Fantasies

email:
Dear [insert name], I have been in love with you from the moment we met in the [insert place here]. From afar I write, hoping you will quench my thirst, ease my pain, and consent to marry me.

bio:
A California native, 22-year-old pianist Miss N. hopes her children can be joint German-American citizens. She has her eye on a certain German [insert profession here], and as soon as she nabs him, all will be invited to join in the endless festivities.

Seven Days

A poem I remember from long ago, one ancient-sounding, shrouded in mystery.

Monday's child is fair of face.
Tuesday's child is full of grace.
Wednesday's child is full of woe.
Thursday's child has far to go.
Friday's child is loving and giving.
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.

For the record, I was born on a Thursday.

Also for the record, I hate ikea.de. The Germans have no idea how online shopping should be done.

A Make-Over

So, kids, how do we feel about the new layout? I was skeptical at first, but I do enjoy the new lists on the left side. A bit more interactive.

Of course what I should've been doing this cold, rainy evening is:
1. cleaning my disaster of a flat - my mother is coming on Saturday. Oh the shock and dismay upon entrance!
2. filling up my head with literary pursuits instead of having bubble gum fun re-doing the template.
3. emailing people I've been meaning to write for weeks....
4. learning German.
5. watching Grey's Anatomy, my drug of choice.

Now I still might do the 5th item, if I'm feeling particularly productive, that is. It's also a bit ironic that my blog gets the make-over. You ought to see my hair.

"You know, they have hairdressers in Berlin."

"You're going to take a shower before the audition, right?"
"I took a shower this morning!"
"Well, you're going to wash your hair before the audition, right?"
"I washed my hair this morning!"
"You did?!?!"

Your favorite reject

I think that would make a very good blog title. Perhaps when I get bored of this one....

Haven't been in the mood for blogging. Haven't been in the mood for much of anything. I prefer to sit around and mope. At least it's something I'm good at.

Morning After

And I still feel like I'm going to throw up.

Me at 19

While browsing the archives of a friend's blog, I came upon an October 2003 entry in which she quoted me saying this:

"The very few people I've ever really wanted to be like are the ones that look at the same world I look at but see something different. I don't all of a sudden see what they see, but I see the result of what they're seeing - the result is them, their hearts - it's really a beautiful thing."

Oh how cynical I've gotten in old age.

(note to the editing-crazed - I did correct my sloppy punctuation and put the whole bit in present tense, because in past, it sounds like I'm being quoted after the grave)

Learning the Hard Way

So while at the grocery store this evening, I decided to take a walk down the cookie aisle. Usually I don't allow myself the temptation (the plethora of bakeries in this city is sinful enough), but this time, I thought, I'll just look.

And while just looking at the bags of yummy things, I ran into my neighbor, the one 5 floors up who has been a big anti-piano advocate to the building owners, the one who has complained from day 1 about my practicing, the one I haven't seen in two weeks and was hoping to continue the streak.

I've done everything possible to cut down on sound - mattresses against the wall, meters of thick acoustic foam inside the piano and stuck into all sorts of places underneath that you didn't even know existed, blankets heaped on top. In fact the piano is now so quiet that I can barely hear it when I play.

But he apparently still can.
And wants to meet again next week to discuss the "problem."

I should never have walked down the cookie aisle.
I may never go to the grocery store again.
After the food I bought today runs out, I'll probably never eat again.
I've learned my lesson.

McTräumerisch

Heute habe ich in meine Schule geschreiben:

Mein Traummann ist Patrick Dempsey von Grey's Anatomy. Er ist Schauspieler, aber im Fernsehen ist er Arzt. Er ist groß, dünn, und hat glatte, dunklebraune Haar und schöne, blaue Augen.

It's good to know how to say important things in German.

It's also good to enjoy your mothertongue, as I did when I read this sentence in an email today:

"Apologies to those who came to last week’s first film and suffered through a horrific hour of start-stop-and-skip cinema. THE BATTLE OF ALGIERS is intended to be a difficult film to watch but not in the way it was realized last Tuesday."

That has to be one of the funniest things I've read in months.

If

by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

how Andy Warhol of you

Live and let live - or, eat cake

I love Saturday. I love the idea of Saturday. It's the perfect day, the ideal day, the day I look forward to all week (not true actually, I look forward most to Friday evenings when they finally post the new Grey's Anatomy episode on iTunes!). Saturday is a clean slate of endless opportunity.

And I ruin mine every weekend by sleeping in, being lazy, doing nothing. I talk myself into visiting the big market right outside my front door, and even that, with all its delicacies, bright colors, flowers, and people, does nothing to improve my wilting energy level. I promise myself a piece of cake if I go. It did occur to me today that outdoor markets would be so much more exciting with...um...a McDreamy. But it's a little hard to be romantic when my brain is yelling at me to practice.

It's 1:32pm, and I've done nothing. I glanced at the New York Times online (and I can't wait to hear the new piano concerto by Esa-Pekka Salonen, just premiered last night with the New York Philharmonic- at times like these, I'm really jealous of Matt), took a shower, drank some tea, ate cake, and haven't even begun practicing yet. It's a bit depressing.

I love mornings, early mornings, when everything is quiet and still, productive mornings when I get everything pressing done by 9am and have the rest of the day to practice, to read, to watch the rain, or the snow, or the sun.

Maybe I'll remember this next time.

My New Winter Coat