Telemundo is the best channel ever. And it's not just because of their liberal showcasing of ample framed women in close proximity to midgets, it's because of their surprisingly awesome sports coverage, as well as their Saturday night movie selection, which tonight includes The Fly II (or el fly dos) among others classics that get even better when dubbed. Though perhaps Telemundo will never overcome the stigma that the Bumblebee man has imparted upon them by his sheer hilariousness, they certainly are taking steps in the right direction with their weekend programming. Not that I'm staying home this Saturday night. Ay, que lastima.

Now this is just between me and you, gigantic hat. Blogging from my new computer--very exciting. Drank a lot of beer tonight, slightly less exciting. It's cool, I went to a museum today. That counterbalances my beer intake with culture. Did I mention I read a whole book this week? Granted it was crappy, (the DaVinci code by Dan Brown), but it was a New York Times best seller, and you know how I feel about the New York Times: Best crossword puzzle ever. Nothing new, leaving the country soon, hate my life, kill my self etc. Hey, wouldn't it be funny/morbid/nerdy if someone left a suicide note on a web log? Methinks me smells a new John Grisham novel or even a Sue Grafton piece-- She could call it "B is Blogger" or "G is for Geeks." She must have gone through the entire alphabet by now, don't you think? She's into hieroglyphic murder myseteries at this point, I imagine. "Giant eye is for erotic." Somehow I made the transition into erotic literature, but I think it's a natural segue. Lot's of questions in this post. Feel free to answer any of them, imaginary audience who may or may not be there. Very brisk tonight within my chambers, but we've established that the space heater in my room is responsible for the rolling blackouts in the house which come frequently these days, and so no heat for the wicked. And I am wicked! A pagan godless heathen heretic (wow there certainly are an abundant amount of synonyms for non-believers!) who surfs the internet all day and plans imaginary voyages on my invisible spaceship at night. Well now I'm just talking crazy, so I'll stop this madness.

I have decided that I am fortunate that I do not have a phobia of large boats, like the chick in the new Real World. Having spent the past 5 hours at my computer, doing anything but e-mailing or blogging, I have uncovered one treasure that bears forwarding. It was in the "missed connections" section of Craiglist, which basically gives people a chance to connect with people that they saw or talked to once or twice.

True Love at Bartlett and 24th, Fri., 5PM - m4w - 28

I SAW YOU: Homeless. Chronic Acne. Smeared in own excrement. I saw you outside the library on 1/16/04. I have that quarter now, and a lot more...

Precious.

I have also updated my photo gallery. Look for more changes coming in the new year, including showering and shaving.

As Mark Twain said upon reading his erroneous obituary, 'the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated'. My death (from the written word) is also that, though I did experience a brief period of brain death during the week preceding Christmas wherein the sacred triad of my existence consisted of couch, bed, and toilet. Um yes. Well Happy New Year and the like. As you can see my resolution to maintain and update my blog regularly has crashed and burned like the hijacked airplanes of yore. You'll be happy to know that another resolution of mine, to be stuck in a dark hallway chest to chest with people I didn't know on the stroke of midnight was accomplished, with gusto. What reminded me of New Years, seeing as how it is the 11th of January, was an incident that typifies my sojourn in the 'Sco. This afternoon, en route to an impromptu pick-up basketball game, my mother accompanied me to my sporty rendevous. As we were exiting, we noticed our Asian neighbors involved in some sort of hubbub to our right. "That's right," my mother said to me knowingly, "it is the Chinese New Year." Now I may not have learned all that I could have about Asian customs, holidays and traditions during my year in Korea and its outlying nations, but I am fairly certain that not every group of noisy Asians signals the Lunar New Year. I could be wrong, but I think that the moon is somehow involved in the New Year celebration, and in the middle of the day, no moon in sight. Plus, no firecrackers, no firedrills and no fingertraps equals no Chinese Year. This is the nature of the past two months though: despite my relative lack of movement I seem to be inundated by cultural generalizations and biases that range from innocuous and amusing to baffling. This is where I would normally point my well-manicured but underworked finger at society, followed closely by the liberal Jew-run media, but on this one, I'm going to have to bite my lip and point to a source that is somewhat less vague and obscure (but just slightly), my family. And since I've seen my father four times since November, and only occasionally exchange pleasantries with my brother, despite the three feet that separate our living quarters...well, Monique, I'm looking at you. Don't get me wrong, I didn't break my month long vow of blog-celibacy to bitch about my mommy, but I'm just now coming to grips with the huge generational and cultural gaps between her world and mine. I've always thought my mom's thick, indecipherable accent was frustrating but endearing, and her pronunciation of 'salmon' (Sal-Mon) quite novel. Her linguistic foibles have provided a limitless supply of finely-honed impersonations and improvisational comedy that has been my "A" material for years and years. In fact who could deny the humor in efforts such as these: In an attempt to call someone a 'neat freak,' my mother actually said that she was a 'freak of cleanliness'. No question, it's funny, but only in small doses. When the time comes for her to interact in within this city, liberal, diverse and open-minded as it is, things prove to be a little more difficult. People have no patience for people with accents, and maybe the effort of understanding what this little french lady is saying is too much for them. Incidentally she also drives very poorly, often with the door to the trunk open, and with parking tickets visible in between the driver's and passenger seats. Not surprisingly, my mother surrounds herself with other foreign people, primarily sephardic jews and francophiles. She has little empathy for the "Americans" in whose country she has chosen to live, and says things to this effect all the time. Moreover, she is shocked by homosexuality, says backward things about Arabs constantly, demonstrates a pronounced difference in body posture when black people are present, and basically if you name a country or a people, she's got a blanket generalization with which to label them. This is more obvious to people like me I suppose, a product of liberal private education, who suckled upon the collective teat of gentle hippies and peaceniks throughout my youth. Does she want to move? Not really, but in the meantime the disparity between the culture in which she was raised and the culture in which she lives and has lived for the past 28 years, continues to become more and more of an issue. Whenever I come back here, I'm shocked at her inability to do the things that even I've learned to do in my few years of living independently. More than that, I worry about her health and future, which she interprets as selfish concern for my own happiness. On the other hand, she's had very little help, she works every day, and her business basically succeeds or fails based on the whims of people who can afford to buy art. So she raised two kids in this country that she simultaneously bad mouths but refuses to leave, and is clearly at least marginally comfortable with her life here. So where does this leave young Andrew? Well, Andrew spent a good year of his life in Korea ("Which Korea are you in Andrew? North or South? I hear bad things happen in the North") Weirdly, it is my friends and other people's parents that find this to be the least bit interesting. I think I am losing interest in that experience too now, positive and unique as it was, because I handled my return home so poorly. I am so sick of wasting time in a city that I love, and like an idiot I made neither plans nor provisions for coming back--I knew only that I wanted to eat burritos with alarming frequency. So I'm not sure where all this raving about my mom was heading... oh yes, my painful/ gleeful decision to leave home once more. Although there is still some confusion as to where I'll be headed next month (Chile? Argentina? Paris? Daegu? Perhaps Hoboken, New Jersey...no probably not there) there is no uncertainty that I'm going somewhere, physically if not metaphorically, and I'd very much like that somewhere to be warm. (Sorry Hoboken, that's two strikes against you) To this end, I've acquired a second passport, to further obscure my true identity, and perhaps to capitalize on the cultural confusion that is my inheritance. Merci, maman. Next we work on acquiring an I-pod and a new laptop. Phase two is not so clear, much like the three phase plan of the Underpants Gnomes in South Park (Phase 1: collect the underpants. Phase 2: ??????? Phase 3: Profit!), yet eventually phase 3 will arrive, then the profit-taking can begin in earnest. Until then I shall try to keep the thumb-twiddling to a minimum, and the correspondence and the blogging to a happy medium, taking into account my pathological laziness of course. So to those I neglected, and I know you are numerous, I'm sorry. Sometimes I just feel like, hey, you know, I'm doing so little already, why stop now? Break the cycle! Peace and Love!

(Stupid Hippy education)