This is probably a tremendous, landmark sort of deal. But, at 22, it means a lot more to people just five years older than me than it ever would to me.

By the time Id become culturally aware, Russia was no longer the big, bad commie power of the East. Tensions had cooled -- at least relatively. I never had to go to a school assembly to learn how to duck under a desk. If I heard a siren, there was a fire, and I was getting the hell out of the building in a single file line. That was the only possible thing a siren could mean.

Plus, Russians werent the bad guys just for being Russian anymore. We didnt see a bunch of college kids sneak by a group of svelte, lumberjack-shaped criminals in a hockey game at Lake Placid. (That, at least, is how the 1980 Russian Olympic hockey team is depicted in all of the ESPN Classic documentaries -- probable murderers, released from prison for the purpose of bringing more evil into the world.)

Anyone from my generation thinks the NHL is a tax form they havent yet filled out. As far as we know, Russians dont play professional sports in America.

My only brush with a native Russian was Zangief from Street Fighter.

This was somehow okay in my head -- for some reason, he seemed like a realistic-enough portrait of the average Russian man. This insistence later led me to the sobering realization that Brazilians arent actually large green people with red hair and really fast hands.

In high school, a French teacher went away to St. Petersburg every couple of years. She went once in the late-'90s and again midway through this last decade. She was stunned at how quickly a place could deteriorate, addled by crime and corruption.

I refused to process this information.

So. Cold War Kids. Is that not an ironic name to everyone?

Todays Soundtrack: Cold War Kids - Hang Me Up to Dry