Warum machst du kein Spass?

A few days before my trip, I was wandering through the Petsmart on 92nd street when my cell rang. It was a Very Important Literary Agent, who I was trying to interview for a story. “Now’s not a good time,” I said, from the middle of the kibble aisle. “But by any chance are you going to Frankfurt?”
She laughed. “No, thank God. It’s so crazy there. I always get sick. Between the late nights and the adrenaline and the parties, it does a number on your immune system. You’ll have a blast, but be warned.”


At the Fair, a very-well dressed Indian man is describing his company’s product. The booth is a few feet off the ground, all white and neon colors, and since his product is pretty technical, and I’m still pretty jet lagged, I can’t stifle a yawn. “I’m sorry,” I say, and mean it, but he just shrugs. “It’s the fair – everyone is always so hung over. I understand.” I try to tell him that it’s just the time difference, that I really am exhausted. “I haven’t even been out at all!” I say. He looks puzzled.


Canon, the only other American in my language class, nods sympathetically when I tell him it’s only my second night in Berlin. “My second night was crazy,” he says. Canon is 17, and exchange student from Minnesota with a tiny elfin build. He can’t be more than 110 pounds, and at least a pound of that comes from the large bar through his eyebrow. “My host parents threw me a party and I was up all night.” I go home and microwave a pizza, then watch CSI auf Deutsch.


It’s 2 am in Berlin, and I’m on the phone with a Los Angeles producer, for whom it’s only 4pm. “I was in Berlin right after the wall came down,” he says. “Lots of great clubs, interesting people, crazy drugs. God, you must be having so much fun.”


I have no interest in crazy Berlin drugs. But I am eager to have some of this mythical German “fun” that has thus far eluded me. At the fair, I was so far out of town that it didn’t make sense to stay out late in Frankfurt – though I didn’t really know anyone to stay out with in the first place. (I was going to watch a Penn State game at the Mariott hotel bar, but the game didn’t start until 10 pm, and I didn’t feel safe going back to Langen alone.) Usually, I do well at making friends at these conventions – in fact, a friend I met at the OrganicWest expo in California took me out when I was in Colorado for a story, and he and his husband are threatening to come visit me here. But I think the language barrier and the jet lag – which is really doing a number on me, even now – kept me from really being my extroverted self.

In Berlin, of course, I’m still getting settled, and have only made a few efforts to extend myself. Hopefully now that I’m in somewhat of a routine, I’ll have more time to devote to social pursuits. There’s a group of English-speaking expats that meet up every Thursday night; I plan on attending tomorrow. I found them on a message board devoted to that demographic, and even posted my own request for a World-Series watching venue. No one seemed that interested (one girl said she loved baseball but couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for a Rays/Phils match-up), and since the game won’t begin until 2 am I understand. Still, everyone was friendly in their replies, so hopefully they’ll be welcoming when I show up tomorrow.
On Friday, I may meet up with an American journalist who is just about to move to France. He’s offered to put me in touch with the journalist clique that gets together every so often. This weekend, I hope to explore the city and get in touch with an artist I briefly emailed about a room. The room was long gone by the time I contacted him, but I suggested we keep in touch, as I hope to cover a lot of the art scene here. At this point, it’s a matter of me making an effort to contact all the friends of friends and associates and allies that might be hiding here in Berlin, and to get out of the house a little more. Luckily, my house is a very stark East German apartment that doesn’t lend itself to lounging around.