I am on my way home! I cannot wait. I miss my dog. I miss the Butcher. I miss saying things in Spanish and having Mack laugh at me saying things like “There’s not such name as “Surge-eee-oh, for starters.” I can hardly wait to ask him all about pachoco culture and whether he’s old enough to have owned a zoot suit and if he calls me bolillo (or, perhaps, if there is such a word, bolilla) behind my back. If so, I will challenge him to catos and we will smoke some grifa to make up afterwards.
Ha, I amuse me.
I wish my mom had come to Montreal with me, though I must say that I was surprised how much French I understood, considering that I spent that year of French in high school goofing off and getting stabbed in the face with a pen–Chris Brainard, no I haven’t forgotten, thank you very much*. She would have had a good time, though and it would have been fun to see her speaking French in public.
I was a little disappointed to see that the Burger King here in the airport is not a Burger Roi, but what can you do.
I keep having dreams that the Professor and I have opened a brothel and our girls consist of Kate O, Rachel, and Coble and some other chicks I don’t know in real life and in some of the dreams I’m trying fruitlessly to serve breakfast while the Professor attempts to prove that there is a God by monitoring the brainwaves of orgasming women in order to pinpoint the exact moment that the universe opened up and poured through them, obviously, right on the kitchen table. And in the dream this morning, Coble was explaining why she was turning my brothel into a train station, which upset me a great deal.
Also, I am convinced that Bruce Springsteen’s version of “Buffalo Gals” is just about the most fun song ever.
Ah, folks, I am ready to come home. I’m lonely and I miss the sound of your voices and it’s been a hard trip for me in ways that have deeply shook me. I guess, at the least, it’ll give me something to talk to the horse therapist about on Friday.
Also, I love my iPod but I’m worried it’ll make me deaf.
And, one last thing. Please, someone, explain to me two things about the Spanish. One, what is with all the cheek kissing? *smack* *smack* *smack* all week long. Clearly, if I’m going to hang out with Spanish speakers, I’m going to have to overcome my aversion to having strangers get that close to me. Second, what’s with the b’s and v’s? Is it vato or bato?
Okay, I think that’s everything.
Keep the light on for me.
*In all fairness, it was a tragic accident.