So where's that Dandy, Patrick, who served me my first French 75? I know he's got an Absinthe spoon just waiting for this day. Perhaps, this means I should host a turn-of-the-20th-century-themed soiree, a salon if you will — proper dress required, ladies and gentlemen! — partake in the Absinthe ritual and have everyone write profound poetry. Will it happen? Who knows, but my birthday is coming up and a cold, February night spent drinking the belly-warming liquid does sound especially appropriate. Perhaps I will be The Marchesa Luisa Casati? It will be my birthday after all.
Now I suppose I'll tell the tale of my Green Hour, the account that I did not share with my coworker of that cold, February night in Berlin, and as you'll read, pretending to be The Marchesa is really so much cooler. Nick, Carl and I drank together. The three of us, after sitting around appreciating the beauty of the shadows cast about the room far more than we usually would, decided to bundle up and head to the Kreutzberg to listen to some Neue Deutsche Welle. Disappointingly, we found that our club of choice was hosting a rock show instead, so we headed to a nearby bar to reassess our plans. Nick and Carl went to order us drinks and I sat down, to hold the only available table in the room, which was near the door. At this point, mild hullucinations or no, a general lulled drunkeness aside, the husband and wife duo, Stereo Total walked in. That's when Madame Stereo Total spied that I was sitting alone at the only somewhat available table in the room, approached and scoffed at me! Knowing no German, I couldn't say, "But my friends, my friends are just at the bar! I'm no greedy table horder!" No. After asserting her dismay, she grabbed her friend and stomped to a booth across the room. When Nick and Carl returned, drinks in hand, I told them about my encounter and we proceeded to watch Stereo Total and friends smoke (a certain substance mentioned above) through what looked like a credit card. Being that this is not Alice Through the Looking Glass, we finished our drinks, grabbed our coats and headed back into the cold, German night. The car light trails slowly ebbing as we walked, giving up on our grand plans for the evening and making our way back to the Mitte and bed, and perhaps if this had been the turn of the 20th century, dreams of green fairies.