Rückkehr

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.

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.

Reichstag and Wittenberg

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.

 

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 in cloaca, 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.

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.

 

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.

 

We brunched at a restaurant called Witten Burger Grill & Bar. (Get it? Witten Burger! 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 stirring the economy and feeding his people. The couple recommended that we grab some delicious soft serve ice cream and

fondly recalled eating the frozen treat in the days of the DDR—such nostalgia a good reminder that East Germany wasn't all bad for the people who lived it. 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 our indulgence.

 

Day of Shopping

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.

Pfingsten

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.

Sachsenhausen

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.

 

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 the SS. The place evokes a sensation in me that, mutatis mutandis, 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.

 

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 Stolpersteine 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.

Wannsee and Potsdam

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.

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!

Kreuzberg

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.

 

After checking out the site for the “Carnival of Cultures,” a multicultural festival in 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.

 

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 walking through the grid formation of slabs. Moreover, the slabs look like gravestones.

 

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.

Ku'damm

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.

 

Around 4 pm 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 century, 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.

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.

 

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.

Jermany with Jessi in June

Today marks the beginning of an 8-day visit to Germany with my daughter Jessi. I intend to 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.

 

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.

 

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 her. 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.

 

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.

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.

 

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.

The Future

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.  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.  For me, the future, or to be more exact, our conceptualization of the future, of its possibilities, should not be any of these things.

 

Whether we’re talking about human nature or the future, I have reservations about the tabula rasa concept.  Edwin Black, author of War on the Weak, which recounts the eugenic movement in Europe and the U.S., wrote: “Mankind’s search for perfection has always turned dark.”  His cautionary words ring true and remind us of the pitfalls of futurist ambitions.  I just finished teaching a couple of modules on the Holocaust and Cambodia under the Khmer Rouge respectively.  If you’re looking for bold visions of the future, look no further!  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.  Millions of murders later, the imagined future became a reified apocalypse.  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, or our social engineering skills to draw up the blueprints.

 

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.  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.  One of my favorite contemporary thinkers, Steven Pinker, makes the case that humans have become less violent over the millennia.  His book Better Angels of Our Nature draws upon a vast array of statistics, the historical record, and explanatory models.   I believe we can transform our social consciousness and find a better way to live as a world community.  I’m convinced that we can make our society more egalitarian and just.  We can move on from the sins of the past and forge a new order.  It won’t come easy.  It never has.  And it won’t come about by either neglecting the past or our nature.

 

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.  In my vision, though, the canvas is not pristine.  It’s not a blank slate.  It contains oil stains and other imperfections.  With brush in hand, I’m poised before a canvas that has markings, vestiges of the past like a palimpsest.  The challenge and perhaps fun of creating a better future is to work with or around what we’re given.  Make no mistake.  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.  But the past and future must always coexist as a continuum in the futurist’s mind—a perfect blend of ideation and context.

Weekend in Early March

My daughter Jessi is on spring break from the Naval Academy this week. I picked her up at the Milwaukee airport Friday evening.  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.  The long drive home provided a great opportunity to have a good one-on-one discussion.  I knew she’d be hanging with friends most of the time, so I’ll take what I can get.  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.  After dinner the three of us saw the movie Non-Stop in which Liam Neeson kicked some ass.  (There’s a bit of nostalgia here, as I had taken Jessi to see the Liam Neeson movie Taken 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.)

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.  I’ll take her to the airport next Saturday morning and have another opportunity to talk and catch up.  Overall, things are looking up.  I was able to hang with Jessi and family.  It’s daylight savings time, so the days will be longer.  Above all, the weather is become more temperate; at least it’s warm enough to do some serious running and outdoors recreation.

The World in a Coffee Cup

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.  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.  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.  In April I’ll be presenting a poster at a conference with a Spanish instructor.  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.”  Based on the interviews, the poster will (hopefully) provide a springboard for discussion.  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. 

Just Want to Live

I just want to live.  Here I stand, I can do no other.  God help me, amen.  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.  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.  I just want to live!

Urine and Worse

I pee when I laugh, every time.  The funnier the joke that someone is telling me, the more forceful the gush.  Yeah, the wittier the comment, the mightier the amber river (or clear river, depending on how hydrated I am).  It’s like there's a terrorist attack going on inside my trousers and the bomb inadvertently set off the sprinkler system.  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.  Colleagues no longer chat with me at my cubicle, for my desk, computer, file cabinet and bookshelf reek of urine.  In fact, my office chair, formerly blue, is now aqua green, which incidentally matches nicely the turquoise stone paperweight on my desk.  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.  Look, I realize that what I’m telling you is disgusting, but there are worse things.  It’s not like I’m a serial killer.  What would you rather have: a serial killer in your office killing people or some splotches of urine here and there?  That said, I must concede that I do have a more serious problem.   You see, dear reader, I defecate when I cry, almost always.  Given my melancholy disposition and bouts with depression, it’s like I’m a permanent resident of Shitsville.

Mud

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.

My Service to Humanity

One of my favorite topics to talk about is the Homo sapiens.   I come across this species almost every day: in the coffee shop, at work, under the boardwalk, even in my own home.  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.  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.  You know what I mean?

Anyway, have you ever wondered why people smile at each other when they inadvertently make eye contact in passing?  I mean, why smile?  Who came up with this inane facial expression as a response?  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?  Besides, how can anyone ever grow as a person if someone is never challenged but simply smiled at, as if everything’s hunky-dory?  See what I mean?   So I’ve decided that when I make eye contact with someone, I’m going to shake my head, not smile.  You see, my mammalian friend, when people see me shake my head they’ll be thrown off.  They’ll wonder what’s wrong.  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.  The world will be a better place as a result. I won't shake my head merely to flout convention, but as a service to humanity, whatever that word means.

Six Years of My Life

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, forging new relationships and learning the ropes in a different military unit.  Melancholies, I contend, thrive on change yet find it rather disconcerting. I’ve 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.  I have about 12 years to go.  Hopefully no new conflicts involving the U.S. erupt in the meantime, but I’m not holding my breath.  After all, this is Earth, and its tortured history is replete with wars and rumors of wars.  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.

Blink of an Eye

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.  My oh my, how the years have flown by!  Erika has just turned the age when I got married.  That makes me feel kind of old……*sigh*….……(wait for it)……………..Shit.  Here’s a photo of them when we lived in Germany.  Things were so simple back then, you know?  I mean, I could put on a Disney movie and give them a Butterfinger; they were good to go.  Nowadays they’re more sophisticated in their interests and hobbies.  Erika is getting a business degree at the University of Wisconsin and working two jobs as an intern and waitress.  Jessi is on the varsity swim team at the U.S. Naval Academy.  Two cute girls become two beautiful, aspiring women in the blink of an eye, and I recede into the background, gratified and proud.  I love them.

Thank You, Jesus!

A few months ago I joined a church called Covenant and Redemption, or CAR for short.  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.  When you see him you'll duly note the uncanny resemblance to the Nazarene.  Anyway, thanks 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.  No alcohol has touched my lips for nearly a month now.  During an altar call, Pastor Matt, or Jesus, reached out for me personally.  His loving eyes seemed to penetrate the shell around my hurting soul like a laser.  I could feel his divine presence within me, beside me, strengthening me.

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.  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.  More important than His women's ministry, though, is His eschatological teaching.  Pastor Matt has been preaching about the apocalyptic end of the world.  Enemies of the faith lurk everywhere, both within the church and outside.  Fortunately our spiritual ruler has prepared a place of security for us, after drawing upon the connections and financial backing of wealthy followers.  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.  In this isolated compound with fellow believers I will find everything I need.  Thank you so much, Jesus, for the start of a long and wonderful life ahead!

The Problem with Rudy

Rudy has worked as a shift manager at Pioneer Chicken in El Segundo for over five years.  While he’s relatively satisfied with his life, he nonetheless yearns for something more—an adventure or new challenge.  Like many of us, he’s discontent with his lot in life and desperately needs a larger purpose.  He wants to travel to exotic lands, experience other cultures, and meet interesting and influential people. Who knows?  Maybe Rudy could find his soul mate on such an adventure.  Problem is: Rudy is a serial killer.  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?  People could get hurt.  He should set aside his dreams and aspirations, as far as I’m concerned.