I enjoyed the first six „New 52“ DC comic books featuring Wonder Woman [Link] and started reading lesser-known series like „Promethea“ [Link], „Nailbiter“ [Link], „Rat Queens“ [Link], „Mind MGMT“ [Link] and „The Private Eye“ [Link]. I’ve also enjoyed Daniel Clowes‘ „David Boring“ [Link].
I started keeping a diary on October 26th, 1997. I was 14 and in 9th grade. I kept up until 2004, and every year, I made a ‚personal soundtrack‘ with songs that reflected last years‘ themes and storylines.
Here are 20 songs for ‚Season 17‘, October 2013 to October 2014.
Some of these songs are on Youtube. Let’s see how long it takes before they are taken down. Here are the videos: Watch them while the links still work!
I didn’t enjoy the book, overall, because a lot of the essays seemed listless or haphazard. „Girls“ has a lot of energy. Lena herself seems passionate and smart… but „Not That Kind of Girl“ felt like a school assignment, a piece of homework. Not enough urgency. Not enough drive.
There are LOTS of tweet-sized gems in these 300 pages, though, and I want to collage them: Please go read 20 or 30 of these quotes. They encapsulate what’s great about Lena (witty! acerbic!). But they also show the bumpiness, flunkiness, hit-and-miss meandering of this book project:
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„Not That Kind of Girl“… told in 115 quotes:
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„I’ve been obsessed with death since I was born.“
„Until I was about twelve my grandmother was my best friend. […] I called her every day at 4:00 P.M.“
„I shared a bed with my sister, Grace, until I was seventeen years old.“
„my dad painted huge pictures of penises for a job“
„I was born here, and New York is so alien: she is in my gut like an old sickness“
„both my parents have therapists“
„none of the pants ever fit me, unless I head into the maternity section“
„My nickname in high school was Blow-Job Lena, but because I gave NO blow jobs!“
„I wanted memories so powerful they made you cry.“
„my Brazilian babysitter Flavia“
„my mother, who looks like her normal self when she dresses as a witch for Halloween.“
„we didn’t have to worry about much except what gallery to go to on Sunday…“
„The best news I ever could have received would have been that my parents had decided to homeschool me“
„I was a quitter: of play dates, of dance class, of Hebrew school.“
„I demanded a series of tuck-in rituals so elaborate that I’m shocked my parents never hit me (hard).“
„I was sure I had already broken my hymen in high school in pursuit of a cat that didn’t want to be rescued.“
„my parents discovered I had been stuffing all my unfinished homework under my bed for half the school year.“
„a successful seventh-grade year in which I had […] gotten my hair highlighted by a licensed beautician named Beata.“
„Everything I saw as a child, from 90210 to The Bridges of Madison Country, had led me to believe that sex was a cingey, warmly lit event“
„Angela Chase seemed pretty messed up by her experience at that flophouse where high school kids went to copulare.“
„I haven’t been to London since age 14, when I was angry my mother forced me to ride a Ferris wheel and even angrier because I liked it.“
„being in possession of a gay sister, I find the term ‚girl crush‘ slightly homophobic.“
„I haven’t had a crush on a woman since, unless you count my confusing relationship with Shane from The L Word“
„I had no issue with gay people. I just didn’t want to be one. I was fourteen. I didn’t want to be anything yet.“
„I had been telling my parents, sister, grandma – anyone who would listen, really – about my desires from an early age.“
„I gained weight like it was a viable profession.“
„I don’t think I met a Republican until I was nineteen.“
„I went to my first Women’s Action Coalition meeting at age three.“
„Barbie’s disfigured. It’s fine to play with her just as long as you keep that in mind.“
„His arms were as muscly as a Ken doll’s but also as small.“
„I pull down my tights to pee, and he jams a few of his fingers inside me, like he’s trying to plug me up.“
„I was, once again, just a B- or even C-level member of the classroom ecology.“
„I wasn’t obese, but a senior did tell me I looked ‚like a bowling ball with a hat on.'“
„I’ll never be this young again. Or this lonely. Or this hairy.“
„While my veganism began as a deeply felt moral position, it soon morphed into a not-very-effective eating disorder.“
„we were finding our own New York, which looked a lot like the New York of our parents“
„at my new school, I was cool. […] I had a denim jacket and a novelty pin that said who lit the fuse on your tampon?“
„I wrote poems, sprawling epics with curse words and casual mentions of suicide that didn’t get me sent to the school psychologist.“
„my mother’s psychic Dmitri, who smelled of essential oils and walked around our house investigating ‚energies'“
„Waiting for my parents to get home because I’d lost my keys and pissing in someone’s potted plant.“
„This is what camp is all about! I thought. Meeting other, slightly different kinds of white girls!“
„I told him I went to school in Brooklyn and he said he didn’t know where that was because he wasn’t ’so good at geometry'“
„even three mornings a week [at a child psychiatrist] isn’t enough to stop the terrible thoughts.“
„When I gave you a blow job (MY FIRST) on the day my cat died, you should have called.“
„Throughout the day I often ask myself, Could I fall asleep right now? and the answer is always a resounding yes.“
„Drunk emotions aren’t real emotions.“
„Later in the summer your grandfather dies, and you’re secretely glad. You have a place to put all your sorrow now“
„that syrupy terror that characterized summer nights as a nine-year-old sometimes lasts for days now“
„Every sexual encounter has felt like a first visit with a new general practioner. Awkward, burdensome, a little chilly.“
„the first person you give a blow job to. You won’t finish, just administer one horrified lick, and he won’t talk to you again“
„Only when I got to college did it dawn on me that maybe my upbringing hadn’t been very ‚real‘.“
„Oberlin being a liberal haven where opposition was king, the coolest clique was a group of rugby-playing, neon-wearing lesbians.“
„I’m 20. […] I choose to wear a banana-printed belly shirt and pink leggings to the Vatican and religious tourists gawk and turn away.“
„The conversation at college is making me insane: politically correct posturing by people without real politics.“
„I am determined not to tell anyone I vomited. But sharing is my first instinct.“
„And there I am, drunk on a spring night, yanking my tampon out and hurling it into a bush outside the church.“
„I became the most combative girl in every writer’s workshop“
„I had been ambitious once. In college, all I seemed to do was found literary magazines with inexplicable names.“
„I wrote porn reviews (‚Anal Annie and the Willing Husbands‘ is weird because the lead has a lisp).“
„I’ve never talked to anyone my own age abou anything beyond ambition. Technique, passion, philosophy, we don’t touch any of that.“
„he saw me for who I felt I was: achingly brilliant, misunderstood, full of novellas and poems and well-timed jokes.“
„We went to his neighbor’s funeral and sat on the back row and got the giggles, sprinted out.“
„I’m the kind of person who should probably date older guys, but I can’t deal with their balls.“
„I had ill-advised intercourse with a petite poet-mathematician who, afterward, removed the condom, placed it under his pillow, and wiped his penis clean on his own curtains.“
„He kissed me like it was a boring job given to him by his parole officer.“
„he looked at me a long moment, like he was preparing to eat something he wasn’t sure he would like.“
„Over time, my belief in many things has wavered: marriage, the afterlife, Woody Allen. But never motherhood.“
„college was a wonderful gig, thousands of hours to tend to yourself like a garden“
„Soon, my life as a student will be as far behind me as summer camp.“
„we fucked in the blue light of a documentary about police brutality. we didn’t speak for a year.“
„You used to own the night and put it to good use“
„Upon graduation I had felt a heavy sense of doom, a sense that nothing would ever be simple again.“
„I can’t find a goddamn fucking job and I’m too fat to be a stripper.“
„The story of children of the art world trying (and failing) to match their parents‘ successes, unsure of their own passions, but sure they wanted glory“
„a haze of warm beer, Xanax bits, and poorly administered cocaine“
„He takes me on a day trip up the coast that should be romantic but feels like a hostage situation.“
„I boarded a Greyhound to Ithaca to see a college friend, the kind of purposeless trip you will never take again after age 25.“
„the 350 milligrams of medication I take every night“
„so much of what I love – gossip and furniture and food and the Internet“
„calling a cab in a haze of pills and getting home at 6 am only to realize you’ve left all your valuables at the home of a guy who doesn’t wake up until 2“
„my first postcollege job in a downtown restaurant…“
„What followed was two years of on-and-off ambigous sex hangouts […] often involving prescrition drugs from […] my parents‘ oral surgeries.“
„If I was writing this then, I would have glamorized the whole story for you“
„I thought of myself as some kind of spy, undercover as a girl with low self-esteem, bringing back detailled intelligence reports…“
„I was dressed like a hooker dressed like an insurance broker.“
„I walked out into the street the next day bare legged and reeling, not sure whether I’d been ruined or awoken.“
„my e-mails were long and overwrought, trying to show him how dark my sense of humor was (I can make an incest joke!)“
„I still make joke after joke, but my tears are betraying me.“
„I broke up with him for a Puerto Rican named Joe with a tattoo that said mom in Comic Sans.“
„I bought my wallet while high off my ass on legal prescription drugs in the Hamburg airport.“
„Advil, Lexapro, Mucinex, Klonopin, and Tamiflu, for emotional security. If you have any spare pills, I will take those, too.“
„I worked at the baby store for nine months. Just recently graduated, I had stormed out of my restaurant job on a whim.“
„Once my boss yelled at me for giving Gwyneth Paltrow the wrong size in baby legging“
„going to Physique 57 class even though the women there are all engaged to be married and mean.“
„The time we took ecstasy and, right before it hit, he asked me what my thoughts on open relationships were.“
„If someone doesn’t answer your email within six hours, it means they hate you.“
„We went to a bar afterwards, and a DJ gave me his business card in a way that could have been sexual.“
„I Googled him and ‚rape‘ autofills after his name.“
„I’ve always believed that it turns people on to get made fun of, and the art world was no exception“
„We took the videos we had made together off the Internet, embarrassed by the things we had once thought so profound.“
„And yes, it was broad, amateurish, a little vulgar.“
„My body was simply a tool to tell the story.“
„By the time I emerged from his home on Friday morning, we had essentially performed the first year of a relationship in 5 days.“
„And so I stayed, for five months, calling it growth.“
„Back in the city, I kissed him goodbye, then texted him a few minutes later ‚don’t come over later, or ever.‘ We do what we can.“
„the time I sat with a director in his hotel suite while he told me girls love it when you ‚direct‘ their blow jobs.“
„Women in Hollywood were treated like the paper thingies that protect glasses in hotel bathrooms – necessary but infinitely disposable.“
„I wasn’t going to be anyone’s protégée, pet, private fan club, or eager plus-one.“
„I loved that he’d never have to see a more successful person than himself at a party.“
„Later, we will find out that he was simultaneously courting an actress from The West Wing and that he bought her a cactus.“
„And I decided then that I will never be jealous. I will never be vengeful. I won’t be threatened by the old, or by the new.“
„You don’t need to be flamboyant in your life to be flamboyant in your work.“
„I hadn’t showered in four days and I still have a boyfriend last I checked.“
„The next morning he rolled toward me and not away. […] It was like a miracle.“
„You’ve learned a new rule and it’s simple: don’t put yourself in situations you’d like to run away from.“
„you ask your friend Jeminma one day as she’s painting you nude on her couch“
„I can’t wait to be eighty. So I can have an ‚oeuvre‘ – or at least a ‚filmography‘.“
„I’ll be eighty and, quite possibly, the owner of seventeen swans.“
„How could someone whose biggest health scare was a coffee-induced colon infection know what the end of life looks like?“
„Last summer my vagina started to sting.“
„My OCD isn’t completely gone, but maybe it never will be.“
„You’ll think, Stuff like this only happens to characters played by Jennifer Garner, right?“
Buchtipps sind… sinnlos. In meinem privaten (Zuhause-)Freundeskreis jedenfalls:
Es fällt mir leichter (und wirkt weniger… übergriffig / aufdringlich), auf Amazon Marketplace zwei, drei gebrauchte Ausgaben zu kaufen und zu schenken, als Freunden mit Kaufempfehlungen in den Ohren zu liegen.
Sobald ich denke “Er/sie hätte Spaß, mit diesem Buch”, kaufe ich eine billige Ausgabe.
Hier: Die Bücher und DVDs, die ich 2013 verschenkt habe.
Mo Willems: „Pigeon wants a Puppy“ (Bilderbuch, Link)
James Patterson: „Calvin & Hobbes: Band 1. Auf dem Sprung“ (Cartoons, Link)
Erwin Moser: „Der Mond hinter den Scheunen“ (Kinderbuch, Link: Er sagt, er will Moser „viereinhalb Sterne“ auf Goodreads geben… aber sein Vater sagt, er wirkte beim Vorlesen oft gelangweilt / durcheinander)
Tochter meiner besten Freunde, 11 Jahre alt:
Kiyohiko Azuma: “Yotsuba&!”, Band 12 (Manga, Link)
Chica Umino: „Honey & Clover“, Band 6 bis 10 (Manga, Link)
„Girls: Season 1“ (DVD, Link: „Die haben sich hingesetzt und überlegt: WAS wollen Menschen auf keinen Fall hören oder sehen? Und dann haben sie daraus eine Serie gemacht.“)
Gabriel Ba, Fabio Moon: „Daytripper“ (Graphic Novel, Link)
Brandon Stanton: „Humans of New York“ (Bildband, Link)
…sowie verschiedene DVDs (vor allem Dramen, lange Liste hier, Link. Habe ich nur ausgesucht, nicht bezahlt):
Er ist nur Spielerei, Notizsammlung, Sommer-Nebenbei-Spaß. Rollt nicht die Augen, weil – im Vergleich zu sonst – Dramatik und Dringlichkeit fehlen. .
Liebe K.,
50_Dein Sicherungskasten riecht nach Zahncreme.
49_Ich weiß das erst seit heute. Denn erst nach 19 Tagen allein in deiner Wohnung zog ich am Knauf: Ich wollte ihn öffnen, um zu wissen, ob er ein Sicherungskasten ist – oder etwas anderes.
48_Beim an-der-Tür-Ziehen rutschte hinten, zwischen Wand und Holzrahmen, sofort ein tic-tac-Hüllen-großes Plastic-Case voller Zahnseide die Wand runter zu Boden. Ich hob es auf. Dachte: „Dann sind da doch keine Sicherungen. Ein riesiger Medizinschrank?“ Zog am Knauf…
47_fand Sicherungen und Zähler…
46_und sehr viel Zahncreme, Zahnseide, Reiseutensilien.
45_Sobald ich Schränke, Truhen, Kellertüren öffne, erwarte ich muffigen Geruch: Meine Nase ist recht schlecht. Wahrscheinlich kalkuliere ich, wie es gleich riechen sollte / könnte / müsste, statt wirklich erstmal irgendwas zu riechen. Dass aus dem Sicherungskasten nicht Muff und Moder kam, sondern Minze, macht mich glücklich: Hätte ich eine Wohnung – ich würde solche Geruchs-Übertölpelungen in allen Winkeln mit schlechtem Geruchs-Image verstecken, und die Geruchs-Erwartungen, Geruchs-Dramaturgie von Schränken, Schubladen unterwandern. Bild-Nase-Scheren – wie Ton-Bild Scheren im TV. Falsche Fährten. Überraschungen!
44_Ich bin seit Dienstag, 29. Juli in deiner Neuköllner Wohnung. Weitgehend heimlich.
43_Du kommst übermorgen zurück: am 21. August.
42_Drei ruhige, helle, konzentrierte Wochen. Kaum Menschen. Viel Textarbeit und Schreiben. Südfenster im Schlaf-, Nordfenster in Arbeitszimmer und Küche. Vorne: Rosenstöcke. Hinterhof. Hinten: Fahrradabstellplatz und Sträucher. Ein Wasserbett. Ein Gaskocher. Parterre. Der Plastikbausatz eines Pterodaktylus, 60 oder 70 Zentimeter Flügelspannweite, glow-in-the-dark, über deinem Bett.
41_Ich will mich für die Zeit hier in Berlin bedanken. Ich bin bis Samstag in der Stadt: Wir können Kaffee trinken. Ich lade dich zum Essen ein! Ich finde ein Gast- und Dankesgeschenk – bestimmt auch Bücher. Obwohl du wenig von Buchgeschenken hältst.
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40_Ich glaube, am meisten freuen dich… Einfälle. Gedanken: Lose Notizen über deine Wohnung, meine letzten Tage, die Nachbarschaft, Berlin, den Sommer.
39_Hat das Känguru auf der 1,50 auf 1,50 großen Karikatur an deiner Schlafzimmerwand ein oder ZWEI Augen? Ist diese Beule oben am Kopf ein senkrechtes, rechtes Auge – oder ein Blaulicht? Und trägt der Roboter links daneben, der sich mit Schnaps betrinkt, den ihm das süffisante Blaulicht-Känguru im Beutel zugetragen hat, eine Metall-Sauciere auf dem Kopf? Oder eine Ölkanne? Einen Espressokocher?
38_Und warum hat der Roboter keine Füße und Schuhe? Und das dahinter – ist das ein Zylinder? Saß der Zylinder auf seinem Kopf? Hat der Zylinder die Metall-Sauciere / Ölkanne / den Espressokocher versteckt?
37_Mich freut fast jeden Tag, dass der rote Tannenbaum hinter dem Känguru zwar rechts und links die selbe Anzahl Äste hat – aber diese Äste nicht streng symmetrisch / gespiegelt wachsen.
36_Mich freut fast jeden Tag, dass deine Wohnung kein WLAN hat.
35_Ich arbeite 6, 7 Stunden täglich offline – hier im Schlafzimmer, im Wasserbett, den Laptop auf der Brust. Um 16 Uhr gehe ich zu Edeka und hole mir Oliven und Brot (Haben sie die tollen Kalamata-Oliven aus dem Sortiment genommen, vor zehn Tagen?). Und zwischen 18 und 20 Uhr gehe ich ins „Weserland“, zu deinen Coworking-Kollegen, und google, facebooke, chatte, lese, erledige Bezahljobs – bis nachts um 2 oder 3.
34_Ich habe dein Kürbiskernöl benutzt und deine Olivenöl-Zitrus-Seife im Bad. Ich habe alte Ausgaben von Harper’s Magazine gelesen (wie toll ist Harper’s Index?). Ich habe einmal die Waschmaschine benutzt, zehnmal geduscht. Und Krümel eines Muffins fielen mir im Flur auf die mit Packpapier abgeklebten Dielen – und hinterließen zwei kleine Fettflecke.
33_Ich fragte mich, warum deine Dielen im Flur mit einer Rolle Packpapier abgeklebt sind – und ob du dieses Packpapier ersetzt, beschriftest, bemalst, in Herbst und Winter oft dreckig machst…?
32_Und dachte: „Los! Sammle Fragen zur Wohnung! Schreib einen Text!“
31_Warum fehlen dem Pterodactylus-Skelett viele Rippenbögen und Halswirbel? Warum zeigt eine Fußkralle nach oben – aber die andere nach unten? Warum sehe ich überall in der Wohnung Bilder und verstreute Plüschfiguren von Hasen und Nagetieren (und ein paar Plastiksaurier), aber EIN einziges Dromedar? Wer hat in Schreibschrift und mit rotem Faden „Proletariat“ auf deine braune Stoffratte gestickt? Sind alle Tiere und Tierabbildungen in deiner Wohnung männlich? Das süffisante Känguru auch? Warum das Sam & Max-Poster in der Küche?
30_Warum hast du keine Kleiderbügel? Warum hast du keinen Spiegel im Bad? Warum hast du keinen Kühlschrank?
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29_Du hast mir angeboten, deinen Arbeitsplatz / Account im Weserland zu nutzen – aber 75 Euro monatlich, um 24 Stunden am Tag dort arbeiten, sitzen, surfen zu können? Oder sogar kochen? SNES spielen? Schlafen? Ich fand die Räume so ideal, das ganze Set-up unterstützenswert genug, um mich dort gleich selbst einzumieten: Drei Wochen lang war ich dort jede Nacht am Schreibtisch, ab 18 oder 20 Uhr – bis 2 oder 3. Ich kaufte noch eine „Kaffee-Flatrate“ dazu, für 15 Euro – aber trank am Ende doch nur Mate, jeden Abend. Ich hatte Ohrstöpsel dabei – aber kam trotzdem oft ins Gespräch. Mario. Heiko. Meko. Benno. Felix. Die lustige blonde Frau, die sagt „Ich bin Frederike – aber sag ruhig Franziska zu mir!“ Und Jacqueline, die mit einer Bestimmtheit und einem Verve jeden Raum betritt, der mich wünschen lässt, sie würde in einer neuen „Star Trek“-Serie ein Raumschiff kommandieren: „Captain auf der Brücke!“. Ich kann verstehen, warum du gern neben diesen Leuten, in dieser Atmosphäre schreibst und arbeitest.
28_Ich war nicht auf Konzerten. Ich war nicht bei Starbucks oder Dunkin‘ Donuts, bei Ocelot, im Groben Unfug, bei ZEIT Online, ich war nicht bei Skype oder am Telefon, ich habe nichts getrunken. Nichts gestreamt. Nichts gebloggt. Freundin Simone sagt, der Saraha-Imbiss am Reuterplatz ist sehr gut, aber wir fanden – wie immer – keine Zeit. Freundin Simone sagt, das türkische Kaufhaus am Maybachufer verkauft den besten Hummus. Aber immer, wenn ich am Kottbusser Damm war, hatte es schon zu.
27_Ich habe ein ZEIT-Interview mit meinem Lieblingsautor vorbereitet, Stewart O’Nan – aber mich noch nicht getraut, um einen Termin zu bitten. Ich habe Pressearbeit für den neuen Verlag von Freund Felix gemacht – und eine Liste mit 170 Buchblogs mit Krimi- und Thriller-Schwerpunkt recherchiert. Ich habe Christiane Vorschläge für Autor*innen für eine neue E-Book-Anthologie gemailt. Wurde für ein Schul- und Leseprojekt namens Comment angefragt. Entdeckte ein paar neue, gute Comics. Plane ein paar Lesungen und Artikel im Herbst.
26_Fast ALLE Arbeitszeit der letzten Wochen aber gehörte dem Roman: Ich bin im 21. Kapitel von „Zimmer voller Freunde“. Noch ca. 15, 18 Monate Schreiben. Noch ca. 155 Seiten. Ich habe in deiner Wohnung jeden Tag für Stunden lektoriert. Gekürzt. Überarbeitet. Ich habe die selben Kapitel immer wieder neu gelesen – frisch ausgeschlafen oder viel zu müde. Schnell hintereinander oder Stück für Stück. Ich habe Sätze geändert, die mich seit zwei, drei Jahren vage störten. Ich habe Probleme (Rhythmus, Satzbau, Bildsprache, Motivketten, Dialoge, Timing) gelöst, die mir seit Schreib-Beginn nachspukten. Ich war fleißig. Konzentriert. Allein. Sortiert. Verbissen – aber entspannt.
25_Und glücklich!
24_Ich habe mir in den letzten drei Wochen KEINE Zeit genommen für: Die Longlist des deutschen Buchpreis‘, Geburtstage meiner Freunde daheim in Baden-Württemberg, neue Blogposts, den Sommer, lange Familien-Gespräche.
23_Ich habe mir einen Schal um den Kopf gewickelt, zum Schlafen: Die Vorhangstange im Schlafzimmer wackelt, und ich hatte Angst, dass mir der Vorhang runterfällt. Dass deine Wohnung auch Elektro-Rollläden hat, verstand ich erst letzte Woche. Aber ehrlich: Ich glaube, ohne das Gefühl des Schals um meinen Kopf könnte ich eh nicht mehr einschlafen.
22_Ich war überrascht, fast jeden Tag der einzige, letzte Schreiber im Weserland zu sein. Aber Simone sagt: „Wer sich einen Platz in einem Gemeinschaftsbüro mietet, wünscht sich vielleicht auch mehr Struktur in seinen Tagen: Bürozeiten, ein fester Rhythmus, 9 to 5.“
21_Allein zu sein in einem warmen, hellen Riesenraum mit Lichterketten und kleinen, warmen Leuchten und Hunderten Origami-Kranichen an der Decke – und allen 20 Minuten durch die großen Fenster einer anderen betrunkenen, glücklichen Weserstraßen-Frau mit Smartphone zuzulächeln („I’m just photographing your birds! Beautiful!“) fühlte sich 20 Abende am Stück sehr gut und richtig an! Ich hatte Zeit für mich selbst – aber kam mir dennoch vor, als sei ich angeschlossen an die Stadt. Die Straße. Die Welt.
20_Das Lied auf Repeat, die letzten Wochen? Lisa Hannigans „Paper House“:
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19_2014 ist das erste Jahr seit 2009, an dem ich mir keine drei, vier Monate Nordamerika leisten kann: 5 Jahre lang war ich jeden Frühling in Toronto. Letzten Herbst war ich 9 Wochen lang in New York. Aber 2014 wollte ich VIEL mehr am Roman arbeiten (hat geklappt), weniger Bezahljobs machen (hat nicht geklappt: ich habe noch nie so viel gejobbt – aber hatte auch noch nie so viel Spaß in Seminar-, Journalismus- und Übersetzungs-Projekten)… und musste Schulden bei der Krankenkasse abbezahlen.
18_In Berlin war ich 20, 25 Mal in den letzten zehn Jahren – aber nie länger als fünf, sechs Tage. Meist schlafe ich bei Simone; und das ist… essentiell, für unsere Freundschaft – und immer schön. Doch wer in Hildesheim studiert, zieht meist zum Schreiben seiner Diplomarbeit hierher, und bleibt dann hängen: Fast ALLE Freunde, fast alle Erzfeinde, fast alle Menschen, die schon im Studium nervten, sind jetzt hier – und wenn ich komme, mache ich jedes Mal ein Dutzend Termine. Richte mich nach Auftraggebern. Freunden. Allen Menschen, bei denen ich ein schlechtes Gewissen habe, dass wir uns selten sehen: Eine Stunde S-Bahn – Kaffee mit A. – eine Stunde S-Bahn – Kaffee mit B. – eine Stunde U-Bahn – Kaffee mit C. – eine Stunde durch viel zu breite, zugige Straßen – Literaturzeugs – eine Stunde U-Bahn – und dann wie tot auf der Matratze in Simones Küche liegen… und neue Termine ausmachen, für morgen.
17_Dieses Mal sagte ich der Facebook-Welt und allen Auftraggebern nur: Ich bin die nächsten Wochen tagsüber aus dem Spiel. Erst abends erreicht ihr mich online, wie immer. Sebastian? Jakob? Frank? Andrea? Marcel? Fabian? Daniela? Stephan? Richard? Britta? David? Felix? Dana? Jo? Hans? Martin? Nicola? Anne? Minette? Entschuldigt, dass ich hinter eurem Rücken nach Berlin kam: Hätte ich mich angemeldet, fest verabredet – ich hätte nicht halb so viel geschafft. Und hätte am vierten, fünften Tag vor Müdigkeit und Frustration geweint:
16_Das war das ERSTE Mal, dass ich zum Arbeiten / Schreiben gekommen bin, hier in Berlin.
15_Nach vier Tagen traf ich Simone zum Kaffee. Und abends Kenny und seinen Mann – die seit August für ein Jahr aus Toronto nach Berlin gezogen sind, damit Kenny für ein Buch über den Umgang mit Behinderten in der DDR recherchieren kann: Wir sind enge Toronto-Freunde, und er war letzten Herbst / Winter schon in hier… und sehr enttäuscht, dass ich nur einmal her kam, in der Zeit. Dieses Mal sahen wir uns beinahe wöchentlich – u.a. zu seiner Lesung. Das war sehr gut…
14_obwohl mich stört, wie schnell aus jedem Treffen mit Freunden Hydra-Köpfe für WEITERE Treffen wachsen: „You should be here on my birthday in September!“, „Do you have plans for Hanukkah?“, „We will spend two nights watching the old ‚Holocaust‘ mini-series with several scholars and activists: Do you want to join?“, „You have never been to lab.oratory?“, „Why do you avoid opera? And museums?“, „Just get a permanent apartment here! You’re 31. Move!“
13_Mein wichtigstes Dating-Profil zählt je zwei Dutzend toller Frauen und Männer auf. Die Frauen-Liste endet mit „Julie Delpy (und Ethan Hawke)“, die Männer-Liste mit „Ethan Hawke (und Julie Delpy)“, und als ein schlauer, quatschiger Florist mich anmailt und vorschlägt, mit dem Zug nach Wien zu fahren und dort die Nacht durchzumachen, kriegt er Originalitäts- und Sympathiepunkte.
12_Am ersten Sonntag hier verabreden wir uns, um „Before Midnight“ zu sehen. Ich übernachte bei ihm. Am zweiten Samstag verabreden wir uns für „Capote“. Aber kommen nicht dazu, den Film einzulegen. Letzten Samstag übernachte ich wieder dort. Wir essen die Gummibärchen der „Fan Edition“ im Dunkeln und versuchen, den Geschmack zu erraten – aber Aprikose und Heidelbeere schmecken völlig gleich.
11_Ich habe gelesen, seit Ende Juli: „White like me“ von Tim Wise (Empfehlung!), „A World away“ von Stewart O’Nan (schleppend und freudlos), mittelgute „Batman: Incorporated“ und „Batman: Zero Year“-Comics von Grant Morrison und Scott Snyder, schlechte aktuelle „Batgirl“-, „Aquaman“-, „Nightwing“- und „Batman/Superman“-Bände, okaye Indie-Comics („Sex Criminals“, „The Wake“), die sehr guten Marvel-Reihen „She-Hulk“ und „Ms. Marvel“ und das brillante „Afterlife with Archie“: bisher mein Buch des Jahres! Dazu Paul Hornschemeyers „Mother, come home“ (aus deinem Bücherregal) und einen Zoran-Drvenkar-Thriller, beruflich.
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10_Letztes Jahr war ich ein Wochenende lang in Freds Stuttgarter Wohnung. Im Januar für fast vier Wochen in Karlsruhe, während Lena auf Jamaika war. Im März lebte ich im Münchner WG-Zimmer meiner Schwester – und vor fünf Wochen ein zweites Mal bei Lena. Ich mag das Haus, in dem ich schreibe. Aber mir helfen diese Tapetenwechsel sehr: Städte treiben mich an. Bringen mich weiter. Geben mir das Gefühl, dass es Optionen gibt.
09_Eine beinahe 70jährige Ex-Vermieterin und Freundin aus Toronto, Linda, sagte 2010, sie möchte Couchsurferin werden, in Europa. Sie pflegte ihre demente Mutter – doch 2012, nach deren Tod, machte sie konkrete Reisepläne: Italien? Spanien? „Komm jederzeit zu mir! Ich freue mich!“ Letzten Semptember musste ich nach Berlin – und konnte Linda nur anbieten, sie erstmal dort zu treffen. „Ich habe keine Hotel- oder Unterkunfts-Ideen. Aber wenn du willst, frage ich auf Facebook nach Couchsurfing-Tipps.“
08_“Stefan? Deine Freundin kann bei mir übernachten!“, hast du auf Facebook angeboten… und uns sofort ein Google-.doc geschickt, mit allen Kniffen und Marotten der Wohnung: „Please don’t remove the sheets on the bed when you leave, unless you’ve been doing something really nasty, like eating Zwieback in bed. I might return drunk and/or tired, in which case I much prefer used sheets to changing them first. Changing sheets on a waterbed is a major operation not to be undertaken lightly, like putting a cat into a cat carrier.“
07_Linda hatte großartige Tage. Und blieb danach noch fast drei Wochen bei meiner Mutter auf dem Land, bei Heidelberg. „It’s a very basic apartment. There’s no fridge. But K.’s priorities are clear: That’s a cool life!“, erklärte Linda meiner Mutter. Und half mir damit weiter: Wie viele Duftkerzen, Espressotassen, Rasenmäher will ICH anhäufen, bis ich Mitte 40 bin? Am liebsten: keine! Seit Linda meiner Mutter Kunde gab, dass – echte, erfolgreiche, glückliche Berliner Autorinnen / Journalistinnen – sehr gut durchs Leben kommen OHNE solche Requisiten, reagiert auch meine Familie entspannter: „K. hat keinen Kühlschrank. Und trotzdem kam noch keine Erwachsenen-Polizei, um sie zu verhaften!“ Mir ist dein Leben sehr plausibel: Du bist – auch und besonders in solchen lebenspraktischen Entscheidungen – ein role model für mich.
06_In Woche 1 war ich nervös, dass dein Wasserbett platzt oder ausläuft. (Das ist in „Akte X“ passiert.) In Woche 2 fragte ich mich, ob es – von innen elektrisch beheizt – auch Feuer fangen könnte? Oder mich mit Stromschlägen töten? Vorgestern las ich deinen Bondage-Ratgeber im Bett und merkte plötzlich: Ah. DAFÜR sind diese Haken da, am Bettrahmen! Mir hat das luxuriöse Bett – in diesen drei Wochen – fünfmal mehr Lebensqualität geschenkt, als mir die Kühlschranklosigkeit zu nehmen drohte: Wer Edeka, Netto, Kaufland im 200-Meter Radius um die Wohnung hat (und: einen Weserland-Kühlschrank, für Notfälle), kommt gut zurecht. [und ehrlich: oft ist auch der Kühlschrank in meinem Schreib-Haus auf dem Land über Wochen ausgestellt, und ich kühle nur im Haus meiner Mutter.] ,
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05_Ich war mit Christian und Anika auf der Thai-Wiese im Preußenpark und habe Nudeln, Fisch, Tempura-Shrimps gegessen. Wir waren in „Boyhood“ (großartig; und deutlich besser als „Before Midnight) und mussten fast 20 Spätis durchprobieren, um roten „Monster“-Energydrink zu finden. Ich feierte Simones Geburtstag im Südblock. War mit einem Petplayer / Fantasy-Blogger im [drögen] „Prinzknecht“ („Mein Ex und ich hatten eine Zwangsjacke – aber er zog nach London, und bei der Trennung wurde IHM die Jacke zugesprochen. Das war traurig!“), lud Kai zum Essen ein in Tangs Kantine. „Kai? Es ist tut mir SO Leid, dass ich zehn Tage lang hinter deinem Rücken in der Stadt war! Kommt nie wieder vor.“ – „Ich freue mich über jede Begegnung mit dir. Aber wenn ich dich auf der anderen Straßenseite sehen würde und mir wäre nicht danach, zu reden – ich würde dich nicht rufen.“ (Und DARUM sind wir Freunde!)
04_Zur Hochzeit habe ich Fanny und Holger (Freiburg) einen 200-Euro-Gutschein bei „ocelot“ geschenkt – und aus dem Nichts schrieb Fanny: „Wir waren heute einkaufen, in Berlin: „The Goldfinch“ von Donna Tartt, „Schlafgänger“ von Dorothee Elmiger, „Unternehmer“ von Matthias Nawrat, „Pierre Bourdieu: eine systematische Einführung“ von Hans Peter Müller, „Johann Holtrop“ von Rainald Goetz, „Der Trinker“ von Hans Fallada, „Alle Welt“ – ein Kinderbuch-Atlas, „What I loved“ von Siri Hustvedt, „Mädchenhimmel“ von Lili Grün, „Heringe“ von Holger Teschke, „Die Ausgewanderten“ von W.G. Sebald, „Ein ganzes Leben“ von Robert Seetaler, „Just Kids“ von Patti Smith.
03_“Ich bin hier! In der Stadt!“ mailte ich zurück und wir waren Eisessen am Kanal, liefen durch Neukölln und suchten ein Café – und trafen Schreiber-Freund Michael Spyra auf der Straße: einen meiner Lieblingsmenschen. Er wollte grade Kaffee trinken gehen, mit einer Freundin, und für fast drei Stunden saßen wir zu fünft, spontan und aufgedreht-entspannt mitten am Kanal. Mitten im August. Mitten in Berlin.
02_“Ich bin im September kaum in Baden-Württemberg – und auch jetzt im August viel unterwegs“, postete ich vor zwei Wochen auf Facebook: „Falls jemand ein paar Tage Ruhe / Grün braucht: Meldet euch! Das leerstehende Haus, in dem ich normalerweise schreibe, steht… ähm… leer.“ – „Ich würde SO gerne“, schrieb Wiebke. „Wenns nicht so weit weg wär…“ Daniela. Und mir wird klar, welches Glück ich habe – als Freelancer / freier Schreiber. Freunde? Wenn ihr mir Zeit in Wohnungen / Städten schenkt, macht ihr mich damit irrsinnig glücklich. Ich wünschte, ich könnte mich revanchieren, mit einem vergleichbaren Angebot!
01_Letzte Woche war der Wäscheständer voll. Also hängte ich Hemden über die Lehnen der Küchenstühle, zum Trocknen. Und an den Knauf des Sicherungskastens. Ich wollte dir irgend etwas Schrulliges notieren, über meine Zeit in deiner Wohnung: „Ich hängte ein Hemd an deinen Sicherungskasten-Knauf.“ Aber dachte jetzt erst, vor Beginn des Texts: „Was, wenn es gar kein Sicherungskasten ist? Sondern… ein Medizinschrank? Los: Kuck kurz rein. Dann weißt du’s!“
One day after his 40th birthday, one of my closest Toronto friends was found dead in his apartment.
I feel the need to acknowledge this.
Remember and celebrate him.
And offer this text to anyone who is mourning him right now, too.
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„[S]’s mother just called me and asked to reach out to let as many people know as possible that [S] passed away. […] Sorry to have to let you know via facebook but I wanted to get the word out in the meantime.“
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P. sent me this message two hours ago, on Facebook.
But I’ve only read it now – a couple of minutes ago [on Tuesday], 7.10 pm local time, on my laptop, in Germany.
There’s a light summer rain. There are chirping birds. I’m metres from the open garden door, and there are leaves everywhere. In a couple of days, the cherries will be ripe. It’s not hot. It’s lush and green. Inviting.
I need to talk about [S]. I need to talk about this. .
I cannot imagine NOT saying / typing something: focusing anywhere else for the rest of this day. I NEED to write things down. I don’t need you to read it.
But I need to write.
I’ve been keeping a diary for years. I filled more than 2000 pages. Back in school, I sometimes spent 3 or 4 hours a night, just writing stuff. Recounting.
I have a hard time processing things while speaking aloud, in conversations: Thinking takes time. Processing and reactions take time.
My personal speed of thinking and the speed of my typing / writing / phrasing things on paper are much closer:
I’m a better typer than speaker.
Once I type, I can think.
So please don’t go „Oh: He wrote a letter!“ or „Oh: He wrote a eulogy!“. I’m a freelance journalist. I’m working on a novel. But what I’m doing here isn’t WRITING. It’s… thinking – through typing. I need some time. I want to get hold of some thoughts. Face some feelings.
I want to DO something.
Find some order.
Focus on [S].
It’s not an effort to construct the best possible TEXT. It’s an… act of writing, to calm my nerves.
In early 2008, I applied for internships at various [German Cultural Offices] in North America.
It was late winter (February?), and I knew that I’d be done at my university [Hildesheim: Creative Writing and Cultural Journalism] by next spring, 2009.
I needed another (mandatory) internship for my degree; I wanted to spend some time abroad; I had been at Cornell University in 2006 for a postgraduate conference on young German literature; I had a vague idea what the [German Cultural Office] does and… back then, I wasn’t too resourceful or aggressive:
I wanted to go. I knew that this net of offices is the ONE place abroad where people who ended up in German publishing usually go. I saw the [German Cultural Office] requirements (good English, some experience with didactics and / or event and culture management) and I knew that I had a vague chance.
I’m using „vague“ here quite a lot. Because really: Everything about my plan to live in North America was vague.
I don’t have older siblings. I don’t know many people who are slightly older than me. In school, I always had HUGE respect for people 2 or 3 grades ahead of me.
I was born in 1983. I’m 31 now. I was 26 when I first met [S]. He’s 9 years older. To me, people of that age were NEVER the ones I find the nerve to talk to / see as equals. I didn’t know why someone 9 years older than me should take an interest in me, or respect me more than necessary, or just… stop his life. Look down. Face backwards. Focus on MY stuff.
People who are slightly older lead different lives and have more seismic and complex and relevant problems; and while they wrestle with their personal goals and relationships and grown-up challenges, I don’t want to be the person tugging their skirts, slowing them down, asking them to explain things to me.
So… no one explained the [German Cultural Office] system to me.
No one explained Toronto to me.
I didn’t have older queer friends.
I didn’t have older intellectual friends.
I didn’t have older cosmopolitan / urban / professional friends.
My [German Cultural Office] application was good-natured, but it was done without any research, networking, deeper plan or strategy: I didn’t know anything. I was too bashful to ask.
The same spring, I interviewed a German-Croatian author of [S]’s age, Jagoda Marinic [Link: here’s an essay I wrote about her work] who had spent some time in Toronto as a guest of the [German Cultural Office] and UofT’s MUNK centre. I liked Marinic a lot, but didn’t want to grill / misuse / instrumentalize her, so I just asked „How was your time in Toronto? I’m thinking of applying there“, and she said „It’s a nice little city. The people there [did she mean the people in Toronto? Or, as I was sure later: the employees of the Office?] are all slightly cracked / chipped, in a nice way.“ [„angenehm beschädigt“] . I applied to most branches in North America (New York, LA, Boston, Atlanta, maybe even Montreal) through their online application interface and just did a lot of copy’n’pasting. Only for the Toronto application, I mentioned Jagoda and that she said that she liked her time there…
…and in the end, Toronto was the only Office that replied.
[Later, Jagoda told me that she had heard that I had mentioned her in my application; but I never checked what exactly happened while they considered me as an intern: If the Toronto Office people got in touch with her specifically, and / or if THIS is what made them take me, and / or if Jagoda said something nice, and / or if anyone asked any questions.] .
No matter what exactly made this happen:
I knew that I was going to a place where people are slightly cracked / chipped.
In a nice way.
In the 9 months before my departure, I had a lot of Hildesheim work to do (spring 2008). I took another long internship in Stuttgart, at Klett-Cotta (three of my best, happiest months in life so far), and once I knew that I had to be in Toronto in early January of 2009, I planned my final, incomplete / abridged Hildesheim semester to wrap up all my courses, write final papers, move out of my Hildesheim apartment etc: .
Autumn was lots of work. While eating dinner, I watched season 2 of „Ugly Betty“ [Link: personal essay on what the show means to me and my writing] and I figured that soon, I’d be a similar person in a similar environment: Slightly clueless, but happy and enthusiastic. A new office guy in a tense and frantic and professional and high-pressure (?) North American office space.
Slightly cracked / chipped.
In a nice way.
I love [S]’s grin. The weird ups and downs of his lips, and they way he can look snappy and sardonic and kind and wise and silly and strong at the same time.
I love how often he’s rolling his eyes.
I love how lots of things he’s wearing always seem like statements. Or costumes. Or little subversive… decoys: He always looked like he was dressing up. Masquerading! He picked things that seemed to state an intention („Look! I’m a leather jacket! I’m worn by snappy people who wear leather jackets!“) while he didn’t state this intention himself („Sorry, leather jacket. You’re trying too hard. And I’m wearing you anyways. You might signal ’snappy‘. But I, [S], will signal the opposite. It’ll be a fun contrast!“)
A lot of people try to fit a role.
Or dress THEIR part.
[S] always seemed subversive in the sense that whatever piece of clothing he wore – checkered shirts, polo shirts, khakis, pyjama pants, jackets, an old „Green Eggs and Ham“-T-Shirt, a new, slighty red-rimmed (?) pair of „aggressive“ designer glasses –, that piece of clothing suddenly had trouble transmitting what it was designed to transmit: .
If [S] dressed like a tourist, he was DRESSED UP as a tourist. .
If he dressed Canadian, he dressed „Canadian“. .
His [S]-ness was stronger than the incidental clothes. The clothes stood no chance. They could not get their points across. Telegraph their codes and signals. They were props. [S]’s [S]-ness outshone them.
And I think he had fun with that.
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Trouble is: You can’t see that too well on photos. There, [S] often DOES look like a tourist. Or a dopey, beary Canadian. Or some office person. In order to find an apartment in Toronto (while still in Germany), I needed to create some kind of „respectable“ international online presence that prospective apartment-owners / roommates could see… so I signed up on Facebook in December of 2008. .
I looked for the [German Cultural Office] Toronto staff. But the only person with a profile that I found right away was [S]…
…a pale, slim, handsome, nerdy guy with glasses (and a boyfriend!), complicated grin, smart eyes. And often: bland / weirdly tourist-y clothes. I had to think of Alexis Denisof, a – rather hot – actor who played a young, dorky British nerd / scholar on „Buffy the Vampire Slayer“ and „Angel“. Judging from photos, I expected [S] to be very smart.
Distant. Professional. And maybe flirty / sexual.
The real person? Completely different – because of ONE aspect you can’t see in pictures: .
[S] GETS the joke.
[S] SEES the problems and contradictions.
No matter the scene – he’s not just a cast member: He’s also an onlooker with a lot of experience of the „genre“ and the genre’s rules. He loves Amy Sedaris. He loves David Sedaris. He loves Kristen Chenoweth and aggressive parodies like her ABC sitcom „Good Christian Bitches“. In the beginning, for about two weeks, I saw [S] as one of the „slightly cracked“ and slightly comedic [German Cultural Office] characters I had come to anticipate – angenehm beschädigt: . „Es gibt noch [S]“, I wrote home to my friends after the first week,„den verbitterten schwulen Bibliothekar ohne Bibliothek (na ja: vielleicht 200 einsame Buecher, das Allernoetigste halt), weil dem [Office] die Gelder gekuerzt wurden vor zwei, drei Jahren. Ich weiss nicht, was er den ganzen Tag macht. Die Augen verdrehen und sich von den Kolleginnen den Arm tätscheln lassen.“ .
„There’s also [S] – the increasingly bitter gay librarian without a library (there aren’t more than 200 lone books, nothing more than the bare essentials) because two or three years ago, there were cutbacks. I don’t know what [S] does all day. Roll his eyes and getting his arm patted by his female colleagues.“
The core staff isn’t big. I worked there for three months, in a group of the always-same 8 or 9 people. But there ARE lots of (mostly: closed) doors. Lots of fragmentation / individual projects / specific pressures. People liked each other – but no one was overly chummy or personal. A Teutonic atmosphere. .
There was a weekly „jour fixe“ meeting on Monday morning where everyone circled around the isle of the tea kitchen, and THAT was the sole moment when I saw [S] and heard him talk and react. .
He shrugged his shoulders, a lot. He rolled his eyes. Smiled his smile. .
And had his arm pat by ze German Frau Kolleginnen. .
It was January. Very dark. Very cold. Flourescent lights. Grey carpet. [S] seemed sad. The place seemed sad. All of Toronto seemed cold and cozy and calm and cracked under all that ice and winter – in a nice, but VERY grey way. John Updike died. The first few weeks, I didn’t have too much to do. I read morose novels by Margaret Atwood. .
That suave gay librarian guy that I had stalked on Facebook…? .
He turned out to be a LOT more mellow, in person.
Calm? Tired? Apathetic?
It took until the second or third „jour fixe“ meeting that something caught my eye:
When there was bullshit in the room… he sensed it. When someone lied… he knew. .
Whenever anyone made excuses. Or tried to fool anyone. Or just used a weird phrase or term or made some silly judgement… HE caught it first. HE registered stuff. .
If this was „Mad Men“, he was reading between the lines. If this was „Ugly Betty“, he got the hidden jokes and hypocrisies. It wasn’t „Mad Men“ or „Ugly Betty“. It was „middle-aged German people talk about risk and duties in a small part of a smallish Toronto office tower in Toronto’s rather small downtown core area… while their sole male Canadian co-worker looked for contractors and worked on building a new, more impressive library and calmly did his thing… behind the blinders of his office.“
[S] had worked in New York during 9/11. [S] had been in a relationship for nearly a decade. [S] had travelled the world, read TONS of books, knew HUNDREDS of difficult Germans and their idiosyncrasies and treated them with respect, flair and charm. To me, my [German Cultural Office] internship seemed like a big and exciting new step. To him, it was one of many dark, cold and rather dull Toronto winters that he spent working on getting his library back in shape. Eventually (2012?), he hung a gigantic „Keep calm and carry on“ print over his corner of the office. .
[S] saw humour. And excitement. And drama. .
Quiet fun. And quirks. And silly nuisances. .
But he wore his role, „elegant librarian at the not-very-elegant German Cultural Office“ with the same wink / ironic distance / occasional smart and devastating grin as he wore his clothes:
The [German Cultural Office] wasn’t his life – but something he checked out every day, like a goofy soap opera that he was very, very loyal too – just not as engrossed as the soap opera producers would have hoped. His German was excellent. His assessments were spot-on. He understood this office and these characters and the rhythms and neuroses and fallacies and cultural problems. He helped steer that ship. Balance cross-cultural issues. Keep it afloat. He was graceful and professional and calm and very, very respectful and aware. But it wasn’t his big scene. His huge dream. An exciting part of life that he was excited to have a part in.
After a few days, I signalled that I wanted to work with him. There was no real library and nothing for me to do. But before the end of January, we went to an art bookstore in the Annex that was about to close – David Mirvish Books – and [S] picked some bargain titles (art history and catalogues and illustrated books) for the [German Cultural Office] library. .
While we were waiting at a cross-light near the Robarts Library, I worked up the nerve to ask him for cafés to sit and read after work: I had been using a Starbucks at Church and Wellesley nearly every day. „Are there any other cafés that are good for reading? Like maybe… gay ones?“
Did we become friends because we’re both queer? Because we’re big readers? Because we were the lone men in the office? There were TONS of things that made [S] attractive to me: his wit. His calm, civilized, never-petty sarcasm. His grooming and sense of being „proper“ / ordentlich. .
He was raised in Saskatchewan, on a farm, and when my ex-girlfriend came to visit me in March, we saw „One Week“, an all-Canadian road movie starring „Dawson’s Creek“’s Jonathan Jackson who’s heading for the Pacific Ocean on a motorcycle, starting in Toronto. The Saskatchewan scenes of the movie feature a stark and calm, no-nonsense, luminous female middle-aged horse trainer who seems to speak nothing but the truth. .
[S] is honest. Direct. Aware. .
There was no point in bullshitting him, ever.
I met his partner on a Saturday in their condo on Queen Street East. He had made waffles with bacon even though he’s not eating meat himself. There were cocktails. Whipped cream. Blueberries. Two older cats, Kafka and… Tilo. Lots of well-curated books. Pillows. Lots of EXTREMELY well-curated music. A kitchen that was the center of the room; the center of their lives. A Dr. Seuss print. (Or was it an original?). Lots of small, personal, beloved and well cared-for tokens / souvenirs / talismans. .
The [German Cultural Office] world and the [German Cultural Office] squibbles seemed to wash over [S]. They held no importance. Here, in his condo loft, EVERYTHING held importance. Everything made him enthusiastic and proud – most of all his smart and calm and beary and nerdy and even more professional and well-balanced and amused-by-the-small-smart-daily-contradictions partner.
We had brunch. [S] and me had occasional lunches. I found a boyfriend. [S] hosted a dinner party for the four of us. His partner talked about „Dr. Horrible“ and Isaac Asimov and the Talking Heads and Lamb and MOMA and Broadway, my boyfriend talked about Matthew Barney, we all talked about Björk, I can see [S] chopping tiny tomatoes. Crushing ice. Frying prawns. Or just using one of these fizzy gas Sprudelmax water thingies to carbonate our drinks. .
I think I’ve had 15 to 20 lunches or dinners with [S]. .
All but once, he paid the bill. .
To say thanks, I got him books. He was ALWAYS intrigued and thankful, and nearly always read them soon, and his opinions were surprising and exciting and never quite what I expected.
Since 2009, I have been in Toronto every year, for three months each, early February to the very end of April. [S] got his new library – and it was smart and elegant and well-curated and a HUGE step forward in making the [German Cultural Office] into an inviting and relevant place. .
When I was in town, I came back to visit the Office quite often [the young female Canadian office manager, H., is one of my favorite people in the world, too] and met [S] for coffee or lunch every 4 or 5 weeks. He also let me know about gallery exhibitions or concerts or readings or anything Cory-Doctorow-related that happened in Toronto: Both me and his boyfriend are fans, and we NEVER managed to attend the same event, together.
When I asked for gay cafés, [S] was too surprised to give any recommendations (and then: I don’t think there ARE any particularly reading-friendly gay evening places in Toronto apart from the Church Street Starbucks, anyways), but a couple of days later, he gave me a library discard from his stacks: a book called „Secret Toronto“ full of – outdated – Toronto facts and recommendations. It wasn’t meant to be a super-helpful book in itself (too old / outdated), but as a gesture, it made me understand: „This person is listening to my questions and concerns. And if he has input, he will give it.“ .
He always did, for 5+ years. .
Links to articles. Goodreads recommendations. Videos on my Facebook wall. TONS of likes and quick „Liebe Grüße! XX [S]“ comments in my news feed. In 2009, he proofread an English translation of my „I am Clark Kent“ essay for a magazine in the Philippines. In 2010, he introduced me to Björk’s „What is it“ video and I hummed the song all year. He read from my novel and ALWAYS saw me as a writer starting out, not as a dubious person-who-might-or-might-not-become-an-actual-writer. And he knew Rikki Stock, director of the German Book Office, and always told me that he’d LOVE to introduce us / set something up once I was ready. .
I never felt ready / accomplished enough.
The most important books [S] introduced me to were by David Rakoff, a gay essayist – and when my relationship fell apart in 2011 and I went on my first date with a new Toronto guy – a fashion journalist and self-professed book lover – in 2012, the new guy said that he ALWAYS carried a book around. „What do you carry around NOW?“ – „I don’t know if you’ve heard of… David Rakoff?“ .
I loved Rakoff’s first collection, „Fraud“, best, and since my new to-be-boyfriend hadn’t read it, I wanted to buy him a copy before our second date. But then, no bookstore in town carried it – and I was THIS close to just ring [S]’s bell and ask him if I could have his copy for the night and replace it later. .
[He would have said yes – but chances are that his copy has an inscription, and is holy to him. So I didn’t ask and, in the end, bought another queer acerbic smartass book instead, Josh Killmer-Purcell’s „The Bucolic Plague“. My new relationship worked fine for two Toronto winters… but when Rakoff passed away that same summer, it seemed like a horrible omen.
[S] liked cruises. [S] loves his family and his energetic young sister, and he loves MY energetic young sister, mostly by proxy / because he knows and loves that kind of sibling dynamic. [S]’s German was great, and he respected both Germany and Canada and their achievements and power plays on the global stage to a MUCH bigger degree than me. .
[S] liked gardening and nature and hammocks and casual drinks. .
[S] LOVED hospitality. .
And if anyone made an extra effort or gave an extra bit of thought or attention, he was the first to notice and applaud it. .
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[S] loved eccentric TV cooks like the Barefoot Comtessa. .
[S] hate-loved 70s kitsch and 70s TV. .
[S] shared links to segments of „George Stroumboulopoulos Tonight“ and Rick Mercer’s Grafitty Alley rants / monologues that, to me, made no sense 🙂 .
I don’t know if he was genuinely patriotic… or just thought that Canada, by and large, made less of a mess than all the other industrial nations (which I agree). .
There was an awful lot of loyalty and love for his home and culture… and at the same time, he was quick to say that he „survived“ his super-rural home town. I’m sure that, by that logic, he „survived“ his university time in Konstanz, his 9 (?) years in New York, his time as a [German Cultural Office] employee and his time as a condo-owner on one of Toronto’s loudest and least predictable streets, too.
In 2011, he seemed tired and absent-minded. We saw each other a couple of times – and I attended a great meeting of the European Book Club in [S]’s library, where Erol Boran hosted a discussion on Jenny Erpenbeck’s surprisingly awesome „Heimsuchung“ / „Visitation“ –, but something was off. There were plenty of Facebook chats and comments over the summer, though, and when he decided to visit old friends in Germany in mid-January of 2012, I could not WAIT to pick him up at the Frankfurt airport. .
We drove home to my mom’s place. We arrived by 8 am. .
My mother had breakfast with us, [S] was immediately smitten with her and the life she had built, and for two days, the two of them had lots of conversations and effortless bonding. .
I showed him the empty farmhouse that I use as a writing space, and it was pretty drab (January! German village!), but his first comment was „Go look outside! Gosh: What a great view! And there’s even an evergreen tree! So there’s green even now. You’re lucky!“ .
[His second comment was „My partner refers to this farmhouse as ‚The Masturbatorium‘ because that’s what we think you’ll most likely be doing here, a lot.“]
My mother, my younger sister, [S] and me had dinner at a traditionally German restaurant in Bad Wimpfen. The next day, I saw him off at the Heidelberg train station – and before that, we had Prosecco at the Rossi. The weather was harsh. The days were too drab. And still, his visit was a big success, and I was sure that this all needed to be repeated soon. In a better season. With more time and energy. .
[S] loved it. My mother loved it. They both left HUGE impressions on each other; and since then, there is no message from [S] that doesn’t include „say hi to your beautiful mother / goddess of a mother“.
When we met again – mere two or three weeks later, in Toronto – he introduced me to HIS mother, and we talked about Saskatchewan, and I could not wait to see the whole family dynamic of these smart, alert, charming and no-nonsense people playing out, eventually, at some later, bigger event, down the line. .
There were dozens of small future plans:
Once I’m back in Toronto, we NEED to finally visit Bistro Zocalo – your favorite 2012 restaurant discovery.
Once I’m done with the novel, we NEED to raise hell and find me some North American writing gigs.
Once there are new plans for trips to Germany, we NEED to make more time!
Once my Mom can see herself on a flight to Toronto, she NEEDS to say hi! .
We haven’t yet watched the Cremaster cycle. .
I haven’t met his father or sister. .
He hasn’t met the fashion journalist ex. .
I got a cold in 2012 and couldn’t even attend a stupid George Stroumboulopoulos taping.
He lent me his copy of Kamal al-Solaylee’s „Intolerable“ in 2013… and I still haven’t read it.
His parter lent me his copy of „Fierce Invalids Home from hot Climates“ in 2009… and I still haven’t read it. .
I read and loved „Natural Oder“ by Toronto author Brian Francis in 2012 – and there was no cheap second-hand copy of the novel on German Amazon.de EVER, and I kept on looking every 3 or 5 months, and I HATE that I could not get that book into his hands for 2+ years because it is the most [S]-like and [S]-appropriate and [S]-appealing book that I have ever read.
So…
I knew that there were health issues. It took some energy to ask „What’s wrong? Are you okay?“, and [S] replied „No. All is fine. Just tired.“ But not more.
It took more energy to ask a second time and get the same answer.
I must have asked 6 or 8 times – but it was clear that he did not want to talk about the specifics, and since he was SO happy to be treated like a healthy, energetic person, I just offered help and said things like „I hope you’re well“ and „have a good week!“ in the broadest and least specific terms, again and again.
I still don’t know what was up in a medical sense, and even if I had pressed harder, I don’t think I would have gotten a direct answer. .
But then, I ALWAYS got a direct answer if I asked about his outlook, plans, happiness – and for the time being, that was okay: We did not talk about the elephant in the room. But there was TONS of other beautiful and smart and fascinating and darkly funny stuff in that room, and we encouraged each other to talk (and celebrate) THESE things – and for someone you only see five to eight days a year, that seemed… appropriate.
I don’t have older siblings. I STILL don’t know many people who are slightly older than me. And my friendship was [S] was one of the most effortlessly thrilling, intellectually exciting, goofy and well-tempered and mild-mannered and big-hearted and drama-free friendship dynamics I’ve ever had: I felt blessed. Respected. Cheered-on and thought-about. And I NEVER had to question [S]’s sincerity or intention or direction.
I’m bisexual. I’m a writer. A loner. An eccentric. Without a lot of money and without the clearest plan for the future. I might live in North America. I will make it as a German author, eventually. I want to be part of the [German Cultural Office] machine and spread enthusiasm for literature and stories and politics and national identity politics and the construction of „home“, and I often feel torn and homeless myself – until [S] makes it clear that I DO have a home in Toronto. And a home here, with evergreen trees right outside my desk and a goddess of a Mom. 🙂
[S] was sure that I was working things out, and that I’m going places, and that I CAN become a Torontonian or New Yorker – as well as a novelist. He believed in me so hard that I would not have dared to question my energy in front of him: To [S], it was a matter of time. He saw my life expanding. And I hate that he’s not there once / when / if all these things will have been starting to work out, one by one.
Parts of my confidence and happiness are HIS credit, and in so many small ways (his hosting! His wit! His temperance and his aloof office survival skills!), he’s been a role model. .
I loved the books. I loved the home. I loved the relationship. I loved the way [S] and his partner celebrated the… quiet dignity that comes from leading a good life. [to quote ‚One Tree Hill‘] .
I’m starting to get to know a good number of librarians (…and they’re all pretty awesome!) – but I still don’t have many friends who are in their late 30s or older. And I’m still nervous to ask people who are 3 or 4 steps ahead of me for advice. I’m still afraid to slow them down and bore them. And – this is super-important: I don’t know more than 5 or 6 great queer couples.
How will I live – 10 years from now? How can I be happy – with a woman or a man, but most likely: without kids? What can these relationships look like? What makes a fulfilled life?
I’m high-strung and crazy ambitious. [S] is about balance, awareness and often calls himself a „creature of comfort“. We’re on different paths – but it still is SO empowering and relevant and great for me to see grown-up people who respect each other and work work work work work SO hard on their relationship and their home.
I don’t need caricatures like Cameron and Mitchell from „Modern Family“ when I can see the strains and dynamics and pratfalls and triumphs of [S] and his partner. Not that they over-shared, or that I asked too much: It FELT like it worked beautifully, for nearly 14 years. Seeing that helped me a lot.
In 2008, a viral marketing campaign for „The Dark Knight“ featured stickers, buttons and campaign posters for the fictional Two-Face character: Merchandise / ads that said „I believe in Harvey Dent“. In the movie, Harvey turns into a dangerous, volatile moral monster.
So I’m careful to say „I believe in you“.
Maintaining a life takes effort and energy and hope.
And some of these things – in ways I don’t know and for reasons I don’t know – ran out within [S].
I think this can happen to anyone. Especially if there are medical factors involved. But every time there WAS any energy and hope, [S] created something beautiful. A life that, to me, seemed plausible. And graceful. And attractive. And fair.
Last fall another Toronto friend came to visit me for a couple of days. I left for New York – but she decided to stay behind with my mom, in the village, as her guest. They talked in German and English, and spent nearly two weeks with each other… and it all happened because [S]’s quick visit one year earlier made me believe that – yes! – even to someone who loves TORONTO, even to someone who has COTTAGES and the Canadian wilderness, even to people who don’t particularly love smallish German villages in non-summer months, my family home can be a good place to catch breath. Get some perspective. Rest. And start anew.
Three weeks ago, I messaged [S] on Facebook: „please ask for anything you might need. literally: anything. I’m here. and others are, too. you’re not alone. if you need a time-out in Germany: anytime. seriously. for months, too.“ . Two weeks ago, I messaged him again:„please: get in touch if there’s anything you need worked out!“ . Three days ago, [S] turned forty. I did not write or message. But my mom did – with another invitation to just come here and live with her.
For years, [S] told me that I HAD to see his family farm in Saskatchewan. And I had zero doubts that this will happen, eventually. That it’s just a matter of scheduling and some elegant timing / serendipity that will signal „Yes: NOW, it does make the most sense!“ .
In the same way, I keep on telling North American (and Hildesheim / Berlin) friends that if they ever have a breakdown or need some nature or just a quiet place to heal, they are invited to work here, for a while: My farmhouse / writing space is not the most comfortable or complete LIVING space – but friends like [S] told me time and again that, if anything happens, I am welcome on their couch. And I know how much this feeling of being welcome somewhere else helps me every time I feel like I have NOWHERE else to go. .
Would I have gone? Eventually, yes. .
But for years, knowing that I COULD go was comfort and excitement enough. And by repeatedly inviting him, I hoped to instill the same sense of comfort / security in [S]: There is a place for you in Germany. Always. No questions asked.
It’s dark and clammy. There’s a moth banging against the window pane. .
I’m still at my grandparent’s empty place. Six hours of writing have passed. .
Sometimes it’s great in here. Sometimes it’s horrible. Sometimes it’s great to be me. Sometimes everything seems THIS close to spiral out of my grasp. I don’t think that this kind of spiralling can ever be prevented. I don’t think it takes much for a life to shatter – and I don’t think anyone is to blame. .
This will happen again. And every time, it will feel brutal and senseless and like a tragedy in that old Greece theater sense of „It took SO many factors for this to happen. If SOMETHING would have been aligned slightly differently, everything would have changed.“
A cat just randomly jumped against the window. .
Crouched on the ledge. Peeked inside. .
I opened the door – but it won’t come in.
I’ll still leave the door open.
I feel a strange and cheap euphoria: It’s quarter to 1 at night, and I made this text. .
I needed to react. And I channeled my reaction into something that appeals to my Protestant-raised worker mentality: a task is complete. Something HAS BEEN DONE. Nothing is better. But I FEEL better – because I did something that can be shared. .
I don’t know if it NEEDS to be shared. And if, in any way, this makes anything WORSE, for anyone: Please let me know. I’m two steps (and one ocean) removed from the people [S] REALLY loved. The people who FOUGHT for him. WORKED for his health and safety and happiness. I’ve had some meals and coffees with him. I’m a distant, fair-weather friend. .
But there was hardly a day in the last 5 years when I didn’t think „I wish [S] was closer. I wish that there was more of [S] in my everyday life.“
And I don’t think there’ll be day that I won’t miss him.
Thanks for taking the time to read this. .
If you have an empty farmhouse – or some other kind of open door: .
Please make sure to signal that it’s open!
.
STEFAN MESCH
June 18th, 2014
. One hour later, PS:
I spent a lot of time talking about PLACES here. .
Mainly because that’s how my friendship with [S] worked. He made me feel welcome in Toronto. His Facebook presence and his many likes were a constant reminder that – no matter where I am, globally – I have a Toronto friend keeping a close watch on me, cheering me on. [S]’s visit to my mom’s place / my local village made me re-appreciate the farmhouse and my family’s dynamics. And a lot of the conversation between [S] and me was one of us telling the other one: „You DO have a place here. You CAN come here. You ARE welcome.“ .
I’m still ambivalent about the [German Cultural Office], and I love that, theoretically, it is a place to connect Germany to the world, and make visitors feel welcome: I understand the big appeal / raison d’etre of this net of open, public Offices all around the world. [S] worked for more than one decade to make these places MORE open, MORE welcoming. That’s a great cause, and a career well-spent.
Much of MY personal everyday blues / unhappiness / sadness comes from being stuck in places I don’t want to live for too long. I don’t make enough money to freely decide where I want to live / make my home, so I often feel like I’m at the bottom of a hole, fighting my way up. .
Every time I leave and live elsewhere for a period of time, my self-image and my outlook on life change a LOT. If I’m sad and I leave, the whole chemistry of my emotions changes, and I cannot imagine being suicidal in one place… and then switch the place… and still be suicidal. Since University, places are like lily pads. I need to able to jump. I’m afraid this farmhouse will pull me down if I get too comfortable / phlegmatic here. .
But: As long as there are other places, I know that NO weight or ballast that I carry around can truly pull me down. .
That’s why these invitations and signals and Facebook messages matter to me. A lot.
But of course, that’s MY life. And MY preoccupation. [S] was sick. Something was up. A change of place would not have been his solution. He had a great home and a great relationship. Whatever made him choose to die was not a lack of… farmhouses or specific places where he’d feel welcome. He KNEW that he was welcome in many places, and he KNEW that he was fiercely loved by many, many people. .
I know that MY outlook on life improves (or sometimes: completely changes) once there is a person who says „You are welcome here. Come by. I want you around!“ But I can’t treat every personal desperation with Facebook messages saying „Drop in! Stay as long as you want!“ .
[S] made me feel welcome. Every year. Every time we met. And that was… incredibly helpful and relevant, to me. For years!
I tried to make him feel welcome. I know he DID feel welcome. But that’s not the solution to his problems. .
In the smallest and most surprising of ways, [S] was a role model. Someone who always had my back. .
Being his friend felt like a HUGE honor. .
Meeting him improved days. Sometimes whole weeks. [S]? .
You will be missed. Hard.
.
Here are 15 books that caught my interest lately.
This month: Books that were published during – or shortly after – World War One. Forgotten, classic or curious titles that might deserve more attention:
