Big Guy Big Tiring Day

23 Sep

Dear America,

I don’t wake up next to you anymore. In bed I have to listen to Ian
snoring across the room or to another stupid Fresh Air podcast that
I’ve already heard. My feet get cold without yours to warm them up.
Germany doesn’t make pizza the way that you do. I had a bad dream that
everyone in Denver started speaking German, even Steve, but I still
only knew English. And I’m even starting to miss that annoying little
dog you bought right before I left. So do this with me, for us.

Close your eyes.
Relax the muscles in your face.
Let you’re teeth hang gently from the holes in your gums.
Feel the gravity pushing your body into the chair or toilet you’re sitting on.
Count from ten to seven.
Now imagine that you’re a brimming glass of water that’s just about to
Imagine us in a dream a very long time ago.

We were falling, or maybe we were standing still, trying to elude the
man who was after us. We were on the second story of a three-story
apartment building in downtown Phoenix. The walls were white, our eyes
were white. We were sitting near an open window, small but open. We
couldn’t stop feeling like we couldn’t find a chair and the only that
that comforted us at this point was the fact that soon we would be
dying. Not only would we be dying, but we would be watching other
people die. The way in which we would all die is horrific, and at the
same time it’s entertaining. Not silly or funny, just entertaining.

It’s hard to explain the feeling that we felt on the killing floor.
What was expected of us? It seemed to us that everyone else was
actively participating in some sort of exercise, or maybe it was
entertainment. Either way, they were participating in hopes that their
lives would be spared. But out of the corners of our eyes we could all
see what was waiting for us – a man dressed in a pinstriped tuxedo
with disembodied eyes, he was disemboweling some of us, others were
being staked to the ground and skinned alive, others were experiencing
terrible deaths that we can’t recall.

The main theme of this situation is that we were all dying, we were
terrified of our impending deaths, yet we were her on the killing
floor waiting for our chance to perform our way out of it. Some of us
decided to make clever career choices while others decided to play a
song on guitar or tell a funny joke, hoping that maybe we would
stumble across the secret act, the thing that we have to do in order
to survive. Of course, one by one, we were dying, and we were fearful.

Wunderbar! Now that we’ve reconnected and are on the same level, let’s
get down to business: travel blogging!

But first.

I’d like to address some of the comments that have been left for us by readers.

God said, “bless you son, may the holy spirit be with you.” Thanks man!

Stevuns said, “what the fuck are you talking about?” Steve, sounds
like you’re drinking again!

Benji Nelson said, “I made this and it tasted like shit. Thanks for
your shitty recipes, please give me more shit to cook.” He also said,
“fucking eurotrash assholes!” Benji, I know about your anger problem,
and honestly I’m surprised you haven’t been stabbed yet.

Sehr gut! Let’s get to business.

Today was a big guy big day for the Super Kuhl Wunder Blog staff. Last
night we drank and were filmed by a documentary filmmaker in a
cemetery that used to sit in the neutral zone between East and West
Berlin. Some say that permits were required to visit family plots, and
that men with machine guns were watching at all times! Scary indeed.
The setting sun lit us up like rockstars, and the filmmaker absolutely
loved the bottle of whiskey as a prop. After pouring some on the
ground for the dead strangers, we made our way to Aaron’s girlfriend’s
house, her name is Margareth (the woman, not the house). She treated
us to a really remarkable dinner of perfectly cooked pasta (she’s
Italian) with some kind of mushrooms and we can’t remember what else.
It was fucking incredible. We finished off the evening with an
excellent, although kind of stupid musical performance of someone
rolling trash around in a ceramic pot. Ian absolutely loved every
minute of here, and everyone in Denver can now start making fun of him
for liking pretentious music.

Then we woke up this morning to the sound of our neighborhood
construction sight smashing away the peaceful sleep that we didn’t
actually have. This awakening was just the beginning of a series of
events that lead to crippling fatigue throughout the day. The next
fatigue we experienced came with the late arrival of our S1 train that
would deliver us to Schlachtensee, a massive lake open only
to rowboats and swimmers! We were still fresh faced and were able to
brush off this fatigue with ease. But then we got off at the wrong
train station to get sandwiches and had to wait for another S1 to come
pick us up. After at least 45 minutes of buying sandwiches and waiting
for the S1, we were finally on our way to our favorite swim spot,
although we were fighting the death lull of fatigue with failing
results. Once we reached the lake we had to walk nearly 1 MILE to find
an appropriate beach spot in the sun. FATIGUE. Then we had to eat our
cibatta sandwiches with tomatoes, basil, mozzarella, and pesto.
FATIGUE. We lounged in the sun for about 15 minutes while some elderly
people skinny-dipped across the way from us. MAJOR FATIGUE. The water
was brisk and revitalizing, yet somehow very fatiguing. After swimming
for half an hour we dozed with our books in the sun, occasionally
commenting to each other, “I can’t shake this feeling of fatigue,
och!” We rested for about three hours and decided to walk back to the
train station. It was good to walk after lying down for so long. The
train ride home, however, was terribly fatiguing. We had to sit next
to people in business suits with their briefcases taking up so much
space, people pushing bicycles and carrying groceries, people trying
to calm crying babies. It would be a ridiculous understatement to say
that we were exhausted when we got back to our neighborhood. We
stopped by the store to buy groceries for dinner and barely made it
home without collapsing on the way up to our 5th floor apartment.
We’ve decided to take it easy tomorrow. Maybe get a sandwich down the
street and see some music at night. Nothing too strenuous.

It was great to catch up with ya’ll. Next time you can expect PICTURES
and SOUNDBYTES to accompany our travel blogging.

Danke Schön, America!



4 Responses to “Big Guy Big Tiring Day”

  1. Mo September 24, 2010 at 3:49 am #

    So was the documentarist all like “YA VISKEY! SUPERKUHL.” Because that’s what they are always saying around here, the little dog in particular.

    Today David said he wanted to “get crunk” and I’m just not sure what he meant. Sometimes it feels like I don’t speak the language in my own city, like in your dream. I just said “Ya, superkuhl” and it seemed to go over pretty well. I bet that is something you have already experimented with.

    Ian is soooo pretentious.

    • ianmdm September 24, 2010 at 11:09 pm #

      we mostly try to avoid more than passing contact with other people. makes things easier.

  2. stevenus September 24, 2010 at 5:34 am #

    Well written but Chris says i shouldn’t give you any money for your stupid german apartment. he says that’d be like charging someone money to stay at the outpost. I’m deine guesten mein gott!

    • jasonbox September 24, 2010 at 11:48 am #

      Thanks Steve! Chris has an interesting point, but please take a moment to consider these numbered items:

      1. Chris is trying to seek revenge on me for pointing out his stupid American brother’s high stabbing potential.

      2. Chris DOES charge you to stay at the Outpost, in a shed. Next time you’re shivering cold, listening to bathroom noises in the chicken coop, think of Chris hibernating in his kingly quarters.

      3. I’m not a philanthropist, and subletting apartments in Berlin is not cheap (although maybe for a rich student like you it is), so unless you want to pay 18 euros a night at a hostel, you’ll have to pay off the big bad MOOSH if you want to sleep on his floor.

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