Berlin, baby
Between the familiar feel of the unfamiliar and the unfamiliar feel of the familiar, the former has overcome. The world I know and love involves comfy youth hostels, another tube, a whole new strange city.
I am cheating on facing the unfamiliar, though. I joined the boy scouts, formerly known as the first years, in their latest quest. Being part of the group involves drinking beers and jump-dancing, almost break-dance-fighting (that’s a quote, you know from which movie or else, find it out) in a “Russian disco”, to unknown, possibly obscene lyrics. A party with a dress code I could not anticipate, feeling very un-punk, overdressed in jeans, feeling genèvoise.
Walking the U-bahn with the guys, I channeled Pulp Fiction, wearing a head scarf, witnessing pointless (not to say Seinfeld) conversations of the following kind.
J: "What time does our plane leave?"
PL: "Two twent-five. Do I look like a fucking clock? I am not a fucking calander, ok?"
And
F: "You know the rule."
S: "I am not listening."
F: "Don't fuck up."
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From Donnie Brasco (gangster movie with Al Pacino & Johnny Depp)
FBI Technician: What's forget about it?
Donnie Brasco: Forget about it is like if you agree with someone, you know, like Raquel Welch is one great piece of ass, forget about it. But then, if you disagree, like A Lincoln is better than a Cadillac? Forget about it! you know? But then, it's also like if something's the greatest thing in the world, like mingia those peppers, forget about it. But it's also like saying Go to hell! too. Like, you know, like "Hey Paulie, you got a one inch pecker?" and Paulie says "Forget about it!" Sometimes it just means forget about it.
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