Airport body-scan machines

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Here is a telling article about the "security" measures being quickly implemented in American airports. They are feckless, useless, intrusive, time-consuming and over-the-top...but it's the human personnel that are worse: Security screeners shout at travellers and are curt to the point you want to punch their big mouths. TSA apparently hires from the bottom of the job pool. The lowly employees they hire wouldn't and couldn't stop a terrorist if one were going through the line because smoke-and-mirrors and shouting is no match against the real thing. Read on:

Opt Out of A Body Scan? Then Brace Yourself 

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No new posts due to sickness

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The lack of updates is owing to a stomach bug I caught a couple of weeks back. Being sick is the pits!!

But feel all better now and have my appetite back...so will resume posting some of the juicy bits of my European travels.

Ciao

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My first Oktoberfest (Munich)

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Was going through my writings when I discovered the following post was sitting in the Draft folder still un-published! On top of that it's a "timely" piece: about my first trip to Munich two years ago last week:


I visited Munich only because I was travelling up from Austria. It was mere coincidence that my arrival was during the famous Oktoberfest (which is actually held in late September. Go figure) and I thought, Oh this should be something!

stupid shit seen at Oktoberfest

stupid shit not seen at Oktoberfest

Oktoberfest is great -- if you like your drunks alive, loud and sausaged in lederhosens. Me? I prefer drunks quiet, dead, and maturely dressed. Everywhere the head swiveled the eyes - and ears and nose - encountered merry drunkards who looked like rosy cheeked escapees from a woodcutting work camp. And where there were gaps there were plenty of equally bad dressed American and Australian tourists who gladly acted fools. As I sat in Burger King soaking up the free wi-fi some New Jersey assholes shouted AND sang cheers for the New Jersey Jets. Classless.


Their girlfriends just laughed along. Any social studies course that posits females are selective about their mates for the logical reasons of protection, stability, breeding prowess is full of shit; namely because females dig jerks (lifelong projects) and, therefore, are not logical creatures.

I was in Munich for less than one day and was 'randomly' stopped by two pairs of pigs on the grounds of "border control"

Onwards. My impression of Munich is also smeared by the racism of its detectives. At least, they posed as undercover agents. (This presented a real problem to me for how am I supposed to know an undercover pig from a con man posing as an undercover pig? A very popular scam in Latin America and there is no reason to think it does not happen here.)
I was in Munich for less than one day and was 'randomly' stopped by two pairs of pigs on the grounds of border control. The EU has no borders.
But as all the white and liberal and educated, homosexual-friendly people tell me: There is no more racism.

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Italian women are racists. Italian men are racist peacocks

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Italians are not known to be all that hospitable towards black people. I heard about it before I got here. Was told the racial attitudes were different between the northern and southern guidos. But it is not. I experienced the attitudes of contempt last year when I visited northern Italy; experienced the attitudes of contempt this year while I'm visiting Rome.  Especially from the women.

Italy is a racist society

Old cunts clam up when I approach and just watch me...like doberman pincers.
If they have room to scram, they really make a show of moving out of my path. Those behind counters give off an icy vibe. Typical of Italians, they are legends in their own minds...glamorous movies have really hyped their heads into thinking they are the most desirable women on Earth. They are not.

And if Italian birds are serious about looking like 'all-that', then they have only  to take a cue from their male counterparts who clearly know how to dress and pluck their eyebrows better than the women. God, Italian men are terribly vain about their appearances.  

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This Sunday is a perfect ten

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Today's date is 10.10.10. 
Oh ain't that groovy now!

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Brugal tastes soooo good

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My flatmate in Germany visited NYC - don't get me started on NYC - and I was smart enough to ask him to bring back a bottle of that yum-yum good Dominican rum called Brugal. Oh it is soooo smooth...and since New York City is an annex of the Dominican Republic (like Puerto Rico and the worst parts of Italian culture) I knew the liquor could be found there. Afterall it is where I discovered it.

Like a superhero my tall Teutonic flatmate, indeed, stepped up to the challenge and returned with a bottle of the elixir vitae I  enjoy so much. And, three weeks later, I'm still travelling with some of it...don't think it will last another two weeks, though. 


Booyah!

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When in Rome...

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Rome is such a fascinating city. All the things one sees in pictures really does exist here: the Colosseum, the church artifacts, the marble statues, the espresso-loving Italians, the mopeds, the fountains, and, of course, the Vatican. Put to see it up close is striking; not so much for it's grandeur but that it actually exists and, yes, is as grand as you had imagined.

I have been in Rome for a full week. The weather has been beautiful throughout (there was one day of grey and light rain). When I first saw the famous Colosseum I was in awe - naturally! - because the reality was so surreal; I somewhat didn't expect to actually see the actual thing. I know that sounds a bit off. 

Today I was privy to a tour of the city via motor scooter. The nice Italian - and they are not all nice or welcoming to dark skinned people! - gave me a ride on the back of  his moped. It truly makes a difference to see the city this way. Travelling through the subway sucks. Travelling above ground, however, keeps Rome from seeming so claustrophobic and primitive...even if one isn't driving a zippy moped.

I saw the Trevi Fountain, the stock exchange, the Pantheon, two churches with amazing, jaw-dropping Baroque art, a military procession at the president's palace, and one expensive lunch (9€ minestrone soup and bread). ¡Mama mia! 

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Fuck off Gypsy!

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As I was leaving Berlin last week to catch my flight to Rome a beggar Gypsy girl had the stupidity to try to stop me for spare change. I can't stand these people. I'm not a neutered German so I can say that unapologetically. 

Here I was partially loaded down with luggage and speeding through Alexanderplatz and this ragamuffin thinks I'm going to stop and fish out some euro coins for her scheming ass?! Nigga please! She could have been holding two more babies (props!) and I couldn't have cared any less. 

Without slowing down I countered her "Do you speak English?" with a terse, Bitch get outta my way!

"You mother a bitch", she replied a bit stunned by the fast retort to which I, without missing a step, said, But she works, you lazy bitch.


Popular media are chastising French President Sarkozy for his efforts at eradicating the parasites but somebody has got to make the effort and do something.

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Comfort foods for American expat

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There are some American goodies that one learns it is hopeless to expect in foreign stores. For me it's been, foodwise, milk in plastic containers, Oreo cookies, crunchy peanut butter (if there is any peanut butter at all), B-B-Q sauce, popcorn and Pepsi cola; toiletries: Crest toothpaste, Palmers body lotion and black shaving products - which I have to hunt down an ethnic store to buy because white people skin products are shit - and antibacterial bodywash; miscellany: Vanity Fair or Newsweek magazines and service with a smile.

I've encountered success with finding some items, and all by surprise. Last month in Barcelona I found Brugal rum - my favorite rum - on the shelf in Carrefore and some time after that in Berlin my eye spied a generic "American" brand of crunchy peanut butter. Yum-yum!

Two weeks ago I lucked out with a black store that was plenty stocked with Palmer products and Magic razorless creams. And then I was wandering through the Reicher supermarket one night and - lawdy be! - there was popcorn seeds. To boot, the popcorn was endorsed by the famous TV chef Nelson Müller. Never heard of him before in my life but he's a black man.

Booyah! 

 

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Gold ATM

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If it was installed when I was in Madrid last month I would've 

stopped by. Booyah!

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No 100watt bulbs in Berlin

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I think the German authorities have something against high wattage light bulbs. I cannot find any store in Berlin which sells any household light bulb above 60 watts. What the ?! No wonder so many Germans are bespectacled. 

And another thing I've noticed with German-speaking  'volk': they don't often beg pardon after bumping into you or stepping on your foot. 

Lucky for her I don't know how to say bitch in German

All language courses instruct non-German speakers to us "entschuldigen Sie" (excuse me). What the courses never mention is how rarely used is this basic expression. A woman, with a scowling, scrunched up face, stepped too close to me on the bus today and I had to shout at her, Entschuldigen Sie. Lucky for her I don't know how to say bitch in German. Hello!

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Shoot 'em up in Lörrach (Germany)

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I was considering the positives of moving to/near Lörrach, a quiet small town in the south of Germany bordering with affluent Switzerland. I enjoyed my visit there last week but after reading the news of the shoot-'em-up bitch who left her mark at a hospital I am, as you well imagine, enjoy the fact that I was already out of Dodge.

Woman opens fire in Lörrach

Hello!

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Japanese precision !!

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You have to see this to believe it.

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This is too funny

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That's some serious spin on that ball! 
Check out the proud jock goal-keeper thumping his chest...like an idiot.

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Lose something, find something

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Thinking back on this cell phone episode it was kinda funny how things evolved. A couple of days after losing the phone I find a bouquet of flowers in a subway station. How nice! I love buying flowers; I love free ones even more. The rule of Bizarro: if you lose something, you're bound to find something just as nice. But get this: Later that afternoon I discover twenty euros fell from my back pocket. Oh crap!

Rule of Bizarro: if you lose something, you're bound to find something just as nice

I guess that was about how much those fancy flowers cost. C'est la vie....

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$$ fee to enter U.S.A. for travelers

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This is just ridiculous. Now foreign travelers coming to America must pay $14 if they are not already in possession of a U.S. visa. The long-winded name for this tourist tax is the "operational and travel promotion fee" and it extends to citizens of the EU. Naturally the EU is none too happy about this -- and understandably so.

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A weekend of shopping (Berlin)

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The past weekend turned out to be one of shopping. Didn't plan on it but the stubborn ache in my back got me to thinking, It's gotta be the shoes, because bad footwear does contribute to chronic back pain. So last  Saturday I took my cheap ass to a shoe store in Alexanderplatz and made a point of getting a pair of NAME BRAND kicks -- on sale, of course darlings. Did you know they still make British Knights?! I didn't. Wound up buying a pair of black & gold Adidas (my first pair) because when in Rome....

On Sunday I was supposed to go to Cologne but when that plan fell through I found myself in, of all places, a flea market. Told myself I'd just stroll through. Yeah right. When I left there -- in under an hour, thank ye very little -- I was the new owner of a pair of fine leather gentlemen gloves, an H&M sport coat, a leather billfold, and an electric adapter for my EU machines when I go back across the Pond.

After a light Sunday workout -- abs and weight-free routines -- I strolled back through the flea market but, probably for the best, found no had-to-have items...yet since I was in need of a cell phone (this was two days before I reclaimed my 'handy' from lost & found) I went across the street to the local Media Markt and actually did not buy the cheapest phone on the shelf. Omg, sometimes I frighten me! My new Samsung slides open and includes a camera, camcorder, dictaphone, FM radio, headphones AND receives calls. I also picked up a mouse for my laptop.

And just like with the Adidas I made sure to claim a tax-free receipt of purchase so that when I go through Customs I'll receive a cash refund of the sales taxes. Hello!  

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Tried to visit Cologne but I was mitfahrfucked

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The plan was to visit Cologne for the weekend and all appeared promising: travel was arranged (via mitfahrgelegenheit.de) and so were accommodations (Meiniger Hostels). The Sunday morning was so sunny and happy. I left the apt without haste and arrived to the designated meeting spot on time.

Walked around the area about four goddamn times and still spotted no silver Toyota or anybody waiting around looking for me. In short order I realized I'd been mitfahrgelegenfucked. Bastard! My trip to Cologne was -- poof! -- gone.  Oh well. I might have tried to arrange a later ride but, man, I just wasn't feeling it. I hear everything left Cologne for Berlin anyway.... Maybe I'll give it another shot another time another day. 

 I was mitfahrgelegenfucked

In the meantime I left the "meeting spot" without haste and, after a pleasant detour through a flea market, arrived back home no worse for the wear. 

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Someone found my lost phone

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Well I'll be doggone! After going two weeks without a cell phone I find out my lost phone was found and turned in to BVG's (Berlin public transportation department) Fündburo, or, Lost & Found office.

It never occurred to me that someone would not take the phone for themselves. Am ashamed of that but not ashamed to admit it. Several days after leaving my phone on the bus my flatmate offhandedly asked if I'd reported it to the city's lost & found. Whuuh? The thought never crossed my mind! I felt so stupid to have neglected such an obvious first step (then also, I wasn't terribly bothered with the lost so naturally I exerted no energies in its recovery).

Germans are such honest people 

So: I phoned first and described things as best I could remember and was surprised as all hell when the gentleman came back on the line and said, I think someone has found your phone, and proceeded to give me metro directions to the office; I got over to the building before it closed and waited in a short line. Everybody who lost something walked out with that something back in their possession. Then it was my turn and, lo and behold, archived in a metal filing cabinet was my cell phone! Das ist gut!

After showing viable identification and paying 7€ the cheap and near antiquated gadget was again mine. There was even a new text message on it.

Germans and Canadians -- despite my opinion of Canada its citizens have a stunning reputation for returning even loaded wallets! -- are such honest people when it comes to returning other peoples' stuff.

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I first experienced bed bugs in NYC

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I had long thought bed bugs were a part of nursery rhyme folklore but, noooo, those suckers are real. And vicious! I first experienced a dose of them in NYC when I stayed a week in this hotel on 8th Avenue. Good God! I didn't grow up with them and didn't know what the #@%! to make of the insects...but I soon learned to sleep covered up from neck to toe!!

Now the U.S.A. is experiencing an "outbreak" of bed bugs.

It wasn't me!

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I lost my phone and I don't care

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Last night I lost my mobile phone on the city bus and was pissed for all of one minute. I shrugged it off. What bothered me, really, was that no one called my attention as I got up (assuming, that is, if any one spotted my phone as I left the seat). It was cheap used 'handy', as they say in Germany, and I was glad to be rid of it. Even more glad I didn't add minutes to it earlier in the week like I had intended to do. Now to have put money on it and then lost the doggone thing: THAT would have pissed me off.

C'est la vie.

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Inception (movie)

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I paid 10.50€ to see Inception and loved it. The movie, that is, not the price. At ten euros I don't plan to be going to the movies too often or anytime soon again. My oh my that's some money! 

The whole time travel/dream reality crux of the movie is engrossing and, thankfully, high-minded; and the texture of the film -- exxxcellent -- is like a throw-back to old cinema when players dressed in suits and ties and gowns and even the furniture stood out as touchable, and settings meant something besides two actors in front of the camera. I guess 'details' is another way of putting it. When detail is paid to even the window curtains you can feel them rustle without a pointed camera shot.

Some aspects of the story are debatable but all good time travel stories are thought provoking in as much as they are entertaining.

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Immigrant workers in Spain

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Looking back on it, every time I felt slighted by the customer service in Spain the worker was an Indian-looking girl. Typical of her primitive caste, she probably felt it beneath her to have to wait on me. But get this: that's what waitresses do...they wait on customers, including black customers. Somebody needs to bring those bitches up to speed on the job description. Not that the Spanish people are racist-free sans the Indian-looking waitresses.

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Made it to the Barcelonan beach

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On Monday I made it to the beach -- again -- and this time I made my self stay. Apparently I (or my bathing suit) cut quite the figure because everyone wasn't hiding the fact that they were looking at me. Does discretion count for nothing these days! The water was colder than I remembered from three years ago. But that was three years ago and we do tend to re-color our memories. Many people were selling things on the beach but they weren't as bothersome as what I'm familiar in Mexico. Not an irritant at all, actually. Go figure! Anywho, I bought a mojito from this kid who started making them for sell next to my beach towel. Wasn't the best mojito but, hey, it was 3€ and the kid was just making a hustle. Gotta admire that.

Before the beach, though, I took in a back massage at noon and learned that the months of stress were solidifying in my shoulders. I sort of knew that much already but a masseur can only do so much in one session so...I've got to stop thinking of massages as "luxuries" and more as necessities. Because, man, I don't go through Life inactively and maintenance is never a thing to put on the back burner.

On Tuesday I made up my mind to travel to Madrid. I made it up too late and was only able to book a seat on the 4:30 bus. Thing is, it takes about eight hours to get from Barcelona to Madrid via bus. The ride was pretty boring and the landscape is as well. The one cool thing was seeing the bull silhouettes during various points of the trip.

I arrived just past midnight. I was surprised by the lack of facilities on the bus. Why in the hell would you use a bus without a bathroom on an eight-hour treck?! Quite inconsiderate of the company (ALAS), I think. From the bus station I quickly rang two hostels and lucked out with a bed in one. Whew!

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Went to see the bulls but the bulls were full of it (Barcelona)

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So nice to be in Barcelona with its sunny Barcelona weather! The day before I arrived it rained all afternoon long in Berlin and my connecting flight in Prague also saw grey clouds and rain; but as soon as we reached Catalonia skies it has been nothing but blue skies onward.

I was anxious to get down to the beach today but that eagerness dampened upon seeing all the other people already crowded on the sand. Like a hard-on zapped at the mere sight of Ellen DeGeneres, my interest in an afternoon at the beach went limp. Oh well maybe mañana.

A McDonald's ice cream cone brightened my mood as I walked back to my room to get ready for an evening at the bullfights. Olé! But it wasn't to be. 


When I get to El Monumental, the last active ring in Barcelona, the people at the gate won't let anyone through without a ticket and all the ticket windows are closed. Time was 7 o'clock and the fights started at 6:30. Why would they close the box offices this early? Seems stupid to me. Even more so when it's a known fact the stadium is never even half full -- and after next month will be zero full owing to the ban on bullfights. There was quite a handful of disappointed tourists. Oh well. That's more money in my pockets.  

I hate spending money; so I need only the slightest provocation to keep it in the pocket

One thing I've learned being black is never to beg anyone to take your money. If the store clerk is too busy or surly to greet me or wait on me, then fine. My money spends just as well at the next business. As it is, I hate spending money; so I need only the slightest provocation to keep it in the pocket. Would've loved to have watched the dying sport in the famed El Monumental but I can think of something else to do with my 75€. You can believe that. Business MUST be good if they can turn it away. Olé! olé! 

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Moved into the new place

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Today I moved into the new place. Whew! The area is "far" from everything and starkly residential, almost 'backwoodsy' to the metropolitan Berlin am used to, but it was the only room-for-let that let me in. And, hey, as the saying goes, you get in where you fit in. Once I learn the mass transit schedule and a few of the nearby stores and hang-outs, though, I'll be all right. At least the place is a quiet one; I think quietude is a tremendously undervalued quality.  

you get in where you fit in

At any rate, I have Internet, washing machine, bath tub plus bed and furniture so...I dare not complain.

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Porky & Bess 75th Anniversary (Berlin)

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The New York Harlem theatre company is performing The Gershwins' Porky and Bess at the Komische Oper here in Berlin. I would love to go and see the production but at the low cost of fifty odd euros, well, old man river is going to have to roll on without me.

Komische Oper Berlin

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I shall stay

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Finally secured a room (in a shared apartment) for next month. And it only took me a whole month to accomplish it.

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Should I stay or should I go?

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That is the question. A glimmer of light brims the horizon of my house hunting ventures. I finally connected with a room for let and, as of this evening, the fellow and I have agreed to meet and shake hands on it. (I tell you, it's so much simpler dealing with men.) Still, am holding my breath and crossing my fingers. Who knows, right? Maybe he disapproves of my writings, too.

For now, at least, yesterday's plans of bidding auf wiedersehen to Berlin next week are...pushed down the list a bit. But just a bit.

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Freaky masturbatory stalker

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I was walking home late last night. Very late. No one else was out, the streets were blotched with shadows and blanketed with silence, and all but a disparate few windows were blacked out.

A rustle soon caught my ear and I became aware of a strange man literally lurking in the bushes. He looked scary. Not evil scary but, rather, so out of place that his very presence ranked suspiciously unkind and alarming. He wore a jacket fastened up to the collar, was calm and uttered not a word or a nod in the way of "Guten nacht" but only quietly watched me pass by. After several steps of hearing nothing but the smacking of my

leather soled footsteps I wondered -- worried -- if he mightn't be in pursuit with quiet sneakers and dared to look behind. No, he was not following me per se; but there stood he still, camouflaged by shadow, watching me. Had I seen something I wasn't supposed to? Was he a fag, a rapist, a thug, a psycho, a murderer?!


The avenue suddenly was too empty and dark. So unforgivably unpeopled.

After some moments the stranger appeared on the other side of the street peddling his bicycle one-handed en pace with me. (I took some comfort in knowing that at least he was across the street.) His other hand was tucked away in his front pocket and the stranger made it obvious he was watching me. Then it became obvious what he was doing with his other hand. Goddamn pervert was masturbating. Masturbating, stalking, and riding a bike...even sick motherfuckers can multitask!

He pursued this kick for a while. When I glanced over again he was out of sight. Just then I came to a major road and gave up the night stroll and quickly hailed a cab

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Screw ya Volkshochschule (Berlin)

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I am actually interested in formally learning the German language. I wasn't before but I am now. Some people told me to look into the Volkshochschule ("People's school") in Kreuzberg. It's where lots of foreigners go to study the language and the course fees sounded really cheap. Sounded good to me. I made sure to get clear directions; but, still, I couldn't find the building. The day was a sweaty hot one and, so, I gave up to try again another day. Got nearly identical directions from another individual -- so I knew I was walking in the right direction -- and set out again for the well known you-can't-miss-it Volkshochschule. But, dammit, miss it I did. 


Then, with sweat dripping from the forehead and down my back, I came to realize the school building is completely obscured by construction work! Scaffolds, tarps, fencing, barrier tape cover from the entrance up to several feet of the building. I passed up the place umpteenth times...and all because no one at the school thought enough to put out a sidewalk sign indicating HERE IS VOLKSHOCHSCHULE. WE'RE STILL OPEN!


What kind of professionalism is that? If they're not smart and thoughtful enough to direct people to the school, then I have misgivings about how well they can teach me German. After all the effort it took me to find the hidden place I was too put off to even bother to enter and inquire about enrollment. So to Volkshochschule I say screw ya!  

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Birds of a feather prefer to flock together

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The apartment saga continues. I know that birds of a feather flocking together is more than a rhyming truism but I ever wonder that people think themselves above such "simplistic" old-fashioned facts. Everyone likes to think he is an Individual, impervious to advertisements and peer pressure as he marches to the beat of his own drummer confident of his ability to freely express himself to whomever he pleases however he pleases. Well, if that were so I'd have a ton more friends than non-friends because I believe in my beliefs no matter the crowd, and know something about my allure of advertisements and disdain for peer pressure.

 I went in search of a furnished room for a week; they were in search of a like-minded friend. A clone.

If birds of a feather didn't need to flock together I mightn't keep losing out short-term lodgings (weekly) to "a friend of a friend." There is a lot of group-think going on in Berlin...where everyone is supposedly an Individual or artist of one degree or another. Or I would still have the room I agreed to rent yesterday (for 1 week) if the girl -- once again, a female -- hadn't read my web log with a collectivist mind. See, my freely and articulated writings do not agree with those of hers and her lot who are of the homosexual militancy. I pegged the lot in under a minute of viewing the apartment. I knew what they were. I guessed how they rolled. So? What did it matter to me? Nothing.

But that's the folly of my individuality. I went in search of a clean, furnished, wi-fi capable room for a week; they were in search of a friend, a like-minded friend. A clone. Once again, the non-conservative person-- young liberal-minded people are so above labels --ha!-- they dismiss 'liberal' along with anything in the affirmative. They cannot say what they are, only what they are not and they definitely are not conservative so I can safely identify these clueless rebels as non-conservative -- showed her inability to be open-minded, to think outside of the box, to engage outside of the familiar, to live with differences. 

Everyone likes to think he is an Individual. Well if that were so I'd have a ton more friends than non-friends.

But maybe I paint the picture too dramatic. After all I didn't enter the apartment espousing this and that (she read my web log); there was no time or need for sharing politics and moral philosophies. They were of a different cut and I didn't care. I have experienced and slept in far more uncomfortable, unfavorable and dire elements than a flat full of eco-friendly, dyed lesbians with a pseudo relativistic philosophy of life. But there I go again being dramatic: they likely haven't a philosophy of life...and probably couldn't parse together the above sentence. Moreover, the girl and roommates wouldn't even be in the flat. So...the week long rent would not have  amounted to a test of anything. 


And here I thought the Dodo bird was extinct.

 

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No match for a friend of a friend

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So far I've avoided encountering Pearl the landlady. But, then again, I've avoided closing  any apartment deals. It seems that every time I leave from viewing a place, after getting lost trying to find it -- people in Berlin couldn't be bothered to give the most helpful of directions -- a "friend of a friend" "finally" comes along in need of the room. And, of course, this friend of a friend gets the room (translation: I don't) because, hey, what are friends for?

Seems more than a little fishy to me. I don't smoke, have no piercings, am clean-cut.... I don't get it. Beats me. Most of the rentees have been girls so maybe there is something to that. Do they feel threatened by my presence? Oh well. Fuck ém. I don't intend to live out of hostels the whole time I'm here and if I can't land an apartment in Berlin, then that's just all the more reason for me to keep on truckin' baby. Booyah!

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A friend sent me the below snapshot and all I can say is, Oh those Germans!

 

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A day of buying, buying, buying

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I hate spending money. And how! But you gotta do what gots to be done when it gots to be done. Money is no good if you don't use it. Just ask that old Indian woman who lost her mattress full of about one million dollars...hahaha. That'll teach her to hold out on her family.

So today I bought another set of hair clippers to replace the one I just bought two weeks ago -- from a nickel & dime chain called Pfennigland (A German version of the dollar store) -- that got busted against the tub yesterday while I was in the process of cutting my hair resulting in 1) a jacked-up head and 2) a chink of enamel being chipped off which meant 3) I had to purchase a tube of enamel repair to white out the black speck.

After dinner and a nap I went out and found a used cellular for 20€ to replace the old one from last year (30€) which I choked and twisted to mechanical smithereens this morning because the damn piece of crap didn't turn on; that's the second time in four days the wake-up alarm slept in! Thank goodness I was already awake this time and didn't miss my appointment. But, nope, no room in my life for crap. Don't need what doesn't work. And I don't like phones anyway.

No room in my life for crap. Don't need what doesn't work

And since I was already in the store, and pleased with my clippers purchase (8€; and made in Germany, not China thank ye very much), I decided to spend a few pennies and try out this anti-sweat spray (because, baby, it's HOT in Berlin!). I think it works like talcum powder but only liquefied...liquid talcum. Smells nice and, at least, won't dust up my shirts.


Man, a bad hair day is a bitch...but now my head is back to its handsome bald self. Mama mia!

bad hair day

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Berolina Backpacker (Berlin - Charlottenburg)

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Last year I wrote about my stay here (earlier review). This time around the rates were a little higher, but still very cheap, and included a 10€ key deposit. As usual I booked a dorm room and lucked out with my favorite, Room 104! I like it because it is on the first -- technically second --floor and receives Internet connection.


Unfortunately, though, the free Internet provider the hostel uses is a pain in the ass. Oftentimes the system just keeps looping the user back to a stupid homepage instead of where one wants to go, and it constantly needs re-engagement. Arrgh! It was enough to make a brother move into a slightly more pricey and packed hostel over in Kreuzberg just for the peace of mind of using working wi-fi. 

Also, when I went to check-out the receptionist almost didn't refund my key deposit -- because I didn't have my room receipt. Huh?! It's called a key deposit not a receipt deposit. Damn straight I got back my ten euros. The girl was pleasant and professional about it and returned the money "because" she found the hostel's receipt copy but still.... Can you believe that ¡#@%!? Keep me near the cross....

Berolina Backpacker
Stugggarter Platz 17
Charlottenburg, Berlin
10627
+49 (0)30.3270.9072
facsimile: +49 (0)30.3270.9073
info@berolinabackpacker.de
website

Read more: Don't Go To Canuckistan; ó Rick Steves Blows: Berolina Backpacker (Berlin)

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The Doors When You're Strange

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Went to the cinema, or "kino" in German, and saw Tom Dicillo's film When You're Strange. It is narrated by Johnny Depp and was the official selection of six film festivals last year, including the Sundance and London Film Festivals. Whoa! Ticket only cost 5.50€, which made me happy, and, thank goodness, it was in English.

Really enjoyed the film. Might go see it again. I've long found The Doors' music and biography of Jim Morrison inspiring. 


Tom Dicillo website

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36 Rooms (Berlin - Kreuzberg)

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36 Rooms Hostel is a cute, catchy name but I think the place has way more than thirty six rooms. The hostel is located

in the Kreuzberg section of the city, which has a hip, funky, and heavily Arabic demographic, and is about two long blocks from the Gölitzer Bahnhof metro stop (U1). But it's not hard to find.

The hostel is one of those old buildings with high ceilings, tall doors, and wood everything but the owners have fixed it up nicely with modern fixtures like contemporary lighting, bright white tiling and bathroom ware, and motion sensor lights. Most of the furniture is mix-match, adding a nice eclectic charm to compliment some of the squeaky floor boards and backpacker personalities.

I've stayed here about four times now after first coming last year. It is a really sociable hostel where people laugh and mingle. The owners/managers are the same (nice, funny guys) and so are the rates (14€ 8-bed dorm but the price is jacked up to 18€ on weekends). One very new addition, though, is the house disco underneath run by a group of foreign DJs. The place is a groovy subterranean dive with plenty of basement furniture and about four different natural lairs plus a large dance floor. The walls and ceiling are naked and, well, lower level authentic. Drink prices are reasonable but the cover, at five euros, I think is a tad steep.

One criticism of the hostel is that it obligates guests to rent bed sheets and pillow case (no refund). C'mon, if I can't use my own linen because I'm obviously not sleeping in my own bed, then don't require me to pay extra for something I can't have without the basics. Another is water buildup on the bathroom floors after guests step from the showers. It's really something. I spoke to the manager guy about this unsightly wetness -- someone forgot to install drains -- and they're looking into a couple of workable solutions, so that's a good thing. 

Spreewaldplatz 8

Berlin - Kreuzberg, 10999
info@36rooms.com 

+49 (0) 30 5308 63 98

website

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At the end, regret only what you didn't do

Charlie Rose upon answering what is his motto

(...which is the same as expressed by Mark Twain on the front of this web log!)

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Believe it or not, some countries do not believe black people are from America id est are bona fide American citizens.

Read more: A Muckraker Other: THIS IS A LIE

Type Turkey or Shitstanbul in the above search box to read my archived experiences.

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I'm gone take my clothes off

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It's getting so hot around here that I just might go native like the "natural" Germans and join the FKK (Frei Koerper Kultur, "Free Body Culture")...only I'd be the only one wearing a hip, form fitting birthday suit. 

Everyone else would be sporting the pale saggy look: saggy legs, saggy ass, saggy tummy, saggy titties. 

Ugh!

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Something fishy with U.S. State Dept and passports

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There is something going on with U.S. passports and the American State Dept. Supposedly state-of-the-art and foolproof and secure I certainly encounter more than a few hiccups or long waits whenever crossing the U.S. border.  Whatever information is encrypted is beyond me. On one travel it gives pause to the border pigs yet on another it registers something else or, miraculously, nothing at all.

I'm not the only one with passport headaches. A NY woman is repeatedly hassled whenever crossing into -- surprise, surprise -- Canada and -- oh wow surprise! -- back again. Her's is a frustrating case of mistaken identity which the govts can't get their asses around to correcting. As if it is so improbable that two human beings can share names, birth dates, and even skin color; only this poor woman is too often mistaken for, apparently, a black man. Now I read the Iroquois are having their sovereign nation travel limited less they comply and get American passports. The country is warning they won't be allowed back in without a U.S. passport and other countries are weary of issuing visas to them if they can't return home.

What the hell are Obama and Hillary Clinton doing?

I'm so glad I'm in Europe.

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Part way there on house-hunting

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So today, after a week of hostels, I moved into a shared apartment. It's a nice, big apartment, or flat as they say in these parts, and I'll play it one week at a time. Plus, the subletters don't seem to be anything like Pearl the landlord. 

The second thing I did once I got here was to empty my backpack and hang my shirts (followed by laundry). I swear I don't have a lot of stuff but my two pieces of luggage just won't let up! They stay heavy...like a fat person who can't lose weight. Satis! I don't care how important to me such-and-such was before, before week's end a handsome load of stuff is not getting repacked. Like a travelling Macbeth I cry, Out, out, out damn crap!

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Barefoot Bandit apprehended

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Hot damn! They caught him. The Barefoot Bandit, Colton Harris-Moore, was taken in by Bahamanian authorities after a boat chase on early Sunday morning. With a string of heists stretching from Washington state to the Caribe it should go without saying that plenty of people and businessmen want a piece of his pink, tender hide. But I wished he'd gotten away. I like him. 


Yeah he's a nineteen-year old adventurous fugitive.... Beats knocking a girl up or working part-time in the supermarket stockroom.

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Hunting for housing in Berlin

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Am apt-hunting and, surprisingly, it is not easy finding an apartment in Berlin. So many of the advertised spaces have spotted vacancies -- a weekend free here, a week or two available there -- due to the nature of tourism...it seems no one rents by the month. Blasted! When I do secure a place I hope my landlord isn't like Pearl here (see video):

The Landlord from Will Ferrell

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