had a weekend with mom

...and I thought it would be a good time to do away with sleeping.

I also thought it would be a good time to put together my own 72 hour tour of Germany's capital city.

Start your weekend late Thursday night by going out with some friends to a party called Chantal's House of Shame. (Needless to say I thought of my good friend of Chantel.) Apparently the shame part is not optional either. By 4am it is time to rush to the Hauptbahnhof to pick up your mother. Get there a few minutes late and frantically look around the mostly deserted train station to no avail. 1800COLLECT will fail my but your credit card won't. Thanks Visa. After a quick chat with your father, learn that she missed her train and is getting in 4 hours later. Great. Now catch a couple hours of sleep. Oversleep. Eventually find your mother standing by the Starbucks in the station. (Some things never change.)

Now get ready for three fun filled and walking filled days. Start early Friday morning with a visit to the Turkish market (buy tasty cheese, produce, and homemade Bourbon whiskey), cover the former DDR capital all the way to Brandenburg gate, and make a stop at the Holocaust memorial and Hitler's bunker (these two should really always be done in conjunction...it's amazing to see how each space is memorialized so differently) End day one. Woof.

Day two takes us further east to see the East Side Gallery and Karl Marx Allee. Eventually work your way up to the shopping in Hackesher Markt of Mitte. When it starts to rain head home and make dinner.

Now it gets sticky. You really haven't been doing enough, so decide to go out. It IS Saturday night in Berlin. One thing leads to another and you end up at Berghain. Serious clubbing until 8am.

Wake up at 11 and spend the entire day walking. This time take the U-bahn to the Mauerpark flea market (eat cult favorites currywurst and döner kebap and catch great deals later in the afternoon), jump the S-bahn to Potzdamer Platz and grab a coffee or four in the Sony Center (your only stop in the far WEST), and walk the Reichstag government sector (some of the most beautiful contemporary river side architecture you will ever see). Topped the day off with a production at Berliner Ensemble (this Sunday: Mein Kampf, a satire from George Tabori).

Make sure you stay up until 3:30 before you take your mother back to the train station at 8am Monday morning.

Rinse. Wash. Repeat.

Dreams

Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow.

-Langston Hughes

While walking under cloudy skies in chilly Berlin this morning before 9 and before my body usually finds its way to the streets, I thought about my dreams. Not the goals and wishes I have for my life--but the darker, mysterious, and ambiguous world of my sleep.

I have experienced strange new things. Tried things I have never tried before. Been terrified--for my life, my wellbeing, and that of others. I have been sickeningly disgusted, I have felt love, I have cried, and laughed and smiled. A gun to my head. People from another planet. Distant memories. Inspiring figures. Catastrophic tragedies. I have snored.

I hope I do them all some blistery slightly miserable morning before 9. For what is life without dreams?

Mcwhat?

That's right, Germany found a way to capitalize on one of the most capitalist enterprises we have in possibly the most ironic way.

"McFit: Just look good."

Ok, sure. I can do that. After being warned about a flesh eating disease (MRSA? Merca?) that American's are sure to get if they even step foot inside a European gym, I was a bit discouraged about the prospect of keeping in shape while I scarf down my wienerschnitzel and pommes frites. I decided to meet my flesh eating friend face to face and found that this is perhaps the most sanitary atmosphere outside the H1N1 (hell, swine flu) vaccine manufacturer in China (thanks CNN...). EVERYONE has a towel that they drape over EVERY machine when they use it. The first time I went, I...did not. I carried my rough one ply paper towel around and pretended that I knew how much 45 kilos was. I've only been three times and still when anyone asks me anything, I panic as though I've been convicted of some horrible crime and usually the only thing that comes our is "sorry." I do know SOME German. I was delighted when the scale had a lbs. option. I pushed it and my weight flashed- 10:10:45- or something. "Entschuldigung..."(yes German!) I beckoned one of the many blonde fit ladies who works the counter "kennst du....mmmmphhsshh?" I tried to ask her if she knew what the machine was trying so earnestly to tell me. She checked with one of her blonde beautiful friends and confirmed that it was pounds and she knew nothing about it. Language barrier meet weight barrier.

In any case I have found a cheap option for the four months I am here. The eye candy's not bad either.