Preface

Beep.

Conversation with Mels

Mels (8:58 PM):

Cookout tomorrow after 2 at my house for ben's bday. Byob.

reads the text on my phone.  Giggle.  "Conversation."  Makes me wanna attempt a LOL.  There hasn't been any conversation for months, possibly a over a year.  I don't even want to bother responding because I know I will not go.  I would like to go but there is really no excuse.  If I could show up with a full-grown beard and long hair, or full of tattoos, or scarred from the flames of some fire that was in the papers, or an amputee, or with a new language, it might be ok.  There would be something to account for all of the time I have not responded and not shown up.  But none of those changes exist and there is no way to show them the measure of deterioration that has happened since my gradual wiggle out of society.  There is no measure for them to see, no outward evidence of my time spent.  I look the same as they last saw me.  How do you spend a year and a half unemployed and in almost-isolation without doing anything?

Q: How have you been?  What have you been doing?  Where do you work now?

A: Oh, I've just been withering away, being surpassed by the younger generations.   Attempting amateur aloe propagation and self-transfiguration into a turtle.  Sporatic encounters with the human race very sporatically.  Sporatic sporatic.  Been writing a book but only in segments while on the freeway or when recently-awakened from a nap, without contacts or looking at the actual words

processed.

No.  My mind is withered lettuce and limp asparagus.  Sat in the fridge for four years unused.  Limp like a wet-towel-Asian handshake.  Void of all crisp color and posture.  Gosh, and oh yeah...shrug.  I need to get out of here and resurrect myselvesies.

Intro to my outro; Innie to my outtie; Peace to my homies

Welcome to the Blungle!  You're gonna die.  This is a dirty blog.  For those of you that don't know what a dirty blog is, there is probably a reason, but you might just be too stymied to figure it out.  Because I just made it up.  That still doesn't mean you're not a dummy.  Or was it dummie?  I can't remember because I never paid too much attention to the Writing Dummy Books for Dummies (and Later Selling Them to Dumb-Dumbs So You Can Fund Your Dum-Dum Fund for Fun So You Can Entice Dummies to Buy Your Writing Dummy Books for Dummies) class in college.  To quote a Tool, "I've come around full circle."

Speaking of full circles, I am only gonna make a half circle because I bought a one-way ticket.  Half a circle is diameter for you math minor leaguers.  Anyway, I am moving to Bogota, Cudinamarca, Colombia.  After doing some research, which is an immeasurably useful skill that I picked up at a little somewhat-big place called college, the 1950s version of myself decided that Colombia must be pretty swell.  The main source that would appear on my invisible and hypothetical bibliography would be the youtube.com videos that were uploaded by the user kumquatsta.   They are shady versions of a certain chef-to-be-named-in-the-next-paragraph's television show while he was in the cocaine capital.  But said bibliography doesn't exist, even hypothetically, so...you know...whatevs.

J'adore Bourdain, Anthony.  Sometimes, in the US, I love Anthony Bourdain.  He possesses the three Hs that I admire.  Humility.  Humor.  (Self-)Hate.  Possess possesses the four Ss that are so useful in Scrabble.  But that's another blog entirely.  Words contain letters but I'm not about to drop some linguistic shits on you this early.

Where was we?  Oh yeps: Bourdain got real jiggy with it in Colombia showing all kinds of fun times to be had and I had had it after that.  I was gone and determined to get gone.  Did a little more research (mainly parts 2/3 and 3/3 of kumquatsta's uploads) and Kayaked to a new Orbitz and then back down to Colombia.  I'm not gonna lie; It was really tiring, but two hundred and sixty seven dollars later, I was the proud owner of an electronic ticket to Bogota for May 17th, 2011.

And it's about goddamn time.  Almost two years is long enough.