I watched a candl...

I watched a candle die as I lay in bed drinking cheap liquor, wishing that Spring Break would get me out of this town. It’s been months since I last satiated my wanderlust and everyday I spend here is another day I come closer to some sort of a breaking point. I drink too much and I bitch too much but for as long as I’ve been stuck here it’s the only thing that has given me any semblance of contentment.

Quinceanera

Two weekends ago was my little god sister's Quinceanera.I wasn’t aware that Puerto Ricans had Quinceanera’s but then I remembered that my god sister is a quarter Mexican so it makes sense. We went down to San Antonio on Friday and stayed with family, I spent all of that night looking forward to eating cake the next day and spending time with family. My little brother, sister, and moi:Uncle Martin, Aunt Sylvia, Aunt Juanita, and Liz at the Catherdral:Random pictures from the reception after mass:Trevor:Liz and her dance teacher:Aunt Juanita and the dance teacher:Aunt Juanita and Malick dancing: This old black man could dance:My mom:Trevor and Liz:Trevor and Mom:

There is...

There is an unopened beer bottle shoved between 100 selected poems of e.e. cummings and The Master and Margarita and it’s taking so much self control not to down it right now. Actually I just cracked it open and it made me think about how this weekend when I took communion I drank a big swig of the Blood of Christ and I wanted to go back for more. Antoinette cried because she got stuck in Germany and couldn’t be at Liz’s birthday except through photographs and stories and I cried because I had to endure a weekend of sobriety and code switching. Tonight I’m working on Wirtschaftsdeutsch homework and battling loneliness with massive amounts of alcohol.

Someone who ...

Someone who loves me should buy me Mauvaises Nouvelles Des Etoiles or Cinema De Serge Gainsbourg by Serge Gainsbourg or Arabesque by Jane Birkin for my birthday.

I went...

I went to the store last night and bought all the necessary accoutrements to cook myself a really delicious meal but then got lazy before my radio show and decided to just drink a beer instead. My sister, Antoinette, is coming in from Germany this weekend so hopefully there will be time to sneak away from this family engagement and get drunk behind some dumpsters or sit around in our PJs all day drinking vodka and watching Da Ali G Show reruns. Drinking heavily is in the forecast for later on this evening after I go and retrieve a suit from the tailor and con a 21 year old into buying me everyone’s favourite cheap headache inducing vodka, Popov.

The ot...

The other night the moon looked full of itself and I was dreaming of better days in far off places. Spring Break plans seem to be non existent and every day I spend in Texas is another day I come closer to downing a bottle of Ambien. I miss traveling; I miss journeying thousands of miles by myself to find myself simply eating at a street kiosk and for some reason being so happy to be alive. Life here really isn’t life at all; its stagnation and lately the tiniest smell or sight of something throws me into the most vivid flashbacks and daydreams. Some days I walk by the travel bureau and I’m tempted just to buy a one way ticket to Rio de Janeiro and stay there until I know Portuguese or until the frenetic American way of life seems appealing again.

Last night in 30 seconds

Andy came back from Iraq yesterday and we drank tequila from tea cups and fried various foods at Nick W’s fry party and after ingesting a deep-fried Junior Bacon Cheeseburger and chasing it with a big swig of tequila I realised that I have a problem, whenever I am drunk German is the first language that comes to mind and being in the middle of Texas German is naturally not a very popular language. So the tequila hits you fast and the next thing you know you’re slinking down the Drag howling at the moon that during a Texas cold front decides to not come out at night.

When your head i...

When your head is spinning just as fast as the room and you black out face down in the couch you don’t really get the chance to think about how shitty and fucked up your life is. The times you really get to think about how dismal life is, are the times you spend the weekend sober doing schoolwork and when you go to bed in lieu of passing out. Life really seems better when you’re drunk.

Volker Schlöndo...

Volker Schlöndorff is coming to UT, are you up for going to see Der Neunte Tag, Sherry?Last night was ridiculous because Mike and I drank an entire handle of Vodka and I called my parents and told them that I was going to Mexico and wasn’t sure when I was coming back and I professed my love for all my friends and peed on my favourite pair of pants that I bought at KaDeWe.

80's Party

We had an 80's party last weekend and you wish you would have been there:Jocelyn, Frannie, Megan Lenard:Keg Meg:Nessie, Melissa, Mike:Mike and Me looking fat:Jocelyn, Penny, Megan L.:Mike:Cassie & Lauren:Kitty, Nessie, and I:Texas Row Team Girls:Kitty and Mike:The Originals (Melissa, Kitty, Me, Mike):Nessie, Melissa, Kitty:Nessie & Fran:Erika & Amber:Robby's little brother & Mike:Mike & Nick:Kitty took most of these pictures

Berlin in the Rain

Photo by Mike PowersJuly.2004It was raining yet somehow venturing out into the icy wetness of the night seemed more enjoyable than sitting in my flat listening to Brad recall another of his army days stationed in Bamberg, Vin talk about porn or having to weather another of Tabia’s severe mood swings. Jean-Phillipe, the traveling professor from Paris (and one of my only stable flatmates) had since disappeared from Zehlendorf and set up shop in a less yuppie more artistic corner of Berlin. I didn’t know much about my other flatmate Michael except that he was Peruvian and in Berlin taking a photography course so I told him to grab and umbrella and we headed for the S-Bahn at Mexikoplatz. We got off the train at Potsdamer Platz, a sea of drab coloured umbrellas washed past us while the sky was set ablaze by the flashbulbs of hurried Japanese tourist and the occasional bolt of lightning. Down Eberstraße to the Brandenburger Tor and Unter den Linden we hopped in every puddle. I had only been in Berlin for a couple of weeks at this point and save for the scattered few running for cover in the closest U-Bahn station, it was the first time I had seen Pariser Platz completely emptied of people. We took advantage of having the streets of Berlin to ourselves and miscalculating the distance began the (long) walk to the Großer Stern.After about a 1500 metre trek we reached the roundabout on which the Großer Stern is situated. Since the roundabout is a high traffic area, there are various subterranean tunnels connecting opposite sides of the street and the Großer Stern. The entrance to the tunnel on our side of the street was obscured by darkness but being rather convinced that the crime in Berlin was nil (compared to crime in major cities in the US) we began our descent underground. The lights in the tunnel flickered and bounced off the shadows, as we slinked quietly through the passage we heard voices from behind us talking, and then the echoing sound of footsteps growing increasingly louder. Mike and I took off running in a full sprint; the footsteps became louder and louder as we desperately searched for an exit. We finally found a staircase facing up into the cloudy night sky and stumbled up it to find ourselves in the middle of the roundabout. Resting against the base of the Stern trying to catch our breath, we watched the opening of the tunnel apprehensively, waiting for the voices to emerge at any second. It wasn’t until a few minutes of sitting, waiting that we decided to go back and investigate. Almost holding onto each other we crept back down into the tunnel, the footsteps began almost immediately once we landed at the bottom of the stairs. I yelled a voice yelled back and that’s when we realised that footsteps and the words we had heard before were our own. It was getting late at this point and knowing that the closest S-Bahn station was at the end of the Tiergarten we continued our path down Straße des.17.Juni.That night Mike saw his first Trabant, we were solicited by a couple of 80’sed out prostitutes, a man who emerged from the bushes with his fly down approached us and after getting a quick shot of espresso we boarded a train headed back to sleepy Zehlendorf.

Border Crossing

Photo by Josh MartinezOct.2004“We need to get off the bus,” Josh whispered from the seat behind me. A sweaty Mexican border agent with a gun on his hip and a wary look in his eye escorted us off the bus and shuffled the six of us (Katy, Kristin, Cohete, Nevin, Chase, and I) into a small room; from a dusty window in the tiny space I watched our bus drive down a hill and slowly out of sight. In the corner an elderly woman argued with an agent and static voices wafted through the air from a walkie talkie. A border agent with a gunslinger gaze, sitting behind an old wood and metal desk said something to me in Spanish then handed me a form and instructed me to fill it out. Frantically I scrawled down my information, where I was going, what I was doing in Mexico, how long I was to be there.Once done filling out the forms we were directed down the hill to a station where we found the bus we had come into Mexico on. A federale motioned for me to come and put my bags on a metal examination table and then he began pointing at a button underneath a light. I didn’t pick up on his cue at first to press the button but once I did I was apprehensive to take any action. Seconds seemed to stretch into minutes as the officer became more agitated and I didn’t know whether or not I should just press it or take off running. Finally I settled on pressing it and upon doing so a green light flickered on and he motioned for me to get back on the bus. I returned to the bus with the rest of my party and as the sun began to hang lower in the sky we sputtered and churned deeper into Mexico.