the world has turned and left me here

documenta

Today we went to Documenta, a big art exhibition that takes place in Kassel once every 5 years. Nicole (who hung out with us in Munich about a month ago) and Sabrina (Mark's best friend who's studying law) came with. It was probably the most intellectual stimulation I've had since coming to Germany.

Okay, a lot of the exhibits just didn't elicit any sort of reaction from me, but there were also a suprising number of good ones. One in particular, "A Million Years," which consisted of some big ledger books and a central chamber enclosed by glass in which two NPR types delivered dates over a PA system, was really great. There was like a 10 second pause and then one of them would say in a soothing voice at about one third normal speed "nine-hundred fifty-one thousand two-hundred and seventy-three..."

"B..."

"C..."

They were counting down but at the rate they were going I doubt they finished the million.

Another exhibit was comprised of a long, long series of tiny black-and-white photographs that wrapped around several rooms at eyelevel. Each one depicted a different modern dilemma. Homeless people. Breast cancer. Riots. AIDS. Racial tension. Nuclear disaster. There were so many it was almost beyond belief--geez we've got a lot of problems these days.

In a separate building near the river there was a multi-room exhibit on harbors, fishing, the sea, etc. Photographs of all these things were punctuated by essays. The essays were so over-rationalized and filled with Marx-horny intonations that they were almost impossible to read and keep a straight face. There was a constant wistful Commie undercurrent and lots of impressive but tell-tale words like "mercantilism," "post-industrial capitalism," and "space appropriation." It was overdone.

In the green space outside of the main building a few tents had been put up and some activism was going on by the looks of it. When I saw this sign that proclaimed "No borders" I got really interested, and decided to talk to the people. I ended up talking to this dude wearing a white plastic bag like a lab coat and rolling a cigarette by hand. He had on sunglasses and a Cypress Hill t-shirt. I told him I agreed with the idea of making freedom of movement a basic right. We soon got down to more specific things, and I said something about the flux across the U.S.-Mexico border increasing everyday, and then he was like "What? Are you kidding?" He started in on some stuff about cameras and surveillance and fences, and got kind of worked up about the "control system." I saw that the "control system" in all its various incarnations was the machine he raged against. Okay, I tried to tell him, the control system is there, maybe its growing every day, but the flux of culture is increasing every day and this is something which is beyond the control of any traditional "control system." But my feeling was that this guy will probably be raging against machines and systems all his life because that's what he was born to do. He will always be bitterly discussing control systems with passers by while rolling cigarettes with nervous hands.

At night we decided to hit several parties. The first was a house-warming party for one of Mark's friends (Mattias), and I got to meet some cool people, one of which (Stephan) showed me how to open a beer bottle with a second one. The Germans are so versatile at beer bottle opening...while the American looks around for the proper instrument the German has already opened three bottles in his eyesocket. There were quite a few physics guys there, and also Russian younger than me who couldn't speak any German but could converse alright in English. We took vodka shots with caviar and tried to pronounce the Russian "cheers" (there seemed to be many words for the sentiment) without much success.

Oh yeah, Ollie and I continued the survey from the previous night. This time we actually found some people who identified with ("were proud of") their country. So if we're to conclude anything at all from the few data points we collected, it must be that there is still not a total disconnect from nationality with the younger generation. Even though Ollie and I seem to be in a state of total disconnect from our respective countries.

We left. We picked up Mark's friend Pia on the way to a party out in the boonies and it turned out to be pretty lame, at least for me. There was a cover band playing oldies, classic rock, and 80s stuff, but it felt way too much like a Nebraska hoe-down minus the country music. My fellow Americans, we must protect the Germans from American country music, we must contain the virus that is eating away at our very souls. Steel guitars, twangs, and crap-kickers shall not impinge upon this sacred place.

Our third and final destination for the night was a club called Lolita (like Nabakov's book that I'm reading right now). It was just one room scarcely larger than an average living room but packed with people. The atmosphere was cool, but I still wasn't having a great time. My brush with death in the boonies probably had something to do with this. They were playing too many oldies, it's always too many oldies, we're not our parents here, okay, so let's listen to our own music. But eventually things got up to date and the place started rocking. People standing on chairs and windowsills, grinding. Then we had to leave. It always decides to get good just after we decide to leave.