Feeling A Little Camus? Sarte Got You Down? Welcome to the No Exit Club.

This morning as I was driving to work I began to have an existential crisis. I know, I know, why am I having an existential crisis on the packed suburban highway at 24, on my way to my first real job of five months? Wait a while and come back to me, you're saying. Well, I disagree my friends. Now is the perfect time for an existential crisis to begin. Here I am, just finished with my grad school applications, soon to be 25 (in May), in a decent enough job that if I wanted to live in a mediocore reality I could spin out indefinitely, and all I can see stretching out before me is a bland, mashed potatoes, middle class, suburban destiny. Where is the joy that comes from life? Where is the excitement? Why am I still waking up in the morning, if this is all there is?

Maybe part of this stems from having just returned from a trip and settling back down to the regularly programmed schedule, but I sort of feel like I'm getting old and letting opportunities pass me by. I feel like being in America, having the American Dream forced down your throat precludes you from living an interesting life. Job security feels like a dirty word to me. I don't want to worry about these things, certainly not now, and hopefully not ever. Whenever I get like this I try to remember this quote I like "The future, unimagined for the sake of the glorious, difficult present." But what if the present doesn't seem so glorious or difficult, and continues on conventionally into the future? Can I handle a conventional future? Am I becoming conventional? Somebody help me out here. What do you think?

Danke Schon, Darling, Danke Schon

So I have returned from my jaunt across the ocean. I hope you didn't miss me too much. Oh, God, you did! You missed me! That is so sweet of you! I missed you too. Well, I'm not going to update you on every little detail, that would be long and boring and utterly pointless. Later, I will fill you in on some stories, but for now I will just tell you a little of what I saw and learned. This is all about Berlin. I went to Vienna too, but Berlin took my breath away. And how could it not, with architecture like this:

This is the Scandinavian embassies' building. A green, curving, organic shape lit like something fantastic under the sea, or a ghostly visage in the woods by night. By day it is the perfect embassy for these five countries whose landscapes are almost otherworldly beautiful, and are known for their clean design.

As you might be aware, after World War II, Berlin was flattened, devestated, and divided. In fact, the oldest building in the city only dates back to the 17th century. That might seem ancient to our young country, but to a city that dates back to the 13th century, it's astounding. After the war, and after its re-unification, Berlin has come back with some of the most inventive, creative and beautiful modern architecture to be found in one city. In fact, one thing that amazed me is that most of the really unusual architecture was for the government buildings. Being used to the formal, neo-classical government buildings in our own capital it gave me a feeling of lightness, and forward thinking optimism to see this government building:
This is the Reichstag, the parliament building that was originally built before the war, then burned down (supposedly by a Dutch Communist, but it might have been by the Nazis in order to suppress civil rights and remove Communists). After the war it was rebuilt, and the glass dome allows one to look right into the heart of the government, a symbol of the openness of the government today.










Here's our hotel:
It was cheap and stylish. Not to mention friendly, clean and staffed with helpful people. Thank you Motel One!






And although I am not usually a fan of commercial spaces and shopping malls, I was interested to see Potsdamer Platz, which in the antibellum days was a city center;

then a symbol of the divided city,

The Berlin Wall is a misnomer, as I learned, it was two separate walls on each side, with a Death Strip down the middle, for gaurds to patrol. Guess which side is which!
Underneath this cooridor, and parts of East Berlin, ran the West Berlin Unterbahn, the former entrances that remained on the East side were closed off and the platforms gaurded, as the Western trains sped past without stopping. This gave rise to what was called the Ghost Underground.

Now, after the wall has come down (we're still going to refer to it as a wall, even though we know what it really is, okay?) and a few years of desolation, Potsdamer Platz became a city center once again. A double cobblestone line runs the length of the city where the two walls once stood. It's surprising to come across it and imagine how divided the city was, and yet, so close.

I'm a sucker for history of any kind, and so I was intriqued by everything there is to learn about Berlin's recent history. And therefore we went to one of the most interesting buildings in Berlin. That squiggly metallic building is the Jewish Museum. You might think this was all about the Holocaust, but you'd be wrong. Surprisingly, there is less than you would think. And that has received some criticism. From my perspective, the good side is that as you are walking through the museum you learn about Judaism throughout Germany's history. Unfortunately it feels as though the facts of the atrocities were brushed over a little. I don't want every detail, but I do want a little more than the paltry information they gave. Despite those sentiments, parts of the museum were powerful interpretations of the isolation, terror and fear that Jews in Europe might have felt at this time. The Holocaust Turm, or tower, is a small, dark, unheated metal room with a sliver of a window at the top, where outside noises can be heard, muffled and frightening. The damp cold of this dark room, along with the street noises, made me understand for the first time the emotional isolation and terror that they might have felt.

Later on we went to the Fernseherturm, or TV tower at Alexander Platz, affectionately called "der Alex". Der Alex was built during the height of the divide, as a sort of Communist display of pride and power. It is pretty impressive. I like to think of the West Berliners wondering what was going on as this tower steadily rises on the other side. The view from it now is pretty incredible.

Berlin is, as I have heard, 'young, poor and sexy'. I would have to agree. I can't wait to return to this city and explore what else is hiding away in it. I feel as though it is a place I could live, the streets are wide and the city is spread out enought to make me feel like I'm not too crowded in. It is a place you can be alone with your thoughts, or be inspired by all the activity going on. I hoped to find that in New York, but I always felt crowded, or swept along, out of control on those streets. Here, I could have the best of both worlds, and practice my German too.

Going to Berlin

I leave for Berlin at 7:30 p.m. tonight. Everyone keeps asking if I'm excited and I have to feign a level of excitement I feel they expect. It's not that I'm not excited, I just don't know what to expect, and haven't even realized I'm actually going yet. I never really get excited until I actually see the city spreading out below me, or have been there before and can anticipate what I'm in store for. I am very curious, and very ready to go somewhere new. I'm excited about that. I haven't gone anywhere since 2002, and have never been to Berlin, or Vienna, where we're spending half our time, even though I sort of speak the language. We'll see how much I actually speak, vs. what I think I speak.

And as excited as I am to be going somewhere new for a little while, getting away from work and boring Nova, I know I'll miss all my friends here. It's always that way, I see so much of them that when I don't see them I kind of go through withdrawal. I wish we were all going together. And it's hard to believe I won't be able to call them up, or let them know what I'm thinking at a given moment. I know it's only 10 days, and I will be with one of my friends, will be so busy doing and seeing new things that I won't have a minute to spare, that's not entirely true, I'll be doing these things and thinking of them, too. So, if you're reading this and you're one of my friends, know that despite the tons of fun I will be having, I'll think of you too.

And that clock to my left? That's what time it is where I am, and I'll be back the 27th, so you can think of me too, and anticipate my return. A parade would be nice.

Troubling A Star

My mom called this morning to tell me my biggest teen idol was dead. Brad Renfro died yesterday at the age of 25. He was a heroin and methadone addict who had spent the last few years plagued by legal troubles. But I remember him better as this mischievous, bad kid who appeared sweet and sad and was a remarkable actor. It's strange when your teen idols die. I haven't thought of him in months, not since I saw Bully, but I could still tell you all these details about his life culled from the pages of humiliation inducing Teen Beat magazines. I used to convince my little brother to go up to the register to buy these for me because I couldn't bear the embarrassment. Brad Renfro was born July 25, 1982 and raised by his grandmother in Knoxville, TN. Learning of his love for Led Zepplin they too immediately became my favorite band, even though I wasn't sure if it was a solo singer with a strange name, or an actual band. That is a love that has stuck with me, so thanks, Brad. Once on a road trip through Tennessee to visit some of my mother's friends we drove through Knoxville and I got my mom to pull over so I could buy make-up, on the very slim chance I saw him hanging out somewhere in the city, while we stopped for lunch. I had a poster of him on the wall across from my bed, and the nose had mysteriously turned white. I kissed it goodnight so often that it got rubbed off. But as I grew older, reality set in, the chances that I would meet him growing slimmer and slimmer, and my interest less and less. I still liked him as an actor, but I didn't really care what his favorite band was, they had become my own, somehow, not just a band I listened to to feel closer to a distant, troubled star, but something I listened to because of their own worth. I also started to realize that even if this goodhearted bad boy somehow descended from that Hollywood pillar I had put him on, I probably wouldn't like him all that much. He didn't have any of the qualities I admire, and didn't even have that swoon inducing shaggy hair anymore. I'm sorry about what happened to him, I wish that his talent hadn't led him down a path that would allow him to indulge in the drugs that killed him. I do think he would have been a good person, someone who began to realize there was more to life than that, maybe he would have stopped acting altogether and moved back to Tennessee; started a new life. I'm sorry that Hollywood took what it could from him--a smart mouth and a vulnerability that was tangible on screen, a pretty face with problems, and once he had given them what they wanted, turned its back on him, allowing him to fall in with the rest of the failed actors wandering its streets. I wish things ended differently for this child actor.

I'm slowly becoming more OCD

I've been accused of being anal retentive and a perfectionist before in my lifetime, but I don't think that I actually believed it until I began applying to graduate schools. I was just writing the addresses on manila envelopes for a few of these when, suddenly! oh, no! the Q on Queen Mary's looks a little weird! and how could I not have read the address properly and written Queen Mary first when the first line clearly says "The Admission and Recruitment Office". Maybe I should start over. And then, the fear sets in. Should I start over? Is it okay? Who's really going to care? All these questions start running through my head and my hand clenches up on the pen as my heart clenches in my chest.

So on the second one I write quickly, trying not to care that the s at the end of Admissions looks a little messy. Reveling in the fact that it looks kinda cool when I write fast, as though I'm so busy and confident that I can't be bothered to make it look perfectly neat.

And that's just the envelope. Imagine what happens when I have to hand write the application itself, the thing the admissions people will actually be reading and judging me on. Suffice it to say, I used that adhesive correction tape and cut it off so that the edges were nice and neat and covered my mistakes perfectly.

I think all this anal retentive behavior stems from my fears that I won't measure up, that my grades, references and CVs will not be good enough to get me into a graduate school that I want to attend. After doing the best I can on my applications and in my classes and trying to improve my resume, the only other thing I can actually control is the way it looks. And looks count for something, right?? Right? I mean, an admissions officer might see my neatly written envelope and application and think, hmm, she's so neat she obviously is ready for the high intensity of grad school!! She put so much thought into each and every answer.

That must be why i'm freaking out about things as banal as how my handwriting looks on the envelope of my applications, rather than the actual content off my work.

Waiting For Flight

There is a certain spine tingling elation that exists in the bubble of time when something stops and something new is about to begin. It is a pregnant pause before something new is born and the world's frenzied reaction to it begins. The calm before the storm has always held an appeal for me, energy gathering in the warm dusky night, waiting for the crack of lightning that will signal the heavens to open up. It is like a gasp, with the remembrance of all that came before it, and all that will be lost when the air is released, and words or actions flow out with it. Then there is that moment when the lights come down and the orchestra pauses from their chaotic, melodic warm ups and you know the show is about to begin. Or the tension of two opposing armies lined up and tensed, but not yet begun to fight, still waiting for the twang of a bow that will decide fates. No man is dead yet, nothing is destroyed, the adrenaline of fear pools in their muscles, and they know a release is coming, but not what pain or victory will come with it.

The problem with loving the silent moment before the world changes is that it is almost impossible to realize which moment is the one before the end. It takes a vaccum, sucking the rest of the world away, so that one is forced to stop and look around in order to realize it and cherish it. Before the tumult and horror of World War I came an idyllic summer, and the world didn't know it. Early mornings are good for this appreciation, and the seconds when the movie has not yet begun, as the production companies show their logos, getting you excited for the movie you’re about to enjoy. When you’re sitting on an airplane, waiting for take off, and you can feel the engines girding up, like the muscles of a lion bunching together for the leap. And then suddenly the ground falls away and you’re unexplainably airborne. And you’re off, on an adventure, beginning life in a new world.

This time next week I will be in Berlin. That adventure will have begun.

The Lion's Den

I was hanging out at the Black Cat on Friday with one of my co-workers, Eric, as we began to proudly carry on that tradition of co-workers everywhere: talking about the workplace. I told him about a co-worker I couldn't stand and he told me about his daily routine, which consists of reading the newspaper, going to the bathroom, chatting by JR's desk for half an hour, going back to his desk, getting water and starting the cycle through the office once again. In a good day he does about 1 1/2 hours of work.

We started talking about his boss, Charlotte, who he sits behind, in what he calls "The Lion's Den". I, poor little Christian that I am, am constantly being fed to this lion, who--and I swear this is not hyperbole or metaphor-- likes to play with me before eating me for lunch. When I give her work that needs to be done by her designers she looks at me with a quizzical eye, stares at the paper I gave her, contemplates it and then, in a mock questioning voice asks, "but where's the ms number?" "So you need what done, now?" or other various questions, knowing full well I've forgotten once again, and will stutter and run back to my desk, wondering how I could keep screwing up. You would think 5 months would be enough time to know what I'm doing.

I have come to realize that the thoughts I have in my head are not articulated as clearly as I think they are, because when she stares at me they come out all jumbled and confused. When I think I am so right I am quickly put in my place. Eric told me sometimes when he hears a question I ask, something simple, like, "Will it be able to be done by the end of the day?" He just shakes his head, waiting for the slow burn that is Charlotte's response because I've asked another stupid question.

Sometimes Charlotte is alright, she can be witheringly funny, and I'm sure her area of interests extends well beyond the office, but I get the distinct feeling she doesn't think much of me. Maybe it's the way a conversation will be going on by her desk, until I walk up with some work and they grow silent, waiting for me to speak and ruin their fun. I don't know, but until I do, I'm going to be refering to Eric as Princess Leia, and Charlotte as Jabba, because there are distinct similarities (even without a gold bikini).

I'm In a New York State of Mind

I don't know what it is exactly, but this lovely weather we're having right now has put me in a New York kind of mood. Maybe I'm just imagining how everyone is probably out enjoying the weather, being nice to each other, taking walks along rain slick sidewalks. New York in the springtime is an interesting place. People wake up a little, realize they haven't died, or aren't being buffeted by chilling winds. The black trees start sprouting and the green comes back to the city gardens. People remember why they like the city, and are filled with hope again. Snow starts melting and dripping, and it's like the ice is melting off the frozen heart of the city.

I always fall for these false springs. I start getting spring fever and going a little mad, and then, just when I'm expecting green things to start pushing up from the dirt, snow comes and I'm left out in the cold. But when spring really does come, I will take a weekend and go up to New York, even if I'm all alone, to see the city go a little mad too.

Happy New Year's!!

It was a last minute idea, but some of the best are. None of us knew what to do; go into the city, go to the Frown Center, go down to Charlottesville, have a party. Finally, at the last minute I remembered my mom was going to a party and wouldn't be home that night. The perfect time to act like a crazy teen again. So I went to the store, bought some food and booze, and waited for the party to show up. And show up it did. Four a.m. and the party was still going with Aja, Mark, Alan, Julia and Paul (finally showing up in the end).

At first I thought I'd be like Martha Plimpton in 200 Cigarettes, wondering where the party was while getting drunk and passing out before anyone got there. Fortunately, my friends continually prove they are the best ever.