USA! USA! USA!

Any American who has ever lived outside of the United States will tell you the best part of being abroad is gaining access to whole new collection of shitty, geo-targeted advertisements.

While ads for super-compact cars and local cellular service providers don't particularly move me, this one made me want to blast some Lee Greenwood and hang the Stars and Stripes from my terrace's railing*.

Granted, I'm a 1-year veteran of the advertising industry, so I can appreciate the ad that much more than the common man. However, I think we all can enjoy its subtle way of saying, "Get the fuck over to the USA (and do it legally too, so we can charge you accordingly). Or else we will topple your pawn-ass country!" Plus what better selling points are there than the promise of "Freedom, liberty and justice for all."

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*Catalans don't hang much from their window railings except for laundry, but every day I fight the urge to take what I learned from NYC's Dominican/Puerto Rican population and drape my homeland's flag outside my apartment. There really is no better way to let everyone know that while I love Barcelona, I come from the land of DMX, Larry David, and other awesome human beings.

Because I'm American I dream big (and because I work 2 hours a week, I have a lot of time to dream), so once I can get more of my friends to move over here, I plan on using Brooklyn's Hewes Street model (see below) to really let the masses know what's up. That being said, I will do the right thing and follow the official ratio of 8 foreign flags for every 1 domestic flag, because I wouldn't want to offend anyone. And I'm not a dick.

Unlimited Sitting

I spent four days in Amsterdam where I was blown away by their progressive way of life. But what impressed me most was how they found a way to recycle the lime green couches used in cricKet wireless' early-2000s commercials.

Berlin is for Lovers

I went to Berlin a few weeks ago. Here are two tales of finding love in Deutschland.

1. Sarah and I were scarfing down our hostel breakfast, and as I sloppily chewed some stale, shitty chocolate cereal that I was only eating because it was called "JA," I noticed a rather attractive Asian Australian girl saunter into room wearing a short shirt and shorter pair of boxers. Although I swear I was focused on my JAs, Sarah claims I stared at the AA for roughly 20 minutes. Regardless of who was right, for the rest of our trip Sarah busted my ass about shameless checking out another ass, directly in front of her.

What I should have told Sarah sooner, was that these were my only two interactions with the sauntering Aussie.

AA and I sat at the hostel's communal table making small talk about stuff to do in Berlin — it was at this point that I learned that she was in deed Asian and Australian, in case you were wondering how I cracked that case. Roughly five minutes into the conversation I realized that I had unconsciously been devouring piles of crumbs by licking my fingers and sticking them into a nearly-empty dish of cookies -- cookies that were motherfucking scrumptious I should add, as I ate all every intact cookie the night before.

I was even classier in our second encounter, when I got up in the middle of the night, left the bed with Sarah, paced to the bathroom, noticed AA sitting at her computer by herself and pretended not to see. Then I threw up everything in my body into a toilet that was positioned 24 inches from where she was sitting, only separated by a thin wall. I know, I know, where's a solid Berlin Wall when you need one.

Since you're the same curious reader who wondered just how I figured out her intriguing ethnicity, you're probably wondering why I vomited. In fact you probably said to yourself, "Justin, you only vomited once in all of 2011, and now you've puked ~8 times in 2012, what's going on here?" A bit too much drinking coupled with the fact that I ate a massive kebab sandwich, equally massive schnitzel, and Bavarian pretzel before gorging myself at dinner. That's what went on. Don't be concerned. Also don't be concerned that I'm alluding to this girl who is not my fiance as a Love, this blog is for entertainment purposes only.

2. When you're in a local bar on the outskirts of town, and you're younger than everyone else in said bar by at least 35 years, and you can't see your hand in front of your face because of the dense clouds of cigarette smoke, you don't have to look for love, it finds you. In this case, love came in the form of a 900-year-old drunk Spanish-German man, who greeted a table of Sarah (one could argue that she's been my main love this whole time, but that would make this blog post less interesting), myself, and a British couple from our hostel, who joined us for the evening. And Mr. Old Drunken Love came hard and fast, first sputtering his affinity for Sarah and the Brit girl in a mix of German, Spanish, and gibberish. Then telling me how handsome I was, rubbing my head violently, before removing my glasses, so he could thoroughly rub my face and tell my how great my skin was. If 1995 Dan Patrick were with us, he definitely would have said "You can't stop him, you can only hope to contain him." But he was not there.

The drunkard then sat down with us, rambled on and on, before finally giving grope-hugs to Sarah and the Brit girl, and giving my face one more solid rub. He then vanished into the cloud of smoke, leaving us all wanting less.

Other things I enjoyed, maybe even loved about Berlin:

- The crack den/art space Tacheles, where Sarah and I went one night expecting a crazy party, but unfortunately the crazy party du night was a queer/gay party, which wasn't quite the crazy party we were looking for.

- The Mauer Park Market.

- Watching a dude try to kick a pomme fritte maker's ass in the middle of the night. Presumably because the ketch-up in Berlin sucks.

- Learning about German history. And seeing a magazine with my name on it. Damn shame it was Nazi propaganda, but you can't win them all.

Pictures (no loves featured):