Some Germanic Updates

Remember my last post when I was pretty certain I would die?  Well, I almost did!  Not really, but close.  Prior to take off after taxiing out onto the tar matt at Heathrow Airport and waiting nearly a half hour, we pulled back to the terminal.  Problem?  Of course.  Technical difficulties. Electronic difficulties.  Apparently enough of a problem that we had to switch planes and be two and a half hours late.  Sweet stuff.

Whatever.  It’s in the past now.

Here I am in Germany.  I don’t really know what to think.  I live in Kreuzberg in Berlin.  Well, by technicality it’s Mitte based on my zip code. It’s a little bit like telling somebody there’s a nice uptown apartment and then plugging them in Harlem.  Not bad, not great.  It’s just there.

It’s a strange city though.  As fun as I’ve found it so far, I’m still calling it the City of Broken Glass, which I don’t think is politically correct but I’m sticking with it.  I also call it the City That Loves Its Dogs, But Doesn’t Like to Pick Up After Them.  And the dogs here don’t take neat little shits and wait for their owners to pick them up.  Nope, they explode shit - nice little addition to the shards of broken beer bottles that sprinkle the sidewalks.  Flip-flops may not be the best option here.  We wonder why the Europeans really enjoy their snazzy sneakers.

But it’s not a bad place at all.  It’s certainly got its history.  It’s swelling with guilt and tensions that have not been eased over the years.  I feel like there’s this constant shadow looming over Germany that just constantly reminds them, “Baaaad, Germany.  You stupid child.”  And Germany nods its head, sits in the corner and doesn’t cry.  It just feels guilty.

I suppose a lot has happened, but it’s hard to put together everything.  The drinking age is lower and cigarettes are cheaper and though I hate to admit it, I’ve had a drink nearly every night and smoked cigarettes as if I’m on set.  Bad, I know.  It’s my personal opinion, though that smoking in Europe is considered healthier.  I mean, look at the French.  They’re known for their incredibly satisfying sex lives AND their inability to put a cigarette down.  I rest my case.  Don’t try and argue it, you won’t win.

More to come, I guess.  Let’s plug a photo in.  Not a flickr one, but a touristy one, I think.