Yom Kippur: A day of Forgiveness

 

"In America, they don't have fresh bread.  It's hard to find in some places, and it's expensive." 
We're sitting in the middle of Grunewald Forst (Grunewald means greenwood, forst means forest), and Asia, who has spent a lot of time in the US is making cheese and tomato sandwiches with bread we bought at the train station.  She's Polish.  I think about the availability and accessibility of fresh bread in Poland, Germany, the Czech Rebuplic, and then I look at the cheese and jam sandwiches I have brought with me for our outing.  She's right!  I'm used to processed, sliced bread.  It's what I grew up on.  This is yet another thing that makes me an American, and slowly, I am learning that being an American is no worse than being anything else.
It's Yom Kippur, and I'm with Asia, her friend Satu, Sharon and, of course, Zigi. 
We are not fasting.  Instead, we are out among nature and newly-found friends.  We talk about forgiveness. 
"I forgive." Sharon says.  "I forgive myself." His statement has gravity.  It pertains to his tarot reading from last week.  I feel myself get lighter.  I feel him lift.  This makes me glad. 
Earlier, I was taking pictures, and he had the nerve to say to me, "Harvey, stop making things.  Be."
And I listened and put my camera away. 
Now the girls have caught up and we are in a birch grove, the trees tall and slender, with papery white bark that I remember from my childhood home in Santa Barbara, California.  I keep identifying things or wondering what kind of tree or fungus or grass.  But I need to still my mind.  We all stop for a sit and some food and I lie down on my back, stare up at the sunlight coming through the canopy.  And I let go.  I release.  I forgive.  I forgive myself for letting Matt move into my house.  I forgive Matt for all he put me through after he broke up with me but wouldn't move out of my house.  I forgive the communication breakdowns, the best friend breakups, the misunderstandings and the "pay attention to mes" and the "you're unimportants," and all of it.  I forgive my brother and his wife for making me feel pushed out of my family.  And I forgive God, or the idea something like him or her or it.  I breathe and I forgive God for taking my father and I forgive myself for not being able to fix it all, for not being able to be in all places I needed to be at one time, for not being able to learn to drive, for being unique or "differently-abled" or whatever you want to call it.  And I breathe.  I forgive the Nazis who hung my people from these trees 70 years ago.  And I smile.  Zigi is licking my face.

We hiked for hours, saw amazing fungus, talked about travel, language, charity, clown, theatre.  Asia has a sister-like quality to her.  She is funny, sarcastic, warm, open and lovable.  At one point she just turns around and hugs me, giggling, and then asks, "What do you want and what are you thankful for?"
"I want a visa and I am thankful for everything."  I answer, and then add, "I want love and I'm thankful for love."

At the end of the day, we are in a parking lot next to a soccer field, catching the last of the sun.  It's gotten cold.  Sharon lies on the ground and I use his belly as a pillow.  "Friends and forgiveness and food." He mutters as I doze.  On the S-Bahn home, we fall asleep in shifts.  I decide not to go to the party with them this evening.  I'm exhausted and need to get up early to go twist balloons at the Boxhagener Platz flea market.  It's not clowning, but I've got to make some money.

I reflect on the way the sunlight dappled the earth or the way the leaves sounded like an ocean wave when the wind rushed through them, the way the earth felt cool and comforting beneath my shoulders, and the way the giant mushroom crop on a tall, broad oak had the spongy feel of flesh. 

I anyone can identify any of these mushrooms for me, that would be incredible.  I think the red ones are aminita, but I'm not sure.

Deep breaths.
-H.

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!

Berlin, I love you! Will you marry me?

Where to start?  On Wednesday when I landed in Berlin I knew two people.  One I had only corresponded with over email.  The other I had not seen in four years.  It is now the 19th of September.  I have been here five days and belong to an international community of artists.  I am in love with EVERYONE!  My head swims with possibility.  My heart opens with gratitude.

Kruezberg across the Spree River

But I guess I should start at the beginning, Saturday, when I stopped fretting in my giant room on Hermannstrasse and got on the underground to go to my first gig, ZirCouplet at the Shake! tent at Ostbanhof.  My tech was at 4:20, I was supposed to be there at 4.  It looked like it would take about half an hour to get to the station and then 5 minutes of walking.  I left the apartment at 3 pm, just to be on the safe side.  A transfer point at Jannowitzebrücke station to the S-bahn (there are two inner-city rail systems in Berlin, the S-Bahn and the U-Bahn) caught me up.  For some reason, my train wasn't coming, had been cancelled.  Of course, I could find no information in English.  At 3:40, I started to panic.  My first gig in Berlin and I was going to be late?  Not going to happen.  I ran downstairs to try to find the 248 Bus stop, but could not figure out which direction I had to take it.  I hailed a cab.  The driver spoke no English but understood Ostbanhof, which is a major train station.  Giving the driver 6 Euro, I hit the ground running toward the only red and yellow-striped tent in sight, which, to my relief, was the Shake! tent.  I got there at 3:55.  A tall, thin man with glasses, a green t-shirt that said Zirkus Zack, and wavy salt-and-pepper hair stood outside.  He waved at me.
"Tobias?"
"Ja, Harvey.  I recognize you from zie photo."  His smile is warm.  I feel immediately at ease.  Every stereotype I have ever heard or felt about Germans is, at this point, bogus.  Berliners are a diverse and relaxed bunch. 
"The S-Bahn wasn't running.  I hope I'm not late."
"Oh, relax.  You are fine." he says, showing me inside the tent.  An aerialist, whose name I will learn is Daniel (pronounced Daniél) is doing his tech on the stage.  We will become instant friends.  But more about him in a moment.
The seating is 3/4 round bleachers, the floor wooden.  Tobias, (pronounced Tobías) escorts me to one of the dressing rooms.  "You can put your things here and we vill be ready for you in about 20 minutes, is okay." 
"Ja," I smile and nod, already high off the energy of the place.  "I just need to put my puppet together.  I am sorry for not speaking German."
"We are very international cast.  You are not the only one.  English is no problem."
He leaves me to put my cake puppet together and soon it is my turn to tech.  There are two stage hands to help me but I have nothing for them to do!  Clowns, we do it all ourselves!  At least, that's how I think of it. 
After my tech, I learn that there will be a dvd made of the nights performance.  Wow!
I go to change, do makeup, and stretch.  Daniel introduces himself.  He is from Israel, flamboyant and flirtatious.  We clique immediately.  Others begin to arrive.  A german dance/gymnastics troupe, a sideshow freak named Roc It, an eccentric performer who sings and plays the musical saw from Spain. This is varieté!  I feel like Sally Bowles but more DIY.  There is German being spoken all around me and I am impressed with myself that I can pick up one word every third or fourth sentence.  This is a new phenomenon.  I am getting over my cultureshock and beginning to relate.
At 7:30, we all meet in a circle onstage.  Jana (pronounced Yanna) translates to English for the 3 of us (Daniel, Mara and myself) who don't speak German.  Tobias gives directions, explains how the evening will go, thanks us all for being here, and than has us do a group warm up.  Some things are the same no matter where you are from.  We all make noise, wiggle around and then run to the middle of the circle, put our hands in and go, "Wooooo!" in an ascending scale.  Performance is a universal language.  I am home.

The cakedance, my first act, is new, not as polished as the second.  It doesn't suck, but, well, it's still a baby.  It goes okay.  The second piece I have been working on for 9 months.  I could do it in my sleep.  It is a piece of gold.  The audience eats it up.  They will not stop laughing!  Unfortunately, my light cue at the end comes too quickly, before I finish.  I think I had a language barrier with Markus, the lighting technician.  No big deal.  We will fix it tomorrow.
At the end of the show is a finale.  We are called out to the stage individually and then take a group bow.  Upon exiting, the audience is still going crazy.  Something is said in German and lots of people run back on stage.  Daniel, Mara and I don't know what is happening.  Jana yells, "Now, now!  Everyone onstage!"  Daniel goes, Mara looks confused.  I grab her hand.  "Ahora, ahora!"  We run back onstage.
As I am changing back into my street clothes, Tobias knocks.  "Ja!  Come in!"
"People to see you!" He is all smiles.  I believe I have impressed!  In walk Julika and Neo.  I can't believe they have come.  I am elated.  I take off my makeup, use my drink ticket, have a Beck's.  We stand and talk outside.  Julika and Jana are old friends.  I get the feeling it is a small and close world of artists here.
Around 11:30 pm, we all part ways.  "Tomorrow!  Tchuss!" I wave and I literally skip to the train station.
--------------------------

Something is going on.  Polizei (police) are swarming the station.  I push terror down inside of me.  Berlin seems such a tolerant place, but programming is hard to overcome.  I see police or large groups of German people singing in the street or at the station and well- I don't even want to say where my mind goes.  I am a Jew.  Let's leave it at that.  I am not proud to have these thoughts.  They are something that I must overcome.  But the thoughts are there and I might as well be honest about them. 
It is illegal in Germany to have anything to do with Hitler, to say his name silences a room.  I have heard that in other parts of Germany, Stüttgart, Kastle, folks will flat out apologize and buy you a meal if you tell them you are Jewish, such is the shame of their past here.
I get to my platform and it is empty.  I am on the wrong side, but on the platform across from me, lots of cops are surrounding a group of men. The men are singing, shaking their fists in the air.  A knot of distress ties itself in my stomach.  What to do?  I get myself on the correct platform as far away form the men's song and the polizei as possible.  What is going on?  My train comes quickly and I transfer to the underground at the next station.  There is no trouble here.  Relief washes over me and the high of the show comes back.  On the underground platform, I spot my first butch-femme lesbian couple.  They are young, cute.  I approach them.  "Spriechen zie Englisch?"
"Ja," the femme, who looks of Persian descent, nods.
"I perform at the KingKongKlub in Mitte on Wednesday.  I am clown and do queer and gender performance."  I give them my card.  They smile.
"Cool!" The femme says.  "We have not been there yet.  We will try to come!"
My train comes. "Tchuss!" I wave goodbye.
Upon my arrival home, I see that someone from the ZirCouplet staff has not only friended me but also suggested that I contact a person name Viehölala for future gigs.  I message Viehölala right away.

On Sunday I wake too early.  It is raining in Berlin.  I bum around the apartment, take a long shower, try to go to the grocery store and I discover that everything in my neighborhood except the Vietnamese restaurant is closed on Sunday.  I have chicken curry and rice for 3,50 Euro, do the dishes in the kitchen, drink more kaffee, and decide to hop the train to Ostbanhof at 4 pm.  Call isn't until 7.  I am meeting Jana at 6 so she can help me fix my light cue by translating for me.  I want to check out the area around the Ostbanhof station.  Rain or not, part of the wall and what looks like a beautiful park is there. 
Leaving the station, I cross the street and head into the park, which is actually a small river bank along the Spree.  I discover a place called Yaam.  Entering the gate, I am in agiant green field with fruit trees and a little shelter, outside of which sits a man with skin the color of pitch.  Am I supposed to be here?  He motions for me to come.  I do. 
"Hallo!"  I say, smiling.
"How are you?" he says.  By his accent, I know he is from somewhere in Africa.
"English!"  I exclaim.  "I am good!  What is this place?"
"This is Yaam!  We are international.  It is a place people meet, hang out, through there," he points to another gate, "there are stands.  You can buy food and drink."
He tells me that he is from Gambia and I say I am from California.  I invite him to ZirCouplet and promise to come back another time, but now I must wander by the river.

I walk along the Spree, see Kruezberg on the other side.  It is hard to know if I am in East or West Berlin, the wall is such a wiggly line.  For me it does not matter, but for some people every time you pass from one side to the other without conflict, you exhale with relief.  Soon it is 5:15.  I am ansty, want to get to the tent.  I go and it is open.  Daniel, who is staying for the moment in a small trailer on the circus grounds, greets me warmly.  He is with his friend Sharon (Sharón) who is also Israeli, a juggler and clown and will be the last act of the night.  Sharon saw my act last night and says, "I don't know what I am doing yet.  Will you watch?"  Of course!
We go into a small studio space.  Stilts and other circus apparatus hang on the wall.  The place smells like a gym.  Again, I have the feeling of home.  Sharon shows me some stuff he is working on.
"Your technique is good."  I tell him, "But I can see you thinking.  You are not really looking at me.  I need to know that you see me.  That you are vulnerable.  You need to breathe onstage."  We try again.  It is better, but there is something missing.  I approach him.  "Everything you do and feel, I need to see happen here."  I touch his spine.  And again, but there is still too much thought and I have 15 minutes before I meet Jana in the tent. 
"Okay, we need to play a short game."  He protests.  I can tell he is nervous, too in his head.  "It won't take long."  We chase each other, make eye contact, shock each other with imaginary lightning bolts that shoot across the room from our fingertips.  After 5 minutes, we are both out of breath.  "Again!"
And he nails his piece, makes me laugh. 

At 6:30, Tobias comes to the dressing room.  "You need anything?" 
"Nope.  Everything is great."  I am beaming.
The Cakedance went better last night.  I got a little feedback form Sharon and tried it.  The second piece was okay.  The audience was more aghast, less open, but they definitely laughed.  After the show I am changing and taking my makeup off.  Tobias comes in.  "Someone to see you!"  He says.  "They are in the tent."
"Really?" I am surprised.  I button my pants and go out to see who could be there.  A tall man with dark hair and glasses introduces himself as Viehölala.  I cannot believe it.  His facebook picture is a fabulous dragqueen.  We talk extensively.  He want to find me work, offers two gigs but they are for nights Eve and I are already booked.  He says he has some more information and will email me.  We talk about the Cakedance.  He has some wonderful ideas.  He asks about the puppet and I bring him back to the dressing room to show him the construction.  We hang out a bit, then he is off and then I get PAID!  40 Euro! 
The Israelis and I hang out.  Sharon has to go and Daniel invites me to his caravan (synonomous with trailer.)  We hang out and talk.  Apparently, if I sign up for German language school, I can get a Visa for up to one year.  That information is a little overwhelming, but is definitely something to think about.  Funny, the immediate reason I think I shouldn't do it is I miss my mom.  Daniel says he has rehearsal space during the day and will workshop the cakedance with me on Tuesday.  Great! 

I leave at midnight and there is no trouble at the station.  I come home walking on air.  Today (Monday) I wake at 11 am, make kaffe and eggs, write this.  Now it's time to shower, dress and go to Kaiser's (Safeway-esque supermarket.)

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