On Pain of Death

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?