I’ve recently announced my decision to move back to Los Angeles from Berlin, and I can’t believe how hard of a decision it was considering the simple fact that:
I… Hate… Living… In… Berlin….
Wow, did I really just say that? Am I allowed to say that?
Here’s the thing: Berlin is cool. Berlin has cred. I think we’re completely brainwashed to believe that it is so completely uncool to say something like “I hate living in Berlin” because that automatically makes me uncool and, um, uncredible (?). So it took me a while to sack up enough to say out loud the reason why I, and so so so many other people, constantly complain about living here.
But uncoolness aside, the fact that it took me so long to admit that I hate living here has to do with another type of brainwashing, which is this idea that I’m supposed to be super effing happy with everything all the time.
So despite the fact that living here has put me in a perpetual bad mood for an entire year, I tried to convince myself to be positive about Berlin, and yadda yadda yadda. And there are things I love about Berlin, namely my friends, colleagues, students and the aesthetic buffet that is the prolific street art covering most surfaces. But I can feel in my bones that personally and culturally, I don’t belong here.
So what’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with admitting that this is a place I don’t relate to–if for nothing other than the simple reasons that I don’t smoke or drink beer–and a place in which I cannot envision myself thriving in the long run?
I don’t care what anyone says any more. I no longer believe that admitting that I hate living here is a negative thing to say. It’s another way of saying “I don’t belong here”, which to me is just a fact. It’s a fact that will help me get closer to the place where I do feel like I belong, just like trying on clothes that don’t fit will help find the ones that do. What’s negative to me is the constant bitching that goes on without any real accountability; I’m not saying that I hate it here only to perpetuate the compulsion to say it. I’m getting the f outta dodge.
For the record (whoever is keeping one), Berlin is a fantastic place to visit. The street art is just amazing, and it’s a place everyone should experience just for the environment.
BUT–and not that it matters–there are some things about this place that my GOD I just do not understand:
1. The Germans are fanatic about collecting and returning bottles for the recycling deposit, and yet there is broken glass EVERYWHERE, because the trendy (and passive aggressive) thing to do is to throw your beer bottle on the sidewalk like a duschbad when you finish it, to show your friends how kuhl you are.
2. Not only is there dog shit everywhere, because Germans have a lot of dogs and apparently no aversion to or compulsion to be accountable for their dogs’ refuse, but I have on many occasions actually seen people pull down their child’s pants, lift them up, and hold them over the sidewalk–ie, that place where humans all walk with the shoes they also bring into their houses–until the kids crap right there. What… The… !@#%$#???
3. If you need to call a company, be it your phone company, internet provider, or even to buy tickets to a show, not only are there no 800 numbers, but they actually charge you money, usually around 14 cents/minute. I honestly can’t believe people tolerate that sort of shit, but…
4. If someone at a company that you pay, like a restaurant, taxi service, internet provider–anything, really–makes a mistake, they will argue with you til eternity about it to try and get out of fixing that mistake. I once had a five minute argument with a waitress because I ordered a plain cup of coffee and she brought me a latte. “Why the hell would I order a latte when I don’t drink milk?” I asked. “Because that’s what you ordered,” she said.
There’s plenty more. Again, not that it matters. And why doesn’t it matter? Because I’m leaving. If I were staying, I would be a negative duschbad for living in a place I can’t stand and bitching about things I can’t or won’t change. It’s not my country or my culture, and I’ve had enough experience with immigrants complaining about my country and culture to know that I believe anyone who is determined not to integrate with the culture of the country to which they have immigrated is just being an ass.
But now that that’s done, I’m going to dedicate the next post to the most awesomest mural I found a couple weeks ago.
I just had a lovely jaunt to Venice to perform at Ca’Zanadi for the Biennale art festival. Venice is a town of smartly dressed dogs and meter-wide “streets” that can only be successfully navigated by people who are relaxed but alert after an hour long spritz break followed by an hour-long espresso break.
There wasn’t a whole lot of street art in Venice that I saw–mostly just random tagging, but the tags were all layered upon each other in a cool looking way on specific doors and other enclosed areas. And I found this gem of a stencil near the Ca’Zanadi. Look closely–yes, those are chewing gum penises.
Random nod to the west side… To which “west side” were they referring? California? Portugal? Ireland?
My contribution to Venice street art: Bloody Mario, made from leftover “blood” from my performance.
