On returning home

Dear culturally shocked people,

I am one of you. I came from Berlin in which the parties don't let up until 2 in the afternoon, and the techno beat continues ringing in your ears for another 12 hours. I came from a city that is run by cafes and coffee shops that are nearly 20 steps away from each other. I came from a city in which I felt like the conversations people were having seemed important in the intellectual circles. In some way I believed I was making progress as an artist and being somewhat respected for my work. But....... I found that none of this means anything in Kalamazoo, Michigan. The conversations revolve not so much about the current state of the art world, but more about the most current neighbor to have gone to the hospital because they have foot cramps, or how my 12th cousin 70 times removed is getting a dog that somewhat resembles my dog (except its black and 3 times smaller). In Kalamazoo, you have to drive 15 miles to get to a coffee shop that serves filtered dirt water which costs $3. I once thought Germany has no clue on fashion sense, but that wasnt until i went back to the Kalamazoo grocery stores. It seems as most are over weight and dressed in spandex and cut up xxxl tshirts, while the others are over weight and dressed in cuttoff xxxxl jeans and spandex shirts. (never have I been in a place that spandex is an every day fashion choice for the people who have never run in their life.)  

But maybe im just bitter. I came from one of the most happening places in the world, to suburban america. If I want social interaction I must attend bible study. If I want to go the library I must fight to get a computer to look up books, over people who want to play tetris or check facebook with the sound on full volume. (I detest this). For entertainment I ride my bike 40 to 50 miles through cornfields and small towns filled with gas stations, churches, and applebee's.  For intellectual stimulation I turn to books, that seem to surround the topic of european coffee culture, that leaves me not in a place of thought but an ever growing longing to be back.( A moveable feast, hemingway, and when you are engulfed in flames, sedaris.) I go on 2 to 3 walks a day with my dog, who seems to share my restlessness to get away from big lawns that always need mowing, and picket fences that seem to always get in the way of mowing. I want to drink pure hefewiezens that are 75 cents per glass and speak broken deutch and spanish that always brings smiles to the blond haired german girls wearing sun dresses. I want to dance for a whole night as if to pretend that the next day legs will no longer exist. Oh Berlin bring me back. 

But.... its not all bad, Im here with my family, and even though we seem to disagree on every subject under the sun, its nice to be in their company (and get really good free food). Its good to be able to see my dog who waited at the door for 4 months while I was gone. Its nice to find the English speaking books that I want with out having to search all over town. Its good to find people who get my humor (although I seemed to to know a Bolivian and an Englishman that seemed to get my humor pretty well). Its good to come back and see the culture that I make work about in completely new eyes. Its nice to not have to worry about approaching girls who might not speak my language, or get my cheesy pick up lines. Its nice to eat a really big burrito the size of your head, and see friends who I havent seen in a few years. And god do I love riding my bike 40 to 50 miles through cornfields and small towns filled with gas stations, churches, and applebee's. These are the small reasons why ill always come back no matter how far I go, and how much I liked the place I was previously. (But two weeks is more than enough.)

And I am glad to be writing my blog again, and I will try my best to continue to write, please stay with me faithful readers. 

Asta La Vista BABY