eat.  Of course, he asks me in Hebrew, so I have to say, "What?"  He acts surprised that I don't speak Hebrew, but I think he is playing with me.
"But you are Jewish!"  I explain that my family is non-practicing, but we have the blood and the past of pogroms, anti-semitism, etc.  So he asks in English, "You want to eat?"
"Ja!" 
We go to the kitchen, were Daniel and Ola are talking.  Sharon takes stock of what is in the refrigerator.  I ask who would like bier.  Ola says yes, Daniel says no.  We all start talking again.  Sharon takes me gently by the shoulders and steers me out of the room.  "To the store!  Now or we will never get there."  We stop by his room first and Zigi, his little dog (part pug, chihuahua, and pit?) growls at me, tries to attack.  I am a stranger in Zigi's space.  Sharon kneels down.  "Zigi  Zigi!"  He stands, puts his arm around me, shows Ziggy we are friends.  Ziggy runs away, comes back, sniffs me, barks but does not bare his teeth.  Slow progress.  Sharon and walk to the Ostbanhof, a major train station and bus stop.  Also in the Ostbanhof are two supermarkets, an Apotheke (like a pharmacy,) a Schlecker (like Walgreens but without medicine) and a host of restaurants. We go to one of the groceries and Sharon buys eggs, onions, tomato and garlic.  I buy five large bottles of bier. The bier comes to around 6 euro.  I must be careful with money, it is true, but I also feel that if I am a little generous now, karmically it will come back to me.  This proves to be true again and again.  So I will keep on believing it.
On our walk back to the circus, Sharon and I start talking about our lives.  He is 29, has been in the Israeli army and in combat.  We talk about how the dark sides of ourselves relate to clown.  I ask him about the Isreali-Palestinian conflict, how he feels about it now.  "I was so stupid."  He says.  "I let myself be brainwashed and did horrible things.  I have taken life.  Now, I meet Palestinians, they are my friends.  How could I have believed the lie?"

Die Juden

Back in the kitchen, Ola asks about being Jewish in Germany.  Sharon says, "Berlin is not really Germany.  It is Berlin."  I talk about how, in 2007 when I first came to Berlin, I was afraid.
"You are Jewish?" Daniel is surprised and delighted.  His eyes twinkle at me.
Sharon has just gotten his German passport.  His great-grandfather was a German citizen and died in a concentration camp.  His grandfather to Israel after the war.  Evidently, his Grandpa was able to pull some beaureaucratic strings and make Sharon a German citizen. We get into this conversation about what it means to be Jewish, if it is a religion or a culture. 
"I like parts of the Torah,"  Sharon says.  "Jews are intellectual.  We ask too many questions.  That is why we got kicked out of heaven."
Is this actually part of the Torah?  I was never religious.  I don't know.

Daniel and Ola are talking about practical things, aerial dance, where to busk.  Sharon is cooking dinner and he and I are talking about the holocaust, Isreal, what the hell we are doing here, being an artist in this world, where does clown come from, but with a certain levity.  "One egg or two,"  he asks me. 
"One," I answer.
"But they are small, and you have been working hard.  Two?"
"Ok, two."  I pause.  "This is what makes us Jewish.  The way we share food.  Come on, have some more!"  I chide him. 
"You may be right!"  He says.  "Would you ever lie about being a Jew?"
"No."  I don't even have to think about it.
"Someone wants to kill you."
"Then I will die." I am surprised at how fast the answer comes out of me, how I don't have to think about it.
We open a bier, I take out my camera ask Ola if she will photograph the three Jews.  We stand clumped together.  "Everyone say holocaust!" Daniel says.  The flash goes off.

Sharon and I eat this marvelous concoction he has made of tomato, onion, bell pepper, garlic, and egg, mop up the sauce with bread.  I play music from my ipod on the speakers in my kitty backpack (best purchase EVER!)  Daniel and Ola have a Michael Jackson dance party.  Eventually it is midnight.  Daniel and Ola go off to his caravan, leaving Sharon and I.  We finish the beer, he gets Zigi, who is so glad to finally be outside that he forgets I might be a threat, jumps on the bench where I sit and licks my face.  We sit outside in the surprisingly warm night air, talk for an hour.  I am not sure if the trains are still running, but I need to get home.  Ziggy and Sharon walk me to my platform and wait with me until my train comes.  I think we are both surprised at our connection to each other, which seems purely yet deeply intellectual.  We both wonder why we must muck around the dark spaces in ourselves, why we cannot just leave our pasts somewhere else.  Our journeys our separate, but perhaps similar.  The train comes,  We hug.  "Tchuss!"
I ride one stop to Jannowitzebrücke station and attempt to transfer.  It is 1:15 am on a weekday and the platform is closed.  Fuck!  What the hell do I do?  I go out into the night.  There is a bicyclist.  "Spreichen zie Englicsh?"
"Ja."
I ask him if he knows how to get to Boddinstrasse, my stop in Nuekollon.  He does not know of a bus.  "It is not so far.  a 30 minute walk." 
"Danke," I sigh.  He pedals off.  I would like to walk, but I am unsure of the route and don't want to attempt it for the first time at 2 am with the cake puppet under my arm.  I check my wallet and hail a cab.  It will be 10 Euro but I don't see another option.  My cab driver is Turkish, speaks English, takes me where I need to go. 
I have a gig tonight at the KingKongKlub and will get part of the money from the door.  I hope a lot of people come.  I think I will start to learn walking routes.  I feel much less self-conscious about walking here at night than I do in the States.  There are no guns and there is a different relationship to alcohol in Berlin.  No one is going to mess with me.  If I had known about the U-Bahn closing, I would have researched the all night busses, but without a smart phone and not speaking the language, I did not see a way to figure out a route.  If I had asked Sharon to walk me all the way home, he likely would have said yes.  Oh, well, Maybe next time.

Dance!

My Life in the Circus has Begun!

It's midnight.  I got home half an hour ago from my first gig in Berlin, Zir Couplet Varieté at imShake! tent at Ostbanhof.  I just have to blurt it out: I SLAUGHTERED this audience!  They would not stop laughing!  It was hard to go on to the next part of the act because they just wouldn't stop!  It was my first time performing this work in a venue that wasn't "queer" or alternative in some way, and you know, it was better!  They where not expecting me to go there, so when I did, it was all the more outrageous!  And I learned so much about what I was doing from this audience.  My character, this poor, sweet, confused clown who just wants to be loved, she is a child!  She has no idea that what she is doing might be inappropriate.  There is nothing sexual or erotic going on for her, just what feels good and what does not.  There's nothing in my 8 minute solo piece (see www.harveyrabbit.net if you don't know what I'm talking about and want to)  that is inappropriate for children.  And I really feel that way after performing for a mainstream audience this evening.

I'm getting the DVD of this performance in the coming month and will post it for you to witness.

The cakedance, well, the puppet is a constant work in progress and in need of seemingly constant repair.  I've only been working with it for a couple of weeks, so there is still a lot of discovery that can happen with that.  It didn't bomb, but it was "interesting," as in the audience watching but not laughing so much.  The best part is that I get to do it again tomorrow!

I really want to write about all the amazing people I met and tell describe for you the incredibleness of the environment, but I am just dead beat, so here are a few half-assed pictures.  This tired-assed clown is going to bed.  (well, i'm finishing my delicious german bier first.)

London Luton: A special kind of Hell

It's one am.  Truthfully, I should have not taken a bus to this hellhole of an airport until 3, but I just wanted the ride here to be easy on the underground, not have to change city buses three times in order to get on the shuttle bus to finally take me to the airport.  So I've got 3 hours to kill until I can check in to EasyJet at 4 and my plane doesn't depart until 6:05.  Joy.  So you're my captive audience.  Held hostage by yours truly for a good, old-fashioned, whiny ass, headachey, bleary-eyed complain-a-thon.  That's right, a real bitchfest.

First off, the lighting is more awesome than a women's dressing room when you're trying on bathing suits (male-identified readers, either remember or imagine, whatever suits your personal gender situation more.)  I mean, it is deathly bright like flash photography in here.  Now, you'd think they's at least have the decency to have it be quiet, or if they're going to have piped in music, have it be something with know lyrics so you can sort of tune it out. But no, they've got this awful new country/rock thing happening, and while it's not loud, it definitely ain't quiet.  I consider digging around for my ipod, but what I really want is QUIET, as in NO MUSIC!  So I guess I'll just soak up this rich cultural experience of sitting in a glaringly bright airport food court and drinking coffee at 1 am.  Of course, I can't even send this until tomorrow when I'm actually in East Berlin at Bridge's place in Kreuzburg because there's no damn internet here.  I am reading a really good book at the moment.  (Thank Darwin.)  It's called "The Help" by Kathryn Stockett.  I highly suggest it.  I'm either going to lie on the damn floor and sleep or read it when I'm down kvetching here.  But honestly, I feel this is necessary.

All of you who thought it was so exciting that I was going off on this amazing adventure, boy, don't you wish you were here experiencing this?  Truly, all these folks with their sleeping bags out and bags and luggage carts around them, it's like a refugee camp in here!  I'm really sorry if that's culturally insensitive, especially for all of you in the bay area, but hyperbole makes for better writing.  If you were hear, you'd feel the same way.  I guarantee it.  Or maybe not.  Maybe you've done this before and are all zen about it.  But I bet you didn't have the piped in music.  That's the real kicker, I tell you.

Everyone here just looks sort of gray-faced and miserable.  I'm sure I do, too.  I mean, after all, we're carting our luggage around with us every time we have to use the loo or whatever and none of the Luton Airport employees are shining balls of light, let me tell you.  EasyJet, you are a miserable piece of shit airline at a miserable, fecal-faced airport.  So why am I flying you?  Because you are cheaper than dirt.  Oh, what I would do to be on a train to the Berlin Hauptbahnhoff right now.  But a train from London to Berlin is too pricey for the likes of this seriously disgruntled clown, as is a reasonable airline.  Us budget travelers, this is what we get.  Flourescent lights, piped-in shitty top 40/new country, and not so much as questionable carpeting to sleep on with our luggage stacked around us like shopping carts, like a homeless encampment or a shanty town.  And guess what someone just turned the volume up.

Soon, Berlin. Soon.