Rad Berlin und Bücher

First Rain

2010-11-03T16:32:00.005+01:00

We are about thirty minutes into my first rain here. There were some sprinkles earlier but now it is a good, real rain. It's also 4:30p and getting dark--daylight savings has the unfortunate side effect of making it completely dark by 5:30p. It is pretty ridiculous--as soon as it gets dark, a switch flips in my head that tells me not to do anything for the rest of the day.

Friday we are going to register for our new address, register Syd, and set up a bank account for me. We tried the bank thing today, but you can't get an account until you've registered, so...that's where we are for now.

Yesterday Shane had his class at the FU, so Syd and I were on our own. When Syd finally woke up and stretched around 11:30, we headed out for our walk. Mauerpark has a dog run (fenced in), so we went there so I wouldn't have to worry about chasing him through the streets alone. He first met two big dogs, including a German Shepherd who was very friendly. We then kept heading up the hill and he sprinted for this golden retriever looking dog whose owner was trying to get on the dog trick seesaw thing. The owner was a probably 12ish year old girl, and my German has survived enough to have basic dog conversation, and then asked where I was from and she said she spoke English, so we talked in Germish. She was super sweet. She learned English because her family moved to Scotland when she was 6 for a year, and every summer they go back to visit. We chatted and she was worried about her accent (which was excellent!) and then she said her dad spoke perfect English but that he got hit by a car and died two years ago. I managed to stutter out my condolences, and she was so matter of fact about it, even said that it's okay now, but damn. She was really fantastic. As always with the dog conversations, we never gave each other our names, only introduced the dogs. It's so funny.

Shane and I finally made the trip to Ikea. There are two in Berlin, and they are building a third, so that'll be one Ikea for every 1.1ish million people. Pretty impressive, really. Houston had one Ikea, Emeryville had one, Berlin has three. Take that, America!! Shane brought his massive backpack and we fit everything in that but the mattress pad and the clothes rack. Shane said Germans don't really hang clothes, so very few places have closets or armoires with a rod. We bought a cheap rack but didn't think of where we would actually put it, so it took a day to figure out...and we should have bought more clothes hangers...and another curtain rod. We got a curtain and a tension rod for the bedroom window (and that tension rod is amazing...I mean, go Ikea, for real), but guests staying in the living room will still have to contend with the daylight in all it's glory.

Tonight we are meeting some of Shane's friends to see a Christoph Schlingensief movie, which he is pretty sure has subtitles. Shane said it would be gory, but not? Or something. I hope it's not terribly gory, I'll have to hide. I am interested to see what food (if any) theatres have here. I have my fingers crossed for pretzels and cake.

Willkommen!

2010-10-29T12:20:00.002+02:00

We are here! After a long and no doubt traumatizing flight (for Syd, who I could hear barking from the hold for the first fifteen minutes of the flight), Syd and I were reunited. As I arrived at baggage claim I could hear him barking and so I half-ran towards the sound and found him in his crate at the oversize baggage area. I let him out to give him a hug and he managed to lick every inch of my face, much to the amusement of a planeful of recent arrivals from Buenos Aires and the airport staff. We breezed through customs (after aaalll the hours of vet appointments and somewhat exorbitant amounts of money I would have appreciated a bit more frowning and paper shuffling), and...Shane wasn't there. I took Syd out to pinkeln and he met another dog, who had actually been on the same plane! And still Shane wasn't there, and I couldn't figure out the cursed payphone, so we waited. Eventually we heard, "Syd!!!" and there he was!! Poor Shane got stuck in traffic outside of Frankfurt and the rental car place was being difficult so he got on the road late. It was so, so good to see him--Syd and I were both very, very happy. Frankfurt has a lot of construction going on, so all of our directions were useless and we managed to get totally lost for over an hour trying to find the hotel. We drove past the Hauptbahnhof, which I'd seen in my Grandpa's photos from just after WWII, and past the opera, and past a sculpture of the euro symbol, and finally found where we were supposed to be going. We found some Thai for dinner and went to sleep, which was when we discovered that dogs get jetlag. Syd kept waking up in the night and getting drinks of water, and each time he got up he would lick Shane's feet, which would wake Shane up. I was lucky enough to be completely passed out, but I am also used to little paws walking on me at night. In the morning, we got pastries and walked to the Frankfurter Dom (built in the 14th/15th centuries) before getting on the road to Berlin.

Did you know that people drive really, really fast on the Autobahn? They do. Our little rented Nissan Micra topped out at about 160 kph, even with Shane flooring it. Audis were streaking past us going well over 200 kph. There was also a lot of road construction, with the fast lane narrowing down to 2m wide. Shane hates narrow lanes and so there was a lot of "Oh god oh god oh god oh god" as we drove slooowwwwly past giant trucks. Syd remained blissfully asleep on my lap, awaking every so often only to look at us as if to ask why in the world there was daylight as it was clearly 3am. We finally made it into Berlin and got a park right outside our building, and we ran in my suitcases and I unpacked and Syd slept while Shane returned the car. For our first dinner, we all walked to a doner kebap place at Rosenthaler Platz and Syd got to meet some Berlin dogs and eat his little bits of doner. Syd is loving Berlin--all the smells, the dogs, the parks. We are only a few minutes' walk from Mauerpark (a former deathstrip along the wall that was turned into a giant park and stadium) and not only is there a fenced-in dog park, but dogs are allowed off-leash almost everywhere in it! He got to play with some dogs yesterday and was positively gleeful.

Yesterday was our three-year anniversary, and Shane took us to a lovely dinner at a French restaurant called La Cocotte in Schoeneberg. We shared marrow bones and les ouefs cocotte with truffle, and I had a lovely steak and Shane had steak tartare for the first time. It was all delicious. Mum and Da, we'll have to go there when you come to visit and just eat the appetizers! And guess what?? Syd can come too! There was a dog sitting at one of the tables inside--I mean, he didn't have his own chair as Syd would require, but we can just ask for a table for 4.5. We also met up with Amy, Bernhard, Dennis, and Katrin for coffee and dinner in Friedrichshain. Amy and Bernhard are staying with us the next few nights before returning to Oakland, and we'll be seeing Katrin fairly often as she and Ben live in Berlin, and Dennis is in Hamburg, so we'll be seeing him, too! It's nice to know people here.

I had my Administration and Use of Archives class last night...well, this morning from 1:45a-3:45a. Yawn! I made myself some tea and had a square of chocolate and managed not to space out too much, so I am fairly proud of myself. I suppose I better get used to late nights, in Berlin people don't go out until midnight or later, and don't come home until after they've had breakfast! Shane has a potentially busy weekend for us, so we'll have to see how it all goes, but I see a lot of afternoon naps in my future.

Are The Cranberries experiencing a secret resurgence? I keep hearing them places. I am watching some teenage soap opera right now (German by osmosis?) and a girl was singing "Zombie." Now I am onto some news program and there was just an old man in blue shiny skintight swim shorts with shoes, socks, a wool cap, and arm warmers marching in circles in a sauna. I'll assume there was a reason for that. If I was paying complete attention I assume I would have known what was going on.

If you'd like to see photos from my trip, you can check here. I will be updating as often as I see things! Tomorrow we are having brunch and heading to the Eastside Gallery, so I am very excited to see the state of the murals since my last visit in 2007. In 2009, funding was found and the original artists were asked back to repaint their murals in honor of the 20th anniversary of the wall's fall. Hopefully they are still in good shape!

2010-10-27T15:24:00.002+02:00

Syd has jetlag.

Packing up and heading out

2010-10-23T02:15:00.002+02:00

I am in the last gasps of the final pack now! I've made my calls, written my notes, said my goodbyes, and now it's onto the actual, physical shoving of things into bags. And what shoving of things into bags shall there be...

I fly out Sunday night and arrive in Frankfurt Monday afternoon. Shane will be meeting us with a rental car and we will stay the night there, Shane will visit the Frankfurt School in the morning, and then we're off to Berlin and our new home. Hopefully all of Syd's paperwork is in order and he can get through Customs without looking too sad and without being too mad at me for putting him through such a trial. My mum has been sewing him warm, warm winter sweaters and he doesn't know it yet, but he is incredibly grateful for them. I found the German Petsmart equivalent (Fressnapf) and was greatly comforted to peruse their selection and have deduced from said selection that Germans are just as stupid ridiculous about their dogs as Americans. They have dog scarves, socks, legwarmers, shoes, hats, dog bjorns...you name it. There also seems to be a slightly alarming number of dog beds that look like people beds, with headboards and footboards, and lots of mini couches. While Syd would no doubt appreciate those attempts, he greatly prefers that we acknowledge that all beds, couches, and padded surfaces are belong to Syd, and that miniature versions are unnecessary and a tad bit insulting.

Basically, we are looking forward to sausage, pretzels, milchkaffee and Shane, and Shane is looking forward to his Kindle and us, all in no particular order. Mmmm, pretzels...

(P.S. Did I mention our apartment is next door to a theater and a biergarten? Do you think if I drop a basket down, they'll put pretzels in it for me?)

The Floppy Infant

2008-07-07T05:01:00.001+02:00

Disturbingly enough, this is from a series.

AC5 S25 v.11-33

2008-07-01T21:52:00.000+02:00

Stax

2008-06-30T22:20:00.000+02:00

New Pages

2008-06-24T21:57:00.000+02:00

So I actually got a job, which I wasn't expecting so much. I am a full-time (8a-5p, M-F) bookbot/human conveyor belt at a library storage facility. From 8a-10:30a, I pull books off the shelf, and from 2p-5p I put books back on the shelf. For that in-between time I get to put books back on the shelf or check to make sure that books were put back in the correct place on the shelf. Also, I move giant carts full of books back and forth.

At least it's only for 5 months. And, it gives me the chance to bring you the books that, chances are, no one except for the delinquents in a scanning facility will ever see again. I work where books come to die, and I'm digging for shelved treasure. Let me know what you think.

Oh, Adorno...

2008-05-02T23:35:00.004+02:00

Adorno hates everyone, but its only because he is better than them.

From Minima Moralia:

72

Clogs – “floppies,” slippers [in English] – are made so that one can slip them on one’s feet without using the hands. They are monuments to the hatred of bending over.

Germans are human beings who can’t tell a lie without believing it themselves.

Every work of art is an unexecuted [abgedungene] crime.

132

[...]The good things, for which they opt, have long since been acknowledged, their numbers accordingly limited, as fixed in the value-hierarchy as those in the student fraternities. While they denounce official kitsch, their sensibility is dependent, like obedient children, on nourishment already sought out in advance, on the cliches of hostility to cliches. The dwellings of young bohemians resemble their spiritual household. On the wall, deceptively original color prints of famous artists, such as Van Gogh’s Sunflowers or the Café at Arles, on the bookshelf derivative works on socialism and psychoanalysis and a little sex-research for the uninhibited with inhibitions. In addition, the Random House edition of Proust – Scott Moncrieff’s translation deserved a better fate – exclusivity at reduced prices, whose exterior alone, the compact-economic form of the omnibus, is a mockery of the author, whose every sentence knocks a received opinion out of action, while he now plays, as a prize-winning homosexual, the same role with youth as books on animals of the forest and the North Pole expedition in the German home. Also, the record player with the Lincoln cantata of a brave soul, which deals essentially with railroad stations, next to the obligatory eye-catching folklore from Oklahoma and a pair of brassy jazz records, which make one feel simultaneously collective, bold and comfortable. Every judgment is approved by friends, they know all the arguments in advance. That all cultural products, even the non-conformist ones, are incorporated into the mechanism of distribution of large-scale capital, that in the most developed lands a creation which does not bear the imprimatur of mass production can scarcely reach any readers, observers, or listeners, refuses the material in advance for the deviating longing. Even Kafka is turned into a piece of inventory in the rented apartment. Intellectuals themselves are already so firmly established, in their isolated spheres, in what is confirmed, that they can no longer desire anything which is not served to them under the brand of “highbrow” [in English in original]. Their sole ambition consists of finding their way in the accepted canon, of saying the right thing. The outsider status of the initiates is an illusion and mere waiting-time. It would be giving them too much credit to call them renegades; they wear overlarge horn-rimmed glasses on their mediocre faces, solely to better pass themselves off as “brilliant” to themselves and to others in the general competition. They are already exactly like them. The subjective precondition of opposition, the non-normalized judgment, goes extinct, while its trappings continue to be carried out as a group ritual. Stalin need only clear his throat, and they throw Kafka and Van Gogh on the trash-heap.

51

Behind the mirror. First word of caution for authors: check every text, every fragment, and every line to see if the central motif presents itself clearly enough. Whoever wants to express something, is so carried away that they are driven along, without reflecting on such. One is too close to the intention, “in thought,” and forgets to say, what one wants to say.

No improvement is too small or piddling to be carried out. Out of a hundred changes, a single one may appear trifling and pedantic; together they can raise the text to a new level.

One should never stint on deletions. Length doesn’t matter and the fear that there isn’t enough there is childish. One shouldn’t consider anything worth preserving, just because it’s written down. If several sentences seem to vary the same thought, this usually indicates several variations of something the author has not yet mastered. In that case one should select the best formulation and work on it further. The toolkit [Technik] of an author should include the capacity to renounce productive thoughts, so long as the construction demands it. The wealth and energy of these latter ultimately come to benefit suppressed thoughts. Rather like the banquet-table, where one shouldn’t eat every last crumb or drink to the dregs. Otherwise one might be accused of stinginess.

Whoever wants to avoid cliches, should not restrict themselves to words, lest one falls victim to vulgar coquetry. The great French prose of the 19th century was especially sensitive to this. Individual words are seldom banal: in music, too, the single tone never wears out. The worst cliches of them all are on the contrary word-grams [Wortverbindungen] of the sort which Karl Kraus skewered: totally and completely, for better or for worse, planned and implemented. For in them gurgles, as it were, the sluggish flow of stale language, precisely where the author should construct, through precision of expression, those resistances which are required wherever language emerges. This applies not just to word-grams but also to the construction of entire forms. If a dialectician always marked the dialectical recoil [Umschlag] of a thought which advances beyond itself by putting a “however” [aber: however, but] in front of the caesura, then the literary schemata would punish the unschematic intent of what is being discussed with untruth.

The jungle is no sacred grove. It is obligatory to resolve difficulties which derive solely from the comfort and ease of self-understanding. The distinction between the desire to write with a density appropriate to the depth of the object, and the temptation for the abstruse and pretentious sloppiness, is not automatic: a mistrustful insistence is always healthy. Precisely those who wish to make no concession to the stupidity of common sense must guard themselves against stylistically draping together thoughts which are themselves to be convicted of banality. Locke’s platitudes do not justify Hamann’s cryptology.

If one has even the slightest qualms about a completed work, regardless of its length, then one should take such with inordinate seriousness, out of all proportion to the level of relevance which it might register. The affective investment [Besetzung] in a text and vanity tend to minimize such misgivings. What is passed over with the tiniest doubt, may well indicate the objective worthlessness of the whole.

The Echternacher spring procession [German folk parade, where marchers move three steps forward and two back] is not the course of the World-Spirit [Weltgeist]; restriction and revocation are not the means of narration [Darstellungsmittel] for dialectics. On the contrary this latter moves by extremes and, instead of qualifying such, drives the thought through uttermost consequence to its dialectical recoil [Umschlag]. The prudence with which one forbids oneself to venture too far with a sentence, is mostly only an agent of social control and thus of dumbing down.

Skepticism against the oft-cited objection, that a text, a formulation would be “too beautiful.” The reverence for the matter [Sache: thing, philosophic matter], or even for suffering, can easily rationalize the resentment against those who find, in the reified shape of language, the traces of something unbearable, which befalls human beings: debasement. The dream of an existence [Dasein: existence, being] without shame, to which the passion for language clings, even though the latter is forbidden to depict the former as content, is to be maliciously strangled. The author should make no distinction between beautiful and factual [sachlichem: factual, objective, realistic] expression. One should neither entrust this distinction to concerned critics, nor tolerate it in oneself. If one succeeds in completely saying what one means, then it is beautiful. The beauty of expression for its own sake is by no means “too beautiful,” but ornamental, artsy, ugly. Yet whoever leaves off from the purity of the expression, under the pretext of unswervingly stating the facts, thereby betrays the matter [Sache] too.

Properly worked texts are like spider webs: hermetic, concentric, transparent, well-joined and fastened. They draw everything into themselves, whatever crawls and flies. Metaphors, which fleetingly dart through them, become their nourishing prey. Materials come flying to them. The binding stringency [Stichhaltigkeit] of a conception is to be judged by whether its citations evoke other citations. Wherever the thought opens up a cell of reality, it must push into the next chamber, without an act of violence by the subject. It vouchsafes its relationship to the object, as soon as other objects crystallize around it. In the light that it sheds on its determinate object, others begin to gleam.

Authors settle into their texts like home-dwellers. Just as one creates disorder by lugging papers, books, pencils and documents from one room to another, so too does one comport oneself with thoughts. They become pieces of furniture, on which one sits down, feeling at ease or annoyed. One strokes them tenderly, scuffs them up, jumbles them up, moves them around, trashes them. To those who no longer have a homeland, writing becomes home. And therein one unavoidably generates, just like the family, all manner of household litter and junk. But one no longer has a shed, and it is not at all easy to separate oneself from cast-offs. So one pushes them to and fro, and in the end runs the risk of filling up the page with them. The necessity to harden oneself against pity for oneself includes the technical necessity, to counter the diminution of intellectual tension with the most extreme watchfulness, and to eliminate anything which forms on the work like a crust or runs on mechanically, which perhaps at an earlier stage produced, like gossip, the warm atmosphere which enabled it to grow, but which now remains fusty and stale. In the end, authors are not even allowed to be home in their writing.

Thanks to the interwebs and http://www.marxists.org/reference/archive/adorno/1951/mm/index.htm for these.

Does the Library of Congress have a sense of humour?

2008-04-16T21:25:00.002+02:00

Just a few classification jokes for the ubernerd:

Subclass B: Philosophy (General)
Subclass BS: The Bible

Subclass T: Technology
Subclass TX: Home Economics
ex. TX370 .S63 2006
Encyclopedia of junk food and fast food / <2006>
Author: Smith, Andrew F., 1946-
Published: Westport, Conn. : Greenwood Press, 2006.
Location(s): BIOS: TX370 .S63 2006 Reserve; DREF: TX370 .S63 2006 Directories;
Electronic Location(s):
Table of contents http://www.loc.gov/catdir/toc/ecip0612/2006012113.html

Notice the Encyclopedia or Junk Food and Fast Food is TX--Texas. Hmmmmm????

Cloverfield Monsterrrrr Returns!!!

2008-04-16T03:04:00.002+02:00

What what? Me and Shane's radtastical Cloverfield backstory is once again tops of Google. shaneboyle.com is number one and two and somehow, just somehow, I have subsequently made it to number four. Woohoo!!!

PE1583.P33 1995 Dictionaries

2008-04-07T22:11:00.001+02:00

Title: Speaking of animals : a dictionary of animal metaphors / Robert A. Palmatier.
Author: Palmatier, Robert A. (Robert Allen)
Place/Publisher: Westport, Conn. : Greenwood Press,
Date: 1995.
Description xxii, 472 p. ; 25 cm.
Notes Includes bibliographical references (p. [xvii]-xix.)

PN2035.R3

2008-04-05T22:14:00.000+02:00

A very cute, small book:

Title: An international vocabulary of technical theatre terms in eight languages (American, Dutch, English, French, German, Italian, Spanish, Swedish) edited by Kenneth Rae and Richard Southern for the International Theatre Institute.
Place/Publisher: Bruxelles, Elsevier
Date: 1959.
Description: 139 p.

Alternate Title Lexique international de termes techniques de theatre.

QL85.E54 2007

2008-03-29T22:16:00.000+01:00

I bet Syd is in here somewhere.

Title: Encyclopedia of human-animal relationships : a global exploration of our connections with animals / edited by Marc Bekoff.
Alternate Title: Human-animal relationships
Place/Publisher: Westport, Conn. : Greenwood Press,
Date: 2007.
Description: 4 v. : ill. ; 27 cm.
Notes: Includes bibliographical references and index.
v. 1. A-Con -- v. 2. Con-Eth -- v. 3. Eth-Liv -- v. 4. Liv-Z.
Table of contents also issued online.

Electronic Access Table of contents only http://www.loc.gov/catdir/toc/ecip0716/2007016552.html
Other Authors Bekoff, Marc.

You're not?

2008-03-07T21:14:00.003+01:00

I was watching TV the other morning and an advertisement for YAZ birth control pills came on. There was some monologue about how the pill is 99% effective but doesn't help with blah blah blah other lady's problems. Then, we're told we don't have to deal with lesser pills...and a song begins to play which starts off with the genius lyrics of: "We're not gonna take it!/ No, we're not gonna take it!/ We're not gonna take it, anymore!"

Who wrote this ad?? A catholic? Someone with a serious grudge against YAZ? How did the company not notice the ad was telling people not to use their product? We will never know.

Also, I am Chicago for the weekend and I haven't totally frozen my ass off yet. Also, I haven't been outside for more than ten minutes. Niiiiice indoor heating, niiiiice.

:-(

2008-02-29T04:51:00.004+01:00

I just found out from security that it was indeed an art history department function--
Michio Hayashi, Professor, Hisory of Art, Sophia University, Tokyo
Other Orbits in Gutai: Akira Kanayama and Atsuko Tanaka
308J Doe Library, 5:15 pm--
and (not) a pack of dangerous alcoholics. The question of whether they attacked a homeless woman is still up in the air.

Also, there is a sparrow flying around somewhere in the reference rooms. I bet it is bored.

QA276.15.P671 1986

2008-02-29T04:12:00.004+01:00

It's thirteen minutes into my shift at the desk and I have already had three encounters.

While first sitting at the desk, I glanced up to see one of my least favourite Berkeley homeless (differently privileged?) people walk by. When I worked at Peet's, he would come into the store when were busy and stick his whole hand in the tip jar and just take everything out. We weren't getting many tips anyway at that store, so it really sucked when the little we would get disappeared. The staff there would grab the tip jars when we saw him coming and stash them under the counter until he had gone. They called him "Fashionista"--he dresses like a hipster and until you get close, the only thing that gives him away is the shoes that are often ten sizes too small, much like the Grinch's heart (and my own, for those more charitable peoplethat may read this).

One perfectly normal gent was having difficulty finding a book
(Title The rise of statistical thinking, 1820-1900
Author Porter, Theodore M., 1953-
Place/Publisher Princeton, N.J. : Princeton University Press,
Date 1986.
Description xii, 333 p. ; 25 cm.
Location(s): Main Stack QA276.15.P671 1986)
and when I searched Pathfinder with the call number the book didn't appear, but did when I entered the title, which is odd.

While helping this gent some woman came up to the desk, the type who you can't tell if they are a crazy homeless person or a crazy professor, and told me to immediately call security to room 308 (there are rooms 308A-J, by the way) to remove a pack of dangerous alcoholics, who she claimed had attacked her. I couldn't see her eyes behind her giant reflective clip-on sunglass lenses to tell if she was lying, but something told me she might just the the homeless version of crazy. Also, I had suspicions maybe she had walked into either a. a group of art history grad students and professors getting down and dirty or b. the men's restroom. I called security just in case. I kind of want to know what happened with that. I kind of hope there is a pack of dangerous alcoholics hiding in a seminar room attacking passers-by.

Also, I found a copy of Barthes' Camera Lucida belonging to the Main stacks in the NRR, in the original French. Oddly enough, in French the title is not Camera Lucida, but La chambre claire. It is past due and I think I know where the security tag is. Hmmmm...
Title La chambre claire : note sur la photographie
Author Barthes, Roland.
Place/Publisher [Paris : Cahiers du cinema,
Date c1980
Description 192 p., [1 leaf of plates : ill. ; 22 cm
Location(s): Main Stack TR642.B37 On 1 day reserve; at Grad Svcs
RECALLED; DUE: 02/23/08
Damnit! It's on reserve in Grad Services. I'll return itttt...

Oh man, what's the word? Is it...

2008-02-01T05:39:00.001+01:00

thanks to chalk's gchat message for this.

N45.C375 2007

2008-01-30T21:24:00.000+01:00

Title: Artists' monograms and indiscernible signatures II : an international directory from 1800 / John Castagno.
Author: Castagno, John, 1930-
Place/Publisher: Lanham, Md. : Scarecrow Press,
Date: c2007.
Description: xxiv, 283 p. ; 29 cm.
Location(s): Doe Refe N45.C375 2007

Cloverfield Backstory

2008-01-23T21:29:00.000+01:00

Did I mention I helped write a sweet Cloverfield backstory?

We were number one on Google for three days!

Miscellaneous Romance

2007-12-05T03:57:00.000+01:00

I arrived at work this evening to find the Craigslist.org "Miscellaneous Romance" posting below open in a window on one of the computers at the Reference Desk. It looks like we have some lonely female librarians at Berkeley or some very skilled men...with serious grammar problems.

Want to be with TWO men with really being with ONE MAN? - m4w - 33
Reply to: pers-498597969@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-12-04, 11:22AM PST

Looking for a lady who fantasizes being *drilled* by two men at once.
If you are interested, but hesitating to do this, I want to tell you how U can do this with only one
man. I'm free, friendly, discreet, clean, shy at first like you, but I can provide multi-men
stimulation.

I will send details if u are interested. I'm real, sane and this isn't a fake ad.

CT3202 .I7 Biographies

2007-12-04T23:46:00.000+01:00

Title: Index to women of the world from ancient to modern times; biographies and portraits.
Author: Ireland, Norma Olin, 1907-
Place/Publisher: Westwood, Mass., F. W. Faxon Co.,
Date: 1970.
Description: xxcviii, 573 p. 24 cm.
Series: Useful reference series, no. 97
Useful reference series, no. 97
Notes Bibliography: p. lxi-xxcvii.
Subject Headings: Women -- Biography -- Indexes.
Women -- Portraits -- Indexes.
Location(s): Doe Refe CT3202.I7 Biographies

This is simply labeled "Index to Women" on the binding.

Research Advisory Service Topic

2007-11-08T21:21:00.000+01:00

10/22/07

4:30pm

Topic: Vampires are a metaphor for AIDS
Class: College Writing R46

Who's Who?

2007-11-01T04:30:00.000+01:00

Title Imaginary people : a who's who of fictional characters from the eighteenth century to the present day / David Pringle.
Author Pringle, David.
Edition 2nd ed.
Place/Publisher Aldershot, England : Scolar Press ; Brookfield, VT. : Ashgate Publishing,
Date 1996.
Description x, 296 p. ; 25 cm.
Notes Includes bibliographical references (p. 287-296) and index.
Subject Headings Characters and characteristics in literature -- Dictionaries.
Location(s):

Doe Refe PN56.4.P75 1996
Non-circulating.
Loan period: non-circulating

Title The animals' who's who / Ruthven Tremain
Author Tremain, Ruthven.
Place/Publisher New York : Scribner,
Date c1982
Description xv, 335 p. : ill. ; 24 cm
Notes Includes index
Bibliography: p. 289-293
Subject Headings Animals -- Biography.
Animals -- Dictionaries.
Animals in literature -- Dictionaries.
Animals, Mythical -- Dictionaries.
Animals -- Folklore -- Dictionaries.
Location(s):

Doe Refe QL791.T715 1982
Non-circulating.
Loan period: non-circulating

PE3724.O3 H84 2006

2007-10-29T22:56:00.000+01:00

Title: An encyclopedia of swearing : the social history of oaths, profanity, foul language, and ethnic slurs in the English-speaking world / <2006>
Author: Hughes, Geoffrey, 1939-
Published: Armonk, N.Y. : M.E. Sharpe, c2006.
Location(s): DREF: PE3724.O3 H84 2006; Non-circulating.
Electronic Location(s):
Table of contents http://www.loc.gov/catdir/toc/ecip0512/2005012793.html

Sad Facebook Group

2007-10-19T04:40:00.000+02:00

I don't even think it qualifies as a group.

I was looking to see if the NRR had any fan clubs (it doesn't), and found this Group instead:

Name:
Dorky and Proud!!!
Type:
n/a
Description:
Yeah, that was me you saw reading that engineering book for fun. Got a problem? I think recording lectures and then playing it back in my free time is great. I'm genuinely interested in my classes and I will often do extra just for fun. Oh it's great because all the janitors in Doe and Dwinelle and Wheeler all know my name, since they have had to repeatedly ask me to stop studying and go home at 2:00 am. Whoooo, and lets not forget about HW. I finish all my problem sets way before the due date, because I can't wait to start learning! Yay!!!!

Members
This group has 1 member at Berkeley.
See All

PE1617.O94.M84 2005

2007-10-11T05:21:00.000+02:00

It's been terribly busy tonight at the Doe Reference Desk, and in my neverending helpfulness, this turned up in a search--an author named Mugglestone. A hidden history of the OED? More like a hidden history of (not?) Hogwarts!!

Title Lost for words : the hidden history of the Oxford English dictionary / Lynda Mugglestone.
Author Mugglestone, Lynda.
Place/Publisher New Haven [Conn.] : Yale University Press,
Date c2005.
Description xxi, 273 p. : ill. ; 25 cm.
Notes Includes bibliographical references (p. [222]-266) and index.
Subject Headings Encyclopedias and dictionaries -- History and criticism.
English language -- Lexicography.
English language -- Etymology.
Oxford English dictionary.
Electronic Access Table of contents http://www.loc.gov/catdir/toc/ecip055/2004029344.html
Location(s):

Main Stack PE1617.O94.M84 2005
Not checked out.

Moffitt PE1617.O94.M84 2005
Loan period: 2 week; Not checked out.

ML105 .D76 2007

2007-10-11T04:04:00.000+02:00

Title Musical AKAs : assumed names and sobriquets of composers, songwriters, librettists, lyricists, hymnists, and writers on music / <2007>
Author Drone, Jeanette Marie, 1940-
Published Lanham, Md. : Scarecrow Press, 2007.
Description xvi, 645 p. ; 29 cm.
Musicians -- Bio-bibliography -- Dictionaries.
Anonyms and pseudonyms.
Nicknames -- Dictionaries.

Research Advisory Service Topic

2007-09-05T00:21:00.000+02:00

From the Log-in Sheet:

Date: 5/3/06
Time in: 2:00pm
Year in School: 4th
Instructor: Maroudi
Course: History 103
Topic: Interpretation of Dreams before Freud in Medieval Spain

Last Days

2007-08-14T20:53:00.000+02:00

I am officially into my last week here now—my last less than a week, actually. I fly to London on Saturday, and then back to LA on Sunday. I have enough time in London to hit up the TATE Modern, and maybe get me some high tea. The TATE is the reason I am studying art history, specifically Bill Viola’s Five Angels of the Millennium, so I really hope that is on exhibition right now.

Today was my last free day here—Wednesday and Thursday I have class, and then another genius idea from the Berkeley program to have us give our presentations on FRIDAY morning. Our last day here, and we have to spend at least two hours, likely more, making our own stupid presentations and listening to everyone else’s stupid presentations. For a one-unit class, we are expected to have a powerpoint, interviews, handout materials, and give a lecture that people will really learn something from. For one-unit classes, usually you bring cookies on the last day. This shit is ridiculous and a total waste of my time. I emailed a few curators some questions on the Backjumps show, but if they don’t get back to me I am hardly going to chase them down. I was going to ask the gallery attendant some questions, but he spoke less English than I speak of German. So that wasn’t going to happen.

I figured while I was here, I might as well see “ Die Schönsten Franzosen Kommen Aus New York”, a show at the Neues National Galerie. It is just a bunch of really famous French paintings from the Met in New York. It was insanely crowded even with their magic little line system. When you bought your ticket, you got a number than corresponded with a group time, so numbers 1100—1175 would be able to get into the exhibit as of 11:00am, 1175—1240 as of 11:10am, etc. I was number 1609, so I had until 12:50pm to wait. They had a text service, too, that would send you a message thirty minutes before your time to go in. I went to Potsdamer Platz to use the internet and then was about to buy a ticket for the Gemaldegalerie when my text came. I decided to just sit it out in the shade somewhere. The show was good, lots of neat things to see—my old friend Victorine Meurent in a matador suit, a Cabanel Birth of Venus, Matisse goldfish, Rodin, all the big names. There were just way too many people for my liking, and also in museum settings I have to deal with something I really hate about Germans. They push. They will elbow you in the side and then stand directly in front of you. While you are reading something, they will lean over and put their head directly in front of the label. They will not enter into the delicate dance that accompanies a crowded space. They will stand in front of that work or get to the front, everyone else be damned. I would hate to be inside a German building in a fire. Yelling “ENTSCHULDIGUNG” doesn’t seem very polite, so I am trying to learn to elbow back, just in time for returning to delicate dancing museum land.

It was nice to get out of that exhibit and head to the much quieter and less populated Gemaldegalerie, which has German, Netherlandish und Flemish from the 13th to 17th centuries, Dutch from the 17th century, German, English and French from the 18th, Italian, Spanish, and French from the 13th to 18th. It was nice to calm down from the hubbub with some sweet Northern European crucifixions. And then, you start hitting the big ones. Van Eyck’s portrait of Giovanni Arnolfini. His overscaled Madonna in the much smaller church. Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s Netherlandish Proverbs. Geertgen tot Sint Jans’ St. John the Baptist in the Meadow. Vermeer’s Music Lesson and Girl Putting on a Pearl Necklace. And just on and on. Raphael. A study by Botticelli for the Birth of Venus. Some Giotto and Masaccio. It was a nice review and catch-up.

I navigated the U- and S-bahn station without having to look at signs once. I know where I am going now.

Documenta

2007-08-12T18:49:00.000+02:00

I would start with the tale of Documenta and Kassel, but y’all know how I feel about food. It comes first.

Sunday brunches—and brunch buffets—are kind of a thing in Berlin, which is great. Torey and I picked out a place called Nosh in Prenzlauer Berg, which was highly rated for food but warned the staff could be quite snobby. As Ms. Snoberoo, I decided to put forth the effort to let them know they were dealing with one of their own. I put on eyeliner. And wore black. So, basically, if you are in Berlin on a Sunday and willing to throw down a whole nine euros, Nosh is at 77 Pappellalle. You have no excuse. It includes juice. And even Susie made it on time. There was bread pudding, chocolate torte, tiramusu, quiche, salmon, spinach, chicken, bread, jam, nutella, sushi(!), pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, soup, yoghurt, homemade musli, peas, quinoa, cheese, cold cuts, egg rolls, and more. As soon as one plate was empty, the chef brought out something else. The pancakes were seriously, hands down, the best pancakes I have ever had. And now that I eat jam, they were even more delicious with jam. We ate and talked for about two hours and left feeling full, but not too full, and just so happy. There is nothing like a good food happiness.

So, Documenta IIIII IIIII II (12).

Thursday morning I heard news of a train strike. People were saying the S-Bahn and some longer-distance trains were not running. I began to panic, just a little bit. I tried to look up the news but I don’t read enough German to figure out what was going on. However, I did catch this beautiful phrase ,,von 8.00 Uhr bis 10.00 Uhr’’. You know what that means? That means the strike was only going for two hours in the morning. Thank you, German efficiency. My train left that afternoon from the Hauptbahnhof within five minutes of the scheduled time. I love traveling on trains, if they had them go across the Atlantic, I would take the train over a plane any day. There isn’t quite anything like going 250 km/h across fields while your carriage attendant asks if they can bring you anything from the dining car (but not Milchkaffee. They don’t have that, for some reason). I arrived at the Bahnhof Wilhelmshohe in Kassel to find it pouring with rain. Rather than deal with my motel’s directions of “Take the 18 bus”, which is vague at best, I took a cab. As we drove, and drove, I had a sinking feeling that I wasn’t exactly close to the city. My hotel was close to the freeway, but unless you have a car, that really isn’t helpful. So: Lohfelden:Kassel::Lankwitz:Berlin. My hotel was nice enough, I had a queen bed made of hard foam, which is a total pleasure after a tiny twin bed made of hard foam. It was quiet. Eric called as I was about to go try find food, and he caught me up on the news and almost fooled me into thinking he had Sydney at his place. I ventured forth to find food only to realize…the closest thing to me was an IKEA. Oh sure, there was a market, but things in Germany close ridiculously early. I ate half a bag of banana chips for dinner. At least my hotel had CNN in English—and NCIS, Blue Crush, Elektra, and Las Vegas dubbed in German. Also, there were more slugs than I have ever seen in my life, all added together, on the path from the hotel to the bus stop. They congregate in little groups to eat the dead ones, too. And giant ones. And they make this horrible crunchsquoosh sound if you step on one. Ick.

I woke up ready to get going and see some art! I got downstairs for breakfast, found yoghurt and musli, grabbed an extra bun and butter for lunch, and headed out. I got off the bus at the Hauptbahnhof station and then…didn’t see anyone. Anywhere. Where on earth was Documenta? Where were the giant arrows pointing in horribly general directions? I headed into the station and spotted a group of people standing in a circle looking at a map and all pointing in different directions. I also found an exhibition map, but made faster progress, and soon spotted an arrow. Ahhh, there are the people! I bought a ticket, forgot to get a student discount, and headed to the Museum Fridericianum, the first public museum in Europe. Then the documenta-Halle. Then to the Aue-Pavilion. Then the Neue Galerie. Then Schloss Wilhelmshohe, and finally the Kulturzentrum Schlachthof. Sadly, I did not make it to El Bulli in Spain, another documenta venue.

(I no longer trust iTunes. I just put it on random for my whole library and the first song it chooses is William Shatner’s “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.” Granted, it’s my own fault that I have that song, but still. Yet another tally mark against the existence of god; it joins mosquitoes, yellow jackets, and the fact that there are so few varieties of yoghurt in America.)

My favorite piece of all Documenta was titled “A dance for those of us whose hearts have turned to ice, based on the Choreography of Francoise Sullivan and the Sculpture of Barbara Hepworth (with Sign-Language supplement)” by Luis Jacob. It came with a little booklet that puts explains his theories: artist, rebel, dancer, anarchy, ruling classes, masters and slaves, art, chains, blah blah blah. I also could do without the woman in a coat and fur hat dancing and swinging around two shirts on hangers in the snow. As you walked in the room there were two chairs made from branches polished and varnished but otherwise mostly in their natural branchy state against a red wall, with a basket full of the little booklets between. In one of the chairs there was an older, well-dressed man, just completely and totally asleep. It was so perfect I feel like maybe it was part of the show. The entire room had pictures at just below eye level at the perimeter. There were two to five photos per page from advertising to art images, all sharing a common theme or shape or something, and then the page after that would pull from one of the previous photos and develop that, and so on. It was really fun; it provided lots of delightful moments and surprises—Hugo Ball as the Magical Bishop, for example. I hope there is good documentation of it in my catalogue.

I decided, to be on the safe side, to catch the third to last bus home. I made it back to the middle of town with enough time to go to the market and buy some food for dinner, then headed to the bus stop. I got on the bus without incident, and was kind of spacing out, looking out the window, when the bus stopped at Gesamwalde Haus or something like that, and then the bus was turned off. I was the last passenger. The bus driver told me to get off the bus. I did. And then he drove away. There were no more buses coming by that stop, which was odd as the bus was supposed to get all the way to IKEA on Friday. So, facing the option of going into the closing market on the corner and asking them to call a cab or hitch a ride to the hotel, I decided to walk. Oh, I panicked a little bit when I got a corner and couldn’t remember which way to go, and the bus stops had no maps in the map slots, but I slowly worked my way back by means of remembering we turned at the horses, went straight past the home improvement store, turned before the roof tile store, etc. Three miles ain’t nothing but a thang.

At least it wasn’t raining. It was raining when I got back to Berlin, though. I looked up at the roof of the giant glass Hauptbahnhof and it looked as though a river was landing on top. And the train ride back gave me the joy of this sentence from this crap novel I bought at the bahnhof in Kassel (English language options are slim, and tend to consist of the same twenty authors at every place): “The air was hot and humid. It seemed to squat over the yard and buildings like a malignant Buddha" p.362, Labyrinth by Kate Mosse. What the hell is a malignant Buddha? How do those two things attach themselves together in your head? Why would he be squatting? Is Buddha humid? My world gone upside down, man.

Group Outings

2007-08-08T22:34:00.000+02:00

After a few gorgeous—hot, humid, but gorgeous—days, for which I could wear dresses without leggings and had to worry about getting tanlines, I heard someone in my class mention that we would be getting thunderstorms this afternoon. I slumped on the steps of the Nikolai Kirche of Potsdam in Despair. Not only was I in Potsdam, again, but it was going to rain? Oh, cruel fate!

(First time in Potsdam:
Berkeley people went to Potsdam for the well-considered idea of “Let’s go on a bike ride around Babelsberg and Potsdam!” This is great, for me, but, umm, half of the people hadn’t been on a bike in ten years. One girl crashed, although she was fine since people weren’t really going faster than a walking pace anyway. There were hills, like going up Durant, which people who haven’t been on a bike in ten years and would take 15 minutes to walk up…oh wait, they did walk up. It is really precious, very pretty, Sans Souci is stunning, I finally had a döner kebap (delicious) but man. Not the best idea for a group trip. Also, they didn’t know where we were going and we kept getting lost. We lost our GSI person at one point and Herr Euba had to go back and find him.)

My day actually started off quite amusing. I was walking to the bus stop and Mr. Probably Has A Drinking Problem was walking back from the market and when he passed me said, “Well, there goes Ms. Snoberoo!” I replied that it was a lot of fun being so, and then continued on, thinking: that is the cutest insult ever. Snoberoo almost seems complimentary. Snobbybritches would have been harsher. Snoberoo just makes me think of snow bears.

The heavens had the kindness to open just as I got off the bus back at the dorm. It was still sunny and the rain was like water falling from a sprinkler—very nice, gentle rain, at least until about ten minutes later, when the sky clouded over and the thunder, lightning, and sheets of rain began. It has stopped again, and Torey might have just opened the curse she last gave on the bike tour—“I hope it doesn’t rain this weekend!” I cannot have rain this weekend, at least not tomorrow afternoon through Saturday afternoon. I am going to Kassel for Documenta and really do not need to deal with that inconvenience.

Fat Tire Bike Tours has outposts in Berlin, Paris, and Barcelona. If they have any openings after I graduate I would seriously consider working there (if nothing else comes up). Torey and I did the Berlin Wall tour, which lasted from eleven in the morning to five in the afternoon. It was so much fun, even though it was pouring with rain for most of the trip. They have giant beach cruisers, much like my ironically named Twiggy, which are perfect for the city—Berlin is very flat, and has an alarming amount of cobblestone roads and sidewalks. Cobblestones are pretty and all, but road bike tires would not make for a comfortable ride. (Side note: High heels and cobblestones. Think about it.) The tour guide kind of somehow reminded me of my bother, and there were only six people in the group, two teachers from Chicago and two Scottish guys, then us. At one point in the tour, just before we stopped for lunch, we had the opportunity to go down (and up) a “hill”—a giant pit in the ground left from where a bahn station used to be. It was like biking on College the block before you hit campus. I was going so fast back up the hill that the chain came off, and I had enough speed to coast up the other side. It felt so good to be back on a bike, and I had a creepy clown horn I kept turned away from me, but I could have honked at people if I had wanted to do so. Speaking of clowns, I went to see the Cindy Sherman show at Martin-Gropius-Bau, which was excellent. So much amazing stuff, and then the clown series, which is just kind of disturbing in a way that torn-up dolls having kinky sex never can be. It was great to see the UFS and the Centerfolds, and then the History Portraits/Old Masters. The exhibit actually began with this two-minute video piece she had done in school, with a stop-motion story of a paper doll picking out clothes and getting dressed only to be picked up by the owner and stripped and put back in the book. The Bus Rider and Murder Mystery series were also delightful. I was going to treat myself to a catalog or book after seeing the show, but the ones I would have wanted were on sale for fifty euro, so I will just look on Amazon later.

When Torey, Susie, and I went to this club Soda in Prenzlauer Berg a week or so ago, we were crossing a street to look at the street sign and heard someone say hey really loudly. I turned to look back over my shoulder because the voice sounded familiar…and it was Michael. What are the chances? A city with millions of people and we run into one of the only people we know. Soda was a lot of fun, mostly because it has three rooms, two of which play not techno—hip-hop and rock, and then house in both half of the time anyway. We were melting in hip-hop so we migrated to rock, where we staked out territory below one of the only air conditioning vents in the place. We left at three, and it took only two hours to get home! At the bus stop at Potsdamer Platz, waiting for the M48, we had one person puke behind the bus stand, and another one pee! It smelled so great. I called Eric to whimper, because it was not four in the morning in California.

I went to the Kunstraum Bethanien/Kreuzberg the next morning, after a delicious breakfast at Bateau Ivre. I had a big bowl of yoghurt with pear, peach, johannisbeere, melon, banana, and mandarin orange for three euro, and then Der Franzose: a croissant, butter, baguette, some red berry jam I not only tried but enjoyed, and a milchkaffee for four. I love breakfast. The exhibit is titled Backjumps: The Live Issue #3. It was a print magazine at some point but now they have “live issues”—art shows, etc. The show was great, I am thinking now about how street art fits in or can work or does it work in a gallery context. There was a video that showed some graffiti, and some of the stuff in the video was by the same guy who did the stuff in that little alley in LA! So that was really cool to see and be able to get a name. In the bahn station on the way home, Torey and I noticed this guy standing, waiting for the same train as us. It was the same guy that had got on the bus with us that morning! And we weren’t at a major stop or anything, it was kind of an out-of-the-way place. We both get really tripped out seeing people like that.

Rachel and I decided to finally hang out, and I ran into her after class on my way to the bookstore to see if they had anything in English. We decided to check out this little bakery in the only shopping area close to campus and it was delicious and my milchkaffee came in a giant bowl. We are calling it our Newfeli. Later that evening we met up and had dinner and were just about to start some chill drinking when her corkscrew broke off in the cork. So we went downstairs because this guy Brendan from my class lives there and we were in one hall for five minutes while Rachel tried to remember which room was his and we yelled Brendan about ten times and then she thought we should try the other hall…and his door was open, first on the left. We ended up hanging out there with him and this guy from Humboldt (the California one) who is what you would picture from a person at Humboldt, but really cocky that he goes there, which might seem odd. I was the only person at the Osdorfer Straße S-Bahn, and the only person on my train car. It was creepy but also would have been fun in certain situations.

For our second class excursion, we went to the zoo! The first animals through the door were alpacas, which was just terribly amusing to me given my recent preoccupation with llamas, alpacas, and all things Peruvian or Erics in Peru. There were also elephants. One elephant was standing with its back to the ‘audience’ and people were gathering and then it: 1. Shat. 2. Peed. 3. The baby stuck its trunk up to the other ones bum. 4. Baby puts a piece of fresh poo on head and looks terribly pleased with itself. Then tapirs, which I got to see in a zoo, and Eric missed out on in the Amazon, a deer type thing that stood so still I thought it was a statue at first, and a panda that acted like a fat old man. There was a pack of beautiful white wolves that just kept trotting in circles and every now and then one would stop and look at the people behind the plexiglass and it was just heartbreaking. They shouldn’t be in such a small space. After the wolves I managed to forget the depressing side of zoos by watching a brown bear scratch its back on a tree and then the sea lions. I love sea lions, they are the happiest animals in the zoo. The penguins all just stood there staring at the fake rock wall, and then one scratched its head with its foot, wings out for balance, which was really cute and surprising.

The Pergamon museum is very impressive. You buy your ticket, get it ripped, walk into the exhibit hall, and BAM. The Pergamon altar. Holy god is that thing huge, and powerful, and just…wow. It is difficult to process that it is there, so close. It seems like they like sneaking things up on you there. You walk through the Ishtar Gate at one point and then turn around to realize its huge and blue and covered in lions, and then the glory of the processional way does not hit you until you are all the way at the other end of the hall. The Pergamon also had statues of or with dogs, which makes me happy. One was likely commissioned by a Roman family as a memorial for the family dog. He is scratching his head with his back leg in the statue, and his mouth is open, and he looks so dog-y. Good job, unknown sculptor.

The Berkeley people had an exciting trip to Weimar last weekend. Torey and I bought vodka/wine for the four hour bus drive, but decided the whole situation was so sad that drinking would really not help. We had six girls in our room at the hostel, and then an extra bed. A knock on the door introduced Cz1ois;>*5#gowski, this Polish guy whose name we could not pronounce even after he showed it to us on an ID. We later heard from another guy that he had asked to be in a room with girls, probably so he could walk around in his tiny, tight little boxer briefs. Poor Torey had the bunk below him and got quite a show when he heaved himself up. She and I made the decision to take the city tour in German, and we understood only one thing well: Goethe had this muse, and they wrote thousands of letters to each other, and he said something about a gingko leaf being a symbol for the merging of man and woman, and that now Weimar is obsessed with gingko trees and all products from, or inspired by, them. We then had hours to do nothing in Weimar, so we ate ice cream and bought books and read. A tour of Goethe’s house in English was given later in the afternoon by an elderly woman who seemed to think that Goethe was perhaps some incarnation of Jesus Christ, amen. A group dinner was served at 8p, Creeper drank three Long Island Iced Teas, and apparently when people went out later that night, he was doing shots at the bar while other people chilled with beer because “I thought that was what you were supposed to do at a bar.” He was practically carried back to the hostel. I was happy to stay in and sleep. We went to Buchenwald in the morning, which was sad and thought-provoking, and well, what can you really say about a concentration camp? We drowned our sorrows in more Weimarian ice cream and homework on the ride back.

Last night our new, fun Berkeley excursion was “Twelfth Night” in German on a boat that has been made into a little theater. We stopped at a strandbar before, where I talked to my mum and Chris went and bought three drinks for himself all at once. There were a lot of bugs and I was apparently the mosquito bait just like my mum, because no one else has bites. The intermission was after eleven, and some people left then, worried about being able to get back to our dorm. Torey and I were considering it, but did want to see the rest of the play. I am glad we did stay, because when Herr Euba sat down, he made crying baby noises and said in a silly little voice, “Oh no, I can’t stay, I don’t know how to get home. Waaaa!” It ended around midnight, and as we walked back we saw Chris at the bar. Euba said, “Chris, first the bar!” and Torey said, “Immer (always).” Oh, Mr. Alchypants.

Happier Endings

2007-07-27T10:13:00.000+02:00

I finally went out last night; first to a beach bar, then to a club. The ‘beach bar’ started popping up in Berlin the last five years or so. They just cart in a bunch of sand and then set up beach chairs, umbrellas, a little food/drink/bar shack, some palms, and a lot of paper lanterns somewhere along the River Spree. They are really cute and superchill. We met up with Torey’s sister’s friend Michael, who lives in Germany, and his Australian boyfriend Patrick and this girl whose name I can’t remember from Peru (how weird is that? How often do you meet people from Peru?) at the Helmut Newton Museum for Photography. After that I was fully intending on going back to Halbauer Weg, but Susie’s eyedrops and my hesitation to have to call a cab and talk in German at one in the morning and then probably have the driver not know where I am going really kicked in, and I tagged along.

We went to this place called Weekend that is only open Thursday nights I think. It is on top of one of the tallest buildings at Alexanderplatz, with a dance floor and bar on the lower floor and then a big terrace and bar on the roof. The dance floor was pretty small and thus very cramped, but there were some sweet lights, namely a huge grid above that flashed and pulsed and strobed, and then also a wall of lights in different colours that went off in patterns, etc. Nice and dark, though, so no one could see how gross anyone else looked at any given moment. I liked it when they turned them all off as it was really dark, and cooler. That many lights produce a lot of heat. Abby warned me that clubs in Berlin played nothing but electronic, and mygod was she right. Everyone seems really into it, too. I just don’t get how people can dance to computers yelling at them. Real songs let you dance so much better, but this stuff you just kind of twitch rhythmically to a beat that never really changes but sometimes the bass drops out and comes back in…for six hours.

I think the best thing about the club is that German guys will not approach you or hit on you or rub all up on you while dancing. They might come and try to dance with you, but they stay about two feet away. However, American guys have no such sense of personal space, and there were a lot of Americans there. I was saved by my masterful ignoring, weaving, and dancing with Michael, but Torey and Susie got caught, although neither seemed to mind. We stayed, alternating dancing and letting the sweat dry out on the terrace, until the sun rose over Berlin. Michael left us to walk home, and we walked to the U-Bahn, across an Alexanderplatz empty but for us and two other people. The fountain was off, and in the first place the three of us hung out together just last Sunday, in the early morning light, we finally felt like we lived in Berlin.

Little known to us, the “Exploring German Culture” class that the Berkeley students are also taking here is not something that just meets after our language classes (on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday). Instead of having Tuesdays free in addition to our three-day weekends, we have our Berkeley class on Tuesdays. This past Tuesday we went on a walking tour of Berlin led by Herr Euba and David, his assistant here (a Berkeley grad student living in Berlin and studying German-Turkish relations). It was superfun walking around Berlin in the rain with a group of twenty people who walk slower than molasses and do not seem capable of walking and talking at the same time. But at least it got us a little more familiar with some of the city, and ended up with some delicious pizza and a mini-tour of Kreuzberg, kind of.

On Wednesday, we took a boat tour on the River Spree, which was pretty fun, really, as we all got to sit down and be blatant tourists, and Susie got to take a nap. It was cool to see buildings from such a different perspective and be able to put names to places. The architecture in Berlin is maybe my favorite thing about the city so far, other than all the sweet outdoor seating. There are old buildings next to new, which is often cool in the city but out in sketchy Lankwitz is usually sad because a lot of things are old buildings that would be gorgeous if someone hadn’t put hideous popcorn stucco on in the seventies or something. And the buildings that are new in the city are delightfully dynamic—sure, maybe a little symbolism heavy for my taste, but who cares when it creates such awesome government offices. On Thursday, I met my class at Potsdamer Platz, where I thought we would be seeing a German film, or going to one of the museums, or at least taking (yet another) tour. Nope. Nuh-uh. We went to a mall. And took two hours walking around, answering questions about how much this thing cost and where this store is and what this store sold, something we could have done in a quarter of the time if we had done it all at once rather than having to meet up after each section of the assignment. Then we had a tour of the Reichstag, where we listened to some history of the building in the main chamber (with chairs of Reichstag blue, created as a politically neutral color, and is totally purple and not blue), Susie fell asleep again, and then we got to go up to the dome. It was hot in the dome and windy outside, and the dome isn’t really that cool once you’re inside it, so we went up and down and took way too many photos of us in the mirrors on the center spike thingy in the middle that reflects light into the chamber. After dinner at this place near Potsdamer Platz, we met up with Michael at the gallery, and then the night began.

On the S-Bahn home, there was a guy that boarded the train and then once he sat down began muttering madly to himself. And making weird coughing raspberry noises and well, I was not looking at him because I thought that might indicate that I wanted to talk to him. All we really caught was something about Michael Knight and Nightrider. And maybe something about babies. There are crazy bums in Berlin, but they are tricky. They look clean and normal and you rarely see them sleeping in parks, etc, but they get on the train like anyone else and either just sleep or go quietly crazy in their seat, or they start yelling at (to?) everyone on the train, then walk back and forth with a cup for money. Then there are the gypsies who walk around and ask, “Speak English?” and then hold up some little sign asking for money. I just say “Nein” or “Non” for them. Some guy in front of us in the taxi line at the Gare du Nord in Paris said “Oui” which is kind of amusing to me.

Torey and I finally found a “bio” market right next to the Haeckesher Markt stop. It was so nice to walk in and have choices for soymilk! And tofu! And all organic stuff! I had no idea how much of I hippie I was until I spent about 15 minutes staring at the granola. Well, not granola, they don’t really do that here, but muesli. I settled on an Amaranth Schoko-muesli with chocolate, almonds, hazelnuts, bits of date, apricot and apple, honey, and the usual grains. It is pretty fucking tasty. I didn’t really want to find anything here that I liked that much because I didn’t want to have to deal with missing it, but I am so bringing some of this home with me.

Tomorrow we are going on a Berlin Wall tour by bike—finally, some ‘rad Berlin for y’all. Also, today I noticed the brand of toilet paper my bathroom mate buys is named “Happy End.”

Class and touring

2007-07-25T20:12:00.000+02:00

I had my first day of actual class today. It was uneventful. My professor Andrea is really nice and most of the class seems good, too. Something we have noticed: people who take German are either taking it because they need to know it for something, because they already speak French, Italian, Spanish, Polish, and English, and might as well learn one more, or because they are weird. It seems as though the last is really noticeable around here; there are a lot of really socially awkward people. In my class there is a girl with a voice like Fran Drescher only worse, a girl with a serious attitude problem, and then, two of Berkeley’s very own.

There is Boring Story Girl. Boring Story Girl was also, very possibly, hungover this morning. She certainly didn’t look stoked to be there, but she also never came to class except days we had tests in German 1, so I am not really sure why she would choose to take an extra class over the summer. Her hair was at one point dyed yellowish or orangish and is now about halfway grown out, which just looks terrible. She was complaining that she couldn’t figure out how to work her German cell, which everyone is, but everyone else is just saying that because things are in different places, while I am pretty sure hers is actually beyond her. She could hardly add a phone number. Then there is the Creeper. This guy is THAT guy. He takes photos of absolutely everything. In Mitte, the center of Berlin, there are statues everywhere. Most of Berlin has statues everywhere, of people who did something once that might now be of dubious importance. He stops and takes a picture of every. Single. Statue. The act that gives him creeper status, though, is that he takes photos of people posing for photos for other people to take. Does that make sense? For example, three girls that are here are friends. Two of them were posing like they were doing the tango in front of Humboldt University (which is interesting in itself, but maybe it is an inside joke?), and the third was taking a photo of the them. Creeper was as well. Later that day we went to a bar on the river and he took the third and last chair at a table so one of them had to sit somewhere else. And then when they had someone take a photo of the three of them, he leaned into the frame. Maybe he has a crush on one of them, but I am voting for socially awkward with no awareness of where he is (not) wanted. He also wears his backpack on one shoulder, which I just can’t deal with. Then, not in my class but also notable, is the fifth year senior possibly bulimic alcoholic. We went to a pizzeria for a Berkeley group dinner after our walking tour of the city on Tuesday evening, he and Torey both ordered a prosecco to drink. As soon as his first had arrived, he ordered a second. Torey took a sip of hers, he downed it in one gulp. He had a teeny piece of his whole pizza, and I think half of that piece was just torn to little pieces on his plate. He kept going to the bathroom for long periods of time. And by the end of dinner, he had six glasses of prosecco. He is not only poorly informed—he said sixty percent of Berkeley is made up of Asian-American females—but he talks way too much when he is drunk. Luckily, Herr Euba’s assistant here got caught in conversation with him. He also insists that we have met before when I went to a party at his house, which is totally untrue. I don’t go to parties, and of those I have been to, I have never been to one on Channing and Piedmont. He later had at least two beers at the bar—Torey and I left about an hour before everyone else, so we lost our tally.

Rachel dubbed these Berkeley folk to avoid “the lamers.” I fully accept that I am lame in many ways as well, but please let me know if I am this horribly awkward in social situations.

On Monday we had placement interviews for our classes, which Herr Euba said would be “extensive” and so we were all nervous as fuck. It really wasn’t that bad, though my interviewers had no idea what I was talking about when I mentioned Alois Reigl and kunstwollen and got confused. Try explaining kunstwollen in a language you hardly even speak. Rachel and I found a “bio” (organic) café on campus and got biofrappes, which were coffee with sugar, milk, water, and ice—then whipped with one of those little frother things people use to foam milk. So good. We felt kind of Berkeley, specifically Nefeli, which is even nicer for Rachel as her boyfriend Eric works there. I would kill for a Nefeli greek yoghurt right now. Instead I think I am just going to eat some horribly mediocre German brownie mix (the box has its own little fold-up paper pan to cook them in!). I also bought the new Harry Potter, and after I talked to my Eric for about 6 minutes before I ran out of minutes and my phone cut off without warning, I was so upset I decided to just finish the book that night. I did, at three in the morning. I didn’t like it.

Today after class we went into town to get some lunch before taking a boat tour on the Spree. The tour was really cool, we got to see some things I definitely would not have otherwise, especially from such unique angles. Torey, Susie and I hit up KaDeWe afterwards. KaDeWe is Kaufhaus die Westens, a giant department store put up in West Berlin to show how awesome capitalism and trade can be. And amen. Herr Euba said it wouldn’t be impressive to us Californians, so used to malls, etc. but KaDeWe is amazing. It is gigantic. There is a whole floor dedicated to men, one to women, one to kids, one to housewares, one to purses and make-up, accessories and boutiques, etc. The BEST is the top floor—all food. This is what my mum was thinking the Fauchon’s would be in Paris. Just counter and counter and shelf and area after area of food, prepared and packaged, from everywhere in the world. We got dessert, of course. After, we went to a Vodafone, where I saw a guy who looked like a short Chris Chu, and bought 150 euro of minutes, which is 97.86 pounds, which is about five hours of talking time. I hate exchange rates. C’mon dollar, you can do it! Beat the pound!

Addendum: Ok, so that five hours is actually about one if I am calling the US. I need a better deal.

Interwebs discovered

2007-07-22T21:11:00.000+02:00

A giant bugbite appeared on my leg not so long ago. Scratching it through the pocket of my jeans proved difficult, and provided further motivation to buy new sheets, just in case that had anything to do with it. Also, I might have just killed a mosquito.

I headed downstairs at 12:50 this afternoon after a careful 20 minutes deciding which shoes would be best given various inclement weathers. I settled on the converse. The weather settled on not raining while I was outside. We all milled about in the lobby until Matthias, our FUBiS guide, led us like a troop of ADD baby ducks to the university building, which, much like our dorm, is in the middle of fucking nowhere, or as the Berlinerisch goes, j.w.d (janz weit draußen). I entered the building and drifted towards S-Z check-in to find Rachel Mandell, an aquaintance and friend of friends from Casa Zimbabwe. We were hellof stoked to see someone we actually knew. We sat around with another girl from Berkeley, Torey, and then Susie from Harvard and Stephanie from UPenn. We went to the horribly boring and doubly long orientation lecture—doubly long because everything was said in both English and German. We grabbed free food from the buffet, and then skipped out on the ending orientation lecture to go find internet and coffee.

As nothing is open Sunday, we decided to hit up Alexanderplatz, which would seem to have a higher traffic and thus more open things. Rachel said her friend had said to look for a Dunkin’ Donuts as they tended to have internet, but we asked at information and the name of the place was just “Easy internet café.” After a trek across most of Berlin, we arose from the U-Bahn to find streetpunks and their dogs. It felt like home. We were pointed to an internet café, only to find it…above a Dunkin’ Donuts. I have never been so happy to see a donut store in my life. It rained while we were all safely replying to email, checking facebook and myspace, and ummm, reading important news, or something. Rachel and I were totally down with grabbing a donut and shit coffee just for kitsch value, but ended up getting an okay crepe and coffee from some weird little stand instead.

I need more food, I ran out really fast. Torey and I are going to look up a natural foods store at uni tomorrow. And go to a department store. And I need a Vodafone, hopefully one closer than the one I saw at Alexanderplatz today (which was, of course, closed).

Before I go to bed, here is are some phrases in “Berlinerisch” and their English equivalents. The selection of phrases in this magazine really makes me wonder…

Ick bin janz baff! = I am completely surprised!
Ick bin in der Bredullje = I am in a tight spot.
Ick mach dir gleich Beene = Move your butt!
Imma ran an de Ramme! = Down the hatch!
Er hat sich eenen anjedudelt = He’s slightly toasted
Wat haste wieda ausjefressen? = What the hell have you done?
Den hamse injeseeft = You framed him!
Ick liebe dir = I love you
Da kiekste, wa? = You didn’t expect that, did you?

Sonntag

2007-07-22T00:10:00.000+02:00

I woke up this morning to the sound of my alarm, only I didn’t think it was mine because it was too quiet. It stopped. I opened one eye and swatted at the chair until I grabbed the clock so I could bring it within a foot of my face in order to read the time. Eight oh one in the morning. Also, it was raining. It still is. Not sprinkling or drizzling. Heavy, steady rain. There was a huge roll of thunder and clap of lightning about an hour ago. Just rain. I was waking up early today so I could explore, maybe find a coffeeshop to call home for the next month, but with the warning that most stores are closed Sunday from the handout we were given, and the rain, I don’t really want to wander around. I am fine being inside and looking out.

Banana and yoghurt for breakfast. I need coffee. I realized I didn’t buy any cereal yesterday and that is really bumming me out. I should have bought vodka and grapefruit. Because being lonely and drunk is like, the best idea ever.

Still no internet. I can’t look anything up. I cannot search for good coffee in Lankwitz. I cannot look up the calling code for the US so I can call or text y’all. Happy Birthday, Alex. I would have sent you a message yesterday but for the aforementioned reason.

Clouds are moving. Maybe it will clear up. Did I mention the rain is loud? It is falling on the millions of leaves outside my window. I thought it was tiny little houses next door to the dorm, with people really intent on gardening and then maybe barbequing, but I think they are little community gardens from the sign I walked past going to the market. They are pretty. And they have lots of plants for rain to fall on. Everything is so green, I am used to the golden California summer. I don’t know if heat or rain is worse. Yesterday it was so hot when I got into Tegel, and now it is raining. I asked the cabdriver if it was going to rain and I thought he said in three days but maybe he said for three days. I really hope not. It’s hardly great weather to discover my surroundings. I still have an hour and a half to kill before going to that orientation meeting. I am hellof bored. I should study. I should make a list of helpful terms.

Berlin

2007-07-21T17:10:00.000+02:00

You know how the back cover of Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy reads, in big, comforting letters: DON’T PANIC? I need that right now. I have just finished unpacking in my room in Berlin, bells just started ringing somewhere and it is 4:49 pm so unless they ring for ten minutes before the hour something is wrong somewhere, I assume, and they are just droning on and on and I am hungry because the half a cheese sandwich and popcorn on my flights from Paris to Munich and Munich to Berlin were not enough to ward off hunger and I guess I will go to the market soon but omigod I don’t really speak any German and it is starting to sink in. It began to sink in when I couldn’t even carry on a miniature conversation with the six-year old sitting next to me on the last flight. And I just feel like such an ass speaking English. I can say danke, bitte, wasser, kase, milch, brot, I am, I come from, it is hot today, and…that’s about it. And my bed sheets are jersey, the bottom sheet bright orange and the duvet and pillow cover yellow with some horrible pattern and you all know that orange and yellow are not my colors. The pillow ceased to exist as a pillow years ago, so now not only do I need food, I need a new pillow, and new sheets because I can’t deal with these for a month, and clothes hangers, and to learn German. And meet people other than the girl I share a bathroom with who is going home on Wednesday, which means I will have my own bathroom, which I just realized. To top all this panic off, the guy who sets us internet is not here until Monday. I want to check my email. I want to write email. I want to change my location to Berlin on my profiles. I want to find where a Vodafone is so I can add minutes and a text plan to my phone. I want coffee. Normally I would check all this out before venturing into the great foreign-speaking unknown, but I can’t, which is, of course, not helping. Why didn’t I do a month in France? I can actually get by in France. Or just, you know, a few weeks. So I can be home in Berkeley with Sydney, and be there to see Eric when he gets back from Peru, and relax and maybe read The Arcades Project, like I have been meaning to do. Also, I have a sinking feeling that I am not only in the boonies of Berlin, but also maybe the ghetto. I am a pessimist. Don’t be surprised if by the end of the week I have completely revised my opinion. But by the end of the week, I will also have new sheets and internet. Ach danke Gott, the bells stopped.

I just got back from the market now, and if Penny as the name of the market didn’t give me reason for pause, shouldn’t you be worried now? I think it was a discount market. I mean, the bread is pretty good, as is the butter, soymilk does not exist in Europe as far as I can tell, and there was yoghurt, so I am happy, but they also had hardware of the tool and computer varieties. I paid with a 100€ bill and the checkout man (Herr Fischer, going by his nametag), was like “Oh man, a hundred euros blah blah blah” (in german) and I just stood there kind of embarrassed to be paying for my groceries. At least no one can tell I am American.

If it wasn’t for that ugly duvet cover, etc, my room would look very minimalist and nice-ish. Minimalist as a matter of one suitcase, one month rather than determined scheme, but nice-ish nonetheless. I have four polaroids on the wall above my desk, I put my clothes and shoes on the bookshelf in my room, which reminds me of the Andreas Gursky series of “Prada” store shoots. There was a paper lantern in the center of the room, and roman blinds on the windows, so it was a nice base until I made the stupid bed. I am going to have to sleep with an eyemask on though, otherwise I will be waking with the dawn and who the hell wants that?

Next fun adventure: Can I find the Silberlaube by 2:00pm tomorrow for the orientation meeting, given that I cannot find where I am on a map? Or nevermind, because we are going to be escorted there and they gave us directions in the welcome packet? I think the latter.

Londres et Paris

2007-07-20T10:06:00.000+02:00

I love London. It’s not a matter of English being spoken there, or the cabs, or the fact that there I can cross the street without fear of being run over because my mum taught me look right look left look right again, or that I saw people bike couriers there and it reminded me of San Francisco, but just…it is so calm. Even when it is busy, it is a calm busy. It isn’t constantly running to get ahead to nowhere. I am always waiting until I get to go back there—at least this time I have a date! The eighteenth of August, I will be in London until the early afternoon of the nineteenth, when I fly back to the states. I plan on Tate Moderning it up, and getting a high tea if at all possible, because I might as well. I told my mum I was going to sit in the bar at the museum alone all night and she freaked out. I will only do that if someone will come chill with me. Let me know if you are down, or in town. The latter might be a necessity for the possibility of the former.

We took the Chunnel train to Paris after a day and a bit of adjusting to the time change. I wasn’t so into Paris while I was there, but looking back on it, I loved it. I think maybe I just need to go back there on my own or with friends to explore a bit more. Our apartment had the misfortune of being a beautiful space decorated by people with poor taste. We had not only a naked lady on the mirror in the hall, but also one painted on the tile in one of the bathrooms. The floors were original for the building (so, about one hundred years old) and were not in great condition, which made walking very…loud. So imagine my surprise and delight when I hopped from hall rug to a Macchu Picchu rug! What are the chances? That room was so mine. Also, it was carpeted. The little balconies off the bedrooms had red geraniums and other plants in pots. It was lovely, and there were curtains that blocked light so I could sleep in. In the three and a bit days I was there, we went to museums and drank a lot of coffee and I learned I hadn’t forgotten nearly as much French as I had thought.

My first afternoon there, we went into the wineshop downstairs to get some wine (duh) and pate, etc., for dinner. We were talking to Claude, the man who runs the shop, when three of his forty-something friends boisterously entered, a little drunk at five in the afternoon. They were talking in French, then switched to English after Claude told them we were Japanese, and one of them suggested that my clothes would look better on the floor and my paper be better off in his pockets. After discovering we were Californians, it was suggested that I surf Paris with him all night. At some point in all this, he picked me up, threw me over his shoulder, and ran down Rue Etienne Marcel about half a block before bringing me back and dumping me to the ground. Comments on the festivities were made, and he realized I was there with my parents. But embarrassment? Of course not! I believe I broke his heart when I told him I had no phone number, and was leaving Saturday for Berlin. Quel tragedie!’

If you are in Paris, go see Claude at the wineshop at 5 Rue Etienne Marcel. He is a nice guy, and he has two daughters living in California. And go to the brasserie and café next door, and get a café crème. They are delicious, and they come with a little truffle on the saucer.

Also, talk to the cabdrivers in French, if you know French. They are so happy to help you out, talk about Arnold Schwarzenegger, and pollution—and it really helps you feel better about being a designated translator when you end up where you were supposed to go. If all else fails, je ne sais pas ou tu ne parles pas anglais.

D24.C65 1982

2007-07-14T06:28:00.000+02:00

Title The great international disaster book / James Cornell
Author Cornell, James, 1944-
Edition 3rd ed
Place/Publisher New York : Scribner,
Date c1982
Description viii, 472 p. : ill. ; 22 cm
Notes Includes index
Bibliography: p. 449-459
Subject Headings Disasters.
Location(s):
Doe Refe D24.C65 1982
Non-circulating.
Loan period: non-circulating