The second thing one need to do when visiting a new city, if you are a member of the airportline consortium, is visiting a modern art museum. Said and done, me and my sister made our way to Postbahnhof where rowdy Werder Bremen supporters were singing and drinking and causing trouble in the middle of the day in celebration for the German Cup final against Leverkusen. Destination, Hamburger Bahnhof, a museum hosting the giant Andy Warhol painting of Mao. It was quite impressive actually, we also saw a film with an old german guy talking about plastic, a living room cut into two (including a cat cut into two) and two steel fan's facing each other. Then back to Tobias apartment to catch the Chelsea - Eveton game in the FA-cup, rain, food shopping, dinner, football again, drinking, walking to Eberswalder Strasse where DJ Hell was DJing in a kiosk under a S-bahn (yes, it was all very Berlin) conclusion: A club called Bassy where funky 60s tunes were in full swing, and so were we.
There was rain, sunshine, hail and crazy winds yesterday. At the same time there was a lack of concrete, electro, steel and rust. One wonders where hard core Berlin has gone. You might tell me that 'if you want to see that Berlin you probably have to go out of your little Mitte, Kreuzberg, Friedrichshein triangle'. And if you do tell me that, you would be right of course. Yesterday was coffee outside in some square on Orangenstrasse, a free exhibition about the relation between animals and humans, among other things on display, a naked fat woman pretending to be a dog and pictures that an orangutang took in Moscow. I always knew monkeys would suck at using the focus. There was also beers in random bars in Friedrichshein which I dont remember the names of, but one was furnished like your grandmothers living room and another had a DJ with a mullet who played amazing lockabilly music.
When airportline visits a city there are a few important things that need to be taken care of. First: eat a kebab. Since the Kebab was invented in Berlin by some Turkish immigrant (this is what the Berlin people will tell you) I had two yesterday. They were two Euros, giant and amazing. I also need to go to a museum, and a fleemarket.
Grey sky outside the window. We made it to Berlin, it took a long time. We passed Wolfsburg on the train and the whole city is a Volkswagen factory. My friends room mate claimed that Hitler built that city, maybe he was just pissed of that Wolfsburg won the german league and not his favorite team Bayern Munchen. There might have been a famous Italian person on the train, but my Italian compatriot could not decide his name. And my friend lives in 'Mitte' and his apartment has two floors, they are all wood and the walls are white and if MTV-cribs would come here they would, yeah, I don't know, say it looks as minimalistic as German electro? I'm pretending to do some work while my friend is doing real work. Soon I take his map which he has marked second hand store on and begin my excursion. But first I'm gonna listen to some more Camera Obscura, take another cappucino and relax/pretend study some more. You can't live to fast in Berlin, its not good for you.
Airportline is relocating until Tuesday. We will take our giant theoretical capabilities and move them eastwards, to the great city of Berlin. That's right. It was three years ago I went the last and me and my compatriot at the time ended up in many a situations that have produced great stories. What will the city bring this time? The only place not to find out is here, although I might share some thoughts along the way, who knows. Maybe I will take a photo of a random wall and fool you into believing it has historic significance. Only thing I know right now is that I have shit to do and that I need to meet MyspaceTobias at some place called Hackesche Höfe tonight, ah, these Germans and their German language.
I'll leave you with a song that illustrate all that is great with music, disregard the fact that they're Canadian, and the end, yeah, I'm telling you one time: You gotta look out for love!
From an email I sent today where I did my best to seem productive by explaining that I have:
Written on my thesis Scheduled two interviews at Greenpeace for tomorrow Scheduled dinner with Denis for tomorrow night after Yoga probably misspelled the word Scheduled twice in this email. Fixed living situation in Berlin. Booked a meeting with some labour market research person that needs some Swedish expertese. Emailed my supervisor who of course will not apply within one week. Tried to figure out how much it would be for my mom to bring my tennis racket with her when she flies with Ryanair Watched a lecture about Values-Based Leadership
If I can just print and get my short story to The Paris Review today (which I now have) I feel it's been quite the productive day for me. I have also taken out the trash, watched the final 30 minutes of Henrik Schyfferts stand up show on SVT Play, made the dishes and forgotten to buy skin lotion for my face. Well, guess that last one was more something I didn't do. I've also sent at least five really funny emails, on which only contained the word 'salute'.
I forgot how great My Morning Jackets album Z was. I had a feeling I liked it, so I downloaded it, cause my cd-version is collecting dust in my parents house in Sweden. I put on the hit, Off The Record and I, who never liked all those bearded half-country men rocking it the American way, I blew my nose and enjoyed myself. And then I remembered, wasn't there this great final song on this album? So I put it on, Dondante, and yeah, I stopped everything I was doing (blowing my nose, reading blogs, making a 'books to read' list) and just listened. You should do the same. Just push play on the video above.
And imagine, I don't even like Neil Young. It's a crazy world, isn't it. And if I ever wanted to have sex with a sound from a guitar, it would be the one three minutes in to this song. And you know when Jay-Z said that he had to make a song cry, well, My Morning Jacket are weeping on this one.
Well I Saw It In Your Movement And Even Though You Never Knew It Well, I Knew, Just How Sweet It Could Be If You'd Never Left These Streets. You Had Me Worried! So Worried That This Would Last... But Now I'm Learning Learning That This Will Pass...
If I would have to choose one artist. Or one artists art. If I were to get stuck on an island or something like that. It would be Miranda July's. Most people already know this about me. Today Airporline is proud to present an art installation by Miranda from the Yokohama Triennale 2008.
The cold I was fearing would come, came. I currently surround myself with Extra soft Handkerchiefs in small piles on the floor and in my bed. Outside the sun is shining on the people who are enjoying the public holiday. I took a walk to Albert Hein, with my red eyes slowly blinking under my sunglasses. And there were people in parks and on boats, smiling towards the sun. And I felt that it was all a big waste, until I went home, made some tea, had some chocolate and saw the movie Harold and Maude.
A movie that I'm not sure I can describe right now, fifteen minutes after the end credits put an end to something so different. A love story and a celebration of life, of living, has never been told in this way. A movie that combines dark slap stick humor with a love story between two unique characters, and there are existential questions being asked, but in such a lighthearted and honest way that it never becomes pretentious. It's a movie that manages to be both hilarious and very sad, and its all wrapped around some of Cat Stevens best songs. You need to see this movie, maybe with your grandfather, or your girlfriend, or your mother, or by yourself, and if you don't see life as being a little bit more beautiful afterwards I feel sorry for you. I'll blow my nose on call it a night.
I'm listening to El Perro Del Mar, the dog from the ocean. If you're into Spanish. I have knives in my throat and after two interviews in among the glass covered walls of Philips I feel worn out. I've overconsumed Albert Hein Chocolade Tarwebiscuit's. El Perro sings that she's 'been dreaming for so long, searching for a witness/.../sweet talk for hours, about things we're gonna do, and sometimes I loose track of my heart' and we've all been there. And if you havent, you should, cause there is no pride in controlling your life. There is no pride in not eating too many Albert Hein Chocolade Tarwebiscuit's if you feel that you need to. If the knives in your heart hurt too much. The El Perro Del Mar Song? It's called Change Of Heart and can be found in her brilliant mini-album Love Is Not Pop.
Today in the library. A continuing process of trying to study ends up with me reading an interview in Dagens Nyheter with Iggy pop. He has made an album inspired by the French author Michel Houllebecq and his 2005 book La Possibilité d'une île. A book I've never read (possibly because of its sci-fi connection) but have had on my 'to read list' for quite some time now. It's a nice interview that contrasts the two men from different backgrounds. Iggy claims that 'everyone who tries to write something true knows that it includes both pain and loneliness' [my (poor) translation] And yesterday when I wrote on a story that is exactly how I felt. I guess its good to know that Iggy feels the same.
The airportline promised himself and his surroundings that he would not, under any circumstances, watch the Eurovision Song Contest. Several party invitations was declined in order to not turn myself in to a complaining asshole. Instead I played the final floorball game of the season and the Dutch people in the team were disappointed because they didn't make it to the final. I said I hadn't even heard the Swedish song. Now I wish that would still be the case. As I have no interest in contrbibuting to the media storm which surrounds this tragic event I will recite a textmessage which I sent to our Prague correspondent last night:
I'm going for Molvova, balkan music on crack has never sounded better! I'm also ashamed of watching this.
Amsterdam is tropical today. Humidity is all round, like a ill fitting dress on a ballerina dancer, it crusades among the canals of the city. And I've biked too much today, and I've been late, gotten directions from a hairdresser, had to argue for my self, and win, and then bike some more, and finally lye in bed and listen to the rain. In other parts of the world, Denmark for example, someone argues that Scandinavians are more intelligent than Rumanians and Bulgarians. This is of course bull shit, which most Danish people probably also recognize, still, one cannot help to wounder, what's up with the Danish?!
DF politican: We are more intelligent Danish People's Party MEP Mogens Camre has created an uproar both here and abroad by claiming that Rumania and Bulgaria should have fewer seats in the European parliament because their citizens aren't as intelligent as Scandinavians. His comments were immediately dismissed by MEP's from both countries as 'racist', 'discriminatory' and 'childish' and condemned by Danish MEP's. In an interview with the respected French radio station, Radio France International, Mr Camre dismissed Rumania and Bulgaria as 'unhealthy and old-fashioned societies' that should be stripped of their influence on the EU's decision-making process. 'Rumania and Bulgaria have more votes than Denmark, Sweden and Norway yet in my opinion we're far more clever than they are,' he is quoted as saying. Mr Camre will not be standing at the upcoming European elections in June, but his potential successor, Morten Messerschmidt (DF), said he agreed that it's a problem when under-developed countries with an alternative welfare model can vote Denmark down. The Conservatives leading candidate for MEP, former deputy prime minister Bendt Bendtsen, called Mr Camre's comments 'foolish'. br2, dr news
Not everyone can handle the transition from a peaceful existence in nature to the tumbling movements and commotions of the big city. The male cow who moved in at the Airportline headquarter two days ago has tasted this reality. Wait a minute you say, there are no male cow's! Since I can't explain this to all people I will cut and paste my answer to Katharina's comment on my previous cow post here: there is no place for logic or anatomically correct assumptions in this world. Well, the airportline world that is. But then again, in the real world, plastic cows does not leave the field to move to Amsterdam either. That's what makes airportline so appealing for the general cow population.
Now we can get back to the story. While I am busy scheduling interviews for my thesis, updating a somewhat confusing CV (a confusing life means a confusing CV) and dealing with insurance issues after a car crash I was involved in during the fall, the cow has fallen asleep on a Heineken can. I turn down the music to give him some peace. I look at him and see myself. That's almost as troubling as the insurance papers I'm trying to organize. Then I continue writing on my laptop, pushing down the keys a bit softer. It's me and a cow passed out from Heineken.
Big day for airportline. First thesis interview is done, and as the Daily Show's John Stewart would say: nailed it! Celebrating with getting some fever in the evening and watching the movie Wall Street on my laptop in my underwear (which my mom has bought me). Yes, it's all very glamorous over here tonight. I did eat some chips as well and I was surpised to find how similar to chicken Lays Sensations Oven Roasted Chicken & Thimjan tastes like. Amazing.
He felt the need to leave the other cows as he searched for cultural awareness. He came to Amsterdam, he came for love. And when he climbed the dirty stairs to the apartment where culture was being produced, he felt the feeling only people who follow their heart and discard the rest feel, the feeling of a beating heart. When he finally arrived, tired after the long walk, he took a deep breath. This was home. Maybe it was just another day for most people, but for this cow, it meant finally realizing that what he had dreamt about out on the fields, but was to afraid to discuss with the other cows, was true. That there is nothing greater than following your heart.
You may think that there has been something a bit off with airportline lately. The steaming sentences of creativity does not flow as easily, or as often, as before. And for those of you with terrible music taste, it must have been difficult to browse through all those music videos. This is just to say that you are correct, you are a smart person. You can pat yourself on your shoulder now. I'll wait, don't be affraid. There has been drama in my life and time has been devoted to people leaving, people coming, concerts, and crossing out things in agendas. Yesterday I saw Ingmar Bergmans master piece Scenes From A Marriage and today I finished The Diving Bell and The Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby. They made me see the value of art again. Maybe it will be better now, when I have a cold and my schedule has cleared a bit. I hope so, I hope that we're out of the slump and will once again put hearts on fire. Yes, in the same way as that great Cut Copy pop song from last year.
So it's Saturday again and time for another song. The 23rd of March 2005 I made a mix-cd to my sister with the somewhat mushy and melodramatic title ‘From One Heart To Another’. It consisted of 15 songs with motivations. The forthcoming 15 Saturdays I will present one of these songs per week with the motivations translated into English, so that you always have a song I thought was great in March of 2005 to listen to as you begin the weekend. This is song number 10 in this slow moving series. My motivation for this Hot Hot Heat song was incomprehensible, so I'll just say that I still think is a great pop song with a chorus that gets me every time. I remember taking long nightly walks in Jönköping with this song in my ears a few years back. But its also a great song for a sunny Saturday, like the one we currently enjoy here in Amsterdam.
It's been a roller coaster week in many ways. Yesterdays football game was no different. I could write an essay about it, but I won't. It was a cruel ending, as we Chelsea fans have gotten used to. Barcelona, the most hyped team in history came to Stamford Bridge and got run over. They had one shot on goal, it came in the 93rd minute. But football will never be about deserving things, or about being fair, that is why we love it. But on a night like yesterday, it is a brutal event. Teamtalk writes well about it here.
The night before Beirut stood on the main Paradiso stage and sang with that voice that he has, about post cards from Italy, Nantes, and other Europe romantic aspects or life. The crowd poured so much love over the young man and his all male band. And I stood there grinning, like I always do when I really like something, and thought that I should be happy that music can have such an effect on me.
Tonight I'm seeing Andrew Bird and Laura Marling. Should be good.
So I'm seeing Beirut tonight, in a since long sold out Paradiso. I guess he'll play this song, and I wounder how I will react. Beirut followed me during some warm weeks in Düsseldorf this past summer, he was with me in the park by the Rhein river, in trains to Cologne and on blankets in the sun. It feels like a long time ago now. When the wind is pulling in the tree outside my window and raindrops slowly fall from the gray sky.
This is post 100 in the brief history of Airportline. It started with an aim, somewhere in January. Now we're in May and confusion is all around my presence. It's been a hard couple of nights with visitors, dancing, walking, floorballing, windmill brouwrij drinking and other demoralizing activities. And now Monday is here, and it really feels like Monday, in one of those 'reality is slapping me in the face' kind of way. And I'm listening to Franz Ferdinands cover of LCD Soundsystems All My Friends, and I realize there are few better songs for exactly this moment:
You spent the first five years trying to get with the plan, and the next five years trying to be with your friends again.
You're talking 45 turns just as fast as you can, yeah, I know it gets tired, but it's better when we pretend.
It comes apart, the way it does in bad films. Except in parts, when the moral kicks in.
Though when we're running out of the drugs and the conversation's winding away. I wouldn't trade one stupid decision for another five years of lies.
