There is some possibility I was not in my right (or full) mind while composing the Mr. Europe post, as I was feverish with a flu at the time. And I most certainly cannot be held responsible for performing it in person, with various flourishes and embellishments, several hours later, at the Lively German's birthday dinner. Really, how could I possibly resist, as the sole woman there with five men, four of them German? Reports of it are apparently making their way throughout Berlin, as last night The Director was able to repeat some of it word-for-word (or at least the most important word: WANK). I do always encourage active audience participation, which in that case led me to a critically important discovery. One of my victims (I mean, audience) described his approach to seduction as "posing". Well, my friends, I was beside myself with joy at this hugely revealing remark, which has increased my understanding of the German male roughly infinitely (from zero to 0.001).
Last night The Director and his brother provided me the opportunity for a short reprise of the Mr. Europe performance and I was able to gather that The Director believes wanking happens not before but after the outing in which the typical German male interacts with, well, no one at all. [Posing, don't you know.] The Director's sample scenario, as far as I was able to make out, is this: German man spots desirable barista; does nothing (oops, I mean, poses). German man returns following night and poses to beat the band in a corner of the bar. German man returns a third night and observes object of desire depart with another man. German man returns home to punish her (I am very clear on this exact phrase, delivered with a giggled insistence that this "punishment" will involve hands places chastely ABOVE the covers). Honestly, I'm shaking my head: will I ever understand These German Men?!?
No matter, at this point we were extremely well lubricated, having been at an Arsenal screening of a particularly incomprehensible film from Thai artist/director Apichatpong Weerasethakul. Every time I've been there this year, they've had wine flowing freely after the screenings (they are really doing something right when it comes to grantsmanship). We decided to shut that party down, and were in the process of finishing off various partially poured bottles of wine when it occurred to the brothers to ride the glass elevators up and down the Filmhaus' seven floors. I went along to test whether drunkenness trumps vertigo (it does) but decided I'd be more comfortable riding on a bar stool on which I proceeded to plant myself within the elevator as I continued sipping wine. In my mind this was great performance art, but, sadly, at that point, we were rather indulgently shown the way out. Bicycling back very late to Prenzlauerberg via Unter den Linden, the Berliner Dom back-lit in blue from the Radisson's agressive neon lights, I had another Berlin moment. I told The Director's brother, "Sometimes I just love this place". Na ja, it must have been the alcohol doing the talking.