Today I went to the Kunstlerhaus Bethanien (an international residency/exhibition space) and the Gay Museum. Both were fairly lame. The Kunstlerhaus was lame because most of the space was closed for the holidays, the Gay Museum was just gay.
I met a nice man named Rolf who bought me mojitos in hopes of scoring. He works in a family-owned plastics factory, speaks very little English and wore a tye-dye shirt. In a rush to leave (so as to avoid the "can I drive you home" speech) I put on my sweater upside down and Rolf had to help me get it off in the middle of the bar. It was very embarassing. Rolf was a nice guy and one of the only people here who seemed interested in talking to me. Too bad we didn't speak the same language. Or too bad we couldn't make due with "zeeee language of love," or Esperanto or something.