drama

I love hearing people speak German. One day I followed some German tourists. I didn’t even know what they were saying. I don’t speak German. Perhaps they were saying, “Why is the schwarze lady following us?” They looked like nice people. They were tall. The guttural precision and command of the language makes me…amorous. I’ve seen Run Lola Run a few times in German.

I asked German bloggers if they could translate “How long will you be in Germany?” I want a character in my short story to say it. These are different translations from the nice German bloggers:

“Für wie lange bleibst Du in Deutschland?”

“Für wie lange bleiben Sie in Deutschland?”

“Wie lange bleibst du in Deutschland?”

During my translation quest, I discovered a couple of friends speak the language. One spoke German to me yesterday. It made my eyes roll into the back of my head. Another friend who speaks German said my pronunciation of the sentence was good and that maybe I was German in another life. He’s an artist — sometimes they say things like that.

Rammstein had a popular song on the radio called Du Hast. There’s a song on the cd called Spiel Mit Mir. Sure it’s about incest between siblings, which I don’t believe in, unless you’re trying to keep your royal blood intact. Those Germans – so severe, so kinky — ha! The singer beefs up that “command” thing in this song for a dramatic, menacing effect. It sounds like he’s hawking up phlegm, and I hate when people actually do that, but to punctuate a sentence — yes. Here, check it out:

Und, I had sausage this morning, which is very German.

I saw my friend outside of the bar, taking a break from drinking to smoke cigarettes. I hadn’t seen him in a while.

‘Hey you. You drinking these days?’ He says.

‘Nah,’ I told him.

We used to stay in the bar until daylight — what a waste of time. We even ate our dinner at the bar counter.

My friend’s an ex-cop. He’s pretty tough. He looked out for me when we drank together, way back when you could smoke in bars.

‘You were so bad ass,’ I said when I saw him. When I got drunk he’d bring me home and be a gentleman about it. At some point we were “romantically” involved. Some “romantic involvement” I remember, some I don’t. Shame. But anyway — I miss that lifestyle when I want to glamorize it, because I’m an asshole. It was pathetic, going around in circles, obsessed with drinking.

I wasn’t there to experience what should have been good times because I’d be drunk, blacked out. Sorry to be a drama queen, but I’m lucky I got away from it with my life.

This video from the movie Shamus reminded me of then. I would be in the Burt Reynolds’ role, minus the penis and mustache – though, sometimes I think it’d be nice to have a penis.

By posting the video, maybe I am glamorizing the lifestyle, because Burt Reynolds is a sexy bastard, but when I actually imagine myself in this position, it’s sad – especially when it happens more than once. Like, grow the hell up!

After a night of cavorting, Shamus gets up — no shower — just puts his funky ass clothes back on…ah, memories. Check out the way he looks at the shoe – haha!