I spent the afternoon drinking coffee on the corner with the other underemployed. If you walk around Berlin during the daytime, online you would think no one works. And when you sit in a café with the naive expectation of getting a drink, pill you realize that indeed, no one does. But I did eventually spend a couple caffeine soaked hours in my studio.
smooch
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Many of you have been inquiring about my health under the mistaken notion that I have been hit by a bread truck and am now zipping along on a Lark. Here is a sample of today’s mail:
“…braces and broken ribs…new teeth to replace the ones that you had put in last Fall. WHAT HAPPENED?!!!! Were you in an auto accident or some other mishap? Fall down a flight of stairs? Bike mishap? I am worried…”
Please stop sending flowers and your spare organs to my house! I have been painting figures swathed in gauze and other medical accoutrements. There is nothing the matter with me that can be explained by medical science.
It’s a strange, skull piercing event when the sun shines in Berlin in winter. Yesterday was one of those warm-ish days that drives everyone out into the open, forcibly exuding good cheer. I took a walk in Kreuzberg to take in the air of the first great thawing of dog shit. It’s a harbinger of spring when everywhere doggie briquets are defrosted and their richness permeates. I played bocci in the park and went to a horror movie on a snootful of sudafed. I drank myself under the table for a second day.
If you’ll excuse me now, I will continue my richard burton impression elsewhere.
smooch
I think I am coming down with tonsilitis. Again. So its tea and Viennetta for me for the next couple days. This did not stop your intrepid lambchop from going out to see Sigur Ros tonight, mind however. And boy was it worth it. They were intense. I would poke fun at the emo kids in their vintage “hand-me-downs” but I just heard “thank you for being a friend” coming out of the tv in the other room, tadalafil and I think before I die I need to see the Golden Girls dubbed in german. “ach, rose…”
When Sigur Ros winds their wistful way to your town, do go.
cough, smooch
If you are ever in East Berlin, cialis you must go to “russian disco”. Its in an old east german bar, the Café Burger, that still has the low ceilings and tacky wallpaper. The music was eastern european- it was like being at a latvian wedding, complete with violins, trombones, and lots of foot stomping. I danced all night long and drinks were poured down my throat. They make a stiff one there, they do.
On saturday I bloody got klezzed! the world is a malicious and awful place, even if you are only sitting in front of your computer. So if anybody gets an email from me with a funny looking attachment, do Not open it, even if it claims to be a picture of my bottom. it was sent by the devil!
Tomorrow I am off early to my opening in Essen in a mini-bus. I have an entourage of seven! and I have bought cookies and juice boxes for all of them! Its a long drive, but i have much to do. I will spend the entire duration applying makeup. and playing travel connect 4. The opening should be very fun and glamorous- I am slowly mastering the art of getting drunk enough to charm people so they want to buy my work, and not so drunk that i puke on their shiny new kenneth coles. There is going to be a cocktail pianist!
smooch
So the Women’s Art Association of Berlin is putting out a book of the self-portraits of a hundred female Berlin artists. And I have been lucky enough to get a few pages. Here is my biography as it will appear in the book, which is coming out next month-ish, followed by an english translation:
Heather Morgan (1973-?) Malerin, geboren in Staten Island, New York City, ein weiteres fragwürdige Produkt der siebziger Jahre. Als Kind wollte sie Tänzerin werden, studierte sie dann jedoch Malerei in Boston University School for the Arts (B.F.A 1996) und in Yale University School of Art (M.F.A. 1999), verbrachte allerdings die meisten Zeit in verschiedenen Untergrund Musik Szenen. Sie ist ein Teil Dorothy Parker, ein Teil David Bowie. Zurückblickend auf eine lange Irische Familiengeschichte ist sie warscheinlich Wahnsinning. Das heißt, man muß sie auf jeden Fall ernst nehmen, dafür ihr aber nie glauben. Heute lebt, malt und tanzt sie in Berlin.
Heather Morgan (1973-?), born in Staten Island, New York, another questionable product of the seventies. As a child she wanted to be a dancer, but instead studied painting at Boston and Yale University, spending most of her time haunting underground music scenes. Sie is part Dorothy Parker, part David Bowie. Coming from a long line of Irish folk, she is likely insane. That means she should be taken very seriously, but never believed.* Today she lives, paints, and dances in Berlin.
*I just want to add for the kids at home, please don’t take me seriously, either!
No, as benign and Narnian as Canada may be, you are not the first one who wants to live there. Who would have thought?
I did not see the State of the Monkeyshines Address, as it aired here at the hour when all good Germans are out drinking. My evening was informed at the cabaret by a trippy breakdancer who looked like Mr. Clean, some handstand acrobatics, and the swallowing of many ping pong balls. (not by me- all I managed to swallow were several glasses of beer. If I had been more ambitious, I would not tell you about it, anyway.)
Anyway, all is right with the universe because Mr. Nick Cave is releasing a new album. I can’t wait to listen to it while I try on my bridesmaid’s dress made of dyed peach goose feather and black dog’s nose pumps!
smooch
This is what my friend had to say after a rousing round of Pop You in the Pooper- “HOLY JESUS CHRIST MOTHERFUCKING COWSHIT”
that pretty much sums it up from my end. ha ha. end.
after my near brush with greatness, search the world seems so grey and lifeless. oh wait, ed i live in berlin and the world is grey and lifeless. thankfully, there is cheese and lots of it. so i am going to find something to melt some onto. sausage, toast, a pen cap, whatever.
“…pop you in the pooper buddy dee dee dee…”
smooch
I actually almost went to a gym today. No, Lickety, not because of the promise of untoward behavior in the sauna. I was going to tag along on a guest pass with a friend to her aerobics class. I wish I could participate in the same way that I enjoyed 20 minute workout before school as a kid- in my pajamas with a big bowl of fruity pebbles, hooting at the alien women doing squats in their neon tights/ fluorescent thong combination. (it was olivia newton john’s decade, after all!). Anyway, I didn’t end up having to jump up and down to awful german pop music because my friend spent too long on her makeup. Maybe she knows something I don’t about those saunas.
I decided randomly to troll the huge cineplexx at Potsdamer Platz. I like watching movies in a theater. Even bad ones. But I get there and wouldn’t you know it
OH MY GAWD!
there was a throng of people clotted in fron tof the entrance and they appeared to be drooling over what looked like a length of red carpet. Oh great, I thought, celebrities! I happened upon the Berlin premiere of Catch Me if You Can. No movies for anyone but men in pancake and a typhoon of carmen electras. After pausing a moment to feel like a special part of the greatness, I wanted to go home. A debate ensued because some of my friends wanted a peep at Tom Hanks. Now, while I would delightedly accept a supper invitation from Nick Cave and most happily take a turn around the park with David Bowie, I like to think of famous people like bears- they are more afraid of you than you are of them (and as long as you don’t feed them or attack their young, you won’t have to shoot them). No way in hell am I going to stand around outside for two hours in the middle of january pressed up against people I would never voluntarily touch, craning my neck for a glimpse of Leo’s pre-pubescent moustachery and an overweight Kip Wilson.
My friends say “oh, we like ourselves, don’t we?” Maybe we do. When I got home I turned on the news, and sure enough, in front of the Sony Center in a glorious haze of flashbulbs were Spielberg, Hanks, and DiCaprio.
and i just needed to say Oh MY GOD I MISSED TOM HANKS!!!
smooch
I have been had by a handsome bartender. He sprang like a gazelle behind the bar: he leapt, he tossed and caught shakers lilke that Tom Cruise movie whose title I pride myself on having forgotten. He got a fat tip for smiling at me. Why are gay men so hot?
anyway, do not fill out any love tests from crushsgent.com because its just some nosey friend of yours who wants to know if your bottom has ever been intruded. maybe you want this to be common knowledge, but i feel a person’s bottom is their private kingdom.
anyway, i think its time i crawl up a plaster ostrich. boddddyyyy, why is my toothbrush padlocked?
smooch