My New Digs- Au Pair Land

Madame Claude's

 Yesterday I moved from my lovely home of 2 months in Lichtnberg to Wienerstraße, into a situation that I was quite nervous about but is proving to be quite nice.  In exchange for a private, furnished room, private bath and toilet and a shared but rarely used living room, I will give 10-15 hours of childcare a week.  10 of these hours will be Monday through Friday, from 7 am to 9 am, when I will prepare 2 year old Younis for Kita. And I will also work from 4 to 7 on Monday evenings.  Then there will be another evening thrown in there somewhere.  All in all, a sweet deal that hopefully won't keep me from doing other small jobs and working as an artist so I can earn some money.
The family is lovely, Arabic and German.  The 8 year old, Juliet, speaks excellent English.  I will have to try to get her to help me with my German.  I ate dinner with them tonight, pasta with a creamy salmon sauce and vegetables.  I really like the parenting style. Everyone is quite friendly and I feel more comfortable by the second.
While part of me is dreading the early mornings, another part of me looks forward to getting back to my old schedule where I actually get to enjoy daylight!
Last night was Sam's last night in town, and he wanted to go to a kneipe just down the straße from my new digs called Madame Claude's.  The place was crowded but cool, with low light and furniture glued upside-down to the ceiling.  Everyone in this place seemed to be American, even the Russian music promoter we met!  Robert had gone somewhere with his sister Ricarda after hanging out at my place a bit, but he came and met us around 10:30.  Sam snapped photos, growing already nostalgic, and Robert and I did a little John Waters-style posing.  That is, I was hoping for a John Waters-esque, "Ick!" factor, but actually, we're just cute, and that makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit.  I thought about posting the picture, but well, we're just to damn cute and it's disgusting.
So I live in trendy Kreuzberg, and I am concerned because everyone speaks English to me because they want me to feel comfortable.  It is hard to get the chutzpah to practice.  But it is necessary.  I have freelance work offers if can get a bit fluent.  I am considering taking another German course. I heard that the Volkshochschule in Kreuzberg is better than the one in Neukölln.  We will see!  Meanwhile, I went to a gym for an introductory session today and spoke no English.  My German is bad.  Bad!  But if I need to, I can get by.  While not an end result, this is still progress.  The gym, McFit, costs only 17.99€ a month, but you have to sign up for a year contract.  I can't afford that and language school, so I will have to utilize the flat screen TV and DVD collection in the living room during the day when no one is home to instigate my own workout program, because the guy at the gym let me be on the elliptical machine for 45 minutes even after I told him I couldn't buy a membership, and damn, did I feel lifted when I was done!  I asked him, "Deutschkurs oder Fitnesstudio."
He said, "Deutschkurs."
I wrote a very short email, all in German, this evening.  It took me FOREVER and I don't know if it made any sense.  The words were all correct (I think) but the grammar?  No idea.
It's almost 11 now and I have to be upstairs drinking coffee and waiting for Younis to wake up at 7 am, so I'm going to go to bed.  This is the earliest I've turned in in months, and I am looking forward to it!

Frohes Neues Jahre!

It's 2012 and we are all still here.  Maybe they just ran out of space on that Mayan calendar, or maybe we have managed, as a species, to shift our own destiny.  Whatever the reason for the delay of armageddon, Hallo and happy new year!  We made it!
Last night there were many hundreds (if not thousands) of parties in Berlin.  The streets sounded like a war zone, full of gunshots and explosions that shook the windows of my room and later Robert's apartment.  Of course, there is no war going on here, but boy do these Berliner's love their fireworks! 
It was a quiet day yesterday despite the racquet outside.  The morning found a simple Früstück around 1 pm (late for breakfast, I know) and then me teaching Robert basic swing dancing in the kitchen.  Daniel came over at 3 and we had a brief meeting about the workshop we are teaching next Saturday.  I am a little nervous that we will have to cancel due to low enrollment.  Still, we have almost a week.  We need to have 7 more people sign up in order not to cancel.
I tried to go buy coffee beans for my house only to find that Nadia und Kosta, the cafe near Nöldnerplatz, was closed for the holiday.  If you live in Berlin or are just visiting and want a nice, quiet out of the way cafe with free WLAN, Nadia und Kosta is wonderful,  They have a comfortable and relaxed setting and the coffee is excellent.  So I tried the Netto Supermarkt, which was closed at 5 pm due to it being Silvestr (New Year's Eve.)  Hmph!
Daniel took off to go work the coat check at a party and I ambled around this place that has been my home for the past two months.  I'm moving to Kruezberg tomorrow, into an arrangement I am really hoping works out.  In exchange for my own room and bathroom with shared living room I will give 15 hours of childcare services a week.  The family lives upstairs in a separate flat.  I have my own buzzer and entrance .  In fact, the two flats are physically connected to each other.  My flat comes with a portable 2-burner electric stove and a small fridge as well, so I can make small meals and coffee.  I am hoping to find a WG  (a community living space, like a flat with roommates) without too many rules or roommates by April.  Three months of work exchange instead of rent will be very nice, and maybe I will want to stay even longer!  Who knows?
I got to Robert's around 7:30 that evening and brought a few bottles of wine.  It was unclear as to whether there would be several people there or only Robert and I.  Sam (my friend form the States who is leaving on the 3rd) came over around 8:30, at which point he and I practiced our German.  Note, it is only around 9:30 and we are all quite sober.  It's just more fun to play drunk. 

Thankfully, Robert is as much of a partypooper as I am.  Excuse me for being a grown up, but I just see no reason to go out and get ridiculously wasted and dance until 5 am just because it's New Year's Eve.  Sometimes, I enjoy staying up until dawn, but I don't see why I should be obligated to just because of some stupid Holiday.
Sam went to watch the fireworks at the Reichstag, which was supposedly the largest gathering of people in the world.  Robert and I sat on the couch and watched "Bitter Moon," a 1992 film by Roman Polanski.  A good movie, but not exactly of the feel good variety. It reminded me of Last Tango in Paris, but even more macabre.
At midnight, we have to stop the movie because outside it sounds like world war III and we can't hear a thing.  Ollie, Robert's roommate, barges into the room and we all clink glasses and say "Proust!"  And that was that.  2012.  Woo.
It rained last night, or at least in between the time I went to bed around 2 and when I woke up around 12:30.  On my way to the U-7, I passed a small bit of nature on Reuterstraße.  Even in a big city such as this, Mother Earth prevails, and I love that.
As for resolutions, mine are simple:
1) Sprechen Duetsch mehr.
2) Have at least one official freelance job in Germany so I can open a bank account
3) Get to a level of German where I can read an adolescent book, such as "Pippi Langstrumfen."
4) Write more, and with more care.
5) Make one good, new, polished performance, even if it is short.

It seems that I can finally focus on German!  And if I can become more fluent, this will surely lead to money!
Happy New Year!

Mushrooms for the New Year.  Is it just me, or are they wickedly suggestive?

Weinachten mit der Grunows

Rostock Hauptbahnhoff

Oh mein Gott!  Where do I begin? 
On Saturday morning I caught the train with Robert and his sister Ricarda.  We were going to Rostock to spend the holidays with his mother, father and grandmother, none of whom spoke English.  I was nervous and anticipatory.  Really, it's an opportunity I have been waiting for, to be around people where English was not an option.
Robert's dad picked us up at the Rostock Hauptbanhof and we immediately went to the Supermarkt, where they had clear, blimp-shaped containers filled with water and weiners (a kind of sausage.)  Unfortunately, I did not get a photo, but I believe it would have been amusing to my American readers.  Oh well.
After the Supermarkt, we went to Robert's parent's house.  Made of bricks, two stories and an attic that had been converted to a guestroom.  The whole house, sans kitchen, bathroom and stairs, was carpeted in smooth pistachio wall to wall carpet with shiny black and marble accents.  I had been in the house about two seconds when Robert's mother came downstairs and instructed me (in German) as to exactly where and how to hang my coat.  She didn't like the way I had down it the first time.  Though frail in her looks (Gela suffered a stroke some years back) this woman rules her house.  Her rules seldom make sense.  The one thing that was made pretty clear, though, is you sit were she wants you to sit and you do what she wants you to do.  It sounds scary, but found it rather funny. 
After our arrival, Robert disappears and I am left in the kitchen with Ricarda and Gela.  We stumble around in language.  Mostly I just listen to them talk.  I excuse myself to take my backpack upstairs.  Robert is lying face down, naked, under a sun lamp.  I sit on the bed in the corner and get my book out.  A flurry of whining, German and louder, protesting German flies up the stairs.  Gela comes in the room, her voice heavy with the weight of children who don't appreciate her enough to wait on her hand and foot.  "Robert, warum [German german german?]"  She points with her good arm and scolds at him to do something.  Ricarda comes in, snaps at her mother, picks up a bag and storms out.  Robert is now standing, naked.  He says something to the extend of, "I was just trying to relax for a second!" 
I throw him his underwear and Gela commands him to get in a tiny, dusty storage space and pull out a few bags of bedding.  Than she leaves.  But in 5 minutes, "Robert!"  All weekend was like this.  I can see why he doesn't visit so much.
Robert and I went for a walk and I saw the Baltic Sea.  The weather reminded me of Ocean Beach in San Francisco, windy and cold.

Ostsee

 

Dinner was about as unJewish and also as German as I think it gets.  Potato salad and sausages. Delicious!


I really had a lot of fun.  Robert's father was very patient with me and my attempts at Deustch and his Grandmother was terrific.  That night we all drank a lot of wine and his Oma and I had a lengthy (if simple) conversation about classical music.  After we were all quite drunk, his father decided that it was time for to learn some English.  Okay! 
We did some simple things: How long have you lived here?  What color is this?  This is green.



The next morning breakfast is brotchen, (bread rolls) cheese, boiled eggs and ham.  And of course coffee made with a sleek and expensive coffee maker that grinds the beans for you.  In the afternoon, Robert and I took a two hour walk through Rostock to meet his family at an Asian (Japanes/Chinese/Thai) restaurant for an all-you-can-eat buffet.  Robert's mother took photos of the buffet.  Then photos of us, then more photos of the buffet.

This is at Lichtenhagen in Rostock.  The site of an awful hate crime in the '90s, a small group of right wing radicals set fire to this building because many Asian immigrants lived inside. 

Klenow-Tor Shopping Center.  Everything is closed, but I get Robert to pose like a pretty, pretty princess on the horsie.

I didn't quite fit in the tractor.

These two photos were taken atthe same time, about 4:45 pm.  The one on the is with a flash, the one on the left without.  Look at the weird particles and reflections in the photo on the right, and how it looks so much darker.  Strange!

 

After the buffet, Robert and I were going to walk home, but it was raining.  So Everyone but us got in the car with the agreement that we would wait for someone to come get us after the others had been deposited at home.  (The car had only 5 seats, but there were 6 of us.)  Robert and I were just sitting down to enjoy a drink when, guess what, Gela decided to come and keep us company!  Sensing this could be very bad, I turned the tables on her.  I took out my camera and suddenly she was the star.  This made her VERY happy.

This morning Robert and I slept too late and then had to rush to eat breakfast and strip the bed we had slept in.  Ricarda drove us to the Rostock Hbf, where our ride that Robert found via http://www.mitfahrgelegenheit.de/

It cost us only 10€ each to get back to Berlin.  My German-English dictionary was waiting for me upon my return!  Robert has loaned me some comic books from his childhood.  These, in combination with Lindenstrasse shouldhelp me with me language learning.

Tune in shortly to hear about how Robert and I accidentally ended up in a Right Wing (Nazi) bar!

Früstuck (Breakfast)

Weinachten mit der Addamsfamily, Weinachtmarkt und mein Geburstag!

Sam and I at the Volksbühne

On Saturday evening I went to meet Sam, a guy I had met a few times in San Francisco through our mutual friend, Kai.  We were meeting at the Volksbühne, a popular theater in Mitte to see a free play, "Weinachten mit der Addamsfamily."  Sam is only in Berlin for two weeks.  He speaks four languages, but German is not one of them.  Still, he is trying and feeling that very familiar American guilt of having life be easier because he speaks English.  

"You're here for two weeks.  Relax.  It's a tough language."  I tell him.  

The play will be in the second floor lobby of this very posh theater, and the whole of it is done up in goth glory.  Black lace and chiffon drape the sparkling chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, and there is a withered Christmas tree with doll parts and plastic skulls dangling from it's branches.

The play starts, and I am impressed by the physicality, the commitment of the actors.  Of course, there is a lack of character depth, but the play is a comic book, really.  Of course it is all in Deutsch, and again I am impressed by how much I understand.

The play lasts about an hour, filled with the antics of Wednesday and Pugsley as they try to kill Morticia's new baby.  

 

After the play, it's still early, about 7 o'clock, and Sam is up for a stroll about town.  We go to the Weinachtsmarkt at Jannowitzebrücke.  This particular Weinachsmarky is more like a carnival with rides and games where you can win things.  It's the type of place I love and hate at the same time, huge beer drinking crowds, lots of noise and flashing lights.  It's amazing and repulsive.

Weinachtmarkt, Jannowitzbrücke

Weinachtsmarkt, Jannowitzbrücke

Weinachtsmarkt, Jannowitzebrücke. No that is not a beer in my hand, it is a Club Mate, which is a carbonated mate drink, much better (and cheaper) than Red Bull.

Weinachtsmarkt, Jannowitzbrücke.  These were at a currywurst stand.  Granted, they are practical, but well, they just look a little like a used condom to me.  Yech!

Weinachtmarkt, Jannowitzbrücke

Sam and I wanted to go on the Ferris Wheel, but it cost 5€.  We decided to take our 5€ and spend it at Silver Future instead.

Silver Future

 Over drinks, we talked about similarities and differences between the Bay Area and Berlin.  The main thing that I have noticed is that in Berlin, I don't have to explain that though I identify as queer, I am not gay.  I don't have to have the "What is queer?" discussion with folks. Culturally, they just kind of get it.  I like this!

Yesterday was my birthday and it was a good one!  In the morning I schlepped myself out of bed and went to the Universitat der Künste to see about getting work as a life model.  They said to check back next Semester.  So I will.  I am just absolutely going to keep showing up until they give me a job.
After, I went to Kottbussr Tor, a stop in Kreuzburg, because Robert had told me about a shop tht sold yarn on Oranienstraße.  It was time to buy myself a little present.  I look at buying yarn as an investment.  If I make hats, I can sell them.  But in order to sell them, I've got to have product, a spread, so to speak.
I found the shop and they had some really nice 80% wool blends on sale.  I bought a few skeins and started crocheting immediately!  I went to the Lidle and bought some wine and prosecco for the party later, then cam e home and worked on my hat while watching Harold and Maude dubbed in German.  I know the entire movie in English, so if I watch it 20 or so times in Deutsch, I think I will have a much better grasp of this language!
In the evening, people came over.  We sat around the table, talked in English and German, ate Mac and cheese and chocolate cake and drank a lot of wine.  Everyone left around midnight, which was PERFECT!

I have been in Berlin a little over 3 months, and though life is rough here, I feel a real sense of community, like the city and the people I know care for me.  They see I am genuine, that I have a good heart, a creative mind, and that I can deliver.  I make an effort here and then things happen.  Slowly, but they do.

It's the first night of Channukah this evening, but I've no plans to celebrate.  Daniel invited me to a Channukah party on Saturday night but I've been invited to leave Berlin!  I'll be traveling by train with Robert and his sister to Rostock, which is in the northeast of Deutschland to spend Weinachten with his mother and father, who speak not one word of English.  Oh my!  A bit excited, a bit terrified.  This is going to be interesting!

Auslanderbehörde, Attempt Number 1

Upholstery on the S-Bahn

Thursday morning, 8:30 am.  It's cold outside and I've forgotten my gloves.  I'm in line at the Auslanderbehörde, the immigration office in Berlin (Friedrich-Krause-Ufer 24.) It's an ugly building in a rather industrial area.  Not exactly what you think about when you consider dreamy, artsy, progressive Berlin.  The building doesn't open until 10 am, but already there are about 20 people in front of me.  I have with me all of my materials, passport, letters of intent to hire, bank statement, college transcripts stating my areas of expertise, CV, everything except an official letter saying that I will be insured by a health insurance company once I have a tax I.D. number.  Robert, my hero of the day (he's my hero many days, actually) has gone to the Lidl a few blocks away to get pastry and coffee for the both of us.  My fingers are so cold they ache, and I wait for the hot paper cup that he will bring back with great anticipation.  Robert has come to translate for me.  It is a relief to have a native German speaker with me, and the company is nice as well. 
Finally the building opens and some people shove past me, getting through the door first.  I don't care.  I have promised myself that I will not stress or rush today.  I have been under a lot of stress lately.  It has been manifesting in my body in different forms, knots in my stomach, a clenching of the jaw and stiffening of the neck.  I take deep breaths, try to let go of the anxiety of alienness, of not understanding the language around me, of trying to grasp a culture that is not my own.  On the second floor I show my passport, take a number and Robert and I sit in hard plastic chairs in room 212, waiting.  I know I will not get my Visa today because I don't have the insurance, but I'm not sure how to get it and they will at least tell me what I have to do.  In line, I met an American ukelele player who has lived in Berlin for the past few years.  She is renewing her Visa today.  She has given me the name of an insurance agent who will sell me private insurance without a german tax ID number.  I can pay through my American bank account with USD.  I'll buy this insurance later from a British man named John Gunn, who is based in Hamburg.  As far as I know, he is the only person selling the private German health insurance that the Auslanderbehörde accepts.  According to immigration law, I have to buy three month's worth of insurance at a time.  It is extremely expensive, this stuff, but I am in a race against the clock and there is nothing else available to me.
After about 45 minutes, my number is called.  Robert and I go into a little room and speak with a joyless woman behind a window. She tells me that I have everything except the insurance and she can either give me an extension on my tourist visa for 3 months until my appointment, or I can come back on Monday or Tuesday with the insurance.  I opt for Monday or Tuesday. 
Robert and get on the train back to my place in Lichtenberg, where I currently have a small, curtained corner of the living room to claim as my own space.  I sit on the fluffy red comforter on my twin mattress and Robert lays his head in my lap whil I read him a short story by James Herriot. 
I feel positively drained.  I know everything will work out.  I am a strong and persistent person, and going back to the States in a permanent way is not a viable option for me.  The parts of the US I might like to live in are not set up for someone who doesn't drive, and I've no interest in living in New York. 
Tomorrow the Visa saga continues.  I'll take my letter from John Gunn saying I am insured to the Public Insurance Agency, who will then sign my official form that says they will insure me after me 3 months of private insurance is up and on Tuesday I will go to the Auslanderbehörde just before 7 am when the doors open and maybe, just maybe, they will give me my Self-Employment Visa then and there and I can start looking for some work.
Deep breaths.
It will all be okay.
Deep breaths.

Boddinstrasse Pinwheel, Neukölln

TV Tower at Night

Alexanderplatz

Alexanderplatz

Fact or Fiction: Six American Stereotypes about Germans

TV Tower with Menacing Clouds

I've been in Berlin awhile and have decided to stay.  Life has normalized itself and I have switched modes, from a traveling troubadour to a struggling artist and language student.  Though I still can't understand a lot of what is being said, my Deutsch is generally good enough to get around (get directions to a place, find what I need at a store, ask how much something costs, etc.)  I have begun to ask people working in cafes and bakeries to speak to me in German instead of English.  (Berlin is very accommodating to the English speaking world.  This is a good or a not-so-good thing, depending on your perspective, but I'm not going to get into that now.)
I really enjoy making lists, so I thought I would make a few!  The following is a list of stereotypes that Americans have about Germans and whether they are (in my experience) Fact or Fiction.  Coming soon, cultural differences you wouldn't think about if you weren't here

And now:
American Stereotypes about Germans, Fact and Fiction

1. The trains run on time
Fiction. While the Bahn system is quite reliable in Berlin, it is quite often that the S and U Bahn will be a few minutes late.  Also the buses, while more reliable than the SF MUNI, seem to show up when they want to.  It is always around the time they are scheduled, but they may be a few minutes early or late.  The night bus, which runs all night during the weekdays after the trains shut down, really tends to have a schedule of it's own that has not so much to do with any printed information.

2. The German language is harsh sounding and ugly.

Fiction. While the German language has many sharp consonants and uses a few sounds we don't use in the English language, I actually find the Deutsch language gentle.  Of course any language is going to sound harsh when it is spoken like this:

 

4. Germans are always on time

Fiction. Oh, the falseness of this.  Again, I can only speak of Berlin, but in my experience, the German people in this city have only a slightly more rigid idea of what it means to be on tme than they do in the San Francisco Bay Area.  Then again, I don't know anyone with a 9 to 5 office job here, so I may be wrong.  But to my foreign sensibilities Berlin seems a very relaxed place.

5. Germans have no sense of humor

Fiction. This is a very common stereotype that is simply not true.  Not one little bit.  The German sense of humor, much like the British sense of humor, is dry and somewhat satirical  Then again, a lot of downright silly.  I know a lot of Germans who have a terrific sense of humor.  This country has a long history of clowning and comedy.  One of the great German comedians, Loriot, recently died, but here is a sample of his work:

 

6. Germans are rude and unfriendly.

Fiction. German culture is direct.  Many Americans may mistake this directness for rudeness; however this is simply not the case.  Rudeness, to me, implies a sort of judgement, while directness is simply the easiest way to say what you want to day.  An example of this would be this morning when I brought my friend his laptop.  He was in his bedroom and the computer was on the kitchen table, resting on a piece of bubble wrap.  I neglected to bring him the bubble wrap as well.  While one of my American friends might have said, "Can you get the bubble wrap as well?  It keeps the computer from overheating because the fan is on the bottom of the machine," Robert said, "Oh, no.  This is wrong.  I need the bubble wrap also because otherwise the computer gets too hot." And he pointed to the vent on the bottom of the electronic device.  

A month and a half ago, I would have felt scolded.  (I am occasionally still overly sensitive to this cultural abruptness, but I like it.)  But my friend was not judging me, he was just explaining my error and why the padding was necessary.

Traveling really forces one to look at their stereotypes in a critical manner. I suggest it to everyone.

German Class at the VHS (Deutschsprache Kurs auf die Volkshausschule)

I started my language course, Deutschsprache A1 (beginning level German) at the Volkshausschule yesterday.  I was really excited.
Yes, the class is 4 hours long and begins early in the morning 5 days a week. This will not deter me.  I am a good student and I really want to do well.  I need to learn these basics in order to start talking to people.
I take the S41 to the U8, walk a block and a half, and show up early and ready to learn.  There are maybe 14 people in the class from all over the world.  a guy from Scotland, someone from France, a girl from Macedonia, a few other Americans, Spanish, Portuguese, a Kiwi.  An international crowd.  I can't tell if anyone else is excited.  But I am.

The teacher is 15 minutes late.  He is tall, thin, wears glasses, needs a haircut, and seems to lack any sense of joy.  The humor he does have is backed by sarcasm.  He is bored with his job.  He wanted to have a prestigious, tenured position at a Universitat in Berlin.  He wanted to translate great literary works, to have a few freshman who would bring him fruit, flirt with him, make him feel important.  Instead he is teaching beginning German and doing by the book, teaching old-school style out of a tired text book.
Our workbook, Schritte +1, is as drab as the teacher, with canned dialogue that we read aloud.  Here is a brief sample:

-Firma Teletee, Iris Pfeil, guten tag.

-Guten Tag. Mein Name ist Khosa.  Ist Frau Söll da, bitte?

 -Guten Tag, Herr...

-Khosa. 

-Entschuldigung, wie ist Ihr Mane?

-Khosa.  Ich buchstabiere: K-H-O-S-A. 

-Ah ja, Herr Khosa.  Einen Moment bitte... Herr Khosa? Tut mir leid.  Frau Söll is nicht da.

-Ja, gut.  Danke.  Auf Wiederhören. 

-Auf Wiederhören, Herr Khosa.

 
 All I can say is LANGWEILIG!  (Boring!)  And did I mention the guys sitting on either side of me both have the jimmy-leg?  (Jimmy-leg:  This unconscious jiggling of the leg that seems isolated to the male gender.  It's a sort of fidget.  Who knows why it happens?  All I know is it is a bit disconcerting when one is surrounded by it.  Like a mini earthquake just for me.)
I think this class is useful to a point, but the instructor doesn't correct our pronunciation or let us talk enough.  It's all book work.  Although I do need basics.  My next step is to find a native German speaker does not speak much English (good luck in Berlin! Everyone speaks English here!)and wants to trade practicing English and Deutsch.
I will make it happen.
Language should be fun.  True, it is a giant, but it can be an enjoyable giant. I am currently working on translating the original "Mack the Knife" (Die Moritat von Mackie Messer) into English (the literal meaning of the words, not the American lyrics) then memorizing the German, looking at the English and translating it back from memory.  After I finish this I think I'll pick a monologue by Bertolt Brecht or Georg Büchner to tackle and go through the same process.  Theatre and song are the way I learn other things, so why not German?

I have heard there are some very good teachers at the VHS.  I, unfortunately, did not get one of them.  But I will tough it out.  Bored instructors have never sopped me from learning.

There is No Masengil in Deutschland

T, J and I sit around the kitchen table Monday morning.  When I entered the kitchen an hour ago, I was offered kaffee und früstuck.  I sat and listened to their conversation in Deutsch.  I could make out that they discussed, Nazis, politics, history, cultural observations.  It is not at all uncomfortable for me, these situations of not understanding everything that is being said.  I trust and feel accepted by the people I am around, and it is good for me to be able to pick out words that I recognize and try to piece sentences and ideas out of the few verbs, nouns and adjectives that are familiar to me.  Eventually J turns to me and asks, "Do you understand what we are talking about?"
"Sort of."
They speak in English a bit and I join the conversation.  Somehow, we begin talking about insults.  "Douchebag is the best one in English." I say.
"What is this?  J asks.  I explain what a douche is.  T translates a little into German.  (These are my favorite types of translation scenes, the ones that are always about something slightly taboo.  The German culture, I feel, is not so prudish, so there is rarely shock value involved.)
"It is a medical device?"  J asks me.
"Nein, it is for 'freshness,' so your vagina smells like a field of daisies."
Slightly bewildered, she turns to T, reiterating what I have said , but in German.
"Ja," T confirms that she has heard right.  "I hear this on 'The Sopranos' a lot.  I can never figure out what they mean.  I always thought it was a type of bag you put water in to pour over yourself."
I laugh.  The German word for shower is Dusch, so I understand the error.  I imagine a German tourist driving through America, hearing the term "Douchebag," and wondering why we all talk about portable showers in such a negative way.

I start my German classes in a little less than a month.

I am excited to sink my teeth into the language in a booklearning way.

The other night, in a desperate attempt to make Deutsch sprachen more a part of mein Leben, I watched 'Bad Teacher' dubbed in German.  I didn't understand most of the dialogue, but the plot was not so hard to figure out.
It is a blessing and a curse that the people I know speak such marvelous English.  A blessing because we can speak about abstract and important things.  I have the opportunity to develop deep understanding with people.  There is an opportunity to make close friends.  It is a curse because I have been here a month and a half and still have great difficulty speaking Deutsch.  But I will start school.  I will learn enough of the basics to be able to learn more.  I have stopped caring about grammatik, speaking correctly.  If someone can understand what I am saying, this is enough.

And with moving to my new environment, I have place myself around people who want to speak more German with me because the y want to speak with me!  I am at a truly blessed place in my life.  How long will it last?  I don't know, but it seems with my move to Kreuzburg, I have had an explosion of positivity in my life.  Tobi and I have long conversations about the mind, culture, media, ourselves, love, relationships, everything at the round kitchen table in the day or night with more and more frequency.  I have developed a strong connection with a man named R also.  We sit up until 6 in the morning talking about ourselves, our pasts, sharing music and youtube videos.  R, like J, has been a perpetual student of Psychology in a Masters' program in Berlin for the past decade but has become disenchanted with the program.  The mind on this guy is pretty fantastic as is his ability to communicate emotion and show vulnerability.  We discuss the psyche in abstract and also how it pertains to ourselves.  He opens himself to me, possibly afraid but doing it anyway.  for this he has gained my utmost respect.

I also have landed a job as a babysitter/nanny for a 2 and a half year old child.  The mother is single, American and a sculptor.  I will be doing four overnights next week because C (the mother) has to go to Belguim to work on a large scale iron sculpture she is designing.  I am nervous but excited for this.  It is good to work.  It makes me know I live here.  I am not just passing through.  I am also doing some figure modeling for a drawing class tomorrow and sometimes walking a very bad dog in Wedding, which is too far away from my liking.  I will let the dog walking go soon, but not yet.

I have stopped fretting about immigration for a moment, but need to start focusing on this again soon.  I cannot go to the Auslanderbehörde until early December, close to the time my Schengnen visa expires.  Until then, I will focus on getting everything in order.  I am getting quite a bit of help from friends and family here and in the States, and for this I am so grateful!

Don't get me wrong.  Life is not easy in Berlin.  I am terrified a lot.  It is not an easy, luxurious dreamland here, but I do not feel as hopeless as I did in San Francisco, and I appreciate that the communication between people here is more direct and to the point.  No one here is perfect.  The culture here is not perfect, but for me, right now, it really works, and I don't question it too much.

Together At Last: HE at Barbie Deinhoff's

On Saturday night Eve and I had our first gig together in Berlin at a small queer cafe in Kreuzberg called Barbie Dienhoff's.  We got there early and were welcomed by a tiny square stage and a backroom with mirror and lamp.  This was also the beer storeroom so it was a little cramped.  Neither of us are at all a princess, so this was just fine with us.  We got ready and then sort of hung out.  We were not scheduled to go on until at least 10, and it was only 9.  The bartender, a French guy named Valentin, was positively adorable and delivered drinks to us in our dressing room."
So what, I ask you, are two clowns locked in a beer storeroom to do?  We took it to the streets!  Sharon and Daniel showed up with Daniel's aerialist partner, Asia when Eve was directing me to get up, sit, do things outside. The fun just began!  I feel that our friends being there helped fuel our bizarre walk-around street performance.  They played along as we pole danced in the window and strutted on the street, Eve taking sips of people's beers and me pulling limes out of my pants.  The lovely Sadie Lune showed up, which made me very happy.  For some reason, that lady always puts a smile on my face. 
Around 10:30 we finally began. Eve danced to get the crowd interested and then brought out me in the big cake puppet.  We had been working the cakedance a lot, and discovered some new things, and I am happy to say that it finally works!  I had a lot of fun performing with Eve.  I love our partnership, the way we trust each other and can bounce off of each other's cues, but something happened for me onstage during my last solo number.  Something bizarre and unexplainable.  A chapter closed.

For as long as I can remember, I have been creating work that is somehow about gender and sexuality.  These have been the themes that have been driving me, making my creative wheels turn, giving me my edge.  I am shocked to say that at age 35 (I'll be 36 in December) I think I am done with these topics exploring these topics in the ways I have been.  I am still interested in the way people develop, in what we are attracted to, and I will always and forever consider myself a part of the queer and transgendered community, no matter who I date or what my own personal gender identity may be, but I don't think I am interested in talking about it onstage at the moment.  This is a real shock to me!
And now my question is, what is next?

I have a polka-dot apron.  Yesterday I put it and my nose on and met Eve, Daniel and Sharon at Boxhagener Platz fleamarket, where we were going to busk.  But instead of playing like a clown, I ended up twisting balloons.  I guess this is what I do when I busk.  I made about 12 Euro in a few hours.  Not great, but not horrible either.  The apron,though.  It changed things for me.  Feminine and domestic, this fashion article brings a new light to making a dog or a lion out of a tube of latex, a creation of something from nothing.

Later on, I had a gig at Scheinbar, where I would put my nose on and sing "My Man," a song written for American Vaudeville star and Jewish icon Fanny Brice.
 Again, the apron!  The song, me, my presence was changed by this old-fashioned article.  And I am no
t going to resist the new costume.  Where can I go with this new feeling?  I wonder?

One other performer I must speak of at Scheinbar (get ready):  Frank Sanazi.  www.franksanazi.com
I don't remember the last time I laughed so hard.  Wow.  This kind of comedy takes some real chutzpah.  It was awesome.

I actually managed to get home at a reasonable hour and get some sleep.  Today I had plans to go busk by the museums or Brandenberger Tor because it's a holiday and the museums are closed, so the place will be crawling with tourists, but honestly, I have been working really hard and am beginning to feel slightly rundown.  Maybe I'll take a day off.

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.

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!