I WILL SURVIVE - (in Trenton)

A paper on The Notebook

2009-11-16T11:51:00.000-08:00

THE NOTEBOOK
A simple masterpiece that could have a place next to Romeo and Juliet and the Lady of the Camellias, if only someone had died

When in October of 1997 a small book with just over 200 pages by a practically unknown writer was published, its story and message spread through the world and fascinated readers and critics alike within days of its release. Translated into twenty- three languages and on the New York Times bestseller list for over a year, nobody could deny the magic of what became an instant classic. Yet, being confronted with a story that took the reader on a simple path to the purest form of romance and love was something almost foreign to many of us. It ultimately created a gap between one group that was truly touched, moved and changed by Nicolas Sparks’ novel, and another group that looked at his work as boring, dusty and shallow.
I am not attempting to speak for Mr. Sparks’ abilities as a writer and novelist, trying to catapult him to a level where on a literary basis he clearly does not belong. He is no Shakespeare and no Dumas, and no argument in the world could be strong enough to convince anybody otherwise. What I am arguing for is a story of romance between two people sharing a life together, giving even the most cynic of readers a glimmer of hope for what they don’t dare to hope for: True love.

Sparks takes no more than three paragraphs to prepare the reader for the story he is beginning to tell:
“I am a common man with common thoughts, and I’ve led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten, but I’ve loved another with all my heart and soul and to me, this has always been enough.” With these words he sets the stage for what is awaiting us. He makes it very clear that this book is not meant to keep us on the edge of our seats and that we are not about to get pulled into a plot that keeps us awake at night, trying to unravel a twisted story of betrayal, conspiracy and suspense. He makes no secret of the fact that The Notebook is a common story about a common life, which in our times might just be the most uncommon thing one can imagine.
It therefore comes as no surprise to me that a large number of people flipped through the pages of this book, underwhelmed by the lack of action, deceit and tragedy, when in reality one of two things took place in the minds of those unappreciative readers: They either failed miserably at recognizing the beauty of simplicity, or they were in fact overwhelmed by the sheer idea of love on such a profound level, in which case it is easier to talk it down as opposed to admitting the fear of not ever finding love as described in The Notebook.

Every book that passes through our hands leaves something behind. It can inform, it can make us take sides, and it can trigger changes in our views. It can disgust, excite, frighten, arouse, teach or calm us, granted we are receptive to the power the words can have over our minds. And while we all enjoy the idea of using stories as material or motivation for our own lives, love might in many cases be the exception. The reason for this fact is surely not the lack of desire for love. It is not even the fear of love itself. It is the reality that love is the one thing we have no control over. It is not something we can create, produce or force. We read books that describe art, wealth and beauty. Stories about overcoming tragedy, fighting crime, solving riddles or saving the planet, and in our fantasy world we can envision ourselves as a part of the story, wondering how we would act or what we would do within the scenario. Sparks’ novel does not provide us with the luxury of letting us “act out” anything if not love. He bases his storyline purely on the emotion between two people, and by doing so only grants access to those readers who can envision themselves in a scenario where no other distractions are needed or even wanted. Most people might find themselves imagining being in Allie’s or Noah’s places in life and experiencing those perfect moments of sharing a love that is returned on an equal level, but they again base their imagination on “actions”. The first time they kiss, their first sexual encounter in a rundown building or sitting on the porch in silence. The idea of sharing those moments with another is appealing to mankind in general, but the fear of never finding the person to share them with overpowers many people’s ability to sink into those fantasies.

When in 2004 Nick Cassavetes directed the film version with Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gosling in the lead roles, he took the risk of disappointing his audience, just as Nicolas Sparks did when initially writing the novel.
Rebecca Murray wrote in her movie review on About.com, entitled “The Notebook, like curling up with a good book”:

“The Notebook is a gentle romantic tale in the midst of blockbuster action films and goofball comedies. It isn’t just a film for women. It’s a movie for anyone who wants to get lost in a beautiful story, for anyone who believes romance is still alive on film.”
Ms. Murray realizes that a story without a substantial amount of action or slap stick humor has a hard time succeeding nowadays. There is an image to uphold. There is a degree of what’s “cool” and “hip”, and the thought of spending two hours amidst a lifelong love that ends with two people holding hands as they die in their sleep simply doesn’t fall into any of those categories. And yet, the world appears to be in desperate need of everything The Notebook stands for, which explains the fact that over five years later the movie is still shown at least once a week on one of our many Cable TV stations. The truth is that we all want to relate to love, but just like in life, people have lost patience and appreciation for love in books and on film if it doesn’t provide a certain amount of action. Looking at masterpieces such as “Romeo and Juliet” or “The Lady of the Camellias”, they all have one thing in common: Their love for each other ends in tragedy. For many writers of our past and present, death has been the ticket to success. Who would even remember the story of a young couple lusting after one another, had they not been found poisoned and stabbed in Juliet’s tomb? Would La Traviata*have ever debut at the Teatro La Fenice in 1853, if Violetta Valery had not suffered a terrible death, preventing the love between her and Alfredo Germont to succeed?
The Notebook is a complete story with a beginning, middle and an ending that is not cut short by death or other catastrophic circumstances. It reminds us that disasters are not necessary in order for a story to reach the masses and move readers or viewers. The gap between the romantics and the cynics will never be closed, but one thing is certain: While The Notebook will forever remind the romantics that love might in fact begin, grow and last a lifetime, it will just as much remind the cynics of what they do not have the privilege of appreciating.

*Opera in three acts by Giuseppe Verdi based on Dumas “La dame aux camelias”.

So much has happened...

2009-09-05T18:17:00.000-07:00

Once again.. it has been forever since my last post. Just the other day I talked to a co- worker of mine about how quickly this summer has passed, remarking that "I didn't do any of the things I usually do in the summer...", which she answered with: "You started a new job, your relationship ended... I think you might have had your hands full!?"
I guess I can agree with that. It has been a pretty intense few months, but I strongly believe that every ending is the beginning of something new.
The relationship thing sucks... although it was really no surprise to us (or many who know us, I guess...). And even if we believe that it was the right - and only - thing to do, nine years is a long time to have together as a couple. It is a lot to leave behind, no matter how good or bad things might have been. There is a lot of love, a strong connection, and - let's face it - a lot of "being used to" in any long term relationship. Things have changed... I have changed during those years; or so I like to believe. The most eye opening thing for me was (and is) that there comes a point when you just stop blaming the other person. I can only compare it with some pieces of clothing I own... pieces that I invested a lot in at some time. They were amazing when I got them, but a few years down the road I either grew out of them, or they just weren't right anymore. It wasn't the clothing's fault... nor mine. It was just a fact. But those few special pieces still have a home in my closet, and I will probably never really get them completely out of my sight. They will always carry great memories of when I first got them, or the occasions I wore them for, or what they made me feel like. So... The fact that we are able to honor our years together by still being there for each other and by not tearing each other apart and by respecting each other is more than I could possibly wish for. We have had our "up's"and "down's" before, and we know how ugly things could get. But at this point I think that we found a way of making it all as easy as possible on ourselves and each other, and I am pretty sure that Demi and Bruce could not possibly have done a better job than us!!!
And then I started my new job for Ralph Lauren, which is a dream come true! My closet is starting to look so good that I am seriously considering to get back IN it. Now... going to work in the morning by public transportation is another story, and the hood pretty quickly took notice of my growing wardrobe. During my second week I walked back from the bus stop - for the first time dressed fully in RL, when I heard a female voice from across the street yelling:"You better work, sister"... which I answered with "I sure as hell am trying!!!", to provide the entertainment portion of the evening. I mean... who am I kidding? I stick out like a sore thumb. My pants actually sit where pants are supposed to sit, my shirts don't reach my knees, and I do still have all my teeth. Clearly I am gay. And just in case I could forget about that fact, I am glad there are still people out there to remind me of it!!! The other day I was listening to the new Whitney album (yes... I am talking about the Houston one... crack didn't do her in yet...), when I passed two total trash guys (who might actually know Whitney - or at least have the same dealer), and one of them called me a foggot. Really? Come on. Something about them really bothered me; and I felt safe when I realized that the guy was holding on to a wall to prevent his drug- soaked body from tipping over behind the gate he was hanging out at. I took one of my ear pieces out and asked:"What did you say?" And he repeated "you faggot". I looked at him up and down, put on my gayest smile and said:" Just because you are only doing it for crack doesn't make you any less of a faggot". Praying that the guy didn't have a gun to aim at me (not that he could have focused...), I confidently put my music back in, and proudly walked on.
I am very much entertained by those people by now, and guess what: Tomorrow at the same time I will be walking by again, and pretty soon you will be tired of calling me - or any foggot - a foggot.
I wonder why it is still somewhat "OK" to even use that word for my kind. In Germany it is downright illegal to make public, negative remarks about the jewish community, and it certainly is the closest thing to a crime in this country to use a certain word to refer to an African American. For good reason. And as far as I can recall, I didn't have any more say in the way I was born than any other person who might be discriminated against for the color of their hair, skin, religious background, origin or gender. The only conclusion I can reach is that not enough gays and lesbians have been killed. That is really what sets us apart. The fact that homosexuals have been tortured, experimented on and killed by (my other kind-) Germans, was just not public enough, and other than that there was really never a time when a big enough mass of us have been publicly extinguished. Therefor it is quite alright to continue the verbal abuse, and all it does is create laughter and provide entertainment on the street. I have no problem taking part in the process, and it would be great if I could make even one guy on the street ignore the next faggot that walks by. But I do have my moments when I wonder about why things are the way they are, and why so many people are still thrown by something that is all around them.

Safe in the hood...

2009-05-14T07:10:00.000-07:00

I never thought I'd say this, but it pays off to call some of the scariest people in my hood my "friends" (ok... this word might be pushing it...). The reason I give some of those guys even a second of my time is usually - plain and simple - fear. The fear of... what!??? Well... let's see. The other day I came home from work, but coudn't go my usual route, due to police blocking off the entire road. As I turned left to get around the obstruction, I caught a glimpse of a white sheet in the middle of the street, covering up a body. Now - I am not sure ifthat person got shot, stabbed or hit by a car, and frankly I don't care. All I know is that my behind will not be found in such an unfortunate position if I can halp it. So yes... I am a sissy, I own up to it, and that's the end of that tale.
On my way to buy cigarettes in the evening I might pass one of the "crack houses" and might be stopped by one of the guys asking me for a cig. And instead of saying "sorry... I don't have any", I say "I am getting some right now, and I'll give you one on my way back".
And so, one of my "friends" is a rather dangerous looking guy who works at the liquor store around the corner. He's got the whole nine yards... tatoos everywhere, a big scar running down his face from temple to mouth... the kind of guy who surely carries at least two weapons with him at all times. But - liking my beer as much as I do, and being a "regular" there, we greet each other by name, shake hands and are pretty much buddies.
Quick shift in story;
recently I have gone back to taking public transportation again. Maybe because it is getting warmer and I don't mind listening to my "gay- pod" for the hour the bus takes to go up to work. And in the morning it is no problem at all. The people at the bus stop are there for a reason and with the purpose of going to work. But the other day I had a "split shift"; meaning: I went to work from 9am - 11am (which I took the car for), and then had to go back to work at four, taking the bus. Now... at 3 pm the bus stop is another story. This time around you have all the crazy ones just "hanging" at the corner, looking at me like I am from Mars. It became clear very quickly that this was no place for little old me to be spending my time. Rowdy guys started a "play- fight", pushing each other closer and closer in my direction, kids looking at me up and down, whispering. I am sure it didn't help that I nervously played around with my $300 mp3 player or my BlackBerry. I finally reached the point where I thought: "I'll give this bus two more minutes before I go back home and take the damn car. Screw going green!!!" And just in that moment, the crowd on the street got quieter, and I notices how the loudest kids on the corner shut up and moved out of the way. From the distance I saw Will - my scary liquor store friend - walk down the street to work. I mea... people litteraly move out of the way to let him pass. And what does he do? He walks right up to my with his hand reaching out to me, said "wassup, ben (he thinks I'm ben... but who cares) how you doin'? good to see you!" and walked on. From that moment on I was the safest person in Trenton. Nobody blinked at me... not a peep!
Yayy... here's to victory and to the right kin of friends at thie right time!!!

Lucky people...

2009-03-11T10:13:00.000-07:00

I need to start this one with a little introduction.
As many people with basic history- knowledge might know, when at the end of WW2 the Americans got to Germany, German families had to clear out their spaces for the American soldiers to basically move in. That's also what happened to my grandfather, whose room became the temporary home of Bob - one of the soldiers. As strange as this situation might have been, Karl (my grandfather) and Bob remain friends to this day. Bob and his family live in Albany, and Karl calls him every other month, they write holiday cards back and forth, and keep a great long- distance- friendship. Many years ago (I was just born...) my grandparents actually visited them here in the States and had a great time. So - when I moved to NY over ten years ago, naturally my family kept telling me to get in touch with our friends in Albany. "Wouldn't it be great to stay in touch with friends of the family" that sort of thing.
And about a week ago I learned that one should always listen to parents' advice.
OK... Bob has a son who is married to a woman who didn't know what she should give her husband for their 17th anniversary. In the last minute she went to a little corner store and purchased a lottery ticket. And guess what!? They won 10 million Dollars!
First of all: Somewhere inside I always doubted the reality of lottery winners. We hear about them on TV, we might see one of those annoying photos of the winners carrying larger than life checks, but somehow I always felt it was all staged in order to make people buy the tickets. In that perspective it is kinda cool to KNOW that it is actually true!
The other thing is though that I consider myself a fairly lucky person. So - IF the winning of lottery- money was real, I thought that I might just be lucky enough to win one day (granted I would start playing...). But now I just see that chance fade away - isn't winning the lottery so rare that knowing a winner statistically means that I really can't win myself!?
And last, but not least: Why did I not listen?????? I can't just start calling them NOW!!! "Hey guys... I am Karl's grandson; what's up? I've been trying to reach you for ten years, but your phone has always been busy...!?"

A glass of (Trenton) water, please

2009-03-04T17:39:00.000-08:00

When a while ago the "Trenton makes- the world takes" sign was repaired - or replaced (?) - I had this brief moment of thinking: What exactly does Trenton make these days? I even wondered if Trenton at least made the sign stating that "Trenton makes" whatever it supposedly makes. Personally, I am only familiar with the very cool ANA candle place, where Manolo and I go once a year to stock up on mood- lighting, but other than that I simply cannot come up with anything else that is actually made here. So when I got wind of Trenton selling Trenton Water, it got me a little worried; assuming that this might - in fact - be the only thing left in this town that actually brings money TO the town.
So - last night my friend Christine took me to a meeting to fight the sale of Trenton Water, and I have to say that I was very impressed. I am not gonna lie...: I was certainly not an ACTIVE participant for several reasons. 1 - as a foreigner I cannot sign any petitions. 2 - there was a lot of talk about political insight I simply don't have. 3 - I enjoyed just listening in, learning and trying to understand what the hell is going on. And honestly; I walked out of the meeting STILL not fully understanding what exactly it is our dear Mayor has in store for "his" (oh wait... isn't it OUR???) city. Let me just put it in my words - the way I understood it:
Farmer X owns a large potato field that grows enough potatoes to feed his entire family. In fact - the field had been in his family for generations, and has fed the family for centuries. One day farmer X wakes up and decides that he wants to sell his potato field. Maybe the thought of quick profit lured him into this plan... or maybe he is secretly planning on leaving the farm and the family, and wants to make a buck to take with him. Either way, he made up his mind and he announces his plan at the dinner table. The family takes some time to think, but questions quickly arise: Once we don't own the field anymore, how much are we gonna have to pay for the same damn potato we used to just pick off the field? Since the potato field is virtually the family's only source of income, how can that income be replaced? How much is the future owner really paying, and where is that money going to? What brought all this up in the first place? What would George Washington say about the complete downfall of the very field HE once fought a historic battle on? (I am getting carried away...). And while the farmer has never been a great leader of the family to begin with, the fact that he doesn't answer any of those questions only deepens the family's dislike of him. They get together in a chamber up above the dining room, try desperately to fight for the good and the future of the family, feel lied to, misguided and ignored by the very person who should only have the family's best interest at heart.
Now - please feel free to educate me if my understanding of the situation is incorrect. And if you do, I would appreciate if you did so by using my rather artistic potato- scenario. It somehow makes more sense to me than water. But also:
As a none- American, all I can do is sit through a meeting, show my support and write my little blog. But YOU guys out there actually have a say in this situation. This is a country led by its residents and by caring, everyday people who know what is right and wrong. Thanks to all the people who are getting together to fight for US, to all the people who are standing up for Trenton by speaking out or by simply putting their names on a piece of paper. I encourage everybody to go out there, sign what needs to be signed, say what needs to be said and do what needs to be done in order for us to enjoy our own potatoes from our own field.

Poor dog...

2009-03-03T03:19:00.000-08:00

The most exciting thing that has been happening in my life in the past months is most certainly my job. It is what I obviously spend most of my time with, and what occupies my mind even when I get home in the evening. And even though I have been working in this new field for over eight months now, moving around in a field that is not 100% familiar is extremely tiring. It reminds me a bit of the time when I first moved to the states, and how just speaking english all day would tire me out. Every word I said would have to be translated in my head and thought through before being released, which was a lot more work than just blabbing something out.
Anyway - bottom line, I come home from work at night and I am pooped;... happy, but pooped.
So, the other evening was just another on of those days where I basically crashed on the sofa as soon as I came back home, while doing a "Nip- Tuck" marathon (which - we just got into and is a GREAT show!!!) Here I was, dosing off, when Kitry decited that it was time for her to visit the back yard. Half asleep I followed her to the door, opened it and let her and Fiby out. Kitry generally only goes out to do her thing - Fiby, on the other hand, LOVES to spend time there. She is in and out of the bushes, hunts for squirrels, birds and cats, runs, leaps and barks as her heart desires. After a few minutes both were back at the door, but when I opened it to let them back inside, Fiby realized that there might be more animals to hang out with and ran back into the greenery. I'm gonna be honest... I was mad. I was tired, wanted to go back to my beloved sofa, cover up and pass out. I as around 11PM, and I was not in the mood to be reminded of how useless our training was when calling "come here", which only causes her to look over her shoulder at best. I closed the door with the words "then stay outside, you little tramp" (which is her nickname) and went back to the living room. On my way there I told myself to let Manolo know that our little one is still outside, but at my state of exhaustion I must have forgotten by the time I was back on the couch.
So - about an hour and a half later I woke up from Manolo laughing like a crazy person, and here is his side of the story.
In our neighborhood it is quite common to hear dogs bark; too many irresponsible dog-owners who let their dogs run free at all hours of the day and night. So - for the fist 15 minutes he was not too concerned when this poor dog started barking at half past eleven. Half an hour into the noise he started getting a little irritated, and when the barking wouldn't let up an hour later he started losing it. "The poor dog... damn those dog owners... idiot neighbors..." Another ten minutes later he went online to find the number for animal control - knowing that there is this particular little dog around the corner that is in desperate need of help. Finally - as he was scrambling around to act on behalf of the poor little pooch that must be freezing cold, possibly hungry and certainly not supposed to be outside, he realized that THAT poor little dog was Fiby.
The little thing was on the back steps FOREVER, trying to get our attention, while I was sleeping like an angel and Manolo was about to call animal control... ON US.
In any case... I have always heard about stories of parents accidently leaving their kids at home, or driving off a supermarket parking lot whithout their child... and I have found a new understanding for it. The mind is an amazing thing - a thing that does not work worth a damn if you're tired.
But I made up for it... sort of; Fiby and I spent the rest of the evening cuddled up on the sofa, wrapped in blankets. She also doesn't run away anymore when I open the door to let her back inside, which is a safe thing to do. But the guilt of neglecting a child is deep, and I have never felt less like a fit parent. No cookie, no toy and no belly-rub can let me live down the fact that I left my daughter outside in the winter in the middle of the night.

A television event worth mentioning

2009-01-24T21:03:00.000-08:00

Let me start by saying this: I don't care if you are female or male, gay or straight (or anything in between), young or old. If you missed Saturday's premiere of the Lifetime movie "Prayers for Bobby", WATCH IT AS SOON AS YOU CAN!!! I am not saying this to promote a tear jerker, but because it is an amazing story about an inspirational journey that provides insight into the lives of - god knows how many - families out there.
I am very critical of "gay" things, and am generally tired of gay movies that reflect only the negative sides of our lives. AIDS, rejection, hatred, discrimination. For the most part I just wonder why nobody makes a gay film about a happy couple, or about a great relationship with ups and downs - basically a movie that could apply to the average straight couple just as well. Or I would love to see a gay couple in a commercial for some random household item. Just to be shown in a "normal" situation; but as long as we show only the "ab-normal" sides of it, we really can't expect others to look past them.
That being said, this latest movie made me think. It is damn easy for me to say "just give me something "normal"", when the sad reality is that AIDS, rejection, hatred and discrimination are things that a lot of people out there have to deal with on a daily basis. I might not face those issues in my life, but we know that a large number of people are not that lucky. And if a movie like the one just shown can make even ONE un-accepting parent think, or ONE catholic question the bible, or make ONE gay man or lesbian woman decide not to jump off that bridge, than we moved yet another step in the right direction.
So - get a bottle of wine, some cubes of cheese, crackers and grapes and tissues and turn on "Lifetime." If they play it on weekdays at nine, you can just stay tuned, go right into "Will and Grace" at eleven and have an entirely GAY evening!!!

The Lady at PetCo... or: Can we just be nice???

2009-01-24T07:28:00.000-08:00

The day before yesterday was another big day in the life of our Baby Fiby. Yes... she had a bath. But not just any old bath! She was actually bathed with "Head and shoulders"; not only because she is worth it, but mainly because we ran out of dog shampoo. Bathing her is not a big deal... but the blow drying is a 1.5 hour fight where my little ball of fur mutates into a pit bull without mercy. This time she actually fought me until she suddenly passed out, her body colapsing like limp asparagus (a NY reviewer used those words once to discribe me in something I danced a few years back...). I had to stop the process, shake her until she came to, and celebrated her life while holding back tears. Needless to say - the girl went through a near death experince, and I felt like having her with me every second for the rest of the day.
I had to get dog food later on, and took her with me; "girls' day out". She was still quite exhausted from the horror I made her go through, but she looked amazing and smelled better than the everage person!
We first stopped by West Elm (where - by the way - I will start my official Management Training in February), and where Fiby is always a welcome guest. She feels pretty much at home there; or maybe she is just confused as to how half our stuff from the house suddenly appears in this strange place. "Did we move???"
Anyway; next stop: PetCo. We walked through the isles while I picked up what we needed, and Fiby pulled me towards whereve her nose led her. Just before getting to the register, a Lady with he little dog stopped for our babies to "say hello". As the girls did their thing, the woman asked me what kind of dog Fiby is. I told her she is a Shih- tzu.
"Hmmmm..." the woman said. Then again: "Hmmm". Pause.
"My friend has a Shih- tzu... she looks different though. I guess it is because she keeps her well groomed."
First of all; I realy don't care about your friend (although; judging by your manners I am quite frankly surprised you HAVE a friend), her dog, her grooming habits or what you are guessing. Secondly - Fiby had been through enough that day, and certainly didn't need to have insult added to injury. And thirdly:
"She actually just had a bath, and probably smells better than you" - I said, pulled the leash ever so gently and proceeded to the check out.
Remember the line from "Bambi"...!? "If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all"!? Isn't that something to think about?
I find it interesting how we always look for change and hope for things to get better. We want the war to end, we want the economy to ge back on track, we want gas prices to come down, we want crimes to stop... and for everything we WANT, we look to find somebody to fix it. The police, government, Obama (and may I say: God bless America! Congratulations, thank you, Oh say can you see by the dawn's early light, Mary, Jesus and all the saints). But can't we stop to think for a second that it is not only those BIG things that make life better or worse. There are small things we all can do to make ourselves and others a little happier, a little safer and our daily lives in general a little more pleasant. But pointing ingers at all that is wrong, while walking around being mean, negative, zynic and in a bad mood is simply hypocritical.
On that noe, I will make it my goal for today to just be nice.

Another gray day

2008-11-25T08:35:00.000-08:00

I am fully back, have been working all week since I got home, and I think it's time for a day off.
I am still thinking about how the week in Germany went; sadly, I didn't get to spend much time with my family. But boy... was I on a schedule! The day I arrived, I went to see my little cousin's soccer game (yes... me... at a soccer field). I even cheered and everything; well... at some point I think I accidentally cheered for the wrong team. But hey... I was there, I showed enthusiasm and I did what I could.
I guess what amazes me about family is that no matter how far away they are and how little time we get to spend together, they are always there with support and love. There is also no such thing as a time periode to re-connect. Oh no... we start right where we left off a year ago, which is fun. Also - having left home when I was really a kid, I somehow never stop being this kid. Here I am... 6000 miles from home, living my own life, making my own decisions... and as soon as I get home for just a few days I get to hear all about the "smoking" and the "staying up late", as if I could be re-molded in 72 hours.
Parents never stop being parents, and there is something very comforting about that thought.
I also took up knitting. First it was socks... but then I started a sweater a few weeks ago. Of course... I only know how to knit in one straight line, and it occured to me at some poin that I will need help. So - going to Germany, where my grandma is the knitting- queen came at a great time. I showed her my "work", and asked her to talk me through the process of decreasing for the arm pits and the neck line. She said I didn't knit enough yet, and that she would just add a few rows before getting to the part I needed help with. Next thing I know... she finished the whole front of it in one evening while I was in Stuttgart. Well... I now have one half done, but still have no clue how to do the actual job once I knit the back. She meant well, and I will forever cherrish the sweater; if I ever finish it.
Other than that, I have just been working a lot, trying to ignore the cold. But I somehow am in holiday spirits this year, and think it'll be a fun season. We'll see.
The babies are doing great; Fiby is sitting on the back of the sofa, looking out into the back yard. She is the sweetest thing in the world, but she has absolutely no manners. Poor Kitry has to put up with her all day - I think I wanna get a nanny cam. I really want to know what these two Ladies are doing all day when we are at work.
Anyway; just another gray day in Trenton.

Stuttgart

2008-11-18T08:19:00.000-08:00

(doing the stage rehearsal before the show)
I am all out of excuses for having been so bad about keeping up this blog!!! I would not be surprised if nobody even checks in anymore...; so for now, I am just writing for myself!
I got back last night from doing the Gala in Stuttgart, which was absolutely amazing.
It was one more life altering experience - one more thing to remember forever - one more thing to tell my grand children about. Oh... wait; maybe not MY grand children, but someone else's grand children.
The first great thing was that it was a long weekend with two stage rehearsals and three shows. As a dancer this meant to have sufficient time on stage to feel comfortable and also to get to know the other artists, which was great. I have met some of the most amazing people and got to watch them work; we exchanged words, experiences and we all had a great time. I got to chat with "my" musicians, who were just unbelievable... had a great time with the stage crew, and every other person involved.
At first I was a little nervous about how I would be accepted among the "serious" artists. That's the thing about being involved in comedy; will people appreciate the art and hard work that is behind the laughs and giggles? Will people who LOVE ballet realize that I do, too? Will people understand that it is not about making fun of, but about paying tribute to ballet and the Ballerina? Performing as part of the Trocks and performing a regular show with them, the audience knows what they are coming to see. They want to see guys in Tutus, and that's what they are going to get. But how will an audience react that came to see such Artists as Lucia Lacarra and Cyril Pierre? What will they say when faced with a 6 foot Ballerina?
All these questions were soon forgotten - actually within the first few minutes at the Theater. There were the Students from Mrs Keils school, teachers from the school, Choreographers, Directors, Managers, Soloists, young, old and everything in between. And wherever I looked, there were friendly faces, respectful looks and a sense of love for what was going on. I talked to the girls about point shoes (which they found quite strange), did my warm up in a separate studio with great Principal dancers from all over the world, and listened the orchestra rehearse my music through the speakers while putting on my make up.
My mom was back stage every night - actually as my costume- Lady and personal assistant. It was great to have her there, and she soon became friends with the whole heater as well. I did an interview for a newspaper article, which turned out beautifully. And on Saturday, about 30 of my closest family and friends came to see the show. It was amazing and overwhelming.
And of course... there was "La Keil" - a star, a Lady, a wonderful person, artist and woman. As a dancer who saw her perform and looked up to her from an early age on, there are no words to describe the feeling I had when being on a stage and in a show with her name all over it.
You know... life is funny;
I was quite done dancing... done with the drama and the pain and all the stuff that comes with it. But this weekend, under the given circumstances and as an individual artist who has learned a thing or two about work and life and art, I am tempted to say that I could continue THAT WAY. On some level... which I haven't figured out. I think that sometimes we forget what we have to offer; and as happy as I am about the path my life has taken in the past few months, I think I still have something to give as an artist. This weekend certainly made me feel like it. We'll see how it goes.
I was gone for only ten days... had some great home made food, some beer, a great time with my family and friends, ... but it was also nice to come back to Trenton, to Manolo and the babies. I was afraid Fiby might have forgotten about me. But then I came through the door, and she almost lost her mind of excitement. But then again... she does that, no matter who comes through that door; my little tramp!
For now, I have to wash some clothes, walk the dogs, find a place for all the chocolate I brought back from Germany, and take the day to relax and reflect.
And yes... I'll b writing more soon!!!!!!

A few more words about HER

2008-10-10T10:59:00.000-07:00

After writing a bit about Sarah Stalin... I mean Palin earlier today, I started watching all these youtube clips of her speeches, interviews and of a lot of people commenting on her (and I don't only mean SNL's Tina Fey). I think one of Bill Maher's guests put it the best when she said that "she is basically Bush in drag". It makes me wonder... maybe she IS Bush in drag!? You know how some people (me included) think that Michael and LaToya Jackson are really the same person! They look alike, and are never anywhere at the same time. What if this is Bush's way of getting another round? Think about it... he didn't show up at the republican convention!!!??? Why not? Because he was in drag as "Sarah".
But jokes aside...I still blame Bush for all of this. I am sorry... he opened the doors for complete idiots to even be considered into the White House. Obviously - having him for President for the past eight years, you can pick just about anybody off the street to do a better job than him. He lowered the barre so much that people now look at the next moron, going... "oh well... she'll do for VP". But the sad truth is that McPain really won't make it for very long, and then we are stuck with a drag queen from... Texas, I guess.
I feel it coming...; remember how I wrote about having lost sleep over the last election!? Damn. I guess I should order a couple of bottles of Ambien before things heat up. This is not good... at all.
When Hillary was still in the running, I loved the idea of a female President. I thought it would be great for the country - and for the way the country is being looked at from the outside - to have the female sensibility after what Bush has done to the image of America. And now we have this Alaskan who claims that "the difference between a pit bull and a hockey mom is lipstick". And that's a good thing??? Is a pit bull what this country needs right now? Her experience with foreign policy is "living just across the water from Russia"!??!??!!? (See... I don't even even know if I should finish this sentence with a question mark or an exclamation point!) WOW.
Anyway; I think Palmer should run for President, with Paris Hilton as his VP.

Mme Palin...

2008-10-10T05:07:00.000-07:00

For being a foreigner who is not able to vote, I do feel quite involved (emotionally) in American politics. I remember four years ago I actually almost lost it when "W" was re-elected... I couldn't step away from the TV, wrote e-mails to Michael Moore, lost sleep and appetite over the whole drama and was altogether a mess.
Seeing that things - no matter what - can only look up from here, I am not quite as crazy about this years election, but I still wonder about certain things that come out of these peoples' mouths.
For one, there is - of course - the gay issue that personally affects and interests me. Sadly though, I have yet to hear something that actually has substance from either party. They all seem to talk around the topic in a way that you can really not pin point what their real thoughts, plans and goals are. It is kind of smart (not good... but smart), because that way they obviously won't have to stick to anything... since they really didn't say anything.
I loved how Palin talked about having "Friends... DEAR friends from all different walks of life", which makes her open and accepting, I guess. Honestly though... just from looking at her I just don't see her hanging out with an African American girlfriend for Sunday brunch; and I certainly don't see her inviting the gay couple from next door. It's just so easy to talk about tolerance and equality when you know that's what people want to hear.
The other thing that fascinates me is how they talk about saving energy, using alternative sources and saving our planet. She actually said that "we have to step forward, and make sure other countries follow our lead."
Emmm... have you been to "other countries"?
I imagine she is talking about countries like Uzbekistan, because every "developed" country in the world is further ahead with all this than the US.
First off, let me say this: I know I shouldn't talk badly about this country, being a foreigner who talks about how much he loves America. But hey... I also love Manolo, but that doesn't mean he never pisses me off.
That being said;
One of our recent classes covered "construction materials and environmental impacts". One of the teachers was a wonderful woman who researches and works with green materials. She is an architect and has traveled all over the world to find out about the latest things on the market... but also to look at what is really not so new but rather marketed as "new". And funny enough, she pointed out how many countries have been working with "green" materials and energy sources for a long time - in fact for hundreds of years, and that all this is really only "new" over here.
I can certainly speak from my own experience in Europe, where (for example) half the houses in my little village have solar cells on their roofs - supported by the government to the point where the home owners don't have to put out a single Euro.
Many areas in Europe are covered with those huge wind- machines.
Houses that are hundreds of years old are insulated better than many new houses around here.
I am saying all this because I do wonder who is following whose lead here? I just don't like hearing lies. I know this is a great country and a great nation... but certain things could be better, and I think it is important to look at other places with an open eye and an open mind, and to admit that we might not be "the best" at everything we do. Because if we don't, there is really no rush to GET better.
And it starts with the small stuff.
In Germany, you don't get plastic bags at the grocery store. People bring canvas bags or baskets to the store... and the few people who come unprepared pay 20 cents for each plastic bag they need.
I see a very different mentality though, and I think it has a lot to do with all these things. People in the States are a lot quicker with throwing things out, changing things around, moving into a bigger or smaller home according to needs, desires or comfort. I think there is something very freeing and great about this mentality, although on the other hand I sometimes think it keeps us from really appreciating and caring for what we own.
I have to go back to my family.
15 years ago they bought a piece of property and built their home. And from the first brick to the last coat of paint there was no question that this house was built to remain in our family for as long as our family exists. I walk into this house today... 15 years later, and there is not a scratch on the wood floor, not a dirty spot on the wall, not a chipped base board to be seen. They used materials that will outlast us all, put their time, sweat and money into it, and take care of it - knowing that it will be their shelter for the rest of their lives.
I think it is this kind of thinking that has a huge impact on the environment - and also on the quality of work and materials. People will not use cheap stuff that breaks after a couple of years and has to be replaced, because they want it to last for as long as they live in their home - which is probably forever. That alone is "green".
So... Mrs Palin. Go to Uzbekistan or the Republic of Chad and tell them to follow "your lead", because those two are pretty much the only countries who are in fact behind in the topics you brought up.

What's been going on...

2008-09-28T07:20:00.000-07:00

First of all...
Am I Paris Hilton, or why do I keep receiving letters from Law Firms who want to represent me in fighting my traffic tickets??? I have gotten five of them so far (letters I mean... NOT tickets!!!). Seriously... I know that I have crossed that red light, and I honestly think that I have to just bite the bullet and pay the damn money. The Lawyers also only write about the red light... not about the license issue. The ticket for the traffic light is $80, and I am pretty sure that a Lawyer bill would be way higher than that. I just think it's amazing how they are so "attentive" and "willing to help" over this! How do they even know about it? If I felt the need to argue my case, would it not be ME contacting THEM?
Oh well... I have my license renewed, got a couple of points and have to just deal with the consequences of my actions. It feels wrong to me to fight something I know I did wrong. What could I possible say without blushing? It was a red light, for Christ's sake. No argument in the world can make it green!
The past week has been quite busy, and I gain more and more respect for my mom who has been a working parent for most of her life. I actually found myself reading an article online about how to get work, household, "babies" and a bit of down time into a 24 hour day. Yes... I can now be found at the self help isle at Barnes and Nobles!
I have also been more exhausted than I thought I would be once I stopped dancing. But the truth is that it is a very different kind of exhaustion. As a dancer, there are long days, late nights... lots of physical work. But there was also a lot of quiet time when - for example - a piece was rehearsed that I was not in, or when during a stage rehearsal I would kind of "walk" through the piece. Once it was time for the show, adrenaline kicked in, and got me through just about anything for a couple of hours. I would push through it, get myself into "performance mode", and before I knew it the curtain came down. Don't get me wrong... there were many moments when I thought I would die of exhaustion, but the work in a theater is basically made of several "rush hours" mixed in with a few "down hours".
Working for eight hours in a "regular" job is a very different level of constant dealing with other people, issues, thinking, being friendly, suggesting, sharing ideas, finding solutions and making people leave happily. It is a lot of fun, but it is draining on a level I didn't know about before I actually did it.
I think that every kid should work in retail at least once. It teaches you a lot of people skills, a lot of "problem solving" skills and a lot of patience. And I have to say... it is a great feeling to know that a client walked into the store in an obviously bad mood with no idea how to solve a specific home- house- room- issue, and to see that same customer leave an hour later with a smile and a solution.

The babies are doing very well... although I have not slept in ONCE after we got Fiby. She is a ball of energy who will not stop playing... EVER! I guess she spends many hours sleeping while we are at work, and needs to get her energy out when we are home. But must this happen at three, four, five and six in the morning? And of course... once I finally get up at seven and take her downstairs, she lays down under the table and goes right back to a lovely, peaceful sleep. Bitch! She is doing it right now! I want to wake her up and disturb her rest so badly!!! I wonder if it would work to use her own weapons against her!?
Oh well... another gray, rainy day is starting. I like this season; there is something about the grayness that always makes me think about life. I guess in a way this time of year reminds me of the way life works. That there are not always sunshine, blue skies and clear summer nights. But how can we appreciate those things without the cloudy, depressing days?
Anyway... another cup of coffee can't hurt before getting ready for work.
More soon!!!

Karma...

2008-09-19T04:59:00.000-07:00

I don't know if what I am about to tell you happened as a karmic reaction to my last post where I made fun of the Trenton Police, or because I haven't finished my dinner the other day; bottom line, I have a story to tell.

Ok; before I got my Green Card a little over a year ago, the expiration date of my drivers license used to be directly linked to the expiration of my visa, which I had to renew every couple of years. Of course... once I had my precious Permanent Residence Card I really stopped thinking about it, and lived (and drove) happily ever after. I vaguely remember receiving a notice about my license in very early spring, but so many things have happened since and I admit that I simply didn't think of it anymore.
On Tuesday I had a day off, and went to pick Manolo up from work in the evening. I got to his office a little early and started going through all the stuff I accumulated in my wallet. I threw out receipts, organised bills by size... and eventually took out my license. Sure enough... it expired last month. DAMN!!!
In my head I went through my schedule for the week. I knew that on Thursday I would take the Bus to work anyway, since we have school at night, which would take place at a construction site near my job. Manolo would keep the car and pick me up in the evening to go there. Good... that only left Wednesday. I would take the car to work, pick Manolo up at night and that would be it. Friday I have a day off, and I would get my license renewed first thing in the morning.
Of course... all day Wednesday I was driving around a little nervous... knowing I was really doing something I shouldn't do. But hey... I have never been stopped, and I will be fine!
I got home from work at night, prepared some dinner and waited for Manolo's phone call to go get him. He called, I grabbed Fiby (it was her first birthday) and drove to where he works.
I guess NOW I should have stopped pushing my luck and made HIM drive back; but it just didn't occur to me.
We drove down South Broad Street and got to the corner where two traffic lights are set so that one turns green as the next one is just about to turn red. It pisses me off every time, and I have discovered that I can (kind of) make it through the second light when it's "yellow" if I push it! And so I pushed it as I have many times before. I got through the second light as it jumped from yellow to red................ and there they were; coming out of a side street with their lights blinking. Trenton cops.
COME ON!!! We were two minutes away from our house on my last drive before going to the DMV!!! I pulled over, rolled down my window, and realized that I didn't even bring my wallet this time!
Long story short... the cop was actually nice. He took my name, went to his car and came back a little while later to inform me about my expired license. He was kind of cool, and charged me for less then he could have for the license issue. Of course... he got me for the red light as well, which I couldn't really argue either.
It was altogether a very expensive and quite exciting evening... $270.
There is a side of me that wants to be angry at the fact that all this went down at one of the worst corners of our neighborhood. There are so many crazy things going on right there that would be way more important to fix than my little red light/ license issue. As we sat in the car waiting for him to write up his tickets, I wanted to point things out to him... like: "Heads up... hooker to your left! Attention: Crack sale 11 o'clock!"
But on the other hand I have to slap my own wrist and say that I can't complain about cops NOT taking charge... and then complain when they do (even if it bit me in the ass).
How the hell could I have forgotten about this in the first place!? I know I have been busy and preoccupied with a lot of things that are going on in my life right now... but... HOW??? How does one forget about an important thing like that?????? I need a freaking assistant!
I am mostly mad at myself for not having been on top of things. I mean... had anything else happened, I could be in jail now. Can you picture me in jail??? Manolo would come visit with the babies fresh from the groomers with pink bows in their hair; it would be quite the sight!

Site Meter...

2008-09-14T08:29:00.000-07:00

Are any other bloggers having issues with the "site meter"? Mine just stopped working today, and I cannot fix it!
HELP!!! (That wasn't Fluffy... he's dead, remember???)

The Bird...

2008-09-14T06:53:00.000-07:00

"HELP!!!!"

Every time I go to the little corner- supermarket by our house, I am captivated by the pile of the "Trentonian" sitting right by the register. I always get a kick out of looking at the front page - mostly because there is always a murder, rape or break in right in my hood, and I keep feeling more and more lucky to still be alive. The other day though (and I don't know why I didn't write about it THAT day), a headline on that very front page grabbed my attention and made me open this somewhat questionable newspaper to read the details about it on page three.
Allegedly a woman heard screams for help coming from the neighboring house, and when it wouldn't let up, she finally called the cops. They (miraculously) showed up at the location, heard the desperate screams for themselves, surrounded the house, created this big scene....... just to find the screams came from a parrot.
HAHAHA...everybody was laughing and happy that there was no emergency, and the bird had a moment of fame and glory.
First of all... this is not a story for the front page of ANY newspaper.
But my immediate thoughts went a bit further.
Don't parrots generally imitate and repeat words they hear over and over again? They don't just come up with their own vocabulary; I know that, because my sister had a talking bird once who wouldn't shut up, and because it is pretty much common knowledge - or so I thought. Call me "Miss Marple", but if I was at that scene with the bird, I would have asked a few questions about how this feathery thing came to scream "Help!!! Help!!!" in the first place. I couldn't believe the cops were just like...:"Ohhh; that was cute. ok... bye!" I can't get the image out of my head that the poor lady living with the bird was a hostage or victim of domestic violence whose only hope was the bird who heard her screams many times, and who could now scream "for her" in order to rescue her. She was chained in the basement for years now, waiting for this very moment when the police would be alarmed by the pet's screams. Finally the day comes; the cops show up. She is hopeful and certain that trained police men would realize that there was fowl play. I mean - come on... everybody knows how birds learn to speak. Surely they would see the red flags.
Well... not those cops.
In disbelief the lady watches the police drive off through the little basement window after some second rate reporter took a snapshot of "Fluffy" - or whatever the hell he was called - for the front page of the Trentonian. The lady is living in the basement sadly ever after, Fluffy probably died later that day of "heart failure" or some other ominous cause and was never to be heard again, and another Trenton criminal got away with it all.
Maybe my imagination is just off the hook, but I do think the story didn't quite end where it ended according to the paper... that's all I'm saying. But if authorities can't even follow simple and clear clues like this one, of course they look at two guys on the street exchanging money for envelopes going :"He must be paying rent...!?"

Opa, Oma and the war

2008-09-11T10:23:00.000-07:00

In German, we call grandpa "Opa" and grandma "Oma", and while I have mentioned those two in one of my recent posts, I really want to take a moment to talk about these two amazing people.
Number one... they have been married for over 50 years, which is enough to just bow in awe. They have been through the war, did their part in rebuilding Germany once things got back on track, have raised two amazing daughters and were the best grandparents any child could possibly wish for. We (my sister, brother and I) basically grew up with them as closely as with our parents, and for the past 15 years they lived in my parents house on the second floor. It has always been a great situation, where three generations learn from each other, love and annoy each other and just do what they can to be happy and supportive of each others lives.
As I grew older, one of the most impressive thing about them was for me that they have truly experienced WW2, and that they can tell stories that put all the "mysteries" into perspective for me.
To this day, they lay out their clothes for the next day on two stools by the end of the bed in the order that they will be put on in the morning. This is just one of many details they have never gotten rid of after living in fear, ready to run as soon as the bomb alarm would go off in the middle of the night. We are talking about a woman who was a young teenager, and who survived three direct bombs, who crawled out of her basement to find her families house in ruins three times, and who rebuilt the home three times. A woman who refused to go to the "Hitler youth" meetings (she actually still has her pass with only one stamp in it, which she is very proud to show..."look... I only went once!").
Opa came home from school one day to find his family missing for days. They were interrogated by the SS, and he had no word of their whereabouts. They went through it from the beginning... when Hitler came up with the "Reichs Mark" - the new currency, which was handed out upon turning in every cent of the old "Gold Mark". Opa's uncle kept a bag full of the valued Gold Mark and hid it, which somehow authorities got wind off. He was a priest, and when the SS showed up he was not at home. The soldiers turned the place upside down... looking for the money. The uncle's maid, who had no idea what they were looking for finally said: "I kept telling him not to listen to the radio... I said he would get in trouble... he wouldn't listen to me."
The Nazi's never found his Gold Mark... but after the big mouthed maid spilled the beans about him illegally listening to the "forbidden" radio station, took him to a concentration camp as soon as he got home. He remained there for a couple of years, miraculously made it out - only to die of exhaustion and starvation a few days later.
It is interesting to live in a foreign country as a German. It makes me a little sad sometimes when I realize that the first thing people generally think of is not "Mercedes Benz", "Einstein", "Johann Sebastian Bach", "Marlene Dietrich" or "Oktoberfest" - although... beer is usually second in line... AFTER Hitler. But the truth is that this time in history is carved so deeply into people's memories that there is really no recovering from it, no matter how many good things there were and are.
For me, my grandparents were a vital part in making me understand that not every German at the time was evil. That there were good people who suffered through war times, and that not everybody raised their right arm and cheered at the sight of this little, closeted, meth-using racist monster who cowardly killed himself once he realized that he screwed up beyond repair. It was important for me as a person and as a German to listen to the stories these two people told me early on in order to not be ashamed of where I come from.
When I first moved to NY a very interesting thing happened.
It was a very rainy day, and I (along with millions of Ny-ers) tried to catch a cab on my way home. I finally got one, and as we stopped at a red light two young girls knocked on my window and asked if they could share the ride with me. They would drop me off first, and then keep going wherever they needed to go. Sure thing...! They sat down and we started making small talk, until the girl right next to me asked where I was from. I said "Germany". They exchanged looks, and the other one said: "OK then..." and both turned away.
I asked:"What's wrong?", which was quickly answered with the words: "Well... we are Jewish. Your people killed us!" I couldn't believe it! With the little English I could come up with at the time I managed to say: "Well... I am gay. They killed US, too." Uhh... I am so glad these two little bi***es didn't pull a stunt like that once I was a little more secure. I think today I would stop the cab and kick'em out - with the words "not because you're Jewish, but because you're stupid!" Come on, girls...! I was clearly not personally involved in the horrible things your ancesters went through, and I am clearly not in any way involved in neo- nazi actions. Would a German neo- nazi really move to a foreign country??? Would a neo- nazi be kind enough to let somebody share a cab with him? Would a neo- nazi wear Dolce and Gabbana??? Think, girls... think!
But the incident did affect me, and it made me very aware of stereo types and the mistakes we all make when we assume that someone is supposed to be a certain way because of his/ her background, look, sexuality, religion, color, or status in society. It really made me think, and whenever I am about to pass judgement on someone I try to remember the way I felt that rainy day in a NY cab.
But back to Oma and Opa; they have - in so many ways - had such a big impact on my growing up and on my understanding of the world. It is quite remarkable that I can talk to Opa about my relationship to a man, when he grew up at a time when gays were considered "sick", and put to death. And not only does he talk to me about my relationship, and about how to make it last as long as his lasted; he defends gay people openly whenever he hears guys at parties tell a gay joke!
I do hope that I will have them around for a lot longer...; Whenever I think about my life as an American Resident, the two of them are probably the main reason for me to sometimes wish I was home more often. My parents are very young, and can come visit me here whenever it works out. But my grandparents wouldn't get on a long flight like that anymore, and our time together really depends on how often I can go see them. For the past few years Opa actually cries every time I leave Germany, which breaks my heart. And he says things like: "I hope we'll see each other again in good health", which almost kills me.
Anyway... I don't want to think about it; they are kicking. (In fact... grandma has a permanent scar on her leg from watching soccer on TV. Yes... she got into it so badly that she KICKED her leg out as if she was hitting the ball, and hit the corner of the stone table hard enough to bleed!) You go, Oma Beckham!
Ich hab euch lieb!!!

A normal day

2008-09-10T17:54:00.000-07:00

OK... here is the thing: Somehow there is always something going on with us that makes me feel like we should have a reality TV show. I guess I have come to grips with the fact that we are not the average household, and that every day there is yet another thing to add to the list.
Yesterday morning we walked out of the house to drive Manolo to work. It was one of the lucky days where our schedules allow me to drop him off, take the car to my job, be done with work before him, so that I can go pick him up at night again.
As soon as I pulled out of our parking spot we noticed that the car was making a strange sound. I pulled over, Manolo leaned out of his door and saw that the right rear tire was completely flat. Damn...! We decided to drive around the corner to the gas station and put on the spare. Here we were... Both dressed for work, him almost late as it was, and neither one of us too eager to get our hands dirty. We got out, looked at the tire, looked at each other and battled each other with intense looks over who would do the honors. Of course... minutes into our mechanic- work a small audience stood by; probably putting down bets on our ability to complete the manly task. But I have to say; at times my own butch-ness surprises me, and we got it done without a single stain on either one of our shirts or pants.
All was well, I dropped our flat tire at the car dealer and went to the bank for Manolo. Since he works basically from eight AM to eight PM every day, he tends to ask me to run certain errands for him, that he should (legally) probably do himself. Every time I am about to do any of this stuff in his name, I get a little nervous about it... almost like I am doing something I shouldn't.
So... I got to the bank with this slightly nervous feeling in my stomach, approached the little table where you fill out the slips as I hear a bank employee ask "what brings you in today?" I told him what I was here for, and he asked me to let him help me with the transaction. I hate that... because now I have to pretend to be Manolo with a person in an office, and not only through the teller where all you do is exchange papers. I sat down, handed him Manolo's papers, he looked at me (oh... by the way - clearly a Latino) and said Manolo's full name. But he didn't really just SAY his name... he pronounced it in perfect Spanish, and literally added a question mark right after it. As little pearls of sweat appeared on my forehead, and a much too long pause needed to get filled with some kind of a response, I answered: "Si... Ola." For the ones of you who watch "Will and Grace" you might know how Karen talks to Rosario sometimes in "Spanish" with this horrific English accent. Yep... that was me. "Si... Oulaa".
I could not wait to get out of this place! Not only was I sweating profusely; I also tend to blush easily, which doesn't make things any better. It was altogether just a very tense morning.
In the evening we had our first class of the new quarter. Color Theory. Every first class of every new course we take is always a little intense for me. You never know what the teacher is gonna be like... or how the atmosphere will be, what the other people are like... and of course - there is the moment I dislike the most: Everybody has to introduce themselves and say a few words about why they are taking the class. I can't stand it. I guess people would assume that as a performer I wouldn't mind it, but don't forget that I was trained to dance... every step was rehearsed and well practiced, and the roles are very clearly assigned: I am here to dance, you are here to watch. In a class, I am not here to talk! I haven't rehearsed!!!!!!
Anyway; As I am listening to one by one talk about themselves (mind you... I am more concentrated on counting how many more people there are until I have to speak), the room just turns into this sort of competition about who is serious about it and who is just here to have fun. It is all about impressing the teacher and talking about ... "my decorator got me interested in design after she did my 35 room beach mansion" and stuff like that. The room just got more and more stuffy by the minute.
And... god bless Manolo. He was in line right before me, leaned forward and said: "Hello; my name is Manolo and I'm an alcoholic". Everybody turned around and cracked up laughing as he started looking around and said "oh... sorry! It's not that meeting!" He got serious, started talking about how we were both dancers and started taking classes last quarter, and that we have learned a lot so far. The teacher asked us which classes we took............. BLANK. We came up with two of the courses, but could not - for the life of us - remember the third course. In a panic to not appear like total idiots I turned it into a joke and said (laughing) "we REALLY learned a lot, haven't we?"
It was so cool to see how breaking out of the "norm" can really break the ice, and I have to say that Manolo is just so good and smart about how to make people comfortable and relaxed. The rest of the class was a lot of fun... people had a great time, laughed and we all enjoyed ourselves.
Anyway... I have a day off tomorrow (although - at night we are starting another course: Construction Materials). I am not sure if we should bring hard hats...!? Maybe a little "Village people" couldn't hurt to get things going there!? We'll see. I'll let you know how it went.

A German family...

2008-09-07T07:37:00.000-07:00

My family is so funny; I actually think that one day I want for Manolo and me to live in a house with an "in- law- suite", so my people can come over more often. Of course... Manolo having the same dry humor as most of my family, he calls the half finished basement in our house the "in- law- suite".
The cool (and sometimes scary) thing about my family is that they always say what's on their minds. I remember the first time they met Manolo years ago when we were both still on tour and performed in Berlin in 2000. My parents were there, my sister and brother, my grand parents and friends of the family. Manolo was very nervous to meet all of them, and to get through a dinner with complete strangers he thought he needed to impress. Although - let me say this: For Germans the "meeting the family" is really not such a big deal. If they like him, GREAT... if they don't, OH WELL. So to me it wasn't a big deal at all, but he spent days carefully selecting his outfit, and even asked a co- worker to join us for back up.
Dinner started, and we - of course - had a great time. They all loved him instantly, we had food and plenty of beer, and the evening got rolling. In a very silent moment my sister decided to ask Manolo a question that almost knocked his socks off.
"So... why would a grown guy like you be attracted to a 22 year old boy?"
Silence. All eyes on him. Suddenly everybody spoke and understood English fluently. He somehow managed to turn the conversation around, but it was this moment that he knew what kind of people he was dealing with.
A while ago I thought about death. I started wondering about the little security I really have here... and just about the "technicalities" of what should happen to me if I died. I spoke to my mom about it a few days later, and just wanted to hear her opinion. Should I be berried here? Should I be cremated (which is what I want), and then remain here, or should my ashes be taken to Germany? Or would you prefer if my body was transported home, and you guys deal with all of it?
Without letting me finish my thoughts, she interrupted me and asked: "How many airline tickets have we bought for you since you moved to the States? It is enough to buy them while you are alive, I will certainly not buy another one when you're dead! Don't you have miles left?"
Of course... we started laughing; which for us means "That was funny"... but NOT "I was kidding".
"Affection" to us - and a lot of Germans - is very different from the affection people know, give and appreciate over here. We don't tell each other that we love each other. Kids don't say it to their parents, parents don't say it to their kids, couples don't say it to each other. We don't compliment mother's cooking, and if she asks us "didn't you like it? Why don't you tell me you liked it?" We answer: "Not criticizing is enough of a compliment!". If a woman complains to her husband about him never telling her that he loves her, he will most likely answer: "I told you at our wedding that I loved you. If anything changes, I'll let you know!"
We are also bad with receiving compliments from our friends. If a German woman meets an old friend and is told "you are looking great!", it is practically an insult. Because what it means is "you are looking rested" which means "you must not work hard enough" which means "you must be lazy" which means "your house must be a mess." In fact - there is this joke that the best compliment one can give a German housewife is to say "damn girl... you look worn out!"
All this is really funny to me; especially after living in the States for so long. People here pay such great attention to the way they come across and the way they make sure to give credit and open appreciation. Generally I think that life here is a lot more "user friendly" than it is back home.
The area I am from is in the far south of the country. We speak a dialect so horrible, that the entire German population makes fun of it. We are the laughing stock of many comedians, and people from the north can basically not understand most things we say. It is seriously not just a matter of pronunciation - like it would be here with people from southern states. No... I am talking about a separate language, with its own vocabulary. The city nearest to my village is called "Ulm". It is Einstein's birth place, and home of the dome with the tallest tower in the world. It is also the "home" of my dialect, and people take great pride in it. My grandfather was born and raised there, and is the true "Ulmer" of the family.
We have this expression at home for when we (for example) run into someone we haven't seen in a long time. I guess here we would maybe say "holy sh**"; there we say "leck me am asch" (I am writing dialect), which basically would be "kiss my a**". I know... it makes no sense in English. Anyway. This expression can - of course - also be an insult, if used in a different context. But - and this is the funny part - if a person from Ulm tells a cop in anger "leck me am asch", this person cannot be ticketed for insulting authority, simply because to an "Ulmer" this expression is a form of greeting others! Isn't that wild? Of course... grandpa has used this one countless times, and is quick to point out his "Ulmer-ness" whenever possible.
My grandpa is another one.
When they came to see us perform in Paris a few years ago, we took the "Metro" at night from the Theater to the Hotel. The subway system there is very secure... and every passenger has to hold on to his/ her ticket until he/ she is back on the street above ground. Naturally... there are no signs pointing this out, and that night a wall of cops awaited us as we were about to get out of the station. Now... both my grandparents are around eighty, and the loveliest people on the planet. With us was also my sister - a cop in Germany, who speaks french. My grandparents threw away their tickets as soon as they got through the gates at our departure station, which now turned into a problem. Of course... we tried to tell the cops that those two old people could not possibly have jumped over those gates in order to hitch a ride for free... but it was useless. The female french cop charged both of them 50 Euro, and we were all pissed. My grandpa was so outraged, and as he walked away remarked: "100 EURO in five minutes!!! She would have not even made that much if she was a hooker... that ugly bit**"
Oh well... those were a few stories about my family and the people I love. And yes... I said "I love"... even if that makes me a sissy of a German!

In the wrong part of town...

2008-09-05T05:16:00.000-07:00

Ok... I know I had this post in the recent past about how there are good things in this neighborhood, and about how those good things should be appreciated and not overlooked... bla bla bla. But I think Manolo had it right the other day when we talked about how things go down around here. His words were: "The people we don't like aren't wrong! They live their lives the way they want to. WE are in the wrong place. WE are the exception here, and WE don't fit in."
Sadly... he is right.
It got to the point where the smallest things bother me so much that I just want to scream at people. I walked out our front door the other day early in the morning, and the first thing I saw (and almost stepped into) was a huge pile of dog poop right by our steps. I had to go to work, and just left it there. In the evening I came home (poop still there, of course), got our two princesses and went for a walk. While walking I thought to myself: "I will NOT pick it up. Manolo and I know it's there and won't step into it, and I will make the conscious decision to not care about anybody else stepping into it either." As we got back to our front door, and as I searched for the right key, some idiot walked past me and said: "You will pick this up, right?" I just looked at him with a smile and asked: "Does this mountain of SH** look like it came out of a lap dog?" - and went inside.
We are the good ones here. We do nothing to piss people off, and it just baffles me when the same people that screw up this town suddenly decide that they have to open their mouths and "preach" about doing "the right thing".
The other day our friend Christine had a run in with one of her neighbors, just to wake up the next day and find the glass of her storm- door smashed in.
The number of break ins have gone up, and it is altogether just not a safe place to be. So again - erase my previous writings about "the good sides of the hood" from your memories, and forget I ever wrote it.
On my walk a few days ago, I passed three cops who were in the middle of arresting this guy one block over from where we live. The guy's girlfriend was frantic, calling people on her cell... the guy's friend was trying to tell the cops some story that involved the words "misunderstanding" and "mistake" and all the usual stuff, which obviously didn't get them far. That block is a mess, and a constant problem zone. Since Fiby needs at least two rounds around the corner, I passed the scene a second time - by then the police was gone and the remaining residents of the house were left behind, saying things like "damn... that was close!" and "... but the mothafu*** still owes me 50 bucks". Days passed and I forgot about the incident, until I walked down the same street again the following week and saw the "happy family" reunited on their stoop. I was already past them on the opposite side of the street when I heard someone yell:"Hey... tall guy"! I turned around to look at the group, when the friend of the arrested guy screamed:"Look...! We got him back!"
I am not sure what the most unsettling part of this situation was. Was it the fact that those cracked out people can basically do anything over there? Was it that to them getting arrested is really nothing BIG? Was it that they included me in their group, assuming I would care about how the story ended? And what the hell was I supposed to answer? "Oh... good! I was worried! Now I can sleep again!?" Or maybe: "Did you get your 50 back?"
The sad thing is though, that I feel that for our safety it is a bonus for me to be "included" in their daily lives. I would love to just ignore them or tell them off, but how long after that and before one of our windows is smashed in!?
Too bad; I really like our little house and our little back yard. But it is not worth risking our safety. I guess we'll have to stick it out a little longer, but as soon as we can we will pack our stuff and move - like most "none addicts", "none criminals" and "none prostitutes" have done before us. We gave it a try... we really did. We put pink lights on our tree on the side walk for the Holidays, for crying out loud! BRIGHT PINK. That's trying!!!

Ten years ago...

2008-08-31T05:31:00.000-07:00

On the 24th of September, it will be exactly ten years of me living in the United States of America. And although I consider myself very much a "matter of fact" person, those "mile stone"- dates always give reason to think and thank.
I am one of the thousands of young artists who moved to NY "for a year" that never ended; where one thing lead to the next, and who suddenly found himself more at home in a foreign country than in his original home.
I have learned a lot about myself and about life by taking this rather risky step in 1998. I went through a lot of great times, but also through a lot of hard times, and I wonder if I could do it all again today. Honestly... I don't think so. There is a reason why people have to be extremely young to do certain things, and looking back it is this youth and fearlessness that is responsible for my not giving up.
I knew I was in for quite the adventure, when on my way from the airport to the place I was staying at (the apartment of a friend's friend, who graciously took me in and shared her place with me) my cab got into a car crash. My head banged against the window, and I actually blacked out for a moment. When I came to, a cop opened the back door, asked me if I was OK, and after learning that I just moved to NY said: "what a welcome!!!".
I later went through periods without knowing where I would spend the night; periods where I had no money, and my belongings were scattered through several friends' places. I went through times where I would have wanted to just go back home, but didn't allow myself to give up.
Yes... I became an adult in this country. I learned about the importance of being proud of who you are and where you are and what you do. Manolo and I were in NY on 9/11, and saw the city and her people go through tragedy, and I saw myself get more and more attached to the place that had such a big influence on who I have become. I started to understand the concept of patriotism - a concept that is foreign to the average German. We are taught in school and by our families that our bad history does not allow us to be proud of who we are. And until I saw with my own eyes how strong the American belief in their country, their rights and their freedom is, I never even understood how amazing this pride can be. How important it is to feel that way about one's roots. How empowering it is, and how strong it can make an individual and a country. Feeling this power all around me has made me want to be a part of it. Just seeing how the sound of the "American Anthem" makes the eyes of an American light up. I am not sure if this is obvious to the ones who are born and raised in the middle of it all, but to me it is wonderful.
I love being here... (despite the fact that for eight of my ten years a rather unfortunate little guy was living in the White House.)
Ten years ago...; I guess today - ten years ago - my flight was already booked; I probably started putting some stuff in my over sized suitcase; I probably said "good bye" to some people that I wouldn't see before my departure; I probably said "yes... I am sure" a thousand times to my mom who still hoped I would change my mind.
It is interesting to me how everything BIG that happens in life is always a result of taking risks. There are all these moments when we choose to do something that might either break our backs, or get us to a better place in life. Why is that? Is it the universe's way of "testing" how much we are willing to give for our goals?
I don't know; but this is an interesting time for me... once again. A time of change and a time of jumping without knowing how broken or strong I will be once I land. But what I do know is that I am in the right place and that I am proud of being a part of America.
Did I ever mention that at the age of twelve I would tell people that one day I will live in the USA? Isn't that strange? Before I spoke a word of English (except for the lyrics to "I wanna dance with somebody"). Come to think of it... I think at that time I just wanted to come here to be closer to Whitney Houston. And hey... she was born in Newark; Trenton is a pretty close shot!!!???

Like father, like Shih- Tzu

2008-08-25T05:51:00.000-07:00

It amazes me to look at our two dogs, and to find just how different they are from one another. Not too long ago it occurred to me that both their personalities are a lot like Manolo and I. Although both of them are somewhat equally attached to the both of us, it is certainly clear that Kitry is closer to Manolo, while Fiby is very much my little monster. And so it is interesting to see how many similarities there are between us and our "assigned" babies.
Kitry has this "thing" about her... this aura, I wanna say. She will not beg for attention; she knows that she will get it simply by being in a room. And if she doesn't, then it is obviously not worth it anyway. She is cautious and elegant in everything she does, and if you upset her, she simply turns around and ignores you until she decides it is time to move on. She likes being part of the group, but wants her space. She hates being crowded, and SHE says when, where and for how long she "accepts" your attention. She doesn't walk through puddles on the street, and when her leash gets caught under her front leg, she stops and lifts her paw for us to fix it. Quite impressive, and oh so much like her daddy.

Fiby is all me. She is clumsy, she doesn't take "no" for an answer... she runs into things while running one way and looking in a different direction. She has no concept of when it is time to relax, she can't sit still for a moment, and is quite exhausting to entertain. She throws herself into everything she does without caution or fear, and is not to be calmed down. She is hard to train, but thinks that with one cute look or kiss she can make it all good. HMMM. I guess I am not giving myself a great review here!?

When it comes to work, I am very focused and work oriented. But at home, I can be rather distracted and a little all over the place. As an example I think I want to write about one of our friend's favorite "Bernd- Stories".
When we first moved to Trenton and finally got a car, the thought of taking care of a vehicle was quite overwhelming. My dad is a car mechanic, and my whole life I knew that "dad is the one taking care of anything that has to do with the car". I never went to have a car fixed, I never did an oil change... I rarely even got my own gas. So - faced with the new challenge, Manolo and I took our Hyundai to get an oil change, and to the inspection station withing the first few weeks of ownership. A few months went by... we started getting used to having a car, and all was well.
One fine day Manolo told me that we needed to get the oil changed again, and asked me if I would mind doing that, while he stayed home cleaning the house. I didn't like the thought - remembering how long it took us the last time, but hey... it needed to get done. I got to the place, and as expected, the line was looooong. I lit one cigarette after another, listened to my "car- cd", and watched the minutes creep by. Finally; about an hour later it was my turn to get to the front of the line. I rolled down my window, and told the guy that I needed my oil changed. He looked at me... looked at some sticker on my wind shield, and said: "Not here you're not getting no oil change". I pulled up one eyebrow (my right one... the other one doesn't lift individually), and he answered my approaching attitude by saying: "This is the DMV inspection station!"
I felt like a complete moron. And of course... once you are by the entrance to the inspection hall, you can't just turn around and get out. Traffic had to be redirected, everybody was involved in my ordeal, and DMV- workers' faces lit up as the story of the idiot wanting an oil change made its round. It was humiliating, to say the least.

I am sure if Fiby had a car, she would have done something equally dumb, and it is great for me to have her to relate to. We have compassion for one another; if she bangs into a wall, I pick her up and say: "I know..." (because I KNOW), while Manolo and Kitry just sit there, shaking their heads in disbelief.

Manolo is a great guy; I don't think I mention him enough. He has this way of talking to people and of getting his point across that not many people could get away with. He is not unfriendly or impolite... but direct and witty and quick, which some people don't quite know how to handle.
A while ago, Kitry had a surgery. We dropped her at the hospital, and knew that we could pick her up later that afternoon. While being worried parents, we spent the day buying her things (naturally). Among those things was a stroller. She likes her fresh air, but we knew that she would have to stay off her feet for a while after the procedure. We got her back that night, and a few days later decided to go for a beer at the pub down the street. Now... as much as I talk about this neighborhood, you can imagine that this is not the place where two gay guys might want to walk around with a little dog in a stroller, let alone enter the neighborhood hang- out, but we did it anyway. We got to the pub/ bar, and sure enough... several slightly obscure looking guys were sitting at the counter, turning their heads as we pranced into the establishment. When we walked past one particularly big and unfriendly looking fellow, we heard him say: "Damn... now I've seen it all". Without missing a beat, Manolo looked him straight in the eyes and replied in a rather lecturing tone: "You really need to get out more often".
At first I though we are gonna get beat up in there... but the truth is that his response changed the entire place around within a minute. His drawing the line in such a smart way set the tone for respect and acceptance. Straight "dudes" ended up buying us beers, girls went out to smoke with us and we were THE in- crowd... stroller and all.
And again... if Kitry could talk, I am sure she would have said the exact same thing.
And here is Fiby now... laying next to my feet on the floor, sleeping. NOW she is sleeping! At seven in the morning she wakes us up, wanting to play. And as soon as we are downstairs she cuddles up in a corner and goes back to sleep. I sometimes wonder if those two dogs were amazingly great people in a former life, who now came back as those cute little things who just live to be pampered, loved and adored. I guess we'll never know.

Headline change...

2008-08-24T05:31:00.000-07:00

I just decided to change the headline on my blog. It might not be the "normal" thing to do, but to be honest: When I first started this thing, I had no idea how any of it worked. It didn't occur to me then that "Summer 2008" would be the main and permanent title, even once the summer has long passed.
So I thought what other headline to give my blog...; something a little more informative, a little more specific. Something with meaning - ideally more than one meaning. Something that might say something without really saying anything. And TADAA!!! I present the new title to my blog: I WILL SURVIVE - in Trenton.
I tend to say mostly negative things about Trenton - unfortunately. And one might say: "Move somewhere else!" But I have also learned to like this place; especially the home we made here. A little oasis in the middle of chaos. The reason why I say a lot of the bad stuff (besides being sarcastic and sometimes border line bitter)is that I am still hoping for this neighborhood to come around. Things can change if people just make a little effort.
It is not much more difficult to throw trash in a trash can than it is to drop it on the side walk. It is not much more time consuming to say "Good morning, how are you", than it is to say "what the f*** are you looking at". It is not impossible to have a good time in the back yard, without blasting music at the highest volume, and it shouldn't be impossible for the city to pay a little more attention to the stuff that is really going on around here. I have the feeling that a lot of people have basically given up hope for this area, and that it has almost come to the point where we have to "police" ourselves.
Our friend, Christine (who lives across the street) and we have come up with the thought that we should just make our street uninviting for "the bad guys" to hang out on. How do we do it? By keeping the street clean, by putting planters out in front of the house, by encouraging people on the block to put Christmas lights out when the season comes, and by simply making our block "disgustingly nice". I am not attempting for the three of us to take full credit for things, but the truth is that our block happens to be the cleanest, friendliest (well... aside from the woman in the window - see previous post) and nicest part in the area. We watch out for each other, we greet each other, we help each other out. Bad people just don't feel comfortable with all that politeness and garbage- free environment.
I guess what I am trying to say is that there are ways for the individual to make a difference, and all it takes is a couple of us on every block.

This is a picture of the village I grew up in, and where my family still lives. I sometimes think that people don't believe it when I talk about the tiny place with not even 1000 residents. A place without a grocery store, bakery or corner deli. A place where trains don't stop anymore, and the train station was converted into the mayor's office. A place where the street lights automatically turn off at midnight. The river is the beautiful Danube, and Strauss must have been sitting in my village when he wrote his famous waltz.
It is quite the culture shock for me to go from Trenton to Untermarchtal, as you can imagine. The village actually competes with the surrounding towns in something called "Schoenes Dorf" - (beautiful village). It encourages people to keep their house fronts nice and clean, their planters well taken care off, the sidewalks sweeped and their gardens in top- shape. And at some point, a committee goes through all the competing villages to vote for the winner. It is a place where people have privately organized street party's with barbecue, a fire in a field, everybody brings stuff to eat (and drink... it is Germany, after all) and talk about the latest gossip. I think the reason for bringing up this place is that things work by example. There is no police station or security guard... the street-cleaning truck only covers the (one) main road, and it is up to the residents to keep the rest clean. People just know that if everyone carries a part of the load, things won't get out of hand.
I understand that life in a big city can never be compared to the idyllic ways of a small community, but it can't hurt to look at it and see what we might learn from them.
Now I am all into writing about my home!
Just looking at the picture, I remember the stuff I did as a kid growing up. It was amazing. Sadly - as a kid it was really nothing special to me. It was "normal" to play in the woods, to build "hide- outs" by the river, to drink milk directly from the cow (no kidding), to get on a little boat one village north and arrive on the sand bank in front of my grandparents house just in time for the barbecue. But finding it all "normal" was not the bad part. The bad part was that once I moved away to boarding school in Stuttgart, I turned into a teenage snob, who started looking down on the woods, the hide- outs, the cows and the Danube. In my hope to aspire a different future, I ridiculed my past. I started looking at the people there, thinking that "I want to go places... I don't want to be stuck here... I don't want the same routines day in and out". I would go there to visit in my designer clothes, feeling sorry for the "poor villagers" who might not even know how to spell GUCCI, when in reality the time it took me selecting my wardrobe, they spent just being happy! And now I turn around, draw a line and summarize to find that at the end, we all just live our lives the way we know how. I went away, followed my strange dreams and did crazy stuff all around the world. But now I am back to being a "routine person", and I sometimes wonder why I wasn't happy being just that to begin with. A stabile life, a steady relationship, a little back yard, two little dogs, cooking at home, making a living, dealing with the every day stuff. The same stuff that the people I used to look down on have been dealing with all along. It almost feels like all I did was avoid reality for a while; an extra loop before getting back on the road of life that we all travel on. It sometimes is hard to find a distinction between what's real and what's not. Things that we never think possible turn into reality, and once they end it is like they were never real at all. We all make choices, and I know that a part of me will always have the need to aspire new things, take on new challenges and learn about whatever comes my way or grabs my interest. But I now also know that where I come from and what I have done in my past will always be part of who I am today, tomorrow, next year or in three decades from now. I therefor want to say "I'M SORRY" to my little village - for not appreciating it enough when I was still there, and for not giving it the credit it deserved once I left.

How exactly did I end up talking about all this in a post that was supposed to be about me "surviving in Trenton"???
Oh well... got side tracked.
Have a great Sunday, keep your streets clean and please... next time you see me, don't make fun of me for drinking milk directly from the cow!!!

Teen drop in the hood...

2008-08-22T06:02:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, my dear friend forwarded me the announcement of "Anchor House" turning a corner building right in our neighborhood into a teen drop for kids in trouble. When I first read it, I thought "what a nice thing to do...".
And then I started thinking. I take the bus to work, which departs right across the street from the future "safe haven", and it ain't pretty. Isn't there a reason why recovery centers, rehabs and other "get-people-out-of-trouble"- institutions are usually located in a safe and quiet part of the world? Let's see what the responsible people are trying to achieve here, and let me point out why it is going to fail miserably:

"It will be a one-stop shop for the various things teens need," said Aleah Hosszu, Anchor House's director

No kidding. Dealers are selling their drugs on one corner, prostitutes (male and female) are working it diagonally across, and directly opposite is Hub's liquor store. Could troubled teens possibly need anything else? Is it me, or is it normal to house drunks and addicts right next to drinks and drugs? Call me old fashioned... but it just sounds a little odd.

"They need to stay occupied with something. A place like the Anchorage keeps you from thinking about doing a lot of bad things."

Yep... I am sure that hooking, shooting up and stealing for their next fix will most certainly keep them pretty occupied... there won't be much time to think about doing bad stuff; it'll just come naturally!!!

"Youths and young adults will be able to watch television, get something to eat, and use computers to research schools and jobs. Anchor House will hold discussions at the center on topics such as violence prevention and AIDS awareness. Teens will be able to use a shower and a bathroom and receive hygiene supplies."

In reality it will be as follows: They hang out watching "Saw 1, 2, 3 (is there a forth one? I mean... how many limbs can one cut off???), download porn online, get food - along with rolling papers - at the corner store, eat and drink on the stoop and "discuss" violence and AIDS by harassing people walking by (with their little shih-tzus...).
Am I against helping kids in need? Absolutely not. But any idiot can see that the proposed plan is not going to work - not in this part of town. They are targeting young people - age 16 to 20, and are hoping that eventually this place will run 24 hours a day. As a resident in the area I can assure anybody that those kids will learn all the bad stuff they might have missed so far simply by walking out that front door.
The truth is that I am not only concerned with the kids and the influences they will have to face on South Broad Street while "recovering" from their troubles. (Although the thought alone makes me laugh... WHAT ARE THEY THINKING?). I AM also selfishly concerned about the neighborhood, and eventually about MY well being. How many more messed up people do we really need within a two block radius? We are dealing with burglaries, break ins, car theft, occasional shootings, drugs, noise, gangs and violence on a daily basis here. What if the neighborhood just doesn't need a pack of bored teenagers to add to the list?
As an individual I strongly believe in helping others. I believe that people deserve chances and that it is the duty of the ones who CAN give, to give to the ones in need. We hear TV hosts, Movie Stars and celebrities talk about it all the time... "I used to have nothing... so, once I made it, I felt that I needed to give back". Key words: ONCE I MADE IT.
This neighborhood is so far from "made it", that at this point all this messed up corner can give to troubled teens is a contact list of every dealer, crack addict and criminal in the South Ward. I just don't understand who the hell thought of this! It's like sending your daughter to a whore house, expecting she will come out a nun! Come on, people... THINK!

Check your weaves!!!

2008-08-19T07:50:00.000-07:00

I want to encourage all girls (and maybe some drag queens) walking around the South Ward to check their weaves. Some of them are getting thinner by the day. How do I know that? Because I keep finding tracks on the side walk all around the neighborhood. I am not really familiar with the way these things work... Do they just fall off after a certain amount of time, in which case - Wouldn't one notice when a big chunk of hair is missing? Have they been pulled out during a desperate act of self inflicted hair pulling, or did I miss a cat fight that was going on right in front of my house? Is the dropping of weave tracks along my street a modern "Hansel and Gretel" version, in which a girl was led into the woods and left her cheap, synthetic hair pieces so she could find her way back home? I am just very confused about the whole situation.
Anyway... here are my suggestions for every scenario: If you lost them accidentally, here they are; weave 'em in tighter! If you pulled them out yourself in an angry rage, see a therapist (after collecting your hair). If some other girl pulled them off your head in a fight, take your tracks and place them in her boyfriend's car. And if it was Gretel: Please pick them up on your way back! (By the way: Glad you made it home!!!)

Update...

2008-08-19T06:04:00.000-07:00

As an update to my post about almost killing our dogs, I have to give credit to the person from the poison- control office we called that night. A few days ago, we had a message from them on our answering machine, asking how Kitry and Fiby (mentioned by name!!!) are doing. I found that very thoughtful.

Art vs. Business

2008-08-16T07:07:00.000-07:00

(This was me - before a performance, and midway through taking off my make up after. I like those two pictures - a good friend of mine took them, and was great in capturing the difference between show and reality)

A while ago I had a very interesting conversation with my sister, Alex. When we were kids, we really didn't get along too well. We are very different personalities, and it took us to grow up until we could fully appreciate each others differences. Not that we hated each other... we just didn't understand where the other one was coming from. She liked to play soccer with the boys in the village I ran away from. She is a police woman... I became a ballerina. Need I say more? I also left my parents house to go to ballet school when we were both pretty young, and from then on we really didn't have much of a chance to work things out the way "normal" kids would. Anyway;
I actually remember the turning point in our relationship - it was a letter she sent to me (before either one of us had e-mail) almost ten years ago. She opened a door for us, and I know she agrees when I say that we have become "best friends" from that point on. I love her dearly, am proud of who she is and am lucky to have her as my sister.
So - the conversation I had with her revolved around her concern about me not missing my life as an artist. She was wondering why - after years of being dedicated to ballet - I don't show any signs of sadness about having left my childhood dream and my life as I have lived it for so long.
Hearing her say this made me think. Am I covering things up? Am I hiding my TRUE feelings about the whole situation from myself and from others? Am I even fully aware of the fact that everything I have worked for as a dancer has come to an end? I started thinking about other dancers who have retired, going through rough times while trying to deal with the end of a career and a new start. And of course - thinking about it made me question myself even more. What is wrong with me? Why am I not suffering from withdrawal symptoms?
For the true test, I watched one of my old performances on DVD the other day... and NOTHING! The only thing I was thinking while watching was:"My feet hurt!"
The truth is that there are a lot of reason why I think I am happy about the way things are. For one, I think I did well while I did it. (I am sure there are people out there who think otherwise, but then again - there will always be people who enjoy thinking or talking badly about others, which is more a reflection of them than of me - or so I like to think)
Another reason is that I started this whole thing when I was very young, and have dealt with every aspect of it since I was 12 years old. And while some things got easier as I grew up, other things never really changed. Having some insight into the business world now, there are so many differences, it is hard to count them all. I now realize how unbelievably emotional the life of an artist is - unnecessarily emotional. People argue, people scream, people are jealous, people get mad, people cry, people are on diets and therefor in bad moods, people are on edge from the moment they get up until they go to bed.
Every place I have been - schools, small dance projects, companies - it has been the same thing. I mean; in every other work place, most of the stuff that goes on in theaters would be taken to court! People would quit left and right, and offices would be empty! But from the moment a kid steps into the arts, we get told to shut up and just be happy to be allowed into this school, this choreography or this company. And we do it for the most part! Looking back at my time as a student, I remember classrooms with 18, 19, 20 year old grown guys, who would get yelled at, humiliated and embarrassed in front of an entire studio. Where else would a young man let this happen without throwing his fist in someones face? And why do people feel they have the right to talk to others like that? At an office people make mistakes, get to work late or accidentally mess up their computer! Could you imagine your boss screaming at the top of his lungs at you for all your co- workers to hear? It would be unthinkable!
Of course - living life on such an emotional level is also exciting, and there are millions of reasons why I loved being part of this world. I am not bringing any of this up as an accusation towards anybody in specific. I guess this is just how the dance world functions - and always has. I almost think that without this constant level of adrenaline and emotion, something would be missing. It drives people and makes them do what they never thought they could. But knowing this, everybody has a choice to say "STOP". So at the end, was I too weak to go on any longer? No... if I was too weak, I would have stopped many years ago. I was simply sick of it. Sick of ignoring my body telling me:"I am hurt!" Sick of accepting things that I would never accept outside of the theater. Sick of (and this is my own fault) putting myself down and being quiet out of fear of being kicked out of a school, losing a scholarship, getting on someones shit-list or having a role taken away.
The other interesting thing is that as a dancer you are constantly judged while doing something that cannot really be judged without a doubt. And not only do others judge us... most of all, we judge ourselves. But it is art... not math. Of course, falling flat on your ass is a clear flaw, but when it comes to general performance quality, who's to say for sure how well or poorly one does? It is a matter of opinion. Back to my new job in the none- dance world: At my job now, nobody could tell me:" You aren't doing that great!", because I could reach right into the drawer, pull out my numbers and say:"... Well, let's see what the numbers say!" No emotions! Just facts. And you know what? In the three months at my new job, nobody has cried, nobody was yelled at, nobody had a fit, nobody stormed off in anger and nobody was treated disrespectfully. And yet: The job gets done! How can that be?
As a conclusion to my thoughts about why I am as OK with my retirement as I am, I was simply ready to move on. I love and cherish the memories I have of my past... Walking down the same street back and forth from high school to boarding school; my first performance as a kid in the Stuttgart Opera house; my first modern classes in Munich; moving to NY; getting coached by Merce Cunningham; touring around the world with an extraordinary Company. I look up at the wall in our breakfast room, with a gallery of photos of Manolo and me in front of the Eiffel Tower, the great wall of China, in a London phone booth, on the beach in Hawaii, on stage, in Athens, in Moscow, with a koala in Australia.
I can truly say: No regrets. I am ready for new challenges and tasks, and am as excited about my future as I am about my past.

Another gay thing...

2008-08-11T10:41:00.000-07:00

I just turned on the LOGO channel, and am following the discussions about gay marriage in amazement. WOW.
How many people out there call themselves educated, freedom loving, fair, open minded, believers in people's rights?
I like to find simple solutions to simple problems, and my solution to this issue is a simple one: If you don't like what you see, don't look!
Do people seriously think that the number of homosexuals increases or decreases according to the legal status or the overall acceptance? If that were the case, my fellow Germans during WW2 would have put a definite end to us, which they clearly have not. Never was being gay less accepted than during that time, and yet - we never stopped being gay. Looking at the other side of it, legalizing gay marriage would certainly not encourage Silvester Stallone to turn into Ru Paul! What are people thinking? If a teenage boy wants to explore different kinds of sexuality, the taboo of being gay will certainly not discourage him from doing so. And a die- hard straight bully will most definitely not try to "go the other way" just because it became socially acceptable.
The truth is that we will not go anywhere! Like it or not, we are here... planning your weddings, designing your clothes and houses, doing your hair, selling you furniture, grooming your dogs; and to step away from stereo types, we might even read your gas meters, do construction on your homes, fix your cars, act in your favorite movies, or be your married next door neighbor. You might never know it, and you should really not give a damn!
And please... keep the Bible out of it! I think the Bible would jump out of some people's hands if it knew how ignorant, vicious, nasty, negative, intolerant and stupid the creatures holding it, praying by it, and hiding behind it are! None of this could possibly be "God's will"! Who the hell knows about God's will anyway!? Who did He say to: This is wrong!? And how could the "All Mighty" have made the fatal "mistake" of creating gays and lesbians? Is it not a sin to imply that God made a mistake, or do people still think it's our life style choice, rather than something we are born with?
Let me quote Marlene Dietrich, who was heard saying: "The only human flaw I cannot excuse is stupidity." How right she was! The other bad flaw is ignorance - and the combination of both is downright dangerous. Unfortunately, this is exactly what we as gay men and lesbian women are facing when confronted with hatred and discrimination - just like every minority group throughout history.
Few things really upset me. I am a very calm person, who doesn't sweat the small stuff. But listening to people's outrageous opinions and views on a topic that actually involves me and "my people" gets my heart rate going. At least lately.
"People have no idea about the consequences of opening Pandora's Box" - is what one woman just said on TV, defending the sanctity of marriage. And this is when I have to switch the channel, before throwing something at the screen.
When I came out to my mother many years ago, I had a pretty good idea that it was not going to be a big issue. I have said this before - but I don't mind repeating it: I was pretty damn lucky with my family. But prior to my coming out, I still went through years of being nervous about it, wondering how they would take it, what it would do to our relationship and to my parents' feelings towards me. It was a weight on my shoulders that I carried around for a long time, draining and exhausting me. There is nothing worse than spending a life behind walls, hiding your beliefs and denying who you are. The night I had "the talk" with my mom, ... yes... there were tears and questions and initial drama. But funny enough: Around the same time I started smoking, and left my secret cigarette butts on the stairs behind my family's house. After she left my room that night with the truth about my sexuality, she knocked on my door about 20 seconds later, saying: "I forgot to tell you; if you really think you need to smoke, at least throw your cigarettes somewhere else. Your grandparents don't need to find them!" At first I thought how strange it was for her to bring up my smoking at a time like this, but then I realized that it was her way of saying: "It's all good... there are worse things than being gay... I love you... let's focus on the things that matter - like your lungs." And that was the end of it. My mom told me later that she talked to my grandparents about me being gay while my grandma was baking Christmas cookies she was planning to send to me. After my mom broke the news to her, she looked up and said: "I'll still send him his cookies!!!". I love my family! No talking around the bush, no long discussions. Just straight to the point, and moving on. So - when I hear stories about people whose struggle doesn't end, it breaks my heart. And when I hear about people who make their kid's lives hell, and who stick their noses in business that is none of theirs, and when people spread aggression and hatred and negativity against a group of people that does nothing but make the world a better dressed one, I just get mad. I know how much it meant to me to have an "army" of people backing me up, being there for me and standing by my side. Without them, my life would not be the same. And back to the question of acceptance opening Pandora's Box: I doubt that my family encouraged other people to jump on the "gay waggon" by accepting my life the way it happens to be. But it sure is great to know that if another gay one would show up in our home, they would simply keep baking cookies!

Anybody wants a dog?

2008-08-11T06:28:00.000-07:00

If you think I am offering one of our Babies, you must be out of your mind! But there is a little dog "living" (I will explain the "" in a second) diagonally across the street from us, who desperately needs a new home.
I remember when those guys first got their little puppy - he was tiny, cute, playful and sweet. A brown, wiry little thing; probably some mix. As time went by, we started seeing him more and more on the sidewalk without a leash or collar. And in the past few weeks the situation clearly got out of control. He seems to spend more time running the streets than in his home, and it is a miracle to me that he has not been hit by a speeding car yet.
I obviously love dogs, but this one is starting to really bug me. I know, I know... it is not his fault. But the fact is that whenever he comes our way, Fiby acts like a little tramp and is impossible to walk. She wants to play (or god knows what) with him, and I can literally see fleas jumping from his hair into hers. Aside from that - there is no more thought of doing her business, because he becomes the main focus of her walk. So here I am... pressured for time to walk my dogs before having to run to work, and here HE is, distracting Fiby from doing what I have trained her to do for months now. And whenever he sees us walk, he follows us the entire walk. There is no shaking him off. We can run, but we cannot hide. Well... those are my selfish problems with the dog across the street. The not-so-selfish problem I have with the situation is the poor little guy, who was clearly brought into the wrong house. Why the hell do people have animals if they can't take proper care of them? I would understand if they had gotten the dog for their kid, who might now be over the initial excitement of having a pup. But there is no kid. It is all adults who like to hang out on their stoop and look at Manolo and me like we are crazy people, walking our well behaved, well taken care of dogs. Twice in the past few weeks I knocked on their door, bringing their dog back who followed us for twenty minutes around the neighborhood. If I am not upset about our peaceful walk being disturbed, I am mostly sad for the dog, who shows clear signs of fleas, skin diseases and hunger.
I sometimes watch "Animal Cops" on TV, and am wondering if such a thing exists in this part of the country!? Since we know who he belongs to, I wished some authority figure could talk some sense into those guys. I really don't want to call animal control, because I don't want them to take him and do god-knows-what to him. He is cute, with only one ear standing up, looking a little clumsy and silly. I could see him being a very sweet pet and making somebody very happy. Unfortunately Manolo and I are fully committed to Shih-Tzu's, and most of all: Fiby has not been spayed, since we are hoping to find a nice SHIH TZU (!!!!!!!) boy for her to have puppies with in the not so far future. The last thing we need is an unplanned pregnancy with an unidentifiable half- stray, and her good reputation is ruined! She is already considered the "Paris Hilton" of the family, and after an affair with "one-ear", no respectable male would look at her twice!
So... If anybody out there wants to be a good parent to a sweet dog, hang out in my neighborhood, and help the little guy out! Obviously his owners are not too eager to have him, and not too concerned about him getting lost to begin with. The next time I see him, I'll try to take a picture of him and post it. He needs help, and he needs it before bugs, disease or a car get the better of him.

I almost killed our dogs!!!

2008-08-09T06:47:00.000-07:00

Of course... I didn't willingly almost take our babies lives, but I still feel guilty enough.
The whole thing started last weekend, when Manolo and I noticed that both, Kitry and Fiby were very itchy. We were not quite sure what it was - Mosquito bites in the best case, fleas in the worst case. But whatever it was, it needed treatment, and it needed it NOW. We have - of course - used the flea treatment for Kitry before, and when Manolo told me to get the medication during my next PetCo visit, I thought I knew exactly what he was referring to. He even said: "get the expensive stuff...", and when I approached the anti- insect isle at the pet store the next day, I found "the right thing" within minutes.
As soon as Manolo saw the package, he showed signs of doubt. It was not the brand he was thinking of, and only when he mentioned the TV commercial Betty White does on "Lifetime, television for women" I knew what HE was thinking of. Anyway... how bad could this one be??? I got it at the pet store, for heaven's sake!
That night after dinner, we got one dog after another up on the couch, applied the liquidy stuff on both their necks, and were sure our itch- problem was about to get solved.
Kitry likes to watch TV lying on the couch, and at times Fiby sees this as her chance to play "pull Kitry off the sofa by her hair" - a fun little game that makes us laugh, Fiby happy and Kitry very annoyed. As soon as Fiby started pulling Kitry by her hair that night, I stopped her - knowing that she just grabbed Kitry by the neck hair that was soaked with the medication. I didn't think much of it, and the evening continued quietly.
And than the quiet times ended...!
Kitry was the first to act strangely. She started running through the house, barking at us from wherever she ended up running to. She "led me" to the basement door, and ran down into the dark as soon as I opened the door for her. Once downstairs, she barked again - and for those who know her, you know she never barks! She is a Lady! The symptoms got worse by the minute. Within half an hour she had what appeared to be cramps, making her jump up and scream every time one approached.
Now Fiby started acting out as well... showing the same signs, plus a swollen, burned mouth. In addition to that, she started drooling like a saint Bernard! I have never seen anything like it, and we began to lose our minds with two sick babies on our hands! Both of them got very needy for attention - barking at us as soon as we stopped padding them.
The situation got worse and worse, and it became clear that the four of us were in for a very long night.
At two in the morning Manolo finally called the "poison- control- number" on the back of the flea- medicine box, and it seems that receiving complaints about their product was really nothing new to those guys. The Lady advised us to wash both dogs with dish soap, to get the greasy stuff completely out of their hair and skin. We rushed to the bathroom, and started with Kitry, who HATES baths. To our surprise, she must have realized that this time it will actually be to her benefit to get cleaned, since she cooperated like a pro! While I started blow drying Kitry (a process that takes easily 1.5 hours), Manolo grabbed Fiby and bathed her.
They got better pretty soon after that, but kept us both up until about eight in the morning. Manolo stayed home from work for the morning, and by the time we had to both go they were back to their old selves - with INCREDIBLE hair from the dish soap!
The product we used is called "sentry pro", and I do recommend for all dog owners to stay away from it. Had it been only one of our dogs, I would have believed that it was an allergic reaction to some ingredient. But for both to have the same reaction, I do believe that there is something seriously wrong with the product.
Both of them are well again - we took them to the vet, and he declared them healthy and happy.
A few days later I cooked one of my German dishes - thin slices of beef, seasoned with salt, pepper, garlic and mustard, small pieces of ham, rolled up and cooked. Very, very good. Keeping the roll from opening, I stick a toothpick through the meat. I must have forgotten to tell Manolo about it, because as we ate he started making strange noises and bent over as he was choking on a pointy object.
Needless to say - he now believes that he lives with a serial killer, who first tried to kill his kids, and now moved on to him! It's kind of funny to see him looking at his dinner plate before eating lately! I can see his mind wondering... looking at the food, looking at me... at the food, at me...! It is especially funny if I quote lines like:" Do you still hear the lambs cry, Manolo!?"

It's been a while...

2008-07-29T14:11:00.000-07:00

OK... sorry I have not written in a while, but I have two excuses:
First: I have been working a lot in the past few weeks, been busy with school and homework, and am desperately trying not to neglect the house and the babies too much.
And second: If all one does is work and home- and housework, there is really not a lot of exciting and noteworthy stuff going on. I actually contemplated writing a post about "nothing". Something like: "... and then the unspeakable happened: NOTHING! I couldn't even believe it, and had no clue how to handle the whole thing..." I was wondering how long a post I could pull off, writing about absolutely nothing!?
But then again, work has turnd out to be quite interesting and a lot of fun. When I first stopped dancing in February, my biggest fear was that my time with "work being fun" was over. Now that I think about it, I had a lot of fears that were completely unfounded. For instance, I thought that I didn't know anything about work outside of the theater, and could not offer much knowledge aside from how to leap and pirouette through the world. But the truth is that having been a dancer for so long has trained me in so many aspects of life that I will benefit from forever and in everything I do. I realized that being passionate about what I do is not "dance specific", but a part of who I am. I can't go to work just to kill a few hours and then come back home and forget about it. And like I have learned so many times before, "caring" about what we do is realy the basis for doing something right.
When I first joined Trockadero, I was really not a good partnering dancer. I have had little training in "Pas de deux" work, and was very unsure of how to keep a Ballerina on her feet. But suddenly I had to figure out how to do it... and not with an 80 pound Ballerina, but with full grown men! I didn't have the necessary technique, nor the training, but what I did have was care. And soon enough Yonny (a former Trockadero "Ballerina assoluta" with very high standards) started to love having me as "her" partner.
Back to my new job: Everything is new to me. It is like learning a new language - while living in a new country where you have to apply every new word instantly. But I love to learn, and my managers seem to notice it. I am now in charge of a deparment in the store, and will at some point even train my co- workers on certain things I have learned by attending the interior design classes!
Just the other day I have realized why I am so eager to reach new goals, and why at times I am a little impatient with myself. I was driving to the grocery store when I tought: "Come on... you know how it is to start at the bottom... as a dancer it took you years to get anywhere!" And then it hit me. Sure... it took me forever to get anywhere, but once I did, I fulfilled a lot of dreams and reached a lot of personal goals. I was hard working, dedicated and supported enough to reach a certain place where I enjoyed being. And let me tell you... starting at the bottom when you don't know how good the higher levels feel is a lot easier than going back down to the bottom after having been at a higher level! I am not saying this as a complaint, because I am having a great time doing what I do now. But it is what drives me to working hard, doing my new job as well as I can, and to wanting to reach new goals again. It is what motivates me to move up. I look back, and I feel that in some small way I mattered as a performer. Even if only in my own little head. But it felt good to me, and I want that feeling again in a new field.
As you can see... I have been pretty preoccupied with a lot of things, and I have just been exhausted. I think that being new at something automatically tires people out! I can't even count the time I spend worrying about having made a mistake, or thinking about how I could have done this or that differenty. Again - it is like when I first moved to the States, and had to translate every word from German into English in my head before saying it out loud. It was exhausting! But at some point things become second nature. ...I can't wait!
Well; I will try to not be too long before writing again, although I am not promising. Keep cool and have a great weekend everybody!!!

Things I wonder about...

2008-07-02T06:06:00.000-07:00

This post will be more or less a list of things I wonder about in everyday life. Strange things... random things... things that catch my attention for no obvious reason, although I am sure a lot of people out there ask themselves the same questions.

Why do the bad weeds in our back yard grow so much faster than the good stuff we plant? I don't get it. The good plants get attention, get clipped, watered, spoken to and pampered, and yet they are outgrown and overgrown by all kinds of weeds that seem to just not get enough. And when we know that bad weeds grow so much faster, fuller and stronger, why don't we just deliberately plant weeds? It could save us a lot of time pulling weeds!

What's up with the "smile guaranty" at a lot of the Mc Donald's? They claim to hand out a free order of fries if the customer does not receive a smile by the time he/she pays for his/her (happy) meal. The result is that we still have the same angry, bitter person behind the counter, now simply pulling up the corners of his/her mouth for a split second while handing us our change. Is there a legal definition for what a smile is supposed to be? Because I now don't only feel treated poorly, but also cheated!

Is there a rule that says that all UPS employees have to be handsome? Seriously... I strongly believe that UPS doesn't just hand out job applications; I think they are holding auditions. Or maybe they have people recruiting guys off the street, like modeling agencies...: "You're hot! Ever thought about a career as a UPS delivery guy?"

Can people request for a television commercial to be taken off the air? Of all the bad and annoying commercials out there, there is one that truly gets to me. It is an ad for a pregnancy test, where at some point you see a stream of liquid shooting down from the top left corner onto this little machine, while a voice tells us:" It is the most advanced piece of technology you will ever pee on!" First off all, the whole thing is just a little too graphic for me. Secondly - I sure hope it is not only the most advanced piece of technology - but actually the ONLY piece of technology people pee on. And thirdly - it is just a little too graphic for me! ( I know I said that already, but I can't say it enough).

Is there a way to collect signatures, requesting a leash- law for stupid people? I am specifically talking about those people who like to cross high traffic streets, thinking that the world has to stop while they make their way from one side to the other. And they are not running or stressing either. Oh no! Cool, calm, collected. I wonder if these guys have seen "Falling down" - you know... the film with Michael Douglas, where he goes nuts over these every day issues. That film must have been so much fun to shoot!

Bumper Stickers...! OK; while we all enjoy the freedom of speech, I do think that some things should just not be expressed on a bumper sticker. I get the "Support our troops" (especially the ones that continue with "bring them home")... I kinda giggle at "My child is an honor student at bla bla bla", because it makes me wanna get one that says "My Shih- Tzus are house trained". WHO CARES? But yesterday I was driving to work, when I noticed a sticker saying "Be American, Buy American". So my mind started wondering and exploring the depth of the statement. There is the question of WHERE countless of our products are actually produced - which in most cases is NOT the US, which opens a whole different chapter that I don't need to get into right now. There is also the fact that international trade is not a bad thing, since (as an example) Germany might benefit from the US buying their beer, while the USA benefits from Germany buying their Levi's. But all these questions became secondary and actually a waste of time when one little detail caught my attention: The sticker was on the bumper of a Honda! I won't say any more, since I am at high risk of getting too insulting, but... it makes one wonder.

I am sure I will return with more "things I wonder about" soon, but for today I will leave it at that. I wish everybody a happy Independence Day and a great weekend! Relax, enjoy,... and when you go shopping, don't forget to BUY AMERICAN. (I think there are great sales on Toshiba lap tops!!!)

Something good about the hood

2008-06-30T07:16:00.000-07:00

So far all my posts about my neighborhood have been on a rather negative note, but just the other day I realized that there are some positive things that deserve recognition. And since I am a strong believer in giving credit where credit is due, I thought that it is high time to do exactly that.
I have noticed that more and more people on the two- block radius of my daily walks with Kitry and Fiby recognize me and actually show signs of politeness towards me and the Babies. In fact, walking them these days, I run into at least five people every day who take the time to say "Hello", ask me how I am, and wish me a good day! And to my surprise, I am not only talking about the nice neighbor three doors down, but actually about some rather rough guys I was kinda afraid of until recently. You know... the group of guys hanging out on their stoop at all hours of the day and night!? So - having exactly those guys greeting me and calling me "Buddy" gives me a whole new feeling of safety on the block. If I now run into shady people during my walk, I think to myself:" They better not touch me, or my "buddies" will be after them!" Even the arguing people behind our property are now nice to me, greet me and make a point to always be polite.
I think it is a great benefit for me to be seen on a regular basis now. I admit... walking two Shih- Tzus who I constantly talk to while walking ("good girls... good babies... that's my pretty girl!!!"), wearing either pajama pants and a tank top, or my clothes for work, I could tell in the beginning that those same guys who are now "buddies" of mine used to look at me funny. I mean; every scary neighbor and their Pit bull can see I am gay. But like I wrote in a previous post, all they needed was to be confronted with the same thing for a while, and the novelty wore off quickly. Now I am just another guy walking his dogs, not bothering anybody and just being part of the picture. I still wished those guys would conduct themselves in a somewhat more socially appropriate manner - such as not throwing their beer cans onto the sidewalk, not dumping their cat litter on the patch of grass between the street and the curb or keeping the noise down a bit. But I also don't want to forget that there are some good points here, and I wanted to make sure to express them. It is very easy for me to get into this mode of only seeing the bad stuff, but the truth is that I live here and that I have the choice to make it better or worse for myself in my own head. Really... all I can do is make my part of it as positive as possible. And I have made the decision to make the best of what we have here and now. I am not gonna be afraid to walk from our car to the house at night, and I am not gonna miss our walks after dark, just because the neighborhood is considered bad. We have to feel safe and comfortable in our home... after all, where else can we feel safe???
Anyway; I just wanted to share those good thoughts with you, and encourage everybody to see if there might be some good things in your hood that might help you feel better about the way things are. It is what it is, and I will certainly continue to complain about the things that bother me. But sometimes it is important to recognize the good stuff as well, and my "buddies" certainly deserve to be mentioned!!! (I wish you could see them... they are really, really scary!). So - don't mess with me! I have people now!!!

The green- thing

2008-06-19T05:57:00.000-07:00

I have this habit of stating my opinion about things I really don't know too much about. I find that in doing so, usually one of two things happens: I either sound like a complete idiot, or I actually hit it right on by approaching a subject from a very basic point of view. Let's see what happens this time!?
Wherever we look these days we are surrounded by talk about "living green". Everything is green, greener and much greener. I am obviously not saying anything against it, seeing that our dear planet Earth certainly needs a little bloody support from her occupants. And while I do believe that we should all take part in making a difference, I can't help but wonder about the way we are being guilted into buying overpriced products that are called "green". Sorry... I would like to get a "recycled glass counter top", a hybrid car or solar roof panels, but by the cost of all those items I have to assume that producers of such "green" products are not too eager to actually sell them to a significant enough number of people. I am sure that manufacturing costs are high, bla bla bla... and we consumers are encouraged to bite the bullet and spend the money because "it's the right thing to do". In my opinion the right thing to do would be for the manufacturers to bite the bullet and sell their stuff for a price the average Joe can actually afford. And what makes it worse for me is to see celebrities and politicians look at me through the TV and talk about the importance of "going green". Well... screw you! The money I make in a year would not even buy you a hand bag!
Believe me, I would like to contribute to the cause. I live on the planet, too, and I actually love it. Don't get me wrong... I am trying to do my part, but so far the only really successful thing for me has been to reuse my grocery bags to pick up kitry's and fiby's poop with.
I tried to buy a solar- operated pump for my water fountain - couldn't find it.
I tried to use paper bags at the supermarket - broke while loading my stuff in the car.
I tried to not turn all the lights on all the time - I bumped into stuff (OK... that was a joke).
But I am trying to take the bus to go to work some days, since Manolo and I work in opposite directions. And let me tell you; it is one more of those things where they make it just so damn hard to "go green". The other day I was done working at 1PM, walked to the bus stop... waited... waited... waited...! Guess at what time I was at my front door!? At 3:30. Driving there doesn't even take 20 minutes. I have dogs that need to walk, I have floors that need to get scrubbed and I have a blog to write for crying out loud.
So; as long as it costs thousands of dollars more for that hybrid, or it takes hours online to find that water pump, or three paper bags to support my groceries or three hours to get home from work I simply don't have it in me to "go green". And I will not feel guilty about it either. They want me to stop smoking, they bump the cigarette prices up. Now you want me to go green, then get the "green" prices down. It's that simple.

One last swan...

2008-06-17T05:51:00.000-07:00

Even though my career as a dancer is sort of officially over, I have not yet mentioned the fact that I will be performing one last time in Germany this upcoming November.
It all started coming together when I performed with the Trocks in Berlin early last year. We did a very successful two- week run in an amazing theater, where I danced The Dying Swan every night. One evening a colleague walked up to me, saying: "You'll never guess who is in the audience tonight - I just ran into her in the hallway and she was asking about you!!! Birgit Keil!!!"
I know this name does not ring a bell with a lot of the none dancers, but this Lady can most certainly be considered the first German prima ballerina. She was dancing in Stuttgart when I was a student at the John Cranko School. She actually visited the boarding school a few times, and (now this is funny...) on her 50th birthday a few of us kids were invited to her party at her fabulous duplex apartment, and a friend and I actually did a drag show for her (age: 14!!!). So - I guess she kept remembering me as this little boy in drag, and was therefor certainly not surprised to find me as a member of Ballets Trockadero.
Anyway; I was nervous as all hell when I found out she was going to see the show, but couldn't wait to meet her after the curtain came down.
She came back stage, gave me a hug... (looking amazing in a Chanel suit), and told me about a Gala she is organizing for November of 2008. She asked me if there was a chance for me to take the time and come to Stuttgart for three shows - her organization would fly me in from wherever I am. Flattered and honored I obviously agreed, and was looking forward to it ever since.
I didn't hear from her for several months, and thought that maybe the whole thing is not happening after all, when suddenly I was contacted by her secretary and received the contracts by mail shortly thereafter. By this time I have already left the company, and am now doing it as a free lance artist. At first I thought it might be a problem with music and all the technicalities... but it turns out, I will actually dance to a live orchestra.
Today I received my E- ticket to Germany, which makes this the last step before actually going and performing one of my favorite roles three last times. It will be my very own way of saying "good bye" to dancing; in the city where I started it all close to 20 years ago. There is something sentimental about it... something very theatrical and something very organic. Ever since I left boarding school and Stuttgart at age 18, I looked back at that time in sadness, anger, disappointment and fear. There were not too many nice people to remember and not too many nice experiences to look back on. Hearing the name of this quite pretty city alone gives me chills to this very day. It was there that teachers told me (and many other successful dancers) that I would never make it in this business. It was there that I walked out of classes with black and blue bruises all over my body. It was there that I have given people the power to be abusive and vicious without ever showing signs or asking for help. And it was there that I have sacrificed my childhood and youth to a profession that dominated my life ever since. Stuttgart is most certainly the place that molded me as a person the most. The place that I credit with giving me my biggest strengths, but also my greatest weaknesses.
The truth is that I am afraid of going there; of meeting people that I saw the last time when I was a little boy with freckles all over my face. Of facing people I have been trying to forget for the past 12 years. But the truth is also that I am a different person now, and that I have left my powerlessness behind - along with my freckles (speaking of which... where DID they go???) The preparation process for my trip is already therapeutic, and I am hoping that my actual going there will somehow close a circle that has never been quite round.
I am very excited about the shows though - about what they mean to me as an artist. A reviewer wrote about my Dying Swan during my last tour in February that "... The Dying Swan has become Burgmaier's signature, just like it once has for Anna Pavlova".
I have put a lot of work into this role, and I think back at the many times I have performed it with a warm feeling in my heart. It has been the piece that I grew into during my entire Trockadero career, and the piece that gave me the most freedom to explore myself as an artist.
So... come early August, one can find me in a dance studio once again; taking classes and getting my behind into shape. I am actually amazed at how well I am without the constant sweating and holding on to barres. In many ways I guess I have the peaceful feeling that I have done what I wanted to do in this business, and that I can now focus on a future without blisters and sore muscles. Well... seeing how I have not moved one bit in four months, I am sure I will have my share of pain once I squeeze my feet into the good old pointe shoes. But hey; that's another thing about the Dying Swan. Extra suffering only makes the "Dying" part more real!!!

Public arguments

2008-06-08T15:55:00.000-07:00

In many ways we are very lucky with the location of our house. The nicest thing about the surroundings to me is that behind our back yard there is a big lawn that belongs to the church we are next to. It really makes for a nice view and a somewhat open feel when stepping out the back door. Also - it means that we only have two direct neighbors, where without the church lawn we would probably have three.
Past the church grounds is another street, lined by houses on the far side from our position. So, one would think that this is the one direction we would NOT have any issues with. Well... think again.
There are two houses past our yard, past the church grounds and across the street, where the families feel the urge to turn any issue into a live version of a reality TV show. At first I found their loudness quite entertaining and interesting. People were kicked out, young adults were forbidden to come back home, they publicly screamed about their drug using- and selling habits, called each other whores and bitches left and right and made sure the entire area would hear it all. I would literally go into the yard, smoke a cigarette and just watch the arguments unfold. I was hooked.
But you know what? It's enough, and just like with a lot of reality TV shows that raised some interest in the beginning, the novelty wore off quickly. What is left is this annoying knowledge that, while I don't choose to tune in anymore, it is still all around and hard to avoid completely.
Last week one of the women was screaming at her kids (maybe 3-5-7 years old) for about 25 minutes without stopping, using every nasty word known to man, pushing, pulling an slapping the children, whose screaming got increasingly louder as the mother got increasingly violent. After a while, the neighbor joined in, and from there on it all just turned into a big screaming match that would not end.
I wanted to ask my neighbors to turn up their salsa music that I have complained about last month. But hey - I'll take "Besame mucho" anytime, if "get the f*** into this f***ing house, you little son of a bi***" is the alternative!
Frankly; I don't give a damn about the way these people choose to live their lives. I feel sorry for the kids, and one day I will call child services on them, but generally I can simply not relate to the situation. I don't have kids, and I think it is not my job to tell people how to raise theirs.
What I DO give a damn about though, are my evenings and weekends, and I find it just amazing that those people feel they have the right to force their bullshit on everyone in the area.
Now - I hate to bring up gay issues again - especially since I just posted a gay- themed piece in which I mentioned that I am "not big on the gay awareness thing". Well... I think I am growing into it! When politicians, religious leaders or regular "conservatives" explain their anti gay theories by using "family values" as their argument, are they including "valuable" families like the one across the church lawn? Because let me tell you: If that is part of their "family values", then I am damn glad not to fit anywhere near that category. Clearly I am not talking about just one family I happen to be exposed to. We have all seen them in the Supermarkets, Malls, walking down the street or sitting on their porches letting the whole world be part of their disrespectful ways. That means that I am not talking about one singled out screwed up family, but about something that happens all around us, and that somehow has become OK.
Obviously I have given this whole thing some thought, and am more than tired of the constant abuse and drama going on while I try to relax in my very "zen" back yard. (Ohh; by the way: my water fountain is running again - just had to throw that in). Unfortunately my daily walk with Kitry and Fiby leads me right past the two houses I am talking about, and I always try to go past them as quickly as possible. After all - they might have seen me watching their "show" for a while, since they have the same clear view of us, as we have of them. So here I was, minding my own business, when the..."Lady residing in the property I am concerned with" (see how I try to watch my language!?) said "Heeelloo" - clearly directing her gaze at Fiby who is wagging her tail at anybody, and speaking with a voice that is very clearly defined as "puppy talk". I looked at Fiby, looked up at the "Lady" who was on her porch, put on my "proud father smile", nodded and kept walking. So she screamed after us: "Hello to you, TOO!!!", and as if I was twelve years old and just called on bad behavior by my 5th grade teacher, I stopped and said "Hello" back.
As I kept walking I started getting furious. So what? - Now I am the one with bad manners?????????? I am now lectured on manners by HER???
I am mostly pissed at myslef for not turning around and confronting her. But frankly, I am a little chicken sh** when it comes to dealing with people who obviously have violent tendencies, anger management issues and are involved in the kind of drugs they are under and argue over. So I walked and said nothing.
Anyway; just today I was reading "trentonkat's" blog and saw that she said something I want to point out here as well.
We keep defending our neighborhood with things like "It is not so bad for Trenton", or "Well... we are living in a city after all...", and I am getting really tired of it. I also hate to say that we obviously don't live in a great area, and can therefor not expect any more than what it is. But then where does that end? We also happen to live in an area where people get robbed, mugged shot and stabbed, and I guess if that was to happen to me I would have to say that... we just don't live in a great area and I can therefor not expect any more than what it is!? I don't think so.
I usually like to end my little posts with a thought or an idea of what I think could be a possible solution to my issues (even if I am being silly about what a solution could look like), but with this one I am kinda at my wit's end. People have the right to live their lives the way they think is appropriate - and it is very difficult to define "appropriate" when talking to people who have their very own idea of it. And if somebody has always been exposed to being called a "bitch" and calling your kids "little f***ers, and getting beat up and beating others up and screaming at each other and being screamed at and doing drugs, selling drugs, buying drugs, being kicked out and kicking others out and screaming some more, then obviously those people see nothing wrong with any of it. I imagine if they did, they would make an effort to stop it and find a different way of functioning in society. So who am I to tell them "you are wrong"? - even if that is exactly what I think is the case. Again - I am not preaching for people to get along. Fight all you want, knock each other silly and have at it. I really don't care. Just do it where it only involves YOU. There are no laws (that I know of) that would prohibit people from arguing on the street. But there IS a little thing called RESPECT. You know... this thing we like to have for people we share this planet with!? Rings a bell?
Anyway. Enough for today.

My obligatory gay- thing....

2008-06-07T14:59:00.000-07:00

OK... I am no Britney Spears fan AT ALL, so don't even ask me how I got stuck this morning watching an interview she did with Diane Sawyer a couple of years ago. But somehow I did, and thought that watching Miss "I'll be a virgin until I get married" might give me a few laughs and giggles. I really don't like her music, can't stand her voice (or the lack thereof), and find the entire circus that surrounds this sad creature nothing but annoying. But let's face it: It is captivating to hear people like her talk about their perception of things... and so I watched the damn program. To my surprise, instead of being entertained by the (at the time) 21 year old Spears, I was infuriated by Sawyer when it came to talking about the on-stage kiss between Britney and Madonna.

Where do I start???
OK; by asking "what do you think you are teaching young kids here", what are YOU teaching young kids??? Are you seriously saying that in the year 2008 references to homosexuality are still taboo, and to be kept in the closet? What is she teaching kids? Well... I seriously doubt that she was trying for anything other than putting on a show. But hey - maybe she could be teaching kids that some bees like red flowers, and some bees prefer blue flowers, and that it is OK.
To make things worse, they showed a clip of Bette Midler, also commenting on the negative effect this stunt could have on young people. BETTE!!!??? With all due respect to a gay icon, but when she was rocking it up back in the day, what did SHE teach kids while running up and down the stage with white residue left under both nostrils? But that was not all: The wife of Maryland's Governor was recorded saying that "If I had a gun, I would probably shoot Britney."
What the hell is going on here??? A murder threat is OK for young kids to hear, but two girls kissing goes against people's conscience!?
Maybe I am not understanding the whole "Britney issue"... maybe I am the idiot here. But to me it says so much about the way people are still not able to accept the fact that homosexuality is part of the world and of society. Would anybody have blinked an eye if Madonna was kissing Justin Timberlake on that same stage? NO.
How dare this bitter and uptight woman sit there (probably wanting to make out with Madonna SOOO badly), talking about "what kids learn from this"! Kids listen to this very interview, and get yet again injected with the information, that anything "gay" is wrong.
I am not big on the whole "gay awareness" thing. In my opinion it is almost like we gays are putting ourselves in an outsider position by constantly claiming that we are "normal". Well... if you feel so "normal", then why do you need to point it out all the time??? I don't really like talking about it, or explaining it or justifying it. I talk about "my partner Manolo" and about our relationship as the normal thing it is for me. There is no discussion, no "please accept me", no worrying about how I might be looked at. Again - this is the year 2008 for crying out loud. Anybody who needs an explanation or is not able to accept it, needs to crawl back under the rock he/she came from - and stay there. To me, that is enough "gay awareness". And I have to say that I have rarely encountered negative reactions, which I believe is partly a result of that approach. If I don't turn it into a big deal, others won't either.
My brother - for example - was still a kid when I first came out. At that age, one can teach kids anything - good and bad. But because my family was so supportive and completely accepting, there was never a moment in his mind where he looked at the issue in a negative light. I will never forget a few years ago - he was a teenager, and I spent a few weeks in Germany - we walked up the street with one of his friends. As we passed a house, his friend made a comment about two "queers" living in some apartment, and without wasting a minute Benjamin said to his friend that there is nothing wrong with being gay and that it is nobodies business anyway. I was so proud and moved by this little guy's strength and level of acceptance. And this is exactly what I mean. Let's get our kids used to the fact that gays and lesbians live all around them instead of hiding things, and by doing so implying that it must be bad. It is this kind of "protection" that makes people feel that they have the right to call us "fagots" and "queers", and are still thrown by the sight of two guys or girls walking down the street holding hands. Without wanting to sound like a victim, don't people think that we would like to show affection to the people we love publicly? How many times a day do any of you straight people have the spontaneous need to grab your husband's/ wife's hand, or to give him/ her a kiss or a hug? Now imagine first having to check if there are people around that might beat you up for it! It is time for people to teach their kids that there is nothing wrong with the image of same sex couples, but we will not teach them that by saying that two girls kissing on TV is bad for them to see!
Looking back, I guess it always took the "shock factor" to eventually change things for the better. First there was "stone wall" and the gay parades... then there was Ellen coming out on daytime TV, followed by other artists and public figures. We got "Will and Grace", and by the time "Sex and the city" got rolling, same sex kissing became almost fashionable - or so I thought. But obviously there is still some more boy-on-boy and girl-on-girl action needed before people like Diane Sawyer finally stop trying to protect "the poor children" from the horrors of gayness.
And on this note I want to thank Britney. I love her music, love her voice and love her constant appearances in the media!!!(OK... I am pushing it here...).
But... KEEP IT UP BRITNEY!!! YOU ARE MY NEW HERO!

A poem about loss

2008-05-30T07:15:00.000-07:00

This is a poem I wrote a few years ago, when the mother of a close friend of mine in Germany passed away. Through my friendship with her daughter, this amazing Lady and I became friends, and her passing away was really my first encounter with the loss of a person close to my heart. As a result, I started thinking a lot about death and about losing people and about different ways of looking at it all, and started writing. I had this poem locked inside my computer for years now. In the past year several of my friends have gone through sad times and had to let go of people they loved. I remembered my little poem and decided to post it.
So - here it goes:

Life and death

A tired body ready to leave,
No more to live for or to achieve
A life of sweat, of work, of tears
Now finds an end of pain and fears.

She closes her eyes and steps right through the gate
(She expected to stand in line and wait)
Comes by a mirror, and to her surprise
Sees herself clearly, through healthy eyes!
Her hair is full, her back is straight,
She regained all her long lost weight.
Arthritis pain she suffered from
is also magically gone.
“So – all I had to do was die”?
She asks herself and wonders why
She fought for life on earth so long,
When here is right, what there was wrong.
“Death is truly a delight”
She smiles and walks with quick steps right
Down the hall without a doubt
That death is what life’s all about.

The woman in the window

2008-05-27T11:45:00.000-07:00

The whole thing started about three years ago, the day I departed for a ten week tour through Australia. I went out to the street that morning a few hours before having to leave for the airport, to put my first bag into our car. I looked left... looked right... looked left again, and could still not locate our black Hyundai. "Manolo"... I yelled, "did you move the car last night?" "No!" I heard him reply, and went back inside.
"Well... then it was either stolen, or towed".
We very quickly figured out, that option B was the case, and frantically started making phone calls to inquire about how to get our vehicle back. In the midst of it all, finally a neighbor came forward, saying that we were parked in the handicapped spot across the street, and that the daughter of the old Lady who lives there called the cops on us. Within a minute I went through just about every emotion. Anger at myself, worry about my airport call only a few hours later, embarrassment about the whole situation, frustration about the money it would cost to get the damn thing back. To make a long story a little shorter... after taking several cabs, spending a lot of money and a very stressful morning, we got the car back and made it in time for my trip down under.
From the beginning on though, this whole ordeal had flaws that were hard to ignore. The biggest flaw was that the Lady who actually lives in the house with the handicapped spot doesn't own a car, and is therefor legally not entitled to a 24 hr parking spot. Months later, Manolo and a friend of ours attended a council meeting, talked to cops and found out that there was a time frame set for the space, but the sign specifying the times was removed by - probably the Lady's son in law. That, of course, changes the entire case and means that our car being towed was not only wrong, but actually a felony. We could in theory sue not only the Lady, but also the police for not investigating properly before taking action of such proportions. After all; we lost a chunk of money, and gained a lot of wrinkles over the matter.
But time went by, and we let the whole thing rest. About a year later the missing sign was back, and I now make sure to park my car there as often as possible - within the allowed time frame, and i mean... TO THE MINUTE.
Needless to say, the Lady has not become our favorite neighbor on the block, but I do nod my head "hello" when I walk by the window she sits in all day long.
Last week I passed her house on my way home from my walk, when Kitry slowed down right under the Lady's window to sniff and find out what's new and happening on the street. Within a second the fragile Dame jumped out of her chair as if she was bitten by a Tarantula, pointed at Kitry and screamed at the top of her lungs: "Pick it up!!! Pick it up!!! Do you hear? Pick it up!!!
I thought I was in the twilight zone. First of all; there was nothing to pick up except for Kirty herself. Secondly; I held a baggy with her "stuff" in my hand already and thirdly; IF Kitry was about to "make", she would've not even had enough time to position herself properly before Miss "I'm not so fragile after all" started going up the roof!
First off: I LOVE old people. I have the highest respect for them. I have grandparents whom I dearly love, and I believe that every senior citizen on the planet deserves to be treated with courtesy. But damn it... I have had it with this one. I screamed back at her:
"There is nothing to pick up, you hag!" No, I am not proud of losing my temper, but what I really wanted to do was to place the baggy I held in my hands right on her doorstep - with a smile on my face. So, considering this, the fact that all I did was yell proves a great deal of self control on my part and deserves recognition.
What bothers me about it is... well... SO MUCH about this situation. WHY is she sitting in her window, just waiting and hoping somebody will come by for her to yell at? WHY does she just assume that everybody out there is doing something wrong? WHY is she so damn bitter? WHY (and this is serious, because I actually worry about that) does she spend her last years in anger and negativity, instead of being peaceful and happy? What does this woman look back on when she is laying on her death bed? Who wants to be THAT person? The funny thing is that I would be the kind of neighbor who would knock on an old person's door before going to the grocery store, checking if he/she needed anything. Yes... this Lady could have a friend on the block, instead of a guy who writes and publishes frustrated blogs about her!
I know life is hard, and I am sure she has had her share of tough times. I also believe that time and circumstances mold a person, and I am fully aware that I myself am on my way to becoming a cynic. But at least I am laughing about things, and am not making people around me miserable. If I ever get to that point... please take a heavy object and knock me over the head with it - no matter how old, fragile, sad or tired I am. There is no excuse for nasty behavior and bad manners, no matter if you are young, old, gay, straight, democrat, republican, Christian, Buddhist, from Earth or from Mars. I don't think people get bitter and vicious because they are alone. People end up alone if they are bitter and vicious. So here is my wish to everybody - for a better, friendlier and happier world to live in: Be nice (damn it!)

Summer and Salsa...

2008-05-26T07:17:00.000-07:00

It is Monday (Memorial day), and a long weekend is coming to an end. Aside from being a LONG weekend, it has also been the first really warm, sunny and summer-like weekend of the season. Finally... no more freezing at night while watching TV with layers of clothes on (I have absolutely refused to turn on the heat since early April, and our evenings and mornings have been rather chilly so far). But all this seems to be over, and there is nothing I enjoy more than to sit in our back yard or in the breakfast room with the door to the yard open. I love this time of year, and for the first time I get to really enjoy it. (For the past eight years this has been the time to start the annual 2 month Japan season with the Trocks.)
Some of you know our yard, and must agree that it is quite the lovely place to spend a quiet Sunday afternoon in! The birds are singing, Roses are in bloom, Lavender is spreading its fresh scent, the water fountain is... well, actually the water fountain isn't doing anything, since I accidentally let the pump freeze in over winter. But aside from that, it is an amazing retreat and our own little paradise. That is, of course, if your idea of paradise includes nine hours of salsa music blasting all Sunday long!
Our dear neighbors love to have every close and distant relative over to their yard for family reunions every weekend, with Latin American beats loud enough to entertain the entire South Ward! I know that I will have to say something about it soon, because there is no way I will spend the summer cha-cha-ing to Gloria Estefan. I keep catching myself moving rhythmically or tapping my foot, which is clearly the result of my past as a dancer and does NOT mean that I actually enjoy the afternoon disco! I am just amazed at people, and angry that they put us in a place where we HAVE to even say anything! Is our property not as close to theirs, as theirs is to ours??? I understand that listening to your favorite music on full volume is fun, but I can't just force my dear Whitney Houston or Cher on everybody who lives within a two mile radius of my (very powerful) Bose speakers! Although I do wonder if maybe an afternoon of "I wanna dance with somebody", "If I could turn back time", "Don't rain on my parade" and "Somewhere over the rainbow" would set an end to this situation without me having to actually confront them!? Passive aggression has always worked best for me, and so I say:
"... Thank you for the music"! I know that "Music makes the people come together", but sometimes "Silence is golden"! And "As time goes by" you'll have to learn that "You are not alone", but merely "One singular sensation" among many "People who need people"! Of course... "This land is your land", but "this land is MY land", too. So please "Try to remember" that "It's not right but it's OK" to play loud music "From a distance", but we live really "Close to you" and you need to "Think" about that.

Prostitutes in the neighborhood...

2008-05-24T14:31:00.000-07:00

Well... this one might have to be rated R, but I just need to put it out there.
As a proud dog owner (although, I usually refer to our dogs as "the babies", since they do not know that they actually are dogs... and I can't get myself to telling them). Anyway... where was I??? Oh yes. Having two BABIES means that I walk around the block at least once a day - on most days twice. The other day on our walk, a somewhat suspicious looking Lady asked me for a light for her cigarette. Being a smoker myself, I can relate to the misery an unlit Marlboro can cause, and handed her my lighter without hesitation. I noticed her looking at me funny, and making a remark that sounded like an offer for - god only knows. As I walked away, I kept stopping for the babies to sniff around a bit, and noticed that the "Lady" remained at the street corner, obviously working it.
First off: I am wearing sneakers that match my T-shirt, a pair of designer Jeans and have two perfectly groomed Shih Tzus on color coordinated leashes, for heaven's sake. I might not wear my heart, but certainly my sexuality on my sleeve! How gay exactly must one be in order to be excluded from the potential client- list of Trenton's prostitutes???
Now to her... and to so many working girls I have seen around here:
I understand the business. I get why they are around, and I am not against them in general (Come on... Walt Disney Pictures made a film about it. How taboo can it be? ) Their occupation is as old as the history of the world. They have always been in demand, and they will probably never run out of business. What I do NOT get is their marketing strategy and their showcasing, if you will.
No matter what we sell or where we sell it, don't we generally make sure that we present it in the most positive light possible? If I put my house on the market, don't I take good pictures of it and don't I clean it when I know a potential buyer might come over to look at it?
My dad used to be a car dealer who would tell me: If you sell your car, make sure it is clean - inside and out. Patch up rusty spots, make sure the lights are working and do all you can to make a good first impression. He would say: If the paint is chipping off, the oil is leaking and the windows are filthy, you probably don't even want to look under the hood.
I always found that to be a very good piece of advice - not just for car sales. Let's transfer these words of wisdom to the situation I am talking about, shall we?
What kind of a marketing strategy is it to stand at a street corner, wearing filthy clothes that could stand on the corner by themselves, with unwashed hair all over the place, missing teeth and dirty finger nails? I want to scream at every one of them: MISS THING!!! YOU ARE IN SALES!!! CLEAN UP!!!
To me - like I said - prostitution in itself is really not the issue. At home in Germany, it is a completely legal job and therefor a pretty normal part of society. The girls pay their taxes, the red light districts are protected by police forces and equipped with stations for the girls to get blood tests, condoms, pills and what else they might need. When I lived in Munich, I would actually drive down the famous street just to look at them hanging out in their BMWs, looking like Las Vegas showgirls.
I am not criticizing the fact that in the US prostitution is considered unlawful. God knows... I wouldn't benefit either way!!! But the truth is that they DO exist. Doesn't it seem logical to deal with this reality by trying to make it as safe and as clean as possible - for them and for their "clients"? Because under the current circumstances I fear my Shih Tsus might catch fleas just by stopping to sniff at THE corner!

Madrid, 2007

2008-05-24T07:58:00.000-07:00

In September 2007 I was invited to dance the "Dying Swan" at a gala in Madrid, honoring Maya Plisetskaya (for the none- dancers, she was one of the most legendary interpreters of the role, and actually danced it until she was well into her 60s). She is now 82, and meeting her was such an experience, that I started writing about it while on the airplane back to the states that weekend.

Madrid, September 10^th 2007

When I was first asked to perform the Dying Swan at a Gala in Madrid, I had no idea how important this event was going to be. And even when I heard that it was a Gala honoring none other than Maya Plisetskaya, I still had no way of knowing what awaited me on the 10^th of September at the Teatro Real.

Here I was – in a taxi in Madrid – all by myself, with a suitcase and a Tutu. Tatiana, the coordinator of the spectacle greeted me at the Hotel and asked me if I wanted a tour of the theater. I dropped my things, took a quick shower and met her downstairs just a few minutes later.

We walked the two minutes to the backstage door and entered the only 10 year old theater, which was built in a very grand, traditional way. Tatiana took me to the stage, and I was instantly overwhelmed by the size of the space. I could not believe I was going to perform here only 24 hours later.

As we walked through the halls and met some of the organizers, a very nervous lady walked up to one of the managers, telling her: “Mme Vishneva has changed her mind regarding her return to Moscow. She learned that the crown prince will attend the reception after the show, and she now wants to post pone her flight in order to attend the reception as well.”

Oh dear……… Vishneva… Crown Prince… reception…

What was happening???

I went back to the hotel to take a nap and to reflect on my life. I slowly realized that this weekend might very well turn into an experience I would never forget.

When I woke up later in the afternoon I had the sudden urge to buy a phone card, call people and tell them about my excitement. I went to the front desk to get directions to a store, when I felt a hand rubbing my back. I turned to my right to see who it was, and almost fainted when I saw that the hand belonged to Maya Plisetskaya. I just stared at her. I tried to speak… but I couldn’t. There she was, smiling at me, and I could not say a word. I was just not prepared. Finally her hand moved down my arm, she held my hand and said:”Hello”

“It is very nice to meet you”, I answered.

She asked me how my flight was and said that she was looking forward to seeing me perform. I said that I was excited to be here – and a little nervous. She squeezed my hand and said:” Don’t be! Relax and enjoy”. Even her Russian accent (which usually gives me the creeps) sounded wonderful. She held my hand for a few more moments until she pulled me towards herself, hugged me and said:” I will see you tomorrow. Sleep and rest.”

I completely forgot what I came down for to do, went back to my room and sat on my bed. Needless to say: there were not enough sheep in the world to count for me to go to sleep, and I finally had to take a pill.

I was woken up by a phone call from Tatiana.

“Do you want to go to the Theater already?”

I knew it was way too early (it was not even 10am – my rehearsal was not until 3pm), but I said I would be in the lobby in twenty minutes. She walked me to the theater and I changed into dance clothes. My dressing roommate was Igor Kolb – soloist with the Bolshoi and Diana Vishnevas partner in Manon for this evening. I went to the studio, thinking I would just do some warm up – maybe a barre, stretching and breaking in my emergency pair of pointe shoes. I sat down near the door, looked around me and saw that I was surrounded by some of the most amazing dancers in the world. Tamara Rojo was already doing center exercises… across from me was Diana Vishneva and Igor Kolb. Down the barre were Ilza Liepa, Maria Aleksandrova, Andre Uvarov, and Natalia Osipova…

Suddenly somebody started counting in Russian, and I realized that Nikolai Tsiskaridze – principal dancer with the Bolshoi – started to teach class. There was a side of me that instantly freaked out and wanted to run. But there was a stronger side of me that made me get up, hold on to the barre and think:” I will never have another chance at taking class with Bolshoi stars”!

Drenched in sweat I went to my dressing room, got changed and walked back to the hotel. I had two hours until my rehearsal, and there was still the question of what to wear for the reception. I mean… what does one wear at a party for – and attended by – Mme Plisetskaya?

With the right outfit in the bag I went to have a coffee, and back to the theater. It was almost time for my run through. This is when I first met Andris Liepa – chairman of the Maris Liepa charity foundation, and artistic director of this evening’s event. I was called onto the stage by the stage manager, and started my rehearsal with music and light – without costume. The thing about us Trocks is that a lot of things only make sense once you see the complete picture (Tutu, make- up, wig, audience…) and so I could tell that Mr. Liepa was not quite sure what to think of the guy in pointe shoes, doing the dying swan in sweat pants and t- shirt. He kept quiet, gave me some hard to judge looks and continued his Don Quixote rehearsal. But to me the rehearsal went well, and the people helping me were great.

After some last minute technical clarifications and another break I started doing my makeup. I thought about what makeup to wear for days now, and it went on without problems. I was the last performer in the first act, but wanted to be done by the time the show started. Igor asked for makeup tips, and kept making fun of my “fans” – the administrative staff of the Kirov, who kept coming in to witness my transformation.

The gala started with a ten minute film, showing clips of Maya Plisetskaya’s most important roles. I stood backstage (next to Carlos Acosta) and watched it on a monitor. When the music for the Dying Swan started, and I watched the black and white clip of this legend dancing, my eyes started tearing up. I guess this was the moment when I really realized what I was about to do.

Roaring applause filled the house, and the program started with Tamara Rojo dancing a tribute to Isadora Duncan. She was amazing – especially since I have never seen her do anything like it. Next were Ilza Liepa and Marc Peretokin, dancing a Pas de deux from Madame Bovary, followed by Maria Aleksandrova and Andrei Uvarov dancing the Black Swan Pas de deux. This incredible performance was followed by Diana Vishneva and Igor Kolb dancing Manon. I luckily saw their rehearsal earlier in the day, since I could not see them perform. I was on right after, and had to get prepared in the back.

And here I was. The applause for Manon calmed down… the spot light for my Dying Swan did its usual crossings of the stage… the music started and I went out there. I don’t remember much. I remember seeing my shadow on the back drop during my entrance. I remember wondering if I have crossed the center mark yet, and the last thing I remember was Diana Vishnevas face right in the wing, and thinking: “how nice of her to stay after just finishing her Pas”. And then I stopped thinking, and started enjoying. I relaxed, and relied on everything I know about what I do.

My music ended. I was on the floor in my final pose, the light faded to black and I started hearing applause and screaming from the audience and from the sides of the stage. It was an unforgettable moment.

I got up in the dark – as rehearsed -, posed, waited for the spot to pick me up, and started my bowing routine. After my bows I walked off the stage and was instantly congratulated by all the dancers and Mr. Liepa, which I appreciated very much. The great thing was that we all came from different places, with different backgrounds, carreers, goals and different things to offer. But no matter how different our lives are, for this one night we were all here with a common goal, working for the same thing. And when I walked off that stage with my little bouquet of flowers in my arm, I could feel exactly that. The place was filled with respect and appreciation – from and for every person involved.

I got to watch the second act from backstage, which included some great Ballets and artists. The most notable to me were Tamara Rojo and Carlos Acosta dancing a Pas from Mayerling, and Natalia Osipova and Dimitry Belogolovtsev in Don Quixote Pas de deux. She is a young girl – just graduated from school, and is considered a “new” Bolshoi star. She was wonderfull, and one of the best Kitri’s I have ever seen!

Finally Maya Plisetskaya took center stage. She danced a three minute solo with two Japanese fans. Bejarts choreography was called “Ave Maya”, performed to Bach’s “Ave Maria” – now that’s what I call a diva, in the best possible sense. Her presence was overwhelming. All of us dancers stood on the sides of the stage in awe. You could hear a pin drop. There was nothing to do but cry. I don’t think I can find the right words to describe this Lady. She is pure beauty – inside and out. At 82 years old her body may have lost its youth and some of its strength, but her eyes are filled with passion, knowledge, love, fire, warmth, grace and peace. A truly great person.

After repeating her solo, she called all of us back onto the stage for the final bows. It was magical. We kept applauding her, and she kept blowing kisses in our direction. After about ten minutes of applause, the curtain finally fell, and we all surrounded her – bowing. She slowly moved from dancer to dancer, shaking each ones hands and saying a few words. When she reached me, she stepped back and applauded. She came close again, and gave me the most wonderful compliments. I had no way of responding, other than thanking her for her kindness and for the honor of performing for her.

A group of people approached the stage, and it became clear very soon that it was Prince Felipe with wife and staff. There is really not much to say about him – it is not like he came in with horse and sword. Just a really tall guy in a really expensive suit. He was very nice though, making his round shaking hands with all of us while being surrounded by reporters and photographers. His wife followed very elegantly, we applauded one more time (cause when in doubt, applaud), and the royals left.

I thanked Mr. Liepa and some of my Russian staff “fans”, and went back to my dressing room to get changed and ready for the party.

The reception was amazing. It was held on the balcony of the Teatro Real, overlooking the park and palace. The night was warm and clear and perfect. I got a glass of wine and enjoyed a nice conversation with our European presenter, Gillian. After another glass, I finally had the courage to mingle and take pictures with people. I had a photo op with my favorite Kitri, who – aside from being a great dancer – turned out to be the sweetest girl one can ever meet. Shy, humble, funny, nice, and more of a tom boy than a Ballerina. Mr. Liepa insisted on taking a “guy-picture” with his principal dancers and me. My Russian “fan” called anybody over I was interested in talking to (it is good to have connections!), and the whole thing was a blast.

Suddenly a very nervous Gillian came running, saying with her British accent that “ you simply must come with me NOW. Mme Plisetskaya agreed on taking pictures with you”.

I left my wine, dropped my cigarette, left the guys and fought my way across the crowded balcony. There she was, looking absolutely stunning. She stopped her conversation as soon as she saw me, reached her hands for me, gave me a long hug and looked me in the eyes, for what seemed to be an eternity. She finally said:” You were wonderful! Your legs, your arms, your performance. Beautiful and funny.” She looked around and paused when she realized that we were surrounded by photographers. She put her arm around my waist and posed. At some point she looked up at me and said:” You know… anybody can learn how to do fouettes. But what you have, one cannot learn. You are a true artist, and I want to thank you for being here.” I could just smile and thank her as she was holding my hand and complimenting me on a role that was her signature. I finally looked at her and said:” I have a confession to make”. She pointed at her ear and said:” Tell me quietly”. I whispered: “I can’t do fouettes!” she started laughing and answered:” No need. There are more important things!”

We talked for a little longer, still holding hands until she was called for another photo. I was left standing there in amazement. I think people around me tried talking to me – I may have even answered. But my thoughts were caught up in the fact that I just had a moment with the legendary Maya Plisetskaya. I kept saying to myself: now I can die happily!

A Russian reporter was very interested in Trockadero, and tied me into an interesting conversation. It was great, because he knew so much about dance, was such a lover of ballet – and understood and appreciated our approach to the art form instantly. We were interrupted when Maya (I call her by her first name now) took my hand, saying good night, and that she needed to get some sleep now. I wished her a good night and thanked her one last time. She walked away, and I followed her with my eyes as she stepped through the theatrical red velvet curtains into the foyer of the theater. What happened now, I will never forget in my entire life. She stopped just inside the door, turned to me, looked me in the eyes, blew a kiss at me with both hands and bowed down to her knee, putting her hands to her chest. She got up, smiled one more time and disappeared. I could not even breathe. So many thoughts went through my head… “how did I deserve this?”… “what an honor”… “I need a drink”… ”I am so stealing this bow for my dying swan!!!”

I went for a little walk on the balcony, and started talking to Tamara Rojo. She was very sweet and funny – telling me that she saw Trockadero perform several times in London, and that she loves what we do. She invited me to take class with the Royal Ballet anytime I was there, and told me about having danced Mayerling instead of Corsaire because she broke her foot recently ( now THAT’S commitment!).

It was now time for me to leave as well, and I made my round saying good bye to all the people I had met. I went back to my dressing room to get my things (took a picture of the name tag on the door saying “Sr Igor Kolb & Sr Bernd Burgmaier”… some things just scream for photographic evidence) and made my way out. I ran into the “guys” and Natalia Osipova (who seems to be part of the guy- group) in the hallway, and chatted for a few more moments. They assured me to come see our shows in Russia next year, and went on their way.

Back in my hotel room I didn’t know what to do with myself. I went for another glass of wine to an outside restaurant with Gillian, which was great fun. I usually only know her within the atmosphere of work and it was very nice to share some more personal moments with her. The restaurant closed, and we were forced to go back to the hotel and get some rest.

I sat down at a computer in the hotel lobby to write some e-mails. I just had to tell people about my experiences and my excitement of the past two days. As I wrote, I heard Russian voices approaching. It was Andris and Ilza Liepa with Marc Peretokin. They smiled, and walked past me to the elevator. While waiting for the doors to open, Andris turned to me and said:” You know… I called Maya a few weeks ago and asked her if she was sure about having a man dance her signature role at her gala, and she said “yes, it will be great!” so I said, Maya – it is your gala and your choice.” I didn’t quite know where he was going with his comment, and after a pause he continued, “I was skeptical – even after your rehearsal. But once the show started and you danced, you stole the show. Maya was right, and I will never question her judgment again. Congratulations.”

I thanked him for his support and for allowing me to be part of such a great evening, as he reached into his pocket. “Here”, he said, holding his hand out. “Take my card, and contact me if you ever need anything.” We said good night, and they disappeared into the elevator.

This is how my weekend in Madrid ended. I treated myself to a small bottle of champagne from the mini bar and went to sleep.

The days I spent in Spain will forever remain in my memory as one of the greatest experiences of my life. Having danced the Dying Swan for the most famous interpreter of the role… having held her hand… having watched these amazing artists work up close… having met the people I have met. There are no words to describe how much all of this meant to me. Having been part of something so big is more than I ever dared to dream of. These days have touched me on so many levels – artistically, mentally, and intellectually, and it is amazing to me how one experience can open a person’s mind, heart and soul.

This eye opening weekend reminded me that I should be very proud of many things - which I am. I am proud of me for having followed my dreams, for having worked hard, and for having instinctively packed my favorite shirt to wear to the reception, before I even knew there was a reception! I am proud of being part of Ballets Trockadero, and for having been allowed to make my artistic home there. And finally, I am very proud of the fact that Ballets Trockadero has reached a point where we perform at places like the Bolshoi, the Chatelet and at Galas like the one I had a chance to perform in. It says so much about our efforts, our work and about the world. People recognize what we do and appreciate that – show by show, city by city, country by country – we make this world a little more beautiful and a little more fun.

Kitry and Fiby

2008-05-24T07:05:00.000-07:00

Well... here they are, looking all cute. Fiby is a little over eight months old, and is actually Kitry's grand daughter. Needless to say - both being girls, they tend to argue at times. Add to it the family issue and generation conflict, and you have (in dog- form) what we all know from our own experiences...! But for the most part they are doing great together, and enrich our lives every day.

Finally home...

2008-05-23T13:52:00.000-07:00

This summer signifies a big change in my life, and I guess this is the reason for me to start writing.
I have been a dancer for the past (almost) 20 years; well... I started studying ballet about that long ago, but worked as a professional dancer only for the past ten. Nobody really knows why I wanted to be a dancer - not even I, since it is clearly not the "normal" dream of an 11 year old boy, growing up in a tiny village in southern Germany. But here I was, nagging my parents day in and day out about wanting to take ballet lessons. They finally gave in, and I started attending a small studio in a neighboring town. I still remember waiting in the sitting area for my first class to start, as a constant stream of students entered - consisting of only girls. My mother kept asking me: "should we just leave? it's OK..."
Needless to say, I stayed around and was taught my first dance steps a few minutes later. I couldn't tell how well I did, since i was mostly concentrating on following the teacher's instructions, but I must have done OK, which became clear when Thea (that was her name) asked me right after the class if I wanted to become a professional dancer. My face started glowing, and I took a deep breath to answer to her question... but was interrupted by my slightly nervous mother, who answered on my behalf.
"The boy is eleven years old! How is he gonna know what he wants to do with the rest of his life? This was his first class... maybe we should give him a chance to figure out if he even likes it some time down the road..."
Well... i did. It didn't take long before Thea came to speak to me and my mother again. This time she told me about a famous ballet school in Stuttgart, that held annual auditions for children from the age of twelve. She made clear that a school of that caliber would be the only way for me to become a professional, and that she could help me to get ready for the entrance exam.
I went home that night and wrote a letter to the school, requesting information- and registration material without my parents knowing about it. What a surprise, when a week later a large envelope from Stuttgart appeared in our mail box!!!
Long story short... After weeks of torturing my parents and a few months of preparing, I went to the audition, and was accepted.
A new era started, with me in boarding school about two hours away from home. It was a tough time for my family... giving a twelve year old boy into the custody of complete strangers cannot be an easy thing for any parent (Today I joke with my mom a lot about it... saying that she never liked me, which is why she sent me off to boarding school when i was a little, defenseless boy. Mind you - I was the stubborn one, while they scraped together every cent they could find to pay for my extravagant wishes).
Back to the story.
As proud as I was of my accomplishment of having become a student in a world renowned school, what followed were the six hardest years of my life. While the teachers most certainly knew how to teach a kid how to dance, they were just about the meanest and most abusive people one can imagine to run a school. But hey... it's results that count, right!?
Anyway... I rather skip this whole chapter of my life for now.
At age 18 i decided that it was time for me to switch gear, and I entered a modern dance school in Munich, which was amazing. I learned a lot about different dance styles- and techniques, and realized that ballet is not the only thing out there. I lived on my own for the first time, I got drunk for the first time, come to think of it... I stayed up until after 10PM for the first time!
Life was great; I felt free, respected, appreciated and supported by teachers and directors - which was something entirely foreign to me. Even though the schedule was draining (six hours of dance classes, followed by three hours of classroom hours per day), I LOVED it. I regained the passion for dance, that had been beaten out of me during the past six years.
I was able to cut my three years in Munich down to two years, and i danced in the Company of the director during my second year as a student. In the evenings i taught kids ballet classes, and was altogether pretty much dancing about 23 1/2 hours a day - or so it seemed.
Through one of my teachers in Munich, i got in touch with the Merce Cunningham studio in New York, where i auditioned in 1998 and was accepted for the fall of the same year.
So... off I went, with two suitcases and enough money to support myself for a couple of months. I stayed with a friend on the upper west side, and attended my daily classes. A few months into the quarter, I was offered to be part of the Repertory Group - a select group of dancers, who perform Merce's choreographies for smaller events. In my case, I did several months of performances in High Schools as part of the Lincoln Center Arts and Education Program. Let me tell you... there is not much more humbling, than performing in a pastel yellow leotard in front of 200 teenagers! Fun, Fun, Fun... (for them).
One evening I was walking past Lincoln Center, and saw that a free performance was about to start. Without an idea what was playing, I made my way further to the front. And this is when I saw Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo for the very first time.
I was blown away!!! This was it!
I never stopped loving ballet, but during my Stuttgart experience I have somehow learned to connect ballet with pain, humiliation, abuse and negativity. But what i saw at this out of doors event that evening brought back my memories of WHY i wanted to be a dancer in the first place! Because it was FUN for me. When i first started, I wanted to turn my passion into my profession, but instead my profession turned into a hell even before I was a professional!
Through a series of events I managed to get in touch with the Director of the Trocks, auditioned one fine Monday (January 3rd 2000), and was on tour with them on Wednesday (Jan. 5th). It all happened so fast. Before I knew it I checked into one Hotel after another, learned how to put on pointe shoes, Make up, wigs, Tutus, and was on stage almost every day.
I guess dreams do come true sometimes...!? But there is another saying: "If the gods want to punish you, they answer your prayers".
I cannot tell you how many times i have asked god to give me a chance to travel. I wanted to see the world and visit cities I could barely find on the map. Back in Stuttgart I would leave my High school grounds during my 15 minutes break, run to a travel agency to get a catalog and spend the next days studying it. I literally prayed every day to go to all the places I "knew" from those catalogs. I guess god must have gotten sick and tired of my nagging him, and he finally said: "you want to travel??? I'll give you travel!!!
So this is what i did. Dance and travel for the next eight years. At this point it is easier for me to list the countries I have NOT visited during my time with the Trocks, and I am very thankful for every single thing I got to see. Time flew by... I had highlights and low points, loved and cursed my job, but never lost the pleasure I felt once I was on stage, making people in the audience smile, giggle or simply enjoy what I had to offer. I guess it didn't occur to me for a long time, but an artist can actually make differences in people's lives. I went through a whole period of my life where I thought I didn't contribute anything important to the world - comparing myself to doctors, nurses, ambassadors or even garbage men, who very directly make this world a better, healthier, safer or cleaner place to live in. But one day I heard about a Lady who was in one of our performances. She told our ballet mistress about her very sick daughter, and that this evening was the first time in years that she actually laughed - really laughed. I guess this was when i realized that I also made a small difference to the better in the world. It felt amazing.

Anyway...
As of February 2008, I left the Company. Although I enjoyed dancing and traveling until the very end, I decided that it was time for me to take some time at home with my partner of over eight years, and our two Shih Tzus. (For the ones who don't know... Manolo gave me a little puppy for my 30th birthday. Her name is Fiby, and she is just amazing!!!) Being separated from Manolo for months at a time became more and more difficult for the both of us, and I chose to settle down. This is where the title to this story comes in... FINALLY HOME.
I can't even begin to describe how happy I am to be here, without constantly seeing my suitcase ready to be packed in the middle of our guest bedroom. It is such a joy to have time for everything. Before, there was always this pressure for time... everything had an expiration date attached. If we were having a great time, fun and happiness, I would say: "Let's enjoy it now... on Sunday I am leaving again." If we had discussions or arguments, I would say: "Let's wrap it up now... on Sunday I am leaving again." Finally we can have fun, laugh, argue, discuss and enjoy without the thought of a departure date.
We have also just taken our first steps into a new, bright and exciting future, by attending the certificate program in interior design at the college. After decorating our own home one room at a time, we have clearly developed more than a taste for the business, and can't wait to see what the future brings.
OK... enough for today. Fiby (the puppy) is desperately trying to get me away from the computer. And she has got me wrapped around her little claws!