tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64401773347006669442024-03-05T05:57:22.928-08:00Der ViatorWeekly updates, essays, dark humor, short stories, scatological musings, music criticism, and outright lies from a highly-caffeinated melancholy.Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comBlogger537125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-50233097565863256582017-06-10T19:45:00.000-07:002017-06-11T19:52:58.929-07:00Rückkehr<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCs84OzJfj24QRfnRzUqtK55oGi6oW-u8vSAkVfyIByFXG9UahRoiirSryLtqqCISGV5_KGwfn3Hf6146LWyOWMctbBT3Yy70DYmc5PeHF1SikKefxG3bXvKomnJVI1G83xW8jwa7o5ykE/s1600/Selfie+on+the+Bridge.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCs84OzJfj24QRfnRzUqtK55oGi6oW-u8vSAkVfyIByFXG9UahRoiirSryLtqqCISGV5_KGwfn3Hf6146LWyOWMctbBT3Yy70DYmc5PeHF1SikKefxG3bXvKomnJVI1G83xW8jwa7o5ykE/s200/Selfie+on+the+Bridge.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Our weeklong
vacation went without a hitch, fortunately. We had no issues, situations, or
accidents. We both agreed that the bus ride from Chicago to Wisconsin upon our
return was the worst part of the trip. Tired from the long flight, we had to
wait for what seemed like an eternity for the bus at O’Hare. Then, traffic
between Illinois and Wisconsin was backed up and the bus driver took a detour
through side roads. If that’s the worst part and indeed the only low point, our
week adventure was successful. I had a few objectives for this trip: have my
fill of döner kebabs, touch base with some associates, and see a few new
things. </span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtw-mq8YaGXa-NsyU3hMJohVzwW1vQNX-e_iuIQtg4FX8liYoz58x699KQDDyZKi8Of4WIH6TwSbt-VKkGS6HHIn8ZqK-ZI1p8B7gWyhI5fsthdkvcvtjx5xclMp1FYia0DEHfLk5Q97HJ/s1600/Wannsee.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtw-mq8YaGXa-NsyU3hMJohVzwW1vQNX-e_iuIQtg4FX8liYoz58x699KQDDyZKi8Of4WIH6TwSbt-VKkGS6HHIn8ZqK-ZI1p8B7gWyhI5fsthdkvcvtjx5xclMp1FYia0DEHfLk5Q97HJ/s200/Wannsee.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Above all, I wanted to spend time with Jessi. I didn’t really any choices for travel other than Germany. Istanbul would be nice, but it's not recommended these days. Having some familiarity with the
culture, language, transportation system, and layout of the land is no doubt
key to success; I didn’t want to repeat the confusion we experienced on our
first few days in Japan some years ago. I enjoy her company and perspective. I
think she gets amused at the way I hold myself in conversations with other
adults. One evening in the hotel room I overheard her talking to Cody, her
boyfriend, on the phone. How could I not in this small room? Anyway, it was for
some reason gratifying to hear her share her experiences of the day. I hope we
can travel to another land in the not-too-distant future, though chances are
slim. She stands upon the threshold of a new life: one devoted to military
training, career, and ultimately family. Only time will tell. I also want to
travel to faraway places with my other daughters in the coming years, if they're up for it.</span></span></span></div>
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</span>Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-1158081525618591732017-06-07T11:21:00.000-07:002017-06-11T20:46:20.758-07:00Reichstag and Wittenberg <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBfCj29XUZhf1xMGbPZne3L52AGNCLUvFbguWYQCTaZlvID3Yhho_d3lOGImayu_TUHpz89Dr4rR85037jNaFljvtcCMFEoq70PBoPStHMbi6W7CTOwqW-_vqN0R2e7FVHaPoBHABGmLDd/s1600/Reichstag.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBfCj29XUZhf1xMGbPZne3L52AGNCLUvFbguWYQCTaZlvID3Yhho_d3lOGImayu_TUHpz89Dr4rR85037jNaFljvtcCMFEoq70PBoPStHMbi6W7CTOwqW-_vqN0R2e7FVHaPoBHABGmLDd/s200/Reichstag.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We made good use of our last full day in Germany, starting with a tour of the Reichstag Building's glass dome at 8:30 am. It was a chore getting up early enough, as we have not managed to adjust our sleep schedule since arrival last week. An architect built the dome on top of the august structure in the 1990s to symbolize German unification and the transparency of a democratic government. You can see the chamber of the Bundestag, or German parliament, by looking down the dome. Once we get through the security checkpoint, escorts take us to the elevator and from there we basically walk up a spiraling ramp inside the dome as our audio guide describes the urban landscape we see through the glass. The Federal Diet meets at the Reichstag to conduct legislation of the German republic. It’s a big election year for Germany. A key issue is immigration, the theme of the college course I'm prepping for here in Berlin. The election in September will either vindicate the “open door” policy of Chancellor Merkel or send her packing. Refreshingly, whatever one might think of him, the opposition frontrunner from the SPD is not a right-wing demagogue as we’ve seen in other recent elections throughout the Western world. After the Reichstag we hung out at a coffee shop on Pariser Platz with a nice view of the Brandenburg Gate to consider our next move.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYcpko79B-8vYJxbepX44qj08M6eXUkXcEMXAh5c-6nYzHRfOGXvzs4RsvNZ8-HZV-uP2flr6MN3mYTVMg42PT5lXBAPKJBk9Euxyo0gYpxEfD1M7aVMuM6M96Giczj_JfYtFAkP-sfkDN/s1600/Wittenberg+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYcpko79B-8vYJxbepX44qj08M6eXUkXcEMXAh5c-6nYzHRfOGXvzs4RsvNZ8-HZV-uP2flr6MN3mYTVMg42PT5lXBAPKJBk9Euxyo0gYpxEfD1M7aVMuM6M96Giczj_JfYtFAkP-sfkDN/s200/Wittenberg+3.JPG" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
I’ve always wanted to go to Wittenberg, a town in Saxony-Anhalt with a population less than 50,000, but it was always out of reach when I lived in Bavaria decades ago. An Augustinian friar named Martin Luther allegedly posted 95 theses onto the Church Castle door on 31 October 1517. Written in Latin, the theses condemned abuses of the Catholic Church, most notably the teaching on indulgences; Luther intended to provoke debate among the scholarly community rather than initiate a grass-roots or political revolution, let alone a break from the papacy. You'll note Jessi's facial expression posing as Luther in the photo. She struggled with a fitting impersonation of a sixteenth-century theologian. Unbeknownst to her, her mildly constipated look nailed it. Luther, almost by his own admission, arrived at his theological insight of justification by faith alone as he relieved himself <em>in cloaca</em>, on the toilet. If you will the Reformation exploded onto the scene out of the bowels of guilt and the search for restitution with God.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGnPUQrlaaCifeU4BXARRugnNoZSi3P7AjzQ8GeNzsE4i9pBovXL-BsuO0k8XdrY48A8FWPvcJxBRDRkAMdEnJ7gX3ByckKafXSs_XWMHxV1-Gqa85ytVYjxUgYsFC4_3BXksmaMcn6msO/s1600/Wittenberg+Luther.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="533" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGnPUQrlaaCifeU4BXARRugnNoZSi3P7AjzQ8GeNzsE4i9pBovXL-BsuO0k8XdrY48A8FWPvcJxBRDRkAMdEnJ7gX3ByckKafXSs_XWMHxV1-Gqa85ytVYjxUgYsFC4_3BXksmaMcn6msO/s200/Wittenberg+Luther.jpg" width="94" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Reformation would ultimately would split Western Christendom asunder and leave an enduring mark on the cultural and political landscapes of Europe. Lutherstadt Wittenberg, its official name since 1938, beckoned me as a place of Protestant pilgrimage. Moreover, I become intimately familiar with the writings of the reformers and got to know, as it were, the political and religious figures in sixteenth-century Wittenberg and Saxony. Admittedly, my reasons for wanting to see Wittenberg have changed a bit over the past twenty years or so; it’s less faith-based and more historical. Having spent a number of years studying this period of history has a lingering sentimentality. I see less through the eyes of piety but harbor an emotional attachment to this period of history nonetheless. 2017 being the 500th anniversary of the Reformation made a visit all the more imperative, so we took the train and spent about four hours there. I’ll spare you further musings on history.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0k5BDXGb9-ZZYtmHe_cBv6z4_sqLW8ZNBa-y8Pz7460TdBZ4G5sM08B8WCfH8U6Bn7xS_4Jy_klHB1zqVi38nESFWW9EvaLcK3LEaNtkk5DW5BY0fcxwrLnOL47CZd14xePVpkhguYVdv/s1600/Melanchthon.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0k5BDXGb9-ZZYtmHe_cBv6z4_sqLW8ZNBa-y8Pz7460TdBZ4G5sM08B8WCfH8U6Bn7xS_4Jy_klHB1zqVi38nESFWW9EvaLcK3LEaNtkk5DW5BY0fcxwrLnOL47CZd14xePVpkhguYVdv/s200/Melanchthon.JPG" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Jessi and I enjoyed the visit. The cobblestone streets and numerous historical sites give Wittenberg a quaint medieval look. We checked out the Augustinian monastery and Lutherhaus but did not pay for the museum. The sun began to appear brightly as we headed toward All Saints’ Church, or Schlosskirche, where Luther posted his theses, though not much of the original building remains. Ironically, statutes of Protestant reformers adorn the interior of the church; the iconoclasts of yesteryear have become the icons of today. It’s a compelling need for humans to create heroes and lithic saints for their cause, whatever the political or religious ideology and despite a group’s protestations to the contrary.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDmOBiktfUdbMl-45xJydarugqd-b8l8WRAL3otwaorMdkqrkA5kZ6GdcLAAp1ew1LRYI6NQ79d_PdvcCRs7V24O8ZFODT1Y984cjcUWjLTTUEpujZ_pBVQfxcYoYNBqlqBaAkfus8AFwi/s1600/Wittenberg+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDmOBiktfUdbMl-45xJydarugqd-b8l8WRAL3otwaorMdkqrkA5kZ6GdcLAAp1ew1LRYI6NQ79d_PdvcCRs7V24O8ZFODT1Y984cjcUWjLTTUEpujZ_pBVQfxcYoYNBqlqBaAkfus8AFwi/s200/Wittenberg+4.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We brunched at a restaurant called Witten Burger Grill & Bar. (Get it? Witten <em>Burger</em>! Oh how clever!). We enjoyed the gourmet burgers and conversation with a German couple from a rural area in Saxony-Anhalt who summoned us to their table. Somehow the conversation turned to the topic of potatoes. Jessi connected the dots in her experience so far, recalling the potatoes someone had strewn upon the grave of Frederick the Great at Sanssouci. At that time I explained that the Prussian monarch is credited with introducing the hardy tuber to Germany and thereby </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">stirring the economy and feeding his people. The couple recommended that we grab some delicious soft serve ice cream and</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2FZqCpQNxGLWMh_WooDjoolIfpq7Mk1JbJHPZaf6Za1eVR2_GFb8iECAc6RbNm_3RWAQBtQfpTMwLTOX0DPpDeEVmonJh8jrtvGyedB0d-BwJOm04xQPHEx8GKLNuysszJY3EQfkf5Vq/s1600/Wittenberg+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2FZqCpQNxGLWMh_WooDjoolIfpq7Mk1JbJHPZaf6Za1eVR2_GFb8iECAc6RbNm_3RWAQBtQfpTMwLTOX0DPpDeEVmonJh8jrtvGyedB0d-BwJOm04xQPHEx8GKLNuysszJY3EQfkf5Vq/s200/Wittenberg+2.JPG" width="200" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> fondly recalled eating the frozen treat in the days of the DDR<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;">—<span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: small;">such nostalgia a good reminder that East Germany wasn't all bad for the people who lived it</span></span>. Later, we had coffee and sweets at the Wittenberg Brauhaus, a beautiful courtyard café. I hope to return to Wittenberg at least one more time in the future and explore the historical sites, as we had just taken a cursory look during the few hours we had today. We took the train back to Berlin and started to pack our things for tomorrow’s departure once we got to the hotel. I watched a bit of German TV, Jessi texted her significant other, and we munched on little Kinder Duplo Chocolate bars like it's nobody's business. That's <em>our </em>indulgence.</span><br />
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Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-92194526386041519022017-06-06T17:55:00.000-07:002017-06-13T18:07:39.637-07:00Day of Shopping<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today was
chill. We spent a good deal of the day shopping for gifts and returned to the
hotel with little to show for it, except for a few books. The day started in
Stadtmitte. I had a meeting scheduled with Anja who works for the Joint American
Jewish Joint Distribution Committee. She is of Jewish and Croatian descent and
has lived in Berlin with her family for some years now. We met at the House of
Small Wonder, a café near the Oranienburg Tor S-Bahn station. The location
worked nicely, as the café is only a few buildings over from IES Berlin where I’ll
be holding classes with my students next year. We’ll be lodging in the vicinity
in either an apartment or hotel. I wanted to explore the area for this reason.
Jessi ordered an egg breakfast dish of some kind and I had a crescent with
scramble eggs inside of it, or at least that’s what I call it. The meeting went well.
Our day of shopping, talking, coffee drinking took us to the Alex Shopping Mall on
Alexanderplatz and The Berlin Mall of Potsdamer Platz. But it wasn’t just a day
of mall shopping. We walked the city, again. In the photo, Jessi is standing
next to a memorial for the Rosenstrasse Protest. Aryan women demanded the
release of their Jewish husbands in 1943 and were successful. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-36898998055509063712017-06-05T19:36:00.000-07:002017-06-12T19:41:41.400-07:00Pfingsten<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Monday was Pfingsten, or Pentecost, so most places were closed. We managed to do a lot of walking and see some of the sites in the heart of the city. First, we made our way through the Tiergarten, Berlin’s central park, and checked out the Victory Column located on the Great Star intersection, before heading east on 17th of June Street toward the Brandenburg Gate. A sports festival was going on with too many people around. A Christian holiday with throngs of people in a European capital next to iconic sites of Germany. Also, I had just seen “Patriot Day” on the flight, a movie about the Boston marathon terrorist attack in 2013. We couldn’t help but talk about the terrorist opportunity. We took photos at the Brandenburg Gate and continued east on Unter den Linden ultimately to Alexanderplatz. Along the way we stopped at a café on Museum Island for coffee and treat, took photos at the Marx and Engels statues, and went inside the Church of Mary that dates back to the 13th century and is known for its “dance of death” fresco. Finally, we headed south and looked at Checkpoint Charlie and the “Topography of Terror,” once the site for the headquarters of the Gestapo and SS.</span></div>
Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-36861577743911550672017-06-04T13:34:00.000-07:002017-06-10T14:56:55.300-07:00Sachsenhausen<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The train brought us to Sachsenhausen concentration camp. Located in Oranienburg on the northern rim of Berlin, the museum and memorial greet the anxious visitor with grey walls and overcast sky. On this Sunday the site was just as Jessi had imagined it: bleak, muddy, somber. It was raining lightly upon our arrival at the train station, but we opted for the 20-minute walk rather than wait for a bus. I knew the way well by now, as this is my third visit to Sachsenhausen within a year. My reason for coming to this sad place is educational, not a perverse appetite for horror. Though less people died here than in extermination centers like Auschwitz or Treblinka, Sachsenhausen was no less a hell for its hapless inmates. Mass executions, starvation, torture and disease occurred within its walls. The camp also served as a training center for SS officers who would go on to administer Hitler’s ghoulish Barbwire Empire. Today the Brandenburg State Police Academy and College occupies this space, separated from the memorial and museum by only a fence.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmO8iouRjlLSKtrtbTqPYQwQHeemGHtpWxihF1WpkWTVf6BeNzY_3GjerwlwqGMUiV0DMJBZ6hRoTPN0TAhq3kL4kW7rHNVE3jrhjlOviI400kWD1mi29PRvj1lsOKwcy1I1cK0ToEP1Jh/s1600/IMG_0659.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmO8iouRjlLSKtrtbTqPYQwQHeemGHtpWxihF1WpkWTVf6BeNzY_3GjerwlwqGMUiV0DMJBZ6hRoTPN0TAhq3kL4kW7rHNVE3jrhjlOviI400kWD1mi29PRvj1lsOKwcy1I1cK0ToEP1Jh/s200/IMG_0659.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
Lasting images for Jessi are the autopsy room in the sterile pathology lab, the small foot basins in the Jewish barracks where guards drowned Jewish prisoners, and the execution trench where firing squads massacred Soviet POWs and others. We saw the ruins of the gas chamber and crematorium at “Station Z,” a moniker for the murder site used mockingly by </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">the SS. The place evokes a sensation in me that, <em>mutatis mutandis</em>, I recall from a visit to Wounded Knee on Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota some twenty years ago. Genocide comes in different forms but it’s ubiquitous and universal. A separate section of Sachsenhausen became a prison under Soviet-controlled East Germany after World War II. Exit Hitler, enter Stalin. Soviets sent German civilians to the camp without a trial. The inauguration of Sachsenhausen as a national memorial and museum occurred in 1961, the same year the Wall went up. In the photo Jessi is reading about Martin Niemöller, a Lutheran pastor and theologian who spent years in an isolation cell because of his opposition to the regime.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0gysnG4N6EApRnH0WEtZh3g8ib6i-FT6B3Y-D75G4ivw52qc7Hcund9epQLLE7rN_K3cChkFqVPJrWVABdWcm7CdAlYs-JngVqKASS9YLRJ4zOPOETHnVFzv2g40XTBikIDiIXCf87dmR/s1600/Sachsenhausen+Station+Z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1327" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0gysnG4N6EApRnH0WEtZh3g8ib6i-FT6B3Y-D75G4ivw52qc7Hcund9epQLLE7rN_K3cChkFqVPJrWVABdWcm7CdAlYs-JngVqKASS9YLRJ4zOPOETHnVFzv2g40XTBikIDiIXCf87dmR/s200/Sachsenhausen+Station+Z.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A couple hours later we walked through the town of Oranienburg before taking the train back to Berlin. All the shops are closed on a Sunday. We chanced upon a Renaissance fair in the town center, came across a few <em>Stolpersteine</em> on the bridge leading to the Dutch-style Oranienburg Palace, observed a strange collection of bronze and iron statues of wolves by the artist Rainer Opolka, and headed back to the train station. At Potsdamer Platz we looked for places to eat, but nothing tickled our fancy. We finally settled on an Italian restaurant, Antica Roma, near our hotel on Wittenbergplatz, before settling into our hotel room for yet another sleepless night.</span>
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Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-33934145428268357452017-06-03T13:29:00.000-07:002017-06-06T14:26:35.080-07:00Wannsee and Potsdam<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoDiGYN2BP_ippYE_oZGE-3MC-1AEf_uziTAwYNhyphenhyphen95zmVFEbeWBe2hY3mjQVBjzMQvY3xhTBAsqKDdQgPF9Z39gk-T8CYPpGjVvNb0_eS2GrwK0azxGZ8YgxuJStPb6SShyKaEpP2_g1c/s1600/House+of+Evil.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoDiGYN2BP_ippYE_oZGE-3MC-1AEf_uziTAwYNhyphenhyphen95zmVFEbeWBe2hY3mjQVBjzMQvY3xhTBAsqKDdQgPF9Z39gk-T8CYPpGjVvNb0_eS2GrwK0azxGZ8YgxuJStPb6SShyKaEpP2_g1c/s200/House+of+Evil.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Saturday brought light and darkness. We entered the House of Evil before we sauntered into a summer palace. We took the S-Bahn to the city of Potsdam, the capital of the state of Brandenburg just southwest of Berlin. We got off the train a few stops earlier at Wannsee, however. This area of interlocking lakes and verdant landscapes is breathtaking. Picture sailboats, quaint restaurants, and beautiful homes hugging the lakeshore under a rain-soaked sky. I plan to spend at least a couple of days here again in the future. Our main purpose in coming to Wannsee was to see the infamous location of the so-called Wannsee Conference that took place on 20 January 1942. Members of the Nazi party, the SS, and district officials gathered at a villa on 56–58 Am Großen Wannsee. Supervised by Reinhold Heydrich under the auspices of SS-Reichsführer Himmler, 15 individuals sat at a dining table enjoying fine wine, cigars, and gourmet meals to discuss, over jokes, the systematic murder of Europe’s Jews. This visit led to rich discussions about good and evil between Jessi and me.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFvbw7qrpmSZhLVG2iwpBJjGGfDb7e1TLtbSt-eYhR8PZ_JU3cRK9Wwql2QzDJJbYwwqb7dXQv4XS1_bI5EM9qIy6QGmYrkJye3qGZ9UvZN11PJXsfwPcQo9hUimu48fkRF82E1ff3k-Lg/s1600/Sansouci.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFvbw7qrpmSZhLVG2iwpBJjGGfDb7e1TLtbSt-eYhR8PZ_JU3cRK9Wwql2QzDJJbYwwqb7dXQv4XS1_bI5EM9qIy6QGmYrkJye3qGZ9UvZN11PJXsfwPcQo9hUimu48fkRF82E1ff3k-Lg/s200/Sansouci.JPG" width="200" /></a>We arrived in Potsdam in the early afternoon and, with a break in the rain, opted to walk to the Sanssouci Palace from the main train station. Frederick the Great built this grandiose summer home in the mid-eighteenth century as a retreat to shield himself in a way from all the territorial wars he started and to devote himself to arts and culture. Jessi and I walked the grounds of the palace while awaiting our scheduled tour with an audio guide. Sansscoui was the highlight of our trip for Jessi so far, and it was certainly a welcome change from the house of horror in Wannsee. After the palace we made our way to the Brandenburg Gate (not to be confused with Berlin’s Brandenburg Gate) and walked through the shops and restaurants on Brandenburg Strasse. We ate at a street side restaurant and talked about relationships. The sun was shining. On our return to Berlin we stopped at a grocery store in the Bikini Mall and bought bread, cheese, and fruit to keep in our hotel room. Monday is Pentecost and we’re concerned about all the shops being closed and starving tomorrow!</div>
Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-20685176723678252422017-06-02T13:20:00.000-07:002017-06-06T11:02:09.878-07:00Kreuzberg<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdhqSxGJ7Cq-DVQIFrx1sn0IM6CKFqExcjmO_26-NcxZV0GBPrpcDD2YIvzKDPG5KKxQZ6ScRjaC9EDyYycBapDioiAjxv9AQb18-yN7z3pShbXosXInRUOIYZd99L__YOgNQnXMBaMfLX/s1600/East+Gallery+Wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdhqSxGJ7Cq-DVQIFrx1sn0IM6CKFqExcjmO_26-NcxZV0GBPrpcDD2YIvzKDPG5KKxQZ6ScRjaC9EDyYycBapDioiAjxv9AQb18-yN7z3pShbXosXInRUOIYZd99L__YOgNQnXMBaMfLX/s200/East+Gallery+Wall.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We spent a
good chunk of the day in Kreuzberg, a borough just south of city center Berlin known for
both its counterculture tradition and large population of immigrants. Of
particular interest to me is the Turkish community and more recent influx of
Syrian asylum seekers. We took the U-Bahn to Hallesches Tor and proceeded
thence on foot to the Turkish Market along the canal on Maybachufer street.
Jessi enjoyed Turkish coffee and we took in the sights and scents of fruit and
spices. Half past noon we met with Céline for a spot of tea in at a Kreuzberg
garden café. She serves as program director for a non-governmental counseling
center for immigrants. It seemed more of a social visit than anything else, but
I wanted to strategize a bit for next year’s global seminar.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIjWmABOXZZvw7w0WEEYnb6QuLtsFQ03_OmZ_7eNQaIBZH2_yC43uN5bYtidbCDqRhzKAA2A7jE6qn0tGwRPSK7dJ-lDMGt1r7j3Q1O_aokS2NYUPP10Y-lkVgK0uScQ-pdJwxuG2rIjkM/s1600/Jessi+und+Celine.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIjWmABOXZZvw7w0WEEYnb6QuLtsFQ03_OmZ_7eNQaIBZH2_yC43uN5bYtidbCDqRhzKAA2A7jE6qn0tGwRPSK7dJ-lDMGt1r7j3Q1O_aokS2NYUPP10Y-lkVgK0uScQ-pdJwxuG2rIjkM/s200/Jessi+und+Celine.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">After
checking out the site for the “Carnival of Cultures,” a multicultural festival
in </span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Kreuzberg planned for the weekend, we headed to the East Side Gallery, a
section of the Berlin Wall along the River Spree containing paintings from
artists throughout the world. We gazed upon a sunny skyline from the
double-deck Oberbaum Bridge that once straddled East and West Berlin. The
gleaming cross of the radio tower provided an opportunity to talk about the
“Pope’s Revenge” and differences between the East and the West during the Cold
War. Wanting to explore more of the Wall’s history with Jessi, we went from the
East Gallery to the Berlin Wall Park on the other side of town. Located along
Bernauer Straße, the park features stories and sites of successful and
unsuccessful attempts to flee to the West. Once can appreciate the perverse and
painstaking efforts on the part of the East German government to keep its
hapless people from leaving “paradise.” The searchlights, barbed wire, sensor
fences, guard towers, barricades give silent testimony to an oppressive police
state. The Great Wall of China, Hadrian’s Wall, and even Trump’s wall are
intended to keep out the barbarians, real or perceived. The Berlin Wall,
however, was a large jail cell keeping people confined to their life of
Trabants and IMs for nearly 30 decades. Fun.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA8GCXTIERtUSNAlaBmrlsTN7TlRU1uAQMzIUrHc4l34Y5w4Zmh_HgDZ2wIQjPp8oP6zYI4l7EH6kB8SFKeZPhEyfJGKb6ij9zxozdI3QyQhOjmJQYEPS1zgFWwXmWNqIiiJujN7aLsXyY/s1600/Turkish+Coffee.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA8GCXTIERtUSNAlaBmrlsTN7TlRU1uAQMzIUrHc4l34Y5w4Zmh_HgDZ2wIQjPp8oP6zYI4l7EH6kB8SFKeZPhEyfJGKb6ij9zxozdI3QyQhOjmJQYEPS1zgFWwXmWNqIiiJujN7aLsXyY/s200/Turkish+Coffee.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We took the
U-bahn to Potsdamer Platz and walked through the Mall of Berlin before arriving
at the site of Hitler’s bunker. Jessi marveled at the unassuming location. One
finds neither a museum nor commemorative stone. In fact, the bunker lies under
parking lot and apartment complex. Today you can find an informational
billboard with detailed description of the bunker’s layout, but it’s my
understanding that the site had no indication whatsoever that the Nazis’ last
stand occurred below the surface. Walking further up the road we come across
the outdoor Holocaust memorial which is aptly and penitently called the Memorial
to the Murdered Jews of Europe. The site consists of hundred of concrete slabs
in various sizes and heights. While the imagery is open to interpretation
perhaps, one gets a sense of dislocation, confusion and loneliness while
</span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">walking through the grid formation of slabs. Moreover, the slabs look like
gravestones.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbjVKRFwPCuv7r811inKLy0QD3qB9Rk-dkCwGu3SDuL2zMpzdrBxaynfMuzxCwz4_vFr-TAsKuVI0LvVcc9Ybf8eyAUWBsQKDFiRgKF_r5IV592bJ5EbpG3GLBeKe6TDYE3fbsKZT7kUVN/s1600/Jessi+und+Joseph+at+Karnivale.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbjVKRFwPCuv7r811inKLy0QD3qB9Rk-dkCwGu3SDuL2zMpzdrBxaynfMuzxCwz4_vFr-TAsKuVI0LvVcc9Ybf8eyAUWBsQKDFiRgKF_r5IV592bJ5EbpG3GLBeKe6TDYE3fbsKZT7kUVN/s200/Jessi+und+Joseph+at+Karnivale.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the
evening Jessi and I met up with my friend Joseph and made our way to the
Carnival of Cultures in Kreuzberg. Held every year, the event celebrates
cultural diversity with costumes, food, music, and plenty of beer. We watched a
few musical performances, drank some of that strange brew, and called it a
night. Germans know how to party.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-46258972001279143542017-06-01T14:12:00.000-07:002017-06-05T02:13:40.014-07:00Ku'damm<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBRFso4tLbFEuUK5o9JN6OKoFEEboQOBB9xelKlwhI_BGjvC6SPUqrPrhSNhOsoydd625SrCGjxxUQGNEO9ZXL8yxRrA1jynYRkwzcOwQAgTyA8dCzTUyHm9RCcqZ5KkTXd-qrgCn9x8wS/s1600/Kaiser+Wilhelm+Memorial+Church.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBRFso4tLbFEuUK5o9JN6OKoFEEboQOBB9xelKlwhI_BGjvC6SPUqrPrhSNhOsoydd625SrCGjxxUQGNEO9ZXL8yxRrA1jynYRkwzcOwQAgTyA8dCzTUyHm9RCcqZ5KkTXd-qrgCn9x8wS/s200/Kaiser+Wilhelm+Memorial+Church.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We arrived in
Germany’s capital in the late morning and headed for the hotel via bus and
subway. I had arranged to meet some folks from IES Abroad Berlin within two hours of
our arrival, so we quickly checked in and I was on my way. Jessi opted to stay at
the hotel and take a shower. The appointment was on the opposite side of the
city. IES is a Chicago-based study abroad provider that will facilitate my three-week German
course next year. The meeting with the center director and special events coordnator went well and I’m satisfied with the facilities
and lodging situation for the students.</span></span></div>
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Jessi and I explored the area near our hotel, Ku’damm, which stands for Kürfurstendamm
and refers to the boulevard of upscale shops and restaurants in the western
part of the city. We visited the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church on
Breitscheidplatz. Allied bombers destroyed most of the church in 1943, but a
portion remained. Built in the late nineteenth c<span style="font-size: small;">entury, the Protestant church
showcased the conservative values of the long-reigning Hohenzollern family. In the photo above, Jessi is standing next to a bas-relief sculpture in the entrance hall of the damaged spire.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
pointed out to Jessi the location of the Christmas market attack this past December
when a Tunisian asylum seeker killed a dozen people with a truck. (Yes, between being a military guy and historian of genocide, I would point something like this out.) We also came
across some of the Stolpersteine or stumbling stones that demarcate throughout
Berlin where Jewish families once lived before the Holocaust. Finally, we made
our way to KaDeWe which stands for Kaufhaus des Westens, the largest department
stores in continental Europe and in some ways a symbol during the Cold War of
Western Germany’s economic prosperity vis-à-vis communist East Germany. We went
to restaurant in the “winter garden” on the seventh floor. Jessi had a nice
meal and I had a café latte with a nice window view of West Berlin.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We returned to
the hotel just after 8 pm and endeavored to get to bed early. Our hotel is
nicely located next to Wittenbergplatz with easy access to the U Bahn and near
plenty of shops and restaurants. I chose this location out of familiarity. I
had stayed with my students at this hotel this past January. Anyway, Jessi and
I had little luck getting to sleep due to jetlag, rather surprising since I had
been up for over 25 hours. It was a long day and we had a good time together.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-358755086034128272017-06-01T00:00:00.000-07:002017-06-10T20:26:06.096-07:00Jermany with Jessi in June<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpd6-lN_3jc5RRDgDsuNJI5iqpwvpcujBhyphenhyphenCE1bruFfZCz9xWSieVv7a3hJZEEA21aGDISPNhYIlbm9pkKrxt1TJFPo-T_WD-2FXZDKZ6rCX2uZTUczG486wpDoLmmDcjQCIhVcbVo2JLi/s1600/JJJ1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="578" data-original-width="288" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpd6-lN_3jc5RRDgDsuNJI5iqpwvpcujBhyphenhyphenCE1bruFfZCz9xWSieVv7a3hJZEEA21aGDISPNhYIlbm9pkKrxt1TJFPo-T_WD-2FXZDKZ6rCX2uZTUczG486wpDoLmmDcjQCIhVcbVo2JLi/s320/JJJ1.jpg" width="158" /></a><o:p>Today marks the beginning of an 8-day visit to Germany with my daughter Jessi. I intend to </o:p>keep a travelogue of our experiences, and for whatever reason I’m first setting pen to paper as we await our flight at O’Hare International Airport in Chicago. I wistfully stare into my cup of espresso and ponder the passage of time after a weekend in Maryland. Family members had gathered in Annapolis this past weekend to watch Jessi’s ceremonious transition from midshipman to ensign on the football stadium of the U.S. Naval Academy—a graduation ceremony punctuated with a fly-over of the Blue Angels and commencement speech by Vice President Mike Pence. Before I go further with my inane musings, however, let me provide some context.</div>
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<o:p></o:p> </div>
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<o:p>Keen reader that you are, you will have noticed my penchant for alliteration, a congenital defect I’m afraid: Jermany, Jessi, June. (Speaking of alliteration, hopefully upon our return from Berlin next week we will utter the words of the vainglorious Julius Caesar drunk with victory: Venimus, Vidimus, Vincimus.) This excursion has very much to do with a person, a place, and a time. Jessika Lynn is my middle daughter and a source of great pride, as it is no small feat to graduate from one of the world’s most prestigious and rigorous military institutions. I love her beyond words and am proud of her achievement; however, I take greatest solace as a father in knowing that she will grow up to be a person of kindness and decency who is concerned for those less fortunate than herself.</o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p> </div>
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<o:p>Jessi and I traveled to Japan back in 2009 when she was in high school. Near the end of our visit we missed the bus to Mount Fuji because I took a detour on our way back from Kyoto to Tokyo. You see, friend, I wanted to visit the museum and shrine of Chiune Sugihara, one of my heroes of history. As a Mensch, Jessi understood my pilgrimage despite missing out on a highly-anticipated part of our trip. I also learned during this sojourn in Japan that Jessi can keep up with me: my long stride and desire to forgo public transit and walk the length and breadth of a city. Now, I’m trying to keep up with <em>her</em>. As we’ve mentioned our trip to Japan from time to time over the years, I wanted to capture yet another special moment for us to bond and create and forge new memories together. Spending time together is ever more precious these days because we live in different parts of the States.</o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p> </div>
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<o:p>Jessi stands at one of the crossroads of her life, and I wanted to meet her there. She is transitioning from life at the academy to flight school in Pensacola, Florida. The midshipman has become an ensign, just as the adolescent has become an adult. I suspect there are other momentous changes currently going on her life. This month of June is a good time to reconnect, while I still have the chance. As an aging father, I’m just trying to flag a ride onto her life as she moves on with her career and someday raise a family.</o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6YtYxw6dAYFQ7Ok-LvW0LbKyHhns7u_AoBrXicxgU14XrFPfvnHAo0D7PlvpVMP84KEjuRlM8zuSkObSZ7SYszyrytPM3D27OltJwlM3bMkQgBntV_fQyczXtjFGRFrKZhqzzR2UCMe6z/s1600/JJJ2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6YtYxw6dAYFQ7Ok-LvW0LbKyHhns7u_AoBrXicxgU14XrFPfvnHAo0D7PlvpVMP84KEjuRlM8zuSkObSZ7SYszyrytPM3D27OltJwlM3bMkQgBntV_fQyczXtjFGRFrKZhqzzR2UCMe6z/s1600/JJJ2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="953" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6YtYxw6dAYFQ7Ok-LvW0LbKyHhns7u_AoBrXicxgU14XrFPfvnHAo0D7PlvpVMP84KEjuRlM8zuSkObSZ7SYszyrytPM3D27OltJwlM3bMkQgBntV_fQyczXtjFGRFrKZhqzzR2UCMe6z/s200/JJJ2.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<o:p>Finally, why are we going to Germania? Specifically, we’ll be staying in Berlin for the entirety of our visit, with brief junkets to Potsdam and possibly Wittenberg. In a way, this trip is a homecoming for Jessi who lived basically the first year of her life there. Ever ingrained in my memory is Jessi as a toddler standing in a window sill of our rented house in Augsburg some two decades ago, with her big brown eyes and crop of chestnut brown hair, waving me goodbye as I leave for the train. At that time I was doing archival research for my dissertation. I also chose Berlin for our trip because I’m connecting with a few organizations and friends in the area. I’m planning a three-week global seminar for the spring of 2018. University students will study the integration of immigrants and refugees, or lack thereof, into German society.</o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><o:p>So let’s see how this journey unfolds. Keeping Jessi happy requires a lot of movement and activities, which works fine with me. Key to success also requires supplying her with plenty of judiciously selected snacks, both sweet and salty, and dispensing them at strategic moments during the trip. What father-daughter possibilities may come when we have shuffled off our routines to travel abroad together must give us pause.</o:p></div>
Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-38757073231868266222014-03-15T18:27:00.000-07:002014-03-19T16:57:56.840-07:00The Future<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2uNSH2nzI2U1S19OTvh9eIwrqu5vJGORXezTlcTRnbLKyLdHw9L8m4cdAV9tTphUnUXMehzYQc83vR79m7cq5k4sD9TGX3BtraaR1WROlDnmx-yICnkjQAHu3r9r_SVsmStAeYUUUfSJ/s1600/Easel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2uNSH2nzI2U1S19OTvh9eIwrqu5vJGORXezTlcTRnbLKyLdHw9L8m4cdAV9tTphUnUXMehzYQc83vR79m7cq5k4sD9TGX3BtraaR1WROlDnmx-yICnkjQAHu3r9r_SVsmStAeYUUUfSJ/s1600/Easel.jpg" height="200" width="193" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">The future could be a white canvas on an easel standing alone in a room, the
smell of oil-based paint wafting through the air, awaiting the artist who will
dab her brush into a multicolor palette and create a brave new world with thoughtful,
magical brushstrokes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps the future
is a black screen or tabula rasa, a barren field ready to be nurtured into a
thriving garden by visionaries, idealists, and others who think big and
bold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For me, the future, or to be more
exact, our conceptualization of the future, of its possibilities, should not be
any of these things.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Whether we’re talking about human nature or the future, I have reservations
about the tabula rasa concept.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Edwin
Black, author of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">War on the Weak</i>,
which recounts the eugenic movement in Europe and the U.S., wrote: “Mankind’s
search for perfection has always turned dark.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His cautionary words ring true and remind us of the pitfalls of futurist
ambitions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just finished teaching a
couple of modules on the Holocaust and Cambodia under the Khmer Rouge
respectively.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you’re looking for bold
visions of the future, look no further!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hitler
had in his mind’s eye an Aryan utopia that would spread across Europe and
Russia, while Pol Pot and his comrades sought to reverse the clock to Year Zero
and usher in a new blissful era of agrarian communism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Millions of murders later, the imagined future
became a reified apocalypse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, let’s
not imagine the future to be an amorphous and vacuous blob awaiting our high
ideals to give it shape, our pure intentions to spread the gospel, </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">or our
social engineering skills to draw up the blueprints.</span><br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoKUdocBwUk2qAtP4SB-RsfWe985jEWy-qUorHUEXFRg9DcucCb9Tdswyarap3z3LUkc4LA2HJtlQ4jekbMFbn9nj8CW3OUi7r-gdsTl5aPTwE08Otp_ONVxYIbXFKdyE1SoM41seAdoXo/s1600/Universe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoKUdocBwUk2qAtP4SB-RsfWe985jEWy-qUorHUEXFRg9DcucCb9Tdswyarap3z3LUkc4LA2HJtlQ4jekbMFbn9nj8CW3OUi7r-gdsTl5aPTwE08Otp_ONVxYIbXFKdyE1SoM41seAdoXo/s1600/Universe.jpg" height="160" width="200" /></a><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">I can hear the objections already: Your head’s rooted in the systems
of the past and you simply can’t think outside the box.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it turns out, I believe in a better
future; it’s just that I’m not quite the wide-eyed optimist like my sanguine
friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of my favorite contemporary
thinkers, Steven Pinker, makes the case that humans have become less violent
over the millennia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Better Angels of Our Nature</i> draws upon a
vast array of statistics, the historical record, and explanatory models.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe we can transform our social
consciousness and find a better way to live as a world community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m convinced that we can make our society more
egalitarian and just.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can move on
from the sins of the past and forge a new order.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It won’t come easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It never has.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And it won’t come about by either neglecting the past or our nature.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I do like the image of an artist refashioning the future, as I fancy
myself an artist at times, especially when I'm enjoying an alcoholic beverage or I’m sitting
behind a piano keyboard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my vision, though,
the canvas is not pristine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not a
blank slate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It contains oil stains and
other imperfections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With brush in
hand, I’m poised before a canvas that has markings, vestiges of the past like a
palimpsest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The challenge and perhaps
fun of creating a better future is to work with or around what we’re
given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Make no mistake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We need people who are able to peer beneath
the thin veneer of the status quo, of tradition, of business as usual, and see new horizons that have yet to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the past and future must always coexist as
a continuum in the futurist’s mind<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-size: small;">—a perfect blend of ideation and context.</span></span></span></span></div>
Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-34099536815651145922014-03-09T09:28:00.000-07:002014-03-15T10:44:55.998-07:00Weekend in Early March<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">My daughter Jessi is on spring break from the Naval Academy
this week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I picked her up at
the Milwaukee airport Friday evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was the first time we were both in uniform together, as I had spent the day on
military orders at Fort McCoy and had driven straight to the airport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The long drive home provided a great
opportunity to have a good one-on-one discussion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew she’d be hanging with friends most of
the time, so I’ll take what I can get.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That said, I did have the opportunity to go out to dinner last night
with her and her friend Lauren, who came down for the weekend to hang with
Jessi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After dinner the three of us saw the
movie <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Non-Stop</i> in which Liam Neeson
kicked some ass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(There’s a bit of
nostalgia here, as I had taken Jessi to see the Liam Neeson movie <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Taken</i> a few years ago, mostly so she’d become
aware of the problem of sex trafficking in Europe; the movie ended up being
really good, so it is a fond memory for us.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Unfortunately I have to teach this coming week, so once I leave here tonight for the other town where I teach, I won’t be able to
see Jessi until Thursday or Friday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll
take her to the airport next Saturday morning and have another opportunity to talk and catch up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Overall, things are looking
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was able to hang with Jessi and
family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s daylight savings time, so
the days will be longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Above all, the
weather is become more temperate; at least it’s warm enough to do some serious
running and outdoors recreation.</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-88961253762632337482014-03-08T09:52:00.000-08:002014-03-09T11:42:27.450-07:00The World in a Coffee Cup<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhERZZAo6kc6yu-DjWFMvHtfZ60Ra7LfRoCm_n4eSQe3HBWFQDzPjcMKwKo0sUpnQdDIIrTO7SIaDTpgatULM9WuYLs5NDejQxqtp4jX5hx7nsG69cgJ17zEEz70UwnPHE0kgl45oUgZI2h/s1600/World+in+a+Coffee+Cup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhERZZAo6kc6yu-DjWFMvHtfZ60Ra7LfRoCm_n4eSQe3HBWFQDzPjcMKwKo0sUpnQdDIIrTO7SIaDTpgatULM9WuYLs5NDejQxqtp4jX5hx7nsG69cgJ17zEEz70UwnPHE0kgl45oUgZI2h/s1600/World+in+a+Coffee+Cup.jpg" height="198" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I have had a splendid time these past couple of months
discussing with colleagues what it means to bring a global or intercultural
perspective into the classroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
faculty and staff at the university where I teach are receptive to and candid
about this topic, though they come at it from different disciplines,
experiences, and perspectives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s been
fun and insightful hearing about their teaching strategies, as well as their travels
abroad or in some cases their experiences in balancing two cultures as an immigrant
or “hyphenated” American.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In April I’ll be
presenting a poster at a conference with a Spanish instructor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both of us received a stipend to promote a
global perspective on our campus, as we’re fellows in an intercampus cohort
program on “internationalizing the curriculum.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Based on the interviews, the poster will (hopefully) provide a
springboard for discussion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look forward
to engaging conversations at the conference, sharing with other academics
the wonderful ways my colleagues are exposing students to other cultures and points of view.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-32231637807098785272014-03-06T10:43:00.000-08:002014-03-15T10:43:57.049-07:00Just Want to Live<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I just want to live.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here I stand, I can do no other. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God help me, amen. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a wayfarer, just traipsing around this big
old globe, which by the way is careening out of control in a seemingly chaotic
universe or perhaps being gradually snuffed out under the dark auspices of
capricious and sadistic deities—I don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m just taking in data, absorbing phenomena, livin’ la vida loca, soaking
up the cathode rays, and drinking in ultraviolet radiation, a foul and
pestilent congregation of vapors hovering over this Earth, that is to say, the
devil’s playground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just want to
live!</span></span></div>
Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-11442881125330145092014-03-03T22:14:00.000-08:002014-03-10T15:39:23.917-07:00Urine and Worse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKWMAGohaY29neTA3eTm-BdYXZTtQkeyqVEyQOWQUoZ26C3o6XC9TuyKpn_xfw9ruJOTmhauFSI4OLD3cjyH_sSqXv6YVv9S7oJc73Z2Z6UMwmONPKsTqVBnhdEwUJW3pUKqy63ACIKDYQ/s1600/Urine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKWMAGohaY29neTA3eTm-BdYXZTtQkeyqVEyQOWQUoZ26C3o6XC9TuyKpn_xfw9ruJOTmhauFSI4OLD3cjyH_sSqXv6YVv9S7oJc73Z2Z6UMwmONPKsTqVBnhdEwUJW3pUKqy63ACIKDYQ/s1600/Urine.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I pee when I laugh, every time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The funnier the joke that someone is telling me, the more forceful the
gush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, the wittier the comment, the
mightier the amber river (or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">clear</i>
river, depending on how hydrated I am).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s like there's a terrorist attack going on inside my trousers and the bomb
inadvertently set off the sprinkler system.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Since I giggle so often, and since I evidently have the mother of all urinary
bladders, I see pants as nothing more than an ineffective spray-protector.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Colleagues no longer chat with me at my
cubicle, for my desk, computer, file cabinet and bookshelf reek of urine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, my office chair, formerly blue, is
now aqua green, which incidentally matches nicely the turquoise stone paperweight
on my desk. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The entire copier room is likewise
saturated with the stuff, as I once laughed uncontrollably while making
handouts for my class because a co-worker walked up to me at the time and
started creating weird sounds with her armpits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Look, I realize that what I’m telling you is disgusting, but there are
worse things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not like I’m a serial
killer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What would you rather have: a
serial killer in your office killing people or some splotches of urine here and there?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That said, I must concede that I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do</i> have a more serious problem. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You see, dear reader, I defecate when I cry,
almost always.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Given my melancholy
disposition and bouts with depression, it’s like I’m a permanent resident of
Shitsville.</span></span></div>
Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-5266495491048411922014-03-01T22:19:00.000-08:002014-03-08T09:58:26.774-08:00Mud<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZkswDaxV10b4a-9hsIuOlHQisyF1h3odEfLtmYq6ygKJlqeiB6d9RIocpgWshEAmMNW_7KpBoqnwfys1uVFzeEPHgUiDB3Vwo27IuX4G3lumPrFfnBxZn_HXCAPhkFzdLdGsl7NvXIF6V/s1600/Woods.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZkswDaxV10b4a-9hsIuOlHQisyF1h3odEfLtmYq6ygKJlqeiB6d9RIocpgWshEAmMNW_7KpBoqnwfys1uVFzeEPHgUiDB3Vwo27IuX4G3lumPrFfnBxZn_HXCAPhkFzdLdGsl7NvXIF6V/s1600/Woods.jpg" height="149" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="color: black;">I fell into a hole a few months ago and, try as I might, could not climb my way out. Dusk was settling in and the fog was thick as soup. I was traversing a remote woodland area, reflecting on life’s meaning and taking a much coveted respite from the rigors of mediocre academic and military careers, when the ground gave way beneath me and I plummeted into a pit of mud. Many people have asked why I have not written in this blog since November—and by “many people,” I mean my mom, dad, and dog. Well, there you go. Some think that I fell off the wagon, so to speak, making love to yet another innocent bottle of whiskey. Others were convinced that I joined a caravan of Gypsies and became essentially a vagabond or traveling minstrel. According to another theory, I’m actually living in Peru under a false identity, eking out a living by selling llama cheese to miners while at the same time supposedly operating a meth lab. No, I simply fell and couldn’t get up. When I was down there, in the muck and mire, slipping and sliding like a trapped animal, I thought much about life…and of death, but I survived. The earth came close to reclaiming this earthen vessel; indeed, my spirit is still wallowing in the mud.</span></span></div>
Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-40998026670763441442013-11-23T15:27:00.001-08:002013-11-23T18:45:50.619-08:00My Service to Humanity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwOyQ_1XM_0akPniw8A-uYevq9R_3TCpkeb6JFlbjKslCiWjjTJylYWOFI41yzgAlGYkMsAnHSrAVpPEr9JndPv6gtq_XoIENy84kNwu5Tx0eiEKaUWDm2m4YjwNuZn3jHOwSq2paTtIKh/s1600/Angry+Chimps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwOyQ_1XM_0akPniw8A-uYevq9R_3TCpkeb6JFlbjKslCiWjjTJylYWOFI41yzgAlGYkMsAnHSrAVpPEr9JndPv6gtq_XoIENy84kNwu5Tx0eiEKaUWDm2m4YjwNuZn3jHOwSq2paTtIKh/s200/Angry+Chimps.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Utsaah;">One of
my favorite topics to talk about is the Homo sapiens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I come
across this species almost every day: in the coffee shop, at work, under the
boardwalk, even in my own home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
sometimes scary to think that these simian creatures are just walking around, unattended, with
nothing separating them from you but some sort of unspoken (and tenuous) agreement
that harming one another is not in anyone’s best interest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I appreciate these biped mammals when I
need some help or social interaction, I never forget that this is the same
species that gave the world Hitler and Stalin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You know what I mean?</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Utsaah;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Utsaah;">Anyway,
have you ever wondered why people smile at each other when they inadvertently make
eye contact in passing?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, why
smile?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who came up with this inane
facial expression as a response?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Won’t
this social custom only serve to perpetuate the myth of human kindness and
empathy and cover up the fact that we’re just angry chimps wearing clothes and
a deceptive smile?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides, how can
anyone ever grow as a person if someone is never challenged but simply smiled at,
as if everything’s hunky-dory?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See what
I mean?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I’ve decided that when I make eye contact
with someone, I’m going to shake my head, not smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You see, my mammalian friend, when people see
me shake my head they’ll be thrown off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They’ll wonder what’s wrong. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’ll
look inside themselves, and maybe, just maybe, they’ll search for a way to turn someone’s
shaking head of disapproval into an affirming nod.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Utsaah; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">The world will be a better place as a result. </span></span>I won't shake my head merely to flout convention, but as a service to humanity, whatever
that word means.</span></div>
Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-34497626376133473952013-11-22T04:12:00.000-08:002013-12-13T10:52:25.780-08:00Six Years of My Life<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcgqsYoAF_ifa8basAq6lxl5hZmZnPRXPaLIkPUrysqnE-fI6GxxdL4d_gm6Yj-dUyr0_ITsVs-jhhii-SJkTsDT9KqHBFEyGGMzDFuM4Oh_0pN1g-OUj9Lc_WmuO2Om26q_7vJj8p2nAN/s1600/Me+in+Uniform.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcgqsYoAF_ifa8basAq6lxl5hZmZnPRXPaLIkPUrysqnE-fI6GxxdL4d_gm6Yj-dUyr0_ITsVs-jhhii-SJkTsDT9KqHBFEyGGMzDFuM4Oh_0pN1g-OUj9Lc_WmuO2Om26q_7vJj8p2nAN/s200/Me+in+Uniform.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Utsaah; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I left 5 am this morning to make the five-hour drive to my
military office in Milwaukee. I’ll be conducting a change-of-command
inventory with the new incoming commander, as my tenure as company commander is
coming to an end this December. Trust me, I’m glad to move on, but it
will be a challenge to start anew, as an S1 staff officer, <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">forging new
relationships and learning the ropes in a different military unit. <span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Utsaah; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Melancholies, I contend, thrive on change yet
find it rather disconcerting. </span>I’ve</span>
been a part of this current unit, an unspecified transportation battalion,
since my redeployment from Afghanistan six years ago. I started out
as an NCO but went to officer candidate school in South Carolina and ended up
serving as platoon leader in one company and commander in another.
Anyway, I’ll be embarking on a new chapter of my military career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have about 12 years to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hopefully no new conflicts involving the U.S. erupt in the meantime, but I’m not holding my breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, this <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> Earth, and its tortured history is replete with wars and rumors
of wars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> There are always territories to seize, terrorists and warlords to track down, and natural resources to secure. What with seven gazillion homines sapientes traipsing around on this planet and a finite amount of space, it ain't looking good.</span></span></span>
</div>
Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-90855192036668555142013-11-09T17:58:00.000-08:002013-11-10T13:47:10.297-08:00Blink of an Eye<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLM3bfHDJkzR8XijNC9BRlR8z-I4g1VgxctAtazeOs_evedqK9Hhrm-nXOtjCjj5bcb28WUaAjznFOMC9oHxlN23TpHaZeaMiLck__XJIa8ONBUHVaPxIvMJCRsv4thVq5r5qJrQUDhaNO/s1600/ErikaJessika.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLM3bfHDJkzR8XijNC9BRlR8z-I4g1VgxctAtazeOs_evedqK9Hhrm-nXOtjCjj5bcb28WUaAjznFOMC9oHxlN23TpHaZeaMiLck__XJIa8ONBUHVaPxIvMJCRsv4thVq5r5qJrQUDhaNO/s200/ErikaJessika.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">Two of my daughters have their birthdays this weekend. Erika was born in
Northern California, and Jessika was born four years later in Southern
California. They grew up in the Upper Midwest, however. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My oh my, how the years have
flown by!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Erika has just turned the age
when I got married.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That makes me feel
kind of old……*sigh*….……(wait for it)……………..Shit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Here’s a photo of them when we lived in Germany.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things were so simple back then, you
know?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, I could put on a Disney
movie and give them a Butterfinger; they were good to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nowadays they’re more sophisticated in their
interests and hobbies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Erika is getting
a business degree at the University of Wisconsin and working two jobs as an intern and waitress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jessi is on the varsity swim team at the U.S.
Naval Academy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two cute girls become two
beautiful, aspiring women in the blink of an eye, and I recede into the background,
gratified and proud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-33492289147810971932013-11-08T19:13:00.002-08:002013-11-09T18:27:52.481-08:00Thank You, Jesus!<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaN5vbDaNSWtujIR3nCaJ25Ob_Vx0JX6vq0sLhif1M1OWC-p0Ouhv9CUpmQoBMGxKYPwQ_N3fpjOA0JNlzKIXEo01ClWj66YPdTLBe09-gaZqID-bp8qJnQT9h8MfJKbiTdtNYQEuLxS8B/s1600/Cult+Compound.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaN5vbDaNSWtujIR3nCaJ25Ob_Vx0JX6vq0sLhif1M1OWC-p0Ouhv9CUpmQoBMGxKYPwQ_N3fpjOA0JNlzKIXEo01ClWj66YPdTLBe09-gaZqID-bp8qJnQT9h8MfJKbiTdtNYQEuLxS8B/s200/Cult+Compound.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">A few months ago I joined a church called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Covenant and Redemption</i>, or CAR for short.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pastor Matt is basically a reincarnation of
Jesus Christ and his powerful message of inner reconciliation through focused meditation
has gotten me through some tough times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
When you see him you'll duly note the uncanny resemblance to the Nazarene. Anyway, t</span>hanks to my Savior’s teaching and loving guidance, I’ve been able to
relinquish the deep-seated hatred I harbored these many years for my abusive
stepfather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No alcohol has touched my
lips for nearly a month now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During an
altar call, Pastor Matt, or Jesus, reached out for me personally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His loving eyes seemed to penetrate the shell
around my hurting soul like a laser.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
could feel his divine presence within me, beside me, strengthening me.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">I’m writing you about my experience of
newfound bliss because I believe the world needs to hear Jesus’ new and timely
message of redemption, a philosophy of life based in part on sacred Hebrew and
Sanskrit texts and in part on new revelations from the mind of God, that is,
Matt. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first I didn’t understand why
he had to sleep with my girlfriend and some of the other female members of the
congregation until I had a kind of cosmic realization that he was purifying
them with his immaculate body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> More important than His women's ministry, though, is His eschatological teaching. </span>Pastor
Matt has been preaching about the apocalyptic end of the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Enemies of the faith lurk everywhere, both within the church and outside. </span>Fortunately our spiritual ruler has prepared
a place of security for us, after drawing upon the connections and financial backing of wealthy followers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once the divorce
is settled and I've given all my possessions to CAR Ministries (including my firstborn), I’ll be moving to a CAR settlement located about 30 miles northeast of
Perth, Australia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> In this isolated compound with fellow believers</span> I will find
everything I need.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you so much, Jesus, for the start of a long and wonderful life ahead!</span></span></div>
Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-31245062990498080442013-11-05T13:57:00.000-08:002013-11-23T07:19:00.731-08:00The Problem with Rudy<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">Rudy has worked as a shift manager at Pioneer Chicken in El Segundo for
over five years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While he’s relatively
satisfied with his life, he nonetheless yearns for something more—an adventure
or new challenge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Like many of us, he’s discontent with his lot in life and desperately needs a larger purpose. </span>He wants to travel to
exotic lands, experience other cultures, and meet interesting and influential
people. Who knows?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe Rudy could find
his soul mate on such an adventure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Problem
is: Rudy is a serial killer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though it’s
been over two years since his last kill, he’s bound to strike again, and living
abroad or sipping a margarita in some sun-bleached resort can’t be good, you
know what I mean?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People could get
hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He should set aside his dreams and
aspirations, as far as I’m concerned.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-69483355565069538512013-11-04T18:59:00.000-08:002013-11-10T03:28:08.804-08:00The Woman<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmb4Wbg_NgVMkpilds7OEPjSN6mMR1-E7EGt30tekme5Wy9jcnnePqs7IgA0K1KQdRyZ1hXTIENmSCXMJVENIiMplzpoy4UwVMtk6_QSQ0xQNtsF_SeqyXjVHS49_dHQk6T45OFuqB2lDx/s1600/Munch+woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmb4Wbg_NgVMkpilds7OEPjSN6mMR1-E7EGt30tekme5Wy9jcnnePqs7IgA0K1KQdRyZ1hXTIENmSCXMJVENIiMplzpoy4UwVMtk6_QSQ0xQNtsF_SeqyXjVHS49_dHQk6T45OFuqB2lDx/s200/Munch+woman.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">She didn’t appear in
public much, and when she did, she hid her face in a scarf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you blame her?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People can be so unforgiving, especially the
morally smug people of this Midwestern town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Some of them call her a harlot, not a few of them think she’s the Whore
of Babylon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s neither saint nor
sinner, neither monstrous nor meretricious, though her angelic eyes exude
sensuality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The townsfolk scoff, ridicule,
castigate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it were up to me, I’d
have each one of them shot for having judged her so harshly, for having cast
stones upon her without hesitation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
she would have none of this violence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
woman spends the days tending her flower garden and playing Chopin listlessly on
her Steinway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A steady diet of tonics
and laudanum do not ease her loneliness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-29026518639682312242013-11-03T20:46:00.000-08:002013-11-09T20:53:37.654-08:00My Girlfriends<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjLyewDPfoW4kAzfegNMAnx_MjrDPCM2VRGmwA_Img77bXdSR0i_PWGgZ44J3PhQcoUocE7rAjjS7QYclu5-X9Kb6IpzTr66IeJuk5zLY5UDc-ZoJLpOemXqs5uzfByc-SCyBQj_kWCUXp/s1600/Bratz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjLyewDPfoW4kAzfegNMAnx_MjrDPCM2VRGmwA_Img77bXdSR0i_PWGgZ44J3PhQcoUocE7rAjjS7QYclu5-X9Kb6IpzTr66IeJuk5zLY5UDc-ZoJLpOemXqs5uzfByc-SCyBQj_kWCUXp/s200/Bratz.jpg" width="182" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">My girlfriends aren’t real, but they’re no less dear to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, define <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">real</i>, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, they’re
real <em>to me</em>, and anyone who sees my playful interaction with Jade and the others would have no doubt about the seriousness of the relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just know that some people
object to the close bond I've formed with these fashion dolls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Who’s to judge what is real and meaningful?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If these gals are meeting my emotional needs
and if I’m satisfied sexually (more so the latter), then what does it matter
that my girlfriends are made of plastic?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So I turn the question back on you: Who are you to judge?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-19060474722320722182013-11-02T19:12:00.002-07:002013-11-03T07:28:15.007-08:00Bittersweet Autumn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIc01Dfz_oOhtABpgc7rpfOQvxb8Z_9gjG9OBJgeYE-eWad_CksiGLZN2agB3yZ3rOAQfH4QA0fKk4iU-LlM2DJt-dY5CeN2bxX1LDxl_vc-ga6q_op1EUWH1WPMjPAWAT0SjgLM9VjhcO/s1600/Autumn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIc01Dfz_oOhtABpgc7rpfOQvxb8Z_9gjG9OBJgeYE-eWad_CksiGLZN2agB3yZ3rOAQfH4QA0fKk4iU-LlM2DJt-dY5CeN2bxX1LDxl_vc-ga6q_op1EUWH1WPMjPAWAT0SjgLM9VjhcO/s200/Autumn.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Autumn is bittersweet for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As some of you might have gathered by now, it’s
my favorite time of the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re just
past peak season at the top of November, but not by much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I pen these words on a scratch piece of
paper, I’m driving a long stretch of the Interstate from Point A to Point B, and
the trees of the Upper Midwest through my window panorama look
spectacular.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, I love the fall: the
leaves, the sky, the weather, Halloween, Thanksgiving, apple cider, pumpkins,
childhood memories, and all the rest of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yet it couldn’t come at a busier time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Nothing’s changed; it’s always been this way: deadlines and pressures
galore, especially in October.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always
have the hope that the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">next </i>autumn won’t
be so complicated and vexing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of
this complication is of my own making, I must concede, so I’ll try to maintain a
broad perspective about life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Black
care rarely sits behind a rider whose pace is fast enough.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must drive on.</span></span></div>
Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-66667569452673797322013-10-28T10:08:00.002-07:002013-10-28T10:17:41.100-07:00Voices from the Cemetery<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqyafVp6R70gvJJUZ4rbce9yDQzTrb-lQDd4QOWbPXvYNyVb05vTRDOcDJscqrkrFc7miCGPX4ltSALoq0AemBZIvuEzpLK5rnRqJUF9Y3qZSZTPmLvzhXLPJKDjXKk8OblwjCZki_C0i/s1600/Cemetery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqyafVp6R70gvJJUZ4rbce9yDQzTrb-lQDd4QOWbPXvYNyVb05vTRDOcDJscqrkrFc7miCGPX4ltSALoq0AemBZIvuEzpLK5rnRqJUF9Y3qZSZTPmLvzhXLPJKDjXKk8OblwjCZki_C0i/s200/Cemetery.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">My mommy and daddy live in the cemetery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They tell me that I need to behave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They say I’m a very naughty child and they want to lock me away in a dungeon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to hide, I tried to run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like to draw lots of pictures with crayons and markers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mommy threw them all away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one must see them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love my mommy and daddy, and I hear them whisper to me though an iron gate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their voices tickle my ear, make me giggle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes they cry and groan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Daddy beat me when he was sad and touched me in a bad place when he was mad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mommy was quiet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On nights such as this one I like to climb the large sycamore tree that hangs over the cemetery and talk to my mommy and daddy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They must have thought me real naughty when I wielded that axe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They live in the cemetery because they’re naughty too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440177334700666944.post-62128050377626081922013-10-27T09:58:00.000-07:002013-10-28T10:58:49.305-07:00Succubus of Kettlewood Estates<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKVLIwVzLuD6IWyWDCkGjhhWSJiktjGK2Cq_bHbPYUpMdYAKDQ5FGIuDXsWWQmOHtno-JEB3ORs5PgmS7Q9AMMy1tQ0ImdT8Bhyh3Leq06F3aAxvls4aTkDCYBihwRd0zoBcGLYNC0FSkd/s1600/Succubus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKVLIwVzLuD6IWyWDCkGjhhWSJiktjGK2Cq_bHbPYUpMdYAKDQ5FGIuDXsWWQmOHtno-JEB3ORs5PgmS7Q9AMMy1tQ0ImdT8Bhyh3Leq06F3aAxvls4aTkDCYBihwRd0zoBcGLYNC0FSkd/s200/Succubus.jpg" width="175" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Be on your guard if you stay overnight at Kettlewood Estates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You won’t succumb only to the magnificent
view of the Chesapeake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Passions stir in
dark places, at the nexus of lust and pure evil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s not who or what you think she is, and
it won’t matter if you’re youthful, virile, in the twilight of your years, or dry to the bone;
if you’re a heterosexual male, you won’t escape her demonic wiles, the dark power of a sinister spirit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> Poe once wrote that there’s nothing
more poetic than the death of a beautiful woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, there’s nothing more beautiful than
this shrouded figure that glides through the air and lures foolish men to the flames of hell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But she’s no corpse; she’s not among the
“living dead.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She's not one of the many
ghosts from the Civil War that haunt this region—she’s much worse, a malevolent
force in the guise of a stunningly beautiful and irresistibly sensual woman.
Her face is pale as ash, with wanton eyes as black as coal, and dark streaks running
down her eyes—are these tears or Satan’s branding?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her long flaxen hair is almost as pale as her
face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t follow her upstairs, lads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fight the urge to kiss those dark lips, for
they’ll lead you straight to perdition where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leave
the state of Maryland if you have to, and never come back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><a data-ved="0CAUQjRw" href="http://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&frm=1&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&docid=r4DvM76ec0SMaM&tbnid=bsLFQ6lvcUByrM:&ved=0CAUQjRw&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.etsy.com%2Fmarket%2Fmedieval_woodcut&ei=LZZuUsXdNYv22AWu64G4BQ&psig=AFQjCNHyMeRHO9K14FP7tbu7N7s6nzbA8A&ust=1383065383159828" id="irc_mil" style="border: 0px currentColor;"></a>Der Viatorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18018429039359410715noreply@blogger.com