Beer Bottles

Want to know if it's the weekend in Berlin? Look down! On the sidewalks, exposing themselves to the myriad of bicycles veering out of their path are the traditional broken shards of cheap beer bottles. Now it's not as traditional as, say, the Greek "Opa!", wherein some bridegroom sails a perfectly good porcelain grape-leaf holder (invoking the suppressed ire of the wait staff). No, this is a--call it-- "subliminal (read drunken) tradition".

Is it because German beer is so horrible they cast it down in disgust? Don't think so. But it is quite a mystery that every Sunday or Monday morning I find myself picking out devilish little edges eating their way under the soles of my shoes. Now I expect there to be some tomfoolery come the weekend but why is it I find myself swimming through an ocean of glass? The answer, if I may adopt the Berliner penchant for conspiracy theories, is Big Glass.

(I want to pause here to say that I have chosen to write this little exposé knowing full well the risks it would entail. My only hope is that the truth comes out and my "disappearance" won't be in vain.)

Glass is everywhere in Berlin: in storefronts, in bars, in cars, even in homes! I couldn't believe how much of it there was when I first arrived--especially in bars. In New York, after a rather feisty weekend, you're likely to find a couple of Budweiser (or more likely Pabst Blue Ribbon) beer CANS everywhere. Why cans? I don't know, but I'm sure there's a good reason; let's stick to Berlin and Big Glass.

To understand the root of this issue you need to look at what exactly glass is: sand. Yes, heat and sand make glass. Know what else heat and sand makes? Terrorists! That's right, Big Glass is actually a front for terrorist organizations looking to wreak havoc on Berliners. Their designs? They're threefold:

First, they aim to disrupt the foot and bicycle traffic in Berlin, thereby staunching the the flow of trade. As pedestrians suddenly change course and delivery trucks swerve to avoid--voila! No more goods.

Meanwhile, Big Glass wants to spark violence in the streets to bring down the government. (If I'm losing you here, think of this: you're drunk and someone steps on your foot; if you had a can of beer you'd let it slide, but since it's a bottle...."OPA!")

Third, the plotters plan to shred the Berlin agrarian (you can farm tourists!) economy by turning Berlin into a desert (what, didn't you know glass reverts to it's original state after... a while?).

So there you have it. Now you know the secret Big Glass aka, terrorists, didn't want you to know. I just hope by revealing this I don't sudde--

Love and Change

I recently had a heart-felt private discussion with one of the closest people in the world to me. Within five minutes we both began to realize just how much our lives had changed and were in fact continuing to change even as we were speaking. After hanging up, I started reminiscing a bit about our shared history and how our lives had diverged so dramatically, how we had remained so strongly connected even while we, as individuals, couldn't have evolved more differently. I am no emotional fount, but this person deserves every iota of love I can muster, simply because they've fully accepted me for who I am and because some core differences we have--differences that would set most other relationships ablaze--have been nothing but the source of mild amusement between us.

This person has made me believe in love, even if I've rarely seen it in its truest form.

Now as new change approaches, for both of us, we seek each other out--that one piece of stability in a universe of chaos.

This entry is merely a musing put to electronic paper, a way to commit to timelessness the affection I have for this person.

I'd like to think that everyone has a person such as this. Someone who doesn't share our life's journey but has helped build and maintain the boat we ride in. Be thankful.

Just my 2 cents.

Hermit's Rant on V-Day

You've spent all year engrossing yourself in your labors, catching up on reading, watching every possible sitcom ever made. All to escape the indomitable truth: you are a lonely woman- (or man-) less herb who cannot find a mate to save your life. Then along comes that most treasured of days (to those  Eskimo-kissing, baby-talking couples who drive you nuts!).

Yes, I am speaking of Valentines Day. The day when couples all over the world desire nothing more than to try to hold their attached statuses over our hermit heads. So far today I was given a foam heart with something about love written on it in Russian as I exited a corporate office (the lady who handed me this little tidbit looked like a cross between a young Zsa Zsa Gabor and a farm maiden). Later while shopping, I noticed two people trading saliva in the corner of the electronics store. As I walked on I realized that I had inadvertently crossed a camera recording them playing tongue-hockey (apparently the store was encouraging couples to tongue-wrestle on camera).

(Taking a deep breath prior to preachy rant to follow): To you petsy-wetsy couples who seem to save up all your amorousness so you can exude that monogamous perfection on that one day: you're not fooling anyone. Tomorrow, you'll be back in the throes of fading love and barely disguised disgust. So smile and console your poor little single friends who obviously can't feel that sense of completion and joy that you (pretend to) feel.

While I believe that there can be lasting love, I do believe it is extremely rare. So to me, these Valentine's Day couples professing undying love to each other will change partners through the years faster than a speed-dating swinger. The pity, though, belongs to those folks who think that forcing a dying relationship to live on is somehow noble. It's these folks who hate each other most of the year and put on their couple-face just for today.

I suppose I can't be too rough on the couples out there though. While I feel fairly great 364 days a year and only have to endure one day of exquisite hell, they have to contend with a much more perverse situation.

Just my 2 cents.

Bear Suits

Now when it comes to wearing fur, I come down on the "anti" side of the fence. I could say it's because of the senseless killing of cuddly little snuggly things, but I'd rather approach the issue from an aesthetic vantage point. Mind you, I live and work in Eastern Europe, which, if you'll pardon the pun, is a whole different animal when it comes to fur.

But my argument is quite simple: it looks like crap. Somehow the fur industry has marketed their product so well here that women (and a scattering of men, ugh!) have got it into their minds that wearing a fur muumuu is a sexy and trendy thing. I've heard from quite a few women here that wearing fur makes them feel sexy and that they feel like all eyes are on them.

Now I know it was the "in" thing back in New York in the Studio 54 days when to be rich wasn't enough (you had to be tastelessly ostentatious as well), but I thought those days well behind us.

Enter the bear suit.

I say bear suit because these rather large (and I imagine, heavy) fur rugs are usually worn by women on the losing side of the figure wars and as such they present the image of a rather large bear waddling down the snow-padded streets. It really doesn't help either, when they top their chilly heads with a furry cap uncannily resembling a furry afro (sometimes this "frafro" sports an attached tail which proudly adorns the back of the wearer's neck-- à la harlem globetrotter meets Daniel Boone).

I understand how culture can influence fashion and that there is no "universal fashion sense", but really? I mean, come on! If you're going to buy a fur coat with the aim of showing off the fact that you are wealthy enough to blow an exorbitant amount of money on a coat made from the pliant skin of the last virgin, baby koala, go right ahead! But you'd have to be a bit delusional to think the darned thing made you look "sexy". If the folks living here have started equating wealth and ostentatiousness with sexiness then I'd say they need a lot more experience with capitalism. At least to a point where they become more comfortable in their own skin...

Just my 2 cents.