Good Job, Germany!

"Rachael, what are you doing Saturday night? If you don't already have plans, you really must join us for the Eurovision contest. It's a real piece of European culture!" my German friend said, laughing into the phone the other day.

After hearing bits and pieces about this contest for the past two months, I still wasn't clear what it was actually about. I assumed it was American Idol-like but at the wedding the other night, I was quickly informed that this was no recent talent show phenomenon. This contest has been going on for fifty some years. Most people have grown up with the show, perhaps the way so many Americans watched Johnny Carson throughout the decades. However, millions of people (this show beats the Superbowl in viewership) from all over North American never sat glued to the television one night a year to see Johnny make some grand decision.

So of course I had no choice but to join these friends for a night of European "culture."

After settling down with some snacks and wine, our hostess handed each of us some paper to take notes of each performance (twenty-five performances representing twenty-five countries!!!) and rank them the way we thought Europe would choose their winner. Oh, and just to clarify, it is like American Idol in the way that people vote by phone at the end of the show. However, one major rule is that no one can vote for the performer of their own country. Therefore, a country such as Germany which is comprised of a whole lot of Turks ends up giving mucho points to Turkey.

My friends had warned me that the contest is extremely, extremely cheesy and is always guaranteed to produce a lot of laughs. Still, I was not fully prepared. WOW.

I decided that the performances fit into two categories:

a) hokier than thou love ballads (usually sung by some sort of fresh faced boy who may or may not have made it through adolescence)

or

b) crazy theatrical pop, often utilizing dancers in garish costumes along with the occasional transvestite.

Either way, though, it appeared as though everyone was stuck in 1985. Yikes.

Anyway, it was terrible. I mean, really, really terrible but in the most entertaining way. We couldn't wait to see if the next act would be more ridiculous than the last. We howled with laughter as Spain showed us dancing clowns and Moldavia produced some sort of Lady Gaga inspired bit. And the cheesiness of the kid from the UK? I was so embarrassed for him, I balled myself on the couch, practically hiding under a blanket until he was done.

But what about Germany? I was informed that Germany hadn't won in something like thirty years. (Umm, could it be because of performances such as these?) However, this year, Germany was feeling pretty good about their contender, a 19-year-old from Hannover named Lena. We all sat in shock as she performed a fun, upbeat tune in a cute black dress. No whorish looking dancers, no ridiculous transformation into butterflies, and absolutely no pyrotechnics. And despite having a somewhat unusual voice, she actually sounded, well, good.

At the end of the performances, we all cast our own votes. I assumed that Europe would go for one of those fresh faced boys so my top pick was Norway. As the votes came in though, I quickly learned that Europe much preferred crazy and slutty over innocent and sweet. Geez. But I also found out that a whole lot of Europe was digging Lena, too. My friends sat in disbelief as more and more votes came in for Germany.

Could it be possible? After how many years??

At 12:30, it was clear. Little Lena from Hannover had won. Maybe the victory doesn't meet World Cup status but I'm still seeing that it's a pretty big deal for Deutschland.

Also fun? Whichever country wins gets to host the show next year. This means that next spring, there will be another reason to party in Germany. Hmm, wonder if I will be here to partake? Regardless, I hope that they continue with Lena-like contestants because if there's any more of this, I may have no choice but to renounce my German roots.

They Roared Here, Too

Another first.

1) Attended wedding reception in Berlin.

Actually, there were two firsts in one night.

2) Not only attended first German wedding reception, but also attended first theme oriented (1920s!!) wedding.

Oh, the roaring 20s! I have such romantic notions of this era, the women with their coal lined eyes and short, sassy haircuts and the hard drinking men sporting fedoras and carrying who knows what in those violin cases? And although the amazing swing of Count Basie, Artie Shaw, Benny Goodman, and the like didn't really get cooking til the 30s, ragtime and other kinds of jazz were in full force. Who can't help but glamorize the idea of flappers and gangsters meeting in basement speakeasies to drink and dance the night away?

But as I surveyed the room the room the other night, I realized I had little idea of what the 1920s were like in Germany. I knew that my idea of the this decade most definitely involved prohibition and Al Capone. So without those two, I needed to re-conceptualize.

Looking around, I quickly learned that the 20s had been roaring all over the place. Style wise, the fashions were apparently the same. The wedding guests surrounding me were sporting the same kind of clothing I was used to seeing in American photos: pinstriped suits, wingtip shoes, fringed dresses, feathery headbands, and strings of beads. I chuckled as a friend in true 1920s fashion whipped out a flask from his jacket pocket and passed it around the table. (FYI - the word for a flask is Flachmann. I shall never forget).

Then I started thinking about what I knew about the 1920s scene in Berlin. Answer: Not much. So I decided to do a bit of reading. As you can imagine, the initial post-WWI years were horribly depressing. Reparations. Strikes. The plummeting mark. However, by the mid 20s, between the new chancellor and loans from other countries, the economy picked up and people, quite frankly, started going a little crazy. It wasn't just about jazz and Marlene Dietrich, either. From what I've learned, it was complete hedonism. Back in America as flappers and gangsters drank and danced the night away in underground bars, this was only stage one of a night in Berlin. (Ahh, some things never change!)

Berlin became an incredibly tolerant town and while Burlesque was indeed popular, so were gay clubs and errr, a whole lot of anything goes type of clubs. But the overall vibe in American cities and Berlin was the same: drink, dance, and for the love of God, rid yourself of some of those uptight social graces and allow yourself to be a bit free! I am quite pleased to report that certain elements of this liberal lifestyle have remained. Want to be a anarchistic, squatting, cross-dressing, Lego installing artist who only works on Saturdays? Come to Berlin! Or perhaps more importantly, you can simply admit that you're trying to figure it all out and that an open-minded setting is exactly what you needed, even if it sometimes leads to pangs of homesickness.

But with a drink in her hand and a Charleston in her step, this American with her short, sassy haircut and smokey eyes felt quite happy the other night to be an independent, open-minded gal in the middle of Berlin. And with those wing tips thumping and those feathers bouncing, it also helped to be reminded once again that home isn't really so far away.

A Recent Email

My little Ethan back in NYC, who I've known since he could barely sit up, recently celebrated the big "3." I sent him an e-card and received this from his mother in response:

Hi!

Ethan had a great birthday, he got lots of dinosaurs and was very excited, too excited to even eat his cake! Our big news is that he started going on the potty (finally!) so we spend most days in the toilet right now! I told him you said hi and he told me you were in Germany and he missed you.

Have fun!

Note to self: Implement advised fun once the ole' heart strings stop their tugging. Ouch.

Karneval der Kulturen!

This town always figures out a way to keep the party going. This weekend, it was due to CULTURE! Yes, in honor of culture, we would drink lots of caprihinas instead of beer! (Okay, that's probably an exaggeration. I doubt that any delicious, sugary cocktail ever wins over a cold, frosty one in this town). Anyway, I had found out from my German teacher the other day that there would be cultural festivities throughout Kreuzberg and Neukölln all weekend. Again, I am amazed how often Roomie and I are right smack dab in the thick of things. This was pretty darn clear when around noon yesterday, my work was interrupted by drumming, singing, and cheering from the street below. Apparently, there was a parade starting just down the street. I wish we had gone (check out the pic's from last year!) but we had heard there were festivities going on all day so we waited for our friends and headed to Hallesches Tor instead. On our way, we came across a troupe of young ladies wearing what appeared to be hot pink, stone studded bikinis paired with black hose and feathery headdresses. One of my friends referred to them as belly dancers. My mind, on the other hand, was thinking more along the lines of Las Vegas showgirl.

Once we reached the festival at Hallesches Tor, we secured a few drinks, took stock of what we might eat later (cone of french fries or veggie kabobs?), and then stretched out in a nice sunny patch of grass. Unfortunately, within minutes, a "magic show" decided to set up next to us. I could not for the life of me understand the "magic" or the humor of this show which was being put on by the following players: a hobo looking dude playing a cello, a sexy assistant type wearing shiny, rust colored spandex pants paired with a silver bustier and a big, yellow flower in her hair, and a clownish looking "magician" whose best trick seemed to be stuffing a ridiculous amount of kitchen scrubbies into his mouth. Considering the disturbed expression on my roomie's face, I don't think any sort of German translation would have made this act less wacko.

Then there were the stilt people (see above photo). Wearing all white, they wandered around, pantomiming the loss of a little, white bird. Now that in itself could be kind of beautiful. However, when one of the stilt people has long gloves/fingers a la Edward Scissorhands and another (whom I affectionately refer to as "Tube Guy") maniacally fingers the long white tubes flowing from his shoulder blades (???), you've got to wonder if at any moment, rifles are gonna appear from under those robes.

But aside from creepiness and the non-magical/non-humorous factor, who doesn't enjoy being amused in a park on a sunny afternoon?

A Healthy Obsession

Remember this? I had bust out laughing the first time the Frau from my Learning German CD taught me how to say "asparagus with ham." After I had blogged about it, one of my German friends had emailed me to confirm. "Yes, we are crazy about the asparagus," she had written which in its earnestness made me crack up all over again.

Then a few weeks after my arrival in Berlin, this same friend invited me over for dinner, this very dinner actually. White asparagus covered in a creamy hollandaise sauce alongside boiled potatoes and shredded ham. (And yes, I partook in the ham but I swear I haven't had a meat product since then!) It was indeed a delicious combo and just like my post-dinner state from the previous spaetzle dinner at their flat, I left with a hard, round tummy.

I've noticed since then that every other restaurant I now pass seem to be posting signs, beckoning people to come in for their very own weisse Spargel specialty. It is actually a bit of an obsession here in Berlin which is why I found this little bit amusing. Mmm, vegetarian ragout sounds pretty fantastic. Sign me up!

B-Day 2010

If anything, my friends and family know this about me: I am a firm believer in celebrating birthdays. For some, they do everything to avoid any recognition of the day. New Year's Day and birthdays, right? For some people, it's all about coulda/woulda/shoulda. But here's the thing, a birthday, in my opinion, isn't about dwelling on how old you are growing or what you haven't achieved. Rather, it's a reason to celebrate the fact that you, wondrous being, came into this world and are no doubt adding to its beauty. Shouldn't we all celebrate that?

I'm typically the first to frolic in the attention of my birthday, (ask my family members who are no doubt rolling their eyes right now, considering this has been a pattern of mine for a good 30 some years) arranging parties or dinners or trips to the spa. However, for some reason, this time around, I had little desire to do any of those things. In fact, over the weekend, I got a bit depressed thinking about it all. Oh no, I thought, am I turning into one of those Birthdays suck! kind of people?

A few friends of mine managed to shake me out of my funk by reminding me that I could do or not do whatever the hell I wanted so I figured I'd just go with the flow of the day. And who cannot help but smile when your roomie gets up an hour before her alarm normally goes off so that she can present you with a chocolate cake, candle burning, which she had surreptitiously baked while you were out the night before?

I then decided I didn't need to have a party or a big dinner or any kind of to-do. All I needed was to do a few things for myself that would make me smile today. Shouldn't that be the general rule for birthdays for all of us?

I mean, maybe you don't want to go to that German class after all. (Or maybe you are such an overachieving nerd, you go anyway.) But maybe you want to go straight for the chocolate croissant at the bakery during break time instead of your usual boring/not at all celebratory stockpile of fruit. And then maybe you think it's a pretty good idea to make the transition from your morning coffee to afternoon vino. Why the hell not? It's your birthday. And maybe you decide to finally stop at some of those cute shops you've been meaning to check out for the past two months. And maybe afterward, you stop at that Lebanese cafe you've been wanting to try and buy a delicious veggie sandwich which you thoroughly enjoy even though you make a complete mess of it as stroll down the busy streets of Kreuzberg, no particular place to be. Maybe you then realize what a lovely sunny day it is, perfect for a long walk, followed by an equally long nap. And finally, maybe you decide you should indeed get your ass out with a few friends after all, at least for some neighborhood pizza followed by that scrumptious chocolate cake and a bit of ice cream.

Not such a bad day after all. But then again, I guess I always knew it wouldn't be. Deep down, I've always been the celebrating kind.

Being Schooled on the Spielplatz

I'm a kid person so I don't know why it always takes me off guard when some random little one approaches me but it does. Here in Berlin, it's quite humbling when some three-year-old tyke starts talking to me and I just have to stare and smile back in response or commence some sort of wild gesturing that will get my point across. Even worse? When an older kid approaches and I am able to say to them, "Sorry, I don't speak German" which leads them to switch to English to accommodate my needs. Remind me, when is America going to get on board with mandatory foreign language requirements?

So yesterday, while taking care of my friend's baby, I had wandered over to the local Spielplatz with him. I placed little Daniel in this mesh, disc shaped swing/hammock thing, gently swinging him back and forth when a bright little girl wearing pink tights, sparkly pink shoes, and a frilly pink skirt skipped toward us and gently placed an equally pink doll on the swing next to Daniel.

"My baby's six months old!" she announced. "How old is he?"

I was struck by my own reaction to this little blond thing who appeared to be seven or eight years old. I'm always relieved to hear an English speaker when I am out and about. However, I hadn't realized I'd ever be excited to have a conversation with an English speaker from the second grade level.

"Um, he's about eight months old now," I said, tickling his toes.

"Ahh," she replied. "I remember when my sister was a little baby. Hey, look at this!" Within seconds, she began to demonstrate a series of "tricks" that involved balancing herself on one foot, swinging from a rope, and doing pretty much anything that involved exposing her underpants to a group of strangers on a playground.

A few seconds later, her mother (or au pair?) approached and began speaking to her. In German. I was shocked. This girl had no remnant of a German accent whatsoever. The only accent I detected at all was a slight English lilt so I had naturally assumed that she was living in Berlin with her British parents. I couldn't believe how instantly dumb I felt. And speaking of, it was as if she could read my mind.

"Do you speak any German?" she asked, dangling from a rope, her toothy grin barely visible through her mop of blond curls.

"Nein," I replied, smiling.

"You do! You do!" she giggled.

"Nein!" I said again, laughing. "Believe me. But your English is amazing. How do you speak so well?"

She went on to say that she attends a bilingual school and then suddenly switched gears to give me a full account of all of her dental appointments as of late. Her vocabulary blew me away. I mean, was this kid really talking to me about dental procedures? For the 100th time, I wished that I had the sponge-like brain of a child instead of having to stare at pink post-it notes on my kitchen wall that say things like, "Ich mache der Abendessen" (Oops, das Abendessen! See??), hoping that one day, this stuff might actually sink in.

As little Blondie finished her story about all of her recent toothaches and trips to the dentist, I said, "Wow, well, I'm sorry to hear about all of that. Sounds quite painful!"

"Yes," she replied, as she launched herself off of a balance beam and into the sand, "but it makes a good story."

Couldn't have said it better myself.

Hanging Out on a Runway Strip

The other day, I received the following text from a friend of mine:

"Tempelhof Park is opening this weekend and I'm taking you with me to see it!" Oh, and there was a ": )" at the end. Who can say no to a ": )"?

"Okay!" I replied, oblivious to what the hoopla was about but as always, game to find out.

All I knew was that Tempelhof was one of Berlin's three airports, recently defunct. Built in the late 30s, it's a concrete reminder of creepier times. The airport was apparently used regularly up until just a few years ago as Tegel and Schönefeld became the hubs for international flights. The plan, I've heard, is to expand Schönefeld in the coming years and close Tegel, too. Kind of makes me sad. Compared to the monstrosities I tend to pass through, Tegel is a cute as a button airport, easy to navigate and relatively stress free. But I digress.

As of Saturday, what used to be an airfield has now been transformed into a park. Yesterday, a friend and I wandered around, dodging roller bladers and cyclists as they sped down the runway's painted arrows. It felt quite strange to watch people eat wurst and fly their kites in the midst of an overgrown airfield. Even stranger? Sitting in a "park" that does not contain a single tree. (I now know where to go if I want to bake my skin off this summer). It was sort of like having a picnic in the middle of the Wyoming plains. That is, if the western plains now include a long strip of concrete and a giant vacant terminal that-a-way.

Oh, and in good Berlin fashion, some demonstrators showed up Saturday, protesting the lack of public participation in the planning of the park along with the overall gentrification of the area which is supposedly forcing the socially disadvantaged out. Protests two weekends in a row? I kind of love that about this town.

As always, I did not think to bring my camera so I shall now rely on Spiegel to provide you with a bit of viewing pleasure.

Til the next ruckus...

I Love Being Distasteful!

I missed out on several of these Bad Taste parties last fall but they looked like such ridiculous fun that I was very glad to hear about the one last night. Some lady friends and I got decked out in our best (err, worst?) and headed to the Magnet Club around one last night. I was quite pleased to find the place packed to the gills with similarly distasteful outfits. What surprised me, however, was that some people went beyond the dorky or trashy and headed straight to Halloween costumery. I'm talking huge, fuzzy animals suits. In fact, I managed to see a frog and an octupus on the dance floor. Quite amazing, actually, considering that hardly anyone in this town actually dressed up for Halloween last fall. (I'm still miffed about that). Apparently, a 90s party is where it's at. Good to know considering I now have this awesome jacket at my disposal which really must be viewed and appreciated by the good folks of Berlin as much as possible. I think some sort of sparkly, gold hair piece is next on the agenda.

But first, a bit more tea. After dancing til dawn and hobbling back home in heels over cobblestone streets, my body must first recover before there's any more talk about dancing the night away. Give me a week and I'll be ready for more. As will the jacket.

Controlled!

Every morning, I board the U-Bahn, my transit pass neatly pressed inside my wallet, often untouched for weeks. Unlike New York City (and many other cities around the globe, I assume), Berlin's transit system is one of honor. No turnstiles, no gates whatsoever, just a ticket machine that you may or may not utilize. Your choice. (Now consider the utter chaos and subsequent bankruptcy six seconds later if the MTA of New York tried to instill such a practice). Of course, here, you are supposed to buy a ticket and validate it with the date and time but whether you will ever be asked to show it is another story.

The controllers (those employed to check passengers for tickets) will randomly show up on trains, inconspicuously dressed in regular street clothes, then suddenly whip out their IDs and ask passengers to pull out their tickets. Last fall, a mere five days after buying my monthly pass (72 euros!!), I was either pick-pocketed or I managed to lose the thing all on my own. Regardless, I was not about to shell out another hundred U.S. dollars, thank you very much, for a second pass. I decided to risk it even though there's a hefty fine of 40 euros or so attached to getting caught. Friends gave the following pieces of advice:

Play the dumb tourist:
"Just always have your passport on you. Buy the cheap ticket but don't validate it. Act like you didn't know that you needed to actually have it stamped with the date and time."

or

Run!
"Those workers aren't cops, you know. They aren't allowed to touch you. So if you get caught, as soon as those doors open, run like the wind!"

Luckily, I never had to do either. Pretty amazing considering I went an entire month without a proper ticket on me. But since I've been back this spring, I've been a good, law abiding passenger. Good thing since the controllers have been out in full force. The Gods of Mass Transit have apparently guided me appropriately.

The other day after my German class, a classmate and I were having a nice conversation so we decided to continue our chat onto the U-Bahn. She mentioned needing a ticket though since she typically rides her bike. I told her that this was probably a good idea, considering all the people I had seen getting controlled lately. However, the line for the ticket machine was ten people long. When the U-Bahn pulled up seconds later, she said, "Screw it. I'm gonna chance it."

I think we were in minute two of our journey when two controllers boarded.

"Oh no," she muttered, sinking down into her seat. They were working the train from opposite directions. Surrounded with nowhere to run! But then, the train began to slow down for the next stop and I wondered if escape was possible! But all of those insanely efficient German passengers had whipped out their passes so quickly, Controller #1 was standing over us within seconds! I tried my best to stall, digging through my bag, digging a bit more, trying to find that silly wallet of mine...oh, where, or where did I put that thing? However, my friend was trying a different tactic. She pulled out her ticket from earlier that morning (expired!) and acted as though she had no idea she couldn't use it as a transfer of sorts. The controller politely but firmly told her that this was not acceptable. I was impressed by her acting skills as she gasped, doe eyed, "What? Oh no! Really? I can't still use this? I...I...I had no idea!"

As the train approached the next stop, he said, "You will have to come with me," and motioned toward the door. What's he gonna do with her out there? I wondered, feeling a bit too high strung considering the situation. My God, it wasn't as if she were a drug mule being pulled out of the Customs line. But there I was, perched on my seat as I watched her quietly follow him to the door and step out after him onto the platform. But as he turned to speak to her, she transformed into greased lightning. That girl bolted and it took everything in me not to bust out into laughter right there at the Friedrichstrasse stop. I couldn't believe how fast she moved! And the controller...well, as everyone says, he wasn't about to waste his time on her. He simply hopped right back onto the U-bahn and continued with another round.

But I will pick up her slack. As of May 1st, I already had my new monthly pass all ready to go. The good girl within has returned. Well, that and I'm simply too out of shape to run, that is, unless someone's waving a piece of cake at the other end of the platform. You think I'm joking? I dare you to wave it.

P.S. I prefer chocolate.

So About Those Riots...

We did end up venturing out to Kottbusser Tor yesterday afternoon and were quite pleased to find what appeared to be a very peaceful, techno pumped street fair. No rioting, no tension at all aside from the usual claustrophobic discomfort of a few thousand people smashed into the same couple of streets. Police were everywhere but they looked more bored than anything. As we downed a few beers and danced along Oranienstrasse, we found our heads littered with confetti. How grouchy can one be, dancing to techno while staring at their friends' colorfully speckled heads?

But then darkness fell and I had left to retrieve a friend who was meeting me at our flat. As she and I walked back toward Kottbusser Tor, the scene had most definitely changed. Approaching the river, we realized that the demonstrations were underway. Police lights glaring, sirens blaring. We could also hear a whole lot of yelling or actually, more like cheering. We took a different bridge over the river but meandered back into Kottbusser Tor. I quickly discovered as we turned a corner and were greeted by a wall of cops in riot gear that I was not going to be reconnecting with my friends on Oranienstrasse. We tried another street. Yet another blockade. Although I didn't see anything, apparently things did get a little crazy in Kreuzberg last night. According to this article, police batons and a water cannon were used against "rampaging demonstrators." I cannot speak to that. The only cannon I experienced was the one that so sweetly sprinkled us with confetti from a fourth floor window.

And the Neo-Nazi demonstration? Yeah, apparently those 500 didn't get too far considering the 10,000 demonstrators who showed up to blockade their parade route. Silly Nazis.

So all in all, Berlin didn't end up being as crazy as police had anticipated. Then again, as I hopped off the U-Bahn after a night of dancing in Mitte, I noticed a man holding a big bloody bandage against his forward with one hand, a beer in the other. Perhaps I should have lent him my helmet. Next year, man, I promise.

May Day, May Day!

Here I sit, drinking my coffee as usual, enjoying the peace and quiet of a Saturday morning. However, I have been warned that my peace and quiet will be short lived today.

It is May Day (or Labor Day) here in Germany. For most of the country, this means a day off of work and a whole lot of beer drinking and barbecuing (ehh, sound familiar?). But in Berlin, it's another story. This week as I chatted with new friends, they cringed upon hearing where I lived.

"Oooh, be careful over there this weekend," they said. Who likes the sounds of that? Then the other night, I came home to find a notice on our front door which listed a whole lot of local streets, ours included. My roomie said that it was a warning to not park cars on any of those streets. The fear, of course, is that they could be torched. Apparently, that's a specialty of Berlin anarchists.

Since I'm not completely clear on all the issues at hand, I'll let you do some reading about it here. Or (heh heh), here. What I do know is that this is a day of anti-capitalist demonstrations that are known to get very out of hand. In fact, the ExBerliner ran an article with a sidebar about what to do if you get arrested. This is because the demonstrations are known to get so crazy and confusing that the police just start arresting groups of people whether it's warranted or not.

Anyway, I wondered if people were exaggerating about all of the mayhem until last night when I trekked down the street to deposit a bag of bottles for recycling like I always do. At first, when I couldn't locate the three huge bins on the street, I thought I was losing my mind. Am I on the wrong block? I wondered. However, it all made sense later when my roomie came home and said, "It's starting already. Police everywhere. And the grocery stores are putting barricades in front of their windows."

So I suppose they moved the glass recycling bins from our street to avoid them from being toppled over tomorrow. A parade of sorts might be moving down our street sometime today and our local subway stops are shutting down. Forget about getting cash out of a bank ATM. Most of the banks in the area not only shut down but also reinforce their storefronts. Some local friends have left town altogether. Others plan to get some beer and stay inside the entire day. I've been told that I might as well plan a night of clubbing since sleep is probably not on my horizon until sometime Sunday morning.

Ugh.

I can handle some spunky protesters and I guess I can handle some noise but I cannot deal with violence and looting for no apparent reason. I live in a pretty working class neighborhood. It's extremely disheartening to think that some of the local proprietors have to worry about broken storefronts, stolen merchandise, and the safety of their families.

I also have heard that there is a large group of neo-Nazis gathering for the demonstrations, too. BMW torching anarchists are one thing. But a few thousand skinheads causing a ruckus? Sort of makes me want to stay holed up in the ole' flat with a few beers. I mean, do I really need any of this?

But I admit that my curiosity could get the best of me. I just might take a stroll later on today with some friends to Kottbusser Tor. Then again, the idea of a stray brick at the head isn't all that appealing. Such decisions. Back home, the big decision on Labor Day is hamburger versus brat.

Well, if I decide to don a helmet and check out the scene, I will most definitely report back. Hopefully, not from a jail cell.