Went to Berlin again for the Golden Prometheus Award show. Hey! I was nominated, of course I went. Vanity is my middle name. There was some ex-president and the former terrorist lawyer turned German answer to Richard Ashcroft Otto Schily and his jailbait daughter, a whole bunch of TV stars I've never heard of and when I was named newspaper journalist of the year my ego swell to the size of Florida. Ha! Thank you very much Golden Prometheus jury people. Rather nice welcome.
Afterwards I went to party all around Berlin with some weighty gold colored statue. We had Markus' chauffeured BMW 7 limo to cruise around in. Very academy awards, although one of my fellow travellers the magazine journalist of the year was too shy to carry around his statue and hid it in his coat, even though the coat check girl at the Borchardts bar & grill was chirping an admiring "Ooooh, is that a Golden Prometheus" at me, before propping it up the bar counter. Otherwise it was definitely more Berlin than Hollywood, with rallying cries like "Hey! The Turntable Rockers play at the Weekend tonight and I got tickets!" coming from the backseat. The rallying crier was 48 years of age by the way, so I guess partying is fate in this most existentialist of all cities. Niklas and I tried to get a last drink at the re-opened Cookie's in the basement of the Westin Grand, but were told that gentlemen can only get in if in the company of ladies. Wow. How ghetto. Reminded me of the Brooklyn nightclubs which used to advertise on 105.9 FM with lines like "dress for success! Tight, tight security. No jeans, no sneakers, no jewlery."
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