so, it has come to this

one day, in class, i couldn't pay attention. it was both the loud chewing of the person next to me (we will call her gluta) and my very sleep deprived irritable self. so i started a paper war. this person, gluta, seemed horrible. i gathered all these creatures to fight her. while i was sitting next to her i couldn't imagine anyone worse than her. i didnt really see her. all i know is that she eats shrimp salad like some people take baths: with loud splishes and splashes and that she speaks like some people fart: with confidence, getting high on the whiffs she got.

(gluta wasnt asian. she uses chopsticks because i cant draw forks.)

i am a haunted home without a house

my mother says parents can give you everything, except for luck. i dont know what luck really is, it's not reliable like sense of humor, it's not even transient like good looks, i really can't say anything certain about it, but it seems to be nice odds, odds in your favor. shifting probability. but then again, everything seems to be just chance. probability. odds. timing.

i did feel lucky many times in my life, like last night, in my dream, when a plane crashed into the building i was going to go into if only i would have found my lipstick in time. i didnt find it, so i didnt go in, so i didnt get squashed by this enormous plane (and i dont even use lipstick in waking life). i dont feel lucky that i have these fears of not finding a place to stay in time (i will be roomless, roofless, rootless from march 1st) turn into plane attacks in my dreams, but i dont feel unlucky, either. 

therefore i will become ruthless and let go of worries that i wont find a place and whatever happens will happen anyway. and if it will be terrible, i guess it will build character?

extremely strange and incredibly fast

yesterday morning, very morning, as i was walking towards the train that would take me to the cinema(s), i noticed my shoe lace was untied. i looked at it and looked away within the same second, simply because after my quick evaluation of the gravity of the situation i have concluded that it wasn't going to necessitate a pit stop.

but all of a sudden a man walking towards me spotted my weakness, stopped, looked me straight in the eye and zoomed in on his own face (like the nemesis of a ninja would) and then made this very strange, almost bird-like whistling noise, and in 3 seconds i was completely surrounded by all the random citizens who happened to be in the streets at that moment and recognized this man's cry. even mothers with their children came, but of course some of them were covering the young one's eyes.

what appeared to be like the oldest man in the circle approached, closing the circle behind him, and said to me in a german for idiots, nein, nein, nicht richtig, schliessen die muntzer oder nein gezucht! i am not an idiot so i didnt understand that, but i saw him pointing at my untied shoe lace so i said schuldigung, tucked it in my shoe and wanted to go about my way, beginning to become aware of the disturbance my shoe lace has caused them. but they wouldnt let me. one of the children who was allowed to look started crying when he saw how i tried to cheat by tucking it in, so his mother had to pull him away from the circle which got a bit more tighter around me. then i remembered the note, the note was going to save me, i pulled it out and handed it to the old man. he read it, sneered and whistled. everyone went away immediately and i was free.

ok, i must confess i might have distorted facts a little bit. it wasnt a note at all, it was my festival badge. no, my passport. no, my copenhagen resident's card. i can't well remember, it was all so extremely strange and incredibly fast.

a nest of angry knees

nate (i mean nature, but we're on nickname terms), in all its generosity, has not bestowed upon me an essential thing, essential only to my current and most exciting interest, and not essential in loose terms. yes. cinema. 

so this generous nate gave me a nest of angry knees and every time i'm in a cinema they go wild. negotiations aren't going well. but everything else is.

going gloriously. 

so dear knees, please, bee-have. 

Ordnung muß sein?

upon arrival in berlin, i met a trickster, the one you are warned about on the side of ticket vending machines in U train stations. he wanted to sell me a ticket. i caught his eye and his accent and asked him if he was romanian which indeed he was. as we started speaking the mother tongue, he didnt want to sell me the ticket anymore, but instead was very helpful with my purchase, giving me directions and generally being very nice. then, on the train, this romanian trumpet duo came in the cart i was in and started playing. we chatted a bit and i thought: berlin is really the place to be romanian. :>

this festival is so big, it's scary. people with accreditation queue from 6 am in front of the festival center to pick up tickets, and it opens at 8.30. i got a tattoo on my hand that will be my mantra for these 10 days, take it as it comes. also because there are so many movies and so many people that it's easiest to just be relaxed about it and open to whatever comes my way. and in postdamer platz, everything comes your way. including trains. which is the only thing you must avoid direct collision with.

to illustrate: yesterday, on festival day -1, going to pick up my accreditation and getting lost on the way, i saw a man with a red berlinale bag and asked him for help. he was going my way so we walked and talked together. he showed me the movie he produced and told me to check it out. we said goodbye and i knew i was ready for anything to happen. 

then i thought, berlin is really the place to be

(for me, now).

and there's a funny coincidence: the travel pass for the period i am here costs as much as the festival pass, and it is only right because the train is a sort of film apparatus and every time i've been on it i've seen scenes of amazing natural beauty with oh so interesting characters. 

"what's the matter for you, joe, i break-a you' face!"

when they say there's a high demand for jobs out there, they aren't kidding. what kind of jobs we're talking about is always a bit in the mist, but i had the privilege of enlightenment tonight, when going for an interview for a student job as a waitress at an italian restaurant in copenhagen. this restaurant owner said, aa, vieni, we eat, we drink, we talk, in italy, we take it easy, so i think, well, ok, in italy they take it easy so i go, we eat, we drink and the he says ok, now we go to my office. and i think, well, that's odd. but i keep cool and think hey, maybe i don't know enough about italian culture or customs. in his office, i notice with irony that he has a security camera and he's basically watching himself, so i ask, with much unnecessary naivety, why?, so he takes this cloth and covers it up. so i say no, no, not at all what i meant. so i think ok, there it is, the worst case scenario unfolding right under my now-like-cocker-spaniel eyes. he keeps talking about how there are so many romanians and bulgarians wanting this job, oh, and the tips, haha, they make more than me, these waiters, haha, and then he stands up and touches my hair and says well, i love-a your-a haircut and touches my shoulder in this hey-i'm-disgusting-and-pathetic-but-i-own-the-restaurant-you-want-to-work-in. so i figure it's really time to split and i say, i'm here only for the waitress job. then i kicked him in the groin and walked out, knocking a chair down on my way, in a successful attempt of showing how i felt about it.

and some say, a job is a job. well, fuh-get about it! 

snow down

it's raining rain and also falling snow. simultaneously. and it's huge snow flakes. as big as the toilet seat. and just like the toilet seat in a house with boys, they will never settle. sit down. stay down. go north of logic and you'll find boys are to be blamed for the lack of snow in this case. go north of korea and you'll find american imperialists to be blamed for the same. this proves nothing. disproves nothing. except, 

erotica

there's an explanation to why i think of my mother when i hear the word erotica - but before i go on i must ask fans of freud to put their hopes into the plastic bin beside them.

my mother's name is rodica. the accent falls on the second (!!) syllable. it is such a romanian name, that if we had ever thought to invent some national heroine she would have been called, undoubtedly, rodica. (ada milea knew this, too.) it's funny how, in the many years of being aware of both her name and the word erotic, i never thought of the similarity. till one day, f. said "i forgot your mother's name again". so i said "it's rodica". so he said "can i call her erotica? like this i can remember". so i said, well, nevermind, i probably said something less interesting. i should've stopped at the previous line, shouldn't i?

zzzzzzzz.

womankind

i witnessed this conversation at a party, and when it will happen anywhere else but at a party (or perhaps also at a transvestite anonymous meeting) it will mean something. what, i don't know.

boy: hej, man

girl: hej, man

boy: or woman!

girl: ...

boy: or girl!

girl: ...

boy: or man

girl: hej, man

the sun is the same

(in a relative way)

(a personal reminder in a sort of public spot)