As my most faithful readers will know (and the ones who most like to see me go through some s**t), my fiancée’s parents were in town (and by town, I mean Berlin) last week. Which meant I had to be on my (very near) best behavior in a place that’s more famous for all the crazy stuff you can do in there. That’s OK, though: I’m 38 now, I don’t drink or smoke or take drugs (anymore), so being good for a couple of days was arguably feasible. Also, both my fiancée’s parents are doctors, so they can easily outgross me in a conversation, as I got to find out on Friday night, when they were discussing open tibia fractures. Great fun.
Plus, my (soon to be) father in law had actually broken his collarbone 2 days before flying in as he was riding in the Alps on a mountain bike, as one does (actually, I did that once, nearly fell half a dozen times, a friend ended up 20 feet down in a ravine and my brother almost sectioned his left shoulder tendon: your typical Thursday morning). It meant we had to take it easy, not ride bikes (duh) and not walk too long a distance in the city. Which I will admit was great: my fiancée loves walking around wayyyyy more than me.
Again, I’m old.
On Saturday, we still had to go out just a little, because my mother in law likes it (and because I do too even though all I drink now is soda) and because we were in Berlin for f**k’s sake. You don’t go to bed at 9pm on Saturday night in Berlin even if you have the flu, a broken spine and you just lost your wallet. There are principles. So we went to RAW, this infamous part of Friedrichshain that has more clubs per square meter than New York has rats. The specific place I wanted to go to, Badehaus, had a private concert going on (who do they think they are, Wembley?!) so we went to the club literally opposite it instead.
Well, when I say club, it was a huge outdoor yard in-between repurposed warehouses, because this is Berlin. After we were done drinking our cocktails (and/or Club Mate’s for the kids) and it was getting a little colder, we figured we might slowly walk back to the main street and catch an Uber. But not before dropping by Urban spree, another bar/club/yard in the neighborhood where I’ve seen my share of fun shows back in the day (before I stopped mixing vodka with mate).
Urban spree was pretty packed and a show was actually going on in the courtyard: some electro stuff that sounded pretty good (even though I’m not quite the expert, my decade of choice being the 70’s). We got closer and noticed that the band performing all had Kiss-like makeup on, which can be a sign that a) their thing will be weird, b) their thing will be great, c) both. In the end, I don’t know if it was indeed great, although it wasn’t bad either, but it was clearly weird. At one point, the singer started jumping on stage to the opening of a new song, while yelling in his mic: “Smoking makes feel good, Drinking makes me feel good, F**king makes me feel good…”
That’s when I decided it was time to catch that Uber.