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14.03.05 - 14:01 It is probably in my best interest to start this entry with a warning/disclaimer. The following post may present the idea(s) that I am: Shallow
What started out as an enjoyable Sunday turned, by 2, into my worst nightmare (ok, not my worst, but a nightmare nonetheless). Forever the guy who puts all his eggs (and those of some others) in his (Christian Dior) basket I finally relented to meet Erich for a Sunday afternoon of fun and exploration around Berlin. Some background: I joined a �Meet friends in Berlin� website when I was in Paris, it was a decent sight and had a good amount of queer users, so I figured it would be easy to stroll among the profiles and pick my new set of friends from the varied postings as easy as the migrant workers stroll the lovely fields of Temecula, California plucking the Haas Avocados from the fruit filled trees. While field workers have straw baskets, wooden crates, and their �should be in school� children�s hands to place their booty, I have a new Sony/Eriksson slim, compact, worldwide mobile phone with an address/phone book that can hold 1000 numbers, more than enough to hold all those folks numbers that were going to make up my �social circle� here in B�lin. Before I moved to Paris I had joined Gaydar a sight a friend in LA belonged to, but I quickly (and should have known, based on the friend who told me about it) learned that is was primarily a �hook-up� sight, not my thing, AT ALL. But if you whacked through the profiles with a virtual machete you could find 1 out of 1000 people that were just looking for a running pal, a movie buddy, a friend. And if you couldn�t, you could laugh at the ridiculous pictures, and poor spelling, of these men �trolling� through cyberspace (and yes, I use trolling with all it�s definitions). Note to Gay men who are on those sites looking for sex, meaning most of you, when you use photos of you, in front of a Christmas tree, with your menagerie of pets, with your hags, in �obviously purchased for this photo shoot� athletic gear, you look like the true idiot you are. So Gaydar was not much help in building my social circle in Paris, thank God for Jadem and his pack of crazy friends, because I just joined that group and really didn�t look any further. Also, in Paris, I pretty much eschewed the American Ex-Pat community altogether, I felt that if I wanted to meet Americans I could have just stayed in LA, no, I was in Paris to meet French, or Europeans, or, as it also turned out, some Lebanese and Israeli�s. Moving to Berlin, however, I thought I would give the Ex-Pat group a chance and that is where Erich came in. Erich is from the Mid-West (complete with accent) and has lived quite a few years here in Berlin. We had a few nice emails between us when I was packing up the flat in Paris and when I arrived he sent me an email right away inviting me out for a drink. Too busy adjusting to the change; I declined his first few invitations. (see a few entries back). After we had a few phone calls, I figured (and my friend Dani encouraged) that I would eventually have to meet him and hang out. What�s the big deal; this is how you start to build the circle, right? Plus, I had all the other guys on the non-hook up sight I could arrange coffee meetings with. It starts with one, and before I would know it my 1000 names would be filled and I would have to resort to writing new friends numbers down on, gasp, paper. So, yesterday, I am enjoying my coffee and the Sunday Int�l Herald and Berliner Zeitung newspapers, when my house telephone rings. Knowing, from the time, that it can�t be anyone from America (unless Grady and Daymon are still out, Daymon is moving to No. Cali, so maybe they are out celebrating) and that is probably someone from Paris I excitedly answer the phone. �Hey, you are home, great!� He says �Yep, you caught me.� I answer �It�s Erich,� he adds �I know, what�s up?� I ask �Well, I am taking the dog for a walk in Friedrichshain, and I wanted to invite you to come along� he says �Hmm, well, ya know, actually, I, um, well� I say �Bean, you�ve been here a month almost and we haven�t hung out once� he says, adding �C�mon� �Well� I lie �I am just waiting for a buddy to call me from Paris, can I call you back after he calls?� I say �Sure, ok� Erich says Hanging up I look in the fridge and grab a handful of pre-cut baby carrots and start to munch them while looking out the window. It�s a nice, clear, day. Blue skies, no clouds, almost springish. Junior is giving me that look, the look that says �Dude, get out of here, I need some time to myself, I am sick of you underfoot all weekend�. I walk in to the bathroom, fuck, I really hate shaving on Sundays, it�s just a quirk, but I can�t meet a potential new friend all scraggy. Looking in the mirror I say out loud �Bean, just go, it�s a walk in the park� and then I laugh at the �Walk in the park� joke. So in the shower I hop, shower, shave, get dressed, and call Erich. �Ok, where do you want to meet?� I ask �Oh cool, you�re coming. Well, my friend Mark, another American, and I are at McDonald�s eating lunch at Alexander Platz, why don�t you meet us here?� he says McDonald�s? For lunch? And they are eating inside the �restaurant�. Oh man. The 12 Supreme Court justices of Bean that live inside my head all unanimously deliver a verdict of �gross.� Now, I personally do not have a big thing against McDonald�s food, other than it�s kind of sick. I do take part every so often, maybe bi-annually, but always suffer from some sort of gastrointestinal problem within 24 hours of ingesting, so I prefer In & Out in LA if I must satisfy the fast food urge. I do however abhor McDonald�s business practices as a company, and the fact that they are the unofficial ambassador of American culture and cuisine. Also, if I am going to eat crap, I always take it away, I don�t sit in the horrid joint, it�s way too depressing for me to watch all the other patrons. The families seated around the plastic tables, arranged on chairs and benches that are bolted to the ground (even prison cafeterias have chairs you can move around) make me want to cry, bawl actually. �Um, well, when are you going to be finished? I could just meet you at the park.� I say �Park is too big, let�s meet at Starbucks at Hakescher Markt,� he says Oy, and this guy has lived in Berlin for over 5 years. McDonald�s and Starbucks in one day? Houston, we have a problem. Ok, quickly, I like Starbucks, and I don�t need any shit from anyone on that. However, I have never been to one in Europe. And WHY WOULD I? Paris has amazing coffee everywhere, so I never went in one while living there. And Berlin has great little Italian places for coffee, so no need to go to Starbucks here. �Ok, when?� I ask. �Half an hour? 1:30?� Erich says. �Alright, see you there� I say On the U-bahn, I start to lighten up a bit. This could be fun, I think, it�s a beautiful park, and I need really need to make some friends, so, ok, this is good. Just don�t picture him at a plastic table eating a Happy Meal and all will be well. Arriving 20 minutes later, and 7 minutes late, at Starbucks, I see Erich right away. A bit taller than me, cuter than his picture on the website, I am, momentarily, relieved. �Hey, you showed� he says. �Yep, this is me� I say. �You are adorable�, he says �Oh, well, thanks, um� I say. �Don�t worry, I am not picking up on you,� he adds. �Ok, cool� I say. �Let�s go,� he says. We are walking along the street and Erich is telling me his life story, in great detail. �Hey, let�s stop by my place and pick up my dog, ok?� he asks �Sure, ok� I say �I just live over there, in that building� he says pointing east. You mean that giant cement block? I think. The ugliest building in my sightline? The, obviously, soviet built building. The building I have seen many times while on the tram and have always thought was the former headquarters for the Stasi and KGB? Bean, a book by its cover, stop. It could be really cute on the inside. Like, you know, a Siberian prisoner of war camp. Stop!!!! He�s gay, I am sure (praying) that he has added some great creative touches to the interior. As we trudge through the slush and mud that make up the �gardens� surrounding the palace of doom, Erich drops his first, of what were to be delivered every half an hour for the rest of the afternoon, bombs. �I am doing a show Wednesday night, you should come see it if you don�t have plans� he says. Timidly, I ask �A show?� At this point I am willing to give away my life savings if it were to ensure an answer like �Yes, I am an amazing painter, I�ve been compared to Van Gogh� or �Yes, I am a singer, I came in second on the German Idol program� or even �Yes, I juggle quite well� but no, I get none of these I, instead, hear: �Yes, I have been doing drag since 1983� he says. NURSE!!!!!! NURSE!!!!!! NURSE!!!!!! NURSE!!!!!! Where the fuck is that lazy bitch, I need a shot!!!! �Oh, yeah, drag, huh?� I answer. �Yes, and I am really good. Hey, I can show you some video clips on my computer when we get up to my apartment� he says. Turning to Erich, I say, �Ok� And again turning to the sky I make a mental comment to God. Ok, I get it; this is what I get for not being in church today. Point taken, cruel joke accepted. But, please, if I promise to do some good deed this week, will you please make the inside of his apartment not disgusting, at least void of unusual smells, you know how I have a sensitive aesthetic. To be continued; I can�t relive it all at once without having to lie down for a bit. � � 
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