August 4, 2009

Soviet War Memorial (04.08.2009)

It’s eerily quiet, and my shoulder hurts a little bit. It’s funny, we’ve walked for about 38 miles today in warm weather and the only part of me that's fatigued is my left shoulder. I think back on the day’s events—the Wall, the lunch near the water, Sally getting mad at me because I asked her to translate Telekommunications—and wonder why my shoulder hurts. Sadly, this leads me to miss Tobi’s half of our little conversation. I think he was talking about the misinterpretation of the West in Russia. Did a bee sting me in the shoulder or something? Damn…

The mosaic in the memorial building at the far end of the promenade is gorgeous. I overheard a fellow onlooker: “It’s a mosaic because all the pieces represent all the people helping to keep the Soviet Republic strong. The different colors show the different characters and how unique the Soviets are.” This remindes me of something Prof. Searle talked about one day in class: one of the most annoying things in this world is when a work of art, be it a novel, a painting, a song, or an action, is ruined because people overanalyze it. (The word he used was 'flotchynotchynihifilipication.') The woman, an American, adulterated my simple oohs and ahs with her cufflink commentary. Who is this lady anyways, and what are the chances she is a post-WWII Russian visual art scholar? She probably isn't. I don’t know why this bugs me. The more I think about it, the more I agree with her theory, really. But how does she know what the artist wanted to convey? How can she know? The thought experiment provides a momentary distraction from the silence and my shoulder.

On the walk back towards the group I see a little note someone has written at the base of one of the marble edifices surrounding the promenade. The scene on the stone is of people running from an air attack, and Stalin's quote mentions the Rote Armee a few times. It’s not surprising how such a loud depiction sticks out in such a quiet space. The note is in French: Je t’aimais, je t’aime, et je t’aimerais – Marc. Translated, it means “I loved you, I love you, I will love you.” Touching line, really. But it bothers me that someone took the time to write such a poetic, romantic line on a Stalin-consecrated slab of marble. I think, The war memorial deserves its peace, Marc. You kinda suck, Marc. Then it strikes me that there is no word for a pretty thing juxtaposed with an ugly base--or if there is one then it’s lost on me. We see this relationship all the time in art and in life, but there’s no phrase in the vernacular. That’s a shame, I guess. My shoulder hurts again.

I remember that I tried to do a one-armed handstand with Daniel at YAAM and failed miserably. If I had one guess as to why my shoulder is sore, that’s it. But maybe it’s the sobering silence of the memorial weighing down on me. No, no… That’s stupid. It was the handstand.

August 3, 2009

An Ode to Susanne: Angels Have German Accents, I Guess (03.08.2009)

(Note: this was written on the cuff and was not edited for publication. Admittedly, I sound like a maniac in this post. But she just has that affect on me. Bless you, Susanne.)

I got a foot cramp just as we met Susanne for our tour of Hümboldt. It was one of those acute guys that pulls your toes under and rips your fascia to pieces. And so, lo and behold, my first words to the woman I love were: “Eff my life!”

Susanne wasn’t just a tour guide showing us some old, dead men named Gustav and Dieter and Wilhelm. She was an angel, sent from Above, to show us Gustav and Dieter and Wilhelm. And she did it with grace unspeakable.

Did you notice the way she pointed to the statue of Theodor Mommsen? Adorable. Or how she was polite enough to not mention the small square of tomato skin pasted to my front tooth until the end of the tour? There is a reason the sun rises every morning, and it is Susanne.

A solemn tear collects in my eye as Susanne and I part ways. Is it really so soon, my nectar, that we must say our farewells? I will never forget how funny she is. When I asked if she had a boyfriend when we stood next to Marx’s quote in the atrium, she pretended like she didn’t hear me. What a crack-up! Oh, there I go again. It seems like every time I feel sad she lifts me up once more. For too long I’ve yearned for the warm touch of love to grace my heart. And, yea, there she goes.

But did she just look back in my direction? It was a faint motion, but her intentions are crystal clear to me. (We have that sort of tacit connection.) Susanne, my Susanne, could you please elucidate the meaning of the marble friezes just once more? Oh, what was it you said about the rear staircase and of the ascension towards knowledge?

An institution of Hümboldt’s storied brilliance could learn something yet from you and I, Susanne—for 29 Nobel winners could never explicate the stories they’ll write for us, nor assay the chemistry that burns red between us. I could read you the treatises of Alexander von Hümboldt under the shadow of faceless Nike's statue; for our love is the embodiment of victory in this cold, cruel world.

Fare thee well, Susanne. You are my being, as the great German philosopher Schopenhauer may have once penned, for it is to you that I entreat all my soul…

August 1, 2009

Berlin: That One Girl You Knew in College with Bad Tattoos and a Musk, but Still Kinda Cute… (01.08.2009)

The first day in Berlin was rough. I was extremely tired and sore from sitting next to Libyans for ten hours on the plane. After a short nap, I sauntered down to the internet café with Muhammed for a beer and a phone call to the parents. I immediately noticed how peculiar this city looks and smells. Berlin has an undeniable distinctiveness, which effortlessly caught the attention of a sleep-deprived Me. I like to joke that if Paris is the dignified lady of Europe, Berlin is its college-dropout, motorcycle driving boyfriend. It has the grunge of bitter, artistic youth in every iota of its being. And, shit, I like it!

But there are some limits to the appeal. Namely, aesthetics and scents. First of all: why all the tagging? The street art is unbelievable—don’t get me wrong. All over the city, aerosol-toting Michaelangelos are visualizing Berlin’s twisted history and psyche. But as I sat along the edge of the café’s pond on a cloudless August afternoon, keeping track of a turtle that kept giving me the stink eye, I didn’t want to see inane “Ich bin da shizznit”-type tags. The more I look, the more I see. They’re all over the place.

I understand that Berlin has an infatuation with spray paint and therein the art will have its fair share of peripheral graffiti. But why so much, Berliners? It is my understanding that tags originate from the compulsion to put one’s name out there. It’s a way to toe the line from anonymity to heylookatme!-ism; non-conformity gets its 15 seconds in the sun. The hitch is that too many non-conformists bask in this hotbed of graffiti. The basis of tagging (sticking it to the man by putting your name on something that isn’t yours) is lost here in Berlin. Obscurity throws a heavy cloak over artists’ intentions because, frankly, there are too many of them. I hope tagging sees a decline for the sake of Berlin. Make sure the artists are happy and working, but throw the rest in the cellar—where rubbish belongs.

Speaking of rubbish: why is it that every block in Berlin has about three 5’x10’ patches of horrible, something-died-here stench? I’ve been through Beijing and New York and London, and they all are guilty of foul odors in some places. It comes with the territory of being a major city. But every one of these patches (I call them Stink Zones) smells the same. Why?! It’s as if Berlin was built over a gigantic steaming vat of broccoli, chicken crap, rutabagas, and what I think is waffle batter, and the vapor slowly makes its way up to strategically placed vents all over the city.

I have no follow-up remark to this portion of my blog post. I suppose it is better suited for open-ended inquiry, as I expect you to pause and think Hey, yeah! I can’t walk 18 feet without passing through a Stink Zone! after reading this. One day, I will solve this conundrum. Until then, as I did my first day in Berlin, I’ll just plug my nose and run home.

In Berlin, finally...

Wow.

The first week in Berlin has been, to put it underwhelmingly light, full. My preconceived notions about this foreign study (as they so often are) were wrong. We won’t spend six, seven hours a day in class being talked at. We won’t take the ‘raging tourists’ track. We won’t even have to dither in the muck of German cuisine every day and night. So far, life has been good.

Considering the jam-packededness of our stay up to the point of this writing, I won’t try to recapitulate all the trips and experiences, but nor will I flutter through this reflection without including details from my point of view. Stories are probably the best course of action. You might have noticed that I tell an exorbitant amount of stories – they can make people laugh, reveal a lot about me and where I’ve been, and I talk too much anyways. So while I have ya, I would like to tell some stories…

 

SeaTac to Amsterdam, with a layover in Hell

I was the first person seated in my aisle on the plane to Amsterdam. Just before the flight attendants closed the fuselage doors, a Libyan woman rushed down the aisle with an infant in one arm and two young kids in tow. They jostled into my row. (This is the part where I sigh painfully and rub my temples as I recount the flight.) The woman looked to be in her mid-40s, with an ornately decorated head scarf and a neat black shirt and pants combo—she was sweating like a turkey in November but lacked the relief of cooler layers. Her son, four, and her daughter, three, wore matching “Dora the Explorer” shirts. A ripe, greenish-yellow booger dangled in the infant’s nostril. I said Hello to my new buddies. The woman lowered her head and emphatically shook an open palm. “I speak no American.” Whoop-dee-doo!

Take-off went smoothly; I mindlessly flitted through Sebald’s The Emigrants with my thumb and looked out a window towards the snowcapped Olympics. Before we had settled into cruising speed I went to my Zen place: long breaths in and cathartic gushes of air out, hoping for a quick daydre… WHAP!!... and the little bastard to my right stomps the seat in front of me. We were three minutes into the flight, at best. The elderly Dutch man in front of me was irate, but since we were still hurtling upwards he could not turn to give me a proper tongue-lashing. What ensued was an awkward he-did-it-no-he-did-it discourse crossing three generations and three languages. The flight attendant politely asked us to remain cordial for the duration of the flight.

As it happens, the two kids speak some English. Their dad either works at UW or is a student there—I high five the boy with a “Go Huskies” hoo-haw. The boy reveals their plans to visit family in Libya while the girl asks for my name. This is a wonderful trick, you see, because the two brats love (LOVE!) to sing the Name Game. I should not have let my guard down. In my casual state, I was vulnerable to their collusions—you could call me a casualty of casualty. I was bombarded by: John, John, fo-fawn, banana-rama, mah-go-blawn, fee-fie-fa-foe-fawn… va-John-John! and all the silly variations until the flight attendant came around with refreshments. Aspirin chased with beer tastes like shit.

I caught some sleep sometime after we had passed Greenland. The kids were passed out and “Fool’s Gold” only goes so far. After some time I stirred and sleepily fixed my cotton ball pillow, taking a quick peek to my right to see how the little ones were. Mom and the three-year-old girl were gone, the boy lay prostrate across their seats, asleep, and the baby was teetering close to the edge of her seat. I picked the baby up and looked wildly around for her mother. As I hunched back into my seat, baby in arms, the mom came back from the bathroom. She gestured that she wanted her baby back, I obliged, and then she turned towards the bathroom again. Two minutes and three Name Games later, mom returned with the baby and a grapefruit-sized white bundle in her hand. She was having some difficulty maneuvering into her seat and so I held out my hands to take the baby. Instead I was presented the curious toilet paper-and-plastic baggie bundle.

(The finale deserves its own paragraph. Sorry, grammar.)

I looked over the unknown package quickly and slipped out of my seat to see if the flight attendants could point me towards a trashcan. The stewardess, Jeanne, turned up her nose when I approached. “Do you have a bin somewhere? I have this thing…” I muttered, trying to keep hushed in the darkened cabin. “We can’t throw that away here. That’s a diaper,” answered Jeanne with a frank chilliness that only a 55-year-old flight attendant possesses. And it was only when the toilet paper flapped open to reveal a healthy deposit of tepid feces that I realized my bundle—which I tossed in the air and yelled “Kobe!” only 15 seconds earlier—was full of Libyan babyshit. How expensive per minute is Child Protective Services on an eastbound Delta flight?

Group proposal

Societal Representations of Public and Collective Identity Formation

Catherine Eisenhauer

Robert Frankel

John O'Meara

Abstract

Every individual clings to the notion of a personal identity. Likewise all groups cling to the idea of a collective identity. And yet, identity has many faces. Look at the notion of citizenship. There is legal citizenship, cultural citizenship, and now biological citizenship. If there are so many things with which an individual can identify, how can one deconstruct the complex process of identity formation? Our group has concluded that the best method of approach is one that rivals the complexity of the subject matter. Hence, our group shall embark on three strings of analysis relating to the issue of identity formation.

While we may not understand the intricacies of identity formation, it is not debatable that the formation is influenced by context. In this way, we may expect cornerstones and major events in history to be distinctly present and influential in the identities of the people of that time. And thus we look to Berlin. To be sure, the Berlin wall has been a historical watershed of debate and analysis, marking it as a distinctly relevant symbol in German history. We wish to look at the specific influence the wall had as a border and as n influential figure in identity formation for the German public. John shall look at the concrete role in the lives of Germans before and after 1989. Specifically, he shall analyze the lives of the guards. Robert will look at the unconscious formation of identity in film. And Catherine shall analyze the way identity formation and its role in the development of intersubjectivity.

 

 

Background

How does the individual come to form an identity? And if every individual is to have a unique identity, how then is a collective to have a singular identity unto itself? We all define ourselves based upon the context of our lives. I compose an identity as a college student; and likewise we form a collective identity as a student body. The Berlin Wall was a driving force and symbol in the lives of Germans. Without the wall, there would be no east. There would be no west. And yet, to this day, these terms are used to define places and people. As a group we wish to look at the way in which the wall has entered the process of identity formation, both at a collective and individual level.

In order to maximize understanding, our group shall approach analysis of identity formation from three different angles. Intensity formation influences not only the individual, but the way in which the individual represents him or herself and the way in which he or she in turn interacts with society. Each step of formation and interaction is complex and multilateral, thus meriting its own analysis. It is for this reason that our group has chosen to approach the topic from three unique angles. John will look at the formation of a collective identity with relation to the wall; specifically looking at the guards, who’s daily routine was absorbed in the presence of the wall. The lengths to which the guards identify their existence in terms of the wall speak to the role of the wall in the creation of identity. Robert’s analysis will consider the subconscious representations of formation film. Just as no artist can create an objective self-portrait, so too does film unintentionally embody societal and cultural conceptions of the times. These conceptions speak to the way in which a public identity is formed—the way in which society views itself, both macroscopically and subconsciously. Finally, Catherine will analyze the influence of identity formation on intersubjectivity. The way in which we define ourselves and the way in which we define others deeply influences the way we lead our lives.

Robert’s focus is on the subconscious portrayal of the Wall’s impact on the collective German psyche in film. More precisely, he will examine movies created during the Communist occupation from 1961 to 1989 – in short, the effect of the Wall on filmmakers while the Wall was in place. Robert will closely examine the discrepancies and similarities in subtle auteurship between West German and East German cinema. He will use 1950s American B-movies and post-war Japanese cinema as points of additional reference and will follow up by researching similar examples from alternate international cinema as needed.  Robert will base his findings on the link between the construction of the Berlin Wall and the rise of certain cinematic depictions of related anxieties and conceits that appear to personify the subconscious societal, political, and cultural reactions to the presence of the new border. Subconscious formations of identity are uniquely telling of the extent to which the wall influenced Germans at the most basic of levels.

John’s analysis will focus on how the wall influenced the lives of the German public, specifically in the case of the guards. The guards lived, breathed, and were inextricably tied to the wall. Even the term guard begs the question: what did they guard? We refer to them by their occupation, which is predicated on, and defined by, the existence of the wall. What did this mean for the guards themselves? It has entirely distorted the way we and the German public view them; that much is clear by the objectified way in which we reference them. But did the guards themselves come to define their identities based upon the wall? And perhaps more importantly, what did they do when the wall was taken down? If the guards define themselves by the wall, then it stands to reason that they would necessarily be forced to redefine themselves once the wall was torn down. Perhaps such a redefinition was conscious, manifest in a feeling of emptiness when the wall was removed from their daily routine. But perhaps it was subtle. John will aim to answer these questions and study these concepts during his time in Berlin. Predominantly, this shall be done through interviewing the guards, and researching the way in which guards lived.

Catherine will research the more abstract application of identity formation through her study of intersubjectivity. Not only do we form an identity for ourselves, but so do does everyone create a perceived identity of others. This perception is often one of objectification. Why is this the case?  And can we ever overcome it?  Catherine will look at the way in which a mode of intersubjectivity is formed and the way in which personal and collective identities influence interaction. To do this she will observe interactions between individuals from different parts of Berlin and interview individuals to gain an understanding of the way in which individuals in Berlin view relationships. Further, she will look to academic views on the subject to increase the depth of her understanding.

Through our combined efforts our group will provide a multifaceted understanding of the importance of identity formation. Robert speaks to the unconscious influences of our surroundings by looking to representations in film. John will then provide a more concrete analysis through his interviews with the guards. Finally, Catherine will provide an understanding of the abstract implications of identity formation in the development of intersubjective relationships. In this way, our group will create a complex understanding of identity formation that can in turn be used to increase personal and cultural understanding.

John’s question:

 

            It’s the damnedest thing, the end. It’s a culmination, or an absolution of sorts.  It’s a chance to make another chance.  Heck, it’s even a Doors song.  Human history is pocked with the end of things; they lend themselves to momentous occasions.  My project for Berlin is an inquiry regarding the end of the Wall itself and those who stood upon it – metaphorically and physically.

 

            As I have reiterated time and time again in class and on my blog, my main interest is the livelihoods of the Berlin guards immediately after the Wall fell.  The scenario of “the Wall is gone, now what?” continues to fascinate me.  What did the guards do?  It is likened to what the horse buggy repairman did once Ford made his Model Ts, or what the 8-track store did once Sony made their Walkmans, but so much more loaded.  The Berlin Wall guards worked around the clock. They received shoot-to-kill orders.  They stood along the symbol of austere Soviet life, looking at the exciting, prosperous West for 38 years—then it ended.  My five focal points for this aspect of the project will be: 1) what the guards’ reactions were to the fall of the Berlin Wall, 2) what they did (jobs, activities, lifestyles, leaving Berlin, etc.) when the Wall came down, 3) which lifestyle they prefer: Soviet Communist or capitalist Berlin, 4) how the Wall continues to affect their lives, and 5) to what degree working on the Wall affected their life.  In order to get a holistic sense of life on the Wall, and to produce a course-fulfilling project, I will need to speak to a good amount of guards.  I will talk with Manuela as the summer begins and start compiling a database of known Berlin Wall guards who stayed in the city.  I expect there to a pro-Berlin bias from the guards I meet in Berlin, of course, but my inquiries will be geared to find out the condition of the whole group.  In fact, I think it will be more interesting to hear about the guards who were forced or chose to leave Berlin in 1989.

 

            Since the blanket theme for our group is “intersubjectivity,” my project necessitates a dual focus: the livelihoods of guards after the Wall fell, as described previously, but also the relationship those guards formed with the Wall while it stood strong.  My supposition is that the guards did not like their role as guards; when I close my eyes I don’t picture schnitz and giggles.  And so it will be very interesting to learn how the guards’ sentiments of the Wall manifested in their lives.  Did they personify their section of Wall with a name or personality?  Did the symbolism of the Wall impose itself on their psyche in the same way as the Berliners it encompassed?  And does their tenure with the Wall still affect them today? (I should restrain from listing all the questions I want to ask; there is a page limit, after all.)

 

            This smattering of questions will form the basis of my work in Berlin.  I am hoping to find former guards, sit down somewhere with a cold beer and a bratwurst, and talk.  Coming from an upbringing where the best association I have with a border is “Borders” bookstore, I realize that I probably can’t imagine the emotional and sociocultural impact of the Berlin Wall.  To compensate, I’ll talk to people. Establishing a personal connection with the ex-guard(s) will be vital to acquaint myself with their experience; I do not believe that a stilted interview or impersonal correspondence will produce good analysis of the guards’ collective identity, and therefore the intersubjective reality of 1961-’89 Berlin life for them.

 

John’s Analysis of Cultural Sensitivity:

 

            The subject of Communism and the Berlin Wall intrinsically accompanies a necessity for cultural interpretation and sensitivity.  Most Berliners were affected by the Soviet’s Wall and its subsequent demise, and so it would be asinine for me to show up and unreservedly demand answers to my questions.  A certain degree of proviso must be met.  In regards to any awkwardness or reluctance to talk about the Wall, I hope my informal approach to questioning (and life) will ease any anxiety the guards’ have.  That is why I would like to talk with, chat with, or shoot the shit with the guards rather than ‘investigate’ or ‘interrogate.’  The Soviet epoch of ’61 to ’89 must have been a difficult time for many, the guards especially.  That given, I will talk to them studiously and diligently, but with a slight sense of restraint for recognition of their tribulations.

 

John’s lack of a daily schedule:

 

            The discussions with the guards will compose the bulk of my research for this project, which does not lend itself well to a planned-in-advance approach.  I will start bugging Manuela to sniff out ex-guards in Berlin, and I will attempt to get a hold of them before we leave for Germany, but nothing is set in stone yet.  So far, I have only been able to look at information on the Mauer Museum—dedicated to Checkpoint Charlie and Berlin Wall guards—and some research on the Stasi.  As a family friend warned a few weeks ago, former Communist Berliner guards don’t exactly list themselves in the Yellow Pages.  The lack of attainable information is not necessarily discouraging; I just need to search a little harder while I’m in Berlin.  I am excited to meet with Manuela, speak to quondam Berlin Wall guards, and learn about their lives’ paths.  But, unfortunately, I would be remiss to set a daily schedule at this point in the process.  My goal is to meet with at least ten guards in the first two weeks, but at this point I do not know if that number could be too low or too high.  What I can assure the group is that I will plug away with this project until I am satisfied with how well I have learned and related the guards’ story.

 

References:

 

            - Mauer Museum in Berlin

            - Stasi Musuem (as suggested by Shawn and Julie)

The Edge of Heaven

Okay, I don't say this often... but this movie was effing great. Awesome piece of cinema.  The plot drew me in, I fed off the characters, rose and fell with every one of Nejat's whims.  I recommended it to my mom, even though she only likes films with Kevin Costner; I liked The Edge of Heaven that much.

With my enjoyment came a couple key questions: 1) Is that really what Istanbul is like? Kids stealing purses and shooting young women, really?, and 2) Are Germans really Good Samaritans at heart? I wonder if a German watches the movie and thinks it is unrealistic for a German girl to adopt a Turkish exile, love story aside.

As for the first point, regarding the Third World qualities of Istanbul. It is unfair to assume that Third World inhabitants are more likely to steal or harm others, but the trend typically holds that poorer cities like Istanbul are less safe for outsiders than, say, Minneapolis.  And that danger is what I want to find. (Not too close, of course. Julie would/will strangle me.)  When we go to Istanbul, I want to immerse myself in the seedy, cutthroat, real culture of the city.  Before we see all the famous landmarks and tourist traps, I want to know where the Average Mehmet gets his lunch and plays with his kids. I would love to see what someone living in a gecekondu settlement does for entertainment -- maybe a gecekondu nightclub? Who knows?

Secondly, I would like to find out if Germans ever take Turks under their wings like the Staub family did for Ayten.  Though, again, this judgment is probably too naive to be accurate, it was my understanding that the influx of Turks bothered Germans much in the same way that Mexican immigration irks many Americans.  Are the Staubs just a run-of-the-mill family taking care of a Turkish girl who needs a helping hand? Or are they an exceptional pair of German ladies?

Ghosts of Berlin - "What Nazi regime?"

The aspect that I found most compelling in Ghosts of Berlin was the dilemma of Berlin's rich history and its demons. Ladd often brings up a desire (expectedly so) for Berliners to expunge WWI, fascism and Nazism, the Holocaust, WWII, and the division of East-West Germany from the annals of history -- like taking white-out to an encyclopedia -- and keeping the good times close. But some grave notions linger. The one I would like to pursue, if possible, is how the modern Germany government handles people who demand reparations for physical or mental health problems as a result of the state's past transgressions. Certainly people have come out of the woodwork over the past 20 years, claiming that being stuck in the GDR was deleterious to their quality of life. There's no doubt that Holocaust victims and their families hold a grudge -- are they still the beneficiaries of German restitution?

I found an article on a random German website (stumbleupon.com, of course) that profiled an artist who exemplifies the attitude Berlin has towards its blemished 20th century history. This cat named Jan Vormann went around Berlin for a couple months, filling in holes made by WWII shrapnel with Legos.  It's pretty fantastic.  The artwork recognizes the macabre past of 1930s and '40s Germany and fills the gaps in history that Berliners strived to leave behind with fun, hodgepodge colors. (If I knew how to insert a picture here, I would.)  Vormann's project picked up steam with the public; he quickly roused a team of eager tinkerers. The amusing Plastic movement sheds some light on how the Berlin community -- from what I can tell, Berlin is a community more so than other metropolises -- has tried to recognize-yet-rework its past.

Here's the article:  www.yatzer.com/feed_1696_dispatchwork_in_berlin/

Ladd rephrases this subtle movement time and time again. He points out how one of Hitler's bastions was transformed into a grass-bordered parking lot. He reveals the architectural trends of modern Berlin as having little resemblance to Nazi-era buildings.  The visible Nazi icons that remain are impugned or reformed, but never appreciated for their connection to an evil legacy.

The antipation is pretty unbearable from here on out. I can't wait to find some of the Lego bits around Berlin. I really want to learn about how the Average Johan regards edifices from the Nazi or Communist eras, too. Basically, as summer dawns, I'm looking forward to anything Berlin.