I make a friend wherever I go.  Take Brent Goff for instance.  Met him once in 1995 over lunch with a friend.  We’ve been close ever since.  (The same thing happened with JLo.  Go figure.)  He’s my evil doppelganger … a smart, funny, devastatingly handsome, blonde anchorman.  Oh and did I mention he speaks three languages and has his Master’s degree?  And lives the life of an international playboy in Berlin?

Somebody stop me.  Please.  Before you hate him as much as I do.

I see Brent in the flesh once every 5-6 years, but thanks to the magic of e-mail and social networking, we’ve stayed close.  And he’s invited me to visit him in Germany countless times, but for whatever reason, things did not work out.  This time, I threw caution to the wind and booked a trip to see him at the absolute last minute.  Brent tends to function on spontaneity as much as I do.

Upon landing in Germany, I quickly realized two things.  1) I don’t know a single word in German other than “Achtung, baby!”  and 2) I was only here for 42 hours and had a lot to see and do.  After hugs and pleasantries, I gave Brent my list of sundry items I wanted to accomplish.   “We have NO time to waste,” I said.  Brent, like any good pseudo-European, offered to break open a bottle of wine.  I said, “There’s no time for drinking!”  Brent retorted, “It’s not for you.”

Attaboy!

Brent lives in a very casual, trendy, but upscale part of Berlin near Mitte.  It’s filled with hip urbanites who, unlike me, were not in a hurry to get anywhere.  I must have missed the memo, but scarves were everywhere.   People were wearing scarves around their neck, their waists and their bags.   Crazy Germans!  They looked like the love child of Stevie Nicks and Steven Tyler.

I tried desperately to learn some very basic, rudimentary German hanging out with Brent.  I failed miserably.  I thought for sure I’d glean something by proxy.  You know it’s bad when Brent said, “You’re hurting my ears.  Stick to English.”  We traipsed around an open-air market, did a little shopping, took the train to parts unknown and managed to make it back to the house in time for a disco nap before dinner.  (And, yes, dinner included the obligatory strudel, schnitzel and all the other German accoutrements.)

Brent is a very well-known anchorman throughout much of Europe.  The weird part?  While he has billboards in Frankfurt and Copenhagen, his newscast isn’t shown in Berlin where he lives.  Weird, eh?  No one — I mean, besides me, was clamoring for his autograph.  He’s got that perfect lantern-jaw and unflappable anchorman hair that I covet too.  If Guy Smiley came to life, he’d be Brent.

Despite a pesky sinus infection, Brent was the consummate host.  And, more importantly, helped me check off my entire list of “to-do’s”.  And, yes, that included a trip to the Hard Rock Café.  (I’m sure Guy, er, Brent rolled his eyes at that one, but was kind enough NOT to let me see it.  Now that’s a true friend!)