I just finished reading "Deliverance" by James Dickey. Holy Shit! That book is fucking intense. I recommend it, highly. I spent the past two days trying to hold together the crumbling paperback which I had been carrying with me for about two years now. By the end, the book completely fell into 3 or 4 pieces and wrapped a rubber band around it to keep it together and put it on the "finished books" shelf in my apartment. I felt so separate from the city while I was reading. As if I were really in the woods in North Georgia. Experiencing the heat of the sun, the cool water and the tenseness of every second of the book surge through my body. I woke up this morning feeling my muscles ache. I told our relocations coordinator that I wanted my flight from Munich to Roanoke on the 17th of July. I'll be home on a Friday.

according to National Geographic...

1) Replace five incandescent lightbulbs in your home with compact fluorescents: Swapping those 75-watt incandescents with 19-watt CFLs can cut 275 pounds of CO2.

2) Instead of short haul flights of 500 miles or so, take the train and bypass 310 pounds of CO2.

3) Sure it may be hot, but get a fan, set your thermostat to 75 degrees and blow away 363 pounds of CO2.

4) Replace refrigerators more than 10 years old with today's more energy-efficient Energy Star models and save more than 500 pounds of CO2.

5) Shave your eight-minute shower to five minutes for a savings of 513 pounds.

6) Caulk, weatherstrip and insulate your home. If you rely on natural gas heating, you'll stop 639 pounds of CO2 from entering the atmosphere (472 pounds for electric heating). And this summer, you'll save 226 pounds from AC use.

7) Whenever possible, dry your clothes on a line outside or a rack indoors. If you air dry half your loads, you'll dispense with 723 pounds of CO2.

8) Trim down on the red meat. Since it takes more fossil fuels to produce red meat than fish, eggs and poultry, switching to these foods will slim your CO2 emissions by 950 pounds.

9) Leave the car at home and take public transportation to work. Taking the average U.S. commute of twelve miles by light rail will leave you 1,366 pounds of CO2 lighter than driving. The standard, diesel-powered city bus can save 804 pounds, while heavy rail subway users save 288.

10) Finally, support the creation of wind, solar and other renewable energy facilities by choosing green power if offered by your utility. To find a green power program in your state, call your local utility or visit U.S. Department of Energy's Green Power Markets page. See also our Green Power Utilities Product Report.

11) Bring your own reusable bag shopping. Plastic shopping bags are totally gay.*

12) Buy used clothes, books, CD's, furniture, etc. There's too much stuff in the world already, just reuse it and save yourself some money.*

*11 and 12 are the author's own.

Sunday cont.

The concert was inspired. We were sitting so uncomfortably during the opening act, on our kneels either on the floor in front of the kneeling bench or on the 5 inch long kneeling bench itself, so we decided to sit in the aisle on the floor. We walked downstairs and to the front of the altar where about 10 kids were already sitting. The marble floor was ice cold. Like the floor of a cave that keeps the same temperature year-round. I imagined that it was the same temperature as it was in the 1600's when it was first built. As if the church were finished in the middle of winter and the marble blocks never got the chance to warm up. St. Jakobs Church was built in 1624 in the late Rennaissance style with Baroque and modern additions added later. I looked straight up and there was a sun-dial on the ceiling of the dome. The lights went down as we decided to sit on our sweatshirts and bags to keep our asses from freezing off. Jose Gonzalez walked on the stage quietly and unassuming. People clapped tentatively, unwilling to disturb the peace of the church. He picked up his guitar and started playing. The bass notes resonated deeply through the empty space and echoed off the stone and small stained-glass windows. It was haunting at times being there so close to the prototypical concentration camp for the entire genocidal movement of the Nazi's. Dachau, where nearly 200,000 people were exterminated. There have been several moments where I felt so close to that history and felt a chill. One night Leah and I were going for a walk and she said, "I think that was the Nazi headquarters. Where's Hitler's office was." for example. He played a few songs on his own and then his band came out. They looked like two college students who had helped organize the tour or something. The bongo player had on an Auburn University sweatshirt which looked like it came from a second-hand store in the States. They played minimalist percussion which added a huge sound to Jose's melodic acoustic picking and strumming. The bongo player was tapping his foot on a guitar case and it sounded like a full bass drum.
I stared at him in awe with the crucifix hanging morose behind him. It was a transcendent moment. Time and space disappeared and I was sitting in sanctuary immune from change and the outside world. The church, the town, World War II, Hitler, Nazi, Munich, Germany, 2008, 1933...nothing...just this song and the rhythm and this moment.

Sunday

I woke up on Sunday around 9:30 with the sun in my face. I wasn't at all upset about being awakened so early. It was the first weekend I had woken up, excited about the day. The weather was supposed to be amazing, I had made plans to go to some Biergartens that day with Tim and I had a ticket to see Jose Gonzalez in St. Jakobskirche in Dachau that night. I got out of bed and made some coffee with the French press and had some toast. I smoked a cigarette on the windowsill and felt the warmth of the day blowing through the streets. I took a shower and saw that Tim had called. I got dressed and was on my way out the door. I walked down Blümenstraße towards Gärtnerplatz. I was meeting Tim at the Deutsche Eiche for beers. I toasted to "Happy Alumni Weekend" and I reminded him that two years ago Whitney was giving him a beer bong in Pat's backyard. We talked about how crazy we are to leave all of this behind. I told him of the conversation I had had the previous night with Brett, Sam, Blake, Rizzo, Pat, etc. They were all in Macado's drinking beer outside and having lunch. I told them I was a bit jealous and happy that they could all get together. There I was, drinking Bavarian beer in my flat in Munich alone while they were all together in Salem drinking Bud Lights together. I tried to pretend like the beer made it easier for me to be so far away from home, but it really didn't. German beer can only keep you company for so long. It doesn't get my jokes (no one else does either though). I did begin to miss all that. But, do I really need to pretend like I'm back in college again? Would I get into that? Not even pretending to be in college, but pretending to be a crazy alcoholic college student who, in the spirit of things, will drink for 12 hours at the bar and it's called normal. Hmm...This time last year, I was trying to do a keg stand on my own, and walked inside with a broken cigarette hanging out of my mouth, or having a conversation with a Mexican guy who wandered from the yard next door. I don't speak Spanish, but I apparently talked to him for 30 minutes or so.
So after the beer at the Eiche, we walked to the Englischergarten to meet up with Luke. He was bringing beers and potato salad. Tim and I got the Chineschertürm (or Chinese Tower) and ordered two maß biers and sat in the sun and enjoyed watching the people enjoy every ounce of the beautiful weather. Where else could so many people get together and drink peacefully without the presence of police? Not in America...and definitely not in England. Luke brought the food and after a lovely meal, we decided to go lay out in the sun and listen to the drum circle that meets every week. As soon as we found a spot to lay down, my shoes and socks and shirt were all off. I laid down and basked like a reptile, digesting his food. I fell asleep for a few minutes and was woken up by Tim splashing beer on me. I sat up and groggily talked to him for a few minutes before he got up to leave. I walked to the toilet and bought some ice cream cones for Luke and I on the way back. We finished the last of the beer and headed back. We took the U-bahn to Sendlinger Tor and strolled back to the flat.
I made a cup of tea and we watched TV on the internet. After a few minutes, Ilana walked in with good news. She had scored some weed. She split it with Luke and immediately packed a bowl. After that, Luke rolled a spliff. And I had to get to Dachau and find this church in less than an hour. I drank a little bit of water and headed out. I walked the familiar route to Hauptbahnhof, bought a Coke and caught the train to Dachau.
I realized I had to pee as soon as I got on the street. The Coke was probably a bad choice as well. I told Rachel later after the show that maybe drinking 3 liters of beer, a cup of tea, a glass of water and a Coke before going to a concert. So, there was no public toilet at the train station. I called Rachel and she said she had gotten a ride from some guys who had stopped to ask them directions to the show. She suggested I find someone else with a car and ask them for a ride or take a taxi. I saw no one with "Noch Jose Ganzalez" signs on their cars, nor taxis, nor toilets. I found the map of the city at the Bahnhof, had a general idea of where to go in my head and started walking. I walked for about 10 minutes before I stopped myself and thought "John, stop walking and ask someone where you're going. You'll be walking for hours if you don't, like you do every other day in the city." So, I swallowed my quasi-male pride and stopped and asked at a gas station where it was. He took me outside in front of the store and pointed to a huge building on top of the hill at the end of the street. He said "Stay always on this street and then it (pantomimes forks) and you must go left and up." "Super!" I said, "Danke schön" and started again, regretting not asking for a toilet. I walked and walked all the time considering if I should duck into a garden or find some restaurant that I could sneak into. Nothing that looked appealing. I got to the end of the street and began the ascent up to the church. It was a cool night, but I started to sweat. Either because I had been drinking beer in the sun all day or because I had to pee, I wasn't sure. I found an Italian restaurant on the way up and looked inside. I didn't see any signs for the toilet in the restaurant, but to my left there was a staircase leading down. 9 times out of 10, a German toilet will be downstairs. So, I went to have a look around. I went down one flight, no toilet, to flights and I saw what looked like the kitchen or storage area or something. I was in the wrong place. I dashed upstairs and hoped that no one had seen me snooping around. Up the hill I went. My face felt hot and every bush I saw seemed an oasis of peace and relief. But how could I pee on the side of the street in Dachau. It seemed somehow wrong to me. Disrespectful, maybe.
I got to the top of the hill and saw the church. It had to be the right one. I walked around the corner and asked the old ladies working there "Haben Sie ein Karte für John Sutton?" They laughed and said yes, of course. I turned to walk up the stairs to the church, got my hand stamped and my ticket ripped and looked over at the sign that said "Toilette" and had a hand point the other direction. I asked where it was and they told me right and around the corner. So I started walking again. The only thing around the corner was a restaurant. I walked inside and asked "Wo ist dei Toilette." The waitress said it's right through here. Which meant, of course, up two flights of stairs. I walked up there and there was a guy in there pulling a bag of paper towels out. He was standing in the door when I opened and, for a moment, I thought for sure that it would be closed for cleaning. He looked at me straight on for about 2 seconds before I said "Entschuldigen" and stepped around him. He would have had to fight me to keep me out of there. I peed and it felt like a great pressure had lifted from me. Not just bladder pressure but the anxiety and weirdness of going to see a concert in the city of the first concentration camp. I had my ticket, the city was just a city and I was seconds away from going inside the church and being able to relax for a while.
I walked inside the church and the opening act was on. I found Rachel and Franz upstairs and we knelt on the pew at the front of the balcony and uncomfortably watched the long-haired teenager play the last few songs of his set.
To be continued...

The Greatest

"Burgers and beer." Tim said in his oh-so-thick Southern accent. I echoed his sentiment. Burgers and beer. Should be fun. After work, Rachel and I walked to her place talking about work and the staff meeting we had just had where Mary (the head of school) had announced the arrival of 10 interns from Roanoke College who would be working with us in May. There was some controversy about their coming here, but what mattered now was burgers and beer. We walked by the fallow fields behind the school with the faint outline of the Alps in the background. We passed the ash tray of the high school kids whom I see sneak off during my lunch duty to smoke. We got to her apartment and I made a pot of tea and we listened to Ryan Adams and talked about music and Munich. Two common, but not exhausted topics.
We agreed it was time to head out. She decided to drive her 300 Euro car to Tims which my tired legs agreed with. We drove to the Tenglemann, forgetting everything we were supposed to get from her apartment. Including the frying pan she was going to use to make eggs in order to make her traditional Aussie burger. Beeh-root, iggs, etc. As we pulled into the parking lot, we saw Luke, Caleb and Heather and decided not to offer them a lift. We got beers, bread and beeh-root and were on our way. We talked about work, life in Munich, Leah showed up after having to ask a German lady for directions and braving an impending thunderstorm. We sat out in his garden and smoked and drank and watched the disposable grills burn.
Colleen came later. She started talking about this drug addict who was in a van accident and damaged his frontal lobe.
"No one wanted to deal with him. He was already a little crazy and now had lost all of his self-restraint. People were getting injured trying to talk to him. Not to mention the 'fuck you! fuck shit cunt bitch!!'s that came with it. We couldn't transfer him out because no one else wanted him." (I pictured him looking like Charles Manson). "His father finally gained custody of him and brought him home with the understanding that if he ever became and danger to himself or others, he would have to be committed again. The last I heard of him was that his father had died of heart problems. I don't know where he ended up after that. Who knows. But there was just nothing of a man left of him. All he could do his swear and fight people."
As usual, Leah, Tim and I switched over to our Southern accents, entertaining the Australians in the room immensely. We had to add in "suga" "honey" "darlin" at the end of pretty much any sentence. It got even funnier when we tried to add our German in. For example: You gonna schlafen mit mir, darlin? Genau Sweetie Pie! Was machst DU heute abend, hot stuf? Everyone else had left except for Leah, Colleen, Chai (Caleb's brother) Caleb, Luke and I. Time finally kicked us out. We walked down the mountain from Tim's, stopping at Chai's car, parked haphazardly (German style with half the car on the sidewalk and half on the road). We made it to Starnburg Nord Bahnhof and realized that we had 93 minutes until the next train. 243 until the next one. "Come play some pool with us and drink some beers, you can get the next train." said Chai.
Chai is one of those people who people just love to be around for his sheer energy and complete desire to be alive and refuses to just sit back and let life happen to him. He works construction in Germany and is the self-proclaimed "salt of the earth." His long hair in a pony tail shoved under and trucker hat, wearing a dirty white undershirt and a pair of Carhart work pants and, after a stop by his car, completed the outfit with a Carhart jacket. Pants and jacket of the same color, making him look like he was wearing a jumpsuit. We walked into the pool hall or "Spielothek" in German. We ordered beers and argued with the bartender as to whether we could smoke in the bar area. We took our beers over to the small table where one could drink but not smoke, and going over to the pool table area where one could smoke but not drink.
We started playing pool and Chai started talk with the locals. Starnberg girls. Born and raised. The conversation that I caught was.
"So do you have a boyfriend"
"Yeah, he's right there" (pointing at the boy standing beside him). Good times.
After a few games of pool and beer, I admitted to myself that I was having fun. So much fun that after a time, I asked Leah what time it was. Of course, we had missed our train and the great debate over what to do started all over again. We could always stay at Chai and Caleb's, but we were a bit apprehensive considering that their mom is the Head of School. Not that we wouldn't love to wake up our boss stumbling in drunk with her two sons at some ungodly hour of the morning, but we just wanted to make sure there were no other options. So four o'clock rolled around and there were no other options. About this time, Caleb had discovered the slot machines in the casino area. He had won about 26 euro and was acting a bit manic about it. We tried to convince him to stop, but he continued to shove the euro coins into the slot and pushing the button. Chai was talking with Leah in a manner that reminded me of a drunk Tyler Durden. Short, choppy sentences but actually quite brilliant in content. He talked about the war in Iraq/Iran and how everyone should refuse flat-out to fight. Leah talked about how her brother was getting shipped out. We asked Caleb for four euros to buy a pack of cigarettes. "Fuck off! Your making me lose, get the hell out!" We eventually got the cigarette money and the conversation continued over the beers that were left on the table from the Starnbergers that had left them there almost untouched.
We pulled Caleb away from the slot machine and Leah and I played one more game of pool and we were on our way out. It was around 4:30 at this point. Exhausted and a little frustrated, we tried to make our way out the door. But, of course, after one more beer. We learned that the Spielothek closes at 5. They had to ask us to leave. We walked out into the streets of Starnberg with our bags from work and started walking towards the Haus der Sepella.
The Sepellas live on the third floor of an apartment building with a huge garden terrace and two floors of living space. Caleb started talking about how Bright Eyes started this big movement of young people taking drugs and drinking to make themselves better poets.
"Jack Kerouac did the same thing. Kids started Tuning in and Dropping Out and all that stuff." muttered Chai. "But Jesus did the exact same thing." I said. "You're absolutely fucking right." Caleb said and reached into the freezer and pulled out a bottle of champagne. "Don't even get me, fucking, started. It's fucking..." He opened the champagne and walked out onto the terrace. Somebody put on Cat Power and we sat and let the sky turn from black to gray listening to The Greatest and smoking more cigarettes. Caleb eventually went inside to sleep. We talked about whatever and looked at the smashed TV that their mom had thrown from her room above.
The sun was up and we were under blankets trying to stay warm. The champagne was gone. I tried to convince Leah that we should go and try to catch the early train before Mary woke up. I had my sweater on and my bag on my shoulder when I heard the bright "Good morning!" from upstairs. Well, I thought, fuck it. I heard she makes good coffee. We smiled and said good morning and had a good chat over coffee about our crazy night. Luke started talking about work and Chai continued to say how nervous Leah and I were about staying over at her house and we continued to deny it. Chai was trying to say that we needed to go to work or something and his mom finally laid down the law in a "this-is-what's-going-to-happen" sort of way. These people are going to catch the S-Bahn home and go to sleep and you Luke are going to sleep here. No one's going to go back out and drink anymore." Chai kept calling us sweethearts and told her that we shouldn't be fired. We were ready to go. We each gave Mary a hug and thanked her for the coffee and were finally free. On our way back to Munich almost 24 hours since we had first left it. We stopped at the bakery for Apfeltaschen and Kaffee and waited for the train. Amazed that the night was soon going to be over. We got on the train and sipped our coffee and stared out the window. It was strange heading back to the city so early in the morning. I got about 6 stops into the ride and fell asleep with my coffee still in my hand. I sat it down on the trash bin and was out for the rest of the trip.
We walked through the gray city morning passing people on their way shopping or hiking or whatever it is Germans do at 8:30 on a Saturday morning. We passed Leah's room mate Donny walking briskly with a cup of coffee in hand on his way to catch the train to work. "We actually just got back from a hike, it was beautiful" we joked and continued walking. We were finally home. We got in bed and passed out. We rolled out of bed around 2:30 feeling slightly, but not really, refreshed. I hung around for a while and headed home for real. I walked through the busy Sendlingerstraße wondering what the hell had happened last night. Did I really finish a bottle of champagne listening to Cat Power on the terrace of my bosses house watched the sunrise? How did we get from Burgers and Beer to an all-night bender?
I walked into the apartment and went to open my door only to be stopped by Luke telling me that Chai was passed out in my bed. They had apparently gotten beers from a Kebap place by Starberger See. I was amazed that anyone would sell two drunk men beer and 9 in the morning. But this is Bavaria. This is how we do it. This is our playland, our fantasy. This is us drinking to escape from our own fantasy land where it sometimes feels like I don't exist that I'm trapped on an island inside of an apartment floating above the city. Sound-proof and unknown to any of the people below, shopping, buying, driving, walking around the city that will never have any idea that I'm here watching them from above. It feels good to know you exist when you make conversation or even order food from someone in their native language and you're understood. But this is life abroad. This is Bavaria and I love every minute of it.

What am I going to write about?

I woke up this morning determined to write something in my neglected blog. I was packing this morning after having a shower and yogurt and müsli. I was thinking about whether I wanted to bring my journal with me, thinking I really should write something. But also, I've been looking forward to starting a new book, a collection of Ernest Hemingway short stories. I finished Howard's End on the train yesterday, got home and finished another book I picked up at the English Hugendubel book store. It was called "Queer Fish in God's Waiting Room." I was going to leave it in the Toilet and read it casually during a number of afternoon poos. I ended up reading it in an hour and a half right after I got home yesterday over a cup of tea and American-style chocolate chip cookies from Paris. I ended up taking both the book and the journal. Sat on the train and thumbed through the Hemingway book and put it back in my bag and started out the window. What was I going to write about? Perhaps I could write about how Luke and I started cooking dinner last night and I had the notion to drink some vodka while cooking. Luke's friend had brought some vodka back from Russia and it's been in the freezer tempting us since then. I poured two shots and we were on our way. We opened Andechser Bock Hell's and I put my iPod on shuffle. We listened to everything from the System of a Down to the Beach Boys. Every song, got us more excited about life and music. We talked about what we normally talk about. Work, music, life in Munich, he told the story about how he met Gwynneth Paltrow in Heathrow Airport and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. I told him how Dennis Hopper's son had gone to the camp where I used to work and how he had hung gone to the Gorillaz's studio when they recorded that song where Dennis Hopper tells that crazy story. We ate our dinner, drank our beers and drank more vodka. It felt normal. It felt like what poor young people in a city would do...should do on a Tuesday night. I put on Kill Bill and passed out before O-ren Ishii had her scalp sliced off. What would I write about? Maybe I could write about how the weather is getting warmer and reminds me of the last time I was here; reminds me of why I love Germany. The air is cool and fresh as I walk out onto Landwehr straße. The sun is already up and the city is stretching its arms, preparing itself for another day. Trucks stop in at bars to pick up empty beer and soda bottles and to deliver the new kegs for the day. I smell cigarette smoke of people hurrying to get that one smoke in before their day starts. I saw a group of German school children with their teachers waiting for their train. Being young and silly. It seems like every moment of every day is a chapter in a book. But there's way too much to write it all down. I wanted to write so much more while I was in Paris. Fill up an entire journal. But it was really getting in the way of me actually experiencing things to write about...sorry, about which to write. Maybe I should write about not ever knowing what to write about, or how to write it. Should I record all conversations or just the essence of it? Should I remember to write down funny jokes or stories word for word, or just fill in the details from my own imagination later? Writing is all about choices...and writing is a reflection of life. The choices we make in writing reflect our choices in life. Or maybe the other way around. I never could wrap my mind around that whole "Life is art, art is life" debate. At any rate, for now, life is divided into life and art. I work with kids all day and love it. I smile and listen to their stories which I can usually understand about half the time and hug them when they're hurt or upset and help them put on their jackets and find their shoes and correct their spelling or grammar. I take the train home and I have to face the reality of not having any money, finding food, finding cheap ways to get drunk and trying not to smoke, most times not having much success, feeling the vibrations of the city as I walk to get groceries. Feeling hungry as I make a cup of tea and eating Girl Scout cookies, or playing guitar. Drinking German beer, French wine, Russian vodka and eating Italian apples. What am I going to write about?

thoughts on Paris

I stood in the rain wondering to where I should flee in order to seek refuge from the cold rain. A man stood in front of wrought-iron gates with his shoes off. His feet blotched red, blistered and pale. I passed by his shoes and socks resting on top of a Metro vent, drying, slowly in the rain. I was in the St. Germain des Pres area. Former residence of Ernest and Hadley Hemingway, Zelda and Scott Fitzgerald, supposedly William Faulkner at one point. My hair was wet and stringy from not having showered that day. My hands cold and unsteady, holding a soggy cigarette. I looked in at a cafe and the cost of a beer was around 7 euros. I thought about how I had imagined Paris. I guess I imagined it on a perfect day with everyone having picnics with baguettes and wine at random sunny, grassy spots all over the city, while mustachioed men painted portraits of young couples as the laughed gaily at the small dog barking at the geese. Here I stood, in the rain as people in cafes looked out and people holding newspapers and plastic bags over their heads looked in.
Hemingway once called Paris a "movable feast." As I stood outside bars, cafes, restaurants, bakeries, pastry shops, art galleries, etc. I began to realize what he meant...maybe. Paris is full to the top of delicious food; yet, I remained hungry most of the time walking through the city. Munching occasionally on a bit of chocolate or brie baguette. The sights, the smells and the general tingly sensation I got on my skin as I walked through the city filled me up. I could taste all I could ever want to eat, swallow in the tastes of the city. The quiches I saw in store windows, the creperies I passed with the smell of a cottage kitchen, chocolate, hot strawberry jam. I could taste it all. I could walk all day and never get hungry, tasting here and there the musty, sewer smell of the Metro, or the smell of roasted chestnuts sold by a man out of a shopping cart with a rigged sterno in it, walking through the city like a Catholic priest and an incense burner, the smell taste of a centuries-old cathedral with haunted halls and ancient air, the smell of coffee and cigars coming from a cafe. I smelled and tasted the city as if it were an all-you-can-eat buffet, limited only by how long and how far my legs could carry me.
My hair was wet, my legs were tired, but I was sated. My palette was awakened to the possibility of tastes that I could only even begin to imagine. My mouth watered with the thoughts of how good everything could taste. But everything seemed out of reach, as if I were walking through a nightmare where everything you ever wanted was right in front of you, but when you reached out to grab it, you realized you had no arms, or you were suddenly pulled away from it. For me, the feast wasn't "movable" but constantly moving. A feast of ever-changing sights and smells and sounds that I could sense for an instant and then move on from it, or it moved away from me. The good thing about it, is that the feast will always be there waiting for me...