If you’re unaware, the show consists of overenthusiastic faux-sciencey “cryptozoologists” searching for monsters and after a huge build-up each episode, they conclude by never finding anything. But I noticed episodes examining things like sharks (not monsters), mountain lions (again, not monsters), crocodiles (there’s some confusion on the definition of monsters at the History Channel, I think). Stick to the Hillbilly Beast and Abominable Snowman, please.

Maybe due to a weird dream I had where diseases were transmitted through water, I wanted to watch the shark episodes. They featured some unusually eloquent guests. Take for example one on the episode “Mega Jaws” describing the Sea of Cortez: “I mean the place is just like a..living soup of life.”

Well crap. I hope he’s writing poetry in addition to paddling around the Sea of Cortez looking for mega dinosaur sharks allegedly extinct for millions of years but maybe not because what else could be biting whales besides monster ghost sharks from the past, hmm? Oh gosh, I don’t know – maybe another Great White shark which was ALSO on an episode of Monster Quest and if it can bite a fellow shark in half, I have a sneaking suspicion it could/would also bite a whale? Humble guess.

Or here, where at 10:22 an overexcitable scientist who has spent 22 years trying to tag a Great White shark with no success (can someone please send him a copy of What Color is Your Parachute? It’s time) delivers undoubtedly the greatest line ever spoken on this show: “The LENGTH is one thing, but the girth – BLOWS YOUR MIND.”

If I had a nickel for every time…

There are few things I love more than when people start fighting via a Youtube comment thread, and for some reason Monster Quest gets people RILED UP. A disagreement gets started and you can just tell it’s going to escalate into an all-out commenters’ brawl. People feel really strongly about their monsters and animals that are not monsters but which the History Channel identifies as such. The shark episodes especially get people passionately up in arms.

 your fken retarded do u have a brain? the researchers are researching if they have a malicious intent dumb bitch also if it doesnt think then why the fk in gods name would you leave it alone? before calling researchers retards you should do some studying and look in the mirror dumb ass

Yeah, look in the mirror before you make fun of someone who’s spent 22 years trying unsuccessfully to tag one (1) shark and who’s appearing on a show that’s claiming these sharks are multiplying in number and consistently swimming closer to shore more than ever!

When they’re not fighting, they’re busy providing thoughtful commentary:

in the 90s a russian sub was attacked by a 120ft shark……think im bullshiting? that was wat some of the sailors reported…on top of that the blip on their radar screen was absolutely huge. look it up

I did look it up. http://lmgtfy.com/?q=russian+submarine+giant+shark+attack

If you click the Google books link, you’ll be informed by two historically infallibly reputable sources (Weekly World News and Boris Yeltsin) that this indeed occurred. Yeeppppp. 120 feet. Weekly World News and Boris Yeltsin.

why the fuck do they need code names…they r not in the CIA mission (It’s true, they did have code names for the Mega Jaws Sea of Cortez extinct ghost rowboat expedition)

ure right stil no one has explored the bermuna triangle execpt ameila earhart

this is just a large great white that the locals confuse with something larger cause they are high or something

And I think they survive like the catfish the catfish saw the megalodon because the catfish live for senturies (We should go ask Mr. Catfish then, if he’s been around for ssssenturies.)

the mexicans are fucking with you!

they are trying to leave humans a message, you see that that is my major food source get the message stop fucking with us (Maybe if the sharks worded the message a little more politely and coherently we might have heeded it.)

It’s an exceptionally fantastic exhibit (and museum in general.) The photos were beautiful, funny, and sometimes haunting. He began working in the 1920s and walked the Berlin streets, photographing people and street scenes, and the end result is an amazing glimpse of the times through the lens of the ordinary and  everyday. And with what seems to be a trademark optimism.

He was particularly dedicated to Berlin’s Zoologischer Garten and for years visited daily, photographing animals, people, and the goings on in the neighborhood around the Zoo. He also did gorgeous landscapes, some creative and strangely amusing nudes, and scenes and cityscapes of Berlin after 1945. The photos I’d previously seen of this time were bleak: exhausted people struggling under hostile occupiers, attempting to rebuild lives from a city heavily in ruins, misery in many different forms. Seidenstücker’s photos were different: they were the same scenes, the same landscapes, but they have his optimism and hopefulness. The same optimism he’d shown before in photos of the Zoo being rebuilt after bombing, and of pre-war women jumping over rain puddles.

I admit that I know nothing about what constitutes good art, so this is just my opinion and not based on any aesthetic values or art historical knowledge or reasoning. I found the photos moving and inspiring, I can’t begin to analyze them beyond that. Here are a few; I hope if it’s possible you’ll go see the rest.

This was the photo that inspired my visit. The baby was named Bulette, German for meatball. An artist  I worked for today saw the postcard sticking out of my book and after looking at it said that those two hippos, Bulette and Knautschke, were very important. Important? Curiosity: piqued.

From early in his career.

At one point he went through a phase of photographing women jumping over puddles. I’m curious about his methodology for this. Were they models, or did he wait by the puddles until any woman happened by and did it? What if the shot wasn’t good; did he ask them to do it again? Regardless, this set was fantastic.

I like this one because one jump is almost successfully completed and another is about to get a running start.

She might not make it.

Postwar 1945.

Photographing Berlin streets was his most prolific art form, but during the Nazi period he ceased almost entirely. He didn’t like what was happening on the streets. But he started up again after the war, photographing Berlin as it regenerated. The images he captured were spectacular. This is in the Neue Reichskanzlei.

It’s at the Berlinische Galerie until February. There are more themes from his work that I didn’t include here, and many lesser known photos that I couldn’t even find online. All worth seeing.

Missed Connections now here: shipspassing.wordpress.com.

I worked a few evenings over the past few weeks in Spandau, the westernmost part of Berlin. I only knew the name before because of association with the ballet and the prison. Off to a great start!

The job was near the U Bahn at Altstadt Spandau. I haven’t ventured into the rest of the area (seems mostly residential) but the Altstadt is completely charming in that way that little city centers in old German towns are. It’s one of the things I love about Germany; you visit some old town and it always has an quaint little city center with cobblestone streets and strange buildings and weird old German stuff. So perfect! When I moved to Berlin and chose to live in Charlottenburg, some people familiar with the city found that odd. I love these older, quieter neighborhoods with a sort of villagey feel. Places like Prenzlauer Berg are just way too cool and grungy and hip for me.

Although even amongst the old timey shops and tiny streets in Altstadt Spandau, there’s a neon lit sex shop here and there. It reminds me of a conversation with a guy I was modeling with shortly before I left. When I told him I was coming to Berlin he lit up and said excitedly that Berlin is the only city where it seems like there are kinky sex businesses lurking anywhere and everywhere. I see New York as more like that, but Berlin does have its share.

An amazing thing about this city (and reason I love it) is this huge difference between its districts. Berlin started out small and over time became a big monster of a city that snatched up and absorbed all the smaller towns around it. So many “neighborhoods” were actually independent towns at one point, and their incorporation into Berlin as a whole is usually fairly recent. Charlottenburg and Spandau were both incorporated in 1920. The result is that sometimes you can go from district to district and feel like you’re in an entirely different town, and I think that’s incredible. I can’t even think of another city that compares this way.

Spandau is allegedly the first settled area that’s now part of Berlin. At one point it was a walled fortress city. So there’s some amazing old stuff laying around. Kirche St. Nicolai is a church in the Altstadt, built in the 14th century. That is mighty old! And it’s still hundreds of years after Spandau was originally settled.  I’m not a big fan of looking at churches, but this one is interesting because it’s in this tight, sort of gothic and beautifully gloomy area, if that description isn’t completely confusing. The lighting at nighttime is gorgeous.

Altstadt market square at night.

The church has an archaeological cellar, and I want to go back and see if it’s open during the day. Maybe there are mummies. I hope there are mummies, but I’m trying not to get my hopes up.

There’s also a citadel nearby, though I didn’t have time to walk there because of the job and my poor time budgeting. I’ll do it though, because it’s not right to live in a city with the remnants of a citadel and not go examine it firsthand.

Not all of these are Halloween related, but it reminded me to check up on this repository of love letters/gorgeous use of the English language. I’m going to try to go through these more often (lofty life goals, I have them.) They’re too beautiful to let slip away without being given more exposure.

Frenchman Seeks France-loving Prom Queen From Sunnyside - We were on the 8th Avenue-bound L train platform on 1st Ave when you asked me how to get to Union Square. We started talking about France and how much we both miss Paris. You studied there for a month and loved it. Our conversation on the platform and train was the best one I had all night. You were engaging, smart and beautiful. As you jumped off the train I gave you a flower. I should of given you my number. 

If you see this, I’d love to grab a coffee or bite to eat. If you are seeing someone, I totally understand, but I’d still like to be friends. You were refreshingly cool.
If you go to NYU or are a blogger, please share this. Maybe you can help me find my prom queen from Sunnyside.
Merci,
“Pierre”

It’s your lucky day, Pierre. I didn’t go to NYU but I’m a blogger, so I will use my powerful power (be careful, it’s very powerful) to help you out. Here’s the link, Prom Queen: http://newyork.craigslist.org/mnh/mis/2676758984.html. I hope you two Francophiles/actual French person(?) find one another and love each other up like it’s your last tango in Paris and you’ve got a stick of butter. And if not, remember you’ll always have the 1st Avenue platform of the 8th Avenue bound L train. It’s your Paris.

Massage Buddies - I’m looking for any female who loves and enjoy massage and doesn’t have money for SPA. I’ve being told I’m great with my hands, I like to please and I’m also someone great for chit chat while i perform massage.
The reason why I’m posting here is since I’m looking for a massage buddy, Platonic Section is way to conservative. I think if you are looking under casual encounter (Ed. note: this isn’t the Casual Encounters section, cretin! Missed Connections are anything but casual, they are so soul searchingly deep and meaningful that you use every resource available to you through the internet and NYU students and bloggers to find your one that got away. Get it right) then you are more open-minded.
I’m a regular person, not a model so i don’t expect the same. I meant, you don’t have to be Barbie because I’m not Kent. But at least don’t be excessive overweight. 
If you are truly interest, please send me an email with your favorite song as the subject of your email, so i will know a real person is replying to my post.

Besides the fact that he’s besmirching the name of Missed Connections with this garbage, this “Kent” has a no fatties policy? He’s asking for a stranger to massage. Why not have more to get your hands all over? If you wanted to massage a skeleton, you could sneak into a high school science lab. But he’s probably already been there, gotten a warning for that. I dare anyone to email him with the subject line “Werewolf Bar Mitzvah”.

Kaskade – Right side of the stage. We didn’t say one word to each other but we made out for like 20 minutes while my gf was in the bathroom. Sad it didn’t last longer. Send a pic so I know it’s you.

Does his girlfriend have indigestion, or cocaine? I can’t think of another reason to spend 20 whole minutes in a public bathroom. And obviously he is a treasure. That goes without saying but I said it anyway because it’s so right and true that I can’t stress it enough.

RUSSIAN PIPPI LONGSTOCKING – You had the perfect wired braids heading straight from your ears. 
Your specked freckles complimented your smile beautifully. 
I was just beginning my mickey mouse light show on your other palm.
The police abruptly broke up our evening.
I must see you and Mr. Nelson again…

What’s a mickey mouse light show and why does it get done on your palms? Why do the police want to stop it from happening? Why do I feel like I’m better off not knowing the answers?

angry woman carrying s**t-covered chair – We were waiting in the lobby of your apartment building for a friend to exit from another party at 3:30 am or so. You came charging through with a expression of incredible anger and absolute rage, carrying a chair out to the curb. You refused all offers of help and marched back through the lobby to your apartment. Unfortunately for you, someone had defecated on your chair, and the shape of their ass cheeks was still visible in the diarrhea stain. It was totally disgusting and you lost a really nice chair. But you were pretty hot yourself! Any woman who can still look good at that hour while carrying a shit-stained chair deserves a date.

I don’t really have anything to add, I think he covered it all.

Snow White – Lair (SoHo) – Snow White at Lair in SoHo.
I bought you some shots. You smiled. You bought me SoCo. I smiled.
Who are you?

This went on for hours. The bartender counted his tips and smiled.

thumbsucking on subway - i sat in front of you in the subway morning rush, i notice how you sucked you thumb from time to time,
i think its sexy and i would be happy to meet with you, i am 29, email me back with your pic and what line it was it you also want to meet….
thumb sucker thumbsucking

These two SHOULD be together. I feel I should add that he included a photo of a jellyfish. Which, okay. Do what you need to do. But why the last line, “thumb sucker thumbsucking”? Was he trying for a keyword search? If a jellyfish sucked its tentacle tip (its thumb, I presume) would it sting itself in the mouth?

I celebrated by 1) not having to work, and 2) going with a friend to Wannsee, a lake in the southwest of Berlin, to drink wine and eat French fries. It was pretty wonderful, so thanks for reunifying, Germany. Sounded expensive as hell but I appreciate the day off.

Wannsee has quickly become a favorite place to go when I should be elsewhere, doing something else. It’s calm and quiet and beautiful and I’m developing a tendency to do things like leave my German class early if it’s a warm weathered afternoon and go there instead. This probably isn’t the best idea, but it sure feels like an amazing idea at the time, every time. I keep hearing people talk menacingly of winter so I figure it’s best to get it out of my system while it’s possible.

Ugly ducking in the swan-becoming process! At first I thought he swam through an oil slick, but I guess it’s more likely that he’s growing up. He looked so soft and sweet but I remembered an important lesson learned visiting the Starnberger See last year – Swans are terrifying monsters wrapped in fluffy feathers and deception. Photo evidence collected from Starnberg:

Peaceful and lovely, no? NO! They’re selfish and aggressive and neck fight each other then open up their mile long tunnel  mouths to reveal freakishly dense tongues and images like this to haunt your nightmares:

You’re lucky to escape any up close swan encounter with both hands and any loose hanging clothing intact. But back to Wannsee:

This dog patrolled part of the shore where ducks and swans were being fed, having sporadic barking fits to send them further into the water in one big wave as if they’d been launched. But stale bread has a great and strange power because although he kept pacing, they’d return if he stopped barking. Eventually he just leapt into the water and swam straight at them. His swan hatred was something fierce; they must have killed his whole family or something. Now he patrols the shores, starving them by scaring them away from their stale baked goods rations, chasing them into the deep dark depths of the lake, a bread-free place where no swan willingly ventures.

I thought their skittishness was strange; last year I saw one come out of the water Jaws-style and nearly bite off the hand of a small child holding a bread crust, so I’m surprised they didn’t get fed up and give the dog a crocodile-style underwater barrel roll. Maybe the Bavarian swans are just in a different league of viciousness than these weakling Berlin ones.

It was a day that made me happy to be in Berlin. Thanks for the reunifying!

The instructor talked to me a little bit before the class started, asking what I was doing in Germany, where I’m from, where I worked before. I’ve been frustrated with my German the past few days after thinking that it had improved so much, only to yet again be thwarted by minor situations in which I couldn’t express myself. THE WORST. This instructor spoke English well, and I thanked him for speaking it with me and apologized for not wanting to speak German because I’m struggling with it this week. Isn’t it weird how that comes and goes? Or is it only me? It seems some days I can think and speak in German and other days I just…can’t. It doesn’t work. I can’t understand this phenomenon.

He was showing the students some art books just after our conversation, and suddenly he stopped and brought one over to me. I felt my face light up when I saw it; it was a book in English on William Kentridge, one of my favorite artists. I first heard of him when I began art modeling and an instructor showed a documentary about him in class. He then made me do a long pose lit in the dark with one arm on the wall to create big shadows like in some of the drawings. He made me stand too far from the wall and by the end of the class my arm felt like it weighed 1,000 pounds and hurt like someone had been trying to yank it off. It was horrible. But taught an important lesson, so that whenever a teacher asks me to put my hand on the wall, I don’t stand too far away or else I come up with some tricky creative combination of foot position/angle of leaning and it still looks good but I don’t feel like my arm’s being mangled. Yes, this job really requires this kind of bizarre consideration.

Anyway, the film is fascinating because in addition to him talking about his influences from his life in South Africa he demonstrates his actual working process – he draws, erases, draws over it, erases, and films the changes to animate them. Themes of apartheid, water that won’t stop flowing, lots of blackness, lots of little cats. He mentions being influenced by Mayakovsky (perfect.) I think his work is in a way an apt accompaniment of imagery to Mayakovsky’s words, despite being about two different political subjects.

It brightened my day significantly to be handed a book of his art and essays out of the blue, and in English no less. I have these images so strongly associated with certain times and places, mainly the very beginning of my time art modeling, and a few distinct instances since – like last year in Moscow when I walked through the Mayakovsky museum, a similarly malleable and surreal place. I’ve noticed that I have a weird inability or reluctance to take things out of the context I’ve assigned them; hence it was strange to be confronted with those images at another job in another city, a world away from where I’d left them last.

The book included one of my favorites:

I don’t understand the etiquette or methodology behind it. Can you just leave anything you don’t want there? If no one else wants it, does the Hausmeister throw it out after a few days? Are you actually not supposed to leave junk there and people sneakily do it anyway? Is there a building community meeting where this has all been discussed, approved and regulated? I have to wonder because the longer I’m in Germany the more I’m genuinely shocked (except now “SHOCKED!” with sarcasm) at all the rules they have to regulate EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE. I constantly feel like I’m breaking ones that I didn’t know existed because how could you ever learn all these rules. They have a wildly out of control rule addiction.

Yesterday, this was the lobby treasure:

Pictures from the Kingdom of the Dead <– translated that myself. I’m not going to check it, I’m fairly confident on this one. Just a little light reading someone decided to share. The photo pages were of blurry security camera-esque ghosts that would’ve made even Robert Stack raise a skeptical eyebrow. It reminded me of the Arrested Development episode where a picture of Tobias’s balls gets passed around by the military and identified as Iraqi WMDs. Until finally someone is like, “Oh those are definitely balls.” So it is with this hocus pocus book.

I like that someone invested in the whole series. I used to work privately for an artist who often let me read while he was drawing. It would have been fantastic if he wasn’t also a creeping creeper. He had all of those Carlos Castaneda books, and he told me I should read one because they’re so enlightening and interesting. I read a little bit and then was like, “Thanks, but this isn’t really my thing.” Actually I was thinking, “What the hell with this bogus peyote desert wizard shit?” And he said, “Oh no, you must read this other one, it’s better.” No, it was the exact same thing but with more whorey witches in heat. Or something, I can’t quite remember because it was disturbing but in an annoying way. I wondered what kind of person would purchase every single one of these trash manifestos and believe all these drugged out ramblings. He was that person, and he was a really weird guy to boot. I guess ghost stuff can be different, but now between the communist sewing supplies and the paranormal literature archive, I’m disturbed about who’s lurking around here.

One of my classes is a conversation class and when I was asking what they’d like to discuss throughout the course, some mentioned that they’d like to read and talk about some poetry or short stories written in English.

Initially I couldn’t believe I was hearing this and it seemed like a dream come true – getting to talk about poetry and stories to a class without having sat through a PhD and competed for a university teaching job? Too good to be true. But the more I thought about it, I realized I have no idea what would be appropriate to read and discuss with them. They’re very high level English speakers, one level away from what’s considered fluent and want to improve vocabulary, idioms, etc.

For stories I thought first of what I like, but that may not be what’s best. I love Ray Bradbury stories, like “And the Rock Cried Out” and “The Veldt” but maybe these aren’t appropriate? I guess it depends on your feelings about punishment of Western Imperialism and/or children arranging for lions to eat their parents. Actually those are both probably dangerous areas. So maybe something David Sedaris? I can’t think of anything; the only stories I’ve been reading lately are Tatyana Tolstaya’s, but they’re translated from Russian and even though they’re excellent, I think it should be originally written in English. As far as poems I thought of Elizabeth Bishop’s “Questions of Travel” first but more because it’s been constantly in my head lately. I think T.S. Eliot and Anne Sexton both give incredible examples of what can be done with the English language, but are either of those situation appropriate? Maybe T.S. more than Anne? Walt Whitman? I don’t know! Should I just print out some Kanye lyrics or something? Any suggestions welcome.

Here’s “Questions of Travel” because it’s perfect, if not for a class then for everything else.

There are too many waterfalls here; the crowded streams
hurry too rapidly down to the sea,
and the pressure of so many clouds on the mountaintops
makes them spill over the sides in soft slow-motion,
turning to waterfalls under our very eyes.
–For if those streaks, those mile-long, shiny, tearstains,
aren’t waterfalls yet,
in a quick age or so, as ages go here,
they probably will be.
But if the streams and clouds keep travelling, travelling,
the mountains look like the hulls of capsized ships,
slime-hung and barnacled.

Think of the long trip home.
Should we have stayed at home and thought of here?
Where should we be today?
Is it right to be watching strangers in a play
in this strangest of theatres?
What childishness is it that while there’s a breath of life
in our bodies, we are determined to rush
to see the sun the other way around?
The tiniest green hummingbird in the world?
To stare at some inexplicable old stonework,
inexplicable and impenetrable,
at any view,
instantly seen and always, always delightful?
Oh, must we dream our dreams
and have them, too?
And have we room
for one more folded sunset, still quite warm?

But surely it would have been a pity
not to have seen the trees along this road,
really exaggerated in their beauty,
not to have seen them gesturing
like noble pantomimists, robed in pink.
–Not to have had to stop for gas and heard
the sad, two-noted, wooden tune
of disparate wooden clogs
carelessly clacking over
a grease-stained filling-station floor.
(In another country the clogs would all be tested.
Each pair there would have identical pitch.)
–A pity not to have heard
the other, less primitive music of the fat brown bird
who sings above the broken gasoline pump
in a bamboo church of Jesuit baroque:
three towers, five silver crosses.
–Yes, a pity not to have pondered,
blurr’dly and inconclusively,
on what connection can exist for centuries
between the crudest wooden footwear
and, careful and finicky,
the whittled fantasies of wooden footwear
and, careful and finicky,
the whittled fantasies of wooden cages.
–Never to have studied history in
the weak calligraphy of songbirds’ cages.
–And never to have had to listen to rain
so much like politicians’ speeches:
two hours of unrelenting oratory
and then a sudden golden silence
in which the traveller takes a notebook, writes:

“Is it lack of imagination that makes us come
to imagined places, not just stay at home?
Or could Pascal have been not entirely right
about just sitting quietly in one’s room?

Continent, city, country, society:
the choice is never wide and never free.
And here, or there . . . No. Should we have stayed at home,
wherever that may be?”

It’s a frustrating feeling to love writing and manipulating your own language yet be unable to communicate beyond a rudimentary level in another. THIS must be what Ariel felt like after that fat octopus stole her voice! One minute you’re singing about your pilfered treasure, the next you’re dressed in a windsail doing pantomime with a crab in your pocket and a fork in your hair. Tragic.

In my class I was lucky enough to make friends with an American girl who suggested I try online to find English speakers.

Occasionally in the past when loneliness and general life despair got to me, I tried online dating. It usually took a disastrous course and I always abandoned it fairly quickly, only to try again another year after another little sadness. I generally feel that it’s not for me. I rely pretty heavily on my natural filter which tells me from the first meeting if I’m attracted enough to someone to want to date/partake in related activities with them. I just know if those are possibilities, and if they’re clearly not and I force myself to consider a person differently, it never works. I end up with an excess of revulsion and misery which later boomerangs into self-hatred. Online, this blessing of a built-in personally honed filter is gone.

And there’s something so bleak about trying to package yourself appealingly, highlighting strengths modestly but still trying to sell them, exhibiting enough intelligence and sense of humor without the dreaded side effect of trying too hard, and being honest about (some) weaknesses. Conversations are stilted and terrible. Guys come up with devastatingly awful pick up lines meant to be demonstrably witty or clever and instead just make me sad (activating my interior “the guy I’m really in love with/heartbroken over would NEVER say something so lame” speech.) Or even worse, if they do write something kindly appealing or humorous, they’re inevitably ugly. I hate to be a shallow asshole (sorry for creating that image) but I can’t help it. I don’t need some ideal male physique at all, but I need a face that I like looking at.

Nevertheless, I considered New York an impossibly difficult city in which to actually meet people unless you work or go to school with them. So I sometimes tried until the frustration and annoyance became too much, always rekindling my disbelief at how annoying a huge majority of people can be. So, so annoying.

Side note: I think T.S. was wrong and February is actually the cruelest month, because as I scanned through my inbox, I saw that I first opened the account in February 2010, later deactivating and reopening in February 2011. It’s a bleak and despair filled month, I suppose. I refuse to believe it was Valentine’s Day that affected me so strongly as I am not a Cathy cartoon.

So as disheartening and depressing as I find the attempt to make connections online, I’m trying. To my delight, when I reactivated my account I found I hadn’t deleted most messages and guess what, they’re hilarious. Just so anyone who hasn’t dated in awhile and has mercifully forgotten the pain can see what lurks out there, I’ve copied and pasted some samples. Let’s have a look (each line is a separate message):

Hello…I think you are…mmmm (the rest of the message in bad English interspersed with many mmmmm’s.)

holy shit have you seen black swan? i saw it last night and can’t stop thinking about it

hi there, you seem interesting (end of message)

Bonjour! I’m Alex, French, brown hair, green eyes, gym-fit, D/D free, non-smoker. I’m very charming and handsome, and humble too  I am a well-travelled businessman, generous, considerate and respectful. I have lived in Paris, Montreal, London, and now New York. I love good food and good wine, movies and theater, museums and galleries, and above all travelling – skiing, beach, Italian boutique hotels etc. I am very sane and normal. (The “very sane” declaration is a major theme. I think I only put a few samples here, but that’s because it gets redundant. It gets screamed at you from these messages constantly.)

(referencing a photo of me on a Jack the Ripper walking tour in London) We could re-enact that together any time you want. That picture is hot! (I am very sane, nice and safe, btw, but love playing with stuff like that.)

you deserve a nice hard spanking for not replying to my IM. (Ed. note – barfing forever)

Ever wonder how Freud’s doorbell sounded? I bet it was more of a buzzer.

Hello, what is your favorite allergy? Best, VC.

World War 3 might be just around the corner because the whole world financial system is bankrupt!

(in response to a weird message where a guy mentioned several times my being “20″, I pointed out that I wasn’t 20. He responded and explained that he uses “20″ as a vague umbrella for any twentysomething.) Don’t reply to this i have a slight form of OCD when it comes to messages and always have to reply and this conversation will go nowhere and/or will bore me(you too but my boredom is more important to myself and boredom is like…. boring.. argh redundancy is my forte and talking too much too but eh. (Amazingly, I resisted the urge to reply with “But what are you going to say now? Are you bored yet? Your theories about age make no sense. Also it should be “me” not “myself”. Bored? I can’t wait to see what you’re going to reply. I know you will. I can’t wait.”)

hi sweetz..how are you? would love to get to know you better if you’d humor some intellectual conversation. (Except how can you take anyone intellectually seriously post “sweetz”?)

Hola – Today was bright and sunny, which was weird because there was snow everywhere and little pools were forming in the sunlight while mountains of snow remained in the shade. It was great having it be so warm in one spot and then so cold only one foot away. I sat there watching the stream of water flow down around the dust forming it’s own path pouring out it’s potential energy into kinetic to move little rocks and clumps of dirt out of it’s way. Cheers, M.

I like what you had to say in your…you seem like you have a good heart, which isn’t easy to find nowadays. If you’re at all interested, let me know. I’m always looking for a good conversation and I’d love to c profile hat with you. (say in my…what? c profile hat? Was he using a template and couldn’t even manage coherence with that?)

how do you feel about the upcoming battle with the zombies?

(subject line) testing water and introducing myself

The plus side so far is that German guys seem more prone to writing kind, intelligent messages and talking about rudimentary things, unlike the New Yorkers who made every effort to expedite the meeting process. Rarely any discussion, more like overeager dogs than men:  ”Can we meet? Wanna meet? Drinks tonight? This afternoon? How about now? Are you interested? I’m very sane. Let’s talk about all that stuff on your profile, who cares, let’s just meet right now. I’M SANE.”