DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

What did you see, she asked.

Nothing. Just colors, I answered.

Oh? Which colors?

Lots of green, I replied, and some purple.

She smiled.

Here is the most incongruous thing about Germany: there’s always a radio with American pop music playing in the background. So although I don’t understand more than every 6th word of the conversation, I can sing along with Beat It.

This may not be a universally German experience, I admit, insofar as it doesn’t regard soccer or automobiles or fizzy water or fatty breakfast spreads or beer or tile floors or fried sausages (or fried anything) or stores closed on Sunday or “coffee and cake” or eating Ricola in the car or gluten-free whole-grain conglomerations that have more in common with construction materials than bread or hiking or smoking (before, during, and after meals; in restaurants, in cars, and in desperation), or soup served by the “plate,” or warm Coke, or the national and pervasive disinterest in ice, or old-town downtown plazas with families of shoppers trodding under overcast skies across cobblestone courtyards among stores that are as likely as not to have English signage, or be selling shoes, and playing American pop music, which sort of brings us full circle.

Restaurants here confuse me. The service is free, in the sense that you don’t have to pay extra for it, but the water is not, in the sense that you do.

So we checked our two largest pieces of luggage, because we loathe passengers who not only carry on excessive numbers of items, but board out of turn and fill all nearby overhead compartments with the detritus of their travels. And we’re chronically early to the airport whenever we travel, which generally carries the disadvantage of burying our checked bags deep in the bowels of the aircraft.

This makes flight delays especially painful when one’s layover is whittled from a comfortable 90 minutes down to a panic-stricken 7 or 8… and of course it’s even worse when one is seated behind 40 rows of the sort of people who carried on five or six items and leap into the aisle to collect them as soon as the plane reaches the gate, the purser’s request to stay seated until those with tight connections can deplane ignored.

So, although we did make our connection (with, literally, 0 seconds to spare), our good luck did not: when we landed in Germany, we waited at the baggage carousel. We waited quite a long time.

And then a gracious clerk checked her computer. Good news, she said, your bags are safe. In Chicago.

We hope they’re enjoying a night off in the Windy City — dinner at The Berghoff, a view of the night skyline from the Sears Tower, a morning tour of the submarine at the Museum of Science and Industry. Perhaps our bags will even visit Michael Hayden’s light sculpture in the space tunnel between United’s B and C concourses at ORD.

But tomorrow I’d like to see my luggage again. I’d like to put on a fresh pair of socks, and perhaps change my pants.

And I’d like to remember never to fly to Europe via Chicago-O’Hare, for although I’ve now joined a huge community of international travelers, all of whom have had luggage delayed or lost outright in Chicago, I can’t say I value my membership in this particular group. I rank it right up there with my membership in the community of people who have had their septic system back up into the basement bathroom.

At least we had no trouble getting through customs… we had no bags to inspect.

I fly only infrequently, except in my dreams, and so today I was shocked at the amenities of a modern aircraft. The first class cabin looked like a Barcalounger showroom; the seats were full-sized recliners, with private footrests, a mini-bar, a small desk and writing area, and no doubt fresh linens, scalp massage, dialysis, shoe shine, and tire rotation. The most striking difference probably adds very little comfort value to the experience at all — the seats were all canted at about a 20 degree angle. I suppose this allows the airline to fit a few more rows in, front to back, but for me this break from the traditional linear arrangement was the clearest statement that first class is special: a subtle mental break away from the fact that, no matter how far back your seat tilts, you’re still sitting in a metal box for 7 hours breathing the same air as all the 4th-class folks, the livestock in the “economy” pen.

I suppose I should concede that the wealth of innovation apparent at the front of the plane has trickled back somewhat. Even in coach, every seat has a private video monitor and a choice of 4 free movies. This airline, at least, has given up on the proprietary audio cables they all used to use to prevent any passenger from scamming a free $4 movie after having paid $500 for the seat.

Still, it’s cattle class back here. The food wasn’t awful, but I still feel that, after we arrive, in addition to the Hot Towelette we should be treated to a Complimentary Delousing. Hearing people around me wheeze and snort experimentally, not to mention hacking up what sounds from 2 rows away like a hanky full of alveoli, is just about enough to make me swear off travel forever.

The vacuum toilets are new, too. Gone are the stainless-steel affairs with the hinged flap streaked with foulness; these commodes follow a simple funnel design. But I learned that holding the lid open to watch them flush isn’t that interesting. Neither is having urine sprayed back onto one’s pants.

The origins of this groove are lost in time. I’ve been playing it for years, whenever a slow or half-time section in an arena-rock anthem comes along. Lazarus is the name of one such song, which I recorded with a band in about 1994, when I had the huge two-level two-of-everything kit pictured in The Drummer Gallery.

       1e+a2e+a3e+a4e+a
4  RC  ooo ooo ooo ooo 
-  SD      o       o
4  KD  o  o   o  oo   o

Patronize these links, man:

• Virtual Drummer loop
• MIDI
• MP3