Well, it's Friday evening, and I only have time for a quick report. It's been a cloudy blustery day in Berlin, and the Germans are racing about with their RegelnSchirm (Umbrellas). So, nothing too structured . . . Stuff I saw this week in Berlin:
1. T-shirt: "Rare." (Urg? . . . When you think of bloody meat, think of me.)
2. T-shirt: "I'm Shy." (Well I'm Insolent, and you don't see me broadcasting it to the world! . . . oh, nevermind.)
3. Sign on the Office Cafeteria: "Casino" (Because it's a gamble to eat there?)
4. Sign on Jewelry-store: "Schmuck-farm" (Also means, bangle, gem, jewel, or decoration. So now when someone says, "What a Schmuck!" you can thank them. At any rate, explains where schmucks come from.)
Of course the big story of the week was the Turkey v. Deutschland Semi-final Soccer Game (Fussball to the Germans). As Berlin has a very large and vocal Turkish minority population, there was ample support for either side of the game. Thankfully, the game was held in Basel, Switzerland - so to watch it you had to be at home . . . or a bar/restaurant/Diamond Vision scoreboard at the Brandenburg gate.
Again, because I'm not a stakeholder and had to work the next day, I did not paint my face team colors, dress in funny clothes, or take to the streets in my tricked-out Scion. But I was the only one who didn't.
Wednesday night, I found myself back at Taverna Mikas having Greek food and sitting with a large crowd of Germans and Turks watching the game on the restaurant large screen TV. The game started with skillful and agressive playing by the Turkish team. They seemed younger, more angile, and in constant control of the ball. They also scored first. Just before half-time the Germans scored as well. They had to earn their goal, but did so cleverly, with a reflected kick into the goal.
Half-time came with its obligatory onslaught of advertisements and tabloid photography of nubile women and drunken guys in the stands. And then, just as the game resumed . . . and I had asked for my bill . . . the signal went out on the game. Everywhere. The entire neighborhood, for blocks and blocks went to their balconies and went ballistic. An entire nation, transfixed, had just been informed that they were S.O.L on the game (*THE* game). One could almost hear the bricks falling from the ZBD network executives. Within a couple of minutes, a radio announcer had been mixed in, to describe the game play by play in German.
I payed my bill and began the walk home. At some point the signal came back on, because I could hear the same thousand people leaping with surprise back in front of their TVs.
When Turkey would score, fireworks would go off. When Germany scored, there was singing and clapping.
All in all, it was a lifetime memory. In the end Germany beat Turkey 3 to 2. The celebration was peaceful, and they have won the opportunity to play Spain for the Euro 2008 title on Sunday.
Thursday evening, I went for a SchiffFahren (Berliner Riverboat Cruise) on the River Spree. Berlin, like Paris and Vienna, is a river-town, and a convenient majority of the noteworthy buildings, parks and monuments are organized along the river. The trip was made even more special, because it was LBGT Pride weekend in Berlin, and three ships of celebrants disembarked at the same time to broadcast Disco throughout Berlin, while 300 screaming queens with color coordinated Pom-poms went ballistic on their respective Fiesta-decks.
The Berliner's loved it, and my favoriet moment is when a bridge full of pedestrians joined our riverboat in the choreography to the Village People's Y.M.C.A. That's right. Bad disco knows no boundaries. A good time was had by all.
An interesting thing I noticed from the boat, is that along the riverbank in East Berlin where the wall and deathstrip used to be, there are now faux Beaches of imported sand and Miami-style lounge furniture. (Many jokes in poor taste present themselves here, but I'll skip it given the gravitas.) I wondered what happens during the winter however. Ice Skating?
After the Riverboat, I found myself surrounded by a thousand drunk German gays (more or less . . . gay that is . . . they were all definitely drunk, whatever their orientation . . .). As a Teatotaler, I headed for the S-bahn followed by a man in a kilt (Scottish) and two of his German Friends. The two friends were fussball fanatics, and kept repeatly shouting out of their promotional megaphone, "Finale, O-O-O-oh" to the the tune of "Volare'" roughly. The S-bahn came, and we einstieg-ed (boarded) the small trunk-like vessels of the S-bahn. "FIIIIIIINNNAAALLLLEEE. O-O-O-OH". Okay, you get the picture. So did the other 25 people in the car. "FIIIIIIINNNAAALLLLEEE. O-O-O-OH". So without a word, we all began to play that game of -If we ignore them, they will stop. But they didn't. I started small talk with the Scottish man (did I mention he was wearing a kilt, and sitting with his legs crossed on the S-bahn?) . "FIIIIIIINNNAAALLLLEEE. O-O-O-OH". Okay. My gosh, would those two take a pill already! Fortunately it was a self-correcting problem, as one of the drunken man grabbed the megaphone and held it up (out of arms length of the other). As they giggled and struggled for the megaphone a gust of wind sucked that device right out of the train window. THlurp! The one shouted in German. "Hey! Now, it's gone forever!!! Damn" Then very very quietly next to them, I simply said, "Finale. O-o-o-oh." I started laughing so hard, I was crying. I couldn't have planned the phrase better if I'd had to make it up myself. Thus ends to sad fate of a German Megaphone. If the next time you see Jason Bourne running through a German train station in fear of his life . . . look in the background to see if there isn't a megaphone stuck in the rafters.
1. T-shirt: "Rare." (Urg? . . . When you think of bloody meat, think of me.)
2. T-shirt: "I'm Shy." (Well I'm Insolent, and you don't see me broadcasting it to the world! . . . oh, nevermind.)
3. Sign on the Office Cafeteria: "Casino" (Because it's a gamble to eat there?)
4. Sign on Jewelry-store: "Schmuck-farm" (Also means, bangle, gem, jewel, or decoration. So now when someone says, "What a Schmuck!" you can thank them. At any rate, explains where schmucks come from.)
Of course the big story of the week was the Turkey v. Deutschland Semi-final Soccer Game (Fussball to the Germans). As Berlin has a very large and vocal Turkish minority population, there was ample support for either side of the game. Thankfully, the game was held in Basel, Switzerland - so to watch it you had to be at home . . . or a bar/restaurant/Diamond Vision scoreboard at the Brandenburg gate.
Again, because I'm not a stakeholder and had to work the next day, I did not paint my face team colors, dress in funny clothes, or take to the streets in my tricked-out Scion. But I was the only one who didn't.
Wednesday night, I found myself back at Taverna Mikas having Greek food and sitting with a large crowd of Germans and Turks watching the game on the restaurant large screen TV. The game started with skillful and agressive playing by the Turkish team. They seemed younger, more angile, and in constant control of the ball. They also scored first. Just before half-time the Germans scored as well. They had to earn their goal, but did so cleverly, with a reflected kick into the goal.
Half-time came with its obligatory onslaught of advertisements and tabloid photography of nubile women and drunken guys in the stands. And then, just as the game resumed . . . and I had asked for my bill . . . the signal went out on the game. Everywhere. The entire neighborhood, for blocks and blocks went to their balconies and went ballistic. An entire nation, transfixed, had just been informed that they were S.O.L on the game (*THE* game). One could almost hear the bricks falling from the ZBD network executives. Within a couple of minutes, a radio announcer had been mixed in, to describe the game play by play in German.
I payed my bill and began the walk home. At some point the signal came back on, because I could hear the same thousand people leaping with surprise back in front of their TVs.
When Turkey would score, fireworks would go off. When Germany scored, there was singing and clapping.
All in all, it was a lifetime memory. In the end Germany beat Turkey 3 to 2. The celebration was peaceful, and they have won the opportunity to play Spain for the Euro 2008 title on Sunday.
Thursday evening, I went for a SchiffFahren (Berliner Riverboat Cruise) on the River Spree. Berlin, like Paris and Vienna, is a river-town, and a convenient majority of the noteworthy buildings, parks and monuments are organized along the river. The trip was made even more special, because it was LBGT Pride weekend in Berlin, and three ships of celebrants disembarked at the same time to broadcast Disco throughout Berlin, while 300 screaming queens with color coordinated Pom-poms went ballistic on their respective Fiesta-decks.The Berliner's loved it, and my favoriet moment is when a bridge full of pedestrians joined our riverboat in the choreography to the Village People's Y.M.C.A. That's right. Bad disco knows no boundaries. A good time was had by all.
An interesting thing I noticed from the boat, is that along the riverbank in East Berlin where the wall and deathstrip used to be, there are now faux Beaches of imported sand and Miami-style lounge furniture. (Many jokes in poor taste present themselves here, but I'll skip it given the gravitas.) I wondered what happens during the winter however. Ice Skating?
After the Riverboat, I found myself surrounded by a thousand drunk German gays (more or less . . . gay that is . . . they were all definitely drunk, whatever their orientation . . .). As a Teatotaler, I headed for the S-bahn followed by a man in a kilt (Scottish) and two of his German Friends. The two friends were fussball fanatics, and kept repeatly shouting out of their promotional megaphone, "Finale, O-O-O-oh" to the the tune of "Volare'" roughly. The S-bahn came, and we einstieg-ed (boarded) the small trunk-like vessels of the S-bahn. "FIIIIIIINNNAAALLLLEEE. O-O-O-OH". Okay, you get the picture. So did the other 25 people in the car. "FIIIIIIINNNAAALLLLEEE. O-O-O-OH". So without a word, we all began to play that game of -If we ignore them, they will stop. But they didn't. I started small talk with the Scottish man (did I mention he was wearing a kilt, and sitting with his legs crossed on the S-bahn?) . "FIIIIIIINNNAAALLLLEEE. O-O-O-OH". Okay. My gosh, would those two take a pill already! Fortunately it was a self-correcting problem, as one of the drunken man grabbed the megaphone and held it up (out of arms length of the other). As they giggled and struggled for the megaphone a gust of wind sucked that device right out of the train window. THlurp! The one shouted in German. "Hey! Now, it's gone forever!!! Damn" Then very very quietly next to them, I simply said, "Finale. O-o-o-oh." I started laughing so hard, I was crying. I couldn't have planned the phrase better if I'd had to make it up myself. Thus ends to sad fate of a German Megaphone. If the next time you see Jason Bourne running through a German train station in fear of his life . . . look in the background to see if there isn't a megaphone stuck in the rafters.
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