No one reads when I detail my work saga, only when I'm a sexitime talker and art-hater. Well, I've been having my share of both sexitime and art-hating. However, I will only indulge my Emin-esque diary entry bullshit impulse when I cannot hold it in any longer. It's like pee.
To tide you over, here's some stuff not related to hole-punching, number staring, form-filing and omigodI'mgoingtokillalltheGermans-ing.
I've been going to these Wed. night film screenings in this big warehouse called "Basso."
Last time it was Logan's Run (fuck me, that film was amazing), and this time they showed some stuff by Kenneth Anger, but I didn't really go in because I am too cool and also because it was too crowded. Anyway, it's an amazing place/initiative, and I think they're staging La Estrada sometime next week with all the characters in speedos (speedoes?).
I just moved to a new place in Kreuzkolln. Upon arriving, I realized there are no light bulbs and no internetz---Oh, Berlin! You're such a crazy commie city. You care nothing of amenities, only utilitarian thingies!
But really though, the internet has become my only form of entertainment, I've been watching "French and Saunders" every night before bed. Jennifer Saunders, I love you. What am I going to do?
The apartment itself is supercool, incredibly priced (cheaper than what I paid in Austin), centrally located and next door to a heavenly Turkish bakery. I had Baklava today that was, quite frankly, unbelievable. It was so tiny and perfectly made, but I just manhandled it and smushed it in my mouth Lenny-style. Then I wouldn't shut up about it. And my new roommate probably thinks I'm some kind of Baklava newbie. Which I'm not! I've had plenty of experiences with Baklava! I'm just out of practice! I ate a lot of Baklava in college, but I was always drunk!
Um, anyway. I need to eat more Baklava. Take that as you will.
Toodles for now, I am off to meet that nurse mentioned in one the posts below. She speaks sooooooo fast (reciting overly personal anecdotes) and reminds me, I swear, of Liza Minelli, in, yes, Cabaret. Whatever, don't judge me for fudging my own hypothesis that Berlin in 2008 is the same licentious city of Chris Isherwood fame.
Scientists do it all the time. That creature that washed up on a beach is made of latex and Bubbalicious. Trust me, I know these things.