Recently, in one of the few conservations I've had with a member of my family in the past two weeks, it was divulged to me that the lack of blogging would soon result in aggressive retaliation. Whether or not this was the exaggeration of the person on the other end of the phone (who is known, in some circles, for a special brand of storytelling) is unclear, I agreed that I should get on this, and as it seems, I need to start from some time back. It's beginning to be a pattern that reflects poorly on me.
Airplane rides cannot be compared to car rides with any accuracy. People say comparing apples to oranges: apples and oranges are very comparable...they're both fruit, they're both eaten by many people, one's round while the other's got a little foot-like appendage...This, good people, is all comparison. Airplanes and Cars? They go from Point A to Point B. It ends there. I will say however, that there is a certain thrill, equal parts fear and adrenaline, that is derived from watching layers of clouds beat down against a metal wing and be thoroughly repelled as pure force propels you above the reaches of other men.
Getting off the plane and going through customs was nothing what like anyone had told me. There was no harsh germanic barking, no sniffing dogs, no large man named Wilma with a pair of rubber gloves and a bottle of KY jelly. No one even looked at my bags. They stamped my passport, without saying a word, and I was free to go. The benefits of my grandfather's generous donation are more than mere transport, as his elite status provided my baggage with the same priority as his own would receive, and allowed me to catch it on the carousel literally as soon as I got there. The Kuxhauses were waiting for me just beyond that gate, and we were headed back to their house in Bann, a little suburb of Landstuhl, all of which is within the Kaiserslautern Military Community, or KMC.
More to come... On Pain of Death?
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Long Time Coming
Seeing as how I haven't posted in almost two weeks, and people are badgering me, it's time for a blog update.
The U.S. Customs Service is some maligned, accursed creature, composed of equal parts bureaucracy, paperwork and flesh, spawned within the deepest, darkest pits where even the demons don't go. There's something exceptionally poetic, no, accurate, about the fact that the Philadelphia customs building was used in Ghostbusters. I can't remember the exact line, but it goes something like "a place mathematically constructed to be the seat of pure evil." I never even entered the building, merely stood outside it for just over an hour, and it's shadowy influence still hangs around me.
So, yes, after getting up at ungodly hours of the morning (while my classmates slept in, because, they too, were part of the Customs Agency's depraved plan to kick me repeatedly in the nads) and rushing out of breakfast (because, apparently, cellphones turn themselves off, or take a nap, or simply become inoperable, as they feel like it), clenching the handle of the car with a white-knuckle grip as I contemplate the horrendous possibility that we won't make the appointment, to get lost three or four times, to stand in a line with three hundred other people, they too have a nine-AM appointment, for naught. About 15 feet from the door, a phone rings. A cellphone, my father's. He picks it up, and by some unquantifiable mix of divine providence and wholly unnatural mischief, my mother's voice announces that "The UPS guy was just here. Michael's passport is here."
I don't really know if your blood can boil from frustration while you heave a sigh of relief. I tried, though.
Thursday night was a good time, and it really pained me to think that, despite our promises of reunions and re-uniting, there was and is the possibility that we would not be together this way again. Of course, that's true: we wouldn't be together in this environment ever again. That's what made it important, that's why it was special. My understanding is that there are already plans for a November reunion, but it'll be interesting to see if that actually happens. Eric and I created paper plate awards for the whole group, which, if you're unfamiliar, are mock awards. Stuff like "Most Likely to Force a Cripple to Dance" or " I Bring My Pillow to Lecture Award". That was a lot of fun to make, to present, and we were well-recieved.
Thursday was also the internal closing ceremony. We were brought to the Field House, instructed to don our blindfolds and link hands and to close our lips. For a good fourty-five minutes we marched, arms extended and eyes blinded, in silence. While our professors were nearby to help prevent us from colliding with things, we still managed to run into things and off the paths, but seemed to devise a mechanism to aid others... after hitting an object, the person ould drag their feet, making it easier for us to follow the sounds around the obstacle. Eventually we stopped moving and it became apparent where we were. Gentle crackling, smell of smoke, and light bleeding in through the edges of our blindfolds foreshadowed the bonfire we saw when we removed them. We were told to pick up a stick from a stack near the fire, and to announce one thing we brought to the program, and to place our stick in the fire. Afterwards, we each claimed a small stone and announced what we were taking from the program. Then we sat around and made smores for a bit, before returning to the dorm, where we threw a huge party for Michelle. Thursday was Michelle's birthday, and the dance party that pervaded four bedrooms and the hallway certainly seemed like a celebration.
Graduation was good, but longer than it had been planned. Though we practiced that morning, we still managed to botch the coordinated rise and sit maneuvers, and through self-correction made ourselves look even worse. However, Alex's poetry, Dan's violin performance and the drum ensemble's performance were all amazing, as usual, and made it worth it. Air Conditioning would have been nice. From there, we packed up and left rather quickly, despite some other parents' inability to park. We got home by six o' clock, and my always-awesome friends Paul, Will and Duane came. We had a good time as usual. Sam wasn't able to come, but she sent her mother over with a GIGANTIC bag of candy, which was, as always, incredibly sweet of her. Thanks again, Sam.
I'll put up another post in the next 48 hours about the flight and the recent stuff in Germany.
The U.S. Customs Service is some maligned, accursed creature, composed of equal parts bureaucracy, paperwork and flesh, spawned within the deepest, darkest pits where even the demons don't go. There's something exceptionally poetic, no, accurate, about the fact that the Philadelphia customs building was used in Ghostbusters. I can't remember the exact line, but it goes something like "a place mathematically constructed to be the seat of pure evil." I never even entered the building, merely stood outside it for just over an hour, and it's shadowy influence still hangs around me.
So, yes, after getting up at ungodly hours of the morning (while my classmates slept in, because, they too, were part of the Customs Agency's depraved plan to kick me repeatedly in the nads) and rushing out of breakfast (because, apparently, cellphones turn themselves off, or take a nap, or simply become inoperable, as they feel like it), clenching the handle of the car with a white-knuckle grip as I contemplate the horrendous possibility that we won't make the appointment, to get lost three or four times, to stand in a line with three hundred other people, they too have a nine-AM appointment, for naught. About 15 feet from the door, a phone rings. A cellphone, my father's. He picks it up, and by some unquantifiable mix of divine providence and wholly unnatural mischief, my mother's voice announces that "The UPS guy was just here. Michael's passport is here."
I don't really know if your blood can boil from frustration while you heave a sigh of relief. I tried, though.
Thursday night was a good time, and it really pained me to think that, despite our promises of reunions and re-uniting, there was and is the possibility that we would not be together this way again. Of course, that's true: we wouldn't be together in this environment ever again. That's what made it important, that's why it was special. My understanding is that there are already plans for a November reunion, but it'll be interesting to see if that actually happens. Eric and I created paper plate awards for the whole group, which, if you're unfamiliar, are mock awards. Stuff like "Most Likely to Force a Cripple to Dance" or " I Bring My Pillow to Lecture Award". That was a lot of fun to make, to present, and we were well-recieved.
Thursday was also the internal closing ceremony. We were brought to the Field House, instructed to don our blindfolds and link hands and to close our lips. For a good fourty-five minutes we marched, arms extended and eyes blinded, in silence. While our professors were nearby to help prevent us from colliding with things, we still managed to run into things and off the paths, but seemed to devise a mechanism to aid others... after hitting an object, the person ould drag their feet, making it easier for us to follow the sounds around the obstacle. Eventually we stopped moving and it became apparent where we were. Gentle crackling, smell of smoke, and light bleeding in through the edges of our blindfolds foreshadowed the bonfire we saw when we removed them. We were told to pick up a stick from a stack near the fire, and to announce one thing we brought to the program, and to place our stick in the fire. Afterwards, we each claimed a small stone and announced what we were taking from the program. Then we sat around and made smores for a bit, before returning to the dorm, where we threw a huge party for Michelle. Thursday was Michelle's birthday, and the dance party that pervaded four bedrooms and the hallway certainly seemed like a celebration.
Graduation was good, but longer than it had been planned. Though we practiced that morning, we still managed to botch the coordinated rise and sit maneuvers, and through self-correction made ourselves look even worse. However, Alex's poetry, Dan's violin performance and the drum ensemble's performance were all amazing, as usual, and made it worth it. Air Conditioning would have been nice. From there, we packed up and left rather quickly, despite some other parents' inability to park. We got home by six o' clock, and my always-awesome friends Paul, Will and Duane came. We had a good time as usual. Sam wasn't able to come, but she sent her mother over with a GIGANTIC bag of candy, which was, as always, incredibly sweet of her. Thanks again, Sam.
I'll put up another post in the next 48 hours about the flight and the recent stuff in Germany.
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