This reminds me, I need to buy Brazil on DVD since my tape is long dead.

John. Head. Restroom. Shitter. Loo.
Loo. I like loo. Skip to my loo.
Apparently named after pay toilets in England ages ago, the handle looked like the letter L and the two coin slots two Os. (That is not a checked fact but came from an English girlfriend who spent her youth hopping from the UK to Whidbey throughout our childhood.)

Loo. Around a group of little ones I use the word “loo”. If you say “bathroom” or “potty” in the middle of a collection of kids- there’s a sudden tidal wave of “I have to go to the bathroom!” Then you have to try and decipher who really has to go and who is giving in to that peculiar odd kid tendency to hide in the lavatory and stuff paper towels in the sink (and hopefully not the toilet) to watch water cascade over the side.

This was a water closet. The Barbie Dream House powder room has the same square inchage as this bathroom.

Airplane designers should take a lesson. After witnessing and using this little latrine, I came to believe that they could easily plan better so I wouldn’t have my shoulder pressed against the door as I stringently wash my hands. There’s definitely a better way to situate that damn garbage can so I wouldn’t have to touch it to toss in the paper towel. (I always retreat to my seat and feel gross until I’ve wiped my hands again using a babywipe and sanitizer.)

Anyway- enough rant. Time for a little admiration.

In the cities of Crete, many of the sewer pipes are old. Hundreds of years old. And made of glass. They were not made for tissue. Your used tissue goes into the trash can. GACK. This compulsive hand washer is hyper aware of sources of potential ick. I shudder when I think that people found “handy” ways to clean their southern orifices of the unfun sort of messes. Shudder and then wish to wash myself in the Silkwood manner: a wild fervor with wire brushes and harsh cleansing chemicals.

The plumbing here is ingenious in the MacGyver duct tape, paperclip and gum kind of way. I wish you could hear the gurgling. The noises, which percolate in three different tones from three corners of the tight room, are continuous. Thankfully there’s no odor to accompany this symphony of bubbles from the tangle of pipes that curl through crudely cut holes in walls and floors. It is unbelieveable I am not grossed out. That is astonishing.

It reminds me of a scene in the movie Brazil. For those who haven’t seen it- GO! GO NOW! Or at least rent it this weekend or add it to your Netflix que. Creepy, clever Terry Gilliam evoking the horror and humor with a “1984” (the book- not the crappy year) feeling. A huge dose of Big Brother (not the crappy show) and government truly having its way in every aspect- so good. So very good.

Now, Robert DeNiro has a small role, small but fantastic. I daresay one of my favorites. Yes, Raging Bull took my breath, the mob thing has grown old and okay- he’s even made me laugh. And Taxi Driver, that's on another level completely: the mohawk, a gun and Jodie Foster. Wow. Don’t get me started on that brilliantly depressing piece of heaven. Flawless.

Anyway, Rob plays an outlaw plumber who avoids paperwork. Sneaking to rescue people when the government’s endless red tape chokes them into madness- wanting nothing else but to flush the basin or take a shower. Rapelling in on a dark night, he quickly disembowels this complex wall of pipes, cords, cables and flashing lights with a joyous zeal. Gurgles, bubbles and smoke ooze as he twists them in such a manner you almost expect to see some sort of balloon animal as a result, but he tucks them back in and gleefully leaps away as the booming voice of the law begins to close in.

So, as I sat in this water closet doing none of your damn business, Robert- wearing the charming/mischeivious facial hair of an otter and a glittering white grin, was dancing among a tangle of black making me giggle. Giggle like an evil scientist in a lab- the gurgling of god knows what passing by.