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Sunday, August 27, 2006

Fish don't fry in the kitchen

"'Cause we're movin on the east a dee-luxe apartment, in the sky."
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Fuck Altbau

Fuck the high ceilings, fuck the stupid wall mouldings, fuck the steep, winding staircases...

I don't care if it's pretty (which is usually is)'s just not that practical for me.*

From here on out, if you live above the 3rd floor in an Altbau-style building (yes, I realize that is redundant), then we cannot be friends.** This applies to any new people that I meet. It's my new friendship requirement from here on out. Current friends, you have my permission to continue to residing where you are. Should you at some point move, feel free to move to a lower floor...but I suppose I'll let it slide if you decided to "move on up" (especially if you go with the renovated Altbau).

The sad part is that I think the older-style buildings look nice. Really, really nice. And to be honest, it's mostly the stairs that bug me, because like one flight of stairs in Altbau feels like 20 flights of stairs in regular-ass-Bau. Alright, that's a bit of an exaggeration. What it really feels like is a never-ending escalator. Your legs move, but you're thinking, "Goddamn! When am I gonna get to the top of these freakin stairs?!"

And the staircases always seem so steep...and there's always that one floor where the light switch doesn't work, so it's all dark and you're just praying that you don't fall and break your neck...and and and...
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But someone's got to live in those apartments, right? I guess my question is: why does it have to be people that I know? I'm just saying...why couldn't all the crazy, fingernail-collecting recluses take all the top floors and leave the lower 3 floors for people that I know and/or want to get to know?

Because here's the thing: friends move. They move into places, they move out of places...and they need help doing so. I am not opposed to helping. Not one bit. In Germany, moving can be a really tough job. It's not like back in good ol' OKC where you know a shitload of people with cars. Here, moving requires organization and planning. It's a big cooperative effort. That's why there are usually like delicious sandwiches and beer at the end.

Last, but not least, helping people move in Germany gives you good karma.

Yes, I believe in karma. Not the "Buddah-Yoga-Let's eat a stick of tofu"-Karma***. It's a more simplified version...and maybe doesn't even fit into the category of karma. But that's what I'm gonna call it anyway, so there.

This picture came from a dream I had last night...for real
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I help people move for the same reason I'll give someone my last cigarette or beer -- good karma. Eventually, I might move...and I would probably want people to help me. And if I needed a cig or beer and didn't have any...I would maybe like it if someone gave me some.

Because as you can see from the picture. It's what Jesus would do.****

But I digress. I'm not fucking joking around with that requirement for new friends

*= I'd like to think that if God intended for me to climb a shitload of stairs all the time, then he would have made it so that I was born in the freakin' 1800s and some kind of house negro or something. Since that wasn't the case, this tells me that A.) The Good Lord is on the side of The Revolution and B.) stairs are retarded.

**= To my Hypothetical Friends that I will never meet: Send you're complaints to Trini-Mutti, for it is her apartment which led me to this decision. S.A.M. III -- you're apartment isn't up too high, but the staircase is very steep. I don't know what angle it is or anything...but I'd guess something close to like 90 degrees. That's no longer a staircase, buddy. That's a ladder. I know this isn't your fault, but since you're the only person I know who lives in that building, I'm gonna take it out on you anyway. Hope you don't mind.

***= I don't think tofu comes in sticks, but I bet that it could and would not be surprised if it did.

****= Jesus would totally give you his last cig, but when you're calling out to him for help while you're in between the 3rd and 4th floor carrying a heavy box of who-knows-what...he's nowhere to be found. Oh, Brooks...the blasphemy...

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