Saturday, October 03, 2009

So I was thinking about why I haven't blogged in a while, and after sifting through my dreary and cliched attempted drafts, which resembled the verbal dry-heaves of a Bush speech writer (wassup Matt Lattimer!!!), I realized that I was blocked. My blockage came about because of three things: My root chakra being completely undone and not at all like Ms. Chaka Khan, (who I thought birthed the chakra through incredibly danceable beats and sassy hip swivels), crippling Morrissseyed introspection, and quitting smoking.
Now, quitting smoking sounds like a good thing, but what happens when your sexy throaty sputter goes away huh? How do you seduce people? With your looks? By NOT slowly killing yourself? I don't think so. Killing yourself is like those Axe commercials and is inndddddubbbitably hawt.
How do you look cool at parties? How do you hide your cleft palate? How do you pretend to be Marlene Dietrich in the rain? I mean, do high waisted pants work without the requisite lip-dangling cigarette???? How do you replace that tiny phallus in your mouth? An elf? An ancient ceramic virility bong? Those dumb Chinese electronic nonsense cigarettes?
*I will never smoke anything Chinese....never! Reds!
Anyway, it's been 4 months now, and for once I have not cheated. Not even a little bit. Although I did cozy up to a subway regular once to smell his sweet, sweet Gaulouise scented flannel. He looked away, coyly, but I could see the tendril of smoke rising softly from his chapped bottom lip, beckoning me to suck more, saying, "I don't want this to end, drink from my odor, and then let's go to my cardboard gazebo and make out"*
*The last paragraph was written by guest contributor "that lady who writes the Twilight books."
*Seriously though, I read part of one at the airport and it is like porn for babies.

My point is, and I feel weird saying this but it's true, is that I lost part of my identity after quitting smoking...really. Also, I gained like 10 lbs which makes me feel like I look like the fat version of an American Girl doll.
Also, too much has happened really. Here are the highlights, and yes, this is all true.

-My Italo-German actress-roommate Lucia went to the mental hospital after having a psychotic break. She left me a note which consisted of a picture of Frank Zappa giving the finger with a caption that read "and fuck you too." It was surrounded by candles. She also stuck lasagna sheets in our mailbox and spread baking powder over the floor of our apartment to see who was coming in and out. This was disturbing and took up way too much of my mental time. Needless to say I have moved out and now live with a growed-up woman who enjoys rock-climbing and other mentally stable pursuits.

-My folks visited and we went to Venice for the Biennale which was amazing for me. And I will discuss my personal highlights soon.

-I went to New York and Austin, and got drunker and fatter and have now imposed an only-vegetables and water routine until I become the svelte young girl I never was. Like that American Girl doll that was actually hot.

Thursday, July 02, 2009

It's really been a long time now, blog. Probz the longest I've ever gone without, you know, touching my keys. I mean, I was sharing a bunk at camp that one time, but somehow I still found the time to nudge a spacebar once or twice.
Anyway, I don't know, I have weird blisters on my feet today, it's finally summer here in Berlin, I'm re-reading Siddhartha in order to claw my way back onto the path of the buddha (clawing is not very zen, but is totally effective against weak, self-flagellating monk types). Also, I have been smoke-free for 48 hours and because my brain is drying up like a menopausal woman and giving me headaches, I have been replaying several murderous scenarios in my head:
One: Knifing the stupid fucking kids who harass me in the subway.
Two: Knifing the stupid fucking adults who harass me in the subway.

I met some interesting people and saw some interesting showzen lately. Mike Smith had a great screening at The Building and a subsequent show at Homie, which is run by Dan Seiple.
I saw a whole bunch of shit last weekend including a group show at September, which looked shitty until someone explained it was curated around a bauhaus collaborative idea. And then it somehow it seemed less shitty---as these things tend to do after clever exposition.

Carson Chan curated a good show at COMA gallery, called Back to the Future, which dealt with the passage of time etc. There was a nice video piece that spliced different time-travel scenes from movies I believe.

Earlier, new friend and sometimes artcrush Lisi Raskin had a show at Tanas, which was a precursor for the Istanbul Biennial and was really interesting.

Marie Lorenz and Jeff Williams visited from Rome and I took them to the gay parade where we enjoyed a beautiful drag queen vista from the idyllic location of a sticky bar stool.

New bestie Jesper Nordahl was in town for a few weeks and we ate cheeseburgers every day.

Tuesday, June 09, 2009

Things I have eaten while in Germany: lamb heart, lamb liver, liver cheese, blood sausage, sliced fat, pig tongue (a slice of barely cooked pig tongue on bread, mind you....the first time I have been truly, and not just melodramatically, horrified by food).

I wonder how anyone gets laid in this land of cool demeanors. I bought skinny jeans at some point. And they make my stomach hurt from the soul compromise and the unnecessary tightness around my beerholdingplace.

It rained as I explored old city Leipzig, so I saw "Terminator: die erlosung," to get out of the wetness. I understood 90%, but mostly because it was just explosions and the overwhelming sound of no Sarah Connor.

My future is a pastiche of possible nightmarish scenarios like a David Lynch movie. And I am a misogynist like Lars Von Trier. And the movie "Up" is awesome. And the movie "Drag Me to Hell," is awesome and Bob would have liked it.

I saw Lucia play at the Kinski Bar last weekend, which was amazing; she strangled herself with her microphone cord and married herself onstage. Soon I will post her myspace page, and also the flyer I made for her performance.

I went out for Nicky's birthday and smothered my depression with a joint, which made me happy, and make-out-happy and I think I'll do that more often, partly because I was born in Oakland at 4:20 a.m. which means my destiny as a stonerbaby is probably written in sanskrit on an ocean wall somewhere.

Tuesday, June 02, 2009

For my blogfan, mentor and friend, Bob Anderson.

Bob died. He was a good friend I like to think, and a great, absurd man. I am sad. He read this blog just about every day, and used to quote me to myself when I was his teaching assistant. I quoted him too, because he had a blog as well. We both knew too many of the mundane details that comprise a person's life and in the end, our conversations went like this;
A: I ate the best Ethiopan last night at....
B: Yeah, I know, I read it on your blog. I went there 2...
A: Weeks ago, yeah I know.
(We both drum our fingers on the table)
B: Have you read this Chris Ware?
A: No, can I see it?

I can't believe he's gone, partly because he was and remains a kind of emblem of Austin for me. I mean, he was everywhere, all the time, supporting his students, his colleagues---I'm pretty sure most of UT enjoyed a bit of drink with Mr. Anderson at one time or another.
His visage is just so burnt into my brain, his long hair and consistently mischievious smile; a soundtrack of truly spooky noise music playing in the background. He loved that stuff. He was a big part of my life at UT, and he really supported me and his other students in their art-making and basic life stuff. He listened to me complain about so much stupid shit over the years, and I acted all the more dramatic and ridiculous because he was so calm and understanding about it all. I really felt I could tell him anything and he would remain amused yet without judgement. He was equally non-judgemental towards his students' art, and he was a great teacher, and he loved it, and he loved his students.
Here's some amazing stuff about Bob, I wish I could remember more, because I really enjoyed some of the weirdly wise things he said over the course of our 4 year friendship:
Every year on Halloween he stayed at home dressed like some kind of ghost and scared neighbor children when they came to ask for candy.
At Nohegan he wore a balloon hat and made intricate little pen drawings on rocks. They were totally fucking beautiful and bizarre.
He made drawings for all the grad students during their oral exams. He made one for me just months after I purchased a drawing of his at Arthouse's 5x7. I think I was kind of pissed that I spent 75 dollars on a drawing, only to have a similar one given to me a short time later. He told me afterwards that he made it with a blue ballpoint pen bought in Berlin, where I am now living. Somehow this seems important.
His three drawings were the only things adorning the walls of my room while I lived in Austin, and I'm pretty sure they are the only pieces of art I didn't lose or mistakenly put gum on over the years.
He swam every day, and was a fellow Pisces and sometimes we would talk about how fucked up we were because of our sign. We both had a lot of nightmares about sinking ships. And if I remember correctly, he was a glider in his flying dreams, while I was a flapper. And I might be mistaken, but I'm pretty sure he chose invisibility as his preferred superpower.
He came to every party I ever threw. I remember having a robot party with Erin Curtis and he wore a Mexican Wrestler's mask. I've never been sure how he misinterpreted our robot theme, and frankly I don't remember him giving much of an explanation but he was never really the most orthodox thinker (or costumer apparently).
He introduced me to some of the most perverse comics ever. S. Clay Wilson I remember in particular. Man, it was so disgusting and so good. I remember really vividly his excited and naughty expression as we poured over some of those lurid pages. I mean there were others too, Charles Burns and company---that was kind of our daily ritual. Sometimes he would copy stuff he thought I would like and put it in my box at school. Really grotesque woodcuts of birthscenes and the like. In return I would lend him some of my favorites like Dick Tracy and Flannery O'Connor. He loved Flannery and Evil Dead II and The Exorcist and all of those other things that are dark and ridiculous and poignant.
When he met my mom he told her some really sweet things about me, giving her a false picture of me as a better adjusted human being than I was at the time. As a consequence, she always asks about him.
In the fall of 2007, I TA'd his shared class with Michael Mogavero and it is that time that I'm trying to hold on to the most. When he came back from Italy to resume teaching he was like a changed man. I mean, he was fucking ecstatic. Definitely the happiest I ever saw him. He talked about his trip all the time; the wine, the students, the swimming, the conversation, the beautiful Tuscan landscape. Right now actually, I am drinking red wine and remembering him talking about those Italian days of wine and ping-pong. He loved friends, and I think he made some good ones in Italy.
Thinking about him so much today, I realize how many friends the man had. Every one involved in any facet of the arts in Austin knew Bob. That's lovely, I am not trying to eulogize him really (although I think Bob would find something inherently funny in that) but it is really beautiful how many lives and currents he was connected to. Bob was a sweet, sweet, sensitive man and even though I'm so far from Texas I can feel how acutely painful his absence will be. God Bob, I really will miss you. I'm trying to download Evil Dead II right now but it's not working.

Saturday, May 23, 2009


Not much is actually happening in my life besides my monthly ovarian revolution. Little bolshevik bastards, pounding outside the doors of my beautiful palace and makin' my palace look all bloated and shit. So bloated that I can't wear any of my palace pants, and have to resort to the only pants that will accommodate such rancor for the monarchy and abdomen beating...they happen to be plaid.
Nor can I wear my normal palace shirts because they make me look like a big bratwurst with ill-measured casing....or Star Jones-Reynolds. Zing! So, instead I have to wear my special palace shirts, which are large, were purchased in the 90's and also happen to be plaid; but of a different variety than the aforementioned pants.

Lessee, I'm working on a installation for Leipzig, but the wardrobe I'm making is frustrating me. To find the line between deliberately crappy and accidentally crappy is hard. Like finding the appropriate tone of jibing with your close friends.
statement: "Nice shirt Ali, you look like a pirate."
rebuttal: "I despise your outlook on life and have slept with both your siblings."

Berlin is good and alive, yesterday I slipped on a half-eaten apple and some youths called me a "schlampe."

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Subj: Bail me out.
My enchantment with the drooping ornamentation, hilariously undersized doors and naked piping of Cold War housing has ended. It has given way to disgust and anger about my lack of hot water, my flickering electricity and the equally mysterious substances that my studio shower drain emits. Oh shower drain, why do you have to communicate with me in garbled dirtspeak, when we both know your job is just to swallow my junk. Miss Soggynist.

Oh, that big landmass across the sea, where people are fatter, aspirin is cheaper and they have fantastical drying machines that whirl and spin like the palpitations of a young lioness' heart.

*Anyway, I am really frustrated on a number of levels, most of them being shower-related.

In happier news, I spent the weekend enjoying some of Berlin's performing arts action. I attended Nicky's dance performance entitled "cuppachar" and went to see Lucia's friend Randy Twigg Perform at Lovelight. Both were fun, although the latter ended with my desertion in the rain in Friedrichshain. Ugh. Cold water hearts me.

Sunday, May 03, 2009

Omg, I have been updating my website for like 9 hours straight. I h8 stuff like that.
*Re:"omg" & "h8": I've found that more and more, my writing sounds like that of a misanthropic 16 year old girl. Which, perhaps is what I am inside. So I am going to embrace younger, angstier Ali, who pierced the belly buttons of her friends and threw a rollerblade at her sister's head.

*My Swiss studiomate cooked a dinner of lamb heart the other day and I ate it! Oh forlorn lamb of god, how your pulsing little instrument has fortified me in my physical quest to be more like a Anthony Hopkins in his greatest movie role to date. It was, by the way, delicious. Stop judging
*I saw a lot of art openings over the past couple of weeks, Carsten Holler, Simon Starling, Amy Sillman, Thorsten Brinkman etc, etc. I must, however, comment on the WORST SHOW I HAVE EVER SEEN. Thank you Katharina Grosse, you are so terrible. She constructed (or rather, had fabricated) giant amorphous glory holes and covered them with her signature cliched-tired--borrowed from E. Murray-on-the-rag-barf-paintings. I walked out of her artist talk. What you may have been feeling when I said that I ate a lamb heart; that is how I feel about Ms. Grosse and her work.
*A gallery in Leipzig asked the Extraraum folks and myself to redo our Liste installation there, which should be fun. I also have another exciting show possibility, that I excited about.
*My German still sucks.
*Although only half done, please to check out my website.
*I have a beer belly, but getting rid of it involves drinking less beer, a compromise of catastrophic proportions in the hinterland.
*2 people close to me have had a shoe intervention with me, explaining that functionality does not have to come at the price of aesthetics. I thought I was in the land of non-judgemental sensible shoepeople (hellooooo, birkenstocks?) but apparently I was mistaken.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Mmm, aggression is certainly in the air here in ole' Berlin. I have witnessed two major fights in the past two days. One was in one of my local bar and involved a young American woman screaming and slapping patrons and the bartender. Speaking perfect German, she noted that Hitler's ascent made sense because all Germans suck.
Then, last night, Nicky and I were eating dinner outside and two old men started punching each other. It was a whirlwind of stonewashed denim, beer bottles and white hair.
One was accusing the other one of calling him a "child-fucker" and the other one was just screaming, "I know where you live. It's 109 Hobrechtstrasse!" Eventually the polizei came and took one of them away.
Today is May 1st, public holiday for the workers. I'm skeered because apparently it gets a bit out of hand here. Nicky said a bunch of Greek anarchists are coming to town just to start stuff. And I really don't like people throwing things at me or getting harassed. Some of the banks in my neighborhood are boarded up for fear that people will damage/burn them. I was also told not to wear black, so as not to be confused with one of the unmentionables. But I love black!
I also love drama and protests, just not when it involves food, violence or police interference.
*maybe when it involves food.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Today I went to work, where my student didn't show up (and I spent 10 minutes slavishly printing an article from the nytimes website for her!). Soooo, I went to the Deutsches Guggs and saw the new Photorealism show. I've never been wild for photorealism, but as a strategy in the 70's it makes sense to me. The wall text at the show really annoyed me with its over-emphasis on the impersonal, objective nature of the paintings as a rebuttal to AbExers. For one thing, the painters included approach things very differently--I think Richard Estes and Audrey Flack don't necessarily have the same aim. And I don't always think that aim was to visually pants Mr. Pollock.
That's all. I like the Deutsches Guggenheim because it's small and underwhelming and intimate; very dissimilar to her big bullying brothers and sisters.
I have pictures to share with you, but Blogger is blocking me like a fat girl.

Monday, April 06, 2009

I am so exciting and new! Try me out!
Well, I had the laziest weekend ever, basically just lounging outside and psychically spooning the sun.
Hey sun, that was amazing, let's spoon!
Yeah...totally...I understand, I have somewhere to go too. I have to meet my friend Gary....yeah actually I'm late *cough*, so I better head out...but call me if you want! know, just to hang out...right, actually I'm pretty busy the next couple of days as well, you know, I have that thing...with Gary. I'll see you when I see you then, I guess. I had a really good time sponging you up. Who's that calling you? Is that Mexico? You're still seeing that bitch?! Fine, bye.

There were many sights to see. It's like thousands of molepeople emerge when the sun comes out and Berlin suddenly feels like a very different city. I saw a group of 8 year old boys floating down the canal on some innertube-raft thing, and I was transported to a simpler time. One where a Mr. Finn and a Mr. Sawyer had lots of wacky race-based misadventures devoid of pesky parental supervision or child labor laws.

*Seriously though, those kids were 8 and flopping around next to a ferry. The canal is still freezing I'm sure, and there are dirty, dirty swans lurking all up in that shit. So dirty.

New things:
-More pictures in the future because now I can see.
-In the next month I think I am going to start a weekly comic strip chronicling my life here in Berlin and make a lil' website for it. I'm hoping it'll be good and not another exercise in self-indulgence (see "body chocolate for children" project circa 2005).
-I learned how to tie a tie, see previous entry.

Saturday, April 04, 2009

I bought a tie the other day, you know to be adorable. But, I really had no idea how to tie a tie, until I stumbled on this informative site, come and take a look with me!

Sunday, March 29, 2009

craigslist ad.

You're a single mom with limited time? Do you want to remain being Single? I am the counterpart as a dad! Currently have no place for a traditional relationship. I am in spite of everything
spontaneously, since Best Private Babysitter - Grandma / Grandpa. Do you want to physical proximity, stroking, kissing, but also on pure lust. At the tender, hot, crazy hours (or nights?) Do you want really long time and often again ...? Sign up! Then we can see if the chemistry is right. We are: Woman 3.5, men years 179/71 and come from the northeast of Berlin. 'm Mobile.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Well, there's like a hailstorm right now. So long brief, dewy respite, hello Faustian promise in exchange for better weather. Listen Mephisto, you get my self-respect, I get the Caymans in the middle of Kreuzberg (pssssst, joke's on him, I gave that shit away years ago at a keg party!).
Setting the scene:
Last week, on Wednesday or something, the sun came out. I was sitting outside a Greek restaurant with my friend Emily, drinking too-early-to-be-acceptable-wine and I swear to god that my eyes had grown so accustomed to darkness that they hurt when in the presence of that fickle harlot slut, the sun. She comes only to taunt me, then retreats into her brothel of awesomeness (Mexico).
I swear though, if Spring doesn't happen within 10 days I will start a holy war and lead the way with my newfound nightvision, massacring all those who were not lucky enough to be endowed with the superpowers that accompany seasonal depression. I will spew cough syrup from my puffy, swollen face! I will complain incessantly about my wind-exposed kidneys until their heads explode! I will leak acid from my overused, poor people boots.
Sun, ladyfriend, stop collectively blueballing Berlin. Give it up gurl.
Cultural things I have been doing: (note: tltl--toolazytolink)
As stated before, my skowfriend Alejandro is in town and this weekend we went to a bunch of art openings and a "leggings" party. I will only offer up this explanation: there were a lot of leggings and it was a celebration of leggings.
The exhibitions were unbelievably mediocre, like a Sandra Bullock movie, German-Thai cuisine or SNL post 1992.
But here they are, sans a good description:
September Gallery:
I was really excited to go to this place, I think they are one of the most exciting new spaces in Berlin. But then the show just blew my mind with it's infantile mimicry of hip, designy but not too designy art. Also, the people were really snooty.
The next 3 shows were different spaces in the same building:
Future Perfect Gallery:
This was the only show I would label "good." And it was good enough for me to link to one of the artists, whose sculptures I found v. interesting despite his allegiance to the sameness-of-design model mentioned above.
Gelerija Gregor Podnar:
Didn't hate or love it, but am becoming enraged at being enraged for the same reasons all the time. Same problems as mentioned above and above.
Galerie Opdahl:
Libia Castro and Olafur Eliasson's video work.
Honestly, I can't really comment because there were too many skinny jeans in my face to actually see the work. And the collective rustling of tight denim and ironic windbreakers prevented me from hearing it either.
Chert Gallery:
This is Alejandro's gallery, and I love the space and it seems like they put on interesting shows, but this one didn't do it for me. Text was required and it was most definitely missing something to hold my attention.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Thursday, March 12, 2009

There's a black guy in the White House, we have toilets that flush themselves, we have this blinking box I write words on top of, how do we not have a hangover cure by now? I need something stronger that 2 aspirin and a beer, I need some kind of miracle panacea. In a goblet. Welded in Hades...for those days when Bacchus just HAD to keep orgy-ing through his pain. Oh man, my head hurts.

Thursday, March 05, 2009

As an antidote to my last post of very little substance and a whole lot of bullshit, I am going to write something more concrete. Here are some things I received for my bday last week paired with some artists I'm interested in lately.
Champagne/Nina Katchadorian
Comic book by famous German gay dude/Lisi Raskin
Full body massage/ Sarah Oppenheimer
Vietnamese dinner/Dan Attoe

Wednesday, March 04, 2009

Gross Emo Expat Rant.

Lately, I've been thinking that the world is ending. On some level, I believe this. I believe at least that the world as I know it, chockful of superfluous sitcoms, self-induced life melodrama and oblivious egocentrism is over. In a way, I am America.
Do you want to know what I think the biggest difference between Europeans and Americans is? It's not creative hygeine or an overabundance of pork products. I think it's that American ideology is so entrenched in isolationism that it borders on Courtney Love crazy.
Which I love and hate at the same time. We are awesome and have things like Sonic and the Great Plains (which I think are on par btw). But, Europeans are much more well-versed about us than we are about them. It's a rather obvious statement, I know.
Europeans were incredibly invested in our election, but do most people know who the chancellor of Germany is? Or that Belgium has the longest highway (as compared to the size of the country) in the world? Or that Greece has the greatest number of smokers in terms of it's population? Or that Luxembourg leads the world in equine-sex related casualties?
Jk on that last one. Or am I? How would you know? These people were and are our allies, and we ignore them like the girl who wears press-on cat t-shirts to school. Hmmm, maybe I'm Europe actually.
Why don't we know this shit? Why are most Europeans fluent in multiple languages while Americans lead the world in retardo text-message dialogue? Idk.
Oh god, I'm aware this sounds so "I'm an expat living in Europe and I smoke Gauloises and eat unpasteurized yogurt" preachy, but it's true goddamit. And I also know that a lot of this has to do with simple geography, but still. And I know my man Barack has made a pledge of multilateralism, but living here, I am struck by this realization constantly. And I'm kind of mad about the way I was educated.
I admire Europe's cooperative and informed political sense *gross generalization, and I admire even more education systems with global priorities.
At the same time, I miss and think I better understand the ambition that comes with America's self-insistence. The American dream, man. That's the difference. A national lack of impulse-control that drives us to gamble on success. I think I love it...but it's kind of gross. And maybe, truly, over? At least the incarnation that once was?
I've been thinking about art fairs as symptomatic of a bloated, overfed economy. And now? Now nothing, there's the itchiness without the pox to make it matter.
I guess I'm writing about this because I feel both happy and sad about the fat, ailing blind man that is America. Or me.
Or Orson Welles.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

I've been such a negligent mommy, little blogbaby. I haven't nursed you with my nectar of self-loathing in weeks. You must be famished. You've missed my Munchausen verbal displays of affection, haven't you????! (shakes macbook like British nanny).
Well, not much has been happening. Same old shit I suppose. Berlin is cold and miserable and I want Spring to come so that I can stop wearing ugly clothes and turn into the sexy Mexican sun goddess I know is inside of me...beneath the layers of sloshing pilsner fat, pasty snow-moistened skin and sensible sweaters.
Lessee, showzen: I went to my friend Alejandro's opening at Chert Gallery, which was fantastic. He is an amazing artist, and I like anyone who plays on the intersextion of sex n' death. Here's his website:
I also went to the Temporary Kunsthalle to see the new Simon Starling show (winner of the Turner Prize) but I was somewhat disappointed as it felt so anesthetic. It takes a lot to carry that space; the Temporary Kunsthalle is gigantic and daunting and makes me dizzy.
After Ale's show, we tried to get in Lido, a huge dance club in Kreuzberg, where the gallery had put us on the guest list, but no. Stupid Frankendoorman wouldn't let us in. So then we went to another club called West Berlin which is Alejandro's favorite place because it looks totally "Matta-Clark." Alejandro slipped on a beer while twirling me on the dance floor and brought us both crashing down until we crumbled together like a brown and white injured cookie. My knee still hurts.

Yesterday, I went to fancy gym Elixia to visit Willi, who works at the front desk. I went swimming and sauna-ing. Woo, those Germans are not shy about nudity. So much unnecessary bratwurst.
I had lots of mishaps as usual: I set off the alarm in the handicapped bathroom while dressed only in a towel. I went into the men's locker room by accident, yada yada. The crazy things that happen when you are a flaky American girl participating in the confusing German gym system.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Today I went to Frankfurt Oder, unaware of the snow situation and unable to return home to fetch more sensible footwear. Needless to say, I wore Target-ish boots that leaked and then had to buy 4 pairs of socks. However, that cunning fag Jack Frost still managed to seep into my bones.
Soooo, for fear of losing my digits I swaddled them in a sanitary napkin (as the British say) to keep the moisture at bay. Then I went to class and draped all 6 pairs of socks on the heater and taught barefoot with rolled up pants like the professional rodeo clown I am.
Between this and my previous experience with homemade thong eye-patches and splints made of underwear, I think it's safe to say that I'm a "MacGyver" with ladywares.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

so cold...cannot function...sleet-y new studio...going to see Nicky dance at the Deutsches Oper next week...loved the movie Rachel Getting friend Alejandro Almanza's show opens at Chert Gallery on Sat...saw 3 subway fights this was with an old lady and a vagabond accordion player...sat in dog pee on the train to Poland...werewolf in a women's prisonnnnnnnnn......

Sunday, February 01, 2009

I went to Peres Projects last night for a performance. It sucked ballz. Boring, pretentious, infuriating. Performing in drag doesn't make something funnier, more edgy, more anything. It just means people are wearing clothes of the opposite gender.
Take note, performance artists of Berlin.
I love gender-fuckery, but don't temper your heavy, philosophical text with a hearty dose of dragging just to add a sprig of levity---I think it might very well be misplaced and irresponsible. Why is it funnier and edgier to see a man in a garter belt reading Proust?
It's reverting to some kind of Adam Sandler-esque humor, only cloaked in lofttier aspirations---I think its barfy. I'd rather see that stupid "Zohan" movie anyday.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

First Question: When will the Winter of my not-really-discontent, but mild discomfort end?

My class informed me today that February is as cold and assholey as January.
Aside: I can't believe you hit on my sister January. I thought you were cool...but that was totally uncool...totally uncool.

After they alerted me of this protracted Winter, I had an instant urge to strangle myself with my hideous thigh dungeons. My Lycra sausage casing leg cells. My solitary calf-finement vehicles. My Ladyparts prison?
*"Long underwear" is what I was going for.

Second question: Is Hilary Swank hot?

I know what you think January...stupid asshole with a Chevy...all checking out my sister and Hilary Swank and passing off your douchebag torch to February. That's my month! My birthday's inside of it!

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Sketchy adventures in Turkish Imbisses, part 2.
I worked on my graphic novel at Silver Future last night. I was hungry, so I stopped for a cheeseburger at "Superburger" (or something like that) on my way home. It's one of the only places in Berlin that has a good burger besides the "Burgermeister" which is underneath the subway and housed in a former public urinal.
Anyway, I always compliment the Turkish guy who runs the place on his "American-style" cheeseburgers. So last night, he repaid me by giving me free shots. I had to work this morning, but I took them out of politeness and love of free stuff. Anyway, I started to feel unusually weird after the second one, and I asked him groggily, "Was ist das?" He said that he didn't know, then he brought out the whole bottle encouraging me to take as much as I wanted.
It was absinthe. He gave me absinthe.
Everything moved very slowly and I went home and listened in rapt attention as my roommate Lucia read emails to me for an hour.
I was still a little out of it this morning in class, but luckily I was energized by one of my student's stories. She is assistant to the head of arts and culture in Germany (or something like that) and always gets to attend movie premieres etc. Anyway, she attended the Valkyrie premiere and VIP reception and got to talk to TomKat!
Her synopsis: Tom is short and skinny and intense. And apparently doesn't know how big soccer is here in Europe. Wtf? She said he also kept talking about training for the movie at West Point, where they gave him an honorary degree? huh? Also, Tom asked her if she would like a picture with him and she replied, "no," which I think is hilarious.

According to my student, Sandra, Katie Holmes has the weakest handshake ever and is basically a mute barfstick. Sandra said that she didn't speak the whole night. She was also, very "thinny" in Sandra's opinion.

I watched Valkyrie already and I thought it was kind of annoying. Tom has an American accent and the rest have British accents. C'mon.
Sandra had a good point though, she said that it's good for Germany to have someone like Tom star, and for it to be American-produced because so few people are aware of the resistance movement and Stauffenberg and obviously it's been getting some attention (at least in part because of it's suckiness).

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Wacky Sunday!
First I went to this Feminist art exhibition at the Akademie der Kunste with a friend, which was interesting and I will talk more about later. Basically: 1970's body performance is humorless but meaty and contemporary body performance is funny and self-referential but seems superficial. Didacticlishus.

Get out of my life, Kate Gilmore! I've seen like 5 of your videos in a week.
*I looooove some of Kate Gilmore's videos.

I was feeling all feminist, walking tall, and swathed in a quilt made of butterfly vulvas, when I went to a Turkish place on my way home for a Doner Kabab. A young, adorable Turkish employee gave me free Turkish teas and asked me about my life---in German, mind you.
The incredible thing is, I understood him and he understood me!
I'm not saying it's true love or nothing, just that maybe my German isn't all that horrible after all. Goodbye what little remains of my Puritanical work ethic.
Then, some of his Turkish friends came and I felt pretty conspicuous but wished someone could take my picture: me wet from rain, drinking tea and smoking cigarettes with 4 Turkish men while Donna Summers played from a weird disco machine, the smell of hooka wafting through my waspy euro-caucasian fingers. Oh my, how authentic.
The shitty part is, I gave him my number and he said he's going to call me tomorrow morning. Erg. He comped my meal, and made me feel good about myself for a second, so I guess I owe him a BJ right? I mean, I owe him a "Big Jaunt" to Alexanderplatz or something.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

I've always been a tad socially awkward, straddling the poles of unnervingly confident to unnervingly quiet. Here, it seems my awkwardness has been magnified into a speechless Nell neurosis, as I have a habit of gargling out half-German/English hybrid barfwords, motioning without sound and slinking in corners to make shadow puppets with my own deformed hands.

I have a constant dialogue of shame going on in my head; "is she going to speak German to me? Will I be able to answer her? Will she laugh at my bad German and think I'm stupid? Did I just order banana juice instead of beer? Do my snow boots look ridiculous? Are the German people eavesdropping because I'm speaking English?" (the answer to the last two are invariably yes by the way).

Nicky says that I should just feel comfortable speaking English to people. It's ok. But, I am ashamed really. Deep down I think it's shameful to live in a place and be so disconnected from its language.
Appropriately, I am watching an incredibly bad pirated copy of Valkyrie right now, and omigod Tom Cruise is such a douchebag.
I don't know what the answer is exactly, but I do know that I should stop being such a pussy and talk to people in whatever language and stop acting like such a swamp-raised freak.

Also, I should really try and be more comfortable with the euro double kiss, it does draw attention when I shirk and squeal and try to escape some relatively harmless cheek love.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

I just ate so much chocolate. I was on the phone with my friend Emily and I told her about how the other day I was walking to work at 6 a.m. and multiple tears froze on my face. How sad, how poignant, how Morrissey, how 8th grade science museum field trip.
Here are some movies that suck dick (sans explanation, I am bloated with 2 dollar wine and frozen fish and have high mercury levels like actor Jemery Piven and therefore cannot think in a non-mercury-poisoned way):
Seven Pounds
Itty Bitty Titty Committee
Vicky Christina Barfalona
The Dark Knight
I don't care what anyone says, these movies blew hard. I have mixed feelings about Vicky Christina Barcelona, and it probably is not that bad, but I like the "barf" wordplay, and really that's all you care about, right? Barf.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

I'm sitting in a cafe called Silver Future with Nicky, beholden to that visage I've mentioned before, a painted lady with pasties and an Angela Davis fist. Oh, how wacky!
My computer is going to die, but I thought I would sodomize you with data. Oh god, I don't know.

I saw the Anish Kapoor show at the Deutsches Guggenheim, and I saw some showzen at Duve and Nice and Fit. Nice and Fit had videos from Kate Gilmore, Kara Walker, Jason Phelan (?), Robin Rhoade, and others. Of course, Kara stole my already stolen heart. Later that night, Nicky and I met a couple of puppeteers, which complemented nicely my Kara puppetlust.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Oops, not every day.

Friday, January 09, 2009

Some love from Women and Their Work:

Tonight, I plan to go to openings at Klosterfelde, Duve and Nice and Fit. I'll letchu know what they're all about.Link

Thursday, January 08, 2009

I'm going to try to update every day now. Why? I don't know, some kind of continuity in my Piscean world of psychic tumult. Clear directions on the inter-nutty highway!
Interesting new phrase I learned from The Canterbury Tales: "Nether-Eye."
Used in a sentence, "He was surprised by the hairiness of her Nether-Eye."
See, in between inquisitions and having plague-battles with poxy limbs, those mideval folk let a few jokes fly. I bet they would have liked Adam Sandler movies.

Tuesday, January 06, 2009

Ok, well here's some new content:
My lips are chapped and raw from the cold and I look like Goldie Hawn never, because she always looks awesome and I don't. Actually, my lips more closely resemble Heath Ledger's Psoriasis smile as the Joker (I saw The Dark Knight, and I was not that impressed. Blah, give me the over-stylized, hypercolored streets of 1990's Gotham anyday).
Time home was nice, I got a lot of work done and went to my sister's local bar and drank my weight in watered down whiskey cokes. I saw my grandma which was heart-wrenching and difficult to talk (or write) about. She is getting better though.
I rode first class back to Europe thanks to a lovely US Airways employee named Anne. On the flight I acted totally Caligula, eating, drinking and otherwise consuming everything that was offered to me. Those airline slippers do not go down easily let me tell you.
Cymbal clash.
*I did however, spill a Mimosa all over the seat next to me within 10 minutes of boarding the plane, which really didn't help the refined, potential D-list celebrity image I was trying to cultivate.
I feel unjustifiably enlightened after reading the Kite Runner, re-reading Persepolis, watching House of Saddam and talking for 15 minutes to an Iranian political refugee slash cab driver. We're all the same inside! I can solve the middle-east situation McGyver style with a heart-shaped blowpop, chestbumps and an issue of O Magazine.
I'm re-reading the Canterbury Tales now as research for my, as yet, unrealized graphic novel.
My class didn't show up today and I woke up at 6 in the morning for it. Blurg!
It is fucking, fucking cold and to be honest, I am seriously suffering from a prolonged seasonal case-of-the-Mondays. I hadn't really missed Texas since I left, (the people yes, the place no) but recently I have begun fantasizing about drinking Mexican Martinis on porches and other warm-weather related activities.
It's really fucking with my self-image. I always envisioned myself as a black-clad, east-coast, rainy type of lady, but somewhere along the line I became an arid, hawaiian shirted lothario.