Adventures in Bathrooming

Ever since my little excursion to Afghanistan I've told myself that if I ever wrote a book about my life that it'd be entitled Adventures in Bathrooming, due to the varied and interesting toilets and procedures involved in the simple act of peeing.

I'm currently living as a fugitive in Tony's room, as I'm not supposed to be here when he's not, but since he has cable, an internet connection and air conditioning he gave me his key while he's on leave. However, out of respect for his suitemates (the dudes who share a bathroom with him) I don't want to use his bathroom and draw anymore attention to myself than need be. My room is down the block and my roomate thinks that it's perfectly normal that the toilet backs up when flushing three squares of paper, so I avoid that place as well. As a result, I've been having to make do with the local public facilities, namely the library and the 24-hour shoppette. Perhaps I'll expand to the bowling alley next week. At least it's not a squat-pot on a moving train or a stone pedestal that drops into a tin bucket (see Platoon and the scene where they get caught stealing beer and are punished by emptying out the shit-buckets. I think those might be the ACTUAL ones we used out there). It's also quite a bit nicer than having to put on your peecho to cop a squat while a bunch of infantry boys stare at you.

Ah Christ, it's raining again. I thought I saw that vile humidity cloud heading this way. There's this scary blue-colored wall Ft. Drum develops in the Northwest that makes it look like the world is about to end and it's where all the bad weather comes from. It's been so nice and not-muggy the past few days too. Ah well. It's this strange bucket-like rain, too. It's not calm and drizzley make-things-green rain; it's a violent, pull-the-car-over-I-can't-see sort of rain that even sounds painful from inside the concrete building.