Joe Jackson’s Guide to Berlin

Speaking of Joe Jackson, look at this video he made about Berlin. He is so witty.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l1mHVMPb7M8 

 

(don't be fooled by the sun in that ^ video, it's not sunny here lol) 

 

 I think he should have his own travel show. I love the way he words things. Sometimes he tells me of his travels, whilst on tour, and the way he describes things makes me feel like I am there with him, looking at what he his talking about. The smells, sights, moods of the people. Very descriptive and informative. He doesn't take any pictures though, as he "isn't a photographer". He is so modest, low key,  understated, fucking cool but without trying at ALL. 

 

It's gray, cold and moist out, again, here in Berlin. And I have to think that maybe one of my neighbors may have read my blog about no one listening to any hippie music as I woke up at 5pm (yikes) and someone was blasting Janis Joplin's Pearl album. Ha! Nice one! Love it. Perhaps I will go karaoke tonight and sing me some Janis. aaaaaaaaah. Love her.  

The Experts Guide Party

The Experts Guide Party (Thursday Night) was alright, but Donald Trump didn't come due to bad planning on someone's part, as he launched his new magazine “Trump World” the same night! (Hope he doesn't put himself on the cover of every issue like another celebrity here in the states-not mentioning any names, but she has her own magazine and puts her own picture on the cover of every issue, which I find a little too much). Anyhow, the main author, Samantha Ettus, who enlisted the Experts for her book 'The Experts Guide to Life' was naturally there and I was asked to pose with her, as were the other Experts there.

That is Samantha and I holding up the book.

When she first laid eyes on me (first time we met in person) she yelled “You are so YOUNG! Oh my god!”. Well, what did she think I was another Dr. Ruth already? Was she expecting me to come wobbling in with a cane? She must have been too busy to look at my web sites.

After the press photographed us, I met Alex Michel, the Original Bachelor, (you know those LAME reality shows that take hot guys and make the chicks fight over them over a few weeks?). Well, I personally have never seen the show, and told him so. He said he has heard a lot about me and wants to do a documentary about me, follow me around with cameras etc. I said, 'take a number buddy!'. Hee hee, I was in a pretty sarcastic mood there as I am still ill and well, I hate all that ass-kissing that goes on at such VIP parties. We chatted for a while and he wanted a sample of my grip, so I rubbed his shoulders for a minute and the press snapped me doing so. There is a magazine here called The New Yorker and the photographer there was from that magazine, so that is where it will end up I guess. Anyhow, I told him I have never seen him, but I know of another Bachelor from US magazine who is eye candy. Alex snapped, “Well, I am the ORIGINAL Bachelor, he got tips for me!”.

Alexandra and I met Andrew Firestone, the aforementioned other Bachelor.

Andrew has had it made, even before birth. He was born into the Firestone family, you know the TIRES that are probably on your car/suv/truck. In other words, he is RICH as hell. He is one of the experts in the book, he wrote the chapter on how to open a wine bottle. He knows he is hot and sought after and I found him a bit snobby if you want to know the truth. I wouldn't be so smug if I was him, he has small feet and a tiny nose, and we ALL know what that means. You shouldn't act like prick unless you are packing a big one. Smiles

After hours of sweating in that hot as HELL French restaurant, (which only had ONE ladies toilet, hello? Hundreds of ladies and one crapper? Cut corners somewhere else pal) Alexandra and I and two ladies from Arizona (one was an Expert who wrote “How to eat with Chop Sticks” named Laura) all piled into my car (the other girl is Asian and her name is hard to remember, something like Tusay) and headed towards a restaurant that they ALL insisted on going to called Indo-Chine.

Here I am attempting to eat eggplant with chop sticks, the girl next to me is Laura, the Expert on Chop Sticks, and not even she could teach me how to use those friggin things so I flagged down our hottie waiter and demanded a fork. By the time I would learn, I would have fainted from hunger!

None of the girls are from NYC (Alexandra has never even been to the USA before) and they have ALL heard about this place. They heard many stars go there and the food is great etc. No stars and the food was NOT all that. No brown rice? Way over priced and the Bathroom was hot as HELL! Jonesy joined us and we all crammed into my car to go to karaoke. Alexandra was too jet lagged and jumped out at her hotel, then we raised HELL. I drive faster and better than any cab driver in Manhattan. I zoom in and out and around the sea of taxis like Michael Schumacher and my passengers love it. I crank the music (usually FUNK to get us rowdy) and fly like the wind. It's like a roller coaster ride.

Roller Coaster

Laura and Tusay really let loose in the car. I took Laura's MOM type earrings our and messed up her hair, took those chop sticks out of her “I don't want sex” hair do and she went wild in the car. There were limbs waving out of every window, including my sun roof and Jonesy video taped the whole time as usual (He has tons of rowdy footage, remind me to bribe him for the tapes).

In the karaoke joint, Jonesy and I decided to try songs we have never tried before as it was pretty empty. I sang “I'm a SOUL MAN” from the blues brothers. It sounded awesome but it is hard to pull off a Blues Brothers tune in a fucking prom dress! Jonesy did Stevie Wonder's “You are the sunshine of my life” so well, the two black dudes in the place gave him jealous looks.Then I did “A day in the life” from the Beatles and I had the timing down perfect, but it's not my range (odd, as it sounds prefect when I sing it in my car!). Laura and Tusay danced when we sang but they refused to sing.

Now, with all that partying, I am back to square one with this evil cold Sicky