Neverending Buckets of Stress

Lots and lots of pictures in this post, but first for neverending buckets of stress!  Woohoo!  How, you're asking.  How can it be?  Berlin is a big party town where everyone drinks Jägermeister until 5 am, right?
Maybe that's your Berlin, but it sure as hell ain't mine. 
I did my American taxes and was really excited that I didn't owe anything.  I had saved a fair-sized chunk of cash to pay to the IRS, but it was all mine!  Happy day!  I bought my return ticket to Berlin for August 14th and breathed a little easier knowing that the date of my return to Germany had been set.  I paid my rent.  I breathed a little easier still.
Then I got a bill from the TK (public insurance company that is not currently insuring me) for 255,97€.  They said they wanted it paid in full by April 10th or they would charge me a 5% late fee on what I owed every month.  I called to contest the late fee, saying that I could pay on a monthly basis.  "Sorry," said the woman on the other end of the line, "We can't waive the fee."  So I wrote them a letter telling them that I would pay the whole 255,97€ by July 10th, after I've gotten a few paychecks from the summer camp I'm working at.  I showed it to Robert and he helped me turn it into more formal German.  Crisis number one averted.
Crisis number two came this morning when my boss at the summer camp said she would give my job to somebody else if I couldn't make the first day of training on the 30th.  Problem was, all my plane tickets had already been purchased. 
May 27th, bus to London, arrive May 28th
May 29th fly from London Heathrow to Newark, NJ
May 30th fly from JFK to Oakland and arrive at 8:30 pm
Problem was, the meeting was from 6 to 9.
So today I had to buy another plane ticket from a different airline that leaves JFK at 6 am and gets to SFO by 9:30 am.  Cancellation fee for my Jet Blue ticket was $100 and I could only get the remaining $78.80 in flight credit, which I won't be using because Jet Blue flies in North America only.  I then emailed my boss my itinerary and asked for a job contract.  I am, once again, in a financial shithole.  I will feel a little better once I get a reply from her, but seriously man, I can't get a break.  I get leads to possible performance gigs that lead nowhere.  I'm onstage with an Improv Troupe EVERY WEEK and I am good!  But there's no money.  And I don't mean there's only 10 or 20€.  I mean NONE!  I am potentially gaining a new performance partner, and I am having a lot of fun, but I'm also worried about starving!
I met with an artist today who wants to make little fanzine/graphic novels.  Cool!  I'm into it!  But there's no money.  What is a girl to do?  I'm smart, talented, broke, and speak crappy German, but I'll tell you one thing.  When I get back here, I'm finding myself a job.  ANY JOB that has steady pay.  Oy!   Enough about me.  Here are some pictures with funny captions.

A few weekends ago, Robert and I decided to go to Treptower Park.  The S-Bahn wasn't running and we had to take the bus.  Robert DOES NOT like the bus.  Look at this pouty face!

Spring is here!  At least it was a few weeks ago.  Now it's cold and rainy again.  In fact, it might even snow.

New thrift-store dress, Treptower Park

There used to be an Amusement Park in Treptower Park.  It's closed now.  Sort of creepy!  You can see it in the movie "Hannah" which is in German and English

This was once an entrance to Funland!

Dead Amusement Park, Treptower Park

I want to live in this trailer! Dead Amusement Park, Treptower Park

Dead Amusement Park, Treptower Park

There is an overpriced cafe at the dead amusement park.  You can sit and eat in this!

 Treptower Park

And for 2€ this train will take you around the whole thing.  It is my dream in life to one day be the crusty carny who drives this thing.

Trepower Park

Graffiti, Kottbusserstrasse

Springtime, Friedenau cemetery

Fresh grave, Friedenau cemetery

Billboard Mod, Weserstrasse

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.

Juggling: The Thing I Said I Could Never Do!

On Sunday I went to the flea market at Boxhagener Platz, twisted balloons for 3 hours, and made 40 Euro.  Not quite enough to live on, but not bad at all!  I ran out of balloons though, and the only place I know to get them so far they are 10 Euro for a bag of 100.  But I heard I can find them somewhere near RAW, a circus/art space on Revelarstrasse for 7 Euro, so that's bettter.  I'm teaching a 2 hour clown workshop on Wednesday night and Eve and I have a gig on Thursday.  Tomorrow morning at 11 I am going to register my address with the police at the Beurgeramt, then I have tandem speaking with Simone and then rehearsal with Eve.  It will be a long, long day and I will have a sense of accomplishment at the end, I hope.
The weather here has shifted.  It is like the Outer Sunset, gray and cold.  I am glad I bought that winter coat at the thrift store.
I have a feeling inside time is coming.  Any computer people have ideas about how to get English language TV and movies to stream in Germany?  Mirror sites, etc?

But now for the really exciting stuff:  Yesterday after twisting balloons, I called Eve to meet up and she said she was at the circus.  I thought she meant the Shake circus by the Ostbanhoff, where Daniel and Sharon live, so I went there.  She actually meant RAW, the space I will be teaching at next week.  But Sharon was home and did not mind that I stopped by.  We ate pastries and went to Goerlitzer Park with Zigi.  I started tossing and dropping a juggling club.  Sharon started trying to instruct me and I almost had a temper tantrum, but he didn't let it get to him.  He just started passing clubs to me, and I got really frustrated, but he just kept doing it, and then I started catching them!  We did this for about two hours.  It was incredible!  For him, it was just juggling practice, but for me, it was beyond intimate, allowing someone to watch me fail in this specific way over and over again.  There was no judgement of good or bad.  Just practice, just the motion.  I caught a lot with my left hand, less with my right.  My truncated digit gives me more of a challenge here, but I can do it.  And passing clubs is fun!  I have a new hobby.

Today I was supposed to go to a contact class with Eve, but we got lost and I got frustrated and basically feel like I need to spend some time alone this week because there has been a lot of data coming at me and not enough processing time.
I was sad this morning.  Overwhelmed and overloaded.  B-- left this afternoon to be in the US for 3 weeks and I am really looking forward to being more comfortable in my home.  It is hard to relax with so many rules and when you know everything you do may be criticized.  She can't help it.  It's just the way she is. But I need to find somewhere else to live.  By November 1st would be nice.  I'm interviewing for a place on Saturday.  Cross fingers!
My head is a messy and out of control swampland right now.  Partially hormonal, I'm sure, but also there is a feeling of displacement.  Technically I can come home to the States, but if I do, I know how that story goes.  So I attempt to get a Visa so I can stay longer, but I've all the stress of "what if."  Of course, if I can't get the Visa, there is always Thailand.  It's possible that I could volunteer at a permaculture center in Chaing Mai for a time.  A lot of things are possible, regardless of money.  There are parts of me that have faded away, possibly permanently, and this is terrifying.  The world of possibility is open to me, and this is also terrifying.
I may have a job for 6  hours a week (2x a week for 3 hours) playing with a little boy and speaking English.  This would amount to just under 50 Euro a week, which is not enough to live off by itself, but would help a lot.
And I am starting to rehearse with a guitarist.
There is so much opportunity for me here.  Everything tells me to stay.  Still, some days are hard.  I absorb the stress of others so easily, and I am already nervous about having the apartment be perfect when B-- comes home on the 26th.  It's nervewracking.
Maybe I should just make this commitment to only seeing people for work related things these next few days and then going home and dealing with myself. Hey, things come in cycles.  To learn and to grow hurts sometime.  And I am learning and growing a lot, so I guess the hard days are to be expected.
I hope Eve had a good time at the contact class.  I got Pommes Frittes (French fries) at the Currywurst place on Hermannstrasse and met a girl named Etta who just quit her job in the fashion industry and might trade English lessons in exchange for using her sewing machine.  I'm now in a cafe I just dicovered in my neighborhhod called Frolein Langer.  I think this is my new spot.  Many couches, candlelight, WLAN, and an international crowd.  Sweet!

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.

Circus, Disability, Cops in the Head

First, a cheers to small successes:

My sim-card was running low.  I slip on my sandals (it's sunny today) descend the five flights of stairs and walk down the street to the cell phone shop.

"Hallo, Ich will nach ober meine sime-karte."

The guy behind the counter asks, "Zwanzig?"

"Fünfzehn."  I reply.

He presses some buttons, hands me back my phone.  "Danke.  Tchuss."  And I walk out the of store.  No English!  First time.  It is a microscopic thing, this interaction, but something
something
is starting to happen.

I begin to relax.  No longer do I sit forward, alert, stressed on the U-Bahn, furtively listening for the announcement of my stop in what used to sound like a peanut butter-mouthed language.  I start to hear word separation, consider sentence structure.  Mind you, I still have no idea what anyone is talking about.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I feel blessed to have fallen into the crowd of people that are surrounding me.  Last night I went to a circus-varieté/cabaret at Zirkus Zack.  I wasn't sure if anyone I knew would be there except Jana, who was the stage manager/director.  I was a bit nervous about finding the place, but it was very near the Ostkruez S-Bahn stop.  I walk into a compound that feels like burning man.  The ground is packed dirt.  There is a permanent bathroom but everything else seems fairly mobile.  Some trailers, one of which is a concessions stand.  At this point, I am quite used to not understanding most of what is being said around me.  I don't feel self-conscious about being alone.  In fact, I feel strangely safe.  But I do get a little bored sometimes.  I see a child about age 4, take out my balloons.  "Hallo!  Hund oder Katze?"  The child looks at her mother.  I say to her mom, "Ich speche kein Deutsch."
Mom smiles, says to kid, "Hund oder Katze?"
"Hund."  The child says, so I make her a balloon dog.
There is another child, "Hund, katze oder blumen?"
"Blumen." She gets a flower.
An area in the dirt is cleared and fire arts start, poi, staff, some crazy looking apparatus I don't know the name of that resembles a staff but has big flaming rings on the end.  I feel like I'm in Black Rock City except this is real life.  An announcement is made.  I don't understand what is said, but everyone lines up by the tent opening to go inside, so I follow. The old adage, "If everyone else jumped off a cliff, would you do it too?" comes to mind.   There is a certain amount of trust I must put into those around me these days, I suppose..
"Harvey," a familiar voice says my name, though it is not one of the Israelis.  I turn.  Tobias, with his wavy salt and pepper hair and prominent nose saunters over to me.  "Hallo!   Come, Vie are closer in zie line."  Tobias has this amazing accent, soft, gentle, precise.  He is from Southern Germany.  I wonder if they all sound like this down there.  I join him, his girlfriend Jule and their friend Robert.  They all speak English.  Tobias and I start to talk about heady stuff, performance theory and psychology, but he doesn't have the English for the more complicated terms, and I definitely don't have the German.
Inside, we sit together.  The Israelis show up and Sharon comes and sits next to me.  The show begins.  The premise, a hotel. Clowns, aerialists and acrobats tell a story line that is possibly a bit thin, but then again, I cannot understand what is being said onstage.  The talent is amazing.  There is breathtaking sole tissu act, some very talented jugglers, and a few incredible clowns.
There seems to be a different set of taboo here in Berlin than in California.  Even is San Francisco, I feel that references to sexuality and gender in the media  are somewhat marginalized and most definitely only for 18+.  On the other hand, violence is not only accepted but expected.  We Americans are addicted to guns, to war, to blood.  Here, it is rather opposite.  While this wasn't necessarily a family show, there were definitely people with kids there, and there was a lot of sexuality happening in the clown work on stage.
There was a cross-dressing man who played both male and female roles in a tryst under the sheets, complete with the sounds of creaking bedsprings and then acted as the woman who had to get out of bed to pee and wanted to get back into bed for another romp.  A female clown did something with cigarettes, stole cigarettes from someone in the audience, and then sort of freaked out and told the audience that we should all love each other RIGHT NOW!  There was a sort of slow build to all of this.  I believe the act was about desire.  Or something.  Whatever it was, it made my sides ache.
My favorite part, though, was two naked men in a bathtub.  I am told that this is a copy of a sketch by a famous German comedian who just died, (http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/aug/24/germany-comedy-loriot) I am not sure what they were talking about, however I believe some of it had to do with penis size and that the water was cold, and that the rubber duckie was an intruder and not allowed in the tub.  They both took turns standing up (multiple times) and revealing that they were indeed naked and one was possibly Jewish (if you don't get it, ask someone else), manhoods, wobbling around unashamedly.
This would never happen in America.  Not in a million years.  Berlin, Ich liebe dich.

But there was something that happened to me inside.  See, I have always had this rocky relationship with my body, not how it looks but the way it moves, the things it is capable of.  I'm a brain injury survivor, grew up with words like "special" and "disabled" pasted onto me.  These labels were meant to help me by helping others understand me. (At least, that's how I feel about it now.)  But because of these labels, I was allowed to think movement was a scary space, and also a space that I was excused from inhabiting.  In graduate school, I had to learn to dance.  It was terrifying.  I didn't want to do it.  I almost dropped out.  I almost got kicked out.  I would run out of the studio crying and lock myself in the bathroom like a child at the simplest request to cross the floor in a group improvisation.  I had nightmares and insomnia at the same time.  Cold sweats, dry mouth, the whole thing.  Phobia.  It. Was Not. Fun.
But then this thing happened, where I looked across the circle we were sitting in and realized that we were all fallible. Specifically, it was that someone else in the class (a person I thought was a very graceful mover) couldn't touch his toes, either. And I started to have fun.  And I started to love to move.  And I started to dance.  My second year of graduate school, I went to circus school, and it was a place I definitely did not belong.  It was the polar opposite of the loving support from that first year of my studies.  There was only one right way to do things, and I was not doing it.  I tried and tried and tried at juggling, acrobatics, rolla bolla.  And then my dad had a stroke and all my strength, effort and will power went elsewhere.  The circus became a door that was closed to me.  There was no love for me there, no ensemble, only judgement and alienation.  So I've had a pretty bad attitude toward the circus for about 5 years.
But I come here, to Germany, to Berlin, where all of a sudden, the type of person I am is no longer oppressed.  Jewish, queer, an artist, I may not be rolling in the dough, but I feel so safe here.  Safer than I feel in San Francisco, anyway.  The first place I perform here is a circus tent.   The first person I meet (beside Tobias) is an aerialist.  I don't say anything about my head injury. No one asks me about my scars, the way I move.  I am a clown.  I make the audience laugh.  That is good enough for them.
Watching this show last night, though, all these things bubble up inside me.  Things I thought I left in Amerika but things I can't leave in Amerika because they are inside me. They will come with me wherever I go.  I am not going to do even the simplest acrobatics.  I am not going to juggle.  My left arm will never straighten.  I will never in all my days be able to bear weight on it or effectively straighten it without having minor surgery and physical therapy (and I just don't have the insurance for that, thanks USA.)  But none of these people know that, none of them are asking and none of them care.  I don't need to validate any part of myself to anyone.  I am a clown who has come from Amerika.  That is all and that is enough.
In this city, I will never need a driver's license because the transit is so amazing and the streets are safe.  I can be an artist and no one questions my contribution to society.  I am not angry here.  I feel like I have a place.
The learning curve for this language is slow, but I can handle it.  I wonder if it is time to put my old baggage to rest, to dump it somewhere, to emerge, to transform.  I am beginning to have real, true conversations with people and this seems like a difficult thing to translate from die Englisch sprache.  Though it is true, no matter how far we run, our pasts will be with us, no matter how long we wait, until the oceans run dry, this stuff will be there.

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.)

TV Tower

Stranger in a Strange Land

Prenzlauerberg

A lot happens in two days when you're in a new place.  I still haven't taken pictures around Neukollon (my neighborhood) yet.  This place makes me a bit shy and nervous.  It's fairly working class and there is not a whole lot of English.  Everyone should give themselves this experience of not knowing the language where they live.  There is a certain sort of being vulnerable in the universe that I feel people who are American might not experience if they never leave.  English is a universal language.  Most people in the 1st and 2nd world have at least heard English before.  There are several people in my country who equate not speaking English with a lack of intelligence.  There is a fear and hatred of immigrants and refugees.  "Why can't they just learn English?"  I feel a great empathy for people who have the chutzpah to cross into the US, legally or illegally, without being fluent in English.
Yesterday was a horrible day.  I tried to buy a monatskarte (a monthly pass for public transit) from the Turkish guy at the newspaper stand and my pronunciation was so bad that I had to show him what I had written down in order for him to understand me.  It cost 74 Euro, which sounds like a lot, but it is much cheaper than paying the fare every time you want to go anywhere.  I left the store ashamed, holding back tears as I walked down Hermanstrasse to the electronics store so I could buy some blank cds.  Seems I forgot to pack a sound cue CD for my first gig (which is tomorrow night.)  On the way I passed a cemetery and I thought to myself, "I could go sit in the cemetery and cry.  No one would bother me because people are allowed and expected to cry in cemeteries.  I wouldn't have to tell anyone I don't speak German or that I only speak English.  I could stop feeling like a disgusting American or an imbecile."  I couldn't find the entrance, though, so I sucked it up and kept walking.  At Conrad, the electronic store, I approach an employee.  "Ich spreche kein Deutsch.  Sprechen zie Englisch?"
"Oh, ja," he says. "You can speak English here.  Is no problem."  And I want to kiss his feet. 
He tells me where the CD's are.  I check out without having to say anything except, "Danke," and then decide to wander.  There is a small outdoor market selling handbags, produce and kaffee on Karl-Marxstrasse.  I wander around but don't need anything so I start heading back up my street.  I look down a side street and see trees.  I decide to walk towards them.  A park!  Volkspark is huge and I will explore it again with a camera someday when I am feeling a bit more secure about being here.  There are Nigerian and Arab drug dealers around, but they leave you alone if you don't make eye contact.  I sit on a bench, plug my ipod into the speakers on my kitty backpack, and read my book while listening to David Bowie.  Some dude in a hoodie comes and sits down on the end of the bench.  I scoot over.  It doesn't matter.  He totally ignores me, rolls a spliff and walks away.  After a while it is too cold to stay out.  I didn't bring anything long-sleeved because my dino hoodie was still wet from the wash. 
Back in front of my building, I see there is a 1 Euro shop (like a dollar store) across the street.  I buy some crap and come home.  B-- s getting ready to leave for the weekend.  I am excited to be alone in the apartment, which is beautiful.  My room is enormous by San Francisco standards.  The toilet is separate from the bathing room and the walls are papered with envelopes.  The door is all stamps.  European toilets are weird.  There is a small platform with no standing water where you eliminate, and then a little hole with water below it that leads down into the plumbing.  After you go, you flush and all this water sprays across the little platform, forcing everything down the little hole.  You need to scrub the toilet every time you go number two.  TMI?  Just sharing my experience folks.  We're all human, right?
The bathroom is huge and tiled in shiny red.  The walls have a collage of different roses all over and the ceiling is silver.  There are a separate tub and shower.  I took a bath tonight. Yessss!


So today I decided that having a good day was imperative.  I fight my shy streak and call Julika, a sculptor and jewelery maker I met at my artist residency in the Czech Republic four years ago.  I tell her I am in Berlin for two months and would like to see her.  She invites me to dinner at her flat in Pankow with her 11 year old son, Neo and her boyfriend Norbert.  That's at 7:30, but at 3 pm I want to wander, so I go to the one place in Berlin that I know: Prenzlaurberg.  Everyone complains that it is so gentrified and all this, but I love it.  This area always makes me feel great!  So after rehearsing alone in my room with the video camera for a few hours, eating soft-boiled eggs and toast for breakfast, getting a German simcard for my phone, I am off on the U-8, which is right outside my front door.  I get off the train at Alexanderplatz to transfer to the U-2.  A Berlin train station is not like a BART stop.  It is a metropolitan area underground.  There are hosiery shops and cafés, places to get your watch fixed and kiosks where you may buy beer, wine and liquor.  On the actual train platform, you can buy alcohol, magazines and newspaper.  And there is no brown paper bag of shame you must wrap around your elixir.  You can just open it and drink it on the train, in the street, anywhere.  No social stigma.  They also sell cans of Jim Beam whiskey that you can drink straight.  Like Budwieser. 
I disembark the train at Eberswalderstrasse and I know where I am!  I wander down Kastanianalee, a street with many shops, galleries, artspaces and old squats, buy a kaffee at the MorningGlory café and sit outside at in an orange plastic chair next to one of the retro-60s tables, then by a tourist map and some postcards.  (If y'all want a postcard, send me your address and I'll do my best to mail you one.)  I finally feel like a normal human being!  Also, I find the language school is still there.  I go in.  "Sprechen zie Englisch?"  (I can say this extremely well! And it's a language school.  Of course the man behind the front desk speaks English.)  I inquire about programs.  There is a one-week class for 4 hours in the morning (20 hours total) for 180 Euro ($248) which includes books and all administrative fees.  At this point, I don't know if I can afford it, but then again, we'll see how the next few weeks go.  My pronunciation is TERRIBLE, my vocabulary minscule, and I want to be able to talk to folks.  I am also considering finding a tutor, a student who needs some extra money, that I could work with, because really, I just need conversational.  Of course, I am a bit of a nerd and really like school, so we'll see what happens.  I think I just need to be a bit patient with myself.  After all, I've only been here 3 days.
I take the train to Pankow around 7:15.  It is only two stops on the U-2.  Amazingly, I don't get lost finding Julika's address, Hydenstrasse 7.  When I arrive, She and Neo are fixing a window downstairs.  There is art dust, pieces of sculpture and grout everywhere.  I immediately feel at home.  Neo is taking English at school, though his favorite subject is biology.  Norbert comes home with bier.  He speaks no English but is very nice.  We try to communicate with each other and can both see the humor in the situation.  What a relief! 
Upstairs, Julika's flat is an art storm, the exact opposite of where I am living.  Mildly cluttered, there are knick-knacks and pieces of metal and clay on every shelf.  The only plumbing in the place so far is in the raised clawfoot bathtub, next to the toilet in her studio, which is next to the kitchen.  The pad is downright funky!  I feel the intense pressure of trying to fit in lift from my body.  I am smiling helium.  Neo has two pet rats that are allowed the run of the house.  They are adorable, sweet.  I miss animals immensely, and it means a lot to me that he let's me hold the albino one for as long as I like.  We all contribute to the meal.  I have found a bottle of California wine.  I chose it partially because it was from my home, but also because it was only 2,50 Euro.  I make a salad of tomato, cucumber, apple, artichoke heart, onion and caper.  We have also potatoes, zucchini, and smoked flounder.  Julika sings with a choir and invites me to practice on Monday.  I will go!  It is nice to have a friend.  Also, for the first time since I began my travels, my stomach is sated to the point where I cannot eat another bite, though they all keep trying to feed me. 
At 10:30, I depart, wanting to get lots of rest before my first gig.  I am already shaking in my shows.  The 8-minute piece, I know in my bones, but the cake piece is so new and is hard to practice on my own with no one to press play.  That, and I'm having some structural issues with the puppet.  I think I got them worked out, though.  In a panic I sent Tobias, my contact at ZirCouplet, an email saying I wasn't sure about the 3 minute act (the cakedance) and he said we could just decide at tech, which is at 4 pm.  Though I started writing this email last night when I got home, I am now finishing it on Saturday, the 17th at 11:30 am.  It's time to put a tail shake in it, shower, and ready myself for this evening.  I am so nervous I can't tell whether I am frozen or flying.  I hope they laugh!  But one thing is for sure: I'm going to get paid.